A Slow Night in Gotham City

The Dark Knight Rises will debut in theaters on July 20th. As a fan of the franchise, I feel compelled to promote the movie as best I can, but be warned, I'm not quite sure my columns can match the hype offered by Batman flicks. Regardless, here is a string of journal entries that the Caped Crusader documented during one of his less-eventful shifts.

July 1st, 21-hundred hours: The last few nights, the streets of Gotham have been free of turmoil...a little too free of turmoil. My hunch is that the Joker and his cronies are trying to lull me into a false sense of complacence. The instant I let my guard down, they're sure to wreak havoc on the innocent. I can't take that chance. My watch over this city must remain as vigilant as ever.

22-hundred hours: No sign of super-villain activity yet, but while I was on patrol, I encountered a few teenagers inhaling some wacky-tobaccy behind a gas station. No brute force was required in the altercation, but I made sure to give those baby-faced burners a stern talking-to and a triple dose of $500 fines. (Note to self: Refill stack of misdemeanor tickets in Utility Belt.)

23-hundred hours: Beneath my perch atop this parking garage, a gang of street toughs in baggy pants blared rap music from a portable stereo in total disregard of the city's noise ordinance. Profanity and racial slurs were clearly audible. I shouted down, “Turn off that racket—or else!” They complied, apologized, and dispersed in total silence...which is kind of a shame, really, 'cause part of me has a hankering to kick some ass.

July 2nd, 0-hundred hours: There was no doubt in my mind that I had finally confronted trouble when I spotted a pair of the Joker's henchmen hassling tourists outside of Gotham's Hard Rock Cafe. Clad in matching black leotards, their faces smeared with the pasty paint worn by their criminal overlord, they encircled passersby and gestured wildly in an apparent effort to startle and confuse their victims before mugging them. I leaped off the rooftop and incapacitated one with an ax kick to the skull. His cohort sustained a less merciful beating. I worked him over with a barrage of karate attacks until a youngster tearfully screamed, “No, Batman, they're just MIMES!” I didn't like seeing the boy out so late and said so to his mother...but I had to admit he was right. As I lugged the unconscious bodies onto a nearby park-bench, I complimented both for their commitment to character. Astoundingly, the second mime didn't even utter a peep when I shattered his collar-bone. I fled the scene under the assumption that someone would probably call an ambulance for those creepy clowns.

Mimes? Joker's henchmen? Hell, they all look the same to me...

When I got back to the Batmobile to regroup, I discovered the following note taped to the windshield: “Riddle me this, ass-face: What has two thumbs and just robbed a liquor store? This guy!” It was signed by the Riddler.

Clearly, the man's standards for both crime and riddles have fallen, but still, he bested me this time. When I catch him next, launching him through a plate-glass window is going to feel a little extra-special.

More Stories, and Additional Stories is the name of that eBook. 

The Dark Knight and Brett Favre

Originally written in September of 2009.

A few things to keep in mind, since this work is being published in 2010 and therefore requires some updates...

The Minnesota Vikings had a very successful run in 2009; they lost in the NFC Championship game to the New Orleans Saints, who ultimately won the Super Bowl. The loss to the Saints was due in large part to an overtime interception thrown by guess-who.

Aside from that predictable yet (arguably) tragic ending, Favre was undeniably terrific, throwing for over 4,000 yards and boasting the league's most impressive touchdown-to-interception ratio. The Vikings' offense thrived; opposing defenses dared Favre to beat them with his arm and, more often than not, he did just that. These developments astounded me.

My appreciation for Brett Favre is a powerful force that will remain dormant for as long as he wears a Minnesota Vikings jersey. I can't get over my subjectivity as a fan of the Green Bay Packers, nor do I want to. Favre is one of the top ten football players the NFL has ever produced. But defecting to the Vikings to spite the franchise you were almost entirely responsible for rejuvenating? That's a dick move, Brett, and many Packer fans will always hold that against you.

"You either die a hero or else you live long enough to see yourself become the villain."


This is the most profound quote from The Dark Knight, the blockbuster superhero flick that is thought-provoking in ways both intentional and accidental, calculated and tragic. In addition to foreshadowing Harvey Dent's mutation into Two-Face, this quote not only summarizes Brett Favre's decent into villainy in the eyes of the Green Bay Packer faithful, it also cements the impact Heath Ledger's flawless swan song as the Joker had on his legacy.

By playing a deranged villain so adeptly in the final film he was to star in (completely), Heath Ledger died a cinematic hero, but ironically and fittingly enough, he never got to bask in his own triumph; by the time The Dark Knight opened in theaters, he had been buried for four months. Devout Favre fans in Packerland wanted the same from their rowdy gunslinger. We craved the same bittersweet—but unequivocally final—end to Favre's career.

The 2007 season, Favre's last with the Packers, wasn't perfect: it ended in the NFC Championship game with an overtime loss to the New York Giants, who went on to upset the undefeated New England Patriots in the Super Bowl. But the team won 14 games (including the playoffs), and notwithstanding one last confounding interception from Favre, it was the best season the team had had in a decade. Packer fans were both mournful and celebratory in March of 2008 when Favre choked back tears to announce his retirement. Among many other things, we exalted his consecutive games played streak, the way our guy made his fair share of mistakes, but never missed a single start due to injury. He was still the seemingly indestructible country kid who tackled his wide receivers with boyish delight after zipping a touchdown between two defenders. He brought the Lombardi Trophy back to Titletown, set records for passing yards and touchdowns thrown, led his team to the playoffs despite a broken thumb on his throwing finger, threw a six-point strike while in the woozy throes of a concussion, and had one of the most sensational games of his career on Monday Night Football the day after his father died. We remembered all of that, and always will, I hope.

***

This essay is featured, in its entirety, in my book, titled "There Will be Blog."
To order a copy...

www.xlibris.com/NickOlig.html