Kyle Whelliston

My Book Deal, and The Abandonment of Game Plans

Thu, 01 May 2008 10:10:15 -0500

Nobody involved was really aware of it at the time, but there was a rumbling shudder that coursed across the press-blog continuum this past Tuesday night. A pay-television sports show dedicated a segment to sports coverage on the web. The panel discussion featured America's most popular sports blogger, a Pulitzer-winning author, and some dude who plays football.

From the fallout posted here on the interweb, it would seem that all hell broke loose on HBO's Costas Now. Poor Will Leitch practically lived out that R.E.M. song about talk shows, ambushed by a crazy has-been writer, while an athlete sat in the corner wondering if he was in the right universe.

Me, I didn't get to see the segment until it was posted online yesterday (the show is carried on a channel I haven't received since Flight of the Conchords last aired). It certainly wasn't as explosive as everyone made it out to be, which was a bit of a disappointment. In fact, I'm just surprised how bad everyone looked coming out of it. From Bob Costas (the Voice of the Olympics) saying "fuck-face," to the athlete's description of his own web egosurfing, to the aged one's mouth-froth. Oh, the mouth-froth.

A Brief History of "Don't You Know Who I Am?"

Sat, 03 Nov 2007 07:22:42 -0500

I thought it would never happen, but this past summer I was recognized and stopped on the street by a complete stranger for the first time in my life. Granted, it was the street of a college campus, and I make my living off college basketball, but it was still weird. "Hey, aren't you Kyle Whelliston?" It was uncomfortable for sure, I wasn't quite prepared to answer questions about basketball in July. I was just trying to get to a Store 24 and get a candy bar because I had skipped lunch and was hungry as a motherfucker. As the 3 Musketeers melted in my mouth, I thought a lot about how I wouldn't mind if my life was never interrupted by strangers again. Especially if the question was, "Didn't you used to be Kyle Whelliston?"

Impermanence

Fri, 02 Nov 2007 05:43:34 -0500

After living in New York and Philadelphia for many years, I know my vandalism. Entire quadrants of those metropolises have been given over to the imperial aerosol kids, who take possession of signs, vehicles, buildings and bridges by way of spray-painted symbology. With their tags and codes, they tell each other who owns what, and any street or place in view of the marking is dominated by proxy. Outsiders and downtowners can't begin to pretend to understand the language, but the basic message is very clear: this doesn't belong to you.

Saxophones are Gay

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:59:22 -0500

The other night, I was sitting in the Providence Place food court, watching as the girl behind the counter at the Dale & Thomas popcorn stand slipped a small wad of bills from the till into her pocket. I found myself distracted from the scene by the piped-in muzak, which normally hides in the background of the shopping experience but had become surprisingly intrusive.

The Red Sox

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 11:01:31 -0500

The 2004 Boston Red Sox were a magical team, insofar as they transformed the psyche of an entire region. They even reached out to touch the lives of non-Sox fans like myself. A true story: October 16, 2004, the date of Game 3 of that year's American League Championship Series, was when my wife and I became engaged to be married on the platform of an Orange Line MBTA station. The game drifted in and out of our evening out in Boston, score updates coming from restaurant televisions and bus drivers and strangers on the street. The highly improbable final score, 19-8, corresponds to the dates in May upon which we were both born. Of course, it was the last game the 2004 Red Sox would lose, and we felt like we had tapped into the mythology, curse or no curse.

Malibu Nightz

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 10:01:27 -0500

The portal that separates sleeping dream and wakeful reality is a dark egress, but it's hard to tell the difference between the two when morning comes early with a knock at the window and the glowing honeycomb of a flashlight.

Life on a Navy Base

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 10:34:39 -0500

So yeah, life on a navy base is pretty good, thanks. It's not for everyone, obviously, because they don't let everyone in. At the gate, they ask you for your military identification card, your car registration, and the reason you're there in 25 words or less. If any of these aren't good enough, they send you right back onto the road, via a narrow lane protected on either side by jersey walls. There's a war on, and there are secrets here that need to be kept secret.

Sex

Fri, 12 Oct 2007 14:37:45 -0500

If you take the biological drive, nerve endings and psychology out of it, would humans necessarily want to engage in the measures that we currently know as "sex?" I mean, if it wasn't obvious that a particular man-part fit into another woman-part, if that wasn't the gateway to reproduction, if the operation didn't have the capability of unleash overwhelming emotions, would we have any use for those particular physical measures?

The Oilseller

Tue, 09 Oct 2007 08:08:47 -0500

Originally posted 3/13/2003 I'm reminded now of the old folk tale, the story of the oilseller. There was once a man who tended a small grove of olive trees. He was, by all accounts, a kind and simple person who had no enemies whatsoever. His wife had died many years earlier, but not before giving him a son. In time, the boy grew to adulthood and moved away.

Subtractive Ratings

Mon, 08 Oct 2007 11:58:13 -0500

There are 303 million people in America, according to population estimates. From that number, 60 percent are between 20 and 64 years old, which is to say that there are 180 million people demographically capable of participating in our adult economy. This doesn't count the many younger Americans who carry functioning wallets and bank accounts, or the unknown millions of folks without official government-issued paperwork, but that only serves to make the folowing points even less impressive.

The Perfect Woman

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 08:26:34 -0500

Originally posted 10/27/2002 John Donne spent his early adult years as a fancy-lad, wasting the large fortune he inherited from his iron-magnate father on books, plays, wine and women. After doing some successful networking during the Earl of Essex's sailing expeditions to Cadiz and the Azores, he was granted a prestigious position as secretary to the powerful Sir Thomas Edgerton, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. It seemed that John's life-path was set; he was well on his way towards a long, successful career in English politics. Indeed, he was elected to Parliament in 1601.

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 14:36:19 -0500

"They" don't ask me for writing advice, and the reasons for that should be pretty self-evident. But if they did ask me for writing advice, I'd puff my chest out, clear my throat. Then I'd place a tender hand on their shoulder in a slightly condescending faux-fatherly way, flashing the kind of eye-twinkle that can only be perfected through countless hours in front of the bathroom mirror. Finally, I'd lean in and whisper, "Use the return key."

Excerpt

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 12:58:56 -0500

When Corinne was young, she saw the universe in spite of the world. She pulled back the curtains and gazed out the window of her second-floor room, past the gabled roofs of her neighborhood, beyond the scruffy treeline and battered mountain range, out at a milk-colored sky and all that lay behind it. She was a nanoscale atom in a limitless cosmos, and that was proof she was free. Being tiny was her greatest advantage.

The Inventor

Tue, 02 Oct 2007 12:54:57 -0500

If you stay up late enough, you can still see the ads on cable for the "Inventor's Help Line." If you have an idea for a new product -- or an improvement to an existing one -- you can send a self-addressed stamped envelope (or an e-mail, if that's your bag) to Costa Mesa, California. You'll receive instructions in the mail detailing how you can sign a contract that divests you of any profits from your idea, in perpetuity. I guess people are still doing this, because the company can still afford to run ads.

O Parking Lot

Mon, 01 Oct 2007 14:38:06 -0500

O parking lot: expanse of asphalt, temporary closet for our steel skins... mysterious midpoint between journey and destination. There you are spread out before me on a Sunday night, a black dark gateway between a hesitant September and the cold autumnal punishment of October.