I own four (4!) Killers CDs, including both studio albums, the official rarities comp, and a homemade collection of rare tracks ... and zero Joy Division records. This was clearly an oversight on my part.

People, people: see Control. See it as soon as you possibly can. I am not even halfway kidding about this.

--K

P.S. Long overdue shout-out: Dan and Deb are back in the U.S. and A. They are still completely awesome.

I'm sure there is some way in which this run is unprecedented. Since I moved to S.F., it's been: Ohio State basketball. Ohio State football. Cavs basketball. And now Indians baseball. All demolished in ignominious fashion, late in the playoffs. Each one re-breaking my beef-weakened Midwestern heart.

It's getting super-tiring trying to figure out new things to blame for each of these losses, but I'll give it a quick shot for old times sake. For the Indians collapse, I blame these guys:

That just can't be good karma.

Overheard (okay, spoken by me) at the Pig & Whistle last night:

"Hey, Adrienne, look at that. Some idiot injured himself arguing with an umpire! Who is that, anyway? It's a pretty nondescript white uniform, and I can't tell from the number ..."

"Oh, right. Of course it's Milton Bradley ..."

(I'll include the YouTube embed, but props to the guy who uploaded the clip to AOL under the amazing title: "Milton Bradley's Career In a Nutshell: Gets On Base, Argues, Gets Hurt." Word.)

Elsewhere in Cleveland Sports: the Indians made the playoffs without the help of the board game OR the breakfast cereal,* and the Browns cashed in their monthly entitlement to a Loss By Means of a Rule You Didn't Know Existed Until Minutes Ago But Now Think Should Be Reversed (TM). So ... there's that.

Postseason, baby! Go Tribe!!

--K

* = Though you might make an argument for the potential profitability of "Asdrubal O's." They're Asdrubal-icious!

Somewhere in between screening robot tragedies with hipsters and begging my tech guru to fix the engine on this here jalopy (1), I realized that I was letting one horrible injustice go unremedied:

Quoth cmiller: "I can't believe ... this exists. And that nobody's talking about it." So true.

Counting YouTube commenters, this makes 6 of us talking now. For the record, I agree with the dude that posted it: "this is why [Kells] is the king."

--K

(1) = an authoring software quirk that excluded me, and me alone, from the site. Only at kentertaiment ...

Someone has actually reached this page by means of a search for "Filliam H. Muffman fanfiction." Um ... you guys knew that was a joke, right? Right?

--K

(Yes, I DO know that the ol' post-about-a-wacky-referrers-log-item is the last refuge of the lazy blogger. Thank you for mentioning! Seriously: apologies for the recent doldrums. It's just that it's the end of a lease term, and we've been consumed by apartment hunting. But we move in to our new place very soon, and I just KNOW something interesting has been happening lately with the world's sea creatures ...)

Wait -- we're losing whole LAKES now?! Seriously? That is, like, some real-life V.I.L.E. Agent shit, right there.

I defy you to read that story without flashing back the happy days, and utterly implausible plots, of the Apple IIGS.

Twelve-year-old Ken: "They stole WHAT? The WHOLE fucking bridge? Oh, give me a damn break. What would they even DO with it once they had it? I KNEW I shoulda stuck to the Oregon Trail!"

Alright, so the Cavs were a monumental bust in the Finals, and in the process they unwittingly subjected the nation to a million agonizing "blow up the whole damn NBA" and "Eeeeee EvaTonyOMG!!!" conversations ... plus my exuberant "prediction" of Cavs-in-6 turned out to be exactly as misguided as we all suspected. Sorry about all that.

This is getting to be something of a theme around here -- Ohio team makes an appearance in their sport's Final(s), I get halfway excited and brag to the coworkers (or blog to the skillets) about it, said team suffers a horrendous and dispiriting loss ...

But I'm fine with it this time. Really, I am*. I mean: sometimes it's just as much fun to be the bridesmaid, right? You get to wear one of those swell seafoam (or coral!) dresses and everything ...

Alright, fine: hate hate HATE! You happy now?

(Because I feel a little bit better, actually. Man, that video is wack!)

--K

* = This season's edition of "Solace from an Odd Source" is courtesy of Tony "I have UNDERestimated the Cleveland Cavaliers!" Kornheiser. PTI appears to have ramped up its vaudeville humor for shorts season, and for my money it's hard to top this recent exchange:

Wilbon: "Was this ok with you?"
K: "I'm just upset she didn't wrap her legs around Tony KORNHEISER!"
W: "You know, Eva asked if she could come on this show."
T: "What did you tell her?"
W: "Sure! Come do 'Five Good Minutes'!"
T: "Five good minutes? I'd give her SEVEN good minutes!"

As someone once said: I know comedy, and THAT's comedy!

When I referred to "the usual exuberance," before, obviously I was not invoking my lifelong obsession with Cleveland sports.

But these are indeed unusual times, skillets. The Tribe has 3 and a half on the pesky Michigan kitties (2007 edition), the Browns are giving their new Brady that Bundchen love (use protection! Them pretty boy QBs is fertile!), and of course LeBron is switching up his sidekicks like Three-L Dub.

I don't know when it all turned around (Disappointment Zone is thinking of changing its NAME, y'all!), but all that autumn repping can't have hurt. Right?

Just in case: I've spent these five days since 1 Vendemiaire assembling all my good luck charms. L. Breezy jerseys? Washed. "Witness" tee? Crisp. Hanging. Best Joe Tait calls of all time? Located. Played. Savored. (WHAM with the motherfucking right hand!)

And, of course: reason for hope. Digested. Pondered. Clung to, like the taped up Topps card of Steve Olin I kept on hand in middle school, as a reminder of what it means to dedicate oneself fully to the service of three organizations against whom even the sea gods, apparently, are arrayed.

One person who I can promise you never found a Steve Olin card in his wax pack? LeBron F. James. A man so much bigger than his surroundings that I honestly believe he lives unburdened by the tremendous weight of Cleveland history. (Was Churchill talking about Cleveland when he was on that tip about "producing more history than they can consume"? LeBron absorbs the contact from history on his way to the hoop -- And One!)

"Something good had to happen for Cleveland sports," the man said. Like it was just a matter of probability, of waiting out the downswings! If you're from where I'm from, then you know why that's the single most amazing thing I've ever heard (and why Joseph Ryan of Twinsburg, Ohio, has never felt this good in his entire life. Trust me, he is 100% serious.)

So, just in case: talismans. Something old and funky, something new and inspiring:

And as much hope as I can possibly ... Wait -- what?? Jose Mesa is unemployed??! Fuck history. Cavs in 6!

Hollerin' "C-L-E-V-E-L-A-N-D-O-H-I-O! Is my! Hood!",

--K

If you read that, and didn't immediately think: "lightning bolt?" ... then congratulations: you're officially a better person than I am.

From ESPN.com:

"PALMA DE MALLORCA, Balearic Islands -- The King of Clay ruled in this oddest of matches between the two best players in tennis.

Rafael Nadal beat Roger Federer 7-5, 4-6, 7-6 (10) in an exhibition Wednesday on a half-grass, half-clay court when the top-ranked Swiss failed to reach a forehand that took a funny bounce across the green side."

I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say: what, no alligators?

UPDATE!!: This court apparently cost $1.6 million to build. That's a lot of Wiis, y'all ...