EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Even though El Padre grew up in the Kensington section of Philadelphia (“The sport of boxball was invented at the corner of Gaul and Sergeant,” he maintained.), he was an inveterate frontrunner when it came to choosing a rooting interest in sports. His favorite teams were the Yankees, Packers, Celtics and Canadiens. For those of you scoring at home, that’s dynasty, dynasty, dynasty and dynasty. When it came to his partisan allegiances, El Padre wasn’t taking any chances.
Born in 1920, he had the opportunity to witness – sometimes in person, like that famous 0-0 tie between Army and Notre Dame in 1946 or the 1948 Eagles-Cardinals NFL Championship “Snow Ball” – some of the great sporting moments of the early-to-mid-20th Century. He saw Babe Ruth play. And Ty Cobb. He was present for several battles between Wilt and Russ. Even though El Padre was an intellectual at heart and adored the law profession he chose, he would argue (boy, would he argue) sports for hours.
He was also a fount of information. Ask him how some of the current-day ballplayers stacked up against various heroes from the past, and he could break it down, although his verdict almost always came down on the side of the old-timer. And he appreciated the value of seeing events in person. Rare was the time when a request by El Hombre or a Hermano to attend a contest was dismissed. If El Padre could make it, we were there. We usually left the game early, but we were still there. And that’s where this Father’s Day tale begins.
In 1969, baseball celebrated its 100th birthday, at least according to what generally passed as common knowledge. It was a big year for the MLB, since it added two teams to each league and split into divisions. Playoffs would be held for the first time, and little did anybody who followed the sport know, but the Miracle Mets would stun the sports world that fall by winning the World Series.
For a seven-year old beginning what would become a life-long emersion in sports, it was a heady time. The NFL was about to merge. The NHL was two years post-expansion. The NBA was at the end of the remarkable Celtic championship run. (“Ten fingers, eleven rings,” Russell used to say.) John Wooden and UCLA ruled the college basketball world. And college football, like its MLB counterpart, was commemorating its centennial. Of course, seven-year olds don’t pay much attention to that stuff, especially when they’re mesmerized by the wonder of it all.
On Aug. 9, that dream world became a reality, when El Padre took EH and his younger Hermano to their first baseball game. As one might expect from a person who appreciated the history of the game – not to mention one who was a big Yankees fan, even if the ’69 version of the team would finish 22 ½ games out of first place in the newly-minted AL Eastern Division – the setting for this inaugural encounter would be Yankee Stadium. Give El Padre points for understanding the significance of the event. You don’t see your first game at Connie Mack Stadium, where the wretched Phillies butchered the sport in front of tiny, disinterested aggregations. You got to The House That Ruth Built. On Old Timers Day.
So, we boarded the train in Philadelphia (El Padre didn’t drive) and headed north on a sunny Saturday. After pulling into Penn Station, we cabbed it to the ticket agency to collect our box seats for the game. Two things here. First, El Padre never bought a ticket at the box office. In Philadelphia, he used Sherry’s Ticket Agency for everything, and that’s who no doubt helped him procure the ducats for this contest. Second, naïve waif that El Hombre was, he thought our “box” seats actually consigned us to cardboard enclosures. Nonetheless, our arrival in the Bronx was cause for celebration, and EH’s first glimpse of the Stadium’s emerald grass and chocolate infield engendered in him an awe he has rarely encountered since. Our seats were not in boxes, rather between home plate and first base, about 20 rows off the field. In other words, perfect.
The parade of Old Timers was a thrill. Even though El Hombre was a novice in terms of baseball knowledge, names like DiMaggio, Mantle and Musial resonated, thanks to El Padre’s lessons. For someone more seasoned, the roster of stars on hand was indeed impressive. In addition to the aforementioned trio, Whitey Ford, King Kong Keller, Lefty Gomez, Tony Kubek and Moose Skowron were there, wearing pinstripes, while Lou Boudreau, Bob Feller, Robin Roberts and Bobby “The Giants Win The Pennant!” Thomson comprised the heart of the opposition. To top it off, the widows of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig made appearances and received a thunderous ovation.
The two-inning game featured few highlights and ended in a 0-0 deadlock. The one enduring image was of DiMaggio’s gliding back in center to snare a line drive off the bat of Bobby Doerr. That was a great, one-handed, over-the-head catch, or at least it was until a few years later when El Padre explained that the Yankee Clipper had mistakenly broken in on the ball and had to adjust quickly to preserve his reputation. Still: DiMaggio. Yankee Stadium. Magic.
The Main Event turned out to be a taut one that featured complete games by New York’s Mel Stottlemyre and the A’s Chuck Dobson. The Yankees earned a 2-1 win behind a four-hitter by Stottlemyre, although we were gone by the time the home side pushed across the deciding run in the eighth. But the game’s outcome mattered less than the overall experience. The A’s looked great in their yellow sleeveless jerseys and pants, long-sleeved green undershirts, green stirrup socks and white shoes. The Yankees, of course, were sublime in the pinstripes. The big crowd of 50,945 – the third-largest that season – buzzed throughout the game and gave a young boy plenty to watch. It was a perfect afternoon, right down to the steak dinner in the train’s dining car on the way home. El Hombre has seen countless hundreds of games since then, but nothing compares. Not World Series games, NBA championship series contests, NFL playoff games, Stanley Cup playoff games. Not nothing.
The gold standard was established that Saturday nearly 41 years ago, and El Padre did it. It’s been 10 years since he died, and El Hombre wonders often whether he thanked him enough. For that game and everything else.
Thanks, Papa. Happy Father’s Day. You were the best.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The refs jobbed the U.S. against Slovenia, but when you fall into a 2-0 hole, courtesy of typical first-half somnolence, you put yourself at the mercy of the arbiters. How about waking up early for next Wednesday’s game against Algeria? The future of soccer in the U.S. might just depend on the game’s outcome…News out of San Diego is that a 12-year old wants to set the record for fastest ascent up Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. Just kidding. Then again, when parents are letting 16-year olds try to sail around the world, why not let a pre-teen scale the world’s tallest peak? Idiots…The conference carousel stopped early, with only four teams’ changing addresses. But here’s a word of advice to the folks at Baylor, Iowa State, Kansas State, South Florida and other undesirable expansion targets: get a plan together now. More mayhem is on the way…The Yankees are the first Majoke League Baseball team to ban vuvuzelas from the ballpark. The things can be annoying, but they’re certainly no worse than a drunken fan from Staten Island shouting for Jee-tah to get a hit. Talk about a nerve ending.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Be sure to check out El Hombre’s alter ego on Philadelphia Magazine’s “Philly Post” (www.phillymag.com) Monday for an in-depth look at the Sixers’ NBA Draft possibilities next Thursday. It will be interesting to see – and several league execs feel the same way – whether the Sixers draft Evan Turner at number two, and if they do whether the team will keep both him and Andre Iguodala. More than one NBA personnel boss thinks the two players have the same skill set and that Iguodala would be superfluous if Turner were around. Could the Sixers take Turner and dish Iguodala to the Clippers for the eighth pick and a future choice? That would provide tremendous salary cap relief for a team that has $63 million committed for next season. Or, do they keep Iguodala and draft Derrick Favors (El Hombre’s choice), making Thaddeus Young expendable? Thursday’s trade that sent Samuel Dalembert to Sacramento for Spencer Hawes and Andres Nocioni was just the beginning of what should be an interesting week for the Sixers.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The Lakers’ win over Boston Thursday night brought the franchise’s 16th World Championship and the fifth of Kobe Bryant’s career. Some believe the triumph cements his status as the best player ever to wear the Forum Blue and Gold. It says here that is nonsense. While Bryant is a great player, it’s instructive to remember that his first three titles came as “Little Brother” to Shaquille O’Neal, who earned MVP honors in the Finals from 2000-02. It is also important to remember Bryant’s incredibly selfish play in the years after O’Neal’s departure from the team. It’s also worth noting that there is no way the Lakers blow a 24-point lead at home – as they did in 2008 against Boston – with Magic Johnson on the team or lose a deciding Game Six by a humiliating 39 points, with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on the floor. Bryant was lauded for “trusting his teammates” during this Finals series, but he didn’t look so confident in them during the first three quarters of Thursday’s game, when he shot a miserable 5-for-20 and tried to bowl through two and three defenders on his way to the hoop. Bryant’s legacy isn’t complete, but to put him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar, two of the five best players ever, is absurd. Johnson was the consummate winner and leader who did everything necessary on the court, while Abdul-Jabbar is NBA’s all-time leading scorer and a six-time champ. It took 12 seasons for Bryant to focus on winning; let’s see how he closes out his career before pushing him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar (and perhaps Jerry West) in the L.A. Valhalla.
-EH-
Showing posts with label joe dimaggio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joe dimaggio. Show all posts
Friday, June 18, 2010
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The Good, Old Days
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
This was supposed to be a sparkling missive about the pending commencement of NFL training camp, which ends our long months of wandering through the barren landscape of sports that Don’t Quite Measure Up. At least that’s what it said on the Big Editorial Calendar on the wall. But that was before Ken Keltner Day. And before the 95th anniversary of Babe Ruth’s Major League debut. And before El Hombre watched HBO’s amazing 90-minute paean to Ted Williams. And before what would have been Pater Familias’ 89th birthday.
For fans of baseball whose view of the game goes beyond the highlight, the homer and the needle, names like Ruth, Williams and Keltner (look it up) conjure images of sport as it once was, or at least as we have romanticized it. Don’t knock the power of romance in the world of sports. No matter how many beers Ruth consumed or how much of a distant figure Williams was with his children or how much of a racist S.O.B. Ty Cobb was, their time in the game is considered more magical than what we see in today’s version, if only because it exists in different, less immediate universe. And that’s where Pater Familias comes in.
PF was the perfect resource for a sports-mad youngster, because he had Perspective. Context. When Johnny Bench was emerging as one of the greatest catchers of all time, someone had to be there to remind everybody about Bill Dickey and Mickey Cochrane (not to mention Roy Campanella and Yogi Berra). When Hank Aaron made his assault on Babe Ruth’s home run record, there was a need to inform everybody that not only could the Sultan swat; he could also pitch (94-46 record, 2.28 ERA) and hit for average (.342 career). If you had a question about any of the major sports (that included hockey back then), Pater Familias had an answer. Make that the answer. A defense attorney, he was not one to equivocate. If he said Joe DiMaggio was the greatest centerfielder of all time, you didn’t argue, no matter how much you believed Willie Mays was tops. Wilt Chamberlain was the best ever. Period. And nobody ran the football better – or ever will – than Jim Brown.
Pater Familias checked out back in 2000, after a pretty long (79 years, despite a decades-long devotion to tobacco) run. He accomplished a lot and saw a lot, particularly on the athletic fields. He was at Yankee Stadium in ’46 when Army and Notre Dame waged the best battle of futility – 0-0 – of all time. He sat in the snow at Shibe Park in 1948 when the Eagles and Steve Van Buren knocked off the Cardinals to win their first NFL title. Saw Ruth, Cobb, DiMaggio, Williams, Speaker, Mays, Aaron and just about any other great baseball player before 1970 play – and many of the giants after that, too. Witnessed countless battles between Chamberlain and Russell. Saw both Tom Harmon and Ed Marinaro tear up his beloved Penn Quakers at Franklin Field. And watched the world’s greatest runners scorch the track from his perch as Chief Judge of the Finish at the Penn Relays. He loved the Boston Celtics, because they played together as a team. And because they won. In fact, Pater Familias was something of a frontrunner, a fact reinforced by the identities of his four favorite teams: Celtics, Yankees, Packers and Canadiens. Though he enjoyed the orchestra, ballet, the theater, Shakespeare. fine dining, mathematics and an argument on any subject, his was truly a sporting life. For that El Hombre is grateful.
But there are days, like last Saturday, when that sporting life seems way too short. The commemoration of Ruth’s debut received a small mention in the “This Day in Sports History” section of the newspaper (another of his great loves), but the occasion warranted so much more than just a couple lines of agate type. It called for stories of Ruthian accomplishments. About how this great, big man dashed about on such thin legs – but was still a tremendous baserunner. About how his pop-ups soared so high that Ruth was sometimes between second and third bases when the wounded balls finally collapsed into fielders’ mitts. About how he began his career using a mighty 54-ounce bat, before easing off to a 40-ouncer. About his pitching 29 2/3 consecutive scoreless innings in World Series play. The facts are available to anybody. The legend needs an eyewitness.
HBO’s biography of Williams provides that you-are-there feeling, with outstanding audio and video footage, interviews with writers who covered the Red Sox great and who met him later and the perspective that comes from years of reflection following a the death of a titan. It was a great trip back and a reminder of what the game of baseball was like before it could be boiled into a 90-second package of top plays and canned applause. Pater Familias would have loved it, because it was an even treatment of Williams, but more than that, a generous presentation of the sport he loved. When the show was over, and the goose bumps had subsided (of particular note is a reading, by Robert Redford, at the program’s end of an excerpt from the marvelous “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu” article by John Updike that appeared in the Oct. 22, 1960 issue of The New Yorker) there was only one thing left to do: Make the call. And, to tell the truth, for a split second, El Hombre considered it, just as he has dozens of times during the past nine-plus years.
Then he remembered. Perspective and Context have to come from other avenues these days. It isn’t the same, but what can you do? The good news is that Pater Familias’ ability to make the past come alive has given his son the desire to do the same thing for his Niños. They may not have the same thirst for history, but they ask questions. And while relating stories of the 1970s doesn’t have the same romantic lure as tales from the Golden Age, perhaps those Niños will have fond memories of stories they’re told when they become adults.
Maybe they’ll even want to pick up that phone. Here’s hoping EH will be there to answer it.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: As much as the thought of an unclothed Erin Andrews, the ESPN reporter, gets the heart fluttering, the slimeball who shot the peephole video of her deserves to be jailed and sued until he doesn’t have a Roosevelt to his name. And shame on The New York Post for publishing images from the video. We have always known The Post was sleazy, but this makes the Weekly World News look like The Manchester Guardian…Notre Dame and Army have announced a deal to play their 2010 game in new Yankee Stadium, in an attempt to recapture some of the magic of the teams’ previous games in the Bronx. The big differences between, say, the epic ’46 struggle between the two teams and today are that the new Stadium has none of its predecessor’s distinct character and that the only time you’ll see 0-0 on the scoreboard when the teams play again is right before kickoff…Russian “prime minister” Vladimir “Leader for Life” Putin reports that preparations for the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi are right on schedule, despite the fact that he has replaced the project leader twice and is concerned about “prices and bureaucracy” torpedoing future efforts. Fortunately, Putin has a big incentive for those involved in constructing venues and improving infrastructures: They all want to live…If there is any image in the world of games this year sadder than the look on Tom Watson’s face when he stuttered that putt on 18 last Sunday, it’ll be enough to make Richard Simmons glum. Had Watson won the tournament, it would have been a remarkable accomplishment. The fact that a 59-year old was able to come within a stroke of a major title, however, reinforces the fact that golf is not a sport. Feel free to refute that by mentioning any other sport in which someone that old can come that close to winning a big-time competition…The Seahawks and the Washington State Lottery are debuting a scratch ticket with a $50,000 first prize. Emboldened by the announcement, Detroit and the Michigan Lottery have decided to stage a similar game. First prize is two tickets to a Lions game. Second prize is season tickets.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The Eagles begin training camp Sunday with rookies and selected veterans’ reporting – and a lot of questions. Chief among the concerns is the health of running back Brian Westbrook and defensive coordinator Jim Johnson. We have been told Westbrook will be ready for the Birds’ opener Sept. 13, and that is reasonable, even if he has little real work before then. Of course if Westbrook doesn’t recover completely from surgery to remove bone spurs in his right ankle, the Eagles are cooked, because rookie LeSean McCoy and colossal ’08 disappointment Lorenzo Booker don’t come close to measuring up. Johnson’s situation is much different. The venerable assistant is fighting melanoma and may not be able to return at all. On the field, that means 35-year old Sean McDermott will be calling defenses for the first time, no small consideration given Johnson’s value to the team over the past decade. Off the field, Johnson’s condition could be quite troubling for defensive players, many of whom have known no other coordinator during their professional careers. Despite those questions, the great news is that football season is starting, and soon all will be right with the world.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? (PART TWO): Get Roy Halladay. Today. Spend whatever it takes. Got that?
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: “Sources” say that Roger Goodell wants to see legitimate remorse from Michael Vick about his dogfighting role and is looking to see how the former Falcons QB conducts himself before deciding whether to reinstate him for NFL action. Goodell’s giving Vick almost a whole week as a free man before issuing his verdict (the two are supposed to meet today or tomorrow) and that’s ludicrous. How can Goodell possibly know whether Vick has changed from one meeting and a couple days out of stir? If Goodell wants to give Vick a conditional ticket back to football, so he can sign with a team and go through training camp, fine. But the return pass must come with a suspension, the better to see how Vick behaves over a longer period. Yes, he has done his time. Yes, he deserves a second chance. But the NFL can’t just let him back without a probationary stretch. Let him work out with a team and get back into the NFL life, but remember that it’s easier to put on a good show for a week than it is for two or three months. Let’s get a track record here before allowing Vick back completely.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: El Hombre wants to send out his best wishes to loyal reader, American hero and bon vivant Bill “Bitsy” Grant, an avid Phillies fan, loyal Saint Joseph’s Hawk and dedicated Salesianum alumnus, who is in a big-time fight against one helluva foe. Now, Bitsy landed at Normandy back in ’44, so he’s no stranger to struggle. And he raised eight children – six of them girls – so he isn’t frightened easily. The smart money’s on a big recovery, but Bitsy can use all the prayers and positive energy he can get. Continued prosperity for the Phils wouldn’t hurt, either. Get well soon, Bitsy!
-EH-
This was supposed to be a sparkling missive about the pending commencement of NFL training camp, which ends our long months of wandering through the barren landscape of sports that Don’t Quite Measure Up. At least that’s what it said on the Big Editorial Calendar on the wall. But that was before Ken Keltner Day. And before the 95th anniversary of Babe Ruth’s Major League debut. And before El Hombre watched HBO’s amazing 90-minute paean to Ted Williams. And before what would have been Pater Familias’ 89th birthday.
For fans of baseball whose view of the game goes beyond the highlight, the homer and the needle, names like Ruth, Williams and Keltner (look it up) conjure images of sport as it once was, or at least as we have romanticized it. Don’t knock the power of romance in the world of sports. No matter how many beers Ruth consumed or how much of a distant figure Williams was with his children or how much of a racist S.O.B. Ty Cobb was, their time in the game is considered more magical than what we see in today’s version, if only because it exists in different, less immediate universe. And that’s where Pater Familias comes in.
PF was the perfect resource for a sports-mad youngster, because he had Perspective. Context. When Johnny Bench was emerging as one of the greatest catchers of all time, someone had to be there to remind everybody about Bill Dickey and Mickey Cochrane (not to mention Roy Campanella and Yogi Berra). When Hank Aaron made his assault on Babe Ruth’s home run record, there was a need to inform everybody that not only could the Sultan swat; he could also pitch (94-46 record, 2.28 ERA) and hit for average (.342 career). If you had a question about any of the major sports (that included hockey back then), Pater Familias had an answer. Make that the answer. A defense attorney, he was not one to equivocate. If he said Joe DiMaggio was the greatest centerfielder of all time, you didn’t argue, no matter how much you believed Willie Mays was tops. Wilt Chamberlain was the best ever. Period. And nobody ran the football better – or ever will – than Jim Brown.
Pater Familias checked out back in 2000, after a pretty long (79 years, despite a decades-long devotion to tobacco) run. He accomplished a lot and saw a lot, particularly on the athletic fields. He was at Yankee Stadium in ’46 when Army and Notre Dame waged the best battle of futility – 0-0 – of all time. He sat in the snow at Shibe Park in 1948 when the Eagles and Steve Van Buren knocked off the Cardinals to win their first NFL title. Saw Ruth, Cobb, DiMaggio, Williams, Speaker, Mays, Aaron and just about any other great baseball player before 1970 play – and many of the giants after that, too. Witnessed countless battles between Chamberlain and Russell. Saw both Tom Harmon and Ed Marinaro tear up his beloved Penn Quakers at Franklin Field. And watched the world’s greatest runners scorch the track from his perch as Chief Judge of the Finish at the Penn Relays. He loved the Boston Celtics, because they played together as a team. And because they won. In fact, Pater Familias was something of a frontrunner, a fact reinforced by the identities of his four favorite teams: Celtics, Yankees, Packers and Canadiens. Though he enjoyed the orchestra, ballet, the theater, Shakespeare. fine dining, mathematics and an argument on any subject, his was truly a sporting life. For that El Hombre is grateful.
But there are days, like last Saturday, when that sporting life seems way too short. The commemoration of Ruth’s debut received a small mention in the “This Day in Sports History” section of the newspaper (another of his great loves), but the occasion warranted so much more than just a couple lines of agate type. It called for stories of Ruthian accomplishments. About how this great, big man dashed about on such thin legs – but was still a tremendous baserunner. About how his pop-ups soared so high that Ruth was sometimes between second and third bases when the wounded balls finally collapsed into fielders’ mitts. About how he began his career using a mighty 54-ounce bat, before easing off to a 40-ouncer. About his pitching 29 2/3 consecutive scoreless innings in World Series play. The facts are available to anybody. The legend needs an eyewitness.
HBO’s biography of Williams provides that you-are-there feeling, with outstanding audio and video footage, interviews with writers who covered the Red Sox great and who met him later and the perspective that comes from years of reflection following a the death of a titan. It was a great trip back and a reminder of what the game of baseball was like before it could be boiled into a 90-second package of top plays and canned applause. Pater Familias would have loved it, because it was an even treatment of Williams, but more than that, a generous presentation of the sport he loved. When the show was over, and the goose bumps had subsided (of particular note is a reading, by Robert Redford, at the program’s end of an excerpt from the marvelous “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu” article by John Updike that appeared in the Oct. 22, 1960 issue of The New Yorker) there was only one thing left to do: Make the call. And, to tell the truth, for a split second, El Hombre considered it, just as he has dozens of times during the past nine-plus years.
Then he remembered. Perspective and Context have to come from other avenues these days. It isn’t the same, but what can you do? The good news is that Pater Familias’ ability to make the past come alive has given his son the desire to do the same thing for his Niños. They may not have the same thirst for history, but they ask questions. And while relating stories of the 1970s doesn’t have the same romantic lure as tales from the Golden Age, perhaps those Niños will have fond memories of stories they’re told when they become adults.
Maybe they’ll even want to pick up that phone. Here’s hoping EH will be there to answer it.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: As much as the thought of an unclothed Erin Andrews, the ESPN reporter, gets the heart fluttering, the slimeball who shot the peephole video of her deserves to be jailed and sued until he doesn’t have a Roosevelt to his name. And shame on The New York Post for publishing images from the video. We have always known The Post was sleazy, but this makes the Weekly World News look like The Manchester Guardian…Notre Dame and Army have announced a deal to play their 2010 game in new Yankee Stadium, in an attempt to recapture some of the magic of the teams’ previous games in the Bronx. The big differences between, say, the epic ’46 struggle between the two teams and today are that the new Stadium has none of its predecessor’s distinct character and that the only time you’ll see 0-0 on the scoreboard when the teams play again is right before kickoff…Russian “prime minister” Vladimir “Leader for Life” Putin reports that preparations for the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi are right on schedule, despite the fact that he has replaced the project leader twice and is concerned about “prices and bureaucracy” torpedoing future efforts. Fortunately, Putin has a big incentive for those involved in constructing venues and improving infrastructures: They all want to live…If there is any image in the world of games this year sadder than the look on Tom Watson’s face when he stuttered that putt on 18 last Sunday, it’ll be enough to make Richard Simmons glum. Had Watson won the tournament, it would have been a remarkable accomplishment. The fact that a 59-year old was able to come within a stroke of a major title, however, reinforces the fact that golf is not a sport. Feel free to refute that by mentioning any other sport in which someone that old can come that close to winning a big-time competition…The Seahawks and the Washington State Lottery are debuting a scratch ticket with a $50,000 first prize. Emboldened by the announcement, Detroit and the Michigan Lottery have decided to stage a similar game. First prize is two tickets to a Lions game. Second prize is season tickets.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The Eagles begin training camp Sunday with rookies and selected veterans’ reporting – and a lot of questions. Chief among the concerns is the health of running back Brian Westbrook and defensive coordinator Jim Johnson. We have been told Westbrook will be ready for the Birds’ opener Sept. 13, and that is reasonable, even if he has little real work before then. Of course if Westbrook doesn’t recover completely from surgery to remove bone spurs in his right ankle, the Eagles are cooked, because rookie LeSean McCoy and colossal ’08 disappointment Lorenzo Booker don’t come close to measuring up. Johnson’s situation is much different. The venerable assistant is fighting melanoma and may not be able to return at all. On the field, that means 35-year old Sean McDermott will be calling defenses for the first time, no small consideration given Johnson’s value to the team over the past decade. Off the field, Johnson’s condition could be quite troubling for defensive players, many of whom have known no other coordinator during their professional careers. Despite those questions, the great news is that football season is starting, and soon all will be right with the world.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? (PART TWO): Get Roy Halladay. Today. Spend whatever it takes. Got that?
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: “Sources” say that Roger Goodell wants to see legitimate remorse from Michael Vick about his dogfighting role and is looking to see how the former Falcons QB conducts himself before deciding whether to reinstate him for NFL action. Goodell’s giving Vick almost a whole week as a free man before issuing his verdict (the two are supposed to meet today or tomorrow) and that’s ludicrous. How can Goodell possibly know whether Vick has changed from one meeting and a couple days out of stir? If Goodell wants to give Vick a conditional ticket back to football, so he can sign with a team and go through training camp, fine. But the return pass must come with a suspension, the better to see how Vick behaves over a longer period. Yes, he has done his time. Yes, he deserves a second chance. But the NFL can’t just let him back without a probationary stretch. Let him work out with a team and get back into the NFL life, but remember that it’s easier to put on a good show for a week than it is for two or three months. Let’s get a track record here before allowing Vick back completely.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: El Hombre wants to send out his best wishes to loyal reader, American hero and bon vivant Bill “Bitsy” Grant, an avid Phillies fan, loyal Saint Joseph’s Hawk and dedicated Salesianum alumnus, who is in a big-time fight against one helluva foe. Now, Bitsy landed at Normandy back in ’44, so he’s no stranger to struggle. And he raised eight children – six of them girls – so he isn’t frightened easily. The smart money’s on a big recovery, but Bitsy can use all the prayers and positive energy he can get. Continued prosperity for the Phils wouldn’t hurt, either. Get well soon, Bitsy!
-EH-
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