USA! USA!

Poor Sport: U! S! A! U! S! A!
By Adam Greene
02/26/2006

The 1980s was a great time to be an American if you enjoyed being hated. Not that we aren’t hated today. Terrorists and evil dictators despise us, sure, but they always have. Crazy people have never needed an excuse to be crazy. Pamela Anderson getting a bikini wax last week created as many terrorists as any bomb we ever dropped. Let’s just hope a Danish newspaper doesn’t publish an editorial cartoon about it.



Europeans, for their part, seem to offer no more than a snotty disdain. Kind of like the jealous, pimple-faced Goth geek in high school. They watch the quarterback win the big game, nail the hottest cheerleader, and drive the fastest car. Hating him for his good looks and success, they gain self worth only by pretending amongst their nerdy friends that the vampire poetry on their weblog and their appreciation of Morrisey lyrics is somehow cooler than throwing touchdowns and having sex with another person.



Back in the 80’s, though, crazy terrorists were the least of our problems. We had half a planet that we could go to war with at any moment, destroying everything on Earth but ants and cockroaches. Americans, in general, were against that.



With global thermonuclear war off the table, we had to find another way to fight the Russians. For a brief, wonderful time, victory after victory over the Soviets was enjoyed as John Rambo shot the commies in their faces with explosive arrows, Chuck Norris rendered them insensate with various karate attacks, and Patrick Swayze led a rag-tag group of teenagers against an entire USSR battalion with only the power of their youthful patriotism and the greatest battle cry of all time; “WOLVERINES!”



But it was in the realm of sport that America experienced its greatest victories against the Evil Empire. Rocky knocked out Ivan Drago in front of his own home crowd in Moscow. In America, Hulkamania ran wild on Nikolai Volkov and the Koloff family’s evil scheme to dominate the NWA was thwarted almost single-handedly by a fat guy in a cowboy hat who went by the nickname “The American Dream.”

Oh, and the U.S. Men’s Olympic Hockey team defeated the Russians in the 1980 Winter Olympics. If shit like that means anything to you.



In those days, drunkenly shouting our country’s initials to fire up an athlete or fake wrestler was perfectly acceptable. It wasn’t rare at all to hear loud chants of U! S! A! U! S! A! as the American basketball team repeatedly dunked over the heads of a group of 5’4” Luxemburgians. More recently, though, such jingoistic displays seem to have fallen out of favor… as the rest of the world hasn’t so much caught up with us, as they have fallen so far behind in everything that truly matters that it just seemed kind of mean.



For a while it was okay to be a United States Citizen and not let every other country know exactly how badly they sucked. We took it for granted. We’re Americans. The rest of you guys suck. It was like saying “the sky is blue.” No reason to even bring it up. But the last few years the rest of the world has gotten so damn pissy, pretending, at least publicly, that we, as Americans, should give a damn about their thoughts, feelings and opinions. Absolutely ridiculous. Who do these foreign bastards think they are? Us?



So, this being the first Olympics since the planet got all uppity, it was time to break out the old classic. Make no mistake, countries of the world, we’ve not forgotten how awesome we are. We’ve just tried to be cool about it. After U.S. figure skater Sasha Cohen completed her short program Wednesday night it happened. Slowly at first, it gained steam and by the time Sasha took her seat to wait for her scores, no one attending or viewing the event could miss the shouts of U! S! A!



That’s right. It’s back. It was like Hulk Hogan had kicked the Iron Sheik in the face with his giant yellow boot all over again. I dabbed a tear as Sasha got her marks and took the lead. In another country, a group of Americans attending the most popular event at the Olympic winter games stuck it right up the planet’s ass. I’ve not been this proud to be an American since Lee Greenwood, on a secret mission to steal back Ronald Reagan’s brain, throat-chopped Mikhail Gorbachev before escaping Leningrad in his jet pack.



In the spirit of Olympic American greatness, we’ll now take a look at our beloved country’s five best and worst performers of the 2006 Winter Olympiad.

The Five Best

5. Hannah Teter. Gold Medalist. Women’s Half Pipe.



Hannah, at 20 years old, isn’t the most famous member of the women’s snowboarding team; Gretchen Bleiler’s tit display in her FHM photo shoot in 2004 made sure of that. What she is, though, is a tough little Vermonter who showed up at Torino with two bad knees. Riders have two runs to get the highest overall score in Olympic snowboarding and, like Shaun White, Hannah won the gold with her first, receiving a 44.6. Gold already in hand, all she did on her second run was land an even higher score, 46.4, effectively winning both first and second place.

4. Shani Davis. Gold Medalist 1000m Speed Skate, Silver Medalist 1500m Speed Skate



Yeah, Shani came off as kind of an ass after publicly feuding with fellow US Speed Skater, Chad Hedrick, but it doesn’t change the history he made at these Olympic Games. Shani was the first black American in history to win a solo gold medal at the Winter Olympics. He then followed that up with a silver medal in the 1,500. He skipped the team pursuit and was criticized for it, because he wanted to be at full strength for the 1,000. He was and he won.

3. Chad Hedrick. Gold Medalist 5000m Speed Skate, Silver Medalist 10000m Speed Skate, Bronze Medalist 1500m Speed Skate



Chad had the chance to make history at this Olympics by winning 5 medals, which I think fueled the problems between him and Shani Davis. While not succeeding in his main goal, Chad still takes home a full collector’s set of medals from the Torino games.

2. Shaun White. Gold Medalist, Men’s Half Pipe. Flying Tomato.



So many times when you follow the Olympics, the odds-on front-runner coming in will find a way to blow his or her chances almost completely. Not Shaun. The prohibitive favorite coming into the games and the uncontested best half pipe snowboarder in the world, all Shaun did at the Torino Olympics was what he was supposed to do. Win the thing. He then used the fame and public platform his Olympic gold brought him to attempt to publicly hook up with the aforementioned American Figure Skating cutie, Sasha Cohen. That, my friends, is how it should be done.

1. Apolo Anton Ohno. Gold Medalist 500m Short Track, Bronze Medalist 1000m Short Track, Bronze Medalist Short Track Team Relay



Apolo exemplifies everything that is right about the Olympics. His love for the games led him to reject the fame and fortune that awaited him after the 2002 Salt Lake games and return instead to the US Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs where he lived and trained for the ’06 games full time. Apolo is the consummate professional athlete and reaped the rewards of his hard work by skating a perfect race in the 500.

Honorable Mention:

Tannith Belbin and Ben Agosto. Silver Medalists Ice Dancing.



Tannith and Ben won the first Ice Dancing medal of any kind for the United States in the last 762 years…or something. But that’s not what’s important here. What is of note is that Tannith, while being one of the best ice dancers in the world, was also, without a doubt, the hottest female athlete at the games. And facts like that should always get special recognition. Tannith, I’m still not convinced what you do is an actual sport, but I’ll gladly watch you do it.

The Five Worst

5. U.S. Men’s Hockey Team. Record 1 win, 4 losses and 1 tie. National Embarrassment.



Of all the sports named after horse shit, hockey has to at least be in the top three or four. You’d think with actual professional hockey players taking the ice there would be a real chance for the USA to win more than one game. You would have been wrong. The US’ four losses came right in a row, too. It’s difficult work to be this inept at something you get paid to do. And for that the US Hockey Team should be commended. It’s hard to be so good at being so bad.


4. Daron Rahlves. Finished 10th in the Downhill, 9th in the Super G and was DNFed the Giant Slalom.



Daron is the most accomplished skier in US history. He just hasn’t accomplished any of it at the Olympics. Rahlves was the favorite in the Downhill before the race and barely managed to crack the top ten. Sadly, this was Rahlves’ third and final Olympic games. The fact that, with all his successes, he never managed to get onto an Olympic podium should keep his therapist in new Porsches for the next decade or so.

3. Johnny Weir. 5th place Men’s Figure Skating.



Johnny is under the mistaken impression that anyone in the world gives a shit that he’s gay. I know. A gay male figure skater? Who could ever imagine that such a thing could even be possible? To be clear, Johnny Weir is THE professional figure skater that isn’t a heterosexual. Like you, my mind is completely blown. Johnny seems to also believe he’s some sort of rebel for designing his girly skating unitards. A gay dude who designs clothes? This is a guy who really plays by his own rules.

Johnny is a three-time US champion and Junior World Champion. While Russia’s Yuvgeny Plushenko had the gold medal in his reach around hand before he even arrived in Torino, Johnny should have owned the silver. Maybe if Weir wasn’t so concerned with how gay he is at any given moment, he could actually perform at his true potential. Johnny, we don’t give a damn. Really. Calm the Hell down.

2. Lindsey Jacobellis. Silver Medalist Women’s Snowboardcross.



The only medalist in the bottom five list, Lindsey has forever earned the distinction as the living example of how to screw yourself out of a gold medal. Coming into the final jump in the Women’s Snowboardcross final, Jacobellis was far ahead of any of the other racers. All she had to do was make it down the hill and she had the gold by about a mile and a half. So what does she do? Pull some stupid snowboard jump-trick on the final hill and bust her ass on a wipe-out. By the time she gets up, Switzerland’s Tanja Freidan, who before Lindsey became the poster child for irony was about two countries behind, passes her and wins the gold. Lindsey gets back on the track and gets the silver as well as an entire nation’s scorn. Now, much like Bill Buckner and Monica Lewinski, Lindsey Jacobellis’ name becomes a new descriptive term for blowing something important.

1. Bode Miller. Finished 5th in the Downhill, DQed in the combined, DNFed the Super G, finished 6th in the Giant Slalom and DNFed the Slalom.




Bode Miller is the defending World Cup Champion, the only American to win it in the last 22 years. He won two silver medals in the 2002 Salt Lake City Games and is probably the most talented Alpine Skier on Planet Earth. Bode was in five events in Torino and was legitimately expected to medal in all five. He failed. Bode is the first to pretend that going 0 for 5 in the Olympics isn’t important, but that’s bullshit. He showed up to the games out of shape and spent his off days getting drunk and trying his best to catch an Italian STD in town. He came to Torino thinking he was going to win. That’s what all his Nike commercials are really saying. Just replace everything that comes out of Bode’s mouth on film with, “Winning isn’t important because I know I’m going to win.” Bode thought he was so much better than every other racer that he could stop working and training as hard as the rest of them. It doesn’t work that way. The truth is, Bode is better than everybody else. Probably lots better. But that doesn’t mean he can put a gold medal run together with a Jack D hangover and a mouth full of oozing Lovecraftian cold sores. Professional athletes have a small window of opportunity to be the best that they can be. In sports, you’re over the hill and spent at 34. To have the gifts and potential that Bode has and not take full advantage of them is just sad to watch.


Dishonorable Mention:

Resi Stiegler. Finished 11th in the Women’s Combined, 12th in Women’s Slalom



Resi doesn’t get a dishonorable mention because she performed below her ability. These spots are actually very good for her. Her problem was that she races with ridiculous little tiger ears glued to her helmet. This is wrong on more levels than I could ever list here. In Resi’s defense, she has been unfairly criticized for wearing a pearl necklace in her Olympic races. Who does that hurt? I see nothing wrong with a young woman enjoying a pearl necklace. Resi should be able to have a pearl necklace whenever she wants.

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25 to Where?

In the Zone Video Game Review
By Adam Greene
02/05/2006

The Game: 25 to Life
Publisher: Eidos
For: PC, X Box and Playstation 2
Rated: M
Website: www.25tolife.com

In approaching my first game review, I wanted to come up with a new kind of ratings system for my final verdict. Doing some half-assed research in the nerd cesspool of video game press, I found that the most popular method of analysis seems to be the ten point scale.

Now, there is some variation here. You have what I like to refer to as the “Sane Human Being Method”, exemplified like so:

“I found the game enjoyable. It did have some problems, but I give it a 7 out of 10,”

This review works. It’s easy to understand and was obviously written by a person who can properly function in society.

The problem is, that’s not what you see most of the time. What you do find is what I like to call “The 45 Year-Old Potential Serial Killer with a Wallet Chain, Splotchy Beard and Aquaman T-shirt Stretched Tight Over a Bulbous Belly and Tucked Into His Black Jeans Approach”, which, frighteningly, looks like this:

“I’m afraid I must give this game’s graphics an 8.2, while the sound gets a 7.5, The controls get a 7.9, while the gameplay receives an 8.3. Finally, for lastability and genre appeal, I’m going to have to give Super Mario Shroomin’ Lemonade Stand a 9,8 for the return to its playful platformer roots, so hard to find in our new obsession with all things HD and 3D.”

A person who would write a review like this is clearly not only a serious danger to himself and those around him, but also anyone who lives within driving distance of his VW van.

A handful of mavericks out there assign stars or point their thumbs up or down, but I say “screw that.” I don’t want to consult some sort of metric star conversion chart to figure out if I need to buy a game and neither do you. Plus, I want to play the damn game. I can’t be shoving and poking my thumbs in every direction. I need them for the controller.

When it comes to video games, here’s what I think about: “Should I buy it, rent it, or skip it.” So that’s going to be my system. It may vary some. I may word it differently, but at the end of the day, you’ll know whether the game designers deserve a pat on the back or a crane kick to the balls.

So let’s do this.



25 to Life is the newest addition to the thug game genre which has grown so crowded of late that it’s fast becoming the American answer to the Japanese big-eyed, whiney, androgynous teenage-boy RPG’s. And it’s almost as disturbing. One of the things that makes video games so successful is that they allow the average person a certain degree of fantasy fulfillment. As a kid, I dreamed about being a Jedi Knight, NFL Superstar, kick ass space marine and jet fighter pilot. You know what I never imagined myself doing? Selling crack or killing a prostitute. Looking at the popularity of these crime based titles, I must have been alone in that.

In story mode, you start out playing Andre “Freeze” Francis who has just returned home after a long day of whipping prostitutes with car antennas and selling rock cocaine. His son Darnell greets him at the door, brimming with pride at all the caps his father has been popping in bustas throughout his workday. His wife, Monica, on the other hand, isn’t quite as enamored with the government housing unit and 20 inch TV purchased from the local pawn shop as her son is. After sharing a kiss, Monica gets angry because she smelled Freeze’s gangsta friend Shaun on his clothes.



Yes. Let me write that again, She SMELLS Shaun. On Freeze’s body.

Now, to this point I could have imagined the life of a hard core drug dealing banger on the corner, and, I have to tell you, somehow getting your friend’s musky stank all over you didn’t really seem like part of the job description. This subplot is never revisited in the game, and we’re only left to wonder about Shaun and Freeze’s love that dare not speak its name.

Thank God.



Monica and her giant breasts demand that Freeze “get out the game.” Which is great advice, not only for him, but for anyone who has made the mistake of purchasing or renting 25 to Life. Freeze meets back up with Shaun and, resisting the urge to make sweaty man love, they cut a deal that will get Freeze “out the game” after one last drug buy. Of course, Shaun sets Freeze up and this is where our own “game” begins.



The genius of Grand Theft Auto’s gameplay is that, while you’re a bad guy, you don’t have to be too bad. You can jack cars, nail prostitutes and set criminals on fire, sure. But, in committing all those felonies, you can still avoid killing innocent people and police officers. Which is a positive thing if, you know, you’re not a sociopath. 25 to Life doesn’t give you those options.

In the opening level, the game forces you to shoot around 472 police officers right in the face. Even worse, as the poor bastards die they’ll say things like “Oh Jesus, please forgive me for all my sins.” Way to hammer home the fact that I’m playing as an evil, murderous piece of shit. Thanks, designers. You could have at least mentioned “This title will make you hate yourself” as a game feature on the box.

Gameplay itself is clunky and unresponsive. Your character runs like he’s been smoking his own product and the aim controls are only passable once you change the default look sensitivity settings. Even then, they take a while to get used to, as you have to forcibly unlearn all the muscle memory you’ve acquired from playing well designed third person shooters like Max Payne, Socom and Hitman.

Which brings me to Eidos, the publisher. They’re the same company that makes Hitman. Was there no way to put Hitman’s engine into this game? The only thing it would have changed, from what I can tell, is that my thug ass murdering idiot couldn’t hop around like a moron while widowing every policeman’s wife within a four state area. Is there a demand for more hopping in third person shooters that I don’t know about? Was somebody playing Super Mario Sunshine one day, thinking, “You know what this game needs? More shotgun blasts to the gonads. I’ve got to find someone who can make this dream happen.”

You’re not stuck playing as Freeze for the entire game. You also get the pleasure of playing as his boyfriend Shaun, who, believe it or not, is an even bigger douchebag. For a brief respite you do get to be Detective Lester Williams and gun down enemies free of guilt. What you can’t do is keep your rookie partner alive or keep his dumb ass from shooting you in the back of the head anytime he’s behind you. The enemy A.I. isn’t any better. Their tactical strategy consists of jogging straight at you until they run out of ammo, then standing out in the open while reloading. To make up for that, though, the designers made each enemy a crack shot from any distance, regardless of the weapon being used. Idiots.



It was while trying out the online play where I had the most fun with the game. Not with any of the mediocre multi-player options, but with the character modifications. You start out with some generic gang and police models, but using the features you unlock while making your way through the story mode, you can create some awesome guys like my Star Spangled Ninja Gangster.




Or my police officer who looked like Kevin Federline dressed up like Chuck Norris for Halloween. I don’t know how I could have been more pleased.



The online games themselves are just gangster riffs on “slayer” and “capture the flag,” all without any of the game controls that make them fun. I took it online on a Saturday night along with plenty of other people who’d made the mistake of buying or renting the game. I played three “wars” and, feeling like I had taken enough abuse for the 9ine team, turned it off for good. Usually getting the opportunity to shoot strangers from all over the world in the neck and upper torso is enough to keep me entertained for an evening. Not this time. Even watching my Kevin Federline/Chuck Norris guy get riddled with bullets couldn’t keep me interested. A fact that, even now, seems almost impossible to believe.

The verdict: No surprise here, Skip It.

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