EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
El Hombre doesn’t know what is so sacrosanct about the Hall of Fame Game, but it has enough weight to force Roger Goodell, DeMaurice Smith and a group of really rich guys stay in a conference room for 12 hours discussing their labor differences. After more than 100 days of hand-wringing, legal challenges and endless Sal-Pal reports, a completely meaningless football game has spurred the two sides in the NFL labor dispute to negotiate like grown-ups and end the silly stalemate.
It’s hard to believe the real engine in the drive to bring football to the starving masses has been an exhibition game noted more for the relative anonymity of those competing in it – after the first series or two – and the inane interviews conducted with HOF inductees while the game is going on. (Who was it that decided yellow blazers were proper for the football Hall of Fame?)
For some reason, the game Matters, so Smith, Goodell and their minions are at the bargaining table, trying to hammer out the details of a CBA that assures everybody a fair share of the gigantic revenues that will be rolling into the NFL vaults over the next several years. The league grossed $9 billion last season, and with TV right expected to double over the next few seasons (ESPN will pay $1.8-1.9 billion for Monday Night Football alone beginning next year) everybody is going to be fat and happy. Or, in the case of disgruntled Redskins defensive tackle Albert Haynesworth, just fat.
As the final touches are put on the agreement, let’s hope the two sides are mindful of the obligation they have to retired players. Thursday’s death of former Colts and Chargers tight end John Mackey amplifies the need to make sure those who have finished playing the game – and with whom the game is finished – have health benefits. Mackey was one of the pioneering players at his position, displaying a rare (at the time) blend of size and speed that made him more than just an adjunct offensive tackle. Mackey could block like a lineman and then split the seam for big gains in the passing game. He came along at a time when the position wasn’t counted on for big plays but showed its value through his performance.
His career earned him enshrinement in Canton, but it is his life off the field and after football that makes him pertinent to the negotiations occurring right now. A former NFL Players Union president, Mackey was a tireless advocate for those who brought the game to life. In his later years, Mackey suffered from frontotemporal dementia, brought on by the many collisions he endured while an NFL player. He spent the last four years of his life in an assisted living facility, after the task of providing daily care for him became too grueling for his devoted wife, Sylvia.
The last CBA between owners and players, forged in 2006, included the “88 Plan,” named for Mackey’s uniform number. It provided up to $88,000 a year for nursing care for former players with dementia or Alzheimer’s and up to 50 grand for home care. That was a positive step, and it no doubt helped Mackey. But it wasn’t enough, and Smith and the current players need to make sure this new agreement contains more. Much more.
Every player who spends at least three seasons in the league should get lifetime health benefits. Good ones, too. They’re going to need new knees, hips and ankles down the line, and they should have access to the best care possible, at minimal expense to them. We’re talking $10 co-pays and $100 hospital fees. Let’s not hear anything about “skyrocketing healthcare costs” or “pre-existing conditions.” Create and fund a plan that provides for universal acceptance. If that means the NFL has to shell out a half-billion a year, so be it. And if that means Smith has to pull the grown-up card on a bunch of selfish here-and-now types, so be it.
The astounding thing about this is that the players haven’t fought for this kind of coverage from the beginning of time. Every player, no matter how rich or successful he may be today, will some day be an ex-player. And, unlike average American citizens, they will have health problems that go well beyond the normal afflictions. Not only must they deal with threats of serious conditions and diseases, but they must also confront the specter of joint replacement, dementia and whatever comes of the supplements and P.E.D.s they took to stick around the game longer.
Some might say that a player who accumulates millions in salary over the course of his career can certainly afford to augment his Medicare coverage with a gap policy. That is true. But gaining access to such insurance isn’t so easy, since the effects of NFL play render former players extremely high risks for insurance companies, who exist not to provide care but to make money. Having a no-questions-asked entry into a plan available would provide tremendous peace of mind and long-term security for players who face increasing risk of serious injury and long-term health problems playing the sport America loves.
As the final details of the forthcoming CBA are negotiated, players and owners alike should allow John Mackey’s life – and recent death – to serve as impetus to make sure former players have the care they need. Do it for John.
And for Andre Waters. And Dave Duerson. And Mike Webster.
Do the right thing.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Nets guard Deron Williams has announced he has signed to play ball in Turkey during the NBA work stoppage. Now, Kobe Bryant says he might consider a stint in the Euroleagues. What a great idea. Less money, much more practice and the chance to suffer a serious injury that puts future 10-figure earnings at risk. And we thought Ron Artest, er, Metta World Peace was nuts. Enjoy life on the Bosphorus, Deron, but don’t expect too many of your NBA compatriots to follow. Istanbul isn’t too posse friendly…So, let’s get this straight. Oregon’s defense in the investigation into whether it paid 25 large to a street agent who helped deliver recruits is stupidity? That the Ducks really paid the money for shoddy “recruiting information?” If the NC2A buys this one, then deposed Ohio State coach Senator Sweatervest should say the e-mails he received weren’t about his players swapping memorabilia for tattoos but that they were just trying to meet Mr. Roarke’s assistant Tattoo on Fantasy Island. Absurd…Nebraska’s in trouble with the NC2A for distributing nearly $28,000 in non-required textbooks and course materials to athlete-students from 2007-10. Schools are allowed to provide mandatory books and materials, but not those items merely “recommended” by professors. In a way, the Cornhuskers should be lauded for giving athlete-students access to extra books. That laughing you hear is coming from the SEC…The Cleveland Cavaliers have announced that they will own and operate and NBA D-League franchise in Canton. Don’t they already have one of those playing in Quicken Loans Arena?...The Roger Clemens perjury trial is underway, with jury selection taking up the first several days of action. Among the potential prosecution witnesses is Majoke League Baseball commissioner Bud Sellout, who will be playing the part of Captain Renault on the stand. Sellout has been undergoing round-the-clock coaching, in case he has to testify. Among his expected answers is “I’m shocked, shocked, to find out steroids were being used.” Apparently he is having trouble saying that with a straight face.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The Phillies play the Braves this weekend in their second crucial series in two weeks. Although the pitching matchups aren’t perfect for Atlanta, and the Phils will be without some key performers, it’s a measuring stick for the team with the best record in baseball and another chance for GM Ruben Amaro to see that his team needs help in the bullpen (even once Ryan Madson returns) and in the lineup. Should the Phillies sweep the three-game set and head into the All-Star break up 5 ½ games, Amaro shouldn’t stay put. The goal here is a World Series title; nothing less will do. And this team as currently constructed has holes that will make winning three playoff series difficult. There is precious little power in the lineup. The corner outfield situation is a mess. The Phillies have the best record in baseball, but 71 games remain after the break, and this is an old team that has already proven it is susceptible to injury. Here’s hoping Amaro understands the need for upgrading the roster, no matter what happens against the Braves. It’s about October and nothing else.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: People will judge this as an overreaction, but the practice of players’ throwing baseballs into the stands during games has to end. No exceptions. The tragedy Thursday night in Texas may have been a horrible accident, but it could have been averted with a zero-tolerance policy for players who toss balls into the stands. This is not the fault of Josh Hamilton – the Texas outfielder who threw the ball to the fan who fell over the railing and died later in the evening. He was just doing what MLB players do every night, several times a night. And, believe El Hombre, he is paying a heavy price for his role in the tragedy. But it’s time for an end to it. One person has died, and that’s one too many. So, no more happy tosses by first basemen to begging fans after the third out of an inning. No more over-the-head throws by outfielders after they catch fly balls. Ball girls don’t give out balls after catching them in foul territory. If a batted ball leaves the field of play, it’s fair game, but that’s it. (And don’t even try to say that the next step is the installation of a net around the entire field; that’s ridiculous.) This isn’t about tradition or fun. This is about a fan who brought his six-year old son to a baseball game and ended up in the morgue. No more tragic accidents. No more baseballs thrown into the stands. Period.
-EH-
Showing posts with label Kobe Bryant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kobe Bryant. Show all posts
Friday, July 8, 2011
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, October 23, 2009
NBA Action is Fantastic
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Back in the ‘90s when Tom Odjakjian was playing roundball matchmaker while with espn, he laid out for El Hombre the perfect recipe for a successful conference hierarchy – at least from the TV perspective:
Take three or four top-shelf teams, a couple hopefuls with the potential to pull upsets now and then and a bunch of catfish living at the bottom of the sea, incapable of doing anything but pumping up the big boys’ records. Mix together for maximum drama and excitement.
In other words, screw parity. That socialist concept may be nice for the NFL and Sweden, but real interest gets generated when there are some true heavyweights roaming the land, stumbling into each other every now and then and staging some memorable battles, preferably near the end of the season.
Odjakjian has since moved on to the Big East, where he has to – among other things – figure out a way to get South Florida and DePaul’s hoop teams on TV every season, no easy task. But his idea remains vital today when it comes to fan interest. Parity may lead to the most equitable level of hope for fans and fill coffers in a similarly identical manner, but no matter how much a matchup between a pair of mediocre teams might make league officials happy, real excitement comes when showdowns between the big boys take place.
It would seem as if Odjakjian was orchestrating the NBA’s off-season moves, because the league enters a watershed season with its most impressive collection of heavy hitters in a long while. It doesn’t quite match the 1980s for star power, but the moves made over the summer have turned the top part of the league into a five-way battle royal, while at the same time pushing the league’s Dalits even further from contention. It’s amazing to look at how the upper echelon fortified itself, while perpetually awful teams cut salary (New Jersey), added incongruous parts (Memphis) or simply gave up (Milwaukee).
San Antonio conned the Bucks out of Richard Jefferson for a few postcards of the Alamo. The Celtics added Rasheed Wallace for versatility and crankiness. Cleveland decided that defending the high pick-and-roll wasn’t all that important (even though every NBA team has 439 variations of the ancient set) and brought Shaquille O’Neal aboard for interior heft and comic relief. Vince Carter is now with the Magic, playing the part of Hedo Turkoglu, without the bad hair. And Los Angeles decided the best way to defend its title was to have Ron Artest beat on Kobe Bryant in practice, rather than in games. Each of those extremely high profile moves, along with a few other, less-publicized transactions (Marquis Daniels in Boston, Antonio McDyess in San Antonio) should create a strong upper class that will allow for maximum attention and a fascinating playoff season.
With a possible work stoppage looming in ’11, serious financial problems plaguing many teams (buy one ticket, get 20 free) and a free-agent frenzy on the horizon that could completely change the league’s personality, it’s nice the NBA has a season ahead that could be truly memorable. Here are some of the more interesting storylines:
Rent-a-Net: New Jersey is running an interesting promotion: Buy four courtside seats for 10 games at the low-low price of $25,000, and you get access to the Izod Center’s club, free food and beverage and the chance to have the Net player of your choice show up at an event for an hour. What a deal. Imagine having Jason Kidd or Vince Carter or Richard Jefferson at your kid’s birthday party or enlivening a Bar Mitzvah celebration. Oh, you mean they don’t play in Jersey anymore? Somehow Devin Harris, Brook Lopez and Yi Jianlian don’t have the same cachet. How about this marketing slogan for those crazy enough to buy that package: Sucker Seats.
Dysfunctional Family: The most frustrated man in the NBA has to be Memphis GM Chris Wallace, who is credited with (blamed for?) the team’s acquisitions of Zach Randolph and Allen Iverson, even though he had nothing to do with them. Those choices were made by Grizz owner Michael Heisley, or if you believe A.I., the Lord. Heisley is so cheap he probably charges for catsup and mustard at the concession stands and thought bringing two of the league’s most selfish players to town would help sell tickets. They sure won’t help Memphis youngsters Rudy Gay, O.J. Mayo, Mike Conley and Hasheem Thabeet, unless they want to learn how to hog the ball and stay out late. Expect this team in the playoffs again around 2019.
One More Chance: Don’t be surprised if Cleveland Cavalier fans don’t learn the lyrics to the Jackson Browne classic, “Stay,” and serenade LeBron James every time he takes the floor. James can opt out of his contract after this season, and one would imagine the Knicks will go after him with the same zest Eddy Curry attacks the post-game buffet. James wants to make money, lots of it, and he has a bigger chance to do that in New York, even though the Knicks can’t offer him a contract as lucrative as Cleveland can. We’re talking endorsements. We’re talking Wall Street. We’re talking lunch boxes. To make it harder for James to leave, the Cavs spent all they could during the off-season to make their team better. Shaq’s in town. So are strong role players Anthony Parker and Jamario Moon. Cleveland re-signed Sideshow Bob. This is the team’s best chance for a title, and whether it wins one might just determine James’ address next year.
Reverse the Curse: When top overall draft pick Blake Griffin hurt his knee just before training camp – after hurting his shoulder during summer league play – everybody laughed and credited the Clipper Curse for stalling another promising career. But Griffin is stronger than some superstition, and the team has more talent than previous incarnations, which pretty much always found a way to lose. It all depends on PG Baron Davis, who is said to be svelte and in shape, a big difference from this time last year, when he hit the pasta full throttle in a reality show diet scheme. But Griffin and fellow pups Eric Gordon and Al Thornton have big upsides, and L.A. has a manageable payroll and stalwarts who are tied up for a couple more years. The Clips won all of 19 last year. Expect them to double that and then some, unless of course, you know, they’re cursed.
On the Rise: The Thunder is so young and so new to its OK City digs that it’s tempted to consider it an expansion team, rather than a franchise that has been around since the late 1960s. (How else would it have chosen a name like “Supersonics?” Love that space age wonder.) If things continue on their current path, that kind of thinking should evaporate pretty quickly. Thanks to young standouts like Kevin Durant, Russell Westbrook and Jeff Green, the Thunder is heading in the right direction. There’s no way Oklahoma City can make the playoffs this year, but don’t count out a run next season and count them in for sure the year after that. Then, the only problem for the team will be whether all of those players want to leave town.
Fearless Predictions: Eastern Playoff Teams: Cleveland, Boston, Orlando, Atlanta, Chicago, Washington, Miami, Detroit. Western Playoff Teams: Los Angeles Lakers, San Antonio, Utah, Portland, Denver, Dallas, New Orleans, Los Angeles Clippers.
Conference Finals: Cleveland over Boston; San Antonio over Los Angeles.
Finals: San Antonio over Cleveland.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Washington coach Jim Zorn is just the latest victim of owner Daniel Snyder’s stupidity. El Hombre understands that the money is great, but why would anybody want to subject himself to being part of the Redskins’ circus…Shame on Magic Johnson and (and to a lesser extent) Larry Bird. Instead of putting together what would have been a great book about their rivalry, which had so many rich components, they chose to rip on Isiah Thomas. Sure, Thomas deserves a lot of heat for his mismanagement as a coach and commissioner, but to load their book with rumormongering and innuendo was small time stuff…One month after separating with his wife, Dodgers owner Frank McCourt fired her as CEO of the team. Jamie McCourt should have a pretty good case against her estranged husband, because EH hears he was sleeping with one of his employees…Oklahoma QB Sam Bradford’s shoulder injury – and re-injury – will forever more be known as Exhibits A and B why any player with the chance to go in the top five of the NFL Draft should do so without question. Unless there is a rookie salary cap, there is little reason to take the risk Bradford did, all in the name of devotion to dear, old State U. Even if there is a salary cap for newcomers, it’s possible Bradford’s injury could impact his career – and earning power – permanently. That’s a steep price to pay for loyalty.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Every time Cole Hamels has pitched during the post-season, fans and Phillies brass have hoped the lefthander would return to the form that made him so successful last October. Well, it ain’t happening. Unlike Brad Lidge, who has regained some of his mastery after discovering the two-seam fastball, Hamels is a flawed pitcher right now. Teams have solved him somewhat and are sitting on his solid but hardly jaw-dropping fastball, a fact evidenced by the large number of at bats that he requires six, seven and even eight pitches to complete – sometimes with a poor outcome. Hamels can’t get lefties out, is running high pitch counts in early innings and looks like he has lost his confidence. Once the team’s ace, he’s now better suited for the three or four spot in the World Series rotation. Hamels needs to gut out the rest of the year and then discover a way to counter the hitters’ adjustments to him, unless he wants to remain ordinary. With that in mind, here’s how the W.S. pitching order should go – Game One: Clifford The Big Red Ace; Game Two: Heavy B; Game Three: Pedro; Game Four: Hamels, unless Lee wants to go on three days rest like his Yankee pal C.C. Sabathia.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The absolutely horrible umpiring during the post-season has renewed pleas for an instant replay system in Majoke League Baseball. The game simply can’t be determined by incompetent umpires, especially when so much is at stake. Since MLB already has a system in place for home run calls, it wouldn’t be a major step to institute a method of reviewing other plays – but not balls and strikes. Give each team one or two challenges a game and let it stay at that. For those worrying about how much time it would add, like some of those interminable NFL replay stoppages, remember that a big part of that process involves clock and yard-line issues, considerations which don’t have any role in baseball games. Further, allow for no commercial breaks during reviews, the better to prevent a 30-second interruption from mushrooming into two or three minutes. Think the umps would have needed much time to divine that Joe Mauer’s hit in Game Three against the Yankees was fair? Hell, an NBA ref could have seen that. It’s time to take the game out of the hands of incompetents and get it right.
-EH-
Back in the ‘90s when Tom Odjakjian was playing roundball matchmaker while with espn, he laid out for El Hombre the perfect recipe for a successful conference hierarchy – at least from the TV perspective:
Take three or four top-shelf teams, a couple hopefuls with the potential to pull upsets now and then and a bunch of catfish living at the bottom of the sea, incapable of doing anything but pumping up the big boys’ records. Mix together for maximum drama and excitement.
In other words, screw parity. That socialist concept may be nice for the NFL and Sweden, but real interest gets generated when there are some true heavyweights roaming the land, stumbling into each other every now and then and staging some memorable battles, preferably near the end of the season.
Odjakjian has since moved on to the Big East, where he has to – among other things – figure out a way to get South Florida and DePaul’s hoop teams on TV every season, no easy task. But his idea remains vital today when it comes to fan interest. Parity may lead to the most equitable level of hope for fans and fill coffers in a similarly identical manner, but no matter how much a matchup between a pair of mediocre teams might make league officials happy, real excitement comes when showdowns between the big boys take place.
It would seem as if Odjakjian was orchestrating the NBA’s off-season moves, because the league enters a watershed season with its most impressive collection of heavy hitters in a long while. It doesn’t quite match the 1980s for star power, but the moves made over the summer have turned the top part of the league into a five-way battle royal, while at the same time pushing the league’s Dalits even further from contention. It’s amazing to look at how the upper echelon fortified itself, while perpetually awful teams cut salary (New Jersey), added incongruous parts (Memphis) or simply gave up (Milwaukee).
San Antonio conned the Bucks out of Richard Jefferson for a few postcards of the Alamo. The Celtics added Rasheed Wallace for versatility and crankiness. Cleveland decided that defending the high pick-and-roll wasn’t all that important (even though every NBA team has 439 variations of the ancient set) and brought Shaquille O’Neal aboard for interior heft and comic relief. Vince Carter is now with the Magic, playing the part of Hedo Turkoglu, without the bad hair. And Los Angeles decided the best way to defend its title was to have Ron Artest beat on Kobe Bryant in practice, rather than in games. Each of those extremely high profile moves, along with a few other, less-publicized transactions (Marquis Daniels in Boston, Antonio McDyess in San Antonio) should create a strong upper class that will allow for maximum attention and a fascinating playoff season.
With a possible work stoppage looming in ’11, serious financial problems plaguing many teams (buy one ticket, get 20 free) and a free-agent frenzy on the horizon that could completely change the league’s personality, it’s nice the NBA has a season ahead that could be truly memorable. Here are some of the more interesting storylines:
Rent-a-Net: New Jersey is running an interesting promotion: Buy four courtside seats for 10 games at the low-low price of $25,000, and you get access to the Izod Center’s club, free food and beverage and the chance to have the Net player of your choice show up at an event for an hour. What a deal. Imagine having Jason Kidd or Vince Carter or Richard Jefferson at your kid’s birthday party or enlivening a Bar Mitzvah celebration. Oh, you mean they don’t play in Jersey anymore? Somehow Devin Harris, Brook Lopez and Yi Jianlian don’t have the same cachet. How about this marketing slogan for those crazy enough to buy that package: Sucker Seats.
Dysfunctional Family: The most frustrated man in the NBA has to be Memphis GM Chris Wallace, who is credited with (blamed for?) the team’s acquisitions of Zach Randolph and Allen Iverson, even though he had nothing to do with them. Those choices were made by Grizz owner Michael Heisley, or if you believe A.I., the Lord. Heisley is so cheap he probably charges for catsup and mustard at the concession stands and thought bringing two of the league’s most selfish players to town would help sell tickets. They sure won’t help Memphis youngsters Rudy Gay, O.J. Mayo, Mike Conley and Hasheem Thabeet, unless they want to learn how to hog the ball and stay out late. Expect this team in the playoffs again around 2019.
One More Chance: Don’t be surprised if Cleveland Cavalier fans don’t learn the lyrics to the Jackson Browne classic, “Stay,” and serenade LeBron James every time he takes the floor. James can opt out of his contract after this season, and one would imagine the Knicks will go after him with the same zest Eddy Curry attacks the post-game buffet. James wants to make money, lots of it, and he has a bigger chance to do that in New York, even though the Knicks can’t offer him a contract as lucrative as Cleveland can. We’re talking endorsements. We’re talking Wall Street. We’re talking lunch boxes. To make it harder for James to leave, the Cavs spent all they could during the off-season to make their team better. Shaq’s in town. So are strong role players Anthony Parker and Jamario Moon. Cleveland re-signed Sideshow Bob. This is the team’s best chance for a title, and whether it wins one might just determine James’ address next year.
Reverse the Curse: When top overall draft pick Blake Griffin hurt his knee just before training camp – after hurting his shoulder during summer league play – everybody laughed and credited the Clipper Curse for stalling another promising career. But Griffin is stronger than some superstition, and the team has more talent than previous incarnations, which pretty much always found a way to lose. It all depends on PG Baron Davis, who is said to be svelte and in shape, a big difference from this time last year, when he hit the pasta full throttle in a reality show diet scheme. But Griffin and fellow pups Eric Gordon and Al Thornton have big upsides, and L.A. has a manageable payroll and stalwarts who are tied up for a couple more years. The Clips won all of 19 last year. Expect them to double that and then some, unless of course, you know, they’re cursed.
On the Rise: The Thunder is so young and so new to its OK City digs that it’s tempted to consider it an expansion team, rather than a franchise that has been around since the late 1960s. (How else would it have chosen a name like “Supersonics?” Love that space age wonder.) If things continue on their current path, that kind of thinking should evaporate pretty quickly. Thanks to young standouts like Kevin Durant, Russell Westbrook and Jeff Green, the Thunder is heading in the right direction. There’s no way Oklahoma City can make the playoffs this year, but don’t count out a run next season and count them in for sure the year after that. Then, the only problem for the team will be whether all of those players want to leave town.
Fearless Predictions: Eastern Playoff Teams: Cleveland, Boston, Orlando, Atlanta, Chicago, Washington, Miami, Detroit. Western Playoff Teams: Los Angeles Lakers, San Antonio, Utah, Portland, Denver, Dallas, New Orleans, Los Angeles Clippers.
Conference Finals: Cleveland over Boston; San Antonio over Los Angeles.
Finals: San Antonio over Cleveland.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Washington coach Jim Zorn is just the latest victim of owner Daniel Snyder’s stupidity. El Hombre understands that the money is great, but why would anybody want to subject himself to being part of the Redskins’ circus…Shame on Magic Johnson and (and to a lesser extent) Larry Bird. Instead of putting together what would have been a great book about their rivalry, which had so many rich components, they chose to rip on Isiah Thomas. Sure, Thomas deserves a lot of heat for his mismanagement as a coach and commissioner, but to load their book with rumormongering and innuendo was small time stuff…One month after separating with his wife, Dodgers owner Frank McCourt fired her as CEO of the team. Jamie McCourt should have a pretty good case against her estranged husband, because EH hears he was sleeping with one of his employees…Oklahoma QB Sam Bradford’s shoulder injury – and re-injury – will forever more be known as Exhibits A and B why any player with the chance to go in the top five of the NFL Draft should do so without question. Unless there is a rookie salary cap, there is little reason to take the risk Bradford did, all in the name of devotion to dear, old State U. Even if there is a salary cap for newcomers, it’s possible Bradford’s injury could impact his career – and earning power – permanently. That’s a steep price to pay for loyalty.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Every time Cole Hamels has pitched during the post-season, fans and Phillies brass have hoped the lefthander would return to the form that made him so successful last October. Well, it ain’t happening. Unlike Brad Lidge, who has regained some of his mastery after discovering the two-seam fastball, Hamels is a flawed pitcher right now. Teams have solved him somewhat and are sitting on his solid but hardly jaw-dropping fastball, a fact evidenced by the large number of at bats that he requires six, seven and even eight pitches to complete – sometimes with a poor outcome. Hamels can’t get lefties out, is running high pitch counts in early innings and looks like he has lost his confidence. Once the team’s ace, he’s now better suited for the three or four spot in the World Series rotation. Hamels needs to gut out the rest of the year and then discover a way to counter the hitters’ adjustments to him, unless he wants to remain ordinary. With that in mind, here’s how the W.S. pitching order should go – Game One: Clifford The Big Red Ace; Game Two: Heavy B; Game Three: Pedro; Game Four: Hamels, unless Lee wants to go on three days rest like his Yankee pal C.C. Sabathia.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The absolutely horrible umpiring during the post-season has renewed pleas for an instant replay system in Majoke League Baseball. The game simply can’t be determined by incompetent umpires, especially when so much is at stake. Since MLB already has a system in place for home run calls, it wouldn’t be a major step to institute a method of reviewing other plays – but not balls and strikes. Give each team one or two challenges a game and let it stay at that. For those worrying about how much time it would add, like some of those interminable NFL replay stoppages, remember that a big part of that process involves clock and yard-line issues, considerations which don’t have any role in baseball games. Further, allow for no commercial breaks during reviews, the better to prevent a 30-second interruption from mushrooming into two or three minutes. Think the umps would have needed much time to divine that Joe Mauer’s hit in Game Three against the Yankees was fair? Hell, an NBA ref could have seen that. It’s time to take the game out of the hands of incompetents and get it right.
-EH-
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Cost of Doing Bidness
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Back in September 1986, when it seemed as if every Southwest Conference football program was under NC2A investigation or already on probation, earnest Ted Koppel and his “Nightline” team thought it wise to seek the sage counsel of one Daniel Jenkins on the matter. Koppel, like many football fans, was outraged at the wild-west climate that had taken hold in the SWC, which boasted eight teams from Texas and the University of Arkansas as its members. Payments to players, a rather laissez-faire approach to academics, and recruiting shenanigans too widespread to detail fully comprised the case against the programs, and that was just how the Christian schools were doing business. Even darker stuff was going on at the state-run institutions.
So, “Nightline” visited chez Jenkins and trained a camera on the white-haired veteran journalist, who just happened to be an alumnus of TCU, an esteemed conference member. Jenkins had made a living chronicling – often in hilarious fashion – the excesses and vanities of the football world, and seemed to understand that people under pressure to succeed will often do just about anything to achieve that goal. Being a Texan, he had a little different view of football than did the England-born, Stanford-educated Koppel. For Jenkins, everything was fine once the ball was in the air, and the chicken-fried steak gravy was suitably thick.
Had Koppel and his research staff done their due diligence, they would have known that the last thing Jenkins was going to do that September night was pillory the SWC. They expected a bobblehead that would validate their fury. What they got was a well-traveled cynic who had created characters like Big Ed Bookman and T.J. Lambert in order to lampoon those who insisted that college athletics be 99 44/100 percent pure. Anyone who knew Jenkins understood that things weren’t going to go Koppel’s way from the moment the writer appeared on the TV screen, wearing his trademark black blazer, with a Winston cooking in the ashtray next to his easy chair. And was that a glass of young scotch iced up next to him?
By the time the interview was over, Jenkins had turned Koppel inside-out, ripping the NC2A for its “stupid rules” and basically letting the folks screaming for SWC blood know that a little bit – or in the case of SMU, a lot – of cheating was merely the cost of doing football business in Texas. Koppel was outraged. Jenkins was amused. And anyone with a sense of humor was entertained.
It may be time for “Nightline” to pay another visit to Jenkins, if they can get him off the golf course, that is. Since Koppel is no longer in the anchor chair, the show can use any of the three anchors it currently employs, since each looks earnest and priggish enough to express the necessary indignation were Jenkins to take a long swig of the youngster and provide some insight into today’s college sports world. It certainly isn’t a scenic vista, but it’s not much different than it was 20-plus (and more) years ago. Still, Tuesday’s news that USC basketball coach Tim Floyd quit doesn’t improve the view. The official reason for Floyd’s resignation was that he “no longer had full enthusiasm for the job.” No, Floyd’s level of interest in coaching the Trojans remains pretty high. It’s his threshold of dealing with the allegations that he had paid a “representative” of O.J. Mayo $1,000 in hundies on a SoCal street corner that had dropped. Of course, at ‘SC these days, unless you’re under investigation for something, you’re not really doing your job. Just ask Pete Carroll about that.
Or, you can check in with Tennessee’s Lane Kiffin, who is piling up “minor” violations in Knoxville the way the Vols have hoarded losses – early and often – of late. Hey, Kiffin’s just being aggressive, like spending 800 large since taking over the program on recruiting, at a time when the school is cutting $11 mil from the books. Why not ask the folks at Memphis about how they can still consider themselves a legitimate institution of higher learning when they granted admission to a basketball player whose second round of SAT scores were more than 500 points lower than his first? Worse, Georgia dropped the kid after the discrepancy, and when you’re taking kids that SEC schools won’t touch, you have problems.
It goes on and on. As college athletics continues its descent into the world of professionalism, Jenkins’ observations more than 20 years ago still stand. Many of the NC2A’s rules are still stupid, and coaches and administrators will do just about anything to win ballgames. Lest you think this is something new, keep in mind that football in the first couple decades of the 20th century featured eligibility tomfoolery that made today’s academic and transfer transgressions seem minor by comparison. And remember Bud Wilkinson, whose Oklahoma teams tore off 47 in a row without a loss during the ‘50s? Well, if you believe Jim Dent’s book, “The Undefeated,” the Great White Father had a predilection for acquiring talent in creative – and sometimes expensive – ways and for stewardesses.
The NC2A has recently created an “ethics panel” in men’s college hoops, the better to provide guidance and structure to coaches who live in the gray area of recruiting rules. Its goal is to clean up the image of coaches, who are generally cast as masters in the art of deception when it comes to selling their programs to talented high school players. Good luck with that, fellas, because for every 50 guys who do it right, there is a Tim Floyd, and everybody wants to know about him. Worse, the cesspool of “grass-roots” basketball is filled with conniving, greedy sleazebags who care little about the players they pimp and only about what finds its way into their pockets. In that sewer, rules mean nothing. If you want some kid who has been flown to AAU games since he was 11 and has more gear than most college equipment rooms, you had better be ready to get some dirt under your fingernails. Otherwise, it’s the NIT for you, buddy.
The Floyd imbroglio is the latest headline torn from a long list of ugly stories about college athletics dating back more than a century. As long as there is money to be made and victories to be chased, there will be rules “violations” and unethical behavior. Those who express outrage should ask whether they are ready for the only true solution: an end to the big-time sports model and a nationwide embrace of the Ivy League mentality. If they’re not, then stop worrying about who’s paying whom and enjoy the game.
That’s how Jenkins does it.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: America continues to be held hostage by the ridiculous Brett Favre saga. The latest bit of hilarity is the report that members of Cowboy Quarterback’s gang booked 30 hotel rooms in Green Bay the weekend of the Vikings-Packers game. Let’s hope we find out what they order from room service. All of this over a washed-up QB who played like a rookie free agent during the last month of the ’08 season. Stunning, even by espn’s standards…Here’s hoping Phil Mickelson’s return to the links is successful. But Lefty would probably choose to miss the cut in every tournament for the rest of the year if his wife will conquer cancer…The United States is considering visiting Iran for a soccer “friendly” this fall. Winner gets a trophy and a metric ton of yellowcake uranium. Negotiations are expected to be tough, since Iranian supreme leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei wants the game played in Great Satan Stadium. That could be a problem…Joe Montana’s son, Nick, has committed to play football in 2010 at the University of Washington. The good news is that the quarterback has no pressure on him, since it’s not like his father accomplished anything on the football field.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? On the one hand, it’s easy to feel sorry for Phillies’ leftfielder Raul Ibanez, who this week was accused by a blogger of fueling his fantastic start with products from the BALCO Bonds line. Ibanez has never failed a drug test and has volunteered to provide any type of bodily fluid or output (no, thank you) to defend his honor. On the other hand, Ibanez is part of a union that has fought drug testing at every turn and continues to refuse to provide blood samples so that Majoke League Baseball can test for HGH. Like it or not, every player whose numbers inflate beyond previous performance levels is liable to be suspected of cheating, simply because the past 10-plus years have featured so much chicanery, obfuscation and outright lying. Ibanez may be completely innocent, but the company he keeps – MLB ballplayers – makes him vulnerable to speculation and accusation. It may not be “fair” to him, but after everything that baseball and its union have allowed since the mid-1990s, it’s a fact of life. If Ibanez and others want to eliminate the finger-pointing, they should agitate for an iron-clad drug-testing program that conforms to the World Anti-Doping Agency’s highest standards. Otherwise, great accomplishments will continue to trigger speculation.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: If the ipecacuanha plant ever disappears from the earth, and its dried rhizome and roots are no longer available to create the well-known emetic, parents will still be able to induce vomiting among children who swallow household cleaning products by letting them watch tapes of coverage of the ’09 NBA Finals. The absolute obsession with Kobe Bryant’s quest for a fourth title has set new standards for overdramatizing athletics. Bryant has been no help and has gone so far as to create a new sneer for the occasion, a ridiculous reverse-overbite that emerges at crucial times, as if on cue by espn/abc directors looking for a symbol of his intensity. In the world of television sports, it matters little whether a team wins, or a game is great. There must be a compelling storyline, and this year’s is Bryant and his “obsession” with winning another title. We are reminded repeatedly about how much “he wants it,” what it means for “his legacy” and how “it will cement his greatness.” If this isn’t enough to make you root for the Magic, then consider yourself gone from the ranks of sports fans who care about the competition and get ready for NBA on Broadway.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: El Hombre y la familia will spend a week at the Nygard Cay Beach Resort in the Bahamas, so the next dose of truth and justice will be administered June 25. Have a happy Father’s Day.
-EH-
Back in September 1986, when it seemed as if every Southwest Conference football program was under NC2A investigation or already on probation, earnest Ted Koppel and his “Nightline” team thought it wise to seek the sage counsel of one Daniel Jenkins on the matter. Koppel, like many football fans, was outraged at the wild-west climate that had taken hold in the SWC, which boasted eight teams from Texas and the University of Arkansas as its members. Payments to players, a rather laissez-faire approach to academics, and recruiting shenanigans too widespread to detail fully comprised the case against the programs, and that was just how the Christian schools were doing business. Even darker stuff was going on at the state-run institutions.
So, “Nightline” visited chez Jenkins and trained a camera on the white-haired veteran journalist, who just happened to be an alumnus of TCU, an esteemed conference member. Jenkins had made a living chronicling – often in hilarious fashion – the excesses and vanities of the football world, and seemed to understand that people under pressure to succeed will often do just about anything to achieve that goal. Being a Texan, he had a little different view of football than did the England-born, Stanford-educated Koppel. For Jenkins, everything was fine once the ball was in the air, and the chicken-fried steak gravy was suitably thick.
Had Koppel and his research staff done their due diligence, they would have known that the last thing Jenkins was going to do that September night was pillory the SWC. They expected a bobblehead that would validate their fury. What they got was a well-traveled cynic who had created characters like Big Ed Bookman and T.J. Lambert in order to lampoon those who insisted that college athletics be 99 44/100 percent pure. Anyone who knew Jenkins understood that things weren’t going to go Koppel’s way from the moment the writer appeared on the TV screen, wearing his trademark black blazer, with a Winston cooking in the ashtray next to his easy chair. And was that a glass of young scotch iced up next to him?
By the time the interview was over, Jenkins had turned Koppel inside-out, ripping the NC2A for its “stupid rules” and basically letting the folks screaming for SWC blood know that a little bit – or in the case of SMU, a lot – of cheating was merely the cost of doing football business in Texas. Koppel was outraged. Jenkins was amused. And anyone with a sense of humor was entertained.
It may be time for “Nightline” to pay another visit to Jenkins, if they can get him off the golf course, that is. Since Koppel is no longer in the anchor chair, the show can use any of the three anchors it currently employs, since each looks earnest and priggish enough to express the necessary indignation were Jenkins to take a long swig of the youngster and provide some insight into today’s college sports world. It certainly isn’t a scenic vista, but it’s not much different than it was 20-plus (and more) years ago. Still, Tuesday’s news that USC basketball coach Tim Floyd quit doesn’t improve the view. The official reason for Floyd’s resignation was that he “no longer had full enthusiasm for the job.” No, Floyd’s level of interest in coaching the Trojans remains pretty high. It’s his threshold of dealing with the allegations that he had paid a “representative” of O.J. Mayo $1,000 in hundies on a SoCal street corner that had dropped. Of course, at ‘SC these days, unless you’re under investigation for something, you’re not really doing your job. Just ask Pete Carroll about that.
Or, you can check in with Tennessee’s Lane Kiffin, who is piling up “minor” violations in Knoxville the way the Vols have hoarded losses – early and often – of late. Hey, Kiffin’s just being aggressive, like spending 800 large since taking over the program on recruiting, at a time when the school is cutting $11 mil from the books. Why not ask the folks at Memphis about how they can still consider themselves a legitimate institution of higher learning when they granted admission to a basketball player whose second round of SAT scores were more than 500 points lower than his first? Worse, Georgia dropped the kid after the discrepancy, and when you’re taking kids that SEC schools won’t touch, you have problems.
It goes on and on. As college athletics continues its descent into the world of professionalism, Jenkins’ observations more than 20 years ago still stand. Many of the NC2A’s rules are still stupid, and coaches and administrators will do just about anything to win ballgames. Lest you think this is something new, keep in mind that football in the first couple decades of the 20th century featured eligibility tomfoolery that made today’s academic and transfer transgressions seem minor by comparison. And remember Bud Wilkinson, whose Oklahoma teams tore off 47 in a row without a loss during the ‘50s? Well, if you believe Jim Dent’s book, “The Undefeated,” the Great White Father had a predilection for acquiring talent in creative – and sometimes expensive – ways and for stewardesses.
The NC2A has recently created an “ethics panel” in men’s college hoops, the better to provide guidance and structure to coaches who live in the gray area of recruiting rules. Its goal is to clean up the image of coaches, who are generally cast as masters in the art of deception when it comes to selling their programs to talented high school players. Good luck with that, fellas, because for every 50 guys who do it right, there is a Tim Floyd, and everybody wants to know about him. Worse, the cesspool of “grass-roots” basketball is filled with conniving, greedy sleazebags who care little about the players they pimp and only about what finds its way into their pockets. In that sewer, rules mean nothing. If you want some kid who has been flown to AAU games since he was 11 and has more gear than most college equipment rooms, you had better be ready to get some dirt under your fingernails. Otherwise, it’s the NIT for you, buddy.
The Floyd imbroglio is the latest headline torn from a long list of ugly stories about college athletics dating back more than a century. As long as there is money to be made and victories to be chased, there will be rules “violations” and unethical behavior. Those who express outrage should ask whether they are ready for the only true solution: an end to the big-time sports model and a nationwide embrace of the Ivy League mentality. If they’re not, then stop worrying about who’s paying whom and enjoy the game.
That’s how Jenkins does it.
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EL HOMBRE SEZ: America continues to be held hostage by the ridiculous Brett Favre saga. The latest bit of hilarity is the report that members of Cowboy Quarterback’s gang booked 30 hotel rooms in Green Bay the weekend of the Vikings-Packers game. Let’s hope we find out what they order from room service. All of this over a washed-up QB who played like a rookie free agent during the last month of the ’08 season. Stunning, even by espn’s standards…Here’s hoping Phil Mickelson’s return to the links is successful. But Lefty would probably choose to miss the cut in every tournament for the rest of the year if his wife will conquer cancer…The United States is considering visiting Iran for a soccer “friendly” this fall. Winner gets a trophy and a metric ton of yellowcake uranium. Negotiations are expected to be tough, since Iranian supreme leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei wants the game played in Great Satan Stadium. That could be a problem…Joe Montana’s son, Nick, has committed to play football in 2010 at the University of Washington. The good news is that the quarterback has no pressure on him, since it’s not like his father accomplished anything on the football field.
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YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? On the one hand, it’s easy to feel sorry for Phillies’ leftfielder Raul Ibanez, who this week was accused by a blogger of fueling his fantastic start with products from the BALCO Bonds line. Ibanez has never failed a drug test and has volunteered to provide any type of bodily fluid or output (no, thank you) to defend his honor. On the other hand, Ibanez is part of a union that has fought drug testing at every turn and continues to refuse to provide blood samples so that Majoke League Baseball can test for HGH. Like it or not, every player whose numbers inflate beyond previous performance levels is liable to be suspected of cheating, simply because the past 10-plus years have featured so much chicanery, obfuscation and outright lying. Ibanez may be completely innocent, but the company he keeps – MLB ballplayers – makes him vulnerable to speculation and accusation. It may not be “fair” to him, but after everything that baseball and its union have allowed since the mid-1990s, it’s a fact of life. If Ibanez and others want to eliminate the finger-pointing, they should agitate for an iron-clad drug-testing program that conforms to the World Anti-Doping Agency’s highest standards. Otherwise, great accomplishments will continue to trigger speculation.
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AND ANOTHER THING: If the ipecacuanha plant ever disappears from the earth, and its dried rhizome and roots are no longer available to create the well-known emetic, parents will still be able to induce vomiting among children who swallow household cleaning products by letting them watch tapes of coverage of the ’09 NBA Finals. The absolute obsession with Kobe Bryant’s quest for a fourth title has set new standards for overdramatizing athletics. Bryant has been no help and has gone so far as to create a new sneer for the occasion, a ridiculous reverse-overbite that emerges at crucial times, as if on cue by espn/abc directors looking for a symbol of his intensity. In the world of television sports, it matters little whether a team wins, or a game is great. There must be a compelling storyline, and this year’s is Bryant and his “obsession” with winning another title. We are reminded repeatedly about how much “he wants it,” what it means for “his legacy” and how “it will cement his greatness.” If this isn’t enough to make you root for the Magic, then consider yourself gone from the ranks of sports fans who care about the competition and get ready for NBA on Broadway.
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ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: El Hombre y la familia will spend a week at the Nygard Cay Beach Resort in the Bahamas, so the next dose of truth and justice will be administered June 25. Have a happy Father’s Day.
-EH-
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