I'll be taking a brief hiatus from the blog to focus my attention on new opportunities writing with the Bleacher Report. I've already written two articles on Tennessee basketball, hopefully the first of many covering the Vols this season.
My first article gave key points for the Vols to succeed in the SEC based on comparisons between early season losses to Pitt, Memphis, Duke, and Oakland. You can find the article here.
My second article focused on Tennessee point guard Trae Golden's struggles and its effect on the team, particularly in losses to Oakland and Austin Peay. You can find the article here.
Thanks so much for following my work!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Cuonzo: Patience is a Virtue
When Tennessee hired Cuonzo Martin to replace beloved coach Bruce Pearl, the announcement was met with a universal, “Who?”
After the messy and heartbreaking divorce from Pearl, Tennesseans waited anxiously for the UT administration to capitalize on the rebirth of big orange basketball and find a knockout coach to be the envy of the SEC. In his brief tenure, Pearl’s teams fought for a spot among the nation’s best, went toe to toe with legendary coaches and programs, and earned victories over Kansas, Pitt, Villanova, and Ohio State. Most importantly, Pearl finished with a 20-10 record against Memphis, Florida, and Vanderbilt.
So when Pearl’s replacement turned out to be a guy named Cuonzo, needless to say there were no parades or parties in the streets.
It doesn’t help that Martin was the final hire of the disastrous Mike Hamilton era, leaving increased pressure on a coach who’s previous position was in the Missouri Valley Conference. However, the Tennessee faithful would do well to be patient with Martin.
For a program whose better days go back to the “Ernie and Bernie” show, Pearl earned cult-like status (i.e. “The Bruce is Loose”) for his flamboyant personality and endearing ability to get under the skin of opposing coaches. But where Pearl’s personality earned devotees among even the most apathetic fans, Martin seems to want his results on the court to speak for him. He doesn’t seem interested in sound bites, endorsement deals, or even being well liked. At the first SEC media day of the season, Martin had the following exchange with a Kentucky media member after he was asked if he knew Bruce Pearl: (from govolsextra)
“‘I know Coach Pearl.’
‘Do you?’ the reporter replied skeptically.
‘Oh yeah,’ Martin said.
‘You look like I’m accusing you of something,’ the reporter said, fishing for something.
Martin unleashed a hearty laugh to end the exchange.”
(It helps Martin’s curt response was to a Kentucky reporter.)
Moments like this won’t mean a thing if the Vols don’t produce on the court, but they’re huge if they do. It says Martin is cool under pressure. It says Martin doesn’t give a damn what the media (or anyone else) thinks of him. It says Martin, like Pearl, is unwilling to back down to anyone, especially Kentucky.
And for Tennessee fans mired in the darkest era in its athletic history, it says Martin is worth getting excited over.
Martin took a Missouri State team from worst to first in their conference in just three years. He convinced freshman signees Quinton Chievous and Josh Richardson to stick with the Vols. He asserted himself with current Tennessee players with statements like, “I don’t know if there are many options outside of buying in.”
The players, so far, have responded. Newly christened point guard Trae Golden scored 46 points in the first two games of the season, and Jeronne Maymon earned his first double-double as a Vol against Louisiana Monroe.
And most importantly, his team has convincingly won the games they were supposed to win. It’s early, but a positive start was critical for Martin.
Tennessee may get crushed by Duke tomorrow in Maui, and the team may finish the season 11th in the SEC as predicted. But Martin has shown he can make progress with a struggling team, and time maybe all he needs to continue the success Pearl began.
After the messy and heartbreaking divorce from Pearl, Tennesseans waited anxiously for the UT administration to capitalize on the rebirth of big orange basketball and find a knockout coach to be the envy of the SEC. In his brief tenure, Pearl’s teams fought for a spot among the nation’s best, went toe to toe with legendary coaches and programs, and earned victories over Kansas, Pitt, Villanova, and Ohio State. Most importantly, Pearl finished with a 20-10 record against Memphis, Florida, and Vanderbilt.
So when Pearl’s replacement turned out to be a guy named Cuonzo, needless to say there were no parades or parties in the streets.
It doesn’t help that Martin was the final hire of the disastrous Mike Hamilton era, leaving increased pressure on a coach who’s previous position was in the Missouri Valley Conference. However, the Tennessee faithful would do well to be patient with Martin.
For a program whose better days go back to the “Ernie and Bernie” show, Pearl earned cult-like status (i.e. “The Bruce is Loose”) for his flamboyant personality and endearing ability to get under the skin of opposing coaches. But where Pearl’s personality earned devotees among even the most apathetic fans, Martin seems to want his results on the court to speak for him. He doesn’t seem interested in sound bites, endorsement deals, or even being well liked. At the first SEC media day of the season, Martin had the following exchange with a Kentucky media member after he was asked if he knew Bruce Pearl: (from govolsextra)
“‘I know Coach Pearl.’
‘Do you?’ the reporter replied skeptically.
‘Oh yeah,’ Martin said.
‘You look like I’m accusing you of something,’ the reporter said, fishing for something.
Martin unleashed a hearty laugh to end the exchange.”
(It helps Martin’s curt response was to a Kentucky reporter.)
Moments like this won’t mean a thing if the Vols don’t produce on the court, but they’re huge if they do. It says Martin is cool under pressure. It says Martin doesn’t give a damn what the media (or anyone else) thinks of him. It says Martin, like Pearl, is unwilling to back down to anyone, especially Kentucky.
And for Tennessee fans mired in the darkest era in its athletic history, it says Martin is worth getting excited over.
Martin took a Missouri State team from worst to first in their conference in just three years. He convinced freshman signees Quinton Chievous and Josh Richardson to stick with the Vols. He asserted himself with current Tennessee players with statements like, “I don’t know if there are many options outside of buying in.”
The players, so far, have responded. Newly christened point guard Trae Golden scored 46 points in the first two games of the season, and Jeronne Maymon earned his first double-double as a Vol against Louisiana Monroe.
And most importantly, his team has convincingly won the games they were supposed to win. It’s early, but a positive start was critical for Martin.
Tennessee may get crushed by Duke tomorrow in Maui, and the team may finish the season 11th in the SEC as predicted. But Martin has shown he can make progress with a struggling team, and time maybe all he needs to continue the success Pearl began.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Tennessee Football in Steady Decline
On August 24, Tennessee alum Gene Wojohowski wrote a column for ESPN.com, Trying Times for Tennessee Volunteers, contrasting Pat Summit’s announcement of her early onset dementia diagnosis with the Kiffin/Pearl debacles and the overall unrest within the athletic department.
That was before the hope surrounding Tennessee football began to fade.
That was before the lose to now underwhelming Florida, four straight conference loses, and a 42 point embarrassment at Arkansas. That was before perennial conference doormat Vanderbilt was declared a one point favorite against the Vols.
Obviously, Wojohowski’s “trying times” reference was meant primarily for Summit’s battle with dementia (as well it should), but the outlook for the Vols has never looked bleaker. From 1919 until 2004, Tennessee had nine losing seasons. Nine. Included in those years are two national titles and 16 conference championships. Unless the Vols can pull out wins over Vanderbilt and Kentucky, 2011 will be the team’s fourth losing season in last seven years. Out of 346 loses in the program’s history, 41 have come since 2005. And one of those was to Wyoming.
The most significant sea change, however, has been among the Tennessee fan base. Where UT was once among college football’s elite, media coverage now features reassurances our newly hired coach (who was hired after multiple candidates reportedly turned down the position) is committed to the university.
“How can you ask for anything more than the University of Tennessee,” Derek Dooley said upon being introduced as football coach. “The times of worrying about what happened are over.”
*Dooley is now 10-13 at Tennessee.*
The language was clear. The university that produced Peyton Manning and Reggie White is now the girl with a good personality. And high school recruits want prom queens.
Contrasting Tennessee’s decline is Vanderbilt, who have lost 27 of their last 28 meetings with the Vols. These, however, are not the same Commodores. Aside from being favored at Neyland Stadium, Vanderbilt lost to Georgia, Florida, and Arkansas this season by a combined 13 points. By comparison, the Vols lost to those same teams by 60. With bowl hopes for both teams on the line, John Adams Knoxville News Sentinel headline summed up the differing paths the two universities find themselves on:
“Vandy, Vols aren’t what they used to be.”
I was sitting in the student section in 2005 when the ‘Dores last beat Tennessee, the first in my lifetime. Late in the game, a student sitting behind me said, “Okay, I’ll take next semester off and graduate next fall so this won’t be my last football game.”
Even with that ridiculous statement, it came with an assumption next year won’t be so bad. Today, that belief is fading quickly.
That was before the hope surrounding Tennessee football began to fade.
That was before the lose to now underwhelming Florida, four straight conference loses, and a 42 point embarrassment at Arkansas. That was before perennial conference doormat Vanderbilt was declared a one point favorite against the Vols.
Obviously, Wojohowski’s “trying times” reference was meant primarily for Summit’s battle with dementia (as well it should), but the outlook for the Vols has never looked bleaker. From 1919 until 2004, Tennessee had nine losing seasons. Nine. Included in those years are two national titles and 16 conference championships. Unless the Vols can pull out wins over Vanderbilt and Kentucky, 2011 will be the team’s fourth losing season in last seven years. Out of 346 loses in the program’s history, 41 have come since 2005. And one of those was to Wyoming.
The most significant sea change, however, has been among the Tennessee fan base. Where UT was once among college football’s elite, media coverage now features reassurances our newly hired coach (who was hired after multiple candidates reportedly turned down the position) is committed to the university.
“How can you ask for anything more than the University of Tennessee,” Derek Dooley said upon being introduced as football coach. “The times of worrying about what happened are over.”
*Dooley is now 10-13 at Tennessee.*
The language was clear. The university that produced Peyton Manning and Reggie White is now the girl with a good personality. And high school recruits want prom queens.
Contrasting Tennessee’s decline is Vanderbilt, who have lost 27 of their last 28 meetings with the Vols. These, however, are not the same Commodores. Aside from being favored at Neyland Stadium, Vanderbilt lost to Georgia, Florida, and Arkansas this season by a combined 13 points. By comparison, the Vols lost to those same teams by 60. With bowl hopes for both teams on the line, John Adams Knoxville News Sentinel headline summed up the differing paths the two universities find themselves on:
“Vandy, Vols aren’t what they used to be.”
I was sitting in the student section in 2005 when the ‘Dores last beat Tennessee, the first in my lifetime. Late in the game, a student sitting behind me said, “Okay, I’ll take next semester off and graduate next fall so this won’t be my last football game.”
Even with that ridiculous statement, it came with an assumption next year won’t be so bad. Today, that belief is fading quickly.
Friday, November 11, 2011
The Naivete at Penn State: An Even Darker Side to the Scandal
When Bruce Pearl was fired from his position as basketball coach at Tennessee, I was devastated. I argued with myself for months that him lying to the NCAA wasn’t an unpardonable offense, comparing him to other coaches with histories of questionable behavior. I got defensive when radio and television personalities took shots at him, and held out hope he would be allowed to stay with the program.
But I was naive. My view of Pearl was emotional, irrational, and skewed. These days in State College, Pennsylvania, an even more extreme naivete is rampant throughout the community.
Years of assuming Penn State football coaches lived with the highest integrity are crashing down on the Nittany Lion faithful, and the university has only seen the beginning of the reckoning it’s about to endure. The outrage is clear, and justifiably so.
But to believe the head football coach, athletic director, university president, multiple administrators, and countless members of the State College community worked together to “sweep this under the rug” is absurd and laughable. It’s difficult enough for a family of four to decide what they want for dinner, much less convince an entire community to keep the lid on heinous crimes against children.
Hard evidence of this has yet to be uncovered, but I would be willing to bet that individuals with money, power, and prestige coerced anyone who knew to keep this information hidden from the light of day. I’d also bet they did this with pressure and threats.
The speculative evidence of abuse of power is widespread throughout this tragedy. Just look at the progression of events.
- Jerry Sandusky retires in 1999 suddenly after a parent of one of his victims finally confronts him the year before.
- District Attorney Ray Gricar choses not to pursue a criminal case against Sandusky regarding the 1998 incident, even though he is known to not be lenient for Penn State football.
- Gricar disappeared in 2005, and phrases like “how to wreck a hard drive” are found are internet searches on his home computer.
- In 2000, a campus janitor saw Sandusky in a sexual act with a boy, told the janitorial staff, but did not report the event to authorities.
- University officials continue to allow Sandusky access to football facilities for his nonprofit organization, The Second Mile, until the shower incident in 2002.
- Coach Joe Paterno denies knowledge of Sandusky’s behavior before the 2002 incident, even though Sandusky worked with Paterno for 30-plus years and Paterno was notorious for knowing everything about his players and program.
- Sandusky was allowed to see boys involved in his nonprofit while they were at school, and even check them out of school at times. School janitors and faculty reported suspicious behavior in the grand jury report, but at the time did not report the incidences. (See Victim One in the Grand Jury Report)
I could easily continue this much longer, but this information alone is reason enough to be suspicious. Why would a janitor fail to report what he saw? Why was Sandusky allowed access to kids at school, a facility that would normally pride itself on its strict guidelines for protecting students? Why did Penn State officials do nothing more than tell Sandusky he could no longer use their facilities for The Second Mile after the 2002 revelation, essentially saying, “Just don’t do it here”?
And why was he on campus just last week, even with this story about to erupt?
I simply cannot accept so many people saw the writing on the wall of what Sandusky was doing and chose to look the other way. Maybe they were naive and couldn’t bring themselves to believe it. Or maybe they were threatened to keep quiet.
I’m no conspiracy theorist, but a simple Google search presents an overwhelming amount of reason for suspicion. And at this point, Penn State should be downright paranoid. A little paranoia in the beginning might have prevented this whole disaster.
But I was naive. My view of Pearl was emotional, irrational, and skewed. These days in State College, Pennsylvania, an even more extreme naivete is rampant throughout the community.
Years of assuming Penn State football coaches lived with the highest integrity are crashing down on the Nittany Lion faithful, and the university has only seen the beginning of the reckoning it’s about to endure. The outrage is clear, and justifiably so.
But to believe the head football coach, athletic director, university president, multiple administrators, and countless members of the State College community worked together to “sweep this under the rug” is absurd and laughable. It’s difficult enough for a family of four to decide what they want for dinner, much less convince an entire community to keep the lid on heinous crimes against children.
Hard evidence of this has yet to be uncovered, but I would be willing to bet that individuals with money, power, and prestige coerced anyone who knew to keep this information hidden from the light of day. I’d also bet they did this with pressure and threats.
The speculative evidence of abuse of power is widespread throughout this tragedy. Just look at the progression of events.
- Jerry Sandusky retires in 1999 suddenly after a parent of one of his victims finally confronts him the year before.
- District Attorney Ray Gricar choses not to pursue a criminal case against Sandusky regarding the 1998 incident, even though he is known to not be lenient for Penn State football.
- Gricar disappeared in 2005, and phrases like “how to wreck a hard drive” are found are internet searches on his home computer.
- In 2000, a campus janitor saw Sandusky in a sexual act with a boy, told the janitorial staff, but did not report the event to authorities.
- University officials continue to allow Sandusky access to football facilities for his nonprofit organization, The Second Mile, until the shower incident in 2002.
- Coach Joe Paterno denies knowledge of Sandusky’s behavior before the 2002 incident, even though Sandusky worked with Paterno for 30-plus years and Paterno was notorious for knowing everything about his players and program.
- Sandusky was allowed to see boys involved in his nonprofit while they were at school, and even check them out of school at times. School janitors and faculty reported suspicious behavior in the grand jury report, but at the time did not report the incidences. (See Victim One in the Grand Jury Report)
I could easily continue this much longer, but this information alone is reason enough to be suspicious. Why would a janitor fail to report what he saw? Why was Sandusky allowed access to kids at school, a facility that would normally pride itself on its strict guidelines for protecting students? Why did Penn State officials do nothing more than tell Sandusky he could no longer use their facilities for The Second Mile after the 2002 revelation, essentially saying, “Just don’t do it here”?
And why was he on campus just last week, even with this story about to erupt?
I simply cannot accept so many people saw the writing on the wall of what Sandusky was doing and chose to look the other way. Maybe they were naive and couldn’t bring themselves to believe it. Or maybe they were threatened to keep quiet.
I’m no conspiracy theorist, but a simple Google search presents an overwhelming amount of reason for suspicion. And at this point, Penn State should be downright paranoid. A little paranoia in the beginning might have prevented this whole disaster.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Ego Money Part Deux: The Second Chapter in the Albert Pujols Contract Saga
On February 22, I posted a blog on Albert Pujols ridiculous demand for the Cardinals to award him a ten year, $300 million deal to give him the highest payroll in baseball and place him on the lone pedestal as the best player in the majors.
St. Louis scoffed at this asinine deal, and instead offered $200 million over eight years. Pujols walked away, talks ended, and the season began.
But despite the looming contract dispute, Pujols legend soared in 2011. He recovered from a wrist injury that ended Cliff Floyd’s power hitting career. He led an impossible, late season surge that’s carried his team past the favored Phillies and Brewers to game six of the World Series.
Now, the red birds find themselves down three games to two with the real possibility tonight could be the last time Pujols dresses in Cardinals red, and St. Louis fans from Memphis to Kansas City are shaking in their boots. Pressure is building to the extent that the Cardinals front office just might cave and give their beloved first baseman the respect/money he wants.
But it would be a mistake.
After a 31 percent ratings drop a year ago, this year’s fall classic is on pace for the fewest TV viewers ever. Even with the NFL putting out the two worst games of the season at competing times, Sunday’s game four earned a 9.1 while game five the following night dropped to an 8.8. Compare this to the 24 million for game six of this year’s NBA Finals.
Major League Baseball is in very real decline.
However, players like Pujols and Prince Fielder seem oblivious to this, and are unrelenting in their desire to one up the last contract to prove their worth. Whether it’s agents, the players’ union, or the players themselves, somehow the message of baseball’s declining popularity is lost in all the zeroes of their contract demands. But when the ratings for game seven of NHL Finals is creeping closer to “America’s pastime”, surely someone can see the writing on the wall.
But even in the post Moneyball era, haven’t baseball executives learned their lesson that the biggest contracts rarely equate to titles? Or increased fan support? Or more revenue?
The inept Boston Red Sox are a prime example. In an attempt to build a team Bostonians would endear themselves to, the Red Sox betrayed what made their fans so devoted. They tried to buy their heroes, plucking from small markets San Diego and Tampa. Instead, they ended up with apathetic, overpaid players who imploded the team and disgusted the fan base.
Howard Bryant’s October 25 article brought to light this conflict facing the Cardinals organization.
“For all his comfort and the public’s love for him, it is unclear how strongly Pujols identifies with being a St. Louis Cardinal, especially in a time and culture when money-- top money and nothing more-- often equals respect.”
I will probably never meet Albert Pujols. I’ll never know his intentions or personality or drive beyond what I see on the field and read online. However, it seems he is not interested in being the hero for the St. Louis faithful. He intends to squeeze every penny out of baseball he can, no matter the effects it has on the long term viability to the league.
Someone needs to remind Albert (and every other professional athlete for that matter) that heroes pay the bills. Every sports team on Earth operates on the principle.
St. Louis scoffed at this asinine deal, and instead offered $200 million over eight years. Pujols walked away, talks ended, and the season began.
But despite the looming contract dispute, Pujols legend soared in 2011. He recovered from a wrist injury that ended Cliff Floyd’s power hitting career. He led an impossible, late season surge that’s carried his team past the favored Phillies and Brewers to game six of the World Series.
Now, the red birds find themselves down three games to two with the real possibility tonight could be the last time Pujols dresses in Cardinals red, and St. Louis fans from Memphis to Kansas City are shaking in their boots. Pressure is building to the extent that the Cardinals front office just might cave and give their beloved first baseman the respect/money he wants.
But it would be a mistake.
After a 31 percent ratings drop a year ago, this year’s fall classic is on pace for the fewest TV viewers ever. Even with the NFL putting out the two worst games of the season at competing times, Sunday’s game four earned a 9.1 while game five the following night dropped to an 8.8. Compare this to the 24 million for game six of this year’s NBA Finals.
Major League Baseball is in very real decline.
However, players like Pujols and Prince Fielder seem oblivious to this, and are unrelenting in their desire to one up the last contract to prove their worth. Whether it’s agents, the players’ union, or the players themselves, somehow the message of baseball’s declining popularity is lost in all the zeroes of their contract demands. But when the ratings for game seven of NHL Finals is creeping closer to “America’s pastime”, surely someone can see the writing on the wall.
But even in the post Moneyball era, haven’t baseball executives learned their lesson that the biggest contracts rarely equate to titles? Or increased fan support? Or more revenue?
The inept Boston Red Sox are a prime example. In an attempt to build a team Bostonians would endear themselves to, the Red Sox betrayed what made their fans so devoted. They tried to buy their heroes, plucking from small markets San Diego and Tampa. Instead, they ended up with apathetic, overpaid players who imploded the team and disgusted the fan base.
Howard Bryant’s October 25 article brought to light this conflict facing the Cardinals organization.
“For all his comfort and the public’s love for him, it is unclear how strongly Pujols identifies with being a St. Louis Cardinal, especially in a time and culture when money-- top money and nothing more-- often equals respect.”
I will probably never meet Albert Pujols. I’ll never know his intentions or personality or drive beyond what I see on the field and read online. However, it seems he is not interested in being the hero for the St. Louis faithful. He intends to squeeze every penny out of baseball he can, no matter the effects it has on the long term viability to the league.
Someone needs to remind Albert (and every other professional athlete for that matter) that heroes pay the bills. Every sports team on Earth operates on the principle.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
TCU to the Big 12
I was really looking forward to the TCU/Providence basketball rivalry.
In a move that should have happened years ago, the Texas centric Big 12 finally extended an invitation to Texas Christian University. Bucking the recent trend, the Horned Frogs are making this decision, as Ivan Maisel wrote, “because of geography, tradition and history, rather than in spite of them.” Go figure.
TCU’s move to the Big East was laughable when it happened, but everyone in college athletics knew why. If football is the cash cow for universities, then TCU has a prize winning heifer with no blue ribbons. The move to the Big East was a desperation move to cash in on their success, regardless of how it affected their basketball/Olympic sports.
Now, their women’s volleyball team can drive five hours to Lubbock instead of boarding a plane for New Jersey or Connecticut.
As absurd as TCU’s jump to the Big East seemed, it’s a part of life for smaller college programs. Louisiana Tech is forced to partner with Idaho, Hawai’i, and two California schools in an attempt to keep pace with the rest of college football. Ironically, the Bulldogs are sacrificing their other sports to cater to football, whose revenue makes the other sports possible.
Money, as always, drives these illogical moves that make a mockery of the NCAA’s definition of a student athlete. When football teams are competing for millions of dollars that accompany a spot in a contrived “national championship”, or the honor of playing in bowl games that serve the corporations that sponsor them more than the school, it’s difficult to continue calling them amateurs.
Actually, it’s downright disgraceful.
The entire system looks more and more like a snobby fraternity. The big successful schools are in, and the smaller peons have to prove they’re worthy enough to be a part of the club. Boise St., TCU, and Utah have been on the outside looking in despite wins over Alabama, Oklahoma, Georgia, Virginia Tech and Wisconsin. Utah and TCU are finally cool enough, but Boise apparently still has some shaping up to do.
It’s hard not get cynical with all this. TCU will make the Big 12 stronger and may save the conference from the brink. Utah to the Pac-12 helps both the conference and the university. But when TCU’s announcement headline is accompanied with their 15 year wait to be reunited with the other major Texas schools, it makes the invitation seem condescending and belittling.
I’m not advocating for major conferences to become non-profits, but the BCS system these schools operate in has become so unfair it’s sickening.
I know this rant will join a long list of others against the absurdity of the BCS, but sooner of later someone has to start listening... right?
In a move that should have happened years ago, the Texas centric Big 12 finally extended an invitation to Texas Christian University. Bucking the recent trend, the Horned Frogs are making this decision, as Ivan Maisel wrote, “because of geography, tradition and history, rather than in spite of them.” Go figure.
TCU’s move to the Big East was laughable when it happened, but everyone in college athletics knew why. If football is the cash cow for universities, then TCU has a prize winning heifer with no blue ribbons. The move to the Big East was a desperation move to cash in on their success, regardless of how it affected their basketball/Olympic sports.
Now, their women’s volleyball team can drive five hours to Lubbock instead of boarding a plane for New Jersey or Connecticut.
As absurd as TCU’s jump to the Big East seemed, it’s a part of life for smaller college programs. Louisiana Tech is forced to partner with Idaho, Hawai’i, and two California schools in an attempt to keep pace with the rest of college football. Ironically, the Bulldogs are sacrificing their other sports to cater to football, whose revenue makes the other sports possible.
Money, as always, drives these illogical moves that make a mockery of the NCAA’s definition of a student athlete. When football teams are competing for millions of dollars that accompany a spot in a contrived “national championship”, or the honor of playing in bowl games that serve the corporations that sponsor them more than the school, it’s difficult to continue calling them amateurs.
Actually, it’s downright disgraceful.
The entire system looks more and more like a snobby fraternity. The big successful schools are in, and the smaller peons have to prove they’re worthy enough to be a part of the club. Boise St., TCU, and Utah have been on the outside looking in despite wins over Alabama, Oklahoma, Georgia, Virginia Tech and Wisconsin. Utah and TCU are finally cool enough, but Boise apparently still has some shaping up to do.
It’s hard not get cynical with all this. TCU will make the Big 12 stronger and may save the conference from the brink. Utah to the Pac-12 helps both the conference and the university. But when TCU’s announcement headline is accompanied with their 15 year wait to be reunited with the other major Texas schools, it makes the invitation seem condescending and belittling.
I’m not advocating for major conferences to become non-profits, but the BCS system these schools operate in has become so unfair it’s sickening.
I know this rant will join a long list of others against the absurdity of the BCS, but sooner of later someone has to start listening... right?
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
J-Hey and Frenchy
“Born and raised in the Atlanta area, Francoeur was kissed by the sporting gods... He seemingly can do anything on a ball field, even sing.”
- Michael Farber, “Georgia’s New Peach”, Sports Illustrated, August 29, 2005
“Heyward doesn’t so much swing as slash, bringing his hands down and then flat through the strike zone. Like a purely struck one-iron, Heyward’s blasts are line drives with backspin. His home runs don’t soar, they scream and climb.”
Tom Verducci, “Legend Before His Time”, Sports Illustrated, April 19, 2010
Their stories are so close it’s eery. Heralded rookie right fielders raised in the Atlanta area who hit the majors like an August hurricane. Baseball scouts swooned over their seemingly effortless talent while NL East pitchers shook in their boots.
Today, both players look more like baseball’s version of a one-hit-wonder.
After storming into the Braves lineup, Francouer’s batting average dropped from .300 in 2005 to .239 in 2008. When Atlanta traded him to the Mets in 2009, his OBP was .282. (Comparatively, Matt Kemp’s OBP this season is .400.)
The player Sports Illustrated had dubbed “The Natural” has found himself among the hundreds of journeyman players in the major leagues. Frenchy is now with his third team since leaving Atlanta, exiled to the woeful Royals. After beginning with so much promise, his career looks more like Crash Davis than Roy Hobbs.
“He is a corner outfielder who has proven- unquestionably and repeatedly- that he cannot hit well enough to be a regular in the major leagues.” - Joe Posnanski, “Frenchy and Hope”, SI.com, March 1, 2011
Jump to 2010. Atlanta and the rest of the major leagues are awestruck with a new, young right fielder who crushed a Carlos Zambrano fastball to the outfield seats at Turner Field in his first at bat. Former manager Bobby Cox said, “You can tell with your eyes closed when Heyward is hitting. It’s louder than when anybody else hits.” Catcher Brian McCann raved, “He might be the best 20-year-old rookie to ever play.”
At the close of 2011, Heyward’s batting average is an anemic .228 with just 42 RBIs. He hit just seven home runs since April and drew the ire of veteran leader Chipper Jones for not playing with injuries. He’s now batting consistently in the bottom half of the Braves lineup.
“Jason Heyward is in a pretty serious gutterfunk right now,” Grant Brisbee, Baseball Nation, August 11, 2011
Like Frenchy before him, Heyward seems headed down the dark road of disappointment.
Maybe we can blame Sports Illustrated for this. Maybe in search of a great baseball story they hyped these players so much they had no where to go but down. Or maybe it’s the Braves management, or the Atlanta fan base who put too much too soon on them. It could be Heyward’s shoulder problem, or Francouer’s inability to lay off breaking pitches, and they just need another chance to adjust their game.
Or maybe they were never as good as we all hoped.
Rarely does anyone, in any field, live up to lofty expectations. In the same way heroes are loved and given elevated status, those who fail to reach their perceived potential are often crucified or labeled a disappointment. Even President Obama has his hands tied by the “messiah” expectations that got him elected.
This reality, however, is so glaringly obvious in sports. First round draft picks are considered a bust if they’re not immediate all stars (i.e. Reggie Bush), and successful players are considered “choke artists” if they don’t pull through in clutch moments (i.e. Lebron James and Alex Rodriguez).
This is painfully unfair, but it goes to the heart of why we watch sports. Athletes make us believe we can be great, therefore they are expected to be transcendent. When they’re not, it’s crushing.
This is even more true when applied to baseball. The sport creates legends whose personas and accomplishments grow larger with time. Just revisit Field of Dreams or the aforementioned The Natural. Baseball fans get dreamy eyed for talent like teenage girls watching Justin Bieber. If that talent is never fulfilled, their stories become Greek tragedies.
Heyward and Francouer have no doubt benefitted from the continued belief they will someday be spectacular, and both players have and will have ample opportunities to turn their careers around. But regardless of the future, both will spend their lives compared to what they could have been.
It’s a hell of a burden for a couple of guys still in their twenties.
- Michael Farber, “Georgia’s New Peach”, Sports Illustrated, August 29, 2005
“Heyward doesn’t so much swing as slash, bringing his hands down and then flat through the strike zone. Like a purely struck one-iron, Heyward’s blasts are line drives with backspin. His home runs don’t soar, they scream and climb.”
Tom Verducci, “Legend Before His Time”, Sports Illustrated, April 19, 2010
Their stories are so close it’s eery. Heralded rookie right fielders raised in the Atlanta area who hit the majors like an August hurricane. Baseball scouts swooned over their seemingly effortless talent while NL East pitchers shook in their boots.
Today, both players look more like baseball’s version of a one-hit-wonder.
After storming into the Braves lineup, Francouer’s batting average dropped from .300 in 2005 to .239 in 2008. When Atlanta traded him to the Mets in 2009, his OBP was .282. (Comparatively, Matt Kemp’s OBP this season is .400.)
The player Sports Illustrated had dubbed “The Natural” has found himself among the hundreds of journeyman players in the major leagues. Frenchy is now with his third team since leaving Atlanta, exiled to the woeful Royals. After beginning with so much promise, his career looks more like Crash Davis than Roy Hobbs.
“He is a corner outfielder who has proven- unquestionably and repeatedly- that he cannot hit well enough to be a regular in the major leagues.” - Joe Posnanski, “Frenchy and Hope”, SI.com, March 1, 2011
Jump to 2010. Atlanta and the rest of the major leagues are awestruck with a new, young right fielder who crushed a Carlos Zambrano fastball to the outfield seats at Turner Field in his first at bat. Former manager Bobby Cox said, “You can tell with your eyes closed when Heyward is hitting. It’s louder than when anybody else hits.” Catcher Brian McCann raved, “He might be the best 20-year-old rookie to ever play.”
At the close of 2011, Heyward’s batting average is an anemic .228 with just 42 RBIs. He hit just seven home runs since April and drew the ire of veteran leader Chipper Jones for not playing with injuries. He’s now batting consistently in the bottom half of the Braves lineup.
“Jason Heyward is in a pretty serious gutterfunk right now,” Grant Brisbee, Baseball Nation, August 11, 2011
Like Frenchy before him, Heyward seems headed down the dark road of disappointment.
Maybe we can blame Sports Illustrated for this. Maybe in search of a great baseball story they hyped these players so much they had no where to go but down. Or maybe it’s the Braves management, or the Atlanta fan base who put too much too soon on them. It could be Heyward’s shoulder problem, or Francouer’s inability to lay off breaking pitches, and they just need another chance to adjust their game.
Or maybe they were never as good as we all hoped.
Rarely does anyone, in any field, live up to lofty expectations. In the same way heroes are loved and given elevated status, those who fail to reach their perceived potential are often crucified or labeled a disappointment. Even President Obama has his hands tied by the “messiah” expectations that got him elected.
This reality, however, is so glaringly obvious in sports. First round draft picks are considered a bust if they’re not immediate all stars (i.e. Reggie Bush), and successful players are considered “choke artists” if they don’t pull through in clutch moments (i.e. Lebron James and Alex Rodriguez).
This is painfully unfair, but it goes to the heart of why we watch sports. Athletes make us believe we can be great, therefore they are expected to be transcendent. When they’re not, it’s crushing.
This is even more true when applied to baseball. The sport creates legends whose personas and accomplishments grow larger with time. Just revisit Field of Dreams or the aforementioned The Natural. Baseball fans get dreamy eyed for talent like teenage girls watching Justin Bieber. If that talent is never fulfilled, their stories become Greek tragedies.
Heyward and Francouer have no doubt benefitted from the continued belief they will someday be spectacular, and both players have and will have ample opportunities to turn their careers around. But regardless of the future, both will spend their lives compared to what they could have been.
It’s a hell of a burden for a couple of guys still in their twenties.
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Market Price of Tradition
It’s been building for a long time.
Breaking news from ESPN’s Adam Shefter...
“The NFL is in the process of executing a high stakes merger with the SEC, Pac-12, and Big-10, adding three new conferences to AFC and NFC. Currently, the debate at the negotiating table is whether to adopt the NFL’s current playoff system or to just give Roger Godell the power pick who he thinks are the best two teams. The NCAA is excluded from this merger, and will be left to govern cross-country and women’s volleyball for the Mountain West Conference. We spoke earlier with University of Miami president Donna E. Shalala.”
‘This is great. I can finally get all this ‘Paid to play’ crap off my back! And we can finally reinstate Luther Campbell as general manager!’
“Schefter added that Auburn University AD Jay Jacobs is leery of the deal.
‘We got a hell of deal with Newton for $200 K. We’re gonna go bankrupt keeping up with everyone now! Damn you free market!’”
This isn’t so far fetched. Big time college football programs are giving the NCAA the Heisman and going straight to the pros. With Texas A&M pinning to join the powerful SEC, the 16 team super-conferences are getting less ridiculous by the day.
Fueled by television revenue (with a splash of recruiting interest), conference officials are gobbling up universities in an arms race to create the most lucrative product on the field.
And Texas A&M wants in with the richest.
In 2008, ESPN signed a 15 year, $2.25 billion contract with the SEC to show football and men’s and women’s basketball. CBS signed a similar fifteen year deal with the conference worth $825 million.
CBS broadcasts one SEC football game a week. One.
These TV deals give each SEC school an annual share of $17 million, $10.9 million more than the deal the ACC has currently. While the Big-10 and other conferences labor over creating their own networks, the SEC has broadcasting companies in bidding wars for the rights to their games.
This, undoubtedly, fueled the $300 million deal between ESPN and Texas for the “Longhorn Network”. Which, undoubtedly, made A&M mad enough to want to bolt to a conference that at least split their exorbitant revenue evenly and didn’t give absurd recruiting advantages to the school with the TV deal.
Coupled with the departures of Nebraska and Colorado, this cat fight has left the Big 12 in shambles and Baylor trying desperately to hold everything together like a divorced couple in a Lifetime movie.
But as I said earlier, this has been building for a long time.
In my previous post, I wrote that by revolutionizing the image of football programs like Oregon, Maryland, and South Carolina, Nike and Under Armour are using “amateur” athletes as billboards for their gear and apparel. Adidas jumped into the competition Saturday night thanks to its throwback Michigan and Notre Dame jerseys for the biggest football crowd in history. It didn’t hurt that it was also the best finish to a game in years.
At this point, the only difference between college and the NFL are paychecks... at least in theory. (Enter Cam Newton/Miami joke here.)
It’s hard to find an argument against A&M joining the SEC, or Texas agreeing to the Longhorn Network, or the Big 10 or Pac 12 creating their own networks, but at what point do these universities realize they’re killing what made their product succeed in the first place.
Why does the Vol Navy dock their yachts outside Neyland Stadium days before the Florida game? Why do Texas A&M students get together at midnight before home games to yell and “fire up the twelfth man”? Why is the speed limit on campus at Ole Miss 18 mph in honor of Archie Manning? Why does anyone still care about Notre Dame?
Culture and pride. Pure and simple.
While the NFL is king, it’s still a business. Teams are created for their profitability, not to represent their state or community. When that profitability wanes, the team either folds or leaves for a more lucrative market. They’re a business like Wal-Mart or Kraft or Coca-Cola. Team owners must put the interest of their team above all else, as well they should.
So why on earth do university presidents and donors insist on creating a product that tries to rival the NFL? It’s like CC Sabathia challenging Usain Bolt to a game of tag. It makes no sense challenging a power at their greatest strength. It’s basic football strategy.
Scheduling games between Green Bay and New England makes no sense for the NFL other than both teams are good and fans would be glued to the TV. Creating a rivalry is unnecessary. College football mimics this same format and creates the LSU vs Oregon “Cowboys Classic”. Fans watch because it’s compelling, but the game is void of substance.
I would wager the Texas A&M faithful would sacrifice every game in 2011 if it meant the Aggies would crush Texas. It would at least be considered.
But this could all be lost in a BCS, money driven culture we’ve created for ourselves. Bob Stoops admitted he doesn’t see his rivalry with Texas as essential. The Colorado and Nebraska rivalry, which began in 1898 and has been played every year since 1948, is no more. The Buffaloes will instead end their season with their old nemesis Utah, whom they last played in 1962.
If college administrators want so badly to operate their well oiled athletics machines like businesses, then they need to consider “product loyalty”. Pro football stadiums are glorified for having a college atmosphere, but no one ever says, “This campus has a real NFL feel to it.” If fans chose to invest in college football over the NFL, it’s more than likely an intentional move.
And since both are more popular than ever, why not leave the competition on the field?
Breaking news from ESPN’s Adam Shefter...
“The NFL is in the process of executing a high stakes merger with the SEC, Pac-12, and Big-10, adding three new conferences to AFC and NFC. Currently, the debate at the negotiating table is whether to adopt the NFL’s current playoff system or to just give Roger Godell the power pick who he thinks are the best two teams. The NCAA is excluded from this merger, and will be left to govern cross-country and women’s volleyball for the Mountain West Conference. We spoke earlier with University of Miami president Donna E. Shalala.”
‘This is great. I can finally get all this ‘Paid to play’ crap off my back! And we can finally reinstate Luther Campbell as general manager!’
“Schefter added that Auburn University AD Jay Jacobs is leery of the deal.
‘We got a hell of deal with Newton for $200 K. We’re gonna go bankrupt keeping up with everyone now! Damn you free market!’”
This isn’t so far fetched. Big time college football programs are giving the NCAA the Heisman and going straight to the pros. With Texas A&M pinning to join the powerful SEC, the 16 team super-conferences are getting less ridiculous by the day.
Fueled by television revenue (with a splash of recruiting interest), conference officials are gobbling up universities in an arms race to create the most lucrative product on the field.
And Texas A&M wants in with the richest.
In 2008, ESPN signed a 15 year, $2.25 billion contract with the SEC to show football and men’s and women’s basketball. CBS signed a similar fifteen year deal with the conference worth $825 million.
CBS broadcasts one SEC football game a week. One.
These TV deals give each SEC school an annual share of $17 million, $10.9 million more than the deal the ACC has currently. While the Big-10 and other conferences labor over creating their own networks, the SEC has broadcasting companies in bidding wars for the rights to their games.
This, undoubtedly, fueled the $300 million deal between ESPN and Texas for the “Longhorn Network”. Which, undoubtedly, made A&M mad enough to want to bolt to a conference that at least split their exorbitant revenue evenly and didn’t give absurd recruiting advantages to the school with the TV deal.
Coupled with the departures of Nebraska and Colorado, this cat fight has left the Big 12 in shambles and Baylor trying desperately to hold everything together like a divorced couple in a Lifetime movie.
But as I said earlier, this has been building for a long time.
In my previous post, I wrote that by revolutionizing the image of football programs like Oregon, Maryland, and South Carolina, Nike and Under Armour are using “amateur” athletes as billboards for their gear and apparel. Adidas jumped into the competition Saturday night thanks to its throwback Michigan and Notre Dame jerseys for the biggest football crowd in history. It didn’t hurt that it was also the best finish to a game in years.
At this point, the only difference between college and the NFL are paychecks... at least in theory. (Enter Cam Newton/Miami joke here.)
It’s hard to find an argument against A&M joining the SEC, or Texas agreeing to the Longhorn Network, or the Big 10 or Pac 12 creating their own networks, but at what point do these universities realize they’re killing what made their product succeed in the first place.
Why does the Vol Navy dock their yachts outside Neyland Stadium days before the Florida game? Why do Texas A&M students get together at midnight before home games to yell and “fire up the twelfth man”? Why is the speed limit on campus at Ole Miss 18 mph in honor of Archie Manning? Why does anyone still care about Notre Dame?
Culture and pride. Pure and simple.
While the NFL is king, it’s still a business. Teams are created for their profitability, not to represent their state or community. When that profitability wanes, the team either folds or leaves for a more lucrative market. They’re a business like Wal-Mart or Kraft or Coca-Cola. Team owners must put the interest of their team above all else, as well they should.
So why on earth do university presidents and donors insist on creating a product that tries to rival the NFL? It’s like CC Sabathia challenging Usain Bolt to a game of tag. It makes no sense challenging a power at their greatest strength. It’s basic football strategy.
Scheduling games between Green Bay and New England makes no sense for the NFL other than both teams are good and fans would be glued to the TV. Creating a rivalry is unnecessary. College football mimics this same format and creates the LSU vs Oregon “Cowboys Classic”. Fans watch because it’s compelling, but the game is void of substance.
I would wager the Texas A&M faithful would sacrifice every game in 2011 if it meant the Aggies would crush Texas. It would at least be considered.
But this could all be lost in a BCS, money driven culture we’ve created for ourselves. Bob Stoops admitted he doesn’t see his rivalry with Texas as essential. The Colorado and Nebraska rivalry, which began in 1898 and has been played every year since 1948, is no more. The Buffaloes will instead end their season with their old nemesis Utah, whom they last played in 1962.
If college administrators want so badly to operate their well oiled athletics machines like businesses, then they need to consider “product loyalty”. Pro football stadiums are glorified for having a college atmosphere, but no one ever says, “This campus has a real NFL feel to it.” If fans chose to invest in college football over the NFL, it’s more than likely an intentional move.
And since both are more popular than ever, why not leave the competition on the field?
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Fashion Week
Even if Georgia had beaten Boise St., they should have forfeited on principal alone.
Trading in their traditional red and black uniforms for the gaudy Nike Pro Combat monstrosities didn’t help in a 35-21 lose to begin a season where they were declared this year’s Auburn. After today, those jerseys will be nothing more than fodder for talk radio jokes and filler for alumni fundraising auctions.
Having specialty uniforms for big games is all the rage in college football. The Oregon Ducks, as part of a 15 year marketing plan by Nike, have revolutionized their program by creating an image. “Throwback” jerseys are finding their way to even the most established programs, and ESPN has devoted a section of their website to “Uni Watch”. Somewhere, Dick Butkus and JIm Brown are gagging at the thought of this.
I’m not going to get into a rant on the amount of money generated through college football or whether or not collegian athletes should be paid. The topic has been discussed ad nauseam. However, I do find it interesting how easily we’ve all come to accept the extremes that college football has become corporatized.
Thanks to Nike and Under Armor, college football is as much about the image created as it is the game itself. In a recent article from Michael Kruse on Grantland, Nike CEO and Oregon alum Phil Knight devised a plan to generate nationwide attention for a program that had spent the better part of a century at the bottom of the college football world. Through branding and marketing designed for 17 year old athletes, Oregon went from entrenched in mediocrity to football power. Recruits flocked (pun intended) to the university that was pushing the limits of how close a football uniform could resemble Batman’s outfit.
The plan worked perfectly. Oregon finished a near perfect season, and superstar running backs LaMichael James and LaGarret Blount referenced openly the Ducks’ cutting edge attire as a contributing factor in their decision to play in Eugene.
And the trend is spreading. Under Armour CEO Kevin Plank, and Maryland football alum, has spearheaded their own futuristic design for the Terrapins, including those worn against Miami that looked like the state flag threw up. Under Armour has also outfitted South Carolina with five different uniform possibilities and a cleat/ankle brace that “Uni Watch” said allowed the shoe logo to not be covered with tape.
The lucrative relationships between shoe/apparel companies and universities is nothing new. Along with countless other advertisements claiming to be the official _____ of the University of ______, banners sporting the Nike swoosh or the Adidas stripes hang from the rafters or upper decks of arenas and stadiums all over the country. For a few million dollars, a young athlete’s brand devotion can be securely claimed by the time he leaves the university simply by the gear that has been provided.
This style of marketing has worked its way into high school as well. Just this season, Alcoa High School (and their seven consecutive Tennessee state championship football team) signed a deal with Under Armour for the exclusive rights to outfit their athletic teams. Nike signed a similar deal Maryville High School a few years earlier.
It’s as if college (and high school) administrators found a way around the amateur status of their athletes. Since collegian players can’t be sponsored by corporations, universities are more than happy to take that sponsorship for their brand. LaMichael James is at least six months from his first shoe deal, but Oregon is ready and waiting to capitalize on his ability in countless varieties of his #21 jersey. With kids everywhere from Texas to New York sporting Oregon green (or highlighter yellow or chocolate cake black or gun metal grey or.... whatever), the Ducks become a household name, James becomes a superstar, and Nike makes gobs of money through access to athletes it would otherwise not have. It’s a win-win-win.
This leads to other universities mimicking the same strategies, including the aforementioned Bulldogs, Terrapins, and Gamecocks. If a team wears a specialized jersey for a nationally televised game on ESPN, ABC, or CBS, by Monday morning the racks in the campus bookstore will be filled with these prom dress uniforms for the fans who want to slightly set themselves apart.
It’s difficult to argue against universities doing this. When I was in the seventh grade, I developed an obsession with North Carolina. I argued it was because I used to live there (we moved when I was six), but it was honestly because I saw their Nike gear every time I walked into Champs or Foot Locker. In my middle school mind, it represented the champion image I wanted. With Mack Brown leading a football resurgence at the time, the Carolina blue was too much to pass up. A Tar Heels shirt or jersey was a way for me to feel like the players I was watching on TV. The design of the shirt just made it easier.
The NCAA and college sports purists pride themselves on the amateurism of its athletes, but this is far from reality. Every time Andrew Luck steps on the field, he’s a Nike endorsement. When Marcus Lattimore cuts up the middle for 15 yards for the Gamecocks, the Under Armour logo will be just as prevalent as the garnet and black on his uniform. When an athlete signs with a university, he/she is signing with a footwear/apparel company as well.
But no harm, no foul. Everyone gets something in this symbiotic relationship, and the product on the field improves exponentially every year.
The problem arises when a football player tries to sell the jersey he received from this sponsorship (i.e. A.J. Green) or trade his complimentary gear he’s promoting for tattoos (i.e. Terrelle Pryor), his amateurism is conveniently brought up. The athlete is branded as selfish and greedy, while the university stands either as a victim or as a pillar of institutional sovereignty.
This issue joins a long line of NCAA regulations that have become nothing short of laughable. I won’t join the ranks that advocate for college athletes to be paid, but I do stand on the side of calling a spade a spade. If an athlete is an amateur, don’t make him into a billboard or a model for designer uniforms. The charade is embarrassing.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Straight Cash, Homie.
For 13 professional years (and who knows how many years before) Randy Moss committed the unpardonable, cardinal sin of athletes. A transgression far more egregious to the world than any Pacman Jones “scrip” club brawl or Barry Bonds dirty syringes.
Moss, an athletic phoneme the likes of which we may never see again, was an absolute waste of talent. Period.
You couldn’t help but watch the Randy Moss train wreck, even if you wanted to turn in disgust.
“Randy has weighed his options and considered the offers and has decided to retire,” his agent Joel Segal said.
No “Thank you, fans”. No “It was an honor to play”. No “I want to spend more time with my family”. Moss didn’t even acknowledge earning millions as a football player was an enjoyable experience. Apparently his career wasn’t enough of an insult.
I realize I will never know even a shred of the answer to this question, but it begs considering: Why?
How do freakish talents like Moss, Albert Haynesworth, or Jamarcus Russell, find their way to the upper echelon of their sport only live out their careers as apathetic, puffed up egos in size eighteen shoes.
One would think the public disdain alone would drive someone to at least change their outward appearance. To go the Office Space route and give the illusion they’re working if only to appease the die-hard fan base. But for Moss and co., such rationale is met with bristled indignation.
There are disgruntled employees in every profession. Whether it’s Google or McDonald’s, someone will complain about every aspect of work and try to make every other employee’s work life miserable. Moss is the guy working in the next desk who wants to drag you into his world where no one seems to see the entitlement he’s been denied.
Where this is so much worse, though, is that Moss was given truckloads more than the discontent guy working next to you... and it was never close to enough to appease him.
In Bill Simmons June 13 post on Game 6 of the NBA finals, he wrote that Lebron might be the greatest, pure talent we will ever see, but he refuses to live up to his potential. This, he argues, is what ultimately drives the fires behind the Lebron hatred. Rather than step up to the moment and carry the fans to the glory they’re craving, Lebron hung around the perimeter and tried to look busy.
He later balked at reporters who dared question his talent and determination, roaring back with the obvious revelation that his life is better than everyone else’s.
In so many ways, Moss makes Lebron look like a first grade gym teacher. Lebron at least craves praise and approval. Moss seems to scoff at it.
It’s enough to make me wonder if some superstar athletes are so disconnected from reality that they can’t get out of their own way and enjoy their lives. Carlos Zambrano nearly walked away from $24 million because of an out of control temper tantrum and impulsive retirement claim after being ejected from a game against Atlanta. James Harrison can’t open his mouth without alienating half of his teammates, let alone the NFL brass. James would be a golden god had he stayed in Cleveland. And who knows the untold millions Tiger Woods lost because he chose flings with porn stars over his wife and kids.
For athletes who’ve been given every advantage, physically and monetarily, it’s amazing how often they stomp on their own success just when it’s there for the taking.
My favorite short story is Hemingway’s “Snows of Kilimanjaro”, which tells the story of a dying writer’s final thoughts as a gangrene infection slowly kills him. He begins reviewing his life, realizing the potential he traded for luxury and ease. The more he realizes his waste, the more he lashes out at his adoring female companion, blaming her wealth as his ultimate downfall. He dies bitter and angry, having never written what meant most to him.
Moss will now retire to a posh home, rubbing elbows with America’s elite and wealthy, and will never be forced to endure another day of thinking outside himself. But one day, whether tomorrow or 30 years from now, Moss will realize what he could have been. Millions of dollars can’t amend regret.
Moss, an athletic phoneme the likes of which we may never see again, was an absolute waste of talent. Period.
You couldn’t help but watch the Randy Moss train wreck, even if you wanted to turn in disgust.
“Randy has weighed his options and considered the offers and has decided to retire,” his agent Joel Segal said.
No “Thank you, fans”. No “It was an honor to play”. No “I want to spend more time with my family”. Moss didn’t even acknowledge earning millions as a football player was an enjoyable experience. Apparently his career wasn’t enough of an insult.
I realize I will never know even a shred of the answer to this question, but it begs considering: Why?
How do freakish talents like Moss, Albert Haynesworth, or Jamarcus Russell, find their way to the upper echelon of their sport only live out their careers as apathetic, puffed up egos in size eighteen shoes.
One would think the public disdain alone would drive someone to at least change their outward appearance. To go the Office Space route and give the illusion they’re working if only to appease the die-hard fan base. But for Moss and co., such rationale is met with bristled indignation.
There are disgruntled employees in every profession. Whether it’s Google or McDonald’s, someone will complain about every aspect of work and try to make every other employee’s work life miserable. Moss is the guy working in the next desk who wants to drag you into his world where no one seems to see the entitlement he’s been denied.
Where this is so much worse, though, is that Moss was given truckloads more than the discontent guy working next to you... and it was never close to enough to appease him.
In Bill Simmons June 13 post on Game 6 of the NBA finals, he wrote that Lebron might be the greatest, pure talent we will ever see, but he refuses to live up to his potential. This, he argues, is what ultimately drives the fires behind the Lebron hatred. Rather than step up to the moment and carry the fans to the glory they’re craving, Lebron hung around the perimeter and tried to look busy.
He later balked at reporters who dared question his talent and determination, roaring back with the obvious revelation that his life is better than everyone else’s.
In so many ways, Moss makes Lebron look like a first grade gym teacher. Lebron at least craves praise and approval. Moss seems to scoff at it.
It’s enough to make me wonder if some superstar athletes are so disconnected from reality that they can’t get out of their own way and enjoy their lives. Carlos Zambrano nearly walked away from $24 million because of an out of control temper tantrum and impulsive retirement claim after being ejected from a game against Atlanta. James Harrison can’t open his mouth without alienating half of his teammates, let alone the NFL brass. James would be a golden god had he stayed in Cleveland. And who knows the untold millions Tiger Woods lost because he chose flings with porn stars over his wife and kids.
For athletes who’ve been given every advantage, physically and monetarily, it’s amazing how often they stomp on their own success just when it’s there for the taking.
My favorite short story is Hemingway’s “Snows of Kilimanjaro”, which tells the story of a dying writer’s final thoughts as a gangrene infection slowly kills him. He begins reviewing his life, realizing the potential he traded for luxury and ease. The more he realizes his waste, the more he lashes out at his adoring female companion, blaming her wealth as his ultimate downfall. He dies bitter and angry, having never written what meant most to him.
Moss will now retire to a posh home, rubbing elbows with America’s elite and wealthy, and will never be forced to endure another day of thinking outside himself. But one day, whether tomorrow or 30 years from now, Moss will realize what he could have been. Millions of dollars can’t amend regret.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Jose Reyes
I have an unhealthy disdain for Jose Reyes.
As a Braves fan, hating the Mets is a foregone conclusion. I’ve loved watching their front office implode, and I honestly enjoy seeing headlines like “Bernie Madoff Rips Off Mets”. I know it’s sad. I even tried as an child to ignorantly defend John Rocker, simply because he was so good against the Mets.
Jose Reyes embodies my extreme hatred. He rivals any shortstop on Earth, can steal bases at will, and has shown flashes of being a top-tier hitter. His half-hearted effort after signing a five year/$33 million deal in ’07 and subsequent MVP performance this year (his contract year) only make him more frustrating to watch.
My hatred, however, was very short-sided.
Last month, my family and I traveled to Bristol to see the White Sox Rookie League team. The starting pitcher, making his Bristol debut, was my wife’s childhood friend from Venezuela, Jean Duque. After signing with the White Sox in ’07, Jean finally made it to the U.S. and found himself the opening night starter for the entry level team.
My wife and mother-in-law beamed as they watched Jean’s impressive, two hit performance. The intensity on his young face was telling of the pressure he carried. He kept his hat brim down, starring intently between spots behind the plate and the path between the dugout and mound. A ritual mass killing could have happened in left field, and Jean would have still only seen the 60 feet, six inches in front of him. In that moment, the sound of the ball smacking the catcher’s mitt was all that mattered.
On a strict pitch count, he was pulled after the fifth and immediately sent to the training room where we tried to speak with him. Jean, though, was only able to give a skittish hello and quickly made is way to the dugout, not wanting his coaches to see him fraternizing with fans.
This extreme pressure is not unique among Hispanic players. In countries like the Dominican Republic and Venezuela, baseball is revered. Not simply for the game itself, but because a bat and glove are the tangible versions of a dream for a better life for themselves and the communities they carry with them. For these players, America is the land where they can fully display their talents at the highest level and make more money than everyone they know combined several times over.
Baseball isn’t revered because it’s an enjoyable occupation. It’s a lifeline.
For Jean, the possibilities of baseball in the U.S. are providing the needed avenue to support the family and newborn child he left in his small community in Venezuela.
Understanding someone’s history and journey in life will always give more perspective to why they act a certain way. In athletics, this goes even farther and more still regarding international players who’ve overcome staggering odds to reach the top.
I recently watched a documentary on the rise of Hispanic players in Major League Baseball and the overwhelming wealth of talent pouring in from Central and South America. Reyes was among those spotlighted. As he made his way through his parents’ modest, Dominican home, he smiled and proudly introduced member after member of his family. Like a young boy eager to show off, Reyes led the camera to the back deck to showcase the view of his home country. To Reyes, this was success.
Like any other passionate sports fan, however, I’m irrational. My emotions for the game tend to dictate how I see the world away from the playing field. Players in uniform cease to be individuals and become the name on their jersey. This is an attribute we typically desire for athletes, but it applies to the good and bad. Our favorite players are gods when they succeed and dogs when they fail. The U.S. women’s soccer team were heroes after beating Brazil. A week later, they’re choke artists. No matter what happened in all the games leading up to their lose to Japan, they’ll be labeled losers who couldn’t take the pressure.
Watching Jean and hearing my wife’s stories of growing up in poverty made the game an entirely different experience. The name on the front of the jersey was insignificant. All I wanted was to see him dominate batters and earn his way up the Chicago farm system.
After seeing Reyes in his Dominican hometown, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to hope he pulls a hamstring or develops a nasty bout with tendonitis. He didn’t chose the team who gave him a chance. He went with the club who did, whether it was the Mets, Brewers, or the fighting spatulas from Bob’s Cooking School. He took the chance that presented itself, and it’s hard to hold that against him.
But don’t get me wrong. I still hate Jose Reyes... just a little less than before.
As a Braves fan, hating the Mets is a foregone conclusion. I’ve loved watching their front office implode, and I honestly enjoy seeing headlines like “Bernie Madoff Rips Off Mets”. I know it’s sad. I even tried as an child to ignorantly defend John Rocker, simply because he was so good against the Mets.
Jose Reyes embodies my extreme hatred. He rivals any shortstop on Earth, can steal bases at will, and has shown flashes of being a top-tier hitter. His half-hearted effort after signing a five year/$33 million deal in ’07 and subsequent MVP performance this year (his contract year) only make him more frustrating to watch.
My hatred, however, was very short-sided.
Last month, my family and I traveled to Bristol to see the White Sox Rookie League team. The starting pitcher, making his Bristol debut, was my wife’s childhood friend from Venezuela, Jean Duque. After signing with the White Sox in ’07, Jean finally made it to the U.S. and found himself the opening night starter for the entry level team.
My wife and mother-in-law beamed as they watched Jean’s impressive, two hit performance. The intensity on his young face was telling of the pressure he carried. He kept his hat brim down, starring intently between spots behind the plate and the path between the dugout and mound. A ritual mass killing could have happened in left field, and Jean would have still only seen the 60 feet, six inches in front of him. In that moment, the sound of the ball smacking the catcher’s mitt was all that mattered.
On a strict pitch count, he was pulled after the fifth and immediately sent to the training room where we tried to speak with him. Jean, though, was only able to give a skittish hello and quickly made is way to the dugout, not wanting his coaches to see him fraternizing with fans.
This extreme pressure is not unique among Hispanic players. In countries like the Dominican Republic and Venezuela, baseball is revered. Not simply for the game itself, but because a bat and glove are the tangible versions of a dream for a better life for themselves and the communities they carry with them. For these players, America is the land where they can fully display their talents at the highest level and make more money than everyone they know combined several times over.
Baseball isn’t revered because it’s an enjoyable occupation. It’s a lifeline.
For Jean, the possibilities of baseball in the U.S. are providing the needed avenue to support the family and newborn child he left in his small community in Venezuela.
Understanding someone’s history and journey in life will always give more perspective to why they act a certain way. In athletics, this goes even farther and more still regarding international players who’ve overcome staggering odds to reach the top.
I recently watched a documentary on the rise of Hispanic players in Major League Baseball and the overwhelming wealth of talent pouring in from Central and South America. Reyes was among those spotlighted. As he made his way through his parents’ modest, Dominican home, he smiled and proudly introduced member after member of his family. Like a young boy eager to show off, Reyes led the camera to the back deck to showcase the view of his home country. To Reyes, this was success.
Like any other passionate sports fan, however, I’m irrational. My emotions for the game tend to dictate how I see the world away from the playing field. Players in uniform cease to be individuals and become the name on their jersey. This is an attribute we typically desire for athletes, but it applies to the good and bad. Our favorite players are gods when they succeed and dogs when they fail. The U.S. women’s soccer team were heroes after beating Brazil. A week later, they’re choke artists. No matter what happened in all the games leading up to their lose to Japan, they’ll be labeled losers who couldn’t take the pressure.
Watching Jean and hearing my wife’s stories of growing up in poverty made the game an entirely different experience. The name on the front of the jersey was insignificant. All I wanted was to see him dominate batters and earn his way up the Chicago farm system.
After seeing Reyes in his Dominican hometown, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to hope he pulls a hamstring or develops a nasty bout with tendonitis. He didn’t chose the team who gave him a chance. He went with the club who did, whether it was the Mets, Brewers, or the fighting spatulas from Bob’s Cooking School. He took the chance that presented itself, and it’s hard to hold that against him.
But don’t get me wrong. I still hate Jose Reyes... just a little less than before.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
When in Rome Part Three...
Ever tried explaining fantasy sports to someone? It’s downright embarrassing. When I was in college, my roommate and I joined a fantasy baseball league with some of our friends. On the day of our draft, we declared a corner in the computer lab on campus and obnoxiously (and pathetically) trash talked each others picks. The girl I liked at the time asked me what we were doing, and suddenly reality set in. I was arguing with my friends over a team of grown men (who didn’t know I existed) I had assembled. I had created a fantasy world where I was the mastermind behind the team. I was pretending to be Frank Wren or Theo Epstein.
The football version of fantasy sports is by far the most glaring example of our obsession with the NFL. Using players as giant, muscular avatars, the experience of living out our inner Tyler Durdens has skyrocketed to new heights. In the 2010 season alone, an estimated 18 million people played fantasy football across the country. (Some reports estimate a number much greater.)
Fantasy football is so popular even established and respected news networks who don’t specialize in sports regularly feature reports on which sleeper free agents can help you win your office league. Articles with titles like “Fantasy Football could help you get a raise” pop up across the internet, promising corporate networking possibilities for our online addiction. Even the business world is forced to create fantasy football policies due to the hundreds of millions in lost revenue caused by employees playing fantasy football at work.
Opponents to fantasy football believe the activity is ruining the experience of supporting a team, but those puritan cries are muffled by the mountains of revenue brought in by this billion dollar industry. Therefore the NFL created a channel catered specifically to fantasy leagues. The Red Zone Network is the watered down, instant gratification version of Sunday games. By showing only scoring opportunities from every team, fantasy players can watch their teams win or lose as if they were watching an actual game. If this were in Sports Illustrated, it would appear in the “Sign of the Apocalypse” section.
But of course the NFL loves fantasy leagues. In what other context would a meaningless touchdown in a blowout game keep fans glued to the screen? Only if they’re trailing by five points against the guy from accounting in the office league.
Again, try explaining this to someone who doesn’t care.
The appeal of fantasy football is not in the activity itself (albeit fun), but rather in the intimate connection it gives fans who otherwise wouldn’t have access to actual NFL players. Men who are faster, stronger, and more powerful become pawns in the hands of men who’ve seen the bottom of a milkshake more than they’ve seen the end of a mile run.
I don’t mean to paint fantasy players as pathetic slobs (I’ve played several times), but it does bring the average person closer to a world that is otherwise unattainable.
In my previous posts, I compared the NFL to the gladiators of ancient Rome. Applying this same logic to fantasy sports, could you imagine fantasy gladiators? Or maybe war conquests? Fantasy Crusades could be a huge hit.
Indulging in these games is no more absurd than enjoying the game itself. We should, however, be honest about what drives the intensity behind this activity. In the ESPN 30 for 30 film, Silly Little Game, fantasy sports creators said owning their original fantasy baseball team made them feel like gods. Their passion was in the palm of their hands, regardless if it was a fantasy.
With the proper perspective, fantasy sports can be more fun than simply watching the games. The story about my friends meeting in the computer lab is one of the best memories I have from my years at East Tennessee State (regardless of my embarrassment). However, it can also morph into a vehicle for an NFL junkie’s desperate attempts at glory without ever risking a concussion, torn ACL, or separated shoulder. Like a man visiting a strip to club to experience a woman, this endeavor will be ultimately unfulfilling.
The football version of fantasy sports is by far the most glaring example of our obsession with the NFL. Using players as giant, muscular avatars, the experience of living out our inner Tyler Durdens has skyrocketed to new heights. In the 2010 season alone, an estimated 18 million people played fantasy football across the country. (Some reports estimate a number much greater.)
Fantasy football is so popular even established and respected news networks who don’t specialize in sports regularly feature reports on which sleeper free agents can help you win your office league. Articles with titles like “Fantasy Football could help you get a raise” pop up across the internet, promising corporate networking possibilities for our online addiction. Even the business world is forced to create fantasy football policies due to the hundreds of millions in lost revenue caused by employees playing fantasy football at work.
Opponents to fantasy football believe the activity is ruining the experience of supporting a team, but those puritan cries are muffled by the mountains of revenue brought in by this billion dollar industry. Therefore the NFL created a channel catered specifically to fantasy leagues. The Red Zone Network is the watered down, instant gratification version of Sunday games. By showing only scoring opportunities from every team, fantasy players can watch their teams win or lose as if they were watching an actual game. If this were in Sports Illustrated, it would appear in the “Sign of the Apocalypse” section.
But of course the NFL loves fantasy leagues. In what other context would a meaningless touchdown in a blowout game keep fans glued to the screen? Only if they’re trailing by five points against the guy from accounting in the office league.
Again, try explaining this to someone who doesn’t care.
The appeal of fantasy football is not in the activity itself (albeit fun), but rather in the intimate connection it gives fans who otherwise wouldn’t have access to actual NFL players. Men who are faster, stronger, and more powerful become pawns in the hands of men who’ve seen the bottom of a milkshake more than they’ve seen the end of a mile run.
I don’t mean to paint fantasy players as pathetic slobs (I’ve played several times), but it does bring the average person closer to a world that is otherwise unattainable.
In my previous posts, I compared the NFL to the gladiators of ancient Rome. Applying this same logic to fantasy sports, could you imagine fantasy gladiators? Or maybe war conquests? Fantasy Crusades could be a huge hit.
Indulging in these games is no more absurd than enjoying the game itself. We should, however, be honest about what drives the intensity behind this activity. In the ESPN 30 for 30 film, Silly Little Game, fantasy sports creators said owning their original fantasy baseball team made them feel like gods. Their passion was in the palm of their hands, regardless if it was a fantasy.
With the proper perspective, fantasy sports can be more fun than simply watching the games. The story about my friends meeting in the computer lab is one of the best memories I have from my years at East Tennessee State (regardless of my embarrassment). However, it can also morph into a vehicle for an NFL junkie’s desperate attempts at glory without ever risking a concussion, torn ACL, or separated shoulder. Like a man visiting a strip to club to experience a woman, this endeavor will be ultimately unfulfilling.
Monday, June 13, 2011
When in Rome Part Two...
Tyler Durden: Hey, you created me. I didn’t create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better.
Ever walked into a college poster sale? It’s exactly what it sounds like. Large images tailored specifically for young men with a small section of generic coffee house images and Salvador Dali reprints. But regardless of where and when this poster sale visit may happen, I would be willing to bet the cash in my wallet (currently $12) you’ll find Tyler Durden’s bruised and bloodied face on one of those wall sized images.
If you are a male between the ages of 35 and 20, there’s a good chance watching/reading Fight Club somehow affected your path to manhood. The story of a white collar bachelor embracing his primal alter ego resonated its way through my generation like a Playboy through a boot camp barrack. Just ask any man on the the street the rules of fight club. I’ll bet another $12 he knows them.
Differing from other blockbusters, this film’s popularity is more Beowulf than Titanic. Fight Club spoke to something buried deep within me; a part of me that longed to be a conquerer with bloody knuckles. Like thousands of other young men, my friends and I in high school started our own fight club. We met in a cinder block building, paired up with someone our size, and fought. The bouts were more often an embarrassment, but we saw them as epic.
In my previous post, I posed the question of why we watch professional football, a sport that leaves its players crippled physically, mentally, and emotionally, with such religious fervor. The answer may have more to do with our basic, core selves.
Risking life and well being for the glory of victory are themes as old as athletics and are not new to American football. Ancient Mesoamerican cultures (Mayan, Aztec, etc.) typically used losers of a “ballgame” as human sacrifices in religious ceremonies and the gladiator events of Rome were based entirely around one man killing another.
This running theme of dominance over an opponent has now evolved into it’s current manifestation; the NFL. In a highly structured form of Fight Club, the line of scrimmage is the 2011 version of what’s always been a part of human history. Watching lineman crash into each other bears a striking resemblance to the 500 year old sport of sumo wrestling. When stripped to an even simpler form, lineman look more like big horn sheep fighting over a female.
To think of football (or sports in general) rationally is to admit it’s absurd. With everything we are learning about concussions and the effects of traumatic hits to the head, playing professional football is as logical as starting smoking when you’re 25. You’ll easily find yourself quoting Jerry Seinfeld in what will ultimately be a depressing conversation; “We chose instead to make little plastic hats so that we can continue our head crackin’ lifestyles.”
What is even more absurd than the fact that we play football is that the Dallas Cowboys are worth $1.8 billion and every seat in their monstrous over priced stadium (average $160 a seat) is sold out for every game.
Could it be that experiencing powerful, violent competition is as essential as sex or friendship? And the NFL is the most accessible outlet for these cravings of our suppressed alter-egos? ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd said America has an addiction to football. The owners can continue the lockout as long as they want because they know we’re coming back. The NFL is where we get our fix.
There are those who satisfy this part of themselves through other means. Skydivers, Wall Street executives, and entrepreneurs are all tapping into the same risk taking alter ego. For the average, “play it safe” citizen, though, these risks are simply not possible or too... risky.
Therefore, the base for our debilitating addiction to the NFL stems from a widespread inability to risk everything for glory. Whether its family, career, or phobias, a sense of self preservation or responsibility to another person drives someone from danger, yet the inner Tyler Durden brings them to sit in the stands to see someone else put their health and well-being on the line to achieve greatness.
To be continued....
Ever walked into a college poster sale? It’s exactly what it sounds like. Large images tailored specifically for young men with a small section of generic coffee house images and Salvador Dali reprints. But regardless of where and when this poster sale visit may happen, I would be willing to bet the cash in my wallet (currently $12) you’ll find Tyler Durden’s bruised and bloodied face on one of those wall sized images.
If you are a male between the ages of 35 and 20, there’s a good chance watching/reading Fight Club somehow affected your path to manhood. The story of a white collar bachelor embracing his primal alter ego resonated its way through my generation like a Playboy through a boot camp barrack. Just ask any man on the the street the rules of fight club. I’ll bet another $12 he knows them.
Differing from other blockbusters, this film’s popularity is more Beowulf than Titanic. Fight Club spoke to something buried deep within me; a part of me that longed to be a conquerer with bloody knuckles. Like thousands of other young men, my friends and I in high school started our own fight club. We met in a cinder block building, paired up with someone our size, and fought. The bouts were more often an embarrassment, but we saw them as epic.
In my previous post, I posed the question of why we watch professional football, a sport that leaves its players crippled physically, mentally, and emotionally, with such religious fervor. The answer may have more to do with our basic, core selves.
Risking life and well being for the glory of victory are themes as old as athletics and are not new to American football. Ancient Mesoamerican cultures (Mayan, Aztec, etc.) typically used losers of a “ballgame” as human sacrifices in religious ceremonies and the gladiator events of Rome were based entirely around one man killing another.
This running theme of dominance over an opponent has now evolved into it’s current manifestation; the NFL. In a highly structured form of Fight Club, the line of scrimmage is the 2011 version of what’s always been a part of human history. Watching lineman crash into each other bears a striking resemblance to the 500 year old sport of sumo wrestling. When stripped to an even simpler form, lineman look more like big horn sheep fighting over a female.
To think of football (or sports in general) rationally is to admit it’s absurd. With everything we are learning about concussions and the effects of traumatic hits to the head, playing professional football is as logical as starting smoking when you’re 25. You’ll easily find yourself quoting Jerry Seinfeld in what will ultimately be a depressing conversation; “We chose instead to make little plastic hats so that we can continue our head crackin’ lifestyles.”
What is even more absurd than the fact that we play football is that the Dallas Cowboys are worth $1.8 billion and every seat in their monstrous over priced stadium (average $160 a seat) is sold out for every game.
Could it be that experiencing powerful, violent competition is as essential as sex or friendship? And the NFL is the most accessible outlet for these cravings of our suppressed alter-egos? ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd said America has an addiction to football. The owners can continue the lockout as long as they want because they know we’re coming back. The NFL is where we get our fix.
There are those who satisfy this part of themselves through other means. Skydivers, Wall Street executives, and entrepreneurs are all tapping into the same risk taking alter ego. For the average, “play it safe” citizen, though, these risks are simply not possible or too... risky.
Therefore, the base for our debilitating addiction to the NFL stems from a widespread inability to risk everything for glory. Whether its family, career, or phobias, a sense of self preservation or responsibility to another person drives someone from danger, yet the inner Tyler Durden brings them to sit in the stands to see someone else put their health and well-being on the line to achieve greatness.
To be continued....
Sunday, May 22, 2011
When in Rome...
In modern American culture, the NFL’s popularity dwarfs every other sport so badly it’s not even an intelligent debate. As ESPN’s Mike Greenberg put it, “It’s the most popular thing in American culture.” The Super Bowl is consistently the most watched event of the year, stadiums across the country are sold out almost every week, and even the most ardent haters of professional sports are up to date on the NFL.
But as the league fights with its players over how to divide the absurd $9 billion in annual revenue, a giant, pink elephant has pulled up a chair at the negotiating table.
Differing from other sports like baseball, soccer, and basketball, football is the perfect combination of strategy and brute strength. With this perfect balance, however, comes the dangers of being caught between elite athleticism and “tough guy” culture. The result is a game that kills its players.
As we scream at our HD, 3D, Double D, home theaters for bigger, more crushing hits, players are being ground like Big Mac patties and kicked to the curb in less than four years. What life awaits them? Hopelessness, to the tune of 78 percent who find themselves divorced, bankrupt or unemployed.
As bad as this sounds, it doesn’t come close to the crippled, post football lives hundreds of players are left to endure. In a 2008 article from Men’s Journal, Paul Solotaroff describes the miserable life of former Jacksonville Jaguar and Cincinnati Bengal Brian DeMarco, who lives in excruciating, constant pain from a broken back that was “doctored” with just a few shots of lidocaine.
“Although the house is cool, he is sweating profusely and can’t find a position, seated or prone, that doesn’t cause him grotesque pain. Every so often his huge body jerks in spasms from head-to-toe agony. The fits, when they come, turn him as white as the walls and send un-self-conscious tears down his cheeks. It’s DeMarco at thirty-five: dirt-poor, broken, and in a headfirst spiral, taking his wife and children down with him.”
Chicago Sun-Times writer Rick Telander described the life of Bears Hall of Famer Doug Atkins in his 2008 article, “Atkins: A Study of Pride and Pain”. Tucked away in the country roads surrounding Knoxville, TN is the man legendary Bears’ coach George Halas called the best defensive end of his time.??? Atkins, however, lives as a recluse and can barely move around his dilapidated home.
Telander writes, “The house has its curtains drawn. There are two old cars in the carport, one of them very old... There’s a wooden wheelchair ramp that looks weathered and unused leading to the front door. Two tiny American flags on the wall next to the carport. No lights on. No decorations.”
In February, fellow Bears great Dave Duerson shot himself in the chest with the intent of donating his brain to science in order to identify the degenerative disease caused by his years of brutal hits on the field that was tearing his mind apart.
Former Philadelphia Eagle Andre Waters shot himself because of depression caused by “sustained brain damage from playing football.”
Former New England Patriot Ted Johnson suffers from crippling bouts of depression.
Hall of Famer Mike Webster died at age fifty, surviving on enough prescription drugs to make Walgreen’s jealous.
Chicago Bears great Jim McMahon has lost most of his memory due to football injuries.
Sadly, I could go on much longer than you’re willing to read.
In the wake of new, vigilant rules to prevent traumatic brain injuries, Sports Illustrated reported a new study from Purdue University claiming even minor hits can be just as traumatic to the brain as the crushing blows that light up the evening Sportscenter.
NFL players honestly need the money because their health is constantly on the line, regardless of their superstardom (ask Bo Jackson). At any moment, more so than any other major American athletic activity, a football player’s ability to function in life is at risk. They are already giving up later years of their lives in order to give the American public what it wants; conflict, violence, and triumph.
With this in mind, it begs the question; Is watching professional football the modern equivalent to watching gladiators of ancient Rome?
To which the follow up question is; Why do we watch?
Through a series of blogs, I will explore several themes found within the NFL and what they reflect about American culture, particularly among males.
It’s social commentary at it’s college town coffee shop finest.
But as the league fights with its players over how to divide the absurd $9 billion in annual revenue, a giant, pink elephant has pulled up a chair at the negotiating table.
Differing from other sports like baseball, soccer, and basketball, football is the perfect combination of strategy and brute strength. With this perfect balance, however, comes the dangers of being caught between elite athleticism and “tough guy” culture. The result is a game that kills its players.
As we scream at our HD, 3D, Double D, home theaters for bigger, more crushing hits, players are being ground like Big Mac patties and kicked to the curb in less than four years. What life awaits them? Hopelessness, to the tune of 78 percent who find themselves divorced, bankrupt or unemployed.
As bad as this sounds, it doesn’t come close to the crippled, post football lives hundreds of players are left to endure. In a 2008 article from Men’s Journal, Paul Solotaroff describes the miserable life of former Jacksonville Jaguar and Cincinnati Bengal Brian DeMarco, who lives in excruciating, constant pain from a broken back that was “doctored” with just a few shots of lidocaine.
“Although the house is cool, he is sweating profusely and can’t find a position, seated or prone, that doesn’t cause him grotesque pain. Every so often his huge body jerks in spasms from head-to-toe agony. The fits, when they come, turn him as white as the walls and send un-self-conscious tears down his cheeks. It’s DeMarco at thirty-five: dirt-poor, broken, and in a headfirst spiral, taking his wife and children down with him.”
Chicago Sun-Times writer Rick Telander described the life of Bears Hall of Famer Doug Atkins in his 2008 article, “Atkins: A Study of Pride and Pain”. Tucked away in the country roads surrounding Knoxville, TN is the man legendary Bears’ coach George Halas called the best defensive end of his time.??? Atkins, however, lives as a recluse and can barely move around his dilapidated home.
Telander writes, “The house has its curtains drawn. There are two old cars in the carport, one of them very old... There’s a wooden wheelchair ramp that looks weathered and unused leading to the front door. Two tiny American flags on the wall next to the carport. No lights on. No decorations.”
In February, fellow Bears great Dave Duerson shot himself in the chest with the intent of donating his brain to science in order to identify the degenerative disease caused by his years of brutal hits on the field that was tearing his mind apart.
Former Philadelphia Eagle Andre Waters shot himself because of depression caused by “sustained brain damage from playing football.”
Former New England Patriot Ted Johnson suffers from crippling bouts of depression.
Hall of Famer Mike Webster died at age fifty, surviving on enough prescription drugs to make Walgreen’s jealous.
Chicago Bears great Jim McMahon has lost most of his memory due to football injuries.
Sadly, I could go on much longer than you’re willing to read.
In the wake of new, vigilant rules to prevent traumatic brain injuries, Sports Illustrated reported a new study from Purdue University claiming even minor hits can be just as traumatic to the brain as the crushing blows that light up the evening Sportscenter.
NFL players honestly need the money because their health is constantly on the line, regardless of their superstardom (ask Bo Jackson). At any moment, more so than any other major American athletic activity, a football player’s ability to function in life is at risk. They are already giving up later years of their lives in order to give the American public what it wants; conflict, violence, and triumph.
With this in mind, it begs the question; Is watching professional football the modern equivalent to watching gladiators of ancient Rome?
To which the follow up question is; Why do we watch?
Through a series of blogs, I will explore several themes found within the NFL and what they reflect about American culture, particularly among males.
It’s social commentary at it’s college town coffee shop finest.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Bruce is Not the Only One to Blame
When I was young, I loved Magic Johnson. I wasn’t a Lakers fan or the son of a Lakers fan. No one in my family went to Michigan State, and no one played basketball. My parents didn’t even watch the NBA. But for my birthday, my primary school friend Kyle gave me “Magic Johnson’s Double Jam”. It was a bedroom basketball goal with two nets, a timer, and a scoreboard. The goal of the game was to score more baskets in your net than your opponent, and Magic would tell you how great you were. It was as fun as it sounds.
As the third child with two older sisters, I spent most of my time by myself. My basketball goal became my path to NBA glory as I alternated between being Magic and Michael Jordan (the goals were yellow and red). I took countless game winning shots while my game clock counted down the seconds over and over and over. Magic’s smiling face watched from his spot on the backboard.
When the news broke that Magic was HIV positive, I tried to find a way to hold his image together. The idea he could have contracted this disease by running around on his wife was unthinkable. In my immaturity, I wanted him to be the victim of a tragic mistake, and I told my dad it must of have been from a blood transfusion. I had no idea what a transfusion was, but I had heard while watching the ESPY’s that this happened to tennis great Arthur Ashe and it seemed like a plausible way out of losing my hero. Heavy-hearted, my dad put his hand on my shoulder and said,
“Mark, he was cheating on his wife.”
On March 21, I had that same feeling. Bruce Pearl, who turned a football obsessed community into basketball junkies, was fired. He lied over a petty violation, committed more petty violations, and is now gone. After six years of the most inspiring and exciting athletics at Tennessee in decades, he’s gone. My wife and I sat scouring blogs and articles to find any way to make this a bad decision and make Pearl a victim. But despite UT’s pathetic display in handling the situation, it didn’t change Pearl’s mistakes. He was, just like Magic, guilty.
However, Pearl’s situation differs from Magic in that there is another individual with guilt written all over his face.
University of Tennessee Men’s Athletic Director Mike Hamilton
When a team struggles, look to the coach. But when the entire athletic department becomes a dumpster fire, look a little further up the food chain.
Mike Hamilton, by all accounts, is a fine and upstanding individual. He is an active member in the community and contributes a tremendous amount of time and resources to charitable work. This, however, makes you a good neighbor. Not a good AD.
Since taking over as AD in 2003, Hamilton has watched his football program (the pride of the university) collapse, the baseball team fall to the bottom of the conference, and his basketball coach show questionable ethics. All three programs are under NCAA investigation. All three coaches were Hamilton hires. A manager at Starbucks doesn’t get that many chances.
Starting with 1988, Tennessee football had won eight games or more fourteen years consecutively. They have failed to reach eight wins four times under Hamilton’s watch. During those same fourteen years, UT baseball was SEC tournament champions three times. Want to take a guess how many they have won with Hamilton?
To top it all, he also has the debacle of the last six months hanging over his head. ESPN radio host Doug Gotlieb described the Pearl punishment/firing as “mind-numbingly stupid”.
ESPN’s Pat Forde wrote, “If I were the president at Tennessee, the man in charge of an athletic department that has hemorraghed credibility at an alarming rate in recent years would need a Committee on Infractions miracle to keep his job.”
In response to Committee on Infractions chair Tom Yeager’s statement that firing Pearl would not necessarily equate to a less severe penalty, ESPN’s Andy Katz wrote, “...why go through a charade of a season? The school essentially left him and his staff hanging by terminating his contract.”
Sports Illustrated’s Stewart Mandel added, “Under his watch, one of the nation’s proudest athletics programs has deteriorated into one of its most shameful.”
Tennessee Chancellor Jimmy Cheek should have statements like these tapped to his bathroom mirror.
I don’t ever want to be one who advocates for a man to lose his job, regardless of the context. However, I can’t see how this series of disasters can continue. The home of General Neyland, Peyton Manning, and Pat Summit is being called shameful. The home of the first black quarterback in the SEC has become a place that sends “hostesses” to flirt (or worse) with recruits. The home of the “Ernie and Bernie Show” is now among the long list of universities who were caught trying to cheat. Can you imagine what Reggie White would have thought of Lane Kiffin?
It’s unrealistic to think Hamilton or any athletic director could have complete control over his programs. However, if attitude reflects leadership, then what does this debacle say of Hamilton?
In an act of desperation, Hamilton replaced Pearl with Missouri State’s Cuonzo Martin, who “is among the most promising coaches in the game.”
Translation: “I just hired someone you all have never heard of hoping there’ll be no expectations to disappoint.” Way to shoot for the stars, Mike.
Our heroes fall. That’s life. The Greek Tragedy archetype exists for a reason, and the story of Pearl at Tennessee fits the bill. The difference, though, is the downfall at UT was completely avoidable. His post on this Facebook page was heartbreaking.
“These were the best years of my life.”
Read Pat Forde’s article from 2008, describing Pearl’s rise to Tennessee. He was the anti-Lane Kiffin. He trudged his way to Knoxville by working with smaller schools for years, waiting for his turn at the top. Tennessee was everything he could have hoped for.
Pearl made dumb mistakes, though, and he should pay the price for them. However, he shouldn’t be trapped paying the debt of the entire department. This only made him a scapegoat.
Place blame where it’s due, Chancellor Cheek. Not where it’s easiest.
As the third child with two older sisters, I spent most of my time by myself. My basketball goal became my path to NBA glory as I alternated between being Magic and Michael Jordan (the goals were yellow and red). I took countless game winning shots while my game clock counted down the seconds over and over and over. Magic’s smiling face watched from his spot on the backboard.
When the news broke that Magic was HIV positive, I tried to find a way to hold his image together. The idea he could have contracted this disease by running around on his wife was unthinkable. In my immaturity, I wanted him to be the victim of a tragic mistake, and I told my dad it must of have been from a blood transfusion. I had no idea what a transfusion was, but I had heard while watching the ESPY’s that this happened to tennis great Arthur Ashe and it seemed like a plausible way out of losing my hero. Heavy-hearted, my dad put his hand on my shoulder and said,
“Mark, he was cheating on his wife.”
On March 21, I had that same feeling. Bruce Pearl, who turned a football obsessed community into basketball junkies, was fired. He lied over a petty violation, committed more petty violations, and is now gone. After six years of the most inspiring and exciting athletics at Tennessee in decades, he’s gone. My wife and I sat scouring blogs and articles to find any way to make this a bad decision and make Pearl a victim. But despite UT’s pathetic display in handling the situation, it didn’t change Pearl’s mistakes. He was, just like Magic, guilty.
However, Pearl’s situation differs from Magic in that there is another individual with guilt written all over his face.
University of Tennessee Men’s Athletic Director Mike Hamilton
When a team struggles, look to the coach. But when the entire athletic department becomes a dumpster fire, look a little further up the food chain.
Mike Hamilton, by all accounts, is a fine and upstanding individual. He is an active member in the community and contributes a tremendous amount of time and resources to charitable work. This, however, makes you a good neighbor. Not a good AD.
Since taking over as AD in 2003, Hamilton has watched his football program (the pride of the university) collapse, the baseball team fall to the bottom of the conference, and his basketball coach show questionable ethics. All three programs are under NCAA investigation. All three coaches were Hamilton hires. A manager at Starbucks doesn’t get that many chances.
Starting with 1988, Tennessee football had won eight games or more fourteen years consecutively. They have failed to reach eight wins four times under Hamilton’s watch. During those same fourteen years, UT baseball was SEC tournament champions three times. Want to take a guess how many they have won with Hamilton?
To top it all, he also has the debacle of the last six months hanging over his head. ESPN radio host Doug Gotlieb described the Pearl punishment/firing as “mind-numbingly stupid”.
ESPN’s Pat Forde wrote, “If I were the president at Tennessee, the man in charge of an athletic department that has hemorraghed credibility at an alarming rate in recent years would need a Committee on Infractions miracle to keep his job.”
In response to Committee on Infractions chair Tom Yeager’s statement that firing Pearl would not necessarily equate to a less severe penalty, ESPN’s Andy Katz wrote, “...why go through a charade of a season? The school essentially left him and his staff hanging by terminating his contract.”
Sports Illustrated’s Stewart Mandel added, “Under his watch, one of the nation’s proudest athletics programs has deteriorated into one of its most shameful.”
Tennessee Chancellor Jimmy Cheek should have statements like these tapped to his bathroom mirror.
I don’t ever want to be one who advocates for a man to lose his job, regardless of the context. However, I can’t see how this series of disasters can continue. The home of General Neyland, Peyton Manning, and Pat Summit is being called shameful. The home of the first black quarterback in the SEC has become a place that sends “hostesses” to flirt (or worse) with recruits. The home of the “Ernie and Bernie Show” is now among the long list of universities who were caught trying to cheat. Can you imagine what Reggie White would have thought of Lane Kiffin?
It’s unrealistic to think Hamilton or any athletic director could have complete control over his programs. However, if attitude reflects leadership, then what does this debacle say of Hamilton?
In an act of desperation, Hamilton replaced Pearl with Missouri State’s Cuonzo Martin, who “is among the most promising coaches in the game.”
Translation: “I just hired someone you all have never heard of hoping there’ll be no expectations to disappoint.” Way to shoot for the stars, Mike.
Our heroes fall. That’s life. The Greek Tragedy archetype exists for a reason, and the story of Pearl at Tennessee fits the bill. The difference, though, is the downfall at UT was completely avoidable. His post on this Facebook page was heartbreaking.
“These were the best years of my life.”
Read Pat Forde’s article from 2008, describing Pearl’s rise to Tennessee. He was the anti-Lane Kiffin. He trudged his way to Knoxville by working with smaller schools for years, waiting for his turn at the top. Tennessee was everything he could have hoped for.
Pearl made dumb mistakes, though, and he should pay the price for them. However, he shouldn’t be trapped paying the debt of the entire department. This only made him a scapegoat.
Place blame where it’s due, Chancellor Cheek. Not where it’s easiest.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Who Will Police the Police?
Let’s do a little compare and contrast.
Jim Calhoun: Cited by the NCAA for failure to create an atmosphere of compliance. The NCAA Committee of Infractions is accusing Calhoun of recruiting a player, Nate Miles, who had contact with a team manager turned sports agent. First discovered in a 2009 Yahoo! Sports investigation (CITE!!), the agent, Josh Nochimson, allegedly provided lodging, transportation, meals and representation for Miles while UConn pursued him. Calhoun will be suspended three games in the 2011-2012 season, while the program will face scholarship reductions, recruiting restrictions, and a three year probation.
Bruce Pearl: Cited by the NCAA for “impermissible contact with student-athletes during an unofficial recruiting visit, for not being ethical about the matter, for failing to promote an atmosphere of compliance, and failing to monitor the activities of his assistant coaches.” (CITE). The official NCAA notification did not include punishments (which are expected to be handed down in June), but Pearl has already served an eight conference game suspension, a pay reduction of $1.5 million over multiple years, and a one year ban from off campus recruiting.
Do these two descriptions look similar? In some ways they should. Lost in the NCAA rhetoric are two coaches who are feeling the heat after breaking rigid (and complicated) recruiting guidelines. Both are being chastised publicly and both either have or are going to face game suspensions. Pearl illegally hosted a recruit at his home instead of on campus, and Calhoun recruited a player who already had a relationship with a professional agent. And according to ESPN’s Doug Gotlieb (along with other sources), they both lied.
When looking at their penalites, however, it’s as if the descriptions have been switched. Pearl, whose infraction is considered a secondary violation, is the one feeling the NCAA breathing down his neck with the threat of losing his position with Tennessee. (With the threat of a long term suspension, UT may be forced to ask Pearl to step down.) His initial dishonesty with NCAA officials is the core reason he is in this mess. Calhoun, on the other hand, committed the cardinal sin in collegiate coaching. By recruiting Nate Miles and encouraging his relationship with agent, Josh Nochimson, Calhoun introduced the kryptonite of college sports, money. Yet the UConn coach (who, again, alledged lied as well) is being punished with "timeout" compared to Pearl.
ESPN’s Pat Forde wrote in his article “Coach’s Can’t Escape Accountability”, this decision by the NCAA is a stand against “protecting the coarch at all costs”.
“But the three game penalty is far more than a slap on the wrist,” Forde wrote.
When looking at the Calhoun decision on its own, this rationale appears to be on the right track. When compared to Pearl, however, it’s as inconsistent as Tennessee’s regular season. ESPN reported the decision on Calhoun would have been more severe if Miles had actually played at UConn (He was dismissed after violating a restraining order.), but neither did the recruit Pearl hosted at his home. And where have the allegations pertaining to Calhoun’s dishonesty gone? Have they been ignored like the blatant pass being given to UConn?
“As the leader of Conneticut beasketball program and an ambassador of the university, the buck stops with me. No qualifications, no exceptions. I fully acknowledge that we, as a staff, made mistakes and would like to apologize,” Calhoun said.
Sound familiar? Bruce Pearl made a similar statement after he willingly admitted to his mistakes. Calhoun decided to wait until the NCAA gave him the necassary “motivation”. In his statement, Calhoun went on to say he would not comment on this issue further (a luxury he arrogantly demanded but will likely not receive).
My annoyance, however, is not as much with Calhoun as it is with the Big Brother of collegian sports. At this point, the NCAA’s recent decisions are questionable enough to be points of discussion in college ethics classes for years. The lax ruling on the Cam Newton investigation raised plenty of eyebrows on its own, but the decision to allow the Ohio State players (who traded memorabilia for tattoos and money) to play in the Sugar Bowl, coupled with the stiff penalties given to Dez Bryant, A.J. Green, and North Carolina, has left the integrity of college athletics governing body with some dark stains. Their oligarchy approach leaves university athletic departments across the nation at the mercy of their unpredictable (and arguably corrupt) judgement.
It’s difficult to determine the extent to which the NCAA is paying attention to these claims against them, but the rumblings are beginning.
“The secret but carefully orchestrated one day ineligibility of Auburn quarterback Cam Newton for violation of the recruiting amateurism rules once again demonstrates the corrupt culture of the NCAA.” The Bleacher Report
“Goldman Sachs has nothing on the NCAA.” The Kansas City Star
“In the end this is the same old story. College football’s power brokers write a bunch of lip service in an effort to maintain the sports’ ‘amateurism so they can continue to beat federal, state and local taxes. When you pay neither taxes nor the players there’s a lot more cash laying around to line your pockets.” Yahoo! Sports
In another article from Forde, he called for Tennessee to fire athletic director Mike Hamilton, the man who “has hemorrhaged credibility at an alarming rate”. I would say the same for the NCAA, but who would I tell? The Committee of Infractions?
I guess I’ll pull a Jim Tressel; plead ignorance and pray it goes away.
Jim Calhoun: Cited by the NCAA for failure to create an atmosphere of compliance. The NCAA Committee of Infractions is accusing Calhoun of recruiting a player, Nate Miles, who had contact with a team manager turned sports agent. First discovered in a 2009 Yahoo! Sports investigation (CITE!!), the agent, Josh Nochimson, allegedly provided lodging, transportation, meals and representation for Miles while UConn pursued him. Calhoun will be suspended three games in the 2011-2012 season, while the program will face scholarship reductions, recruiting restrictions, and a three year probation.
Bruce Pearl: Cited by the NCAA for “impermissible contact with student-athletes during an unofficial recruiting visit, for not being ethical about the matter, for failing to promote an atmosphere of compliance, and failing to monitor the activities of his assistant coaches.” (CITE). The official NCAA notification did not include punishments (which are expected to be handed down in June), but Pearl has already served an eight conference game suspension, a pay reduction of $1.5 million over multiple years, and a one year ban from off campus recruiting.
Do these two descriptions look similar? In some ways they should. Lost in the NCAA rhetoric are two coaches who are feeling the heat after breaking rigid (and complicated) recruiting guidelines. Both are being chastised publicly and both either have or are going to face game suspensions. Pearl illegally hosted a recruit at his home instead of on campus, and Calhoun recruited a player who already had a relationship with a professional agent. And according to ESPN’s Doug Gotlieb (along with other sources), they both lied.
When looking at their penalites, however, it’s as if the descriptions have been switched. Pearl, whose infraction is considered a secondary violation, is the one feeling the NCAA breathing down his neck with the threat of losing his position with Tennessee. (With the threat of a long term suspension, UT may be forced to ask Pearl to step down.) His initial dishonesty with NCAA officials is the core reason he is in this mess. Calhoun, on the other hand, committed the cardinal sin in collegiate coaching. By recruiting Nate Miles and encouraging his relationship with agent, Josh Nochimson, Calhoun introduced the kryptonite of college sports, money. Yet the UConn coach (who, again, alledged lied as well) is being punished with "timeout" compared to Pearl.
ESPN’s Pat Forde wrote in his article “Coach’s Can’t Escape Accountability”, this decision by the NCAA is a stand against “protecting the coarch at all costs”.
“But the three game penalty is far more than a slap on the wrist,” Forde wrote.
When looking at the Calhoun decision on its own, this rationale appears to be on the right track. When compared to Pearl, however, it’s as inconsistent as Tennessee’s regular season. ESPN reported the decision on Calhoun would have been more severe if Miles had actually played at UConn (He was dismissed after violating a restraining order.), but neither did the recruit Pearl hosted at his home. And where have the allegations pertaining to Calhoun’s dishonesty gone? Have they been ignored like the blatant pass being given to UConn?
“As the leader of Conneticut beasketball program and an ambassador of the university, the buck stops with me. No qualifications, no exceptions. I fully acknowledge that we, as a staff, made mistakes and would like to apologize,” Calhoun said.
Sound familiar? Bruce Pearl made a similar statement after he willingly admitted to his mistakes. Calhoun decided to wait until the NCAA gave him the necassary “motivation”. In his statement, Calhoun went on to say he would not comment on this issue further (a luxury he arrogantly demanded but will likely not receive).
My annoyance, however, is not as much with Calhoun as it is with the Big Brother of collegian sports. At this point, the NCAA’s recent decisions are questionable enough to be points of discussion in college ethics classes for years. The lax ruling on the Cam Newton investigation raised plenty of eyebrows on its own, but the decision to allow the Ohio State players (who traded memorabilia for tattoos and money) to play in the Sugar Bowl, coupled with the stiff penalties given to Dez Bryant, A.J. Green, and North Carolina, has left the integrity of college athletics governing body with some dark stains. Their oligarchy approach leaves university athletic departments across the nation at the mercy of their unpredictable (and arguably corrupt) judgement.
It’s difficult to determine the extent to which the NCAA is paying attention to these claims against them, but the rumblings are beginning.
“The secret but carefully orchestrated one day ineligibility of Auburn quarterback Cam Newton for violation of the recruiting amateurism rules once again demonstrates the corrupt culture of the NCAA.” The Bleacher Report
“Goldman Sachs has nothing on the NCAA.” The Kansas City Star
“In the end this is the same old story. College football’s power brokers write a bunch of lip service in an effort to maintain the sports’ ‘amateurism so they can continue to beat federal, state and local taxes. When you pay neither taxes nor the players there’s a lot more cash laying around to line your pockets.” Yahoo! Sports
In another article from Forde, he called for Tennessee to fire athletic director Mike Hamilton, the man who “has hemorrhaged credibility at an alarming rate”. I would say the same for the NCAA, but who would I tell? The Committee of Infractions?
I guess I’ll pull a Jim Tressel; plead ignorance and pray it goes away.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Ego Money
Three years ago, I watched Albert Pujols hit a home run at Turner Field. It was a towering shot into the home bullpen, and it was the difference in the Cardinals win over Atlanta. Despite my disappointment in the Braves lose, I counted myself fortunate to have seen one of the greatest players of my (or any) generation hit one over the wall.
After the last month, however, I don’t think of that moment with as much fondness as I used to. Pujols has shown his true colors, and they aren’t Cardinals red. In asking for the richest contract in baseball history, the first baseman has announced his priorities to the world and let us all know his loyalties do not extend beyond his front door.
When broken down into the simplest terms, Pujols request is laughable. Salaries in professional sports have increased astronomically during my lifetime, fueled by an athlete’s “worth” to the team. If profits increase due to a player’s performance, then it’s only fitting to compensate this individual with a percentage of the income. This is the simple premise of value in terms a business investment. A high school economics class would find this elementary.
However, “market value” has worked its way into the professional sports debate. Pujols will earn $16 million this year, which is already the largest portion of a $90+ million payroll. Using market value as his legitimate reason, however, Pujols is demanding the Cardinals pay him more than all other players based on the assumption he is the best in the league and his salary should reflect that. The Cardinals payroll is expected to increase to $100-110 million, and Pujols is asking for $30 million based solely on a desire to have a wealthier contract than Alex Rodriguez (which has been continually lauded as a disastrous deal) and to dwarf the contract given to fellow National League first baseman Ryan Howard (which has also been lauded as a disastrous deal). Not once has he or anyone else attributed his reasons to an increase in revenue by the team. In fact, according the ESPN’s Keith Law in a February 11 interview, interest in the Cardinals is maxed out. Busch Stadium is consistently sold out and St. Louis is perennially known as the best baseball town in America. A dramatic increase in profits is not expected, and St. Louis is left to decide if Pujols is worth losing money.
I find it highly unlikely St. Louis will double their profits from last year the way Pujols is looking to almost double his. The Cardinals, if they signed the deal he wants, would need to find money from other areas of the organization in order to afford their first baseman. Unless the team plans to have the biggest bake sale ever, this money will come directly from the fans. Ticket, parking, and vendor prices will all begin looking more like Yankee Stadium than Busch Stadium. (Who’s ready for $12 Budwiesers?!) ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd once suggested cities might implement “keep our best players” taxes. He said it in jest, but is this the only way to keep narcisitic athletes from running to New York, Boston, or Los Angeles? Cardinals owner Bill Dewitt summed up this sentiment in his statement in the (February 17 New York Times; “We’re not the Yankees.”)
Again, when broken down into the simplest terms, Pujols is asking Cardinals fans to pay more to see him play in order to stroke his ego and assure him he’s the best. My fourth grade daughter is more mature than this.
This statement, however, isn’t nearly as shocking as the baseball analysts and fans who are standing in line to support Pujols rationale. The iconic Bob Knight (who is close friends with Cardinals Manager Tony La Russa) came on ESPN Radio’s Mike and Mike to give his praises to Pujols and supported his desire to have the wealthiest contract. ESPN’s Tim Kurkjian has said numerous times, “The Cardinals have to sign Albert Pujols.” And this is only the beginning of the drool fest that will begin at the end of the season, when other MLB owners will be more than happy to open their checkbooks to alleviate Pujols apparent struggles with self-esteem.
This melodrama is only a part of the crippling problem facing MLB owners today; Player contracts are out of whack. In Joe Posnanski’s February 16 column in Sports Illustrated, he profiles the devastating effects of some of baseball’s mega-deals. Barry Ztio to the Giants immediately comes to mind, along with Andruw Jones $18 million a year debacle with the Dodgers. (It still must make Atlanta’s Jon Scherholtz smile for letting him go.) But instead of learning the lessons from these mistakes, teams like the Nationals continue to give players like Jason Werth more money than any other team by an enormous margin.
Call a spade a spade. If you want to play for the highest dollar, then come out and say it. Don’t dance around the issue and claim you want to retire a Cardinal. It’s embarrassing. The man is an icon and is on pace to break more than a few batting records, but no one is irreplaceable. Even Beyonce knows this.
After the last month, however, I don’t think of that moment with as much fondness as I used to. Pujols has shown his true colors, and they aren’t Cardinals red. In asking for the richest contract in baseball history, the first baseman has announced his priorities to the world and let us all know his loyalties do not extend beyond his front door.
When broken down into the simplest terms, Pujols request is laughable. Salaries in professional sports have increased astronomically during my lifetime, fueled by an athlete’s “worth” to the team. If profits increase due to a player’s performance, then it’s only fitting to compensate this individual with a percentage of the income. This is the simple premise of value in terms a business investment. A high school economics class would find this elementary.
However, “market value” has worked its way into the professional sports debate. Pujols will earn $16 million this year, which is already the largest portion of a $90+ million payroll. Using market value as his legitimate reason, however, Pujols is demanding the Cardinals pay him more than all other players based on the assumption he is the best in the league and his salary should reflect that. The Cardinals payroll is expected to increase to $100-110 million, and Pujols is asking for $30 million based solely on a desire to have a wealthier contract than Alex Rodriguez (which has been continually lauded as a disastrous deal) and to dwarf the contract given to fellow National League first baseman Ryan Howard (which has also been lauded as a disastrous deal). Not once has he or anyone else attributed his reasons to an increase in revenue by the team. In fact, according the ESPN’s Keith Law in a February 11 interview, interest in the Cardinals is maxed out. Busch Stadium is consistently sold out and St. Louis is perennially known as the best baseball town in America. A dramatic increase in profits is not expected, and St. Louis is left to decide if Pujols is worth losing money.
I find it highly unlikely St. Louis will double their profits from last year the way Pujols is looking to almost double his. The Cardinals, if they signed the deal he wants, would need to find money from other areas of the organization in order to afford their first baseman. Unless the team plans to have the biggest bake sale ever, this money will come directly from the fans. Ticket, parking, and vendor prices will all begin looking more like Yankee Stadium than Busch Stadium. (Who’s ready for $12 Budwiesers?!) ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd once suggested cities might implement “keep our best players” taxes. He said it in jest, but is this the only way to keep narcisitic athletes from running to New York, Boston, or Los Angeles? Cardinals owner Bill Dewitt summed up this sentiment in his statement in the (February 17 New York Times; “We’re not the Yankees.”)
Again, when broken down into the simplest terms, Pujols is asking Cardinals fans to pay more to see him play in order to stroke his ego and assure him he’s the best. My fourth grade daughter is more mature than this.
This statement, however, isn’t nearly as shocking as the baseball analysts and fans who are standing in line to support Pujols rationale. The iconic Bob Knight (who is close friends with Cardinals Manager Tony La Russa) came on ESPN Radio’s Mike and Mike to give his praises to Pujols and supported his desire to have the wealthiest contract. ESPN’s Tim Kurkjian has said numerous times, “The Cardinals have to sign Albert Pujols.” And this is only the beginning of the drool fest that will begin at the end of the season, when other MLB owners will be more than happy to open their checkbooks to alleviate Pujols apparent struggles with self-esteem.
This melodrama is only a part of the crippling problem facing MLB owners today; Player contracts are out of whack. In Joe Posnanski’s February 16 column in Sports Illustrated, he profiles the devastating effects of some of baseball’s mega-deals. Barry Ztio to the Giants immediately comes to mind, along with Andruw Jones $18 million a year debacle with the Dodgers. (It still must make Atlanta’s Jon Scherholtz smile for letting him go.) But instead of learning the lessons from these mistakes, teams like the Nationals continue to give players like Jason Werth more money than any other team by an enormous margin.
Call a spade a spade. If you want to play for the highest dollar, then come out and say it. Don’t dance around the issue and claim you want to retire a Cardinal. It’s embarrassing. The man is an icon and is on pace to break more than a few batting records, but no one is irreplaceable. Even Beyonce knows this.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Choose Your Words Carefully.
Midway through my Junior year of high school, I quit playing baseball. In hindsight, it was the best decision I could have made. But at the time, I agonized over it. My childhood dream was to play football for my high school, and later the University of Tennessee. When a neck injury forced me to quit my Freshman year, I turned my attention (and my dreams) to baseball.
I wanted so badly to play well. I never had the personality or drive to be the best, but I just wanted to be an important part of our team. Regardless of how much I wanted it, though, I couldn’t hit a pitch no matter how badly my team needed it. Each game became an increasingly frustrating experience, and my coach’s berating left me defeated and emasculated. I was miserable.
Shortly after my decision to quit, though, I began seeing everything I had been missing by forcing myself to play baseball. I grew an avid interest in the outdoors and started backpacking, skiing, and rock climbing. I discovered my love for live music and found friends who wanted to see concerts as much as I did. My life found more direction and clarity once I discovered my true talents and interests.
When I read about North Carolina point guard Larry Drew II’s decision to transfer to another university and the criticism thrown his way, it immediately took me back to sitting in front of my coach as I told him I was quitting.
According to ESPN, Drew had lost his starting position to freshman Kendall Marshall and watched his playing time drop from 28 to 22 minutes a game. As he tried to fill the shoes of Raymond Felton and Ty Lawson (whose teams brought two national titles to Chapel HIll), Drew was berated by fans last year when the Tar Heels failed to make the tournament. To add insult to injury, UNC won four in row after Marshall took the starting position in mid-January. Still, ESPN writer Andy Katz wrote in his February fourth blog post, “Drew essentially quit on his team.”
My heart immediately went out to the guy. Mid-way through his Junior year, this young man has lost his position on the team, survived merciless criticism from local and national media while playing with one of the most revered programs in the country, and is now being labeled a quitter. He is not projected to move onto the NBA, leaving only this season and the next to fulfill whatever dreams he may have of playing competitive basketball at the highest level. What would you do? Sit on the bench and be a “good soldier”, or play with another team where you can contribute your skills? There is nothing wrong with knowing your limits. If a smaller, less glamorous school provides the opportunity to play, the answer is a no brainer.
This happens in professional sports so much we don’t even notice. Throughout last season, this same scenario was playing out in Philadelphia between Kevin Kolb and Michael Vick. When Vick decided he wanted to channel his inner “what I used to be at Virginia Tech”, Kolb expressed his desire to go to a team where he can start at QB... sound familiar? Are Chris Mortenson or Sal Paolantonio writing about what a quitter he is?
For an overwhelming dose of irony, though, look no further than Tar Heels coach Roy Williams. He left basketball power Kansas after 15 seasons, leaving the Jayhawks without winning a national title. But rather than haul Williams over the coals for “qutting” on his team, Sports Illustrated published articles with, “In the end, Roy Williams knew it was time to return to his roots, to the storied program in powder blue where he learned his craft as an assistant at his beloved alma mater,” (April 14, 2003). Ask anyone from Kansas if they would write such poetic language about their coach “returning home”.
Katz writes in his blog to suggest Drew could have taken his diminished role and been a team player. “He could have accepted his role as a second-unit player to settle things down,” he wrote. “... the loser in this decision will likely be Drew, not Carolina.” I can almost hear my high school baseball coach telling me the same thing when I was unhappy with my experience with the team.
The relationship between teammates and coaches is one of the most appealing aspects of athletics. The need for community is as much a part of ourselves as the hair on our heads, and the bonds within a team provide a compelling example of what can happen when individuals create something greater than themselves. However, what happens when a member of that unit is unhappy? If Drew wanted to take pride in wearing Carolina Blue, then playing for the team would have taken priority. Beating Duke would have taken precedent over missed playing time.
Drew’s strongest competitor, though, isn’t Duke or NC State or any other ACC school. It’s every player’s most feared opponent because it’s always, sooner of later, going to win. Time will eventually strip Drew of his opportunities to play, and basketball will take a back seat to the next phase of his life. Wouldn’t a true competitor want to be where his skills could best contribute to the program? To the team?
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