A History of Baseball: 1840-1900

“Gentlemen, I mean to devise a game that will incorporate my love of hitting balls with sticks and my love of waiting patiently for something mildly exciting to happen.” - Abner Doubleday ca. 1839.

In 1839 Abner Doubleday set out to create an entirely new game, a game that would change America. In less than a year he had managed to steal enough ideas from a variety of other games to finally premiere “A. Doubleday’s Fantastical Amusement Known As Bases & Balls: An Ideal Remedy For A Sedentary Lifestyle And An Excellent Way In Which To Experience This Proud Nation’s Fresh Air And Great Outdoors!” The first game was a resounding success and no one seemed to care that Doubleday had forgotten to find a way to finish his new game (it ended in the 137th inning when both sides agreed to temporarily halt the proceedings so they could take a quick opium break from which they would never return). The second game was even more successful due to Doubleday instituting the 90 inning cap, shortening the name to “A. Doubleday’s Hardballs” and hiring drunks instead of opium addicts to play.

In 1842 Doubleday abandoned his game to work on another sport that he called “Insane Racist Kill Ball.” Though now long forgotten, IKRB is now recognized as being influential on the much more popular “Civil War” that swept America in the early 1860’s. Taking over for Doubleday as Baseball’s de facto chief was Hercules Gilgamesh Swiggins. Swiggins modified the game slightly, instituting the foul line and eliminating the element of ritual murder. Less popular was his insistence that, “Only men of youthful vigour and firm in figure shall play, and they shall play in the nude, and I shall watch from over yonder, behind that tree.” Sadly Swiggin’s reign was short lived and by the late 1840’s clothes were back on playing field. Swiggin’s fell back in to obscurity until the late 1870’s when he was seen attempting to organize a new game in bathhouses and changing rooms across America.

By the 1850’s baseball was spreading in to the interior. It was the renegade, lawless era of the sport. There were no organized clubs or leagues but rather degenerate posses roaming the country searching for hookers, whiskey and large fields containing a diamond pattern with 4 bases spread exactly 90 feet apart. Most games ended in bloody shootouts after one team invariably reckoned that the field was not big enough for the both of ‘em (this was alleviated when the teams were reduced from 72 a side to 9).

In the early 1860’s baseball had become so popular in the North that President Abraham Lincoln decided he would forcibly impose it on the South through a bloody war of attrition. After 4 years and hundreds of thousands of deaths the South reluctantly embraced the Yankee sport of baseball or, as they called it, “emancipation-ball”. So happy were the Southerners after playing the new game that they freed all of their slaves.

In the years after the Civil War baseball became even more popular and as a result people realized that there were profits to be made. As always these people were old white men who only had the best of intentions. Though numerous leagues were established the most important was stockings magnate Elijah George Jefferson’s Stocking League (SL). In the SL players wore uniforms and were paid salaries. Fans gained the privilege of paying to sit and watch grown men swing at balls with sticks. Teams like the New York Brown Stockings played the Pittsburgh Green Stockings played in front of crowds of thousands. Unfortunately most fans and players grew tired of the league’s strange association with stockings. In 1868 one player, Burt “Ole Socks” McGee, famously asked: “Why are all of our teams named after the colour of our stockings? This is a dumb trend that I hope does not catch on.” In 1869 the league finally collapsed when players refused payment in socks.

In 1870 a new league was formed: the New League. In the NL teams eschewed the names of the SL and created exciting new names like the Pittsburgh Baseball Franchise, the Hartford Hartfordians, the Philadelphia Team Name Forthcoming and the Boston Red Stockings. The NL was an immediate success and the first stars of the era emerged. Men like Maverick “Steve” Abernathie and Aces “John” Malone wowed crowds with their uncanny ability to draw walks after falling behind in the count. Ladies swooned as the great pitcher Dutch Brannigan established the strike zone early on and had little trouble keeping his pitch count below 110 through eight innings of nearly shut out ball.

There were many memorable figures playing in the 1870’s but by far the most popular player was the consummate showman Petey “The Consummate Showman” Pelley. Known less for his athleticism, skill and understanding of the basic rules than he was for entertaining the crowd Petey quickly became a fan favourite. His most famous trick was to steal home plate from first base. When Pelley’s “first to home!” trick became old he began to steal right field from the dug out. The discovery the Petey Pelley was a moderately retarded escaped circus performer who was only trying to, as he said, “escape from the clowns who live in my head!” put a quick end to his popularity but he is still remembered as the only man ever to steal an opposing teams batting circle.

While the NL was thriving the game of baseball continued spreading west, across America. In 1875 General George Armstrong Custer generously donated baseball equipment from a team decimated by small pox to the Sioux Indians of the Dakotas. Unfortunately the Sioux Indians (as their team was known) upset liberal sensibilities with their racist name and the team was relocated to Cleveland. The Indians would get some revenge in 1876 when they “massacred” Custer and the 7th Cavalry at Little Bighorn, beating them 17-4 (Custer: 2 IP, 9 ER, 2 K’s, 6 BB’s; Sitting Bull: 7 IP, 2 ER, 9 K’s, 4 BB’s).

Little Bighorn had a negative effect on the popular game and by the late 1870’s baseball was no longer a top draw. Also fans started realizing that nothing ever fucking happened. Fortunately one brave, incredibly wealthy, old white man recognized that he could still make some money off the game and he selflessly devoted himself to saving the sport. The man’s name was Abraham Ezekiel McMoses and he clearly outlined his vision for the game he loved in an 1879 letter to his wife.

“Dearest Mary
In this eighteen hundred and seventy ninth year of our Lord I have set out to save the greatest American past time of baseball. The game has fallen into disrepute of late because it has been rightly characterized as a complicated pursuit where grown men stand around and nothing happens. My idea is not so much to change the game itself but instead to provide the audience with ample amounts of whiskey that will enliven their spirits and cloud their already simple minds. This drunken stupor should in turn motivate them to make ill thought wagers on the outcome of the game. I heartily feel that the addition of whiskey and gambling will mislead the great number of imbeciles in our nation in to believing this game is worth watching and thus provide me with even more riches. This is my dream Mary and I plan to follow it. May God Bless Us!

Sincerely, Your Loving Husband

P.S. My final idea is also to incorporate humorously shaped hats for the players to wear for the amusement of the moronic audience.”

In one moment of inspired genius McMoses had saved the game of baseball. The funny hats were never adopted but alcohol and gambling saved the dying sport. The New League filled stadiums with men so blindingly drunk they gambled with reckless abandon. Even to this day only a few really big nerds can enjoy baseball without alcohol or gambling.

The 1880’s saw yet another renaissance in baseball but the savage alcoholism and degenerate gambling now associated with the sport had a few unforeseen negative side effects. It was not just the fans that embraced the new baseball but many players did as well. Players began betting on games they were playing while swigging down moonshine. One pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds, Chet Rankin, drank a quart of whiskey after every inning and fans placed bets on when he would inevitably wet himself and collapse under the weight of his own drunkenness. Sadly, Mr. Rankin was considered one of the more upstanding players of the decade.

Alcohol induced vomiting and uncontrolled urination may have been entertaining (and still is) but rampant gambling was less so. Players intentionally losing games for payoffs ruined many careers. That is to say that the morons who refused payoffs made no easy money and could not live the fun filled, regret free lifestyle of their corrupt colleagues. I mean it just makes sense, a couple of hundred bucks just to strike out or whatever, you would have to be an idiot not to take that deal. Anyways a lot of those guys made some real easy money for not doing much and I am sure as hell not going to get all preachy and shit on their parade. Man, that was a sweet gig.

The gambling could not continue on forever though and the league decided to rethink the unrestricted policy when games went on indefinitely because neither side wanted to win and fail to collect that sweet, easy money. A dejected McMoses had to step down as commissioner of the NL. It was a sad day for Baseball. In 1889 he penned a letter to his wife bemoaning his demise:

“Dearest Mary
I will be returning to you my sweet wife. Though I am no longer in charge of the affairs of this dumb game I will be glad to leave this menagerie of vagabonds, rogues, drunks, thieves and losers who so love baseball. I do not want to upset your Christian sensibilities with tales of these awful men but I will say this: it was a total dickweed convention. Thankfully I milked them for all they were worth. Please inform the children that I shall be home in a fortnight. May God keep you in good stead.

Sincerely, Your Loving Husband.

P.S. Please contact the local haberdashery for I have an inordinate amount of whimsically shaped hats and head garments that I will no doubt need to sell to some one.”

In 1890 McMoses was replaced by a stern taskmaster known as Archibald Jefferson Davis Williams. Williams was Southern Baptist Preacher who aimed to bring back integrity to the game while eliminating all the fun. He was an unpleasant, humourless man who hated alcohol, gambling, women, children, animals, books, talking and everything. He only liked baseball, the Bible and severe beatings. His own wife once said that “the only time I witnessed him smiling was when he severely beat our children with the Bible after a good Baseball game.”

Williams immediately divided the Old League in to the American and National Leagues because he hated odd numbers (he is also reported to have said, “I don’t much care for even numbers either”). His next move was to implement severe beatings for anyone who gambled, drank alcohol or associated with any woman who was not his wife. He followed these rules so strictly that he beat his own son for spending too much time with his mother. His son was not even in the league and was six years old.

The two new leagues led by Williams returned baseball's reputation as a sport of gentlemen. Unfortunately in the 1890’s “gentleman” equaled “racist”. Thus in 1891 Williams decided to ban all non-white players. It was a devastating blow to the sport which had been interracial dating back to the very first game played in 1840 when Abner Doubleday picked “that black guy” to play for his squad. It would not be until 1947 that Jackie Robinson would finally shatter the colour barrier (along with the dreams of dozens of mediocre white baseball players).

While the game was supposed to be all white the 1890’s were dominated by players who managed to cleverly hide their place of origin in order to play in the big leagues. Fortunately, Williams was incredibly gullible and took the nicknames of players quite literally often overlooking their heritage if their nickname indicated they came from somewhere else. As such the men who shaped the game in the 1890’s were Sayid “The Danish Sensation” Ali, “The Flying Dutchman” Van Louc Minh, Chief Little Horse aka “The Austrian Ace” and, of course, “The Pride of Norway” Sanjay Vijayaraghavan. Sadly the great Irish player Paddy O’Flanagan was barred from playing after his nickname was revealed to be “Polynesian Paddy”.

By 1900 Baseball had established itself as the number one sport in America. It had been a difficult sixty years but the game had come in to its own. A new commissioner, Thaddeus Barnum Ironside, took over in 1901 and he correctly predicted that Baseball would only continue to grow in the twentieth century. As he said:

“Nothing can stop our fair game from becoming even greater than it is today. I predict unprecedented growth of baseball in this new century. Only something unimaginable, like the synthesis of testosterone in to some form that players could ingest to increase their speed and strength, could undermine baseball; or possibly two devastating wars in Europe that will break out in the next 40 years and thrust our world in to chaos and unforeseen carnage; or maybe the development of atomic weapons capable of destroying the earth thousands of times over. The spirits are also telling me that man will land on the moon before the year 1970…”

Ironside’s baseball prediction proved to be eerily accurate and the game continued its growth through out the twentieth century. New talents would emerge and join baseball’s annals alongside the greats of the nineteenth century. Men like Kelly Gruber, Rance Mulliniks, Pat Tabler and Dave Steib would carry on the proud tradition of Abner Doubleday.

We now take baseball for granted but had it not been for a man with a vision and a nation longing for a distraction from all the tuberculosis and syphilis that was the 1800’s the game may never have been. So though it does not resemble the steroid infused, commercialized shell of a game that it is today it is important to remember that Baseball, like America, was forged in the turbulent nineteenth century.


Richard Light is the Chair of the Baseball Studies Department at Emory University. His latest book Strike Four!? Baseball’s Wackiest Moments, Zaniest Plays and Bloodiest Tragedies is now available in stores.

Music Corner with R. Light
This Week: “Fuck My Fans” by No Safe-T

It has been two years since we last heard from No Safe-T. That was a good two years. Unfortunately for music fans and pretty much anyone who is not at least 80% deaf Mr. No Safe-T (or Safe or King Safe or His Safeness etc.) has decided to bombard our delicate eardrums with yet another unprovoked verbal assault. Considering this is a man who regularly released six albums a year in his prime I suppose I should be happy to have had that two year break.

His latest release, 'Fuck My Fans', is quite appropriately titled. That is the only remotely nice thing I have to say the album. Not only is it some of the worst music of his career but it is some of the worst music of anyone's career. In fact it is possibly the worst creative endeavor in the history of human culture. This truly is a fuck you to his fans and I must commend Safe for not trying to hide that.

The album cover crudely depicts Safe punching out a young man who appears to be asking for an autograph. Apparently this is for anyone that did not quite get what Safe was trying to say by titling his album Fuck My Fans. The music itself is not even worth reporting on. He barely even makes an effort to rhyme anymore. Here is one example:

"I ain't got time to write a real good rhyme/ no time at all/ for a rhyme at all/ so fuck you all/ and yeah."

That of course is from his song No Time to Rhyme. It's eight and a half minutes.

One wonders why, if he is so short on material, he insists on releasing an album with forty seven songs? He has a seven minute song where he lists all the women he has slept with. It never rhymes or even synchs up with the crude beat and I am pretty sure he mentions a few men's names. In the middle of some tracks he forgets he is recording and begins to chat with people around him in the studio until some one reminds him he's making an album. The saddest moment though is when he imitates, very poorly, the voice of a female singer to sing the hook on his song 'Sex Time'. Presumably this is because no singers are willing to work with him.

No Safe-T was not always such a joke though. In 2000, as a part of the rap super duo Glock Talk, he was a successful and more than capable rapper. He earned a reputation for his violent temper and bizarre lyrics that often cited obscure references, baffling even the most educated listeners. One example of Glock Talk's 1999 single 'Corpse Stackin' highlights his style well:

"Now you bragging about all the fucking blood you've spilled/ but I'd need Paul Erdos to count up all the mutherfuckers I killed."

The reference to the great Hungarian mathematician Paul Erdos is, of course, something is very rare in gangster rap.

The question is when did Safe become the laughing stock of the industry? Some would argue he was always a joke and that he was just propped up by his more talented partner, Smitty-T. This may be true but Safe did put out some solid, if bizarre, solo records.

Safe’s first solo project, 'I've Actually Killed Six People', from 2000 was a resounding success. Once the listener overcomes some obvious inconsistencies, like, for example his McCarthyesque habit of changing the number of his murder victims from 6 to 9 to 17 to "unfucking countable" depending on the song, it is difficult not to respect his rhyming abilities and his harsh, angry delivery.

His second album, Crimes Against Humanity, released just 4 months later and which features Smitty on all 37 tracks is equally engaging. Never mind that the title was completely inappropriate considering he had just pleaded innocent before the World Court for crimes against humanity for atrocities he likely committed during the civil war in El Salvador. The songs are biting and even when the content is disgusting, which is always, his style is unquestionably entertaining. It was not until 2001 that Safe's recordings began to get more unlistenable and his behavior more erratic.

"Mutherfucker (Safe) always had some weird ass lyrics.” One time collaborator Yung Flava’ recalls, “like he be mentioning (famous deep sea explorer) Otis Barton in the same sentence as his baby momma. Shit got weirder though. Mutherfucker had an entire song dedicated to 1972 Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty (SALT). We never said shit though because he would get angry. That mutherfucker had a temper. And he was sensitive too. Mutherfucker was real sensitive."

For some reason Safe drifted from his hardcore roots and he began producing lazy, opportunistic records. He shocked even his most ardent supporters when, just days after the 9/11 tragedy, he released a hastily recorded, virulently anti-Muslim album, 'Bigger Than Allah'. The album was especially hate-filled and ignorant, even for Safe's standards. He blamed Muslims not only for the 9/11 attacks but also his own battle with dyslexia and unfair municipal zoning regulations. Fortunately for Safe embarrassed Ayatollah's, who did not want to be in anyway associated with him, declined issuing any fatwas. It sold unsurprisingly well in America.

As his records shifted to being more bizarre and over the top so too did his life outside the studio. He was known to throw lavish, drug-fueled parties at his mansion. Upon hearing about what went on at these parties it is not difficult to understand how he quickly burned through all his money. His accountant, Mortie Schelmann, remembers one particularly expensive evening. "One time he filled his olympic sized pool with crystal, diamonds and caviar and paid 20 supermodels to swim in it for a couple of hours. That cost 3.2 million dollars…not including the medical bills from the girls, most of whom developed fairly serious skin conditions."

While nude models swimming in a champagne pool may sound crazy enough Yung Flava' remembers an even more bizarre incident from a 2002 party. "One time the mutherfucker paid the entire cast of MASH to show up to his party. He made them all drink and do all kinds of drugs. Then he forced 'em to recreate his favourite episodes. Well it turns out he fucking hated MASH. He pistol whipped Clinger (Actor Jamie Fahr) for dressing like a bitch and I think he straight up murdered Radar (Actor Gary Berghoff)."

Fortunately Gary Berghoff managed to survive the 2002 party but Safe's descent into the ridiculous did not stop. He also refused to recognize his financial and creative laziness. In 2003 Glock Talk released their last album, We Fucking Hate Each Other, before splitting. This was Safe's last successful venture.

By 2003 no one was buying Safe’s albums and he had blown all of his money. His personal life was also in shambles. He spent some time in jail when he was charged with impersonating a morgue attendant after a strange incident involving a Chicago area funeral home. In 2004 a police raid on his mansion led to drug possesion charges as well as charges stemming from a primate wrestling league he was illegally running in his basement. 6 months later he was charged with illegal possession of antique siege weaponary. His legal troubles appeared to be as insurmountable as they were stupid but things only got worse.

His pathetic 2004 double album, 'I Need Your Money', can at least be credited for being straight forward. Unfortunately fans did not feel the need to hand over their money for overproduced piece of crap no matter how much Safe needed funds. What little credibility Safe still had quickly evoporated in late 2004 during his promotional tour for 'I Need Your Money'. High on a cocktail of painkillers, booze, qualudes, peyote, methanphetamines, and alesse he slurred his way through the national anthem before a WNBA game. If the fact that he completely forgot the lyrics and started rambling, with a surprising amount of knowledge, about corporate tax laws was not embarrassing enough he had also never even been invited to sing the anthem in the first place and it was midway through the third quarter. The life time ban he received from all future WNBA events deeply depressed him and marked his lowest point yet.

In 2005 a broke and lonely Safe filed for bankruptcy. His musical journey looked to be over but something incredible happened: Safe found Jesus. After a 2 week online course he became a pastor and the always charismatic Safe wasted little time in getting his new followers to hand over their money to him. In a matter of months he was back on his feet and in the studio recording his first Christian rap album. A 2005 review of Pastor Safe's (as he had re-christened himself) album in Christian Music Magazine ripped it apart writing:

"What can one say about Pastor Safe's first 'Christian' album? Well firstly how are we supposed to take this man seriously when he names his album 'Bigger Than Jesus'? Equally upsetting is his habit of referring to himself as 'Jesus Junior' and 'God's Boss' and the 'CEO of Heaven'. If it was not obvious enough that he has no understanding of Christian theology, history and spirituality he even has a song entitled 'I've Actually Never Read The Bible'. That is not even the worst part. On the last few songs of the album he seems to have forgotten that he was recording a CHRISTIAN album. Why did no one tell him that a song like 'Bangkok Oral Sex Parade' has no place on this record? And let us not forget his final song 'My Personal Spiritual Belief is a Synthesis of Eastern Traditions and Philosophies as well as Astrology, Tarot cards, Healing Crystals and Paganism'. If all this was not bad enough he also forgets to thank God in the liner notes"

Safe's foray into the Christian music world was short lived. He was some what vindicated though when legendary folk musician James Taylor's version of 'Bangkok Oral Sex Parade' cracked the adult contemporary top 40. By this point though he had retreated from the limelight and most people assumed he would be gone for good. That was until he came out of nowhere with his latest album.

The usually attention seeking Safe has refused any interviews regarding 'Fuck My Fans'. No doubt he is embarrassed. One can only hope that this is the last time his corpse of a career bobs its lifeless head above the surface before finally sinking in to the ocean of obscurity. Unfortunately I fear we have not heard the last of No Safe-T. Now that question is not so much ‘when did he become a joke?’ but ‘when will this joke ever end?’



Richard Light is a Professor of Media Studies at Emory University in Atlanta. His 2004 book "How the Media is Turning Us All Gay" is not particularly good and only a few close friends and family have purchased it, mainly out of pity. He is personally very scared of No Safe-T.

Well I am officially at my wits end with Hank Greener. As most of you know he is the author of that uber-popular, sugary, upbeat, nauseating 'The Grass Is Greener...' blog. Once again this 4-time award winner for Most Inspiring Blog at the Bloggie's has unleashed a vicious, nearly-unprovoked attack on me! Let's take a look at his entry from yesterday:

"Top O' the morning to you all! It's another beautiful day here in the blogosphere where the grass is always greener....with Hank Greener!

As you all know I am a get a little miffed with some of all the negativity and name-calling that happens on too many blogs these days. Well I say pooh-pooh to all that! I think people using the anonymity of the internet to attack each other is just plain wrong. Why not use the internet to post your inspiring poetry, talk about your dreams or share alternative, organic, vegan recipes like I do?

There are lots of examples of what I like to call grumpy-gus blogs. They write about all kinds of political, social and cultural issues but they have one thing in common: they are all grumpy! Now I know I am being a little mean but I just think we should discuss the things that bring us together and not the things that divide us! In the spirit of this I wrote a short 1800 word poem about something that brings us all together: organic, vegetarian bran and soy cookie flavoured snackables!

[Note: I edited out Greener's stupid-gay poem, RL]

Wow, just reading that makes me hungry and inspired. The amazing thing is that poem actually came to me in a dream last night! Anyways getting back to the issue at hand I think it is time we take a stand against all these negative nelly's and tell them to turn those cyber frowns =( upside down =).

First on my list of these boo-hoo bloggers is none other than Richard Light. I know many of you have never heard of him but he has won Most Xenophobic Blog at the last 4 Bloggie Awards. Well it seems this Mr. Light does not live up to his seemingly friendly name. In fact last week he attacked yours truly. Here's what he said:

"Is anyone else sick of this Hank Greener a-hole yet? Or is it just me? I saw him on Oprah last week and I have to be honest: I hope he chokes to death on a lentil based stir fry. Just because he averages 10,000 hits a day and my fan base is mainly made up of a small group of family, friends, incarcerated violent offenders, fringe messianic cults and anti-government militias he thinks he's soooo much better than me. And if I have to read one more of his poems about vegan alternatives to cheese I am going to cut the break line on his fucking prius.

Look you know I hate to spread hateful propaganda but an anonymous source has told me he devours helpless woodland creatures because he believes it gives him superhuman strength. Where's his poem about that? Everyone calls him inspiring but I think he's just another namby-pamby do-gooder who is trying to make an honest blogger like me look bad for anonymously attacking ethnic, religious, and cultural groups that I do not like... and women and gays. Also children and the elderly. I hate most animals too. I generally fear the world outside of my closed off existence and respond to it with ignorant hatred. So Hank Greener is better than me cause he doesn't automatically fear and hate what he does not know or understand? Well I got some advice for Hank Greener: you better shut up and stay where the grass is greener or your next bbq tofu treat will be your last!"

First off I would like to respond by saying I have never eaten any defenseless creatures and am actually a member of numerous organizations protecting woodland creature habitats. Second, I have never mentioned let alone attacked Mr. Light in any way. Third, I have been weeping and living in fear since I read this not so veiled death threat. But as you know one of the mottos I live by is "Hug them with kindness" (I used to say "Kill them with kindness" but that sounds too violent). So even though Mr. Light is wishing my death and possibly planning to do something about it, I am going to keep sending the happy feelings his way. So in honour of this I ask all you out there to help me with my "cyber-hug" campaign. I want all of you to send a quick "cyber-hug" to Mr. Light with a brief message of love and encouragement. Here are some good examples:

Cheer up, you've got a friend in me!

Don't be so glum, chum. Love me!

Please don't kill Hank!

Please tell whoever is following Hank in the black SUV with tinted windows to stop trying to run him off the road!

You get the idea. Well that's all from me today. I am going to spend some time with some friends in an undisclosed location for an undisclosed amount of time so you might not hear from me for a while.

LOVE Hank."


After reading Hank's motto "Hug them with kindness" it reminded me of a motto my good, blindly loyal friend Jake "Da Killa" Lomonta lives by, "Kill them with weapons." I am not saying anything. Just repeating a friends motto is all. A motto I know first hand, after spending a blood curdling evening with Jake that still gives me nightmares, that he lives by.

In response to Hank's cyber campaign I have decided to start one of my own. I am going to target him for a "cyber-I-know-where-you-live" campaign. All you guys have to do is send a message saying "I know where you live." Nothing illegal there. Just letting him know we know where he lives is all.

I guess that's it for today. Now I am going to retreat back in to the shadows and bide my time. Waiting, patiently. Always there but never there. Just around the corner, just out of sight. You will feel my presence but not see me. In each darkened alley, behind every door you will be gripped with the fear that I may be lurking. Then one day I will strike. Too quick for you to even notice...Hank

Love Richard


Additional Note: A drunken Mr. Light was arrested outside of Hank Greener's home last night after he was discovered going through Greener's garbage and yelling incoherently. At the sight of a sobbing, shirtless and disheveled Mr. Light, Mr. Greener opted not to press charges and police left Mr. Light in his care for the evening. Mr. Greener has also agreed to pay for Mr. Light's medical bills and provided the obviously malnourished blogger with 2 weeks of delicious vegan food. Mr. Light is known to police for similar incidents involving ex-girlfriends, co-workers and neighbours. Police describe him as a mild nuisance with no known affiliation with Jake Lomonta. Reuters

Originally Posted: 04/25/2007


11 Tips For Naming Your Child

1) Choose the name of a character from your favorite book. Some of my favorite books are: 'Rise and Fall of the Third Reich', 'America's Most Notorious Serial Killers' and 'The Big Book of Racial Slurs'.

2) Name the child after its first words. If it has a problem with that when its older you can just blame it on them; "If you hate the name 'Potty-Time' so much you should have said something else." This will also set a nice precedent of blaming the child for your poor parenting.

3) Name the child after a well-known religious figure like Jesus, Buddha or Vishnu. Scold the child when it inevitably fails to perform miracles.

4) Name the child after yourself but first change your name to "Mr. Fuckface" That'll show the little shit who's boss.

5) Name the child after a word you like so say already like "Pizza" or "Jube-Jubes." This saves all the hassle that comes with having to learn a new word like "Oliver" or some shit like that.

6) Choose a name based on what you think the Child's sexual orientation will be. Be creative. Scold the child if it chooses the wrong sexual orientation when it's older.

7) Refer to your child as "Nothing" until it is 8 years old and then give it a name that suits its personality. The best part is that after years of being called "Nothing" the child has probably become so emotionally vacant that in actuality "Nothing" suits it better than anything else.

8) Name the child after the doctor who delivered it. Pay the doctor to change his or her name to "Dr. Fuckface."

9) Name the child after a dead relative. Dress the child in the dead relatives clothing and force them to follow the same career path as the dead relative. Scold them for not living up to the standards of the dead relative. If you have no dead relatives simply name the child "Dead Relative." Scold them for not living up to the standards of the 90's death metal band "Dead Relative."

10) Allow the child to keep its pre-kidnapping name, making sure it understands that you are its daddy or mommy now.

11) Name the Child "September Eleventh." Never let the Child forget.

Bonus Tip: If your spouse suggests a name you do not like but you do not want to be to anger them by rejecting it just say, "Oh yeah I love – insert name -- it's the same name as my favorite porn star. He/She was great in Transexxxual Cluster-Fuck Vol.3" This should effectively end the discussion.

Originally Posted: 01/13/2007



I just got this e-mail from myself in the future. I know it's me because it was sent from my yahoo account. It was real nice and all but it's kind of long so I just sort of skimmed it, I think I read something about Brad and Jenn getting back together which is pretty cool. I thought you guys might enjoy it so I decided to post it. Here it is...



Sup Past Richard!

I finally got this e-mail time machine thingy working. Future Richard in tha' Hizouse! Wuz up? Oh wait don't tell me because I already know seeing as I lived every moment you have including an additional 61 years (don't ask me how old I am, let's just say 85 is the new 40 in 2068!...actually that's not true at all in fact due to overpopulation The Maximum Age Law was passed by the Supreme Council of Wisdom in 2052 forcing everyone over the age of 65 to be forcibly euthanized so basically my very existence is illegal and far from being "hip"). Anyways a lot has happened in the decades before I sent this and after you will have received this. Where do I begin!?

Okay firstly, A LOT of celebrity couples do not stay together. I would say more but I know you have a subscription to In Touch Weekly so I do not want to ruin it for you. I am pretty sure the Yankees win a World Series at some point but then baseball is eventually abolished when the 200 hr work week is introduced by the Ministry of Progress and Death. Let me see...what else...oh, do not get a Metro Pass in 2017, you'll know why when it happens. In fact you should stay inside for most of 2017. Also do not volunteer for the re-education camps, they are not like normal camps.

Man there are so many good memories that I want to tell you about. Robots become very cheap, plentiful and murderous. Deal or No Deal is still kinda popular but not as much. Money has been replaced with the Blood of Innocents. No one says "good luck" anymore, we usually just say "may your offsrping be spared the fate of the foresaken ones" instead. For some reason all technological, scientific and medical progress has been halted. Empathy has been abolished. Trucker hats stay relatively in style. You get pretty big in to Rap-Metal in the 2030's. Human skin, as you know it, is a distant memory.

I know what you want to know...ACADEMY AWARD WINNERS. I really want to tell you but that kind of information could be dangerous in your hands. You need to live with some mystery otherwise life is not fun. It's just like if I knew when the next time I would be able to secure some precious Hydroxinated Water-Flavoured Liquid Paste. It would take all the fun out of life! And some of the fear. Fear is definetly not in short supply in the future. Either are roaming Kill-Bots!

I want to give you some concrete advice so here are some Do's and Don'ts for the next 60 years. Do not vote for Zanthar in the 2040 election (Sure Zanthar keeps Its promise about devouring all of the enemies of Zanthar but that tax increase really bites you in the ass). Do spend more time with your children. Do not have children, they don't fare so well in the Great Massacre of Children (2036). Do not invest in anything water-based (Let's just say that'll dry up! lol, seriously though we have no more water). Do invest heavily in Kill-Bots.

All in all the future is good and I can not complain. I mean even if I did complain the omnipotent Orb of Darkness would surely find out about it and absorb my life essence but really I am pretty content. Life hasn't changed a whole lot. I gave up the blog thingy (which reminds me DO NOT POST THIS b/c it could screw up the timeline or whatever) but I have taken up other hobbies. Hiding and scavaging through the ruins of our once great cities has become a pretty popular past time. I am also trying to get the old band back together but we still need a drummer so that's probably not going to happen. Hmmm I am not sure what else to tell you. I guess the only thing left I have to say is just keep being yourself or at least be yourself until Zanthar declares the "self" to be obsolete and that we must all act and think as one entity loyal only to Zanthar, but that's not for a while.

Anyways I better go, I think I hear some mutants knocking at the door of my underground bunker. They probably just want some human flesh (good luck!) or something. I tell you they're as thick as Mormons in the future and twice as annoying. Also there is a big election coming up and I have figure out who I want to vote for. I like the omnipotent Orb of Darkness platform and its promise to absorb all its enemies life essence if it wins but everyone is saying it'll just stack supreme court with other omnipotent floating orbs made up of dark matter. Also, I do not want to sound racist or anything but I am not sure if we're ready for a dark orb president, I'd feel better if the floating orb of death was a little lighter if you know what I mean. Ahh who am I kidding I'll probably just vote for the incumbent Decitron, the Kill-Bot candidate. Sure he hasn't been the greatest leader but I think we should give him 4 more years to see if he can get this Kill-Bot based economy up and running.

Okay talk to you later. Don't bother writing me back as I already know everything you have ever said or ever will have to say and so on.

Love, Citizen R-27653 (formerly Richard Light)

PS

I almost forgot, I just got an e-mail from myself in the future. It's pretty short but I thought you might like to glance at it (I personally haven't had time to).


"Waaaazup! Citizen R-27653. It's you from the future. I can't talk long so I'll just say a few quick things.

1) It's 2769 AD and you have just woken up from suspended animation
2) BRAD AND JENN ARE BACK TOGETHER!!!
3) zanthar's minions have returned and have devised a fate worse then death for all of humankind.
4) Don't send this to any past incarnations of us, I can not explain it now but if you do it will lead to the destruction of the Universe.

Love Rikatron 3000 (formerly Citizen R-27653)"



So that is the future e-mail. Sounds like things are pretty much the same, even a little boring. Certainly there are no grave warnings or anything to be concerned about. So now we can all rest easy and stop worrying.

Originally Posted: 11/09/2006

Okay, so I used to write an advice column for Teen Beat magazine. I am not proud of this but I am sick of hiding from my past so I am coming out with it now. I wrote it under the title "Dick Helps" which might have been part of the reason it only lasted for 2 issues. A few Family Values organizations thought that was completely inappropriate title for a teenage advice column and I was fired. Anyways I never got to answer a few important questions which I always wanted too so I am going to rectify today and help those teenagers the best way I know how. So here for one last time is "Dick Helps"

Dear DH

My BF and I have been dating for 6 months but I think he might be Gay, is there anyway to tell?

Sincerely, Needs To Know If Her BF Is Gay

Dear NTKIHBFIG

There's lot's of ways to find if your BF is gay, off hand I can think of about 147. I mean there are the obvious ones, like if he (censored by Teen Beat Magazine) or if he's ever (censored by Teen Beat Magazine) and if you've ever caught him (censored by Teen Beat Magazine) with a camcorder than you know he is for sure. Of course he may not know he is gay himself. Maybe all he needs is to meet a dashing, older man during a summer abroad, a man who will introduce him to Madrid's underground gay bar scene. Sure these meaningless homosexual rendezvous in nightclub bathrooms may seem wrong in the beginning but as he lets his inhibitions go and embraces the love which dare not speak its name he will not only discover that he's gay but he will, for the first time, discover who he really is and dammit there is nothing wrong with that! Also if he is gay it's probably your fault for not loving him enough or not being pretty enough.

Sincerely DH.

Dear DH

My parents are getting a divorce. Is it my fault?

Sincerely Worried It's His Fault That His Parents Are Divorcing

Dear WIHFTHPAD

Look, I do not want to lie to you especially considering your parents will be lying to you a lot in the coming months. The truth is it's usually the child's fault. I mean people only have children by accident or to save a dying relationship so you kind of started out on a sinking ship if you know what I mean. And we both know that one more body on a sinking ship only means they'll be fishing out one more bloated corpse from the icy waters when the thing finally goes down. I guess you could look back at all the times you were a source for disappointment or think about how your very existence has ruined their sex life but the important thing to know is there is no one specific reason why they're getting a divorce but rather its a culmination of all your whining and failures. On the other hand it may be some really fucked up reason like your dad is cross-dresser or something.

Sincerely DH

Dear DH

I am going in my last year of High School and I am wondering what I should look for when applying to universities?

Sincerely, Looking For The Perfect School For Me?

Dear LHDOIHJSLD

Firstly, University doesn't matter, your FRAT does. All the important things I learned in school were courtesy of my teachers at Alpha Gamma Delta. Hell, I majored in keg stands with a minor in cheerleaders. So the important thing is to check out which FRATs throw the slaminest jams and apply to whatever Party U they're attached too. Once you get through the alcohol poisoing and sodomy of the initiation process you're home free. It's 4 years of no rules, no 'rents and no regrets. Bonus: a FRAT alum will totally defend you for free when you get charged for date rape. So in answer to your question, quit stressing about a school and start looking in to which FRAT can supply the most kegs and co-eds. SPRING BREAK!

Sincerely DH

Dear DH

What are the hot styles going to be for the upcoming school year?

Sincerely Needs To Know What To Wear!

Dear NDJHKHS

Great question, I am so sick of you whiny brats asking about birth control and sex-ed, finally a question about something serious...FASHION! Well firstly 1989 is going to be all about leg warmers and side-pony tails for girls and turtlenecks and big sneakers for boys. Don't be afraid to go a little crazy because it's almost the nineties and the nineties will be all about loose, funky clothing. In fact the nineties will see a a lot of changes. After the fall of Communism in the East (which I predict will happen in the next 2 years) America will emerge as the world's only superpower. Unfortunately they will squander this opportunity to lead the world in to an unparalleled era of peace and cooperation and will instead continue to act unilaterally with little regard for the rest of the world. America's support of Israel, their stationing of troops in Arab nations and their shameless exportation of their culture and way of life will particularly anger Muslims. This will in turn bring about a new phase in the geo-political landscape where America will find itself locked in a deadly struggle with independent fundamentalist Islamic terrorists groups who are not aligned with any state and carry out their attacks through a network of loosely connected, clandestine cells operating in most nations on earth. This struggle will likely begin in the next decade and will probably come to a head early in the next millennium. Expect it to dominate our lives like the Cold War dominated our parents. Anyways dress accordingly and stockpile lots of of food. Your children will know no peace.

Sincerely DH


Okay so that's the last installment of "Dick Helps" which was never published. Of course those kids are probably in their early 30's now and this advice is too late to save them. I can't imagine how many lives were destroyed by Teen Beats decision not to print that. I am sure that those 4 teens, if they are still alive, are cursing TB. They are probably squating in some run down crack house right now planning their next robbery/murder/kidnapping. All we can do is wonder how their lives would have been different if they had only read my advice. It is also interesting to see how I was able to predict all that stuff, especially the rise of the importance of FRAT's on university campuses.

Originally posted: 07/26/2006

If I ask you who is your favourite fictional amateur sleuth is the chances are your answer will be Eliza Doonesbury Honeyspoon or as she is known to her fans Ms. Honeyspoon. Thats right, for 43 years Ms. Honeyspoon has been running a boarding school during the day (Ms. Honeyspoons Prepatory School for Young Ladies)while solving mysteries at night in the small English hamlet of Ashford. Fortunately the writer of the Ms. Honeyspoon series (all 78 novels), Beatrice Taylor, passed away last year at the age of 109. This is great news because now there is a competition to see who will take over the reigns of this incredibly popular series.

By now you have probably guessed that yours truly has decided to enter the competition and I am very confident of victory. Of course I have never read anything by Beatrice Taylor nor have I even seen any of the film adaptations of her novels. In fact I have spent a great deal of time over the years publicly insulting Ms. Taylor and her works while harassing her fans and any critics who have praised here work. I have also overseen numerous book burnings of her popular novels and thanks to me her books are banned in India. Some (i.e., her family) have even blamed me for her death.

Well now I have realized that I may have been a little tough on the old hag and I have decided to make it up to her by keeping the Ms. Honeyspoon tradition alive. Sure I have my detractors but I think my work will speak for itself and shut those detractors up and maybe even kill them some how. Heres hoping!

I am nearly finished my first Ms. Honeyspoon novel so I thought I'd give my fans a little sneak peek of the goods. First I will preview the back cover (every good writer knows is the first thing you should write) and then a brief excerpt from chapter 8 (the only chapter I have written so far) later on. Traditionally the Ms. Honeyspoon books had titles like 'The Case of the Missing Church Collection Plate (A Ms. Honeyspoon Caper!') or 'The Case of the Missing Cookie Jar (A Ms. Honeyspoon Who Dunnit!)' but as you will see I decided to sex up the title a bit. You should also note that even though there is a 2 in the title this book is not a sequel. I just put that 2 in there so people would think it was a sequel because only good books/movies have sequels so people would just assume I am a wicked writer.

Back Cover

Advanced Praise for Richard T Lights
Extreme Revenge 2: The Quest For Blood (A Ms. Honeyspoon Psycho-Thriller)

"Makes Beatrice Taylors writing look like fucking shit. R T Light is the real deal."
Margaret Atwood

"Strap yourselves in motherfuckers because Extreme Revenge 2 is one hell of a rollercoaster." J.K Rowling

"If your best friend has an advanced copy of Extreme Revenge 2 then kill him, dont ask questions just do it. You'll fucking thank me when youre reading it in solitary confinement." Maya Angelou

"Sit down and shut the fuck up." Salman Rushdie

"What did I think about Extreme Revenge 2? I thought it made Catcher in the Rye look like low quality, bootleg gay porn...a bunch of scrambled bull shit that made me want to vomit." J.D. Salinger

In the sleepy hamlet of Ashford an ageing Ms. Honeyspoon has just agreed to stay on as headmaster at her school for girls for one more semester. All her students are thrilled to have their favorite headmaster, who was so sweet she is like a 'spoonful of honey', lead them for one more year. She has even agreed to help that old curmudgeon Willie Dolittle with those pesky rabbits who keep stealing his carrots. With her trademark wit and cunning she is just the one to figure out how to stop the rabbits from getting through the fence. Ashfords favorite Gumshoe is on the case! But even she is shocked to find out the horrorific truth...

...it was not rabbits who were stealing carrots from Mr. Dolittle. Not unless rabbits are capable of gunning down poor old Willie Dolittle at point blank range with a sawed off shotgun. No, Rabbits didn't do this. More like hopped up junkies who are so wasted they'd kill a man just for his homegrown vegetables. And thats just the beginning. Ms. Honeyspoon pulls at the wrong thread this time, a thread that unravels a whole ball of EVIL. The next thing she knows her school has burned down, her cat is mutilated and one of her aunts is missing while the other turns up dead down by the docks with a Glasgow Smile. Some one's after her and no one in Ashford is safe...

...it seems a Columbian Drug Cartel has set up shop in Ashford and they mean to run any potential threats out of town. First on their list is Ms. Honeyspoon. What they do not know is that Ms. Honeyspoon is not just an amateur sleuth but also ex-Green Beret who served 3 tours in Nam. She had vowed never to kill again...but vows are meant to be broken!

Armed with her trusty .38 and a bad attitude Ms. Honeyspoon joins forces with her top student, the hot n slutty Penny Bedfellow, to spill the blood of their enemies and once again make Ashford a safe place. She dont ask questions and She dont want answersall she wants is Extreme Revenge!


I get chills just reading it. I do have to get permission for the quotes (no problemo) and finish writing the book but that should not take long. Actually I will probably take a lot of material from my first unpublished novel, Already Dead 3: No Mercy (A Detective Rick Darksaw Erotic-Techno-Thriller). Rick is an ex-cop who plays fast and loose with the rules as he mercilessly hunts down the dope fiends who killed his ex-partner and only friend (wicked subplot alert: his wife left him because he's a drunk). Anyways he's got nothing to lose because he considers himself...Already Dead. Great concept, I know. I plan to kill off Ms. Honeyspoons aunts to help explain her radical change in character, just like Rick Darksaw (ex-partner=2 aunts). Also there will probably be a corrupt Irish Police Chief involved and a character based on me who hooks up with Penny Bedfellow in chapter 13. This thing will basically write itself. Thats all I can divulge for now but stay tuned for more.

LOVE rich

Posted Originally: 05/14/2006

A few days ago I said goodbye to a new friend. He appeared, quite unexpectedly, a few weeks ago on my upper lip. He changed my life. He was my first Moustache.

Was society ready for my Moustache? God No. Was I ready? Probably not. Were the women of this world ready? I am not sure I was ignored just as before. Was Danny Glover ready? I have never met Danny but something tells me he would have said that I was "too old for that shit."

My Moustache faced lots of criticism and hostility. People said I looked like a greasy, Spanish pedophile...that hurt for I have never even been to Spain. Some one said I looked like Robert Shaw from Jaws. A few said I looked like Trotsky or some kind of revolutionary. One person looked at me and said I looked like the poet Ezra Pound. Finally a brave soul even said I was the handsomest man they had ever seen. That person was me. I said it to my reflection in the mirror.

Still with all these compliments my Moustache and I could not help but feel marginalized in a society that equates moustachehood with authoritarian dictators, pedophiles and small penis size.

Every day I had to endure jeers, "Hey, nice Moustache...Not!" "Hey Moustachey" "Go back to Moustacheland!" and even, "Moustaches are Satan's bedfellow!" These comments struck at my core. I felt shameful and cheap. I can not even imagine how my Moustache felt.

Of course due to the hypocritical nature of our society the people who shouted insults at me during the day were the same ones frequenting the underground Moustache clubs at night or discreetly logging on to those popular all-access, uncensored Moustache websites. Moustaches have been pushed to the periphery of our society. Forced underground. Told from an early age that they are not normal. At the same time we secretly crave to know more about them...to enter the world of the Moustache.

There is no historical precedent for Moustachism. It has only emerged recently and it is completely accepted. While unlike ageism, sexism, racism, and any other form of prejudice Moustachism is not funny or justified. I do not want to speak in hyperbole but Moustachism is a greater threat to our society than Mussonlini ever was.

When my mother saw the Moustache she broke down in tears. My father simply told me I was "dead" to him. I was abandoned by most of my friends. They didn't understand. This wasn't a choice. I didn't ask to have a Moustache.

Of course I heard all the usual things. "Why don't you just stop having a Moustache?" "This is just a phase, you'll grow out of it." "Stop spreading your anti-family, pro-Moustache propaganda" "Moustacheod Men Need Not Apply" I was confronted with the reality that Moustaches are not acceptable in polite society. I was stuck.

Since the dawn of time Man has wondered, "Where do Moustaches come from?" Sadly we will probably never know. Science has failed to come up with a remedy for Moustaches or its ugly cousin the Soul Patch. Of course I would not dare defend the shameful, disgusting Soul Patch. It is a cancer on our society, a cancer which should be removed and we who are Moustached want nothing to do with the Soul Patch.

I believe we should not search for a cure for Moustaches but rather accept them in all their wonderment. That being said I managed to find a man who was willing to try an experimental procedure. He proposed to shave my Moustache off. I could not understand how a Moustache, like a beard or armpits, could be shaved? This seemed outrageous. Was he a genius or a madman? Maybe both. I may have loved my Moustache but I could not handle the looks, the whispers, and the laughter of children that accompanied Moustachedom. I decided to go through with the experimental procedure. Thankfully is was a complete success.

Now that I have my life back to normal I can not help but wonder; will my Moustache ever return? Have I just masked my true self? Who am I? Why?

One thing is for sure; I miss that brissly, light brown friend who stared back at me every time I looked in the mirror. I do not think I am exagerrating when I say that my Moustache did more for mankind than Ghandi. Unfortunately he had it a lot tougher than Ghandi. Ghandi had a free ride compared to my Moustache. Fuck Ghandi.

I am a modest man and that's why it is so hard for me to admit that my Moustache was so great. I have no proof or any basis for this but I am pretty sure my Moustache prevented the end of humanity. Actual Nuclear Holocaust. Oh well, the world is often slow to recognize its greatest Moustaches.

I hope this has opened up your eyes. I know I have learned a lot from reading it myself and I wrote it. I will never speak of this again but you should all know that every night I cry myself to sleep. This is unrelated to my Moustache but I hope it stirs some sympathy in your hearts for me. Fuck Ghandi.

Sincerely Richard

This Blog Entry is dedicated to Tom Selleck, Charles Bronson, and Rollie Fingers.

Originally Posted: 03/27/2006

As you guys all know I write a column for Boxington's Fortnightly Boxing Review, one of the top 13 boxing magazines in all of Eastern Canada (excluding Newfoundland and Labrador). Recently I wrote a very moving piece about the late Quincy "6 Fingers" Underhill. Unfortunately my editor refused to accept the article on the grounds that it was "almost entirely plagiarized" which is industry jargon for "I am so jealous!" Long story short: I have decided to post it on my blog so that the public can be exposed to the magical story of "6 Fingers" and his rise to near-glory in late seventies and early eighties. Enjoy.

"Not in the Face!": The Rise and Fall of Quincy "6 Fingers" Underhill
By Richard T E Light

Quincy Maurice Underhill was born in Moncton in early 1958 to proud parents Louis and Bernadette. The exact date of Quincy's birth has been forgotten but his mother still has fond memories her son's birth. "You think a mother would remember the birth of her only child but I don't, I feel sort of bad about it…I am pretty sure he's a Pisces though…I mean I am not 100 percent…but, yeah I think he's a Pisces."

Louis Underhill, a blue collar mid-wife, remembers seeing his son for the first time. "I remember he was about averaged size and he seemed pretty healthy. In fact I clearly remember the doctor saying, 'He's about averaged size and he seems pretty healthy.'" Yes, it was apparent from the beginning that Quincy Underhill was something special.

Growing up in inner city Moncton was not easy for Quincy. It was a tough neighborhood but as a C student and a pretty okay athlete he quickly became popular. Quincy's childhood best friend, Leroy McNamara, recalls how a hard nosed Quincy held his own in the unforgiving schoolyard of Moncton Elementary. "I remember Quincy, we weren't best friends or anything but he was okay. One time I tried to steal his lunch money and he caught me. I apologized and he was cool about it but it was sort of awkward between us after that." That take-no-bullshit attitude stuck with Quincy and would show up when he later took up boxing.

In the fall of 1971 Quincy started high school at the dreaded Millwall Collegiate Institute. Known as one of the rougher schools in the province most kids were lucky just to get out of Millwall alive. Former Millwall Principal, Principal Tweedley, shudders when he is forced to discuss Millwall in the early seventies. "It wasn't the best school but we had a graduation rate comparable with the rest of the province," Tweedley says shamefully. "Of course only 16 percent of our students went on to college." Obviously Millwall was an unforgiving hell-hole and Quincy learned quickly that he had to fight to survive.

"I do not think Quincy ever got in any fights," Millwall Phys-Ed instructor Zeb Parsons remembers his troubled but talented student. "Of course I wasn't everywhere so maybe he did…wait are we talking about Quincy Marshall?" Others remember a different Quincy, a man of many passions who was always popular with the opposite sex. Classmate Ben Wellins smiles when talking about his old friend Quincy. "I remember he had a pretty big porn collection and he wasn't half bad at bass. We were going to start a band but it fell through."

High school sweet heart, Cassandra Spooner, fell in love with a young Quincy but could not handle his stubborn and increasingly erratic behavior. "We probably went on like three dates. He was decent looking. I asked him to stop smoking weed once because it was gross but he said no. We just sort of stopped hanging out after that."

By the age of 16 Quincy was spiraling out of control. The women, the drugs, the rock 'n roll, they were all taking their toll on him. All seemed lost until fate stepped in and Quincy was discovered by local boxing trainer Skip "Chuck" Sverdlow.

"I remember this kid coming in to my gym and asking if we offer disco dancing lessons," Chuck laughs recounting the first time he saw Quincy. "I said no but I offer boxing lessons. I think he said 'That's cool' and signed up right then." No one could have known how "cool" Quincy's decision truly was. Under the tutelage of Chuck the seventeen year old Quincy would take the gym by storm.

"I had never seen anything like him. He was really something special and he never lost a single bout," Chuck smiles when thinking back to Quincy's early days. "Then again he never won a fight either. It was just draw after draw. It was like he fought to tie."

Quincy, a teenage phenom, was attracting a lot of attention nearly winning and never losing dozens of fights. His opponents would enter the ring ready for a fight and emerge twelve rounds later confused, unhurt and some what de-hydrated. Through a combination non-engagement, fundamental defense and quick feet Quincy was able to go twelve rounds with anyone while barely taking a punch…or throwing one. Unable to choose a winner the referee would have to declare a draw. Quincy became the king of the draw.

Unfortunately not everyone was a fan of Quincy's unique approach. Terrence "Fuck You" Wishburn, gym champ at the time, shakes his head when talking about his only fight with Quincy. "He just danced around the ring for twelve rounds blocking everything and barely throwing a punch. I got tired and the crowd was booing like crazy. He was ruining the sport."

The soft spoken Quincy was quick to defend his pioneering style in a recently discovered 1976 interview. "I love this sport. I just have a different philosophy. My goal is to not get punched and last the whole bout. Also I am really scared." Boxing may not have been ready for this "Master of the Draw" but by 1977 Quincy was ready to turn pro. First though he would need a nickname.

A few weeks before his first scheduled pro fight Quincy was practicing his blocking in Chuck's gym. Chuck recounts how Quincy earned his famous moniker on that fateful day. "I remember Quincy was just practicing his blocking in the corner. Suddenly we noticed something different about him. His hands were all taped up and it looked like he had six fingers. We were far away but it looked really weird. It turned out it was just the tape on his hands and the angle but we were all like "hey does Quincy have six fingers?" Of course he didn't. Still it was weird." From this memorable incident Quincy earned his nickname, "6 fingers." The name would stick for his whole career.

Quincy "6 Fingers" Underhill would fight his first pro fight at the Truro City Hall/Community Centre on March 17, 1978. His opponent was none other than Leonard "Sweet 'n Low" Stankowsky, a septuagenarian who was over fifty years older than Quincy. Though Quincy may have appeared to have an advantage in age "Sweet 'n Low" still had plenty of fight left in him. No footage survives of that historic fight but everyone in attendance remembers the night when the kid from Moncton went the distance with the retired church organ player.

Quincy's first fight was memorable as neither man landed what the Nevada Boxing Commission would classify as a punch. By the eighth round the crowd of drunks had littered the ring with empty beer cups and the referee was forced to call the match a draw. It was a resounding success for the young "Six Fingers". Unfortunately "Sweet 'n Low" died of complete organ failure a few weeks later so no rematch was ever organized. Even so a new boxing star was born and the match would go down in history as one of the boringest things ever. When "Sweet 'n Low" manager, Vin Sleschel, was asked to comment about the fight he simply said, "Honestly, I fell asleep after the third round." Quincy had nowhere to go but up.

Over the next four years Quincy would travel Canada's east coast fighting everywhere. From Shediac's Drive in Theatre to Sensations Gentleman's Club in Dartmouth to Steve's Place in Lunenburg and even the Event Centre in Crapaud; Quincy took on all comers. In this time Quincy gained no reputation whatsoever and this was very much to his benefit. His manager Vaughn Shespeen explains, "No town would ever let Quincy fight there twice, he was terrible. The trick was to make sure no one knew who he was. We would travel around claiming to be undefeated, which was true, and then take on the local champ and inevitably fight to a draw. It always worked. I almost got lynched a couple of times but I made decent money off the kid. Not great money but decent money." The kid nobody knew was doing nothing and nobody was recognizing him for it. Junior Middle-Feather Weight boxing in the Maritimes would never be the same.

In the late seventies Quincy leveled a series devastating draws against dozens of Maritime boxers. Men like Lester "Muhammad Ali" Peterson, Barry "Banana Legs" Jensen, Tony "Anthony" Carmello and "The Spaz" Vern Shlem all fell sort of victim to Quincy's punishing retreats in the ring. Other men like Billy "The Kid" Wassen, Reggie "Baby Face" Walters, Eddie "The Infant" Razinski and "The Fetus" Mike Zorgan met similar fates. While women like Samantha "Bamantha" Yelmetch and Susan "The Woman" Moriarty were likewise not immune to the ferocious non-attack of "6 Fingers."

"Oh yeah Quincy was completely willing to get in the ring with a woman," Mr. Shespeen recalls. "You have to remember he was coward and he needed money. Of course he was no more offensive minded in these matches. He stuck to his duck-and-weave-and-block-and-retreat-and-fake-an-injury-and-maybe-cry-a-little technique. You don't mess with a winning formula…well a tying formula… regardless of who you're fighting. Mind you the women were even more disgusted at this display than the men were."

At the end of 1981 Quincy "6 Fingers" Underhill had accumulated an astonishing record of 0-0-37. He was pulling in hundreds of dollars a week and was almost universally ignored. This would all change over night.

Out of no where, in early 1982, Ferris "The Missing" Link, the New Brunswick champ and a registered sex offender challenged Quincy to a fight. He had heard about Quincy's unorthodox style and wanted to hand him his first defeat. Shespeen agreed to the fight with out consulting his fighter. "I had to agree, we would look like fools to turn down such an opportunity. Quincy was sure scared though. There was a lot of crying and he wet his diaper. When I say 'he wet his diaper' I am not speaking metaphorically. Quincy wore adult diapers." There was little Quincy could do, he had to take fight the undefeated Ferris.

In an interview in early 1982 Quincy displayed his characteristic cool-headed attitude when talking about his upcoming fight. "I do not understand why I have to fight him. He's not even in my weight class. Have you seen him? He's a lot bigger than me. I am pretty scared." Quincy was preparing for the fight of his life and he was not willing to except anything but a split decision.

Fight night was scheduled for May 4, 1982. The match was advertised as the "The Champ vs. NAME UNAVAILABLE" and it quickly became a hot item ticket. Leading up to the fight Ferris appeared to be in the best shape of his career. His manager, Mickey Spriggs, had never seen his protégé look better. "He was in peak condition. I had never seen a registered sex offender move like that before, not to mention a boxer."

When the bell rang to start the fight Ferris quickly went on the attack. Most people in attendance at McGinty's Abandoned Car Emporium were expecting to see a quick victory for Ferris but something else happened, something…magical.

"It was the most cowardly display I have ever seen I had seen in my 45 years of boxing," ring side announcer Sparks Gesper says of that night. "I have seen bad boxing, yah know, scared guys who go down after a few punches but this kid refused to even take a body shot."

For 12 rounds Quincy expertly ducked jabs and uppercuts while effortlessly running from well timed combinations. He retreated perfectly, knowing exactly when to dart away and when to fake an injury or cry. When the final bell rang, over a sea of boos, Quincy stood there completely unhurt and along with a furious Ferris, had his arm raised by the referee.

After the triumph of the Ferris fight Quincy's star quickly fell. The fight received moderate media coverage and as a result Quincy's career quickly ended. No one wanted to see Quincy fight.

"Once people realized he didn't actually fight they didn't want to see him anymore," Shespeen says, starting to get a little misty eyed. "He was done. Of course I still got him fights but they were mainly side show events. He would fight bearded ladies, midgets, trained seals and, one time, a guy with no arms. I even tried to organize a rematch with "Sweet 'n Low's" corpse but his family kyboshed that idea."

By 1985 Quincy could no longer bring in the fans. Sadly in his later years he had even registered a few wins, though as Shespeen admits these were not all legit. "Yeah I paid the guy with no arms to take a fall in fifth. I am not proud of it but it was the only way I could make sure Quincy wouldn't lose. There was a real concern that the guy with no arms might actually win."

Quincy "6 Fingers" Underhill retired from boxing in 1986 and died at the age of 30 in 1988. No one remembers how he died though his mother has some possible theories. "Well the doctor told me how he died and I wrote it down but then I lost that piece of paper. I think it had something to do with the brain or heart…but don't quote me on that." It was a tragic end to an amazing life. Quincy had lived his dream of boxing while never having to punch anyone or in turn get punched. He was a true gladiator in no sense of that term.

Mr. Shespeen certainly will never forget the kid from Moncton. "I'll tell you something, the few people in the boxing community who remember him spit when they hear his name. Still there was something about that kid, maybe it was his determination or maybe his fear, either way I'll always remember the money I made off him in the late seventies."

Quincy's revolutionary style may not have been adopted by any other boxers but his legacy will live on forever. In a fitting tribute to Quincy the New Brunswick legislature passed a law in 1996 called Quincy's Law. The law, amongst other things, prohibits the use of trained seals and armless men in boxing matches. It is maybe what Quincy would have wanted.

The End.

So that was my article. I know, I know it is really good. I still can not believe my editor did not accept it! Just a couple of notes: There was never a Quincy's Law and Quincy's real name was Evander Holyfield and he actually had a very successful career as a heavyweight boxer in the 1990's winning the WBA championship twice. Otherwise everything is completely accurate.

Love Rich.

Originally posted 03/11/2006

The day we have all been waiting for has finally arrived...Stargate: SG1 season 2 is now on DVD. It's no big deal, I mean I have only been waiting for this since like...oh I dunno...1998!!!

Of course like everyone else I VHS taped the original airings and I always try and catch the re-runs on the SPACE network . Still I have been quivering with anticipation at the prospect of the DVD of season 2 since the executive producer of SG1, Melvin Turnbuckle, famously hinted at the possibility of it at the Sci-Con in Denver in 2000. I think we all remember that.

I bet a lot of people are asking, "Hey Rich you've already memorized all the dialogue from season 2 so what could possibly get out of the DVD?" My answer to this is: Audio Commentary. Yes that's right, script writer Chet Swiggins (episodes 1,2,4 and 6), Director Leonard Pritcheb (episodes 2-5 and 7) and the man himself, Richard Dean Anderson (or RDA), all lend their talents to the audio commentary. Me thinks we'll get some fascinating insight in to the SG1 world. Not to mention there is also a behind the scenes 'making-of' documentary short, story board pictures and a blooper reel! I do not think I am exagerating when I say that this DVD will redefine my life.

Right now I am in line outside of the HMV with my band of stargate brothers waiting patiently for the truck, which is carrying the pinnacle of my existence, to arrive. I was sure that there would be a big line but I managed to get first spot! Of course the line has really filled out since then. There are already upwards of 4 fellow Star-Gaters behind me. That includes Jerry Dzunda or as you probably no him GateMaster69. That's right the very man who operates the best SG1 blogosphere, The Gate Zone, has left his basement for the first time in months for this historic event. He has a very unpleasant odor but we're having great time in line quizing each other about season 2 (we use our laptops to instant message the questions and answers b/c the Dzundinator gets too "sweaty" when people "talk at him").

There is a buzz of excitement rippling through the line as the truck is expected to be here in an hour or two. Even the store employees can hardly contain themselves. I heard the manager saying, "I can't wait til these stupid fucking starship DVD's get here so we can get rid of these losers." I just hope there are enough copies so that all of us Gaties can go home with 3 copies each (we've all agreed to limit ourselves to 2 backups this time around after the tragedy which ensued upon the release of season one).

It's great to see there are still some faithful Gatenites left. I've heard that there is a lot illegal downloading of season 2 going down. The Dzundinator broke down in tears when I told him that tens of copies are expected to be pirated (I am not sure if he actually cried but he used the crying emoticon, which he never does, it was really awkward). I have no time for these "Steal Gaters". It's like they never stop to think about how many lives they are truly effecting, do they even know that RDA is getting 0.06% of all DVD sales? I am proud to stand here with my fellow Gatefellows and lawfully purchase my copy of SG1 season two. This is how RDA would want it. It even reminds of episode 9, season 2 when RDA and the team had to stop the evil Bleekons from 'illegally' acquiring a Star Gate.

In the last 24 hours the line has been plagued by rumors. Most are ridiculous (alternate ending to episode 4?), some are wishful thinking (the uncensoring of the famous RDA shower scene?) and until the worlds holiest creation arrives none of them can be verified. By far the biggest and most exciting rumor is whether or not they are finally going to reveal that SG1 is actually based on real events (it has to be!). Will the season 2 DVD hold the answers? I hope so.

It's been a long 5 days of sleepless anticipation and we're all feeling the effects of not having peed in that time. It's crunch time now so I am going to have sign off ( I do not want to be caught on my lap top when the precious cargo arrives). Expect a review of the greatest TV show's greatest season on my blog in the coming days. I already know it's going to get a 6 outta 5! And remember not to give up on your dreams even when people are saying, "I think your obsession with this Star Gate show is becoming unhealthy, don't you want to make some real friends?" (You don't know me Mom....I hate you! and by the way Dad promised I could go live with him in Pittsburgh as soon as things "settle down" there). I am proud to say that I never gave up on my dream and in a couple of hours I am going to be living it.

Oh and by the way 471 days til season 3...

Love Rich