Monthly Archives: June 2010

Long Live the Vuvuzela

You know what? Stop bitching about the Vuvuzelas. Sweet Merciful Crap is the only site on the internet that supports the Vuvuzela, and do you know why that is? Because every other person on the planet is bitching and moaning about them. It has become eminently fashionable, this summer’s popular way for people to make that friendly, non-threatening stranger blather on a bus or chitchat with a co-worker. “Man, I am enjoying the World Cup, but have you heard those horns? They sound like a swarm of BEES! SOOOOO annoying!” It’s a sure way to find common ground with someone to bring this up, but you have to be a colossal pussy to voice your displeasure with the Vuvuzela; when you find yourself doing so, do realize it means you have nothing better to say.

Everybody else in the world has made the insight that the horns are annoying, why not pile on? That’s just what everybody needs: one more person talking about how they don’t like the horns at the World Cup. RIck Reilly can’t properly convey how much our collective fucking sensibilities are offended by the background noise at a soccer match everybody only watches once every four years. Only whiny French midfielders are expected to bitch about their being too much noise at the world’s biggest sporting event.

Well, you know what? We here at SMC do like the horns. The Vuvuzelas make it sound like something exciting is constantly happening. Who the fuck are you to question another culture’s way of expressing excitement anyway? That’s the kind of attitude that led to colonialism, you low-rent bigot asshole. And besides, you’re telling me if you travelled halfway around the world, were walking into a World Cup match and somebody handed you a giant fucking horn to blow all game long you wouldn’t blow on that horn for 90 minutes? YOU LIE!

All of you shut up. Long live the Vuvuzela.


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Free Hockey!

“And a cursory glance was thrown at the badge…I just can’t imagine the indifference it would take to let you into the press area with that thing at the Western Hemisphere’s biggest sporting event of the night.”

That sporting event just happened to be Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals, and the “badge” (I use the term loosely) was a 4×6 print made at CVS a couple hours before the puck dropped for 58¢. The whole thing snowballed out of a natural urge to get into a Lingerie Football League game a half year ago. Why couldn’t a no-name blogger put together a credential to shill his way into a B-List sporting event? One success there led to a few free parking trips to Citizens Bank Park, and before I knew it I had walked into the press booth to catch a few innings of baseball and gorge on the press buffet.

This was different though. This was the Stanley Cup finals. There is an expression “buy the ticket, take the ride,” but I had no intention of buying a ticket. With face value north of the $250 mark and scalpers commanding twice that, buying a ticket was out of the question. So I donned the “badge” grabbed the biggest lens I could find and grabbed an accomplice to haul a tripod. It’s amazing what one can accomplish with a bit of liquid courage and the right equipment.

Doors one and two were easy, just walked by the real media and arena staff to a corridor where the gatekeeper sat, deciding who to buzz in and who to ask for credentials. Apparently the lens and tripod were credential enough and ten seconds later there we were: in the tunnel under the Wachovia Center watching the Philadelphia Flyers prep for their biggest game in two decades. They were juggling a soccer ball in a circle.

Feeling quite underdressed and undercredentialed, to say the least, it was time to head for the elevators. It was time to take the proverbial ride, which ended in the VIP suite and media level. Giddy like a school girl is an understatement. There I was feet from Jeremy Roenick and Dan Patrick preparing to go live across the country on NBC to begin their coverage of Game 6. Good lord, the Cup is in the building and two jackasses with a tripod a camera and two home made credentials were just waltzing around the place, and nobody thought anything of it.

“Barry—Mr. Melrose, over here!” and I’ll be damned if he didn’t turn and answer. “Mr. Melrose, can I get a picture for the website?” and sure enough Mr. Hockey obliged. This was getting rediculous.

Just how far could this ship sail, I wondered. And soon found out. It didn’t take much to get to the corporate suites with the credentials, and a few pleasantries later we had befriended the MasterCard folks and were enjoying the 1st period in their suite. Somewhere in the middle of the period, the suits wheeled in what appeared to be a cake under a sheet. This was not a cake. It was the Prince of Wales trophy, making its way around the high rollers and posing for photos—don’t mind if we do!

I guess this is where we got a big cocky. Waiting for an elevator during intermission, we got got. Walkie=talkies were chirping and moments later Nurse Ratched of the NHL Media department appeared, and was less than enthusiastic to see the ‘badges’ the tripod and the huge camera. I sensed she was more concerned with the images that I may have captured of game action than she was with how we got there. Under escort we walked to security where she planned to interrogate us.

Sheer instinct takes over at times like that and I fumbled for my phone in my pocket, carefully grabbing the spare memory card as I took out the phone. I managed to swap cards and shoot a few shots in the corridors as we walked. She decided I would have to check the tripod and telephoto lens, but before doing so she demanded to see the images I’d shot. Joke’s on you Ms. Ratched, no game shots on that card, and with that she left us alone.

We wandered the suites and concourses for the rest of the game. Only when the Flyers tied the game in the third could anyone else in the building feel they had gotten what we’d been enjoying all night long—free hockey.

As I watched Lord Stanley’s Cup make it’s way to the ice and booed Gary Bettman I noticed Ms. Ratched there on the ice escorting the “real” press into position to get the shot of Toews hoisting the cup and parading around. I think I was in better position than all of them. The Blackhawks may have had the Cup, but I think we were the real winners that night. Enjoy the whole album here.

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