Twitter Quitters Give Up Social Media Before Intense Competition

Olympic swimmer Rebecca Adlington, shown here on Aug. 16, 2008, with the gold medal she won in the women's 800-meter freestyle in Beijing, is the latest Twitter quitter to give up on social media during intense competition. Photo: Mark J. Terrill/Associated Press

Olympic freestyle swimmer Rebecca Adlington’s decision to cut ties with the Twitterverse during the Summer Olympic Games so she can avoid morons and trolls is an increasingly common decision by elite athletes who find it necessary to unplug during high-level competition.

The 23-year-old Briton, who won two gold medals in Beijing and is expected to repeat her performance in London, says she simply doesn’t want to deal with the stress and distraction of negative comments — which typically have little to do with her performance in the pool — and the impact they have on her psyche.

“The messages of support are amazing but you do have the chance of someone saying something that is going to be annoying,” Adlington, who could not be reached for comment, told The Guardian. “You don’t want that added stress. You don’t want to be thinking about that. I think I will just Tweet once it is over.”

Adlington, who has 50,232 followers, says the problem isn’t criticism of her performance, but her looks. “It’s just nasty comments about things I can’t control,” she said.

Adlington is but the latest high-profile Twitter quitter who’s abandoned social media to hunker down at crunch time. Green Bay Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers shunned Twitter for the duration of last season, and LeBron James and Dwayne Wade of the Miami Heat have signed off during the playoffs.

Athletes are closer than ever to their fans, who expect — and sometimes demands — direct and frequent engagement. It can be stressful, sports psychologists said, and distracting enough for an athlete to go dark.

“It just feels like another pressure, another constituency that you need to respond to,” said Dr. Bob Corb, director of the sports psychology program at UCLA. “Athletes are already responsible for their coaches, their team, their family, and now this virtual family.”

Anyone, even someone so self-assured as a two-time Olympic gold medalist, can be thrown off by personal insults. But Tweets and comments need not be negative to take a toll. The pressure of having every move scrutinized, positively or negatively, can be overwhelming, Corb said. Many respond by retreating from the Internet entirely. Some go so far as to stop reading or watching the news or tuning into sports radio.

“Adlington sounds like a really psychologically-minded athlete, so for her own self-confidence she doesn’t want to see or hear anything negative,” Corb said. “In this case, filtering out messages is probably a positive thing.”

The pressure can be so extreme, Corb said, that it isn’t unusual to see entire teams sequester themselves from the Internet before major events like the World Cup or the Olympics.

However, the ability of the Internet in general and social media in particular to become a stressor before and during competition depends upon the athlete in question. Some get a charge out of it, drawing inspiration from anything and everything people say. Oklahoma City Thunder guard James Harden has tweeted throughout the playoffs and seems to thrive on the community he’s built.

“An upside of being connected is the positive feedback, simple as that,” said Kay Porter, author of The Mental Athlete and a sports psychologist who has worked with many Olympic hopefuls. “It’s like someone virtually cheering for you. You know that people care about you and what you do.”

Still, she said, it’s easy to see why Adlington might tune out the background noise and focus on the task at hand.

“I know a lot of people who just don’t read anything about themselves,” Porter said. “You’d be best off not to read your own press. It’s stimulus overload, and you don’t want that while you’re preparing for the Olympics.

 

‘Whimsical Builders’ Race Pedal Cars on Death-Defying Figure 8

Members of the Fun Bike Unicorn Club tear up the Whiskey Drome, a homage to the traveling velodromes or yore, at Maker Faire. Photo: Sol Neelman

One of my favorite people, awesome headshot photographer David Noles, once told me about the wonderfully weird sport of handcar regatta. It’s gorgeous kinetic sculptures racing on rails near Petaluma, California. I was all set to photograph it last year when my plans were, um, derailed by the underwear run in Salt Lake City.

But Noles is wonderfully persistent and mentioned the same folks stage “Death-Defying Figure 8 Pedal Car Racing” at Maker Faire near San Francisco. “Death-defying”? How can I pass that up?

The pedal cars are elaborate contraptions carefully constructed by members of the Fun Bike Unicorn Club. The club, founded in 2010, describes itself as “a loose collective of whimsical builders, inventors, artists and rabble-rousers who happen to love bikes and unicorns!” Who doesn’t love bikes and unicorns?

Maker Faire is a smart, creative and sophisticated two-day event by and for smart, creative and sophisticated people who make things. It’s the kind of place where you might see insanely cool stuff like an enormous fire-spitting dinosaur or a gaggle of homemade Wall-E robots. It’s like Burning Man without all the sand, and immensely popular with families drawn by tons of amazing hand-on activities, teaching workshops and surreal scenes like a roving muffinmobile with a man inside dodging a paper rocket.

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With Goal-Line Tech, Soccer Tries Kicking Its Addiction to Human Error

England's Frank Lampard, second from right, scores a goal that was later disallowed during the World Cup round of 16 soccer match between Germany and England in 2010. Soccer is testing goal-line technology this weekend that could finally put an end to flubbed goal-line calls. Photo: Alessandra Tarantino/Associated Press

Saturday’s high-profile match between England and Belgium is the biggest test yet for a system that may finally put an end to flubbed goal-line calls, a technological step forward that soccer sorely needs and will formally consider introducing soon.

The camera system developed by the British firm Hawk-Eye Innovations could revolutionize soccer by tracking and triangulating the ball’s position, leaving no doubt when it has crossed the goal line. Although the tech will be deployed before a crowd of 90,000 at Wembley Stadium, game officials won’t use it to settle disputes. The data will be examined only by scientists during the final test before soccer’s governing body decides on July 5 whether to adopt goal-line technology.

“Such tests, along with those being conducted for the GoalRef system in Denmark, could lead to the International Football Association Board approving the introduction of GLT,” FIFA said in a statement.

The NFL, NHL and Major League Baseball have long used technology to settle scoring disputes. But soccer has needed a definitive means of deciding since at least 1966, when England beat West Germany 4–2 in the World Cup final at Wembley. In one of soccer’s most controversial calls ever, a shot by England striker Geoff Hurst hit the underside of the crossbar, deflected and was dubiously called over the line for England’s second goal.

More recently, England was denied a clear goal when a shot by Frank Lampard ricocheted off the crossbar and landed over the line against Germany during the 2010 World Cup. A handful of other high-profile missed calls have been awarded, or ruled out, as referees have tried to keep their eyes on the ball.

“You’re just hoping that the linesman or the referee doesn’t blink,” says former U.S. soccer standout Eric Wynalda, a studio analyst at Fox Soccer Channel. “That’s how fast that ball comes down off the crossbar and goes behind the line or not.”

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Table Fighting Is Exactly What It Sounds Like: Tables, Fighting

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Table Fights co-founder Annie Evelyn, hard at work on a mechanical fighting table with artists Jonathan Schipper and Tim Laursen about a week before the 5th Annual Table Fights Competition. She reprised the table she entered in the inaugural table fight.


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NEW YORK — Table fighting is exactly what it sounds like: Mechanized furniture fighting to the death or until their batteries run out, whichever comes first.

The goal of Table Fight Competition is to bring artists, sculptors, designers and furniture makers together for an “intentionally absurd” day spent pitting automated remote-control tables against each other. Annie Evelyn and Shaun Bullens, two artists and furniture makers with a thing for mechanized mischief, launched the annual event five years ago.

“I just want to get everyone as excited about furniture as I am,” Evelyn said during this month’s “Bloody Brunch” table fight at the Magnan Metz Gallery in Manhattan.

“Bloody Brunch” is a new theme, and fitting in city that so highly ritualizes the meal that isn’t quite breakfast and isn’t quite lunch. As the audience noshed on bloody Marys and bagels, table technicians tinkered, making last-minute fixes and changes before the battle began.

Among the few rules is the stipulation that tables entering the ring have a surface capable of supporting a cup. Although there were some up-and-comers, the fight also drew seasoned fighters like Yuki, which has appeared in every Table Fight Competition.

Yuki is a relatively simple design, with three legs and a battery-powered drill for a motor. Legs McNeil shares a similar design, but instead of spinning like Yuki it hobbles back and forth. Flashier fighters included Jersey Shore, named for its spiked top, and Bird Man Cometh, with flapping wings. Patrick Camut’s successful Kickstarter project, Skin Ripper made obnoxious high-pitched horn beeps and sprayed water on the crowd, making it especially popular.

Evelyn entered two fighters, That Fucking Table and The Golden Slapper. They clearly were fan favorites. TFT, as we will call the gloriously vulgar table, used its male genitalia to attack opponents. The Golden Slapper was a bit more complex. The light pink table, with matching plastic skirt, bent its front legs for propulsion and used an arm to slap opponents into submission.

The field of six was winnowed during two elimination rounds and a championship. Battles took place in a small, elevated ring. Bouts consisted of three rounds, each lasting only a few minutes, with the table taking two rounds winning the bout. Decisive victories were elusive — Golden Slapper twice took down Jersey Shore — and so the winners were typically selected by the audience once both tables were incapacitated.

The tablemakers remotely controlled and directed their creations using remote control or, in cruder fashion, lengths of wood operated a bit like a marionette’s strings. Competitors often rammed their opponents for dramatic effect, but rarely landed blows. In those instances when tables did exchange blows, they typically locked together in a stalemate.

“It looks like they’re going to make little stepping stools,” emcee Dan Dwhit quipped as Skin Ripper and Golden Slapper struggled through an entire round.

Fighting tables are not particularly graceful. More often than not, the batteries died and the anything that could break did as the tables clattered and clunked around the ring. Table technicians kept everything together with tape — so much tape! — as ring girls called “The Hannahs” entertained the crowd with bouts of their own. Often, the winner was simply the table that still worked at the end of a bout. Skin Ripper, the Golden Slapper, TFT and even little Yuki advanced to the semi-finals.

In the end it came down to a championship battle between Yuki and The Golden Slapper. In a hard-fought three rounds, Yuki, the fan favorite and underdog, prevailed by taking out one of its opponents’ legs.

“It sucks!” Evelyn said, lamenting her loss. But, this being Table Fight Competition, nothing stays serious for long and no one really worries about winning or losing, or even if their table worked.

“It’s supposed to be absurd,” Evelyn said. “It’s got the option for failure built in.”

Photos: Emily Berl/Wired

Animated Graphic Novel Goes to Bottom of the Ninth

Candy Cunningham is the heroine of Bottom of the Ninth, a baseball-themed animated graphic novel set in the future. Images: Ryan Woodward

Say you’ve created something utterly original and you’re inviting skepticism. Say it in the world of comics, with its legions of passionate and knowledgeable fans, and you’re inviting trouble.

Ryan Woodward knows this, which is why he didn’t take lightly his decision to call Bottom of the Ninth, a baseball-themed story set in the future, the “first animated graphic novel.” Although companies like Marvel have long produced online comics with artwork that slides into place, Woodward says the classical definition of animation as “the illusion of life” sets his work apart.

“There is a big difference between the terms ‘motion graphics’ and ‘animation’ that many people don’t know about. If that artwork that you’re creating communicates that there’s a life, a conscience, a living breathing entity that is acting on its own free will, then that is the illusion of life,” says Woodward, “and by definition it’s considered animated. Once I’ve provided the definition and my reason for using that term, I haven’t had one person that has come back and tried to disagree.”

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