The Porter Bureau

Lets face it, moving from Utah to Maryland is just about as dramatic a move as one can make and still live within these here United States. Not surprisingly, then, I am frequently asked what is the biggest adjustment I’ve had to make after moving from back-water Utah to the nation’s capital. While there are several possible answers to that question, one stands out from the rest: Deciding which professional sports teams I’m going to support.

For my friends and family back in Utah, this decision may seem trivial. But what they don’t realize is just how many pro teams there are in the area. In Utah you have the Jazz and… well, that’s it. Someone moving to Utah doesn’t have to wonder which basketball team to cheer for. In fact, there is a bill before the Utah House of Representatives that would issue a Jazz bumper sticker to all new Utah residents with their first tax return. A more draconian measure tied to a rather reactionary anti-immigration motion in the state Senate would require would-be Utah citizens to memorize the Jazz’s team rosters for the two finals years, as well as demonstrate sufficient “patriotism” by enthusiastically yelling “Stockton to Malone!”

But not so in Maryland. Thankfully there is only one NBA team in the area, the Washington Wizards, which would make my basketball decision easy if I didn’t plan to continue supporting the Jazz in order to retain my Utah citizenship. But for both football and baseball I am faced with a mighty conundrum: will it be the Baltimore Ravens/Orioles, the Washington Redskins/Nationals or some combination of the two?

The choice of MLB team was actually surprisingly difficult. Normally, I don’t care enough about baseball to know which team is likely to win the pennant… or to even tell you what the pennant is (I honestly don’t know). But we’ve put Byron in a lot of sports this year in order to help him adjust to the move, and by far his favorite has been baseball, so now I have to take my budding baseball super star to an MLB game. It took a little while, but I finally decided to be guided by my raging indifference to the sport and simply choose a team based on where I can get the cheapest tickets. Orioles it is.

But choosing an NFL team has been much more complicated, and honestly one that I have struggled mightily with over the year we’ve been in the area. I admit I’ve procrastinated the day of my decision, but with football season on the near horizon, the day of reckoning is at hand.

The Redskins seem to be the team celeb here in suburban Maryland. According to an un-scientific survey conducted by Byron, his classmates are either fans of “the Redskins or the Cowboys.” When he asked me why anyone in Maryland would cheer for the Cowboys I could only shake my head in wonder and admit that I didn’t know. Thankfully he didn’t ask me the harder question of why anyone would cheer for Jerry’s ‘boys at all. Byron’s best friend here was among the Redskin fans in his class so Byron has predictably chosen the Redskins for his team.

But I have a few problems with the Redskins. First, they tend to lose a lot of games. Second, that burnt red color just doesn’t look good on me. And third, they’re in the NFC with my beloved ’9ers, who are going all the way this year! (to .500).

Being a slave to fashion, I started considering the Ravens. At first glance the Ravens should be a no-brainer for me. They are, after all, named after Edgar Allan Poe’s famous poem, The Raven. However, as is well known, Poe didn’t write The Raven when he lived in Baltimore, he wrote it in New York. Yes, Poe did live and write in Baltimore for a time and he famously died there of mysterious circumstance, but his most important work was the product of another city. How am I, a presumptive English teacher, to sanction this gross disregard for accurate literary history by the National Football League and it’s players? If there’s anyone who should have a thoughtful regard, nay, reverence, for literary history, it should be Ray Lewis. Now, if the owners had chosen to name the team “The Inebriates” after Baltimore’s favorite literary son, I wouldn’t have to “ponder, weak and weary, over” which football team to adopt as my own.

So, literary history failing me once again in a trivial life decision (selecting online monikers being the other), I was forced to consider other factors in deciding which NFL team I would spend my Sundays half-watching between Meet the Press and This Week with George Stephanopolous. That’s right, I pursued the only logical course of action in this type of situation–choose based on logo.

The Redskins:

Or the Ravens:

Here I finally have a deciding factor. It’s not that I have a problem with tasteful use of native-Americans as sports mascots (I am a graduate of the University of Utah Runnin’ Utes, after all), but if you know anything about me, then you know I’m a sucker for a good coat-of-arms. Score another one for Baltimore! I look forward to getting my Ravens bumper sticker once my tax returns arrive.

The marvel of the interweb has brought Olympic caliber fencing into the homes of millions of Americans!! But, of course, they’re completely oblivious to this fact. Sadly, the most exciting sport that isn’t handball doesn’t get the press coverage of swimming, or even beach volleyball. The reason for this dearth of coverage is clear, American’s just don’t win that many fencing bouts. The Russians, the French, and even the more palatable Italians and Poles dominate this sport.

Well we here at the Porter Bureau want to do our part to help the world (read: America) better understand this exciting sport–a sport, I might add, that actually predates synchronized diving as an Olympic event. So, to further your enjoyment of fencing, here are some tips to help you understand what is going on and why that Chinese judge is speaking in French instead of the true lingua franca: English.

1. There are three weapons, or categories, in Olympic fencing: saber, epee, and foil. In foil, you must hit with the tip of the blade and the target area is the torso. In saber, the target area is also the torso, but you can score a point by hitting with any part of the blade. And in epee, you must hit your opponent with the tip of your blade, but the target area is the entire body. It is important to remember that in none of these events can you score a point by removing your mask and beating your opponent with it–another reason why this sport may not be of interest to Americans.

2. If you can, watch saber. Saber fencers eschew the namby-pamby finessed blade work of foil and simply whack each other over the head with their weapons.

3. After most hits in foil and saber, both fencers will, usually, perform the Tiger Woods fist flex and yell “A’la!!” No fencer, ever, since the beginning of non-lethal sword fighting, has conceded a point. Now, my more literate readers will point out that Laertes famously says in his bout with Hamlet, “a touch, a touch. I do confess.” However, aside from being a fictional event, Laertes’s fained magnanimity was a clue to Hamlet that all was not as it seemed. Why else would he switch blades with Laertes if he didn’t suspect him of foul-play? There is nothing so out-of-joint as a fencer who doesn’t at least pretend to have scored the point.

4. This point is related to number 3. In foil and saber, more often than not both fencers will land an attack on his or her opponent at the same time. In order to determine who is to be awarded the point, judges follow a complicated set of rules to determine “right-of-way.” Instead of going through these tedious rules, I have developed my own scoring system. After every touch in which both lights go off (with electronic equipment, a touch is indicated by a light going off–well, turning on, but you get the point), the fencer who rips off his/her mask the fastest in the thrill of victory gets the point. Style points can also be awarded for fencers who deliver particularly spectacular victory emotations and yet did not in fact score the point–a common occurrence that can also be used in a fencing drinking game.

5. Finally, one last piece of advice for your Olympic fencing viewing pleasure: As in all things, never cheer for the French.

What a game. I tend to root for the underdog, so I really wanted the Giants to win. I don’t have anything against the Patriots, but it was their game, their moment, they needed to earn it. I just didn’t want a blow out victory. You know, the kind that prompt an entire season of comments like the one above. I know announcers are tasked with filling up the air waves, but come on. 35 seconds is 35 seconds no matter who you are–especially if you’ve only scored twice all game long. That comment ranks right up there with some of the Madden greats (none of which come to mind), and a comment Bill Walton made when the Utah Jazz were in the NBA finals. Right before a break the camera moved to an outside shot of the mountains behind Salt Lake City. Walton waxed poetical and praised the “beautiful view of the snow capped Wasatch mountains.” Only problem was, that the finals are played in June… there was no snow in the shot. But meh, what are details to your iconic sports hero turned color commentator?

I thought Belichick’s early exit was among the most classless moves I’ve ever seen in sports, period. It’s right up there with the dads who get in fights over their sons’ little league games. Forget the fact that you have disdain for the rest of the world, Mr. Belichick. Those are your players out there on the field. That you couldn’t be bothered to spend that last second with them in defeat speaks more about you than either your past wins or your current villification for “Spygate.” For my money, it’s the people who stand by you when you’re losing who you remember, not the person you hugged in the thrill of victory. As Captain Hook might say, “bad form, sir. Very bad form.”