Friday, March 19, 2010

A dissertation on the longtime historical feud between science and sports, which I suppose is a type of science

Since the dawn of time, or, at the very least, the dawn of time-outs, science and sports have been rivals. Science is the geek, and sports is the jock. Sports is popular. Everyone likes sports. Science isn’t popular, but it does the important work. And when it’s not doing important work, it is fighting goblins and ogres with a +3 broadsword, which, I think you will agree is also important work, at least to the peasants that are about to be eaten.

But where did it all begin, you ask? Scientists were not always the down-trodden underdog of the sporting world. Sport is, in essence, applied physics. Physics, as I should not need to tell you, is a type of science. It should not surprise you, then, that scientists were once magnificent players, dominating whatever game they set their mind to, and their minds were considerable.

Tall, muscular, intelligent and ethically unimpeded, the scientists rose to fame through their legendary prowess. They calculated the angle, momentum and speed of a ball, the precise area to hit it, or catch it, or stab it with a rapier. They knew how to vault over a pole with ease, to illicit the best response from the crowd; they even knew how to determine the atomic composition of the trophies they won (most of them were made from Hyper-brass).

The scientists, it seemed, had the unfair advantage. After many heated debates (these are much like regular debates, but they take place over a giant Bunsen-burner) amongst the United Nations Ethics, Quality and Unfairness in Athletic Leagues committee, it was decided that the more intelligent the scientists were, the less muscular and physically dexterous they could be. Some scientists, like Professor Stephen Hawking, were outraged, and rebelled against the judgment, using science to grow new muscle tissue from pig stem-cells. These scientists were punished for their hubris, and that is the reason Stephen Hawking is crippled and enfeebled to this day. It is also why Stephen Hawking always smells like bacon.

Scientists grew to resent sports, especially when the sporting community started appropriating scientific concepts to make sports more engaging. Perhaps the best example of this is the ‘standing wave’, also known as the Mexican wave, for its inventor; Professor Charles Mexican, a Welsh scientist and occasional racist. Professor Mexican was outraged at this new use for his standing wave, which had previously been used only to speed up the transmission of polio between minorities.

This negative attitude towards sports has changed, however, with the invention of Science-ball. Science-ball is a new type of sport that only a scientist may play. Normal athletes cannot comprehend the advanced scientific concepts that govern the rules of the game, or the fact that the rules of the game can be changed at any time as long as whoever made up the rule is discredited by a group of scientists that are able to submit a peer-reviewed journal article whilst hitting a beam of positrons with an energised bat made of radium. The game is difficult, largely because it is impossible to predict where the ball will be at any one time. Instead, scientists hold a Heisenberg glove into a probability cloud that represents where the ball may be found at certain times. When a pile of Uranium-238 has decayed by three half-lives, a buzzer is sounded and the Heisenberg-glove is empirically tested using Infra-red spectroscopy and nuclear magnetic resonance to determine whether or not the ball has been caught. The game is then over, and the results are published in six to eight months with detailed graphs, diagrams and a reference list that spans eight pages. Of course, the rules are constantly in a state of flux, and rival scientists may try to sabotage the player’s attempt at catching the ball (possibly by releasing mutated insects, infectious viruses or laser-wielding robots onto the field). Very few people have been killed, but I feel it is only a matter of time before someone discredits Dr. Steinberg’s theory that murder is not inherently entertaining. Did I mention that Steinberg is a notorious rapist and a drunkard? Also, his scientific credentials are highly suspect.

Until next time, I hope you have enjoyed another of my ADVENTURES IN SCIENCE!

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Love in the Time of Timetravel

My friends, the life of a superscientist is a lonely one, and I must say that fewer women find my status attractive now than they did in 1873 (I travel back to that time occasionally when I get ‘the vapours’). As such, finding a female counterpart can be difficult, especially now that there are sexual harassment lawsuits preventing me from courting the few female scientists employed at my laboratory. It is because of this that I experimented with gender differentiation in cloning. Yes, I know, it was ill-advised, but I sought to engineer a female version of myself. Rutherford Joans was her name (I know that this naming structure is unconventional, but let’s face it, the name Rutherford is an under-used one, and I’m trying to bring it back in style) and my heart melted when I first saw her. Cardiac liquification is an unfortunate side-effect of seeing your own clone, but luckily mine was intelligent enough to reverse the process and my heart is back to the solid state it prefers to be in.

Our courtship was an unusual one - as we were essentially identical, conversation was limited to stating various topics and then nodding in agreement. This left more time for sexual intercourse, which was awkward and uncomfortable for both parties, but I am told this is normal in married couples, so logically we deduced that we were ahead of romantic schedule. I am sure that most of my readers (all three of them) are condemning me right now for this shocking display of what may be constituted as ‘incest’, but you should no doubt be aware that clones are always infertile, so there was no risk of impregnation and genetic abominations. Additionally, I performed a hysterectomy on Rutherford Joans whilst she was still in the cloning tank. Also I am sterile due to years of working with plutonium.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Well, actually, it was meant to be, as I intentionally designed the experiment myself and engineered her from scratch, but the relationship did not work out. That is what I meant to say. Opposites attract, goes the old adage, and sadly the inverse also applies. My female counterpart and I were electromagnetically repelled from each other and flung across the room, which made the sex even more difficult. Holding hands was significantly more complicated than usual, unless we used statically charged gloves, and even then the electric shocks made it too painful to enjoy much. Eventually we realised that our relationship would not work, and we parted ways. Then I harvested her body for resources and engineered some lab assistants to help me build a death ray. It’s sad, though in a way, I’ll always have a reminder of the times we shared together, and every time I molecularly disassemble one of the workers with an enormous laser, I’ll think of her and smile.

Until next time, dear readers, I hope you have enjoyed another of my ADVENTURES IN ROMANCE!