In Your Honor: Let's Dedicate Some Foo Fighters Tunes!

As you know if you're a regular reader of the site (or if you've been searching for Whale Wars news and got directed here by accident), our man Admiral Ackbar, S.J. is a music snob of the highest order. Perhaps you've recognized one or more of the indie-type bands that the Admiral links to at the end of every Morning Coffee; for my part, I haven't recognized a single one.

My tastes run more conventionally, which is why today is an awesome day for me: after a four-year hiatus, Foo Fighters have released a new album, and early reviews (read: mine) are that it's MELT YOUR FACE EXCELLENT.

In case I'm being too obtuse: Foo Fighters is my favorite rock band, and, with the blessing of none of the other blog contributors, I'm officially unofficially adopting the Foos as the officially unofficial band of Anonymous Eagle.  (Our apologies to Dr. Teeth and Electric Mayhem, the other contender for that spot.)  And, in keeping with a tradition that I'm starting right now, every time Foo Fighters releases a new album, I'm rummaging through their catalog to dedicate some of my favorites to Marquette players, games, and personae non gratae from years gone by.

My Hero is Jimmy Butler.  This is not so much a dedication of a song as it is a declaration of fact.  (I was also considering Everlong for JFB's tarant-acular defense on a parade of point/shooting guards in the last month of the season, but I was afeared of all the double entendres that Everlong carries with it.)

My favorite Foo Fighters song of all time, Hey, Johnny Park!, goes to Darius Johnson-Odom for two reasons: one, because the inclusion of the exclamation point in Hey, Johnny Park! makes it the most exciting rock song of all time (I'm not arguing about this), and when he's on (and, hell, even if he's not), DJO is the most electrifying player on Marquette's roster.  Two: I have been listening to Hey, Johnny Park! at least once a month for the last twelve years.  It is the rare song that I have never gotten sick of it.  Along the same lines: I have been watching DJO's three against 'Cuse once an hour for the last month, and I've yet to have my fill.

The Pretender is dedicated to the phoniest man working in the phoniest profession around: Smarmy Tom Crean.

And while we're on the subject of people who aren't associated with Marquette anymore, let's dedicate the lead track on Foo Fighters' new album, Bridge Burning (sorry for the shitty video, it's the best I could find), to Tim Maymon, who's probably looking to take Jeronne's talents someplace else right now with Cheatin' Bruce out of the picture at Tennessee.  I would say "DON'T CHANGE," TIMMAY!, but I don't think you ever will.

This is a Call is dedicated to the incomparably incompetent Jim Burr, for whiffing on the trip leg whip that sent DJO tumblin' down in the final seconds of the loss to Vanderbilt in December.

While we're talking officiating: the happy feet of the Dookies in the CBE Classic call for Walking After You, don't you think?

February Stars goes to two kids who we went a little nutty over after big performances against a moribund Providence squad in the last game of February: Chris Otule and Junior Cadougan.  We may have jumped the gun in launching the Co-Naismith Winners campaign after that contest.  Sorry, boys.

Big Me?  Big Ox.  Big Smoove.  Big Whatever, you pick.

The two wins over Syracuse this season merit two songs from the Foos' library: for the win over the Ice Station Zebras on the first-ever National Marquette Day, we offer Cold Day in the Sun.  And for the "yeah, you beat us, but your coach is leaving" hissyfit from Nunes in the wake of Marquette's juicing of the Orange in Round 3 of the Dance, we've got Cheer Up Boys (Your Makeup is Running).

I've got more -- Stranger Things Have Happened is probably fitting for the OT win at UConn when Kemba turned the ball over twice in the last minute; Long Road to Ruin is probably apropos for the Run of Doom in Louisville; Breakout works for Jae Crowder -- but we'll end with Times Like These in honor of the Sweet 16 run.

Until next time: I'm Dave Catching, not saying good night ... just saying.