#Wrecker being the heart of the team per usual

[ct-hardcase]

I'm now caught up to episode 7 of Andor and (finally) finished s1 of tbb, next up is completely catching up to Andor and then probably Mando?

[salty-rey]

Saving Lives

Bad Batch Fic | Sequel to Come Back

Pairing: Crosshair x reader (hinting)

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: Bodily injuries, blood, story time!

A/N: Hello! I wanted to write something that elaborated on the relationship between the sniper and combat medic. It’s rather rough, proof-read once (thank you Grammarly), and I may not captured Crosshair’s personality perfect. I hope you enjoy, and I will be back with another story!

Roughly two weeks have passed since the last mission, and during those long days, you were recovering from being shot. Being bedridden was not ideal, almost driving you stir crazy. Especially whenever you tried sneaking out of the barracks, there was always one member of the Bad Batch there to stop you. 

Wrecker freaked out when he caught you slowly shuffling towards the bathroom, asking why you were out of bed in panic. He only helped you after explaining your destination, waited outside before actually carrying you back to your cot. 

Echo spotted you slowly making your way to the kitchen area before redirecting you back to bed like a concerned older brother, staying by your side and offering his arm for support in case you felt weak. Quite the gentleman.. At least he went back to get whatever food you were craving. 

Tech found you attempting to do some stretches since you were stuck in bed for Maker knows how long. He lectured you on the facts that your wound may open again if you attempt any movement during a specific time frame. Even when you decided to lay back down he was still lecturing!

As for Hunter, he entered the barracks, catching you standing on your feet. You were in the middle of putting your chest piece armor back on when you winced at the slight sting of your wound. The Sergeant went full dad mode on you, scolding you for moving when you’re still recovering. Now you knew how it felt like to be Omega, which caused you to accidentally say, “Okay, dad.”

You watched Hunter’s back stiffen, an unreadable expression crossing his face before he turned around, leaving you alone in the barracks. What was that? You thought before sighing, slowly removing your chest piece. 

Speaking of Omega. Maker, bless that little girl. 

When you were initially knocked out after returning to the Havoc Marauder, Omega refused to leave your side. The boys tried to reassure her that you would be alright, but she wouldn’t budge. After a couple of hours, you woke up, disoriented at first, before spotting the little girl fast asleep on a chair at your bedside. Hunter was awake at the time, and he explained everything while you rested. The boys learned that it was indeed a trooper who shot you and not Crosshair because Omega was persistent in backing you up in your story. You watched the Sergeant carefully picking the youngest member up and carrying her to her makeshift bedroom.

You were awake when Omega rushed into the small barracks, eyes wide before spotting you. She first cried tears of joy, happy to you see that you were okay. Hearing her crying caused Hunter and the other boys to rush in, worried that something was wrong before relaxing after you explained why Omega was crying. 

Since that moment, Omega stayed and kept you company. Whenever she wasn’t informing you of the group’s next objective, she would ask if you needed anything like food or water. You felt bad having her grab something to eat for you, and you mentioned it to one of the boys whenever they pass the barracks. 

“I’ll let her know. She is looking after her teammate though.” Hunter commented before leaving. 

One day during the weeks of recovery, Omega came to your bed per usual and sat down. You were reading on your datapad before glancing up. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she first started off, looking a bit nervous. 

“Sure, what’s up?” You asked after putting your datapad down. 

“I heard stories of the Bad Batch back on Kamino, but I was hoping to hear how you became part of the team. Since you’re not a clone like us. I-if you don’t mind!” The child asked bashfully, causing you to smile. 

“Of course! Heh, no need to be shy,” you grinned before relaxing against your pillow. “I was formally part of the 501st under General Skywalker, still as a combat medic. I helped aid their soldiers and taught any clones who wanted to become a medic. But I was taken out of that battalion and introduced to these guys after Wrecker’s accident.” You said, pointing to the left side of your face. 

Omega frowned at the mention of the deep scar on the more giant clone’s face. 

“Do you...know how he got it?”

“Not the specific details. Just that his fondness for exploding things up got the best of him at that moment,” you answered. “But that is a story for Wrecker to tell you himself. After his incident and intense care, the Kaminoans and High Command thought that it would be best for the Bad Batch to have a medic at all times. And that’s where I came in.”

“What was it like first joining them?” Omega asked, scooting her chair closer, eager to know more.

You laugh nervously before answering awkwardly, “A nat-born joining a bunch of mutated clones who have a distaste for regs? It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows, Omega. At least, for some time.”

“Wait. Hunter and the others were mean to you?” Omega looked shocked, unable to imagine any of her older brothers being cruel. She began to turn towards the door, ready to get up and give the boys an earful.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there, targon.” You quickly said, grasping her hand to stop her. “They weren’t mean to me. Just...indifferent.” Omega looked confused still, but she was no longer about to charge out of the room. Seeing that the girl was relaxed, you let go of her hand. 

“The boys are thick as thieves. Having a complete stranger joining them for Maker knows how long it was off-putting. But, one by one, they slowly welcomed me into their merry band. Well, all except Crosshair.” The mentioning of his name caused you to frown, your hand gripping the sheets. 

Omega noticed your shift of emotions, her eyebrows knitting together in worry. “You two were close.”

You couldn’t help but softly laugh a bit. “Not at first. He was the hardest one to be accepted by. It took us potentially dying just to get close.”

At that, Omega’s eyes widened, her jaw-dropping, and you knew that you had to tell her the story now, or she will never leave you alone. 

“Keep up, medic. Or I’m going to leave you behind.”

“Where have I heard that before?” 

It has been several months since you have joined Clone Force 99. And each mission has been quite eventful. All dangerous, non-stop action and heart-pounding moments. You had seen your share of action before joining this group, especially when you were with General Skywalker and his boys in blue. But the 501st pale compared to the Bad Batch. Then again, the Bad Batch is sent to suicide missions, unlike the 501st, so the comparisons aren’t fair. 

Such missions that you were on right now. 

Infiltrate a Separatist’s stronghold, eliminate the enemy commander and destroy their entire base. Nothing new but this time, you found yourself on a thick rainforest-like planet. It was the dead of night, using the shadows to your advantage. While the boys handled the assigned target, you and Crosshair were tasked to eliminate any remaining outside forces and retrieve a getaway vehicle. 

You have been paired with Crosshair in the past, but they have never been pleasant. The sniper all but ignored you or let out harsh remarks, insulting even, but you did your best not to let it get to you. All attempts to befriend him or have him loosen up a bit around you. It was all in vain, though, and even the rest of the batch members have told you to simply give up.

“It’s not you,” Hunter said one day as they were currently jumping through hyperspace. “He’ll come around. Just you wait.”

But it has been so long now. When will it happen? You were getting tired of the glares and sneers, but you refused to give in. 

Focusing back on the mission, the two of you reached the edge of the forest, locating the hanger currently guarded by battle droids. 

“Those dwarf spider droids may be a problem,” you stated, spotting the said droid following the standard clankers. 

“You should have stayed on the ship if you’re going to get cold feet. You’re useless on the battlefield,” Crosshair sneered under his helmet. You remained quiet, refusing to glance at him. To give him any satisfaction of his words stinging you intensely. 

“Just give me some cover fire. And don’t hit me,” you stated before donning your eyeshield then rushing in with your dual pistols. 

Having done this countless times, taking down the droids has become second nature to you. So, one by one, the droids fall, caught off guard from a sniper shot from the thick forest. They were also surprised to see a single soldier rushing them with nothing but two pistols. 

Once the separate hangar was secured, Crosshair silently joined you, neither one speaking. No “thanks” or “great job.” Then again, the Bad Batch weren’t the ones to compliment each other. Do the job, and get out alive. 

“Crosshair, (Y/N). What’s your status?” Hunter’s voice came through the comlink. 

“Just cleared out the hangar. We’re getting the getaway vehicle right now,” you responded as Crosshair began to hotwire one of the landspeeders. 

The landspeeder came to life, and you quickly hopped on, not wanting to test to see if Crosshair would actually leave you behind. The speeder raced down towards the rest of the crew’s location, staying on time with the plan. As the wind whipped through your light armor clothing, you began to hear a faint beeping sound. Leaning down to the ground, the beeping was getting louder and faster. 

“There’s a bomb!” You shouted with realization before rushing towards Crosshair. 

The sniper didn’t have enough time to respond because you tackled him off the ledge of the speeder. You had thought that you reacted quick enough, but the planted bomb exploded, launching the two of you further into the air. You felt your hands slip from Crosshair’s armor, separating the two of you. 

Then, you landed hard onto the ground, and you felt something snap within you. You couldn’t scream, the air being knocked out of you as your body tumbled and rolled to a stop. Summoning whatever strength you had, you slowly pushed yourself up with your arms before sharply sucking in some air, pain flaring on your right side. Carefully feeling your side, you came to a quick conclusion before gasping.  

Crosshair?! Looking around, you spotted the nonmoving clone a few feet away from you, and your stomach dropped at the sight of him. The silver-haired man was lying on his back, his helmet knocked off his head, and you spotted blood oozing from a cut above his eyebrow. Not only that but his right arm and left leg were awkwardly twisted. 

Fighting off your own pain, you crawled towards him before pushing yourself on your feet. The world spun, almost causing you to fall backward, but you quickly regained your balance. We can’t stay out in the open. That explosion will attract more droids to our location. 

Placing his helmet back on his head, you hook your arms under his shoulders. 

Dragging his body deeper into the forest was no easy feat. You were panting and sweating, your head was pulsing, and the pain on your side was overbearing. With every shift, you felt your bones poking at your lungs, causing you to slow down before resuming.

There! 

You spotted a large tree, and underneath the roots, the ground sunk and became hollow. It was a perfect hiding spot, and droids are dumb; they never look up or down. 

Not wasting any more time, you slid both you and Crosshair into the hole, and once settled, you immediately went to work. 

.

.

.

.

Crosshair slowly opened his eyes, blinking several times as his vision cleared. He tried sitting up, but that caused his head to ache more than it already was. Raising a hand, he felt bandages wrapping around most of his head.

“Leave it alone unless you want to bleed again.” 

Crosshair looked over, spotting you sitting nearby, weapons at hand. “What happened?” The sniper groaned, lowering his arm down.

“The landspeeder had a bomb planted and exploded. You broke your arm and leg and had a concussion.” You answered, receiving another groan from the clone after he noticed those said injuries wrapped up in wooden splints. “I’m guessing if the vehicle was activated improperly, it would self-destruct. No wonder the GAR had issues with this Separatist; they thought of everything. Hey! What are you doing?”

Crosshair had begun to sit up, using his good arm to push himself from the floor. “What does it look like?”

“You’re not fit to move around, Crosshair! And neither am I.” You shouted, shuffling towards him, putting your hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop. “I broke 3 ribs, and I can feel them poking my lungs. Hunter knows of our situation, and they’re working right now to find a way to pick us up.”

Crosshair pushed your hand off of him with his good arm, his glare piercing you. “I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

“Apparently, someone does. As your medic, my word is final when it comes to your wellbeing.” You snapped back, putting your hand back on his shoulder and pushing him down. “I’m not letting you toss your life away, all because you want to be stubborn!”

“Don’t act as you care about us clones!” The sniper growled, struggling underneath your hold. “We’re exposable for you perfect nat-borns!”

Your grip on his shoulder loosen, and your glare slowly softened. “Is that why you hate me? Because I’m a perfect nat-born?” You questioned almost a bit too calmly, which startled Crosshair a bit. He wasn’t expecting this reaction from you. No glares or quick remarks. Just silence. 

“I am not perfect, Crosshair. No one is perfect. Nat-borns, regs, defects, we’re all the same. Living and breathing, filled with emotions and flaws. What we do with ourselves is what makes us unique.” You said before moving away from him. “I chose to be a medic because I was tired of seeing everyone dying around me.”

Crosshair slowly raised an eyebrow, his face slowly relaxing. “What...do you mean by that?”

You spare him a brief glance before leaning against a stomp, steadying your breathing. And so, you began your tale. 

You were born into slavery and having no memories of your parents, too young to really. Among the slaves were children such as yourself, and you called them brothers and sisters. However, one by one, they either died in accidents, killed by their masters, or sold off to buyers. Finally, after years of servitude, you managed to escape, sneaking onto a shuttle and never looking back. 

“The moment I left the shuttle, I was given another chance. A chance my brothers and sisters would never have. That’s when I decided to become a medic. Then I volunteered to be a combat medic because I wanted to save lives.” You finished your story, your breathing steady.

“Even if you were created to fight for someone else’s war, that doesn’t mean your life is meaningless. Believe it or not, but I do care about your life. And that of your brothers’. Losing a loved one is never easy, and I don’t want to see any of you go through that.” You fell silent before taking a small breath. “I didn’t tell you my life story so that you can pity me or for me to win you over. Just to tell you my reasoning in life. What you do with my story is up to you.”

Silence fell between the two of you. Neither one dared a glance at the other. You didn’t like opening up old wounds, telling others your story. The only one who knows is Anakin because the two of you share a kinship of being former slaves. 

An hour has passed, and your comlink came to life. Hunter and the rest of the Bad Batch contacted you, informing you that they have returned to the ship and are en route to pick both of you up. Their arrival was quick, and so was being carried into the Havoc Marauder. 

They had succeeded in their part of the mission, even if they were now chased by any remaining droids. It wasn’t an issue, though, once they left the planet and jumped into hyperspace.   

“After that, we were flown to the closest medical station, and we were both healed up.”

Omega was speechless. She had heard stories of the Bad Batch’s missions back on Kamino through word of mouth from the troops, but nothing detailed. This was quite the tale, and she felt a lot of emotions. The first thing that the girl managed to say was, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. The important part is that we both survived, and after that, Crosshair wasn’t so harsh on me. In fact, he always had my back. It was his idea to outfit my old armor to that of Clone Force 99, officially making me one of them.” You replied with a soft smile. 

“Thank you for telling me your story. I hope we get Crosshair back soon because I would like to know what he was thinking throughout that moment.” Omega said, causing you to smile sadly. 

“Yeah, me too...”

Omega noticed your sadden expression at the thought of the sniper, awkwardly shifting in her chair. Hoping to lighten up the mode a bit, Omega asked you, “So, why is your nickname “Freckles”?” 

Your cheeks warmed up and you softly laughed, looking embarrassed. “When the rest of the boys checked up on us, I was being removed from a bacta tank. All I had on was my top and tight shorts. They saw that my mostly covered areas like my thighs were littered with freckles, and that’s where I got my nickname. It was embarrassing.”

“Yeah! But Crosshair was the one who pointed it out!” The booming voice of Wrecker came as the boys now stood at the doorway.

“From what I remembered, you were the one who whistled at her in the first place.” Tech pointed out. “Quite improper if you ask me, since she is part of our team.”

“Need I remind you that you were the one who recorded the whole thing,” Hunter added in. “Don’t you think that’s improper?”

The boys began to bicker among each other, except for Echo who simply listened to the retelling of that moment with intrigue. All of this just made you blush harder, covering your face with the sheets. Because you also remember Crosshair looking you up and down, before smirking and saying “Nice freckles.”

[aion-rsa]

Star Wars: The Bad Batch Episode 12 Review: Rescue on Ryloth

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This Star Wars: The Bad Batch review contains spoilers.

Star Wars: The Bad Batch Episode 12

Look at that: it’s a two-parter after all. The Bad Batch take a bit more of a front role in their own show as they reluctantly help out in “Rescue on Ryloth,” directed by Nathaniel Villanueva and written by Jennifer Corbett. The show still feels too entwined with everything else in Star Wars to have mass appeal, but this episode in particular learned more from Rebels than from The Clone Wars in terms of giving characters the time to talk to one another and allowing beats to sink in between all the action.

I almost hoped last week’s episode was a one-off, just one story in an anthology, but am at the same time happy to see these characters back. It helps that everyone in this arc is just so charming. Twi’lek freedom fighters Cham and Eleni have been captured after the faked assassination of their senator. Their daughter Hera calls Omega, who convinces the Bad Batch to help despite Hunter’s disinterest. Meanwhile, Clone Captain Howzer continues to have doubts about the Empire, but can’t bring himself to act on them. There was a lot of conversation in the fandom over the last week about whether Howzer’s control chip was malfunctioning or whether his doubt came from his personality and/or his friendship with the Syndullas, and … more on that later.

Stream your Star Wars favorites right here!

I like that the entire Bad Batch gets time to talk through their plans and air their opinions in this episode, which was refreshing. At the same time, the naiveté of their position is grating. (“We can’t put our lives on the line every time someone in the galaxy is in trouble.” “Why not? Isn’t that what soldiers do?”) After all, these aren’t proto-rebels. Instead, they’re still shocked that the Empire would treat a citizen planet the way the Republic treated a Separatist one. I don’t mind the one-sided approach to soldiery per se, since it fits the characters’ perspectives. In addition, viewers are supposed to know the Batch aren’t entirely in the right here. After all, Hunter thinks the job is too hard and refuses to help the citizens, even when Hera wants to pay him double. Omega’s appeal to family is tested, and it’s only when she pushes that the Batch gets involved.

But the amount of work some conversations, or even gestures and postures, do in this episode was its major, unique strength. Even the rather generic Admiral Rampart looks tired and distracted at one point. There’s also time to develop a little bit of a dynamic between Howzer and Crosshair, who’s on Rampart’s bad side because his methods haven’t been effective. That was also a nice reminder of the larger stakes. Remember, Crosshair is the Kaminoans’ proof that investing in clones is worth the Empire’s money.

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Last week, I was delighted to discover my Twitter feed giggling over the reluctant Captain Howzer, who, well, is a very handsome clone. His closeness with the Syndullas show he has a moral center, and one his control chip either doesn’t affect or for some reason can’t touch. Their conversation isn’t revolutionary, but there’s at least some stuff to unpack when it comes to the argument between Howzer, who uses the threat of rebellion to back up his own tentative moral objections, and Rampart, who believes “peace has a cost.” I have mixed feelings about the episode’s utter disinterest in whether Howzer’s choice to act on his doubts is purely from the heart or has something to do with his control chip. After all, the answer has implications for Crosshair, the ambivalence toward which you all know I believe has been a weak point of the show from the beginning. 

To me, the movies seemed to say the clones’ control chips kicked in mostly when Palpatine invoked Order 66 in particular. But Howzer’s feelings seem to suggest a good portion of Crosshair’s loyalty to the Empire in the aftermath of the Clone Wars is actually of his own free will. Is Howzer’s decision all-natural? I’m still not really sure, but the questions and the dynamic between the three Imperials were fun.

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The last 10 minutes of the episode feature a decent series of action scenes in true Star Wars finale fashion. They’re impressive for the way they intertwine, the tension around Howzer’s attempt to sway other clones against the Empire, and for a particularly heart-wrenching occasion, Hera’s first flight. I adore that she was clearly over-enthusiastic but competent.

However, this episode doesn’t quite balance its main characters with the Twi’lek plot as well. Since Hunter legitimately doesn’t have any skin in this game, his team’s job is less grounded in the plot and setting than Hera’s or Howzer’s.

There’s one major exception to the Batch mostly taking a back seat. Shoutout to Tech, who doesn’t have a ton of depth but does just happen to be the trope in the five-man band I enjoy. His lack of emotion and nerd interests are usually portrayed as useful but a bit off-putting, even to his brothers. He doesn’t have any less characterization or competence than, say, Echo, but usually sticks to a side role. So, it was especially satisfying to see him do some fancy flying in this episode, slaloming a ship around to nearly a dead stop so Wrecker could take the shot.

The other nice thing about this episode is that it doesn’t go for shock: it’s hopeful in the end, pulling some characters out of a fire while making the viewer tense against the burn. It’s already been established in canon that Hera’s mother doesn’t survive the early years of the Rebellion, but I’m glad not to have watched her die today.

While the show continues to feel inessential, the last two weeks have been very entertaining. It also managed to pack a lot of answers to the central question of the show: What happened to the clones after Order 66? It’s turning out to be a hard question to answer, and at best, like today, that feels realistic instead of inconclusive. The answer might end up being that a lot of different things happened and a lot of different people worked according to their interests. “Rescue on Ryloth” ends with Crosshair off the leash, further tying a mostly-standalone episode to the wider story.

The post Star Wars: The Bad Batch Episode 12 Review: Rescue on Ryloth appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[flauntpage]

The NFL Isn't Swinging Back to Superstar RBs Anytime Soon

Welcome to the NFL Underground Mailbag. Ask Chris your question about the NFL, general sports, or cultural minutiae at HeyHarris@HarrisFootball.com. Follow him @HarrisFootball.

Sam P.: Do you think offenses like the Cowboys—where one workhorse running back is featured—are remnants of the past, or will the NFL eventually swing back to workhorses?

Everything goes in cycles. First we aren't wearing shower caps as part of our outfits, then we are, then we aren't again. What makes strategic NFL sense in 2017 will look like the Wildcat in 2027, by which time our robot overlords will control flesh-and-blood quarterbacks via joysticks and rectal implants.

Right now it's hard for you to imagine a pro-football-viewing public that doesn't prefer the five-wide, spread-out offenses of today, but that's only because you don't realize that we're just a couple years away from letting defenders carry homemade implements to snip the Achilles' tendons of opposing receivers. That oncoming trend will simultaneously slow down passing games and indulge in our collective bloodlust. Win-win.

Just gotta break through. Photo by Kim Klement-USA TODAY Sports

For as long as the NFL remains incredibly pass-happy, though, NFL teams aren't incentivized to build around a single expensive running back. Better to employ a team of interchangeable parts, none of whom carry the full burden of surviving 20-plus car crashes per week.

Frankly, you don't need to be excellent to play running back in the league right now. There are great rushers, but perhaps only…five of them? If that? Most teams have a bunch of meh in their backfields and shuffle them around both to keep them healthy and to lessen the impact when one of them decides he's worth a mint.

As recently as 2012, five running backs eclipsed 300 carries in a single season; six RBs have done so over the four combined seasons since. Ten years ago we used to talk about the Curse of 400! Zeke Elliott was excellent as a rookie—and the only rusher to top 300 totes last year—but he has two possible career paths: one where he's a bell-cow for a few years, gets hurt and/or expensive, and flames out early, and one where the Cowboys prolong his career while also giving sportsball morons an excuse to gripe about the old days.

I guess I do believe that everything old is new again, and eventually NFL offenses will realize they can kill dime defenses with great power rushing like Dallas did last year. When that happens, RBs will be superstars once more—but we're not there yet, and we're probably not close. Wake me when the Achilles' snipping starts.

Taylor C.: I'm curious about John Ross with the Bengals. Do you see him having a similar effect as Tyreek Hill did with the Chiefs last year, or is their only similarity that they can each outrun a train?

On my podcast, one of the most annoyingly incoherent things I regularly say—among many!—is "We can't legislate usage." Especially when it comes to one of the NFL's daffiest franchises, it's impossible to definitively state how John Ross's rookie season will go. A.J. Green gets fed first in Cincinnati, but I just got through talking about how insanely pass-happy the NFL is. Even if Green stays healthy and tops 180 targets, there'll be 400 more available for everyone else.

John Ross with the Bengals. Photo by Sam Greene/Cincinnati Enquirer via USA TODAY NETWORK

Ross is probably faster and quicker than Hill. His one year of collegiate dominance featured dozens of highlights showing off ridiculous acceleration and change-of-direction that remind me of Antonio Brown. What's interesting about the Hill/Ross comparison is that each guy had a tough time finding a position: Hill was a too-small running back who gradually shifted to a utility role, while Ross was a corner in his freshman year. As such, neither guy is a finished product, but each is a total game-wrecker with the ball.

The questions about Hill are whether he can become polished enough getting off the line as an outside receiver to become an Odell Beckham–type superstar, and whether the conservative Chiefs will give him the chance; in '16, 27 of his 83 targets were thrown behind the line, making him the screen-heaviest WR in the NFL by percentage.

I have more faith that the Bengals will give Ross more clear-out duties, and that he'll make big plays down the field (whereas last year Hill had only 11 targets that traveled 20 or more air yards). Of course, I can't know whether the Bengals will bomb it to Ross as a rookie any more than the Chiefs did for Hill last year, because—say it with me now—we can't legislate usage.

Mike M.: What's the best concert you've ever been to?

In researching my big music novel, War On Sound, I saw hundreds of shows and talked to dozens of bands. Many of the stories I experienced myself or heard about wound up in the book. Who am I kidding: most of them did. I'm not that creative.

I wish these stories made me look cool (Milla Jovovich once stepped on my foot at a Toad The Wet Sprocket show—hi, I'm old!), but that's not my lot in life.

My standard response to this question has always been: Cracker. This was the mid 90s in Austin, at the long-gone Liberty Lunch. Counting Crows opened, and nobody had ever heard of them, and we thought they were pretty good. (As it turned out, we were probably wrong.) Then Cracker came on.

They rocked, but as the show wore on, it became obvious they couldn't hear themselves very well. David Lowery launched into "Eurotrash Girl," a deep cut hidden on their "Kerosene Hat" record that made me feel cool for knowing it. But the band stopped partway through, and Lowery shouted into the microphone, "These monitors are for shit!" Then he picked up one of the monitors (speakers that face the musicians so they can hear what they're playing or singing) and passed it into the crowd, where we surfed it out over our heads into the middle of the club.

The Liberty Lunch bouncers were not amused. They tore into the audience, shoving kids aside, punching one dude who was unlucky enough to be holding the monitor over his head, and wrenching away the speaker. Someone reinstalled it back on the stage, and Cracker somehow wasn't kicked out of the club, and resumed their set.

It was great. They said thank you. They did an encore. They said thank you. They did another encore. The Liberty Lunch lights came up, everybody yelled and turned away from the stage, the crew relaxed as we beat our retreat…and then the band came out again. Lowery said, "We never finished this song," and proceeded to play "Eurotrash Girl" from the beginning, an eight-minute number, as one final fuck-you to the L.L.

Being a drunk idiot who fancied himself an anti-establishmentarian, but who was actually a wet-behind-the-ears school newspaper editor, I shouted along gleefully and went home happy. And with some of my hearing intact!

Tore B.: How well do you think you'd do as a real-life NFL GM?

I'm sure I'd suck.

My NFL analysis often amounts to: stop retrofitting reasons for things. Usually good players play well and bad players play poorly, and good teams play well and bad teams play poorly, and usually the reasons those things happen don't involve where the game was played or who had extra motivation or which players can't stand each other or any other of the million clichés with which sports fans are bombarded because the media is basically a bunch of lazy assholes who don't think you can tell when they're picking stuff out of their asses.

Don't get me wrong. The interpersonal stuff does matter. It matters bigly! My point is just that we never get the real truth. As fans, we're privy to lies and political answers and little else.

A leader of men. Photo by Brian Spurlock-USA TODAY Sports

The hardest thing to do is to get the members of any complex organization to pull in the same direction, let alone a complex organization filled with violent alpha males with the collective IQ of a loaf of raisin bread. You have to do stuff like bury footballs and chop off your punter's foot in the name of motivation.

It takes a one-in-a-million leader to be able to spout that garbage or just flat-out scare players into fucking up less than their opponents. I think I have a pretty decent handle on the talent evaluation side of the NFL, but managing to keep 53 knuckleheads out of prison is almost certainly beyond me.

Michael R.: How in the world are the NBA playoffs more popular than the NHL playoffs? Has the world suffered a collective massive head wound?

The NBA playoffs blow. They are terrible. Super-teams often make for exciting finals but everything before those finals are a joke. Nice of the Rockets to show up Thursday night, huh? Nice of the Bulls to look like they gave a crap, too. Home teams on the verge of elimination are now 0-10 this year. The average margin of victory in those ten games is 16.2 points. Overall, 17 games have been decided by at least 20 points. Warriors–Cavs III has been foreordained since last June, and the media have been trying to distract us with MVP talk for months.

By contrast, the NHL playoffs are awesome. The games are close. Road teams sometimes win. Underdogs sometimes win. For a fan of the two teams, a hockey Game 7 is the closest humankind has yet come to collectively shitting out its own heart. If you like the NBA playoffs more than the NHL playoffs, you're (a) a hopeless idiot; (b) Charles Barkley; or (c) both.

Tom M.: You planning on coming back to Austin in 2017?

It's already over 90 degrees there, with three months of 100-plus looming. Cracker better be doing a fantastic version of "Eurotrash Girl."

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