Nimrod Nation

I watched all eight episodes of Nimrod Nation, the documentary set in Watersmeet, Michigan which centers itself around the local high school basketball team. Hoosiers in the snow, if you will. And you know me – high school drama + basketball + snow, I’m watching.

Unfortunately, pretty much nothing fucking happens the whole time. Nothing. I don’t wanna stereotype these earnest Midwesterners as boring, but fucking hell. Unreal. Apparently it's watch the snow pile up, gain 400 lbs, die.

I mean, these are some boring motherfuckers. I hate to stereotype, but this Midwestern stoicism does not make for great theater. Can any two dudes talk about anything besides how cold it is?

“Boy. Cold out here.”
“Yup.”
(frozen tumbleweed)

I mean, I’m not expecting any Dr. Phil scenes, but camon…and it’s not like they’ve just met – all these dudes have known each other forever. And we know this cause they’re always intro’d that way: “Jeff, Nimrod Class of ‘73” or “Randy, Nimrod Class of ’75.” You’d think they’d be comfortable talking with each other by now. Hey guys, relax…just cause you start talking about something other than the weather doesn’t mean you’re gonna implode into a four-knuckles deep fuckfest in the woods with your buddy. It’s okay. You won’t burst into Charles Nelson Reilly flames, for fuck’s sake.

And another thing about this “great” basketball team and the teams it plays….all fucking white. Well, plus a Native American. It’s tuff to take a team that seriously if they’re all white, isn’t it? There’s nothing intimidating about watching a team full of white guys walk into a gym. Back in the day when I was gunning the rock in the NND, if the other team started a white guy you’d think “boy, he must be the fucking shit.” If they started two, you were like “oh, they’re out of black guys, this team must b l o w.” Any other white guys, you’re looking over at the bench for Gene Hackman for fuck’s sake. And it was such an insular world, time out from games to congratulate 1000 points scorers et al, patting themselves on the back. I’m not saying some of them can’t play, but again, it’s tuff to take a game too seriously a team has fewer black guys than the Dave Matthews Band, isn’t it?

Another clip I like is the repeated one where 2 or 3 guys go skeet shooting. Birdee goes up…three guns go off, thing explodes. How do these idiots know which one hit it?

And hey, we get it: it’s cold. I can go longer than 15 seconds without having to be reminded, be it with a still frame shot of the snow or the local radio station “joshing” that “oooh, it’ll be up to 5 degrees today, a heat wave!” It’s cold. I fucking get it.