Independence Day

Ready for a history lesson? Sure you are. Swill down some more coffee and hop into the Way Back Machine with me. I cleaned up the mess from where Mr. Peabody peabodied all over the back corner. Febreze works wonders!

On this day in 1314, Scotland won back its independence from the usurpers to the south, sometimes known as England. Why should you care? Because, one of the greatest movies ever made that doesn't involve Indiana High School Basketball ended with this exact scene. In case that doesn't jar your memory, try this:

"In the year of our Lord 1314, patriots of Scotland, starving and outnumbered, charged the fields at Bannockburn. They fought like warrior poets. They fought like Scotsmen. And they won their freedom."

The Battle of Bannockburn took place today 695 years ago. Unlike in the movie, however, Robert the Bruce's army was actually there to fight Edward II (who had not died, but was rather quite alive and full on 100% arrogant). Robert's brother, Edward the Bruce, had been laying siege to Stirling Castle and had worked out a deal for the surrender of the castle to the besieging forces...so long as no reinforcements arrived. However, Edward II was bringing reinforcements...lots of them, so in order to stave off having his brother's forces summarily wiped out, Robert the Bruce headed out to slow down Edward II's advance and thus stop the reinforcements from arriving. They met at Bannockburn (after some clever maneuvering about the Scottish countryside by Robert's forces). The battle itself raged for two days and is considered the decisive battle in the war for Scottish Independence, which is why it is sometimes referred to as the beginning of Scotland's freedom.

While it is true that the Scotsmen were outnumbered that day (some 7000 for the Scots and probably 16,000 English), the size of the English army actually worked against it. It was difficult getting the soldiers into the desired positions to defend the ground, largely because there were so many of them, and also largely because Robert the Bruce had done such a fantastic job of funneling the English forces into a very narrow, almost indefensible position between the Stirling and Bannockburn rivers. Not only that, but good old Edward Longshanks decided to not heed one of his commander's advice about holding back, and instead called the man a coward. Pissed, the Earl of Gloucester stormed headlong into the Scottish ranks, dying upon the "forest of spears" that projected forth from the front of the Scottish lines.

You remember the spears, right? The scene, right before Stephen shows up, and Wallace looks to the trees for inspiration.

Wallace: "We'll make spears. Hundreds of them. Long spears. Twice as long as a man."

Hamish: "That long?"

Wallace: "Ay."

Hamish: "Some men are longer than others."

Campbell: "Your mother's been telling stories about me again, eh?"

Anyway, with Gloucester dead and the English army pinned and in disarray, shouts went up from the Scottish lines. This caused the camp followers (you know, cooks, farriers, whores) to pick up whatever weapon they could find and join in the fight. The English lines broke and tried to flee across the Bannockburn. Fortunately, there were enough men in the army that, after the first waves fell into the water and drowned, the remainders could cross the river on their backs. Edward fled with his personal bodyguard and the rest of the English army had to try and find their way back to the border--across ninety miles of very hostile territory. Most of them didn't make it, as they were either run down by the Scottish forces or killed outright when they crossed unfriendly lands. Of the 16,000 men Edward II brought north to face the Scotsmen, 11,000 were killed, along with 700 knights and 500 more were captured and ransomed back to their homes.

One of the more amusing parts (which I am going to steal for my magnum opus) is that, prior to the battle, Robert the Bruce paused on his march and the entire Scottish army knelt in prayer. Seeing this, Edward II loudly pronounced "They pray for mercy."

One of his men then responded with "Mercy, yes, but from God, not you. These men will conquer...or die." I imagine that old Edward shit himself with fury after that statement.

So if your birthday is today, you share your birthday with Scotland...sort of. Also, you share your birthday with yet another of Derek Jeter's conquests, Minka Kelly. Rowr.

Revenge of the AD

The main doors to the Notre Dame football offices open, bathing the darkened internal hallway with bright, white light from outside. A cowled figure is silhouetted against the light streaming in from outside as he walks boldly, confidently down the hallway. Two assistants approach, barring the way. With a wave of his hand, the cowled figure pushes the assistants to the side and continues on his path.

Out of the gloom appears three time Heisman winner and current quarterbacks coach Ron Powlus. Powlus utters something that the cowled figure ignores. Pushing past Powlus, the figure continues on, causing Powlus to scurry behind him. Guttural noises continue to issue forth from the Quarterbacks Coach, until finally the figure stops and looks toward Powlus.

"I must speak with Charlie," the figure says.

Powlus stops, utters something, and shakes his head. The cowled figure raises his hand.

"You will take me to Charlie now," the figure says.

"I will take you to Charlie now," Powlus says, turning and leading the way down the hallway.

"You serve your master well."

"I serve my master well," Powlus responds.

"And you will be rewarded."

Powlus leads the figure into the head coach's office. Charlie is asleep at his desk before a flickering television revealing an endless loop of Tom Brady highlight films. Jimmy Clausen is on the ground before him, chained to Charlie's desk, wearing a slave's outfit. Former Notre Dame head coach and current homer Lou Holtz is standing behind Charlie.

"At last, Master Swarbrick is here to rescue us!" Holtz sputters loudly.

Powlus slinks up beside the dozing head coach and touches him lightly on the cheek.

"Master," he says, causing the head coach to jump. Powlus motions toward the cowled figure now standing before Charlie. "Jack Swarbrick, Athletic Director," Powlus says, introducing the cowled figure swathed in black.

"I told you not to allow him!" Charlie bellows, swiping at Powlus. Powlus ducks and motions to throw the ball four rows deep into the stands.

"I must be allowed to speak," Swarbrick says, stepping forward. Powlus, with a dazed look in his eye, turns to Charlie.

"He must be allowed to speak."

Charlie roars again, smacking Powlus, sending him sprawling on the ground. Powlus whines about a late hit, but slinks off into the shadows.

"You weak minded fool! He's using an old athletic director mind trick on you!" Charlie roars.

Swarbrick stares intently at Charlie. "You will return control of the program to me."

"Your mind tricks will not work on me, boy!"

"Nevertheless, I am going to take the program and its friends: Touchdown Jesus, Notre Dame Stadium, the pride and tradition of the nation's second most winningest program! You can either profit by this...or be destroyed. It's your choice, but I warn you, do not underestimate my powers."

Charlie laughs, loud and mean. Holtz pops up, waving his arms meagerly behind Charlie.

"There will be no bargain!" Charlie bellows.

"Master Swarbrick, watch out, you're standing on..." Holtz begins, but is cut off as the floor falls away below Master Swarbrick. He reaches out to try and steady himself, but his hands grab John Latina, the Offensive Line Coach for Notre Dame.

Swarbrick is dumped into a chamber inhabited by the hulking ghost of Knute Rockne. A small scuffle ensues in which Latina is swallowed whole by Rockne's ghost. Swarbrick appeases the ghost with a cigar and a shot of whiskey and promises to set right what once went wrong. Rockne fades into the background. Rob Ianello, draped in banners commemorating Notre Dame's 11 National Championships over his shoulder, comes in and whimpers at the missing ghost. Corwin Brown and Jon Tenuta--Notre Dame's co-defensive co-ordinators--issue into the room, grabbing Swarbrick and pulling him from the dungeon.

"Bring me the honor and tradition of this once fine program!" Charlie bellows. "Bring me Tyrone Willingham, so that I can use him as a scapegoat once more."

The scene shifts to the Grotto at Notre Dame. Charlie is sitting on his golf cart. Powlus stands at his left hand side, Holtz to his right. Clausen is still chained to Charlie. Swarbrick stands before them, along with Touchdown Jesus, Fair Catch Corby and We're Number 1 Moses. Holtz steps forward.

"Oh dear," he sputters, "His High Exaltedness, Charlie the Robot Genius, has decreed that you are to be terminated immediately. You will therefore be cast into the Grotto, where you will slowly burn over a thousand years with the hundreds of candles that people light on football saturdays."

"You should have bargained, Charlie," Swarbrick says, a bit cocky. "That's the last mistake you'll ever make."

Charlie laughs and points toward the Grotto. "Put him in!"

Swarbrick jumps, but suddenly grabs onto the ledge over the Grotto and hurls himself into the air, spinning, and catching a golden helmet from midair. A host of Charlie Apologists issue forth from behind the head coach, but are quickly knocked into the grotto by Swarbrick's mastery with the golden helmet. Bill Belichick steps forward, raises his hand to shoot Swarbrick, hesitates, and then turns and fades back into the chaos, returning to the NFL.

In the chaos, Jimmy Clausen suddenly heaves on the chain, looping it around Charlie's massive throat and pulling it tight. Charlie grabs at the chain and tries to pull it away from his throat, but Clausen is too strong. Finally, Charlie's eyes goggle and he slumps forward, causing the golf cart to lurch. Swarbrick smashes the chain with his helmet, and Clausen is freed. The golf cart continues to move forward until it topples into the Grotto, flipping end over end and landing with a meaty thud at the bottom. Clausen, Holtz and Swarbrick stand on the edge of the Grotto, triumphantly looking down into the Grotto.

"Come on, let's go," Swarbrick says, "And don't forget the history and winning tradition." Swarbrick begins to walk away.

"Where are we going?" Clausen asks.

"To find a new coach. I don't care if we have to resurrect Knute Rockne himself, we're finally going to find the man to fix this broken program." He hesitates, looking at Holtz, who is beaming. "And who isn't ancient."

Looking hurt, Holtz's face falls. "When 800 years old you reach, look as good, you will not, hmmm?"

Laughing, Swarbrick and Clausen begin the long march back across the campus. The scene ends with the lowering sun gleaming off the Golden Dome standing proudly over Notre Dame's campus.

Geekery Ahead: My Top Five Universes

Remember when I was slapping the Arte y Pico award around the other day, and I saddled awarded What Does it Mean? Nothing! with it? And remember in my description how I said that Jidai's blog is a lot like what I want mine to be, if I didn't have so many anecdotes about Notre Dame, Leelee Sobieski and Winston-Salem, NC (or something to that effect)? Right, well, it's getting a whole lot more Jidai-esque around here.

The other day, Monsieur Jidai posted a lovely entry wherein he described his five favorite fictional universes. Not one to let a good idea go un-plagiarized, I stole his idea and ran with it. I did give him fair warning, so that makes it less like plagiarism and more like homage, right? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right? Right. Let's move on.

5) Osten Ard:
Sure, I had been writing stories and such since I was in the third grade, but if there was any one place in all the different worlds crafted by different authors, Tad Williams' creation, Osten Ard, is the one that made me get serious about writing. Since then I've tried and tried again to craft a world based modestly on the model of Osten Ard: a realistic world in which realistic characters undertake semi-realistic endeavors surrounding magic and magical artifacts. The peoples of Osten Ard are easily identifiable as various archetypes from Europe (Scandinavians, Britons, and Roman Imperials), but the way in which Williams meshes his characters with the world has always made me hold Osten Ard and Tad himself in such high regard. While some may dismiss Memory, Sorrow and Thorn as being no Wheel of Time, this is the series/trilogy that I hold my own works against time and again when comparing to see if my books are "good enough". Granted, that's like holding up my kindergarten self-portrait to artwork of the Renaissance Masters and saying "Yeah, passable likeness", but still, this is how I view it all.

4) Star Wars:
The Star Wars universe is sort of a double-edged sword. One one side, you have a fantastic universe littered with countless interesting worlds, characters, creatures, technologies and concepts; on the other side, you've got a creator who cares more about designs and computer technology than character development and dialogue. Fortunately, there's a myriad of authors, artists and comic book writers who are willing to pick up the slack. Here is a universe with 3000 years of history to tinker with (and you still wonder..."what happened before?" and "what comes next?"). While parts of the Star Wars universe not directly under George's control are supposed to get Lucas' stamp of approval, the other various medias in which the Star Wars Universe has been depicted were given carte blanche to work, and it shows. Perhaps greatest among these are the novels by Timothy Zahn. If you're a fan of Star Wars and you haven't yet read the Thrawn trilogy, you definitely need to. Yeah, they're big and yeah, they don't have pictures, but the books themselves are very well-written and help give a peek inside the mind of an evil genius warlord.

3) The View Askewniverse:
This holds perhaps the most unbelievable place in all the universes: A strange land called New Jersey. While most of the stories are, indeed, Jersey-centric (I don't know if Zak and Miri is also), this doesn't detract from the overall vibe of the universe Kevin Smith has crafted. Sure, most of the characters are modeled on real people Smith either has known or--better yet--cast in his movies, but the characters themselves are almost parodies of themselves. You'll never find more incredible--or believable--douchebags on the screen, but at the same time there are moments so flowing with tenderness and emotion it makes you want to get a love mop and clean that shit up. Not only that, but I have to love any universe where saying "fuck" is perfectly acceptable, phrases like "Bunch of savages in this town" crop up over and over, and Selma Hayek rips her shirt off and thrusts her breasts into the camera. Mercy. Where was I? Oh, fuck it, who cares. Snootch to the booch, my bitches.

2) Middle Earth:
As much as I love Osten Ard and publically fellate Tad Williams whenever I get the chance, Tad would be just another guy writing just another book if it wasn't for J.R.R. Tolkien's creation of Middle Earth, because he not only helped define a genre, he effing created it. Since then, there have been thousands of Tolkien clones and then, even when someone tries to break the Tolkien-mold, they get raked over the coals. Case in point, J.K. Rowling's House Elves did not fit the Tolkien High Elf description (instead, they were more like traditional elves from fairy tale literature), and she was gutted, roasted and served with a lemon wedge for it by the "fantasy purists". While I, too, struggle with breaking the Tolkien-mold, I realize that without him, I'd just be another hack struggling to put together a book and hoping like hell that one of Oprah's assistants picked it up and said, "not bad." *shudders at the thought* Whereas Lucas' Star Wars Universe is outfitted with characters that are often underdeveloped, Tolkien's characters are fully rounded--sometimes too much so. The man clearly loved his world, enough so that he continually scrawled new stories and "backfill" on napkins at bars, in the margins of papers he was reading, and probably on the unused rolls whilst sitting on the john. All of these have been summarily cobbled together and published in various forms, thanks to son Christopher's work, the most recent of which was titled "The Children of Húrin". Again, like the Thrawn novels for Star Wars, if you're a Tolkien fan, you should read Húrin.

1) My Universe:
I've never shied away from the fact that I'm a total homer when it comes to Notre Dame or Indiana, so why the hell should I back down from my own creation? Does it compare to the other universes I've listed? That's for others to decide. Unfortunately, I don't have a name for my world; if you really want one, I'll call it the Jenksatorium. Happy? Good. As it compares to some of the other universes I've listed, I can promise you the reader that I've toiled over it almost obsessively, thinking up the backstories and writing and rewriting the characters until it makes sense that they are doing what they're doing. Once the characters were set, then the story began to unfold. Now, I'm mired in at least four books with many more in sight along with a second series of stories that I'm just as eager to write, but I have to get my priorities set and finish the first set of stories first (the second set of stories totally ruins the first set, if I were to write them at the same time). Speaking of priorities, let me get back to finishing this game of Civ III. What? No, you didn't see that. I meant to say "get back to finishing this chapter in book III". Right.
Honorable mentions: Springfield from the Simpsons, Ivalice et. al. from the Final Fantasy games, the X-Universe from Marvel Comics, and Upside Down Alaska from Robin Hobb's books, and the Wizarding World from Harry Potter.