EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Earlier this week, El Hombre had the opportunity to speak to the coach of a prestigious D-I hoops program about various and sundry items, including the current tidal of wave of accusations sweeping the southern football community regarding improper contact (sounds like a Class C sexual assault charge) and payments by agents. Just to show you how much of a biosphere these guys inhabit, he had not heard about the ongoing NC2A investigations and the near-daily revelations of more programs in trouble, despite minute-by-minute updates on the Worldwide Leech’s bottom line that rivaled the drool-soaked dispatches about Dwyane Wade’s Little Brother’s free-agent future.
“LeBron to announce to announce future tonight on ‘Disgrace.’”
“LeBron eats breakfast burrito at Sonic.”
“LeBron pops Prilosec.”
“LeBron takes talents to South Beach”
“NBA greats ridicule LeBron.”
You get the idea. This thing hasn’t exactly been under the radar. Any time you can get Nick Saban to call a group of people “pimps,” it’s big news. So, Said Basketball Coach must be up to his AAU-addled noggin in street agents, crazy uncles and one-and-done-abees, or else he would know about it.
Anyway, earlier this summer, SBC happened to be watching a fine crop of student-athletes playing for the high-character types who operate summer-league teams at something called the “Peach Jam” in Augusta, GA. Next to him was an NC2A executive, whose areas of expertise were “gaming and agents,” which sounds sort of like a course of study at LSU. Anyway, the topic of agents came up, and the NC2A type said that there are actually people inside the Association who believe collegians should be able to have agents.
SBC was dumbfounded, and said something along the lines of “Then, they shouldn’t be employed,” in response, except with a couple of words that rhyme with “truck” and “ducking” sprinkled in. As you might imagine, the thought that players could some day have “representation” is enough to make SBC and his brethren re-think their million-dollar contracts. Okay, maybe they won’t go that far, but there will be a lot more people who look like Jim Boeheim prowling the football and basketball sidelines should that become a reality.
For those of you who don’t spend hours tracking the news and network propaganda that trundles across the bottom of the screen during espn’s programming, here’s a quick recap of what’s going on with all those proud southern football programs. It began late last week with the news that North Carolina had attracted the gumshoes, due to hints and allegations that star defensive tackle Marvin Austin and others may have received cash and prizes – cars, trips, swag – from agents and other unsavories. The NC2A look-see has been characterized as “major,” and if Austin and others are found to have been on the payroll, UNC could find itself in Azkaban. The same goes for South Carolina, Florida, Alabama and Georgia. That’s just for starters. There will be others, count on it.
(An aside: Good news for Michigan fans: Since your heroes have been so poor lately, there’s no chance agents are heading to Ann Arbor with big money and fast rides, so that’s one investigation U-M will dodge.)
As you might imagine, the CEOs of the programs in question aren’t happy. But instead of railing at the NC2A, they’re taking on the agents. Thus, Saban’s “pimps” comment. Things have gotten so bad that we were actually able to see footage of Saban and UF boss Urban VI Meyer standing – albeit uncomfortably – together at SEC Media Day without one trying to plunge a grappling hook into the other’s back.
College coaches are sure to be united about this problem, which is particularly challenging for them, since it’s impossible to keep track of every creepy crawler that slinks onto campus. Believe it or not, Pete Carroll wasn’t at the Omega Psi Phi and Alpha Phi Alpha throwdowns at USC. Nor was he at the Matt Leinart Hot Tub-a-thon. So, it was hard to know with whom his star players were associating, be it Lloyd Lane, Jerry McGuire, Arliss Michaels or any of their intermediaries.
What’s happening is that football players are starting to get agitated about the three-year hitch they’re required to serve before heading to the NFL. They see their basketball counterparts bolting after six months on campus for the pot-o-gold, and they’re jealous. Worse, the basketball savants only have to go to a semester-and-a-half of classes, quite different from two-plus, not to mention all the summer school work to make up for the bad grades in season. So, when someone offers them the keys to a car or a few (thousand) dollars to drop on some Rocawear or Abercrombie apparel, they figure they’re entitled. And since football teams have 22 starters, instead of five, and there are seven rounds in the NFL draft, versus two in the NBA version, there are more targets for aspiring representatives.
There are two things that can be done about this. One is easy for the NC2A. The other will require more finesse. The first involves changing the NC2A rule that allows players to speak with agents, so long as they don’t receive any benefits (meals, transportation, Bentleys). The NC2A has to prohibit players from talking to agents, period. Once contact is made, the door is open. It won’t be easy to track every player’s conversations and movements, but it would be easier for coaches and other administrators to get rid of any agents or their lieutenants who show up on campus. Why else would a runner be in Lawrence, KS, but to speak with a potential client? Once he’s there, he’s banished. And it’s up to the NC2A to put that person on a list that prohibits him from participating in any official event on campus, be it a Pro Day or any kind of showcase workout. It’s not perfect, but it would clear up some of the gray areas.
If the players are found talking to the agents, they are suspended immediately. People forget that these are adults who are warned regularly about which people to avoid.
The second involves the NFL and NBA, which have to start cracking down on agents who give improper benefits. Saban is right on this one. He says anybody found to have provided an improper benefit should lose his certification with the leagues for two years. That might sound harsh, and it would be difficult to do, since the leagues’ players associations govern agent activity, and they’re unlikely to go after the people who negotiate their contracts. But it would help.
Then there is the Big Acquiescence. Let the players have agents. Open it up to all comers. Stop the madness. And, while
we’re at it, let’s just make college sports entirely separate from the institutions they purport to represent. Some athletic programs have already taken steps in that direction with their runaway budgets, lip service to academics and other practices, but this would just about end the old model completely. Hey, if we’re headed in that direction already. Why not finish the job? Let the players have agents. Recruit cheerleaders from strip clubs. And if coaches don’t win? Public executions.
SBC and his brethren would love that. Just imagine their responses when Agent X marches into their office and says, “Coach, we have to talk about my client’s playing time.”
Get ready for more words that rhyme with cluck.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Folks in Miami are trying to come up with a suitable nickname for Dwyane Wade, LeBron James and Chris Bosh. Here’s a suggestion: “Syrup of Ipecac,” because the mere thought of how it all went down induces vomiting… If Eldrick Woods is going to play this poorly for the next several years, expect golf’s ratings to join those of cycling, bowling and Notre Dame football in the Nielsen outhouse. It isn’t unreasonable to think he’s on the downside of a great, possibly Galea-induced, career. That would be catastrophic for the PGA, which has no other bankable starts (Lefty doesn’t win enough) and can’t be happy when South African word jumbles win at St. Andrew’s…Former Raiders QB/Thanksgiving float JaMarcus Russell has pleaded not guilty to charges of illegal drug possession after being arrested under suspicion of having codeine syrup (aka “Purple Drank”) on his person. Russell might walk on those charges, but he still has to deal with the grand larceny accusation stemming from his theft of millions from the Oakland franchise…A federal judge ruled Wednesday that “competitive cheerleading” is not an official sport and can’t be used by colleges to satisfy gender-equity mandates. When asked about the ruling, Florida State cheer captain Muffy Capstone replied, “As if!”…A report out of Mississippi says that Vikings coach Brad Childress did not discuss a deadline with Cowboy Quarterback for when he needs to be in camp. One witness to the discussion between the two men reported the following exchange: Childress – “Pretty, pretty please with sugar on it.” CQ – “Aw, shucks.” Childress – “I’ll be your best friend. I’ll buy you a pony.” CQ – “I just love playing the game.” The saga continues next month. Pass the Big Pink.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Let’s hope the Phillies are paying GM Ruben Amaro a truckload of cash, because every time ownership vetoes another move that would strengthen the team, Amaro has to stand in front of inquiring minds and spin away. No one outside of the Phillies’ brass can be sure if it was Amaro who concocted the “replenish our farm system” defense for the Cliff Lee deal, but that was a doozy. This week, a cranky Amaro has had to stonewall reporters who are tracking down verification the Phils are trying to deal for Roy Oswalt, Dan Haren or the ghost of Walter Johnson. The Oswalt deal looked done, until he asked for the equivalent of Kryptonite for the Phillies’ owners: cash. Now, with a farm system bereft of prospects and some starters for whom there is nearly zero interest around the league (Raul Ibanez = BP stock), Amaro has to fortify a starting rotation that is sagging, beef up a rotten bullpen and try to bolster a mostly-fetid bench. If he pulls any of it off without proper financial support from the Suits Upstairs, he should get a huge raise. If not, he should get some money, too, because the story he’ll have to invent to explain why the deals didn’t get made and to protect his bosses will make the Brothers Grimm look like hacks.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Some training camps opened today, and that means the start of real NFL football is less than two months away. Make sure you enjoy this season, sports fans, because there is going to be a lockout next year, and it’s going to be a long one. Owners want a smaller percentage of revenues devoted to salaries, a longer season, expanded drug testing and a rookie wage scale. Players want money, money and more money. Unlike the last labor negotiations, during which then-commissioner Paul Tagliabue was able to smoke the peace pipe with NFLPA head Gene Upshaw, even though some of the to-the-mattresses owners wanted a hard line, this won’t go smoothly. Roger Goodell is a wartime consigliere to capos like False Face, Dan Snyder and Bob Kraft, and he isn’t looking to compromise. As the pads pop and the concussions start, cherish every minute, because the future is filled with dark clouds.
-EH-
Friday, July 23, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Cheers to El Padre
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Even though El Padre grew up in the Kensington section of Philadelphia (“The sport of boxball was invented at the corner of Gaul and Sergeant,” he maintained.), he was an inveterate frontrunner when it came to choosing a rooting interest in sports. His favorite teams were the Yankees, Packers, Celtics and Canadiens. For those of you scoring at home, that’s dynasty, dynasty, dynasty and dynasty. When it came to his partisan allegiances, El Padre wasn’t taking any chances.
Born in 1920, he had the opportunity to witness – sometimes in person, like that famous 0-0 tie between Army and Notre Dame in 1946 or the 1948 Eagles-Cardinals NFL Championship “Snow Ball” – some of the great sporting moments of the early-to-mid-20th Century. He saw Babe Ruth play. And Ty Cobb. He was present for several battles between Wilt and Russ. Even though El Padre was an intellectual at heart and adored the law profession he chose, he would argue (boy, would he argue) sports for hours.
He was also a fount of information. Ask him how some of the current-day ballplayers stacked up against various heroes from the past, and he could break it down, although his verdict almost always came down on the side of the old-timer. And he appreciated the value of seeing events in person. Rare was the time when a request by El Hombre or a Hermano to attend a contest was dismissed. If El Padre could make it, we were there. We usually left the game early, but we were still there. And that’s where this Father’s Day tale begins.
In 1969, baseball celebrated its 100th birthday, at least according to what generally passed as common knowledge. It was a big year for the MLB, since it added two teams to each league and split into divisions. Playoffs would be held for the first time, and little did anybody who followed the sport know, but the Miracle Mets would stun the sports world that fall by winning the World Series.
For a seven-year old beginning what would become a life-long emersion in sports, it was a heady time. The NFL was about to merge. The NHL was two years post-expansion. The NBA was at the end of the remarkable Celtic championship run. (“Ten fingers, eleven rings,” Russell used to say.) John Wooden and UCLA ruled the college basketball world. And college football, like its MLB counterpart, was commemorating its centennial. Of course, seven-year olds don’t pay much attention to that stuff, especially when they’re mesmerized by the wonder of it all.
On Aug. 9, that dream world became a reality, when El Padre took EH and his younger Hermano to their first baseball game. As one might expect from a person who appreciated the history of the game – not to mention one who was a big Yankees fan, even if the ’69 version of the team would finish 22 ½ games out of first place in the newly-minted AL Eastern Division – the setting for this inaugural encounter would be Yankee Stadium. Give El Padre points for understanding the significance of the event. You don’t see your first game at Connie Mack Stadium, where the wretched Phillies butchered the sport in front of tiny, disinterested aggregations. You got to The House That Ruth Built. On Old Timers Day.
So, we boarded the train in Philadelphia (El Padre didn’t drive) and headed north on a sunny Saturday. After pulling into Penn Station, we cabbed it to the ticket agency to collect our box seats for the game. Two things here. First, El Padre never bought a ticket at the box office. In Philadelphia, he used Sherry’s Ticket Agency for everything, and that’s who no doubt helped him procure the ducats for this contest. Second, naïve waif that El Hombre was, he thought our “box” seats actually consigned us to cardboard enclosures. Nonetheless, our arrival in the Bronx was cause for celebration, and EH’s first glimpse of the Stadium’s emerald grass and chocolate infield engendered in him an awe he has rarely encountered since. Our seats were not in boxes, rather between home plate and first base, about 20 rows off the field. In other words, perfect.
The parade of Old Timers was a thrill. Even though El Hombre was a novice in terms of baseball knowledge, names like DiMaggio, Mantle and Musial resonated, thanks to El Padre’s lessons. For someone more seasoned, the roster of stars on hand was indeed impressive. In addition to the aforementioned trio, Whitey Ford, King Kong Keller, Lefty Gomez, Tony Kubek and Moose Skowron were there, wearing pinstripes, while Lou Boudreau, Bob Feller, Robin Roberts and Bobby “The Giants Win The Pennant!” Thomson comprised the heart of the opposition. To top it off, the widows of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig made appearances and received a thunderous ovation.
The two-inning game featured few highlights and ended in a 0-0 deadlock. The one enduring image was of DiMaggio’s gliding back in center to snare a line drive off the bat of Bobby Doerr. That was a great, one-handed, over-the-head catch, or at least it was until a few years later when El Padre explained that the Yankee Clipper had mistakenly broken in on the ball and had to adjust quickly to preserve his reputation. Still: DiMaggio. Yankee Stadium. Magic.
The Main Event turned out to be a taut one that featured complete games by New York’s Mel Stottlemyre and the A’s Chuck Dobson. The Yankees earned a 2-1 win behind a four-hitter by Stottlemyre, although we were gone by the time the home side pushed across the deciding run in the eighth. But the game’s outcome mattered less than the overall experience. The A’s looked great in their yellow sleeveless jerseys and pants, long-sleeved green undershirts, green stirrup socks and white shoes. The Yankees, of course, were sublime in the pinstripes. The big crowd of 50,945 – the third-largest that season – buzzed throughout the game and gave a young boy plenty to watch. It was a perfect afternoon, right down to the steak dinner in the train’s dining car on the way home. El Hombre has seen countless hundreds of games since then, but nothing compares. Not World Series games, NBA championship series contests, NFL playoff games, Stanley Cup playoff games. Not nothing.
The gold standard was established that Saturday nearly 41 years ago, and El Padre did it. It’s been 10 years since he died, and El Hombre wonders often whether he thanked him enough. For that game and everything else.
Thanks, Papa. Happy Father’s Day. You were the best.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The refs jobbed the U.S. against Slovenia, but when you fall into a 2-0 hole, courtesy of typical first-half somnolence, you put yourself at the mercy of the arbiters. How about waking up early for next Wednesday’s game against Algeria? The future of soccer in the U.S. might just depend on the game’s outcome…News out of San Diego is that a 12-year old wants to set the record for fastest ascent up Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. Just kidding. Then again, when parents are letting 16-year olds try to sail around the world, why not let a pre-teen scale the world’s tallest peak? Idiots…The conference carousel stopped early, with only four teams’ changing addresses. But here’s a word of advice to the folks at Baylor, Iowa State, Kansas State, South Florida and other undesirable expansion targets: get a plan together now. More mayhem is on the way…The Yankees are the first Majoke League Baseball team to ban vuvuzelas from the ballpark. The things can be annoying, but they’re certainly no worse than a drunken fan from Staten Island shouting for Jee-tah to get a hit. Talk about a nerve ending.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Be sure to check out El Hombre’s alter ego on Philadelphia Magazine’s “Philly Post” (www.phillymag.com) Monday for an in-depth look at the Sixers’ NBA Draft possibilities next Thursday. It will be interesting to see – and several league execs feel the same way – whether the Sixers draft Evan Turner at number two, and if they do whether the team will keep both him and Andre Iguodala. More than one NBA personnel boss thinks the two players have the same skill set and that Iguodala would be superfluous if Turner were around. Could the Sixers take Turner and dish Iguodala to the Clippers for the eighth pick and a future choice? That would provide tremendous salary cap relief for a team that has $63 million committed for next season. Or, do they keep Iguodala and draft Derrick Favors (El Hombre’s choice), making Thaddeus Young expendable? Thursday’s trade that sent Samuel Dalembert to Sacramento for Spencer Hawes and Andres Nocioni was just the beginning of what should be an interesting week for the Sixers.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The Lakers’ win over Boston Thursday night brought the franchise’s 16th World Championship and the fifth of Kobe Bryant’s career. Some believe the triumph cements his status as the best player ever to wear the Forum Blue and Gold. It says here that is nonsense. While Bryant is a great player, it’s instructive to remember that his first three titles came as “Little Brother” to Shaquille O’Neal, who earned MVP honors in the Finals from 2000-02. It is also important to remember Bryant’s incredibly selfish play in the years after O’Neal’s departure from the team. It’s also worth noting that there is no way the Lakers blow a 24-point lead at home – as they did in 2008 against Boston – with Magic Johnson on the team or lose a deciding Game Six by a humiliating 39 points, with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on the floor. Bryant was lauded for “trusting his teammates” during this Finals series, but he didn’t look so confident in them during the first three quarters of Thursday’s game, when he shot a miserable 5-for-20 and tried to bowl through two and three defenders on his way to the hoop. Bryant’s legacy isn’t complete, but to put him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar, two of the five best players ever, is absurd. Johnson was the consummate winner and leader who did everything necessary on the court, while Abdul-Jabbar is NBA’s all-time leading scorer and a six-time champ. It took 12 seasons for Bryant to focus on winning; let’s see how he closes out his career before pushing him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar (and perhaps Jerry West) in the L.A. Valhalla.
-EH-
Even though El Padre grew up in the Kensington section of Philadelphia (“The sport of boxball was invented at the corner of Gaul and Sergeant,” he maintained.), he was an inveterate frontrunner when it came to choosing a rooting interest in sports. His favorite teams were the Yankees, Packers, Celtics and Canadiens. For those of you scoring at home, that’s dynasty, dynasty, dynasty and dynasty. When it came to his partisan allegiances, El Padre wasn’t taking any chances.
Born in 1920, he had the opportunity to witness – sometimes in person, like that famous 0-0 tie between Army and Notre Dame in 1946 or the 1948 Eagles-Cardinals NFL Championship “Snow Ball” – some of the great sporting moments of the early-to-mid-20th Century. He saw Babe Ruth play. And Ty Cobb. He was present for several battles between Wilt and Russ. Even though El Padre was an intellectual at heart and adored the law profession he chose, he would argue (boy, would he argue) sports for hours.
He was also a fount of information. Ask him how some of the current-day ballplayers stacked up against various heroes from the past, and he could break it down, although his verdict almost always came down on the side of the old-timer. And he appreciated the value of seeing events in person. Rare was the time when a request by El Hombre or a Hermano to attend a contest was dismissed. If El Padre could make it, we were there. We usually left the game early, but we were still there. And that’s where this Father’s Day tale begins.
In 1969, baseball celebrated its 100th birthday, at least according to what generally passed as common knowledge. It was a big year for the MLB, since it added two teams to each league and split into divisions. Playoffs would be held for the first time, and little did anybody who followed the sport know, but the Miracle Mets would stun the sports world that fall by winning the World Series.
For a seven-year old beginning what would become a life-long emersion in sports, it was a heady time. The NFL was about to merge. The NHL was two years post-expansion. The NBA was at the end of the remarkable Celtic championship run. (“Ten fingers, eleven rings,” Russell used to say.) John Wooden and UCLA ruled the college basketball world. And college football, like its MLB counterpart, was commemorating its centennial. Of course, seven-year olds don’t pay much attention to that stuff, especially when they’re mesmerized by the wonder of it all.
On Aug. 9, that dream world became a reality, when El Padre took EH and his younger Hermano to their first baseball game. As one might expect from a person who appreciated the history of the game – not to mention one who was a big Yankees fan, even if the ’69 version of the team would finish 22 ½ games out of first place in the newly-minted AL Eastern Division – the setting for this inaugural encounter would be Yankee Stadium. Give El Padre points for understanding the significance of the event. You don’t see your first game at Connie Mack Stadium, where the wretched Phillies butchered the sport in front of tiny, disinterested aggregations. You got to The House That Ruth Built. On Old Timers Day.
So, we boarded the train in Philadelphia (El Padre didn’t drive) and headed north on a sunny Saturday. After pulling into Penn Station, we cabbed it to the ticket agency to collect our box seats for the game. Two things here. First, El Padre never bought a ticket at the box office. In Philadelphia, he used Sherry’s Ticket Agency for everything, and that’s who no doubt helped him procure the ducats for this contest. Second, naïve waif that El Hombre was, he thought our “box” seats actually consigned us to cardboard enclosures. Nonetheless, our arrival in the Bronx was cause for celebration, and EH’s first glimpse of the Stadium’s emerald grass and chocolate infield engendered in him an awe he has rarely encountered since. Our seats were not in boxes, rather between home plate and first base, about 20 rows off the field. In other words, perfect.
The parade of Old Timers was a thrill. Even though El Hombre was a novice in terms of baseball knowledge, names like DiMaggio, Mantle and Musial resonated, thanks to El Padre’s lessons. For someone more seasoned, the roster of stars on hand was indeed impressive. In addition to the aforementioned trio, Whitey Ford, King Kong Keller, Lefty Gomez, Tony Kubek and Moose Skowron were there, wearing pinstripes, while Lou Boudreau, Bob Feller, Robin Roberts and Bobby “The Giants Win The Pennant!” Thomson comprised the heart of the opposition. To top it off, the widows of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig made appearances and received a thunderous ovation.
The two-inning game featured few highlights and ended in a 0-0 deadlock. The one enduring image was of DiMaggio’s gliding back in center to snare a line drive off the bat of Bobby Doerr. That was a great, one-handed, over-the-head catch, or at least it was until a few years later when El Padre explained that the Yankee Clipper had mistakenly broken in on the ball and had to adjust quickly to preserve his reputation. Still: DiMaggio. Yankee Stadium. Magic.
The Main Event turned out to be a taut one that featured complete games by New York’s Mel Stottlemyre and the A’s Chuck Dobson. The Yankees earned a 2-1 win behind a four-hitter by Stottlemyre, although we were gone by the time the home side pushed across the deciding run in the eighth. But the game’s outcome mattered less than the overall experience. The A’s looked great in their yellow sleeveless jerseys and pants, long-sleeved green undershirts, green stirrup socks and white shoes. The Yankees, of course, were sublime in the pinstripes. The big crowd of 50,945 – the third-largest that season – buzzed throughout the game and gave a young boy plenty to watch. It was a perfect afternoon, right down to the steak dinner in the train’s dining car on the way home. El Hombre has seen countless hundreds of games since then, but nothing compares. Not World Series games, NBA championship series contests, NFL playoff games, Stanley Cup playoff games. Not nothing.
The gold standard was established that Saturday nearly 41 years ago, and El Padre did it. It’s been 10 years since he died, and El Hombre wonders often whether he thanked him enough. For that game and everything else.
Thanks, Papa. Happy Father’s Day. You were the best.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The refs jobbed the U.S. against Slovenia, but when you fall into a 2-0 hole, courtesy of typical first-half somnolence, you put yourself at the mercy of the arbiters. How about waking up early for next Wednesday’s game against Algeria? The future of soccer in the U.S. might just depend on the game’s outcome…News out of San Diego is that a 12-year old wants to set the record for fastest ascent up Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. Just kidding. Then again, when parents are letting 16-year olds try to sail around the world, why not let a pre-teen scale the world’s tallest peak? Idiots…The conference carousel stopped early, with only four teams’ changing addresses. But here’s a word of advice to the folks at Baylor, Iowa State, Kansas State, South Florida and other undesirable expansion targets: get a plan together now. More mayhem is on the way…The Yankees are the first Majoke League Baseball team to ban vuvuzelas from the ballpark. The things can be annoying, but they’re certainly no worse than a drunken fan from Staten Island shouting for Jee-tah to get a hit. Talk about a nerve ending.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Be sure to check out El Hombre’s alter ego on Philadelphia Magazine’s “Philly Post” (www.phillymag.com) Monday for an in-depth look at the Sixers’ NBA Draft possibilities next Thursday. It will be interesting to see – and several league execs feel the same way – whether the Sixers draft Evan Turner at number two, and if they do whether the team will keep both him and Andre Iguodala. More than one NBA personnel boss thinks the two players have the same skill set and that Iguodala would be superfluous if Turner were around. Could the Sixers take Turner and dish Iguodala to the Clippers for the eighth pick and a future choice? That would provide tremendous salary cap relief for a team that has $63 million committed for next season. Or, do they keep Iguodala and draft Derrick Favors (El Hombre’s choice), making Thaddeus Young expendable? Thursday’s trade that sent Samuel Dalembert to Sacramento for Spencer Hawes and Andres Nocioni was just the beginning of what should be an interesting week for the Sixers.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The Lakers’ win over Boston Thursday night brought the franchise’s 16th World Championship and the fifth of Kobe Bryant’s career. Some believe the triumph cements his status as the best player ever to wear the Forum Blue and Gold. It says here that is nonsense. While Bryant is a great player, it’s instructive to remember that his first three titles came as “Little Brother” to Shaquille O’Neal, who earned MVP honors in the Finals from 2000-02. It is also important to remember Bryant’s incredibly selfish play in the years after O’Neal’s departure from the team. It’s also worth noting that there is no way the Lakers blow a 24-point lead at home – as they did in 2008 against Boston – with Magic Johnson on the team or lose a deciding Game Six by a humiliating 39 points, with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on the floor. Bryant was lauded for “trusting his teammates” during this Finals series, but he didn’t look so confident in them during the first three quarters of Thursday’s game, when he shot a miserable 5-for-20 and tried to bowl through two and three defenders on his way to the hoop. Bryant’s legacy isn’t complete, but to put him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar, two of the five best players ever, is absurd. Johnson was the consummate winner and leader who did everything necessary on the court, while Abdul-Jabbar is NBA’s all-time leading scorer and a six-time champ. It took 12 seasons for Bryant to focus on winning; let’s see how he closes out his career before pushing him ahead of Johnson and Abdul-Jabbar (and perhaps Jerry West) in the L.A. Valhalla.
-EH-
Friday, June 11, 2010
Screw Nostalgia
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
“At the end of the day, we’re going to make the decision that best serves Nebraska.”
-- Chuck Hassebrook, Nebraska University Regent
Wednesday night, El Hombre happened upon a programming gem on the Big Ten Network, and it distracted his attention from the icy proceedings in Philadelphia and just about every other modern-day sporting pursuit. It was the 1952 football highlight reel, and it included footage of the conference’s nine teams – plus Michigan State, which would join up officially the following season. There, in beautiful black-and-white, with piped-in crowd effects and a classic ‘50s voiceover, were the gridiron exploits of Hopalong Cassady, Alan “The Horse” Ameche and Tom O’Connell. No matter how futile a team’s season was, the announcer assured fans that if the “injury bug” could be avoided, prosperity was nigh. Or that coach So-and-So’s “rebuilding project” was well under way.
It was great to see the offensive sets and the fakes executed by shifty backs. There was even an old-fashioned “Navy” kick that backfired and resulted in a long return. It was a wonderfully wistful half-hour capped by the following poetic sign-off:
“We close another season of great upsets and hard play that make football the favorite fall sport of America’s youth.”
It’s entirely possible that within the next five or 10 years, we may have the opportunity to look back at the 2009 college football season through the same misty eyes. The high-definition video may even seem wonderfully archaic, should the onslaught of 3-D television occur at a pace expected by many in the business. Names like Ingram, Tebow, Suh and Gerhart may be more easily recalled, but the spirit of the game and its essence will be changed.
The tectonic plates of college football – and college athletics on the whole – have already begun shifting. Nebraska will be a Big Ten member. Colorado has already defected to the Pac-10. Texas, Texas A&M, Oklahoma and whatever other schools they deem worthy of inclusion in their big-money club could join the Buffaloes. Or, they may go to the SEC. Or to the English Premier League. The Big 12 is toast. The Big East could be blown to bits as well, replaced by an aggregation of Catholic basketball schools that might be required to begin each game with a “Hail Mary.”
The resulting structure will resemble less the quaint regional aggregations that were built on rivalries and tradition and more like the corporate models that dominate the business landscape. Historic relationships will be replaced by market share. Long-time partners will be torn apart, replaced by marriages of convenience that dilute the soul of the sport.
This is, of course, inevitable. Money is the engine that drives the big-time sporting train, and relationships that produce the most cash are the most valuable. Welcome to the 21st century, folks. Check your nostalgia at the door, and make sure to tune in for that “instant classic” between Texas Tech and Oregon State. In college football heaven, Grantland Rice is crying on Sleepy Jim Crowley’s shoulder.
This isn’t the first time we have had a cataclysm like this. One upheaval began in 1984, when Georgia and Oklahoma successfully sued for possession of the rights to televise their football games, and the College Football Association was born. The resulting loosening of the TV reins brought fans an expanded menu of action that continues to swell today. It was good news for fans who wanted more choices and more opportunities to watch the great sport play out every week. But it had an unintended consequence. No longer were towns like College Station, Ames and Starkville mysterious destinations, tinged with a sense of the romantic, despite their relatively backwater locations. Before ’84, we would receive occasional dispatch from those gridiron outposts but rare was the full glimpse. From that point on, we knew them all too well. That was good news for the denizens of those hamlets and the schools that inhabit them, but for the fans who idealized them, it was something of a disappointment. Illusions were shattered. You mean Iowa State games aren’t all played under gunmetal gray skies with tornado threats posted at halftime? That the cowbell chorus at Mississippi State ends after the game? And that members of Texas A&M’s silent drill team actually speak when they’re not performing?
Throughout the next 25 years, the conference landscape shifted, as schools grabbed for a bigger slice of that TV pie. The SEC stole Arkansas and killed the Southwest Conference, leading some Texans to liken the Razorbacks to Iranian terrorists. (Really.) The Big 12 formed from a marriage between the SWC’s remnants and the mighty Big Eight. The Big East started playing football. The ACC discovered the sport. And Penn State became a Midwestern school. You know the story.
And you knew it was inevitable that it wouldn’t stop there. The mega-conferences are coming, and those who resist change stubbornly as a nod to a rosy past will be left behind like schools in small-time TV markets. Progress continues, and you can either surrender to it or be overrun. When El Hombre was teaching his Young Geniuses this past term in “The Future of Sports Journalism,” he was sure to remind them every class that the business is moving forward, and those who still look at it in terms of an eight-column broadsheet are doomed. So, saddle up and get ready for the Pac-16, or whatever it will be called.
Just don’t expect it all to be as much fun. College football exists now for the money, from the players to the coaches, to the ADs to the hypocritical presidents who spew on about “student-athletes” and how to protect them best. You want to serve your students, Mr. President? Then don’t make your softball team travel from Stillwater to Pullman. For decades, college football was about the wonderful, unique rituals that surrounded the games. Ohio State fans have always thirsted to beat Michigan, but only after the band ran through the script Ohio. Pretty soon the final two words of “The Notre Dame Victory March” will be “registered trademark.”
One of the reasons why the Missouri-Kansas football rivalry was so great was that it was born out of a pre-Civil War dispute between the states over slavery. (Kansas was pro-slavery; Missouri wanted it abolished.) From the minute the schools started playing each other, in 1891, there was a contentious tone. In a few weeks, it’s possible that the game may never be played again. Or, if it is, it won’t come in late November. That’s a shame. And no matter how hard the new leagues and their TV partners try to sell the new matchup, an Oklahoma State-Arizona clash born out of greed won’t have the same impact as a game that emerged from seething border hostilities during one our country’s most dire periods.
College football is changing, and fans and media had better get on board. Just don’t expect things to be nearly as good or as much fun.
Meanwhile, keep an eye out for those old-fashioned TV programs. They help ease the pain.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The good news for Nationals prodigy Stephen Strasburg is that he gets one more Class AAA start – Sunday against the Cleveland Indians – before he has to face big-league hitters…Pig Pen Roethlisberger wants fans to know that he apologizes to them for being “immature,” “young” and “dumb.” How about being a felon (allegedly), forcing himself on women (allegedly) and being a scumbag (definitely)? The Steelers’ QB apologized to the fans and his family, but not to either of the women (if there were only two) who accused him of forcing himself on them. Unfortunately, since Pig Pen is following the Mea Culpa Playbook to perfection, all will be forgiven soon. Of course his (alleged) victims will never forget…The LeBron James soap opera continues to spin wildly, even though no one is allowed to speak with the underachieving Cavaliers’ forward officially until July 1. Teams continue to jockey for position in the competition for his services, and the Cavs are trying to find a coach that will make him happy. What he really needs is someone who will help him grow up (that means no more pre-game skits and choreographed dance routines during timeouts) and force him to learn how to shoot a jump shot. That will be worth more to him than even the biggest contract…Let’s give it up for Pete Carroll, who was able to skip town before the NC2A gumshoes laid down the smack on his USC program for not preventing Reggie Bush from accepting cash and prizes from an agent. The Trojans will lose up to 30 scholarships, miss out on bowl games for two seasons and forfeit games from the ’04 and (probably) ’05 seasons. The only justice is that former Carroll lieutenant Lane Kiffin, who was present during the shenanigans, is forced to pick up the pieces. ‘SC cheated, because school officials knew what Bush was doing and will now pay a severe price. Good.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The best thing to come out of the Flyers’ thrilling Stanley Cup near-miss was the attitude of Philadelphia fans, who actually appreciated the team’s success, despite the disappointing outcome. For once, the zero-sum game that has been sold to the area’s denizens was abandoned in favor of the joy of rooting for a team and not focusing merely on the outcome. Yes, the run to the final round was not expected, and that made fans less prone to demanding a championship or else. The resulting good feelings and desire to celebrate the Flyers’ accomplishments was truly refreshing. Unfortunately, the happy mood won’t last. The Phillies and Eagles are different than their underdog counterparts and won’t receive free passes. They shouldn’t. Unlike the Flyers, whose post-season run came out of nowhere, the Phils and Eagles have sold us championship dreams and must therefore be judged their relative success. As for the Sixers, a three-game winning streak would almost warrant a parade.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: It has almost become a cliché for Americans to regard soccer as a 90-minute sleep aid. Anybody who favors the sport is weak, bland and – worse – French. But the World Cup is different. You may not have an interest in an MLS matchup between FC Topeka and Real Bayonne (although the Philadelphia Union is worth checking out), but a slugfest between a pair of historical rivals is a different story. When Croatia beat Germany, 3-0, in the ’98 World Cup, it wasn’t just an athletic triumph, it was also an historic verdict for a country that had spent time under Nazi oppression and destruction during WWII. Every victory doesn’t have the same significance, but the combination of the sport’s best players and a heavy dose of nationalism makes the World Cup compelling theater, even if the game ends 1-0. Enjoy the artistry. Experience the passion. And don’t worry; we won’t tell the NFL you were watching. As for the tournament itself, figure the final four to be Brazil, England, Argentina and Spain, with the Samba stars facing off against the Spaniards for all the marbles. Advantage: Brazil. Looking for a dark horse? Try the Italians (14:1), who always do better when less is expected of them.
-EH-
“At the end of the day, we’re going to make the decision that best serves Nebraska.”
-- Chuck Hassebrook, Nebraska University Regent
Wednesday night, El Hombre happened upon a programming gem on the Big Ten Network, and it distracted his attention from the icy proceedings in Philadelphia and just about every other modern-day sporting pursuit. It was the 1952 football highlight reel, and it included footage of the conference’s nine teams – plus Michigan State, which would join up officially the following season. There, in beautiful black-and-white, with piped-in crowd effects and a classic ‘50s voiceover, were the gridiron exploits of Hopalong Cassady, Alan “The Horse” Ameche and Tom O’Connell. No matter how futile a team’s season was, the announcer assured fans that if the “injury bug” could be avoided, prosperity was nigh. Or that coach So-and-So’s “rebuilding project” was well under way.
It was great to see the offensive sets and the fakes executed by shifty backs. There was even an old-fashioned “Navy” kick that backfired and resulted in a long return. It was a wonderfully wistful half-hour capped by the following poetic sign-off:
“We close another season of great upsets and hard play that make football the favorite fall sport of America’s youth.”
It’s entirely possible that within the next five or 10 years, we may have the opportunity to look back at the 2009 college football season through the same misty eyes. The high-definition video may even seem wonderfully archaic, should the onslaught of 3-D television occur at a pace expected by many in the business. Names like Ingram, Tebow, Suh and Gerhart may be more easily recalled, but the spirit of the game and its essence will be changed.
The tectonic plates of college football – and college athletics on the whole – have already begun shifting. Nebraska will be a Big Ten member. Colorado has already defected to the Pac-10. Texas, Texas A&M, Oklahoma and whatever other schools they deem worthy of inclusion in their big-money club could join the Buffaloes. Or, they may go to the SEC. Or to the English Premier League. The Big 12 is toast. The Big East could be blown to bits as well, replaced by an aggregation of Catholic basketball schools that might be required to begin each game with a “Hail Mary.”
The resulting structure will resemble less the quaint regional aggregations that were built on rivalries and tradition and more like the corporate models that dominate the business landscape. Historic relationships will be replaced by market share. Long-time partners will be torn apart, replaced by marriages of convenience that dilute the soul of the sport.
This is, of course, inevitable. Money is the engine that drives the big-time sporting train, and relationships that produce the most cash are the most valuable. Welcome to the 21st century, folks. Check your nostalgia at the door, and make sure to tune in for that “instant classic” between Texas Tech and Oregon State. In college football heaven, Grantland Rice is crying on Sleepy Jim Crowley’s shoulder.
This isn’t the first time we have had a cataclysm like this. One upheaval began in 1984, when Georgia and Oklahoma successfully sued for possession of the rights to televise their football games, and the College Football Association was born. The resulting loosening of the TV reins brought fans an expanded menu of action that continues to swell today. It was good news for fans who wanted more choices and more opportunities to watch the great sport play out every week. But it had an unintended consequence. No longer were towns like College Station, Ames and Starkville mysterious destinations, tinged with a sense of the romantic, despite their relatively backwater locations. Before ’84, we would receive occasional dispatch from those gridiron outposts but rare was the full glimpse. From that point on, we knew them all too well. That was good news for the denizens of those hamlets and the schools that inhabit them, but for the fans who idealized them, it was something of a disappointment. Illusions were shattered. You mean Iowa State games aren’t all played under gunmetal gray skies with tornado threats posted at halftime? That the cowbell chorus at Mississippi State ends after the game? And that members of Texas A&M’s silent drill team actually speak when they’re not performing?
Throughout the next 25 years, the conference landscape shifted, as schools grabbed for a bigger slice of that TV pie. The SEC stole Arkansas and killed the Southwest Conference, leading some Texans to liken the Razorbacks to Iranian terrorists. (Really.) The Big 12 formed from a marriage between the SWC’s remnants and the mighty Big Eight. The Big East started playing football. The ACC discovered the sport. And Penn State became a Midwestern school. You know the story.
And you knew it was inevitable that it wouldn’t stop there. The mega-conferences are coming, and those who resist change stubbornly as a nod to a rosy past will be left behind like schools in small-time TV markets. Progress continues, and you can either surrender to it or be overrun. When El Hombre was teaching his Young Geniuses this past term in “The Future of Sports Journalism,” he was sure to remind them every class that the business is moving forward, and those who still look at it in terms of an eight-column broadsheet are doomed. So, saddle up and get ready for the Pac-16, or whatever it will be called.
Just don’t expect it all to be as much fun. College football exists now for the money, from the players to the coaches, to the ADs to the hypocritical presidents who spew on about “student-athletes” and how to protect them best. You want to serve your students, Mr. President? Then don’t make your softball team travel from Stillwater to Pullman. For decades, college football was about the wonderful, unique rituals that surrounded the games. Ohio State fans have always thirsted to beat Michigan, but only after the band ran through the script Ohio. Pretty soon the final two words of “The Notre Dame Victory March” will be “registered trademark.”
One of the reasons why the Missouri-Kansas football rivalry was so great was that it was born out of a pre-Civil War dispute between the states over slavery. (Kansas was pro-slavery; Missouri wanted it abolished.) From the minute the schools started playing each other, in 1891, there was a contentious tone. In a few weeks, it’s possible that the game may never be played again. Or, if it is, it won’t come in late November. That’s a shame. And no matter how hard the new leagues and their TV partners try to sell the new matchup, an Oklahoma State-Arizona clash born out of greed won’t have the same impact as a game that emerged from seething border hostilities during one our country’s most dire periods.
College football is changing, and fans and media had better get on board. Just don’t expect things to be nearly as good or as much fun.
Meanwhile, keep an eye out for those old-fashioned TV programs. They help ease the pain.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The good news for Nationals prodigy Stephen Strasburg is that he gets one more Class AAA start – Sunday against the Cleveland Indians – before he has to face big-league hitters…Pig Pen Roethlisberger wants fans to know that he apologizes to them for being “immature,” “young” and “dumb.” How about being a felon (allegedly), forcing himself on women (allegedly) and being a scumbag (definitely)? The Steelers’ QB apologized to the fans and his family, but not to either of the women (if there were only two) who accused him of forcing himself on them. Unfortunately, since Pig Pen is following the Mea Culpa Playbook to perfection, all will be forgiven soon. Of course his (alleged) victims will never forget…The LeBron James soap opera continues to spin wildly, even though no one is allowed to speak with the underachieving Cavaliers’ forward officially until July 1. Teams continue to jockey for position in the competition for his services, and the Cavs are trying to find a coach that will make him happy. What he really needs is someone who will help him grow up (that means no more pre-game skits and choreographed dance routines during timeouts) and force him to learn how to shoot a jump shot. That will be worth more to him than even the biggest contract…Let’s give it up for Pete Carroll, who was able to skip town before the NC2A gumshoes laid down the smack on his USC program for not preventing Reggie Bush from accepting cash and prizes from an agent. The Trojans will lose up to 30 scholarships, miss out on bowl games for two seasons and forfeit games from the ’04 and (probably) ’05 seasons. The only justice is that former Carroll lieutenant Lane Kiffin, who was present during the shenanigans, is forced to pick up the pieces. ‘SC cheated, because school officials knew what Bush was doing and will now pay a severe price. Good.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The best thing to come out of the Flyers’ thrilling Stanley Cup near-miss was the attitude of Philadelphia fans, who actually appreciated the team’s success, despite the disappointing outcome. For once, the zero-sum game that has been sold to the area’s denizens was abandoned in favor of the joy of rooting for a team and not focusing merely on the outcome. Yes, the run to the final round was not expected, and that made fans less prone to demanding a championship or else. The resulting good feelings and desire to celebrate the Flyers’ accomplishments was truly refreshing. Unfortunately, the happy mood won’t last. The Phillies and Eagles are different than their underdog counterparts and won’t receive free passes. They shouldn’t. Unlike the Flyers, whose post-season run came out of nowhere, the Phils and Eagles have sold us championship dreams and must therefore be judged their relative success. As for the Sixers, a three-game winning streak would almost warrant a parade.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: It has almost become a cliché for Americans to regard soccer as a 90-minute sleep aid. Anybody who favors the sport is weak, bland and – worse – French. But the World Cup is different. You may not have an interest in an MLS matchup between FC Topeka and Real Bayonne (although the Philadelphia Union is worth checking out), but a slugfest between a pair of historical rivals is a different story. When Croatia beat Germany, 3-0, in the ’98 World Cup, it wasn’t just an athletic triumph, it was also an historic verdict for a country that had spent time under Nazi oppression and destruction during WWII. Every victory doesn’t have the same significance, but the combination of the sport’s best players and a heavy dose of nationalism makes the World Cup compelling theater, even if the game ends 1-0. Enjoy the artistry. Experience the passion. And don’t worry; we won’t tell the NFL you were watching. As for the tournament itself, figure the final four to be Brazil, England, Argentina and Spain, with the Samba stars facing off against the Spaniards for all the marbles. Advantage: Brazil. Looking for a dark horse? Try the Italians (14:1), who always do better when less is expected of them.
-EH-
Friday, June 4, 2010
Grow a Spine, Bud
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Back in 1948, when the world was a simpler place – unless you were a Soviet citizen under the iron rule of Joe Stalin – the patron saint of columnists, bloggers and Tweeters, Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith, wrote a piece that remains one of the finest examples of the craft. Smith, who at one point wrote seven columns a week so that he had the immediate opportunity to overcome a lousy effort, was in London for the Summer Olympics. During that fortnight, some controversy emerged in the 400-meter relay, which resulted in considerable upheaval and ire from the American side.
It seems the U.S. quartet had been disqualified after winning by about seven yards because of an allegedly illicit baton pass. Or, as Smith so eloquently dubbed it, Barney Ewell had “bootlegged the baton to [Lorenzo] Wright in a sinister black-market deal consummated outside the legal zone.” The officials, or in Smith’s parlance, the “vigilante committee of judges,” had DQed the Americans and awarded the gold medal to homestanding England, which had finished second. The decision, according to Smith, meant that “the Union Jack flapped from the victor’s flagpole; the British Lion looked up from his lunch of cold mutton and cheese and roared his triumph to the skies.”
Ah, they don’t write ‘em like that anymore.
Anyway, the next day, the International Jury of Appeal looked at photographs from something called a “stereopticon machine” and decided “the baton-snatch had been engineered in strict obedience to the laws of God and man.” So, the Americans were re-awarded the gold medal, and all was right in the sprinting world. That led Smith to write one of the best lead paragraphs in history:
“And now, the Royal Air Force band must return to the desolate, forsaken field of Wembley Stadium and unplay “God Save the King.” Blighty’s only track victory in the Olympics, which was presented to Britain last Saturday under the Marshall Plan, fell under the terms of reverse lend-lease today and was restored to the United States, the original copyright holders. It was the most sensational reversal since Serutan.”
That early use of “instant” replay helped right a wrong that would have cost four champion sprinters a gold medal in the most important race of their lives. Thanks to the stereopticon machine, Ewell, Wright, Harrison Dillard and Mel Patton had their prize and their immortality. And Smith had one helluva column.
Wednesday in Detroit, Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga was denied a perfect game by Jim Joyce, a one-man “vigilante committee,” who spectacularly botched a relatively routine call at first base with two outs in the bottom of the ninth of Galarraga’s masterpiece. It was the baseball equivalent of flying to Paris, heading over to the Louvre and adding a tramp stamp to the Venus de Milo. Galarraga had been flawless, and Joyce’s call had robbed him of immortality. He will join baseball’s long list of almosts and will be enshrined in future “Strange But True” tomes for decades, next to Eddie Gaedel and Cleon Jones’ well-shined shoes.
This tragic turn of events most certainly could have been avoided, had Majoke League Baseball commissioner Bud Sellout shown some leadership a few years ago and instituted an instant-replay program that was committed to getting it right. That’s the goal here, not to show up umpires or add minutes to the game. It’s to get the call right.
In football, basketball and hockey, replay exists to make sure the game’s outcome is as legitimate and correct as possible.
If an NFL receiver catches the ball with one foot in bounds, and it is clear to anybody watching on TV, chances are a protest flag will be thrown, and the replay official will be sure to ascertain whether the catch was legitimate. If a goal/no goal call looks shaky in the NHL – as it did twice in Wednesday’s Stanley Cup game, the replays are examined, and the right call is made. Fans and players rarely complain about the replays’ outcomes, because their goal is to have justice served. Having that safety net allows for greater peace of mind, since everybody in the stadium and watching at home understands that the right call is the goal – and usually the outcome.
Now, it’s up to Sellout to do the right thing. Had he been courageous enough a few years ago to understand that the game’s credibility is at stake when umpires blow easy calls and there is no mechanism in place to reverse that, he might have acted. The Galarraga debacle brings the entire situation to a nasty, pus-filled head, and it’s up to Sellout to make sure it doesn’t pop all over the game’s good name – or what’s left of it. So, Buddy Boy, here’s what you do:
1. Replay for all close plays at bases and the plate. A quick replay review confirms or reverses the call.
2. Replay for foul-fair calls down the lines.
3. Leave balls and strikes alone. That would get ridiculous.
4. NO reversal of Joyce’s botched call. Sellout actually got this one right. Changing the decision, no matter how crushing and embarrassing it was, would open the door to a whole slew of future appeals.
Sellout must show some grit and push this through now. Otherwise, more debacles will occur, and baseball will continue to look silly and helmless in comparison to its sporting brethren.
And with no Red Smith around to clarify things, the mess will only get worse.
“Dog evas eht gnik…?”
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: It’s too early to give the Lakers the NBA title, but if Pau Gasoft and Andrew Crynum are going to play like they did in game one, the Celtics don’t have much of a chance. Boston’s edge in ’08 was toughness, and it looks like L.A. has decided to match the Celtics’ bravado this time. Imagine that. If the brass knuckles stay out Sunday night, this baby’s over…The International Ski Federation has fined Russia and warned the country that further doping activity could result in Russian skiers’’ being banned from the ’14 Olympics in Sochi. The Russians countered that the allegations are false and offered the country’s putrid performance during last February’s Vancouver Games as evidence of their innocence. It’s a pretty strong argument…Ice Box checks in as the early favorite in Saturday’s Belmont Stakes at 3:1, followed by Fly Down, at 9:2. Among the long shots are Glue Factory (75:1) and Dog Food (100:1). Remember to bet with your head, not over it…Steelers’ QB Ben Roethlisberger spoke to the media after a practice Thursday and pledged to improve his behavior. He said he would change the way he regarded women, so when carrying a tray full of liquor, he will now say, “All you fine, upstanding ladies, take my shots.” He will also allow other patrons to use the ladies room while he is mauling a Young Lovely, rather than blocking their entry with an off-duty policeman. And when he is being questioned by a police officer after a night of carousing, he will no longer pose for pictures. Sounds great, Ben. You keep up the soul-searching.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Let’s be very clear about one thing: The Phillies’ ridiculously inept play of late (save Roy Halladay’s historic gem) is the fault of many people, from the top down. Start with the owners, whose insistence on a self-imposed salary cap resulted in a lame, cut-rate bench. Move on to GM Ruben Amaro, who assembled said bench and was the bagman in the Cliff Lee trade that weakened the pitching staff. Don’t forget manager Charlie Manuel, whose laissez-faire approach to managing has helped foster the complacency that has overcome the team. And, finally, blame the players themselves, especially the veterans, who have provided zero leadership during the crisis. No one has called a players-only meeting. No one criticized pitcher Cole Hamels for laughing it up at the Flyers game Wednesday night, just one day after he lasted a whopping two-thirds of an inning against the Braves and was clearly unprepared to pitch following a rain delay. This team felt the NL crown was its birthright before the season and has played like it with few exceptions. The good news is that this is a long season, and there is plenty of time for a turnaround. But it’s imperative the organization develops a sense of urgency and starts to hold people accountable while realizing that it may be necessary to shake things up with a trade or two.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The onus during the aftermath of the Galarraga/Joyce debacle falls on Sellout, but the behavior by the two main protagonists during the incident should live on even longer than any action by the spineless MLB commissioner. Both pitcher and umpire displayed the kind of class, grace, sportsmanship and character that is often missing from professional athletics. Galarraga’s willingness to forgive, despite being deprived of a spot in baseball history, was exemplary and gave parents, teachers and coaches an opportunity to show children how to do things the right way. Joyce’s immediate contrition, apology and acceptance of blame – without condition or excuse – is another teaching point. Both men showed tremendous respect for the sport, fans and themselves with their actions, and they are to be applauded. It would be a sin if this incident did not lead to true reform, especially since Galarraga and Joyce acquitted themselves so admirably during a time of great stress.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: Last year on June 6, El Hombre made it a point to call his father-in-law, the late, great Bill Grant, to thank him for being part of the Allied forces who landed at Normandy on D-Day. Bill’s courage and that of tens of thousands like him helped free countless millions from Nazi oppression and served as a shining moment for The Greatest Generation. This Sunday, be sure to think of Bill and the rest of the D-Day crew, and if you know someone who participated in the landing or even World War II, be sure to offer thanks. We owe them a lot.
-EH-
Back in 1948, when the world was a simpler place – unless you were a Soviet citizen under the iron rule of Joe Stalin – the patron saint of columnists, bloggers and Tweeters, Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith, wrote a piece that remains one of the finest examples of the craft. Smith, who at one point wrote seven columns a week so that he had the immediate opportunity to overcome a lousy effort, was in London for the Summer Olympics. During that fortnight, some controversy emerged in the 400-meter relay, which resulted in considerable upheaval and ire from the American side.
It seems the U.S. quartet had been disqualified after winning by about seven yards because of an allegedly illicit baton pass. Or, as Smith so eloquently dubbed it, Barney Ewell had “bootlegged the baton to [Lorenzo] Wright in a sinister black-market deal consummated outside the legal zone.” The officials, or in Smith’s parlance, the “vigilante committee of judges,” had DQed the Americans and awarded the gold medal to homestanding England, which had finished second. The decision, according to Smith, meant that “the Union Jack flapped from the victor’s flagpole; the British Lion looked up from his lunch of cold mutton and cheese and roared his triumph to the skies.”
Ah, they don’t write ‘em like that anymore.
Anyway, the next day, the International Jury of Appeal looked at photographs from something called a “stereopticon machine” and decided “the baton-snatch had been engineered in strict obedience to the laws of God and man.” So, the Americans were re-awarded the gold medal, and all was right in the sprinting world. That led Smith to write one of the best lead paragraphs in history:
“And now, the Royal Air Force band must return to the desolate, forsaken field of Wembley Stadium and unplay “God Save the King.” Blighty’s only track victory in the Olympics, which was presented to Britain last Saturday under the Marshall Plan, fell under the terms of reverse lend-lease today and was restored to the United States, the original copyright holders. It was the most sensational reversal since Serutan.”
That early use of “instant” replay helped right a wrong that would have cost four champion sprinters a gold medal in the most important race of their lives. Thanks to the stereopticon machine, Ewell, Wright, Harrison Dillard and Mel Patton had their prize and their immortality. And Smith had one helluva column.
Wednesday in Detroit, Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga was denied a perfect game by Jim Joyce, a one-man “vigilante committee,” who spectacularly botched a relatively routine call at first base with two outs in the bottom of the ninth of Galarraga’s masterpiece. It was the baseball equivalent of flying to Paris, heading over to the Louvre and adding a tramp stamp to the Venus de Milo. Galarraga had been flawless, and Joyce’s call had robbed him of immortality. He will join baseball’s long list of almosts and will be enshrined in future “Strange But True” tomes for decades, next to Eddie Gaedel and Cleon Jones’ well-shined shoes.
This tragic turn of events most certainly could have been avoided, had Majoke League Baseball commissioner Bud Sellout shown some leadership a few years ago and instituted an instant-replay program that was committed to getting it right. That’s the goal here, not to show up umpires or add minutes to the game. It’s to get the call right.
In football, basketball and hockey, replay exists to make sure the game’s outcome is as legitimate and correct as possible.
If an NFL receiver catches the ball with one foot in bounds, and it is clear to anybody watching on TV, chances are a protest flag will be thrown, and the replay official will be sure to ascertain whether the catch was legitimate. If a goal/no goal call looks shaky in the NHL – as it did twice in Wednesday’s Stanley Cup game, the replays are examined, and the right call is made. Fans and players rarely complain about the replays’ outcomes, because their goal is to have justice served. Having that safety net allows for greater peace of mind, since everybody in the stadium and watching at home understands that the right call is the goal – and usually the outcome.
Now, it’s up to Sellout to do the right thing. Had he been courageous enough a few years ago to understand that the game’s credibility is at stake when umpires blow easy calls and there is no mechanism in place to reverse that, he might have acted. The Galarraga debacle brings the entire situation to a nasty, pus-filled head, and it’s up to Sellout to make sure it doesn’t pop all over the game’s good name – or what’s left of it. So, Buddy Boy, here’s what you do:
1. Replay for all close plays at bases and the plate. A quick replay review confirms or reverses the call.
2. Replay for foul-fair calls down the lines.
3. Leave balls and strikes alone. That would get ridiculous.
4. NO reversal of Joyce’s botched call. Sellout actually got this one right. Changing the decision, no matter how crushing and embarrassing it was, would open the door to a whole slew of future appeals.
Sellout must show some grit and push this through now. Otherwise, more debacles will occur, and baseball will continue to look silly and helmless in comparison to its sporting brethren.
And with no Red Smith around to clarify things, the mess will only get worse.
“Dog evas eht gnik…?”
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: It’s too early to give the Lakers the NBA title, but if Pau Gasoft and Andrew Crynum are going to play like they did in game one, the Celtics don’t have much of a chance. Boston’s edge in ’08 was toughness, and it looks like L.A. has decided to match the Celtics’ bravado this time. Imagine that. If the brass knuckles stay out Sunday night, this baby’s over…The International Ski Federation has fined Russia and warned the country that further doping activity could result in Russian skiers’’ being banned from the ’14 Olympics in Sochi. The Russians countered that the allegations are false and offered the country’s putrid performance during last February’s Vancouver Games as evidence of their innocence. It’s a pretty strong argument…Ice Box checks in as the early favorite in Saturday’s Belmont Stakes at 3:1, followed by Fly Down, at 9:2. Among the long shots are Glue Factory (75:1) and Dog Food (100:1). Remember to bet with your head, not over it…Steelers’ QB Ben Roethlisberger spoke to the media after a practice Thursday and pledged to improve his behavior. He said he would change the way he regarded women, so when carrying a tray full of liquor, he will now say, “All you fine, upstanding ladies, take my shots.” He will also allow other patrons to use the ladies room while he is mauling a Young Lovely, rather than blocking their entry with an off-duty policeman. And when he is being questioned by a police officer after a night of carousing, he will no longer pose for pictures. Sounds great, Ben. You keep up the soul-searching.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Let’s be very clear about one thing: The Phillies’ ridiculously inept play of late (save Roy Halladay’s historic gem) is the fault of many people, from the top down. Start with the owners, whose insistence on a self-imposed salary cap resulted in a lame, cut-rate bench. Move on to GM Ruben Amaro, who assembled said bench and was the bagman in the Cliff Lee trade that weakened the pitching staff. Don’t forget manager Charlie Manuel, whose laissez-faire approach to managing has helped foster the complacency that has overcome the team. And, finally, blame the players themselves, especially the veterans, who have provided zero leadership during the crisis. No one has called a players-only meeting. No one criticized pitcher Cole Hamels for laughing it up at the Flyers game Wednesday night, just one day after he lasted a whopping two-thirds of an inning against the Braves and was clearly unprepared to pitch following a rain delay. This team felt the NL crown was its birthright before the season and has played like it with few exceptions. The good news is that this is a long season, and there is plenty of time for a turnaround. But it’s imperative the organization develops a sense of urgency and starts to hold people accountable while realizing that it may be necessary to shake things up with a trade or two.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The onus during the aftermath of the Galarraga/Joyce debacle falls on Sellout, but the behavior by the two main protagonists during the incident should live on even longer than any action by the spineless MLB commissioner. Both pitcher and umpire displayed the kind of class, grace, sportsmanship and character that is often missing from professional athletics. Galarraga’s willingness to forgive, despite being deprived of a spot in baseball history, was exemplary and gave parents, teachers and coaches an opportunity to show children how to do things the right way. Joyce’s immediate contrition, apology and acceptance of blame – without condition or excuse – is another teaching point. Both men showed tremendous respect for the sport, fans and themselves with their actions, and they are to be applauded. It would be a sin if this incident did not lead to true reform, especially since Galarraga and Joyce acquitted themselves so admirably during a time of great stress.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: Last year on June 6, El Hombre made it a point to call his father-in-law, the late, great Bill Grant, to thank him for being part of the Allied forces who landed at Normandy on D-Day. Bill’s courage and that of tens of thousands like him helped free countless millions from Nazi oppression and served as a shining moment for The Greatest Generation. This Sunday, be sure to think of Bill and the rest of the D-Day crew, and if you know someone who participated in the landing or even World War II, be sure to offer thanks. We owe them a lot.
-EH-
Friday, May 28, 2010
Braving the Elements
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Packer Rick is in heaven these days, and not just because his beloved Green Bay club is on the rise or his mighty fifth-grade lacrosse club overwhelmed all comers during the recent season.
From his command center in the nearly-legendary Pack Den, Packer Rick keeps a watchful eye on the sports world’s traditions. The Den’s walls are covered – and El Hombre means covered – with framed photographs of history’s heroes, athletic, military and political. He even has a still of Erwin Rommel, Germany’s “Desert Fox.” “He hated Hitler,” Packer Rick says, justifying the famous tank commander’s presence with the other luminaries. Of course, he also has a photo of Gen. George Patton – “He stares at Rommel, on the opposite wall, of course” – and won’t hesitate to recount the line attributed to “Old Blood and Guts” in his marvelous biopic: “Rommel, you magnificent bastard! I read your book!”
At any given time, Packer Rick could be screening some old AFL footage or a 1970s NFL playoff game. He might be holding forth on the virtues of high school football’s inherent value for building character and lifelong bonds between comrades and combatants. And, if it’s mid-December, he’s likely to be nailing up another butt of the family Christmas tree on the eave overhanging his bar. He’s up to about 17 now, and seeing them lined up is a quite a sight.
Earlier this week, Packer Rick received an unexpected gift from the NFL owners when they announced the 2014 Super Bowl would be held in the swamps of Jersey. For someone who still turns on the TV every Sunday rooting for a snowstorm or rain deluge and thinks domes are the devil’s work, a championship game played in arctic conditions with swirling snow and ice-encrusted spectators would be a gift from the football gods. Or from Vince Lombardi. He can only imagine what NFL Films would be able to do with such a canvas. Forget the game action; Packer Rick wants shots of behemoth linemen exhaling steam and icicles clinging to the goalposts.
But what excites Packer Rick even more is that the announcement paves the way for future cold-weather Super Bowls, including one in Green Bay. “It lets me put my “50th year anniversary of the Ice Bowl” 2017 Super Bowl at 1265 Lombardi Avenue petition into action,” he says, laughing. Don’t bet against him. He’ll have 10,000 signatures before you can say, “Run to Daylight.”
There has been much sturm und drang about the league’s decision to bestow its Big Game upon the New York metropolitan area. Players say how much they hate toiling in cold weather, as if anybody but Canadians embraces it. We hear horror stories about what would happen if it snowed (people would wear boots), although the biggest snowfall in NYC history on the date of this year’s Super Bowl was three inches. And we hear how horrible it will be for fans traveling to the big game who will have to endure cold temperatures as they take part in the festivities. It may not be the beach, but if you can’t find something to do in Manhattan, regardless of the weather, you are about as much fun as a Congressional hearing.
Football is the ultimate tough-guy game (although if hockey players keep losing multiple teeth and returning to action 10 minutes later, we may have to re-think that), so anyone who complains about playing in 30-degree temperatures must be a baseball player – or a wide re-diva. There have been scores of important games played during the NFL’s history in less than ideal conditions. Packer Rick’s beloved Ice Bowl is the most famous, but from the New York Giants’ 1934 NFL championship win over the Bears on the Polo Grounds’ frozen turf (Giants’ coach Steve Owen outfitted his charges in sneakers at halftime, and they pulled away after intermission) through the Steelers’ snow-speckled triumph over the Ravens in the ’09 AFC title game, the elements have played a big role in professional football. Staging a Super Bowl in a climate that could be less than ideal returns the sport to its roots and creates a great stage.
Ask anybody who played pickup football on a snow-covered field how much fun that can be. Ask anybody who has watched a snowy game on television if they enjoyed the experience, and the nearly-unanimous answer will be “Yes!” As for those fans who will have to brave the elements to watch the league’s best battle, remember this old Siberian adage: “There is no such thing as weather too cold, just inadequate clothing.” In other words, bundle up. Then bundle up some more. You’ll be fine.
Finally, a bit of advice for those who think cold weather will inhibit the ability to have fun in New York. Last Super Bowl weekend, El Hombre and La Mujer bivouacked at the Waldorf-Astoria. We visited the Museum of Modern Art, caught a play on Broadway, had some dynamite Mexican food, attended Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and had a great brunch with family from the 44th floor of an apartment building with a spectacular view. Aside from the $55 glass of whisky a flighty Scotsman made EH finance, the weekend was perfect. By the way, the temperature that weekend hovered in the 20s, with a brutal wind-chill. We hardly remember the climate, just the fun.
So, hats off to the NFL for putting the Super Bowl in New York/Jersey. Let it be a gateway to other cold-weather hosts. And should the game be played in conditions better suited for ice fishing, remember another old Russian proverb: “If it’s cold in February, summer will be pleasant.”
And should you see Packer Rick, sign his petition. We have to get the ’17 game at Lambeau.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Michigan has penalized itself for exceeding the number of practice and workout hours allowed by the NC2A. In addition to some future limits on field time and the firing of an employee involved in the scandal, the school has also forced all coaches and administrators to watch every minute of game action from the past two seasons, when coach Rich Ro-riguez’s (no D) teams went a combined 8-16. Talk about your draconian punishments…Good news for Sammy Sosa: The Congressional committee investigating baseball’s steroids addiction won’t investigate him. Seems it was too hard to find an interpreter to work with Sosa, who vacillates between speaking English just fine during clubhouse interviews and being unable to say a word while under oath…Speaking of illegal performance-enhancing drugs, El Hombre is certain that it’s just a coincidence that Dr. Anthony Galea, whom Eldrick Woods sought out for treatment, also worked with A-Fraud and other known juicers. Woods just went to Galea for therapeutic reasons. Right. And soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo is dating Kim Kardashian for her mind…In other soccer news, England’s Trade Union Council has requested that employers allow workers to watch games involving the national team during the upcoming World Cup. Benefits include a happier workforce and limited “sick-outs” on game days. Companies who participate are being encouraged to create “hooligan zones,” where drunken workers can destroy property and beat the tar out of other ethnic groups…It’s early. It probably won’t happen. But wouldn’t it be magical if the Celtics joined the Broons in a double Beantown choke?
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? So, here are the Flyers, the scrappiest team in all of sports, getting ready to tangle with the mighty Blackhawks. Chicago piled up more points during the regular season. It has a deeper defense and more scorers. It plays in the stronger Western Conference. Everything points to a Blackhawks series victory – except history. While it has been 35 years since the Flyers hoisted the Cup, Chicago is in the midst of a 49-year drought. Further, by overcoming a 3-0 deficit against the Broons and smashing Montreal, a now-healthy Flyers team has gained tremendous confidence and has proven it can win anywhere. Yes, the Blackhawks have been dynamite on the road, and that Dustin Byfuglien character is a beast. If Philadelphia continues to play rugged hockey and doesn’t take a bunch of stupid penalties, and if goalie Michael Leighton keeps the magic dust on his shoulders, the Flyers can win. In fact, the Flyers will win. In six. Batten down the hatches. This will be a wild celebration.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Some time in the next few weeks, LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh and Joe Johnson will sit down to discuss their respective free agent futures. Consider it the professional basketball equivalent of the Potsdam conference, which led to the redesign of Europe’s borders after WWII. Or, if you wish, you can liken it to the final scene of “Mobsters,” when Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky and the boys divide up the country into crime fiefdoms. The four ballers – and anybody else they decide worthy of inclusion – will basically do the same thing with the NBA. They’ll discuss the pros and cons of various franchises, figure who should play where and try to maximize their earning potential. When the owners do this, it’s “collusion.” When star players get together to cut such deals, it’s “business.” If the meeting yields the outcome El Hombre thinks it will, the league will be officially at the mercy of its players, who will have established a new competitive balance based on their own whims and personal interests. This is an unprecedented move in professional sports history, and it demonstrates exactly why the product we are watching – and in many instances paying dearly to see – lacks the same allure and competitive drama as its predecessors did. If players are getting together with the idea of dispersing themselves or, in some cases, banding together, then pro basketball has no chance of establishing future rivalries with real teeth. Instead, it will have the feel of a cartel, in which the participants work together for greater financial aid for the whole. The superstar sit-down is a compelling concept, but it is bad for basketball. For the NBA’s sake, let’s hope the outcome doesn’t produce a disaster.
-EH-
Packer Rick is in heaven these days, and not just because his beloved Green Bay club is on the rise or his mighty fifth-grade lacrosse club overwhelmed all comers during the recent season.
From his command center in the nearly-legendary Pack Den, Packer Rick keeps a watchful eye on the sports world’s traditions. The Den’s walls are covered – and El Hombre means covered – with framed photographs of history’s heroes, athletic, military and political. He even has a still of Erwin Rommel, Germany’s “Desert Fox.” “He hated Hitler,” Packer Rick says, justifying the famous tank commander’s presence with the other luminaries. Of course, he also has a photo of Gen. George Patton – “He stares at Rommel, on the opposite wall, of course” – and won’t hesitate to recount the line attributed to “Old Blood and Guts” in his marvelous biopic: “Rommel, you magnificent bastard! I read your book!”
At any given time, Packer Rick could be screening some old AFL footage or a 1970s NFL playoff game. He might be holding forth on the virtues of high school football’s inherent value for building character and lifelong bonds between comrades and combatants. And, if it’s mid-December, he’s likely to be nailing up another butt of the family Christmas tree on the eave overhanging his bar. He’s up to about 17 now, and seeing them lined up is a quite a sight.
Earlier this week, Packer Rick received an unexpected gift from the NFL owners when they announced the 2014 Super Bowl would be held in the swamps of Jersey. For someone who still turns on the TV every Sunday rooting for a snowstorm or rain deluge and thinks domes are the devil’s work, a championship game played in arctic conditions with swirling snow and ice-encrusted spectators would be a gift from the football gods. Or from Vince Lombardi. He can only imagine what NFL Films would be able to do with such a canvas. Forget the game action; Packer Rick wants shots of behemoth linemen exhaling steam and icicles clinging to the goalposts.
But what excites Packer Rick even more is that the announcement paves the way for future cold-weather Super Bowls, including one in Green Bay. “It lets me put my “50th year anniversary of the Ice Bowl” 2017 Super Bowl at 1265 Lombardi Avenue petition into action,” he says, laughing. Don’t bet against him. He’ll have 10,000 signatures before you can say, “Run to Daylight.”
There has been much sturm und drang about the league’s decision to bestow its Big Game upon the New York metropolitan area. Players say how much they hate toiling in cold weather, as if anybody but Canadians embraces it. We hear horror stories about what would happen if it snowed (people would wear boots), although the biggest snowfall in NYC history on the date of this year’s Super Bowl was three inches. And we hear how horrible it will be for fans traveling to the big game who will have to endure cold temperatures as they take part in the festivities. It may not be the beach, but if you can’t find something to do in Manhattan, regardless of the weather, you are about as much fun as a Congressional hearing.
Football is the ultimate tough-guy game (although if hockey players keep losing multiple teeth and returning to action 10 minutes later, we may have to re-think that), so anyone who complains about playing in 30-degree temperatures must be a baseball player – or a wide re-diva. There have been scores of important games played during the NFL’s history in less than ideal conditions. Packer Rick’s beloved Ice Bowl is the most famous, but from the New York Giants’ 1934 NFL championship win over the Bears on the Polo Grounds’ frozen turf (Giants’ coach Steve Owen outfitted his charges in sneakers at halftime, and they pulled away after intermission) through the Steelers’ snow-speckled triumph over the Ravens in the ’09 AFC title game, the elements have played a big role in professional football. Staging a Super Bowl in a climate that could be less than ideal returns the sport to its roots and creates a great stage.
Ask anybody who played pickup football on a snow-covered field how much fun that can be. Ask anybody who has watched a snowy game on television if they enjoyed the experience, and the nearly-unanimous answer will be “Yes!” As for those fans who will have to brave the elements to watch the league’s best battle, remember this old Siberian adage: “There is no such thing as weather too cold, just inadequate clothing.” In other words, bundle up. Then bundle up some more. You’ll be fine.
Finally, a bit of advice for those who think cold weather will inhibit the ability to have fun in New York. Last Super Bowl weekend, El Hombre and La Mujer bivouacked at the Waldorf-Astoria. We visited the Museum of Modern Art, caught a play on Broadway, had some dynamite Mexican food, attended Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and had a great brunch with family from the 44th floor of an apartment building with a spectacular view. Aside from the $55 glass of whisky a flighty Scotsman made EH finance, the weekend was perfect. By the way, the temperature that weekend hovered in the 20s, with a brutal wind-chill. We hardly remember the climate, just the fun.
So, hats off to the NFL for putting the Super Bowl in New York/Jersey. Let it be a gateway to other cold-weather hosts. And should the game be played in conditions better suited for ice fishing, remember another old Russian proverb: “If it’s cold in February, summer will be pleasant.”
And should you see Packer Rick, sign his petition. We have to get the ’17 game at Lambeau.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Michigan has penalized itself for exceeding the number of practice and workout hours allowed by the NC2A. In addition to some future limits on field time and the firing of an employee involved in the scandal, the school has also forced all coaches and administrators to watch every minute of game action from the past two seasons, when coach Rich Ro-riguez’s (no D) teams went a combined 8-16. Talk about your draconian punishments…Good news for Sammy Sosa: The Congressional committee investigating baseball’s steroids addiction won’t investigate him. Seems it was too hard to find an interpreter to work with Sosa, who vacillates between speaking English just fine during clubhouse interviews and being unable to say a word while under oath…Speaking of illegal performance-enhancing drugs, El Hombre is certain that it’s just a coincidence that Dr. Anthony Galea, whom Eldrick Woods sought out for treatment, also worked with A-Fraud and other known juicers. Woods just went to Galea for therapeutic reasons. Right. And soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo is dating Kim Kardashian for her mind…In other soccer news, England’s Trade Union Council has requested that employers allow workers to watch games involving the national team during the upcoming World Cup. Benefits include a happier workforce and limited “sick-outs” on game days. Companies who participate are being encouraged to create “hooligan zones,” where drunken workers can destroy property and beat the tar out of other ethnic groups…It’s early. It probably won’t happen. But wouldn’t it be magical if the Celtics joined the Broons in a double Beantown choke?
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? So, here are the Flyers, the scrappiest team in all of sports, getting ready to tangle with the mighty Blackhawks. Chicago piled up more points during the regular season. It has a deeper defense and more scorers. It plays in the stronger Western Conference. Everything points to a Blackhawks series victory – except history. While it has been 35 years since the Flyers hoisted the Cup, Chicago is in the midst of a 49-year drought. Further, by overcoming a 3-0 deficit against the Broons and smashing Montreal, a now-healthy Flyers team has gained tremendous confidence and has proven it can win anywhere. Yes, the Blackhawks have been dynamite on the road, and that Dustin Byfuglien character is a beast. If Philadelphia continues to play rugged hockey and doesn’t take a bunch of stupid penalties, and if goalie Michael Leighton keeps the magic dust on his shoulders, the Flyers can win. In fact, the Flyers will win. In six. Batten down the hatches. This will be a wild celebration.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Some time in the next few weeks, LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh and Joe Johnson will sit down to discuss their respective free agent futures. Consider it the professional basketball equivalent of the Potsdam conference, which led to the redesign of Europe’s borders after WWII. Or, if you wish, you can liken it to the final scene of “Mobsters,” when Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky and the boys divide up the country into crime fiefdoms. The four ballers – and anybody else they decide worthy of inclusion – will basically do the same thing with the NBA. They’ll discuss the pros and cons of various franchises, figure who should play where and try to maximize their earning potential. When the owners do this, it’s “collusion.” When star players get together to cut such deals, it’s “business.” If the meeting yields the outcome El Hombre thinks it will, the league will be officially at the mercy of its players, who will have established a new competitive balance based on their own whims and personal interests. This is an unprecedented move in professional sports history, and it demonstrates exactly why the product we are watching – and in many instances paying dearly to see – lacks the same allure and competitive drama as its predecessors did. If players are getting together with the idea of dispersing themselves or, in some cases, banding together, then pro basketball has no chance of establishing future rivalries with real teeth. Instead, it will have the feel of a cartel, in which the participants work together for greater financial aid for the whole. The superstar sit-down is a compelling concept, but it is bad for basketball. For the NBA’s sake, let’s hope the outcome doesn’t produce a disaster.
-EH-
Friday, April 30, 2010
Trophies All Around
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
It is a sad day indeed when the new mentality of rewarding every single youth sports participant, regardless of talent level or proclivity for chasing butterflies, has made its way onto the college sports agenda, but that’s what happened this week. The news that the already-bloated bowl schedule will swell by another game (by virtue of a two-for-one switch) and perhaps allow teams that have finished the regular season with a 5-7 record is grim indeed.
There is no guarantee that such mediocrity will be celebrated with a trip to the Cialis Bowl, but should the number (now 70) of eligible teams boasting at least a robust 6-6 record lag, then teams that barely win 40% of their games get to spend a week during the holidays in Shreveport, Fort Worth or Bayonne. Why not replicate the practice of most community sports programs and give every player on a I-A team a medal or trophy, the better to boost his self-esteem? In the words of the immortal Vince Lombardi, “What the hell is going on out here?”
You don’t have to be so old to remember when a 10-0-1 Michigan team (yes, chilluns, there was a time when the Wolverines were good) was home for the holidays back in ’73. Or when six wins would lead to a coach’s demise and the promise to fans of bigger things in the future. Today, 10-0-1 brings in about $17 mil, and six triumphs earn a winter vacation and a bag of loot for happy players. Since 1996, the number of bowls has almost doubled, moving from 18 to 35. Meanwhile, the impact of those games, except for the BCS “championship” game, has lessened greatly. Part of it is the old supply-and-demand game. The more of anything there is, the less it is worth, a maxim that has only beer and Victoria’s Secret models as its exception. The rest is that even the most brainwashed fans couldn’t possibly consider a 6-6 season successful, no matter how hard the school, the bowl and its propaganda partners try to convince them otherwise.
So, when news that a 5-7 team or two could slide into the post-season broke, it was installed as a new alternative to syrup of ipecac. But compared to what’s going on in the rest of the NC2A, it’s sort of small potatoes. News came this week that former University of Washington president Mark Emmert had taken over the organization and was charged with sticking it to student-athletes for at least the next five years. While Emmert tries to sidestep his previous declaration that a college football playoff was “inevitable” with doublespeak that would make a Soviet premier envious and continue efforts on academic reform (good luck), he also has some big decisions to make regarding the so-called “minor” sports that take place away from the headlines.
A 2008 study by the NC2A reported that only 17 of the more than 300 Division I athletic programs made a profit between 2004-06. That’s 5.6%. Although that number “swelled” to 25 in 2007-08, according to the NC2A, the vast majority of schools are depending on state and institution cash to keep the balls bouncing. In 2008, 30% of Division I funding came from outside sources. At a time when schools are cutting programs and staff members, the athletic departments are gobbling up much-needed dough.
While it’s too early to know how Emmert plans on dealing with this problem – if he addresses it at all – there are those who worry that the way to handle the shortfall is to limit the smaller sports, rather than forcing some restrictions on football and men’s basketball teams. For instance, some teams could be forced to play tightly regionalized schedules and not travel to championship competitions, the better to keep costs down. Others may have to cut scholarships or program participants.
The same argument rears up every time this topic is raised. It’s from the football/basketball crowd that says so long as their programs are bringing in the big bucks, they should be left alone, even if that means putting up the home team in a hotel the night before a game or running a year-round program. They make the bucks, so they should spend the bucks.
There are two ways to look at that. First, if it’s all about money, and those schools that are profitable should be able to do what they want, then the 28% of I-A schools that were running a deficit, according to a 2006 study, should be shut down. And if any other school starts losing money from football, it must be terminated.
The second is philosophical, and it gets to the root of the raging hypocrisy that has infected college presidents, who hide behind their “concern” for student-athletes when discussing why a college football playoff won’t work (all the while approving a 12th game earlier this decade). If the goal of the university is to educate and serve its entire population, then it must operate that way and make sure every student and athlete is treated similarly. If it wants to operate a giant athletic superpower, that’s fine, too, but don’t try to make us think one of the goals of the Tennessee football program is to prepare its players for life after football. Its goal is to win games, fill Neyland Stadium and make sure the cash register plays “Rocky Top” every second of the day.
The football world is doing a great job taking care of its own. Facilities continue to rise from the ground. Coaches’ salaries are out of control. And teams that lose more than half of their games will soon be celebrating bowl berths. As Emmert takes over in Indianapolis, let’s hope he has an eye on the other people who play college sports.
They deserve trophies, too.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Five Majoke League Baseball teams – and the Orioles – have already logged record low attendances for their ballparks this season. Overall, baseball attendance is down two years running. So, what’s an overpaid, drug-enabling commissioner to do? Well, Mr. Sellout, your sport doesn’t have a test yet for HGH. Remember, chicks dig the long ball…Chris Berman re-signed with espn, in the hopes that he might be able to stutter his way through an Olympic hosting gig in 2014. Did you see him stumble around the NFL Draft last weekend? Talk about losing your fastball. This guy makes Jamie Moyer look like Bob Feller…Great job by the Capitals in the NHL playoffs. Choking away a 3-1 series lead to the eight seed and making a guy who finished ninth in goals against average look like Jacques Plante, Ken Dryden and Patrick Roy combined is awful. Nice job, Alex Ovechkin. No Olympic gold. No Stanley Cup playoff win. You’re a real superstar…There’s a rumor out there that Coach Zen might take his Yanni CDs and head to Jersey to coach. It’ll never happen – unless LeBron James intends to sign with the Nets. Ol’ Zen doesn’t do rebuilding projects. He needs at least one Hall of Famer on the roster to consider a job…China has been stripped of a gymnastics medal it won during the Sydney Olympics for using a 14-year old (no one younger than 16 may compete) during the Games. Now, that’s a shocker. Anybody who watched the Chinese team compete in Beijing in 2008 knows the country was falsifying the ages of many competitors. Officials were tipped off when the Chinese gymnasts’ ID cards had “authentic” Chairman Mao signatures on them and also when they saw that the team was sponsored by Dora The Explorer.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Philadelphia media are in quite a lather over whether the Sixers will turn back to Larry Brown to solve their problems. Visions of 2001 dance through their heads, and Mr. Ed no doubt has the same fantasies. While the idea of a Sixers roster that includes 37-year old Theo Ratliff and the joyous reunion of George Lynch and Tyrone Hill is certainly a great tool for the ticket sales staff, it’s not certain those geezers will recreate the magic they did when Brown’s team worked its way through a weak Eastern Conference to the Finals. Brown is just about at the end of his line, and though he led the Bobcats to the playoffs this year, they were dispatched quickly by Orlando and made the post-season only because the East stinks. Brown’s return will no doubt come with the unsavory baggage that he will be picking the players, meaning anybody younger than 30 will be looked at with a jaundiced (and pre-cataract) eye. It also could signal the return of one William King to the ceremonial GM chair, a bad idea if he is Brown’s phone-call man and a nightmare if he actually has authority to make deals. What the Sixers need is new ownership. They need someone to hire a sharp personnel man who will in turn employ a successful coach. This is not the time for re-runs. The Sixers need some fresh ideas, not nostalgia acts.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The NC2A actually did something reasonably correct this week when it announced it would be expanding the men’s basketball tourney to 68 teams, rather than a ridiculous 96, as was originally feared. It’s a good news/bad news/good news situation. The first bit of good news is that the 13th-place Big East team won’t be qualifying for the tournament next year. The bad news is that three more small-conference teams won’t make it to the official start of the Madness, since they’ll likely be playing “pigtail” games in Dayton or Ames earlier in the week and upon losing will be sent home without experiencing the true essence of the tournament. Meanwhile, three other big-time schools who don’t belong in the real post-season (have fun in the CBI, NIT, etc.) will get the chance to dance. But the accompanying report that the CBS/Turner bid to broadcast the event for the next 14 years trumped espn’s best offer means we won’t have to hear Dookie V gabbling throughout the tournament. By the time the new contract expires, he’ll be 85 and will bring new meaning to the term “Diaper Dandy.”
-EH-
It is a sad day indeed when the new mentality of rewarding every single youth sports participant, regardless of talent level or proclivity for chasing butterflies, has made its way onto the college sports agenda, but that’s what happened this week. The news that the already-bloated bowl schedule will swell by another game (by virtue of a two-for-one switch) and perhaps allow teams that have finished the regular season with a 5-7 record is grim indeed.
There is no guarantee that such mediocrity will be celebrated with a trip to the Cialis Bowl, but should the number (now 70) of eligible teams boasting at least a robust 6-6 record lag, then teams that barely win 40% of their games get to spend a week during the holidays in Shreveport, Fort Worth or Bayonne. Why not replicate the practice of most community sports programs and give every player on a I-A team a medal or trophy, the better to boost his self-esteem? In the words of the immortal Vince Lombardi, “What the hell is going on out here?”
You don’t have to be so old to remember when a 10-0-1 Michigan team (yes, chilluns, there was a time when the Wolverines were good) was home for the holidays back in ’73. Or when six wins would lead to a coach’s demise and the promise to fans of bigger things in the future. Today, 10-0-1 brings in about $17 mil, and six triumphs earn a winter vacation and a bag of loot for happy players. Since 1996, the number of bowls has almost doubled, moving from 18 to 35. Meanwhile, the impact of those games, except for the BCS “championship” game, has lessened greatly. Part of it is the old supply-and-demand game. The more of anything there is, the less it is worth, a maxim that has only beer and Victoria’s Secret models as its exception. The rest is that even the most brainwashed fans couldn’t possibly consider a 6-6 season successful, no matter how hard the school, the bowl and its propaganda partners try to convince them otherwise.
So, when news that a 5-7 team or two could slide into the post-season broke, it was installed as a new alternative to syrup of ipecac. But compared to what’s going on in the rest of the NC2A, it’s sort of small potatoes. News came this week that former University of Washington president Mark Emmert had taken over the organization and was charged with sticking it to student-athletes for at least the next five years. While Emmert tries to sidestep his previous declaration that a college football playoff was “inevitable” with doublespeak that would make a Soviet premier envious and continue efforts on academic reform (good luck), he also has some big decisions to make regarding the so-called “minor” sports that take place away from the headlines.
A 2008 study by the NC2A reported that only 17 of the more than 300 Division I athletic programs made a profit between 2004-06. That’s 5.6%. Although that number “swelled” to 25 in 2007-08, according to the NC2A, the vast majority of schools are depending on state and institution cash to keep the balls bouncing. In 2008, 30% of Division I funding came from outside sources. At a time when schools are cutting programs and staff members, the athletic departments are gobbling up much-needed dough.
While it’s too early to know how Emmert plans on dealing with this problem – if he addresses it at all – there are those who worry that the way to handle the shortfall is to limit the smaller sports, rather than forcing some restrictions on football and men’s basketball teams. For instance, some teams could be forced to play tightly regionalized schedules and not travel to championship competitions, the better to keep costs down. Others may have to cut scholarships or program participants.
The same argument rears up every time this topic is raised. It’s from the football/basketball crowd that says so long as their programs are bringing in the big bucks, they should be left alone, even if that means putting up the home team in a hotel the night before a game or running a year-round program. They make the bucks, so they should spend the bucks.
There are two ways to look at that. First, if it’s all about money, and those schools that are profitable should be able to do what they want, then the 28% of I-A schools that were running a deficit, according to a 2006 study, should be shut down. And if any other school starts losing money from football, it must be terminated.
The second is philosophical, and it gets to the root of the raging hypocrisy that has infected college presidents, who hide behind their “concern” for student-athletes when discussing why a college football playoff won’t work (all the while approving a 12th game earlier this decade). If the goal of the university is to educate and serve its entire population, then it must operate that way and make sure every student and athlete is treated similarly. If it wants to operate a giant athletic superpower, that’s fine, too, but don’t try to make us think one of the goals of the Tennessee football program is to prepare its players for life after football. Its goal is to win games, fill Neyland Stadium and make sure the cash register plays “Rocky Top” every second of the day.
The football world is doing a great job taking care of its own. Facilities continue to rise from the ground. Coaches’ salaries are out of control. And teams that lose more than half of their games will soon be celebrating bowl berths. As Emmert takes over in Indianapolis, let’s hope he has an eye on the other people who play college sports.
They deserve trophies, too.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Five Majoke League Baseball teams – and the Orioles – have already logged record low attendances for their ballparks this season. Overall, baseball attendance is down two years running. So, what’s an overpaid, drug-enabling commissioner to do? Well, Mr. Sellout, your sport doesn’t have a test yet for HGH. Remember, chicks dig the long ball…Chris Berman re-signed with espn, in the hopes that he might be able to stutter his way through an Olympic hosting gig in 2014. Did you see him stumble around the NFL Draft last weekend? Talk about losing your fastball. This guy makes Jamie Moyer look like Bob Feller…Great job by the Capitals in the NHL playoffs. Choking away a 3-1 series lead to the eight seed and making a guy who finished ninth in goals against average look like Jacques Plante, Ken Dryden and Patrick Roy combined is awful. Nice job, Alex Ovechkin. No Olympic gold. No Stanley Cup playoff win. You’re a real superstar…There’s a rumor out there that Coach Zen might take his Yanni CDs and head to Jersey to coach. It’ll never happen – unless LeBron James intends to sign with the Nets. Ol’ Zen doesn’t do rebuilding projects. He needs at least one Hall of Famer on the roster to consider a job…China has been stripped of a gymnastics medal it won during the Sydney Olympics for using a 14-year old (no one younger than 16 may compete) during the Games. Now, that’s a shocker. Anybody who watched the Chinese team compete in Beijing in 2008 knows the country was falsifying the ages of many competitors. Officials were tipped off when the Chinese gymnasts’ ID cards had “authentic” Chairman Mao signatures on them and also when they saw that the team was sponsored by Dora The Explorer.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Philadelphia media are in quite a lather over whether the Sixers will turn back to Larry Brown to solve their problems. Visions of 2001 dance through their heads, and Mr. Ed no doubt has the same fantasies. While the idea of a Sixers roster that includes 37-year old Theo Ratliff and the joyous reunion of George Lynch and Tyrone Hill is certainly a great tool for the ticket sales staff, it’s not certain those geezers will recreate the magic they did when Brown’s team worked its way through a weak Eastern Conference to the Finals. Brown is just about at the end of his line, and though he led the Bobcats to the playoffs this year, they were dispatched quickly by Orlando and made the post-season only because the East stinks. Brown’s return will no doubt come with the unsavory baggage that he will be picking the players, meaning anybody younger than 30 will be looked at with a jaundiced (and pre-cataract) eye. It also could signal the return of one William King to the ceremonial GM chair, a bad idea if he is Brown’s phone-call man and a nightmare if he actually has authority to make deals. What the Sixers need is new ownership. They need someone to hire a sharp personnel man who will in turn employ a successful coach. This is not the time for re-runs. The Sixers need some fresh ideas, not nostalgia acts.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The NC2A actually did something reasonably correct this week when it announced it would be expanding the men’s basketball tourney to 68 teams, rather than a ridiculous 96, as was originally feared. It’s a good news/bad news/good news situation. The first bit of good news is that the 13th-place Big East team won’t be qualifying for the tournament next year. The bad news is that three more small-conference teams won’t make it to the official start of the Madness, since they’ll likely be playing “pigtail” games in Dayton or Ames earlier in the week and upon losing will be sent home without experiencing the true essence of the tournament. Meanwhile, three other big-time schools who don’t belong in the real post-season (have fun in the CBI, NIT, etc.) will get the chance to dance. But the accompanying report that the CBS/Turner bid to broadcast the event for the next 14 years trumped espn’s best offer means we won’t have to hear Dookie V gabbling throughout the tournament. By the time the new contract expires, he’ll be 85 and will bring new meaning to the term “Diaper Dandy.”
-EH-
Friday, April 2, 2010
MLB 2010 Spectacular
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
Talk about your dream off-season for Bud Sellout and the rest of the MLB moneychangers. After several winters of navigating so many drug issues that the annual hot-stove discussion sounded like the health-care debate, there was relative peace and quiet. Some might say that was a result of so many controversies in previous years, but when your only pharmaceutical concerns arise from the return of an old-school pincushion and the one-time(!) cocaine use by one of your managers, it’s a win.
Another couple years like this, and Sellout will be able to launch his Hall of Fame candidacy without concern – or conscience. After 15-plus seasons, the only talk of juice these days is of the tobacco variety. That means the 2010 campaign could well be devoid of discussion about performance-enhancing drugs, largely since most of the big-name users have been outed, and the market for giant-headed bacne-d sluggers like BALCO Bonds has dried up. While the NBA deals with the pistoleros, the NFL tries to figure a way to keep the Steelers from running wild (allegedly) in nightclubs, and the NHL hopes the Olympics will generate interest in a late season Blue Jackets-Preds game (good luck with that), baseball is in pretty good shape. That means we get to – mostly – focus on the sport, at least for now.
Big Spenders: For the previous few decades, the definition of extravagance in Minnesota was using Hefty bags for the outfield wall in the Homerdome, rather than the generic stuff. That all changed last week when the Twins went deep financially and signed catcher/hometown hero/golden boy Joe Mauer to a Brobdingnagian contract. Since the Twins are moving into a new, outdoor stadium that should have fans considering P.E.D.s just to get through an April night game, they have plenty of extra cheddar on hand. Thus the big deal for Mauer, which should keep the catcher around until he’s ready for knee replacements. The only problem now is that future Minnesota standouts are going to expect similarly generous treatment and not be content with a below-market contract and a couple coupons for Juicy Lucy burgers.
Divorce (Mc)Court: How ‘bout all those off-season additions for the Dodgers?! Let’s see, there was second baseman Jamey Carroll. And don’t forget Jamey Carroll. That’s what happens when your owner and his wife are trying to decide who gets custody of the dugout stash of sunflower seeds. It’s an ugly, high-profile split between Frank and Jamie McCourt that has gone so crazy Frank won’t even let his estranged wife get into Dodger Stadium to clean out her office. Think he wants to spend a lot of dough on free agents? If this thing drags on, it could become like “Major League,” with the players flying on a WWII-issue twin-prop and the hot water turned off in the clubhouse. At least the Dodger Dogs still taste good.
The Natural: He stands 6-4, weighs 220 pounds and when his bat meets the ball, the resulting sound registers on seismographs. Atlanta’s Jason Heyward went from off-season prospect to Opening Day starter by hitting the ball so long and far that even an old dinosaur like Bobby Cox was impressed. One Heyward homer caused $3,400 of damage on a front office employee’s car. In fact, the mighty lefty hit so many out during the spring the Braves were forced to put netting over the rightfield fence to protect cars, innocent bystanders and native wildlife. He may struggle at first with the rigors of a 162-game season, but when he hits ‘em, they stay hit.
Return of the Empire: Darth Vader makes very few public appearances these days, but the Yankee Empire returned to power last November with the usual formula of high-priced talent and arrogance. The payroll is down a little this year, as funds were diverted to construction of a 21st century Death Star, but that doesn’t mean the Yanks aren’t still dangerous and heartless. Expect another run at the title in the Bronx as a lovable collection of gritty All-Stars wins the affection of fans with its diverse portfolios and tax shelters. And make sure to tune in to the 39 nationally televised games between the Yanks and Red Sawx, as we spend six months hearing about the “greatest rivalry since Rome and Carthage.”
Big Mac, Hold the ‘Roids: Mark McGwire finally ended his self-imposed exile and returned to baseball as the hitting coach for the St. Louis Cardinals. Along the way, he “admitted” to using steroids, HGH and vitamin water – but only to recover from injury. Nope, Big Mac never dreamed that the stuff would turn him into a mid-‘90s Popeye and allow him to hit baseballs so far they reach the ionosphere. Turns out there is a new side effect to the juice: delusion. McGwire hopes his time with the Cards convinces people he should be in the Hall of Fame, or at least 30% of the voters should include him on their ballots, instead of 25%. Meanwhile, Texas Rangers manager Ron Washington is still gainfully employed, after news leaked out that he was using cocaine. Talk about the Hot Tub Time Machine. Did he travel back to the 1980s and start hanging out with Steve Howe and Dwight Gooden? What’s next, hair relaxer and the Victory Tour?
The Envelope, Please: Here’s how it all shakes out: NL Division Winners: Phillies, Cardinals, Rockies. NL Wild Card: Braves. AL Division Winners: Yankees, Tigers, Angels. AL Wild Card: Red Sawx.
NL Playoffs: Phillies over Rockies; Cardinals over Braves. NLCS: Phillies over Cardinals.
AL Playoffs: Yankees over Tigers; Angels over Red Sawx. ALCS: Angels over Yankees.
World Series: Phillies over Angels. In six.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The list of players declaring early for the NBDL, er, NBA Draft will grow exponentially in the coming weeks, as players flee totalitarian coaches, sociology papers and pesky NC2A regulations. Everybody has a right to work, but not everybody has a right to work in the NBA. Hear that, Manny Harris?...You can’t blame Browns nose tackle Shaun Rogers for trying to carry a loaded .45-caliber gun onto an airplane. It isn’t as if there’s been a lot of talk about heightened airport security in, say, THE LAST EIGHT YEARS! What kind of an idiot is this guy? Let’s hope the Browns are smart enough to jettison him. Soon…Alabama will unveil in August a bronze statue of Nick Saban on its “Walk of Champions,” adding its newest national championship coach to the collection of memorials to previous winners, Wallace Wade, Frank Thomas, Bear Bryant and Gene Stallings. Saban’s, however, will be the only one that scowls when Gatorade is poured on it…Good news for NASCAR: Jeff Gordon and Matt Kenseth are feuding again! Since nobody’s paying much attention to the racing, maybe the drama will command attention. Maybe.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The Eagles will never admit they are rebuilding (the “Gold Standard” isn’t about taking a step back, people), but their off-season moves indicate that is their philosophy. Once they trade Donovan McNabb, they will be in full reconstruction mode. The team didn’t sign one top-shelf free-agent, as they have done in the past. Their acquisitions leaned toward the direction of depth, rather than playmakers who help teams win big. Wednesday’s news (via The Philadelphia Inquirer) that Courageous Cat will likely be the backup QB in 2010 basically signed McNabb’s papers out of town, because there is no way the Birds will spend $5 mil on a third-string signal-caller, especially one as poor a pocket passer as C.C. If the Eagles indeed are taking a step back, that’s fine. Prosperity is practically impossible to maintain for a decade. But it would be nice if the team would admit it, rather than trying to convince fans that a Super Bowl run is possible this season. And, as for those who have begged the Birds to deal McNabb, be sure to react to every loss in ’10 with the same anger and vitriol you have in previous years. Make sure to blame it all on the quarterback, even if the defense is awful, and the offensive line couldn’t stop a brigade of tricycling four-year olds. If you’re going to be nasty, at least be consistent. If it was all McNabb’s fault before, it has to be all Kevin Kolb’s fault going forward.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: As the WWE has become more sophisticated(!) in its business model, it gets better and better at scripting its matches. (Please don’t tell loyal Hombre reader Big Ray that it’s fake.) Referees wear small earpieces, the better to get instructions from above. Well, don’t be surprised if you see a small apparatus jammed into the ears of the zebras at this week’s Final Four in Indianapolis. The idea of a West Virginia-Butler championship game is enough to make CBS executives do anything to prevent that from happening. So, they’ll have the refs make some shaky calls in key situations, the better to get some name-brand action in the title tilt. El Hombre is convinced that’s what happened with that awful charging call in the final minutes of last Sunday’s Duke-Baylor game. The Bears were rallying, but the idea of heading to Indy without a big name was too much to take. So, the CBS exec sent the message from the booth, and the striped shirt responded dutifully. Duke wins. Don’t be surprised if there are some criminal calls this weekend, the better to preserve ratings and placate advertisers, who might mutiny if the Bulldogs play the Mountaineers Monday. Sound too cynical for words? Maybe, but at least wait until late Saturday night before you pass judgment.
-EH-
Talk about your dream off-season for Bud Sellout and the rest of the MLB moneychangers. After several winters of navigating so many drug issues that the annual hot-stove discussion sounded like the health-care debate, there was relative peace and quiet. Some might say that was a result of so many controversies in previous years, but when your only pharmaceutical concerns arise from the return of an old-school pincushion and the one-time(!) cocaine use by one of your managers, it’s a win.
Another couple years like this, and Sellout will be able to launch his Hall of Fame candidacy without concern – or conscience. After 15-plus seasons, the only talk of juice these days is of the tobacco variety. That means the 2010 campaign could well be devoid of discussion about performance-enhancing drugs, largely since most of the big-name users have been outed, and the market for giant-headed bacne-d sluggers like BALCO Bonds has dried up. While the NBA deals with the pistoleros, the NFL tries to figure a way to keep the Steelers from running wild (allegedly) in nightclubs, and the NHL hopes the Olympics will generate interest in a late season Blue Jackets-Preds game (good luck with that), baseball is in pretty good shape. That means we get to – mostly – focus on the sport, at least for now.
Big Spenders: For the previous few decades, the definition of extravagance in Minnesota was using Hefty bags for the outfield wall in the Homerdome, rather than the generic stuff. That all changed last week when the Twins went deep financially and signed catcher/hometown hero/golden boy Joe Mauer to a Brobdingnagian contract. Since the Twins are moving into a new, outdoor stadium that should have fans considering P.E.D.s just to get through an April night game, they have plenty of extra cheddar on hand. Thus the big deal for Mauer, which should keep the catcher around until he’s ready for knee replacements. The only problem now is that future Minnesota standouts are going to expect similarly generous treatment and not be content with a below-market contract and a couple coupons for Juicy Lucy burgers.
Divorce (Mc)Court: How ‘bout all those off-season additions for the Dodgers?! Let’s see, there was second baseman Jamey Carroll. And don’t forget Jamey Carroll. That’s what happens when your owner and his wife are trying to decide who gets custody of the dugout stash of sunflower seeds. It’s an ugly, high-profile split between Frank and Jamie McCourt that has gone so crazy Frank won’t even let his estranged wife get into Dodger Stadium to clean out her office. Think he wants to spend a lot of dough on free agents? If this thing drags on, it could become like “Major League,” with the players flying on a WWII-issue twin-prop and the hot water turned off in the clubhouse. At least the Dodger Dogs still taste good.
The Natural: He stands 6-4, weighs 220 pounds and when his bat meets the ball, the resulting sound registers on seismographs. Atlanta’s Jason Heyward went from off-season prospect to Opening Day starter by hitting the ball so long and far that even an old dinosaur like Bobby Cox was impressed. One Heyward homer caused $3,400 of damage on a front office employee’s car. In fact, the mighty lefty hit so many out during the spring the Braves were forced to put netting over the rightfield fence to protect cars, innocent bystanders and native wildlife. He may struggle at first with the rigors of a 162-game season, but when he hits ‘em, they stay hit.
Return of the Empire: Darth Vader makes very few public appearances these days, but the Yankee Empire returned to power last November with the usual formula of high-priced talent and arrogance. The payroll is down a little this year, as funds were diverted to construction of a 21st century Death Star, but that doesn’t mean the Yanks aren’t still dangerous and heartless. Expect another run at the title in the Bronx as a lovable collection of gritty All-Stars wins the affection of fans with its diverse portfolios and tax shelters. And make sure to tune in to the 39 nationally televised games between the Yanks and Red Sawx, as we spend six months hearing about the “greatest rivalry since Rome and Carthage.”
Big Mac, Hold the ‘Roids: Mark McGwire finally ended his self-imposed exile and returned to baseball as the hitting coach for the St. Louis Cardinals. Along the way, he “admitted” to using steroids, HGH and vitamin water – but only to recover from injury. Nope, Big Mac never dreamed that the stuff would turn him into a mid-‘90s Popeye and allow him to hit baseballs so far they reach the ionosphere. Turns out there is a new side effect to the juice: delusion. McGwire hopes his time with the Cards convinces people he should be in the Hall of Fame, or at least 30% of the voters should include him on their ballots, instead of 25%. Meanwhile, Texas Rangers manager Ron Washington is still gainfully employed, after news leaked out that he was using cocaine. Talk about the Hot Tub Time Machine. Did he travel back to the 1980s and start hanging out with Steve Howe and Dwight Gooden? What’s next, hair relaxer and the Victory Tour?
The Envelope, Please: Here’s how it all shakes out: NL Division Winners: Phillies, Cardinals, Rockies. NL Wild Card: Braves. AL Division Winners: Yankees, Tigers, Angels. AL Wild Card: Red Sawx.
NL Playoffs: Phillies over Rockies; Cardinals over Braves. NLCS: Phillies over Cardinals.
AL Playoffs: Yankees over Tigers; Angels over Red Sawx. ALCS: Angels over Yankees.
World Series: Phillies over Angels. In six.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The list of players declaring early for the NBDL, er, NBA Draft will grow exponentially in the coming weeks, as players flee totalitarian coaches, sociology papers and pesky NC2A regulations. Everybody has a right to work, but not everybody has a right to work in the NBA. Hear that, Manny Harris?...You can’t blame Browns nose tackle Shaun Rogers for trying to carry a loaded .45-caliber gun onto an airplane. It isn’t as if there’s been a lot of talk about heightened airport security in, say, THE LAST EIGHT YEARS! What kind of an idiot is this guy? Let’s hope the Browns are smart enough to jettison him. Soon…Alabama will unveil in August a bronze statue of Nick Saban on its “Walk of Champions,” adding its newest national championship coach to the collection of memorials to previous winners, Wallace Wade, Frank Thomas, Bear Bryant and Gene Stallings. Saban’s, however, will be the only one that scowls when Gatorade is poured on it…Good news for NASCAR: Jeff Gordon and Matt Kenseth are feuding again! Since nobody’s paying much attention to the racing, maybe the drama will command attention. Maybe.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? The Eagles will never admit they are rebuilding (the “Gold Standard” isn’t about taking a step back, people), but their off-season moves indicate that is their philosophy. Once they trade Donovan McNabb, they will be in full reconstruction mode. The team didn’t sign one top-shelf free-agent, as they have done in the past. Their acquisitions leaned toward the direction of depth, rather than playmakers who help teams win big. Wednesday’s news (via The Philadelphia Inquirer) that Courageous Cat will likely be the backup QB in 2010 basically signed McNabb’s papers out of town, because there is no way the Birds will spend $5 mil on a third-string signal-caller, especially one as poor a pocket passer as C.C. If the Eagles indeed are taking a step back, that’s fine. Prosperity is practically impossible to maintain for a decade. But it would be nice if the team would admit it, rather than trying to convince fans that a Super Bowl run is possible this season. And, as for those who have begged the Birds to deal McNabb, be sure to react to every loss in ’10 with the same anger and vitriol you have in previous years. Make sure to blame it all on the quarterback, even if the defense is awful, and the offensive line couldn’t stop a brigade of tricycling four-year olds. If you’re going to be nasty, at least be consistent. If it was all McNabb’s fault before, it has to be all Kevin Kolb’s fault going forward.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: As the WWE has become more sophisticated(!) in its business model, it gets better and better at scripting its matches. (Please don’t tell loyal Hombre reader Big Ray that it’s fake.) Referees wear small earpieces, the better to get instructions from above. Well, don’t be surprised if you see a small apparatus jammed into the ears of the zebras at this week’s Final Four in Indianapolis. The idea of a West Virginia-Butler championship game is enough to make CBS executives do anything to prevent that from happening. So, they’ll have the refs make some shaky calls in key situations, the better to get some name-brand action in the title tilt. El Hombre is convinced that’s what happened with that awful charging call in the final minutes of last Sunday’s Duke-Baylor game. The Bears were rallying, but the idea of heading to Indy without a big name was too much to take. So, the CBS exec sent the message from the booth, and the striped shirt responded dutifully. Duke wins. Don’t be surprised if there are some criminal calls this weekend, the better to preserve ratings and placate advertisers, who might mutiny if the Bulldogs play the Mountaineers Monday. Sound too cynical for words? Maybe, but at least wait until late Saturday night before you pass judgment.
-EH-
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