EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
The sporting world is much better informed about all things Eldrick after the two illuminating interviews he granted last Sunday, to ESPN and the Golf Channel. (CBS declined to participate.) Yeah, right.
By speaking with Tom Rinaldi and Kelly Tilghman, two interviewers favored by the Woods camp, the golfer did what he could to control the situation. His people had already chosen the location (Isleworth Golf and Country Club), set a time limit (five minutes for ESPN, six for TGC), mandated that the interrogators stand, face-to-face, with Woods and embargoed the release of the footage until 7:30 p.m., presumably to let Woods finish watching the NC2A tournament. Woods’ people also stipulated that the interviews would take place outside – why is anybody’s guess – but rainy weather made it impossible for that and forced the action onto a veranda.
With all of those conditions satisfied, it was up to Rinaldi and Tilghman to do their jobs. Unfortunately, neither was overly impressive. Rinaldi looked suitably serious and consulted his note cards, but he never pressed Woods on his unwillingness to discuss specific events, such as whether his wife, Elin, had indeed used his head as a substitute for a Nike One Tour golf ball. Tilghman was overly impressed with Woods’ Buddhist bracelet, a symbol of his rededication to his mother’s faith. Remember that we had never heard anything about his devotion to the Fat Man before, except as an explanation for his preternatural skills of concentration on the course.
It would have been a service to all viewers if either interviewer had thought – or been instructed by his/her superiors – to ask about whether Woods has ever used performance-enhancing drugs. While rehabilitating an injury, Woods sought the care of Dr. Anthony Galea, a Tronno-based physician who is in the middle of a maelstrom regarding his prescribing P.E.D.s to big-league ballplayers. Woods could have chosen any doctor in the U.S., because his health insurance is probably pretty darn good. Instead, he went to Canada to seek assistance from a doc who is in big trouble with the Proper Authorities. Hmmmm.
We didn’t hear anything about that, and it leads one to wonder whether the Woods folks forbade such a query or if the people at the two networks weren’t doing their jobs properly. Whatever the case, we learned nothing from the interviews. Woods was smart enough to tell us everything we already knew. He had done some bad things. Really? It was tough to tell his mother. You don’t say! He’s not sure how the fans will treat him. Perhaps, but he can guarantee reverential treatment at Augusta National next month from the stodgy coots who run the Masters and tolerate nothing short of behavior reserved for Easter Vigil Mass when the tournament comes to town. At least that’s how CBS and the sycophantic golf media, many of whom knew about Woods’ behavior but let it ride, behave.
In short, the Woods interviews were nothing short of public relations ploys to end what has become a slowing, quieting news cycle. You can’t fault the networks for jumping at the chance to speak with the golfer, since it afforded them the opportunity to promote the heck out of the event. What we can fault them for is not following up when Woods stonewalled them, for refusing to ask about Galea and for buying the Buddhist stuff without asking why we hadn’t heard so much about this religious devotion before Woods went rogue. Jailhouse conversions are nothing new, but this seems a little too contrived, even for a control freak like Woods.
Put this one in the win column for the Woods camp and get ready for the next round of silliness at Augusta. That begins April 5, when Woods will deign to speak with the mainstream media prior to competing in the Masters. It’s interesting that he chose that Monday, since it’s the beginning of baseball season and the day of the NC2A men’s hoops championship game. Some pundits have wondered whether Woods will overshadow the other sporting events that day. It’s more likely he’s hoping they will overshadow him. Think about it; dozens of journalists, TV types and columnists will be in Indianapolis to shower praise upon this year’s top student-athletes, while others will be scattered across the country in ballparks to figure out which ballplayers used their off-seasons to experiment with HGH. It’s a classic trick for those who don’t want maximum coverage for a news story and the reason why a lot of unpopular proclamations and information are given on Friday afternoon, the better to be ignored over the weekend. Woods couldn’t have done that, since he’ll be trying to make the cut at Augusta on the Friday of that week, so he picked one of the busiest news days of the year to meet the press.
The most important thing for Woods is that he is on his way back to the course, and it’s clear that the people who cover him are reverting to their pre-scandal form by affording him considerable latitude and respect. Before you know it, commentators will be gushing over his game again, and advertisers will be lining up to have him sell their products. The healing is almost completed. Woods’ participation at the Masters will take him closer to the final step in his rehabilitation.
Oprah.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The college football world was rocked Thursday by the news that the International Bowl was folding after four historic editions. For some reason, the Big Least decided that sending a team to play a MAC school in Tronno wasn’t a good idea. Fret not, America, because a Big Least rep will be part of the new Pinstripe Bowl in Yankee Stadium. Talk about an upgrade…Georgia Tech’s Paul Hewitt, a New York native, turned down the St. John’s coaching job, showing just how tough it’s going to be for the Johnnies to get back to prominence. If the locals don’t want the gig, who’s left?...If you’re not loving the NC2A tourney, then you probably root for Bill Gates and Warren Buffet to get richer. The upsets may have terrorized your office pools, but it’s been great to see the little guys stick it to the Rejection Committee by winning so many games…Ryan Leaf received 10 years probation in his drug and burglary case after a guilty plea. Hard to believe NFL types had such a hard time choosing between him and Peyton Manning back in the late ‘90s. As career train wrecks go, his has to be in consideration for biggest ever.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The anti-Donovan crowd seems closer every day to getting its wish: an end to McNabb’s tenure under center in Philadelphia. The best part? They’re delighted Kevin Kolb will be taking over, simply because he’s not Number Five. That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of Kolb’s abilities, which frankly few can endorse given his short resume – two starts and a 1-1 record. The Eagles stunk at the end of last year because of a rotten offensive line, a defense that could not pressure the QB and a below-par secondary. McNabb wasn’t exactly channeling Johnny Unitas, but blaming him for everything is at best myopic and at worst an indictment of Philadelphia fans’ vaunted sports knowledge. McNabb will go before the 2010 season, if the price is right, and will definitely be gone before 2011 kicks off. (If it does kick off.) And if you think Kolb or just about any other QB in the league can lead the Eagles to the Super Bowl as they are presently constructed, then be sure to wait up late next Saturday night to get a good look at the Easter Bunny.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: After spending a couple months defending Boniface Meyer’s now-you-see-him, now-you-don’t, now-you-do-again behavior regarding his coaching future at Florida on the basis of his heart problems, it’s time to take off the gloves and expose the man for what he is: a two-bit bully who thinks he can do whatever he wants to whomever he wants. Meyer’s threatening, menacing approach to an Orlando Sentinel reporter who merely quoted a UF player was a disgrace and reminded El Hombre of Johnny Friendly, the waterfront hoodlum who was nothing without his cronies and guns. Meyer actually told the reporter, Jeremy Fowler, that if it had been “his son [he had quoted], [they] would be going at it right now.” All Fowler did was accurately report what Deonte Thompson said about the differences between outgoing Gator QB St. Timothy of Tebow and next year’s presumed starter, John Brantley. Because Thompson was not entirely complimentary of Meyer’s pet, the petty dictator thought Fowler’s printing of the comment would be detrimental to Tebow’s draft prospects. No, Boniface, Tebow’s awful throwing motion and wet-noodle arm strength will take care of that. You need to tell your players to stop disparaging your favorite, rather than excoriating those who quote them. Meyer’s behavior was cowardly and arrogant. He needs to issue a legitimate apology (fat chance) and remember that bullies eventually get their comeuppance, and when it happens, the whole world applauds.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: The sporting world lost one of its best comrades-in-arms last week when Jeff St. Amour passed away. Jeff was always quick with a smile, a bit of incisive sports commentary and a kind word. All you need to know about him was revealed at the end of his daughter Caitlin’s marvelous and incredibly courageous eulogy Tuesday. She said that she would finish with two of her father’s “rules.” The first was, “Never strike out looking,” and the second was, “Always finish your drink.” That was Jeff. He participated fully in life and never turned down the opportunity to have a good time. Most of all, he was a dedicated family man who loved his wife and children. As we continue on our strange and wonderful journey, we should emulate Jeff and be sure to keep swinging – and smiling.
-EH-
Showing posts with label Tiger Woods. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tiger Woods. Show all posts
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
All-Star Disaster
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Back when Allen Iverson was holding the Philadelphia 76ers hostage with his unique brand of bionic wrist shooting, a clever saying circulated among the wily wags who covered the team. It went like this:
“They say there’s no ‘I’ in team, and there’s no “team” in Iverson.”
Great stuff, no? Anyway, the point was pretty clear. So long as A.I. was getting his, it didn’t matter what else was going on. The Sixers would win some with him, and in 2001, Iverson (with a bit of help from Larry Brown) lifted the team to the NBA Finals. But that was the limit for Iverson, whose selfish game never allowed the franchise to surround him with other top-flight players, because they knew they wouldn’t see the ball.
If only Iverson had used his powers for good, he could have been one of the greatest point guards ever to pull on an NBA uniform. Just imagine how others would have lined up to play with a ridiculously quick guard who could penetrate at will, was unstoppable in the open court and looked to pass first. It didn’t happen, and last year, age finally caught up with Iverson. No longer able to carry a team on his narrow shoulders, he was asked to take on secondary roles with first Denver and then Detroit. His response in both cases was an upraised middle finger, and after the season he was cast off into the discount bucket, where only Memphis – make that the Grizzlies’ nitwit owner – was interested in claiming him.
You know what happened from there. Iverson was injured during training camp, and when he got healthy, he blanched at coming off the bench. Memphis dumped him, the Sixers picked him up, and his creaky body turned him into the type of complementary player that used to surround him during his prime. In these cases, players generally drift off into obscurity, either as afterthoughts on rotten teams (like the Sixers) or as reserves on winners. They don’t, however, become All-Stars.
Usually.
It’s impossible to blame Iverson for his ascension to the starting lineup of the Eastern Conference All-Stars. He didn’t concoct a computer program to stuff the e-ballot box – as far as we know. Nor did he go door-to-door soliciting votes. He merely forced his way out of Memphis – where “God” told him to go, if you believe AI’s mid-summer revelation – resurfaced in Philadelphia, shed a few tears, kissed some hardwood and then proved that he isn’t the player he once was.
Since joining the Sixers, Iverson has scored a modest 14.9 ppg and dished out 4.4 apg. He’s playing just under 33 minutes a game (a far cry from the 40-plus he used to average) and has missed some time due to arthritis, not exactly a condition that afflicts younger men. Iverson will be 35 this June, and his days of embarrassing rivals with his signature crossover and jet streaming the opposition in the open court are certainly over. The Sixers knew that when they signed him, as did the rest of the NBA, which passed on his services during the off-season. To his credit, Iverson is coping with his creeping mortality, making concessions to his diminishing physical skills by trying to be more of a (gasp!) team player.
Kudos to him for that, but his willingness to junk the me-first approach that made him equal parts thrilling and maddening is not reason for inclusion among the game’s best. It’s especially not worthy of a spot on the starting five. Iverson achieved that status solely due to fan ignorance that spawned a tidal wave of support. Boston’s Ray Allen received flak from all corners when he called for an end – or at least an amendment – to the process of selecting All-Star participants by fan vote. Those who back the system argued that since the game is an exhibition, staged solely for the fans (and to make a fat profit) the NBA’s loyal customers should choose the participants. That makes sense until you realize that making the All-Star team is more than just an opportunity to spend 48 defense-free minutes. Many players have clauses in their contract that give them bonuses for reaching that milestone. Others are judged Hall of Fame-worthy by the number of times they are selected.
As bad as Iverson’s election was, the fact that Tracy McGrady, who has played all of six games this year and averaged 3.2 ppg, almost received enough votes to join the West’s starting lineup was an even greater travesty. Thank goodness a late surge pushed Steve Nash past McGrady. Why couldn’t Me-Mac have done like Yao Ming and removed himself from the ballot? Ming, who won’t play this season, understood that millions of Chinese fans would have pulled his lever, so he bowed out, gracefully. McGrady lacked that kind of class.
The solution should incorporate fan voting, but it should also let players, coaches and/or media have a voice, the better to eliminate future fiascos like the Iverson selection and the McGrady near-miss. That way, perhaps the game will feature the best of the best, not the products of election fraud.
There’s no ‘I’ in team, and there shouldn’t be an Iverson in the All-Star Game.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Golfers descended on Torrey Pines this week for a continuation of the “Who Gives A Crap Tour,” and no matter how much officials protest, Phil Mickelson and Scott Piercy can’t generate the same interest as Mr. Hot Sex. There’s no truth to the rumor PGA bigwigs are offering a $1 million bonus to the first rehab therapist who gives Tiger Woods a clean bill of health…Joel Branstrom, the Kansas high school hoops coach who was pranked by students who promised him Final Four tickets if he made a halfcourt shot (he made it, but they had no tickets for him) will be a guest of the NC2A at this year’s Final Four. After hearing about the organization’s generosity, Texas coach Rick Barnes asked for the same treatment – and wanted to know if he could bring his team with him…Wait a second. Cowboy Quarterback threw a stupid pass? Nooooo way! As much fun as it was to watch Brett Favre blow it in the last seconds of regulation last week against New Orleans (check out the radio call; it’s classic: http://www.nowpublic.com/sports/brett-favre-interception-radio-call-minnesota-radio-rips-favre-2563236.html ), you have to be impressed with his toughness. The Saints treated him like a piñata, and he kept coming back, albeit a little too dramatically. Now, we get to wait months to find out whether he’s returning. That ought to be a lot of fun.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? It’s amusing to hear people try to figure out how much responsibility Sixers’ coach Eddie Jordan should take for the team’s awful, 15-30 record. The answer? None. When GM Ed Stefanski hired Jordan, he talked about how great it was going to be watching the Sixers run Jordan’s “Princeton Offense.” Stefanski conveniently forgot that the team had no point guard and that its highest-paid player, power forward Elton Brand, is a pick-and-pop type with few of the intuitive basketball skills needed for the scheme. Worse, by giving Andre Iguodala a huge contract and Jason Kapono nearly $13 mil for two years(!), Stefanski created one of the nastiest salary cap situations around. The Sixers may have to trade Iguodala and others for an ugly expiring contract just to get under the cap next year and avoid paying the luxury tax. And somebody wants to blame Jordan for that. Sure, the coach could have won a few more games if he had decided on a rotation earlier, but the team he has been handed is not prepared to run his offense, lacks a go-to scorer, doesn’t play very good defense and shoots poorly from outside. Brand is a shell of his former self, and the Sixers didn’t realize that a big reason he looked so good a few years back with the Clippers is that Sam Cassell was hurt, and Brand took a lot more shots than he usually did – yielding more impressive numbers. Jordan isn’t the best coach, but he has been given a nightmare of a roster. The best thing for the Sixers would be for a regime change. Sell the team, Mr. Snider, and let someone who cares about basketball take over.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The NFL has been largely bulletproof when it comes to marketing itself over the past couple decades, but the league has made a huge mistake with the Pro Bowl, no matter how much commissioner Roger Goodell tries to convince us otherwise. About 48 of the 76 players initially announced to play in the game will be suited up and ready to go Sunday night in Miami, where upper deck tickets are reportedly selling for $20 bucks below asking price. Okay, so the Pro Bowl is a joke anyway, and no one should really care – other than the players, who loved going to Hawaii – whether the market for tickets is suffering. The real travesty is that the league is forcing Pro Bowlers from the Colts and Saints to make a special trip to Miami ahead of their teams and stand on the sidelines for the first half of the game, instead of preparing for the Super Bowl, which is only the main goal of every player in the league, except for Me-O. It’s asinine to torpedo your championship game so that an exhibition can have a little more tube appeal for espn. The NFL can try to spin this any way it wants, but it loses big. Let’s hope Goodell has the brains and guts to reverse field next season.
-EH-
Back when Allen Iverson was holding the Philadelphia 76ers hostage with his unique brand of bionic wrist shooting, a clever saying circulated among the wily wags who covered the team. It went like this:
“They say there’s no ‘I’ in team, and there’s no “team” in Iverson.”
Great stuff, no? Anyway, the point was pretty clear. So long as A.I. was getting his, it didn’t matter what else was going on. The Sixers would win some with him, and in 2001, Iverson (with a bit of help from Larry Brown) lifted the team to the NBA Finals. But that was the limit for Iverson, whose selfish game never allowed the franchise to surround him with other top-flight players, because they knew they wouldn’t see the ball.
If only Iverson had used his powers for good, he could have been one of the greatest point guards ever to pull on an NBA uniform. Just imagine how others would have lined up to play with a ridiculously quick guard who could penetrate at will, was unstoppable in the open court and looked to pass first. It didn’t happen, and last year, age finally caught up with Iverson. No longer able to carry a team on his narrow shoulders, he was asked to take on secondary roles with first Denver and then Detroit. His response in both cases was an upraised middle finger, and after the season he was cast off into the discount bucket, where only Memphis – make that the Grizzlies’ nitwit owner – was interested in claiming him.
You know what happened from there. Iverson was injured during training camp, and when he got healthy, he blanched at coming off the bench. Memphis dumped him, the Sixers picked him up, and his creaky body turned him into the type of complementary player that used to surround him during his prime. In these cases, players generally drift off into obscurity, either as afterthoughts on rotten teams (like the Sixers) or as reserves on winners. They don’t, however, become All-Stars.
Usually.
It’s impossible to blame Iverson for his ascension to the starting lineup of the Eastern Conference All-Stars. He didn’t concoct a computer program to stuff the e-ballot box – as far as we know. Nor did he go door-to-door soliciting votes. He merely forced his way out of Memphis – where “God” told him to go, if you believe AI’s mid-summer revelation – resurfaced in Philadelphia, shed a few tears, kissed some hardwood and then proved that he isn’t the player he once was.
Since joining the Sixers, Iverson has scored a modest 14.9 ppg and dished out 4.4 apg. He’s playing just under 33 minutes a game (a far cry from the 40-plus he used to average) and has missed some time due to arthritis, not exactly a condition that afflicts younger men. Iverson will be 35 this June, and his days of embarrassing rivals with his signature crossover and jet streaming the opposition in the open court are certainly over. The Sixers knew that when they signed him, as did the rest of the NBA, which passed on his services during the off-season. To his credit, Iverson is coping with his creeping mortality, making concessions to his diminishing physical skills by trying to be more of a (gasp!) team player.
Kudos to him for that, but his willingness to junk the me-first approach that made him equal parts thrilling and maddening is not reason for inclusion among the game’s best. It’s especially not worthy of a spot on the starting five. Iverson achieved that status solely due to fan ignorance that spawned a tidal wave of support. Boston’s Ray Allen received flak from all corners when he called for an end – or at least an amendment – to the process of selecting All-Star participants by fan vote. Those who back the system argued that since the game is an exhibition, staged solely for the fans (and to make a fat profit) the NBA’s loyal customers should choose the participants. That makes sense until you realize that making the All-Star team is more than just an opportunity to spend 48 defense-free minutes. Many players have clauses in their contract that give them bonuses for reaching that milestone. Others are judged Hall of Fame-worthy by the number of times they are selected.
As bad as Iverson’s election was, the fact that Tracy McGrady, who has played all of six games this year and averaged 3.2 ppg, almost received enough votes to join the West’s starting lineup was an even greater travesty. Thank goodness a late surge pushed Steve Nash past McGrady. Why couldn’t Me-Mac have done like Yao Ming and removed himself from the ballot? Ming, who won’t play this season, understood that millions of Chinese fans would have pulled his lever, so he bowed out, gracefully. McGrady lacked that kind of class.
The solution should incorporate fan voting, but it should also let players, coaches and/or media have a voice, the better to eliminate future fiascos like the Iverson selection and the McGrady near-miss. That way, perhaps the game will feature the best of the best, not the products of election fraud.
There’s no ‘I’ in team, and there shouldn’t be an Iverson in the All-Star Game.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Golfers descended on Torrey Pines this week for a continuation of the “Who Gives A Crap Tour,” and no matter how much officials protest, Phil Mickelson and Scott Piercy can’t generate the same interest as Mr. Hot Sex. There’s no truth to the rumor PGA bigwigs are offering a $1 million bonus to the first rehab therapist who gives Tiger Woods a clean bill of health…Joel Branstrom, the Kansas high school hoops coach who was pranked by students who promised him Final Four tickets if he made a halfcourt shot (he made it, but they had no tickets for him) will be a guest of the NC2A at this year’s Final Four. After hearing about the organization’s generosity, Texas coach Rick Barnes asked for the same treatment – and wanted to know if he could bring his team with him…Wait a second. Cowboy Quarterback threw a stupid pass? Nooooo way! As much fun as it was to watch Brett Favre blow it in the last seconds of regulation last week against New Orleans (check out the radio call; it’s classic: http://www.nowpublic.com/sports/brett-favre-interception-radio-call-minnesota-radio-rips-favre-2563236.html ), you have to be impressed with his toughness. The Saints treated him like a piñata, and he kept coming back, albeit a little too dramatically. Now, we get to wait months to find out whether he’s returning. That ought to be a lot of fun.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? It’s amusing to hear people try to figure out how much responsibility Sixers’ coach Eddie Jordan should take for the team’s awful, 15-30 record. The answer? None. When GM Ed Stefanski hired Jordan, he talked about how great it was going to be watching the Sixers run Jordan’s “Princeton Offense.” Stefanski conveniently forgot that the team had no point guard and that its highest-paid player, power forward Elton Brand, is a pick-and-pop type with few of the intuitive basketball skills needed for the scheme. Worse, by giving Andre Iguodala a huge contract and Jason Kapono nearly $13 mil for two years(!), Stefanski created one of the nastiest salary cap situations around. The Sixers may have to trade Iguodala and others for an ugly expiring contract just to get under the cap next year and avoid paying the luxury tax. And somebody wants to blame Jordan for that. Sure, the coach could have won a few more games if he had decided on a rotation earlier, but the team he has been handed is not prepared to run his offense, lacks a go-to scorer, doesn’t play very good defense and shoots poorly from outside. Brand is a shell of his former self, and the Sixers didn’t realize that a big reason he looked so good a few years back with the Clippers is that Sam Cassell was hurt, and Brand took a lot more shots than he usually did – yielding more impressive numbers. Jordan isn’t the best coach, but he has been given a nightmare of a roster. The best thing for the Sixers would be for a regime change. Sell the team, Mr. Snider, and let someone who cares about basketball take over.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The NFL has been largely bulletproof when it comes to marketing itself over the past couple decades, but the league has made a huge mistake with the Pro Bowl, no matter how much commissioner Roger Goodell tries to convince us otherwise. About 48 of the 76 players initially announced to play in the game will be suited up and ready to go Sunday night in Miami, where upper deck tickets are reportedly selling for $20 bucks below asking price. Okay, so the Pro Bowl is a joke anyway, and no one should really care – other than the players, who loved going to Hawaii – whether the market for tickets is suffering. The real travesty is that the league is forcing Pro Bowlers from the Colts and Saints to make a special trip to Miami ahead of their teams and stand on the sidelines for the first half of the game, instead of preparing for the Super Bowl, which is only the main goal of every player in the league, except for Me-O. It’s asinine to torpedo your championship game so that an exhibition can have a little more tube appeal for espn. The NFL can try to spin this any way it wants, but it loses big. Let’s hope Goodell has the brains and guts to reverse field next season.
-EH-
Friday, January 22, 2010
Time to Win? Time to Defend
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Because Cowboy Quarterback is slapping backsides and just plain having a great time playing the game again, be prepared to be overwhelmed the next couple days (as if we’re not buried under already) with fawning accounts of how a 40-year old’s success in a young man’s game is a truly remarkable thing and that this weekend’s conference title games revolve around the continuing drama of Brett Favre’s quest to be a champion once more.
Please wait a moment while El Hombre wipes the vomit from his chin.
Favre’s play this year has been excellent, especially after his 2008 late-season meltdown in New York, which conspiracy theorists could hypothesize was a purposeful attempt to be freed from Gotham in order to be courted by the Vikings. Favre is healthy and surrounded by some pretty impressive talent in Minnesota, even if Adrian Peterson’s rushing average is shrinking faster than a banker’s credibility. His ability to rein in that wild hair that has so often caused him to think he can fit the football into microscopic areas has meant a lot to the Vikings. And should he lead Minnesota past New Orleans this Sunday in the NFC title game, the mind boggles at the two weeks of sycophantic love letters the media will toss Favre’s way in the run-up to the Super Bowl. It’s possible espN’s Rachel Nichols will be reduced to reporting on Number Four’s teeth-brushing habits (“Floss first, then circular rotations with the brush, followed by substantial gum stimulation”) as game time approaches.
As well as Favre has played, and as impressive as the other QBs – Drew Brees, Peyton Manning, Mark Sanchez – have been in leading their teams to the Final Four, each squad has achieved its success primarily because of defense and (with the exception of Indianapolis) the ground game. The NFL is a passing league, and this year more QBs have attempted at least 500 passes than ever before. More have thrown for at least 4,000 yards. And a record amount completed 65% of their passes. And yet, when the winning must be accomplished, the big, nasty people get it done.
In their win over Arizona, the Saints rushed for 171 yards and forced two turnovers. They held the mighty Cardinal attack to just 14 points and just about knocked Kurt Warner into retirement. For a minute, it appeared as if the game was going feature more scoring than a Tiger Woods golf weekend, but after Bobby McCray pole-axed Warner, it turned into a one-sided affair. Later that night, the Colts held Baltimore to 270 total yards, pounced on four Raven gaffes and limited them to a mere 12 first downs. Indy didn’t run it, but then again, with Manning under center you don’t worry about that. One interesting thing about the game was that there has been precious little national outcry about the final seconds of the first half, when the clock operator ran off just two seconds on a Manning pass, allowing the Colts to run another play, instead of going for a field goal before intermission. The resulting TD made it 17-3 and effectively ended the game. Baltimore coach John Harbaugh went bats about the slow clock, but nobody did anything about it, and CBS did not show a replay with a real-time clock on the screen. Hmmm. It couldn’t be that the network didn’t want to expose a crucial gaffe – if a more reasonable four seconds had run off the clock, Indy probably would have tried a field goal with 0:05 to go, instead of going for the TD with 0:07 left – and embarrass the NFL, could it? That might not help things during the next TV contract negotiations.
The next afternoon, Minnesota rushed for 109 yards, held Dallas to a total of 248 and sacked besieged Tony Romo six times, to gain a measure of revenge from the 1975 Drew Pearson push-off game at venerable Metropolitan Stadium. Capping off the Cowgirls’ pathetic performance was Keith Brookings’ crybaby performance. The veteran linebacker screamed at the Viking bench after Minnesota’s final touchdown, a three-yard Favre pass, with less than 2:00 remaining. Were the game played between two junior-high teams, Brookings would have had a gripe about the Vikes’ running it up. Since it was contested between highly paid professionals, Brookings needed to keep his mouth shut and lick his wounds. Capping off the weekend, New York rushed for 169 yards, forced two turnovers and limited San Diego to 4-of-13 success on third down in its upset win. Afterward, Chargers coach Norv Turner reminded everybody of how many games his team has won in December – and nobody cared.
Notice a pattern here? All four of the teams were stingy. They suffocated the opposition and made it easier for the offense to do its job. That’s how you win in the post-season, not with fun and fancy aerial attacks and visionary offensive coordinators. Hunker down and smash some heads. That’s playoff football.
Favre may get all the glory if Minnesota gets to Miami, but he would be smart to direct the flattery toward the angry, oversized men on the other side of the ball. After all, he has to practice against them.
Now a few words about last week: It didn’t happen.
You may not have much faith in El Hombre’s predicting abilities about now, but that’s when you’ll find him to be the most dangerous – in a good way.
Indianapolis (minus 7 ½) over New York. EH was wrong about the Jets. Real wrong. Coach Rex Ryan’s team has been outstanding in the playoffs, displaying a tremendous ground attack and rugged D. Well, you can’t be one-dimensional at this level, and Sanchez isn’t ready to make big plays against the quick Colts defense. Meanwhile, nobody is better at sniffing out crazy blitz schemes than Manning. Colts 23, Jets 13.
Minnesota (plus 3 ½) over New Orleans. When Romo drops back to pass in the Cowboys’ first mini-camp of the coming spring, he’s going to expect a purple-clad defender to be charging at him. The Viking pass rush is relentless, and that’s going to force Brees to keep some extra people in for protection. That’s not good. Meanwhile, Favre, Adrian Peterson and wideout Sidney Rice will find plenty of holes in the Saints defense. Minnesota 27, New Orleans 23.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: By now, many of you have heard about the knuckle-dragger down in Georgia who wants to start a whites-only professional basketball league down South. (Surprise!) Can’t wait to see the wide-wail corduroy warm-up pants. And nothing says basketball excitement than an “alley” without the “oop.” How about those cheerleaders in turtlenecks, monogrammed sweaters and tartan-print skirts? Sexy! The WBL (Whitey Basketball League) – it’s Bland-tastic!...Let’s hear it for Boston College linebacker Mark Herzlich, who is back practicing with his teammates after a bout with Ewing’s Sarcoma, a rare cancer that usually hits young adults. Herzlich is cancer-free and ready to play in 2010. Let’s hope the only obstacles he faces from here on out are angry blockers…You have to love NASCAR. Ratings sag and attendance drops, and how does the left-turn set react? By loosening safety restrictions and encouraging drivers to bump and bang each other around the oval. Genius. What’s next, rules that allow drivers to pack heat? Forget El Hombre suggested that. It’s just the kind of idea that might catch on with that group…The ejection of 11 disorderly Croats from an Australian Open match this week has shined the light on tennis hooligans. Could there be a crazier juxtaposition? What’s next, riots at curling matches? Unruly patrons at dressage competitions? And they say Philadelphia fans are tough.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? On the surface, the Phillies’ decision to lock up Joe Blanton for three years is a good one, because it gives them four starters – Blanton, Roy Halladay, Cole Hamels, J.A. Happ – on the books through the 2012 season. And since Blanton has thrown more than 1,000 innings over the past five seasons, his presence in the lineup almost guarantees 200 IP each season, not bad for a third or fourth starter. But the question we need to ask is whether three seasons of Heavy B trump one year of Cliff Lee. In essence, that’s the deal the Phils have struck by telling us they couldn’t afford $9 to Lee this year but they could pay Blanton $24 mil (7, 8.5, 8.5) over the next three. This appears to be the hallmark of a team that is trying to maintain its perch as a contender without going for the brass ring. If Hamels does not rebound to ’08 levels this year, and Blanton’s arm betrays him from overuse, 2010 could be a mess for the Phils, particularly if the expected troubles at the number five spot in the rotation – neither Pop-Pop Moyer nor Kyle Kendrick inspires – arise. Pairing Lee with Halladay in the rotation this year, even if it meant cutting loose Blanton, would create a dynamic pairing atop the rotation that no other team could match. Instead of doing that, the Phillies are trying to protect their backsides with Blanton’s solid but hardly spectacular work, a sophomore (Happ) who could fall apart easily now that hitters know him, and the mystery that is Hamels. If the staff doesn’t come around as the Phils hope, that lineup had better be ready to score seven a night – and then some.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Tiger Woods’ arrival at a sex-addiction clinic was as predictable as ridiculously low scores at this weekend’s Bob Hope Classic. If you follow the textbook definition of an addiction – risk-taking, willingness to give up your family, career and reputation to feed it – Woods definitely has a problem, as his smaller checkbook, fleeing sponsors and disappearing wife and kids prove. But it’s hard not to see his checking in (allegedly) to the treatment center as the first step in a calculated move back to playing again. One would imagine a sniffling appearance on Oprah will follow, with interviews by handpicked espn and 60 Minutes correspondents on the menu as well. A tightly regulated press conference comes next and finally a return to the links. If Woods has a problem, let’s hope he can be helped. But if he’s just going through some P.R. plan to generate sympathy from the media and fans, then shame on him. Again.
-EH-
Because Cowboy Quarterback is slapping backsides and just plain having a great time playing the game again, be prepared to be overwhelmed the next couple days (as if we’re not buried under already) with fawning accounts of how a 40-year old’s success in a young man’s game is a truly remarkable thing and that this weekend’s conference title games revolve around the continuing drama of Brett Favre’s quest to be a champion once more.
Please wait a moment while El Hombre wipes the vomit from his chin.
Favre’s play this year has been excellent, especially after his 2008 late-season meltdown in New York, which conspiracy theorists could hypothesize was a purposeful attempt to be freed from Gotham in order to be courted by the Vikings. Favre is healthy and surrounded by some pretty impressive talent in Minnesota, even if Adrian Peterson’s rushing average is shrinking faster than a banker’s credibility. His ability to rein in that wild hair that has so often caused him to think he can fit the football into microscopic areas has meant a lot to the Vikings. And should he lead Minnesota past New Orleans this Sunday in the NFC title game, the mind boggles at the two weeks of sycophantic love letters the media will toss Favre’s way in the run-up to the Super Bowl. It’s possible espN’s Rachel Nichols will be reduced to reporting on Number Four’s teeth-brushing habits (“Floss first, then circular rotations with the brush, followed by substantial gum stimulation”) as game time approaches.
As well as Favre has played, and as impressive as the other QBs – Drew Brees, Peyton Manning, Mark Sanchez – have been in leading their teams to the Final Four, each squad has achieved its success primarily because of defense and (with the exception of Indianapolis) the ground game. The NFL is a passing league, and this year more QBs have attempted at least 500 passes than ever before. More have thrown for at least 4,000 yards. And a record amount completed 65% of their passes. And yet, when the winning must be accomplished, the big, nasty people get it done.
In their win over Arizona, the Saints rushed for 171 yards and forced two turnovers. They held the mighty Cardinal attack to just 14 points and just about knocked Kurt Warner into retirement. For a minute, it appeared as if the game was going feature more scoring than a Tiger Woods golf weekend, but after Bobby McCray pole-axed Warner, it turned into a one-sided affair. Later that night, the Colts held Baltimore to 270 total yards, pounced on four Raven gaffes and limited them to a mere 12 first downs. Indy didn’t run it, but then again, with Manning under center you don’t worry about that. One interesting thing about the game was that there has been precious little national outcry about the final seconds of the first half, when the clock operator ran off just two seconds on a Manning pass, allowing the Colts to run another play, instead of going for a field goal before intermission. The resulting TD made it 17-3 and effectively ended the game. Baltimore coach John Harbaugh went bats about the slow clock, but nobody did anything about it, and CBS did not show a replay with a real-time clock on the screen. Hmmm. It couldn’t be that the network didn’t want to expose a crucial gaffe – if a more reasonable four seconds had run off the clock, Indy probably would have tried a field goal with 0:05 to go, instead of going for the TD with 0:07 left – and embarrass the NFL, could it? That might not help things during the next TV contract negotiations.
The next afternoon, Minnesota rushed for 109 yards, held Dallas to a total of 248 and sacked besieged Tony Romo six times, to gain a measure of revenge from the 1975 Drew Pearson push-off game at venerable Metropolitan Stadium. Capping off the Cowgirls’ pathetic performance was Keith Brookings’ crybaby performance. The veteran linebacker screamed at the Viking bench after Minnesota’s final touchdown, a three-yard Favre pass, with less than 2:00 remaining. Were the game played between two junior-high teams, Brookings would have had a gripe about the Vikes’ running it up. Since it was contested between highly paid professionals, Brookings needed to keep his mouth shut and lick his wounds. Capping off the weekend, New York rushed for 169 yards, forced two turnovers and limited San Diego to 4-of-13 success on third down in its upset win. Afterward, Chargers coach Norv Turner reminded everybody of how many games his team has won in December – and nobody cared.
Notice a pattern here? All four of the teams were stingy. They suffocated the opposition and made it easier for the offense to do its job. That’s how you win in the post-season, not with fun and fancy aerial attacks and visionary offensive coordinators. Hunker down and smash some heads. That’s playoff football.
Favre may get all the glory if Minnesota gets to Miami, but he would be smart to direct the flattery toward the angry, oversized men on the other side of the ball. After all, he has to practice against them.
Now a few words about last week: It didn’t happen.
You may not have much faith in El Hombre’s predicting abilities about now, but that’s when you’ll find him to be the most dangerous – in a good way.
Indianapolis (minus 7 ½) over New York. EH was wrong about the Jets. Real wrong. Coach Rex Ryan’s team has been outstanding in the playoffs, displaying a tremendous ground attack and rugged D. Well, you can’t be one-dimensional at this level, and Sanchez isn’t ready to make big plays against the quick Colts defense. Meanwhile, nobody is better at sniffing out crazy blitz schemes than Manning. Colts 23, Jets 13.
Minnesota (plus 3 ½) over New Orleans. When Romo drops back to pass in the Cowboys’ first mini-camp of the coming spring, he’s going to expect a purple-clad defender to be charging at him. The Viking pass rush is relentless, and that’s going to force Brees to keep some extra people in for protection. That’s not good. Meanwhile, Favre, Adrian Peterson and wideout Sidney Rice will find plenty of holes in the Saints defense. Minnesota 27, New Orleans 23.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: By now, many of you have heard about the knuckle-dragger down in Georgia who wants to start a whites-only professional basketball league down South. (Surprise!) Can’t wait to see the wide-wail corduroy warm-up pants. And nothing says basketball excitement than an “alley” without the “oop.” How about those cheerleaders in turtlenecks, monogrammed sweaters and tartan-print skirts? Sexy! The WBL (Whitey Basketball League) – it’s Bland-tastic!...Let’s hear it for Boston College linebacker Mark Herzlich, who is back practicing with his teammates after a bout with Ewing’s Sarcoma, a rare cancer that usually hits young adults. Herzlich is cancer-free and ready to play in 2010. Let’s hope the only obstacles he faces from here on out are angry blockers…You have to love NASCAR. Ratings sag and attendance drops, and how does the left-turn set react? By loosening safety restrictions and encouraging drivers to bump and bang each other around the oval. Genius. What’s next, rules that allow drivers to pack heat? Forget El Hombre suggested that. It’s just the kind of idea that might catch on with that group…The ejection of 11 disorderly Croats from an Australian Open match this week has shined the light on tennis hooligans. Could there be a crazier juxtaposition? What’s next, riots at curling matches? Unruly patrons at dressage competitions? And they say Philadelphia fans are tough.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? On the surface, the Phillies’ decision to lock up Joe Blanton for three years is a good one, because it gives them four starters – Blanton, Roy Halladay, Cole Hamels, J.A. Happ – on the books through the 2012 season. And since Blanton has thrown more than 1,000 innings over the past five seasons, his presence in the lineup almost guarantees 200 IP each season, not bad for a third or fourth starter. But the question we need to ask is whether three seasons of Heavy B trump one year of Cliff Lee. In essence, that’s the deal the Phils have struck by telling us they couldn’t afford $9 to Lee this year but they could pay Blanton $24 mil (7, 8.5, 8.5) over the next three. This appears to be the hallmark of a team that is trying to maintain its perch as a contender without going for the brass ring. If Hamels does not rebound to ’08 levels this year, and Blanton’s arm betrays him from overuse, 2010 could be a mess for the Phils, particularly if the expected troubles at the number five spot in the rotation – neither Pop-Pop Moyer nor Kyle Kendrick inspires – arise. Pairing Lee with Halladay in the rotation this year, even if it meant cutting loose Blanton, would create a dynamic pairing atop the rotation that no other team could match. Instead of doing that, the Phillies are trying to protect their backsides with Blanton’s solid but hardly spectacular work, a sophomore (Happ) who could fall apart easily now that hitters know him, and the mystery that is Hamels. If the staff doesn’t come around as the Phils hope, that lineup had better be ready to score seven a night – and then some.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Tiger Woods’ arrival at a sex-addiction clinic was as predictable as ridiculously low scores at this weekend’s Bob Hope Classic. If you follow the textbook definition of an addiction – risk-taking, willingness to give up your family, career and reputation to feed it – Woods definitely has a problem, as his smaller checkbook, fleeing sponsors and disappearing wife and kids prove. But it’s hard not to see his checking in (allegedly) to the treatment center as the first step in a calculated move back to playing again. One would imagine a sniffling appearance on Oprah will follow, with interviews by handpicked espn and 60 Minutes correspondents on the menu as well. A tightly regulated press conference comes next and finally a return to the links. If Woods has a problem, let’s hope he can be helped. But if he’s just going through some P.R. plan to generate sympathy from the media and fans, then shame on him. Again.
-EH-
Friday, January 8, 2010
Keep the Carnage Coming
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
You have to love the NFL. The same league that has spent the past several years doing its best to tell us there is no link between repeated shots to the head by angry 300-pounders and future brain damage is now hoping to entice coaches to keep players in harm’s way during late-season contests, even if their teams have absolutely nothing to gain from the games. Seems the league is worried about the product on the field and giving fans the best value for their ticket dollar. Well, tell all that to Wes Welker and the Patriots.
For those of you who don’t arrange their lives around the NFL – and if you don’t, the league’s assassins will find you – Welker tore two knee ligaments (Good news! He still has one intact) Sunday in the Pats’ finale, which meant as much to New England as gun control legislation does to Gilbert Arenas. (More on that chowderhead later.) Now New England will enter the post-season without its top receiver (Don’t even try to give El Hombre Randy Moss), and Welker has the very real possibility of spending the remainder of his career as a shadow of his former self. But, hey, at least the fans got to see the first-stringers! Right. See how that plays during the post-season as the Pats try to win a Super Bowl without a stalwart.
This whole thing began because Colts’ coach Jim Caldwell decided it was a good idea to keep Peyton Manning away from the Jets’ pass rush, which resembles an angry beehive. By doing that, he surrendered the chance to “make history” by going 19-0. What he was really doing was preserving the most important single asset in the league and assuring the Colts that they won’t have to see backup QB Matt Painter do anything during the post-season except warm up. And even that is frightening for Indy fans.
Anybody who watched Texas fall apart in the wake of QB Colt McCoy’s injury Thursday night knows what can happen to a contender when it loses its top player. The Longhorns eventually rallied and showed some heart, but they didn’t have enough to beat Alabama. Without Manning, the Colts don’t win a playoff game. No way.
Caldwell’s decision was roundly criticized by the “historians” who analyze the NFL’s every heartbeat. By resting Manning, even though the Colts had a five-point third-quarter lead when the quarterback sat down, Caldwell was forfeiting a chance at immortality. Had Manning’s knee been turned to oatmeal by a blitzing linebacker, Caldwell would have been torn apart for exposing the QB to marauding defenders, in the name of self-aggrandizement. In other words, it was an untenable position, and Caldwell made the choice he thought would give his team the best chance to win a Super Bowl title. (Again, have you seen Matt Painter play?)
In the coming weeks and months, we’ll hear all sorts of things designed to guard the league’s image and give the fans their “money’s worth.” Commissioner Roger Goodell might offer up extra draft picks to teams who have already clinched playoff berths or secured seeding positions that nonetheless continue to expose their stars to maiming. At the same time, Goodell will be trying to goad the union into adding another one or two games to an already-bloated regular season schedule, injuries and future damage be damned. If there is a revenue stream available, you can bet the NFL will mine it until every last crumb of gold is found.
Of course, no one will say anything about protecting the players, who endure multiple 10-car pileups every week. Sounds about right for the league that still tries to convince us that repeated shots to the melon have no long-term effect. Maybe those making the decisions in New York have absorbed a few of those themselves. They still know how to count the money, though. That always seems to be a possibility in the NFL.
Now for the moment you have waited for: This week’s picks.
Cincinnati (minus-2 ½) over New York. Chad Ochocrazy was shut down last week in the Meadowlands. It’s not happening again. New York coach Rex Ryan thinks his team is the Super Bowl favorite. He should remember that his pop, Buddy, never won a playoff game. It might run in the family. Bengals 24, Jets 14.
Dallas (minus-4) over Philadelphia. Say what you want about how hard it is to beat a team three times in the season. That only holds when the opponent has something going for it. The Eagles O-line is a mess, and its linebacking corps needs federal disaster relief. Cowboys 23, Eagles 16.
Baltimore (plus-3 ½) over New England. The Raven ground attack looks great, and the Baltimore defense is nasty once again. The Patriots will certainly miss Welker, and even if they win, it won’t be by much. Patriots 21, Ravens 20.
Green Bay (plus 2 ½) over Arizona. Last year, the Cardinals came alive in the post-season and shocked everybody. That was then. Packers QB Aaron Rodgers is ready for his coming-out party, and Green Bay has a nasty D. Packers 27, Cardinals 14.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Tiger Woods appears shirtless and buffed on the cover of the recent Vanity Fair, a photo taken before his Skanko-Roman wrestling ways were revealed. Wonder if he plans to use the picture to attract chicks?...If Mike Leach did half of what he is accused of at Texas Tech, his firing was warranted, no matter how annoying the kid was. You can’t treat players like that, especially those whose daddies are espn broadcasters. Next time, lock the son of Mr. & Mrs. Nobody from Busted Boil, TX, in an equipment shed. Then again, given Leach’s love of pirates, it’s a wonder he didn’t make the young man walk the plank…Los Angeles Clippers broadcaster Michael Smith is accused of bilking a golfing buddy out of a cool $735,000 by convincing him to use his home as collateral for a loan on a development deal that went bad. The news isn’t all awful for the team, since given its oft-shaky defense, it’s good that somebody associated with the Clippers might be trying to steal something…There are reports that a “friendly” match between the U.S. and Mexican national soccer teams in Pasadena has been scrubbed over a dispute between Telemundo and Univision, each of which want to televise the game. But that’s only part of it. The real problem came when Rose Bowl officials mandated that Mexican fans could only bring in three bags of urine apiece to throw at the American players. Mexican fans wanted to bring nine…If Wizards guard Gilbert Arenas is suspended for a long period of time, he might just want to consider competing for a spot on the U.S. Olympic biathlon team. He could pair with teammate Javaris Crittenton, who might have some free time on his hands soon, too.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT: Admit it, you’re one of those Philadelphia fans who is secretly hoping the Eagles lose to Dallas Saturday, so the Donovan McNabb “era” can end. Or if you’re not, you know someone who is. You might get your wish, because the Birds don’t look like they have much hope at False Face’s pleasure dome, thanks to a defense that’s giving up points faster than espn can come out with new gimmicks (a 3-D channel?) and an offensive line that has the same cohesion as Charlie Sheen’s marriage. Those two were huge culprits in last week’s loss to the Cowboys, but few chose to look at it that way. It was all McNabb’s fault. And if the Birds lose this weekend – or next, or the one after that – there will a huge cry for Number Five’s dismissal. Maybe the vultures get their wish granted, and if they do, they had better be careful, because Kevin Kolb isn’t necessarily the answer, and teams without good QBs (see Bears, Chicago, among others) don’t win the Super Bowl and get a “prade” for “long-suffering” fans.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: NBA commissioner Uncle David Stern did the right thing by taking Arenas out of action, and he should not be swayed by the meathead’s recent remorseful statements regarding his gun shenanigans when deciding his ultimate punishment. Arenas still doesn’t think he did anything wrong, and that’s despicable. Stern should hammer Arenas hard by removing him from action for the rest of the year – without pay. And since attempting to void the rest of his contract would cause an uproar from the union, the next labor negotiations should establish clear penalties for those who bring firearms into a locker room or any other team-related area: minimum one-year suspensions and the end of their contracts. Stern needs to make examples of both Arenas and Wild West partner Javaris Crittenton, so the league reputation doesn’t revert to its 1970s version, when everybody thought the league was filled with renegades.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: It is with a heavy heart that El Hombre reports the passing of a true American hero and a loyal EH reader, Bill “Bitsy” Grant, who succumbed to cancer Tuesday at the age of 85. Bill was a walking 20th century history book, having survived the Great Depression, World War II (Normandy landing, Battle of the Bulge, historic meeting with Soviet troops in Germany) and perhaps most demanding, raising eight children. A loyal Hawk who graduated from Saint Joseph’s thanks to his hard work, smarts and the G.I. Bill, Bill later became a successful advertising executive. Bill was a devout Catholic and searched until his last days for the answers to life’s tough questions, never once expressing his frustration at how elusive that pursuit was. He loved the Phillies, golf, mystery novels, anything to do with St. Joe’s and his family. It took no cajoling whatsoever to elicit a rousing rendition of “The Night Paddy Murphy Died” from him at family gatherings, and woe to anybody who was caught behind him at the dessert table. Bill was a gentleman, an exemplary father and grandfather and a great friend. He will be missed greatly.
-EH-
You have to love the NFL. The same league that has spent the past several years doing its best to tell us there is no link between repeated shots to the head by angry 300-pounders and future brain damage is now hoping to entice coaches to keep players in harm’s way during late-season contests, even if their teams have absolutely nothing to gain from the games. Seems the league is worried about the product on the field and giving fans the best value for their ticket dollar. Well, tell all that to Wes Welker and the Patriots.
For those of you who don’t arrange their lives around the NFL – and if you don’t, the league’s assassins will find you – Welker tore two knee ligaments (Good news! He still has one intact) Sunday in the Pats’ finale, which meant as much to New England as gun control legislation does to Gilbert Arenas. (More on that chowderhead later.) Now New England will enter the post-season without its top receiver (Don’t even try to give El Hombre Randy Moss), and Welker has the very real possibility of spending the remainder of his career as a shadow of his former self. But, hey, at least the fans got to see the first-stringers! Right. See how that plays during the post-season as the Pats try to win a Super Bowl without a stalwart.
This whole thing began because Colts’ coach Jim Caldwell decided it was a good idea to keep Peyton Manning away from the Jets’ pass rush, which resembles an angry beehive. By doing that, he surrendered the chance to “make history” by going 19-0. What he was really doing was preserving the most important single asset in the league and assuring the Colts that they won’t have to see backup QB Matt Painter do anything during the post-season except warm up. And even that is frightening for Indy fans.
Anybody who watched Texas fall apart in the wake of QB Colt McCoy’s injury Thursday night knows what can happen to a contender when it loses its top player. The Longhorns eventually rallied and showed some heart, but they didn’t have enough to beat Alabama. Without Manning, the Colts don’t win a playoff game. No way.
Caldwell’s decision was roundly criticized by the “historians” who analyze the NFL’s every heartbeat. By resting Manning, even though the Colts had a five-point third-quarter lead when the quarterback sat down, Caldwell was forfeiting a chance at immortality. Had Manning’s knee been turned to oatmeal by a blitzing linebacker, Caldwell would have been torn apart for exposing the QB to marauding defenders, in the name of self-aggrandizement. In other words, it was an untenable position, and Caldwell made the choice he thought would give his team the best chance to win a Super Bowl title. (Again, have you seen Matt Painter play?)
In the coming weeks and months, we’ll hear all sorts of things designed to guard the league’s image and give the fans their “money’s worth.” Commissioner Roger Goodell might offer up extra draft picks to teams who have already clinched playoff berths or secured seeding positions that nonetheless continue to expose their stars to maiming. At the same time, Goodell will be trying to goad the union into adding another one or two games to an already-bloated regular season schedule, injuries and future damage be damned. If there is a revenue stream available, you can bet the NFL will mine it until every last crumb of gold is found.
Of course, no one will say anything about protecting the players, who endure multiple 10-car pileups every week. Sounds about right for the league that still tries to convince us that repeated shots to the melon have no long-term effect. Maybe those making the decisions in New York have absorbed a few of those themselves. They still know how to count the money, though. That always seems to be a possibility in the NFL.
Now for the moment you have waited for: This week’s picks.
Cincinnati (minus-2 ½) over New York. Chad Ochocrazy was shut down last week in the Meadowlands. It’s not happening again. New York coach Rex Ryan thinks his team is the Super Bowl favorite. He should remember that his pop, Buddy, never won a playoff game. It might run in the family. Bengals 24, Jets 14.
Dallas (minus-4) over Philadelphia. Say what you want about how hard it is to beat a team three times in the season. That only holds when the opponent has something going for it. The Eagles O-line is a mess, and its linebacking corps needs federal disaster relief. Cowboys 23, Eagles 16.
Baltimore (plus-3 ½) over New England. The Raven ground attack looks great, and the Baltimore defense is nasty once again. The Patriots will certainly miss Welker, and even if they win, it won’t be by much. Patriots 21, Ravens 20.
Green Bay (plus 2 ½) over Arizona. Last year, the Cardinals came alive in the post-season and shocked everybody. That was then. Packers QB Aaron Rodgers is ready for his coming-out party, and Green Bay has a nasty D. Packers 27, Cardinals 14.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Tiger Woods appears shirtless and buffed on the cover of the recent Vanity Fair, a photo taken before his Skanko-Roman wrestling ways were revealed. Wonder if he plans to use the picture to attract chicks?...If Mike Leach did half of what he is accused of at Texas Tech, his firing was warranted, no matter how annoying the kid was. You can’t treat players like that, especially those whose daddies are espn broadcasters. Next time, lock the son of Mr. & Mrs. Nobody from Busted Boil, TX, in an equipment shed. Then again, given Leach’s love of pirates, it’s a wonder he didn’t make the young man walk the plank…Los Angeles Clippers broadcaster Michael Smith is accused of bilking a golfing buddy out of a cool $735,000 by convincing him to use his home as collateral for a loan on a development deal that went bad. The news isn’t all awful for the team, since given its oft-shaky defense, it’s good that somebody associated with the Clippers might be trying to steal something…There are reports that a “friendly” match between the U.S. and Mexican national soccer teams in Pasadena has been scrubbed over a dispute between Telemundo and Univision, each of which want to televise the game. But that’s only part of it. The real problem came when Rose Bowl officials mandated that Mexican fans could only bring in three bags of urine apiece to throw at the American players. Mexican fans wanted to bring nine…If Wizards guard Gilbert Arenas is suspended for a long period of time, he might just want to consider competing for a spot on the U.S. Olympic biathlon team. He could pair with teammate Javaris Crittenton, who might have some free time on his hands soon, too.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT: Admit it, you’re one of those Philadelphia fans who is secretly hoping the Eagles lose to Dallas Saturday, so the Donovan McNabb “era” can end. Or if you’re not, you know someone who is. You might get your wish, because the Birds don’t look like they have much hope at False Face’s pleasure dome, thanks to a defense that’s giving up points faster than espn can come out with new gimmicks (a 3-D channel?) and an offensive line that has the same cohesion as Charlie Sheen’s marriage. Those two were huge culprits in last week’s loss to the Cowboys, but few chose to look at it that way. It was all McNabb’s fault. And if the Birds lose this weekend – or next, or the one after that – there will a huge cry for Number Five’s dismissal. Maybe the vultures get their wish granted, and if they do, they had better be careful, because Kevin Kolb isn’t necessarily the answer, and teams without good QBs (see Bears, Chicago, among others) don’t win the Super Bowl and get a “prade” for “long-suffering” fans.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: NBA commissioner Uncle David Stern did the right thing by taking Arenas out of action, and he should not be swayed by the meathead’s recent remorseful statements regarding his gun shenanigans when deciding his ultimate punishment. Arenas still doesn’t think he did anything wrong, and that’s despicable. Stern should hammer Arenas hard by removing him from action for the rest of the year – without pay. And since attempting to void the rest of his contract would cause an uproar from the union, the next labor negotiations should establish clear penalties for those who bring firearms into a locker room or any other team-related area: minimum one-year suspensions and the end of their contracts. Stern needs to make examples of both Arenas and Wild West partner Javaris Crittenton, so the league reputation doesn’t revert to its 1970s version, when everybody thought the league was filled with renegades.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: It is with a heavy heart that El Hombre reports the passing of a true American hero and a loyal EH reader, Bill “Bitsy” Grant, who succumbed to cancer Tuesday at the age of 85. Bill was a walking 20th century history book, having survived the Great Depression, World War II (Normandy landing, Battle of the Bulge, historic meeting with Soviet troops in Germany) and perhaps most demanding, raising eight children. A loyal Hawk who graduated from Saint Joseph’s thanks to his hard work, smarts and the G.I. Bill, Bill later became a successful advertising executive. Bill was a devout Catholic and searched until his last days for the answers to life’s tough questions, never once expressing his frustration at how elusive that pursuit was. He loved the Phillies, golf, mystery novels, anything to do with St. Joe’s and his family. It took no cajoling whatsoever to elicit a rousing rendition of “The Night Paddy Murphy Died” from him at family gatherings, and woe to anybody who was caught behind him at the dessert table. Bill was a gentleman, an exemplary father and grandfather and a great friend. He will be missed greatly.
-EH-
Friday, December 11, 2009
The Right Choice
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
When El Abuelo went to his first and only bullfight, he rooted for the bull, not only because the poor animal was clearly a double-digit underdog, but because it was the right thing to do. The rest of the stadium was pulling for the torero, hoping to see a precise kill. But not El Abuelo. He was impressed by el toro’s power and dignity. And of course, he was disappointed. The bull went down like the victim of a mob hit. It was bloody, ruthless and stunningly final.
It may be hard to believe, given his steel-encased 6-foot, 4-inch, 300-pound frame, but Ndamukong Suh is the bull in the Heisman Trophy race, both metaphorically and in a literal sense. Watching him terrorize those old boys from Texas – not to mention anyone else unlucky enough to have lined up across from him the past two seasons – was like seeing Mark Mangino tear though the Sizzler buffet. Oh, the humanity. In a year when no traditional (read: Offensive) candidate stood out in the Heisman sweepstakes, discerning voters had the opportunity to take a good look at the player who best fit the mandate found on every ballot: “We are truly grateful for your support in selecting the most outstanding college football player in the United States (El Hombre’s italics) for 2009.”
That would be Suh, no question about it. The other finalists had great years, to be sure, but “most outstanding” status belongs to those who truly distinguish themselves as performing well above the usual. That’s the trouble with awards these days. They often go to the person who has the best press agent or the loudest TV foof blithering about his greatness. At this point, we have heard so much about the majesty of Tim Tebow that it’s a wonder he hasn’t been beatified, with only a couple miracles – one of them could be a card trick – standing between him and sainthood. (Word is Sixers GM Billy King prays daily to Tebow to get another job, and should an NBA team hire him, that will definitely qualify as the QB’s first miracle.) What is conveniently omitted from the Tebow mythology is that he hasn’t had a dominant season. His numbers (2,413 yards passing, 18 TDs, five ints., 859 yards rushing, 13 TDs) are impressive but not dominant. Tebow didn’t overwhelm people they way he did in ’07, when he won the Heisman by accounting for a knee-buckling 55 touchdowns (23 rushing, 32 passing). He was great and led the Gators to a perfect regular season, but he wasn’t the most outstanding player out there.
Texas QB McCoy had a fine season, too, throwing for 3,512 yards and 27 TDs. But he threw 12 picks and didn’t show so well against the only two stout defenses he faced. In games versus Oklahoma and Nebraska, McCoy was a pedestrian 41-of-75 (54.7%), for 311 yards, a touchdown and four picks. About the only thing Heisman-like about that combined effort was that it appeared as if McCoy was throwing with a stiff arm.
It’s going to be tough for a lot of voters to eliminate those two from contention, since as quarterbacks, the hold the ball longer than anyone else and are clearly visible for the myopic, who conveniently forget there are 21 other players on the field with the QB. They’re the types who believe multi-tasking is eating a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.
The running back crop is pretty impressive this season. In fact, two of them received my second and third-place votes. But as strong as Toby Gerhart and Mark Ingram were this season, neither was the type of player who made you call friends during games to talk in amazement about this play or that move. Gerhart was the closest to that of any ballcarrier, but it’s possible part of his amazement quotient was due to the fact that finding white tailbacks these days is practically impossible, unless you’re haunting the New England Small College Athletic Conference. EH compadre Raging Bill refers to the Caucasian tailback as the “passenger pigeon,” since that species is long extinct. While Gerhart does have some peers, he is a rarity, though he was practically unstoppable in Stanford’s final four games, when he averaged 185.5 yards/contest and scored 13 touchdowns. Pretty impressive, but let’s not get carried away.
Same goes for Ingram, who finished 12th in the nation in rushing. His 1,542 yards and 15 touchdowns are certainly strong performances, and he did come up big in the SEC title game against Florida, rushing for 113 yards and three scores, but let’s be serious here. We’re looking for the “most outstanding” player, not just someone who plays well. Consider some of the other running backs who have won the Heisman. Barry Sanders rushed for 2,628 yards and 37 touchdowns. (Gulp!) Marcus Allen gained 2,342. Ricky Williams picked up 2,327 and scored 29 times. Mike Rozier had 2,148 yards and 29 scores. Bo Jackson: 1,786 yards and 6.4 yards/attempt. And they all did it in 11 games. Gerhart and Ingram are great college players, but they are not Heisman-worthy.
Suh is. His numbers bear it out, which is extremely rare for a defensive tackle. Most of the time, those guys are anonymous, content to – and praised for – earn their side of beef by commanding double and triple-teams and let someone else earn the glory. They are most often found beneath six hundred pounds or so of offensive linemen while linebackers and strong safeties accumulate the stats. Not Suh. Not only did he lead Nebraska in tackles for the second straight year, a remarkable feat, but he also piled up 23 tackles for loss, 12 sacks, three blocked kicks, 24 QB hurries, 10 batted-down passes and an interception. But the numbers are only part of it. Because of Suh’s dominance, the entire Husker defensive unit thrived. Take fellow D-tackle Jared Crick. He had a huge year, all right, with 15 tackles behind the line and 9.5 sacks, and is plenty talented. But as one coach who watched the Huskers devastate the potent Texas attack said, “Crick’s like the guy who rooms with the good-looking guy and gets a bunch of girls because of the roommate.” That may be a little bit of an overstatement, but without Suh’s attracting so much attention, there’s no way Crick produces what he did. And there’s no way Nebraska comes within a second of the Big 12 title. You want outstanding? You want Suh.
This year, the bull wins.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: El Hombre certainly doesn’t condone any kind of anti-Semitic behavior, like the taunting that took place during the Harvard-Dartmouth squash match last week, but you have to admit that it’s rather amusing that when we discuss bad behavior at big schools, it’s usually surrounding football or basketball. In the Ivies, it’s squash. Somebody needs to teach Biff and Chip some manners…If it’s December, then the Cowboys are choking. That’s a darn shame…The early rollout of the stupid Nike LeBron and Kobe puppet ad campaign is bad news for people who prefer to remain sane. This means seven more months of that nonsense. Make it stop, please!...Is there anything more ridiculous than espn’s touting that its sportscenter broadcasts are coming to us from Los Angeles? Who cares if they’re spewing their nauseating brew of synergized highlights, self-promotion and canned crowd noise from a ger in Ulan Bator, just as long as we find out (eventually) the score of the game? Just another reason the network is about as far away from its groundbreaking roots as Michael Jackson was from his Jackson 5 days.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The decision to extend Andy Reid’s
contract hasn’t been too well received among Eagles fans, and that’s not hard to believe, given the brainwashing that has been done about how the city of Philadelphia “deserves” a parade (pronounced locally as “prade”) and how a Super Bowl is the only way to measure success. Of course, many of these people think it’s a good idea to replace Donovan McNabb with Kevin Kolb. Yes, Reid is a borderline boob when it comes to clock management. He also has some serious splotches on his resume, like the ’02 NFC title game loss to Tampa Bay, and his decision not to go with the no-huddle attack during the last seven minutes of the Super Bowl loss to New England. But his successes far outweigh those failures. He’s one of only four (four!) coaches ever to win 100 games in a decade with the same team. He has brought the Eagles to the playoffs seven of the 10 seasons he has coached the Eagles and has won a post-season game every year. His teams almost always get better as the season goes on, and he has even improved as a GM, as his recent moves to upgrade the offense have shown. Reid is imperfect, and he clearly doesn’t like the media (so what?), but he has done an admirable job so far. Now, if he doesn’t get over the hump by the time this deal is done, it’s time to move on. But Reid deserved the extension, and those who want to see him go should be very wary of what might come next.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Let’s get something straight: Anybody who thinks Tim Donaghy didn’t try to influence the outcomes of the games he was betting has never gambled on sports. If you had money on a game, and someone said you could send somebody to the bench with foul trouble, you would do it immediately. In fact, if somebody handed you a gun with a single bullet in it and said you could use it at any point in the game, don’t think for a minute you wouldn’t consider kneecapping a player to guarantee a cover. We didn’t believe Pete Rose, and we shouldn’t believe Donaghy. He deserves a chance to rebuild his life, but we don’t have to buy his story. It just doesn’t add up.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: It is a testament to the corporate world’s “conscience” that sponsors are not jumping off the Tiger Woods train in bunches. Nike, Accenture and the rest of the logos are sticking by their man for one reason: At some point, this will all burn out, and Woods will return to the links to (one would assume) keep dominating the rest of the field. When that happens, and he issues his mandatory public mea culpa – get ready for a ratings bonanza, Oprah – and undergoes some therapy and/or rehab (that Ambien can be pretty addictive), you can bet the sponsors will be happy to have remained with a man who will have become a sympathetic figure. If Woods plays it right, he will be able to able to regain his former prominent perch, provided he can avoid ordering off the menu at Perkins House of Pancakes.
-EH-
When El Abuelo went to his first and only bullfight, he rooted for the bull, not only because the poor animal was clearly a double-digit underdog, but because it was the right thing to do. The rest of the stadium was pulling for the torero, hoping to see a precise kill. But not El Abuelo. He was impressed by el toro’s power and dignity. And of course, he was disappointed. The bull went down like the victim of a mob hit. It was bloody, ruthless and stunningly final.
It may be hard to believe, given his steel-encased 6-foot, 4-inch, 300-pound frame, but Ndamukong Suh is the bull in the Heisman Trophy race, both metaphorically and in a literal sense. Watching him terrorize those old boys from Texas – not to mention anyone else unlucky enough to have lined up across from him the past two seasons – was like seeing Mark Mangino tear though the Sizzler buffet. Oh, the humanity. In a year when no traditional (read: Offensive) candidate stood out in the Heisman sweepstakes, discerning voters had the opportunity to take a good look at the player who best fit the mandate found on every ballot: “We are truly grateful for your support in selecting the most outstanding college football player in the United States (El Hombre’s italics) for 2009.”
That would be Suh, no question about it. The other finalists had great years, to be sure, but “most outstanding” status belongs to those who truly distinguish themselves as performing well above the usual. That’s the trouble with awards these days. They often go to the person who has the best press agent or the loudest TV foof blithering about his greatness. At this point, we have heard so much about the majesty of Tim Tebow that it’s a wonder he hasn’t been beatified, with only a couple miracles – one of them could be a card trick – standing between him and sainthood. (Word is Sixers GM Billy King prays daily to Tebow to get another job, and should an NBA team hire him, that will definitely qualify as the QB’s first miracle.) What is conveniently omitted from the Tebow mythology is that he hasn’t had a dominant season. His numbers (2,413 yards passing, 18 TDs, five ints., 859 yards rushing, 13 TDs) are impressive but not dominant. Tebow didn’t overwhelm people they way he did in ’07, when he won the Heisman by accounting for a knee-buckling 55 touchdowns (23 rushing, 32 passing). He was great and led the Gators to a perfect regular season, but he wasn’t the most outstanding player out there.
Texas QB McCoy had a fine season, too, throwing for 3,512 yards and 27 TDs. But he threw 12 picks and didn’t show so well against the only two stout defenses he faced. In games versus Oklahoma and Nebraska, McCoy was a pedestrian 41-of-75 (54.7%), for 311 yards, a touchdown and four picks. About the only thing Heisman-like about that combined effort was that it appeared as if McCoy was throwing with a stiff arm.
It’s going to be tough for a lot of voters to eliminate those two from contention, since as quarterbacks, the hold the ball longer than anyone else and are clearly visible for the myopic, who conveniently forget there are 21 other players on the field with the QB. They’re the types who believe multi-tasking is eating a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.
The running back crop is pretty impressive this season. In fact, two of them received my second and third-place votes. But as strong as Toby Gerhart and Mark Ingram were this season, neither was the type of player who made you call friends during games to talk in amazement about this play or that move. Gerhart was the closest to that of any ballcarrier, but it’s possible part of his amazement quotient was due to the fact that finding white tailbacks these days is practically impossible, unless you’re haunting the New England Small College Athletic Conference. EH compadre Raging Bill refers to the Caucasian tailback as the “passenger pigeon,” since that species is long extinct. While Gerhart does have some peers, he is a rarity, though he was practically unstoppable in Stanford’s final four games, when he averaged 185.5 yards/contest and scored 13 touchdowns. Pretty impressive, but let’s not get carried away.
Same goes for Ingram, who finished 12th in the nation in rushing. His 1,542 yards and 15 touchdowns are certainly strong performances, and he did come up big in the SEC title game against Florida, rushing for 113 yards and three scores, but let’s be serious here. We’re looking for the “most outstanding” player, not just someone who plays well. Consider some of the other running backs who have won the Heisman. Barry Sanders rushed for 2,628 yards and 37 touchdowns. (Gulp!) Marcus Allen gained 2,342. Ricky Williams picked up 2,327 and scored 29 times. Mike Rozier had 2,148 yards and 29 scores. Bo Jackson: 1,786 yards and 6.4 yards/attempt. And they all did it in 11 games. Gerhart and Ingram are great college players, but they are not Heisman-worthy.
Suh is. His numbers bear it out, which is extremely rare for a defensive tackle. Most of the time, those guys are anonymous, content to – and praised for – earn their side of beef by commanding double and triple-teams and let someone else earn the glory. They are most often found beneath six hundred pounds or so of offensive linemen while linebackers and strong safeties accumulate the stats. Not Suh. Not only did he lead Nebraska in tackles for the second straight year, a remarkable feat, but he also piled up 23 tackles for loss, 12 sacks, three blocked kicks, 24 QB hurries, 10 batted-down passes and an interception. But the numbers are only part of it. Because of Suh’s dominance, the entire Husker defensive unit thrived. Take fellow D-tackle Jared Crick. He had a huge year, all right, with 15 tackles behind the line and 9.5 sacks, and is plenty talented. But as one coach who watched the Huskers devastate the potent Texas attack said, “Crick’s like the guy who rooms with the good-looking guy and gets a bunch of girls because of the roommate.” That may be a little bit of an overstatement, but without Suh’s attracting so much attention, there’s no way Crick produces what he did. And there’s no way Nebraska comes within a second of the Big 12 title. You want outstanding? You want Suh.
This year, the bull wins.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: El Hombre certainly doesn’t condone any kind of anti-Semitic behavior, like the taunting that took place during the Harvard-Dartmouth squash match last week, but you have to admit that it’s rather amusing that when we discuss bad behavior at big schools, it’s usually surrounding football or basketball. In the Ivies, it’s squash. Somebody needs to teach Biff and Chip some manners…If it’s December, then the Cowboys are choking. That’s a darn shame…The early rollout of the stupid Nike LeBron and Kobe puppet ad campaign is bad news for people who prefer to remain sane. This means seven more months of that nonsense. Make it stop, please!...Is there anything more ridiculous than espn’s touting that its sportscenter broadcasts are coming to us from Los Angeles? Who cares if they’re spewing their nauseating brew of synergized highlights, self-promotion and canned crowd noise from a ger in Ulan Bator, just as long as we find out (eventually) the score of the game? Just another reason the network is about as far away from its groundbreaking roots as Michael Jackson was from his Jackson 5 days.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The decision to extend Andy Reid’s
contract hasn’t been too well received among Eagles fans, and that’s not hard to believe, given the brainwashing that has been done about how the city of Philadelphia “deserves” a parade (pronounced locally as “prade”) and how a Super Bowl is the only way to measure success. Of course, many of these people think it’s a good idea to replace Donovan McNabb with Kevin Kolb. Yes, Reid is a borderline boob when it comes to clock management. He also has some serious splotches on his resume, like the ’02 NFC title game loss to Tampa Bay, and his decision not to go with the no-huddle attack during the last seven minutes of the Super Bowl loss to New England. But his successes far outweigh those failures. He’s one of only four (four!) coaches ever to win 100 games in a decade with the same team. He has brought the Eagles to the playoffs seven of the 10 seasons he has coached the Eagles and has won a post-season game every year. His teams almost always get better as the season goes on, and he has even improved as a GM, as his recent moves to upgrade the offense have shown. Reid is imperfect, and he clearly doesn’t like the media (so what?), but he has done an admirable job so far. Now, if he doesn’t get over the hump by the time this deal is done, it’s time to move on. But Reid deserved the extension, and those who want to see him go should be very wary of what might come next.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Let’s get something straight: Anybody who thinks Tim Donaghy didn’t try to influence the outcomes of the games he was betting has never gambled on sports. If you had money on a game, and someone said you could send somebody to the bench with foul trouble, you would do it immediately. In fact, if somebody handed you a gun with a single bullet in it and said you could use it at any point in the game, don’t think for a minute you wouldn’t consider kneecapping a player to guarantee a cover. We didn’t believe Pete Rose, and we shouldn’t believe Donaghy. He deserves a chance to rebuild his life, but we don’t have to buy his story. It just doesn’t add up.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: It is a testament to the corporate world’s “conscience” that sponsors are not jumping off the Tiger Woods train in bunches. Nike, Accenture and the rest of the logos are sticking by their man for one reason: At some point, this will all burn out, and Woods will return to the links to (one would assume) keep dominating the rest of the field. When that happens, and he issues his mandatory public mea culpa – get ready for a ratings bonanza, Oprah – and undergoes some therapy and/or rehab (that Ambien can be pretty addictive), you can bet the sponsors will be happy to have remained with a man who will have become a sympathetic figure. If Woods plays it right, he will be able to able to regain his former prominent perch, provided he can avoid ordering off the menu at Perkins House of Pancakes.
-EH-
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Right To Work
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Rick Pitino had a little more on his mind than Jeremy Tyler when he stepped to the podium at Louisville Wednesday and began the public portion of his recovery from self-imposed wounds to his reputation. Seems the Cardinals’ hoops coach had injected himself into the national healthcare discussion with his admission that he had provided $3,000 to a paramour for “health insurance,” when she came to him six years ago with news that she was in the family way with his spawn.
Wearing an open-collared shirt and a grave expression, Pitino followed the blueprint in his remarks, admitting his “indiscretion,” asking forgiveness from Louisville, the fans, his family and any media types who might be screaming for his resignation/removal from the bench. He talked about the need to move forward, how the best way to confront a bad situation is head-on and that “if you have a problem and you tell the truth, it becomes part of your past; if you lie, it becomes part of your future.” That’s profound stuff, to be sure, and it’s part of the reason – along with the Cardinals’ need to compete with a fully-operational University of Kentucky Death Star down the road and need to sell tickets in a rough economy in the new arena they’ll be inhabiting next season – that Pitino will likely survive this sordid affair.
When Pitino does return to the business of coaching college basketball, he’ll have to meet with assistants to come up with some new big-man prospects to pursue, because the 6-11 Tyler, U of L’s top recruit for 2010, has decided to pass on his senior year of high school to play for Maccabi Haifa. Saying that next season would be “extremely boring” if he had to face the triple-teams that rivals used to neutralize his size and skill, Tyler has chosen to become the first American-born player to leave high school early and play professionally overseas.
And he won’t be the last. Say what you want about the magic of the prom and how seniors “rule the school,” but guys like Tyler have different priorities and goals than the typical prep senior. They want to play NBA basketball, and they are exploring new avenues to reach their ultimate destinations. There will no doubt be many people who moralize about Tyler’s family, agent (former NBA player B.J. Armstrong) and adviser (shady former sneaker shill Sonny Vaccaro) and their allegedly exploitative treatment of the young man, but they will be wrong. All around the country and the world, elite athletes are being removed from their cozy schoolyard cocoons and fast-tracked toward professional careers. Tennis players are harvested while still nine and 10 years old for special training. Golfers get the same treatment. Special “academies” have sprung up throughout the country designed to cultivate young talent and distribute it to the proper outlets. And yet Tyler and those around him are going to be excoriated for doing essentially the same thing: playing in an environment that will allow him to grow quickly.
Oh, but he’s being paid for it. And by missing out on his last year of school, he’s missing a chance at an EDUCATION, which is the buzzword used by the college basketball hucksters to stop those promoting the right-to-work in their tracks. It’s a classic tactic, the kind of apple-pie and mother term that can’t be assailed. “What? You want to deprive these youngsters of an EDUCATION? Well, you have some pretty strange ideas, mister.” Forget that the kids who want to play in the NBA, particularly those of the one-and-done variety, couldn’t care less about Intro to Philosophy (Descartes: “To be is to do.” Nietzsche: “To do is to be.” Sinatra: “Do-be-do-be-do.”) and are generally checked out of classes by March of their freshman years. The people pimping their TV product are disingenuous about the game, to be sure. They talk about the awful NBA and its powerful spell while trying to sell ads and attract eyeballs by hyping the latest Duke-Carolina matchup or screaming about this season’s best newcomers.
Jeremy Tyler has made a calculated move designed to further his pursuit of a career. He may well graduate with his class at San Diego HS after taking classes on the net or completing coursework with a tutor in Israel. Or, he might just take the G.E.D. Not that either option matters to the NBA executives who will be assessing his potential. They don’t care about chem lab. They want to see his drop step. Tyler’s time with Maccabi Haifa will improve his game, and the years he spends abroad will help him grow more than any history lecture could. You want to study the Middle East conflict? He’s going to live it, baby.
As for those who scream about the deterioration of America’s youth and the evil attraction of professional basketball at the expense of the “pure” college game, wake up. Tyler is an 18-year old man who can go to war, be charged with capital murder (and, in some states, fry) and get married. (It’s unclear which is more risky business.) He wants to go to work, and that’s not a bad thing. And anyway, El Hombre hears that this year’s prom theme at San Diego High is “All-a-Twitter.” Who wants to be part of that?
As for Pitino, he’ll be just fine. The Cardinals need a heavyweight on their bench for the coming wars with John Calipari and UK. Louisville can’t afford to take a step back, not with so much at stake. And as the coach looks for someone to replace Tyler in the 2010 recruiting class, he’s advised to be careful on the home visits and steer conversation away from his moral obligation to prepare mothers’ sons for life. Stick to basketball. That’s what this is all about, anyway. Jeremy Tyler knows that, perhaps better than everybody else.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Reason number 932 professional golf is a joke: Tiger Woods broke the rules. Tiger Woods wasn’t fined. Think the PGA is scared of him? Nahhhh. Everybody knows a showdown between Hunter Mahan and Steve Stricker at this week’s PGA Championship would make for compelling TV…If the U.S. soccer team wants us to believe that it is becoming a world power, as its crowing after a second-place finish at the Confederations Cup indicated, it must stop playing for a tie on the road in World Cup qualifying matches. Once Mexico evened the count Wednesday at the Azteca Stadium beehive, the U.S. lined up at the 18 and assumed a defensive shell. Disaster was inevitable, and it struck in the form of a 2-1 loss in front of the typically classless tricolores throng…If there is a bigger jerk in professional sports these days than Chicago Blackhawks forward Patrick Kane, then stay away from him. Kane became abusive with a cab driver over 20 cents and allegedly hit the man who didn’t have sufficient change from $15 for a $13.80 fare. (He had the buck.) Kane will most likely avoid jail time for his alleged assault, but this wimp on the ice who delivered all of 18 hits last year sure looks like a classless dolt, especially after pulling out the “Do you know who I am” line. We sure do now, Patty…If you watch just one thing on TV this weekend, make sure it’s the 100 meter final at the World Track and Field Championships in Berlin. Usain Bolt and Tyson Gay are likely to square off in what could be one of the most compelling sprints in history...David Mamet is taking on The Diary of Anne Frank, for Disney of all places. Didn’t know there was so much profanity in the story. Wonder what part Alec Baldwin will play.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The Phillies absolutely made the right decision in moving Satchel Moyer to the bullpen to make room for Pedro Martinez in the starting rotation. The Old Man was losing his precision, and when your fastball tops out at a school zone speed limit, you had better hit your spots. Moyer’s whiny reaction belied his 51 years in the major leagues and was surprising from someone who should know more than just about everybody that baseball is a business. Now, this whole thing comes with a codicil. Martinez may have picked up the victory Wednesday night against the Cubs, but his performance was hardly overwhelming: 5.0 IP, 7 H, 3 ER 99 pitches. If he’s going to need 100 pitches to get through five innings, even with a 12-1 lead, Martinez will be better suited in relief work, because at least Moyer could get into (and most of the time through) the sixth. Martinez deserves a couple more starts, but let’s not get carried away with his debut, because he looked very much like a guy at the end of his road.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The entire Michael Vick situation is getting more ridiculous by the minute. As the disgraced QB approaches inclusion on an NFL team’s roster, his spin cycle is in danger of careening out of control. Vick will be on “60 Minutes” Sunday for the obligatory public mea culpa. He has had “adviser” Tony Dungy doing advance work for him. The TV folk are laying the groundwork for his return. Is there anybody else out there who smells dead, rotting fish? For the record, “60 Minutes” is aired by CBS, an NFL TV partner. Dungy works for NBC, another league outlet. (And wouldn’t you be a little mad, as a sports director, that one of your employees is withholding information from you?) And, of course, espn is a full-fledged propaganda cohort. Vick’s coming back, and the NFL is creating the perfect environment for his return and a great storyline for the upcoming season. If you think any of this is happening organically, you probably are betting on the Lions to make the playoffs this season.
-EH-
Rick Pitino had a little more on his mind than Jeremy Tyler when he stepped to the podium at Louisville Wednesday and began the public portion of his recovery from self-imposed wounds to his reputation. Seems the Cardinals’ hoops coach had injected himself into the national healthcare discussion with his admission that he had provided $3,000 to a paramour for “health insurance,” when she came to him six years ago with news that she was in the family way with his spawn.
Wearing an open-collared shirt and a grave expression, Pitino followed the blueprint in his remarks, admitting his “indiscretion,” asking forgiveness from Louisville, the fans, his family and any media types who might be screaming for his resignation/removal from the bench. He talked about the need to move forward, how the best way to confront a bad situation is head-on and that “if you have a problem and you tell the truth, it becomes part of your past; if you lie, it becomes part of your future.” That’s profound stuff, to be sure, and it’s part of the reason – along with the Cardinals’ need to compete with a fully-operational University of Kentucky Death Star down the road and need to sell tickets in a rough economy in the new arena they’ll be inhabiting next season – that Pitino will likely survive this sordid affair.
When Pitino does return to the business of coaching college basketball, he’ll have to meet with assistants to come up with some new big-man prospects to pursue, because the 6-11 Tyler, U of L’s top recruit for 2010, has decided to pass on his senior year of high school to play for Maccabi Haifa. Saying that next season would be “extremely boring” if he had to face the triple-teams that rivals used to neutralize his size and skill, Tyler has chosen to become the first American-born player to leave high school early and play professionally overseas.
And he won’t be the last. Say what you want about the magic of the prom and how seniors “rule the school,” but guys like Tyler have different priorities and goals than the typical prep senior. They want to play NBA basketball, and they are exploring new avenues to reach their ultimate destinations. There will no doubt be many people who moralize about Tyler’s family, agent (former NBA player B.J. Armstrong) and adviser (shady former sneaker shill Sonny Vaccaro) and their allegedly exploitative treatment of the young man, but they will be wrong. All around the country and the world, elite athletes are being removed from their cozy schoolyard cocoons and fast-tracked toward professional careers. Tennis players are harvested while still nine and 10 years old for special training. Golfers get the same treatment. Special “academies” have sprung up throughout the country designed to cultivate young talent and distribute it to the proper outlets. And yet Tyler and those around him are going to be excoriated for doing essentially the same thing: playing in an environment that will allow him to grow quickly.
Oh, but he’s being paid for it. And by missing out on his last year of school, he’s missing a chance at an EDUCATION, which is the buzzword used by the college basketball hucksters to stop those promoting the right-to-work in their tracks. It’s a classic tactic, the kind of apple-pie and mother term that can’t be assailed. “What? You want to deprive these youngsters of an EDUCATION? Well, you have some pretty strange ideas, mister.” Forget that the kids who want to play in the NBA, particularly those of the one-and-done variety, couldn’t care less about Intro to Philosophy (Descartes: “To be is to do.” Nietzsche: “To do is to be.” Sinatra: “Do-be-do-be-do.”) and are generally checked out of classes by March of their freshman years. The people pimping their TV product are disingenuous about the game, to be sure. They talk about the awful NBA and its powerful spell while trying to sell ads and attract eyeballs by hyping the latest Duke-Carolina matchup or screaming about this season’s best newcomers.
Jeremy Tyler has made a calculated move designed to further his pursuit of a career. He may well graduate with his class at San Diego HS after taking classes on the net or completing coursework with a tutor in Israel. Or, he might just take the G.E.D. Not that either option matters to the NBA executives who will be assessing his potential. They don’t care about chem lab. They want to see his drop step. Tyler’s time with Maccabi Haifa will improve his game, and the years he spends abroad will help him grow more than any history lecture could. You want to study the Middle East conflict? He’s going to live it, baby.
As for those who scream about the deterioration of America’s youth and the evil attraction of professional basketball at the expense of the “pure” college game, wake up. Tyler is an 18-year old man who can go to war, be charged with capital murder (and, in some states, fry) and get married. (It’s unclear which is more risky business.) He wants to go to work, and that’s not a bad thing. And anyway, El Hombre hears that this year’s prom theme at San Diego High is “All-a-Twitter.” Who wants to be part of that?
As for Pitino, he’ll be just fine. The Cardinals need a heavyweight on their bench for the coming wars with John Calipari and UK. Louisville can’t afford to take a step back, not with so much at stake. And as the coach looks for someone to replace Tyler in the 2010 recruiting class, he’s advised to be careful on the home visits and steer conversation away from his moral obligation to prepare mothers’ sons for life. Stick to basketball. That’s what this is all about, anyway. Jeremy Tyler knows that, perhaps better than everybody else.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Reason number 932 professional golf is a joke: Tiger Woods broke the rules. Tiger Woods wasn’t fined. Think the PGA is scared of him? Nahhhh. Everybody knows a showdown between Hunter Mahan and Steve Stricker at this week’s PGA Championship would make for compelling TV…If the U.S. soccer team wants us to believe that it is becoming a world power, as its crowing after a second-place finish at the Confederations Cup indicated, it must stop playing for a tie on the road in World Cup qualifying matches. Once Mexico evened the count Wednesday at the Azteca Stadium beehive, the U.S. lined up at the 18 and assumed a defensive shell. Disaster was inevitable, and it struck in the form of a 2-1 loss in front of the typically classless tricolores throng…If there is a bigger jerk in professional sports these days than Chicago Blackhawks forward Patrick Kane, then stay away from him. Kane became abusive with a cab driver over 20 cents and allegedly hit the man who didn’t have sufficient change from $15 for a $13.80 fare. (He had the buck.) Kane will most likely avoid jail time for his alleged assault, but this wimp on the ice who delivered all of 18 hits last year sure looks like a classless dolt, especially after pulling out the “Do you know who I am” line. We sure do now, Patty…If you watch just one thing on TV this weekend, make sure it’s the 100 meter final at the World Track and Field Championships in Berlin. Usain Bolt and Tyson Gay are likely to square off in what could be one of the most compelling sprints in history...David Mamet is taking on The Diary of Anne Frank, for Disney of all places. Didn’t know there was so much profanity in the story. Wonder what part Alec Baldwin will play.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The Phillies absolutely made the right decision in moving Satchel Moyer to the bullpen to make room for Pedro Martinez in the starting rotation. The Old Man was losing his precision, and when your fastball tops out at a school zone speed limit, you had better hit your spots. Moyer’s whiny reaction belied his 51 years in the major leagues and was surprising from someone who should know more than just about everybody that baseball is a business. Now, this whole thing comes with a codicil. Martinez may have picked up the victory Wednesday night against the Cubs, but his performance was hardly overwhelming: 5.0 IP, 7 H, 3 ER 99 pitches. If he’s going to need 100 pitches to get through five innings, even with a 12-1 lead, Martinez will be better suited in relief work, because at least Moyer could get into (and most of the time through) the sixth. Martinez deserves a couple more starts, but let’s not get carried away with his debut, because he looked very much like a guy at the end of his road.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The entire Michael Vick situation is getting more ridiculous by the minute. As the disgraced QB approaches inclusion on an NFL team’s roster, his spin cycle is in danger of careening out of control. Vick will be on “60 Minutes” Sunday for the obligatory public mea culpa. He has had “adviser” Tony Dungy doing advance work for him. The TV folk are laying the groundwork for his return. Is there anybody else out there who smells dead, rotting fish? For the record, “60 Minutes” is aired by CBS, an NFL TV partner. Dungy works for NBC, another league outlet. (And wouldn’t you be a little mad, as a sports director, that one of your employees is withholding information from you?) And, of course, espn is a full-fledged propaganda cohort. Vick’s coming back, and the NFL is creating the perfect environment for his return and a great storyline for the upcoming season. If you think any of this is happening organically, you probably are betting on the Lions to make the playoffs this season.
-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-
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Jail? Maybe not. Cooperstown? No way!
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
When we last saw Rusty Hardin, he was standing behind Roger Clemens as the former fireballer tried to convince a Congressional committee that he did not inject steroids, use them or blame them for his rage against Mike Piazza. And he had no plans to join Alyssa Milano as a spokesperson for Proactiv, thanks to the product’s amazing ability to clear up his back acne.
There were several compelling moments during the hearing, but one that stood out was when Hardin was twanging away in defense of his client while being shouted at to shut his trap by chairman Henry Waxman. It had to be a little humbling for the cocky Houston mouthpiece to be chastised like that.
Well, we’re hearing from Hardin again, and thankfully we’re not paying him the $500 an hour Clemens is, although some of us would gladly surrender that much to keep him off the airwaves. Hardin is blustering away about how the mounting evidence against his client won’t be admissible or will be easily refuted by a heater delivered under the prosecution’s chin. With pitchers and catchers due to report for duty in fewer than two weeks, this – and the Manny Ramirez/Scott Boras delusional contract circus – passes for baseball news.
Hardin may well keep Clemens out of the pokey, but if the evidence continues to surface in the court of pubic opinion, his Hall of Fame chances are shot. That’s what we should be after, because if Clemens was indeed juicing throughout the late ‘90s and early part of this decade, his whole hard-working façade and everyman devotion to the ideals That Made This Country Great will be as meaningless as a Pirates post-season ticket application. He’ll be toast, and HOF voters will consign him to the same purgatory where Mark McGwire sits, waiting for everyone to stop “talking about the past.”
As delicious as it is to see the further tearing down of Clemens, the unsealed evidence presented Wednesday against BALCO Bonds is a flat-out feast. Like Hardin, Bonds’ attorneys are claiming that the government case won’t be sufficient to put Bonds in pinstripes – and we ain’t talking the kind worn in the Bronx. Who cares? If the positive drug tests are valid, and the transcript of the conversation between Bonds’ former trainer Greg Anderson and Bonds’ former business manager was not obtained by coercion, then the Thanksgiving Day parade float won’t be admiring his bust in Cooperstown until some short-memoried veterans committee stooges deem his time right for rehabilitation. By then, Bonds will be seen as a sad reminder of an ugly era of baseball and (hopefully) will regard his enshrinement with none of the hubristic bile he has spewed for nearly a decade while pronouncing his innocence.
It doesn’t matter whether a court of law deems Bonds’ testimony in front of a federal grand jury to be riddled with lies, because, as we all know, prosecutorial incompetence and the velvet tongues of defense lawyers can make cases that seem airtight appear shakier than last year’s Mets bullpen. If there are positive drug tests, then he is guilty, at least in the baseball world. And that should be enough. Bonds’ overwhelming arrogance throughout the situation has eradicated any sympathy one might conjure for him. Were he not so emphatic in his denials, were he not so nasty to those who had the right to ask very appropriate questions, and were he not prone to holding anyone who dare challenge him with contempt usually reserved for the Yankees, it might be possible to summon some compassion for him. Because of his steadfast arrogance, Bonds deserves everything he gets, and Wednesday’s unsealing of the evidence is an indication that he is up against some formidable opposition. Remember the golden rule of federal prosecution: The gubment doesn’t take on cases it can’t win. Consider it the legal equivalent of Texas Tech’s non-conference football schedule.
Still, there will be those who try to make Bonds a victim, whether of unfair media scrutiny or federal harassment. To those lost souls, El Hombre has a message: smarten up! This is a guy who has his former trainer – Anderson – sitting in jail in order to prevent him from testifying about the steroid regimen he concocted for and administered to Bonds. Granted, Anderson’s probably being paid seven figure for his adherence to the performance-enhancing Omerta, but that doesn’t mean he still isn’t rotting away, while his wife faces IRS scrutiny. At what point will Anderson get his freedom back, and how much must this man know for Bonds to come up with enough cheddar to keep him incarcerated in the name of silence? This is stuff from mob trials, not baseball. All that’s missing is a jailhouse visit from Tom Hagen for a cigar and talk about the ancient Romans’ suicide practices.
The legal machinations in the cases of both Bonds and Clemens will drag on, potentially for years. But with each new revelation of bloody steroid-laced syringes and positive drug tests, the reputations of these two steroid-era titans will erode further, until it will be impossible to look at them as anything other than laboratory rats whose baseball prowess was soiled by their vain attempt at securing immortality. For that, they don’t deserve jail. But they don’t deserve Cooperstown, either.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: If Michael Phelps is hitting the bong, he’s no cannabis rookie. That said; he doesn’t deserve criminal prosecution. Some of his endorsement dough might dry up, but there’s no reason he can’t recoup the money from Doritos and Hostess…Tiger Woods is readying himself for a return to the PGA Tour and reports he is practicing full bore. That’s good news, although it’s been hard to find evidence there is still competitive golf being played, just another argument in the case against Woods’ relative greatness compared to legends like Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer. His level of competition isn’t close to theirs…Congratulations to those who are putting pressure on Citibank to cancel its $400 million naming contract for the Letsgoes’ new stadium. Although the team says the deal is binding, let’s hope the Treasury Department forces the cancellation of the pact. Twenty mil a year may be but a small part of the $45 billion Citi is getting, but the idea of that kind of spending amidst a bailout climate is disgraceful…Times must be getting tough for Italian soccer. AC Milan wants to keep David Beckham full-time, now that his three-month loan period is over. Guess the economy is forcing everybody to consider using re-treads and discards…Others might disagree, but El Hombre loved the “barber pole” unis the Canadiens wore earlier this week. That kind of horizontal striping wouldn’t work with, say, NFL linemen or Prince Fielder, but it suited the Habs just fine.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? It is becoming more and more clear that the Sixers have a problem in situations where the expectations grow. At the start of each of the last three seasons, they have faltered, and while it’s possible to blame injury or other problems, the team put itself in an early hole at each point, and it’s no coincidence the expectations for success were high each year, especially this season. As long as the team doesn’t have to perform, it can win, and its up-and-down style preference bears that out. When it’s loose and fun, the team thrives. When things tighten, they can’t get it done. Tuesday’s loss to the Celtics was the perfect microcosm of the season. The Sixers rode the crowd’s energy to a late lead but fell into a tie when Boston fought back. With time running out and no real pressure, since overtime was still possible, Andre Iguodala hit a jumper for a two-point lead. Then, with the clock leaking toward zeroes, the Sixers allowed Ray Allen, of all people, to get a clean look from the corner to bury a three and win the game. The Sixers have talent, but they don’t have winners right now.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: If Georgia even interviews Generalissimo Knight for its open men’s hoops job, the entire administration should be fired. Knight is a dinosaur who has zero relevance to today’s athletes. He wasn’t all that successful during his tenure at Texas Tech and didn’t recruit a single big-name player. He is a bully whose arrogance and desire for the spotlight are so great that he actually became a member of the media, despite his considerable contempt for the profession and its practitioners over the years. Now, his good buddy and apologist, Dookie V, is trying to insert Knight’s tired backside into the coaching conversations at Georgia and Mississippi State. Neither school should consider hiring him, despite his knowledge of the game. Knight can’t accept that his actions doomed his coaching career, and he’s trying to get a spot in the game again through appearing charming on TV. Those of us who have charted his boorish antics over the years realize how disingenuous he is and how bad it would be for college basketball to have him back abusing players, berating officials and throwing chairs.
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When we last saw Rusty Hardin, he was standing behind Roger Clemens as the former fireballer tried to convince a Congressional committee that he did not inject steroids, use them or blame them for his rage against Mike Piazza. And he had no plans to join Alyssa Milano as a spokesperson for Proactiv, thanks to the product’s amazing ability to clear up his back acne.
There were several compelling moments during the hearing, but one that stood out was when Hardin was twanging away in defense of his client while being shouted at to shut his trap by chairman Henry Waxman. It had to be a little humbling for the cocky Houston mouthpiece to be chastised like that.
Well, we’re hearing from Hardin again, and thankfully we’re not paying him the $500 an hour Clemens is, although some of us would gladly surrender that much to keep him off the airwaves. Hardin is blustering away about how the mounting evidence against his client won’t be admissible or will be easily refuted by a heater delivered under the prosecution’s chin. With pitchers and catchers due to report for duty in fewer than two weeks, this – and the Manny Ramirez/Scott Boras delusional contract circus – passes for baseball news.
Hardin may well keep Clemens out of the pokey, but if the evidence continues to surface in the court of pubic opinion, his Hall of Fame chances are shot. That’s what we should be after, because if Clemens was indeed juicing throughout the late ‘90s and early part of this decade, his whole hard-working façade and everyman devotion to the ideals That Made This Country Great will be as meaningless as a Pirates post-season ticket application. He’ll be toast, and HOF voters will consign him to the same purgatory where Mark McGwire sits, waiting for everyone to stop “talking about the past.”
As delicious as it is to see the further tearing down of Clemens, the unsealed evidence presented Wednesday against BALCO Bonds is a flat-out feast. Like Hardin, Bonds’ attorneys are claiming that the government case won’t be sufficient to put Bonds in pinstripes – and we ain’t talking the kind worn in the Bronx. Who cares? If the positive drug tests are valid, and the transcript of the conversation between Bonds’ former trainer Greg Anderson and Bonds’ former business manager was not obtained by coercion, then the Thanksgiving Day parade float won’t be admiring his bust in Cooperstown until some short-memoried veterans committee stooges deem his time right for rehabilitation. By then, Bonds will be seen as a sad reminder of an ugly era of baseball and (hopefully) will regard his enshrinement with none of the hubristic bile he has spewed for nearly a decade while pronouncing his innocence.
It doesn’t matter whether a court of law deems Bonds’ testimony in front of a federal grand jury to be riddled with lies, because, as we all know, prosecutorial incompetence and the velvet tongues of defense lawyers can make cases that seem airtight appear shakier than last year’s Mets bullpen. If there are positive drug tests, then he is guilty, at least in the baseball world. And that should be enough. Bonds’ overwhelming arrogance throughout the situation has eradicated any sympathy one might conjure for him. Were he not so emphatic in his denials, were he not so nasty to those who had the right to ask very appropriate questions, and were he not prone to holding anyone who dare challenge him with contempt usually reserved for the Yankees, it might be possible to summon some compassion for him. Because of his steadfast arrogance, Bonds deserves everything he gets, and Wednesday’s unsealing of the evidence is an indication that he is up against some formidable opposition. Remember the golden rule of federal prosecution: The gubment doesn’t take on cases it can’t win. Consider it the legal equivalent of Texas Tech’s non-conference football schedule.
Still, there will be those who try to make Bonds a victim, whether of unfair media scrutiny or federal harassment. To those lost souls, El Hombre has a message: smarten up! This is a guy who has his former trainer – Anderson – sitting in jail in order to prevent him from testifying about the steroid regimen he concocted for and administered to Bonds. Granted, Anderson’s probably being paid seven figure for his adherence to the performance-enhancing Omerta, but that doesn’t mean he still isn’t rotting away, while his wife faces IRS scrutiny. At what point will Anderson get his freedom back, and how much must this man know for Bonds to come up with enough cheddar to keep him incarcerated in the name of silence? This is stuff from mob trials, not baseball. All that’s missing is a jailhouse visit from Tom Hagen for a cigar and talk about the ancient Romans’ suicide practices.
The legal machinations in the cases of both Bonds and Clemens will drag on, potentially for years. But with each new revelation of bloody steroid-laced syringes and positive drug tests, the reputations of these two steroid-era titans will erode further, until it will be impossible to look at them as anything other than laboratory rats whose baseball prowess was soiled by their vain attempt at securing immortality. For that, they don’t deserve jail. But they don’t deserve Cooperstown, either.
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EL HOMBRE SEZ: If Michael Phelps is hitting the bong, he’s no cannabis rookie. That said; he doesn’t deserve criminal prosecution. Some of his endorsement dough might dry up, but there’s no reason he can’t recoup the money from Doritos and Hostess…Tiger Woods is readying himself for a return to the PGA Tour and reports he is practicing full bore. That’s good news, although it’s been hard to find evidence there is still competitive golf being played, just another argument in the case against Woods’ relative greatness compared to legends like Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer. His level of competition isn’t close to theirs…Congratulations to those who are putting pressure on Citibank to cancel its $400 million naming contract for the Letsgoes’ new stadium. Although the team says the deal is binding, let’s hope the Treasury Department forces the cancellation of the pact. Twenty mil a year may be but a small part of the $45 billion Citi is getting, but the idea of that kind of spending amidst a bailout climate is disgraceful…Times must be getting tough for Italian soccer. AC Milan wants to keep David Beckham full-time, now that his three-month loan period is over. Guess the economy is forcing everybody to consider using re-treads and discards…Others might disagree, but El Hombre loved the “barber pole” unis the Canadiens wore earlier this week. That kind of horizontal striping wouldn’t work with, say, NFL linemen or Prince Fielder, but it suited the Habs just fine.
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YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? It is becoming more and more clear that the Sixers have a problem in situations where the expectations grow. At the start of each of the last three seasons, they have faltered, and while it’s possible to blame injury or other problems, the team put itself in an early hole at each point, and it’s no coincidence the expectations for success were high each year, especially this season. As long as the team doesn’t have to perform, it can win, and its up-and-down style preference bears that out. When it’s loose and fun, the team thrives. When things tighten, they can’t get it done. Tuesday’s loss to the Celtics was the perfect microcosm of the season. The Sixers rode the crowd’s energy to a late lead but fell into a tie when Boston fought back. With time running out and no real pressure, since overtime was still possible, Andre Iguodala hit a jumper for a two-point lead. Then, with the clock leaking toward zeroes, the Sixers allowed Ray Allen, of all people, to get a clean look from the corner to bury a three and win the game. The Sixers have talent, but they don’t have winners right now.
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AND ANOTHER THING: If Georgia even interviews Generalissimo Knight for its open men’s hoops job, the entire administration should be fired. Knight is a dinosaur who has zero relevance to today’s athletes. He wasn’t all that successful during his tenure at Texas Tech and didn’t recruit a single big-name player. He is a bully whose arrogance and desire for the spotlight are so great that he actually became a member of the media, despite his considerable contempt for the profession and its practitioners over the years. Now, his good buddy and apologist, Dookie V, is trying to insert Knight’s tired backside into the coaching conversations at Georgia and Mississippi State. Neither school should consider hiring him, despite his knowledge of the game. Knight can’t accept that his actions doomed his coaching career, and he’s trying to get a spot in the game again through appearing charming on TV. Those of us who have charted his boorish antics over the years realize how disingenuous he is and how bad it would be for college basketball to have him back abusing players, berating officials and throwing chairs.
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