Champions League: Round of 16, Preview 1

Cue the pomp! Cue the circumstance! Cue the Heineken and the parachute-using, Whiplash-drumming of that Ruud van Nistelrooy look-alike! And figure out how the hell you will cue FoxSports1 or FoxSoccer2Go, because the UEFA Champions League returns this week! Sixteen teams have advanced from the group stages, with a few surprise clubs joining the usual cast of European characters. Eight head-to-head matchups await, some of which promise to be full of intrigue, some of which probably will not be full of intrigue, and some of which smell a little match-fixy (three rematches? Fancy me suspicious), but will be worth watching regardless.

To celebrate, I’ll be doing brief previews of the matchups, and recaps for the games I am able to watch. I can only watch one game a day, so I will inevitably pick the wrong one to watch and write about. Apologies in advance, but that is just how it is going to be.

Paris Saint-Germain v. Chelsea
Tuesday Feb. 17, 2:45 ET

The first of the knockout round rematches (get used to this narrative) pits Ligue 1 giants (and European elite wannabees) PSG against Chelsea, leaders in the Premier League and, until their 4-2 disembowelment by Bradford FC (!!!) in the FA Cup, strong contenders for four trophies this year. Nevertheless, Chelsea’s attention was always going to be turned to the league and the UCL, and they face PSG at quite an unfortunate time for the Parisians. Despite their steep payroll and team of stars, PSG hasn’t been able to gel all season, instead relying on the brilliance of Zlatan to earn them points, which for the most part he has been able to do.

But for such an expensively assembled team to be so top heavy, you have to wonder if Chelsea will plan on trying to stifle Zlatan in order to force the rest of the team to get more involved. And who will that be, you ask? Well, it’s a bit hard to say considering four players were injured this past weekend, on top of preexisting injuries. When you’ve got names like Cabaye, Marquinhos, Lucas Moura, Pastore, Matuidi, and Thiago Motta on the shelf, that has got to be a mental blow (and if you don't know those names, know that they are all rather useful, some vital). 

Yet with Zlatan, Cavani, and Thiago Silva all healthy, there is no reason to write PSG off yet, although Chelsea probably like their chances. This one could be thrilling (see PSG’s 3-2 win over Barcelona in the group stages) or a dud depending on how Chelsea approach it. No style points for all the methodical 2-0 wins the Blues have gotten in the league this year, but Mourinho shouldn’t care as long as his team progresses.

Shakhtar Donetsk v. Bayern Munich
Tuesday Feb. 17, 2:45 ET

Ukrainian powerhouse Shakhtar Donetsk get the “pleasure” of hosting Bayern Munich at “home” in the first leg. I say pleasure and home facetiously because the conflict in Ukraine has forced Shakhtar to relocate across the country. Not much of a home field advantage, that. 

Of the non-Big-5 European teams that make the UCL, Shakhtar seem to do pretty well. They can provide the elite teams with a challenge, although they probably wish they weren’t facing big, bad Bayern, who themselves are fresh off an 8-0 romp over hapless Hamburg. Bayern needed a boost going into this round, and they certainly got it with that win. They have depth for days, with quality players at every position. Even with the injuries they are dealing with, an offense boasting the likes of Lewandowski, Götze, Müller, Ribery, and an incredibly in-form Robben, must make Bayern feel confident going into this game.

Two weeks ago Wolfsburg showed the rest of Europe how to beat Bayern: absorb wave after wave of offensive pressure, and counter attack like mad by using speed to overmatch the excellent but not quick (and maybe not working well together) Xabi Alonso and Bastian Schweinsteiger. A repeat of that 4-1 game is extremely unlikely, but at least we know its possible to beat Bayern. Whether Shakhtar possess the ability to do the same remains to be seen. Maybe don’t bet on it, but if they can pull off a shock result, it’ll be a sight to behold.

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Tomorrow I'll have a recap of whichever of these two games has a better stream (meaning I can actually watch it, thanks Fox) and I'll be previewing Wednesday's matchups of Schalke v. Real Madrid and Basel v. Porto. 

Becoming "The Greatest Generation," with The Wonder Years

View image | gettyimages.com

“I don’t want to take anything away and say they weren’t great, but I think it’s kind of fucked up saying that’s the greatest it can get and we’re okay with being who we are and just trying to get by.” 

-Dan Campbell (The Wonder Years), 

 when asked how his generation is portrayed in the media

From February 6-8, The Wonder Years played three 10^th Anniversary shows, one for each of their last three albums: The Upsides, Suburbia I’ve Given You All, and The Greatest Generation. During the final show on Sunday, the band will performed The Greatest Generation in its entirety, and I was in attendance.  The Greatest Generation is an album that, since it was released, was remained among my most listened to, and one of the only constant CDs I keep in my car. To celebrate the anniversary concerts (specifically the final one) I’ve decided to reexamine The Wonder Years’ fourth album, partly to see why it resonated with fans so much, and partly to try and explain my own obsession with it. 

Let’s start with the title, shall we? The Greatest Generation is lifted from Tom Brokaw’s 1998 book The Greatest Generation. Brokaw wrote his book to honor the men and women that grew up during the Great Depression, fought in World War II and have made invaluable contributions to society. Brokaw dubbed these men and women – the “they” in Campbell’s above quote – “the greatest generation any society has produced.” The “we” in Campbell’s quote is his own generation, my generation, and possibly yours as well: the Millennial generation. By calling their album The Greatest Generation The Wonder Years assert that Brokaw’s book holds a generational relevancy to young adults in their mid-twenties. The relevancy is that because of “the greatest generation,” and the supposed impossibility of matching their accomplishments, the Millennial generation is unmotivated and “have become content with mediocrity.”

You’d be right to call The Greatest Generation a concept album. Every aspect of it contributes to its message of striving to be a better person, a better generation, starting with the album art. Visually, the album gives us clues to its intentions before we even hear the first track. To further the “greatest generation” motif, the album cover features a black and white photograph of a young World War II soldier cropped in front of a drawing of a devil. The symbolism is straightforward – no points for correctly guessing that this is “The Devil in My Bloodstream” that plagues Campbell later. Inside the cover, the liner notes are littered with old photos of members of the greatest generation. These people are not the band members’ families – just old timey, black-and-white photos from thrift stores – nor do they need to be. The people could be anyone; here they represent everyone. Transposed over the black-and-white photos are visual motifs that show up in the song lyrics: blackbirds fly above a family (“The Devil in My Bloodstream”), bombs are pointed at a group of youths (“An American Religion FSF”), a devil joins a couple holding a pistol (duh), bombs in the shape of pills and prescription containers rain onto a group (“Dismantling Summer”), and a ghost lurks behind a young girl (“Passing Through a Screen Door”). The illustrations are ironic, they are the maladies that haunt Campbell’s generation, the personal struggles that show up in his lyrics. Only now they are drawn onto photographs of the greatest generation so they can feel how Campbell feels. It’s a clever role reversal.

The inside flap is where The Wonder Years state their goals for the album: “We’re sick of settling for good. We’re sick of calling someone else the greatest. It’s our turn to shape the world. This is our chance to push through the challenges and the setbacks and define ourselves.” Important to note: The Wonder Years are not out to slight the World War II generation. The band does not want to take away from that generation’s accomplishments. The Greatest Generation (the album) is, however, out to explain that the moniker of “the greatest generation” is problematic. The Wonder Years believe that their generation has been stagnated by pressure to match the other’s achievements. In many cases, like in “Passing” or “Funeral,” the lyrics reflect The Wonders Years’ hope that it is not too late for Millennials to change. When asked about the goals of the album, Campbell responds: “the idea of the record is that we should be striving to be the greatest generation and we should stop the battles with ourselves, and we should start pushing to be the people we wanted to be as we grew up.” How many of had dreams of growing up to be famous, or the best *insert your chosen career here* in your field? Probably almost everyone, because those dreams are essential to being young and exuberant. But just because I didn’t grow up to play a professional sport does not mean I have failed. What it means is that I need to fill that void with another goal, a goal that I might achieve this time. Striving to be great and actually earning the title are two different things, but only by hoping to be the best, not second best, can our generation overcome personal battles. Campbell sees (t)his generation as people whose dreams have been obliterated by the paralyzing realities of growing up and needing to do something with their lives. When it gets hard to figure out what that something is, we begin personal battles with depression and fear. Not the battles of a World War, but a different type of war. A war with one’s self.

That took a rather dark turn, didn’t it? I should apologize, but these are the stakes of The Greatest Generation and why it is so much more than just a catchy pop-punk record. The Wonder Years have long had a peculiar fascination with the generational. On Suburbia, Campbell opens and closes with allusions to figures from previous generations. On “Came Out Swinging” he calls he and his bandmates “this generation’s Morgan Spurlock.” On “And Now I’m Nothing” he sings “I had dreams of being the Allen Ginsberg of my generation without the talent, madness, or vision.” Each role comes with a caveat, however. In fact, all his comparisons on Suburbia come with caveats. He “won’t admit defeat,” implying to Spurlock was defeated by his challenge, but Campbell is determined to succeed. Later, he wants to be Ginsberg, but he is “without the talent, madness, or vision,” leading him to believe “it’s looking hopeless.” Welp. Talking about hitting the nail on the head; The universality of that sentiment nicely sets up The Greatest Generation, which references Brokaw’s The Greatest Generation to argue that putting such a label on one generation makes following generations feel inadequate, which leads to fear of failure and complacency. A generational malaise, if you will. But The Greatest Generation (the album) is more than just a pouty record about young adults in the 21^st century. The Wonder Years make real attempts to reconcile with their malaise. Because of that, maybe you did, too.

Time to turn to the songs. We’ll start with “Passing Through a Screen Door,” a song that, at its core, is about not having a fucking clue what you are doing in your mid-twenties and being worried by this. Oh, and in addition to wandering aimlessly through life, you’ve got the pressure of meeting the expectations of your elders. When Campbell sings “I’m conjuring ghosts on a forty hour ride home. / And they keep asking me what I’m doing with my life, / While my cousins go to bed with their wives. / I’m feeling like I’m falling behind” he imagines the ghosts of either dead family members or other members of “the greatest generation” asking him what he has accomplished with his life. As he “conjures ghosts” he also conjures expectations for himself. When will he get married? Compared to his cousins, he is “falling behind.” If being unmarried means “falling behind,” marriage would then be a means of “getting ahead,” an indicator of having grown up and become an adult.

Writing this album at 26, Campbell was almost ten years older than some of the couples in Brokaw’s book, yet he feels like less of an adult because he is afraid of marriage: “What they say about stability / It scares me sometimes.” By the end, Campbell realizes that he has been avoiding marriage when everyone else in his age group has embraced it. During the emotional climax of the song, Campbell screams “Jesus Christ. I’m 26. / All the people I graduated with / All have kids, all have wives, / All have people who care if they come home at night. / Jesus Christ - did I fuck up?” By not marrying by 26, has he missed his chance? Obviously this question confronts drastically different problems between this generation of people in their mid-to-late twenties and Brokaw’s greatest generation. At 26, Brokaw’s subjects had already grown up during the Great Depression, had gotten married, and were fighting in World War II. Brokaw’s subjects “answered the call to help save the world from the two most powerful and ruthless military machines ever assembled.” What call is ours to answer?

In many cases the call is death. Well, that’s not much of a call, but death rears its ugly head all over The Greatest Generation, specifically on “Dismantling Summer.” To start, Campbell’s grandfather is sick and ailing, and he remembers taking care of him: “I’m filling your prescriptions / The orange bottles stare me down. They are standing at attention. / An army on your windowsill.” Campbell compares the prescription bottles to soldiers: standing at attention refers to the military posture of standing upright with your arms at your side with little body movement. The bottles copy the soldier’s perfect, vertical posture, implying that his grandfather served as a soldier. Later in life, The Wonder Years’ touring displaces Campbell from his sick grandfather: “If I'm in an airport / And you're in a hospital bed / Well, then, what kind of man does that make me?” It is a shame-on-me moment, but it’s also a moment many young adults encounter. When my grandfather was ailing last year, I was ten hours away at school while he stayed bedridden. My first-hand experience says it sucks not being there. “Dismantling Summer” may be very personal for Campbell, but its message is pervasive.

Again, we are veering into pessimistic territory, but The Greatest Generation is more than a woe-is-me album. As the album moves along, we make progress, starting with “The Devil in MyBloodstream’s” final lines of “I want to be strong, but it’s not easy anymore.” But if “Devil” is the start of getting better, “I Just Want to Sell Out My Funeral” is the conclusion. Do you think it is a coincidence that the album opens with Campbell making apologies and excuses (“I’m awkward and nervous”) on “There, There,” and closes with “Funeral” and his saying fuck making excuses and just let it be? The closer is a “slideshow song,” borrowing lyrics from previous songs to thematically and lyrically encapsulate the generational malaise scattered throughout the album. Take a look at this first verse: “I spent my life weighed down by a stone heart, / Drowning in irony and settling for anything. / Somewhere down the line all the wiring went faulty. / I'm scared shitless of failure and I'm staring out at where I wanna be.” We get the failure to love, like on “Passing Through a Screen Door.” Settling for anything is reminiscent of “We Could Die Like This.” Did anyone take him seriously when he says “I want to die in the suburbs?” I sure didn’t, not when he’ll die of a “heart attack shoveling snow all alone.” Sounds terrible. Sounds like you can do better.

Lest we forget, “Funeral” is about making progress, and nothing indicates progress more than the album’s final verse. The coda mixes new and recycled lyrics from earlier on the album to demonstrate Campbell finally moving away from his complacency and his depression:

Two blackbirds on a highway sign

Are laughing at me here with my wings clipped. 
I'm staring up at the sky but the bombs keep fucking falling. 
There's no devil on my shoulder;

He's got a rocking chair on my front porch but I won't let him in. 
No, I won't let him in;

'Cause I'm sick of seeing ghosts and I know how it's all gonna end. 
There's no triumph waiting; there's no sunset to ride off in.
We all want to be great men and there's nothing romantic about it.
I just want to know that I did all I could with what I was given.

All of the album’s visual motifs are here, from the blackbirds to the bombs, to the devil to the ghosts. Only this time the devil and ghosts, the depression, the fear of failure and the weight of expectation, are all outsiders. “I won’t let him in” could be a call-to-arms akin to “I’m not sad anymore,” a signal of overcoming your “devil.” By closing with “We all want to be great men and there’s nothing romantic about it” the song is saying that wanting to be better, to overcome depression or disillusionment, should be an inherent desire in everyone. The desire to improve need not be considered fanciful, but a fundamental part of living. It’s anthemic, it’s exhilarating, and it was incredible hearing this verse live in a crowd full of people; people who believe that it is indeed their time to be great, that, yes, we are tired of settling for good. Will it be easy? No, but it never was, not for our grandparents’ generation, or our parents’ generation, and it won’t be for our generation either. But The Greatest Generation tells us we can do it. 

The Kid From Yesterday

In 2014, Gerard Way released his nostalgic, alt-rock, throwback solo album, and it is terrific.

Here is a backhanded compliment: the first time I heard "Millions," the fifth song on Gerard Way's debut solo album Hesitant Alien, I thought it was a rip-off.

I thought this because Way, the former lead singer and songwriter for My Chemical Romance, has infused the song's 3:28 runtime with an unmistakably Britpop tone, where the drums provide a basic, stomp-your-foot back beat, and the guitar plays a neat lick before fuzz-layered, distorted vocals finally enter. Even if you are only marginally acquainted with Britpop, you might think you've heard something like it in an Oasis or Blur song. You probably have. 

Released in September, Hesitant Alien is Way's first musical endeavor since he posted the breakup letter for his old band in March 2013. The breakup wasn't predicated by internal strife or scandal, and although Way never made it entirely clear why he ended the band, he told his fans "when it's time, we stop." It seemed for Way that ending MCR was always inevitable, but something that would happen naturally. He pointed no figures in his essay, reassuring fans, "this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not." I think Way always knew it, even if the other members of the band never did. MCR really was Way's musical vehicle, and if the vehicle was running on fumes, Way would be the first to call it quits. 

Towards the end of his essay, Way provides an anecdote about his desire to start a band back in 2001. Sitting in his parent's basement, he picked up his old 90's Stratocaster and started playing the chords to the first MCR song he would write, "Skylines and Turnstiles." Thinking about that guitar now, Way writes: "He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say."

What it has to say, it seems, is Hesitant Alien, the stripped-down, restrained, nostalgic-as-hell, yet very satisfying first release from his solo career.  

In the buildup to the release of Hesitant Alien, Way often referenced his desire to return to the music he listened to in his youth, before he formed My Chemical Romance. Most notably, he waxed poetic about his old Britpop records and his desire to make those types of songs again. Never mind the fact that his audience, his old MCRmy, probably never listened to Britpop and neither have today’s teenagers. But listen to “Millions” or “No Shows,” the album’s first two singles, and it sounds like Way’s imitation-as-inspiration technique worked: both songs make you bob your head and jump, without asking you to start a mosh pit or scream until you are blue in the mouth. Catchy, but not stadium-sized, which seems pretty important to Way this time around. He's lowered the stakes without lowering the quality of his songwriting. 

Way called “No Shows” the most important song on the album. Above all the others, this song is Way showcasing his new artistic direction. It does not have the manic pace of MCR's singles, and he incorporates horns into the song's instrumentation, showing his willingness to experiment. His confidence has not drained - after all, he had enough bravado to promote his solo album as a goddamn Britpop homage - but he’s reeled it in, from both the theatrical The Black Parade and the underrated, but still explosive Danger Days, MCR’s final studio album.

Let’s talk about that final album for a quick minute. Danger Days saw the band moving away from the need for a complete “narrative.” The Black Parade had cancer patients and skeleton costumes, and all the rigmarole was a means of connecting with MCR’s fans and making the album and band feel larger than life. Danger Days doesn't abandon the idea of narrative, but it's not all encompassing. Sure, the album was loosely built around a group of characters, the Killjoys, but two of them “die” by the middle of the album. Poof. Gone, without consequence. And the songs we get on that album were unlike anything the band had made before. “Planetary (GO!)” is the band’s addicting take on dance-rock, “Sing” was, as you can guess, a sing-along anthem, but it traded speed for a crushing mid-tempo rhythm section. “Vampire Money” is fast and punky and not that far removed from the band’s earlier material except it is not even the least bit dark. In fact, it's tongue-in-cheek and fun. Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge didn't let you come up for air for 40 minutes. On Danger Days you can breath a little, and also hear the joy Way and the rest of the band felt when recording these songs. You can hear it on Hesitant Alien, too.  

Why am I bringing up Danger Days other than to say I really, really like it? Well, if you are trying to find inspiration for Hesitant Alien in Way’s old band, you won’t get very far, except maybe you can you quitter, look with more than your eyes for God’s sake. If you've never heard “S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W” or “Summertime,” start there. Neither song sounds like typical MCR. Certainly not “S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W,” with it’s walking pace and arena rock solo. And “Summertime” just sounds… happy. This is not to say that Dangers Day was devoid of over the top moments - it goes over the top, it goes over the top quite often - but the album is also notable for the moments of restraint coming from a band that seemingly had none. Danger Days was MCR's last studio album release, but they did put out a series of double A-sides that form Conventional Weapons, a compilation album made up of material that didn't make it onto that final album. It's all very Detroit garage-rock. Between the two releases, you can hear the band moving away from the pomp and circumstance of The Black Parade. Lyrically and musically (and promotionally), the band trade darkness for light, and Hesitant Alien completes the transition.

Way’s recent releases are, in his own words, heavily influenced by older music. For The Black Parade and Danger Days it was small parts 70’s psychedelia and large parts 80’s glam rock; Hesitant Alien references not only Britpop, but dips its toe in the waters of other 90s heavyweights. “Zero Zero” is Way practically writing his way onto The Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, what with its repeated chorus and sludgy bassline. “Juarez,” too, sounds like something Billy Corgan might have written before he kicked everyone out of his solo project band and somehow became even more delusional than anyone ever thought he could be.

The lyrics are reminiscent of other 90's acts. We'll use Blur and Pulp for this example, because of how well Way conveys the same mundaneness of everyday life those bands wrote about. Lines like “It’s not your disappointed sigh / It’s not you traded this for pride / Not that we really even mind / We’re just bored you’re still alive” in “How It’s Going to Be” or “Remember when you and I would make things up? / So many nights, just take me down to the place we would hear them play / I miss that sound” in “Brother” don’t depict very complicated lives, they depict everyday problems in the lives of everyday people. The grandiose themes from the MCR oeuvre these are not. Instead, Way’s songs might be about people making mistakes, being bored, or missing the simpler times. For an American, Way sure can make his problems sound British.

Way doesn't go for "BIG MOMENTS" here like MCR did. It seemed like everything his former band did had to be some sort of emotional catharsis or climax. They created emotion via massive sounding compositions, sometimes forgoing lyrics in favor of pummeling you with guitar and drums. When the music wasn't saying anything specific, it wanted you to feel something. And if you didn't feel the music, you sure as hell could hear it. Loud, and proud, MCR swung for the fences; they pulled out the driver on the long, dog-leg Par 5 with narrow fairways, in gale force winds and pouring rain, and they damn near always pulled it off. Maybe Way thought he'd gotten lucky one too many times, or, more likely, he glimpsed the other side, a calmer side, and went for something less bombastic. 

I like to believe that Way is still capable of conjuring huge, sweeping, affecting moments in his songs, and that for Hesitant Alien he simply chose not to. This is not a criticism. Times passes, musical direction change. Ten years is a long time to be in a band. . Heck, ten years is a long time to do anything when you think about it. The beginning and end can look like a completely disparate thing, but sometimes it is nice to look back to remember how things were.

Which brings me to “The Kids from Yesterday,” my favorite MCR song, and one that should be read as an early farewell from the band to their fans. The song is all nostalgia, its message about reflecting on past times of youth while simultaneously acknowledging how you've grown up and moved on. When Way sings, “Well this could be the last of all the rides we take / So hold on tight and don’t look back,” he's referring to his own band, and how their time is coming to an end. It is pretty damn tough to hear those lyrics now and not think we should have seen the band's split coming. Way founded MCR in 2001, shortly after watching the World Trade Center collapse. The band helped him find a direction in his life that was previously lacking. Twelve years later, he didn't need the band, he'd found his direction. "The Kids from Yesterday" was Way's meta moment, his admittance that he was no longer the same kid who founded the band a decade prior. He had taken his ride. His time was up. 

The lyrics of "The Kids from Yesterday" have been on my mind a lot since graduation, especially before I moved from Boston to DC. I thought about how one chapter of my life had come to an end, not by choice but out of necessity: graduation is a celebration of completion, and completion in this case means that it is time to take the next step. The problem is, you don't know if your next step will hold your weight, or give out from under you like the fake stones of MXC's Sinkers and Floaters. But you have to take that step regardless. 

All of this makes Way’s proving of his old self wrong perhaps the best part of Hesitant Alien, and makes it one of my favorite albums of 2014. Way decided that MCR was not the last ride he would take. He has decided to have another go at making music, but not by repeating what he had done before. This time, instead of choosing the wildest ride, he’s opted one that’s more restrained yet still undeniably fun. And it's been successful, and he seems happy doing it. May he ride it over and over. May I join him soon. 

Jive Turkey Dictionary A.E. (Alcohol Edition)

A couple months ago I rolled out my Jive Turkey Dictionary and the response was… animated. While many Turks were happy to see some of their favorite sayings get the full Merriam-Webster treatment, others accused me of committing an unforgivable life error for omitting such-and-such term or *insert legendary party here*. In other words, my list was wrong. One day I will make full restitution of my mistakes, but today is not that day. 

In place of an apology, I give you this dictionary consisting of terms pertaining to Jive’s real pastime: drinking. What follows is an also-incorrect list of alcohols, parties, and games that have been part of Jive’s social culture over the last decade or so. Because I thought it would be fun to give these some historical context, I recruited the help of Shaman, concave-chested archaeologist extraordinaire; Moonshine, Teaching God; and Grefe. It took a couple months, four states, and two countries (yes, Alabama is a different country), but we did it. If you think we missed anything special (spoiler: we definitely missed things), leave us a comment. 

So grab a beer or twelve, review the first installment here if you need to, and let’s get started. 

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Admiral Nelson (n.) – Memory “strengthening” spiced rum that is better than Captain Morgan because it is cheaper, and because an Admiral outranks a Captain, but idiots think otherwise. A must-buy when the 1L bottles are on sale. Buy 2 and get more rum for less money than if you bought the handle. #Math

A chap well acquainted with the Admiral

Classic Ice (n.) – A wonderful and classy beer with a sterling 6% APV and its own Urban Dictionary entry. Better than Natty Ice, and one of the first true Jive beers, setting off a still standing tradition of favorite team beers and liquors being cheaper than the mainstream alternative, of higher alcoholic content, and questionable taste. Back in 2004, a case of Classic came in at a robust $8.50.

The Cylinder (n.) – or scientifically, a Passglas. Seriously, that is a word. A 2000ml graduated cylinder theoretically used for drinking out of, but actually used for spilling beer on yourself. Now a Jive totem courtesy of Jacko Tracko’s brief but fruitful time as the guy in the lab who buys supplies, specifically supplies that real scientists won’t use but Jive scientists will. While meant for beer, the cylinder has also seen a variety of other items, including liquor, silverware, and even a sex toy or two.

Detonator (n.) – Performed when Broey McBroerson and his fellows Bros stand in a circle and smash a beer can against their heads until it exBrodes. An easy way to reduce your own intellect and waste beer at the same time. Nips told Simon what this was on my birthday four years ago, and the world is a lesser place for it.

A lesser place...

Double-Barrel (v.) – Shotgunning a beer whilst someone pours a shot in the top of the can. Useful for expediting the getting-drunk process, and also the needing-to-boot process. Invented by Moonshine and, like all good things in life, was first performed on the line at Gettysburg’s home tournament during some hard-fought point-assessment against Slippery Rock University.

Extra Gold (n.) – Cheap beer that you can purchase at “the Bev.” Winner of the most recent Cheap Beer Tasting, meaning Jive must buy Extra Gold in perpetuity or until a new Cheap Beer has been declared winner by means of blind taste test. Has been popular with the team since the halcyon days of Vinny McCrink, so you know it’s got staying power.

Firewater (n.) – 100 proof cinnamon schnapps commonly associated with High Tide due to the epic ballad “Jive Turkeys Went Down South” created there in 2008. That song is still sung by the team on occasion, despite the fact that very few of the people singing it know Dan Jones, his rattail, The Suze, or where the Firewater is.

They know where the Firewater is.

Fifth Day (n.) – A drinking event for the dedicated man. Meant to be a relaxing day where one spends much of the day drinking a fifth by themselves. Always a great time unless you race to finish, like a moron, and thus tempt death. Consequences can include pants in the freezer, cups of coffee thrown at walls, and porcelain hugging.

Five Loko (n.) – Basic bitch Four Loko and Five Hour energy mixed drink for people who don’t care about seeing straight for an entire day.

Fuck Your Liver (n.) - A tremendously simple game requiring The Cylinder, a deck of cards, and lots of beverage. The player wagers an amount of beverage in the cylinder, then guesses red or black. Incorrect: he/she/it drinks the cylinder. Correct: the cylinder and it’s contents are passed to the next person who will also add a wager and then play the most dangerous game. Often results in strange mixes of drinks, and extreme discomfort for anyone who loses big. So named because it fucks your liver.

Hungarian Stack Races (n.) – A terrible version of Stack Races because of a torturous twist, designed by actual Hungarian Ultimate Players and brought back by Chappers when he studied abroad in Budapest (seriously. We aren’t making this up). All players must drink through a straw while clothespinning their noses until the disc is finished, which it won’t be. Usually this ends with everyone feeling very unwell (at Jivefest ‘07, someone threw up every round. Hooray beer!). Hungarian stack races are proof that at least one member of this team learned something during Dickinson study abroad, and that sometimes what we learn abroad should stay over there.

Icehouse (n.) – Not the Bentley ultimate team (fuck Bentley B!), but a relatively new Jive cheap beer, made popular by the tenants of The Lodge. First purchased en masse at High Tide 2010 with Jake’s Savannah fee, the 10+ cases of various Icehouse products were unable to be finished, but were fortunately ready for pong immediately upon completing the drive home. There are three reasons to buy Icehouse: 1). It’s $12.99, cheaper than Natty, 2). its 5.5% abv, higher than Natty’s, 3). to yell “Get in the House” at freshman who are not immediately willing to guzzle delicious Icehouse. 

Reason number 4: This band photo of Australian rock band Icehouse

Jello Discs (n.) – a team-based, alcohol eating station and the result of great compromise between wanting to do stack races or jello shots, but not both. The recipe calls for hot water, jello mix, and bottom shelf vodka, hopefully Vlad or Bankers Club. Co-created by Vincenzo, jello discs are a Jive original that has spread to other frisbee cultures, such as Vassar and PADA.


Jive Tail (n.) – Originally a spoof of Greek life cocktails, and now a biannual Jive formal hosted by the sophomores in the fall and the freshmen in the spring. Attendees are strongly encouraged to bring a date or two, be this a significant other, friend, or a bottle of bourbon. Salval "classy" attire is a must, and those showing up with a backpack trying to steal the booze will be kick out of the party and probably kicked off the team. Seniors will be aggressively drunk celebrating the two parties all year they didn't have to plan or spend money on.

I don't have a witty remark for this. It's just terrifying.

Landshark (v.) – Most definitely not a beer, but feel to contact Ducky, Jake, Bowman, Simon or Mittens about it. If you can’t find Mittens to ask him, check outside the gate at High Tide. Moving on.

Might be a Landshark. Might not.

Loko Hands (n.) – A one-off drinking contest in which the participants tape two OG Four Lokos to their hands and race to finish them first, ideally in 29 minutes or less. When all Four Lokos are finished, participants must celebrate by splitting a final Four Loko. Now seems a reasonable time to clarify that the real world equivalent to one Four Loko was 6 coffees and 6 drinks. Typically leads to lost moccasins and random bouts of responsibility.

Mad Dog (n.) – MD 20/20 fortified hobo wine. Colloquially known as Mad Dog, because “Fortified hobo wine” has a pretentious ring to it, despite appealing to hobos. Most commonly purchased in the Orange Jubilee flavor, which looks eerily similar to Orange Juice, and probably tastes similar too. “Hindsight is MD 20/20” - Posey.

Posey not demonstrating foresight, or hindsight, for that matter

Montebello (n.) – All the liquor you’ve never liked drinking without a chaser, except now you combine them and also drink them without a chaser. First discovered at Lafayette, Fall 2011™, by Jack to be shared with the team over the course of Sunday. GOALIE PICK UP THE GODDAMN MONTE!

Mystery/Party Box (n.) – An H.T.O.D. staple, generally considered the best station by all four people who care about that sort of accolade, who coincidentally all authored this post. The contents of the Party Box can vary, but always includes laughably bad alcohol balanced out with delicious non-alcoholic items such as hot peppers or Yoohoo. Or cigarettes. The key to winning is to give the Lucky No. 7-11 to someone else, or to find weird cases at Bev Express while creating the station, like a buried case of WildCat, hidden and unlabeled under other beers.

Punch Bowl (n.) – A brutal innovation by the ever-sustainable-minded members of the original Chateau. In the morning post-soiree, gather all the woundeds and pour them into a bowl to chill or partially freeze for the next party. Most famously led to Grefe’s alcohol/food poisoning and general demise Fall ‘07, but generally responsible for ruining everyone’s night every time.

He hasn't been the same since

Shen Fest (n.) – Now a smaller scale HTOD dedicated in memory to Shen, but originally conceived as a surprise Around the World party in 2008. Given a gritty reboot in 2011 as a trial run for the HTOD planner, but has since exceeded these modest expectations to attract a dedicated and maniacal fanboy following.

Trailer Park Bombs (n.) – The drunk uncle of bomb shots. Like an Irish Car bomb, except instead of nice Car Bomb materials you use Hurricane and Mad Dog, and instead of enjoying the drink you look and smell like a derelict wino.

Unprom (n.) – Costume party developed by SBC in which the attendees are assigned to shop for another person’s outfit, all while agreeing to wear what someone else buys for you. Hilarity ensues and wedding dresses abound. If you are a bad sport about the XS Gumbi costume that someone buys for you, you should probably find new friends.

Jive's first Unprom, 2010. No SBC, we don't understand either.

Wagers (n.) – Most frequently a card based party game, involving bets on the upcoming cards and corresponding silly tasks, but wagers can be made on anything. Will Jake answer the phone with “Oyyyyy,” “Oy it’s Gutta,” or the field is a quintessential starter. Tasks should be proportionally outrageous compared to the unlikelihood of the predicted card or event. Ex: 1. If this next card is the ace of spades, I’ll wolf a beer. Ex: 2. If Posey flies back from Japan for High Tide, I’ll do a fifth day.

Wednesday (n.) – The fourth day of the week, the day of Wōden, and the most popular weekday drinking night for Jive Turkeys since the invention of Jesus. To be said primarily with elongation of all vowels: “WEEEEEEEEEDNEEEEEEEEESDAAAAAAAAAAY” and most suitably followed by muttering “Goddammit” while facepalming yourself.

Wolf (v.) – Created by Shen when he disregarded sanity to bite the beer can because he had no key to shotgun with. The wolf is the closest to primordial beverage consumption that you will get.

(Re)Marx: Commodity Fetishism and Foreign Policy

Born out of the alcoholic fever dreams of a post graduate existential ennui, The Fish considers what it means to find a stranger in the alps. Brought to you by Pedialyte and Beef Jerkey, the breakfast of champions. 

_________________________________________________________________________

The collected writings of Karl Marx form the basis on which his intellectual heirs have erected a complex and all-pervading analytical didactic. Marxism as a didactic explains foreign policy through the lens of history, with the economic stage of history in which the world finds itself at a particular time determining the way that nation-states interact with one another. This didactic is not always useful for analysis of international relations as its rigidity prevents its adaptation for changing circumstances – as long as the analyst can determine the correct stage of history for the situation, the predicted foreign policy outcome is largely a foregone conclusion. Despite the rigidity of Marxist didactic when applied to foreign policy, certain of Marx’s concepts do lend themselves to operationalization as methods of foreign policy analysis. By focusing more on the intellectual mechanisms of Marx’s analysis, what were previously purely tools of economic analysis can be stripped down and adapted to foreign policy analysis.

One of these intellectual mechanisms is the concept of commodity fetishism, described in volume one of Das Kapital. Marx posits that as capitalist society develops, human social interaction becomes increasingly distorted and eventually disappears altogether. The reason for this disappearance is because in a fully capitalist society, people are no longer people, but rather an expression of commodities, defined by the value and interaction of the items they produce.  Marx explains that rather than flowing directly from person to person, capitalist social interactions must flow through a commodity. This flow, rendered in abbreviation for simplicity, reads

P – C – P

The commodity which interrupts the P – P interaction is the fetish;[1] an inanimate object imbued with intrinsic value by the participants in that interaction. The fetish itself may have no intrinsic value, yet once value is imbued by the participants it serves to shape and define their interaction. Marx uses the example of crafting a table out of wood; after the carpenter finishes his work, the wood of the table remains wood, unchanged in its basic form. However, the table itself is now a commodity, given an extra dose of worth out of belief alone.[2] It is this idea of belief, as expressed by Charles de Brosses[3] and discussed by Auguste Comte[4] that introduces the element of illogical reasoning into the interaction between the two persons in the equation above. The basic analytical mechanism behind the theory of commodity fetishism is that something comes between the two actors in the equation which distorts what would otherwise be the logical outcome – the commodity.

To take this basic analytical mechanism and recreate it as a foreign-policy focused analytical mechanism requires a re-definition of terms that nonetheless retains the same purpose as Marx’s theory. Instead of a person, replace P with A - for Actor; a term denoting any participant in foreign policy from the individual through the nation-state to the multilateral organization. For the purposes of this paper, the focus will largely be on nation-state and multilateral actors. Instead of the commodity C, substitute the underlying concept of the fetish as an object or idea imbued with intrinsic value by the participants in the equation. Thus, the equation that was expressed by Marx as P – C – P is now written

A – F – A

Like Marx’s commodities, the foreign policy fetishes serve to distort what should be the logical interaction of the constituent actors. Major theories of international relations predicate their predictive powers upon the notion that the participants in the international system are by and large logical; the fetish helps explain why they are anything but.

So what exactly is the fetish, and how does it serve to frame or distort what should theoretically be a logical interaction between actors in the international system? In the equation A – F – A the fetish is unlikely to be a physical commodity, as Marx asserts with his mechanism P – C – P. The fetish is rather an idea or set of imperatives against which an actor assesses foreign policy decisions which can lead to an otherwise illogical decision.  The predictive and analytical power of A – F – A lies in assessing what a particular actor’s fetish is at any given time, then assessing a past or prospective decision against it. By being aware of what a particular actor’s fetish is, an observer is able to adapt their analysis so that they are able to predict the illogical outcome of the interaction – the logical outcome in light of belief in a fetish. This formula does not apply to all actors in all situations, but rather serves best when used in conjunction with established concepts of foreign policy analysis to reduce blind spots.

If I'm wrong, prove it. 

---

[1] Karl Marx, Capital, Volume One, trans. Ben Fowkes (London: Pelican Classics, 1976): 163-177.

[2] Ibid. 163-4.

[3] Charles de Brosses, Du culte des dieux fétiches, ou Parallèle de l'ancienne religion de l'Egypte avec la religion actuelle de Nigritie (Paris, 1760)

[4] Harriet Martineau, The Positive Philosophy of Auguste Comte, vol. III (London: George Bell & Sons, 1896): 12. http://socserv.mcmaster.ca/econ/ugcm/3ll3/comte/Philosophy3.pdf

Haverween 2014: Victory of the Highest Order!

Pictured (left to right) first row: Salad, Big Mo, Emery, Dane, Kilburn, TV, Moller, Jaldin, Dan Day, Ian Hill, Goemaat, Coach Simon. Second row: Lev, Simon, Mike, Sam, Trevor, Fabio, Milstein, Cam.
Photo credit the venerable Dave Emery

Haverween: The Build Up 

For the fourth year in a row, the Jive Turkeys awoke far too early on Saturday morning, in a boozy stupor, to drive to Haverford College for Haverween. I, in my ongoing quest to stay on the team for the rest of forever despite having graduated last May, came along for the ride.

Before Saturday’s drive, we had an important milestone to celebrate on campus: Trevor’s 21^st birthday! And celebrate it we did, with a party at Goemaat’s House followed by a rather bizarre excursion to Alibi’s, a place I’ve been to more times during the day than the night. The typical 21^st birthday tomfoolery took place, but the next morning we were treated to a few surprises, namely that Trevor, our trusty captain and Regent of Responsibility, was not at the cushies. Nor did he show up when it was time to leave, so, against our best wishes, we headed for the interstate. Well, all of us except for Moller, who needed to have his car jumped by none other than yours truly. Forces were conspiring against the Turks to make for a potentially painful morning. Thankfully, Trevor was found and joined Moller’s car, but not in time for the start of games. Congrats Trevor, by sleeping through a tourney wake up you’ve become a true Jive Turkey. One of us! One of us!

Saturday

Because I view highway speed limits as “Optional,” the car of myself, Kellen, and Fabio made it to the fields with plenty of time to spare, but not plenty of players. No one else showed up for half an hour. And the tournament had been reformatted, meaning we had 5 games in one day. Again, some higher power was punishing us for Friday night. These games, however, were against largely inept opposition, including Drexel B, Haverford B, Villanova (secretly their B team), Fordham (secretly terrible), and Philly U (not secretly terrible).

Drexel B proved a decent first game, as we were able to build a comfortable lead and get the freshmen some early playing time. We took half at 7-2 with a combination of good defense and better upside down throws. By now, Trevor and co. had finally showed up, and while most of the car rushed to cleat up, Captain Greasetrucks seemed “happier” to hang out on the sidelines for a bit. Why did I put happier in airquotes? I’ll explain. Rumor has it that Trev muttered something about not feeling entirely coordinated, like some invisible force was inhibiting his ultimate abilities. That, my friends, might have been a hangover, and step one in trying to understand why Jive often plays like cow dung the morning after a party.

The second game was against Philly U. Philly U pretty much never shows up to these fall tournaments with a team of current players, bringing many alums instead. Well, not on this day.  Dressed as Risky Business, they had a lot of new players and it showed: 13-0 win for Jive. Bagels for everyone! Let’s not talk about this game in any actually detail, for calling it a game of ultimate would be misleading and untrue.

#Blessed

Round three pitted Jive against Villanova, a team that beat us last year at Haverween, but lost to the good people of Carlisle a couple weeks ago at West Chester. I remember them being a young with fundamentally sound handlers, but this weekend they were young without fundamentally sound handlers, so we won 12-5. They sat most of their A-line guys, and through some excellent interviewing, your author found out that Nova didn’t “have enough money” to send both an A and a B-team to the tourney because they are attending Easterns next weekend. It’s a bold strategy, Cotton, let’s see if it pays off for them.

The Haverford B and Fordham games proved no more competitive than the previous three. We felled Haverford B 13-3 and played Pick Six rules against Fordham. I believe Kilburn rattled off three in a row, to which Fordham started growing upset with our shenanigans. No matter, we beat them too. A 13-3 victory meant the Jive men finished 5-0 on the day, and the Lady Turks won all four of their games, too. Can’t hate on a combined 9-0. 

We knew that Sunday’s competition would be much tougher, but until then, we were intent on celebrated our successes with Busch Hunting, deep haus, a fog machine, and, because of the previous three things, a noise complaint and visit from the cops. Classic JF Turks Saturday night, this is why we cannot have nice things.

Sunday

Finally time for some real ultimate! Saturday was fun but mostly devoid of any arduous challenge. Sunday, on the other hand, was bracket play, and with a potential rematch with Haverford on the line, we needed to get to work.

St. Joseph’s was our quarterfinals matchup, the team that won Haverween last year. Our offensive movement was dominant from the beginning, and we showed a good ability to transition from horizontal to vertical stack, and vice versa, on the fly, something we were not forced to do on Saturday. We took half at 8-3, and cruised from there, wrapping up the game 15-8. Of note, my terrible, horrible, miserable hammer to Trevor on the last point. Mental note: lofty hammers into triple coverage do not work.

For the semis, we faced the Haverford Alumni. As we were playing the alums, Haverford A faced Gettysburg, and Gburg jumped out to a surprising 4-1 lead that would not at all last while we started off trading points. After 3-3, however, we started clicking, and energy and speed helped us win our matchups on offense and get turnovers on defense. We took half by a score of 8-5 and finished strong 15-9. We had a much bigger sideline than the alums, and the gulf in numbers no doubt helped us, and an early finish allowed us to catch the end of Haverford’s win against Gburg. We had our rematch, our final.

You'd be guilty of massive understatement for merely saying both teams came ready to play. Last year, we lost on universe point to the Donkeys in what was a hard fought, wind-affected game. Jive wanted revenge, and Haverford wanted to win Haverween for the first time. As it were, these points were long and tiring, but Jive jumped out to a 3-1 lead before calling time out to recover a bit. We responded exactly how we wanted out of the break, with three more points, forcing Haverford into regrouping with a time out of their own. Following the second pause, Jive entered half with an 8-2 lead that was much more strenuous than the score line would suggest. The second half continued with the same strong offense and consistent defensive pressure, but Haverford put a few more on the board. At 14-8, Trevor found Kilburn in the end zone with a hammer, giving us a nice story arc and our 15^th point. For the second time in three years, Jive had won Haverween, finishing 8-0 in the process with a goal difference of +68. 

Pictured: arcs

Epilogue

As I mentioned at the start, I had the misfortune of graduating in May, meaning my time as a Jive Turkey came to a close last spring. Except not really. It strikes me as a testament to the bonds of the members of this team and how those relationships transcend silly things like age gaps and Years of Graduation, that alums (myself included) ask to play at fall tournaments. We alumni no longer have the convenience of practicing four times a week to stay in shape, and we certainly do not know the new freshmen, but still we want to recapture a few moments of our time with this team. So we sign up for tournaments to get a chance to spend a weekend with friends that we no longer see on a daily basis. And for a couple days, we share memories of our college days and reflect on past tournaments, and make new memories by playing the sport that brought us all together in the first place. For this pleasure I have no single person to thank, rather the many people who make up the Jive Turkeys.

So great Haverween everyone. I can’t yet say if we will do it again next year, but we did it this year, and that is good enough. 

Select Highlights

-the extended cameo from Rock Hands

-Salad getting pulled over by Haverford campus police for pushing Dane around in a wheelbarrow.

-Jaldin’s layout Ds and subsequent injuries

-Mike sleeping in the bathroom.

-trapping Dan Day inside the auxiliary blanket and carrying him into the middle of the fields.

-Max Charles skying Trevor. Video is here

-Deep Haus party

-INCREASE THE FOG! THE FOG OF WAR!!!

-Birthday present tournament wins.

-“Halftime” Hans Zimmer, the greatest sideline music ever.
-Except for this Interstellar trailer song, the new greatest sideline music ever. Did somebody say Nolan?!?!