Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Approximately six months after the two qualifying Sportsbooks, it was back to business as usual..or was it? Sharing the book with a wider audience facilitated an irreversible impetus forward into ever more dangerous territory. I embarked upon the project knowing full well that it had to be bigger, broader, and more fearless. Even a full time job would not slow me down. Say a secular prayer and jump into the deep end, Vicey. Worry not how others (including your colleagues) might react. Simply concentrate on entertaining as many as possible.
I
wouldn’t want to convey the impression that I am either especially courageous
or someone who lacks social tact. I’ve deactivated my Facebook profile when
real or potential employment demanded it. I’ll bite my lip and not even attempt
to be humorous in the presence of those with whom I interact professionally.
What makes most any occupation difficult (and, more topically, why I refuse to
believe a stay-at-home mother has a “job”) concerns the energy one must
constantly expend restraining and censoring oneself. Mind your face. No one
must know that you’re feeling lousy, stressed, or frustrated. They’ll use that
against you. Choose your words carefully. Even the tamest of jokes or a remark
that utilizes erudite vocabulary will offend someone. If you try to strike up
an innocent conversation you might be accused of being “too friendly”. Should
you simply nod, keep your head down and do the work with which you were charged
you’ll be labeled “too standoffish”.
We all
must trudge into an office of some sort for a minimum of eight hours every day.
These intervals can often be the loneliest experiences of all, dominated by the
fear that anything you say or do can potentially be used against you by a cutthroat,
bloodthirsty band of individuals eager to blame someone else for the fact that
they’re uncomfortable in their own skin. How to deal with such petty nonsense
in the work environment?
The
most commonly exercised solution appears to be to clique-up with a few
co-workers and spend hours bitching shallowly and gossiping about the rest of
the crew. What an imbecilic waste of an otherwise good life. Some attempt to
apply existential philosophy to the grind….with mixed results. Alain de
Botton’s “On the Pleasures and Sorrows of Work” is a delightfully thoughtful
look into how even accountants can manage to live a richly rewarding life. Todd
Buchholz’s “Rush: Why you Need and Love the Rat Race” is a self-aggrandizing
worthless twit’s attempt to take a shit on the keyboard and make an obscene
amount of money from it. As for myself, my preferred approach is to choose not
to be afraid and focus intently on producing the highest quality of work I find
myself situationally capable of. I regret to report, however, that this
otherwise practical procedure has never been enough to lead to any success. Not
even close. Not even once. As the ancient Roman philosopher Seneca once
remarked, just assume the world is against you. It’ll save you a great deal of
grief.
Contrary
to what that sac-less shithead Buchholz would have you believe, none of us
“need” the rat race. We’d all be happier quietly competing against ourselves.
We'd improve more efficaciously as well. And what of the luxury of being
oneself? What of the life-sustaining redemption that comes from sharing a
genuine laugh with friends, bonding over a book that you immensely enjoyed, or
swapping stories of the year gone by? Well, it that respect I’m the luckiest
man alive. Perhaps the world isn’t against me after all. Thank you, syndicate
members. You’re the only angels an Atheist will ever believe in.
One
may think that the opulence and sumptuous comfort of 2006 made it the most
glorious of the Sportsbooks. Nothing could be further from the truth. 2010 was
by far the most fun, by a factor of at least thirty. The gratitude mentions
must be begun at random as no soul could possibly find a place to begin. Thanks
to my hardcore BR Brothers. Thanks DW, Mr. Frank, D-ray, Wook, P-Allay, Charlie, Johnny, AW, P, and Sunshine.
Thanks to a few Br sisters who threw in a comment or two. Carolina, Eli, Jenny,
and Shir. Thanks to my Mizzou mates who came followed and even came to watch a
few games. Thanks D-Sipe, Steve-o, Malik, Doc. Shwe, Ed, Greg, Fatima, Donna,
Dougie, Brenda and Brewski. Thanks to all THREE cohorts of my international
friends. Thanks to every single one of you from the 2001 sojourn. Thanks to all
those transplant Berliners from 07-08. Thanks to the Karlsruhe Krew Mike,
Chris, Christine, Charlotte, Holger, Katherine, and Wolf. I can’t wait to see
you all. Last but not least, thanks to the final cohort: My Monterrey Mates.
Thanks to Reed, Fonsi, Mamen, Lefteris, Mario, Ring, Loba, Max, Theo, Margo,
Andy, Steve, Kyle, Julie, Wendy, and Seth. We may lead radically different
lives, but I assure you I think of you often, reflecting with great pride what
amazing people you are. Things might have worked out differently, but you’ll
never be erased from my heart.
If I
neglected to mention anyone by name, I promise that it is merely because
necessity dictates that we move forward with some pace until we reach the
present. I cannot devote the time to these 1200+ pages of dated content that
would give us full inclusion. I barely have enough time to re-format all these
pages. Should you find yourself hurt that your name did not pop up, I invite
you to write me. Those who know me best can attest to the fact that I never
leave an e-mail unanswered. I’ll prove to you that I remember you with clarity
that will astound you.
Let
2010 commence. Your friendly bookie has matured. Hell, even these retroactive
notes have matured. Welcome one and all to my favorite of all the books. All
the love.
Greetings Stateside Syndicate Members (who are increasing
fanning out all over the globe),
For the fifth time in the past eight years, a momentous
sporting event necessitates that we stop pretending we’ve grown into
responsible adult men, and commence hurling ethnic slurs at one another,
inventing obscene phrases, and backing it all up with whatever currency we
happen to be trading in. Your bookie welcomes you back for yet another
month-long international adventure. Four weeks, sixty three matches, and as
much cash at stake as you wish. Let the biennial tradition continue. Let’s get
together and feel all right… J J
Introduction—A special rant for all of the both Facebook
readers
What? No baroque introduction Vicey? No eighteen-part
diatribe on tariff quotas or some other obscure issue that irritated you in
last quarter’s “Northern European Trade Review”? No worries, the eccentric,
obsessive keyboard thumper hasn’t gone anywhere. This crazed screwball still
delights in writing long treatise no one can ever manage to get through, and
still does so just for the sheer unadulterated hell of it.
Still, we’ll give it a miss on Facebook for purely practical
reasons. Treasured long-time syndicate members can print out the trademark
World Cup Tomes (using entire trees in the process) while the casual Facebook
reader may care to place a bet or two. (Pause for collective sigh of relief).
You’re welcome everyone! Hopefully, your fascination with football won’t end
after this tournament.
Being on Facebook, however, it somehow feels right to rant
about something. Hmmmm….Why an abridged Facebook version? Well, certainly not
because I’m too timid to showcase a twisted sense of humor and the occasional
fondness for profane poor taste jokes. NOTE TO FACEBOOK USERS: Stop whining
about your privacy being violated. You elected to build a profile-based shrine
to yourself. Deal with the consequences.
This applies to everyone beyond this website. There is far
too illegitimate outcry over this issue in the world today. Let’s get it
together people. My mates in Berlin moan that sharing Bank Data with the U.S. means
that (gasp) Washington might know that they drank a few liters of beer in
Wedding yesterday. My female friends express anxiety that a photo of them
holding a Bud Light Golden Wheat will somehow invalidate the fact that they are
eminently qualified and make their boss deem them a drunken slut. All across
the country, enraged dip-shits are dead certain a census worker asking for
their name and birthday is part of a government conspiracy to find the
combination on their luggage.
It’s one thing to have a job that mandates security
clearances (as some might) or live in one of the world’s remaining police
states (as others do). My quarrel is with those insignificant losers who act as
if they have a STASI File. Will you people chill the hell out? The amount of
data in the world today means Big Brother has to be fairly focused on the OSINT
end. To that effect, no one gives a hemorrhaging fuck about you or that time in
college you elected to pose with that bong. Moreover, I sincerely doubt the
government is going to use your daughter’s birthday to do….whatever the hell
you are afraid of. (Send her a present presumably).
The truly pathetic reason behind this wave of non-Civil
Liberties unrest is the lamentable fact that most people consider themselves
pretty important: significant enough to be spied on. Even if they’re not
excessively paranoid, most people tend to vastly over-estimate how much others
think of them. Study after study confirms you over-assume your place in other
people’s head. Allow me to demonstrate my confidence that maybe one person is
reading this: You’re not important. Anyone can find out about you anytime, but
people have neither the time nor the interest. Too few people seem to
comprehend how truly enormous and complex this world is and what an infinitely
insignificant sub-atomic nothing they are. Have some sense of proportion, and a
little humility as well.
Now that we’ve all established what small, insignificant
creatures we are, shall we all be ourselves and have a little fun while we’re still
alive. I’ll get us started:
FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCK! Fired up?
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
To
briefly bookend the opening theme, time to once again touch on the privilege of
being a loser. Were I someone of great import with a prestigious position, I
would only be able to express my views when everyone was too drunk to remember.
Thankfully, I’m one of the least significant people on this planet. I may thus
shoot from the hip, occasionally speaking to you directly from the heart. Life
is good.
