Friday, February 26, 2010

Unrealistic Movie Scene (Basic Instinct Edition)

In Basic Instinct, Sharon Stone beat a murder rap by exposing her vagina to the guy who played Newman...and yet, that's nowhere near the most unrealistic scene in that incredibly dated film.

Nope. Not even close.

The most unrealistic scene in the movie is when Sharon Stone (whose character probably has a name) uses an ice pick and a giant block of ice as a way of creating miniature ice blocks to place in boozy drinks for herself and Michael Douglas. Hear me out...

Remember, Sharon Stone's character was rich. She was a well-known author living in a freaking palace. And it was 1992! Why in the hell was she still using an ice pick? Ever heard of an ice-maker? Or even ice trays? Nothing about using an ice pick appears even remotely convenient, and unless she can use an ice pick to make Wendy's-style ice cubes (or Rally's), which I doubt, I can't find a good reason for a rich person in 1992 using an ice pick.


I can't find a good video of the scene in question, but it does appear at the 1:19 mark of the trailer. Enjoy:

Exposed vagina or not, this movie is stupid.

-Brad Spieser (

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

UC's Still On The Bubble? Really?

Does anyone else think it's comical that (ESPN bracketologist) Joe Lunardi's current projections have UC among the first four teams to miss the NCAA tournament?

This is not to suggest that Joe Lunardi is an idiot; in fact, I'm pretty sure quite the opposite is true. ESPN employs one bracketologist -- only one -- and Lunardi is their man. He gets paid to be bloody accurate when projecting each year's tourney. So, anyway, Lunardi is just doing his job. And if he places UC very much in contention for an at-large bid, I believe him. I need you to know that.

I need him to know that.

I believe you, Joe Lunardi. Really, I do.

What I find comical is why UC remains in contention. The Fighting Cincinnati Bearcats are in contention, essentially, because they defeated Maryland and Vanderbilt on a neutral floor (in Maui).

This happened before Thanksgiving.

Vanderbilt and Maryland have improved dramatically since the Maui Invitational (especially Vandy), while UC has quite obviously regressed.

What was true then -- UC being better than Vandy and Maryland -- is nowehere near true now. But this isn't about Maryland or Vanderbilt. This is about UC laughingly receiving consideration due to its body of work.

This is not a tournament-worthy team.

If this team displayed the type of passion they did in those Maui wins -- or even the passion displayed in devastating losses to Xavier, Gonzaga and Pitt (all played more than six weeks ago) -- I'd still argue for UC's inclusion into the tournament.

But I can't. This is a hard team to argue for. Aside from a win at UConn against the enigmatic Huskies, these Bearcats have been an embarrassing mess on the road. It's not the losses that kill me; it's the consistent inability to stay in games when things aren't going their way. I see no fight in them. The Notre Dame and South Florida blowouts were particularly disturbing. That crap you hear every season about controlling your own destiny was true about these Bearcats (it still is, technically, but let's be serious), and on recent trips to South Bend and Tampa -- with absolutely everything on the line, facing teams with less overall talent -- they laid eggs.

Huggins wouldn't have let this happen. His teams always dug a little deeper. He gave them no other choice.

Do I think Cronin deserves 100 percent of the blame for this? You betcha.

Do I want to see the little guy fired? My answer is on the way.

-Brad Spieser (

Friday, February 19, 2010

Catching Up: Part Deux (Danica Patrick and Juan Pablo Montoya)

I'm almost positive the Daytona 500 was last weekend, but I could be wrong. Either way, that got me thinking about my lone experience at a NASCAR event.

I went to Talledega just a few years ago (documented here, here and here, and immortalized in five different podcasts), and in just three days I witnessed more racism, sexism and overall white male stupidity than I've witnessed in my 29 years on the planet -- and I'm very white, very male and very stupid.

NASCAR events -- especially in the south, I presume -- are still 99 percent white and 85 percent male. Nobody is wearing shirts, the Confederate flag is everywhere and it's not terribly difficult to overhear a few hundred N-Bombs on an average race weekend.

The typical race fan may have evolved slightly since the days of Cale Yarborough and Donnie Allison, but not at the rate of the rest of civilization. For example: I spent an entire day in Talledega wearing a sleeveless, "FUCK YALL I'M FROM ALABAMA" T-shirt (in Confederate flag lettering) and every idiot down there thought it was the greatest piece of clothing ever designed. Not a single person down there could have imagined I was mocking them. I would say irony was lost on them, but I'm pretty sure they don't know what irony is.

Trust me when I say that NASCAR Fan 2K10 is not the poster child for progress.

That being the case, I'm praying like crazy -- and if there is a God, please answer me this one time -- that Danica Patrick and Juan Pablo Montoya finish in the top two in every race from now until the end of eternity.

And by "the end of eternity," I mean until it bankrupts NASCAR, which, by my calculations, would take less than eighteen months.

Don't let me down, Catholicism!

-Brad Spieser (

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Catching Up: Part One (Haiti Earthquake/Mr. Polynice's Nose Edition)

Ok, so you haven't heard from me in 67 days. Sixty-seven days. That's like, a really long time, or whatever. Since the last time we saw each other I've (a.) moved to Vegas, (b.) witnessed the birth of my fourth son (Darren, obviously), (c.) slapped a woman for making fun of my pants and (d.) partied with Better than Ezra's first drummer!

That's a remarkable stretch, all things considered. Except it's not true. Well, other than the part about moving to Vegas it's not. But I did move to Vegas. That definitely happened. In fact, I'm here now. I drove 28 goddamn hours in my brilliant 1998 Dodge Intrepid to get to this place, and I can tell you with absolute certainty, I'm not sure it was worth it. But we'll see. I'll fill you in on the gory details over the following months -- or maybe I won't; I suck at keeping promises. What I do promise, I think, is that I'll play catch-up on the topics that came and went in my two-months-and-change sabbatical. And if you've been a regular reader of mine, you know how this works: Just because I'm a maniacal sports fan with endless opinions on major events (e.g., Super Bowl, Final Four, etc.) doesn't guarantee I'll actually get around to commenting on them. I'd like to, but sometimes life (and laziness) get in the way. But I'll undoubtedly get around to the topics that had me laughing uncontrollably or pissed off for days over these last 1,604 hours.

Which leads me to my first post since December 9, 2009...

Quick, what's the first thing that pops into your head when you think about the Haiti earthquake? Olden Polynice's dad's gigantic nose, right?

Or, maybe that's just me. Explain.

When I think about one of the greatest tragedies to strike Latin America this decade, I don't think about lives lost or heroic efforts, I think about the man who had sex with Mrs. Polynice 45 years ago. And why? Because Olden Polynice is Haitian, as is the rest of his family. This made the former Sonic/Clipper/Piston/King/Sonic/Jazz/Clipper relevant last month. This meant that he appeared with Dr. Phil on Dr. Phil's TV show, Dr. Phil, and made said appearance as his dad -- who hadn't had contact with Olden since the quake -- surprised him on set for the world to see.

It may have been a touching moment; I honestly can't remember. Just one look at Mr. Polynice's nose and I was out for the count. It felt like Brutus the Barber Beefcake had given me the sleeper hold again. Anyway, see for yourself. Watch this video and tell me if you've ever seen anything quite as mesmerizing as Mr. Polynice's massive nose:

Glad to be back, boys and girls. Glad to be back. And if you'll allow me a moment to be sappy, I'd like to thank all the readers who emailed me since I stepped away. It will never cease amazing me that I've connected with strangers to the point that time is taken out of their day to not only check my sporadically-updated website, but email me their thoughts. Thank you, thank you.

-Brad Spieser (