A Casual Half-Watch Of The Dune Reboot. A Defense Of Nonchalantly Watching Movies.

When Dune first arrived on the scene in 2021, it arrived as a big deal.  With a 165 million dollar budget and having already been delayed due to Covid-19 concerns the anticipation for this movie was relatively large.  I knew vaguely of the prior movie, the original book, and even the video game Dune 2000.  I knew the story generally concerned space, a desert, giant worms, and something called spice.

Still, I couldn’t really get myself to watch it.  Two and a half hours for what I assumed would be a far too hard to understand movie, and one that I wouldn’t be able to get over with a bit of a half-watch.

I have found that I tend to half-watch things now more than ever.  Typically, reality style television shows such as Survivor, Masked Singer, or The Challenge, as well as some live sports.  The television format for these shows rarely if ever changes, giving me the freedom to scroll through my phone, text my friends, play a video game on the side, or even try to write an essay.

When I half-watch things, it becomes the equivalent of speed reading.  Yes, I've gotten further along, I’ve absorbed the basics and I might even pass a test if someone wanted to examine what I've retained.  But I often lose the full picture and the ability to think to critically about the story.

Eventually, due to the amount of fanfare the film was still getting and the face that the film would apparently be leaving the streaming service I had subscribed to (HBO Max), I succumbed and decided I would give the film a half-watch on my tablet and replaying Diablo 3. 

The key to absorbing anything in this form is to keep my game volume low to off, and the movie volume loud enough to take most of my attention.  Diablo 3 to me is the equivalent of driving a car.  As long as you understand exactly what you’re doing, you can drive on a highway at 65 MPH, be listening to a podcast and simultaneously perform complex actions.

However, Dune was insisting upon itself.  The character design, the sounds and score of the film, and the ability of the writing to be both loud and obvious while carrying a mystery.  I would constantly find myself rewinding and rewatching scenes that I wanted to understand or appreciate a bit more.  The artistic imagery and imagination were worthy of the accolades they received at various award shows.

The movie was great!

However, now a new reality was starting to set in.

I had become incredibly tired.

I thought that by starting the movie at roughly 9PM would mean that I would be able to stay awake until roughly 11:30 or maybe even just a little past midnight.  I thought that if I had a can of Pepsi Nitro, which had objectively more than enough sugar and caffeine that I shouldn’t have had any opportunity to get tired.  The movie I was watching was good!  The side game was stimulating enough, and I had some traditional stimulants.  Still, my eyes felt so heavy that I found myself briefly sleeping then falling back into my consciousness.

I wasn’t going to make it.  I was not going to finish Dune, and I would succumb to my bodies age and needs.

To be sure, I never regret this decision.  There are few activities I love more than going to bed when I’m exhausted.  The sensation of the soft sheets against my skin and the presence of my wife sleeping silently beside me dive me to a place of peace.  If the cost of this nighttime nirvana is the premature stopping of part 1 of a 3-part movie series, I will always pay the toll.

Anyway, this is a huge bummer, since I don’t know if I’ll be able to resume the movie after I wake up.  April 9^th will be 1 day past the displayed availability.  So when my feet hit the floor the next morning and check my paused tablet to discover an error.

Sadly it looked like my lack of late night energy costed me the opportunity to finish my half-watched movie in full.  However, as I exited the program, for whatever reason, a fresh Dune icon came up indicating the move was still On Demand.

Instead of watching at roughly the point where I had left off, I start the movie over again from the beginning.  In some ways, by half-watching the movie twice allowed for a better comprehension as to the full plot.  It drew me in further when I watched a second time, this time with a bit more of an attentive ear.  It made me a fan and looking eagerly towards the next installment.

I didn’t watch the story the way it was originally intended.  I think that most sci-fi and fantasy fans would be horrified in my casual approach to a sci-fi epic.  Yet in the end I loved the movie, and can’t recommend it enough, even if you want to do something on the side and give it a modern half-watch.

All-Time Duke/UNC VS. All-Time HS To Pro. Just For Fun

 

As I watched North Carolina celebrate their win over Duke Saturday night and the relentless flashbacks of great players from years gone by, I felt the urge to make comparisons and make dumb and fun hypothetical match-ups.

The first thought was the most apparent.  If you made a UNC All-Time squad versus a Duke All-Time squad who wins and why?  But then that question felt too obvious and boring, and I wanted to pose another.  If you took the combined best players from UNC and Duke and made a Super Carolina team, would that team beat a team made up of the best high school to Pro players?

Kobe Could Have Gone To Duke...And Then Played On My Fictional UNC/Duke Team

In the time frame I grew up, more and more high school basketball prodigies were simply forgoing college and attempting to get to the league without a proverbial pit-stop.  For a time, almost all the best players seemed to have skipped college.  Most notably, Lebron James, Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett.

In the same time frame, no two schools were better at producing NBA talent than North Carolina and Duke.

Yes, UNC hits the proverbial home run with Michael Jordan, the gold standard for basketball, and this imaginary team would stack James Worthy, Vince Carter, Grant Hill, and maybe Kyrie Irving in for a starting 5.  That would likely be 5 Hall of Famers on one squad including arguably the best player ever.

However, a glance at the High School to Pro contingent over the same period shows just how much talent the college game has missed.

The best HS team obviously begins with LeBron and Kobe, two players who are compared to Jordan incessantly.  Kobe as a near carbon copy, and LeBron as the next evolution of the ‘best’ player argument.  If you take Jordan out of the UNC/Duke team, it becomes obvious that the top tier talent didn’t go to college at all through the mid 80’s and early 2000’s.

The other part that becomes apparent is the raw size and speed of the HS team.  It would be likely that the starting 5 from the squad would consist of Lebron, Kobe, T-Mac, Malone, and KG.  The ability to control the game defensively and through the glass would presumably make up for the 3-point deficiencies.

Imaginary Teams

Then, as we move to the bench, we see a continuation of the same trend of better shooters on the college side, and better defenders and interior players from the HS side.  JJ Reddick, Rasheed Wallace, and Antawn Jamison gives the UNC/Duke 3-point weapons if they can get open.   The sheer length and athleticism ranging from Dwight Howard, Shawn Kemp, Shaun Livingston and Lou Williams would make it near impossible to get good looks inside and contested 3's would abound.

So in this hypothetical, I have the HS squad as a better group than the UNC/Duke All-Timers.  I think the size and speed are too much for the UNC/Duke combo even though I could envision UNC/Duke beating the HS All-Stars one or twice in a 7-game series. 

An argument could be made that the UNC/Duke bench is more balanced than the HS team and that is a point I would concede.  However, the best players are probably playing playoff minutes and a win or go home mentality.  I think you could play the starters 40 minutes a piece easy if we are talking in their prime's.

Now, if I didn’t stop at UNC/Duke, and I were to make one smaller tweak and add the best Wake Forest players to the Duke/UNC team…with the addition of Tim Duncan and Chris Paul, I believe they might become the favorite, so long as they can keep turnovers to a minimum.

Duncan drastically changes the rim protection and rebounding and Chris Paul adds another ball handler that I don’t think depth wise the HS team would have an answer for. 

Do You Believe In Santa Claus?

So this is small work of fiction I wrote in story form for a writing contest in 2018.  The prompt was 2,500 words, Mind Control, Stolen Gems and Thrilling. 

I didn't win, but thought I'd share it generally anyway.

People do love their conspiracy theories.



Do You Believe in Santa Claus?

A fictional story about professional football and a betrayal of faith.












































2:05 AM Feb 4^th, 2018

Tom spent most of the small hours of the night pacing nervously in his hotel suite, his feet and hands sweating as he thought about the phone call.

His time was up. 

It wasn’t all his fault anyway, he thought.  After all it really could have been anyone, he just happened to come along at the right place and right time.  He was just following orders.  He had no time for his periphery vision to be wasted for the outside world.

They had told him what to do.  They always did.  Whether it was the old man who looked fake with his combed over silver hair and plush ties, or the younger man who looked older than any of them and smelled of bad cigars and expensive scotch.

“Come to bed,” whispered an unseen angelic figure from the opaque shadow.

“In a minute, I gotta’ get my head right” he answered with just enough emphasis to not be questioned.

His mind hammered and his stomach seemed empty and sick at the same time.

He walked out into the hallway, the lights out save for some iridescent blue lighting coming from the security lights.

For the first time in over 18 years, Tom wondered who he would be.

Here he was, the poster boy on the video game covers.  The one that married the Super Model.  The one that everyone (or at least a large section of the general population) wanted to be.

He was the best, the most decorated ever, and he just wanted one more ring, just one more.  It’s all that he ever really wanted anymore.  The only thing that didn’t seem guaranteed.  The only thing that was up for grabs.

But he was wrong, and now he had to choose his next steps carefully.

Should he continue to play their game?  Or should he chart his own path and expose it all?

Why did he care?

Tom wasn’t one to question his own success until now.  After all, he knew how hard he worked, how much he studied the game.  He put hours after hours, listening to coaches, reviewing the film.  It consumed him.  At times it was ALL he thought about.

Be the best, work the hardest, don’t doubt your own ability.  Believe in yourself.  Believe in the impossible. 

Yet that Saturday night, on the eve the biggest sports event in the world, in which he would star, Tom finally asked himself whether he was acting the part of the hero rather than being it.

The League had made him a millionaire ten times over.  He was in so many ways indebted to it.

“3 Out Slot, Ghost Tracer, 73 on set, Tom, watch the blitz, they love to blitz this down, if so look to your Hot.”

It happened just like that. 

Not all, but most.

Tom had always thought this was the brilliance of his coach, the ability to predict blitzes and coverages, based on little more than scouting and intuition.  Perhaps some analytics.

“Tom, I think they’ll be in cover 3 here, you should have Gronk on the cross.”

“Hey, keep your tail in to block, might be a zone blitz.”

But that was all before the phone call…

6:18 PM Feb 3^rd, 2018

 

It was snowing outside in Minnesota with a kind of unsympathetic cold, and it was generally as Minnesotan as a winter day could get.  Tom was engrossed with his tablet studying film, his soul consumed with the thought of becoming the best at EVERYTHING, to put more on his mantle than anyone before him or would again.  He felt he was close.

He wasn’t startled so much as annoyed, but when the caller ID read that the cigar man was calling he picked up.  He would always pick up for him.

“Tom…” The voice came but without the steely resolve and confidence it was known for, as though it was searching for its own identity.

“Tom, I’m sorry.  We had a good run, but it’s over.”

“Sorry what?”

“It’s over Tom, we can’t do it anymore, it’s too risky, and you are going to have to take the hit.”

“Bill what the fuck are you talking about”

“Tom, it’s always been this way, we never tell you guys anything until we think you’re ready, and, well, you might not be ready, but we have to move now.  There’s just too much money invested elsewhere.  We had our run, but it’s over.  You’re going to have to take the hit.”

Tom attempted to speak but he had no words yet.  He felt as though someone was joking with him.  Putting him on as a prank.

“Tom, I…I’m sorry.  We had a great run.  But it’s over.  In the third quarter, they’re going to blitz, we will call the ghost right, but you are going to take a big hit, and I just want you to be ready, because it’s the last one you get to take.  After this, you need to announce your retirement.  Maybe you’ll coach, but no one wants to see you or I on the field anymore.  Our story is done.”

“Bill, what…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get paid more than you can imagine.  And you’ll still have a hero’s welcome, and you’ll get your ring, but this is going to be it.  Tom, it’s not real.  The game… It’s an illusion with subtle choreography.  We can’t let the kids know, we can’t let those dumb asses in the south and in the ghettos, know, but it’s finally time you did.  Our sport, what started as a game, became a business, and we can’t stop it anymore.  We stand to gain billions tomorrow.  Do you understand?  Billions.”

Tom felt his stomach grow tighter.  A knot that wasn’t there suddenly ten minutes ago, seemed to have just sprouted and now felt like it was siphoning the flow of blood to the rest of his body.

“It wasn’t always this way, but once television came, and the crowds were selling out, what was everyone supposed to do?  It all started with Otto Graham in the 50’s.  Yes, all the way back then.  You see the game until that point was boring.  The running game was everything to a football game, and it resembled more of a rugby style game that was violent, athletically strenuous, but boring to watch….”

Tom could feel his heart jumping around in his chest like a psychopath against a padded wall.  He could barely listen.  He could barely think.

“Wait, please stop.  Is this some kind of psycho-analytic motivational technique?  If it’s rigged, someone else would have let it slip, there’s no way that many coaches and players could know.  It’s impossible!”  Tom shouted exasperatedly.

“We don’t tell most of you.  Just the legends.  Just the ones that deserve it.  The ones that have given the game and us so much that we will never ever be able to repay you with all the money in the world.  Besides, it’s so much better if you don’t know what’s going on.  You play so much harder.  You nearly kill each other for the sake of the game.

Paul Brown was the first to do it with Otto Graham in Cleveland.  Brown could see that depending on spotting the right defense, the accuracy and beauty of Otto’s throws they were not only nearly unstoppable, but incredibly fun to watch.  People loved to watch his throws come down with those majestic spirals, land deftly in someone’s hands running to the end-zone.  Otto would walk up, see what the defense did and then adjusted.  He did it so well that he won 7 championships and appeared in several more.  Little did Otto know that he was a pawn in Paul’s incredible new game.

It started with just a script.  Simple stuff, really.  Paul and the other coaches would script out the plays for the game.  Not more than maybe 10, then let their players choose what to do during the game.  As the game progressed, they would alert their players to specific designs and needs of the game.  They devised a simple system of signaling to the other coaches that they needed to switch play designs.  Sometimes it didn’t work.  The players didn’t realize it was going on because, well, they were never trained to think that way.  They simply thought their respective coaches only had their players in mind.  It never occurred to them that they would work together.

The start was simple.  They simply would use small non-verbal signals.  They would have “plants” in the stands to observe via binoculars and give the information down.  Of course, mistakes happen, and you couldn’t very well control everything, but this allowed for dramatic comebacks and seemingly insurmountable leads to fall.  The goal was simple, to give the fans something exciting to watch.   Now it’s so much easier with the technology.  We simply tell the other coaches what we’re gonna run, then they tell us what defense they think will produce an interesting play for whichever side we want to have something happen.  We tell you where to look, where the strengths or weaknesses are maybe.  And the 2-minute drills?  They’re always scripted.  We know what offense to run, because we know what defense they’ll be running, and we train you for it.  That’s why we were put in a big hole against Atlanta last year, and why it was so easy to come back. 

Because that’s how it was supposed to go.

People love comeback stories. Sure, sometimes they love pure dominance, but it’s far more thrilling for a back and forth.  We like to root not only for champions, but the underdog champions.  The ones that come back from a War like Otto did after World War II.  Johnny Unitas, who was a ninth-round pick that got cut by Pittsburgh, would become the face of football for the late 50’s and early sixties.  Joe Montana a third-round pick, originally from a small coal mining town.  Kurt Warner was a grocery clerk.  In fact, it was going to be Kurt who we all thought would be the next greatest story, but then 9/11 happened and everyone just wanted to see the red white and blue win as soon as possible.  Baseball fucked it up when the Yankees lost to the Diamondbacks.  Sure, they tried, but it’s so much harder to hit baseballs than it is to throw and catch a football.  Shit happens.”

Tom hung up the phone.

It was all fake?  His life was a lie built on the entertainment of millions and not of his own work?  The trophies and rings, his awards and stature seemed hollow now.   His arduous work seemed to be to be worthless.  Tom realized his shirt had now soaked through with sweat and he felt an overwhelming need to wash his face.  He rushed to bathroom, put his face to the faucet and attempted to scrub away the avalanche of doubt cascading through his mind.

The phone rang again…





1:15 AM Feb. 4^th, 2018

The night was slipping away with the icy wind.   Tom couldn’t feel the cold as much as he could sense it.  It was a barren and desolate night lacking any hint of warmth in the atmosphere.  He was lost in the moment, unable to move and numb from the reality that was hitting him in the face.

He was a fraud.  A rich and wealthy fraud, but a fraud nonetheless.  How could he have been so blind?  He just wanted to be liked, he wanted the glory of his Idol.  The rings and the recognition.  He knew he wasn’t the strongest or the fastest, but he thought he figured out the game.  That he understood it’s inner workings and could now decimate the opponent through his mind and preparation.  To find out that it was designed for him to win; that he was destined to be great through the work of people above him made him feel as though he had earned nothing. 

6:35 PM Feb. 3^rd, 2018

“It’s about the story, Tom, it’s always about the story.  We’ve been telling ours for almost twenty years.  It’s amazing how people only see what they want to see.  They wanted to see you win, the underdog from Michigan, a sixth round back up with gutty long drives.  The ball you threw seemed so beautiful, and obviously you looked the part.  Hell, obviously you still look the part!  We took you up and down and I’m sorry for that play against Kansas City.  We knew you were going to get hit a lot that game, but we never expected him to hit you low.

But that’s just part of business, you know?  You picked yourself back up and the next year we made sure you came in with that bang in Buffalo.  So, it works out.  It’s not like you haven’t been rewarded for what you’ve done. 

But it’s no longer up to us, it’s up the creators now and they say it’s time for some new blood.  Maybe Wentz, maybe Goff, maybe even DeShaun if he can come back and play.  The comeback kids are so easy to root for, so easy to believe in. 

If Tebow could have thrown better, he’d probably already have a few titles, but the kid just threw an ugly looking ball.  It would never translate. 

Anyway, the play is in the third, you’ll go reach for your knee and that’s it.  From there we can discuss what your retirement options can be.  Just listen for Josh to say “Santa” over the radio.

Again Tom, I’m sorry, but we’ll talk more later.”

8:30 PM Feb. 4^th, 2018

Tom felt no pain, and walked into the blue injury tent, where somehow the old man had made his way in.

“Great show, great show.”

He could look at the man’s hands, looking at the rings.

“Can’t believe I got you those...” murmured Tom.

The old man winked.  “Oh, my dear son, did you think you were a good boy all these years?  That you earned the presents under your tree?  You did well, but not any better than any of the other boys.  You see, Santa isn’t real, just their fathers, and luckily for you, you simply had the best father.  I’d spoil you more, but it’s time to get out of the house so to speak.  It’s time for you to grow up.  We still need you Tom, but now instead of executing our game, you need to take the next step.  To be where I am, to make me truly proud, you need design your own game.  Bill will help you if you like.  He’s been great at doing it since his days with the Giants.  But now it’s time to shut the door on your imagination and tell you the truth about Santa Claus.”