Tucker Max Deserves a Place in Hell

I just agonized my way through Tucker Max's I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. Why, you ask, would I waste my time doing that? I can only blame it on fascination. I was in a trance caused by raunch, disbelief, and revulsion. I wrote a review for Amazon.com and, because I doubt that the administrators of the website will publish it, I'll share it with you in my blog.

TUCKER MAX NEEDS A LIFE

Why did I do it…something I have resisted all my reading life? I read completely through a book that I detested from the start. After severe self-examination I’ve decided that completing the book was the only way I could offer an unbiased opinion on why I HOPE THEY SERVE BEER is a total waste of time.

The premise, the reporting, the topic, the writing, and the author all stink. The premise that in-depth accounts of rampant inebriation, violent sexual encounters, and body functions gone awry would be entertaining is weak in concept. The fact that the book has sold millions of copies doesn’t change that argument; it only brings forth another problem about public morals, a different subject entirely. The reporting of such incidents is done in such a salacious fashion that I, as a reader, felt my own body functions threaten to rebel. The topic (or three, if you want to lump them together) is not considered fodder for self-respecting readers to chew on, although the author would have you believe that people who don’t embrace his hedonistic point of view are somehow lacking enlightenment. The writing is sophomoric, repetitive, and hackneyed. And the author is a criminal masquerading as a well-adjusted party animal who commits rape, vandalism, drunken mischief including driving, and other assorted unlawful acts.

I adore women…always have. I don’t see the entertainment in demeaning or mistreating them. Nor do I care to read about some alcoholic idiot who, along with his bozo friends, gets great pleasure in the inhumane acts outlined in this book. So I will end this review now, throw the book in the trash, and go back to the delight of my normal life. I don’t regret the 16 bucks I spent for the book and gave it a chance, but hope that you’ll forego the same urge. I’ve told you all you really need to know about this garbage.

I think I've been more than fair in my remarks. I'd love to hear your opinion.

FAVRE IS STILL A JOY TO WATCH

Full disclosure is that I’ve been a Green Bay Packers fan forever and can speak no evil about the team or its players. So along comes Brett Favre; cocky, tight-lipped, egotistical, and immensely talented. Of course I don’t dislike him, and it hurt to see Packer fans in Lambeau give him the raspberry the other day; but I understand their sentiments. It would appear that he slipped away from their embrace while kicking them in their privates.

The media is loving it. I watched the sports announcers, dignified ex-coaches and sympathetic ex-players all, fishing around for any sort of muck to heap on both Favre and his detractors. I heard some say that he deserved every bit of scorn he received and others say the fans were over the top and excessively cruel. It wasn’t his fault, some complained. Yes it was, others jubilantly asserted. I heard either the fans were crap, or they were justifiably upset. Where does the truth lie?

I don’t know the answer to that because I don’t know what transpired behind management’s doors. And neither do any of the pundits. As for the fans being rabidly anti-Favre, as the media reported, I didn’t sense that when I watched the game. Sure, there was some evident displeasure displayed but hasn’t anyone wondered what’s with the Dog Pound in Cleveland? — the guy in the chain mail bra and spiked beanie in Oakland? — the naked guy with iced-up nipples in Minnesota? Now there’s some maniacal behavior. I thought the protests at Lambeau were somewhat reserved as though the love was still there but a hurt throbbed somewhere unreachable.

How can you be critical of Favre as a player? That answer is simple — you can’t. There never has been quarterback so in tune with his game, so expert in his leadership, so motivational in his behavior. There never has been a player so tough, so skilled, so feared. That said, I’m not so sure that Favre is a great person deserving of the bright light of idolatry. He comes across a little manipulative and self-absorbed. His tight-clenched jaw and mumbling speech leaves the impression that he’d rather be someplace else. His inability to be candid about his playing career has become tiresome. But witness his record at Minnesota. Without question the man is a football player, probably the best ever.

So I want to think of Brett Favre as he’s always been — a joy to watch displaying talents that are beyond description. I don’t care what team colors he’s wearing. He’s a long way from being washed up and I can tell from his demeanor that he’s still having fun. Play on, Brett, but don’t play the shell game with us anymore. The next time you retire, make it because your skills are fading or the joy of the game is gone. That’s the way a legend says goodbye.