MBB: Michigan Intercollegiate Athletic Association

[Erm Schmigget]

I am at a loss as to how Sac's innocent comment was construed to be hands on hips, finger-waving taunting.  Perhaps you should take some time to get to know him.  You won't find a more humble, thoughtful person on the planet.  Vilifying him is easier though, I'll give you that.

Every one of us, myself included, is responsible for what we say in this public forum and how we say it. Not all of us have the luxury of knowing people in person for many years to color their comments in blue or maroon.

Pat-

I like to read posts on this board with this in mind before I react:

Let's discuss (sports) in a positive way, sometimes kidding each other with no disrespect.

Regardless of how someone smiths his/her words, only s/he can really know their originally intended meaning.  It is my responsibility, when I read posts here, how I choose to react to them.  Likewise for others as they read.  It seems, to me at least, that this responsibility, in a perfectly civil world, is a two-way street.

[Pat Coleman]

Which is all fine and understandable, but know that it's not just non-Hope fans guilty of misjudging a person that they don't know personally based on their posts.

[Gregory Sager]

GK, my outrage at your lumping me in with North Park's Swedish-Americans via guilt-by-association chicanery is only mollified by how deeply I'm impressed that you: a) are aware of that malodorous fermented herring dish; and b) went to the trouble of using an umlauted vowel to spell it properly.

[Erm Schmigget]

Which is all fine and understandable, but know that it's not just non-Hope fans guilty of misjudging a person that they don't know personally based on their posts.

Granted.  And not assumed otherwise.

[Ralph Turner]

... Surströmming-sniffing

I would like to know how you get the umlaut in there!!!   

[NW Hope Fan]

He wouldn't be the first person to be made out to look different on the boards than he is in real life. It's real easy for all people on all sides to think that about all sorts of people.

My guess is some of the button pushing jerks on these boards are 100% the same in real life.

[wiz]

... Surströmming-sniffing

I would like to know how you get the umlaut in there!!!   

Please ignore the umlaut, it just encourages more glibness.

[HopeConvert]

   "Notice your neighbors if perchance a death takes place in the buidling. They were asleep in their little routine and suddenly, for example, the concierge dies. At once they awake, bestir themselves, get the details, commiserate. A newly dead man and the show begins at last. They need tragedy, don't you know; it's their little transcendence, their aperitif. Moreover, is it mere chance that I should speak of the concierge? I had one, really ill favored, malice incarnate, a monster of insignificance and rancor, who would have discouraged a Franciscan. I had even given up speaking to him, but by his mere existence he compromised my customary contentedness. He died and I went to his funeral. Can you tell me why?
   Anyway, the two days preceding the ceremony were full of interest. The concierge's wife was ill, lying in a single room, and near her the coffin had been set on sawhorses. Everyone had to get his mail himself. You opened the door, said 'Bonjour, madame,' listened to her praise of the dear departed as she pointed to him, and took your mail. Nothing very amusing about that. And yet the whole building passed through her room, which stank of carbolic acid. And the tenants didn't send their servants either; they came themselves to take advantage of the unexpected attraction. The servants did too, of course, but on the sly. The day of the funeral, the coffin was too big for the door. 'O my dearie,' the wife said from her bed with a surprise at once delighted and grieved, 'how big he was!' 'Don't worry, madame,' replied the funeral director, 'we'll get him through edgewise, and then upright.' He was got through upright and then laid down again, and I was the only one to go as far as the cemetery and strew flowers on a coffin of astounding luxury. Then I paid a visit to the concierge's wife to receive her thanks expressed as by a great tragedienne. Tell me, what was the reason for all that? None, except the aperitif."

                                     ----Camus, The Fall

[northb]

I viewed Wednesday night's Calvin/Hope game postmortem on this board with complete dismay. Such amity! Such mutual respect! Such a total absence of bickering, nonsensical niggling, and passive-aggressive innuendo!

For crying out loud, that was not the snide, semi-belligerent barb-a-thon that I have come to expect and love from Calvin and Hope fans. Like it or not, you folks are the ones who give the rivalry spice for those of us who don't live in Michigan and can't see the games ... and the beauty of it, aside from the ten-chuckles-a-minute posted snark that fans of both sides seem to generate at will in rivaly-related discussion, is its predictability. When Calvin and Hope fans aren't engaged in an online food fight after a rivalry game, it feels as though the world has gone spinning off of its axis.

Today, however, the Hatfields and McCoys of Shoe-land have more than made up for the unsettling politeness of Wednesday night and Thursday. And all feels right with the world again.

I noticed that we were being far nicer than usual before the game, too.  And when the officiating was deemed equally lousy on both sides, it took some wind out of some sails, as well.  I think that being the first game of the conference season had something to do with it.  In order to speed things up, I will just cut to the chase: Calvin has two National Championship banners.

[goodknight]

GK, my outrage at your lumping me in with North Park's Swedish-Americans via guilt-by-association chicanery is only mollified by how deeply I'm impressed that you: a) are aware of that malodorous fermented herring dish; and b) went to the trouble of using an umlauted vowel to spell it properly.

As you know, I have a history in Chicago, where chicanery is a long-established -- some might say, long-cherished -- pastime. 

[goodknight]

... Surströmming-sniffing

I would like to know how you get the umlaut in there!!!   

It requires a copy-and-paste maneuver. 

[northb]

I found this website about journalism ethics. 
http://www.j4ip.org/J4IP/pg002.html
Some of the ethical considerations might apply.

Slander and libel considerations
•   Reporting the truth is never libel, which makes accuracy and attribution very important.
•   Private persons have privacy rights that must be balanced against the public interest in reporting information about them. Public figures have fewer privacy rights.
Can we see Mr. Bunn as a public figure?

[wwjjdd]

... Surströmming-sniffing

I would like to know how you get the umlaut in there!!!   

Please ignore the umlaut, it just encourages more glibness.

Just in case your desire for glibness is all consuming, you can create an o-umlaut (o Diaeresis) by holding down the Alt key and typing 0246 on the number-keypad. The same can be done for other foreign characters by consulting an ANSI Table and replacing the 0246 with the corresponding 4-digit number. You and also call-up the Character Map feature in the Start Menu of Windows, going to Accessories, then to System Tools and finally to Character Map.  From there you can copy and paste characters to your document.

I would like to thank the board for bringing up the subject of Surstroemming (another option), since it caused me to investigate the sources, ingredients  and relative merits of Surstroemming and Lutefisk.  I appears that the two are similar to house guests, that is, they all stink up the place after 3 days.

[oldknight]

   "Notice your neighbors if perchance a death takes place in the buidling. They were asleep in their little routine and suddenly, for example, the concierge dies. At once they awake, bestir themselves, get the details, commiserate. A newly dead man and the show begins at last. They need tragedy, don’t you know; it’s their little transcendence, their aperitif. Moreover, is it mere chance that I should speak of the concierge? I had one, really ill favored, malice incarnate, a monster of insignificance and rancor, who would have discouraged a Franciscan. I had even given up speaking to him, but by his mere existence he compromised my customary contentedness. He died and I went to his funeral. Can you tell me why?
   Anyway, the two days preceding the ceremony were full of interest. The concierge’s wife was ill, lying in a single room, and near her the coffin had been set on sawhorses. Everyone had to get his mail himself. You opened the door, said ‘Bonjour, madame,' listened to her praise of the dear departed as she pointed to him, and took your mail. Nothing very amusing about that. And yet the whole building passed through her room, which stank of carbolic acid. And the tenants didn’t send their servants either; they came themselves to take advantage of the unexpected attraction. The servants did too, of course, but on the sly. The day of the funeral, the coffin was too big for the door. ‘O my dearie,’ the wife said from her bed with a surprise at once delighted and grieved, ‘how big he was!’ ‘Don’t worry, madame,’ replied the funeral director, ‘we’ll get him through edgewise, and then upright.’ He was got through upright and then laid down again, and I was the only one to go as far as the cemetery and strew flowers on a coffin of astounding luxury. Then I paid a visit to the concierge’s wife to receive her thanks expressed as by a great tragedienne. Tell me, what was the reason for all that? None, except the aperitif."

                                      ----Camus, The Fall

I couldn't figure out why you would go with Camus when better dialogue is available. Then I realized that the setting for The Fall is Amsterdam. Must be a Dutch thing with you. I still think that if you're going to go with an existentialist, the following would be preferable:

This bronze. Yes, now's the moment; I'm looking at this thing on the mantelpiece, and I understand that I'm in hell. I tell you, everything's been thought out beforehand. They knew I'd stand at the fireplace stroking this thing of bronze, with all those eyes intent on me. Devouring me. What? Only two of you? I thought there were more; many more. So this is hell. I'd never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the "burning marl." Old wives' tales! There's no need for red-hot pokers. HELL IS--OTHER PEOPLE!

Sartre, No Exit

[HopeConvert]

   "Notice your neighbors if perchance a death takes place in the buidling. They were asleep in their little routine and suddenly, for example, the concierge dies. At once they awake, bestir themselves, get the details, commiserate. A newly dead man and the show begins at last. They need tragedy, don't you know; it's their little transcendence, their aperitif. Moreover, is it mere chance that I should speak of the concierge? I had one, really ill favored, malice incarnate, a monster of insignificance and rancor, who would have discouraged a Franciscan. I had even given up speaking to him, but by his mere existence he compromised my customary contentedness. He died and I went to his funeral. Can you tell me why?
   Anyway, the two days preceding the ceremony were full of interest. The concierge's wife was ill, lying in a single room, and near her the coffin had been set on sawhorses. Everyone had to get his mail himself. You opened the door, said 'Bonjour, madame,' listened to her praise of the dear departed as she pointed to him, and took your mail. Nothing very amusing about that. And yet the whole building passed through her room, which stank of carbolic acid. And the tenants didn't send their servants either; they came themselves to take advantage of the unexpected attraction. The servants did too, of course, but on the sly. The day of the funeral, the coffin was too big for the door. 'O my dearie,' the wife said from her bed with a surprise at once delighted and grieved, 'how big he was!' 'Don't worry, madame,' replied the funeral director, 'we'll get him through edgewise, and then upright.' He was got through upright and then laid down again, and I was the only one to go as far as the cemetery and strew flowers on a coffin of astounding luxury. Then I paid a visit to the concierge's wife to receive her thanks expressed as by a great tragedienne. Tell me, what was the reason for all that? None, except the aperitif."

                                     ----Camus, The Fall

I couldn't figure out why you would go with Camus when better dialogue is available. Then I realized that the setting for The Fall is Amsterdam. Must be a Dutch thing with you. I still think that if you're going to go with an existentialist, the following would be preferable:

This bronze. Yes, now's the moment; I'm looking at this thing on the mantelpiece, and I understand that I'm in hell. I tell you, everything's been thought out beforehand. They knew I'd stand at the fireplace stroking this thing of bronze, with all those eyes intent on me. Devouring me. What? Only two of you? I thought there were more; many more. So this is hell. I'd never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the "burning marl." Old wives' tales! There's no need for red-hot pokers. HELL IS--OTHER PEOPLE!

Sartre, No Exit

Well, The Fall isn't a dialogue at all, which is part of what makes that book so interesting. But there are a couple of reasons why I preferred Camus. For one, Camus is a great thinker, and The Fall is a masterpiece. Sartre is a vulgarian. Second, that passage from The Fall is what popped into my head during the previous pages of discussion.

Camus doesn't say "Hell is oneself," (that would be T.S. Eliot) but that's not far off from his position in that novel. Then also, Camus portrays Amsterdam with references from "The Inferno," so I guess that's a kind of hell too. Not as bad a one as losing to Calvin by 14, but still.