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Archive for the ‘Ranting and Raving’ Category

"My cake's on fire! Too many candles!! Too many candles!!"

  Wolf football coach Tony Maggio is told his team is ranked seven slots behind an 0-4 team. He is not amused.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

What does it spell? Don’t ask a computer, cause it has no clue.

Just when I think Debbie, the down ‘n dirty electronic tramp employed by the otherwise quite-reputable Scoreczar.com knows what she’s doing, she confounds me again with her hair-brained “wisdom.”

Scanning the latest 1A football rankings issued forth by this hot-wired vixen, you get the feeling that, deep down, she just doesn’t like us here in Coupeville.

How else to explain that a 2-2 Wolf squad, a team that was one score away from being 3-1 (despite playing without its star running back for almost two full games) is ranked lower than an 0-4 team?

I kid you not.

The Warden Cougars, who have been outscored 166-70 in their four losses, are perched as the #39 team in 1A right now, a full seven slots ahead of Coupeville.

And yes, I can see why the computer (the hussy, Debbie) would think their losses were “honorable,” since they all came to teams in her Top 15 (Okanogan, Lind-Ritzville/Sprague, Royal, Riverview) with a combined record of 14-1.

But then again, there are NINE teams with losing records ranked ahead of Coupeville right now.

Last time I looked, wins and losses were still a thing. A thing that mattered.

You don’t make the playoffs based on your point differential on rainy games that kick off after 7 PM with a crowd of plus/minus 100 fans.

Unless Debbie gets her sick, twisted way.

But, in the end, it’s all bits of data. Debbie doesn’t hold grudges, just cause I poked her a bit last season.

Wait, they list the Coupeville WOLVES as the Coupeville Eagles.

Oh, Debbie, you vindictive witch…

http://www.scoreczar.org/classifications/4-high-school-football-wa1a

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The young David, already plotting his rise to being a chronically underpaid writer.

The young David, already plotting his rise to being a chronically underpaid writer.

I can not stress this enough. I, and I alone, produce what you read on this blog. I, and I alone, am responsible for whatever you love or hate on here.

I do NOT work for the Coupeville School District. If I did, they would have some control over me. I do not, and they do not.

Now yes, at some point the administrators could take away my press pass or ban me from the facilities. They have plenty of power, and, to their credit, have not dropped the hammer on me (yet).

But complaining to CHS or CMS administrators, coaches or teachers, will never get you as far as simply screaming at me. And I’m not that hard to find.

My phone number is (360) 678-5650. My email address is davidsvien@hotmail.com.

My photo can be found in the “Who’s responsible for this stuff?” section atop the blog, so you know which guy to throw things at (or bribe with tasty treats) when you see me at a game.

Unlike the “traditional” newspapers I have written for over the past 20+ years, there are no layers of bureaucracy at coupevillesports.com. There are no editors to whack my knuckles.

But I do answer to someone. I answer to you, the readers.

If more people like what I do, my readership numbers go up. And sure, some of that may be “hate readership,” especially when I poke other schools (South Whidbey, ATM, Sultan … how you doin’?), but you still spent the time to read it, so we’ll call that a win for education in general!

And, if they hate it, or are upset, they either go away and don’t read (hasn’t happened yet) or they unload on me (oh, that has happened). If I’m a responsible writer, I grow and learn and adapt to the criticism … or I just blast ’em again.

But either way, the reader is my boss, pure and simple.

I understand the touchy parts of what I choose to cover — small town sports, with an emphasis on teenagers. There is a fine line between building pride in a town and making young kids feel a sense of accomplishment and over-inflating their egos and building a sense of unwarranted entitlement.

I also understand the concerns of parents about what photos I run. When you see photos with feature stories, those photos are provided by the athletes themselves (I do not skip across Facebook, poaching photos of young children), and I will always bow to the concerns of parents when it comes to interview questions or photo requests.

We’re almost 13 months into this now, with 1,262 articles and a billion (at least) photos provided by a wide range of photographers, from moms with camera phones to professional photographers who support the notion of giving the Canadian-funded “local” rags a wedgie.

There is no way everyone was happy with every story. Hopefully, no one hated every article. If you did, and you still read all of them, man … you are seriously dedicated.

As we roll into tomorrow, I will make some people happy, and I will tick off some others. That’s life. Acting like “a responsible adult” is probably not on my personal horizon, however.

But you, the reader, have the upper hand.

Tasty treats or liberal application of the ruler. Either way, that’s something I can understand.

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There you go, South Whidbey. An updated photo for your data base.

There you go, South Whidbey. An updated photo for your data base.

Year two begins.

Today marks the one-year anniversary of coupevillesports.com (celebratory cupcakes can be delivered to me at Christopher’s on Whidbey, if you so choose … he said with fingers crossed).

We entertained some people. We pissed off some people. Sometimes the same people.

1,209 articles, with 99.8% written by my dish pit-abused fingers. A billion photos (give or take three or four), thanks to intrepid photographers like Shelli Trumbull, John Fisken, Kali Barrio and a thousand other moms and grandmas.

It has been a wild ride so far, as I have returned to covering live sports (there is no “joy” quite like watching a 0-0 tie in high school soccer in a driving rain storm…) and re-sparked my interest in writing.

I have, admittedly, fluctuated wildly between living the way the guardian angel on my shoulder, Kim Andrews, would like me to, celebrating the anonymous, unknown, rarely-covered athlete while also occasionally being a little turd who enjoys flicking the ears of others.

South Whidbey banned me from their high school gym and someone set up a rival blog to document how I was a big meanie. It lasted one whole article, which is real commitment there, Chuckles.

Sultan and Archbishop Thomas Murphy, not big fans. I amused the King’s football coach and their radio announcers, though, so there’s that.

And the gutless, ineffectual Canucks up in Moosejaw who own all three Whidbey Island newspapers and erased three years of my bylines from the Whidbey Examiner with a single keystroke?

Probably not getting an invite to their next pity party, where they try to figure out how a part-timer scoops their overpaid loafers 24-7-365.

I know. I should be the better man. There is great joy to be found when you shine the spotlight on a Holly Craggs, a Manuel Lopez Santillana, a Jared Helmstadter or a Heni “Smartest Young Woman in the World” Barnes.

But, there is also great joy to be found flicking fools.

So, I go forward, trying to find the balance between the two, while staying true to the one rock-solid principle behind this blog — if it amuses me, it runs.

But what do you, the readers, want to see? Take the snazzy poll below and let fire.

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The blogger-Canadian Corporate lackey stare-down. Slap fight in three, two, one...

    The “Insolent Blogger vs. Canadian Corporate Lackies” stare-down enters year two. Slap fight in three, two, one…

So, this is where I’m supposed to get profound.

As we stand two days from the one-year anniversary of coupevillesports.com (and they said I’d give up after six months…), I’m supposed to talk about how this blog pulled me back from a dark period in my life.

How it revived my interest in journalism after Canadian Corporate Loonies from Moosejaw crapped all over three years worth of my bylined stories in The Whidbey Examiner, erasing them with a single keystroke.

After a carpetbagger owner sold out (in more ways than one) and fled town, her pockets stuffed with money made partially off of the sweat and skills of those dumb enough to buy her “we’re fighting the man” spiel.

After the last independent paper on Whidbey Island was stabbed in the back and left to bleed out in the streets.

See, up until that point, I really didn’t care all that much.

You shouldn’t have made it personal. Because now it most certainly is just that.

I try and walk a fine line and frequently fail.

I like many of the men and women who work for the Evil Empire. I owe the start of my journalism “career” to one or two of them.

But when you cash the check from Canada, you make your decision. You put on the Stormtrooper armor, you are the bad guys.

Call it self righteousness. Call it me being an ass. Pick your favorite.

The reality is, this blog is kickin’ the big, fat, way overpaid butts of the Whidbey News-Times, Examiner and South Whidbey Record.

I have produced more than 1,200 articles in the first year and run billions of photos. I have taken a chunk of your audience away, a younger generation that will not return.

I am faster. I know more people. I consistently break more news than you do. I write about the athletes you have never heard of, the athletes you ignore, the athletes you marginalize.

I am beating you and will continue to do so.

And you know why? Because I still believe in the pipe dream of “independent journalism.”

I abuse my typing fingers in the dish pit — they bear slashes and cuts, grooves washed out by the salty waters of twice-daily swims in Penn Cove — and I wake up in the middle of many a night with my hands feeling like they’re broken.

Some days there is a deep buzz in my fingers, a stiffness put there by a job that wasn’t fun at 18 and is a real pain at 42.

That buzz in my fingers drives me, however. It gives me that edge of crankiness that makes me write at 3 AM, when you’re sleeping on beds filled with downy-soft imported feathers bought on your cushy Canuck pensions.

Fear the man with the buzz in his fingers.

Year one was showing you how just how you would lose this battle. Year two is going to get a whole lot more painful.

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"Here I go again, down the only road I know..."

“Here I go again, down the only road I know…”

Possibly...

Possibly…

The prodigal son returned, and little had changed.

After a self-imposed exile of several months from my home away from home for the past 24 years, the Oak Harbor Cinemas, I returned Tuesday and plunked my eight bucks down to see a matinee of “The Wolverine.”

Well, in typical OHC fashion, I first had to wait for the strip mall cinema palace to open, which it finally did 11 minutes late, with no lights on inside and one employee trying to sell tickets, popcorn and, eventually, run the projector.

Just like old times.

Sitting in the parking lot, with Dairy Queen reliably churning out soft serve over my shoulder, it could be 2013. Or it could be 1997. Or 1989, when I first went through those doors. Time has not changed my movie theater.

And it is MY movie theater, a three-screen oasis, which, while it will never resemble a modern wonder of architecture, has given me much. And taken much, as I have spent thousands of dollars (seriously) there since the day I first camped outside its doors to see Micheal Keaton become “Batman.”

Then went back another 11 times for the same film.

It is where I saw “A River Runs Through It” with my Montana born-and-bred father, the final film he saw in theaters.

Where I saw “Deep Impact” with my mother, a movie that produces way too many tears for its level of quality, but that is another story.

Where I saw “A Knight’s Tale” as my very young nephew swung from the seats.

“George of the Jungle.” “Unforgiven.” “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” “Drive.” “Schindler’s List.” “Saving Private Ryan.” “The Crying Game.” “Pulp Fiction.” “Brokeback Mountain.”

“Interview with the Vampire” with a rockin’ case of food poisoning and “Thelma and Louise” as the only guy in a theater full of VERY angry women.

More Jean Claude Van Damme films than I care to remember and numerous times when I had a theater entirely to myself — not always at the same time.

I went week in and week out. I have seen more films than you can imagine in those three darkened rooms. The seats in the back row are contoured to my butt cheek outlines.

And then … I stopped going. I did the unthinkable, the truly unimaginable. I went three months into the summer movie season without darkening their doors.

It wasn’t a lack of money or the dearth of original movies coming from Hollywood. Not all remakes and sequels are created equally, and I have always scraped together ticket money, even when I had to skip paying bills.

It wasn’t the annoyance of the rise of cell phones, which has made me want to take a BB gun into the theater and plunk each and every person whose “smart” phone suddenly lights up like a glowing target.

In the end, it was a theater, my theater, that completely lost the ability to do that most basic of things — play a movie.

“Prometheus” stopped 261 times. “Red Tails” died five minutes in, never to return. “Jack Reacher” failed to even start, TWICE.

Another 18-mile round trip wasted each time. And an annoyance became something worse, and I simply walked away.

It took 24 years, but the Oak Harbor Cinemas finally killed our relationship.

Until Tuesday, when I went back.

And the film played start to finish for once. Which is a nice start.

As I looked up at the ceiling and found that one watermarked tile that has been there since 1989, I was home again.

For better or worse.

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