This is a new weekly column from Leitch. It has words, and pictures. It's called Ten Humans Of The Week. It might or might not work. But here it is.
It can be difficult to keep your optimism during times such as these. The world economy is imploding, everyone's terrified for their jobs and now other countries are embracing their leaders accused of war crimes. Sure, baseball's starting — and the MLB At Bat iPhone application is AWESOME this year, said the douche — but it's terrifying out there.
Well, sorry guys, but I'm about to make it worse: Someone just told me about the Conficker virus that's supposed to attack the Internet tomorrow. What's the Conficker virus? Here's Slate's Farhad Manjoo:
Conficker is far from the Internet's first serious malware attack. But it is perhaps the most well-thought-out and technically cunning ever to hit it big. The word worm conjures up something ugly, inelegant, even dumb. Conficker is anything but-it's the Bugatti of worms, every element exquisitely crafted to advance a single goal: in this case, total control of your machine. To read the security reports documenting Conficker's technical details is to be at once astonished and impressed by its professor Moriarty-type planning. The C variant, for instance, includes a subroutine that claws back at any efforts to remove it. It disables Windows services that patch your machine, prevents your computer from loading up into "safe mode" (a key way to fight nasty malware), and continually scans for and shuts down any security programs that might pose a threat-including the most commonly used Conficker-removal programs.
Holy crap, they're shutting down the Internet tomorrow! Man, I better make this final column worth it. (Note: Final column will not, in fact, be worth it.) Are we sure this isn't just some complicated plan to save newspapers? I always thought the Internet Finally Turning Against Us stories were just the plots of Shia Labeouf and Keanu Reeves movies, but it appears the day is finally upon us. I hope you enjoyed your grammatically challenged cats, your chocolate rains, your 2 Girls 1 Cup, your Chuck Norris facts, your Ron Paul. I hope we will look back at these times with hope in our hearts. It really was a great ride everybody, wasn't it? It was all worth every minute.
Skip Bayless. I'm writing this column on a Virgin America flight from New York to Los Angeles, and some guy in front of me is watching "First And 10," a show, I'm actually rather proud to admit, I have not watched since I sat through those 24 Straight Hours Of ESPN for the book. ("First And 10" started out as a spinoff from "Cold Pizza," which is completely crazy. If I may get my Fake Rick Reilly on for a moment, that's like spinning off a show from "Cop Rock!") Anyway, because I can't hear what he's saying, I'm watching Bayless gesticulate like mad on this guy's little television, and it's completely hypnotic. If you just watch Skip Bayless without sound, the experience transforms itself into some sort of performance art: The Wiry, Shifty Man, A Study In Excess Motion. It makes you wonder how our culture evolved to the point that this man was deemed worthy and valued enough to be put on television. And that's when you can't hear what he's saying. It's enough to make you start questioning man's ultimate purpose in the universe. I am dead serious about this: Set your DVR to record "First And 10" before you leave for work tomorrow, and then, when you get home, light a joint and watch it with the sound off. It will be a transcendental experience: You won't be able to look away, and down down down the rabbit hole you will go. Ride the bus, tune in, drop out.
Oh, by the way: Is it just me, or is Jemele Hill getting really hot?
John Calipari. I dunno: I think I would have stayed in Memphis. I'm not sure there's a better job in sports than coaching Memphis. All you have to do is recruit a bunch of blue-chippers, teach them three or four defensive plays, stretch your legs for a bit and then sit back and watch your team destroy SMU, Rice and Central Florida for four months. And at the end, they give you a No. 2 seed! If you then lose in the tournament, you can just say, "Well, we didn't have enough quality competition during the season" and do the same thing next year. Being a college basketball coach has to be a miserable enough job, with all the alumni glad-handing, convincing meal-ticket parents that you really, really do care about their son, really, and having to dodge Andy Katz's phone calls. Why would you want to give all that up to go live in Kentucky, where everyone expects you to win the national championship every year? John Calipari once gave me some career advice, so the least I can do is give him some myself: Stay in Memphis! They have better food there, anyway.