You know how I enjoy throwin' some Kleinballs?

I feel like there's some Andy Rooney-ness to the cadence of this post. Imagine he was reading the below to you. Perhaps you'll get more enjoyment out of it. Or not. Anyway.

You know how I said I was gonna learn everything there is to know about the Melbourne Cup? Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, it's looking like that isn't gonna happen. But I'm semi knowledgeable at the moment -- just placed my first bet, $5 on Roman Emperor -- and have some reading material for the flight down to Melbourne tomorrow.

You know how I said Pedro was gonna get torn apart by the Yankees in Game 2 of the World Series? Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, didn't quite happen. Kind of some middle ground there. Although 3 ERs in 6+ IP at Yankee Stadium... if you're a Phillies fan, I think you have to be happy with that from 2009 Pedro Martinez.

You know how I said the Angels would win the World Series? Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhh, clearly na ga da. I just pray the Phils can pull something off here.

You know how I beat a very consistent drum about Joe Posnanski being a great freaking writer? Yeeeeeeaaaahhhh, I'm still right on that one. He's done it again, this time on Derek Jeter.

You know how it's been a 14/17 hour time difference between Sydney and the East/West Coast of the US? Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhh, just an FYI with Daylight Savings Time, now it's 16/19.

You know how I'm going to Melbourne tomorrow? Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaahhh, I should probably pack for that and then get some sleep. Good night, Planet Earth!

Throwin' some quick toss Kleinballs

The original idea behind the Kleinballs was to give you some quick, punchy thoughts on a variety of disparate topics. Me being me, of course, I've recently gotten a bit verbose with some of them. Not today, however, because I gots things going on! And I need to get some of them off my chest.

A FREAKING JOB!!! ONE THAT FREAKING PAYS!!! I GOTS ME ONE OF THEM!!!!

I ate chicken feet on Tuesday. A laborious chore to consume, with bones everywhere, but well worth the effort. Surprisingly moist and tender.

It's been comfortably over a decade now, but his words have always lived with me. And now they've paid off. So to Steve Nootenboom, I say THANK YOU.

Amazingly, the three above items are all connected. Some of you may be able to find the link between two of them. But how are all three intertwined? I'll fill in the blanks, and give more info on this job (that pays!), next week.

Current Lakers score: 88-60, with 9:15 to go. My lord, if they win the finals, that would be the ultimate icing on a week that's already been stupendous. (Oh, wait, I forgot: the NBA Finals go on for three months. Never mind.)

Needing to renew by visa but not knowing my future job situation, I booked a one-way ticket to Auckland the other week, for July 7. And now that I have a job (that pays!), I'm gonna make it a quick trip, and have booked a return flight for July 12. No idea what I'll be doing there yet. Maybe this will bring another venture into the wide world of travel books? I'll let you know when I know.

Congrats to Randy Johnson on win number 300. Now, to all those who think that we'll never again see a pitcher make it to that milestone: J-Poz has his rebuttal, and as always, it makes far too much sense.

The reason for my rushed post today? We gots a threeeeeeeee-daaaaayyyyy weeeeeeekennnnnddd coming up for the Queen's birthday! (Although it's not really her birthday at all. For all the basics, see my reading notes from last year.) A group of us are off to Hawks Nest, about three hours north of Sydney. Should be a nice, long weekend of doing nothing at all. Can't wait.

Next week: a job (that pays!).

Throwin' some suspense-filled Kleinballs

I know you're just dying to get that last post on the Decathlon, to hear how it ended, right? It's been eating you up for the last few days, right? You've been compulsively checking for a new post every other hour, right?

Well, you're gonna have to wait until next week! MWAH-HA-HAAAAAA!!!

I moved to Australia just as the first season of Mad Men was going to air. And ever since then, I've been hearing nonstop from people in the US about how great -- how freaking amazing, how mind-blowing, how extraordinary, how G-R-E-A-T -- that show is. So imagine my delight when I found out the other month that it was coming to TV here. Finally I get to see what all the fuss is about! But six episodes in, well, I have to say that I'm having trouble getting into it. I really, really, really want to get into it, and I'm giving it every chance, even as my other friends are giving up on it. But it isn't hooking me; so far, I'd give the show a B-, at best. Someone please give me a reason to hang on.

If you had to sum up the vastness of our universe -- that concept and feeling that Contact captured so well -- in just a few pictures, I'd argue that this does the trick as well as anything I've ever seen. Just have a look. It will blow your mind. (Just be sure to enlarge the picture once it loads up on your screen.)

I love this picture:

I haven't linked to a Posnanski post in a while, so here you go. This is quintessential Posnanski: Quite skeptical that I'd have any interest in the piece as I started -- because honestly, who cares about some NASCAR writer from Charlotte? -- somewhere about halfway or two-thirds of the way through, I lost myself in it, as it really struck a chord. If I should ever repeatedly treat anyone as poorly as this guy treated Posnanski -- and I sincerely hope that never happens, but if it does -- then I can only wish that that person could still see past that, for who I really was, and write an obituary as sincere and heartfelt as this one.

In the words of a man who needs one-tenth the amount of words to convey the same thing as me, Kill the weekend. All of you.

From the notebook: Eagles Fantatics and Hope

If you're any sort of a casual reader of this blog, you by now know of my man crush on Joe Posnanski.* Although I first became familiar with him as a sportswriter, he's gained the distinction of my favorite writer du jour partly because of his work outside the realm of sports. On his blog, for example, he has a running series of posts called "From the notebook", for which he posts previously written, non-sports-related pieces. They're quite possibly some of his best work, and his recent Lolo post is absolutely no exception. In fact, outside of his post on Tiger Woods -- as far as I'm concerned, that's his gold standard -- I think it might be the best thing I've read by him.

*Judging from this picture, I'd like to think it's pretty clear that I love him for his mind, and his mind only.

So please read the Lolo post. You will be enlightened. And then, in my own homage to Joe, and because this is easier than writing completely new material, but mostly because the city of Philadelphia is as few as nine rain-delayed outs away from capturing their first championship in any major sport since 1983,* have a look at my own "From the notebook" post below, which is a piece on Eagles fans -- and to some degree, Philly fans in general -- that I wrote for my Penn web page in my last year of college, waaaaayyyy back in January 2003.

*And for this comment, I have irrevocably jinxed them.

A forewarning: Please, please, please note that I picked up the below exactly as originally written and have not edited it in any way, shape or form. This is for the worst. I apologize in advance.

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Eagles Fanatics and Hope

For those of you who somehow made it through my previous ramblings on the coaches of the NFL, you'll probably note that I mentioned a few times in there that I thought the Eagles were going to take it all this year.

Two days after a seriously crushing defeat to the Bucs, I'm here to admit I could not have been more wrong. The Bucs showed up to a freezing Philly (believe me, I should know -- I worked outside in that cold for seven hours on Sunday) and made the Eagles their bitches. That gives them a two game winning streak in games under 40 degrees! Quite impressive, at least for them.

Of course, I'm not letting it go that easily. I'm not going to talk about the actual game here and how the Eagles lost the game more so than the Bucs won it. Instead, I want to talk about the fans here in Philly.

Before I start, my heartfelt sympathy goes out to every one of you. I've lived here for only 4 years and even to me, that was a crushing defeat. Considering my hometown of LA is NFL football-less, I've taken somewhat of a liking to the Birds and have suffered, to a lesser extent than most of you, the knife in the back that this town has endured time and time again for the last few decades. I can only imagine the gut wrenching pain that some of the Philly lifers are going through right now.

In case you've never been to Philly, the fans here are completely rabid about the Eagles. This entire past week, it was nothing but Eagles, Eagles, Eagles. You would walk around the street and people were chanting, "E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!!!" in passing cars. There were "Go Eagles!" signs EVERYWHERE. People had those little flags they attach to their cars. I also saw several interesting new paint jobs or additions to cars and vans.

Then, on Friday, it was if the city went absolutely crazy. I turned on the local news at 12, and I swear to you, the ENTIRE hour of news was devoted to Eagles-mania. (There may have been some story on a rape in like the 47th minute.) At the program's end, they officially began the 50-hour countdown to kickoff time. The coverage was practically round the clock. Probably the funniest moment was the coverage of the Bucs' plane landing at the airport. The entire segment was devoted to just the Bucs' plane. Not the Bucs walking off of it. Not the Bucs giving interviews. Just the plane. The correspondent had nothing to say. He was like, "We think this is the plane. They should be on it right now." And the entire shot on the screen was a plane several hundred yards away taxiing to its gate.

By Saturday, I think the local news just took over all programming on television. NBC, CBS, ABC, and Fox were all devoted to Eagles stories. That night, I attended a banquet and talked to a Philly lifer who admitted quite frankly that he hadn't been able to get the game out of his head all week. His wife, who had already gotten quite drunk and somewhat belligerent, began accosting every person that passed by and asking them where they were from. If the answer wasn't Philly, she'd go crazy on you. Considering LA doesn't have a football team, you'd think she wouldn't mind me so much. Nope. The fists came flying out. Of course, the poor sap from New York had some serious answering to do. (And rightfully so.) The guy that was born in friggin' Moscow seemed to get by okay though.

By game day on Sunday, the city came to a standstill. The local news at 8 am was already at the Vet, interviewing fans that were ALREADY tailgating. They were getting drunk… at eight in the morning!! In fact, the earliest fans had arrived at 4:30. Whose idea was it to show up for a game almost 12 hours before it began???? As I parked car after car at my valet job, I listened to a pregame radio show that had started at something like 7 am (game time was 3 pm) and was broadcasted from the Vet. By 10, it was pretty apparent from the noise in the radio show's background that everyone at the Vet parking lot was wasted. By 11, I watched as the Bucs began to leave their hotel (they were staying right near where I work) to a crowd of Eagles fans heckling them. There were also maybe 3 Bucs fans who were stupid enough to wear Bucs clothing. Back at the Vet, they were stabbing Chucky dolls (who look very similar to the Bucs' coach, Jon Gruden) with knives, pins, and then ripping their heads off. If only Ozzy was there to bite off the head of Gruden himself. By 2 or so, most of the crowd I could hear over the radio show had screamed themselves right into laryngitis.

Being from LA and all, this whole diehard fan thing is rather new to me. Remember, I'm from a town where baseball games are four innings long (we come in the 4th and leave in the 7th), public apathy drove out two football teams in a two year span, and basketball championships are pretty much taken as a given. Has there been even close to this much public or media hysteria during the Lakers' current championship run? Not even close. Us fans just get pumped up when we really have to, such as Game 7 of the 2000 Western Conference Finals or anytime we play the Queens. We expect victory. (Of course, I'm not complaining about LA. Victory is oh so sweet, especially when you can go to the beach for a little nightcap after watching a Lakers victory in January. Want more proof that LA -- and the rest of Cali -- rocks? Just read up on Jim Caple's recent ESPN.com column. Of course, all of this overwhelming evidence that Cali rules once again proves the old point that I'm an idiot for going to school on the east coast.)

That's pretty much the typical, lazy LA fan. What about Eagles (or more generally, Philly) fans? They really, really, really want it. But they sure as hell can't expect it. They just let their hopes fly up to a crescendo and then crash and burn.

So by the time the game started at 3, the city had officially stopped. The only people who were still outside were those who were working (like myself) or had no clue at all. For instance, when I asked a woman if she knew what the score was, she surprisingly responded with a knowledgeable, "7-0," which was correct at the time. But when I asked her how the Eagles had scored, looking for a response such as "Staley ran it in" or "McNabb hooked up with Thrash," she said, "The Eagles did a touchdown." Those were her exact words. They DID a touchdown.

I made it home by the second quarter to watch most of the game, and the outcome is all history. And now, Philly is mourning. The loss was difficult enough for me to take. I feel so bad for some of the people I know. One of the guys I work with said that a friend of his literally burst into tears, "as if his mother had just died." No lie. And, of course, there was some anger. I talked to one guy who said that Philly fans were some of the sorest losers he'd ever seen. From what I've seen, I think that's a little bit of an exception, but it certainly is true in some cases. A sports reporter for a radio station here absolutely ripped into the Eagles yesterday, calling much of the team, especially Reid and McNabb, some rather distasteful names. And you know he was practically on his knees praising those guys last week.

Even though Philly right now is acting as if Revelations is unfolding, I know there's one diehard Eagles fan out there who isn't surprised at all. About six weeks ago, when everyone was realizing that the Eagles could win even without McNabb, this guy I had met at work, who had lived in Philly his entire life, told me that he wasn't getting excited about the Eagles. He said he had learned his lesson with them. He really wanted to see them win, but he was not going to get his hopes up. He'd been disappointed too many times by them. I couldn't believe a Philadelphian would utter such words. But you know what? He was dead on. The Eagles choked, once again.

Although this guy probably isn't too disappointed today, you have to think that no one more than him deserves to see his team win. He's essentially lost hope, and that's too bad. (Cue the sappy music.) Unless you're a Clippers fan, a Bengals fan, or a Red Sox fan, there's always a glimmer of hope that your team can win. That's what makes sports so damned exciting. (I mean, look at the World Cup or the NCAA Final Four. You watch those tournaments, and even if you know nothing about the teams that are playing, you're still on the edge of your seat because you know how badly everyone wants it. And you also know there's enough parity so that either team could end up victorious. In many ways, that's what makes Major League Baseball so damned boring sometimes, because there's not nearly as much equality in that league. I'm looking at you, Steinbrenner.) All of this heartache and sorrow only means one thing: the Eagles will win the Super Bowl next year. Mark my words on this. The fans, as rowdy and crazy and obnoxious as they can sometimes be, deserve to see that happen. Their time has clearly come, and my man who has apparently lost all hope needs to get it back.

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So. That exercise was... interesting. Mentions of the Vet? (RIP, baby.) Implying that the Red Sox have no hope of ever winning?? Guaranteeing an Eagles Super Bowl victory in 2004???!? Yeah, maybe we won't do this again.

But the thesis of piece still stands, and for the sake of my man who has lost all hope, I hope the Phils can see this thing through, whether it be in Game 5, or back in Tampa.

Freaking Posnanski

Yeah, I've already produced a slobberfest of love for Joe Posnanski the other week. But bear with me, for here it comes again.

You see, I was looking around on his blog the other day. Specifically at one of his more recent posts about voting in a "first class" into the Baseball Hall of Fame. He starts off on a really great tangent* about Jackie Robinson and then nominates fifteen clear-cut HOFers and asks his readers to vote in a poll (which is no longer up there) for five in this group that they feel deserve to be part of a "first class". Which is pretty much an impossible task when you consider the names: Ruth, DiMaggio, Mays, Aaron, Williams, Johnson, Robinson, Young, Cobb, Wagner, Bonds, Gehrig, Gibson, Mantle and Maddux.

*How you can start a blog post -- or any written piece, for that matter -- with a tangent, I don't know. But Posnanski has managed. And it works.

Now. Assuming I haven't lost everyone on this post yet, just look at that list! Look at it!! That's a veritable who's who of baseball history, and there is absolutely no way that any baseball fan can or should have to distinguish between these players. Yet this is the challenge that Posnanski has posed to his readers.

Anyway, it's a fascinating topic, at least to me. So then I did something that I'm fairly sure I've never done on a blog written by someone I don't know: I read the comments section. And can I say, if anyone ever wants to shove it in Buzz Bissinger's face, they absolutely need show him the comments section from Posnanski's blog. Because for the most part, the level of writing and intellect from those who've left comments might only be a notch or two below that of Posnanski.

Readers detail the agony they felt as they struggled to somehow pick only five players from this group, and go on -- often in quite a bit of detail -- to describe the criteria they used to pick the players and their decision-making process process. And this goes on... for one hundred and eighty-three comments... and counting! How many of these comments contain a poop joke or even an all too easy swipe at Bonds' alleged steroid use, as Bissinger would argue the discussion would devolve to? As far as I can tell, that would be zero.

It's unbelievable, really. Like Michael Jordan or Tom Brady make their teammates better, freaking Posnanski's brilliant writing has raised the game for people leaving comments on his freaking blog. Unbelievable.

Throwin' some Honoré de Klein-Balzacs

Does the title for this post work? Too obscure? Yeah, probably. Of course, the fact that it has nothing to do with anything in the rest of the post is probably more problematic.

I'm still playing cricket. It's winter here. Clearly there's a disconnect between those two facts with, you know, cricket being played outdoors and all. Yet there I am, every fortnight (they use that word here), playing in a winter competition with my friends. But we've been fairly lucky with the weather, with most of the days being cool but generally nice. Then last weekend happened. Cold. Wind. Rain. But we played. From 10:30 to 4. Calling it "miserable" might be one of the largest understatements I've ever made. It's a start.

I'm just about over the Lakers' loss, so I think I can write about it without grinding my teeth down to dust. Although I'm not even sure what there is to say. So I'll just say that I was shocked by the amount of venom that people apparently hold for the Lakers and Kobe, most of which only seemed to come out after they were clearly out of the series. People at my freaking work were jumping on the Bandwagon of Hate.

It's been a few months in the works, but with his recent post on Tiger Woods, Joe Posnanski has officially taken the mantle as my favorite writer.* And I'd like to proclaim that he should take the same spot on your Mantle of Love, too. I will caution that if you're not a rabid fan of the Kansas City Royals (although who among us isn't??), you may want to take a pass on some of his posts. (Just a warning that he has some crazy, crazy man love for Brian Bannister.) And if you're not a baseball fan in general, well, then you can probably pass on a couple more posts as well. Not a fan of sports at all? First: how dare you. And second, yeah, you can probably pass on a couple more posts. But even if you aren't a fan of sports at all and just appreciate, you know, amazing writing, you'll still find plenty to love. Such as the brilliant post -- and that is absolutely no exaggeration; I mean that as strongly as possible -- on Tiger. Tiger Woods, y'all.

*Heck, I've already stolen his little asterisk device (he calls it a Pozterisk), which is ridiculously addicting.

The days right now, with the sun rising after 7 and setting before 5, are ridiculously short. It's insanely depressing. But with the winter solstice the other day, it's all uphill from here! Good stuff.

Melbourne and guide books

As I briefly touched on in my last post, I'm taking a day off of work tomorrow and flying to Melbourne* for the weekend. And I'm quite excited. Supposed to be a great city with a very different vibe from Sydney. In the past, I've heard comparisons to LA and San Francisco: Sydney (as LA) is a warm beach city that's very suburban and Melbourne (as San Fran) is smaller, more dense, slightly colder and has a more cosmopolitan feel. So there is an analogy there, although from what I know about Sydney and the very little I know about Melbourne, I don't know if it's perfect.

*For the record, Aussies pronounce Melbourne as MEL-bin. I know, makes no sense. In fact, when Dave and Jack called a month or two ago, I left them absolutely bewildered when I referred to MEL-bin and not MEL-bourne. Well, no, we're not talking Jason Bourne here (or even Mel Bourne), we're talking the name of the capital city of Victoria, Australia. And that's MEL-bin.**

**For some reason, Aussies don't seem to pronounce the "r" whenever it's followed by a consonant. At least that's the rule that John seemed to unearth when he was here in December. Melbourne is pronounced MEL-bin, Forster is pronounced FOS-ter and Cairns is pronounced CANS. Maybe there are exceptions to this rule -- or maybe it isn't a rule at all -- but I haven't found one yet.

***I should also comment on this experiment with the asterisks, which is actually a bit of an homage to Joe Posnanski, who's quickly becoming my new favorite writer. In his blog, Joe loves using the asterisk as a device to allow him to go off on tangents, which are often quite long. I'm not sure this is the best way to handle the tangents, as it can often get quite confusing to follow the main point (as I'm sure it is here), but damn, it's kind of fun.

Anyway, Joe's a fantastic writer. Definitely not for everyone, but if I had to describe his style and the content that he covers, it'd go something like this: take a massive scoop of baseball, toss in a slightly more seasoned version of Bill Simmons, remove the Boston-related saliva, add just a dash of love for Kansas City and the Midwest, drop in a moderate portion of a retarded Bill James and mash it all together. That, my friends, is Joe Posnanski. (And by the way, the "retarded Bill James" comment is meant in the nicest way possible, and I bet that Posnanski would agree with it wholeheartedly.) So if the above appeals to you, check out his blog. You won't be disappointed. Now, if you're not remotely interested in baseball and don't know who the heck Bill Simmons and Bill James are, then stay far, far away.

Anyway, my buddy Maz works for PricewaterhouseCoopers and they've been flying him down to Melbourne every week for the last few months to work for a client. And being the behemoth that PWC is, they've put him up in some swank corporate housing. Which means I have some affordable accommodations.

The plan right now is to get down there tonight (Thursday) and head straight out, possibly to the casino.* But then Maz is at work Friday and then flies back to Sydney for about 24 hours for his weekly cricket match** before he comes back on Saturday afternoon. So I'm a bit on my own for almost two days.

*I know, I know. You're thinking, "LAME!", right? Well, Maz's place is a few minutes away from the casino and my flight doesn't get in until 11pm, so what else am I going to do that late on a Thursday night??!? Plus, unlike the casino in Sydney, the one in Melbourne is supposed to be really cool and one of Melbourne's best attractions, so in a way, I'm getting to experience a key part of the city, right?

**Talk about devotion!

This is where the guide books come in. You see, I'm a bit of a guide book addict. In fact, I love guide books. Sure, I can understand how some people just want to go to a new place and find things on their own, but I need a little more structure than that. I need to at least know what the key attractions are, what parts of town are worthwhile visiting, what cafes/restaurants/bars I can't miss and, most important of all, I need a map.* And for years now, my guide book of choice has been Lonely Planet. I might even go as far as to call myself a Lonely Planet Whore.** Their books have helped me for many purposes in many countries and have never led me astray. I highly recommend.

*If I'm addicted to guide books, then they're just my gateway drug. Maps are my heroine. (Does that make sense?) I absolutely, positively must have a map so that I know where I am at all times, what's in each direction and where I came from. My God, I love maps. You know how we joke about people reading the dictionary or encyclopedia? Well I would read a map of books. Correct that -- I have read a map of books. And back in LA, I've often gotten lost in a Thomas Guide. My God, it's fantastic.

**Wouldn't be surprised if the good folks over at Lonely Planet sprinkle each of their books with a little crack cocaine.

So with these two days on my own, I made the decision yesterday that I needed some guidance. And Lonely Planet was calling my name. So I headed over to the bookstore, found the travel section and there it was -- the Lonely Planet Melbourne City Guide. I reached down, leafed through it and it was just as I expected: a thorough breakdown of the city I will shortly be visiting. Perfect. And then I flipped the book over and saw a price tag for $34. Now first, I'm pretty sure Lonely Planet's opus on Europe doesn't sell for much more than this. So that price was quite a shock. But normally, that would be okay; I'd be more than happy to pay the price for information that I know will prove to be invaluable. In this case, however, I'm going to this city for three days. That's 72 hours. So to spend $34 on a guide book seemed a bit crazy to me.

There was, however, an alternative. And that was Phaidon's Wallpaper City Guide Melbourne. Now, I've seen the Wallpaper series before, and it has always intrigued me. Each of the concisely-edited books in the series feature the best that the city has to offer in a colorful, image-rich format.* In the past, I've paged through versions of these books on cities with which I'm familiar, and generally, I feel like their suggestions have been solid. So I have some confidence in them. Plus, there's a suggested itinerary for 24 hours, which will be perfect for me. And most important of all, the book sold for $13.

*I'd go as far to say that irrespective of the information these books provide, they're a piece of art; like my maps, I could page through them for hours with a glaze slowly coming over my eyes.

Of course, there is a downside to the Wallpaper series, and that would revolve around the limited information provided in each book. With so few options provided to their readers, there can be no mulligans; they have to hit a home run on every recommendation. And of even more concern is the map situation. For the good folks at Wallpaper decided that one simple map of the city, on one of their tiny spreads within the book, would be sufficient. And for me, that's a problem. Where's the detail? Does this map really include all streets? And what lies beyond the end of the page??!? What's out there??!? The uncertainty is enough to give me an anxiety attack.

So we'll see how this goes. Right now, I'm cautiously optimistic. For the book, that is. The weekend, I'm sure it will turn out fine. Which is the crazy part: I'm nervous about the book but completely confident that I'll have a great time in Melbourne. If anything, shouldn't it be the other way around? Maybe I don't need the guide book after all.