Belgium

Recently, as you may have noticed, bad things happened in Brussels, Belgium (or Bruxelles, as the Belgiques call it).  Terrorism rears its ugly head in Europe, as it has in Africa, the Middle East, and the US.  In our country, most of the violence is from non-Muslim sources, but they’re doing their best.  Anyhow.  Rather than dwell on unpleasantness, particularly on a Friday, I’d rather simply discuss Belgium.

Walloons vs. Flemish.  Belgium is another country like Canada and Switzerland, that speaks French (Walloons) AND another language.  In this case, instead of English or German, the second language is Dutch (Flemish).  Most of the Walloons are on the southwestern side of the country that borders France, and most of the Flemish are on the northeastern side of the country, bordering Holland.  They seem to get along as well as in Canada or Switzerland. 

During WWII the Flemish were accepted immediately into the Waffen SS, while the Walloons had a trial period in the Wehrmacht, before impressing the SS and getting an SS division of their own.  Their leader, Leon Degrelle, insisted on starting out as a private and working his way up, and wound up as the most highly decorated non-German in the Greater Hitler Gang. 

Brussels.  The capital.  We’ve been there once, back in the early 80s.  We stayed at the Metropole Hotel.  The two major landmarks are the Mannequin Pis, and the Atomium.

            The Mannequin Pis is a copper statue-fountain of a young boy – practically a baby – peeing.  It dates from the 17^th century, although the current boy was put there in 1965.  No one knows the exact story behind this, but the story – one among many – that we heard was that a rich man’s son was captured.  The father offered a bounty for his safe return, and promised to build a statue of him exactly has he was when he was rescued.  His rescuers discovered him peeing, thus the statue.  As I said, one story among many.  Imagine the statue if the boy had been a teenager, maybe more popular with the ladies.  Anyhow.

            A somewhat less naughty landmark is the Atomium, a huge metallic sculpture of an iron crystal, dating from the 1958 Expo, and which is still there – like Paris’ Eiffel Tower.

SHAPE.   Formerly outside Paris (now the grounds of the American School of Paris) it relocated to Belgium after DeGaulle pulled France out of NATO in the 1960s.  It’s just over the border.   Actually the PX complex is at a slightly different, but not too far away, location, in Chievres.   I’ve reviewed this earlier (10/10/08, Post Exchanges).

Mons.   This town has the distinction of being where the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) first encountered the Germans in August 1914.   When we visited SHAPE overnight, we’d stay at the Raymond Hotel, which was right across the street from the rail station.  We actually ventured forth through Mons itself.  Nice town.

Bruges.  Another medieval city in Belgium.  A modestly entertaining film, “In Bruges” (2008) starring Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson, and Ralph Fiennes, takes place there.  Although we visited this town in the 80s, the movie did not bring back any memories.

Ostend.  I recall my parents liked to drive us to England.  On numerous occasions we drove to Ostend, on the Channel Coast, and took the ferry to England (this was ages before the Chunnel).  The ferry took 4 hours and was not particularly interesting.  London was.  Our experience of Ostend was limited to the ferry terminal.

Bastogne.  In both wars, Belgium wound up as a nice place for German soldiers to march.  In WWII, Belgium wound up getting more excitement in December 1944, when the Germans tried one last offensive to throw the Amis and Tommies back into the Channel.  The Ardennes Offensive ran out of gas (almost literally), but not before the Germans surrounded Bastogne.  The US garrison held out, refusing surrender.  “Nuts!”  Patton came by and broke the siege.  And there was much rejoicing.

Waffles & Fries.  Belgians are famous for their cuisine and love of food.  Waffles and “French” fries are excellent to get there.  The Belgians have a strong – though disputed – claim to have invented French fries.  Both countries do an excellent job of them.  I’ll say I’m a bigger fan of fries than waffles.

Beer.  In addition to food, Belgians are also well known for beer.  Stella Artois is the most famous brand.  Blue Moon is based on Belgian beer, and a trip to the local Total Wine or even supermarket will show multiple instances of the word “Belgian”. 

Asterix.  I know he’s Gaulish (French), but his adventure in Belgium was a good view of the French attitude towards Belgians.  In that story the Belgians look exactly like Gauls, are just as brave, and eat humungous meals.  The whole point of the story was because the Romans claimed Caesar said that the Belgians were the bravest, so our Gaulish heroes challenged their Belgian counterparts to a contest.  “You’re ALL equally crazy!!” was Caesar’s final verdict. 

Tintin.  Truly Belgian, although many of the stories take place outside of Belgium.  For years, reading the English translations, I assumed he was British, until he got on a ferry TO England, which settled that question. 

As you might imagine, I also covered him (9/30/10), and in addition to several animated films, a recent computer animated film was done.  The books are entertaining; my favorites are the B&W “Land of Soviets”, the early “Broken Ear”, and the last few, “Flight 714” and “Picaros”.  Enjoy.

Jean-Claude Van Damme.   Belgium’s most recent export, the Muscles From Brussels.   Is he a real martial artist or just an actor?  Actually he does have legitimate karate and kickboxing credentials.  I find him entertaining for the most part.  How about a live action Tintin with him?  Anybody?

The Congo.  I’ll leave on this note.  Belgium used to have a king, Leopold II, who died in 1909.  Before he died, he made the Congo – currently the Democratic Republic of the Congo, formerly Zaire – into his own private playground.  Bad things happened there, and many people died…possibly in the millions, though the exact count is hazy – but atrocities in the same league as the better-publicized and more recent Holocaust. 

Notwithstanding, but without waiving acknowledgement of said events, Belgium in 2016 is a much better country and its current citizens bear no guilt for those activities.  So we’ll maintain their innocence and mourn their loss.  Amen.

St Patrick's Day

I’ve got to do this a day early as I’ll be out of town on 3/18.   And it just so happens that 3/17 is…St Patrick’s Day. 

As we all well know, St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, and supposedly rid them of snakes.   It’s unclear exactly when he lived, sometime in the fifth century (the 400s).  We believe he died of alcohol poisoning on March 17.

Parades.  I’ve never participated or been in any of them.  Nor, for that matter, do I recall going out drinking on this date simply for the sake of doing so or celebrating the occasion.

However, in August 2001, visiting my friend Jean, then stationed in Columbus, Ohio (graduate studies at Ohio State U.) we went to an Irish festival in nearby Dublin.  Everything was green, as you might imagine, and alcohol was served.

Ireland.  Never been there, they tell me it’s nice.  I have been to London several times – yes, I know, it’s not the same.  And I’ve been to Boston a few times, which is (more so than Dublin, OH), the Dublin of the US. 

Myles.  Shout out to Myles and his brother Eoin, the only Irish I know.

Irish.    I don’t begrudge the Irish for being proud, or Irish-Americans of being proud of being Irish-Americans.  I’m one quarter English (Scots-Irish?  No clue) and three quarters Polish, and I don’t celebrate Poland, etc.  I consider myself American.  I was born in Maryland, both parents born in the US (NY and MA), and both paternal grandparents born in the US (NY).  I have a US passport and while I’ve lived overseas as a kid and traveled abroad as an adult, my permanent resident as an adult has always been the US. 

The Boondock Saints (I & II).  As I promised, here it is.  Back in 1999, two Irish boys from Boston, Connor and Murphy MacManus (Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus) suddenly get the inspiration to form a rhythm & blues band in Chicago.  Nope…to rid Boston of its organized crime elements.  First their buddy Rocco (David Della Rocco), then their father Noah (Billy Connally), helps them out.  They go on a spree, armed with Beretta 92FS, and the body count adds up.  The movie screws around by cutting out immediately as a shootout is due to occur, at which point FBI Special Agent Smecker (Willem Dafoe), who is supposed to be tracking them down to arrest them, “reconstructs” the shootout himself.  Later on, Smecker decides to help them out instead.  That was the original, 1999 version.

            In 2009, the sequel ejaculated onto our screens.  The boys were at it again, summoned back to the US from Ireland to take out the prior bad guy’s son Concezio Yakavetta (Judd Nelson), and Noah (Billy Connolly) also helps out, plus a third wheel, a Mexican guy Romeo (Clifton Collins) taking Rocco’s place.  This time around the FBI agent helping them along – instead of arresting them – is a hot woman, Bloom (Julie Benz), as Smecker is dead by then. 

They also give us the backstory on Noah, who had an Italian comrade back at the start, though that duo broke up in the 70s – his comrade ratted him out to the Feds, and then started his own organization now that their competitors were six feet under.  This story comes to conclusion at the end, when we meet the Old Man (Peter Fonda).   Rob Wells, aka Ricky from Trailer Park Boys, has a role as the Concezio’s consigliere.  Hooking up with their guns & ammo arsenal guy midway through the film, the boys upgrade from Berettas to Desert Eagles.

Finally – GUINNESS.  Sorry, I’ll drink Harp instead.  Never liked Guinness.  Alec, yes, the beer, 

Rugby

Here I was, concerned about what this Friday’s topic would be, when it landed in my lap:  Citizen in Times Square sponsored the London Irish, a rugby team in the Aviva Premier League in England, which was playing a game that weekend in NY against their league rivals, the Saracens.  It brought back memories of my own brief and limited experiences.

High School.   I went to high school in Paris from 1982-86.  Our school did not have an American football team (although it did have a soccer team).  Instead, we had a rugby team.  We played against other international schools.  I went on one trip to Brussels and even got to play, briefly.   I was borderline varsity/junior varsity.  The coaches didn’t seem to like me, but I did get to play in a few games.  I went to the practices like everyone else and did all the drills.  I even went to the pre-season practices against local French teams.  I did not go to any parties and was not socially a member of the team.  I DID get a varsity letter for my letter jacket.   Ironically I preferred playing soccer, but the soccer team rejected me.  Anyhow.

College.  I tried out for the University of Maryland team.  The problem was that with a Division A football team, the Terrapins, this meant UMCP had a surplus of football-inclined males with no outlet for that inclination except for this team.  So many, in fact, that UM could effectively field no less than 5 teams.  I’d have to work my way from the E team, to the D team, the C team, etc.  With few schools having enough to field more than an “A” team, I’d have to spend a lot of time practicing and no time playing.  Moreover, they gave me zero credit or acknowledgement for having played 3 years in high school.   I bought the Maryland jersey from Matt Godek, went to a few practices off campus, and injured my pinky on one drill.  Enough already.

Business School.  My brother joined the team at Thunderbird, a business school in Phoenix which specialized in international management.  His team played in a tournament at Duke, but he injured his ACL and that took care of that.  In fact, the ACL injury wound up plaguing him long after he graduated.  Anyhow.

Professional.   I was stunned to read that until the 1990s, and unlike international soccer, international rugby was militantly amateur.  Arsenal dates from the 1880s, Liverpool from 1892, and many of Brazil’s private teams from the early twentieth century.  But rugby didn’t make the switch until quite recently.  To be fair, while the NFL dates from the 1920s, it wasn’t until the advent of television in the 1950s that it finally emerged from the shadow of America’s (amateur) college football system.  Anyhow.   Now there are professional teams and leagues, with sponsors such as Citizen.

International.  The New Zealand All-Blacks are the most famous, but other countries also compete against them.  I’m not aware that the US has ever been competitive.  Any American player talented enough to play rugby would more likely be attracted to $$$ playing in the NFL.  One advantage of soccer is that with little physical contact – in theory – compared to rugby or football, smaller and lighter players who would be eaten alive in those sports can be competitive in soccer.  Practically anyone can play. 

The Game.  American football and baseball have rigidly “offense” and “defense” phases, though fumbles, interceptions or a triple play can change that.  Soccer, basketball, and hockey have rapidly fluctuating offense and defense based on who controls the ball or puck.  Rugby is much the same.  The closest to “downs” is the scrum, in which 8 men from each side interface into a tight net and the ball is rolled down between them and kicked backwards to the scrumhalf, who then passes it to the backs.

No forward passes.  All passes are backwards, but the ball can be kicked forwards.

Tries.  Instead of touchdowns, you make a “try”, for four points.  And that requires actually touching the ball down in the endzone, not merely breaking the plane of the endzone.

Rucks and Mauls.   These are like mini-scrums.   I recall practicing them.  Along with line-outs.  Unlike soccer, both teams have a shot at recovering a ball thrown back onto the field.

Forwards and backs.  I’m of medium height, broad shoulders, stocky and not particularly fast.  I fit the profile of a forward, defined by our position in the scrum.   Front-middle is the hooker, who tries to kick the ball backwards to the scrumhalf.  He’s held up by two props, the largest two men in the scrum.  So the front line is 3 men.  Behind those three are two second row, each of whom puts his head between the hindquarters of the prop and hooker and pushes forward.  On either side are flankers.  And behind the second row is the 8 man.  After the ball clears the scrum, the scrumhalf picks it up and throws it to the backs.  

My brother, tall, skinny and fast, was a back.  In football terms, the forwards are like linebackers, whereas the backs are like wide receivers, cornerbacks, safeties, and running backs. 

Most often I played flanker, (#6 or 7), which was my favorite position.  The scrum would sometimes collapse, because we were pushing forward almost parallel to the ground, and only loosely bonded.  The props and hookers of the opposing teams actually meshed together.  If the scrum collapsed, as an outside player (flanker) I could escape fairly easily.  I might have played prop a few times, but the other position I commonly played was second row.  Second row had a prop and hooker in front, flanker and another second row to the side, and 8 man behind you – if the scrum collapsed, the second row was in the middle, at least on his side. 

Padding?  No helmets or pads - only cleats.  That, and falling into the mud quite often, makes rugby a much dirtier, earthier, more primal game than football or soccer.  Rugby players are proud of this, and rightly so.  

Last thought.  I recall one game against the British School of Paris.  I don't recall actually getting to play, but I was ready to play if necessary.  I can't even remember if we won or lost.  What I do remember is the opposing coach, of course having a thick British accent, and focusing his anger and frustration on one particular hapless player: "NIGEL!  YOU BLOODY FOOL!  NIGEL!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING? NIGEL!"  

Beretta 92FS

Recently I rewatched “The Boondock Saints” (1999) and saw its long-awaited sequel, “The Boondock Saints II” (2009).  I’ll address both in a later blog.  For now, my focus is on a prominently featured pistol, the Berettta  92FS.

WWII.  In Infantry Weapons of WWII, Ian Hogg – as colorful as ever – describes yet another poorly made Italian weapon, the Breda 1930 machine gun.  Breda, which previously focused on making trains, tried its hand at assisting Il Duce’s war effort by making machine guns.  “With the utmost respect, they would have served the Italian Army better by remaining in the locomotive business exclusively.”

By contrast, the Beretta M1934 pistol and M1938A submachine gun both get high marks from him, even to the point where the Germans used the latter, a compliment considering the Germans’ obvious skill at firearms making.   Beretta has been around since 1526, so if their guns work well, it’s because they’ve had several centuries of practice by now. 

[Note: the Robert Blake character from the 1970s TV show was “Baretta”.   I never saw him use a Beretta.]

The Model 92 began in 1972.  In 1985 it replaced the .45 Colt 1911A1 as the M9, the US Army’s main handgun.   My current 92FS is a military contractor surplus model; the prior one I had, I had bought new from the gun store.  Both are identical.

The Boondock Saints.  The MacManus brothers, Conor (Sean Patrick Flanery) and Murphy (Norman Reedus) both use the Beretta 92FS, albeit silenced, as their main weapons – up until halfway through “II”, at which point they upgrade to Desert Eagles.

Lethal Weapon.  Riggs (Mel Gibson) consistently uses a Beretta 92FS throughout the series, even prominently displayed on the movie poster.  His partner Murtaugh (Danny Glover), like most other movie/TV cops, carries a .38 revolver.  

Dimebag.  It turns out that Nathan Gale, the jerk who killed Darrell Abbott, aka “Dimebag Darrell”, of Pantera and Damageplan fame, used a Beretta 92FS.  Three 9mm’s at point blank range to the head is probably as lethal as two from behind on camera – minus the prayer.

[Update: 4/21/20.]  Tin Star.  I'm watching this TV series, about a Liverpool police detective, Jim Worth (Tim Roth), who relocates with his family to Alberta, Canada, expecting things to be less intense and troublesome than in a big city like Liverpool.  Certainly the scenery is much nicer - that includes Christina Hendricks, the buxom actress we recall from "Mad Men".  Unfortunately for him, the local Big Evil Company (North Stream Oil) tries to kill him and gets his young son instead.  Anyhow.  I noticed the gun he carries is.... a Beretta 92FS with wood grips.  Oh, in season 3 the Worths return to Liverpool and attempt to address the issues which forced him to relocate to Canada (eh).   

Despite being a 9mm, it’s a fairly large handgun – much bigger than a Browning HiPower, despite only carrying two more cartridges.  I suppose it’s ok for me, because I have big hands.  It feels good, it feels substantial, it feels strong and indestructible.  I can imagine the US military being impressed with it, and certainly Hollywood is.  Perhaps not for everyone, but I’d say its popularity is well earned.