Would you trust this man with YOUR children?

Finally! Dave Scott...has secured...employment.

And no its not being a Serious Pimp. I'll leave that to Quinton Jackson.

As of Thursday afternoon, I have officially been hired by the Municipal School District of Wayne Township in Indianapolis to be a substitute teacher. Yes, you read that correctly. When the full-time teachers on the westside of Indy become ill or take vacation, the strange face the children will see that morning may be the large, pale, expressive mug of this guy.

This hire comes as a relief, not only because I've been out of school and work since mid-May, but also because it took almost three weeks for the school offices to process my application. The major hold up is that they waited a whole week to call my personal references, and then spent another 10 days playing a lazy game of phone tage with one of them.

But the most important thing is that I can now earn a respectable paycheck and gain valuable classroom experience. Given, my teaching goals are aimed at college students but, seeing as I have virtually no previous track record of teaching any age group, this brand of experience could only help me out in the long run.

I have already found out that the rumors that local schools are always in serious need of subs is quite true. At my orientation on Thursday, I was told I should be incorporated into the SubFinder database sometime on Friday. Little did I know how early on Friday that would be.

At about 7:30am, no more than 5 minutes after I'd wiped the sleep from the corners of my eyes, a real live human being (not simply an automated calling service) telephoned my home and asked if I'd be available that day. She offered me numerous positions ranging from 4th grade to 7th to 9th. There was just one considerable problem with me working that day. I'd yet to buy my school "uniform."

I was not surprised to learn at orientation that the dress code for school teachers is business casual. However, I had not bought a new pair of slacks since the summer of 2003 and I've gained about 25 pounds since then. That means I need to hunt down what is seemingly the most rare breed of men's pants- the relaxed fit 38W-34L. And seeing as 10 of those 25 pounds have been gained in the last ten months, I may need to seek out that even rarer specimen- the 40W-34L.

Needless to say, I didn't think I had time in the next 30 minutes or so to capture my desired prey. To be perfectly frank, all I had on during my conversation with this woman was a pair of boxer shorts with sharks printed on them. So I declined the work she had offered, figuring that the last thing Wayne Township wanted in front of a classroom of their students was the great, white Mr. Scott in nothing but his Great White undies.

However, I hope to secure some viable pants over the weekend (although my trip to Kohl's yesterday was fruitless). And even though I passed on my first official job offer, that does not mean I'm hesitant to get started. Yesterday, I used SubFinder's online resources to book myself an assignment for every day next week. On Monday and Friday, I will teach 4th grade. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I will be with the same 3rd grade class. And on Thursday, my friends, Dave Scott will teach kindergarten...or as SubFinder identifies it...Grade Zero.

So say a prayer for these children. They have they dubious honor of being the first children to be taught by the ruler of this mad kingdom. And say a prayer for me as well. I have to admit that I'm more than a little nervous at the thought of being put in charge of a room full of small humans for 8 hours. Hopefully I will adjust quickly and learn to enjoy the substitute experience thoroughly. I've got the better part of 8 months to make the adjustment.


...If ya smeeeeeeeeee-le-le-le-LEL!...what Dave Scott...is...cookin'.

A Hymn of Pride

Combining the themes of three previous posts together (church, incorrect lyrics, and fighting), I thought I would offer this brief post. As several of you know, Dave Scott continually entertains himself by creating ridiculous, alternative lyrics for the songs that get stuck in his head. Thanks to my friend Wes Homoya's wedding, one of my all-time favorite hymns has been rolling around in my head for the last week.

Its new words describe the outcome of a MMA fight from Pride 22: Beasts from the East 2, which happened about 4 years ago. I conjured them up during one trip to the bank and one vocal session in the shower. So without further ado...

Shungo Oyama lost to an armbar.

Crazy Ryan Gracie bent it back quite far.

Though Shungo did not tap, the ref stopped the fight.

For his arm was damaged: not the left, but the right

B.S.F.

For years now, my aunt Susan has attended the meetings of Bible Study Fellowship- a church program that regularly brings Christian women together to- you guessed it -study the Bible. Quite reasonably, this program is often referred by the acronym BSF. When I was a young sprat, around junior high/early high school age, I took it upon myself to tease Susan by sharing my own suggestions for what BSF "actually" stood for. Though I came up with many, there are only three that have survived the ravages of time:

Bob's Silly Ferret
Butt Smells Funny (my original creation)

...and the less likely to offend...

Big Square Feet


This fall is the first time since I graduated high school that I have been living at home during this particular season. So it is also the first time in 6 years that I have been around when Susan began a new year of participation in BSF. And, as of about Monday afternoon, I have resumed my efforts to invent alternative correspondents for this acronym. As a 24 year-old man, I am absurdly more mature than I was as a teen, and I think my latest batch of alternatives reflects this fact. Here's what I have so far:

Blonde Strippers' Fair
Black Satin Fedora (although a fedora is, by definition, made of felt)


...and my personal favorite...



Blind Squirrel Farmers

Scuse me while I kiss this guy.

It's not hard to mishear lyrics. Musicians aren't always the most articulate people for starters. But even when their grammar is proper and their annunciation superb, the distortion of a guitar, the rumble of the bass, or the shortness of syllables within a line can cause our ears to be led astray and our minds to construct some crazy ensemble of words. More often then not, I find the resulting construction is some truly funny stuff.

The title of this post is perhaps the most common "mishearance" in rock history. Its source lies in "Purple Haze" by The Jimi Hendrix Experience, in which Jimi sings, "Scuse me while I kiss the sky." Jimi himself was so amused by this mishearance that he would sometimes sing the incorrect line in concert as a joke.

Having once briefly been a performer of songs myself, I can relate to Jimi's positive response to his lyrics' twisted reception. During our junior year of high school, we members of Agonist were developing a song called "Transcendence." A more melodic ditty than our usual fair, the lyrics I wrote for this song represented the thoughts and feelings I was experiencing after the death of my grandmother the previous spring. However, several of the first folks to hear us practice the song (including at least one band member) became concerned when they thought they heard me sing the question, "Is it this pain and sodomy that makes me incomplete?" The actual line speaks of "pain inside of me" but it always cracked me up to think that several audience members at any given concert might have thought I had a fixation with masochism and anal sex.

A year or two earlier, "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" had been a big radio hit. I laughed myself silly the first day my friend and former Agonist bassist Josh Hedges told me that he thought the opening lines of that song's chorus were "Spi-i-nal rage/I am still just a rat in a cage." My response to him was," What in the world is spinal rage, Josh? That doesn't make any sense." I believe his response was something like, "What's a bullet with butterfly wings?" He had me on that one.

Josh presently plays in an Indianapolis-based band called Wofly. (Check them out at www.wolfymusic.com. When you get there, Wolfy's, a.k.a. Greg's, voice will direct you to click the link for their new MySpace page.) In their song "Vienna Underground," you could almost swear that Wolfy sings the words "Tumor love/Tumor love/Cheese on the sink." The actual lyrics are something like "To my love/To my love/She's gonna sing."


I was inspired to write on this topic because I've recently been dealing with a mishearing that I know is not correct but had no idea what the proper lyrics were until I looked them up on the internet. On Mastodon's new album Blood Mountain, it sounded to me as though the song "This Mortal Soil" was proclaiming "John Bonham's all about the gland." It made no real sense to imply that the late drummer of Led Zepplin was enamored with an organ of the endochrine system. The official lyric here is "Showing promise of a perfect land." But no matter how many times I relisten to the track with these words in mind, my version still seems to fit better.

I could ramble on for many more paragraphs about mishearances, but I figure it would be better if I just wrapped up by listing a few more quality examples I have encountered. I'll not identify the songs, as they are all pretty well known. See if you know the proper lyrics yourself. And if you don't care to guess, I'll post the "answers" in the comments section....and feel free to submit your own favorite mishearance.


+ "I wanna rock n roll all nite/And part of every day."
+ "Don't go out tonight/It's bound to take your life/There's a bathroom on the right."
+ "Ooo-ah-eee-ah-ooo-ah/Right on the pea stain."

The Champ Prevails

After devoting two posts to building up last night's UFC welterweight title fight, I figured I should follow up with the report that Matt Hughes defeated B.J. Penn by TKO in Round 3. The entire Pay-Per-View was entertaining and the main event was well worth the hype and anticipation I put into it. Right now, I'll say that it was the best fight I've seen all year (only Diego Sanchez vs. Karo Parisyan may have been as good).


The early consensus is that Matt lost the first two rounds. But it was Matt's tenacity, conditioning and championship heart that carried him through a really rough ten minutes. In the final stanza, Hughes was by far the fresher fighter. He began teeing off on Penn on the feet and then took the challenger down with relative ease, pounding him on the mat until referee John McCarthy stepped in to end the fight.


To my friends that could care less about MMA and the UFC, don't worry. I'll be back to discussing other matters in my next few posts. For those who'd like a more detailed report on the fight, check out one of the following links:

http://www.sherdog.com/news/articles.asp?n_id=5669
http://www.mmaweekly.com/absolutenm/templates/dailynews.asp?articleid=2671&zoneid=2


One final bit of news: It seems Hughes won't have much time to enjoy his victory. Assuming that both combatants will be healthy (and it appears they will be), the champion will face No. 1 contender Georges St. Pierre on November 18th at UFC 65.

It's 100% Official

The UFC 63 Weigh-Ins are over and everyone made weight. Matt Hughes came in at 170 lbs on the nose, while B.J. was well below the limit at 166.5 lbs. This latter stat leads me to believe that B.J. didn't cut weight. That in turn means that after Matt rehydrates, the champ could weigh as much as 25 pounds more than the challenger. Whoa daddy!




Also made official today (though not quite 100% official) was the rumored UFC Light Heavyweight title fight on December 30 between Chuck Liddell and Tito Ortiz. At a meet-and-greet this afternoon in Anaheim, Tito Ortiz was showing off a contract for the bout to which his signature was already affixed. Apparently not even the UFC cares that Tito is fighting Ken Shamrock for a third (and completely unnecessary) time on October 10th.

So if Shamrock should call forth the power of ten tigers and manage to punch a geriatric fist through the back of Tito's head, the latter man's corpse will still get a shot at Chuck's belt.

"I am nervous for this fight!"

This sentence has been uttered numerous times by Bas Rutten, the former Ultimate Fighting Heavyweight Champion turned mixed martial arts commentator. And when Bas says it, you know the fight in question is not only important, it's likely to be an instant classic.

I must confess that I am nervous for this weekend's UFC welterweight title fight. While it may be quite common for me to get excited about a UFC event, I rarely ever get nervous. In the nine-plus years I've been watching this sport, I have only felt this way twice. Both times the cause of my heightened anticipation has been the fact that one of my most favoritest fighters is heading into a high stakes battle with an opponent who appears every bit his equal. Matt Hughes is my #1 guy among active fighters, and I have a great emotional investment in whether or not he is able to prevail.

Hughes, the current 170-lb title holder, is about to throw down for the second time with "The Prodigy" B.J. Penn- the only man who's beaten Matt since he won his first belt back in November of 2001. Hughes is the most dominant champion in the history of the UFC, and he has achieved this feat competing within the organization's most stacked division.

During his first title run, Hughes successfully defended his belt five times. The only other man to reach this milestone is former Light Heavyweight Champion Tito Ortiz. Yet, in my opionion, Tito's accomplisment is less astounding (though still impressive) because he spent a good chunk of his title reign ducking Chuck Liddell. Hughes, however, improved his stats by consistently taking on top competition and never backing down from an offer sheet the UFC set in front of him. Who knows just how many consecutive defenses he could have tallied if he hadn't faltered in his his first meeting with B.J. Penn.

What follows is my account of the history behind this fight. If you're not really interested in such fine details, then -by all means -feel free to skip down to the next line of red text.

Hughes-Penn I went down on January, 31, 2004 at UFC 46. The champion came into the fight highly favored and highly confident...hindsight would suggest too confident. Penn choked him out before the close of the first round. A poor takedown attempt by Hughes led to bad positioning on the mat underneath B.J. While holding the top position, Penn soon landed a thunderous right hand to Matt's head. The dazed champ was then easy pickins for a submission, and the most impressive title reign the UFC had ever seen came to an end.

Penn never defended his belt. A contract dispute temporarily ended his relationship with the UFC, and he was stripped of the title. In October 2004, Hughes recaptured the gold by defeating top Canadian contender George St. Pierre in a fight for the vacant championship. Since that win, Hughes has continued to look more and more dominant. His first round stoppages of Frank Trigg (rear naked choke), Joe Riggs (kimura), and the original UFC legend Royce Gracie (TKO) were impressive to say the least.

But while Hughes continued cementing his legacy as one of the greatest of all time, many MMA fans still challenged the legitimacy of his second title run. Such detractors claimed that Hughes would have to avenge his loss to B.J. Penn before he could rightfully be called the champion. In March of this year, Penn returned to the UFC with an opportunity to face Hughes a second time and prove that he was the true champion. All he had to do was defeat the resurgent St. Pierre in a No. 1 contender fight. And though Penn dominated the opening round, he seemed to take the second and third off. St. Pierre took advantage and edged out Penn for a split decision victory.

After his loss to St. Pierre, claims that Penn was the "real" champ lost much, if not all, of their weight. Hughes-St. Pierre II was announced for September 23rd, and Penn was unofficially scheduled to face an unheralded Japanese opponent on October 10th. However, as St. Pierre trained for his long awaited title shot, he suffered a badly pulled groin muscle. Less than a month away from the fight, St. Pierre's camp notified the UFC that their man would not be healthy enough to compete by late September.

However, this potentially devastating turn of events ended up opening the door to an even more compelling showdown. Already in training for his October fight, B.J. Penn agreed to step in to replace St. Pierre. The fact that Penn is not the true No. 1 contender is not taking any of the steam out of the hype for this match up...for me or anyone else it seems. This is the fight most fans really want to see. (And for those of you who may be wondering what is to become of St. Pierre, don't worry. He's been promised the winner; a fight most likely to take place on a December 3oth Pay-Per-View.)

I think every sports fan wants to believe that, in their own lifetime, they have witnessed the greatest athletes in the history of their chosen sport(s). I suspect this is one of the underlying motivations for our collective obsession with records and statistics. In our desire to confirm for ourselves that we have seen the most elite masters of their craft in action, we turn to the objective data to support our arguments, as well as to suppress our doubts.

For example, we say things like: "Michael Jordan has six NBA championships, six Finals MVP trophies, and more individual scoring titles than you can shake a stick at. Who else can measure up to that?" Or, "Tiger Woods may not have passed Jack Nicklaus' record for most majors won just yet, but he's on pace to shatter every record the Golden Bear ever set." And so on.

But what is most rewarding is when we think we've identified the best ever and it's my guy (or my team). In the '90s, I knew a whole slew of Indianapolis natives who has no personal ties to the city of Chicago but still claimed the Bulls as their favorite basketball team. Why? Because His Airness didn't play for the Pacers. He played for the Bulls. Whatever the respectability of their motives, these folks felt compelled to cheer for the greatest basketball player ever despite his regional location. They were drawn to Jordan like an Asian tourist to Disney World.

The still burgeoning sport of mixed martial arts is no different. Dave Scott is no different. I want to believe that one of my fighters is the best ever. My favorite fighter of all time, Randy Couture, is a good candidate. But the case for him isn't watertight and his recent retirement shuts the door on him strengthening his bid any further.

But, Matt Hughes, still has a chance. If his career ended today, his name would still have to receive ample representation within the debate. But if he could avenge that one glaring blemish on his record, the naysayers would have a very hard time finding something to pick at. In short, to solidify his place as the greatest UFC champion of all time...dare I say, the greatest fighter period...Matt Hughes has to beat B. J. Penn.

What makes me so nervous is that there is a very good chance that B. J. might beat Matt. The odds makers have the champion as a slight favorite. But after listening to interviews with other fighters on the UFC 63 card, it seems the professionals themselves are divided and unsure about who will hold the title on the 24th. I keep reading more and more articles about the fight, hoping one journalist will give me an iron-clad argument for why Matt will undoubtedly retain his title. If I had that, then I could relax. Unfortunately, I've yet to find it.

Nothing is left but to wait and then to watch. The PPV start time for UFC 63 is now about 27 hours away. Right now, that modest amount of time seems like an eternity.

What's This "Day of Rest" Sh*t?!

I am chronically unchurched.


It's not something I'm proud of. But, on the other hand, it's something I'm not as concerned about as I should be. My "industry" is religion after all. And, more importantly, my faith convictions align with those beliefs traditionally espoused by Christianity. Hence I have committed myself to the path of the theologian. In the depths of my soul, I am quite genuinely tied to Christianity. And typically when someone finds themselves in an existential situation such as my own, she or he can be found attending church on Sunday morning. (Barring personal illness, the illness of a family member, travel and, for those who live near the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Memorial Day weekend.)

Despite all these common connections, Dave Scott has seldomly made such Sunday morning appearances over the past six years. He was most certainly what you would call a regular attender of a church in Muncie, Indiana during his senior year of college, as well as during this past spring semester in Atlanta. But these periods of time are certainly the exception. If Sunday truly represents the Christian reappropriation of the Jewish Sabbath, then Dave Scott is a habitual violator of- what is most often identified as -the Fourth Commandment.

"How did you fall into this lamentably bad habit?" you might be thinking. "How did you manage to skip church so often as someone who a) went to a Christian college, b) majored in Bible & Religion, c) attended seminary for 2 years, and, d) recently dated an ordained minister?"

The quick answers to this cumbersome and contrived question are: a) The spiritual climate among the students at Anderson University seemed to me to be little more than a glorified church camp, and I wanted no part of it. b) While my studies have deepened my love and appreciation for Christianity, they have also led me to be highly critical of its present condition. c) Not everyone who goes to seminary is there to be a minister. And, d) This was an important factor in my latest stint of regular attendance.

The hardcore truth of the matter is that I lack any acceptable excuse for my lack of church attendance. Some of my reasons for not being that hot-to-trot over today's church services are respectable. I think most of the sermons I have heard are shallow; more "Storytime with Pastor X" than an exposition of Scripture. Church music is more often geared toward entertainment than worship (see Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death), and the words that accompany this music typically lack any depth of meaning or instruction. [Editorial note: Jesus is not your girl-/boyfriend! So please abstain from singing any song that portrays him as if he was.]

BUT NO MATTER HOW MANY VALID COMPLAINTS I MAY HAVE, I AM NOT ABLSOVED OF MY RESPONSIBILITY TO REMAIN INTIMATELY TIED TO A COMMUNITY OF BELIEVERS. The body of Christ has always suffered from one illness or another throughout the centuries. Who am I to say that the sickness that afflicts it in my own time is the ailment that has corrupted it beyond the point of recovery. The body lives on, my friends. And as long as it is animated by the same Spirit that has quickened it since the time of the apostles, its strength shall never fully falter. Those of us who would claim status as one of its members should uphold the responsibilities that come with the privilege of our gracious inclusion. Not the least of these responsibilities is the one I have taken all too lightly.

As a theologian, I am continually striving to exemplify in my daily interactions with friend, family, and stranger the living lessons I have gleaned from my studies. On the whole, I can humbly say that I am successful. But the power of my words and actions are tempered for many brothers and sisters by my lax approach toward church attendance. Many, many persons have the opposite problem: they attend church regularly but their understanding of Christian existence remains compartmentalized. "Jesus time" stays confined to Sunday morning, extending maybe to Sunday or Wednesday evening and the occasional special event. Yet, even as I strive to avoid their shortcomings, I fail to mirror one of their most laudable practices.

Now that I've returned to the old homestead, my family has asked that I attend services somewhere. And it just so happens that one of my best friends spent the summer trying to sell me on the idea of going to his church...a local community of believers who likely share many of my convictions about what church should be. This Sunday, I get off my lazy butt and act like someone who gives a damn.

"The kingdom of the madness is split in two!"

[Note: The historical veracity of the following narrative is presently in dispute (See Comments). The most likely reason for any discrepancies is the fact that Dave Scott is an idiot. Whatever untruth this post may contain, its essential point remains valid: The Macho Man is responsible for introducing the phrase "the kingdom of the madness" into my vocabulary.]

"Macho Man" Randy Savage uttered this phrase (or something very much like it) in his post-match interview at WrestleMania VIII. He had just won the title from Ric Flair, and his excitement level was astronomically high...even for Randy Savage.


His ever-thinning black hair frizzed all around his frantic face. His eyes, so often shielded by his gaudy sunglasses, then bulged wildly from their sockets. And his trademark hand gestures had become so spastic and animated you would have thought old Macho had been stricken with cerebral palsy. But in the midst of all this physical craziness the most strikingly absurd aspect of Randy Savage during that promo was his speech. Two fellow wrestling aficionados, Dustin Lafferty and Dave Winters, have discussed this interview with me several times. We all agree that this is the Macho Man at his most incoherent.




Indeed, Savage's gibberish has always amused me. His idiosyncratic delivery has produced a plethora of memorable utterances. (A marriage proposal has never sounded so absurd.) But the above quotation remains the one that has made the deepest impression on me. Whenever I'm in a situation where things have become confusing or hectic, I'm quick to think of my present environment as "The Kingdom of the Madness."

I still have no idea how exactly the kingdom had been "split in two" on that April night 14 years ago. But I still owe a hearty thanks to the Macho Man for coining the phrase that is now the title of my blog. Ooooooh YeeUH!!!

The Beginning...at Last*

Hello Friends,

For some time, many of my friends have encouraged me to keep a blog. Hesitant to do so at first, I now think it's something I would enjoy doing. So I am now launching The Kingdom of the Madness.

As a blog, this will be the obscure nook in cyberspace where Dave Scott will post the type of crazy and often random insights that can only come from his unique, and not altogether sound, mind. So if you would enjoy being a subject of this kingdom, keep checking in on a regular basis. I promise to make you laugh, think, and shake your head in disbelief.

A quick note about the picture to the right: It's about the only single shot I have of myself right now. Being such, I plan on using it as my profile photo. And to do that, Blogger said I needed to include it in a post first. At the end of the day, it's a photo I've always liked. Me...dressed as a monk...sporting a glow-in-the-dark cross and drinking a Killian's. In a largely inexpressible way, I sense that this picture sums me up rather well.

*As of right now, I plan to title as many posts as possible with a quotation or a reference to some other source. This only seems appropriate since I am a random quote machine in my everyday conversations. This particular title is the name of the last track on Black Label Society's first album Sonic brew.