Tag: Michael Nyqvist

Here’s What I Know, Volume #9: RIP Michael Nyqvist, Trump, black coffee, baseball PPV

All the thoughts that are fit to publish.

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Live from the hot sauna that is St. Louis in the month of July, a stream of consciousness.

  • A few words about good coffee and friends. Whenever my friend P.J. Nolan comes into town, a coffee shop is our one stop shop. Black coffee-usually strong as an ox-and conversation that ranges from baseball to boxing to living. Easy and simple. As I pass the tender days of 35 years in 2017, my need for excitement can be measured. I don’t need to live the high life or get into a serious amount of trouble. My advice for living long and prospering: find something that engages your mind while putting it at ease, and stick with it.
  • Side note: Sump Coffee is delicious. At the advisement of Jeff Jones-a professional in the hockey world but a fine voice in other lifestyle fronts-I visited the South City coffee joint for a tasty concoction with P.J., and we had a couple pots of coffee. Whether it was an Ethiopian blend or a Columbia kick in the head, the flavor was undeniable. Sump and I had a conversation before, but it had been too long. I will be returning. Sump coffee is so good, I don’t even need a stevia packet. Black and bold like Oprah.
  • Baseball is a real bastard. 162 games. Seven months. There isn’t another sport that pounds you into the ground, demanding all of your patience and nerve endings to endure a contending team’s trek towards the ultimate goal of a championship. One of the hardest things to do is coming up with commentary that doesn’t echo other writers, but also enduring the constant change in a team’s play. The Cardinals are a Frank Sinatra song; flying high one month, shot down the next. What I try to do is not pay attention to what everybody else is writing, and simply reward my readers with a voice they can trust. Control what you can, because anything else would be uncivilized, and quite simply a headache.
  • A few words about radio. It’s a sad but true declaration, but talent alone won’t get you far in this business. Unless you are a name like Frank Cusumano or have the savvy sales skills of a Don Draper, you won’t make it. The easiest part of my job as a radio host the past year is sitting down in front of the microphone and talking. Going door to door, asking business owners to hand over money without a reliable ROI promise, is the hardest part. I’ll never conquer it, and that’s not being down on myself. That’s merely being honest about a tough trade. Before I got into radio, I thought the host put out a good show while others sold the goods. I was very wrong. A great radio show-Game Time A.M.-bit the dust this week, and it had little to do with skill. Organizational structure and a matter of revenue is often the executioner.

  • Speaking of radio and the changing gears of the sportswriting game, Clay Travis wrote a column that struck a chord. He wanted to know what was causing this rapid downtown in the world of sportswriters, and it came down to two things: businesses and corporations value videos over words and won’t pay the writers using their products to promote them. Travis just happens to be replacing Game Time AM at 590 The Fan, but it’s hard to dislike Travis. With a few kids in tow and a need to escape a law degree, Travis tackled the business all alone, and now is one of the most successful stand alone entities out there.

  • Have you seen the Snyder’s Pretzel commercial? If that bitch took my car keys and threw them into the bushes, I’d knock her the fuck out on general principle.

  • I find the best friend women in movies to be hotter than the leading ladies? I’m looking at you Judy Greer and Kathryn Hahn. I treasure the imperfections in women over the ones who attempt to strangle perfection.
  • Carlos Martinez and Max Scherzer is a pitching matchup Don King could sell on a Pay Per View card. Two young men with the need to impose their will on hitters. One a local kid who made it big in The Motor City and bet on himself to receive a 200 million dollar contract. The other a Dominican Republic pitching sensation who is only getting started in the making hitters look silly department. Both are emotional wrecking balls on a pitching mound. And they say baseball is boring. Pay more attention. (Update: Scherzer outdueled Martinez, striking out 12….fuck.)
  • The Blues had a great draft and I don’t understand the need to shit on fans who are excited about it. Doug Armstrong could fuck up a wet dream, but he actually pulled a pair of moves that set his team up for success in the near and far. Let’s feel good about it instead of playing the classic Blues cynic. That’s so tiring. Some people just need to get laid more often.
  • What’s a good beer? Try Logboart Company’s Flybye Ale, a farmhouse ale with a smooth finish and sweet taste that will push you over slowly into the land of buzzing. Farmhouse Ales can be so good if they are produced correctly. Show me a beer with some substance and I’ll pay the extra money.
  • Hey, did you see what happened in the NFL and what the Rams are doing? I have no clue, because I don’t give a shit. Fuck Roger Goodell. Now that I don’t have to talk about it on the radio to play nice and get along, I couldn’t care less.
  • What if this Cardinals team had a healthy Alex Reyes? Bullpen would be a whole lot better and the rotation would have more protection. See you in a year kid.

  • It doesn’t matter if it’s 95 degrees or 10 degrees, I’ll run my 3-4 miles. As long as you are hydrated and conditioned correctly, the workout can take place no matter the weather. Running is the ultimate exercise, because it pushes your whole body to the brink. I’ll take cold weather over hot though.

  • I miss George Carlin. Without him, comedy took a hard hit. He challenged people to think and made them laugh their asses off.
  • Rest in peace Michael Nyqvist. The 56 year old actor lost a fight with cancer, but not before he created signature villains in Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol and more importantly, John Wick. He practically sold the Wick film in one key scene. “I once saw him kill three men with a pencil; a FUCKING pencil.” Rest easy. Fuck you cancer.

  • I’ve applied to become an Uber driver. I want to make more money and do it at my leisure. Here’s to no violent offenders or vomit masters. So I’m trying out the hipster cab vessel company for a spin.

  • Let’s make something clear: it’s okay for two people to write about the same topic on the internet. In the push-shove era of basement bloggers and online scribes, the need to play the shame game on an opposing writer for dishing his take on a topic that someone already touched on is quite weak. Let’s act like adults and open up the litter box. I remember reading Bernie Miklasz a teen before taking a minute to see what I thought about that particular subject. Being inspired is not the same as copying. People are way too fragile these days. There’s enough room at the table.
  • Life has a way of keeping you honest. A few weeks ago, I lost my grandmother, Stella. She was fighting a myriad of health problems, most notably the inability to take a deep breath. She had been fighting this for a long time, and she didn’t throw in the towel, yet finally felt content letting life go. Like my other grandmother, Meme, I didn’t spend enough time with Nana, and regretted that after she passed. You never get enough time. With anybody. Well, maybe Donald Trump, because after five months, we are done with him as POTUS. My point is, stay in touch. Nana was a fighter, and I am glad I picked her up on my son’s fifth birthday, so she could see him hit that number.
  • What’s fucking weird? Saying goodbye to your house of eight years. This is the final week in my Mardel home, aka the Buffa Estate. The closing date is Thursday, and so many memories will finally reach their bookend. It’s like writing that abrupt chapter to the book. Three months ago, we weren’t thinking about moving, and then, suddenly, it happened. Now, it’s nearly at the conclusion, and it’s incredibly hard to not get sentimental. It’s the house where my wife and I found our dream jobs, went through several cars, watched a World Series game in our backyard, and raised our son. Now, a new house and empty slate of memories await. Cue the Beatles.

  • Can I complain about something? Construction crews in front of my street busted a water main TWICE last week. How bad do you have to be at your job to do it twice? In case you missed it in “who gives a shit news, St. Louis variety”, they are installing a greenway on my main street, Wabash/McCausland. A path for bikers and runners to find their way down to the shittiest park in South City, which is also called Francis Slay Park. Otherwise known as WTF would I go there Park. Construction delays remind of Will McAvoy from The Newsroom preaching: “this will be a wonderful city, when they are done building it.”

  • I am t-shirt snob. Whenever I look at shirts these days, I want to know the fabric and how they fit. Since I designed a few for the now defunct Film-Addict, I have gotten picky with what I wear, since this is my daily wardrobe. My go to is 50/25/25 blend. Who cares?
  • Cheers to the @ToastDispatch twitter account, ran by Nick Jr. and Sr., for coming into studio this morning. I haven’t had that much fun on the radio in quite some time. We joked about “Joe Maddon excuses”, “Managing your life like Mike Matheny manages a bullpen”, and engaged in an epic rock-paper-scissor contest.  These are the days where hosting a radio show can be too much fun. Easy going. No egos.

  • Fuck Trump. Every time he attacks the free press, he shits on the history of the mantle he is holding. Journalists have a right to their territory and questions just as much as Captain Dickweed has with putting on a red tie. This may be the low point of Washington D.C.-and it’s not even close. Keeping this guy off Twitter and playing a violin for all the sulking he does is a smart maneuver.

  • According to Joe Maddon, the cause for the Cubs bad play is the announcement from Will Ferrell last week that there’d be no Old School sequel, thus burying the comeback of Vince Vaughn, one of Chicago’s prodigal sons.

What else? Eat healthier, but don’t reach miserable temps to extend your life by a few years. Hydrating is almost as important as sunscreen. Animated films will always make money. Sequels are shit half the time. If you’re going to waste money, do it on a six pack of light beer instead of bad food. 

    That’s all, folks. For the three people who made it to the end, you receive nothing but a warm digital embrace. 

    PS: Can we please stop killing each other? Cool, thanks. In the words of Lumbergh, “that’d be greaaaaatttt.”