Lost: Namaste

Tonight’s episode of Lost seemed tailor-made for my specific areas of expertise. I’ll go into that … now.

  • Hurley the Bulldog
  • I guess it’s actually more like a shout-out to Josh Holloway (Sawyer) who grew up in Georgia and attended UGA for a while, but it’s cool for this UGA grad to see Hurley in a Dawgs hooded sweatshirt.

    And check out the link in the bullet because Jorge Garcia (Hurley) actually responds in the comments.

  • The Muppet Show
  • I’d need to go back and check that the intro is the correct intro for 1977, but in the scene where Jin is watching the monitors in The Arrow station, the top left monitor is displaying the song & dance number at the beginning of The Muppet Show.

  • The many role reversals of James LaFleur
  • He’s now a thoughtful (non-brooding) reader to Jack’s (now) zen and former impulsiveness?

    I also dug that Sawyer had the opportunity to torture Sayid to get information from a “hostile” (as he was tortured by Sayid in Season 1) he didn’t.

Some questions:

  • When is the Ajira 316?
  • So, not 1977, and I’m pretty sure it’s the future but when?

  • Why is Sun NOT in 1977?
  • Is it because she wasn’t pregnant or traveling with Ji Yeon? I’m open to theories.

  • What does it mean that the 1977 Losties know what will become of Ben & Ethan?
  • Two of the creepiest moments tonight were when Amy told Juliet that she and Horace were probably going to name the baby Ethan and when Sayid learned that the boy who brought him his sandwich was Ben. (What a rotten sentence!)

    Anyhow what does that particular shift in the power structure mean?

    I’m still stuck in Austin in my mind so I don’t know if I’m thinking correctly about all the previously-agreed-upon narrative structures of all this time travel, but I’d really love to hear what others think about those little nuggets.

I’m missing tons of stuff and I’m doing this for the first (only?) time on a laptop.

Put me straight.

Until next week …


No Joy in Mudville

… Mighty Georgia has struck out.

Sure, Fresno State was the Bulldog team that everyone pegged as Cinderella, but they started the season in the Top 25. UGA had an abysmal 2007 and pre-season opinions/prospects were mixed.

Still, props to those other red-wearing Dogs for hammering home the victory tonight. You earned it.

Here’s Ernest Thayer’s poem, which really said it best back in 1888:

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day,
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
They thought, “if only Casey could but get a whack at that.
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.”

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake;
and the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake.
So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat;
for there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all.
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball.
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
there was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
it pounded through on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat;
for Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place,
there was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile lit Casey’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
no stranger in the crowd could doubt t’was Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
defiance flashed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
and Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one!” the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand,
and it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey’s visage shone,
he stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on.
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew,
but Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two!”

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered “Fraud!”
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
and they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.

The sneer has fled from Casey’s lip, the teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds, with cruel violence, his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout,
but there is no joy in Mudville –
mighty Casey has struck out.

UGA had a great run following a wonderful regular season and a frightening SEC tournament. Congratulations to the players and coaches for turning things around and coming so close.

I haven’t felt this passionate about a baseball team since the 1992 Braves. The night Sid slid, one week after my Grandfather passed away, the night of my 16th birthday.

Thanks, fellas.

Go Dawgs!