EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
As the NFL promotional machine cranks itself up to new and more ridiculous levels than ever, the actual game looms mercifully Sunday as an antidote to the silliness and self-indulgence that have characterized the country’s most popular sport’s signature event. Soon, we won’t have to worry about wigs and fur coats and endless analysis about key players and difference-makers. It won’t matter whether Ben Roethlisberger sang “Piano Man” Tuesday night – and off key, at that. It will be football time, and all will be right for fans who grow ever weary of the league’s attempts to turn a competition into a spectacle and a spectacle into a parody.
We get a gift this time, as two old-time franchises trudge to the middle of False Face’s pleasure dome. No nouveau squads in garish uniforms (see Cardinals, Arizona; Seahawks, Seattle and Titans, Tennessee). No mascots. No cheerleaders, although not even El Hombre is a big enough purist to wish away that part of the show. We have two top-10 QBs, a pair of violent defenses and a notable absence of trash-spewing players and coaches. The league’s bad guys are home, licking their wounds and preparing to launch envious Twitter assaults. Amidst the 21st century nonsense that has become so much a part of the NFL experience, this game is welcome respite.
Not everything is perfect. The teams will meet indoors. And Fox will no doubt be at its self-aggrandizing best. But the worst blotch on the game is the absence of the one man capable of giving it the necessary gravitas and historical perspective. The man for whose baritone a game like this was made.
John Facenda.
The Voice of God headed to the heavenly press box in 1984, leaving NFL Films with a deficit at the microphone. His successors – the great Harry Kalas among them – though game and certainly capable, never duplicated Facenda’s legendary delivery. Hearing him say, “Otis Taylor turned a routine hitch pass into a devastating touchdown,” was almost like listening to John F. Kennedy ask us what we could do for our country. That was Facenda. That was the magic of the 1970s NFL, and that’s what El Hombre wishes he could have for this one. Pittsburgh-Green Bay does not deserve anything but the best. This matches the teams with the most Super Bowl titles (Pittsburgh: 6) and NFL championships (Green Bay: 11). It conjures memories of Vince Lombardi and the Packer Sweep, and Chuck Noll and the Steel Curtain. If any game cried out for Facenda, it was this one.
Facenda’s narration of NFL Films’ half-hour Super Bowl presentations imbued even the blandest game – like the tedious ’73 Miami-Washington ordeal – with a sense of drama. Routine plays became heroic. Big performances were rendered legendary. As the Steelers, Packers and their compelling histories prepare to clash, nothing short of Facenda’s authoritative presence could provide the necessary context. No matter how great the game is (or isn’t), there will definitely be something missing, especially as the league and its propaganda partners contort their minds in pursuit of enough “news” to fill the long hours leading up to the game.
On the field, we might not be disappointed, even if a small percentage of previous Super Bowls has been worthy of the game’s appellation. There can be little argument that the two teams represent the best of their respective conferences. Neither “shocked the world” by reaching the Super Bowl, even though Green Bay did emerge from the wild-card position to play for all the cheese. Many thought Captain Hoodie’s troops would represent the AFC, but the Steelers used their balance to beat Baltimore and the Jets – who had made the Pats look ordinary a week before.
Perhaps the best thing about both teams is that each is committed to running the football. Green Bay’s Aaron Rodgers may have thrown for 3,922 yards during the regular season, but the Packers showed a strong devotion to the run during the playoffs, averaging 31.7 carries per game, which is actually more than the passes they attempted (by a shade). The Steelers, meanwhile, ran it 23 more times than they have passed it in wins over Baltimore and New York. This is yet another reason to love the two teams. In a league that has done everything it can to propagate the passing game, they realize that truly successful
teams can mash.
And play D. That has been the Steelers’ hallmark since Chuck Noll took over back in ’69 and continues under coordinator Dick LeBeau. Under Mike McCarthy, the Packers have become better and better on that side of the ball. After spending three seasons (2006-08) out of the top 10 in total defense, the Pack has been second and fifth the past two. A big reason for that is the 2009 decision to hire Dom Capers to run the defense. Since his arrival, not to mention the ’09 decision to draft human drain plug B.J. Raji and all-everything LB Clay Matthews with the team’s two first-round picks, the Packers have been much better.
Were this game not surrounded by a full hour of commercial and promotional folderol it might be a quick one, as two teams devoted to working the clock slug it out. Instead, when Fox’s lead-in to a “very special episode” of Glee concludes, it will likely have dragged on for four hours. When it’s finally over, and the Lombardi Trophy (please, NFL, don’t redesign it like you did the conference hardware) is awarded, Pittsburgh will have grabbed its seventh Super Bowl title. The Steelers are a little better on D, will run the ball with more success, and Roethlisberger will – as usual – make a couple big plays down the stretch. Pittsburgh 24, Green Bay 20. (Post-season record against the spread: 7-3.)
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Say what you want about hockey’s goon factor, but you can’t deny the entertainment value of Thursday’s Stars-Bruins game, which featured three fights in the first four seconds (that’s right) of play…Shame on CBS College Sports for making deposed Michigan football coach Rich Ro-riguez (no D) interview his successor, Brady Hoke, on signing day. Ro-riguez deserved to get the gate in Ann Arbor, but he didn’t have to endure the session with Hoke. What’s next, video of his most recent colonoscopy?...There are reports of match fixing, gambling and gangsters in the world of sumo wrestling as the scandal ballooned this week. The scope of the investigation continues to widen, and the perps could face fat fines and hefty suspensions. Japanese TV networks are considering dropping live coverage of the March tournament and replacing it with competitive eating…Amidst huge statewide education budget cuts and continued concerns about whether some schools can even stay open, Allen HS is building a $60 million, 18,000-seat stadium on campus. At least the taxpayers’ money isn’t being wasted on something frivolous, like a new chem lab, or the people would be pretty steamed.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? When El Hombre received an e-mail Wednesday morning from an Airtight Source telling him the Eagles were about to hire a defensive coordinator who had never coached D in the NFL before, he couldn’t believe it. Neither could the two league execs he asked whether that made any sense. But, sure enough, later that day, the Birds announced they were promoting offensive line coach Juan Castillo to DC. It’s a move that defies description and explanation. No matter how the Eagles want to rationalize this, it doesn’t smell right. If moving someone from a position coaching spot one side of the ball to a coordinator’s position on the other side made so much sense, how come it isn’t done more often? Or at all? The true story of this one won’t be out for a while, and El Hombre believes it has more to do with Castillo’s replacement, formerly-retired Howard Mudd, than it does with the team’s feeling that Castillo is the next Jim Johnson. Head coach Andy Reid has put his sizeable posterior on the line before, but this could be his biggest exposure yet. Should Castillo fail to do the job, it won’t be viewed as his fault, rather the responsibility of the man who put him in the wrong position. Reid may feel he’s bulletproof within the organization, but this move might tear away some of the Kevlar that surrounds him. We’ll wait and see, out of respect to Castillo, but a failure could topple Reid’s regime.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: This is El Hombre’s 300th effort, and the past six-plus years have been a fun ride – to where, nobody really knows. What began as a means of clearing the opinions out of a cluttered mind has turned into something with (limited) national appeal and a community of readers/responders that is edifying. EH promises the next 300 missives will be filled with the same passion, strident beliefs, whimsy and, yes, anger – not to mention plenty of Animal House references – that the previous collection was. If you like what you’re seeing, you can find more by checking out @DailyHombre on Twitter. Thanks for reading.
-EH-
Showing posts with label Ben Roethlisberger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ben Roethlisberger. Show all posts
Friday, February 4, 2011
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-
Thursday, February 19, 2009
How Dare He?
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
With so much going on in the world of sports, from the negotiations to broadcast NASCAR’s weekly drama on the Soap Opera Network, to the contrived excitement of the NBA Slam Dunk Contest and Sheriff Buford T. Justice’s inability to make drug charges stick against Snoop Phelps, there was absolutely no reason to join the hysterical media chorus about Alex Rodriguez, his young and stupid cousin and their Cream of Cheat. Why not talk about how NFL Network draft analyst Mike Mayock is going to go nuts over some offensive lineman’s hip drop at this weekend’s Scouting Combine? Or whether Texas Tech actually thinks it can fire its wildly successful head coach and still lure 50,000 people out to the west Texas scrub every other Saturday.
That will all have to wait, and all because of an e-mail sent to me by an esteemed national radio host. Attached to it was a blog post by a Milwaukee talker with the sporting eye of an 80-year old double-cataract myope. This genius has decided that he is the smartest guy in the country, because he has defended Bud Sellout all along, and now he has been vindicated. This is a transparent case of Bratwurst City brotherhood, since Sellout is a former snake oil salesman, er, car dealer from Sudstown. And even though anyone who can honestly say the steroid mess in baseball can be blamed on everybody but the man in charge, is clearly in need of a refresher course on logic, El Hombre is steamed.
Looking for villains in this mess is like trying to find evidence of Mickey Rourke’s hard life and bad career decisions on his battered face. They are everywhere. And blaming Sellout for the whole mess is unfair. Without the strong supporting work of union goons Donald Fehr and Gene Ozra, baseball’s drug mess never could have erupted like the acne on Jose Canseco’s back. Without the willingness of players to risk their long-term health by taking everything from testosterone to infertility drugs to pills designed to fight narcolepsy, the game wouldn’t have been soiled like the Suleman octuplets’ diapers. And without a hero-worshipping group of fans and media, who marveled at the long-ball numbers being cranked out by power-hitting laboratory mutants, the game’s credibility wouldn’t be suffering worse than Joaquin Phoenix’s.
The word is conspiracy, and we were all in on it, at least for a while. And if we’re all guilty in some way, then Sellout is especially culpable, because he was in charge. There was a lot to dislike about Uberfuhrer Steinbrenner during his rein of terror atop the Yankee organization, but he got one thing right from the start: If you want to be the boss, you have to make the difficult decisions and stand by them. That’s what people in charge do. They face down the tough situations, choose to act and then withstand the inevitable criticism. They set the pace and then remain strong when others launch bombs at them. What do you think would have happened in London during WWII if Winston Churchill had remained sequestered in a bunker, when Nazi bombs were pelting every house and pub night after night? There would have been chaos and despair. Instead, Churchill surveyed the wreckage daily, promised things would change and endured the barbs of those who insisted it was his mismanagement that allowed the mess to take place. That’s leadership.
What we have now from Sellout is a cowardice that worsens daily. The commissioner has decided that he is not only innocent of all charges being brought against him in the court of public opinion, but that he needs to convince us that everybody else is guilty. There hasn’t been a leadership breech this grotesque since Neville Chamberlain decided Hitler wasn’t such a bad guy after all and surrendered much of Europe to the tyrant in a quest for “peace in our time.” Sellout is in full sprint, dashing away from his responsibilities as a leader, one of which is accepting the blame for previous mistakes.
The worst part of Sellout’s recent defense strategy is his outrage. How dare he take offense at those who accuse him of ineffectiveness and complicity during the past decade-plus? Where was his voice when the McGwire/Sosa love fest was “saving the game” in 1998? Where was his outrage in the ensuing years when home run totals piled up faster than Andruw Jones’ excess pounds? Why wasn’t he saying then that the union refused to implement a testing program? Why wasn’t he fighting with the same tenacity he is showing now to keep the sport he ran from becoming a cesspool of drug addicts and freak-show performers? Sellout said Monday, “I don’t want to hear the commissioner turned a blind eye to this or he didn’t care about it.” Oh, you don’t? Well, then buy some of those high-priced earplugs rock musicians use, Bud, because you’re in for a crapstorm.
Sellout punked out with BALCO Bonds, refusing to take a stand either way on his pursuit of Hank Aaron’s record. He partied like a rap star as McGwire and Sosa injected their way to long-ball heaven. And only when the evidence became too overwhelming to ignore did he get serious about instituting a drug policy. Funny how the players’ association became a lot more malleable once it saw the public was irate over the steroid use. Think testing would have arrived earlier had Sellout pointed some bloodhound journalists to the smoking syringes back in the late ‘90s? You betcha.
So, stop with the outrage, Bud. Don’t tell us how far the sport has come, because it started in a performance-enhanced abyss created by your lack of leadership. For once during your tenure, have the cajones to admit you were wrong about the whole thing. Then again, since Sellout was part of the whole steroid era, it’s possible that part of his anatomy shrunk, just like those of the juicers he worked to protect.
Then again, maybe he didn’t have any in the first place.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Great work by Me-Mac, allowing news of his season-ending knee surgery to get out through Stephen Naismith, rather than the Rockets. He is seriously injured, but once again the man came up small, just as he has repeatedly during the post-season. He thinks he’s an elite player in the league, but he’ll find out in ’10 that the market for selfish, injury-prone gunners isn’t too robust…Michigan’s Fab Five has announced it will reunite at a Detroit casino as part of the Final Four in April. Wonder who came up with the appearance money for them, now that Ed Martin isn’t around anymore…The Wisconsin Supreme Court ruled last week that cheerleading is a “contact sport,” and that participants who are hurt cannot sue teammates whose actions lead to the injuries. In a related story, the Missouri Supreme Court ruled that the WNBA has been reclassified as a narcotic sleep aid…In an effort to cut runaway costs, the Ohio State football team is considering traveling to at least one game by bus this season. To make up for the horrible inconvenience, Buckeye administrators have promised the players won’t have to go to class that week. Oh, wait. You mean? Never mind.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? It may not sit too well with the legions of McNabb haters out there, but the Eagles are showing good judgment and surprising long-view thinking by opening negotiations with Donovan McNabb for a contract extension. McNabb is not perfect, and his lack of a signature, big-game comeback clouds his legacy in town, but he is light years beyond Kevin Kolb and far better than any other quarterback available right now. The Eagles need to re-sign him and then get to work on upgrading the other parts of their offense – O line, running back depth, big-play receiver. The onus remains on McNabb to lead the way and prove he is a championship passer, but throughout his Eagles career, he has proven to be a consistent winner and big producer. That may not be enough for some, but it’s plenty for those who understand that throwing away quality with no reasonable upgrade in sight is bad business. By the way, the list of NFL QBs better than McNabb is pretty darn short: (in no particular order) Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Ben Roethlisberger, Kurt Warner.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: Tiger Woods’ caddie Steve Williams took time off from lobbing cheap shots at Phil Mickelson to predict that his boss might be back on the links as early as a “few weeks” from now. That’s great news for the PGA, which has become as relevant as biathlon during Woods’ recuperation from knee surgery. If you want to see the most compelling argument against Woods as the undisputed greatest golfer of all time, check out the leader board at this week’s PGA event in Los Angeles. You half expect to see Judge Smails and Ty Webb near the top, because the rest of the crew is so weak. Not quite what Jack Nicklaus had to deal with when Tom Watson, Gary Player, Lee Trevino and the like were challenging him. Still, expect Woods’ media cheerleaders to chart his comeback with breathless enthusiasm and continue to stoke the legend machine of their hero.
-EH-
With so much going on in the world of sports, from the negotiations to broadcast NASCAR’s weekly drama on the Soap Opera Network, to the contrived excitement of the NBA Slam Dunk Contest and Sheriff Buford T. Justice’s inability to make drug charges stick against Snoop Phelps, there was absolutely no reason to join the hysterical media chorus about Alex Rodriguez, his young and stupid cousin and their Cream of Cheat. Why not talk about how NFL Network draft analyst Mike Mayock is going to go nuts over some offensive lineman’s hip drop at this weekend’s Scouting Combine? Or whether Texas Tech actually thinks it can fire its wildly successful head coach and still lure 50,000 people out to the west Texas scrub every other Saturday.
That will all have to wait, and all because of an e-mail sent to me by an esteemed national radio host. Attached to it was a blog post by a Milwaukee talker with the sporting eye of an 80-year old double-cataract myope. This genius has decided that he is the smartest guy in the country, because he has defended Bud Sellout all along, and now he has been vindicated. This is a transparent case of Bratwurst City brotherhood, since Sellout is a former snake oil salesman, er, car dealer from Sudstown. And even though anyone who can honestly say the steroid mess in baseball can be blamed on everybody but the man in charge, is clearly in need of a refresher course on logic, El Hombre is steamed.
Looking for villains in this mess is like trying to find evidence of Mickey Rourke’s hard life and bad career decisions on his battered face. They are everywhere. And blaming Sellout for the whole mess is unfair. Without the strong supporting work of union goons Donald Fehr and Gene Ozra, baseball’s drug mess never could have erupted like the acne on Jose Canseco’s back. Without the willingness of players to risk their long-term health by taking everything from testosterone to infertility drugs to pills designed to fight narcolepsy, the game wouldn’t have been soiled like the Suleman octuplets’ diapers. And without a hero-worshipping group of fans and media, who marveled at the long-ball numbers being cranked out by power-hitting laboratory mutants, the game’s credibility wouldn’t be suffering worse than Joaquin Phoenix’s.
The word is conspiracy, and we were all in on it, at least for a while. And if we’re all guilty in some way, then Sellout is especially culpable, because he was in charge. There was a lot to dislike about Uberfuhrer Steinbrenner during his rein of terror atop the Yankee organization, but he got one thing right from the start: If you want to be the boss, you have to make the difficult decisions and stand by them. That’s what people in charge do. They face down the tough situations, choose to act and then withstand the inevitable criticism. They set the pace and then remain strong when others launch bombs at them. What do you think would have happened in London during WWII if Winston Churchill had remained sequestered in a bunker, when Nazi bombs were pelting every house and pub night after night? There would have been chaos and despair. Instead, Churchill surveyed the wreckage daily, promised things would change and endured the barbs of those who insisted it was his mismanagement that allowed the mess to take place. That’s leadership.
What we have now from Sellout is a cowardice that worsens daily. The commissioner has decided that he is not only innocent of all charges being brought against him in the court of public opinion, but that he needs to convince us that everybody else is guilty. There hasn’t been a leadership breech this grotesque since Neville Chamberlain decided Hitler wasn’t such a bad guy after all and surrendered much of Europe to the tyrant in a quest for “peace in our time.” Sellout is in full sprint, dashing away from his responsibilities as a leader, one of which is accepting the blame for previous mistakes.
The worst part of Sellout’s recent defense strategy is his outrage. How dare he take offense at those who accuse him of ineffectiveness and complicity during the past decade-plus? Where was his voice when the McGwire/Sosa love fest was “saving the game” in 1998? Where was his outrage in the ensuing years when home run totals piled up faster than Andruw Jones’ excess pounds? Why wasn’t he saying then that the union refused to implement a testing program? Why wasn’t he fighting with the same tenacity he is showing now to keep the sport he ran from becoming a cesspool of drug addicts and freak-show performers? Sellout said Monday, “I don’t want to hear the commissioner turned a blind eye to this or he didn’t care about it.” Oh, you don’t? Well, then buy some of those high-priced earplugs rock musicians use, Bud, because you’re in for a crapstorm.
Sellout punked out with BALCO Bonds, refusing to take a stand either way on his pursuit of Hank Aaron’s record. He partied like a rap star as McGwire and Sosa injected their way to long-ball heaven. And only when the evidence became too overwhelming to ignore did he get serious about instituting a drug policy. Funny how the players’ association became a lot more malleable once it saw the public was irate over the steroid use. Think testing would have arrived earlier had Sellout pointed some bloodhound journalists to the smoking syringes back in the late ‘90s? You betcha.
So, stop with the outrage, Bud. Don’t tell us how far the sport has come, because it started in a performance-enhanced abyss created by your lack of leadership. For once during your tenure, have the cajones to admit you were wrong about the whole thing. Then again, since Sellout was part of the whole steroid era, it’s possible that part of his anatomy shrunk, just like those of the juicers he worked to protect.
Then again, maybe he didn’t have any in the first place.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Great work by Me-Mac, allowing news of his season-ending knee surgery to get out through Stephen Naismith, rather than the Rockets. He is seriously injured, but once again the man came up small, just as he has repeatedly during the post-season. He thinks he’s an elite player in the league, but he’ll find out in ’10 that the market for selfish, injury-prone gunners isn’t too robust…Michigan’s Fab Five has announced it will reunite at a Detroit casino as part of the Final Four in April. Wonder who came up with the appearance money for them, now that Ed Martin isn’t around anymore…The Wisconsin Supreme Court ruled last week that cheerleading is a “contact sport,” and that participants who are hurt cannot sue teammates whose actions lead to the injuries. In a related story, the Missouri Supreme Court ruled that the WNBA has been reclassified as a narcotic sleep aid…In an effort to cut runaway costs, the Ohio State football team is considering traveling to at least one game by bus this season. To make up for the horrible inconvenience, Buckeye administrators have promised the players won’t have to go to class that week. Oh, wait. You mean? Never mind.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? It may not sit too well with the legions of McNabb haters out there, but the Eagles are showing good judgment and surprising long-view thinking by opening negotiations with Donovan McNabb for a contract extension. McNabb is not perfect, and his lack of a signature, big-game comeback clouds his legacy in town, but he is light years beyond Kevin Kolb and far better than any other quarterback available right now. The Eagles need to re-sign him and then get to work on upgrading the other parts of their offense – O line, running back depth, big-play receiver. The onus remains on McNabb to lead the way and prove he is a championship passer, but throughout his Eagles career, he has proven to be a consistent winner and big producer. That may not be enough for some, but it’s plenty for those who understand that throwing away quality with no reasonable upgrade in sight is bad business. By the way, the list of NFL QBs better than McNabb is pretty darn short: (in no particular order) Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Ben Roethlisberger, Kurt Warner.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: Tiger Woods’ caddie Steve Williams took time off from lobbing cheap shots at Phil Mickelson to predict that his boss might be back on the links as early as a “few weeks” from now. That’s great news for the PGA, which has become as relevant as biathlon during Woods’ recuperation from knee surgery. If you want to see the most compelling argument against Woods as the undisputed greatest golfer of all time, check out the leader board at this week’s PGA event in Los Angeles. You half expect to see Judge Smails and Ty Webb near the top, because the rest of the crew is so weak. Not quite what Jack Nicklaus had to deal with when Tom Watson, Gary Player, Lee Trevino and the like were challenging him. Still, expect Woods’ media cheerleaders to chart his comeback with breathless enthusiasm and continue to stoke the legend machine of their hero.
-EH-
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