WHERE EAGLES DARE

(Posted by Hua (thus the little name below) but written by Dave (thus what follows...))

There’s a part of me, the part that still gets a kick out of an old dream Rob Sonic once told me about in which MC Shy drove a Caterpillar sporklift into an inflatable slime mold factory---that part wants to drive a forklift right through the giant inflatable living room that is the Silver Bullet Super Bowl display in Wegman’s supermarket. Tines first, ask questions later. Inflatable displays are another reason folks around the world want us wasted. Wegman’s Valentine’s display, the one with the “Heart Shaped Message Candles,” shouldn’t be spared either. (Wegman’s also sells Flat Out Carb Down, goldfish pinyata and an unwieldy shovel called a Snow Thrower.)

This & that said, I, as of 5:13 a.m., am pulling for the Eagles today. Irv Cross must be freaking out. Him and ex-Eagle QB Jaworski. Good name, good name. Like Houston Knutt. Lance Alworth. Golden Richards. Golden opportunities for rap nomenclature. Worski threw to my favorite Eagle receiver Harold Carmichael. Harold never leapt for the ball but just seemed to pluck it from thin air, the way crazy folks snatch gnats. And the air was very thin since Harold was roughly 9 feet tall. Harold wore #17 as only the illest receivers wore low numbers back during the Carter Administration—Charlie Joiner (18), John Stallworth (also 17 and as tall as Carmichael) , Cliff Branch (21). Cliff was still playing for Too Short’s favorite team that one Super Bowl (Xsomething) when the Raiders drove a forklift through the Eagles’ inflatable Lombardi Trophy dreams. Skip “Dr. Death” Thomas however, was not. Skip once had a stuntman’s motorcycle wipeout en route to Raider practice, sewed himself up in the parking lot and still managed to knock Fred Biletnikoff into the nosebleeds. “Skip had different ideas about how to play the game,” said Raider author/assassin Jack Tatum. Tatum also had different ideas on how to play the game. Writer/player Pat Toomay called him “Genghis Khan with an afro” and I don’t think there’s a Patriot fan alive who doesn’t remember that pre-season scrum of ‘78 when Jack put Patriot receiver Darryl Stingley in a wheelchair. Yet nobody really talks about how Madden was the only one in the hospital room afterwards and that Madden had to call the Patriot plane, then taxiing down the runway, and notify Patriot officials that Darryl Stingley had a fractured vertebrae in his neck. That still blows my mind as much as Tatum applying for “mental anguish pension” years later.

That blows my mind as much as how the dailies haven’t used Where Eagles Dare as a corny headline for the TO situation—for those fans of Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood having an ice pick fight on top of a gondola heading towards a Nazi castle in the Alps.

I’m pulling for the Eagles though they may have already had their lunch taken by the time you read this. Thanks Hua, who’s pulling for the Pats, for putting me onto Bilaaly B. I think Bilaaly says “I’ll give your girl a skeeter.” A cute girl who thinks she’s a little old man once courted me with a box of dead cicadas and we’ve remained dear friends despite occasionally arguing about what Just-Ice mumbled at the end of "Cold Gettin’ Dumb." Bilaaly is no Just-Ice, though the combat-boot-insult is kind of weirdly endearing. Then there’s the not-so-endearing ensuing giggle (like an ensuing kickoff except there aren’t eleven people bearing down upon you with murderous intentions). Still, Bilaaly can clearly rap his ass off in that Steady B’s cousin’s way only Philly MCs can (Overlord Ice Dog has one of the most original velum-lowering voices in hip hop). I like how Bilaaly says prepositional phrase like it’s a threat. I like how Bilaaly’s name looks like bootleg Balley’s and sort of rhymes with lawdy. I like his logo with the Gob-Stopper storing jowls.

I’m pulling for Bilaaly B because he’s from Philadelphia. Shit, I’m pulling for < A HREF=http://www.people.fas.harvard.edu/~hhsu/Zounds!/Freestyle.mp3>Bilaaly B’s cowbell. I’m writing a Vocoder book so I can afford a house with a doorbell that sounds like Bilaaly B’s cowbell. I want a doorbell that sounds like Bilaaly B’s cowbell and a doorknocker with PSK reverb. In the front door he will be strollin’. And in his right arm he’ll have a Roland. Anyone who raps about strolling into the Superbowl party with a goddamn Roland under their arm deserves the keys to the inflatable forklift and Skip Thomas’ sewing machine. We’ll even throw in a set of Heart Shaped Message Candles because the Delphi oracle says Love is the Message and I will be drunk at halftime blasting Bilaaly B.

Posted by Hua at February 6, 2005 11:11 AM