It wasn't the triple overtime thriller like the other night, but it kept me on the edge of my chair.
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Congrats, Mule, Dominator, and Hockeytown
It wasn't the triple overtime thriller like the other night, but it kept me on the edge of my chair.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
No Goal, or That Was In The Crease!
HOYNES
I heard you had Caps tickets.
SAM
Yes, sir.
HOYNES
How was the game?
SAM
Not very good.
HOYNES
Have you ever seen a good hockey game?
SAM
No.
HOYNES
Me neither. I love sports, I just can't get next to hockey. See, I think Americans like to savor situations. One down, bottom of the ninth, one run game, first and third, left handed batter, right hand reliever, infield at double play depth, here's the pitch. But scoring in hockey seems to come out of nowhere. The play-by-play guy is always shocked. "LePeiter passes to Huckenchuck who skates past the blue line. Huckenchuck, of course, was traded from Winnipeg for a case of Labatts after sitting out last season with... Oh my God, he scores!"
The above caption is from a scene from West Wing in which Vice President John Hoynes and Assistant to the President Sam Seaborn converse about truthful demerits of hockey. I think about it every time I see a hockey game.
Like Hoynes, I am a sports nut; exception usually provided for hockey. Don't get me wrong - I enjoy it and appreciate the immense talent it takes to skate, guide a puck, and remain balanced after full-body contact with another.
Over the past nine years, hockey has been a rare albeit fun exploration of sports I know too little about. I was first introduced to my then-future-father-in-law at a hockey game and I was more excited to see Dominik Hasek play than I was to see Cal Ripken during his last season.
On the other hand, I got Bobby Hull's autograph on a game program and was about to throw it away the next day until I realized I could give it to a friend who actually knows something about the game. I could have had my picture taken next to Lord Stanley's cup but I would have had to drive ten minutes to it so I declined.
Consistent with other sports, I don't root, root, root for the home team. I'm sick of fans saying God wanted them to win when they won and the refs cheated them when they lost.
Case in point:
In 1999, the Stars won the Cup on bad reffing. A decade ago, referees regularly called off goals when a player scored while in the crease even if he had possession. NHL officials defended the decision to count Hull's goal and said they were going to change the rule for the following season anyway.
A few nights ago, Morrow's goal was called off because he guided the puck into the net with his skate, a violation of the rules. Instead of moving on and not blaming the meltdown on the blue, the homers are upset with the rules and are demanding a change.
I'd love to see a Shark's comeback down three games to none but I hope the Stars will wrap it up tonight. Though Hasek is now with the Red Wings and hasn't played since April, I'd love for him to hold up the Cup one last time at the Star's expense.
I heard you had Caps tickets.
SAM
Yes, sir.
HOYNES
How was the game?
SAM
Not very good.
HOYNES
Have you ever seen a good hockey game?
SAM
No.
HOYNES
Me neither. I love sports, I just can't get next to hockey. See, I think Americans like to savor situations. One down, bottom of the ninth, one run game, first and third, left handed batter, right hand reliever, infield at double play depth, here's the pitch. But scoring in hockey seems to come out of nowhere. The play-by-play guy is always shocked. "LePeiter passes to Huckenchuck who skates past the blue line. Huckenchuck, of course, was traded from Winnipeg for a case of Labatts after sitting out last season with... Oh my God, he scores!"
The above caption is from a scene from West Wing in which Vice President John Hoynes and Assistant to the President Sam Seaborn converse about truthful demerits of hockey. I think about it every time I see a hockey game.
Like Hoynes, I am a sports nut; exception usually provided for hockey. Don't get me wrong - I enjoy it and appreciate the immense talent it takes to skate, guide a puck, and remain balanced after full-body contact with another.
Over the past nine years, hockey has been a rare albeit fun exploration of sports I know too little about. I was first introduced to my then-future-father-in-law at a hockey game and I was more excited to see Dominik Hasek play than I was to see Cal Ripken during his last season.
On the other hand, I got Bobby Hull's autograph on a game program and was about to throw it away the next day until I realized I could give it to a friend who actually knows something about the game. I could have had my picture taken next to Lord Stanley's cup but I would have had to drive ten minutes to it so I declined.
Consistent with other sports, I don't root, root, root for the home team. I'm sick of fans saying God wanted them to win when they won and the refs cheated them when they lost.
Case in point:
In 1999, the Stars won the Cup on bad reffing. A decade ago, referees regularly called off goals when a player scored while in the crease even if he had possession. NHL officials defended the decision to count Hull's goal and said they were going to change the rule for the following season anyway.
A few nights ago, Morrow's goal was called off because he guided the puck into the net with his skate, a violation of the rules. Instead of moving on and not blaming the meltdown on the blue, the homers are upset with the rules and are demanding a change.
I'd love to see a Shark's comeback down three games to none but I hope the Stars will wrap it up tonight. Though Hasek is now with the Red Wings and hasn't played since April, I'd love for him to hold up the Cup one last time at the Star's expense.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Radio Days
Unfortunately, I missed out on the Golden Age of Radio.
For better or for worse, I am a product of the MTV Generation, which means that most of the news, entertainment, and other miscellaneous media information I gather is visual, condensed, and, in short, lame and unimaginative.
Except for sports programming.
One night this past week, I left work later than usual and caught the second half of the Texas/OU basketball game. I listened to the remaining minutes with the usual cracks, hisses, and other interferances that force increased concentration on the action. You know, the way amplitude modulated radio was meant to be listened to.
Listening to the game on the radio brought back a memory from high school. I've been having more of them lately, and I really wish they would stop.
My last year, the Homecoming Dance was the same day as the Texas/OU game. To this day, I still prefer to watch the game by myself, and that's what I did that day, as well. It must've been a 2:30 kick-off that year because I couldn't finish watching the game on tv.
In order to be just moderately late instead of unbelievably late, I had to listen to the final 5 minutes of the game on the radio while I took a shower and got dressed. I was interested in my date with Suzanne, but I was more interested in who would win the game.
I would have made Will Hunting proud that day because apparently, I didn't have to see about a girl.
Anyway, Texas won the game 14-13 on a last-minute Gardere-to-Keith Cash touchdown.
Although listening to versus viewing a game omits much of the action, I still find it preferrable. Obviously, radio play-by-play follows the movement of the ball and leaves the movements of the off-ball players to the imagination of the listener. It's difficult to describe setting a back-door pick or the "go" in a give-and-go and most of those set-up plays are described after the moment. Still, I like hearing about a player "swinging out to the wing" and knowing that there was probably a pick set on the blocks.
Radio play-by-play announcers were once known for their humor, quick thinking, and ability to make the game more interesting than it actually may have been. Most of the sporting vernacular we use today was introduced during through radio broadcasts and long gone are the days of Harry Caray and Chick Hearn.
I read a book many years ago about the ACC; one particular chapter was dedicated to the NC State/UNC rivalry. UNC's radio announcer would embellish the talent and on-court accomplishments of its players; garden variety lay-ups were described as off-balanced, near-miraculous shots over several defenders. When a Wolf Pack player would thunder down the lane for a backboard shaking dunk, the announcer would simply say, "That's a two-point lay-up for State".
Television personalities, simply stated, often have no personality. Musburger is the leading candidate of this category.
As it stands, however, this is an activity that must be enjoyed alone. I've tried listening to games, even Aggie games, on the radio with Melissa in the car. The cracks and hisses I can handle; the grumbling, I cannot.
For better or for worse, I am a product of the MTV Generation, which means that most of the news, entertainment, and other miscellaneous media information I gather is visual, condensed, and, in short, lame and unimaginative.
Except for sports programming.
One night this past week, I left work later than usual and caught the second half of the Texas/OU basketball game. I listened to the remaining minutes with the usual cracks, hisses, and other interferances that force increased concentration on the action. You know, the way amplitude modulated radio was meant to be listened to.
Listening to the game on the radio brought back a memory from high school. I've been having more of them lately, and I really wish they would stop.
My last year, the Homecoming Dance was the same day as the Texas/OU game. To this day, I still prefer to watch the game by myself, and that's what I did that day, as well. It must've been a 2:30 kick-off that year because I couldn't finish watching the game on tv.
In order to be just moderately late instead of unbelievably late, I had to listen to the final 5 minutes of the game on the radio while I took a shower and got dressed. I was interested in my date with Suzanne, but I was more interested in who would win the game.
I would have made Will Hunting proud that day because apparently, I didn't have to see about a girl.
Anyway, Texas won the game 14-13 on a last-minute Gardere-to-Keith Cash touchdown.
Although listening to versus viewing a game omits much of the action, I still find it preferrable. Obviously, radio play-by-play follows the movement of the ball and leaves the movements of the off-ball players to the imagination of the listener. It's difficult to describe setting a back-door pick or the "go" in a give-and-go and most of those set-up plays are described after the moment. Still, I like hearing about a player "swinging out to the wing" and knowing that there was probably a pick set on the blocks.
Radio play-by-play announcers were once known for their humor, quick thinking, and ability to make the game more interesting than it actually may have been. Most of the sporting vernacular we use today was introduced during through radio broadcasts and long gone are the days of Harry Caray and Chick Hearn.
I read a book many years ago about the ACC; one particular chapter was dedicated to the NC State/UNC rivalry. UNC's radio announcer would embellish the talent and on-court accomplishments of its players; garden variety lay-ups were described as off-balanced, near-miraculous shots over several defenders. When a Wolf Pack player would thunder down the lane for a backboard shaking dunk, the announcer would simply say, "That's a two-point lay-up for State".
Television personalities, simply stated, often have no personality. Musburger is the leading candidate of this category.
As it stands, however, this is an activity that must be enjoyed alone. I've tried listening to games, even Aggie games, on the radio with Melissa in the car. The cracks and hisses I can handle; the grumbling, I cannot.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
More Lee Cobb Than Ring Lardner, Jr.
When I was in sixth grade, a donut shop opened across the street from the elementary school. It became habit with my friends to visit this shop before school started and spend our lunch money on breakfast. Of course, this often meant that we would not eat lunch.
The school, our first government, enacted a policy to protect us from ourselves. They expressed concern at us crossing RR12 and not eating lunch and forbade us from going to the donut shop after we had been dropped off in the morning.
We felt it was none of their business what we did with our money before, during, or after school before, during, or after being dropped off. Despite their concern and the new policy, we continued to cross RR12. Instead of going as a group, we would only go in rotating groups of three; one kid would be left on the school side of the street as a lookout to warn the other two of school administrators.
One morning, a teacher became suspicious of one of our friends, as he was just hanging out by himself in the parking lot; he was told to go inside and he did. Without our lookout in place, the other kid and I were busted bringing several dozen donut holes and chocolate milks across the street. Mr. Shand told us we had two options: tell him who else was involved and get detention or become more familiar with the business end of his paddle.
Nothing makes me sicker than a rat; it also wasn't the first or last time for me to get licks.
Some two dozen years later the Mitchell Report was released and still, nothing makes me sicker than a rat. I, however, like the rest of the sporting community, went straight to the red meat: the named names.
I still am not sure what to make of the report.
Sure, steroids in professional sports creates a false illusion of talent, skews statistics and records, and ultimately creates heroes of the perhaps less-deserving.
Granted, major league baseball, and all other sports, need to be cleaned up; I long for the day when the only juice in athletics is a V8. However, it is not the government's job to coerce the cleaning of a private institution (a recreational one, nonetheless) played by people who knowingly cheat, managed by people who know the players knowingly cheat, and governed by owners and union leaders who know the players knowingly cheat and who know the managers know their players knowingly cheat, but still distance themselves to provide for the greatest amount of plausible deniability.
Being America's Past-time does not give Congress sufficient jurisdiction to threaten to revoke MLB's tax-exempt status if they don't comply with Congress' public relations campaign.
My major problem with the Mitchell Report: it's about twenty years too late. You want to clean up the major leagues of tomorrow? Start with the minor leagues today.
Don't put Dykstra, Caminiti, and Canseco on the list. That's like keeping Al Capone's name in the Black Book.
Don't give me names of journey-men who have played for ten different teams in the past six years. Giving me the name of some Player-To-Be-Named-Later doesn't do anything to clean up the sport.
And don't give me names of All-Stars based on idle gossip, at worst, or hearsay, at best. And when you do jeopardize someone's induction into the Hall, you better first catch him with a syringe in the buttocks.
Furthermore, is this list exhaustive? Am I supposed to believe that since a particular name is not on the list (Sosa, McGuire, and the two Rodriguez's, for example), that person is clean or has never been suspected or talked about?
Because if the problem is 86 players using steroids over the past fifteen-plus years, we got no problem.
Last, am I able to question the obvious conflict of interest that exists when an executive of a major league franchise (whose team is the reigning champions and has won two World Series in the past four years) issues a report and associates their rivals (who haven't won a World Series since 2000) with the largest number of named steroid users? And is it just coincidence and fortune that the only two players named from the reigning world championship team allegedly used steroids before joining the team and are no longer on the roster?
The school, our first government, enacted a policy to protect us from ourselves. They expressed concern at us crossing RR12 and not eating lunch and forbade us from going to the donut shop after we had been dropped off in the morning.
We felt it was none of their business what we did with our money before, during, or after school before, during, or after being dropped off. Despite their concern and the new policy, we continued to cross RR12. Instead of going as a group, we would only go in rotating groups of three; one kid would be left on the school side of the street as a lookout to warn the other two of school administrators.
One morning, a teacher became suspicious of one of our friends, as he was just hanging out by himself in the parking lot; he was told to go inside and he did. Without our lookout in place, the other kid and I were busted bringing several dozen donut holes and chocolate milks across the street. Mr. Shand told us we had two options: tell him who else was involved and get detention or become more familiar with the business end of his paddle.
Nothing makes me sicker than a rat; it also wasn't the first or last time for me to get licks.
Some two dozen years later the Mitchell Report was released and still, nothing makes me sicker than a rat. I, however, like the rest of the sporting community, went straight to the red meat: the named names.
I still am not sure what to make of the report.
Sure, steroids in professional sports creates a false illusion of talent, skews statistics and records, and ultimately creates heroes of the perhaps less-deserving.
Granted, major league baseball, and all other sports, need to be cleaned up; I long for the day when the only juice in athletics is a V8. However, it is not the government's job to coerce the cleaning of a private institution (a recreational one, nonetheless) played by people who knowingly cheat, managed by people who know the players knowingly cheat, and governed by owners and union leaders who know the players knowingly cheat and who know the managers know their players knowingly cheat, but still distance themselves to provide for the greatest amount of plausible deniability.
Being America's Past-time does not give Congress sufficient jurisdiction to threaten to revoke MLB's tax-exempt status if they don't comply with Congress' public relations campaign.
My major problem with the Mitchell Report: it's about twenty years too late. You want to clean up the major leagues of tomorrow? Start with the minor leagues today.
Don't put Dykstra, Caminiti, and Canseco on the list. That's like keeping Al Capone's name in the Black Book.
Don't give me names of journey-men who have played for ten different teams in the past six years. Giving me the name of some Player-To-Be-Named-Later doesn't do anything to clean up the sport.
And don't give me names of All-Stars based on idle gossip, at worst, or hearsay, at best. And when you do jeopardize someone's induction into the Hall, you better first catch him with a syringe in the buttocks.
Furthermore, is this list exhaustive? Am I supposed to believe that since a particular name is not on the list (Sosa, McGuire, and the two Rodriguez's, for example), that person is clean or has never been suspected or talked about?
Because if the problem is 86 players using steroids over the past fifteen-plus years, we got no problem.
Last, am I able to question the obvious conflict of interest that exists when an executive of a major league franchise (whose team is the reigning champions and has won two World Series in the past four years) issues a report and associates their rivals (who haven't won a World Series since 2000) with the largest number of named steroid users? And is it just coincidence and fortune that the only two players named from the reigning world championship team allegedly used steroids before joining the team and are no longer on the roster?
Sunday, December 02, 2007
That Is A Full Day
- This week, ESPN is recognizing "Jimmy V Week". Regrettably, I came of age as Coach V's coaching career was coming to an end. When his team won the NCAA's in 1983, I was only ten years old. My memories of Dereck Whittenburg and Lorenzo Charles are a little dimmer than those of the ACC greats that followed - Mark Alarie, Johnny Dawkins, and Len Bias. Likewise, after Valvano finally found someone to hug in Albuquerque , his own national presence seemed to fade in favor of Coaches Krzyzewski and Boeheim.
After 1990 and Personal Fouls was published, only Valvano's family and Vitale could say anything complementary about him. Until 1993.
Less than a month before his death, Coach V gave a speech that will forever remain in the heart of any sports enthusiast. It should, however, not remain within that community. The motto "Don't give up; don't ever give up" is not unique to the athletic arena.
The games played during the Jimmy V Classic are sure to be entertaining. It will bring back many fond memories any may even lead me to laughter, thought, and tears.
- Melissa and I stifled laughter long enough to discuss renewing our vows someday. Not for ourselves, but just to have a party and confuse our family and friends.
We'll play two songs to demonstrate the tug-of-war of nuptial bliss. She'll play Pearl Jam's Can't Find A Better Man and I'll play George Jone's He Stopped Loving Her Today.
The rest of the evening will be spent in quiet and nervous conversation about whether we're serious or not.
- With Missouri and West Virginia out of the championship picture, I have temporarily discontinued caring (I haven't given up; I won't ever give up) about the winners of the BSC games. Let Hawaii have its chance, I won't be watching.
One more season like this, however, and I could quite possibly be on board for a play-off system, reversing my previous opinion . I thought I'd never say that.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Danse Macabre
- I'm sure everybody knows by now that President Bush's approval ratings are in the high 20's, low 30's. It's mentioned in just about every article I read.
I mentioned to Brian the other day my observation that Congress' approval rating isn't mentioned by the mainstream media; they're lower, by the way, in the low-to-mid 20's.
In a bizarre set of circumstances, I was proven to be wrong. I heard a reporter from MSNBC mention it the other morning. Thursday morning, in fact. At 4:30 a.m.
Nope, not hiding anything.
- The sermon we heard last Sunday was about parenting. The pastor mentioned that he never let video games in the house because he wanted to teach his children that life is valuable, a lesson he doesn't believe the games provide.
In video games, he taught, when the on-screen player suffers death, usually violent, the real-life player simply gets a new man, the end result being a diminished respect for the fragility of mortality. I thought, How unfortunate he couldn't teach his children reality versus fiction.
Because when I play Pac-Man and don't finish the first screen with the same man, I start all over again.
Does that mean my kid is going to grow up to be like Pac-Man Jones or Rae Carruth?
- Speaking of jocularity and life and death, I'm currently listening to Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. The book journals her excursions to various sites involving the assassinations of the three 19th century American presidents, provides background information regarding the assassins, and comments on the commonalities between the Indian wars and the War on Terror - an agreement to exterminate a race but display their pottery in our museums as evidence of that race's greatness.
In a lurid way, it's a really funny book. She brilliantly, but reverently, injects quite a bit of humor into the serious subject matter. For instance, revealing a crush on Booth but blaming him for never carrying cash (particularly 5 dollar bills), likening Guiteau's religious community to the teeny-bopper hit series, The O.C., and revealing Robert Todd Lincoln to be the ultimate political cooler due to his proximity to all three assassinations.
- Robert Horry seems to be suffering from revisionist's history. In case you didn't hear, he said that this year's Spurs would beat any team from the 80's. Any team.
It was quite timely as I watched Game 4 of the 1987 finals last weekend.
Let's consider this for a quick second, because that's all it would take. And I'll confine myself to just those two teams from that one year.
First, this year's Spurs didn't even win their regular season conference. Granted, the regular season doesn't mean much; just ask irk.
The Lakers went 65-17 that year; the Celtics went 59-23. The Spurs are already in third place at 58-24.
Here's some basic line ups I put together, with comments.
Magic v. Bowen - Simply put, Magic would eat him alive. Magic ate everybody alive. Put a 1 or 2 on him, Magic would post up. Put a 3, 4, or 5 on him, Magic would drive right past.
Cooper v. Ginobili - Would Ginobili get to double digits? Coop would D him up something fierce.
Scott v. Parker - This would be a great match-up. I'll give the upper hand to Parker though.
Worthy v. Finley - Two slow guys who don't slash much to the lane. Even match-up though Worthy was better in the open court but Finley plays better without the ball.
Abdul-Jabbar v. Duncan - In a rare moment of compassion, I won't even consider the possibilities.
Even if Oberto got the start and not Ginoboli (like what happened Thursday), I'd put Worthy on Oberto and Cooper on Finley. Either way, Lakers crush.
Now, the Celtics:
Bird v. Bowen - A fairly decent match-up with Bird getting the obvious nod. Though slow in the open court, Bird was very quick in a half-court game. Bowen would spend most of the night on the bench with more fouls than points and rebounds.
McHale v. Giniboli - Ginobili might get past McHale every once in a while. But he wouldn't get many shots over him.
Johnson v. Parker - I have nothing bad to say about Parker. He'd do well in this match-up.
Ainge v. Finley - a mismatch favoring Fin. Both work well off screens to get plenty of open shots, though.
Parish v. Duncan - Not as bad as an Abdul-Jabbar/Duncan match-up, but still ridiculous.
The 2007 Spurs do have a best bench of the three with Barry and Horry as their top reserves. The Lakers, with Green and Thompson, provided good defense but contributed little to the offensive. Same thing with the Celtics (Sichting and Kite).
Putting together a mythical championship series based on regular season standings and using the current 2-3-2 format, I'd give the Lakers a 4 games to 1 victory and the Celtics a 4:2.
I will say this however. In Game 4 alone, there were plenty of fights - Worthy v. Kite, McHale v. Scott. Both teams played tough, physical basketball but were professionals. They would not put up with the junk Bowen and Horry dish out today. And since this is my fictional match-up, we're not playing with the zero tolerance rule regarding altercations.
Reserves, feel free to leave the bench at any time.
I mentioned to Brian the other day my observation that Congress' approval rating isn't mentioned by the mainstream media; they're lower, by the way, in the low-to-mid 20's.
In a bizarre set of circumstances, I was proven to be wrong. I heard a reporter from MSNBC mention it the other morning. Thursday morning, in fact. At 4:30 a.m.
Nope, not hiding anything.
- The sermon we heard last Sunday was about parenting. The pastor mentioned that he never let video games in the house because he wanted to teach his children that life is valuable, a lesson he doesn't believe the games provide.
In video games, he taught, when the on-screen player suffers death, usually violent, the real-life player simply gets a new man, the end result being a diminished respect for the fragility of mortality. I thought, How unfortunate he couldn't teach his children reality versus fiction.
Because when I play Pac-Man and don't finish the first screen with the same man, I start all over again.
Does that mean my kid is going to grow up to be like Pac-Man Jones or Rae Carruth?
- Speaking of jocularity and life and death, I'm currently listening to Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. The book journals her excursions to various sites involving the assassinations of the three 19th century American presidents, provides background information regarding the assassins, and comments on the commonalities between the Indian wars and the War on Terror - an agreement to exterminate a race but display their pottery in our museums as evidence of that race's greatness.
In a lurid way, it's a really funny book. She brilliantly, but reverently, injects quite a bit of humor into the serious subject matter. For instance, revealing a crush on Booth but blaming him for never carrying cash (particularly 5 dollar bills), likening Guiteau's religious community to the teeny-bopper hit series, The O.C., and revealing Robert Todd Lincoln to be the ultimate political cooler due to his proximity to all three assassinations.
- Robert Horry seems to be suffering from revisionist's history. In case you didn't hear, he said that this year's Spurs would beat any team from the 80's. Any team.
It was quite timely as I watched Game 4 of the 1987 finals last weekend.
Let's consider this for a quick second, because that's all it would take. And I'll confine myself to just those two teams from that one year.
First, this year's Spurs didn't even win their regular season conference. Granted, the regular season doesn't mean much; just ask irk.
The Lakers went 65-17 that year; the Celtics went 59-23. The Spurs are already in third place at 58-24.
Here's some basic line ups I put together, with comments.
Magic v. Bowen - Simply put, Magic would eat him alive. Magic ate everybody alive. Put a 1 or 2 on him, Magic would post up. Put a 3, 4, or 5 on him, Magic would drive right past.
Cooper v. Ginobili - Would Ginobili get to double digits? Coop would D him up something fierce.
Scott v. Parker - This would be a great match-up. I'll give the upper hand to Parker though.
Worthy v. Finley - Two slow guys who don't slash much to the lane. Even match-up though Worthy was better in the open court but Finley plays better without the ball.
Abdul-Jabbar v. Duncan - In a rare moment of compassion, I won't even consider the possibilities.
Even if Oberto got the start and not Ginoboli (like what happened Thursday), I'd put Worthy on Oberto and Cooper on Finley. Either way, Lakers crush.
Now, the Celtics:
Bird v. Bowen - A fairly decent match-up with Bird getting the obvious nod. Though slow in the open court, Bird was very quick in a half-court game. Bowen would spend most of the night on the bench with more fouls than points and rebounds.
McHale v. Giniboli - Ginobili might get past McHale every once in a while. But he wouldn't get many shots over him.
Johnson v. Parker - I have nothing bad to say about Parker. He'd do well in this match-up.
Ainge v. Finley - a mismatch favoring Fin. Both work well off screens to get plenty of open shots, though.
Parish v. Duncan - Not as bad as an Abdul-Jabbar/Duncan match-up, but still ridiculous.
The 2007 Spurs do have a best bench of the three with Barry and Horry as their top reserves. The Lakers, with Green and Thompson, provided good defense but contributed little to the offensive. Same thing with the Celtics (Sichting and Kite).
Putting together a mythical championship series based on regular season standings and using the current 2-3-2 format, I'd give the Lakers a 4 games to 1 victory and the Celtics a 4:2.
I will say this however. In Game 4 alone, there were plenty of fights - Worthy v. Kite, McHale v. Scott. Both teams played tough, physical basketball but were professionals. They would not put up with the junk Bowen and Horry dish out today. And since this is my fictional match-up, we're not playing with the zero tolerance rule regarding altercations.
Reserves, feel free to leave the bench at any time.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
A Few Quick Thoughts
- I hate the Spurs. I like Barry and Parker. And Finley is still a Mav, as far as I'm concerned.
I used to like Duncan. I thought his staying at Wake for his senior year showed a little bit of class. But then he lost quite a bit of my respect by showing up to the press room looking like a scrub. He lost all of it at the end of the regular season by laughing at Joey Crawford, getting into a fight with him, cussing at him, and getting ejected. And then asking for a fair shake in the playoffs despite having the dirtiest team in the league.
And learn to hit a free throw. There's a reason it's called The Charity Stripe.
Their entire organization is a joke. Their arena is a nightmare to get to. Their cheerleaders are ugly. And they have no idea how to accommodate the people who attend their games.
Say what you want about Cuban. Of course, he's an immature idiot. He may never win a championship. But he knows how to treat fans.
- Fantasy sports leagues ruin the game.
A few nights ago, the Yankees were playing the Red Sox. Abreu was at the plate with 2 outs and the bases loaded. A small but significant portion of me wanted him to strike out because he's on the team of my opponent.
I would like to think that were those runs necessary, my response would have been different.
But I know my competitiveness so I'll continue to let me fool myself.
- I'm not a big LeBron fan and I hope Detroit wins the conference finals. Regardless, I'm getting sick of people criticizing him for passing the ball to Donyell with a few seconds left.
I can't remember who the idiot ESPN announcer was, but he asked if Jordan would pass the ball at the end of the game for the win.
Yeah, to Kerr or Paxson. He did it quite a bit.
I used to like Duncan. I thought his staying at Wake for his senior year showed a little bit of class. But then he lost quite a bit of my respect by showing up to the press room looking like a scrub. He lost all of it at the end of the regular season by laughing at Joey Crawford, getting into a fight with him, cussing at him, and getting ejected. And then asking for a fair shake in the playoffs despite having the dirtiest team in the league.
And learn to hit a free throw. There's a reason it's called The Charity Stripe.
Their entire organization is a joke. Their arena is a nightmare to get to. Their cheerleaders are ugly. And they have no idea how to accommodate the people who attend their games.
Say what you want about Cuban. Of course, he's an immature idiot. He may never win a championship. But he knows how to treat fans.
- Fantasy sports leagues ruin the game.
A few nights ago, the Yankees were playing the Red Sox. Abreu was at the plate with 2 outs and the bases loaded. A small but significant portion of me wanted him to strike out because he's on the team of my opponent.
I would like to think that were those runs necessary, my response would have been different.
But I know my competitiveness so I'll continue to let me fool myself.
- I'm not a big LeBron fan and I hope Detroit wins the conference finals. Regardless, I'm getting sick of people criticizing him for passing the ball to Donyell with a few seconds left.
I can't remember who the idiot ESPN announcer was, but he asked if Jordan would pass the ball at the end of the game for the win.
Yeah, to Kerr or Paxson. He did it quite a bit.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
I Got Your Ali Baba Right Here!
In Syriana, an oil executive warns an attorney about the dangers of due diligence: "Dig six feet, find three bodies. But dig twelve feet, you find maybe forty."
There's also the Aristotelian adage that the unexamined life is not worth living.
Regardless, I don't mind coming across the proverbial forty bodies if it provides greater understanding.
Earlier in the week, a colleague of mine asked how I am able to withstand criticism. I spent quite a bit of time the next couple of days thinking about it and this is what I came up with:
Almost everything I learned related to ethos I learned from religious training; almost everything I learned related to pathos I learned from athletic training.
I recalled a previous conversation I had with another colleague about raising children: there's a certain part of me that is fearful my child, particularly a boy, will not be the sports addict his father is. In my everyday life, I often rely on the lessons I learned through organized athletics and I'd be a much weaker person without them.
Anyway, I told my colleague I always hear criticism, but don't always listen to it. Let me explain.
I played basketball with another kid from junior high all the way through high school. On paper, he was the superior athlete. Meaning, he could jump higher, run faster, and lift more.
The two things that made us vastly different (and, I believe, put me on the regional team at the end of the season): I hated to lose and I hated to be yelled at, in that order.
If I screwed up, I got yelled at; if I got yelled at, I made it a point not to repeat that particular screw-up. My teammate, however, if he screwed up, he got yelled at; if he got yelled at, he got so nervous, he'd screw up again. Rinse and repeat.
When I was about 15, our basketball coach was particularly upset after a disappointing loss. The next practice, he was still livid. The first time somebody ran the wrong play, he took that moment to explode. He yelled and used words I wouldn't use around war veterans. As he continued to yell, he got more and more upset. After telling us how sick and tired he was of being sick and tired, he took the key ring off his shorts and hurled them as fast as he could against the wall.
When he first started his rant, the JV coach took a knee against the mat against the baseline expecting to be there a while. He was allowed to do this; the rest of us were not. While he yelled, we were expected to stand still, neither slouching nor making a lot of movement. As he paced, we were expected to keep eye contact on him. What we weren't allowed to do: smile, smirk, roll eyes, or make any movement that might enrage him further. To do so would risk an invitation to, as he put it, run until he puked.
Getting back to the story, as the keys were hurled against the wall, they headed right for the JV coach's head. He quickly ducked to avoid them while Coach didn't miss a beat, continuing to yell. The rest of us were temporarily distracted at the near miss and a few bit their lip to avoid laughing.
A few minutes later, we resumed practice and everything went back to normal.
That, my friend, was the best training I had at hearing, but not listening to, criticism; I hope my kid learns the same lessons.
There's also the Aristotelian adage that the unexamined life is not worth living.
Regardless, I don't mind coming across the proverbial forty bodies if it provides greater understanding.
Earlier in the week, a colleague of mine asked how I am able to withstand criticism. I spent quite a bit of time the next couple of days thinking about it and this is what I came up with:
Almost everything I learned related to ethos I learned from religious training; almost everything I learned related to pathos I learned from athletic training.
I recalled a previous conversation I had with another colleague about raising children: there's a certain part of me that is fearful my child, particularly a boy, will not be the sports addict his father is. In my everyday life, I often rely on the lessons I learned through organized athletics and I'd be a much weaker person without them.
Anyway, I told my colleague I always hear criticism, but don't always listen to it. Let me explain.
I played basketball with another kid from junior high all the way through high school. On paper, he was the superior athlete. Meaning, he could jump higher, run faster, and lift more.
The two things that made us vastly different (and, I believe, put me on the regional team at the end of the season): I hated to lose and I hated to be yelled at, in that order.
If I screwed up, I got yelled at; if I got yelled at, I made it a point not to repeat that particular screw-up. My teammate, however, if he screwed up, he got yelled at; if he got yelled at, he got so nervous, he'd screw up again. Rinse and repeat.
When I was about 15, our basketball coach was particularly upset after a disappointing loss. The next practice, he was still livid. The first time somebody ran the wrong play, he took that moment to explode. He yelled and used words I wouldn't use around war veterans. As he continued to yell, he got more and more upset. After telling us how sick and tired he was of being sick and tired, he took the key ring off his shorts and hurled them as fast as he could against the wall.
When he first started his rant, the JV coach took a knee against the mat against the baseline expecting to be there a while. He was allowed to do this; the rest of us were not. While he yelled, we were expected to stand still, neither slouching nor making a lot of movement. As he paced, we were expected to keep eye contact on him. What we weren't allowed to do: smile, smirk, roll eyes, or make any movement that might enrage him further. To do so would risk an invitation to, as he put it, run until he puked.
Getting back to the story, as the keys were hurled against the wall, they headed right for the JV coach's head. He quickly ducked to avoid them while Coach didn't miss a beat, continuing to yell. The rest of us were temporarily distracted at the near miss and a few bit their lip to avoid laughing.
A few minutes later, we resumed practice and everything went back to normal.
That, my friend, was the best training I had at hearing, but not listening to, criticism; I hope my kid learns the same lessons.
Monday, February 05, 2007
*
I really don't know why sports records are kept. I guess because they're fun to remember and recount.
But as objective qualifiers, I believe they've done the opposite of what they're intended to do; instead of defining absolutes, they are used as opening proffers for comparison.
Sure, almost all records are generational. Some factors are substantive, others external. For instance, I'm more willing to debate the fact that Ruth only had 154 games each season. I'm less willing to debate the fact that Owens ran on cinder.
But what I won't allow is a change in terms of debate that create a lower threshold. As a fan, I can enjoy the competitive pursuit of a record even if that record stands after all legitimate attempts are exhausted. It's why I believe DiMaggio's hitting streak is perhaps the purest of all time.
Nothing I can say diminishes the relatively unchallenged domination of Woods. But I won't diminish the domination of golf's past heroes to sustain the insecurity that my generation is better than your generation.
Yes, I am referring to the Tiger Slam.
Additionally, Woods has been credited with breaking Nelson's streak of 113 consecutive cuts made. In Lord Byron's day, making the cut meant receiving a check and one had to finish in the top 20 in order to accomplish that. Modern golf has allowed making the cut to merely mean qualifying for the third and fourth rounds.
In 1945, Byron Nelson won 11 consecutive tournaments. No question mark, no quotations, or brackets. When he entered a tournament, he won.
Now, modern golf acknowledges Woods' [active] "streak" of 7 consecutive(?) tournaments.
Since last year's Open Championship, however, Woods failed to win the HSBC Championship and the World Match Play; over the weekend, he tied for third at Dubai.
How then is this an active winning streak?
Because modern fans are lazy and care more about apparent triumph than actual victory.
Don't even get me started on what I think about the fans at the 16th green at the FBR Open.
But as objective qualifiers, I believe they've done the opposite of what they're intended to do; instead of defining absolutes, they are used as opening proffers for comparison.
Sure, almost all records are generational. Some factors are substantive, others external. For instance, I'm more willing to debate the fact that Ruth only had 154 games each season. I'm less willing to debate the fact that Owens ran on cinder.
But what I won't allow is a change in terms of debate that create a lower threshold. As a fan, I can enjoy the competitive pursuit of a record even if that record stands after all legitimate attempts are exhausted. It's why I believe DiMaggio's hitting streak is perhaps the purest of all time.
Nothing I can say diminishes the relatively unchallenged domination of Woods. But I won't diminish the domination of golf's past heroes to sustain the insecurity that my generation is better than your generation.
Yes, I am referring to the Tiger Slam.
Additionally, Woods has been credited with breaking Nelson's streak of 113 consecutive cuts made. In Lord Byron's day, making the cut meant receiving a check and one had to finish in the top 20 in order to accomplish that. Modern golf has allowed making the cut to merely mean qualifying for the third and fourth rounds.
In 1945, Byron Nelson won 11 consecutive tournaments. No question mark, no quotations, or brackets. When he entered a tournament, he won.
Now, modern golf acknowledges Woods' [active] "streak" of 7 consecutive(?) tournaments.
Since last year's Open Championship, however, Woods failed to win the HSBC Championship and the World Match Play; over the weekend, he tied for third at Dubai.
How then is this an active winning streak?
Because modern fans are lazy and care more about apparent triumph than actual victory.
Don't even get me started on what I think about the fans at the 16th green at the FBR Open.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
They're Coming To Take Me Away...
I love conspiracy theories. Even more, I love conspiracy theorists.
They amuse me.
Granted, the world in which we live functions, in large, on the basis of realpolitik. However, not every action is gilded with dual purpose shrouded in secrecy.
The few I have paid attention to lately:
This morning, I watched Texas Monthly Talks, the interview show moderated by Evan Smith. Gore Vidal was the guest. I think Vidal is perhaps one of the finest fiction writers in the world. For sure, he is the finest author of historical fiction. And now I know why - reality is as far-fetched a concept to him as gardening on the surface of Neptune is to me.
To begin, all conspiracies must be rooted with a hint of truthfulness. For example, my theories about the JFK assassination would be invalid were John Fitzgerald still with us today.
Anyway, Gore filibustered for 30 minutes how Bush has not yet been elected to the office of president. He, however, has successfully stolen 2 consecutive presidential elections with the help of the secretaries-of-state of Florida in 2000 and Ohio in 2004.
That's the what.
Here's the how: The New York Times and Washington Post, two newspapers (in particular but not exclusively) who never endorsed his candidacy, opposed him on almost every major policy initiative, and have thrown journalistic roadblocks as often as possible, co-conspired with Halliburton, Enron, and the royal Saudi family to make sure the Bush Dynasty remained intact.
The why: The two newspapers are more concerned with corporate profits than First Amendment independence. A Republican administration will guarantee a healthy financial return for the two newspaper's shareholders. Apparently, his distant cousin's administration would not.
At a minimum, I am thankful this particular conspiracy underscores the ability of the Republicans to better advance the economy than the Democrats.
Next, can I also deduce that never having been elected to office, Bush is still constitutionally eligible to run for president in 2008?
The next conspiracy theory (as read in an letter to the editor in the Statesman):
Supposedly, Speaker Craddick accurately foresaw losing to Brian McCall in last Tuesday's race for Speaker.
So, he enlisted his lieutenant, Jim Pitts, to enter the Speaker's race, hijack McCall's candidacy and steal his pledges, and then drop out of the race at the last minute, thereby ensuring Craddick retains the gavel.
This one actually made me chuckle out loud.
Here's what turned it into gale laughter: Pitts would not want to risk his chairmanship on such a quixotic pursuit; according to this theory, he didn't even want the speakership.
So, Speaker Craddick and his cluster of corporate cronies (I'm into alliteration today) secretly transferred several hundreds of thousands of dollars (I guess in cash) to Representative Pitts to reward him for his block on McCall.
And you thought there were lots of zeroes in the bribe...
The last one:
Kobe recently changed jersey numbers from 8 to 24. Which, by the way, was my old high school jersey (which, trust me, becomes relevant in a few paragraphs).
According to Kobe, he made the switch to signify the beginning of the second half of his career. As such, he returned to the number that first put him on the path to the NBA.
Instead, the anti-Kobe theorists think the switch was coerced by Laker's marketing executives wanting to sell even more Kobe jerseys to make up for his descended endorsement contracts.
This is actually one I cannot instantaneously dismiss. Basketball players are as every much businessman as they are athletes. While they care about the traditional numbers in the point, rebound, and assist columns, they equally care about the other numbers in the checking, savings, and investment accounts.
However, I also believe that athletes are creatures of superstition and habit. Ask any former high school athlete to recite the number that comes up first in his head: his old jersey number or his wife's birthday.
On the court, the jersey number becomes one's sole identification. As such, it's easy to let a jersey number become your primary off-court identifier. [About once a month, we go to Randy White's BBQ just down the road. The place is replete with Cowboy's paraphernalia - particularly that of Dorsett, Aikman, and White. Most of the pictures contain an illegible scribble. The only legible portion is a "HOF" followed with a number and year of induction.]
That's why I find it hard to believe, but not impossible, that the jersey switch was made with fiduciary self-interest as the motivating factor.
To finish, I just got done watching Syriana again. This is one quasi conspiracy theory I'm ready to purchase since I've already put down a very large down payment.
They amuse me.
Granted, the world in which we live functions, in large, on the basis of realpolitik. However, not every action is gilded with dual purpose shrouded in secrecy.
The few I have paid attention to lately:
This morning, I watched Texas Monthly Talks, the interview show moderated by Evan Smith. Gore Vidal was the guest. I think Vidal is perhaps one of the finest fiction writers in the world. For sure, he is the finest author of historical fiction. And now I know why - reality is as far-fetched a concept to him as gardening on the surface of Neptune is to me.
To begin, all conspiracies must be rooted with a hint of truthfulness. For example, my theories about the JFK assassination would be invalid were John Fitzgerald still with us today.
Anyway, Gore filibustered for 30 minutes how Bush has not yet been elected to the office of president. He, however, has successfully stolen 2 consecutive presidential elections with the help of the secretaries-of-state of Florida in 2000 and Ohio in 2004.
That's the what.
Here's the how: The New York Times and Washington Post, two newspapers (in particular but not exclusively) who never endorsed his candidacy, opposed him on almost every major policy initiative, and have thrown journalistic roadblocks as often as possible, co-conspired with Halliburton, Enron, and the royal Saudi family to make sure the Bush Dynasty remained intact.
The why: The two newspapers are more concerned with corporate profits than First Amendment independence. A Republican administration will guarantee a healthy financial return for the two newspaper's shareholders. Apparently, his distant cousin's administration would not.
At a minimum, I am thankful this particular conspiracy underscores the ability of the Republicans to better advance the economy than the Democrats.
Next, can I also deduce that never having been elected to office, Bush is still constitutionally eligible to run for president in 2008?
The next conspiracy theory (as read in an letter to the editor in the Statesman):
Supposedly, Speaker Craddick accurately foresaw losing to Brian McCall in last Tuesday's race for Speaker.
So, he enlisted his lieutenant, Jim Pitts, to enter the Speaker's race, hijack McCall's candidacy and steal his pledges, and then drop out of the race at the last minute, thereby ensuring Craddick retains the gavel.
This one actually made me chuckle out loud.
Here's what turned it into gale laughter: Pitts would not want to risk his chairmanship on such a quixotic pursuit; according to this theory, he didn't even want the speakership.
So, Speaker Craddick and his cluster of corporate cronies (I'm into alliteration today) secretly transferred several hundreds of thousands of dollars (I guess in cash) to Representative Pitts to reward him for his block on McCall.
And you thought there were lots of zeroes in the bribe...
The last one:
Kobe recently changed jersey numbers from 8 to 24. Which, by the way, was my old high school jersey (which, trust me, becomes relevant in a few paragraphs).
According to Kobe, he made the switch to signify the beginning of the second half of his career. As such, he returned to the number that first put him on the path to the NBA.
Instead, the anti-Kobe theorists think the switch was coerced by Laker's marketing executives wanting to sell even more Kobe jerseys to make up for his descended endorsement contracts.
This is actually one I cannot instantaneously dismiss. Basketball players are as every much businessman as they are athletes. While they care about the traditional numbers in the point, rebound, and assist columns, they equally care about the other numbers in the checking, savings, and investment accounts.
However, I also believe that athletes are creatures of superstition and habit. Ask any former high school athlete to recite the number that comes up first in his head: his old jersey number or his wife's birthday.
On the court, the jersey number becomes one's sole identification. As such, it's easy to let a jersey number become your primary off-court identifier. [About once a month, we go to Randy White's BBQ just down the road. The place is replete with Cowboy's paraphernalia - particularly that of Dorsett, Aikman, and White. Most of the pictures contain an illegible scribble. The only legible portion is a "HOF" followed with a number and year of induction.]
That's why I find it hard to believe, but not impossible, that the jersey switch was made with fiduciary self-interest as the motivating factor.
To finish, I just got done watching Syriana again. This is one quasi conspiracy theory I'm ready to purchase since I've already put down a very large down payment.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
What's The Melting Point For A Snowball?
The best team should always win; the hottest team, however, often wins. In a contest between the best team and the hottest team in a post-conference match up, I'll often take the hottest team.
Likewise, the current bowl system is supposedly broken due to its merocratic exclusivity; a collegiate football playoff system would presumably loosen those confines and produce a more democratic champion. In a contest between the occasionally controversial #1 and the unpredictability of a playoff system, I'll take my chances with the current BCS model.
It's ridiculously silly to assume the post-season model NCAA basketball employs will produce the best possible result in football. There's a reason it's called March Madness. The image that eternally represents the unpredictable electricity of this one-and-done tournament is Jimmy V running around Albuquerque looking for somebody to hug.
On the other side of the extreme, the College World Series is more methodical and conservative in its Best of 7 approach; the parity in baseball is much closer than in basketball and football and this serves its own interests. Obviously, employing this model in football is in nobody's interest.
The latest idea being run up the flag pole is the Plus One. Many coaches and university presidents may salute, but not enough to innoculate themselves from the innevitable firestorm to come from the coach of the first #5 team under this system.
I like the current BCS system. That being said, it's the worst way collegiate football has chosen to crown a champion, except for all others.
But were I to favor a playoff system, I'd propose a 12 team, 11 game system with the top 4 seeds receiving a first round bye.
My suppositions:
1. There is more parity in college basketball and baseball than in college football. Therefore, there should be fewer tournament games to retain spectator attention and sponsorship participation.
2. Playoff bowl sites will increase regional enthusiasm for the fans, local economic figures for the host cities, recruiting channels for the teams, and overall profits for the conferences.
3. The four elite Bowls (Fiesta, Sugar, Rose, and Orange) should keep their status; Second-tier bowls (Holiday, Cotton, Gator, and Capital One) should be included in the rota.
[By the way, check out the plans for the new Arlington stadium; that thing's gonna be incredible. The way I see it, Dallas had their chance to upgrade the Cotton Bowl and didn't. Innovative cities with innovative legislators are going to find a way to compete.]
It gives the top dozen teams a chance and takes away their argument of not being considered for a championship; with a system like this over the last three seasons, 13.9% of the play-off participants would have come from non-BCS Conferences*. It simultaneously rewards the top four teams for winning throughout their respective seasons (and presumeably winning their conference championship) but still makes them win three games to lift the Sears trophy.
It would also eliminate the six or seven week lay-off from a team's final conference game to their only bowl game.
The winners? Non-BCS conferences, mid-tier bowl cities, fans, Vegas and other independent practitioners, sports commentators, and corporate sponsors.
The losers? Top-tier conferences risking the importance (read, revenue) of a conference championship game and the historical bowl tie-in. Hence, the snowball's chance.
And my wife who would have to tolerate a month-long play-off system instead of the current two week get-em-all-over-with-at-once inundation.
* I included the Independents in the list of non-BCS conferences. Incidentally, Notre Dame could be the factor that pushes me over the side of play-off system; no team with nine consecutive bowl losses should be invited back over and over again to a premier bowl just because they have "Notre Dame" on their jerseys.
Likewise, the current bowl system is supposedly broken due to its merocratic exclusivity; a collegiate football playoff system would presumably loosen those confines and produce a more democratic champion. In a contest between the occasionally controversial #1 and the unpredictability of a playoff system, I'll take my chances with the current BCS model.
It's ridiculously silly to assume the post-season model NCAA basketball employs will produce the best possible result in football. There's a reason it's called March Madness. The image that eternally represents the unpredictable electricity of this one-and-done tournament is Jimmy V running around Albuquerque looking for somebody to hug.
On the other side of the extreme, the College World Series is more methodical and conservative in its Best of 7 approach; the parity in baseball is much closer than in basketball and football and this serves its own interests. Obviously, employing this model in football is in nobody's interest.
The latest idea being run up the flag pole is the Plus One. Many coaches and university presidents may salute, but not enough to innoculate themselves from the innevitable firestorm to come from the coach of the first #5 team under this system.
I like the current BCS system. That being said, it's the worst way collegiate football has chosen to crown a champion, except for all others.
But were I to favor a playoff system, I'd propose a 12 team, 11 game system with the top 4 seeds receiving a first round bye.
My suppositions:
1. There is more parity in college basketball and baseball than in college football. Therefore, there should be fewer tournament games to retain spectator attention and sponsorship participation.
2. Playoff bowl sites will increase regional enthusiasm for the fans, local economic figures for the host cities, recruiting channels for the teams, and overall profits for the conferences.
3. The four elite Bowls (Fiesta, Sugar, Rose, and Orange) should keep their status; Second-tier bowls (Holiday, Cotton, Gator, and Capital One) should be included in the rota.
[By the way, check out the plans for the new Arlington stadium; that thing's gonna be incredible. The way I see it, Dallas had their chance to upgrade the Cotton Bowl and didn't. Innovative cities with innovative legislators are going to find a way to compete.]
It gives the top dozen teams a chance and takes away their argument of not being considered for a championship; with a system like this over the last three seasons, 13.9% of the play-off participants would have come from non-BCS Conferences*. It simultaneously rewards the top four teams for winning throughout their respective seasons (and presumeably winning their conference championship) but still makes them win three games to lift the Sears trophy.
It would also eliminate the six or seven week lay-off from a team's final conference game to their only bowl game.
The winners? Non-BCS conferences, mid-tier bowl cities, fans, Vegas and other independent practitioners, sports commentators, and corporate sponsors.
The losers? Top-tier conferences risking the importance (read, revenue) of a conference championship game and the historical bowl tie-in. Hence, the snowball's chance.
And my wife who would have to tolerate a month-long play-off system instead of the current two week get-em-all-over-with-at-once inundation.
* I included the Independents in the list of non-BCS conferences. Incidentally, Notre Dame could be the factor that pushes me over the side of play-off system; no team with nine consecutive bowl losses should be invited back over and over again to a premier bowl just because they have "Notre Dame" on their jerseys.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
For Love of the Game or Money
I've recently been re-reminded of why it's much more fun to be a child than it is to be an adult.
The summer after I graduated from high school, I got a job working the poolside snack bar at the Lodge. Brian had been life guarding the pool during his summers home from UT. Since most kids went to the Pro Shop, I was essentially paid to work on my tan and look like a tool with my do-rag.
Anyway, Brian and I got into collecting basketball cards. A box of cards cost about $25, if memory serves. But this wasn't just blindly spending money; it was investing in our idols. Surely there would be a couple of rookie cards in there that would not only pay for the price of the box, but would one day mature to $100 or more.
I faithfully kept all my cards in plastic sleeves and arranged them with OCD detail. My favorite players first, then by team, then by All-Stars, then all the rookie cards together. I placed them in a red plastic folder I used to hold notes in high school.
When Jackson came up this weekend with his parents, he brought along with him his trading cards. Most are feature players from the NFL with a few NBA players tossed in. I told him I had some trading cards and retrieved them from the study.
He makes TD look like a piker. Flipping through the book, he quickly asked, "Can I have the Michael Jordans?"
At the end of the weekend, I took all the cards that are worth anything (maybe $10 or over) and gave the rest to him, including one Michael Jordan.
It got me to wondering about how much they had increased in value over the past 15 years. I also remembered that I absentmindedly tossed 3 cards in my desk about a year ago: a 1981 Ervin Johnson Topps, a 1986 James Worthy Fleer, and a 1970-71 NBA Scoring Average Leaders with Lew Alcindor, John Havelicek, and Elvin Hayes. They are in the same condition as when I bought them - near mint.
Looking at these cards and wondering of their worth, I am also reminded of three David Robinson rookies I let my then-girlfriend hold onto for safekeeping. Man, was that stupid.
Today, I did some quick research to see how much I could sell my cards for, were that to be my decision. To make me feel better, a card I bought for $32 dollars is now worth almost $80. A card I bought for $18 is now worth almost $45.
To make me feel worse, those David Robinson rookies are worth about $15 apiece.
I'm glad I don't collect those cards anymore. First, it's too time consuming. And while it can get to be expensive, I readily admit my other hobbies and other toys are quite expensive themselves. But most of all, I know that at my cynical age, I would purchase solely as an investment and not for the boyish love of the players.
Still, I'm left with the question: Do I sell these cards now, or do I let them sit for another 15 years and pass down if we have a son?
The summer after I graduated from high school, I got a job working the poolside snack bar at the Lodge. Brian had been life guarding the pool during his summers home from UT. Since most kids went to the Pro Shop, I was essentially paid to work on my tan and look like a tool with my do-rag.
Anyway, Brian and I got into collecting basketball cards. A box of cards cost about $25, if memory serves. But this wasn't just blindly spending money; it was investing in our idols. Surely there would be a couple of rookie cards in there that would not only pay for the price of the box, but would one day mature to $100 or more.
I faithfully kept all my cards in plastic sleeves and arranged them with OCD detail. My favorite players first, then by team, then by All-Stars, then all the rookie cards together. I placed them in a red plastic folder I used to hold notes in high school.
When Jackson came up this weekend with his parents, he brought along with him his trading cards. Most are feature players from the NFL with a few NBA players tossed in. I told him I had some trading cards and retrieved them from the study.
He makes TD look like a piker. Flipping through the book, he quickly asked, "Can I have the Michael Jordans?"
At the end of the weekend, I took all the cards that are worth anything (maybe $10 or over) and gave the rest to him, including one Michael Jordan.
It got me to wondering about how much they had increased in value over the past 15 years. I also remembered that I absentmindedly tossed 3 cards in my desk about a year ago: a 1981 Ervin Johnson Topps, a 1986 James Worthy Fleer, and a 1970-71 NBA Scoring Average Leaders with Lew Alcindor, John Havelicek, and Elvin Hayes. They are in the same condition as when I bought them - near mint.
Looking at these cards and wondering of their worth, I am also reminded of three David Robinson rookies I let my then-girlfriend hold onto for safekeeping. Man, was that stupid.
Today, I did some quick research to see how much I could sell my cards for, were that to be my decision. To make me feel better, a card I bought for $32 dollars is now worth almost $80. A card I bought for $18 is now worth almost $45.
To make me feel worse, those David Robinson rookies are worth about $15 apiece.
I'm glad I don't collect those cards anymore. First, it's too time consuming. And while it can get to be expensive, I readily admit my other hobbies and other toys are quite expensive themselves. But most of all, I know that at my cynical age, I would purchase solely as an investment and not for the boyish love of the players.
Still, I'm left with the question: Do I sell these cards now, or do I let them sit for another 15 years and pass down if we have a son?
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Quick Thoughts
Three quick sports moments (of course) from our household.
- I only have enough space in my head for the important stuff.
On our way home from the football game last Saturday night, Melissa and I were talking about how great the punter from the other team was. His punts carried at least 40 yards and got several more from the roll; at least twice, he pinned Robinson within the 5. Melissa's comment - "He reminded me of that kid who played at A&M in the late Nineties." My reply - "Yeah, Shane Lechler, he was awesome; he was the only reason y'all beat Texas 20-16 in '99. Forget McCown to Bumgardner, it was Lechler. He was also the only reason y'all be K-State in double overtime for the Big 12 Championship."
Then, about five minutes later: "Hey, you haven't seen my money clip, have you? It's been missing since yesterday."
- Sports also have a way of making you (me) feel old. I got home from the mall at 8 last night, just in time to watch Texas and Arkansas. The big story was this was the first time the two teams faced each other since 1991.
Doing some rough math, I was the approximate age of most of the starters on UT's team and their starters were the approximate age of my youngest nephew the last time this rivalry occurred.
They have no memory of Strollin' Nolan; the SWC days and Barnhill South; Todd Day bowin' up to LJ.
- Speaking of quasi-irrelevant and should-be-forgotten-about moments from a decade and a half ago:
I was talking to a friend today about our favorite courses we've played. He mentioned playing the Ocean Course at Kiawah Island. Of course, I asked if Calcavechhia was still crying. Acknowledging the on-going cruelty of the situation, he mentioned a buddy of his played his tee shot to the 17th green within a couple of inches from the pin. He danced around the tee box singing, "Take that, Calc!". Of course, he was playing the whites and didn't have the entire world watching his every shot.
Still, it never gets old.
- I only have enough space in my head for the important stuff.
On our way home from the football game last Saturday night, Melissa and I were talking about how great the punter from the other team was. His punts carried at least 40 yards and got several more from the roll; at least twice, he pinned Robinson within the 5. Melissa's comment - "He reminded me of that kid who played at A&M in the late Nineties." My reply - "Yeah, Shane Lechler, he was awesome; he was the only reason y'all beat Texas 20-16 in '99. Forget McCown to Bumgardner, it was Lechler. He was also the only reason y'all be K-State in double overtime for the Big 12 Championship."
Then, about five minutes later: "Hey, you haven't seen my money clip, have you? It's been missing since yesterday."
- Sports also have a way of making you (me) feel old. I got home from the mall at 8 last night, just in time to watch Texas and Arkansas. The big story was this was the first time the two teams faced each other since 1991.
Doing some rough math, I was the approximate age of most of the starters on UT's team and their starters were the approximate age of my youngest nephew the last time this rivalry occurred.
They have no memory of Strollin' Nolan; the SWC days and Barnhill South; Todd Day bowin' up to LJ.
- Speaking of quasi-irrelevant and should-be-forgotten-about moments from a decade and a half ago:
I was talking to a friend today about our favorite courses we've played. He mentioned playing the Ocean Course at Kiawah Island. Of course, I asked if Calcavechhia was still crying. Acknowledging the on-going cruelty of the situation, he mentioned a buddy of his played his tee shot to the 17th green within a couple of inches from the pin. He danced around the tee box singing, "Take that, Calc!". Of course, he was playing the whites and didn't have the entire world watching his every shot.
Still, it never gets old.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Without Rival
There have been older rivalries, for sure. There have even been rivalries with stronger national ranking implications at stake. And obviously, there have been rivalries with more vitriol and mutual hate among players and their respective fanatics.
No other rivalry, however, has the awe-inspiring aura of the Army-Navy game.
I've been watching this year's installment of what I consider to be the greatest rivalry in college football.
Two primary factors lead me to this conclusion:
1) No other rivalry has comparable parity. Take Texas/OU and Texas/A&M, for example. Texas enjoys a 57-39-5 record in the former and a 73-35-5 record in the latter. Observers of these and other regional rivalries will note that they have all experienced multiple eras whereby one team exerts unbridled dominance over the other every other decade or so.
Not so with Army-Navy. As of last year, Navy sits uncomfortably with a 50-49-7 edge over their inter-service brethren.
True, there are times where one team clearly outshines the other; multiple years of consecutive wins are the exception, Navy's current 4-year streak notwithstanding.
2) No other rivalry has comparable mutual respect. For the most part, mutual respect exists only on the coaching level - and even that's barely masked. For players and fans, there is absolute hate and contempt with nothing less than that deemed acceptable. At the end of each Army-Navy game, however, both teams stand side-by-side and face the other's stands while both school songs are played.
Now imagine Texas fans doing anything other than puking their guts out while those in-breeds play Boomer Sooner and you'll know what I'm talking about.
I can only imagine the thoughts of these players who take the field for their last collegiate contest.
Most players of better-known rivalries (Michigan/OSU, USC/Notre Dame, Alabama/Auburn) understand that greener fields and larger paychecks are reserved for Sunday players.
These kids are surely thinking of it as more than just their last game; assignment and deployment are the future.
It is a game whereby amateur and student-athlete truly mean something. I can name only one NFL legend emerging from this rivalry. In a radio interview yesterday morning, he said it was the most nervous he had ever been before a game, noting that he also played in multiple playoff games and several Super Bowls.
But playing before the President, himself a Naval officer, caused a sleepless night.
Most acts of patriotism are symbolic; many are complete gimmicks.
This game, however, gives me pause and seamlessly fuses love for country and sport.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Hats
I've stated before (and if I didn't, I should have) that my life is a series of ritualistic events strung together like a paper clip necklace. Living, to me, is what happens between those moments.
When I get home, I follow essentially the same procedure. Pet the dog, kiss the wife, throw jewelry, keys, phone, and money clip in the crystal bowl by the fridge, and then change clothes.
But I don't fully make the transition from work to my time until I put on a hat. I don't know what it is about wearing a hat, but I love wearing them.
When I was a pre-teen, we visited Aunt Rosie and her family over Christmas break. We stayed there several days before heading back over the western slope. As my mom was getting in the car, my aunt asked her if I was starting to lose my hair. Why, no, my mother replied, Why do you ask?
Aunt Rosie observed that from the time I woke up to to the time I went to bed, I wore a hat.
I guess that wearing a hat makes me feel that any moment, I could be called into a baseball game. At the very minimum, it makes me feel like I should be outdoors.
Over the years, my Favorite Hat has changed. I'm sure when I was a kid, it happened to be whatever Little League team I was on that year - Braves or Astros.
In high school, it was my NY Mets hat.
During college, I had a wonderful Indiana Hoosiers hat I wore everywhere. The inside right of the hat had hundreds of ink stains where I would vertically store my pen while not taking notes.
Shortly after getting engaged, Melissa told me something had to be done about the hat. She didn't like the way it smelled; I thought it was fine. I was greatly confused at the time and thought marriage was a series of worthy compromises designed to make us both happy.
I washed the hat. It was never the same again and I ended up throwing it away.
Lyle, I should have listened to you the first time. Yes, you can have my girl, but don't touch my hat.
Logan ate my next favorite hat (a UT hat) as a trick I think was taught to her by her Aggie mother; it was replaced, but with a Yankees cap.
Three years ago, Brooke gave me a Texas hat for Christmas. I can assure you it was the first Cates dollar spent toward The University in over 40 years.
Like most of my hats, it has made the full rotation. It started out as the hat I wore every day. After it got too dirty for daily usage, it became a golf hat. After it got too dirty for golf (or I had too many bad rounds), it becomes a yard hat.
Also over the years, I've collected a series of political hats I keep in the garage and only wear when I'm doing yard work. One from the annual golf tournament a former boss held, a Bush/Cheney '04 hat, one from the RNC convention in '04, and one from last year's White House Easter Egg weekend.
A couple of weeks ago, I won a green and orange NASCAR hat with the embroidered signature of whoever races the number eleven car. Laugh now, but I like how it fits; I'm keeping it.
My latest favorite is an old school Yankee's hat styled from the 1930's that Eric gave me. It has a wonderul fit and looks great.
Sooner or later, I know the Yankees hat will become a Golf Hat. After a while, it will then find itself in the garage only to be worn on the weekends when the lawn needs cutting.
In some odd way, hats hold more than just the top of my head; they hold many fond memories.
When I get home, I follow essentially the same procedure. Pet the dog, kiss the wife, throw jewelry, keys, phone, and money clip in the crystal bowl by the fridge, and then change clothes.
But I don't fully make the transition from work to my time until I put on a hat. I don't know what it is about wearing a hat, but I love wearing them.
When I was a pre-teen, we visited Aunt Rosie and her family over Christmas break. We stayed there several days before heading back over the western slope. As my mom was getting in the car, my aunt asked her if I was starting to lose my hair. Why, no, my mother replied, Why do you ask?
Aunt Rosie observed that from the time I woke up to to the time I went to bed, I wore a hat.
I guess that wearing a hat makes me feel that any moment, I could be called into a baseball game. At the very minimum, it makes me feel like I should be outdoors.
Over the years, my Favorite Hat has changed. I'm sure when I was a kid, it happened to be whatever Little League team I was on that year - Braves or Astros.
In high school, it was my NY Mets hat.
During college, I had a wonderful Indiana Hoosiers hat I wore everywhere. The inside right of the hat had hundreds of ink stains where I would vertically store my pen while not taking notes.
Shortly after getting engaged, Melissa told me something had to be done about the hat. She didn't like the way it smelled; I thought it was fine. I was greatly confused at the time and thought marriage was a series of worthy compromises designed to make us both happy.
I washed the hat. It was never the same again and I ended up throwing it away.
Lyle, I should have listened to you the first time. Yes, you can have my girl, but don't touch my hat.
Logan ate my next favorite hat (a UT hat) as a trick I think was taught to her by her Aggie mother; it was replaced, but with a Yankees cap.
Three years ago, Brooke gave me a Texas hat for Christmas. I can assure you it was the first Cates dollar spent toward The University in over 40 years.
Like most of my hats, it has made the full rotation. It started out as the hat I wore every day. After it got too dirty for daily usage, it became a golf hat. After it got too dirty for golf (or I had too many bad rounds), it becomes a yard hat.
Also over the years, I've collected a series of political hats I keep in the garage and only wear when I'm doing yard work. One from the annual golf tournament a former boss held, a Bush/Cheney '04 hat, one from the RNC convention in '04, and one from last year's White House Easter Egg weekend.
A couple of weeks ago, I won a green and orange NASCAR hat with the embroidered signature of whoever races the number eleven car. Laugh now, but I like how it fits; I'm keeping it.
My latest favorite is an old school Yankee's hat styled from the 1930's that Eric gave me. It has a wonderul fit and looks great.
Sooner or later, I know the Yankees hat will become a Golf Hat. After a while, it will then find itself in the garage only to be worn on the weekends when the lawn needs cutting.
In some odd way, hats hold more than just the top of my head; they hold many fond memories.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Could I Have Scripted A Better Day?
Thursday morning, 8:39 a.m., my cell phone rang:
Eric: "Hey Neil, can you take tomorrow morning off?"
Neil: "Wow, I'd sure like to but I've been busy at work, so probably not. What's going on?"
Eric: "I just won tickets to go see Mike and Mike In The Morning."
Neil: "What time should I meet you?"
We were told we had to be at the Texas Motor Speedway by 4:30 am. It takes about 45 minutes to drive there from Eric's house. It takes me about 1:15 to drive from my house to Eric's house. It takes me about 25 minutes to get dressed in the morning. After factoring in extra drive-time, I set the alarm for 1:30 am.
At 9:30, I went to bed. At 10, everybody in the world decided to call me.
I have never had a problem with going to sleep. Generally, I can get in bed, turn on the tv, and within 30 minutes or so be sound asleep.
The problem for the past 15 years or so is waking up and falling back asleep. I didn't fall asleep until almost 11 after watching the Louisville/West Virginia game.
For the past couple of years, I've watched Mike and Mike while getting dressed. More often than not, however, I'll watch SportsCenter to catch up all the games from the previous night.
The two Mikes (Golic and Greenberg) are different in every respect, save one.
Golic is a Notre Dame alum and former professional football player. He wears jeans and comfortable shirts. He's tall, has dark hair, is a monstrous person, and doesn't talk a lot. He's a Man's Man.
Greenberg is a journalist. He wears button-down shirts and trousers. He's short, has light hair, is of normal build, and cannot stop talking to save his life. He's a metrosexual.
Both men, however, love sports. They love discussing, dissecting, and above all, debating sports.
For the past 10 years or so, I've thought about what would be the coolest profession in the world. For the longest time, my two options were golfer or baseball pitcher.
I've added a third - sports radio talk show host.
Where else can one get paid to talk for four hours every day about sports, be opinionated, and make fun of your co-host? This is a life, as Greenberg wrote, "investing everything into something that means absolutely nothing."
Where else can one get paid quite handsomely, I'm sure, to talk to Peter Gammons and Mel Kiper every morning?
That's exactly what I want.
For four hours, the Mikes debated about whether Peyton Manning is a better quarterback than Tom Brady, whether an undefeated Rutgers team gets to the BCS Championship game before a one-loss Florida, and whether one can Man Up and get a pedicure at the same time.
I have strong opinions about all three; all three debates mean absolutely nothing.
After the show and after playing baseball with Ethan in the backyard, I met Brian at his Longhorn Lunch Bunch for enchiladas and more football debate.
After getting home and taking a quick nap, Melissa and I finished the night with an early celebration of our anniversary at The Melting Pot, a fondue restaurant where all three courses are served raw, then dipped into a hot bowl of cheese, bouillon broth, or chocolate. It is truly culinary gluttony.
Sports, sports, and food.
Investing everything into something that means absolutely nothing.
Eric: "Hey Neil, can you take tomorrow morning off?"
Neil: "Wow, I'd sure like to but I've been busy at work, so probably not. What's going on?"
Eric: "I just won tickets to go see Mike and Mike In The Morning."
Neil: "What time should I meet you?"
We were told we had to be at the Texas Motor Speedway by 4:30 am. It takes about 45 minutes to drive there from Eric's house. It takes me about 1:15 to drive from my house to Eric's house. It takes me about 25 minutes to get dressed in the morning. After factoring in extra drive-time, I set the alarm for 1:30 am.
At 9:30, I went to bed. At 10, everybody in the world decided to call me.
I have never had a problem with going to sleep. Generally, I can get in bed, turn on the tv, and within 30 minutes or so be sound asleep.
The problem for the past 15 years or so is waking up and falling back asleep. I didn't fall asleep until almost 11 after watching the Louisville/West Virginia game.
For the past couple of years, I've watched Mike and Mike while getting dressed. More often than not, however, I'll watch SportsCenter to catch up all the games from the previous night.
The two Mikes (Golic and Greenberg) are different in every respect, save one.
Golic is a Notre Dame alum and former professional football player. He wears jeans and comfortable shirts. He's tall, has dark hair, is a monstrous person, and doesn't talk a lot. He's a Man's Man.
Greenberg is a journalist. He wears button-down shirts and trousers. He's short, has light hair, is of normal build, and cannot stop talking to save his life. He's a metrosexual.
Both men, however, love sports. They love discussing, dissecting, and above all, debating sports.
For the past 10 years or so, I've thought about what would be the coolest profession in the world. For the longest time, my two options were golfer or baseball pitcher.
I've added a third - sports radio talk show host.
Where else can one get paid to talk for four hours every day about sports, be opinionated, and make fun of your co-host? This is a life, as Greenberg wrote, "investing everything into something that means absolutely nothing."
Where else can one get paid quite handsomely, I'm sure, to talk to Peter Gammons and Mel Kiper every morning?
That's exactly what I want.
For four hours, the Mikes debated about whether Peyton Manning is a better quarterback than Tom Brady, whether an undefeated Rutgers team gets to the BCS Championship game before a one-loss Florida, and whether one can Man Up and get a pedicure at the same time.
I have strong opinions about all three; all three debates mean absolutely nothing.
After the show and after playing baseball with Ethan in the backyard, I met Brian at his Longhorn Lunch Bunch for enchiladas and more football debate.
After getting home and taking a quick nap, Melissa and I finished the night with an early celebration of our anniversary at The Melting Pot, a fondue restaurant where all three courses are served raw, then dipped into a hot bowl of cheese, bouillon broth, or chocolate. It is truly culinary gluttony.
Sports, sports, and food.
Investing everything into something that means absolutely nothing.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Melissa and I are doing something we've never done before - hosting friends to watch an NFL game.
I couldn't care less about the NFL. I couldn't care less about the Super Bowl. The list of items I couldn't care less about is almost infinitesimal.
When we got the new tv, our friend didn't bother and wait for an invitation. He said he was coming over whenever the Cowboys play the Eagles. His wife said, Well, maybe Neil and Melissa don't want you over to watch the game. To which he sincerely replied, I really don't care if Neil and Melissa are there are not. All I want to see is the tv.
Those are the friends I like.
So, they're coming over this afternoon.
Which, to me, meant yardwork, and cleaning, and shopping, and grilling.
And in true suburban fashion, I made their visit conditional - they could come over only if they brought some lawn tools for me to borrow. They'll get them back in a year or so.
But here's my point - why I'm indifferent toward the NFL. After watching certain players, I've grown accustomed to either liking them or hating them based on their collegiate affiliation.
For instance, Bobby Carpenter and Roy Williams play for the Cowboys. They make me sick every time I see their name in print. Maybe not so much Carpenter since he's a scrub, but don't think I don't vision Williams flying horizontal and knocking Simms off balance every time I see his picture.
Ain't no way I'm gonna cheer him on to do anything except play in traffic.
Last week, they played the Titans. Does anybody really expect me to wish Vince ill simply because he plays for a team that's not the Silver and Blue?
On that note - let me leave you with this.
When did Stoops and Venables become Doug and Wendy Whiner?
And how can I have such contempt and animosity for an organization that has no daily impact on my life? Still, nothing makes me happier than watching their idiotic fans drop millions into the local economy every October.
I couldn't care less about the NFL. I couldn't care less about the Super Bowl. The list of items I couldn't care less about is almost infinitesimal.
When we got the new tv, our friend didn't bother and wait for an invitation. He said he was coming over whenever the Cowboys play the Eagles. His wife said, Well, maybe Neil and Melissa don't want you over to watch the game. To which he sincerely replied, I really don't care if Neil and Melissa are there are not. All I want to see is the tv.
Those are the friends I like.
So, they're coming over this afternoon.
Which, to me, meant yardwork, and cleaning, and shopping, and grilling.
And in true suburban fashion, I made their visit conditional - they could come over only if they brought some lawn tools for me to borrow. They'll get them back in a year or so.
But here's my point - why I'm indifferent toward the NFL. After watching certain players, I've grown accustomed to either liking them or hating them based on their collegiate affiliation.
For instance, Bobby Carpenter and Roy Williams play for the Cowboys. They make me sick every time I see their name in print. Maybe not so much Carpenter since he's a scrub, but don't think I don't vision Williams flying horizontal and knocking Simms off balance every time I see his picture.
Ain't no way I'm gonna cheer him on to do anything except play in traffic.
Last week, they played the Titans. Does anybody really expect me to wish Vince ill simply because he plays for a team that's not the Silver and Blue?
On that note - let me leave you with this.
When did Stoops and Venables become Doug and Wendy Whiner?
And how can I have such contempt and animosity for an organization that has no daily impact on my life? Still, nothing makes me happier than watching their idiotic fans drop millions into the local economy every October.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
One Of My Favorite Weekends
A game in the Emerald Isle.
Every two years - or once in a while.
Just 14 and one-half points;
A winner the scoreboard annoints.
And the pressroom questions will be quite vile.
A cup and a birdie machine;
A crowd whose taunts are not clean.
"I once was lying dormie;"
"Now my Ryder Cup record is stormy,"
"For I've putted right off of the green."
A Spaniard and a Cablinasian
Ignited golf like a deadly contagion.
"Get him on the green
and his clock I will clean."
A rivalry or mere pertubation?
Every two years - or once in a while.
Just 14 and one-half points;
A winner the scoreboard annoints.
And the pressroom questions will be quite vile.
A cup and a birdie machine;
A crowd whose taunts are not clean.
"I once was lying dormie;"
"Now my Ryder Cup record is stormy,"
"For I've putted right off of the green."
A Spaniard and a Cablinasian
Ignited golf like a deadly contagion.
"Get him on the green
and his clock I will clean."
A rivalry or mere pertubation?
Saturday, September 16, 2006
A Lot Of Action...
Obviously, nobody in the State of Texas is going to get it this year. Except by default since last year's will soon be returned.
Quinn doesn't want it. Peterson may, but he doesn't have a coach who can help him get it.
Leak didn't play like he wanted it.
Smith may get it if he's not neutralized by his former high school and current teammate.
Slaton's only a sophomore so he's out.
Nobody outside the SEC knows anything about Iron.
I'll bet the boys at the Yale Club are real excited.
Quinn doesn't want it. Peterson may, but he doesn't have a coach who can help him get it.
Leak didn't play like he wanted it.
Smith may get it if he's not neutralized by his former high school and current teammate.
Slaton's only a sophomore so he's out.
Nobody outside the SEC knows anything about Iron.
I'll bet the boys at the Yale Club are real excited.
Monday, August 21, 2006
What Time's The Wedding?
I find the relationships that my wife maintains with her high school and college friends to be very interesting. First is the fact that she maintains them; most of my friendships from high school remained there.
And because Melissa has remained friends with so many from her teenage years, we've been going to weddings for the past half-dozen years.
We found ourselves in Waco over the weekend attending yet another ceremony/reception. Depending on the time of year, I usually look forward to spending time with this group of people who, over time, have become my friends as well.
As you can well imagine, this gathering soon segregates on the basis of gender. Melissa and her girlfriends are a tight clique; on the other hand, the Spouses' Club is relatively open-membership. We even offer junior memberships for those who are just dating.
Because the Spouses' Club only meets once or twice a year, topics of conversation remain more or less the same. We don't talk money, cars, religion, work, or politics. We talk about sports.
Anyway, at the reception, stories about previous weddings and other get-togethers soon became the topic of conversation so I thought I'd share my favorite wedding story.
A friend of Melissa's got married on December 1, 2001.
She's an Aggie and obviously wasn't too concerned about creating a scheduling conflict between her own wedding ceremony and the Big 12 Championship. I was. And as it turned out, I wasn't the only one.
The groom was in the Corp of Cadets, as were most of the groomsmen. For different reasons, they were just as interested in seeing the game as I was. I was hoping for a Texas win; they were hoping for a Buffalo rout - which they got.
As word quickly spread that Simms was throwing interceptions and fumbling the ball left and right, most of the male contingent moved from the reception hall to the bar. By the end of the night, the wedding party was happy; the Spouses' Club was not.
I prefer summer weddings.
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