Rocking the Vote: Intro Music For The Candidates - UPDATE

Nacho: Ignoring all the other shit lets examine John McCain's choice for Vice President, shall we.

Bottom line: she's a dead ringer for the stripper/teacher from "Varsity Blues" (NSFW) and should be treated as such. Pedro?

When Sarah Palin was introduced and walked out to the theme of "Rudy", one of the seminal pieces of film composition, she raised the bar for candidate intros, and thusly, I will set forth to re-appropriate new music for the others, after...

(Editor's note: a loyal friend and reader reminded me that, outside of movie themes, the absolute best intro music for Barack would be the Chicago Bulls Searching Spotlight theme. Also, it turns out Sarah Palin's high school nickname was Sarah Barracuda, which is coincidentally my porn name.)




Nacho cont'd: Damn, man....Rudy. She really swung for the fences on this one. Luckily, there are equally epic scores to choose from. Let us begin...

JOHN McCAIN It won't pump up a crowd, it won't ignite passions in the hearts of many, but dangit, when I see John McCain walk out onto that convention floor I'm thinking the theme from Clint Eastwood's "Unforgiven." Eastwood was mayor of Carmel and seems to enjoy him some Republican politics, so it just makes sense.



ALTERNATE: Considering McCain's military career, he should march out onstage to the whistle theme from "Stripes"



BARACK OBAMA: Considering how epic his entire campaign has been, there's really only one option, the launch sequence from "Armaggeddon". It's so over-the-top, it just fits. Besides, when the asteroids attack I'd much rather have Obama with his finger on the cellphone to Bruce Willis, than McCain. Obama's a celebrity, so they probably Twitter one another, like, every day.



ALTERNATE: Another launch sequence, this one from "Apollo 13". Just as moving as Trevor Rabin's work.



JOE BIDEN: I want Biden to be a little more downbeat in his badassery, so I'm suggesting the theme from "Pleasantville" by Randy Newman. Check out this piece around the 1:30 mark. E. PIC.



ALTERNATE: Barring the soft tones of Newman, I say kick it up a notch and go with the theme from "The Rock" because it's pretty much the only score Hanz Zimmer has written in the past 15 years.



SARAH PALIN: She struck gold with the "Rudy" theme, but just for shits and giggles I'd like to see her come out to the main score from "True Romance". It's seems like it would be uber-cute.



Here's the video to her intro:



I welcome your suggestions in the comments.
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High-Falutin' in Flushing: A Night at the US Open

Brethren: If you're ever going to attend a pro event in one of the country club sports, there has been one thing I have learned: you need to go in style. As I found out last night, if you're going to go to one of tennis or golf's Majors, well, then you need to bypass style and go straight to pretension. So once I got word that the work “field trip” was going to include box seats to the 2008 U.S. Open out in Queens, I donned my best uppityness, took the quick lane through security, rode the escalator to my Suite 103 ticket, and drank in the opening round at Arthur Ashe Stadium.

Thanks to some kind folks who are trying to sway the company that pays me on the 15th and 31st to do some more work with them, I ended up in this swanky suite, drinking Heineken Lights and Gin & Tonics, eating sliced roast beef, lobster and crab sandwiches, cheese and crackers, and fresh fruit, while Venus Williams and Roger Federer did their bidding a scant few hundred feet away. Neither Venus nor Roger even really seemed to break a sweat; they won in their respective straight sets and the matches were never in doubt. But when you’re introduced to a professional sporting event for the first time and you’re in a corporate box, the night become much less about the sport and more about the experience.

Beyond this obviously unique situation, I couldn't help but notice the U.S. Open has such a fascinating place in the New York City sports landscape. A tournament I obviously paid attention to growing up because my mother was a tennis player herself, I didn’t really understand how much the sport gripped the city until I moved to Manhattan over a year ago. This is my second Open living in the city, and I’m absolutely captivated by it. Lots has been said that tennis is a dying sport, that the game has become too fast, too technologically-advanced with not enough stars or even more importantly, not enough American stars (especially on the men’s side). But what I’ve seen in my short time here in New York is that it’s still a sport that can grip its fans and keep everyone on their toes. I’m not sure if it’s that way around the rest of the Union, but in this here island of concrete, when the U.S. Open comes a’knockin, that still means something.

More high-falutin’ country club sports reports and thoughts on how to truly attend a tennis major desde


Brethren (cont’d): The first time I attended a PGA event, I went to the Wachovia Championship in Charlotte at Quail Hollow Country Club. I went as a guest of a member of Quail, and we had close parking, clubhouse access, and tent access aplenty. It was easily the best way to experience a golf tournament – “free” drinks and food everywhere, and the ability to get so close to the players. I did not expect my first tennis tournament to be like that one bit; after all, the only tennis tournaments any casual tennis fan really cares about are the four majors (and that’s even a stretch, as no one realizes the Australian Open is here until it’s over and another is French!). So you figure, if I happen to snag a ticket to one of the two important tennis tournaments a year, I was gonna be sitting on the Hill at Wimbledon or in the nose bleeds on a side court with the rowdy New York crowds.

Instead, I squeezed a little bit of the Mad Men aspect of my job, and ended up in an exclusive box with the upscale food and beverage spread. Well, I knew what to do in that situation: get busy eating and dranking or get busy dying.

Well-to-do-ness aside, being a spectator at a tennis major was definitely quite different than being at any stadium’ed event I’d been to before. The whole stadium was deathly quiet, hushed right before the games begun, and remaining that way as high-quality rallies happened right before our eyes. No real hootin’ and hollerin’. Certainly no one on their cell phone (except for all-important texting), and certainly no one talking shit to any fans around them. It was a docile experience and I really was amazed at how silent the crowd could remain during an athletic event.

I know this stuff’s in the heritage of the sport, but it still took me off-guard. There were stretches of points that concluded with no applause at all. It was as if good points and rallies were expected and only the best Federer whip-lash one-handed backhand cross-court really deserved a slight head nod and slap of the hands. Rowdy applause must be checked at the door. Of course, this could be have been magnified by the 1st round nature of the match and the fact that both Venus and Roger heavily outperformed their opponents.

Or it could be that I’m just not high-brow yet to properly know how to attend the U.S. Open. One day, I’m sure I will. But I was definitely in new territory last night, and I’m sure a bit out of place.

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Bad Idea Jeans & Marcellus Morris

Nacho: Funny story, the matriarch of the SportsBrethren forbid both Brethren from watching the film "Pulp Fiction" until we were both at least 15. This was not because of the rampant drug use, graphic violence, or salty language. No, it was because our dear mother fought tooth and nail to ensure that her baby boys never knew anything about sodomy. Yep, the male rape scene was the ONLY thing Mammy objected to us seeing.

Naturally, when we both finally did see it (long before our 15th birthdays) the male raping barely registered a blip on our radars. We were entirely too engrossed with all the surrounding badassery to care about the butt pirates. In fact, the only thing we really remember about the scene is that Bruce Willis uses a samurai sword to TCB.

I bring up Marcellus Wallace and his anus because it would appear that someone else named Marcellus is into some no-so-legal things in Charlotte these days. Namely, stealing cars. His most recent victim: Panther rookie Jeff Otah.

A word of advice to Mr. Marcellus Morris: I sincerely hope you have high-tailed it outta Charlotte. Pulling two guns on a 6'6", 340 pound dude usually doesn't end well for anyone.

For a brief description of the fate the SportsBrethren imagine is in Marcellus Morris's future, follow us, after...



Caution: foul language afoot!



Brethren: I have to admit: my mind did not immediately go to the Gimp scene from Pulp Fiction when hearing about Jeff Otah's theft. But that's what makes the big guy the big guy. Well served, Nacho.

We gots to get around to our Offense side of the ball previews and we've got about a week and a half to do it. We're on it.
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Baby Pools

Nacho: So that happened. So it was, so it always shall be. The Cats got out to a commanding, early lead and managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

As I looked over our roster the other day, one giant red flag kept signaling: we're not an especially deep team. This weakness was exposed during the biblically-weathered preseason game against the Eagles from Philly last night. Our starters owned theirs; our defense clamped and shut down the Iggles' running game. I'll admit Donovan McNabb looked pretty dang good, despite his team's lack of receivers with what the ol' folks call "hands". I'll also admit that Philly's O-line straight pancaked our front four like it was nobody's business.

Now that we've been all nice and shit, follow us after the jump to hear our thoughts on the Cats, after...

Nacho cont'd: I wonder how accurate of a representation this game was of both team's true potential. That lightning delay in the first quarter prolly wasn't exactly what Biscuit Defender would've wanted. You get all ramped up, and within ten minutes, you're back in the locker room, getting yelled at. Seems like athletic blue balls, so, with that in mind, I'm apt to think the Panthers and Eagles weren't the same team we'll see in the regular season.

Jake ran the offense with assurance, DeAngelo Williams penetrated holes like a porn star and our defense was freaking solid...

Then the 2nd half started. Our 2nd string and then our scrubs came in and proceeded to get their yards stomped. In the parlance of the 1950s, our jocks were eaten. While Jonathan Stewart looked promising our 2nd string D needs to learn how to tackle. Our back ups need to step it up if the Cats are gonna do anything this season, as we aren't exactly known to stay healthy for whole seasons. We're about as deep as baby pools at this point, and that ain't good.

Two last notes: with a receiving corp. of Steve Smith, DJ Hackett, Moose and Jarrett and a tandem of Stewart and DeAngelo, my expectations for a high powered offense are growing. Also: kudos to Richard Marshall for providing the first real highlight of the season.

Now for the east coast feed...
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The Panthers on National News and No Response from the Brethren? My word.

Brethren: There are a various sundry of reasons that Nacho and I have taken a little under a week to post about the Steve Smith happenings. But the only one that matters goes back to this here mission statement: the Sports Brethren came about as a way for two wayward, cross-country brethren to keep in contact over the things that matter: the Carolina Panthers, drunken musings, and boobs.

And so it just happens to be that the same day Steve Smith decided to introduce his fist to Ken Lucas's eye socket, the Sports Brethren just happened to both be flying to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for five days of suns'out'guns'out, burs, delectable meals, and family trash talk.

But nary you worry your pretty little heads, we ranted, raved, and guffawed about the Cats all week long. We do have some thoughts, I have gathered what I can recall, and we'd like to share what we think, desde:


Brethren (cont'd): First up, Steve Smith: am I pissed that he is suspended for the first 2 games against some potentially tough opponents? Yes. Do I agree with the decision the Panthers made? Yes. Do I think this will cost the Panthers the season? Not at all.

Steve Smith wants to prove he's the most baddest muthafucka on the field at all times. I'm down with that -- it makes him tenacious, it makes him explosive, it makes him the most talented player on our roster. It can also make him an idiot who doesn't think about the consequences of breaking a teammate's nose.

The thing that really impressed me about the whole "star receiver beating up star cornerback" debacle was how the Panthers as a team showed their true colors: upper management wouldn't stand for this behavior, the captains (Jake, Moose, et al) spoke openly and honestly with the media, and both Lucas and Smith seemed to play the situation right: Lucas forgiving, Smith remorseful and determined to build back what he burned down. I'm glad this incident didn't become a Farvian circus, as it easily could have become. I'm glad the vocal leaders took charge and would not let their season derail before getting out of the station. I think we'll all look back and say, "Oh yea, didn't Steve Smith get suspended for those first two games for some reason?"

But then again, I'm the kind of guy who will find whatever silver lining can be found when it comes to the Panthers. I'll believe anything (because I know the Panthers kick fucking ass). So now I'm hoping that maybe Steve Smith needed a reminder that he's got a bit of HST in him. He needed to know that the Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. Yea, that sounds right.

And now that he knows, he's ready to come back badder, meaner, and ready to fuck up some Viking ass come Week 3.

Beyond the Smith news, there were things to discuss in SpantanburgLand: Peppers seems poised to have a big year, the O-Line has gotten massive and is doing well, and oh yea, bring on Peyton this weekend. More than that, well, it was probably just drunken rambling between Capt, Nacho, Mammy, Sisterin and Brethren.
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