We're getting there. Almost all the content is up. It's just a matter of cleaning up the links & looks.

Four days...

If you are a regular reading of this blog of sorts, you may well notice that all the Barbershop-related links have *POOF* disappeared from the left of the page. I have not been hacked. It was voluntary.

*GASP*

Don't fret!

It's merely because I completely relaxed myself today by working on the site's re-launch and did not want anyone stumbling onto an unconstructed site. Yeah, that's right. The Barbershop, version 2.0 is going to be officially official. You will be fully privy to the creative musings and oeuvre of one Benjamin John Couch a/k/a The Swill Barber.

Start the countdown with five days on the clock.

In the words of Stifler, it's on like Donkey Kong.

Aight... I'm back at school. Have been for a week as of tomorrow. The apartment is shaping up to be pretty dope. Lots of DVDs, my dope ass futon and chair, and an XBox on the way. It's weird being back on the Hill, but I'm acclimating. You kind of have to, I guess.

Classes are pretty interesting. I've got Ethics in Sports Comm, Sportswriting, PR Writing, Media Law and the Black Press in US History. If you notice a common theme of journalism in there, well, now you know my major if you didn't before. It's gonna be tough though. I've already been assigned an entire book (170 pp) for Monday. Fun times.

Any case, I'm the sports columnist for The Daily Tar Heel now, and you can read my first column, if you so choose. I'll keep you kids posted. Be easy.

I posted a mixtape to put together, which you can access by clicking the "Soundtrack" button just left of here. I've also decided that actually publishing things is more conducive to you reading them than me politely asking. So here's the long lost in cyberspace column on German soccer:

Lessons In Fandom: The German Soccer Experience

BERLIN – Soccer, we like to think stateside, is quaint.

It’s a game for kids to outgrow as they get older and find “real,” more traditionally “American” sports.

We even gave it a professional league – and one for women, too! (Temporarily, anyway.)

But in Europe, it’s a whole other story.

Soccer is professional and collegiate basketball, baseball and football rolled into one:

• The money is just as ludicrous. David Beckham’s transfer to Real Madrid cost the Spanish team $30 million.
• The fans are there. Teams sell out 60-80,000 person stadiums regularly and are notorious for their passion (i.e. drunken belligerence).
• And the competition is even better because teams are not only fighting to make the playoffs, they have to avoid a bottom three finish or risk being relegated to the second division.

During my semester here in Berlin, I checked out a pair of Hertha BSC home games this season, against FC Bayern München and VfL Wolfsburg, keeping a diary of the latter.

Hertha could generously be described as mediocre - they’ve spent the entire year at the bottom of Bundesliga 1, in danger of dropping down to the second league.

With local sports team mediocrity now following my life’s travels for a third time, I have officially begun to think I have bad sports karma.

1:36 p.m.
I hop on the U6 train to start the trek to Olympic Stadium. It’s a typical day for the once-split city – chilly, gray and damp. I’d be rocking the blue and white for BSC, but I plan on freeloading off of my press pass (free entry and food, anyone?) and then sliding down to chill with the boys. Here’s to hoping I make it.

1:44 p.m.
Waiting for my transfer, I spot the first fans of the day – jerseys abound, hats are worn, flags carried and so many wool scarves (the soccer equivalent to a team pennant) are threaded through belt loops that it looks like guys are wearing kilts. Gotta love it already.

1:49 p.m.
Two 11-year-old girls clad in opposing gear get on the train with Dad and Grandpa and receive a few playful jabs from older Hertha fans.

1:51 p.m.
The first group of drunken revelers has arrived! Berlin’s lack of open container laws makes the train ride amusing, if not slightly scary. You can forget tailgating – these guys are done before they’ve gotten to the stadium. As the gang of Hertha-clad 20-somethings board the train and begin a serious of boisterous chants that won’t relent for the rest of the 30 minutes I’m on the train, the two aforementioned young’uns promptly cringe and begin to visibly shrink into themselves. I almost feel bad before realizing that if I took the D train to Yankee stadium wearing a Mets jersey, that’d be my fault and I would deserve whatever happened to me.

2:30 p.m.
I pick up the press pass after a slight verbal fumble with the secretary. I asked her for it in German and when she asked for my name in English, I had no idea what she was saying. This resulted in me standing there like an idiot for two minutes before it processed. She handed the pass to me with an accommodating smile that said, “Wow, Americans are dumb. How endearing.”

2:36 p.m.
I take a slight detour through the trees along a well-worn path and am promptly confronted with more displays of full-frontal urination than any one man need be privy to in his lifetime.

2:38 p.m.
The parking lot is a madhouse – Tailgating isn’t something to do here, it’s the thing to do. RVs are camped out, there’s barbeques going, merchandise stands, and there’s bratwurst and good German beer everywhere. I think I found where testosterone comes from.

2:52 p.m.
I’m finally on the Olympic Stadium grounds. There’s trucks from local radio stations blaring, a speed kick both, food and merchandise everywhere – it’s like Disneyland, with all the mini-attractions set up around the castle. I hit the press spread and score free Coca-cola, food and game programs.

3:08 p.m.
I manage to successfully bluff my way into the lower tier, “searching for my friends” – in German, no less! I’m 24 rows up and halfway between the goal box and midfield. It’s a sweet deal. Wolfsburg comes out for warm-ups wearing low socks with shorts! This is horrible, just horrible. Imagine going to a Knicks game and seeing Stephon Marbury in Stocktons. Inexplicable. Other than that huge party foul, warm-ups are much like those before baseball games. The players make everything look really, really easy. I almost started thinking that I, too, could loft low-flying 30-yard strikes to other players. And then I remembered my club foot.

3:15 p.m.
The Hertha team song starts blaring over the loudspeakers. It’s sort of pop-polka that includes chanting and stomping. And three minutes later it’s STILL GOING ON.

3:19 p.m.
The polka-palooza mercifully ends and the crowd-chants start. They’re led by the several thousand hardcore fans in the lower-level section behind the goal. The stomping and chanting reverberates throughout the entire stadium. Can we hire these guys for home basketball games? Please? They’re doing clap and stomp combos in sync, for crying out loud – the sheer coordination is mind boggling! Revolutionary. The w(h)ine and cheesers are officially fired.

3:24 p.m.
Greg shows. Slacker.

3:30 p.m.
Eye of the Tiger begins blaring over the loudspeaker as the teams take the field. Some things are just universal, I guess. Wolfsburg had the good sense to switch to high-socks – sports actually does have a fashion god.

3:37 p.m.
A 1-0 Bayern deficit shown on the big screen elicits a cheer from the crowd. It’s been a long year for BSC fans, and dropping out of the first league would be crushing to the pride of Germany’s capital city. The jeers at bad plays so far have been jaded, resigned ones.

3:42 p.m.
Wolfsburg takes the first shot on goal, which is saved by the Hertha keeper, Christian Fiedler. BSC responds with a rush and is fouled just outside of the box, but the penalty is headed clear.

3:44 p.m.
A very inebriated man has just plopped down in front of us. He’s so drunk he’s talking to invisible friends. He’s also a bellower. This is going to be entertaining.

3:46 p.m.
Two beautiful Hertha passes – one long and low and the second a one-touch chip over the defender’s head – set up a wide-open shot in the middle, which is kicked directly into the goalie. And there was no rejoicing. Pause. Boooo…

3:52 p.m.
The drunkard has just been smirkingly laughed at by a man with a mullet, who shares the laugh with his mullet-wearing wife. When Mr. Mullet is laughing at you, it’s time to sign up for A.A.

3:53 p.m.
TOOOOOOOOR! Her-THA! Her-THA! B! S! C! Hertha scores when a Pal Dárdai centering pass in the box is touched past the goalkeeper by Nando Rafael. All is suddenly well in Berlin. I can even see the sun.

3:55 p.m.
Defender Dennis Cagara makes a long run down the sideline before sending a shot high and wide of the goal. The crowd responds with appreciative applause. Hertha seems to be aware of just how close the second division looms.

3:58 p.m.
Can someone come up with a more complicated rule than offsides? Please? I mean isn’t pass interference hard enough? I’ll bet attempts to explain the offsides rule are responsible for more smiles and nods than you’ll get from George Bush at a nuculer physics symposium.

4:13 p.m.
The drunk is officially incoherent. Officially.

4:15 p.m.
Halftime. Hertha up 1-0 and playing well. This could be a boring half. Time for some beer. I wait in a terribly long line, which is muted by the fact that the beer is only three euro, plus a one euro deposit on the cup (there’s an annoyance). However, while waiting in line, I am overwhelmed by the smells emanating from the pretzel stand next to me. This is problematic because I’m keeping Kosher for Passover. Doing that and going to a ballpark is like going to a meeting for narcoleptics as a chronic insomniac. I break down and go to the pretzel stand. And there are none left. Yaweh smiles.

4:35 p.m.
I miss the beginning of the second half and am forced to walk across an entire row of people to get to my seat. They were not there last half. Maybe they were just late.

4:45 p.m.
The fans are still cheering and chanting and being raucous. I don’t think they’ve sat down except during halftime, and maybe not even then. I’m in awe.

4:52 p.m.
It got colder, it’s drizzling slightly, Hertha is solidly in control and I have to displace an entire row of people to make sure I get my cup refund before the game’s out. Exhilarating. The announced crowd is 33,000 in the 55,000-person stadium. Not bad for the day and relatively meaningless game.

4:58 p.m.
I get back to my seat to Wolfsburg get their best chance of the game on a rush when a one-hopper goes over the keeper’s fingertips… and over the crossbar. Maybe they’ll tie. With all the continuous action, you never know. It’s impressive how conditioned these guys are – they’re on the move for 45 minutes straight. Football players only move for about eight seconds at once and baseball players take turns. Basketball’s almost close, until you realize these games are twice as long and have only one real stoppage, at halftime.

5:01 p.m.
After three minutes of staring at a warm, fluffy white brötchen (bread roll) I had purchased only at the insistence of the Wurst salesman – she said it was too hot to give me in my hands – I lose the Passover battle. They’re so damn good, I almost don’t feel bad. And then I remember God gave me a second chance and I blew it. I have incurred the wrath of Yaweh. Not a good position to be in.

5:15 p.m.
The crowd is absolutely livid after a series of non-calls against Wolfsburg. I’ve heard arschloch (find a German and ask) more times in the last three minutes than the last three months. It looks to me like there’s at least two pretty clear ones. I guess the refs are ready to go home. Can’t really blame them. Somewhere inside with a hot beverage would be inviting. Berlin weather – it’s faaaan-tastic!

5:16 p.m.
One of the Wolfsburg players tries to get some attention by lying on the floor for several minutes. He is resoundly ignored by the referees. Wolfsburg does get a scoring chance out of the deal. I suppose the diversion worked.

5:18 p.m.
The final three whistles blow and Hertha wins 1-0. The fans do some crazy flag-waving stomp and clap sequence for the next five minutes as I’m exiting. After the Berlin equivalent to “I’m a Tar Heel Born” finishes, they stay in place and start doing more chants. They’re better men than I. Well, I’ll give it a go here to earn back some street cred: Her-THA! Her-THA! B! S! C! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Yea... so remember how I begrudgingly bestowed the BC Seal of Approval on Derek Jeter [NDL - See 8/4/04]? He loses it. He's dating Jessica Alba. I didn't know I could possibly hate him more than I did, but I found out I could. So not fair. He's permanently off the list, and Ms. Alba has begun working her way down. Yea, that's right. Jessica Alba of Dark Angel fame, that I've been all about for the last four years. I even saw Honey in theaters! IN THEATERS! She's on the outs. I'm all about Avril. It's officially official. I'm announcing my early-entry candidacy for her marriage pool. Jess, you had your chance and blew it. Enjoy the Skankee.

And in other news, I'm meeting with Newsday's sports editor on Tuesday. Get hype!

Yea... another day, another dollar, right? Today was a long day at work. Nothing special was going on, but absolutely nothing went off smoothly. All these little things kept going wrong - paper jam here, misprint there, deleted files on the information superhighway and the like. I just got straight tired midday and almost fell asleep at the media entrance three times in an hour. Then the game started and the Cyclones won 8-1. Guess that was the only part that ran it's normal course. I'm back at school in two weeks. I think it's time.

PS
Doing lunch with Newsday's Sports Editor, that would be considered a break, right?

So that hip hop show at BB King's (NDL) I've been hyping? Yea, didn't go. I lost the tickets. And even though I purchased by credit card, because the show was SRO, the only plan of action they offered was to purchase new tickets and give me a refund for the old ones if they turned up. I'm a hip hop head and we know this. However, I'm not dropping 60 beans on a show. I'm still a college student who's gonna be 12k in the hole by the time I'm out next May. I did go andsee Collateral - that Jamie Foxx and Tom Cruise joint - instead, and it was ill enough that I didn't feel like I wasted the night. BC Seal of Approval on that one.

Be easy.

PS
At least the Knicks finally got Jamal Crawford. Here's to the BC Sports Rant Reverse Jinx. Word.

I was checkin Sash's livejournal and saw the link to the life highway quiz and got these as results:

The Swill Barber:



TheSwillBarber:

I have to drink some to hang out with white people for a time. This isn't a fun realization. I'd rather be the loser in a group of black people than be with a bunch of white kids I think I'm cooler than. It's not fun to think that you're better than everyone else. My train of thought turns that into: "Well, if I'm the coolest one here, then I'm really hanging out with a bunch of assholes." So it goes...

Yea... so I'm thinking that I've lost my ability to enjoy situations. Maybe it's a function of knowing that I'm heading into my last year of college, maybe I've just been dulled by self-repression. Either way, just hanging out with people isn't doing it for me anymore. I mean, most friends are just people to waste time with. Maybe that builds up into shared experience over time, but I don't have the patience for the BS entry-level friendship building. The times I get swept up into feeling something are all viscerally cued - from movies, books, etc. It's like I've gone numb to life. Not so much fun, realizing that.

Sports Rant of the Week (2):

What is up with all the mainstream media hate on Stephon Marbury? There was a temporary relapse into recognizing the mans ability after his Suns squad put the fear of God into the Spurs two years ago, but we're back to the heat he caught during the "Alone Alone 33" days with the (Cut Down the) Nets (It'll Save Money) [NDL].

Yes, Steph forced his way out of Minnesota and a prime position next to Kevin Garnett. Kobe just did the same thing with Shaq. Yes, he's never gotten past the first round of the playoffs. But neither has Tracy McGrady, or - until this year with a great supporting cast - KG. Those are two of the top three players in the league. Yea, there's some backlash against them, but no one questions their talent or character. Stephon is one of two players in NBA history to average 20 points and 8 assists for their career. The other is OSCAR ROBERTSON. That's right, "The Big O."

I'm going to reiterate my position on this: Steph has never had a team good enough to go farther than he has. The year before the Jason Kidd (NDL) trade, that everyone likes to call the "same team" that Kidd took to the finals was horrible, just horrible. Kerry Kittles was out for the season. Kenyon Martin was a hot-headed , one-flagrant-foul-from-a-meltdown rookie who spent the year either on the injured list or recovering from a horrific broken leg. Keith Van Horn was injured at various points. Byron Scott was in the process of figuring out how best to fold his arms and look like he was in charge. The starting center was Jim "I beat the system" McIlvaine. Richard Jefferson and Jason Collins weren't on the team. That team won 26 games with Marbury, who was named to the All-Star team in the middle of the turmoil caused by 345 games lost to injury. How much better would they have been with any other pg?

If 'Ason manages to take this year's Nets into the playoffs and past round one, then we'll start to talk. Until then, save your "Stephon is bad for the game rants" and enjoy watching one of the best players ever to hit the hardwood.

It turns out that yesterday's post went through belatedly. The previous posts have been edited for best content in combination, pretending as if the event occured.

Yesterday, I posted absolutely huge and it deleted itself, causing me to self-immolate and subsequently spontaneously combust. I will now attempt to recreate.

So, I'm a slacker. Who's had plenty of chances to update. Boredom breeds inaction, I suppose. I'ma get regular, I promise (Right now, I'm really hoping that doesn't involve going on the pill). Aaaany case.

An Update on the Life and Times:

I work at KeySpan Park. A lot. Just ask Sasha - I'm one unable to go out Brooklynite. The Cyclones are in first, which is good. And they're on the road for six games, which is better. I'm enjoying *CORRECTION: REVELING* in my free time. (I just made a joke that negative two of the people who read this are going to get. Why? No reason whatsoever. I keep myself entertained. Really.) I did get to be Sandy the Seagull at two NYPD (Not Dignifying with a Link, NDL from here on out) functions yesterday. Kids love them some Sandy.

I'm kinda looking forward to this crazy underground hip hop show on Sunday at BB King's in Times Square (tourist mecca for horrible walkers that it is): Talib Kweli, Jean Grae, Dead Prez, Saigon, David Banner and some other dude I keep forgetting. 30 beans is almost a steal. Look at that lineup again. Just do it. If you aren't jumping to attend, you either a) hate hip-hop or b) are an idiot. I hope that my brother can get away from el girlfriend (he's in whipped denial) long enough to go. And maybe, just maybe, a ladyfriend from work tags. Too late in the year for anything, but having friends to chill with when I come back is clutch.

Movies to Check Out (Descending Order):

1. Requiem for a Dream: This is a movie you need to see. It's hard to watch, but I was completely captured from the opening scene and have watched in three times in the week since. It's raw, visceral, beautiful filmmaking. It even made me go and pick up Last Exit to Brooklyn, which is by the same author, Hubert Selby, Jr., who wrote the novel that Requiem is based on. Watch it.
2. The Bourne Supremacy: If ever a movie was just straight dope, this was it. An action movie with heart and occasional humor that never stops moving. No huge special effects, just Matt Damon being the Man on a Mission. Absolutely faaaan-tastic. Everything Bad Boys 2 (NDL) aspired to without coming close to achieving. Plus, half the movie was set in Berlin, which made me home (abroad?) sick.
   
3. Major League: I remembered this being a comedy, went out and bought it, and I'll be damned if it isn't a love story with some funny parts. That's not fair. I have to get Major League 2 to redeem the franchise. However, I should note that my heart swole with the crescendo of the Indians beating the Yankees (NDL), which may well have been driven by my life-long despisal of pinstripes, which stands even though Derek Jeter (NDL) proved he was rugged last month. Yea, I said it. HE actually gets the BC Seal of approval. To quote Bill Simmons, "I may have just thrown up in my mouth."

Sports Rant of the Week:

Someone please explain to me how, after making five billion trades between Christmas and February - including a franchise-altering deal to bring Starbury back to his hometown Knicks - Isiah Thomas hasn't been able to pry Jamal Crawford off of the Bulls. Jamal Crawford! Sure, he's got potential as a big guard next to Marbs, but he isn't even a good NBA starter yet. Yes, they're getting trash in the exchange, but the Bulls have ZERO leverage in this situation. They've got two - TWO - players whom they drafted after Jamal who both play the one or two. They so obviously don't want him, even Paris Hilton could get it without a lifeline. Guess John Paxson is realizing that this is a deal that even Danny Ainge might not do, which is enough to give any GM pause.

In any case, in my ESPN Basketball 2k4 franchise, I actually managed to trade for JC (the aforementioned one, not the late, great Jesus version) and Erick Dampier (who reportedly is willing to pay the Knicks to play in New York for fear of being a member of the Atlanta Hawks). My team is 42-11 and going to win the title (I brashly predict, as I block out memories of Patrick Ewing, year after year after year after... you get it). Be easy.

I just posted huge and it deleted itself.

I will now set myself on fire.