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.

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?

The Bruce is Loose?

Do you remember life before Bruce Pearl? The long winter months which were simply the waiting period until spring football? Who could forget the the legendary figures of UT athletics like Wade Houston (career record 65-90), Kevin O’Neil (record 36-47), or the great Buzz Peterson (the “great” is only for having a 61-59 record)? Remember when going to a basketball game at Thompson Boling operated on a “choose your own seat” system?

During the time between Ray Mears and Pearl, Volunteer basketball was laughable. While the football program was grooming the best quarterback since Joe Montana and winning conference and national titles, Pat Summit’s teams were busy making use of Thompson Boling (and filling the rafters with banners). Men’s track and field teams were winning national titles as well, with their success in the conference rivaled only by Arkansas and LSU. No one, including high school recruits, was interested in men’s basketball in Knoxville.

Then came Bruce, and the change was instant. From the moment he began at UT, he knew what needed to happen to breathe life into the program. He campaigned with students on campus to come to games. He sent players to Knoxville events to ask locals to come support the team. He painted his chest orange and jumped in with the student section at a Lady Vols game. During an event to kick off the season, he donned a sumo wrestling outfit and challenged a student to put him on the ground (Pearl dominated the match by the way). His Sunsphere sized personality was working its way across East Tennessee.

Pearl made us all believe he had the Midas touch. Chris Lofton, Jujuan Smith, and Dane Bradshaw began showing up on Sportscenter. Dominant teams like Florida and Kansas, who were winning national championships, began having trouble handling the “Rocky Top Rowdies”. Local rock bands wrote songs in his honor (“The Bruce is Loose” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVP5s1uWUf4). As UT football began declining into the Lane Kiffin debacle, men’s basketball games were the hottest ticket in town. March was no longer the month before the Orange and White game. Tennesseans found themselves glued to J.P. Prince blocking a last second shot from the 2010 national player of the year (Evan Turner) and coming a half court prayer from our first trip to the Final Four. Pearl turned what had been a 25 year mess into a national contender.

Then he lied to the NCAA.

Over what would later be revealed as a secondary violation, Pearl lied about improperly hosting a recruit at his home. The punishment (eight game conference suspension, salary reduction, one year ban from off campus recruiting) is unprecedented in the SEC, but had (and still has) the potential to be much worse. SEC commissioner Mike Slive told ESPN in November he considered suspending him for the entire conference season, saved only by Pearl’s honesty and show of remorse.

All this while the NCAA, as if to watch Mike Hamilton squirm, sits... and waits.

Violations among college coaches is nothing new, fueled by the NCAA’s endless nit-picky rules and the pressure high profiled programs feel to win. Pearl has simply joined the ranks of those like Jerry Tarkanian and Dana Kirk who were caught. However, just a glimpse into John Calipari’s history will lead you straight into the irony abyss. Calipari has left a trail of destruction, bouncing from one coaching position to another while his salary continues to grow. His resume is free of NCAA violations, but that doesn’t mean it’s free of dirt. He’s proven to be a coaching mercenary, preying on desperate athletic directors willing to sell out their integrity to win.

Bruce Pearl is no saint, but he has proven to have some sort of moral compass. Rejecting the Calipari route by not jumping ship to another well paying job, he choose instead to work without a contract at UT. Try finding another coach willing to do that.

If the NCAA is concerned with the character of it’s coaches, it seems to me Pearl exemplifies the humility and integrity that comes from a man who has realized his faults. He did what other coaches who have scandal following them never do; admit their actions. With the threat of further suspension looming over him, Pearl continues to accept responsibility without argument or complaint. It seems ludicrous to continue this barrage of punishments while Calipari and other weasels continue to make a mockery of the profession.

This argument, though, will probably fall on deaf ears and leave anxious Tennesseans to wonder if the unthinkable is possible. What if, in a show of power and toughness, the NCAA drops the hammer on Pearl and UT basketball? Would we be outraged? Would we cry, “Foul!” and demand the ruling overturned?

Or would it just go back to being the few months between football season and the Orange and White game?

A Super Letdown

NFL fans could not have asked for a better championship weekend. The Jets, Steelers, Bears, and Packers embody the history and passion that has made professional football more popular than anything in American culture. The games lived up to the hype, playing out in ways no one could have scripted. The Steelers and Packers, both having built their foundations on powerhouse defenses, held off second half comebacks to earn their way to Dallas. It was football at its finest, and now we get to feast on a dream match up to decide our champion.

Too bad the Super Bowl will ruin it.

In line with our, “Drive something good into the ground,” culture, the Super Bowl has become a bastardized corporate event. Super Bowl Sunday is as much about the game as an issue of Playboy is about the articles.

Let’s look at some figures.

• $2.5-$2.8 Million. This was the average cost for a 30 second commercial during last year’s Super bowl. (It was $3 million the year before.)
• 4.5 hours of pre-game coverage. Fox will begin at 2 p.m. and feature a performance from Keith Urban. (Because nothing screams “NFL!” quite like Keith Urban.)
• $200 for a ticket OUTSIDE Cowboys Stadium. Viewers will watch the game on giant HD screens in lovely February weather. (Dallas will be expecting lows in the 40s Super Bowl weekend.)
• $10 million. This amount made Bridgestone tires the official sponsor of the Super Bowl halftime show for three years.

Of all these gaudy numbers, the halftime show best represents Super Bowl exploitation. In our grand spectacle of masculine toughness and American character, the halftime show more closely resembles a Las Vegas song and dance production with enough glitz to make even Wayne Newton throw up. The rationale seems laughable. I would have loved the chance to be a fly on the wall during the 1991 meeting for Super Bowl 25, when game executives decided they’d seen enough marching bands.

- “This year’s gonna be great! Bills vs. Giants! Bill Parcels vs. Marv Levy! What a matchup!”

- “Yeah, but you know what would make the game even better? New Kids on the Block and Disney characters.”

“(gasp!) Brilliant! Why didn’t we think of this before?”

I can’t imagine how this might appear from the perspective of someone unfamiliar with the event. During what will hopefully be an epic collision between some of the most elite athletes on Earth, a 12 minute, outrageous performance from a hip hop band that didn’t find nationwide popularity until they added a hot girl and dumbed down their lyrics will be featured as well. This performance will require hundreds of people, and include stages, lights, and pyrotechnics (regardless of how it affects the playing environment). Makes perfect sense.

The 1993 Michael Jackson performance permanently changed the halftime show to an “A-list” concert event. No longer would the NFL give marching bands from local universities a chance to jolt civic pride into the city where the Super Bowl was played; choosing instead to ask Tony Bennet, Teddy Pendergrass, and the Miami Sound Machine to sing, “Can you Feel the Love Tonight” next to skits from Disneyland’s new Indiana Jones adventure ride. (To this day, this makes my mother cringe.)

The Super Bowl seems to be simply taking its place among the other symbols of the American male that are falling like birds in Arkansas. To reference the article, “Rest in Peace: The American Manly Man,” “...this is an age when even the great Tom Brady rocks a Justin Bieber side sweep haircut.” (http://all-that-is-interesting.com/post/1114586979/rest-in-peace-the-american-manly-man)

When the United States Supreme Court made its judgements to define obscenity in the 1964 Jacobillis vs. Ohio case, Justice Potter Stewart defined pornography with, “I know it when I see it.” Far be it from me to set a limit on an individual’s right to make a profit, but I know exploitation when I see it. NFL players, coaches, owners, and fans love to talk about their “respect for the game”, but has anyone thought to question how this gluttonous exhibition fits into their definition of respect?

I’ll watch the game because I have loved both teams as long as I as can remember. As a kid, I found a #92 practice jersey at UTK football camp and asked my dad if it might have been Reggie White’s. (I still have it. It’s framed.) When he signed with Green Bay, I was an instant devotee. My love of the Steelers began when our family doctor turned out to be a former member of the Pittsburgh medical staff and told stories about Greg Lloyd and Rod Woodson. This game is a dream come true.

Don’t let the flashing lights fool you. The game itself still has a heart, buried somewhere in the turf of Cowboys Stadium. You just have to search through all the glitter to find it.

Thesis Statement

When I was eight years old, I fell in love with sports. It was October of 1992, and the Atlanta Braves were playing game seven against the Pittsburgh Pirates to move onto the World Series. The image of Sid Bream sliding under the tag at home with Dave Justice and the rest of the team waiting to embrace him in euphoric victory is so vivid in my memory it’s as if the moment happened within my family. The late Skip Carey’s cries of, “Braves Win! Braves Win! Braves Win!” still give me goosebumps to this day. When Otis Nixon grounded out to end the World Series against Toronto, I was unconsolable. In my young mind, I felt the heartbreak along with them. Even in my devastation, though, I was hooked.

My story is by no means unusual. I grew up in a family devoted to the Braves and the University of Tennessee, and my devotions continue to this day. However, my appreciation of athletics has broadened dramatically as I aged. I find myself at times enthralled in Premier League matches between Arsenal and Tottenham, or ecstatic when Farokmanesh and Northern Iowa put away Kansas on a three pointer to end all three pointers. I converse with complete strangers on the ramifications of the Cam Newton investigation, why I hate John Calipari, or if the Braves will find a better hitter in the off season. This may seem irrational, but it's fueled by a drive that goes to the heart of who we are and how we see ourselves.

Part of enjoyment in being a sports fan is expecting greatness. Fans in Atlanta expected to buy game tickets into late October through the 90s and early 2000s. Brazilians and Germans have no doubt their national teams will earn their way to the final rounds of the World Cup. Greatness is expected and anything less is considered unacceptable.

We all long to feel this way in our lives. To stand with our arms raised as conquerors while the crowds cheer in jubilation. These moments, however, are fleeting if they happen at all. We grow discouraged and look for any outlet to provide affirmation and recognition; someway to feel like a champion. It’s a frustrating, defeating cycle.

During the summer after my freshman year of college, I read Waking the Dead, by John Eldridge. His thesis statement was based on a quote from St. Irenaeus, “The glory of God is man fully alive.” That statement has been etched in my mind. I find myself indulging in sports to find the champion feeling that, in reality, is available every moment of every day. If I am made in the image of God, then I am a living, breathing representation of His power alive in the world. Paul wrote in the New Testament that through Christ, we are more than conquerers. Through Christ, we now stand atop the podium, with glimmering medals around our necks.

Rather than provide this affirmation, sports can help us more fully realize and understand this power God has poured out on us. I plan to write my blog from this perspective, providing commentary on this transcendent quality inherent in sports. I will write on a variety of topics which I hope you as the reader will find compelling. My goal will be to write an article each week, so continue checking back for more updates.

Thank you so much for reading.