Monthly Archives: February 2022

Super Bowl LVI: And God Took the Spread

So the Los Angeles Rams won the Super Bowl. Someone should tell Los Angeles.

I have lived here more than two decades. I’ve seen this town lose its collective shit over the Lakers, Dodgers, even the Galaxy, one of L.A.’s soccer clubs.

But when I went to the grocery store on Sunday for pre-game sustenance, there wasn’t a single Rams t-shirt on a body in the store, no Rams banners, pennants or paraphernalia in the aisles, no bumper stickers on cars clogging parking lots.

Maybe it was COVID. Maybe diehards stocked up early. But the day had all the excitement of watching an apple brown. At least in the town.

In terms of a game, SB LVI had some highlights. The game was close. There were some good commercials, like the Coinbase ad, a wordless, floating barcode that bounced like a Pong video game on autoplay. It would have been a terrific ad — had it not sparked so many scanners that the site crashed. Not exactly the vote of confidence in cryptocurrency the commercial hoped to foster.

And who knew the Scientologists had enough cash for another Super Bowl ad? I thought Leah Remini put a stop to that silliness. Xenu is a baller!

But my favorite moments of all sports championships are the praises of god that immediately follow. Defensive star Aaron Donald was reduced to tears and kept calling out to the sidelines TV reporter ”God is good! God is good!”

Super Bowl MVP Cooper Kupp had a better tale. After the Rams lost the 2019 Super Bowl to the Patriots, he said as he walked off the field ”and it was revealed to me we would come back and win and I would be the MVP.”

Wow. That’s pretty specific. He mention anything about a pandemic? No? Just the game?

Such holy after-the-fact predictions after are common in sports. And I guess it’s good when any celebrity acknowledges a higher power other than the self.

But, just once, I’d like to see an athlete share his communications with god before the big game? Any predictions? Any plans for a dink field goal?

Or better yet, just tweak a reliable favorite.

“God is good! And clearly he thinks the Bengals and their fans are a bunch of sinners who deserve to have their prayers crushed. Praise Jesus for believing in the nickel defense!”

Pam, Tommy and Ted Lasso: The Lyrical Arts


The pandemic has become the Black Plague to film. But it sure does love good TV.

Witness the latest television shows to dominate not only America’s nightly ratings, but its nightly chatter on social media (perhaps a more vital audience): Ted Lasso, Pam & Tommy and The Beatles: Get Back.

They seem starkly unique in audience, tone and subject matter. Lasso is a wonderful comedy that imagines Ned Flanders managing The Bad News Bears. Pam & Tommy is what a Paul Thomas Anderson TV show would look like: emotional depth drenched in Southern California sunshine. And Get Back is simply a nine hour jam session with the biggest band ever.

But all share a single chord: All are lyrical art.

Lyrical art has a breezy, wispy feel to it, which is why it is found most often in comedy — and more than ever on the small screen. The Beatles are obvious, but Lasso and Pamela underscore how television, particularly, flourishes as nearly every other form of entertainment falters during COVID.

Pam & Tommy lures audiences with a promise of details behind the homemade porn tape that became a household porn name. But it’s really about the death of the glam ’80’s and rise of the grunge 90’s, as told through the prism of pop music and culture. From Primal Scream to Nine Inch Nails to Dusty Springfield, the Hulu series employs needle drops as deft as Anderson’s Boogie Nights, which the show cannily resembles only three episodes in.

Lasso, meanwhile, has already won over audiences. critics and awards circles after only two seasons. And while it’s a great Apple show, it’s also clear why NBC gets a creative credit before every episode: It’s based on NBC Sports show characters — and is a lyrical larceny of the great show Community.

In the second episode of that series, the show used Aimee Mann’s heartbreaking lamentation Give Up to black comedy perfection. A decade later, Lasso uses the same song to make a scene shatteringly heartfelt.

And that’s the key to lyrical art: It understands the fluidity of music — particularly older music. Directors are buying classic music rights like Jeff Bezos buys phallic rocket ships. Look at the soundtracks to today’s comic book movies: Marvel Studios is the best thing to happen to album rockers since FM radio. Guardians of the Galaxy became known for its 80’s mix tape. Iron Man didn’t fly in a metal suit, but on Ozzy Osbourne’s metal voice.

Of course, un-lyricsizing your art has the opposite effect, and no one knows lyrics like the Coen Brothers. No Country for Old Men has no soundtrack, making the violence more squeamish. They went diametrically with O’ Brother Where Art Thou? and Inside Llewyn Davis. They are Beatles-level lyrical. They are the walrus.

It’s hard to define lyrical art. Harold and Maude and The Graduate are lyrical. Blade Runner has great music, but is not is not lyrical. Quentin Tarantino is a lyrical director. Christopher Nolan is not. All are outstanding.

Perhaps lyrical art meets the porn definition; You can’t put it into words, but you know rhythm when you see it. And it goes like this: