THE DICE-MAN: Contemplation and Reflection

The title of this posting refers to neither John McCrazy's craps addiction, nor to Red Sox starting pitcher Daisuke Matsuzaka, nor to the cult novel of the same name by Luke Reinhart, cool topics all. The Dice-Man in question is none other than Andrew "Dice" Clay (Silverman), bigoted comic bummer of the late 1980s and early 1990s. This meditation will twist and turn but with any luck it will make sense in places.

The story begins about three days ago when Kelso received an e-mail from a graduate school classmate -- we'll call him Saul Humphrey. Every year around this time Kelso can expect a call or an email from Saul requesting Kelso's opinions about the upcoming baseball season and the U.S. Masters Golf Championship. Saul, you see, participates in a fantasy baseball and fantasy Masters league with a number of his Wall Street friends. Uncle Kelso, as his nieces and nephews well know, plies his trade in the outright and derivative markets of many sports, baseball and golf among them. Morever, Kelso's approach is wholly quantitative and thus often yields various choices of hidden value. For a number of years, Kelso was happy to share some information with Saul, but this year, Kelso now something of an outlaw in the eyes of the country of his birth because of his profession, was not particularly in the mood to be emailing any sports opinions to any "squares" who are U.S. residents. In addition, last year Kelso had requested a small favor from Saul in return: the details of entry to the National Gin Rummy Championship which is sponsored by the firm for which Saul works. Saul did not live up to his end of the bargain.

This year, Kelso explained that it was hardly fair for Saul to expect something for free for which Kelso could be paid when Saul failed at the one small favor Kelso had asked of him. Saul's response was "if you want to end 15 years of friendship over this, it's your choice...why are you so sensitive?...why don't you act like a man?...you are too young to be so bitter...." Well, Kelso is of the belief that manhood like Baskin-Robbins comes in 31 flavors: George Patton? Sure. Ghandi? Sure. Frederik DeKlerk? Sure. The gentleman who rioted at the Stonewall Inn? Sure. And so forth. A child of privilege doing some bullshit Wall Street job who pumps iron and participate with great enthusiasm in the bigoted and sexist by-play of Wall Street sales? No, no, hell, no. That whole fraternity/Wall Street thing is merely insecurity and fear at its apotheosis, wearing a gorilla suit. And the popularity -- to this day -- in that environment of Andrew "Dice" Clay says it all. There is Kelso's shirt-pocket semiotics lesson. So, yeah, Saul received a very, very caustic response.

A few disclaimers, during the brief number of years Kelso worked in finance, he was always welcome in that environment despite his left-wing politics, his physical weakness, his small size, his interest in "books", etc. Why? Because he could do the one thing all those buffed-up Paul Lyndes in pinstriped shirts with white collars couldn't -- make money betting sports and playing cards, fearlessly. For a while, Kelso was even proud that he could make his way among the boneheads. The years spent completely marinating in the gambling world have proved to Kelso that acceptance by Wall Street assholes was nothing to be proud of. The gambling world is far more tolerant, less bigoted, less sexist, far less homophobic with maybe just "being chill" the only social rule. During his time in this environment Kelso came to know a crash-and-carry man (we'll call him Roy Smith) with a long criminal record, and a thuggish appearance who was by anyone's measure far more manly than Saul and his Wall Street buddies. Roy talked Kelso through a very dark period in Kelso's life, a time when Kelso mere's health was extremely poor and every day was terrifying for Kelso. Each night, before and after a number of hours at the card table in one of the NYC private clubs, Roy insisted upon hearing Kelso's complaint and would not let Kelso stop talking even when it seemed foolish: here another child of privilege (Kelso) was bitching to someone whose problems were far worse. In a similar place, another friend of Kelso's -- a very tough young woman who had done every day of five years upstate for selling 21 bags of heroin -- was equally generous with her ear and time. And again this woman, not 5' 3" maybe 12o lbs could and would delight in dropping Saul Humphrey with one punch, despite the hours and hours Saul has spent in the gym developing those muscles and on the I-Bank sales floor developing that ever so manly disposition. The is no possibility of manliness to exist in a person without compassion.

Andrew "Dice" Clay, indeed.

Now, this is not a cri de coeur for political correctness. We've always been on the opposite side of that debate to the point of defending Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh. And Kelso is certainly of the belief that all political correctness must stop at the bedroom door if only for the sake of the on-going replacement of the human population! Maybe it's a howl for politeness. A fuck-you to ersatz macho and the hope that every chickenshit Wall Street bonehead gets tested real, real hard for strength when it counts. The failure rate will be substantial and statistically-significant, it sez here. And the failure itself for all these "men" won't be any fun.

Saul's right about the bitterness, but he still quotes The Dice Man all the time and loves that gym. In the spirit of generosity and good-will, when that tenous Wall Street career comes it's inevitable screeching halt, a job as Kelso's Tea Boy awaits Saul. The rules: while Kelso works in T-shirts and jeans, Saul must wear the Wall Street Uniform. And the shirt must be a pin-stripe number with a solid white collar. Tie-pin a must. Pocket square optional. There is no Andrew "Dice" Clay in this "office." He'll have to make do with Bill Hicks and Richard Pryor. Hootie And The Blowfish and Jimmy Buffett are similarly verboten. We like Eminem, early West Coast Rap, and punk, punk and more punk. Other than that, the job is simple. Elevator down to first floor. Right on Calle De La Colmena. Left on Calle 59 Este. Left on Via Israel, to' pa'lla, cross Calle 50. Kelso likes the fresh lemonade from the stand on the 2nd floor. Mobile phone card booths are everywhere, land-line calling cards he can find in Smith's on the first floor. He may pick those up when he gets the green tea and black tea, the seltzer, gatorade and whatever supplies la nicaraguensa needs for cooking and cleaning. Her time is too precious to be wasted fetching shit and she's had a tough enough life already as it is. Good to go, man. Did it actually feel good listening to The Dice Man say stuff like "titsoon, spade, moulignon...go the fuck back to Africa"? What hath God wrought?

OK. Enough serious shit. This evening, Kelso participated in his 2nd and last Fantasy Baseball Draft for 2007 (Structure: 16 teams, draft format from both leagues, 4x4 scoring, no trading allowed but unlimited injury and minor-league demotion moves plus two additional moves per month. $750 per team. Real money -- heh-heh, Christian Crazies!) The team:

C - Victor Martinez (CLE)
1B- David Ortiz (BOS)
2B- Orlando Hudson (ARZ)
SS- Stephen Drew (ARZ)
3B- Garrett Atkins (COL)
OF- Jason Bay (PIT)
OF-Pat Burrell (PHI)
OF- Josh Willingham (FLA)
OF- Corey Hart (MIL)
OF- Reed Johnson (TOR)
UT- Chad Tracy (ARZ)
UT- Luke Scott (HOU)

SP- Felix Hernandez (SEA)
SP- Mike Mussina (Rudy Giuliani's Girls)
SP- Anibal Sanchez (FLA)
SP- Jarrod Washburn (SEA)
SP- Adam Loewen (BAL)
RP- Billy Wagner (Mets)
RP- Tom Gordon (PHI)
RP- Armando Benitez (SF)

More baseball and maybe some Masters golf later in the week.

Kelso's Nuts love you.