Why Do I Hate Seal?

Two Scientists and a Scientific Mystery

Each day, on my way home, I turn onto Inner Lake Shore Drive on Chicago’s beautiful North Side and pass a bus stop.  Behind the bundled city goers is a large advertisement for “The Rock Stars of Science”, a campaign founded by Aerosmith’s Joe Perry to rightfully elevate scientists to “rock star status” for their contributions to humanity.  It is a very cool effort that is highlighting the work of wonderful people. 

On this poster for “Rock S.O.S.”, as it is dubbed, there are three gentlemen, two scientists and one familiar face sitting on a stool.  That would be the musician Seal.  Each day, when I drive by that bus stop and see Seal sitting there, on that stool, on that poster, I can only think one thing:

“I really hate that guy.”

Today was the first time I truly considered that statement.  I drove up a couple blocks and parked my car, the entire time thinking, “Why do I hate Seal?”  This is a great question.  Seriously.  There are people that have graced this world that we absolutely despise.  Some of these people for obvious reasons – Osama Bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, Yoko, etc.  But I am finding that as I grow older and perhaps more jaded and cynical (but otherwise utterly delightful), I hate people just because, well, I hate those bastards.  But why Seal?  I needed to do some soul searching, or as they say these days, Google a bunch of stuff.

I didn’t want to just jump in and hammer on the guy.  I could go the easy route.  I could make face jokes.  I could.  I could say his face looks like he had been caught in a hail storm.  I could say that he should be called “Snake”, not “Seal”, because he looks like a python.  I could go there, but I won’t.  I needed some information because I’m trying to talk myself through the hate and find some solid, logical reasoning. 

When I Googled “Seal”, I ended up his getting ugly face, but I also received lots of pictures of actual seals, and, by God, even baby seals.  That’s a good 15-20 minutes of time right there, baby seal picture watching. There was also information about the U.S. Navy Seals so I had to watch some YouTubes of training, shooting, and other stuff to get the meathead in me brewing.  Even Googling Seal’s damn name is distracting.  I suppose Sting might be worse because not only do I get “Desert Rose” hits, but I also get links to WebMD and pictures of strange insects, but I digress.

It turns out that Seal has a website – www.seal.com.  It seems like “Seal.com” would be reserved for something more deserving – seal conservation, Navy Seal veterans, whatever  – but it’s as if the Internet was invented and Al Gore said, “Whatever you do, save Seal.com for my man, Seal. I owe him one.”

Could I borrow your iPhone? Oh wait, I'm good.

If you venture on to Seal.com, you will find a biography, discography, and other Web standards for musician sites.  My favorite diversion was “Merchandise”.  You read that correctly: THEY SELL SEAL MERCHANDISE.  There are three items in the store: a refrigerator magnet with a silhouette of Seal’s weird naked-ass body on it; an iPhone case with a silhouette of Seal’s weird naked-ass body on it; and one of those Samuel L. Jackson, white-guys-should-not-wear-these hats with a silhouette of Seal’s weird naked-ass body on it.  Imagine any of these items existing anywhere in the real world.  Imagine walking into someone’s kitchen, grazing through the fridge for that emergency Toblerone, only to find it, shut the fridge and lose your lunch because you spotted a Seal magnet.  Imagine having your car break down in the middle of a desert with no cell phone and a person finally shows after hours baking in the relentless desert sun.  You beg them, “Can I please use your phone? Please!” They hand you their iPhone and it has a Seal case.  You wait for the next car.  Imagine standing in line for the bus and look over to see some fat white guy wearing the “Seal Flat Cap” backwards.  You make eye contact.  He smiles, upwardly nods his head, and points to the weird naked-ass silhouette of Seal’s body embroidered on the front (or is it the back?) of his cap as if to say, “Hey, you remember ’95, baby!”  You shake your head, denying his push for agreement, as if to say, “I want no part of it” but other people at the bus stop have noticed the exchange, including the cute girl, who looks at you and thinks, “Oh wait, never mind, he likes Seal.”

Yes, you did just stumble on a big pile of cool.

Poof. 

It’s just a dream.  These things can’t really exist, right?

Wrong. Two of the three products are out of stock (only the iPhone cover is available at this time).  Who is buying these?  Why are these in demand? Is anyone else besides me very concerned about this? In the comments section, under “New Merchandise Store”, apparent Seal fan “Maggie Walsh” wrote on December 12, 2012: “Its rubbish! THREE items and two are out of stock!!! Where can I buy Seal merchandise? There must be some somewhere…”  These are concerns.  These are concerns of a person. That’s breathing. On her own accord.  It’s as if she ran into the street in some Charlton Heston-like scamper screaming, “Where?! Where?! Please help me find Seal merchandise! Please! I beg of you!”

The whole time I have been writing this, the song “Crazy”, Seal’s first hit, has been playing in my head.  That song was released in 1990. I didn’t get it then and I sure don’t get it now. I looked up the words. What is this song about? Great music, poetry, and even prose can and should be interpreted in multiple ways, but I can’t get past these lyrics. For instance, the lines: “Only child know/Them things/The size/Of which you've never known before/Someday”.  Is that a penis reference?  I’m supposed to dance to this? 

Perhaps his worst contribution came in 1995 with the No. 1 hit “Kiss From A Rose”.  I say it is his worst because that song has staying power.  You could hear it today in the confines of any dental or podiatry office in the country.  Admittedly, the lyrics aren’t that bad, but it lingers. 

Beyond that, I cannot identify another Seal song.  Two songs in 23 years and I have to see a poster of him every day?  Not worthy.  If you are going to fire out a Seal poster, why not Tone Loc? He had two hits: “Wild Thing” about sex and “Funky Cold Medina” about giving a roofie to your dog (see verse two). Is he any less deserving? Make that case. I dare you. 

This makes us feel better. Not.

Even more reason to hate Seal: he married ultra-babe Heidi Klum.  They had kids. But, wait I’m not done there.  Not only did he marry ultra-babe Heidi Klum, he dropped the ball and Heidi Klum divorced him in 2012.  Rumors swirled that she cheated with their bodyguard, but can you blame her?  You’re a vixen and you wake up every day next to a velociraptor.  In an interview with Katie Couric last fall, Heidi Klum said she thought they would be together forever.  They have four kids.  Seal, lock it down, brother.  You do what you need to do, my friend, but you can’t let that cat stray.  If you wrote “Crazy” about that, I might understand.

Seal hasn’t had a hit since O.J. was on trial (Do I like O.J. better than Seal? Hello, next blog post…). He sells magnets of himself. He blew it with one of the hottest women in the world.  In the final analysis, I have learned one thing: even though I never knew why I hated Seal, it took me only a few clicks to realize I was right.  Now I can drive past that poster tomorrow at peace, with calm in my heart, knowing full well, with the utmost confidence and integrity, that my hatred of Seal is, alas, justified.  

I hope this prose has inspired you. Do yourself a favor: go figure out why you hate someone. It will set you free.

Note to Ray Lewis' God: You're a Numbnuts

After nearly two weeks of coverage, Lewis, others make you want more 'Harbowl'

Shortly after it was all but official that the Baltimore Ravens were headed to the Super Bowl and the world knew that Ravens' Head Coach John Harbaugh would face his older brother and 49ers' Head Coach Jim Harbaugh, I tweeted the following:

Media has to be salivating over this #Ravens #49ers likely matchup. Harbowl, Ray Lewis, Kaepernick. I'm already tired of the coverage.
— Jeremy Shermak (@JeremyShermak) January 21, 2013

(Please note the handle: @JeremyShermak - follow me)

It was a quick reaction to a story line that had been brewing since the preseason. The questions that would be asked were too easy, too obvious: How would a parent deal with this? What do you say to the kid that lost? How do you celebrate fairly, perhaps even respectively to the kid that won?

Everything seemed overdone before it was thrown on the grill.

And then everyone went to New Orleans and a whirlwind of rather disheartening, annoying, and downright idiotic b.s swept through the Big Easy, including:

• Somber yet necessary discussion of NFL safety, headlined by President Obama's admission that if he had a son, he would think "long and hard" about allowing him to play football. 
• Ravens' safety Bernard Pollard's best Miss Cleo impression, stating that the NFL may not exist in 30 years because fans will turn away from a game depleted by safety rules.
• ESPN's Chris Berman mentioned how he covered the 49ers during the 80's.  Enough already.  
• 49ers' cornerback Chris Culliver's homophobic, anti-gay remarks, stating, "I don't do the gay guys, man...we don't got no gay people on the team. They got to get up out of here if they do."  
• Ravens' safety Ed Reed, who I really love, complaining about a season tally of over $100K in fines for violent hits from the "suits" in the NFL office.

And as I write this, it is Friday morning. There is plenty of time for DUI's, hookers, and whatever else NOLA has to offer.

Tears of a clown

And then there is Ray Lewis.

The outgoing Ravens' linebacker, who announced his retirement prior to the playoffs, has been a lead story line as he tries to pull an Elway and "go out on top". In many respects, Lewis deserves the attention. He is likely the greatest middle linebacker to ever play the game. He is wrapping up a surefire Hall of Fame career. But these are not the headlines.  

On Tuesday, an article released by Sports Illustrated linked Lewis to an Alabama-based sports science company that used deer antler extract to create a performance-enhancing substance. On that same day, the Super Bowl put on its annual media day, giving credentialed reporters and "reporters", some dressed costumes that make them look like jackasses, to grill players at mini-press conferences around the stadium.  Ray Lewis, and the latest allegations, of course took center stage.  

Lewis, when pressed on the controversy, told the assembled media that "no one here is qualified to ask those questions." He later called the PED accusations a "trick of the devil". On his murder accusations in 2000 that were later cleared, he said it was "God's time".    

Ray, your god is an asshole. He sort of makes this devil dude look like Andy Williams.

Lewis, like so many athletes, is quick to praise god after victories. It has become as cliche and, therefore, empty as the post game sugar packet of "we will just take it one day at a time".  But it is worse that than.  It is used as a shield by many athletes, but none more prolific and dramatic as Ray Lewis.

Following the Ravens' win over New England to clinch their spot in the Super Bowl, Lewis broke down midfield, burying his head in the turf as he cried.  Every camera in the building was hovered over him, getting a nice long shot of his hind-end as the charade continued. He told ESPN's Sal Palantonio, "Whenever you sacrifice your heart for God, he will give you anything your heart desires."

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

I bought a lottery ticket yesterday for the PowerBall jackpot.  I "desire" that $176 million jackpot. What do I need to sacrifice, Ray?  I mean, your god is kind of an ass punch, but I'll take it. Do I need to murder people at a club in Atlanta? If your god could use his "time", I would get "off" on the charges, right? Or could I fill my bathtub with deer antler extract, light some candles, sip some spumonte, and wait until god comes to hand over that winning PowerBall ticket? (Note to RL's God: I'll take the cash value, $111.4 million. Thank you).  Do I need to paint triangles under my eyes? I would so do that.

I've always believed that god, any god, be it my god, your god, or Ray Lewis' god has no vested interest in the outcome of any sporting event. Aren't there other things going on where a god is needed? Right here in my city, Chicago, there have been double-digit murders over the past two nights. Is some god up there saying, "ok, I will get to those murders, but let me finish my Super Bowl squares" as he texts Moses to see if he or any of his co-workers are interested. $5 a square.

When you turn to god after a sporting event, to thank him, and that makes it fulfilling to you, knock yourself out. But as for Ray Lewis, draping yourself in god, using him as a shield, as your go-to man, and damn near fall guy, it isn't just b.s. It's narcissistic, overly dramatic, and barf-bag worthy hogwash. Thank the deer antlers.

Ray Lewis' god is a Grade A tool. I hope he is busy this Sunday. I hope he misses Ray's calls.

Now, tell me more about those Harbaugh boys.