EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
The entire sporting world – and most of Fantasyland – is waiting anxiously for Sunday’s release of the first BCS standings of the 2010 season. Once made public, these rankings will tell us definitively which teams computers and pollsters believe are the best in the college football. It’s sort of like determining the next president by letting the candidates play a winner-take-all tennis match. Those of you who follow El Hombre closely are quite familiar with his intense disdain for the BCS and revulsion at the people who propagate the sham.
It’s a regular exercise in hilarity, because each week, almost without fail, the rankings are proven to be ridiculous, thanks to wins by lower ranked opponents over their “superiors” or a particularly impressive win by a team believed to be incapable of such behavior. If these rankings fail each week, how can anybody expect them to be accurate at the end of the regular season, when the top two lucky teams play for the “national championship?” It’s a good thing the people who try to jam this thing down fans’ throats each year don’t have to spend any time in the colleges they rank, because they would most assuredly fail logic.
The list of people complicit in the charade is long. It includes conference commissioners of the five major conferences – and the Big East – BCS mouthpiece Bill Hancock, who will most definitely be able to get a job as spokesman for nuclear waste after his stint is done, hypocritical college presidents and media members who use the old “it’s the best thing we have” defense for their sycophantic support of this deception. Perhaps the most culpable are coaches, who can rarely be heard criticizing the BCS, even though it runs counter to their collective core essence. Want to get any coach angry? Tell him his team isn’t as good as another – on paper. That’s exactly what the BCS does, yet coaches aren’t screaming from the mountaintops about its awful methods and outcomes.
Of course, it’s a lot easier to get people to buy a pile of horse manure when you have the loudest carnival barkers in the land selling it. They would be the BCS TV partners, who aren’t about to explain the emperor’s decision to wear no clothing when their fiscal health depends on the ratings (and ad revenues) generated by the sartorial blunder. By the time the “big game” is played, it doesn’t matter whether the combatants have nine losses or pristine slates. The hype that has gone into it convinces the masses that they are seeing a legitimate title tilt, rather than the by-product of voting and calculations, which have replaced blocking and tackling in the minds of many fans as the foundation of football.
Those of us who are forced to pay attention to such things out of professional necessity will be interested to see how the early returns shake out. Will Ohio State, the darling of the pollsters so far (even the motley collection of Harris voters thinks so) be able to supplant Boise State, Oregon and Auburn, all of which are ahead of the Buckeyes in pre-election tracking polls? Will Boise State execute a gradual, two-month slide from consideration, thanks to its lightweight collection of rivals from here on out? Are the Ducks a legitimate high-scoring phenomenon, incapable of being headed by any team from the Pac-10, or are they just fast starters without the necessary stamina to last the entire race?
Is Auburn for real? What do we make of Nebraska and its dashing young QB? How good is Oklahoma? Can LSU keep pulling victories out of its…well, can the Tigers keep winning improbably, and will another couple magical victories land Les Miles a coaching gig at Hogwarts? Will Alabama rebound? Can Michigan State keep it up? Will Utah and TCU make trouble for everybody?
In other words, we don’t know anything yet. The beauty of most sports is that it doesn’t matter at this point, because a true champion will eventually emerge, thanks to a legitimate playoff process. In ridiculous cases, like figure skating and college football, voting holds the most sway, and it’s impossible to tell whether or not the team that is crowned “champion” is really the best. Because the BCS has locked up its paycheck through the 2014 season, we’ll have to wait for a chance to decide things the right way.
In the meantime, study the weekly BCS standings closely. You’ll be quite amused to see teams that have beaten others ranked below their victims, even if the schools have the same records. You’ll notice inconsistencies in the coaches’ poll, where some voters pump their friends and conference mates in order to protect allegiances. And don’t forget about the ever-maddening punishment for late losses, versus earlier slip-ups. A team may have rampaged through the regular season without giving up a point, but if it loses its conference title game, it will suffer the agony of a huge poll drop.
If you want more fun, purchase “Death to the BCS: The Definitive Case Against the Bowl Championship Series,” by Yahoo Sports writers Dan Wetzel, Josh Peter and Jeff Passan. In it, they do things like show how the BCS Pooh-Bahs kept altering the computer models to get outcomes that better replicate the polls, at the expense of mathematical legitimacy. They delve into the back-room dealings of the “cartel” that runs the thing and show how smaller schools are systematically excluded from the big money. It’s logical, entertaining and infuriating. And it probably won’t make a dent in the BCS stranglehold on the world’s greatest sport, because fans aren’t savvy enough to understand what’s going on, and media members who celebrate the disgrace won’t face facts. In other words, the status quo prevails.
It’s BCS time, everybody. Let the foolishness begin.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The University of Mississippi has voted on its new mascot, and the winner is the Rebel Bear. Genius move, since there are fewer than 100 bears in the state. Runner up was the Land Shark. Ah, higher education in the Deep South…Let’s see if El Hombre understands this: The NBA toughens technical foul standards to stop players from whining so much, and the players respond with…more whining. Fan-tastic!...The Pirates have interviewed seven people for their open managerial position but have yet to find someone masochistic enough to take the job. Next up, a few fans of “Glee.”…Another great job by the NHL: The league suspended Chicago tough guy Niklas Hjalmarsson two games for a cheap shot on Buffalo’s Jason Pominville. He’s due back just in time to play…the Sabres. Genius. Buffalo enforcer Patrick Kaleta has already promised retribution. Couldn’t have made it three games, huh fellas? Pominville suffered a concussion and a cut that had to be stitched up. Needed to have that revenge factor, did you? And the league wonders why some people don’t take it seriously…The International Olympic Committee came away pleased with the progress being made in Sochi, Russia, for the 2014 Winter Games. Although hotel construction is lagging, the IOC reps were impressed with facilities and the Olympic Gulag, which will house anyone who dares criticize Russian maximum leader Vladimir Putin. Russia also unveiled the ’14 Olympic mascot: a bloated organized crime figure draped in gold chains.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Another year, another NLCS appearance for the Phillies – and it never gets boring. The Phils face San Francisco this time, and although the Giants have some great starting pitching, a lights-out closer (Brian Wilson) and a ballpark that has been something of a haunted house for the Phillies, they are decided underdogs. The reason has more to do with experience and knowing how to win than it does with the actual on-field matchups. Sure the Phils are loaded with talent all over the place, but no team in baseball (except maybe the Yankees) knows better how to take full advantage of an opponent’s weaknesses and mistakes better than Philadelphia. They proved it against Cincinnati, and they will no doubt prey on the Giants’ miscues. This will be an entertaining series, if only because of the amazing pitching matchups (Roy Halladay vs. Tim Lincecum is a big-time showdown), but the Phillies prevail – in six – because of their toughness and continued propensity for capitalizing on rivals’ gaffes.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: As the media and NFL investigators delve deeper into the unseemly allegations against Cowboy Quarterback, the inevitable backlash has begun. People are wondering why it took so long – two years – for all of this to surface. They’re wondering whether the alleged target of CQ’s affections, Jenn Sterger, is looking for publicity and if she invited the advances. It’s classic table-turn against an alleged victim of harassment, and it stinks. Sterger and CQ didn’t seem to be involved in any relationship, and it appears that Cowboy Quarterback was clearly the pursuer in this. Were the crazy behavior simply a man’s efforts to land his quarry, that would be one thing. Since this involved two employees of the same organization, one of whose status within the concern was far higher than the other’s, this is not only news, it’s big news. The NFL is doing the right thing by investigating this closely. Let’s hope Sterger cooperates fully, along with the two massage therapists who have come forward with information of their own. If Cowboy Quarterback did do this, he must be suspended. And those who are trying to protect him and knock down Sterger need to examine their motivation and perhaps stop with the hero worship.
-EH-
Friday, October 15, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
October Is Beautiful -- Or Awful
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
For nearly four decades after Michigan hired a former Ohio State assistant and handed him its cherished football program, the month of October meant the beginning of Big Ten play in earnest and the inexorable march toward the annual season-ending collision with the Buckeyes. Leaves changed. Temperatures dropped. And the colorful spectacle that is Big Ten football proceeded on schedule, with the Wolverines tearing through the opposition on the way to that November showdown. There were disappointments along the way, but the triumphs far outpaced the losses.
That changed in 2008, when Rich Rodriguez took over for Lloyd Carr, the last of the dynastic line that began with Bo Schembechler and also included Grand Marnier Moeller. October, once a wonderful month of conquest, became a time of failure and a symbol of the program’s fading glory. Instead of setting up the OSU clash, the Wolverines fell into the abyss, posting a 1-8 record in October play, eliminating themselves from conference play and rendering college football’s greatest rivalry meaningless before the Great Pumpkin rose from the most sincere patch around.
The first two years of Rodriguez’s tenure have been loaded with enough sins to require a standing reservation for him at the college football confessional. He has refused at times to honor Michigan’s traditions, tried to excuse his team’s shortcomings with barbs directed at the previous administration, lost to Toledo, junked Michigan’s long-standing offensive and defensive schemes and their variations, dragged the school through the ugly buyout imbroglio with West Virginia, his former employer, caused several players to leave the program, brought unwanted publicity to Michigan with his role in shady business dealings and directed a spectacularly inept 2009 season that included a 1-7 conference record and a last-place Big Ten finish. Oh, and don’t forget the NC2A investigation that hangs over the program like a chemical cloud. Michigan doesn’t do probation – at least not in football.
Last Saturday, the first of football’s magical month, Michigan overcame a statistical nightmare against Indiana to subdue the Hoosiers, 42-35, and push its record to a pristine 5-0. Some might say a last-minute win over IU is no reason for celebration, and they would be right, if the triumph didn’t spike the anticipation levels for Saturday’s mid-season family feud with Sparty to levels generally reserved for balmy March weather forecasts.
The win even gave Rodriguez a brief respite from the personal mayhem that has surrounded him over the past nine months. He smiled and seemed genuinely happy during early-week press conferences. His critics have silenced themselves, and attention on the program has focused on magical quarterback Denard Robinson, who has made opposing defenders appear sloth-like and turned otherwise respected defensive coordinators into Barney Fifes with his Hermes-like speed and Mk 13-style arm. A victory over Michigan State Saturday at a packed Big House that has ticket scalpers drooling would remove Rodriguez further from speculation about his future and make those appalled by pending probationary penalties a little less sick. They say winning is a deodorant, and should Michigan get past MSU and Iowa in the next two weeks (both games are at home), they will have generated enough of the stuff to make the primate house smell like the Tri-Delt drawing room.
It’s a wonderful situation, and it comes with enough potential trouble to make even the most optimistic Wolverine fan pause. Let’s face it, Michigan’s first five opponents haven’t exactly been world-beaters. Most of them haven’t been anybody-beaters. In the opener, the Wolverines dumped a disinterested Connecticut team that holds as its signature win so far a triumph over SEC doormat Vanderbilt. Beating Notre Dame used to mean something, but watching the Irish get stomped by Stanford ended that myth. A near miss against I-AA Massachusetts had U-M fans chugging Maalox like frat boys turned loose on an open bar. Stomping Bowling Green was almost embarrassing, and the triumph over Indiana came despite surrendering 568 total yards and a time-of-possession deficit that was a mind-boggling 41:47-18:13.
Michigan’s defense is awful. It’s 102nd overall (out of 120) and dead last against the pass. The offense, while dynamic and highly dangerous, depends almost exclusively on Robinson, who has accounted for 67.7% of the Wolverines’ production. If you don’t think MSU, Iowa and the rest of the Big Ten powers remaining on the U-M schedule won’t be able to concoct strategies to limit Robinson, you’re a bit naïve.
Saturday’s game represents a fabulous opportunity for Rodriguez, who can secure further his hold on the head-coaching job and accumulate more political capital to spend should the NC2A’s verdict be particularly embarrassing for a program that prides itself on never having been punished. It also begins the heart of Big Ten play and a three-game stretch (Sparty, Herky, Penn State) that will likely define the team’s season. Should Michigan go 2-1 and get bowl eligible before Halloween, the drumbeat for Jim Harbaugh will quiet somewhat – but not go away completely. But 1-2 or 0-3 will bring up the same Rodriguez criticisms and give the Harbaugh crowd further ammunition. Richie Rod may be smiling now, but he has some deep, dark waters to navigate in the coming weeks.
The leaves are changing. Big Ten football has begun in earnest. It’s a beautiful time.
And it can turn ugly pretty darn fast.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Looks like the MLB umpires are in high form already, and the post-season is only two days old. The missed third-strike call Thursday night in the Minnesota-New York game was borderline criminal, as was the blown check-swing call before Michael Young’s three-run bomb for Texas against Tampa Bay. Replay can only cover up so much incompetence…Conspiracy theorists don’t have to stretch too far to concoct a scenario in which the NFL and espn orchestrated the Randy Moss-to-Minnesota trade. Think about it: the Vikes play the Jets Monday night on espn, Cowboy Quarterback’s team has been floundering and incapable of providing sufficient drama, and Moss has been out of the spotlight in New England. It’s a perfect storm. Don’t laugh; when there are billions of dollars involved, anything is possible…For both you NHL fans out there, here’s a fearless prediction for this season: Saskatoon over Vladivostok in seven. Okay, Detroit over Pittsburgh in six…North Carolina football coach Butch Davis is trying to make us believe he had no idea former assistant John Blake had close ties to player agent Gary Wichard. If he didn’t, shame on him for not vetting his staff better. If he did, double shame for employing somebody capable of damaging him, his program and the school...Let’s hope LeBron James isn’t too worried about Dwyane Wade’s hamstring pull. It’s never easy for a sidekick to see his mentor in a compromised position, so the Heat had better make sure James is properly comforted and assured that he’ll still be able to ride Wade to that NBA title he covets. And playing the race card to defend himself against those who criticized his self-serving “Decision” and desire to gain marketing millions by winning a title on a team filled with stars further amplifies James’ inability to lead. There are a lot of downsides to James’ signing with Miami, but the biggest is that we now have to root for Kobe Bryant, the only man on the planet capable of bringing down the Heat.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Imagine that you are Roy Oswalt or Cole Hamels, the other two-thirds of the Phillies’ celebrated pitching troika, and you are charged over the next three days with finishing off the “happy-to-be-here” Reds. Exactly what do you do to follow what Roy Halladay accomplished Wednesday night? Go ahead, Roy II. Toss a two-hit shutout. Hey, Cole, how about going the route in a taut, 2-1 series-clinching victory? Next to Halladay, both performances would look like CZ beside the Hope Diamond. Had Halladay not walked Jay Bruce in the fifth inning, he would have had his second perfecto of the year and a spot among the sport’s immortals. Halladay’s performance was so impressive because of its stage, the circumstances and the lethal efficiency with which he dispatched the Reds. If Halladay plans on following that effort up with an October of similar dominance, the Phillies may be invincible, particularly if Oswalt and Hamels back him up with solid – if not legendary – outings of their own. In the short period since Halladay’s no-no, he has been called this generation’s Sandy Koufax and compared to Don Larsen, who tossed a World Series perfect game in ’56. The Phillies couldn’t care less about how the rest of the baseball world sees him. They’ll just call him “Ace.”
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Even though most people need no further proof that Brent Musburger is a chowderhead, he continues to provide evidence. His latest submission came Tuesday, when he told a group of students at the University of Montana that he thought professional athletes should be able to use anabolic steroids to improve their performance, provided they were under doctors’ supervision. “I’ve had somebody say that, you know, steroids should be banned because they’re not healthy for you,” Dr. Musburger said. “Let’s go find out. What do the doctors actually think about anabolic steroids and the use by athletes? Don’t have a preconceived notion that this is right or this is wrong.” Preconceived notion? About the only physician we could find who supports the use of steroids by athletes is Dr. Anthony Galea, and he’s not exactly in the best position right now, thanks to a federal investigation. Fortunately for us, Dr. Gary Wardler, who works with the World Anti-Doping Agency, was consulted and firmly refuted Musburger’s misguided comments. “He’s categorically wrong, and if he’d like to spend a day in my office, I can show him voluminous literature going back decades about the adverse effects of steroids,” he said. “They have a legitimate role in medicine that’s clearly defined, but if it’s abused, it can have serious consequences.” Musburger may have fooled espn enough to stay on the air with his irritating style and continuous blather, but when it comes to medicine, he had better shut up. What an idiot.
-EH-
For nearly four decades after Michigan hired a former Ohio State assistant and handed him its cherished football program, the month of October meant the beginning of Big Ten play in earnest and the inexorable march toward the annual season-ending collision with the Buckeyes. Leaves changed. Temperatures dropped. And the colorful spectacle that is Big Ten football proceeded on schedule, with the Wolverines tearing through the opposition on the way to that November showdown. There were disappointments along the way, but the triumphs far outpaced the losses.
That changed in 2008, when Rich Rodriguez took over for Lloyd Carr, the last of the dynastic line that began with Bo Schembechler and also included Grand Marnier Moeller. October, once a wonderful month of conquest, became a time of failure and a symbol of the program’s fading glory. Instead of setting up the OSU clash, the Wolverines fell into the abyss, posting a 1-8 record in October play, eliminating themselves from conference play and rendering college football’s greatest rivalry meaningless before the Great Pumpkin rose from the most sincere patch around.
The first two years of Rodriguez’s tenure have been loaded with enough sins to require a standing reservation for him at the college football confessional. He has refused at times to honor Michigan’s traditions, tried to excuse his team’s shortcomings with barbs directed at the previous administration, lost to Toledo, junked Michigan’s long-standing offensive and defensive schemes and their variations, dragged the school through the ugly buyout imbroglio with West Virginia, his former employer, caused several players to leave the program, brought unwanted publicity to Michigan with his role in shady business dealings and directed a spectacularly inept 2009 season that included a 1-7 conference record and a last-place Big Ten finish. Oh, and don’t forget the NC2A investigation that hangs over the program like a chemical cloud. Michigan doesn’t do probation – at least not in football.
Last Saturday, the first of football’s magical month, Michigan overcame a statistical nightmare against Indiana to subdue the Hoosiers, 42-35, and push its record to a pristine 5-0. Some might say a last-minute win over IU is no reason for celebration, and they would be right, if the triumph didn’t spike the anticipation levels for Saturday’s mid-season family feud with Sparty to levels generally reserved for balmy March weather forecasts.
The win even gave Rodriguez a brief respite from the personal mayhem that has surrounded him over the past nine months. He smiled and seemed genuinely happy during early-week press conferences. His critics have silenced themselves, and attention on the program has focused on magical quarterback Denard Robinson, who has made opposing defenders appear sloth-like and turned otherwise respected defensive coordinators into Barney Fifes with his Hermes-like speed and Mk 13-style arm. A victory over Michigan State Saturday at a packed Big House that has ticket scalpers drooling would remove Rodriguez further from speculation about his future and make those appalled by pending probationary penalties a little less sick. They say winning is a deodorant, and should Michigan get past MSU and Iowa in the next two weeks (both games are at home), they will have generated enough of the stuff to make the primate house smell like the Tri-Delt drawing room.
It’s a wonderful situation, and it comes with enough potential trouble to make even the most optimistic Wolverine fan pause. Let’s face it, Michigan’s first five opponents haven’t exactly been world-beaters. Most of them haven’t been anybody-beaters. In the opener, the Wolverines dumped a disinterested Connecticut team that holds as its signature win so far a triumph over SEC doormat Vanderbilt. Beating Notre Dame used to mean something, but watching the Irish get stomped by Stanford ended that myth. A near miss against I-AA Massachusetts had U-M fans chugging Maalox like frat boys turned loose on an open bar. Stomping Bowling Green was almost embarrassing, and the triumph over Indiana came despite surrendering 568 total yards and a time-of-possession deficit that was a mind-boggling 41:47-18:13.
Michigan’s defense is awful. It’s 102nd overall (out of 120) and dead last against the pass. The offense, while dynamic and highly dangerous, depends almost exclusively on Robinson, who has accounted for 67.7% of the Wolverines’ production. If you don’t think MSU, Iowa and the rest of the Big Ten powers remaining on the U-M schedule won’t be able to concoct strategies to limit Robinson, you’re a bit naïve.
Saturday’s game represents a fabulous opportunity for Rodriguez, who can secure further his hold on the head-coaching job and accumulate more political capital to spend should the NC2A’s verdict be particularly embarrassing for a program that prides itself on never having been punished. It also begins the heart of Big Ten play and a three-game stretch (Sparty, Herky, Penn State) that will likely define the team’s season. Should Michigan go 2-1 and get bowl eligible before Halloween, the drumbeat for Jim Harbaugh will quiet somewhat – but not go away completely. But 1-2 or 0-3 will bring up the same Rodriguez criticisms and give the Harbaugh crowd further ammunition. Richie Rod may be smiling now, but he has some deep, dark waters to navigate in the coming weeks.
The leaves are changing. Big Ten football has begun in earnest. It’s a beautiful time.
And it can turn ugly pretty darn fast.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Looks like the MLB umpires are in high form already, and the post-season is only two days old. The missed third-strike call Thursday night in the Minnesota-New York game was borderline criminal, as was the blown check-swing call before Michael Young’s three-run bomb for Texas against Tampa Bay. Replay can only cover up so much incompetence…Conspiracy theorists don’t have to stretch too far to concoct a scenario in which the NFL and espn orchestrated the Randy Moss-to-Minnesota trade. Think about it: the Vikes play the Jets Monday night on espn, Cowboy Quarterback’s team has been floundering and incapable of providing sufficient drama, and Moss has been out of the spotlight in New England. It’s a perfect storm. Don’t laugh; when there are billions of dollars involved, anything is possible…For both you NHL fans out there, here’s a fearless prediction for this season: Saskatoon over Vladivostok in seven. Okay, Detroit over Pittsburgh in six…North Carolina football coach Butch Davis is trying to make us believe he had no idea former assistant John Blake had close ties to player agent Gary Wichard. If he didn’t, shame on him for not vetting his staff better. If he did, double shame for employing somebody capable of damaging him, his program and the school...Let’s hope LeBron James isn’t too worried about Dwyane Wade’s hamstring pull. It’s never easy for a sidekick to see his mentor in a compromised position, so the Heat had better make sure James is properly comforted and assured that he’ll still be able to ride Wade to that NBA title he covets. And playing the race card to defend himself against those who criticized his self-serving “Decision” and desire to gain marketing millions by winning a title on a team filled with stars further amplifies James’ inability to lead. There are a lot of downsides to James’ signing with Miami, but the biggest is that we now have to root for Kobe Bryant, the only man on the planet capable of bringing down the Heat.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Imagine that you are Roy Oswalt or Cole Hamels, the other two-thirds of the Phillies’ celebrated pitching troika, and you are charged over the next three days with finishing off the “happy-to-be-here” Reds. Exactly what do you do to follow what Roy Halladay accomplished Wednesday night? Go ahead, Roy II. Toss a two-hit shutout. Hey, Cole, how about going the route in a taut, 2-1 series-clinching victory? Next to Halladay, both performances would look like CZ beside the Hope Diamond. Had Halladay not walked Jay Bruce in the fifth inning, he would have had his second perfecto of the year and a spot among the sport’s immortals. Halladay’s performance was so impressive because of its stage, the circumstances and the lethal efficiency with which he dispatched the Reds. If Halladay plans on following that effort up with an October of similar dominance, the Phillies may be invincible, particularly if Oswalt and Hamels back him up with solid – if not legendary – outings of their own. In the short period since Halladay’s no-no, he has been called this generation’s Sandy Koufax and compared to Don Larsen, who tossed a World Series perfect game in ’56. The Phillies couldn’t care less about how the rest of the baseball world sees him. They’ll just call him “Ace.”
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Even though most people need no further proof that Brent Musburger is a chowderhead, he continues to provide evidence. His latest submission came Tuesday, when he told a group of students at the University of Montana that he thought professional athletes should be able to use anabolic steroids to improve their performance, provided they were under doctors’ supervision. “I’ve had somebody say that, you know, steroids should be banned because they’re not healthy for you,” Dr. Musburger said. “Let’s go find out. What do the doctors actually think about anabolic steroids and the use by athletes? Don’t have a preconceived notion that this is right or this is wrong.” Preconceived notion? About the only physician we could find who supports the use of steroids by athletes is Dr. Anthony Galea, and he’s not exactly in the best position right now, thanks to a federal investigation. Fortunately for us, Dr. Gary Wardler, who works with the World Anti-Doping Agency, was consulted and firmly refuted Musburger’s misguided comments. “He’s categorically wrong, and if he’d like to spend a day in my office, I can show him voluminous literature going back decades about the adverse effects of steroids,” he said. “They have a legitimate role in medicine that’s clearly defined, but if it’s abused, it can have serious consequences.” Musburger may have fooled espn enough to stay on the air with his irritating style and continuous blather, but when it comes to medicine, he had better shut up. What an idiot.
-EH-
Friday, September 10, 2010
Get It While You Can
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Make sure you squeeze every drop of NFL action you can out of this season, sports fans, because the way things look, it’s going to be a long while before the big fellas are hitting again. You want to talk Hard Knocks? Try what the owners are going to do to the players in the upcoming labor negotiations.
Unlike Paul Tagliabue, who preached conciliation and practically was pinned to former labor boss Gene Upshaw, Roger Goodell is a war-time consigliere, and that suits capos like False Face, Captain Mac-and-Cheese, Little Danny and The B-Movie King just fine. They want more dough, and Goodell won’t stop squinting until he gets it for them.
This time next year, expect a lockout, enough angry rhetoric to fill a presidential election cycle and some posse members looking for real work. With that specter looming like a swimsuit competition on The View, let’s make the most of the coming NFL season and all of its glorious plot lines.
Sigmund Freud’s All-Stars: During Field of Dreams, Terence Mann asks Ray Kinsella, “You’re seeing an entire team of psychiatrists, aren’t you?” but he could well have been addressing the Bengals’ trio of Chad Ochocrazy, Me-O and “Make It Rain” Jones, who will no doubt lead Cincinnati coach Marvin Lewis to the shrink’s couch this season. You can always count on Cincy for something bizarre, whether it’s the team’s previous front office circus, its hideous uniforms or its proclivity for coming up short in key situations. This year may establish a new standard. Jones has pledged to keep his mouth shut and even shed his toxic “Pac-Man” moniker, but keeping a lid on the Ativan Twins may prove impossible for the franchise. Get ready for a season of can-you-top-this lunacy that could land Lewis in the Laughing Academy – or on the bread line.
Jersey Sure: After watching his performance during HBO’s Hard Knocks, network execs were no doubt salivating over the concept of The Rex Ryan Variety Show. You know, a little song, a little dance, a pair of double-XL pants. It sure was fun watching the Big Fella bludgeon the Jets through the pre-season, and now Ryan must navigate a league filled with people who want to beat the hell out of his team. That may sound fine to the coach, but he’s not the one out there cracking heads. The Jets have a new stadium of their own (or at least half of a new stadium) and a lot of talent. They also have the undivided attention of each opponent. That’s not the best thing with a young QB still learning how to pass to his teammates. But at least Ryan is ready for his close-up. And safe on the sidelines.
Into the Sunset (Maybe): El Hombre can assure you that this is the final season for Cowboy Quarterback. He’ll hang ‘em up after throwing another crushing post-season interception and never – EVER – ride Old Paint onto the gridiron again. Unless he doesn’t. Unless his dad-gum love of NFL football overpowers reason and his saddle-sore body. Unless his love of slapping backsides, throwin’ snowballs and just living every kid’s dream is too powerful. Unless being with “his guys” in the locker room is better than being with “his family” on the ranch in Mississippi. Unless the Vikings send Joe Kapp, Mick Tinglehoff and Leif Ericson to beg him. Here are a couple fearless predictions regarding Number Four: 1. He doesn’t play every game; 2. He goes into seclusion when the Packers reach the Super Bowl.
Exile on C Street: Many Eagles fans got their wish in April when their team shipped out QB Donovan McNabb and began the much-anticipated Kevin Kolb Era. Forget that half the city still can’t pronounce the young passer’s last name (KOBB) or that when the Birds drafted him four years ago few knew where he had played his college ball or had ever watched him perform. He wasn’t McNabb, and that was good enough for them. While Kolb endures his inevitable growing pains, McNabb tries to help turn the fetid Redskins into contenders. It won’t be easy, no matter how solid new coach Mike Shanahan’s track record might be. And if McNabb thought D.C. was a sanctuary, wait ‘til the tough times come, and even the team’s broadcasters start tossing bombs at him. The good news is that Fat Albert will be a scapegoat for another week or so, before he’s traded away – hopefully to Vladivostok – but then the pressure shifts to McNabb. So, go ahead, folks and make him feel at home. All together now: “BOOOOOO!!!”
No Super Home: Every night, False Face gets under his Cowboys comforter, smoothes out his America’s Team pajamas and prays fervently that his team will play in the Super Bowl next February – in his colossal TV lounge, er, stadium. Ever since NFL fans realized the Big Game was being held in the pleasure dome, there has been much wringing of hands over the concept that the Cowboys could actually play for all the skittles at home. Well, fret not, America. It ain’t happening. In fact, thanks to their shaky O-line, overrated ballcarrier (Marion Barber) and stubborn insistence on keeping Roy Williams around, the Cowboys have as much chance of realizing False Face’s Super dreams as he does of reprising Alistair Cooke’s role as host of Masterpiece Theater. Sorry, FF, it’s another February at home.
Fearless Predictions: Cowboy Quarterback’s streak of playing in every game will be snapped this year, thanks to a cranky ankle and a Geritol deficit…Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis confronts his own mortality, growls at it, snarls at it but ultimately succumbs to it…The Lions won’t stink. Neither will the Raiders. The Bills, however, will…Say good-bye to the following coaches: Mangenius, Jack Del Rio, Lovie Smith and Tom Coughlin…Rookie of the Year: C.J. Spiller, Bills. MVP: Peyton Manning, Colts.
And the Envelope, Please: NFC Division Winners: East – Dallas; North – Green Bay; South – New Orleans; West – San Francisco. Wild Cards – Minnesota, Atlanta. Wild Card Round: Minnesota over San Francisco; Dallas over Atlanta; Divisional Round: Green Bay over New Orleans; Dallas over Minnesota; NFC Championship: Green Bay over Dallas.
AFC Division Winners: East – New England; North – Baltimore; South – Indianapolis; West – San Diego. Wild Cards – New York Jets, Pittsburgh. Wild Card Round: New England over Pittsburgh; Baltimore over Jets; Divisional Round: Indianapolis over New England; San Diego over Baltimore; AFC Championship: Indianapolis over San Diego.
Super Bowl XLV: Indianapolis 27, Green Bay 23.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The uniforms worn by Boise State and Virginia Tech Monday night made the costumes worn by the teams in “On Any Given Sunday” seem staid. Packer Rick said it best during the game: “I now have to watch Penn State-Alabama Saturday to get this out of my mind.” It will be refreshing to see a pair of teams whose sartorial tastes are nowhere near the nightmare paint favored by the Hokies and Broncos…The NC2A has “reprimanded” and “censured” Princeton for a “major” women’s tennis violation. Sounds about right for the Ivies. No probation here. That’s for the plebeians. If Muffy took some cash from “Uncle” Worthington at the Club, then shame on her, and by all means, admonish, reprove and even scold Old Nassau. Then, it’s off to the veranda for some ginnies…Guess Tony LaRussa isn’t such a genius when his team goes 7-16 and slides out of contention. But at least those great St. Louis fans keep cheering the losses…Back in the late 1980s, when Rumeal Robinson was leading Michigan to the top of the college hoops world, Dookie V used to bleat that the Wolverine guard would be “the CEO of a major corporation some day!” Now, Robinson is facing 30 years in stir for defrauding a bank on a $700,000 loan. Sad…In trouble due to an illness suffered by its bid chief and enduring problems with some cranky farmers, Munich has turned to Katerina Witt to spearhead its campaign for the 2018 Winter Olympics. The former figure skating star may not be able to overcome the German setback, but two things are certain. First, those farmers will fall in line, or they’ll be sent to the Russian front. Two, nobody can touch Witt in the swimsuit competition.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? When the game clock hits zero Sunday, you won’t find Chuck Bednarik sitting on Jim Taylor, making sure the Packers can’t run another play, as happened at the end of the 1960 NFL championship game between the Eagles and Green Bay. More than likely time will expire with a deep knee bend by Packer QB Aaron Rodgers, icing the win for the visitors and ruining the Birds’ nostalgia day. The 2010 opener represents the two stages of NFL rebuilding. Philly is in the early stages of its new identity, while the Pack has developed its personality fully. Rodgers may not throw for 300 yards Sunday, but he will have his moments – and plenty of them. Meanwhile, Kolb will look good at times and lost in other situations. Meanwhile, the Eagle ground game will suffer behind a shaky offensive line that tries to overcome a nasty Green Bay 3-4, and an average secondary will have problems controlling Rodgers, Donald Driver and Co. Don’t push the panic button yet, Eagles fans, but do notice the difference between a maturing contender and a work in progress. Green Bay 24, Eagles 13.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Last week in Atlanta, North Carolina was without 13 players, due to various hints and allegations. Georgia WR A.J. Green is out for three more contests due to off-field shenanigans, and several of his teammates have been arrested over the past year. Michigan awaits its probationary sentence. Missouri dismissed its leading rusher after he was charged with sexual assault. All over the country, schools are compromising themselves by hiring and recruiting people who have no business being part of university communities – all in the pursuit of greater glory and money. Mostly money. The coaches are compromising established standards by searching for advantages anywhere they can and by bringing aboard players with questionable backgrounds and no commitment to their schools, other than on the field. With the competition for dollars so acute, we can’t expect a change in this behavior anytime soon. The only antidote is president-led reform that puts in place stringent standards for coaches and players and keeps the bad actors away from the front door, much less in the house. For a while, this kind of behavior was confined to the so-called “bandit” schools, which operated on the fringes and didn’t care much about their reputations. But when establishment members like Michigan and North Carolina are stung by impropriety, it shows how widespread the trouble is. And it’s time for a change.
-EH-
Make sure you squeeze every drop of NFL action you can out of this season, sports fans, because the way things look, it’s going to be a long while before the big fellas are hitting again. You want to talk Hard Knocks? Try what the owners are going to do to the players in the upcoming labor negotiations.
Unlike Paul Tagliabue, who preached conciliation and practically was pinned to former labor boss Gene Upshaw, Roger Goodell is a war-time consigliere, and that suits capos like False Face, Captain Mac-and-Cheese, Little Danny and The B-Movie King just fine. They want more dough, and Goodell won’t stop squinting until he gets it for them.
This time next year, expect a lockout, enough angry rhetoric to fill a presidential election cycle and some posse members looking for real work. With that specter looming like a swimsuit competition on The View, let’s make the most of the coming NFL season and all of its glorious plot lines.
Sigmund Freud’s All-Stars: During Field of Dreams, Terence Mann asks Ray Kinsella, “You’re seeing an entire team of psychiatrists, aren’t you?” but he could well have been addressing the Bengals’ trio of Chad Ochocrazy, Me-O and “Make It Rain” Jones, who will no doubt lead Cincinnati coach Marvin Lewis to the shrink’s couch this season. You can always count on Cincy for something bizarre, whether it’s the team’s previous front office circus, its hideous uniforms or its proclivity for coming up short in key situations. This year may establish a new standard. Jones has pledged to keep his mouth shut and even shed his toxic “Pac-Man” moniker, but keeping a lid on the Ativan Twins may prove impossible for the franchise. Get ready for a season of can-you-top-this lunacy that could land Lewis in the Laughing Academy – or on the bread line.
Jersey Sure: After watching his performance during HBO’s Hard Knocks, network execs were no doubt salivating over the concept of The Rex Ryan Variety Show. You know, a little song, a little dance, a pair of double-XL pants. It sure was fun watching the Big Fella bludgeon the Jets through the pre-season, and now Ryan must navigate a league filled with people who want to beat the hell out of his team. That may sound fine to the coach, but he’s not the one out there cracking heads. The Jets have a new stadium of their own (or at least half of a new stadium) and a lot of talent. They also have the undivided attention of each opponent. That’s not the best thing with a young QB still learning how to pass to his teammates. But at least Ryan is ready for his close-up. And safe on the sidelines.
Into the Sunset (Maybe): El Hombre can assure you that this is the final season for Cowboy Quarterback. He’ll hang ‘em up after throwing another crushing post-season interception and never – EVER – ride Old Paint onto the gridiron again. Unless he doesn’t. Unless his dad-gum love of NFL football overpowers reason and his saddle-sore body. Unless his love of slapping backsides, throwin’ snowballs and just living every kid’s dream is too powerful. Unless being with “his guys” in the locker room is better than being with “his family” on the ranch in Mississippi. Unless the Vikings send Joe Kapp, Mick Tinglehoff and Leif Ericson to beg him. Here are a couple fearless predictions regarding Number Four: 1. He doesn’t play every game; 2. He goes into seclusion when the Packers reach the Super Bowl.
Exile on C Street: Many Eagles fans got their wish in April when their team shipped out QB Donovan McNabb and began the much-anticipated Kevin Kolb Era. Forget that half the city still can’t pronounce the young passer’s last name (KOBB) or that when the Birds drafted him four years ago few knew where he had played his college ball or had ever watched him perform. He wasn’t McNabb, and that was good enough for them. While Kolb endures his inevitable growing pains, McNabb tries to help turn the fetid Redskins into contenders. It won’t be easy, no matter how solid new coach Mike Shanahan’s track record might be. And if McNabb thought D.C. was a sanctuary, wait ‘til the tough times come, and even the team’s broadcasters start tossing bombs at him. The good news is that Fat Albert will be a scapegoat for another week or so, before he’s traded away – hopefully to Vladivostok – but then the pressure shifts to McNabb. So, go ahead, folks and make him feel at home. All together now: “BOOOOOO!!!”
No Super Home: Every night, False Face gets under his Cowboys comforter, smoothes out his America’s Team pajamas and prays fervently that his team will play in the Super Bowl next February – in his colossal TV lounge, er, stadium. Ever since NFL fans realized the Big Game was being held in the pleasure dome, there has been much wringing of hands over the concept that the Cowboys could actually play for all the skittles at home. Well, fret not, America. It ain’t happening. In fact, thanks to their shaky O-line, overrated ballcarrier (Marion Barber) and stubborn insistence on keeping Roy Williams around, the Cowboys have as much chance of realizing False Face’s Super dreams as he does of reprising Alistair Cooke’s role as host of Masterpiece Theater. Sorry, FF, it’s another February at home.
Fearless Predictions: Cowboy Quarterback’s streak of playing in every game will be snapped this year, thanks to a cranky ankle and a Geritol deficit…Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis confronts his own mortality, growls at it, snarls at it but ultimately succumbs to it…The Lions won’t stink. Neither will the Raiders. The Bills, however, will…Say good-bye to the following coaches: Mangenius, Jack Del Rio, Lovie Smith and Tom Coughlin…Rookie of the Year: C.J. Spiller, Bills. MVP: Peyton Manning, Colts.
And the Envelope, Please: NFC Division Winners: East – Dallas; North – Green Bay; South – New Orleans; West – San Francisco. Wild Cards – Minnesota, Atlanta. Wild Card Round: Minnesota over San Francisco; Dallas over Atlanta; Divisional Round: Green Bay over New Orleans; Dallas over Minnesota; NFC Championship: Green Bay over Dallas.
AFC Division Winners: East – New England; North – Baltimore; South – Indianapolis; West – San Diego. Wild Cards – New York Jets, Pittsburgh. Wild Card Round: New England over Pittsburgh; Baltimore over Jets; Divisional Round: Indianapolis over New England; San Diego over Baltimore; AFC Championship: Indianapolis over San Diego.
Super Bowl XLV: Indianapolis 27, Green Bay 23.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The uniforms worn by Boise State and Virginia Tech Monday night made the costumes worn by the teams in “On Any Given Sunday” seem staid. Packer Rick said it best during the game: “I now have to watch Penn State-Alabama Saturday to get this out of my mind.” It will be refreshing to see a pair of teams whose sartorial tastes are nowhere near the nightmare paint favored by the Hokies and Broncos…The NC2A has “reprimanded” and “censured” Princeton for a “major” women’s tennis violation. Sounds about right for the Ivies. No probation here. That’s for the plebeians. If Muffy took some cash from “Uncle” Worthington at the Club, then shame on her, and by all means, admonish, reprove and even scold Old Nassau. Then, it’s off to the veranda for some ginnies…Guess Tony LaRussa isn’t such a genius when his team goes 7-16 and slides out of contention. But at least those great St. Louis fans keep cheering the losses…Back in the late 1980s, when Rumeal Robinson was leading Michigan to the top of the college hoops world, Dookie V used to bleat that the Wolverine guard would be “the CEO of a major corporation some day!” Now, Robinson is facing 30 years in stir for defrauding a bank on a $700,000 loan. Sad…In trouble due to an illness suffered by its bid chief and enduring problems with some cranky farmers, Munich has turned to Katerina Witt to spearhead its campaign for the 2018 Winter Olympics. The former figure skating star may not be able to overcome the German setback, but two things are certain. First, those farmers will fall in line, or they’ll be sent to the Russian front. Two, nobody can touch Witt in the swimsuit competition.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? When the game clock hits zero Sunday, you won’t find Chuck Bednarik sitting on Jim Taylor, making sure the Packers can’t run another play, as happened at the end of the 1960 NFL championship game between the Eagles and Green Bay. More than likely time will expire with a deep knee bend by Packer QB Aaron Rodgers, icing the win for the visitors and ruining the Birds’ nostalgia day. The 2010 opener represents the two stages of NFL rebuilding. Philly is in the early stages of its new identity, while the Pack has developed its personality fully. Rodgers may not throw for 300 yards Sunday, but he will have his moments – and plenty of them. Meanwhile, Kolb will look good at times and lost in other situations. Meanwhile, the Eagle ground game will suffer behind a shaky offensive line that tries to overcome a nasty Green Bay 3-4, and an average secondary will have problems controlling Rodgers, Donald Driver and Co. Don’t push the panic button yet, Eagles fans, but do notice the difference between a maturing contender and a work in progress. Green Bay 24, Eagles 13.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Last week in Atlanta, North Carolina was without 13 players, due to various hints and allegations. Georgia WR A.J. Green is out for three more contests due to off-field shenanigans, and several of his teammates have been arrested over the past year. Michigan awaits its probationary sentence. Missouri dismissed its leading rusher after he was charged with sexual assault. All over the country, schools are compromising themselves by hiring and recruiting people who have no business being part of university communities – all in the pursuit of greater glory and money. Mostly money. The coaches are compromising established standards by searching for advantages anywhere they can and by bringing aboard players with questionable backgrounds and no commitment to their schools, other than on the field. With the competition for dollars so acute, we can’t expect a change in this behavior anytime soon. The only antidote is president-led reform that puts in place stringent standards for coaches and players and keeps the bad actors away from the front door, much less in the house. For a while, this kind of behavior was confined to the so-called “bandit” schools, which operated on the fringes and didn’t care much about their reputations. But when establishment members like Michigan and North Carolina are stung by impropriety, it shows how widespread the trouble is. And it’s time for a change.
-EH-
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Whoa, Nellie! It's College Football Time Again
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
After an off-season characterized by conference realignment shenanigans and agents’ being described as “pimps” by an on-again, off-again coach, it is great to have some football to watch for a change. There will be plenty of drama, especially once ADs try to search for new coaches before firing their old ones, but at least we can look forward to weekends filled with footballs flying – and perhaps a fully-developed power running attack or two.
The spread offense isn’t exactly in the ICU, but teams are figuring out how to defend it more effectively, meaning we might actually see some offensive linemen who can move forward and – holy smokes! – real, live fullbacks on the field. Let’s not get carried away and expect a return to real football throughout the nation, but the basketball-on-grass crowd has been served notice: The tough guys are coming back.
Here are some of the other storylines worth following throughout the season.
Cheat On: Back in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, USC’s schedule cards used to include the Rose Bowl as the team’s 12th game, and according to most Trojans, their birthright. If ‘SC was paying by the line for this year’s cards, it was able to save some money, because the Men of Troy aren’t going anywhere after their season finale against UCLA. A nasty probationary sentence in the wake of Reggie Bush’s ill-gotten cash and prizes has rocked Southern California, keeping it from a bowl game this year, taking away some scholarships and costing the Trojans star offensive tackle recruit Seantrel Henderson, who left the program after learning of the probation. Making matters worse is the hiring of carpetbagging coach Lane Kiffin, who made zero friends at Tennessee and now has to satisfy a new AD, Pat Haden, who appears to have zero tolerance for tomfoolery, or fools for that matter. All dynasties end eventually, and the USC’s recent era of dominance may be over.
CSI: Ann Arbor: And Chapel Hill. And Columbia. And…well, you get the picture. If the NC2A can rain down serious hellfire down on USC, it means business. So, look out Michigan and North Carolina. Beware half the SEC and South Carolina. Perhaps this is the new age of justice in college athletics. No longer with the folks in Indianapolis just pick on the little guys and let the big-timers get away with more violations than Lindsay Lohan commits. The most disturbing of the latest problems comes from UNC, where it is alleged that several Tar Heel players had papers written for them by a tutor who used to be coach Butch Davis’ nanny. Holy academic fraud, Batman! If this is verified, the alleged culprits might be tossed from school, instead of just banned from their spots on the team. Keep an eye on this one, and pay attention to the NC2A. It might just be coming to a powerhouse near you.
Try, Try Again: Bob Davie couldn’t do it. Ty Willingham couldn’t do it. Heavy C couldn’t do it. But Brian Kelly can, and if you believe the propaganda, he will lift Notre Dame back to a level of prominence enjoyed by Rockne, Leahy and Parseghian. That’s going to be hard without the level of athletic talent found at SEC schools, Texas, Ohio State and other places that have a more cavalier approach to academic portion of the student-athlete concept. Every time ND gets a new coach, we are bombarded with reasons why the Fighting Irish are ready for a return to the national picture. The fact is, the program hasn’t had the players, so they haven’t won the games. Kelly is perfect for South Bend. He’s Irish. He’s arrogant. He’s been successful before. What he isn’t is blessed with a loosening of the admissions requirements. Had that been the case, Pope Urban VI would have taken the gig five years ago. Expect eight wins for the Irish this year. Some creative scheduling down the line could result in a BCS berth. But it will take a serious aligning of the stars for ND to win it all.
Partial Idiocy: The Big Ten’s announcement that it was expanding triggered hysteria that rivaled the runs on banks in 1929. The Big 12 was almost blown apart. The WAC was. Big East administrators started Prozac drips to keep calm amidst reports they would be left with C-USA leftovers and any old Yankee Conference castoffs they could convince to elevate their programs. And the Pac-10 finally realized that the rest of the country doesn’t care about it. There was plenty of craziness to go around, but the worst of it may come later this year, when short-sighted Big Ten money-grubbers decide the best way to align the new, 12-team version of the Western Conference includes splitting Michigan and Ohio State into different divisions. Although they didn’t move their annual game – played on the final Saturday of the regular season for all but one of the last 75 seasons – to October, the division split is an abomination, because it takes the schools out of daily, head-to-head competition against each other. All of this comes because of the possibility that splitting the schools could result in a title game matchup between them that produces an avalanche of cash. First off, there’s no guarantee it will happen regularly. Secondly, it’s an obscene move by greedmongers who have clearly lost sight of college football’s tradition and meaning. Worse, the people in charge at Michigan and Ohio State pushed for it. That’s disgraceful. Splitting Michigan and Ohio State takes away a big part of what made the schools’ rivalry so great, all because there could be a big payoff once in a while in early December. Shame on you.
Be Careful What You Wish For: At this point, it would appear that people who like and approve of the BCS fall into two categories. The first is the “it’s better than what we had” cadre, which employs the same logic as Soviet citizens who felt Brezhnev was “better than” Stalin. The second is filled with blind sycophants, paid mouthpieces (see Hancock, Bill) and the lazy-brained, who blindly support the contrived system. But enough about that. The real story this season has to do with Boise State, which by the virtue of its good fortune from the college football sorting hat, has a chance to play in the BCS championship game next January. If the third-ranked Broncos get past non-conference tests against Virginia Tech and Oregon State, they could well get a shot at the title and strike a blow for the great unwashed in the college football world. Huge responsibility would accompany such an opportunity, since if BSU were to flop, the entire mid-major world would be marginalized and removed from serious BCS consideration. No pressure, fellas.
The Interloper: Okay, so we all knew Jimbo Fisher would eventually replace Bobby Bowden at the helm of the Florida State Bowden built into a national power. But many – Bowden included – thought the takeover wouldn’t happen until 2011. If you believe the latest news, Bowden was offered the opportunity to be a wax replica of his former self for a season while Fisher did all the heavy lifting. The August drama has obscured the fact that Fisher must now revive a program that has teetered over the past decade and craft a new identity that doesn’t include its iconic symbol. The return of QB Christian Ponder should make that job easier, and the Seminoles have already returned to the recruiting trail with a vengeance. But after pledging to stay away from the program and let Fisher work, Bowden has returned. He poses no threat to Fisher, but his willingness to throw bombs at administrators, including school president and former Bowden player T.K. Wetherill, shows that he still wants some influence. Fisher should hope that doesn’t mean questioning a fourth-and-one call against Miami.
The Envelope, Please: One of El Hombre’s favorite memories of his storybook childhood came when Oklahoma kicker Uwe von Schamann nailed a 41-yard field goal in 1977 to give the visiting Sooners a 29-28 win over Ohio State and send Buckeye coach Woody Hayes into a full, abusive froth. Von Schamann and Hayes are long gone from the college football landscape, but expect to see their descendents squaring off for all those BCS marbles (don’t get EH started) next January. Buckeye QB Terrell Pryor showed in last year’s Rose Bowl romp against Oregon’s flag-football defense that he can be extremely dangerous, while the Sooners are ready to roll back with a vengeance after last year’s misery created by Sam Bradford’s injury. When the pads stop popping in Glendale, the Buckeyes will have some overdue revenge, and the Big Ten will have a spot at college football’s big table once again.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: If Roger Clemens’ posse of $500/hour mouthpieces can convince a jury to render a “not guilty” verdict in his perjury trial, he may have just paid the highest-ever admission fee to Cooperstown. Then again, it’s one thing to obfuscate, bob and weave in front of a jury and another to convince skeptical Hall of Fame voters that Clemens wasn’t a juicer…Looks like incarcerated Giants wideout Plaxico Burress isn’t playing ball this year, thanks to a judge who shot down his work-release request. Aw, shoot! Oops, maybe that wasn’t the best way to express outrage…Whether it was overwork, poor mechanics or some sort of curse on the woeful Nationals’ franchise, it is a true tragedy that pitcher Stephen Strasburg must undergo Tommy John surgery Friday to repair a torn tendon in his pitching elbow. All serious injuries are sad, but this comes to a player on whom a team and city placed its hopes. Strasburg might rebound and become a dominant pitcher, but it’s unlikely he’ll ever reach his complete potential. That’s a damn shame…Can you name another one-time major sporting event that has lost more luster than the U.S. Open tennis championship? Once a must-see event, it is now populated by a group of largely-anonymous players, all but a handful of whom don’t matter a lick to American audiences. Worse, it takes weekend TV time away from college football. Where have you gone, John McEnroe?
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?: Now that we’re in September, the Phillies must stop talking about how long the season is, how much experience they have and start winning games. Throughout the past five months, whenever the Phils committed unpardonable sins like losing four to the Astros or using Dannys Baez out of the bullpen, they were quick to remind nervous fans and cranky media the season consisted of 162 games, not 16 or even 82. The time for patience is over. The Phillies are three games out of first in the NL East and have yet to demonstrated any sustained consistency at the plate. If this is indeed the team’s time, then we should expect excellent play and no more calls for patience. As the team’s margin for error shrinks, its accountability will rise. It’s time to see if the Phillies are really a championship team, because the long season is getting pretty short.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Throughout the next several days, NFL teams will determine final depth charts and make the difficult decisions about who belongs and doesn’t belong on their teams. It’s an arduous process that always ends in dejection for dozens of hopefuls. Arizona head coach Ken Whisenhunt has already made one player pretty upset when he announced Derek Anderson will be his starting QB when the Cards open the season next weekend. That ran counter to the hopes and dreams of one Matt Leinart, who during his brief NFL career has done nothing to show he belongs as a regular under center in the league, yet somehow thinks he deserves a starting spot. In response to Whisenhunt’s decision, Leinart whined to the media, whined to the coach and generally acted like the kind of petulant child to whom you would never turn over control of your offense. Leinart is inconsistent, doesn’t seem like a particularly hard worker and hasn’t exactly established himself as a leader. And, now, because of his behavior, he could be traded to some garden spot like Buffalo. Hope the tantrum was worth it, Matt.
-EH-
After an off-season characterized by conference realignment shenanigans and agents’ being described as “pimps” by an on-again, off-again coach, it is great to have some football to watch for a change. There will be plenty of drama, especially once ADs try to search for new coaches before firing their old ones, but at least we can look forward to weekends filled with footballs flying – and perhaps a fully-developed power running attack or two.
The spread offense isn’t exactly in the ICU, but teams are figuring out how to defend it more effectively, meaning we might actually see some offensive linemen who can move forward and – holy smokes! – real, live fullbacks on the field. Let’s not get carried away and expect a return to real football throughout the nation, but the basketball-on-grass crowd has been served notice: The tough guys are coming back.
Here are some of the other storylines worth following throughout the season.
Cheat On: Back in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, USC’s schedule cards used to include the Rose Bowl as the team’s 12th game, and according to most Trojans, their birthright. If ‘SC was paying by the line for this year’s cards, it was able to save some money, because the Men of Troy aren’t going anywhere after their season finale against UCLA. A nasty probationary sentence in the wake of Reggie Bush’s ill-gotten cash and prizes has rocked Southern California, keeping it from a bowl game this year, taking away some scholarships and costing the Trojans star offensive tackle recruit Seantrel Henderson, who left the program after learning of the probation. Making matters worse is the hiring of carpetbagging coach Lane Kiffin, who made zero friends at Tennessee and now has to satisfy a new AD, Pat Haden, who appears to have zero tolerance for tomfoolery, or fools for that matter. All dynasties end eventually, and the USC’s recent era of dominance may be over.
CSI: Ann Arbor: And Chapel Hill. And Columbia. And…well, you get the picture. If the NC2A can rain down serious hellfire down on USC, it means business. So, look out Michigan and North Carolina. Beware half the SEC and South Carolina. Perhaps this is the new age of justice in college athletics. No longer with the folks in Indianapolis just pick on the little guys and let the big-timers get away with more violations than Lindsay Lohan commits. The most disturbing of the latest problems comes from UNC, where it is alleged that several Tar Heel players had papers written for them by a tutor who used to be coach Butch Davis’ nanny. Holy academic fraud, Batman! If this is verified, the alleged culprits might be tossed from school, instead of just banned from their spots on the team. Keep an eye on this one, and pay attention to the NC2A. It might just be coming to a powerhouse near you.
Try, Try Again: Bob Davie couldn’t do it. Ty Willingham couldn’t do it. Heavy C couldn’t do it. But Brian Kelly can, and if you believe the propaganda, he will lift Notre Dame back to a level of prominence enjoyed by Rockne, Leahy and Parseghian. That’s going to be hard without the level of athletic talent found at SEC schools, Texas, Ohio State and other places that have a more cavalier approach to academic portion of the student-athlete concept. Every time ND gets a new coach, we are bombarded with reasons why the Fighting Irish are ready for a return to the national picture. The fact is, the program hasn’t had the players, so they haven’t won the games. Kelly is perfect for South Bend. He’s Irish. He’s arrogant. He’s been successful before. What he isn’t is blessed with a loosening of the admissions requirements. Had that been the case, Pope Urban VI would have taken the gig five years ago. Expect eight wins for the Irish this year. Some creative scheduling down the line could result in a BCS berth. But it will take a serious aligning of the stars for ND to win it all.
Partial Idiocy: The Big Ten’s announcement that it was expanding triggered hysteria that rivaled the runs on banks in 1929. The Big 12 was almost blown apart. The WAC was. Big East administrators started Prozac drips to keep calm amidst reports they would be left with C-USA leftovers and any old Yankee Conference castoffs they could convince to elevate their programs. And the Pac-10 finally realized that the rest of the country doesn’t care about it. There was plenty of craziness to go around, but the worst of it may come later this year, when short-sighted Big Ten money-grubbers decide the best way to align the new, 12-team version of the Western Conference includes splitting Michigan and Ohio State into different divisions. Although they didn’t move their annual game – played on the final Saturday of the regular season for all but one of the last 75 seasons – to October, the division split is an abomination, because it takes the schools out of daily, head-to-head competition against each other. All of this comes because of the possibility that splitting the schools could result in a title game matchup between them that produces an avalanche of cash. First off, there’s no guarantee it will happen regularly. Secondly, it’s an obscene move by greedmongers who have clearly lost sight of college football’s tradition and meaning. Worse, the people in charge at Michigan and Ohio State pushed for it. That’s disgraceful. Splitting Michigan and Ohio State takes away a big part of what made the schools’ rivalry so great, all because there could be a big payoff once in a while in early December. Shame on you.
Be Careful What You Wish For: At this point, it would appear that people who like and approve of the BCS fall into two categories. The first is the “it’s better than what we had” cadre, which employs the same logic as Soviet citizens who felt Brezhnev was “better than” Stalin. The second is filled with blind sycophants, paid mouthpieces (see Hancock, Bill) and the lazy-brained, who blindly support the contrived system. But enough about that. The real story this season has to do with Boise State, which by the virtue of its good fortune from the college football sorting hat, has a chance to play in the BCS championship game next January. If the third-ranked Broncos get past non-conference tests against Virginia Tech and Oregon State, they could well get a shot at the title and strike a blow for the great unwashed in the college football world. Huge responsibility would accompany such an opportunity, since if BSU were to flop, the entire mid-major world would be marginalized and removed from serious BCS consideration. No pressure, fellas.
The Interloper: Okay, so we all knew Jimbo Fisher would eventually replace Bobby Bowden at the helm of the Florida State Bowden built into a national power. But many – Bowden included – thought the takeover wouldn’t happen until 2011. If you believe the latest news, Bowden was offered the opportunity to be a wax replica of his former self for a season while Fisher did all the heavy lifting. The August drama has obscured the fact that Fisher must now revive a program that has teetered over the past decade and craft a new identity that doesn’t include its iconic symbol. The return of QB Christian Ponder should make that job easier, and the Seminoles have already returned to the recruiting trail with a vengeance. But after pledging to stay away from the program and let Fisher work, Bowden has returned. He poses no threat to Fisher, but his willingness to throw bombs at administrators, including school president and former Bowden player T.K. Wetherill, shows that he still wants some influence. Fisher should hope that doesn’t mean questioning a fourth-and-one call against Miami.
The Envelope, Please: One of El Hombre’s favorite memories of his storybook childhood came when Oklahoma kicker Uwe von Schamann nailed a 41-yard field goal in 1977 to give the visiting Sooners a 29-28 win over Ohio State and send Buckeye coach Woody Hayes into a full, abusive froth. Von Schamann and Hayes are long gone from the college football landscape, but expect to see their descendents squaring off for all those BCS marbles (don’t get EH started) next January. Buckeye QB Terrell Pryor showed in last year’s Rose Bowl romp against Oregon’s flag-football defense that he can be extremely dangerous, while the Sooners are ready to roll back with a vengeance after last year’s misery created by Sam Bradford’s injury. When the pads stop popping in Glendale, the Buckeyes will have some overdue revenge, and the Big Ten will have a spot at college football’s big table once again.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: If Roger Clemens’ posse of $500/hour mouthpieces can convince a jury to render a “not guilty” verdict in his perjury trial, he may have just paid the highest-ever admission fee to Cooperstown. Then again, it’s one thing to obfuscate, bob and weave in front of a jury and another to convince skeptical Hall of Fame voters that Clemens wasn’t a juicer…Looks like incarcerated Giants wideout Plaxico Burress isn’t playing ball this year, thanks to a judge who shot down his work-release request. Aw, shoot! Oops, maybe that wasn’t the best way to express outrage…Whether it was overwork, poor mechanics or some sort of curse on the woeful Nationals’ franchise, it is a true tragedy that pitcher Stephen Strasburg must undergo Tommy John surgery Friday to repair a torn tendon in his pitching elbow. All serious injuries are sad, but this comes to a player on whom a team and city placed its hopes. Strasburg might rebound and become a dominant pitcher, but it’s unlikely he’ll ever reach his complete potential. That’s a damn shame…Can you name another one-time major sporting event that has lost more luster than the U.S. Open tennis championship? Once a must-see event, it is now populated by a group of largely-anonymous players, all but a handful of whom don’t matter a lick to American audiences. Worse, it takes weekend TV time away from college football. Where have you gone, John McEnroe?
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?: Now that we’re in September, the Phillies must stop talking about how long the season is, how much experience they have and start winning games. Throughout the past five months, whenever the Phils committed unpardonable sins like losing four to the Astros or using Dannys Baez out of the bullpen, they were quick to remind nervous fans and cranky media the season consisted of 162 games, not 16 or even 82. The time for patience is over. The Phillies are three games out of first in the NL East and have yet to demonstrated any sustained consistency at the plate. If this is indeed the team’s time, then we should expect excellent play and no more calls for patience. As the team’s margin for error shrinks, its accountability will rise. It’s time to see if the Phillies are really a championship team, because the long season is getting pretty short.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Throughout the next several days, NFL teams will determine final depth charts and make the difficult decisions about who belongs and doesn’t belong on their teams. It’s an arduous process that always ends in dejection for dozens of hopefuls. Arizona head coach Ken Whisenhunt has already made one player pretty upset when he announced Derek Anderson will be his starting QB when the Cards open the season next weekend. That ran counter to the hopes and dreams of one Matt Leinart, who during his brief NFL career has done nothing to show he belongs as a regular under center in the league, yet somehow thinks he deserves a starting spot. In response to Whisenhunt’s decision, Leinart whined to the media, whined to the coach and generally acted like the kind of petulant child to whom you would never turn over control of your offense. Leinart is inconsistent, doesn’t seem like a particularly hard worker and hasn’t exactly established himself as a leader. And, now, because of his behavior, he could be traded to some garden spot like Buffalo. Hope the tantrum was worth it, Matt.
-EH-
Friday, August 20, 2010
The World Wide Joke
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
If the Minnesota Vikings were to represent their true identity this season, they would change their uniforms. Instead of the iconic (although recently updated – and not for the better) purple-and-gold outfits with the white horns on their helmets, they would wear black suits, white shirts, black ties, black shoes, white socks, black hats and sunglasses.
In other words, they would look just like Joliet Jake Blues. After the time the team has spent begging this summer, such a change makes perfect sense. You remember how Jake handled things in that wet, muddy tunnel when Carrie Fisher’s character turned a submachine gun on him and Elwood, don’t you? It is a spectacular example of groveling.
“Oh, please don’t kill us! Please, please don’t kill us! You know I love you, baby. I wouldn’t leave you. It wasn’t my fault.”
That entreaty doesn’t work, much like Vikings’ coach Brad Childress’ attempt to lure Brett Favre to training camp in July was unsuccessful. Although while Mystery Girl calls Jake a “contemptible pig,” Favre just told Childress to go back to Minnesota and try to win with Sage Rosenfels and Tavaris Jackson. Childress might have wished Favre had shot at him instead.
But the Vikings, like Jake, weren’t done. They launched an even more impassioned grovel, sending Jared Allen, Ryan Longwell and Steve Hutchinson on the company plane (an offensive lineman on a Lear?) to Mississippi for the Big Beg.
“Honest, I ran out of gas. I, I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn’t come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD!!”
That one worked – for both Jake and the Vikings. Mystery Girl dropped the gun, and Favre ended his “retirement.” Everybody wins.
Cowboy Quarterback has returned, and that means Minnesota is heading to the Super Bowl, unless of course he makes a crushing error in a big game again. If Favre wants to play, he plays, even if he is a Drama Queen whose incessant made-for-TV waffling is more annoying than Snooki on the beach. (At least he hasn’t been arrested for it.) And if the Vikings are willing to debase themselves by kissing his posterior so blatantly, then they kiss, even though it makes them look desperate.
But there is one principal in this drama that doesn’t deserve a break, and that’s (no surprise) espn. Fresh off its despicable airing of “The Decision,” which cemented once and for all the network’s step away from responsible journalism and into hack show-biz productions, espn went customarily over the top when news “broke” a few weeks ago that Favre was “retiring.” Instead of waiting for full confirmation from the man himself, who would have gladly stepped in front of cameras to weep and talk about how much the game means to him, espn trusted “sources” and went with it as if the story were locked down tight. Rather than showing the necessary cynicism by believing nothing Favre says until it happens – in other words, he’s not retired until he’s 80 – espn went into full-fledged Hall of Fame Mode. For a disgusting day, the network fished the Favre waters until all that remained were the barnacles that clung to other barnacles. Every possible source was called in to glorify Favre. The station’s anchors and reporters did linguistic gymnastics in order to outdo each other about his greatness. Old footage was dusted off. And dusted off again.
Meanwhile, every other real story was given the same attention the WNBA gets (and deserves). It was all Favre, and espn wasn’t going to stop taking chunks out of his carcass until LeBron James spoke again.
There was only one problem: He wasn’t retired.
We learned that earlier this week, after the Three Amigos got done eating at the Hattiesburg Gulp-n-Blow and threatened to use Favre as chum on the lake until he agreed to play again. Instead of showing some restraint, or even apologizing to viewers still shell-shocked from the onslaught in the wake of the QB’s “retirement”, espn went ballistic again. Every expert had a chance to weigh in. Poor Rachel Nichols was dispatched to Minnesota to continue her stalking, er, coverage of Favre. In other words, espn acted like espn.
And that’s the problem here. This is a story, but it’s not the only NFL story out there. And espn’s beating of the Favre horse shows its continued decay. As it becomes more popular and powerful, it becomes less reliable and committed to producing programming with integrity. “The Decision” proved that. The station’s Favre coverage amplified it. Can you imagine what happens Oct. 11, when the Vikings visit the Jets on Monday Night Football, especially if Favre is playing well? espn might well eschew all programming Monday for pre-game coverage. What was once a marvel for sports fans has become a bloated, self-important caricature of its once-lively self. Worse, it has set the new standard for “synergy” and self-promotion that afflicts regional sports networks and other sports web sites.
Favre’s back. espn is, too.
Way back.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: So Brigham Young wants to become the LDS version of Notre Dame, a national football program that travels around the country filling stadiums and raking in the BCS dough, does it? Good luck with that. Not even the Irish do that any more. Life as an independent ain’t easy, especially when you aren’t good. Now that’s something ND knows lately…The rule that torpedoed Dustin Johnson’s PGA Championship hopes is arcane. So is golf. Caveat emptor, Baby, especially when the course’s peculiarities are posted on the inside of the bathroom stall. To all of those crying foul, knock it off. He was warned. He messed up. It’s time for people to applaud responsibility (which Johnson showed in his post-tourney comments) and stop craving special treatment. Why, when El Hombre was a boy...In other golf news, Corey Pavin is trying to decide whether to add Eldrick Woods to the Ryder Cup squad with one of his “captain’s picks.” Rory McElroy sure hopes Woods gets the nod, because he – and apparently every other Eurogolfer – wants to play him. Woods’ sycophants say that’s is exactly what he needs to get going again. Hmmm. If four major tourneys couldn’t get him psyched, why should some trash talk? Face it, the guy’s awful right now…Memo to Tim Tebow: It’s one thing to run over a safety from Kentucky on the goal line and another to ram into a pair of the NFL’s grown men. Learn how to slide, Hoss. Soon.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Last year’s Eagles team finished 11-5 without starting middle linebacker Stewart Bradley, without an NFL-caliber free safety, without a pass rush beyond Trent Cole and with an offensive line that struggled more and more each week. It stands to reason that the return of Bradley, the drafting of backliner Nate Allen, the fortification of the DE spot and the expected good health (eventually) of the line should make the Birds a better team. Add to that the ascension of Kevin Kolb to the starting quarterback spot, and the team should improve even more, since if you listen to most of the people weighing in on the subject around Philadelphia, he’s better than that smiling, inaccurate guy who’s down in D.C. So, let’s not hear any of this talk about “giving the kid a chance to settle in” and how it’s “a rebuilding year.” If Eagles fans want to be true to the identity they have crafted over the past 10 years, it’s Super Bowl victory or bust. If the Eagles have made all of these improvements on defense and upgraded the QB position, the team should be better than 11-5, don’t you think? Oh, and by the way, if the Eagles lose – for whatever reason – Kolb gets just as much of the blame as his predecessor did, even if the defense breaks down, the O-line fails to perform or locusts infest the Linc. No double standards now, folks. If the team doesn’t win the Super Bowl, the season is a failure, and it’s Kolb’s fault.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Roger Clemens probably won’t spend any time in stir, even if he is convicted of lying to Congress during his hilarious testimony several years back. It’s even unlikely he’ll be convicted, despite the Feds’ 90% success rate in cases they bring. He’s going to lawyer up like a crime lord, bob and weave, obfuscate at light speed and do everything he can to discredit his accusers. Eventually, Hall of Fame voters will pass down his sentence, and they will look at the government’s evidence and render their own decision. Clemens can’t rely on “reasonable doubt” with that crew. If voters believe the righthander was indeed using steroids and HGH, he won’t get in. Worse, by behaving arrogantly and defiantly – not to mention stupidly with words like “misremembered” – Clemens may have alienated others who would be prone to give him the benefit of the doubt due to his success before the juice era started. Nope, Clemens is in a tough spot here, and even not guilty verdicts on all counts won’t save him if voters believe testimony they’ll hear from Brian McNamee, Andy Pettitte and others. Clemens chose to fight, rather than admit that he used, and now he’s in the highest-stakes competition of his life. No matter what the legal outcome may be, he’ll probably lose in the one place he tried to win in the first place: Cooperstown.
-EH-
If the Minnesota Vikings were to represent their true identity this season, they would change their uniforms. Instead of the iconic (although recently updated – and not for the better) purple-and-gold outfits with the white horns on their helmets, they would wear black suits, white shirts, black ties, black shoes, white socks, black hats and sunglasses.
In other words, they would look just like Joliet Jake Blues. After the time the team has spent begging this summer, such a change makes perfect sense. You remember how Jake handled things in that wet, muddy tunnel when Carrie Fisher’s character turned a submachine gun on him and Elwood, don’t you? It is a spectacular example of groveling.
“Oh, please don’t kill us! Please, please don’t kill us! You know I love you, baby. I wouldn’t leave you. It wasn’t my fault.”
That entreaty doesn’t work, much like Vikings’ coach Brad Childress’ attempt to lure Brett Favre to training camp in July was unsuccessful. Although while Mystery Girl calls Jake a “contemptible pig,” Favre just told Childress to go back to Minnesota and try to win with Sage Rosenfels and Tavaris Jackson. Childress might have wished Favre had shot at him instead.
But the Vikings, like Jake, weren’t done. They launched an even more impassioned grovel, sending Jared Allen, Ryan Longwell and Steve Hutchinson on the company plane (an offensive lineman on a Lear?) to Mississippi for the Big Beg.
“Honest, I ran out of gas. I, I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn’t come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD!!”
That one worked – for both Jake and the Vikings. Mystery Girl dropped the gun, and Favre ended his “retirement.” Everybody wins.
Cowboy Quarterback has returned, and that means Minnesota is heading to the Super Bowl, unless of course he makes a crushing error in a big game again. If Favre wants to play, he plays, even if he is a Drama Queen whose incessant made-for-TV waffling is more annoying than Snooki on the beach. (At least he hasn’t been arrested for it.) And if the Vikings are willing to debase themselves by kissing his posterior so blatantly, then they kiss, even though it makes them look desperate.
But there is one principal in this drama that doesn’t deserve a break, and that’s (no surprise) espn. Fresh off its despicable airing of “The Decision,” which cemented once and for all the network’s step away from responsible journalism and into hack show-biz productions, espn went customarily over the top when news “broke” a few weeks ago that Favre was “retiring.” Instead of waiting for full confirmation from the man himself, who would have gladly stepped in front of cameras to weep and talk about how much the game means to him, espn trusted “sources” and went with it as if the story were locked down tight. Rather than showing the necessary cynicism by believing nothing Favre says until it happens – in other words, he’s not retired until he’s 80 – espn went into full-fledged Hall of Fame Mode. For a disgusting day, the network fished the Favre waters until all that remained were the barnacles that clung to other barnacles. Every possible source was called in to glorify Favre. The station’s anchors and reporters did linguistic gymnastics in order to outdo each other about his greatness. Old footage was dusted off. And dusted off again.
Meanwhile, every other real story was given the same attention the WNBA gets (and deserves). It was all Favre, and espn wasn’t going to stop taking chunks out of his carcass until LeBron James spoke again.
There was only one problem: He wasn’t retired.
We learned that earlier this week, after the Three Amigos got done eating at the Hattiesburg Gulp-n-Blow and threatened to use Favre as chum on the lake until he agreed to play again. Instead of showing some restraint, or even apologizing to viewers still shell-shocked from the onslaught in the wake of the QB’s “retirement”, espn went ballistic again. Every expert had a chance to weigh in. Poor Rachel Nichols was dispatched to Minnesota to continue her stalking, er, coverage of Favre. In other words, espn acted like espn.
And that’s the problem here. This is a story, but it’s not the only NFL story out there. And espn’s beating of the Favre horse shows its continued decay. As it becomes more popular and powerful, it becomes less reliable and committed to producing programming with integrity. “The Decision” proved that. The station’s Favre coverage amplified it. Can you imagine what happens Oct. 11, when the Vikings visit the Jets on Monday Night Football, especially if Favre is playing well? espn might well eschew all programming Monday for pre-game coverage. What was once a marvel for sports fans has become a bloated, self-important caricature of its once-lively self. Worse, it has set the new standard for “synergy” and self-promotion that afflicts regional sports networks and other sports web sites.
Favre’s back. espn is, too.
Way back.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: So Brigham Young wants to become the LDS version of Notre Dame, a national football program that travels around the country filling stadiums and raking in the BCS dough, does it? Good luck with that. Not even the Irish do that any more. Life as an independent ain’t easy, especially when you aren’t good. Now that’s something ND knows lately…The rule that torpedoed Dustin Johnson’s PGA Championship hopes is arcane. So is golf. Caveat emptor, Baby, especially when the course’s peculiarities are posted on the inside of the bathroom stall. To all of those crying foul, knock it off. He was warned. He messed up. It’s time for people to applaud responsibility (which Johnson showed in his post-tourney comments) and stop craving special treatment. Why, when El Hombre was a boy...In other golf news, Corey Pavin is trying to decide whether to add Eldrick Woods to the Ryder Cup squad with one of his “captain’s picks.” Rory McElroy sure hopes Woods gets the nod, because he – and apparently every other Eurogolfer – wants to play him. Woods’ sycophants say that’s is exactly what he needs to get going again. Hmmm. If four major tourneys couldn’t get him psyched, why should some trash talk? Face it, the guy’s awful right now…Memo to Tim Tebow: It’s one thing to run over a safety from Kentucky on the goal line and another to ram into a pair of the NFL’s grown men. Learn how to slide, Hoss. Soon.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Last year’s Eagles team finished 11-5 without starting middle linebacker Stewart Bradley, without an NFL-caliber free safety, without a pass rush beyond Trent Cole and with an offensive line that struggled more and more each week. It stands to reason that the return of Bradley, the drafting of backliner Nate Allen, the fortification of the DE spot and the expected good health (eventually) of the line should make the Birds a better team. Add to that the ascension of Kevin Kolb to the starting quarterback spot, and the team should improve even more, since if you listen to most of the people weighing in on the subject around Philadelphia, he’s better than that smiling, inaccurate guy who’s down in D.C. So, let’s not hear any of this talk about “giving the kid a chance to settle in” and how it’s “a rebuilding year.” If Eagles fans want to be true to the identity they have crafted over the past 10 years, it’s Super Bowl victory or bust. If the Eagles have made all of these improvements on defense and upgraded the QB position, the team should be better than 11-5, don’t you think? Oh, and by the way, if the Eagles lose – for whatever reason – Kolb gets just as much of the blame as his predecessor did, even if the defense breaks down, the O-line fails to perform or locusts infest the Linc. No double standards now, folks. If the team doesn’t win the Super Bowl, the season is a failure, and it’s Kolb’s fault.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Roger Clemens probably won’t spend any time in stir, even if he is convicted of lying to Congress during his hilarious testimony several years back. It’s even unlikely he’ll be convicted, despite the Feds’ 90% success rate in cases they bring. He’s going to lawyer up like a crime lord, bob and weave, obfuscate at light speed and do everything he can to discredit his accusers. Eventually, Hall of Fame voters will pass down his sentence, and they will look at the government’s evidence and render their own decision. Clemens can’t rely on “reasonable doubt” with that crew. If voters believe the righthander was indeed using steroids and HGH, he won’t get in. Worse, by behaving arrogantly and defiantly – not to mention stupidly with words like “misremembered” – Clemens may have alienated others who would be prone to give him the benefit of the doubt due to his success before the juice era started. Nope, Clemens is in a tough spot here, and even not guilty verdicts on all counts won’t save him if voters believe testimony they’ll hear from Brian McNamee, Andy Pettitte and others. Clemens chose to fight, rather than admit that he used, and now he’s in the highest-stakes competition of his life. No matter what the legal outcome may be, he’ll probably lose in the one place he tried to win in the first place: Cooperstown.
-EH-
Friday, July 23, 2010
(Not-so) Secret Agent Men
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Earlier this week, El Hombre had the opportunity to speak to the coach of a prestigious D-I hoops program about various and sundry items, including the current tidal of wave of accusations sweeping the southern football community regarding improper contact (sounds like a Class C sexual assault charge) and payments by agents. Just to show you how much of a biosphere these guys inhabit, he had not heard about the ongoing NC2A investigations and the near-daily revelations of more programs in trouble, despite minute-by-minute updates on the Worldwide Leech’s bottom line that rivaled the drool-soaked dispatches about Dwyane Wade’s Little Brother’s free-agent future.
“LeBron to announce to announce future tonight on ‘Disgrace.’”
“LeBron eats breakfast burrito at Sonic.”
“LeBron pops Prilosec.”
“LeBron takes talents to South Beach”
“NBA greats ridicule LeBron.”
You get the idea. This thing hasn’t exactly been under the radar. Any time you can get Nick Saban to call a group of people “pimps,” it’s big news. So, Said Basketball Coach must be up to his AAU-addled noggin in street agents, crazy uncles and one-and-done-abees, or else he would know about it.
Anyway, earlier this summer, SBC happened to be watching a fine crop of student-athletes playing for the high-character types who operate summer-league teams at something called the “Peach Jam” in Augusta, GA. Next to him was an NC2A executive, whose areas of expertise were “gaming and agents,” which sounds sort of like a course of study at LSU. Anyway, the topic of agents came up, and the NC2A type said that there are actually people inside the Association who believe collegians should be able to have agents.
SBC was dumbfounded, and said something along the lines of “Then, they shouldn’t be employed,” in response, except with a couple of words that rhyme with “truck” and “ducking” sprinkled in. As you might imagine, the thought that players could some day have “representation” is enough to make SBC and his brethren re-think their million-dollar contracts. Okay, maybe they won’t go that far, but there will be a lot more people who look like Jim Boeheim prowling the football and basketball sidelines should that become a reality.
For those of you who don’t spend hours tracking the news and network propaganda that trundles across the bottom of the screen during espn’s programming, here’s a quick recap of what’s going on with all those proud southern football programs. It began late last week with the news that North Carolina had attracted the gumshoes, due to hints and allegations that star defensive tackle Marvin Austin and others may have received cash and prizes – cars, trips, swag – from agents and other unsavories. The NC2A look-see has been characterized as “major,” and if Austin and others are found to have been on the payroll, UNC could find itself in Azkaban. The same goes for South Carolina, Florida, Alabama and Georgia. That’s just for starters. There will be others, count on it.
(An aside: Good news for Michigan fans: Since your heroes have been so poor lately, there’s no chance agents are heading to Ann Arbor with big money and fast rides, so that’s one investigation U-M will dodge.)
As you might imagine, the CEOs of the programs in question aren’t happy. But instead of railing at the NC2A, they’re taking on the agents. Thus, Saban’s “pimps” comment. Things have gotten so bad that we were actually able to see footage of Saban and UF boss Urban VI Meyer standing – albeit uncomfortably – together at SEC Media Day without one trying to plunge a grappling hook into the other’s back.
College coaches are sure to be united about this problem, which is particularly challenging for them, since it’s impossible to keep track of every creepy crawler that slinks onto campus. Believe it or not, Pete Carroll wasn’t at the Omega Psi Phi and Alpha Phi Alpha throwdowns at USC. Nor was he at the Matt Leinart Hot Tub-a-thon. So, it was hard to know with whom his star players were associating, be it Lloyd Lane, Jerry McGuire, Arliss Michaels or any of their intermediaries.
What’s happening is that football players are starting to get agitated about the three-year hitch they’re required to serve before heading to the NFL. They see their basketball counterparts bolting after six months on campus for the pot-o-gold, and they’re jealous. Worse, the basketball savants only have to go to a semester-and-a-half of classes, quite different from two-plus, not to mention all the summer school work to make up for the bad grades in season. So, when someone offers them the keys to a car or a few (thousand) dollars to drop on some Rocawear or Abercrombie apparel, they figure they’re entitled. And since football teams have 22 starters, instead of five, and there are seven rounds in the NFL draft, versus two in the NBA version, there are more targets for aspiring representatives.
There are two things that can be done about this. One is easy for the NC2A. The other will require more finesse. The first involves changing the NC2A rule that allows players to speak with agents, so long as they don’t receive any benefits (meals, transportation, Bentleys). The NC2A has to prohibit players from talking to agents, period. Once contact is made, the door is open. It won’t be easy to track every player’s conversations and movements, but it would be easier for coaches and other administrators to get rid of any agents or their lieutenants who show up on campus. Why else would a runner be in Lawrence, KS, but to speak with a potential client? Once he’s there, he’s banished. And it’s up to the NC2A to put that person on a list that prohibits him from participating in any official event on campus, be it a Pro Day or any kind of showcase workout. It’s not perfect, but it would clear up some of the gray areas.
If the players are found talking to the agents, they are suspended immediately. People forget that these are adults who are warned regularly about which people to avoid.
The second involves the NFL and NBA, which have to start cracking down on agents who give improper benefits. Saban is right on this one. He says anybody found to have provided an improper benefit should lose his certification with the leagues for two years. That might sound harsh, and it would be difficult to do, since the leagues’ players associations govern agent activity, and they’re unlikely to go after the people who negotiate their contracts. But it would help.
Then there is the Big Acquiescence. Let the players have agents. Open it up to all comers. Stop the madness. And, while
we’re at it, let’s just make college sports entirely separate from the institutions they purport to represent. Some athletic programs have already taken steps in that direction with their runaway budgets, lip service to academics and other practices, but this would just about end the old model completely. Hey, if we’re headed in that direction already. Why not finish the job? Let the players have agents. Recruit cheerleaders from strip clubs. And if coaches don’t win? Public executions.
SBC and his brethren would love that. Just imagine their responses when Agent X marches into their office and says, “Coach, we have to talk about my client’s playing time.”
Get ready for more words that rhyme with cluck.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Folks in Miami are trying to come up with a suitable nickname for Dwyane Wade, LeBron James and Chris Bosh. Here’s a suggestion: “Syrup of Ipecac,” because the mere thought of how it all went down induces vomiting… If Eldrick Woods is going to play this poorly for the next several years, expect golf’s ratings to join those of cycling, bowling and Notre Dame football in the Nielsen outhouse. It isn’t unreasonable to think he’s on the downside of a great, possibly Galea-induced, career. That would be catastrophic for the PGA, which has no other bankable starts (Lefty doesn’t win enough) and can’t be happy when South African word jumbles win at St. Andrew’s…Former Raiders QB/Thanksgiving float JaMarcus Russell has pleaded not guilty to charges of illegal drug possession after being arrested under suspicion of having codeine syrup (aka “Purple Drank”) on his person. Russell might walk on those charges, but he still has to deal with the grand larceny accusation stemming from his theft of millions from the Oakland franchise…A federal judge ruled Wednesday that “competitive cheerleading” is not an official sport and can’t be used by colleges to satisfy gender-equity mandates. When asked about the ruling, Florida State cheer captain Muffy Capstone replied, “As if!”…A report out of Mississippi says that Vikings coach Brad Childress did not discuss a deadline with Cowboy Quarterback for when he needs to be in camp. One witness to the discussion between the two men reported the following exchange: Childress – “Pretty, pretty please with sugar on it.” CQ – “Aw, shucks.” Childress – “I’ll be your best friend. I’ll buy you a pony.” CQ – “I just love playing the game.” The saga continues next month. Pass the Big Pink.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Let’s hope the Phillies are paying GM Ruben Amaro a truckload of cash, because every time ownership vetoes another move that would strengthen the team, Amaro has to stand in front of inquiring minds and spin away. No one outside of the Phillies’ brass can be sure if it was Amaro who concocted the “replenish our farm system” defense for the Cliff Lee deal, but that was a doozy. This week, a cranky Amaro has had to stonewall reporters who are tracking down verification the Phils are trying to deal for Roy Oswalt, Dan Haren or the ghost of Walter Johnson. The Oswalt deal looked done, until he asked for the equivalent of Kryptonite for the Phillies’ owners: cash. Now, with a farm system bereft of prospects and some starters for whom there is nearly zero interest around the league (Raul Ibanez = BP stock), Amaro has to fortify a starting rotation that is sagging, beef up a rotten bullpen and try to bolster a mostly-fetid bench. If he pulls any of it off without proper financial support from the Suits Upstairs, he should get a huge raise. If not, he should get some money, too, because the story he’ll have to invent to explain why the deals didn’t get made and to protect his bosses will make the Brothers Grimm look like hacks.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Some training camps opened today, and that means the start of real NFL football is less than two months away. Make sure you enjoy this season, sports fans, because there is going to be a lockout next year, and it’s going to be a long one. Owners want a smaller percentage of revenues devoted to salaries, a longer season, expanded drug testing and a rookie wage scale. Players want money, money and more money. Unlike the last labor negotiations, during which then-commissioner Paul Tagliabue was able to smoke the peace pipe with NFLPA head Gene Upshaw, even though some of the to-the-mattresses owners wanted a hard line, this won’t go smoothly. Roger Goodell is a wartime consigliere to capos like False Face, Dan Snyder and Bob Kraft, and he isn’t looking to compromise. As the pads pop and the concussions start, cherish every minute, because the future is filled with dark clouds.
-EH-
Earlier this week, El Hombre had the opportunity to speak to the coach of a prestigious D-I hoops program about various and sundry items, including the current tidal of wave of accusations sweeping the southern football community regarding improper contact (sounds like a Class C sexual assault charge) and payments by agents. Just to show you how much of a biosphere these guys inhabit, he had not heard about the ongoing NC2A investigations and the near-daily revelations of more programs in trouble, despite minute-by-minute updates on the Worldwide Leech’s bottom line that rivaled the drool-soaked dispatches about Dwyane Wade’s Little Brother’s free-agent future.
“LeBron to announce to announce future tonight on ‘Disgrace.’”
“LeBron eats breakfast burrito at Sonic.”
“LeBron pops Prilosec.”
“LeBron takes talents to South Beach”
“NBA greats ridicule LeBron.”
You get the idea. This thing hasn’t exactly been under the radar. Any time you can get Nick Saban to call a group of people “pimps,” it’s big news. So, Said Basketball Coach must be up to his AAU-addled noggin in street agents, crazy uncles and one-and-done-abees, or else he would know about it.
Anyway, earlier this summer, SBC happened to be watching a fine crop of student-athletes playing for the high-character types who operate summer-league teams at something called the “Peach Jam” in Augusta, GA. Next to him was an NC2A executive, whose areas of expertise were “gaming and agents,” which sounds sort of like a course of study at LSU. Anyway, the topic of agents came up, and the NC2A type said that there are actually people inside the Association who believe collegians should be able to have agents.
SBC was dumbfounded, and said something along the lines of “Then, they shouldn’t be employed,” in response, except with a couple of words that rhyme with “truck” and “ducking” sprinkled in. As you might imagine, the thought that players could some day have “representation” is enough to make SBC and his brethren re-think their million-dollar contracts. Okay, maybe they won’t go that far, but there will be a lot more people who look like Jim Boeheim prowling the football and basketball sidelines should that become a reality.
For those of you who don’t spend hours tracking the news and network propaganda that trundles across the bottom of the screen during espn’s programming, here’s a quick recap of what’s going on with all those proud southern football programs. It began late last week with the news that North Carolina had attracted the gumshoes, due to hints and allegations that star defensive tackle Marvin Austin and others may have received cash and prizes – cars, trips, swag – from agents and other unsavories. The NC2A look-see has been characterized as “major,” and if Austin and others are found to have been on the payroll, UNC could find itself in Azkaban. The same goes for South Carolina, Florida, Alabama and Georgia. That’s just for starters. There will be others, count on it.
(An aside: Good news for Michigan fans: Since your heroes have been so poor lately, there’s no chance agents are heading to Ann Arbor with big money and fast rides, so that’s one investigation U-M will dodge.)
As you might imagine, the CEOs of the programs in question aren’t happy. But instead of railing at the NC2A, they’re taking on the agents. Thus, Saban’s “pimps” comment. Things have gotten so bad that we were actually able to see footage of Saban and UF boss Urban VI Meyer standing – albeit uncomfortably – together at SEC Media Day without one trying to plunge a grappling hook into the other’s back.
College coaches are sure to be united about this problem, which is particularly challenging for them, since it’s impossible to keep track of every creepy crawler that slinks onto campus. Believe it or not, Pete Carroll wasn’t at the Omega Psi Phi and Alpha Phi Alpha throwdowns at USC. Nor was he at the Matt Leinart Hot Tub-a-thon. So, it was hard to know with whom his star players were associating, be it Lloyd Lane, Jerry McGuire, Arliss Michaels or any of their intermediaries.
What’s happening is that football players are starting to get agitated about the three-year hitch they’re required to serve before heading to the NFL. They see their basketball counterparts bolting after six months on campus for the pot-o-gold, and they’re jealous. Worse, the basketball savants only have to go to a semester-and-a-half of classes, quite different from two-plus, not to mention all the summer school work to make up for the bad grades in season. So, when someone offers them the keys to a car or a few (thousand) dollars to drop on some Rocawear or Abercrombie apparel, they figure they’re entitled. And since football teams have 22 starters, instead of five, and there are seven rounds in the NFL draft, versus two in the NBA version, there are more targets for aspiring representatives.
There are two things that can be done about this. One is easy for the NC2A. The other will require more finesse. The first involves changing the NC2A rule that allows players to speak with agents, so long as they don’t receive any benefits (meals, transportation, Bentleys). The NC2A has to prohibit players from talking to agents, period. Once contact is made, the door is open. It won’t be easy to track every player’s conversations and movements, but it would be easier for coaches and other administrators to get rid of any agents or their lieutenants who show up on campus. Why else would a runner be in Lawrence, KS, but to speak with a potential client? Once he’s there, he’s banished. And it’s up to the NC2A to put that person on a list that prohibits him from participating in any official event on campus, be it a Pro Day or any kind of showcase workout. It’s not perfect, but it would clear up some of the gray areas.
If the players are found talking to the agents, they are suspended immediately. People forget that these are adults who are warned regularly about which people to avoid.
The second involves the NFL and NBA, which have to start cracking down on agents who give improper benefits. Saban is right on this one. He says anybody found to have provided an improper benefit should lose his certification with the leagues for two years. That might sound harsh, and it would be difficult to do, since the leagues’ players associations govern agent activity, and they’re unlikely to go after the people who negotiate their contracts. But it would help.
Then there is the Big Acquiescence. Let the players have agents. Open it up to all comers. Stop the madness. And, while
we’re at it, let’s just make college sports entirely separate from the institutions they purport to represent. Some athletic programs have already taken steps in that direction with their runaway budgets, lip service to academics and other practices, but this would just about end the old model completely. Hey, if we’re headed in that direction already. Why not finish the job? Let the players have agents. Recruit cheerleaders from strip clubs. And if coaches don’t win? Public executions.
SBC and his brethren would love that. Just imagine their responses when Agent X marches into their office and says, “Coach, we have to talk about my client’s playing time.”
Get ready for more words that rhyme with cluck.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Folks in Miami are trying to come up with a suitable nickname for Dwyane Wade, LeBron James and Chris Bosh. Here’s a suggestion: “Syrup of Ipecac,” because the mere thought of how it all went down induces vomiting… If Eldrick Woods is going to play this poorly for the next several years, expect golf’s ratings to join those of cycling, bowling and Notre Dame football in the Nielsen outhouse. It isn’t unreasonable to think he’s on the downside of a great, possibly Galea-induced, career. That would be catastrophic for the PGA, which has no other bankable starts (Lefty doesn’t win enough) and can’t be happy when South African word jumbles win at St. Andrew’s…Former Raiders QB/Thanksgiving float JaMarcus Russell has pleaded not guilty to charges of illegal drug possession after being arrested under suspicion of having codeine syrup (aka “Purple Drank”) on his person. Russell might walk on those charges, but he still has to deal with the grand larceny accusation stemming from his theft of millions from the Oakland franchise…A federal judge ruled Wednesday that “competitive cheerleading” is not an official sport and can’t be used by colleges to satisfy gender-equity mandates. When asked about the ruling, Florida State cheer captain Muffy Capstone replied, “As if!”…A report out of Mississippi says that Vikings coach Brad Childress did not discuss a deadline with Cowboy Quarterback for when he needs to be in camp. One witness to the discussion between the two men reported the following exchange: Childress – “Pretty, pretty please with sugar on it.” CQ – “Aw, shucks.” Childress – “I’ll be your best friend. I’ll buy you a pony.” CQ – “I just love playing the game.” The saga continues next month. Pass the Big Pink.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Let’s hope the Phillies are paying GM Ruben Amaro a truckload of cash, because every time ownership vetoes another move that would strengthen the team, Amaro has to stand in front of inquiring minds and spin away. No one outside of the Phillies’ brass can be sure if it was Amaro who concocted the “replenish our farm system” defense for the Cliff Lee deal, but that was a doozy. This week, a cranky Amaro has had to stonewall reporters who are tracking down verification the Phils are trying to deal for Roy Oswalt, Dan Haren or the ghost of Walter Johnson. The Oswalt deal looked done, until he asked for the equivalent of Kryptonite for the Phillies’ owners: cash. Now, with a farm system bereft of prospects and some starters for whom there is nearly zero interest around the league (Raul Ibanez = BP stock), Amaro has to fortify a starting rotation that is sagging, beef up a rotten bullpen and try to bolster a mostly-fetid bench. If he pulls any of it off without proper financial support from the Suits Upstairs, he should get a huge raise. If not, he should get some money, too, because the story he’ll have to invent to explain why the deals didn’t get made and to protect his bosses will make the Brothers Grimm look like hacks.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Some training camps opened today, and that means the start of real NFL football is less than two months away. Make sure you enjoy this season, sports fans, because there is going to be a lockout next year, and it’s going to be a long one. Owners want a smaller percentage of revenues devoted to salaries, a longer season, expanded drug testing and a rookie wage scale. Players want money, money and more money. Unlike the last labor negotiations, during which then-commissioner Paul Tagliabue was able to smoke the peace pipe with NFLPA head Gene Upshaw, even though some of the to-the-mattresses owners wanted a hard line, this won’t go smoothly. Roger Goodell is a wartime consigliere to capos like False Face, Dan Snyder and Bob Kraft, and he isn’t looking to compromise. As the pads pop and the concussions start, cherish every minute, because the future is filled with dark clouds.
-EH-
Friday, June 18, 2010
Cheers to El Padre
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Even though El Padre grew up in the Kensington section of Philadelphia (“The sport of boxball was invented at the corner of Gaul and Sergeant,” he maintained.), he was an inveterate frontrunner when it came to choosing a rooting interest in sports. His favorite teams were the Yankees, Packers, Celtics and Canadiens. For those of you scoring at home, that’s dynasty, dynasty, dynasty and dynasty. When it came to his partisan allegiances, El Padre wasn’t taking any chances.
Born in 1920, he had the opportunity to witness – sometimes in person, like that famous 0-0 tie between Army and Notre Dame in 1946 or the 1948 Eagles-Cardinals NFL Championship “Snow Ball” – some of the great sporting moments of the early-to-mid-20th Century. He saw Babe Ruth play. And Ty Cobb. He was present for several battles between Wilt and Russ. Even though El Padre was an intellectual at heart and adored the law profession he chose, he would argue (boy, would he argue) sports for hours.
He was also a fount of information. Ask him how some of the current-day ballplayers stacked up against various heroes from the past, and he could break it down, although his verdict almost always came down on the side of the old-timer. And he appreciated the value of seeing events in person. Rare was the time when a request by El Hombre or a Hermano to attend a contest was dismissed. If El Padre could make it, we were there. We usually left the game early, but we were still there. And that’s where this Father’s Day tale begins.
In 1969, baseball celebrated its 100th birthday, at least according to what generally passed as common knowledge. It was a big year for the MLB, since it added two teams to each league and split into divisions. Playoffs would be held for the first time, and little did anybody who followed the sport know, but the Miracle Mets would stun the sports world that fall by winning the World Series.
For a seven-year old beginning what would become a life-long emersion in sports, it was a heady time. The NFL was about to merge. The NHL was two years post-expansion. The NBA was at the end of the remarkable Celtic championship run. (“Ten fingers, eleven rings,” Russell used to say.) John Wooden and UCLA ruled the college basketball world. And college football, like its MLB counterpart, was commemorating its centennial. Of course, seven-year olds don’t pay much attention to that stuff, especially when they’re mesmerized by the wonder of it all.
On Aug. 9, that dream world became a reality, when El Padre took EH and his younger Hermano to their first baseball game. As one might expect from a person who appreciated the history of the game – not to mention one who was a big Yankees fan, even if the ’69 version of the team would finish 22 ½ games out of first place in the newly-minted AL Eastern Division – the setting for this inaugural encounter would be Yankee Stadium. Give El Padre points for understanding the significance of the event. You don’t see your first game at Connie Mack Stadium, where the wretched Phillies butchered the sport in front of tiny, disinterested aggregations. You got to The House That Ruth Built. On Old Timers Day.
So, we boarded the train in Philadelphia (El Padre didn’t drive) and headed north on a sunny Saturday. After pulling into Penn Station, we cabbed it to the ticket agency to collect our box seats for the game. Two things here. First, El Padre never bought a ticket at the box office. In Philadelphia, he used Sherry’s Ticket Agency for everything, and that’s who no doubt helped him procure the ducats for this contest. Second, naïve waif that El Hombre was, he thought our “box” seats actually consigned us to cardboard enclosures. Nonetheless, our arrival in the Bronx was cause for celebration, and EH’s first glimpse of the Stadium’s emerald grass and chocolate infield engendered in him an awe he has rarely encountered since. Our seats were not in boxes, rather between home plate and first base, about 20 rows off the field. In other words, perfect.
The parade of Old Timers was a thrill. Even though El Hombre was a novice in terms of baseball knowledge, names like DiMaggio, Mantle and Musial resonated, thanks to El Padre’s lessons. For someone more seasoned, the roster of stars on hand was indeed impressive. In addition to the aforementioned trio, Whitey Ford, King Kong Keller, Lefty Gomez, Tony Kubek and Moose Skowron were there, wearing pinstripes, while Lou Boudreau, Bob Feller, Robin Roberts and Bobby “The Giants Win The Pennant!” Thomson comprised the heart of the opposition. To top it off, the widows of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig made appearances and received a thunderous ovation.
The two-inning game featured few highlights and ended in a 0-0 deadlock. The one enduring image was of DiMaggio’s gliding back in center to snare a line drive off the bat of Bobby Doerr. That was a great, one-handed, over-the-head catch, or at least it was until a few years later when El Padre explained that the Yankee Clipper had mistakenly broken in on the ball and had to adjust quickly to preserve his reputation. Still: DiMaggio. Yankee Stadium. Magic.
The Main Event turned out to be a taut one that featured complete games by New York’s Mel Stottlemyre and the A’s Chuck Dobson. The Yankees earned a 2-1 win behind a four-hitter by Stottlemyre, although we were gone by the time the home side pushed across the deciding run in the eighth. But the game’s outcome mattered less than the overall experience. The A’s looked great in their yellow sleeveless jerseys and pants, long-sleeved green undershirts, green stirrup socks and white shoes. The Yankees, of course, were sublime in the pinstripes. The big crowd of 50,945 – the third-largest that season – buzzed throughout the game and gave a young boy plenty to watch. It was a perfect afternoon, right down to the steak dinner in the train’s dining car on the way home. El Hombre has seen countless hundreds of games since then, but nothing compares. Not World Series games, NBA championship series contests, NFL playoff games, Stanley Cup playoff games. Not nothing.
The gold standard was established that Saturday nearly 41 years ago, and El Padre did it. It’s been 10 years since he died, and El Hombre wonders often whether he thanked him enough. For that game and everything else.
Thanks, Papa. Happy Father’s Day. You were the best.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The refs jobbed the U.S. against Slovenia, but when you fall into a 2-0 hole, courtesy of typical first-half somnolence, you put yourself at the mercy of the arbiters. How about waking up early for next Wednesday’s game against Algeria? The future of soccer in the U.S. might just depend on the game’s outcome…News out of San Diego is that a 12-year old wants to set the record for fastest ascent up Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. Just kidding. Then again, when parents are letting 16-year olds try to sail around the world, why not let a pre-teen scale the world’s tallest peak? Idiots…The conference carousel stopped early, with only four teams’ changing addresses. But here’s a word of advice to the folks at Baylor, Iowa State, Kansas State, South Florida and other undesirable expansion targets: get a plan together now. More mayhem is on the way…The Yankees are the first Majoke League Baseball team to ban vuvuzelas from the ballpark. The things can be annoying, but they’re certainly no worse than a drunken fan from Staten Island shouting for Jee-tah to get a hit. Talk about a nerve ending.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Be sure to check out El Hombre’s alter ego on Philadelphia Magazine’s “Philly Post” (www.phillymag.com) Monday for an in-depth look at the Sixers’ NBA Draft possibilities next Thursday. It will be interesting to see – and several league execs feel the same way – whether the Sixers draft Evan Turner at number two, and if they do whether the team will keep both him and Andre Iguodala. More than one NBA personnel boss thinks the two players have the same skill set and that Iguodala would be superfluous if Turner were around. Could the Sixers take Turner and dish Iguodala to the Clippers for the eighth pick and a future choice? That would provide tremendous salary cap relief for a team that has $63 million committed for next season. Or, do they keep Iguodala and draft Derrick Favors (El Hombre’s choice), making Thaddeus Young expendable? Thursday’s trade that sent Samuel Dalembert to Sacramento for Spencer Hawes and Andres Nocioni was just the beginning of what should be an interesting week for the Sixers.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The Lakers’ win over Boston Thursday night brought the franchise’s 16th World Championship and the fifth of Kobe Bryant’s career. Some believe the triumph cements his status as the best player ever to wear the Forum Blue and Gold. It says here that is nonsense. While Bryant is a great player, it’s instructive to remember that his first three titles came as “Little Brother” to Shaquille O’Neal, who earned MVP honors in the Finals from 2000-02. It is also important to remember Bryant’s incredibly selfish play in the years after O’Neal’s departure from the team. It’s also worth noting that there is no way the Lakers blow a 24-point lead at home – as they did in 2008 against Boston – with Magic Johnson on the team or lose a deciding Game Six by a humiliating 39 points, with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on the floor. Bryant was lauded for “trusting his teammates” during this Finals series, but he didn’t look so confident in them during the first three quarters of Thursday’s game, when he shot a miserable 5-for-20 and tried to bowl through two and three defenders on his way to the hoop. Bryant’s legacy isn’t complete, but to put him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar, two of the five best players ever, is absurd. Johnson was the consummate winner and leader who did everything necessary on the court, while Abdul-Jabbar is NBA’s all-time leading scorer and a six-time champ. It took 12 seasons for Bryant to focus on winning; let’s see how he closes out his career before pushing him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar (and perhaps Jerry West) in the L.A. Valhalla.
-EH-
Even though El Padre grew up in the Kensington section of Philadelphia (“The sport of boxball was invented at the corner of Gaul and Sergeant,” he maintained.), he was an inveterate frontrunner when it came to choosing a rooting interest in sports. His favorite teams were the Yankees, Packers, Celtics and Canadiens. For those of you scoring at home, that’s dynasty, dynasty, dynasty and dynasty. When it came to his partisan allegiances, El Padre wasn’t taking any chances.
Born in 1920, he had the opportunity to witness – sometimes in person, like that famous 0-0 tie between Army and Notre Dame in 1946 or the 1948 Eagles-Cardinals NFL Championship “Snow Ball” – some of the great sporting moments of the early-to-mid-20th Century. He saw Babe Ruth play. And Ty Cobb. He was present for several battles between Wilt and Russ. Even though El Padre was an intellectual at heart and adored the law profession he chose, he would argue (boy, would he argue) sports for hours.
He was also a fount of information. Ask him how some of the current-day ballplayers stacked up against various heroes from the past, and he could break it down, although his verdict almost always came down on the side of the old-timer. And he appreciated the value of seeing events in person. Rare was the time when a request by El Hombre or a Hermano to attend a contest was dismissed. If El Padre could make it, we were there. We usually left the game early, but we were still there. And that’s where this Father’s Day tale begins.
In 1969, baseball celebrated its 100th birthday, at least according to what generally passed as common knowledge. It was a big year for the MLB, since it added two teams to each league and split into divisions. Playoffs would be held for the first time, and little did anybody who followed the sport know, but the Miracle Mets would stun the sports world that fall by winning the World Series.
For a seven-year old beginning what would become a life-long emersion in sports, it was a heady time. The NFL was about to merge. The NHL was two years post-expansion. The NBA was at the end of the remarkable Celtic championship run. (“Ten fingers, eleven rings,” Russell used to say.) John Wooden and UCLA ruled the college basketball world. And college football, like its MLB counterpart, was commemorating its centennial. Of course, seven-year olds don’t pay much attention to that stuff, especially when they’re mesmerized by the wonder of it all.
On Aug. 9, that dream world became a reality, when El Padre took EH and his younger Hermano to their first baseball game. As one might expect from a person who appreciated the history of the game – not to mention one who was a big Yankees fan, even if the ’69 version of the team would finish 22 ½ games out of first place in the newly-minted AL Eastern Division – the setting for this inaugural encounter would be Yankee Stadium. Give El Padre points for understanding the significance of the event. You don’t see your first game at Connie Mack Stadium, where the wretched Phillies butchered the sport in front of tiny, disinterested aggregations. You got to The House That Ruth Built. On Old Timers Day.
So, we boarded the train in Philadelphia (El Padre didn’t drive) and headed north on a sunny Saturday. After pulling into Penn Station, we cabbed it to the ticket agency to collect our box seats for the game. Two things here. First, El Padre never bought a ticket at the box office. In Philadelphia, he used Sherry’s Ticket Agency for everything, and that’s who no doubt helped him procure the ducats for this contest. Second, naïve waif that El Hombre was, he thought our “box” seats actually consigned us to cardboard enclosures. Nonetheless, our arrival in the Bronx was cause for celebration, and EH’s first glimpse of the Stadium’s emerald grass and chocolate infield engendered in him an awe he has rarely encountered since. Our seats were not in boxes, rather between home plate and first base, about 20 rows off the field. In other words, perfect.
The parade of Old Timers was a thrill. Even though El Hombre was a novice in terms of baseball knowledge, names like DiMaggio, Mantle and Musial resonated, thanks to El Padre’s lessons. For someone more seasoned, the roster of stars on hand was indeed impressive. In addition to the aforementioned trio, Whitey Ford, King Kong Keller, Lefty Gomez, Tony Kubek and Moose Skowron were there, wearing pinstripes, while Lou Boudreau, Bob Feller, Robin Roberts and Bobby “The Giants Win The Pennant!” Thomson comprised the heart of the opposition. To top it off, the widows of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig made appearances and received a thunderous ovation.
The two-inning game featured few highlights and ended in a 0-0 deadlock. The one enduring image was of DiMaggio’s gliding back in center to snare a line drive off the bat of Bobby Doerr. That was a great, one-handed, over-the-head catch, or at least it was until a few years later when El Padre explained that the Yankee Clipper had mistakenly broken in on the ball and had to adjust quickly to preserve his reputation. Still: DiMaggio. Yankee Stadium. Magic.
The Main Event turned out to be a taut one that featured complete games by New York’s Mel Stottlemyre and the A’s Chuck Dobson. The Yankees earned a 2-1 win behind a four-hitter by Stottlemyre, although we were gone by the time the home side pushed across the deciding run in the eighth. But the game’s outcome mattered less than the overall experience. The A’s looked great in their yellow sleeveless jerseys and pants, long-sleeved green undershirts, green stirrup socks and white shoes. The Yankees, of course, were sublime in the pinstripes. The big crowd of 50,945 – the third-largest that season – buzzed throughout the game and gave a young boy plenty to watch. It was a perfect afternoon, right down to the steak dinner in the train’s dining car on the way home. El Hombre has seen countless hundreds of games since then, but nothing compares. Not World Series games, NBA championship series contests, NFL playoff games, Stanley Cup playoff games. Not nothing.
The gold standard was established that Saturday nearly 41 years ago, and El Padre did it. It’s been 10 years since he died, and El Hombre wonders often whether he thanked him enough. For that game and everything else.
Thanks, Papa. Happy Father’s Day. You were the best.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The refs jobbed the U.S. against Slovenia, but when you fall into a 2-0 hole, courtesy of typical first-half somnolence, you put yourself at the mercy of the arbiters. How about waking up early for next Wednesday’s game against Algeria? The future of soccer in the U.S. might just depend on the game’s outcome…News out of San Diego is that a 12-year old wants to set the record for fastest ascent up Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. Just kidding. Then again, when parents are letting 16-year olds try to sail around the world, why not let a pre-teen scale the world’s tallest peak? Idiots…The conference carousel stopped early, with only four teams’ changing addresses. But here’s a word of advice to the folks at Baylor, Iowa State, Kansas State, South Florida and other undesirable expansion targets: get a plan together now. More mayhem is on the way…The Yankees are the first Majoke League Baseball team to ban vuvuzelas from the ballpark. The things can be annoying, but they’re certainly no worse than a drunken fan from Staten Island shouting for Jee-tah to get a hit. Talk about a nerve ending.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Be sure to check out El Hombre’s alter ego on Philadelphia Magazine’s “Philly Post” (www.phillymag.com) Monday for an in-depth look at the Sixers’ NBA Draft possibilities next Thursday. It will be interesting to see – and several league execs feel the same way – whether the Sixers draft Evan Turner at number two, and if they do whether the team will keep both him and Andre Iguodala. More than one NBA personnel boss thinks the two players have the same skill set and that Iguodala would be superfluous if Turner were around. Could the Sixers take Turner and dish Iguodala to the Clippers for the eighth pick and a future choice? That would provide tremendous salary cap relief for a team that has $63 million committed for next season. Or, do they keep Iguodala and draft Derrick Favors (El Hombre’s choice), making Thaddeus Young expendable? Thursday’s trade that sent Samuel Dalembert to Sacramento for Spencer Hawes and Andres Nocioni was just the beginning of what should be an interesting week for the Sixers.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The Lakers’ win over Boston Thursday night brought the franchise’s 16th World Championship and the fifth of Kobe Bryant’s career. Some believe the triumph cements his status as the best player ever to wear the Forum Blue and Gold. It says here that is nonsense. While Bryant is a great player, it’s instructive to remember that his first three titles came as “Little Brother” to Shaquille O’Neal, who earned MVP honors in the Finals from 2000-02. It is also important to remember Bryant’s incredibly selfish play in the years after O’Neal’s departure from the team. It’s also worth noting that there is no way the Lakers blow a 24-point lead at home – as they did in 2008 against Boston – with Magic Johnson on the team or lose a deciding Game Six by a humiliating 39 points, with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on the floor. Bryant was lauded for “trusting his teammates” during this Finals series, but he didn’t look so confident in them during the first three quarters of Thursday’s game, when he shot a miserable 5-for-20 and tried to bowl through two and three defenders on his way to the hoop. Bryant’s legacy isn’t complete, but to put him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar, two of the five best players ever, is absurd. Johnson was the consummate winner and leader who did everything necessary on the court, while Abdul-Jabbar is NBA’s all-time leading scorer and a six-time champ. It took 12 seasons for Bryant to focus on winning; let’s see how he closes out his career before pushing him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar (and perhaps Jerry West) in the L.A. Valhalla.
-EH-
Friday, June 11, 2010
Screw Nostalgia
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
“At the end of the day, we’re going to make the decision that best serves Nebraska.”
-- Chuck Hassebrook, Nebraska University Regent
Wednesday night, El Hombre happened upon a programming gem on the Big Ten Network, and it distracted his attention from the icy proceedings in Philadelphia and just about every other modern-day sporting pursuit. It was the 1952 football highlight reel, and it included footage of the conference’s nine teams – plus Michigan State, which would join up officially the following season. There, in beautiful black-and-white, with piped-in crowd effects and a classic ‘50s voiceover, were the gridiron exploits of Hopalong Cassady, Alan “The Horse” Ameche and Tom O’Connell. No matter how futile a team’s season was, the announcer assured fans that if the “injury bug” could be avoided, prosperity was nigh. Or that coach So-and-So’s “rebuilding project” was well under way.
It was great to see the offensive sets and the fakes executed by shifty backs. There was even an old-fashioned “Navy” kick that backfired and resulted in a long return. It was a wonderfully wistful half-hour capped by the following poetic sign-off:
“We close another season of great upsets and hard play that make football the favorite fall sport of America’s youth.”
It’s entirely possible that within the next five or 10 years, we may have the opportunity to look back at the 2009 college football season through the same misty eyes. The high-definition video may even seem wonderfully archaic, should the onslaught of 3-D television occur at a pace expected by many in the business. Names like Ingram, Tebow, Suh and Gerhart may be more easily recalled, but the spirit of the game and its essence will be changed.
The tectonic plates of college football – and college athletics on the whole – have already begun shifting. Nebraska will be a Big Ten member. Colorado has already defected to the Pac-10. Texas, Texas A&M, Oklahoma and whatever other schools they deem worthy of inclusion in their big-money club could join the Buffaloes. Or, they may go to the SEC. Or to the English Premier League. The Big 12 is toast. The Big East could be blown to bits as well, replaced by an aggregation of Catholic basketball schools that might be required to begin each game with a “Hail Mary.”
The resulting structure will resemble less the quaint regional aggregations that were built on rivalries and tradition and more like the corporate models that dominate the business landscape. Historic relationships will be replaced by market share. Long-time partners will be torn apart, replaced by marriages of convenience that dilute the soul of the sport.
This is, of course, inevitable. Money is the engine that drives the big-time sporting train, and relationships that produce the most cash are the most valuable. Welcome to the 21st century, folks. Check your nostalgia at the door, and make sure to tune in for that “instant classic” between Texas Tech and Oregon State. In college football heaven, Grantland Rice is crying on Sleepy Jim Crowley’s shoulder.
This isn’t the first time we have had a cataclysm like this. One upheaval began in 1984, when Georgia and Oklahoma successfully sued for possession of the rights to televise their football games, and the College Football Association was born. The resulting loosening of the TV reins brought fans an expanded menu of action that continues to swell today. It was good news for fans who wanted more choices and more opportunities to watch the great sport play out every week. But it had an unintended consequence. No longer were towns like College Station, Ames and Starkville mysterious destinations, tinged with a sense of the romantic, despite their relatively backwater locations. Before ’84, we would receive occasional dispatch from those gridiron outposts but rare was the full glimpse. From that point on, we knew them all too well. That was good news for the denizens of those hamlets and the schools that inhabit them, but for the fans who idealized them, it was something of a disappointment. Illusions were shattered. You mean Iowa State games aren’t all played under gunmetal gray skies with tornado threats posted at halftime? That the cowbell chorus at Mississippi State ends after the game? And that members of Texas A&M’s silent drill team actually speak when they’re not performing?
Throughout the next 25 years, the conference landscape shifted, as schools grabbed for a bigger slice of that TV pie. The SEC stole Arkansas and killed the Southwest Conference, leading some Texans to liken the Razorbacks to Iranian terrorists. (Really.) The Big 12 formed from a marriage between the SWC’s remnants and the mighty Big Eight. The Big East started playing football. The ACC discovered the sport. And Penn State became a Midwestern school. You know the story.
And you knew it was inevitable that it wouldn’t stop there. The mega-conferences are coming, and those who resist change stubbornly as a nod to a rosy past will be left behind like schools in small-time TV markets. Progress continues, and you can either surrender to it or be overrun. When El Hombre was teaching his Young Geniuses this past term in “The Future of Sports Journalism,” he was sure to remind them every class that the business is moving forward, and those who still look at it in terms of an eight-column broadsheet are doomed. So, saddle up and get ready for the Pac-16, or whatever it will be called.
Just don’t expect it all to be as much fun. College football exists now for the money, from the players to the coaches, to the ADs to the hypocritical presidents who spew on about “student-athletes” and how to protect them best. You want to serve your students, Mr. President? Then don’t make your softball team travel from Stillwater to Pullman. For decades, college football was about the wonderful, unique rituals that surrounded the games. Ohio State fans have always thirsted to beat Michigan, but only after the band ran through the script Ohio. Pretty soon the final two words of “The Notre Dame Victory March” will be “registered trademark.”
One of the reasons why the Missouri-Kansas football rivalry was so great was that it was born out of a pre-Civil War dispute between the states over slavery. (Kansas was pro-slavery; Missouri wanted it abolished.) From the minute the schools started playing each other, in 1891, there was a contentious tone. In a few weeks, it’s possible that the game may never be played again. Or, if it is, it won’t come in late November. That’s a shame. And no matter how hard the new leagues and their TV partners try to sell the new matchup, an Oklahoma State-Arizona clash born out of greed won’t have the same impact as a game that emerged from seething border hostilities during one our country’s most dire periods.
College football is changing, and fans and media had better get on board. Just don’t expect things to be nearly as good or as much fun.
Meanwhile, keep an eye out for those old-fashioned TV programs. They help ease the pain.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The good news for Nationals prodigy Stephen Strasburg is that he gets one more Class AAA start – Sunday against the Cleveland Indians – before he has to face big-league hitters…Pig Pen Roethlisberger wants fans to know that he apologizes to them for being “immature,” “young” and “dumb.” How about being a felon (allegedly), forcing himself on women (allegedly) and being a scumbag (definitely)? The Steelers’ QB apologized to the fans and his family, but not to either of the women (if there were only two) who accused him of forcing himself on them. Unfortunately, since Pig Pen is following the Mea Culpa Playbook to perfection, all will be forgiven soon. Of course his (alleged) victims will never forget…The LeBron James soap opera continues to spin wildly, even though no one is allowed to speak with the underachieving Cavaliers’ forward officially until July 1. Teams continue to jockey for position in the competition for his services, and the Cavs are trying to find a coach that will make him happy. What he really needs is someone who will help him grow up (that means no more pre-game skits and choreographed dance routines during timeouts) and force him to learn how to shoot a jump shot. That will be worth more to him than even the biggest contract…Let’s give it up for Pete Carroll, who was able to skip town before the NC2A gumshoes laid down the smack on his USC program for not preventing Reggie Bush from accepting cash and prizes from an agent. The Trojans will lose up to 30 scholarships, miss out on bowl games for two seasons and forfeit games from the ’04 and (probably) ’05 seasons. The only justice is that former Carroll lieutenant Lane Kiffin, who was present during the shenanigans, is forced to pick up the pieces. ‘SC cheated, because school officials knew what Bush was doing and will now pay a severe price. Good.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The best thing to come out of the Flyers’ thrilling Stanley Cup near-miss was the attitude of Philadelphia fans, who actually appreciated the team’s success, despite the disappointing outcome. For once, the zero-sum game that has been sold to the area’s denizens was abandoned in favor of the joy of rooting for a team and not focusing merely on the outcome. Yes, the run to the final round was not expected, and that made fans less prone to demanding a championship or else. The resulting good feelings and desire to celebrate the Flyers’ accomplishments was truly refreshing. Unfortunately, the happy mood won’t last. The Phillies and Eagles are different than their underdog counterparts and won’t receive free passes. They shouldn’t. Unlike the Flyers, whose post-season run came out of nowhere, the Phils and Eagles have sold us championship dreams and must therefore be judged their relative success. As for the Sixers, a three-game winning streak would almost warrant a parade.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: It has almost become a cliché for Americans to regard soccer as a 90-minute sleep aid. Anybody who favors the sport is weak, bland and – worse – French. But the World Cup is different. You may not have an interest in an MLS matchup between FC Topeka and Real Bayonne (although the Philadelphia Union is worth checking out), but a slugfest between a pair of historical rivals is a different story. When Croatia beat Germany, 3-0, in the ’98 World Cup, it wasn’t just an athletic triumph, it was also an historic verdict for a country that had spent time under Nazi oppression and destruction during WWII. Every victory doesn’t have the same significance, but the combination of the sport’s best players and a heavy dose of nationalism makes the World Cup compelling theater, even if the game ends 1-0. Enjoy the artistry. Experience the passion. And don’t worry; we won’t tell the NFL you were watching. As for the tournament itself, figure the final four to be Brazil, England, Argentina and Spain, with the Samba stars facing off against the Spaniards for all the marbles. Advantage: Brazil. Looking for a dark horse? Try the Italians (14:1), who always do better when less is expected of them.
-EH-
“At the end of the day, we’re going to make the decision that best serves Nebraska.”
-- Chuck Hassebrook, Nebraska University Regent
Wednesday night, El Hombre happened upon a programming gem on the Big Ten Network, and it distracted his attention from the icy proceedings in Philadelphia and just about every other modern-day sporting pursuit. It was the 1952 football highlight reel, and it included footage of the conference’s nine teams – plus Michigan State, which would join up officially the following season. There, in beautiful black-and-white, with piped-in crowd effects and a classic ‘50s voiceover, were the gridiron exploits of Hopalong Cassady, Alan “The Horse” Ameche and Tom O’Connell. No matter how futile a team’s season was, the announcer assured fans that if the “injury bug” could be avoided, prosperity was nigh. Or that coach So-and-So’s “rebuilding project” was well under way.
It was great to see the offensive sets and the fakes executed by shifty backs. There was even an old-fashioned “Navy” kick that backfired and resulted in a long return. It was a wonderfully wistful half-hour capped by the following poetic sign-off:
“We close another season of great upsets and hard play that make football the favorite fall sport of America’s youth.”
It’s entirely possible that within the next five or 10 years, we may have the opportunity to look back at the 2009 college football season through the same misty eyes. The high-definition video may even seem wonderfully archaic, should the onslaught of 3-D television occur at a pace expected by many in the business. Names like Ingram, Tebow, Suh and Gerhart may be more easily recalled, but the spirit of the game and its essence will be changed.
The tectonic plates of college football – and college athletics on the whole – have already begun shifting. Nebraska will be a Big Ten member. Colorado has already defected to the Pac-10. Texas, Texas A&M, Oklahoma and whatever other schools they deem worthy of inclusion in their big-money club could join the Buffaloes. Or, they may go to the SEC. Or to the English Premier League. The Big 12 is toast. The Big East could be blown to bits as well, replaced by an aggregation of Catholic basketball schools that might be required to begin each game with a “Hail Mary.”
The resulting structure will resemble less the quaint regional aggregations that were built on rivalries and tradition and more like the corporate models that dominate the business landscape. Historic relationships will be replaced by market share. Long-time partners will be torn apart, replaced by marriages of convenience that dilute the soul of the sport.
This is, of course, inevitable. Money is the engine that drives the big-time sporting train, and relationships that produce the most cash are the most valuable. Welcome to the 21st century, folks. Check your nostalgia at the door, and make sure to tune in for that “instant classic” between Texas Tech and Oregon State. In college football heaven, Grantland Rice is crying on Sleepy Jim Crowley’s shoulder.
This isn’t the first time we have had a cataclysm like this. One upheaval began in 1984, when Georgia and Oklahoma successfully sued for possession of the rights to televise their football games, and the College Football Association was born. The resulting loosening of the TV reins brought fans an expanded menu of action that continues to swell today. It was good news for fans who wanted more choices and more opportunities to watch the great sport play out every week. But it had an unintended consequence. No longer were towns like College Station, Ames and Starkville mysterious destinations, tinged with a sense of the romantic, despite their relatively backwater locations. Before ’84, we would receive occasional dispatch from those gridiron outposts but rare was the full glimpse. From that point on, we knew them all too well. That was good news for the denizens of those hamlets and the schools that inhabit them, but for the fans who idealized them, it was something of a disappointment. Illusions were shattered. You mean Iowa State games aren’t all played under gunmetal gray skies with tornado threats posted at halftime? That the cowbell chorus at Mississippi State ends after the game? And that members of Texas A&M’s silent drill team actually speak when they’re not performing?
Throughout the next 25 years, the conference landscape shifted, as schools grabbed for a bigger slice of that TV pie. The SEC stole Arkansas and killed the Southwest Conference, leading some Texans to liken the Razorbacks to Iranian terrorists. (Really.) The Big 12 formed from a marriage between the SWC’s remnants and the mighty Big Eight. The Big East started playing football. The ACC discovered the sport. And Penn State became a Midwestern school. You know the story.
And you knew it was inevitable that it wouldn’t stop there. The mega-conferences are coming, and those who resist change stubbornly as a nod to a rosy past will be left behind like schools in small-time TV markets. Progress continues, and you can either surrender to it or be overrun. When El Hombre was teaching his Young Geniuses this past term in “The Future of Sports Journalism,” he was sure to remind them every class that the business is moving forward, and those who still look at it in terms of an eight-column broadsheet are doomed. So, saddle up and get ready for the Pac-16, or whatever it will be called.
Just don’t expect it all to be as much fun. College football exists now for the money, from the players to the coaches, to the ADs to the hypocritical presidents who spew on about “student-athletes” and how to protect them best. You want to serve your students, Mr. President? Then don’t make your softball team travel from Stillwater to Pullman. For decades, college football was about the wonderful, unique rituals that surrounded the games. Ohio State fans have always thirsted to beat Michigan, but only after the band ran through the script Ohio. Pretty soon the final two words of “The Notre Dame Victory March” will be “registered trademark.”
One of the reasons why the Missouri-Kansas football rivalry was so great was that it was born out of a pre-Civil War dispute between the states over slavery. (Kansas was pro-slavery; Missouri wanted it abolished.) From the minute the schools started playing each other, in 1891, there was a contentious tone. In a few weeks, it’s possible that the game may never be played again. Or, if it is, it won’t come in late November. That’s a shame. And no matter how hard the new leagues and their TV partners try to sell the new matchup, an Oklahoma State-Arizona clash born out of greed won’t have the same impact as a game that emerged from seething border hostilities during one our country’s most dire periods.
College football is changing, and fans and media had better get on board. Just don’t expect things to be nearly as good or as much fun.
Meanwhile, keep an eye out for those old-fashioned TV programs. They help ease the pain.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The good news for Nationals prodigy Stephen Strasburg is that he gets one more Class AAA start – Sunday against the Cleveland Indians – before he has to face big-league hitters…Pig Pen Roethlisberger wants fans to know that he apologizes to them for being “immature,” “young” and “dumb.” How about being a felon (allegedly), forcing himself on women (allegedly) and being a scumbag (definitely)? The Steelers’ QB apologized to the fans and his family, but not to either of the women (if there were only two) who accused him of forcing himself on them. Unfortunately, since Pig Pen is following the Mea Culpa Playbook to perfection, all will be forgiven soon. Of course his (alleged) victims will never forget…The LeBron James soap opera continues to spin wildly, even though no one is allowed to speak with the underachieving Cavaliers’ forward officially until July 1. Teams continue to jockey for position in the competition for his services, and the Cavs are trying to find a coach that will make him happy. What he really needs is someone who will help him grow up (that means no more pre-game skits and choreographed dance routines during timeouts) and force him to learn how to shoot a jump shot. That will be worth more to him than even the biggest contract…Let’s give it up for Pete Carroll, who was able to skip town before the NC2A gumshoes laid down the smack on his USC program for not preventing Reggie Bush from accepting cash and prizes from an agent. The Trojans will lose up to 30 scholarships, miss out on bowl games for two seasons and forfeit games from the ’04 and (probably) ’05 seasons. The only justice is that former Carroll lieutenant Lane Kiffin, who was present during the shenanigans, is forced to pick up the pieces. ‘SC cheated, because school officials knew what Bush was doing and will now pay a severe price. Good.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The best thing to come out of the Flyers’ thrilling Stanley Cup near-miss was the attitude of Philadelphia fans, who actually appreciated the team’s success, despite the disappointing outcome. For once, the zero-sum game that has been sold to the area’s denizens was abandoned in favor of the joy of rooting for a team and not focusing merely on the outcome. Yes, the run to the final round was not expected, and that made fans less prone to demanding a championship or else. The resulting good feelings and desire to celebrate the Flyers’ accomplishments was truly refreshing. Unfortunately, the happy mood won’t last. The Phillies and Eagles are different than their underdog counterparts and won’t receive free passes. They shouldn’t. Unlike the Flyers, whose post-season run came out of nowhere, the Phils and Eagles have sold us championship dreams and must therefore be judged their relative success. As for the Sixers, a three-game winning streak would almost warrant a parade.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: It has almost become a cliché for Americans to regard soccer as a 90-minute sleep aid. Anybody who favors the sport is weak, bland and – worse – French. But the World Cup is different. You may not have an interest in an MLS matchup between FC Topeka and Real Bayonne (although the Philadelphia Union is worth checking out), but a slugfest between a pair of historical rivals is a different story. When Croatia beat Germany, 3-0, in the ’98 World Cup, it wasn’t just an athletic triumph, it was also an historic verdict for a country that had spent time under Nazi oppression and destruction during WWII. Every victory doesn’t have the same significance, but the combination of the sport’s best players and a heavy dose of nationalism makes the World Cup compelling theater, even if the game ends 1-0. Enjoy the artistry. Experience the passion. And don’t worry; we won’t tell the NFL you were watching. As for the tournament itself, figure the final four to be Brazil, England, Argentina and Spain, with the Samba stars facing off against the Spaniards for all the marbles. Advantage: Brazil. Looking for a dark horse? Try the Italians (14:1), who always do better when less is expected of them.
-EH-
Friday, June 4, 2010
Grow a Spine, Bud
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Back in 1948, when the world was a simpler place – unless you were a Soviet citizen under the iron rule of Joe Stalin – the patron saint of columnists, bloggers and Tweeters, Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith, wrote a piece that remains one of the finest examples of the craft. Smith, who at one point wrote seven columns a week so that he had the immediate opportunity to overcome a lousy effort, was in London for the Summer Olympics. During that fortnight, some controversy emerged in the 400-meter relay, which resulted in considerable upheaval and ire from the American side.
It seems the U.S. quartet had been disqualified after winning by about seven yards because of an allegedly illicit baton pass. Or, as Smith so eloquently dubbed it, Barney Ewell had “bootlegged the baton to [Lorenzo] Wright in a sinister black-market deal consummated outside the legal zone.” The officials, or in Smith’s parlance, the “vigilante committee of judges,” had DQed the Americans and awarded the gold medal to homestanding England, which had finished second. The decision, according to Smith, meant that “the Union Jack flapped from the victor’s flagpole; the British Lion looked up from his lunch of cold mutton and cheese and roared his triumph to the skies.”
Ah, they don’t write ‘em like that anymore.
Anyway, the next day, the International Jury of Appeal looked at photographs from something called a “stereopticon machine” and decided “the baton-snatch had been engineered in strict obedience to the laws of God and man.” So, the Americans were re-awarded the gold medal, and all was right in the sprinting world. That led Smith to write one of the best lead paragraphs in history:
“And now, the Royal Air Force band must return to the desolate, forsaken field of Wembley Stadium and unplay “God Save the King.” Blighty’s only track victory in the Olympics, which was presented to Britain last Saturday under the Marshall Plan, fell under the terms of reverse lend-lease today and was restored to the United States, the original copyright holders. It was the most sensational reversal since Serutan.”
That early use of “instant” replay helped right a wrong that would have cost four champion sprinters a gold medal in the most important race of their lives. Thanks to the stereopticon machine, Ewell, Wright, Harrison Dillard and Mel Patton had their prize and their immortality. And Smith had one helluva column.
Wednesday in Detroit, Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga was denied a perfect game by Jim Joyce, a one-man “vigilante committee,” who spectacularly botched a relatively routine call at first base with two outs in the bottom of the ninth of Galarraga’s masterpiece. It was the baseball equivalent of flying to Paris, heading over to the Louvre and adding a tramp stamp to the Venus de Milo. Galarraga had been flawless, and Joyce’s call had robbed him of immortality. He will join baseball’s long list of almosts and will be enshrined in future “Strange But True” tomes for decades, next to Eddie Gaedel and Cleon Jones’ well-shined shoes.
This tragic turn of events most certainly could have been avoided, had Majoke League Baseball commissioner Bud Sellout shown some leadership a few years ago and instituted an instant-replay program that was committed to getting it right. That’s the goal here, not to show up umpires or add minutes to the game. It’s to get the call right.
In football, basketball and hockey, replay exists to make sure the game’s outcome is as legitimate and correct as possible.
If an NFL receiver catches the ball with one foot in bounds, and it is clear to anybody watching on TV, chances are a protest flag will be thrown, and the replay official will be sure to ascertain whether the catch was legitimate. If a goal/no goal call looks shaky in the NHL – as it did twice in Wednesday’s Stanley Cup game, the replays are examined, and the right call is made. Fans and players rarely complain about the replays’ outcomes, because their goal is to have justice served. Having that safety net allows for greater peace of mind, since everybody in the stadium and watching at home understands that the right call is the goal – and usually the outcome.
Now, it’s up to Sellout to do the right thing. Had he been courageous enough a few years ago to understand that the game’s credibility is at stake when umpires blow easy calls and there is no mechanism in place to reverse that, he might have acted. The Galarraga debacle brings the entire situation to a nasty, pus-filled head, and it’s up to Sellout to make sure it doesn’t pop all over the game’s good name – or what’s left of it. So, Buddy Boy, here’s what you do:
1. Replay for all close plays at bases and the plate. A quick replay review confirms or reverses the call.
2. Replay for foul-fair calls down the lines.
3. Leave balls and strikes alone. That would get ridiculous.
4. NO reversal of Joyce’s botched call. Sellout actually got this one right. Changing the decision, no matter how crushing and embarrassing it was, would open the door to a whole slew of future appeals.
Sellout must show some grit and push this through now. Otherwise, more debacles will occur, and baseball will continue to look silly and helmless in comparison to its sporting brethren.
And with no Red Smith around to clarify things, the mess will only get worse.
“Dog evas eht gnik…?”
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: It’s too early to give the Lakers the NBA title, but if Pau Gasoft and Andrew Crynum are going to play like they did in game one, the Celtics don’t have much of a chance. Boston’s edge in ’08 was toughness, and it looks like L.A. has decided to match the Celtics’ bravado this time. Imagine that. If the brass knuckles stay out Sunday night, this baby’s over…The International Ski Federation has fined Russia and warned the country that further doping activity could result in Russian skiers’’ being banned from the ’14 Olympics in Sochi. The Russians countered that the allegations are false and offered the country’s putrid performance during last February’s Vancouver Games as evidence of their innocence. It’s a pretty strong argument…Ice Box checks in as the early favorite in Saturday’s Belmont Stakes at 3:1, followed by Fly Down, at 9:2. Among the long shots are Glue Factory (75:1) and Dog Food (100:1). Remember to bet with your head, not over it…Steelers’ QB Ben Roethlisberger spoke to the media after a practice Thursday and pledged to improve his behavior. He said he would change the way he regarded women, so when carrying a tray full of liquor, he will now say, “All you fine, upstanding ladies, take my shots.” He will also allow other patrons to use the ladies room while he is mauling a Young Lovely, rather than blocking their entry with an off-duty policeman. And when he is being questioned by a police officer after a night of carousing, he will no longer pose for pictures. Sounds great, Ben. You keep up the soul-searching.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Let’s be very clear about one thing: The Phillies’ ridiculously inept play of late (save Roy Halladay’s historic gem) is the fault of many people, from the top down. Start with the owners, whose insistence on a self-imposed salary cap resulted in a lame, cut-rate bench. Move on to GM Ruben Amaro, who assembled said bench and was the bagman in the Cliff Lee trade that weakened the pitching staff. Don’t forget manager Charlie Manuel, whose laissez-faire approach to managing has helped foster the complacency that has overcome the team. And, finally, blame the players themselves, especially the veterans, who have provided zero leadership during the crisis. No one has called a players-only meeting. No one criticized pitcher Cole Hamels for laughing it up at the Flyers game Wednesday night, just one day after he lasted a whopping two-thirds of an inning against the Braves and was clearly unprepared to pitch following a rain delay. This team felt the NL crown was its birthright before the season and has played like it with few exceptions. The good news is that this is a long season, and there is plenty of time for a turnaround. But it’s imperative the organization develops a sense of urgency and starts to hold people accountable while realizing that it may be necessary to shake things up with a trade or two.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The onus during the aftermath of the Galarraga/Joyce debacle falls on Sellout, but the behavior by the two main protagonists during the incident should live on even longer than any action by the spineless MLB commissioner. Both pitcher and umpire displayed the kind of class, grace, sportsmanship and character that is often missing from professional athletics. Galarraga’s willingness to forgive, despite being deprived of a spot in baseball history, was exemplary and gave parents, teachers and coaches an opportunity to show children how to do things the right way. Joyce’s immediate contrition, apology and acceptance of blame – without condition or excuse – is another teaching point. Both men showed tremendous respect for the sport, fans and themselves with their actions, and they are to be applauded. It would be a sin if this incident did not lead to true reform, especially since Galarraga and Joyce acquitted themselves so admirably during a time of great stress.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: Last year on June 6, El Hombre made it a point to call his father-in-law, the late, great Bill Grant, to thank him for being part of the Allied forces who landed at Normandy on D-Day. Bill’s courage and that of tens of thousands like him helped free countless millions from Nazi oppression and served as a shining moment for The Greatest Generation. This Sunday, be sure to think of Bill and the rest of the D-Day crew, and if you know someone who participated in the landing or even World War II, be sure to offer thanks. We owe them a lot.
-EH-
Back in 1948, when the world was a simpler place – unless you were a Soviet citizen under the iron rule of Joe Stalin – the patron saint of columnists, bloggers and Tweeters, Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith, wrote a piece that remains one of the finest examples of the craft. Smith, who at one point wrote seven columns a week so that he had the immediate opportunity to overcome a lousy effort, was in London for the Summer Olympics. During that fortnight, some controversy emerged in the 400-meter relay, which resulted in considerable upheaval and ire from the American side.
It seems the U.S. quartet had been disqualified after winning by about seven yards because of an allegedly illicit baton pass. Or, as Smith so eloquently dubbed it, Barney Ewell had “bootlegged the baton to [Lorenzo] Wright in a sinister black-market deal consummated outside the legal zone.” The officials, or in Smith’s parlance, the “vigilante committee of judges,” had DQed the Americans and awarded the gold medal to homestanding England, which had finished second. The decision, according to Smith, meant that “the Union Jack flapped from the victor’s flagpole; the British Lion looked up from his lunch of cold mutton and cheese and roared his triumph to the skies.”
Ah, they don’t write ‘em like that anymore.
Anyway, the next day, the International Jury of Appeal looked at photographs from something called a “stereopticon machine” and decided “the baton-snatch had been engineered in strict obedience to the laws of God and man.” So, the Americans were re-awarded the gold medal, and all was right in the sprinting world. That led Smith to write one of the best lead paragraphs in history:
“And now, the Royal Air Force band must return to the desolate, forsaken field of Wembley Stadium and unplay “God Save the King.” Blighty’s only track victory in the Olympics, which was presented to Britain last Saturday under the Marshall Plan, fell under the terms of reverse lend-lease today and was restored to the United States, the original copyright holders. It was the most sensational reversal since Serutan.”
That early use of “instant” replay helped right a wrong that would have cost four champion sprinters a gold medal in the most important race of their lives. Thanks to the stereopticon machine, Ewell, Wright, Harrison Dillard and Mel Patton had their prize and their immortality. And Smith had one helluva column.
Wednesday in Detroit, Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga was denied a perfect game by Jim Joyce, a one-man “vigilante committee,” who spectacularly botched a relatively routine call at first base with two outs in the bottom of the ninth of Galarraga’s masterpiece. It was the baseball equivalent of flying to Paris, heading over to the Louvre and adding a tramp stamp to the Venus de Milo. Galarraga had been flawless, and Joyce’s call had robbed him of immortality. He will join baseball’s long list of almosts and will be enshrined in future “Strange But True” tomes for decades, next to Eddie Gaedel and Cleon Jones’ well-shined shoes.
This tragic turn of events most certainly could have been avoided, had Majoke League Baseball commissioner Bud Sellout shown some leadership a few years ago and instituted an instant-replay program that was committed to getting it right. That’s the goal here, not to show up umpires or add minutes to the game. It’s to get the call right.
In football, basketball and hockey, replay exists to make sure the game’s outcome is as legitimate and correct as possible.
If an NFL receiver catches the ball with one foot in bounds, and it is clear to anybody watching on TV, chances are a protest flag will be thrown, and the replay official will be sure to ascertain whether the catch was legitimate. If a goal/no goal call looks shaky in the NHL – as it did twice in Wednesday’s Stanley Cup game, the replays are examined, and the right call is made. Fans and players rarely complain about the replays’ outcomes, because their goal is to have justice served. Having that safety net allows for greater peace of mind, since everybody in the stadium and watching at home understands that the right call is the goal – and usually the outcome.
Now, it’s up to Sellout to do the right thing. Had he been courageous enough a few years ago to understand that the game’s credibility is at stake when umpires blow easy calls and there is no mechanism in place to reverse that, he might have acted. The Galarraga debacle brings the entire situation to a nasty, pus-filled head, and it’s up to Sellout to make sure it doesn’t pop all over the game’s good name – or what’s left of it. So, Buddy Boy, here’s what you do:
1. Replay for all close plays at bases and the plate. A quick replay review confirms or reverses the call.
2. Replay for foul-fair calls down the lines.
3. Leave balls and strikes alone. That would get ridiculous.
4. NO reversal of Joyce’s botched call. Sellout actually got this one right. Changing the decision, no matter how crushing and embarrassing it was, would open the door to a whole slew of future appeals.
Sellout must show some grit and push this through now. Otherwise, more debacles will occur, and baseball will continue to look silly and helmless in comparison to its sporting brethren.
And with no Red Smith around to clarify things, the mess will only get worse.
“Dog evas eht gnik…?”
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: It’s too early to give the Lakers the NBA title, but if Pau Gasoft and Andrew Crynum are going to play like they did in game one, the Celtics don’t have much of a chance. Boston’s edge in ’08 was toughness, and it looks like L.A. has decided to match the Celtics’ bravado this time. Imagine that. If the brass knuckles stay out Sunday night, this baby’s over…The International Ski Federation has fined Russia and warned the country that further doping activity could result in Russian skiers’’ being banned from the ’14 Olympics in Sochi. The Russians countered that the allegations are false and offered the country’s putrid performance during last February’s Vancouver Games as evidence of their innocence. It’s a pretty strong argument…Ice Box checks in as the early favorite in Saturday’s Belmont Stakes at 3:1, followed by Fly Down, at 9:2. Among the long shots are Glue Factory (75:1) and Dog Food (100:1). Remember to bet with your head, not over it…Steelers’ QB Ben Roethlisberger spoke to the media after a practice Thursday and pledged to improve his behavior. He said he would change the way he regarded women, so when carrying a tray full of liquor, he will now say, “All you fine, upstanding ladies, take my shots.” He will also allow other patrons to use the ladies room while he is mauling a Young Lovely, rather than blocking their entry with an off-duty policeman. And when he is being questioned by a police officer after a night of carousing, he will no longer pose for pictures. Sounds great, Ben. You keep up the soul-searching.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Let’s be very clear about one thing: The Phillies’ ridiculously inept play of late (save Roy Halladay’s historic gem) is the fault of many people, from the top down. Start with the owners, whose insistence on a self-imposed salary cap resulted in a lame, cut-rate bench. Move on to GM Ruben Amaro, who assembled said bench and was the bagman in the Cliff Lee trade that weakened the pitching staff. Don’t forget manager Charlie Manuel, whose laissez-faire approach to managing has helped foster the complacency that has overcome the team. And, finally, blame the players themselves, especially the veterans, who have provided zero leadership during the crisis. No one has called a players-only meeting. No one criticized pitcher Cole Hamels for laughing it up at the Flyers game Wednesday night, just one day after he lasted a whopping two-thirds of an inning against the Braves and was clearly unprepared to pitch following a rain delay. This team felt the NL crown was its birthright before the season and has played like it with few exceptions. The good news is that this is a long season, and there is plenty of time for a turnaround. But it’s imperative the organization develops a sense of urgency and starts to hold people accountable while realizing that it may be necessary to shake things up with a trade or two.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The onus during the aftermath of the Galarraga/Joyce debacle falls on Sellout, but the behavior by the two main protagonists during the incident should live on even longer than any action by the spineless MLB commissioner. Both pitcher and umpire displayed the kind of class, grace, sportsmanship and character that is often missing from professional athletics. Galarraga’s willingness to forgive, despite being deprived of a spot in baseball history, was exemplary and gave parents, teachers and coaches an opportunity to show children how to do things the right way. Joyce’s immediate contrition, apology and acceptance of blame – without condition or excuse – is another teaching point. Both men showed tremendous respect for the sport, fans and themselves with their actions, and they are to be applauded. It would be a sin if this incident did not lead to true reform, especially since Galarraga and Joyce acquitted themselves so admirably during a time of great stress.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: Last year on June 6, El Hombre made it a point to call his father-in-law, the late, great Bill Grant, to thank him for being part of the Allied forces who landed at Normandy on D-Day. Bill’s courage and that of tens of thousands like him helped free countless millions from Nazi oppression and served as a shining moment for The Greatest Generation. This Sunday, be sure to think of Bill and the rest of the D-Day crew, and if you know someone who participated in the landing or even World War II, be sure to offer thanks. We owe them a lot.
-EH-
Friday, May 28, 2010
Braving the Elements
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Packer Rick is in heaven these days, and not just because his beloved Green Bay club is on the rise or his mighty fifth-grade lacrosse club overwhelmed all comers during the recent season.
From his command center in the nearly-legendary Pack Den, Packer Rick keeps a watchful eye on the sports world’s traditions. The Den’s walls are covered – and El Hombre means covered – with framed photographs of history’s heroes, athletic, military and political. He even has a still of Erwin Rommel, Germany’s “Desert Fox.” “He hated Hitler,” Packer Rick says, justifying the famous tank commander’s presence with the other luminaries. Of course, he also has a photo of Gen. George Patton – “He stares at Rommel, on the opposite wall, of course” – and won’t hesitate to recount the line attributed to “Old Blood and Guts” in his marvelous biopic: “Rommel, you magnificent bastard! I read your book!”
At any given time, Packer Rick could be screening some old AFL footage or a 1970s NFL playoff game. He might be holding forth on the virtues of high school football’s inherent value for building character and lifelong bonds between comrades and combatants. And, if it’s mid-December, he’s likely to be nailing up another butt of the family Christmas tree on the eave overhanging his bar. He’s up to about 17 now, and seeing them lined up is a quite a sight.
Earlier this week, Packer Rick received an unexpected gift from the NFL owners when they announced the 2014 Super Bowl would be held in the swamps of Jersey. For someone who still turns on the TV every Sunday rooting for a snowstorm or rain deluge and thinks domes are the devil’s work, a championship game played in arctic conditions with swirling snow and ice-encrusted spectators would be a gift from the football gods. Or from Vince Lombardi. He can only imagine what NFL Films would be able to do with such a canvas. Forget the game action; Packer Rick wants shots of behemoth linemen exhaling steam and icicles clinging to the goalposts.
But what excites Packer Rick even more is that the announcement paves the way for future cold-weather Super Bowls, including one in Green Bay. “It lets me put my “50th year anniversary of the Ice Bowl” 2017 Super Bowl at 1265 Lombardi Avenue petition into action,” he says, laughing. Don’t bet against him. He’ll have 10,000 signatures before you can say, “Run to Daylight.”
There has been much sturm und drang about the league’s decision to bestow its Big Game upon the New York metropolitan area. Players say how much they hate toiling in cold weather, as if anybody but Canadians embraces it. We hear horror stories about what would happen if it snowed (people would wear boots), although the biggest snowfall in NYC history on the date of this year’s Super Bowl was three inches. And we hear how horrible it will be for fans traveling to the big game who will have to endure cold temperatures as they take part in the festivities. It may not be the beach, but if you can’t find something to do in Manhattan, regardless of the weather, you are about as much fun as a Congressional hearing.
Football is the ultimate tough-guy game (although if hockey players keep losing multiple teeth and returning to action 10 minutes later, we may have to re-think that), so anyone who complains about playing in 30-degree temperatures must be a baseball player – or a wide re-diva. There have been scores of important games played during the NFL’s history in less than ideal conditions. Packer Rick’s beloved Ice Bowl is the most famous, but from the New York Giants’ 1934 NFL championship win over the Bears on the Polo Grounds’ frozen turf (Giants’ coach Steve Owen outfitted his charges in sneakers at halftime, and they pulled away after intermission) through the Steelers’ snow-speckled triumph over the Ravens in the ’09 AFC title game, the elements have played a big role in professional football. Staging a Super Bowl in a climate that could be less than ideal returns the sport to its roots and creates a great stage.
Ask anybody who played pickup football on a snow-covered field how much fun that can be. Ask anybody who has watched a snowy game on television if they enjoyed the experience, and the nearly-unanimous answer will be “Yes!” As for those fans who will have to brave the elements to watch the league’s best battle, remember this old Siberian adage: “There is no such thing as weather too cold, just inadequate clothing.” In other words, bundle up. Then bundle up some more. You’ll be fine.
Finally, a bit of advice for those who think cold weather will inhibit the ability to have fun in New York. Last Super Bowl weekend, El Hombre and La Mujer bivouacked at the Waldorf-Astoria. We visited the Museum of Modern Art, caught a play on Broadway, had some dynamite Mexican food, attended Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and had a great brunch with family from the 44th floor of an apartment building with a spectacular view. Aside from the $55 glass of whisky a flighty Scotsman made EH finance, the weekend was perfect. By the way, the temperature that weekend hovered in the 20s, with a brutal wind-chill. We hardly remember the climate, just the fun.
So, hats off to the NFL for putting the Super Bowl in New York/Jersey. Let it be a gateway to other cold-weather hosts. And should the game be played in conditions better suited for ice fishing, remember another old Russian proverb: “If it’s cold in February, summer will be pleasant.”
And should you see Packer Rick, sign his petition. We have to get the ’17 game at Lambeau.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Michigan has penalized itself for exceeding the number of practice and workout hours allowed by the NC2A. In addition to some future limits on field time and the firing of an employee involved in the scandal, the school has also forced all coaches and administrators to watch every minute of game action from the past two seasons, when coach Rich Ro-riguez’s (no D) teams went a combined 8-16. Talk about your draconian punishments…Good news for Sammy Sosa: The Congressional committee investigating baseball’s steroids addiction won’t investigate him. Seems it was too hard to find an interpreter to work with Sosa, who vacillates between speaking English just fine during clubhouse interviews and being unable to say a word while under oath…Speaking of illegal performance-enhancing drugs, El Hombre is certain that it’s just a coincidence that Dr. Anthony Galea, whom Eldrick Woods sought out for treatment, also worked with A-Fraud and other known juicers. Woods just went to Galea for therapeutic reasons. Right. And soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo is dating Kim Kardashian for her mind…In other soccer news, England’s Trade Union Council has requested that employers allow workers to watch games involving the national team during the upcoming World Cup. Benefits include a happier workforce and limited “sick-outs” on game days. Companies who participate are being encouraged to create “hooligan zones,” where drunken workers can destroy property and beat the tar out of other ethnic groups…It’s early. It probably won’t happen. But wouldn’t it be magical if the Celtics joined the Broons in a double Beantown choke?
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? So, here are the Flyers, the scrappiest team in all of sports, getting ready to tangle with the mighty Blackhawks. Chicago piled up more points during the regular season. It has a deeper defense and more scorers. It plays in the stronger Western Conference. Everything points to a Blackhawks series victory – except history. While it has been 35 years since the Flyers hoisted the Cup, Chicago is in the midst of a 49-year drought. Further, by overcoming a 3-0 deficit against the Broons and smashing Montreal, a now-healthy Flyers team has gained tremendous confidence and has proven it can win anywhere. Yes, the Blackhawks have been dynamite on the road, and that Dustin Byfuglien character is a beast. If Philadelphia continues to play rugged hockey and doesn’t take a bunch of stupid penalties, and if goalie Michael Leighton keeps the magic dust on his shoulders, the Flyers can win. In fact, the Flyers will win. In six. Batten down the hatches. This will be a wild celebration.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Some time in the next few weeks, LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh and Joe Johnson will sit down to discuss their respective free agent futures. Consider it the professional basketball equivalent of the Potsdam conference, which led to the redesign of Europe’s borders after WWII. Or, if you wish, you can liken it to the final scene of “Mobsters,” when Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky and the boys divide up the country into crime fiefdoms. The four ballers – and anybody else they decide worthy of inclusion – will basically do the same thing with the NBA. They’ll discuss the pros and cons of various franchises, figure who should play where and try to maximize their earning potential. When the owners do this, it’s “collusion.” When star players get together to cut such deals, it’s “business.” If the meeting yields the outcome El Hombre thinks it will, the league will be officially at the mercy of its players, who will have established a new competitive balance based on their own whims and personal interests. This is an unprecedented move in professional sports history, and it demonstrates exactly why the product we are watching – and in many instances paying dearly to see – lacks the same allure and competitive drama as its predecessors did. If players are getting together with the idea of dispersing themselves or, in some cases, banding together, then pro basketball has no chance of establishing future rivalries with real teeth. Instead, it will have the feel of a cartel, in which the participants work together for greater financial aid for the whole. The superstar sit-down is a compelling concept, but it is bad for basketball. For the NBA’s sake, let’s hope the outcome doesn’t produce a disaster.
-EH-
Packer Rick is in heaven these days, and not just because his beloved Green Bay club is on the rise or his mighty fifth-grade lacrosse club overwhelmed all comers during the recent season.
From his command center in the nearly-legendary Pack Den, Packer Rick keeps a watchful eye on the sports world’s traditions. The Den’s walls are covered – and El Hombre means covered – with framed photographs of history’s heroes, athletic, military and political. He even has a still of Erwin Rommel, Germany’s “Desert Fox.” “He hated Hitler,” Packer Rick says, justifying the famous tank commander’s presence with the other luminaries. Of course, he also has a photo of Gen. George Patton – “He stares at Rommel, on the opposite wall, of course” – and won’t hesitate to recount the line attributed to “Old Blood and Guts” in his marvelous biopic: “Rommel, you magnificent bastard! I read your book!”
At any given time, Packer Rick could be screening some old AFL footage or a 1970s NFL playoff game. He might be holding forth on the virtues of high school football’s inherent value for building character and lifelong bonds between comrades and combatants. And, if it’s mid-December, he’s likely to be nailing up another butt of the family Christmas tree on the eave overhanging his bar. He’s up to about 17 now, and seeing them lined up is a quite a sight.
Earlier this week, Packer Rick received an unexpected gift from the NFL owners when they announced the 2014 Super Bowl would be held in the swamps of Jersey. For someone who still turns on the TV every Sunday rooting for a snowstorm or rain deluge and thinks domes are the devil’s work, a championship game played in arctic conditions with swirling snow and ice-encrusted spectators would be a gift from the football gods. Or from Vince Lombardi. He can only imagine what NFL Films would be able to do with such a canvas. Forget the game action; Packer Rick wants shots of behemoth linemen exhaling steam and icicles clinging to the goalposts.
But what excites Packer Rick even more is that the announcement paves the way for future cold-weather Super Bowls, including one in Green Bay. “It lets me put my “50th year anniversary of the Ice Bowl” 2017 Super Bowl at 1265 Lombardi Avenue petition into action,” he says, laughing. Don’t bet against him. He’ll have 10,000 signatures before you can say, “Run to Daylight.”
There has been much sturm und drang about the league’s decision to bestow its Big Game upon the New York metropolitan area. Players say how much they hate toiling in cold weather, as if anybody but Canadians embraces it. We hear horror stories about what would happen if it snowed (people would wear boots), although the biggest snowfall in NYC history on the date of this year’s Super Bowl was three inches. And we hear how horrible it will be for fans traveling to the big game who will have to endure cold temperatures as they take part in the festivities. It may not be the beach, but if you can’t find something to do in Manhattan, regardless of the weather, you are about as much fun as a Congressional hearing.
Football is the ultimate tough-guy game (although if hockey players keep losing multiple teeth and returning to action 10 minutes later, we may have to re-think that), so anyone who complains about playing in 30-degree temperatures must be a baseball player – or a wide re-diva. There have been scores of important games played during the NFL’s history in less than ideal conditions. Packer Rick’s beloved Ice Bowl is the most famous, but from the New York Giants’ 1934 NFL championship win over the Bears on the Polo Grounds’ frozen turf (Giants’ coach Steve Owen outfitted his charges in sneakers at halftime, and they pulled away after intermission) through the Steelers’ snow-speckled triumph over the Ravens in the ’09 AFC title game, the elements have played a big role in professional football. Staging a Super Bowl in a climate that could be less than ideal returns the sport to its roots and creates a great stage.
Ask anybody who played pickup football on a snow-covered field how much fun that can be. Ask anybody who has watched a snowy game on television if they enjoyed the experience, and the nearly-unanimous answer will be “Yes!” As for those fans who will have to brave the elements to watch the league’s best battle, remember this old Siberian adage: “There is no such thing as weather too cold, just inadequate clothing.” In other words, bundle up. Then bundle up some more. You’ll be fine.
Finally, a bit of advice for those who think cold weather will inhibit the ability to have fun in New York. Last Super Bowl weekend, El Hombre and La Mujer bivouacked at the Waldorf-Astoria. We visited the Museum of Modern Art, caught a play on Broadway, had some dynamite Mexican food, attended Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and had a great brunch with family from the 44th floor of an apartment building with a spectacular view. Aside from the $55 glass of whisky a flighty Scotsman made EH finance, the weekend was perfect. By the way, the temperature that weekend hovered in the 20s, with a brutal wind-chill. We hardly remember the climate, just the fun.
So, hats off to the NFL for putting the Super Bowl in New York/Jersey. Let it be a gateway to other cold-weather hosts. And should the game be played in conditions better suited for ice fishing, remember another old Russian proverb: “If it’s cold in February, summer will be pleasant.”
And should you see Packer Rick, sign his petition. We have to get the ’17 game at Lambeau.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Michigan has penalized itself for exceeding the number of practice and workout hours allowed by the NC2A. In addition to some future limits on field time and the firing of an employee involved in the scandal, the school has also forced all coaches and administrators to watch every minute of game action from the past two seasons, when coach Rich Ro-riguez’s (no D) teams went a combined 8-16. Talk about your draconian punishments…Good news for Sammy Sosa: The Congressional committee investigating baseball’s steroids addiction won’t investigate him. Seems it was too hard to find an interpreter to work with Sosa, who vacillates between speaking English just fine during clubhouse interviews and being unable to say a word while under oath…Speaking of illegal performance-enhancing drugs, El Hombre is certain that it’s just a coincidence that Dr. Anthony Galea, whom Eldrick Woods sought out for treatment, also worked with A-Fraud and other known juicers. Woods just went to Galea for therapeutic reasons. Right. And soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo is dating Kim Kardashian for her mind…In other soccer news, England’s Trade Union Council has requested that employers allow workers to watch games involving the national team during the upcoming World Cup. Benefits include a happier workforce and limited “sick-outs” on game days. Companies who participate are being encouraged to create “hooligan zones,” where drunken workers can destroy property and beat the tar out of other ethnic groups…It’s early. It probably won’t happen. But wouldn’t it be magical if the Celtics joined the Broons in a double Beantown choke?
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? So, here are the Flyers, the scrappiest team in all of sports, getting ready to tangle with the mighty Blackhawks. Chicago piled up more points during the regular season. It has a deeper defense and more scorers. It plays in the stronger Western Conference. Everything points to a Blackhawks series victory – except history. While it has been 35 years since the Flyers hoisted the Cup, Chicago is in the midst of a 49-year drought. Further, by overcoming a 3-0 deficit against the Broons and smashing Montreal, a now-healthy Flyers team has gained tremendous confidence and has proven it can win anywhere. Yes, the Blackhawks have been dynamite on the road, and that Dustin Byfuglien character is a beast. If Philadelphia continues to play rugged hockey and doesn’t take a bunch of stupid penalties, and if goalie Michael Leighton keeps the magic dust on his shoulders, the Flyers can win. In fact, the Flyers will win. In six. Batten down the hatches. This will be a wild celebration.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Some time in the next few weeks, LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh and Joe Johnson will sit down to discuss their respective free agent futures. Consider it the professional basketball equivalent of the Potsdam conference, which led to the redesign of Europe’s borders after WWII. Or, if you wish, you can liken it to the final scene of “Mobsters,” when Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky and the boys divide up the country into crime fiefdoms. The four ballers – and anybody else they decide worthy of inclusion – will basically do the same thing with the NBA. They’ll discuss the pros and cons of various franchises, figure who should play where and try to maximize their earning potential. When the owners do this, it’s “collusion.” When star players get together to cut such deals, it’s “business.” If the meeting yields the outcome El Hombre thinks it will, the league will be officially at the mercy of its players, who will have established a new competitive balance based on their own whims and personal interests. This is an unprecedented move in professional sports history, and it demonstrates exactly why the product we are watching – and in many instances paying dearly to see – lacks the same allure and competitive drama as its predecessors did. If players are getting together with the idea of dispersing themselves or, in some cases, banding together, then pro basketball has no chance of establishing future rivalries with real teeth. Instead, it will have the feel of a cartel, in which the participants work together for greater financial aid for the whole. The superstar sit-down is a compelling concept, but it is bad for basketball. For the NBA’s sake, let’s hope the outcome doesn’t produce a disaster.
-EH-
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