I grew up in suburban Maryland, just outside of Washington, D.C. When I was a kid, I was a baseball nut, a complete fanatic. (It was my egghead literary Dad who taught me that the word "fan" came from the word "fanatic." I remember feeling pretty smart knowing that.)
I collected baseball cards, mostly the Topps brand, by the hundreds. They came 10 to a pack with a single piece of rectangular rock-hard bubble gum included. The gum wasn't bad--chalky but sweet. I wish I could have said the same about the cards. I mean, the cards were cool, of course; but I never, ever seemed to get Hall-of-Fame-caliber players. I'd drop a buck or so on about 5 packs at a time, eagerly opening them before I was barely a block away from the drug store. I kept looking for Mickey Mantle or Sandy Koufax or Bob Gibson or Roberto Clemente. They were never there. Instead, I'd get Pat Corrales or Joe Nuxhall or Tex Clevenger or Don Wert. Or Ryne Duren. Or Bob Sadowski. Or Cal Neeman. Or Pumpsie Green. Sometimes I'd get not one, but two, of the same lousy guy--like Ruben Amaro or Bob Uecker--in the same damn pack. It was frustrating.
But maybe worse than struggling to improve my collection with the greats of the game, was my struggle to obtain the players who were on my favorite team, the hometown Washington Senators. In a word, the Senators sucked. Their rosters, year after year, were filled with mediocrities. Guys like Ed Hobaugh and Coot Veal and Bud Zipfel and Cap Peterson and Ed Stroud and Jim Hannan and Ken Retzer. So why was it that these guys were hardly ever in the Topps packages at my local stores? They were surely as bad as the other lousy guys I always got in abundance from other teams. In fact, they were quite often worse. In the Suck Dept., I'd put Bob Saverine up against Pumpsie Green any day of the week. To the good, Green was actually an interesting card to have: he was the first black man to ever play for the Boston Red Sox. Still, he kinda sucked. If I had to get all that mediocrity in one package, I sure wished I could have gotten the Senators. I'm sure I was too naive to have articulated a conspiracy theory, but after a while I think subconsciously I wondered: Could it be that the Topps folks would deliberately not put Senators guys in my locally distributed packages of baseball cards, because then that would force me to buy more and more packages in search of, say, Don Lock or Chuck Hinton?? Naw, an esteemed manufacturing enterprise like Topps--promoters of America's Favorite Pastime--would never do such a thing... Or would they?? Hmmm....
The only decent strategy I could employ under these circumstances was to hope that I'd get a few Baltimore Orioles guys. The Orioles did not suck in the '60s. In fact, they were pretty good. And the kid down the street, Johnny Eyler, was a huge Orioles fan. I hated that he loved the Orioles. He used to gloat about 'em. And he'd rub it in when the Senators would play the Orioles and get their fannies whipped. The Orioles had Brooks Robinson and Frank Robinson and Jim Palmer and Boog Powell and Paul Blair. The Senators had Buster Narum (an Orioles castoff) and Don Leppert and Tim Cullen and Jim King and washed-up guys like Don Zimmer. However, if I could snag a few Orioles in the Topps packages, they were trade bait with Johnny Eyler, and maybe I could exchange 'em for some Senators cards, which Johnny was usually glad to do if he had any himself.
Baseball cards are a hugely nostalgic thing. And unlike most kids, I didn't have a mother who threw my baseball cards away. A lot of them disappeared from carelessness, but I still have a significant number of 'em. My kids in Chicago, as far as I know, still have the albums I eventually put the cards in. I hope they're safe.
What has spurred on this memory jag is the fact that, after an absence of 34 years, Washington, D.C., is getting another baseball team in 2005. In my youth, I lived through two Senators teams: the original bunch, who played in D.C. through the 1960 season, and then fled West to become the Minnesota Twins; and the expansion Senators, who arrived in 1961, and then fled West to become the Texas Rangers after the 1971 season. This new contingent is yet another renegade squad: They used to be the Montreal Expos. Since 1969, the Expos played major league baseball, not once making it to the World Series. Like the dear old Senators, they mostly sucked too. So I guess there's some justice there. D.C. gets baseball again: Apparently the same crummy caliber it always had in the "old days." But for those of us who loved our hapless old Senators no matter what, it's perfectly okay. Besides, the Nats will be a National League franchise, and that's something different and maybe a harbinger of something new. Happily, the game has changed a lot in 40 years. With free agency, you can build a decent team rapidly. So maybe the new team, dubbed the Nationals (a.k.a. Nats, as they were always colloquially referred to even when they were the Senators), can start to compete at a slightly higher level than, say, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. (Let's shoot low for now.)
The nostalgia trip comes completely full circle, however, with the announcement that the Nats will play their first season in old RFK Stadium. RFK, originally named D.C. Stadium, was first used in the fall of 1961 as the home of the football Washington Redskins. In spring 1962, the Senators made their debut there, having played their inaugural expansion season in old Griffith Stadium. D.C. Stadium became RFK Stadium after the assassination of Sen. Robert F. Kennedy in 1968. RFK was (and apparently still is) a good place to play football and baseball. The new ownership is bringing in groundskeeping and structural experts to get the old joint spruced up and solidified for a season of major league baseball. Those of us who remember the occasional thrills there--the Redskins, of course, had huge success, but so did mammoth Frank Howard hitting towering home runs--are psyched at the prospect of sitting in those seats again.
(Damn, I can buy Washington Nationals baseball cards, can't I? I'm gonna set my sights on a Vinny Castilla card. He's a pretty decent ballplayer and he's set to open the season at third base.)
I've got a special reason to get back into baseball, which is pretty remarkable given the game's steroid scandals and whatnot. Somehow, all of that fades away when I think that I can sit in RFK again and see major league baseball and root for the hometown team.
April's not far off at all. Nation's Capital, here I come.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Monday, January 24, 2005
Here's to the Winners
It's the Patriots and Eagles in Super Bowl XXXIX. (That's #39 for those of you who are Roman numeral-challenged.)
After a lousy weekend of Divisional Playoff predictions (1-3), I got the Conference Championship round correct (2-0). I was only surprised by the definitiveness of the victories:
AFC: Patriots 41, Steelers 27
NFC: Eagles 27, Falcons 10
There's been a lot of commentary about Steelers coach Bill Cowher's on-field decision-making. (They should have punted instead of going for it on the early 4th-and-1; they should have gone for the TD instead of kicking the later field goal.) I don't think so. If they make the 4th-and-1, the pundits say it was a ballsy early move to establish the authority of their offensive line, and who knows how it might've paid off? Later, kicking the field goal made it 31-20, and there was still enough time for the Steelers to catch the Pats. Oh, how they would've howled if the Steelers hadn't gotten the TD and had come away from the goal-line situation with nothing! Hindsight is always 20-20. Cowher's moves were reasonable, and in both cases showed faith in his team.
Instead, let us praise Tom Brady and the Patriots. Brady's 60-yard TD bomb to Deion Branch was a thing of beauty. Brady's got football brains and poise up the wazoo. He looked left, then right, then stood his ground waiting for things to develop, then hurled a perfect pass that Branch gobbled up on the run with a defender close by. But the real unsung heroes are the Patriots offensive linemen. I think I can name one of these guys (Abruzzi), but that's about it. They are models of consistency and toughness, and they pass-block as well as they run-block. On a team that's mostly no-name, these guys are practically completely anonymous. They sure are good.
The Steelers got way too far behind the 8-ball in this game. Their second-half effort was courageous, but you can't fall behind 24-3 to the World Champions and reasonably expect to win. Finally, rookie Steelers QB Ben Roethlisberger came a-cropper, though it's still hard to believe that his first-ever NFL loss came in the AFC Championship Game. He had an amazing season. He'll be fun to watch in the future.
As for the NFC, the Eagles took care of business against the Falcons, though I was still pretty unimpressed with Philly. Falcons QB Michael Vick proved what I've been saying for years: scramblers don't win the big one. All it takes is for a determined defense to shut down the scrambler's ability to scramble, which leaves him with reliance on the passing game. Maybe if the Falcons had gotten their running game going better, things would've turned out differently. But Vick got rattled, and the game plan went with him. When he couldn't run himself out of bad situations, he tried to throw, something he does with occasional beauty but clear-cut inconsistency. The guy needs to work on managing the game from the pocket. Until he does that successfully, he'll be a wonderfully gifted athlete with a marginally good W-L record.
There was a point early in the game when Falcons RB Warrick Dunn gained a first down with two successive running plays. Then, inexplicably, on the fresh 1st down, Vick rolled back left to pass. The Eagles came charging and stuffed him for a serious loss, and then the Falcons were in a hole and ended up punting. Makes no sense. They should've run Dunn and T.J. Duckett a good long while: to minimize the chaos and until the Eagles proved they could stuff the run. I also thought the Falcons' defense looked a little disheveled. They played with toughness but got caught flatfooted.
I guess the Eagles' offense is okay. QB Donavan McNabb played a clean game, and RB Brian Westbrook got some big yards in a timely fashion. But their receiving corps is now further depleted with the loss of tight end Chad Lewis, who, after snagging two TDs in this big game, will miss the Super Bowl with a foot injury requiring surgery. There's talk that the great TO--Terrell Owens--might make it back for the big finale, but his impact will have to be considered marginal if he makes it back at all.
The Eagles to me seem like a team floating on true grit, and I guess you have to tip your hat to the power of pure will. I don't see them beating the Patriots, though. The Eagles' defense does play with thuggish abandon, and they've shut down athletic QBs Daunte Culpepper and Vick in this post-season. But I see Brady outwitting them, and I can't imagine the Eagles' offense putting many points on the board against the Pats' cagey, punishing defense. I don't however, foresee one of those awful boring blowouts, which is good news for us all.
Early Super Bowl prediction:
Patriots 21, Eagles 13
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Armen Keteyian--Another TV Sports Reporter Tells It Like It Ain't
I was listening to ESPN Radio early this morning. The show was something called "Sports Byline USA" hosted by someone named Ron Barr. His featured guest was TV sports football reporter Armen Keteyian. I think Keteyian is with CBS now, but he's been with ESPN, and like all of these guys, he seems to show up wherever sports are being discussed no matter what their affiliation. It's the Big Fraternity, don't ya know.
Keteyian seems like a reasonably intelligent guy. But like many a sports reporter, he's a legend in his own mind. Barr asked Keteyian set-up questions about his work, which gave Keteyian ample opportunity to wax on about how tough it is. Keteyian earnestly filled us in on the challenges of coming up with insightful stuff to spew in the 20-second chunks of time he gets as a sideline wonk. He further went on to inform us of the challenges of being outside when it's really cold. He kissed the ass of fellow sideline reporter, ABC's Michele Tafoya, talking about "what a great job she does." And then he went on to tell us about the book he's co-written with comedian George Lopez. Lopez' life story or something.
I don't know whether to yawn, laugh or cry. I hate to disabuse these guys of their highfalutin' notions--but someone has to do it. There seems to be this belief among sports reporters that theirs is a profession that requires incredible brains and skill, as if the Big Fraternity is justified because, after all, these are the creme de la creme of journalism. They want us to think they are an elite group. But they're only elite in that they are a tightly knit group, very cautious of how they're perceived and extremely protective of their turf. What these guys really know is that you could take any person with a reasonable amount of reporting experience (of any kind) and an average brain, and shove them in front of a camera and have them spew some crud about "Terrell Owens is headed to the locker room, Jim...We'll try to get the preliminary word on his injury as soon as we can, but clearly he won't be returning to the game. As you just saw, Owens was limping hard as he left the field, and the Eagles are going to have to have their other wide receivers step up and take up the slack for the rest of the afternoon. Back to you, Jim..."
The truth is that 90% of that sideline reporting stuff is crap. It's annoying show-biz is what it is. And if Armen Keteyian had the balls to tell it like it is, he'd admit that. But no, saith he, this is tough work. This requires special skills, special camera presence, special insights... Uh, no, Armen...It's just a job, one that probably pays pretty well and which you are damn lucky to have. Of course, Keteyian knows he's lucky and that there are probably a few thousand guys and gals all over the country who could step into that position. Oh sure, some of them wouldn't be as poised as he is. Not at first. But many would be. And those that aren't could probably be trained to do it. Give 'em a little experience, let 'em screw up for a while--like the networks readily allow for ex-jocks who want cushy broadcasting slots--and soon enough you'd have a reasonably competent humanoid who knows how to work on a 20-second demi-insight and then deliver it with tons of faux enthusiasm. Really, I don't mind that these guys have these dumbass insubstantial jobs. What I mind is them going on radio with other sports interviewers and trying to create this image of uniquely gifted pro. It's a crock.
And now, Armen, tell us what you really think of Michele Tafoya. I mean, if Armen considers himself a highly challenged professional journalist, then what does he think when Tafoya spews even less substantial crap than he does? Here's a fantasy sample of a Tafoya 20-second "report": "Al, John....Donovan McNabb looked up into the stands tonight and saw that his mother wasn't sitting in her usual seat in Section 43, Row 7, Seat 19. He became a little concerned, until an Eagles press aide came down to the sideline to inform him that she'd run into a traffic jam on the Schuylkill Expressway, where a tractor-trailer had overturned. Luckily, she had her cell phone with her, was able to call the Eagles front office, and got the message down here to her son. By kickoff time, she was sitting in her customary seat." (Go ahead, you may roll your eyes. I do.)
Tafoya's rap is no different than that of other sideline babes, like Suzy Kolber or Melissa Stark. I suppose she's somewhat better than her predecessor, Lisa Guerrero, who I guess kinda didn't make the grade for the ABC Sports execs. But the fact is that Tafoya, though older and supposedly a journalist projecting more seriousness, rattles on with a lot of mindless crap. And yes, like Keteyian, she's eminently replaceable. You don't need a genius to spew crap. And, while Tafoya is a pleasant-enough screen presence, she's no babe like Stark was. At least if we're destined to get nothing but crap, the networks could package it up with the foxy likes of Stark. If I've gotta look at the screen while I get this crap, I want to look at maximized "babishness." I don't think that's too much to ask.
As for Keteyian writing a book with George Lopez, all I can say is, "What does it feel like to be a journalistic whore, Armen?"
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
So Much for Predictions--Now It's on to the Conference Championships
So much for predicting football results on instinct. All four home teams won last week's NFL Divisional Playoffs, leaving me with a sorry 1-3 record as prognosticator. I was lucky I didn't end up 0-4, because the New York Jets should've won their game at Pittsburgh, the Steelers being the only home team I figured to emerge victorious. How can a pro kicker miss two makeable field goals with the game on the line? I dunno, but Doug Brien managed it for the Jets. He's gonna have a sorry off-season. He also might be looking for a job. But thanks to him, I didn't go winless.
I bucked all the odds in picking the Vikings and Rams--both Wild Card teams--to advance in the NFC. I look like a moron: Everyone knows that the teams with the best records almost always advance, and so it was as the Eagles and Falcons sharpened their talons convincingly on clearly lesser opponents. I still liked the picks. How was I to know the Rams' and Vikings' shortcomings would be so exposed? The Eagles and Falcons were home teams with superior records, and they did what they were supposed to do. And yes, they both won a lot bigger than I'd ever have guessed. Yet I'm still not convinced how good they are. The Rams' defense didn't rise to the challenge, and Michael Vick, Warrick Dunn and T. J. Duckett chewed 'em up for more than 300 yards on the ground. The Vikings seemed to play hard, then kept shooting themselves in the foot--yet they were still in the game into the fourth quarter, because the Eagles looked a little ragged themselves. Philly should've won the game by a lot more than 27-14. The Eagles looked a little "lite" in the killer-instinct department.
But the biggest result, and still a huge surprise, was the ease with which the Patriots dispatched the Colts. I suspect Peyton Manning's off-season might be even murkier than Doug Brien's--filled with what-ifs, and why-nots, and how-comes. The Patriots are tough as nails, and their victory was one that would have made Vince Lombardi proud. Here we are in the age of 400-yard passing games, and the Patriots kick ass by running the ball consistently, chewing up tons of clock (thus keeping Manning off the field), and then playing intimidating defense. That's a formula that will win in any era. Apparently, more teams don't do it that way these days because they simply can't. So they focus on high-flying offenses that pile up yardage through the air, are a lot of fun to watch, but don't necessarily win the critical game. Pats QB Tom Brady threw for a mere 144 yards, proving again that efficient leadership trumps gaudy statistics on any given Sunday. But let's not forget that Corey Dillon and Kevin Faulk piled up 200 of the team's 210 yards on the ground. It doesn't matter how you chew up real estate; it only matters that you do. And the running game is less prone to turnovers. End of story. The Pats are unflappable. Their team ethos is incredibly admirable. They're confident and determined. Can't wait to watch them this weekend.
So here come the conference title games. Let's go to the mat with the odds again and find out who's going to the Super Bowl:
AFC
New England Patriots @ Pittsburgh Steelers
The history doesn't look good for the Steelers. Coach Bill Cowher has a knack for losing big games. Being at home has never helped him much in the playoffs, either. This team has weapons at running back and wide receiver, and their rookie QB Ben Roethlisberger has yet to lose a game this year. What Big Ben has achieved is unheard-of. Can a rookie QB actually win every game he starts, all the way to the Super Bowl? Based on what he did against the Jets, I'd say R-berger looks shaky. He did manage to do enough to win, though, and that still counts for something. But I just don't see betting against the Patriots. If they can completely muffle Manning--and totally deny him the end zone--will R-berger fare any better? Believe it or not, picking the Pats goes against the grain: the Steelers have a better record and the home field. But can a team that struggled against the Jets be expected to defeat the Patriots' aggressive, machine-like efficiency? Some might argue that the Steelers got a mediocre game against a lesser opponent out of their system, and now can play loose with all cylinders firing. I'm still waiting for Steelers receiver Antwaan Randle-El to become a huge star. This would certainly be the national stage for it. And Plaxico Burress and Hines Ward are great receivers too. Bettis and Staley are tough runners. The Steelers hit hard on defense. The pieces are in place for victory, but I think the Patriots will eventually kick their puzzle all over the living room floor. It should be a close one, though.
Final score: Patriots 16, Steelers 14
NFC
Atlanta Falcons @ Philadelphia Eagles
I have no idea who' s going to win this game. If you figure the Falcons are for real based on last week, then they look hugely intimidating. They ran all over the place. They have a tremendous athlete at quarterback (Michael Vick), they have a fleet-footed, shifty halfback in Warrick Dunn, and they have a Brahma bull named T. J. Duckett at fullback. Their tight end, Alge Crumpler, is a moose who can run and catch the ball, and once he's in motion he can't be brought down. Their front seven on defense are muscular and tenacious. If the game were in Atlanta, in their home dome, I'd pick 'em. Alas, the game's in Philly, outside and probably in fairly cold weather. I think the Eagles' defense is good enough to clamp down on Dunn/Duckett, then confuse Vick and force him into some bad throws (the Falcons receivers are only so-so anyway). I'm still not sold on the Eagles' offense. They looked uninspired against Minnesota. They got lucky a few times too. QB Donovan McNabb has confidence and is capable of great things. It says here he'll do just enough to win. But nagging questions remain: If this team struggled to put away the schizoid Vikings, what happens against a hungry, up-and-coming, good-looking team like the Falcons? The Eagles have lost the last three conference championship games. I won't be surprised if they make it four straight. For now, it's a chalk pick, with an assist to David Akers' kicking leg.
Final score: Eagles 17, Falcons 16
I bucked all the odds in picking the Vikings and Rams--both Wild Card teams--to advance in the NFC. I look like a moron: Everyone knows that the teams with the best records almost always advance, and so it was as the Eagles and Falcons sharpened their talons convincingly on clearly lesser opponents. I still liked the picks. How was I to know the Rams' and Vikings' shortcomings would be so exposed? The Eagles and Falcons were home teams with superior records, and they did what they were supposed to do. And yes, they both won a lot bigger than I'd ever have guessed. Yet I'm still not convinced how good they are. The Rams' defense didn't rise to the challenge, and Michael Vick, Warrick Dunn and T. J. Duckett chewed 'em up for more than 300 yards on the ground. The Vikings seemed to play hard, then kept shooting themselves in the foot--yet they were still in the game into the fourth quarter, because the Eagles looked a little ragged themselves. Philly should've won the game by a lot more than 27-14. The Eagles looked a little "lite" in the killer-instinct department.
But the biggest result, and still a huge surprise, was the ease with which the Patriots dispatched the Colts. I suspect Peyton Manning's off-season might be even murkier than Doug Brien's--filled with what-ifs, and why-nots, and how-comes. The Patriots are tough as nails, and their victory was one that would have made Vince Lombardi proud. Here we are in the age of 400-yard passing games, and the Patriots kick ass by running the ball consistently, chewing up tons of clock (thus keeping Manning off the field), and then playing intimidating defense. That's a formula that will win in any era. Apparently, more teams don't do it that way these days because they simply can't. So they focus on high-flying offenses that pile up yardage through the air, are a lot of fun to watch, but don't necessarily win the critical game. Pats QB Tom Brady threw for a mere 144 yards, proving again that efficient leadership trumps gaudy statistics on any given Sunday. But let's not forget that Corey Dillon and Kevin Faulk piled up 200 of the team's 210 yards on the ground. It doesn't matter how you chew up real estate; it only matters that you do. And the running game is less prone to turnovers. End of story. The Pats are unflappable. Their team ethos is incredibly admirable. They're confident and determined. Can't wait to watch them this weekend.
So here come the conference title games. Let's go to the mat with the odds again and find out who's going to the Super Bowl:
AFC
New England Patriots @ Pittsburgh Steelers
The history doesn't look good for the Steelers. Coach Bill Cowher has a knack for losing big games. Being at home has never helped him much in the playoffs, either. This team has weapons at running back and wide receiver, and their rookie QB Ben Roethlisberger has yet to lose a game this year. What Big Ben has achieved is unheard-of. Can a rookie QB actually win every game he starts, all the way to the Super Bowl? Based on what he did against the Jets, I'd say R-berger looks shaky. He did manage to do enough to win, though, and that still counts for something. But I just don't see betting against the Patriots. If they can completely muffle Manning--and totally deny him the end zone--will R-berger fare any better? Believe it or not, picking the Pats goes against the grain: the Steelers have a better record and the home field. But can a team that struggled against the Jets be expected to defeat the Patriots' aggressive, machine-like efficiency? Some might argue that the Steelers got a mediocre game against a lesser opponent out of their system, and now can play loose with all cylinders firing. I'm still waiting for Steelers receiver Antwaan Randle-El to become a huge star. This would certainly be the national stage for it. And Plaxico Burress and Hines Ward are great receivers too. Bettis and Staley are tough runners. The Steelers hit hard on defense. The pieces are in place for victory, but I think the Patriots will eventually kick their puzzle all over the living room floor. It should be a close one, though.
Final score: Patriots 16, Steelers 14
NFC
Atlanta Falcons @ Philadelphia Eagles
I have no idea who' s going to win this game. If you figure the Falcons are for real based on last week, then they look hugely intimidating. They ran all over the place. They have a tremendous athlete at quarterback (Michael Vick), they have a fleet-footed, shifty halfback in Warrick Dunn, and they have a Brahma bull named T. J. Duckett at fullback. Their tight end, Alge Crumpler, is a moose who can run and catch the ball, and once he's in motion he can't be brought down. Their front seven on defense are muscular and tenacious. If the game were in Atlanta, in their home dome, I'd pick 'em. Alas, the game's in Philly, outside and probably in fairly cold weather. I think the Eagles' defense is good enough to clamp down on Dunn/Duckett, then confuse Vick and force him into some bad throws (the Falcons receivers are only so-so anyway). I'm still not sold on the Eagles' offense. They looked uninspired against Minnesota. They got lucky a few times too. QB Donovan McNabb has confidence and is capable of great things. It says here he'll do just enough to win. But nagging questions remain: If this team struggled to put away the schizoid Vikings, what happens against a hungry, up-and-coming, good-looking team like the Falcons? The Eagles have lost the last three conference championship games. I won't be surprised if they make it four straight. For now, it's a chalk pick, with an assist to David Akers' kicking leg.
Final score: Eagles 17, Falcons 16
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Joe Buck Is a Weenie
I don't want to waste much time on this topic. I've already written about Joe Buck, the FOX announcer who I think sucks. But I quickly want to get in and out on the latest flap involving Buck, who pulled some holier-than-thou crap last week about Randy Moss' antics at the NFC Wild Card game versus the Packers. I have a sinking suspicion that Buck might be one of these really obnoxious "Christian" types. How else to explain his pompous criticism of Moss' post-touchdown end zone "fake moon" at the Green Bay crowd. Once Joe Buck starts to become the arbiter of taste and morality in a public forum, then we're all doomed. From Terrell Owens and the Sharpie, to Joe Horn and his cell phone, to Moss' "moon," we're all getting pretty used to pass-catchers' theatrical displays. Sometimes it's funny. C'mon now--the Sharpie WAS funny. Sometimes it's silly. Horn promised his kids at home that he'd call 'em on his cell phone if he scored a touchdown. So he had fun with that. Moss "mooning" the crowd wasn't that big a deal. Until stupid Joe Buck opened his mouth.
Buck, who himself does dumbass commercials that exploit his position as a high-profile announcer, decided to pontificate on Moss' lack of taste and the bad example he's setting. What a crock. Shut up, Joe. Get down on your knees and thank the Lord that you were able to cash in big-time on nepotism, that because everyone in the broadcast industry knew your dad, the wheels were greased for you to prematurely advance to the choice role you have in network sports. You still sound like a phony-ass weenie when you work, but many of us have decided we'll just have to live with it. Don't press your luck, dude, by giving us your heartfelt opinions on "the good of the game." What an ass. Shut up, Joe. Just keep doing your boring rote play-by-play, collect your paycheck, do your dumbass commercials, and make a special prayer that FOX executives don't wake up in the middle of the night and say to themselves, "Gosh, what were we thinking? This guy is a total weenie. He could be replaced in a nano-second. And now he's making stupid pious remarks about the football players? Get me Pat Summerall. Get me Keith Jackson. Get me anybody, but let's get Buck outta there!"
Buck will be announcing the Vikings-Eagles Divisional Playoff game this Sunday. Post-game reaction to his comments last week came in the form of a salvo from Vikings owner Red McCombs, who said that Buck should be off the broadcast. Well, that won't happen. But don't be surprised if Buck starts out with some kind of disclaimer about his comments, or some kind of conciliatory catch-all phraseology designed to excuse himself or to put his previous remarks in some kind of "context." But if he's smart--which he isn't--he'll shut the f**k up, and say nothing and just do his job. Unfortunately, Buck is too full of himself to simply do that. I betcha he says something. Just watch. He's a weenie. And an ass. He oughta be canned.
One of the worst things about the Buck situation, though, is the fact that football broadcasting is already filled with meathead ex-jocks who are godawful to listen to. The list is endless: Dierdorf, Baldinger, Bradshaw, etc. They're either dumb as a box of rocks, bombastic and loud, repetitive and unoriginal, or they work that stupid cornpone country thing that makes them look dumber. So you'd think the networks would try to get smooth, efficient and cool announcers in the booth who are NOT ex-jocks. Alas, when they do hire non-jocks, we get the likes of Joe Buck.
Joe Buck is a weenie. Maybe Troy Aikman will put a ball-gag in his mouth on Sunday. A guy can dream.
Buck, who himself does dumbass commercials that exploit his position as a high-profile announcer, decided to pontificate on Moss' lack of taste and the bad example he's setting. What a crock. Shut up, Joe. Get down on your knees and thank the Lord that you were able to cash in big-time on nepotism, that because everyone in the broadcast industry knew your dad, the wheels were greased for you to prematurely advance to the choice role you have in network sports. You still sound like a phony-ass weenie when you work, but many of us have decided we'll just have to live with it. Don't press your luck, dude, by giving us your heartfelt opinions on "the good of the game." What an ass. Shut up, Joe. Just keep doing your boring rote play-by-play, collect your paycheck, do your dumbass commercials, and make a special prayer that FOX executives don't wake up in the middle of the night and say to themselves, "Gosh, what were we thinking? This guy is a total weenie. He could be replaced in a nano-second. And now he's making stupid pious remarks about the football players? Get me Pat Summerall. Get me Keith Jackson. Get me anybody, but let's get Buck outta there!"
Buck will be announcing the Vikings-Eagles Divisional Playoff game this Sunday. Post-game reaction to his comments last week came in the form of a salvo from Vikings owner Red McCombs, who said that Buck should be off the broadcast. Well, that won't happen. But don't be surprised if Buck starts out with some kind of disclaimer about his comments, or some kind of conciliatory catch-all phraseology designed to excuse himself or to put his previous remarks in some kind of "context." But if he's smart--which he isn't--he'll shut the f**k up, and say nothing and just do his job. Unfortunately, Buck is too full of himself to simply do that. I betcha he says something. Just watch. He's a weenie. And an ass. He oughta be canned.
One of the worst things about the Buck situation, though, is the fact that football broadcasting is already filled with meathead ex-jocks who are godawful to listen to. The list is endless: Dierdorf, Baldinger, Bradshaw, etc. They're either dumb as a box of rocks, bombastic and loud, repetitive and unoriginal, or they work that stupid cornpone country thing that makes them look dumber. So you'd think the networks would try to get smooth, efficient and cool announcers in the booth who are NOT ex-jocks. Alas, when they do hire non-jocks, we get the likes of Joe Buck.
Joe Buck is a weenie. Maybe Troy Aikman will put a ball-gag in his mouth on Sunday. A guy can dream.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Bold Predictions: NFL Divisional Playoffs, 2005
Divisional Playoffs (Jan. 15 & 16, 2005)
When it comes to the NFL playoffs, the pundits like to trot out statistics about domed teams and cold-weather teams and visiting teams. If you play in a dome at home, and you're on the road in an open-air stadium, you don't stand a chance, right? I guess the won-loss statistics back this stuff up. Nevertheless, I gotta go with instincts. This year, the NFC has certainly looked like the NDC (National Dog Conference). .500 clubs abounded, and not only did two of 'em make it into the playoffs--Vikings and Rams--but they both advanced in the Wild Card round. So as far as I'm concerned, anything could happen. The AFC looks a little more predictable, but it's risky indeed to pick against those Patriots. Call me crazy, but I like how these predictions feel.
AFC
New York Jets @ Pittsburgh Steelers
The Jets don't have much of a chance. They're on the road against a typically hard-hitting Pittsburgh team. Bettis and Roethlisberger, who gets to throw to Hines Ward and Antwaan Randle-El, will probably be too much for the Jets' admirable defense. Curtis Martin would have to have an all-world day running the ball for the Jets to have even a flicker of an offensive breakthrough. Pennington is good, and he has some talented guys to throw to, like Santana Moss and Justin McCareins, but overcoming all the odds is simply too tall of an order.
Final score: Steelers 24, Jets 17
Indianapolis Colts @ New England Patriots
The Patriots have enough talent, charisma and mystique to win this game. Not to mention home-field advantage, playing outdoors in chilly weather against a dome team. They also have Tom Brady and Corey Dillon, and the latter has all kinds of incentive to prove that he's a great running back in this, his first-ever playoff appearance after toiling for years with lousy Bengals teams. But the Pats' defense is hurting seriously. The defensive backfield is a patchwork job at this point, with last year's playoff star Ty Law out for the season. Law intercepted Peyton Manning three times in last year's AFC Championship Game. Instead, the Pats just signed retread journeyman Hank Poteat to their playoff roster, in an effort to shore up the secondary. Not a good sign. Heck, even a very good and healthy secondary would have its hands full facing Manning and his minions. (Just ask the Broncos, who have All-Pros Champ Bailey and John Lynch in their secondary and got their asses whipped last week.) So how do the Patriots shut down the Colts' passing attack? Their only chance is to bring it hard against Peyton, using their aggressive front seven linemen and linebackers. No doubt crafty Pats coach Belichick is scheming, but if Manning can get useful yardage out of Edgerrin James, he should find sufficient opportunity to get the ball to those dangerous receivers. Either that, or he'll simply light up the Pats' secondary like a Christmas tree. It's a huge game for Manning: the chance to prove he's as good as the records say he is. The Colts defense isn't perfect by any means, but they're playing aggressively and young Dwight Freeney is coming into his prime. They'll stave off Brady & Co. efficiently enough.
Final score: Colts 28, Patriots 24
NFC
Minnesota Vikings @ Philadelphia Eagles
How good are the Vikings? Well, there's only one other question more perplexing, i.e., How good are the Eagles? Supposedly, the Eagles are the cream of the NFC. Well, they were with Terrell Owens, anyway. But he's injured for the rest of the year. There's talk that TO will make it back for the Super Bowl. Fuggeddaboutit. The guy's a severely wounded bird, and the Eagles aren't the same on offense without him. McNabb's good, but he's been known to make errors too. He's back to throwing to his mediocre receivers and relying on a ground game that features Brian Westbrook. Westbrook has his moments, but exactly how good is he? What's really scary is that there's talk that aging Dorsey Levens may be shouldering more of the burden out of the Philly backfield. Levens has shown flashes of his past skills, but he was never that good even when he was a youngster. If the Bizarro Levens shows up, things could get pretty ugly. Which means that this game could come down to the Eagles' defense shutting down QB Daunte Culpepper and receivers Randy Moss and Nate Burleson. Without a doubt, the Vikings are a conundrum. They have serious talent on offense, including their running backs-- Michael Bennett, Onterrio Smith, Mo Williams--who are mostly unheralded but are pretty tough customers. (Alas, Williams won't play due to injury. Mewelde Moore has shown flashes of talent in a support role off the bench.) The Vikings defense intercepted Brett Favre four times last week, and the unit as a whole looked a lot more aggressive in the upset victory over the Packers. Fact is, the Vikings have a chance here. Owens is worth 14 points to the Eagles in a big game like this, but he won't be there to provide them. Which means if Culpepper brings his brilliance, the Eagles will fall (again).
Final score: Vikings 24, Eagles 20
St. Louis Rams @ Atlanta Falcons
Michael Vick is another conundrum. Yeah, he's a great athlete. His highlight reel is vastly entertaining. But I dunno. The Rams come from Missouri, the Show-Me State, and Vick'll definitely have to show them he's the real deal. It's hard to know if the Rams are truly on a roll. They've won three straight, and they pulled out a victory on the road last week, but the Seahawks they vanquished are simply the most gutless squad around. Still, QB Marc Bulger looked pretty good throwing to his receivers, who are a well-disciplined bunch. The Rams also have rookie running back Steven Jackson, who is capable of a breakout game of serious proportions. And maybe even Marshall Faulk has one great game left in him. The Rams' defense is only so-so, but they might get Vick to run around alot, which always looks good on camera but often looks bad on the final scoreboard. Warrick Dunn is still a gifted back for the Falcons, but there's no guarantee he'll bring his A game. It's the Falcons' defense that will have the most to say in this game. They're supposed to be pretty good, if not an elite NFL unit. They could harass Bulger and shut him down, while Vick runs and passes his way into the playoff record books. Both teams are dome teams, for whatever that's worth. If the Rams fail, we can't blame it on the weather or the fake turf. But it says here that Bulger and Torry Holt and Kevin Curtis and Jackson and/or Faulk have the talent to ratchet it up for a surprise victory. They could take an early lead, Vick could panic, and the Falcons could fly away.
Final score: Rams 23, Falcons 20
.
When it comes to the NFL playoffs, the pundits like to trot out statistics about domed teams and cold-weather teams and visiting teams. If you play in a dome at home, and you're on the road in an open-air stadium, you don't stand a chance, right? I guess the won-loss statistics back this stuff up. Nevertheless, I gotta go with instincts. This year, the NFC has certainly looked like the NDC (National Dog Conference). .500 clubs abounded, and not only did two of 'em make it into the playoffs--Vikings and Rams--but they both advanced in the Wild Card round. So as far as I'm concerned, anything could happen. The AFC looks a little more predictable, but it's risky indeed to pick against those Patriots. Call me crazy, but I like how these predictions feel.
AFC
New York Jets @ Pittsburgh Steelers
The Jets don't have much of a chance. They're on the road against a typically hard-hitting Pittsburgh team. Bettis and Roethlisberger, who gets to throw to Hines Ward and Antwaan Randle-El, will probably be too much for the Jets' admirable defense. Curtis Martin would have to have an all-world day running the ball for the Jets to have even a flicker of an offensive breakthrough. Pennington is good, and he has some talented guys to throw to, like Santana Moss and Justin McCareins, but overcoming all the odds is simply too tall of an order.
Final score: Steelers 24, Jets 17
Indianapolis Colts @ New England Patriots
The Patriots have enough talent, charisma and mystique to win this game. Not to mention home-field advantage, playing outdoors in chilly weather against a dome team. They also have Tom Brady and Corey Dillon, and the latter has all kinds of incentive to prove that he's a great running back in this, his first-ever playoff appearance after toiling for years with lousy Bengals teams. But the Pats' defense is hurting seriously. The defensive backfield is a patchwork job at this point, with last year's playoff star Ty Law out for the season. Law intercepted Peyton Manning three times in last year's AFC Championship Game. Instead, the Pats just signed retread journeyman Hank Poteat to their playoff roster, in an effort to shore up the secondary. Not a good sign. Heck, even a very good and healthy secondary would have its hands full facing Manning and his minions. (Just ask the Broncos, who have All-Pros Champ Bailey and John Lynch in their secondary and got their asses whipped last week.) So how do the Patriots shut down the Colts' passing attack? Their only chance is to bring it hard against Peyton, using their aggressive front seven linemen and linebackers. No doubt crafty Pats coach Belichick is scheming, but if Manning can get useful yardage out of Edgerrin James, he should find sufficient opportunity to get the ball to those dangerous receivers. Either that, or he'll simply light up the Pats' secondary like a Christmas tree. It's a huge game for Manning: the chance to prove he's as good as the records say he is. The Colts defense isn't perfect by any means, but they're playing aggressively and young Dwight Freeney is coming into his prime. They'll stave off Brady & Co. efficiently enough.
Final score: Colts 28, Patriots 24
NFC
Minnesota Vikings @ Philadelphia Eagles
How good are the Vikings? Well, there's only one other question more perplexing, i.e., How good are the Eagles? Supposedly, the Eagles are the cream of the NFC. Well, they were with Terrell Owens, anyway. But he's injured for the rest of the year. There's talk that TO will make it back for the Super Bowl. Fuggeddaboutit. The guy's a severely wounded bird, and the Eagles aren't the same on offense without him. McNabb's good, but he's been known to make errors too. He's back to throwing to his mediocre receivers and relying on a ground game that features Brian Westbrook. Westbrook has his moments, but exactly how good is he? What's really scary is that there's talk that aging Dorsey Levens may be shouldering more of the burden out of the Philly backfield. Levens has shown flashes of his past skills, but he was never that good even when he was a youngster. If the Bizarro Levens shows up, things could get pretty ugly. Which means that this game could come down to the Eagles' defense shutting down QB Daunte Culpepper and receivers Randy Moss and Nate Burleson. Without a doubt, the Vikings are a conundrum. They have serious talent on offense, including their running backs-- Michael Bennett, Onterrio Smith, Mo Williams--who are mostly unheralded but are pretty tough customers. (Alas, Williams won't play due to injury. Mewelde Moore has shown flashes of talent in a support role off the bench.) The Vikings defense intercepted Brett Favre four times last week, and the unit as a whole looked a lot more aggressive in the upset victory over the Packers. Fact is, the Vikings have a chance here. Owens is worth 14 points to the Eagles in a big game like this, but he won't be there to provide them. Which means if Culpepper brings his brilliance, the Eagles will fall (again).
Final score: Vikings 24, Eagles 20
St. Louis Rams @ Atlanta Falcons
Michael Vick is another conundrum. Yeah, he's a great athlete. His highlight reel is vastly entertaining. But I dunno. The Rams come from Missouri, the Show-Me State, and Vick'll definitely have to show them he's the real deal. It's hard to know if the Rams are truly on a roll. They've won three straight, and they pulled out a victory on the road last week, but the Seahawks they vanquished are simply the most gutless squad around. Still, QB Marc Bulger looked pretty good throwing to his receivers, who are a well-disciplined bunch. The Rams also have rookie running back Steven Jackson, who is capable of a breakout game of serious proportions. And maybe even Marshall Faulk has one great game left in him. The Rams' defense is only so-so, but they might get Vick to run around alot, which always looks good on camera but often looks bad on the final scoreboard. Warrick Dunn is still a gifted back for the Falcons, but there's no guarantee he'll bring his A game. It's the Falcons' defense that will have the most to say in this game. They're supposed to be pretty good, if not an elite NFL unit. They could harass Bulger and shut him down, while Vick runs and passes his way into the playoff record books. Both teams are dome teams, for whatever that's worth. If the Rams fail, we can't blame it on the weather or the fake turf. But it says here that Bulger and Torry Holt and Kevin Curtis and Jackson and/or Faulk have the talent to ratchet it up for a surprise victory. They could take an early lead, Vick could panic, and the Falcons could fly away.
Final score: Rams 23, Falcons 20
.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
So Many Super Bowls, So Few African American Quarterbacks--Will the Trend Continue?
There have been 38 Super Bowls, dating back to the first one following the 1966 season. That means 76 starting quarterback opportunities in the big game's history. Plenty of guys have made multiple SB starts: Bradshaw, Elway, Montana, Starr, Favre, Griese Sr., Brady, Theismann, Aikman, Warner, Plunkett, Staubach, Tarkenton. Each of these fellows has at least one SB victory, with the exception of Tarkenton, who started three games for the Minnesota Vikings of the mid-'70s and came up empty-handed each time. (Sidebar: The Vikings, a well-respected and somewhat storied franchise, have never won a Super Bowl. They've played in four, lost 'em all pretty convincingly, and the drought of zero SB appearances goes back to the 1976 season.)
In the entire history of the Super Bowl, there has been but one victorious African American starting quarterback: Doug Williams, who won Super Bowl XXII for the Washington Redskins following the 1987 season. Williams' career was pretty much finished after that high-water mark, but his achievement was thoroughly historic. And, with the increasing numbers of African American QBs in later years, you'd have thought that maybe what Williams did might have opened the floodgates for his brethren black field generals. But we have seen only one other black QB start a Super Bowl since--Steve McNair of the Tennessee Titans, who lost in Super Bowl XXXIV. That makes Williams still the only one of his kind.
A few more thoughts about Williams: He was a studly athlete arriving in the NFL out of Grambling in 1978, the first black ever drafted in the first round as a quarterback. He toiled mostly haplessly for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for five years--the team won a little, but Williams' numbers weren't particularly good. Then he abandoned the NFL for three seasons: Following the death of his wife Janice from brain cancer in 1983, Williams signed a lucrative USFL contract that gave him some financial security but didn't really raise his profile as a football player.
Redskins coach Joe Gibbs rescued him from the scrap heap in 1986. In 1987, a partial strike year, Williams played in five games for the Redskins, then caught fire in the postseason and went on to perform brilliantly in the Super Bowl, which the 'Skins won 42-10 over John Elway's Denver Broncos. Williams was sort of a scrambler type initially, but it was playing for mediocre Tampa teams that basically kept him on the run. Under Gibbs, he stayed in the pocket, looked for his receivers, then used his gun of an arm with efficiency. He was deadly accurate in the Super Bowl, completing 18-29 passes for 340 yards and 4 TDs.
Now we come to a time in the NFL when black QBs are commonplace. It's probably just a matter of time before one of these gifted athletes wins the big game. There's Donovan McNabb, Daunte Culpepper, Michael Vick, and Aaron Brooks, to name a few. There's also still McNair, of course, who shared the 2003 NFL MVP honor with Indianapolis' Peyton Manning.
Nevertheless, there's something amiss here. In an age of obviously gifted black QBs, we still see lily-white fellows like Brad Johnson, Jake Delhomme, Rich Gannon, Kerry Collins and Chris Chandler getting into Super Bowls. Even Trent Dilfer, an almost complete non-entity, competed in Super Bowl XXXV, and managed to get the "W" for the Baltimore Ravens.
A couple of years ago, I was convinced that Vick was going to emerge through the playoffs and take his Atlanta Falcons to the promised land. It didn't happen. Then there's McNabb, who has lost three consecutive NFC championship games. He can't get over the hump. Culpepper looks great, puts up amazing numbers, and yet his Vikings are currently lingering at 5-4, having lost three straight after a torrid start. Brooks looks great one minute, then totally tanks out. The Saints, consequently, remain one of the league's big mystery teams, talented but inconsistent. As for McNair, injuries continue to plague him, and, now in his early thirties with a Titans team in transition, he may never have another shot at ultimate glory.
No one would ever confuse the physical abilities of Michael Vick with the likes of Dilfer or Johnson. So does any of this mean anything?
Well, let's look at Doug Williams. In many ways, he was the original model for these contemporary black QBs: Strong, quick-footed, great arm. But Williams floundered until he operated in a system that enabled him--encouraged him--to harness all the offensive team's possibilities while sublimating some of his own natural gifts. Quarterbacks who run around, showing what great athletes they are, make for the subject of entertaining highlight reels. They often astound us with their feats. They're exciting as all get out. But they do NOT win Super Bowls. Offenses run by jackrabbit QBs make great plays and win their share of games, but they do not put together a big stretch run that is typical of Super Bowl winners. I hate to say it, but all that "creativity" that Culpepper, McNabb et al. exhibit may be a lot of fun to watch, but it's not apparently what quarterbacking is all about.
Go into the record books. Look at the Super Bowl runs put together by the likes of Starr, Bradshaw, Montana, Aikman, Elway and Brady. Their numbers are very good--sometimes breath-taking, like 1989, the year Montana completed 70.2% of his passes for the season and the 49ers defeated their playoff and Super Bowl opposition by a combined score of 126-26.
But what these QBs are in particular, in every case, is models of efficiency. The don't scramble, they rarely improvise, and they don't throw the ball much more than 25 times a game. They minimize mental errors (e.g., when to throw a pass out of bounds), they manage the clock with uncanny awareness, and they take their teams on critical, game-breaking drives with poise and uncommon nerve. And, above all, they use every weapon in their arsenal. Running backs, tight ends and wide receivers shoulder equal burdens because the QBs know how to mix it up and keep their opponent off-balance.
In short, successful quarterbacking is more about leadership than it is about flinging a ball 60 yards after running all over the backfield eluding desperate defensive linemen. In fact, the earliest template for non-success is Tarkenton: he may have been a white man, but that didn't help him, because what he was first and foremost was a scrambler and an improviser. He was sure interesting to watch, but he couldn't win the big one. And he's the only multiple Super Bowl QB who never went to Disney World.
The only question now is: Which of the new breed of African American hotshots will learn his craft, and take his place next to Doug Williams?
In the entire history of the Super Bowl, there has been but one victorious African American starting quarterback: Doug Williams, who won Super Bowl XXII for the Washington Redskins following the 1987 season. Williams' career was pretty much finished after that high-water mark, but his achievement was thoroughly historic. And, with the increasing numbers of African American QBs in later years, you'd have thought that maybe what Williams did might have opened the floodgates for his brethren black field generals. But we have seen only one other black QB start a Super Bowl since--Steve McNair of the Tennessee Titans, who lost in Super Bowl XXXIV. That makes Williams still the only one of his kind.
A few more thoughts about Williams: He was a studly athlete arriving in the NFL out of Grambling in 1978, the first black ever drafted in the first round as a quarterback. He toiled mostly haplessly for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for five years--the team won a little, but Williams' numbers weren't particularly good. Then he abandoned the NFL for three seasons: Following the death of his wife Janice from brain cancer in 1983, Williams signed a lucrative USFL contract that gave him some financial security but didn't really raise his profile as a football player.
Redskins coach Joe Gibbs rescued him from the scrap heap in 1986. In 1987, a partial strike year, Williams played in five games for the Redskins, then caught fire in the postseason and went on to perform brilliantly in the Super Bowl, which the 'Skins won 42-10 over John Elway's Denver Broncos. Williams was sort of a scrambler type initially, but it was playing for mediocre Tampa teams that basically kept him on the run. Under Gibbs, he stayed in the pocket, looked for his receivers, then used his gun of an arm with efficiency. He was deadly accurate in the Super Bowl, completing 18-29 passes for 340 yards and 4 TDs.
Now we come to a time in the NFL when black QBs are commonplace. It's probably just a matter of time before one of these gifted athletes wins the big game. There's Donovan McNabb, Daunte Culpepper, Michael Vick, and Aaron Brooks, to name a few. There's also still McNair, of course, who shared the 2003 NFL MVP honor with Indianapolis' Peyton Manning.
Nevertheless, there's something amiss here. In an age of obviously gifted black QBs, we still see lily-white fellows like Brad Johnson, Jake Delhomme, Rich Gannon, Kerry Collins and Chris Chandler getting into Super Bowls. Even Trent Dilfer, an almost complete non-entity, competed in Super Bowl XXXV, and managed to get the "W" for the Baltimore Ravens.
A couple of years ago, I was convinced that Vick was going to emerge through the playoffs and take his Atlanta Falcons to the promised land. It didn't happen. Then there's McNabb, who has lost three consecutive NFC championship games. He can't get over the hump. Culpepper looks great, puts up amazing numbers, and yet his Vikings are currently lingering at 5-4, having lost three straight after a torrid start. Brooks looks great one minute, then totally tanks out. The Saints, consequently, remain one of the league's big mystery teams, talented but inconsistent. As for McNair, injuries continue to plague him, and, now in his early thirties with a Titans team in transition, he may never have another shot at ultimate glory.
No one would ever confuse the physical abilities of Michael Vick with the likes of Dilfer or Johnson. So does any of this mean anything?
Well, let's look at Doug Williams. In many ways, he was the original model for these contemporary black QBs: Strong, quick-footed, great arm. But Williams floundered until he operated in a system that enabled him--encouraged him--to harness all the offensive team's possibilities while sublimating some of his own natural gifts. Quarterbacks who run around, showing what great athletes they are, make for the subject of entertaining highlight reels. They often astound us with their feats. They're exciting as all get out. But they do NOT win Super Bowls. Offenses run by jackrabbit QBs make great plays and win their share of games, but they do not put together a big stretch run that is typical of Super Bowl winners. I hate to say it, but all that "creativity" that Culpepper, McNabb et al. exhibit may be a lot of fun to watch, but it's not apparently what quarterbacking is all about.
Go into the record books. Look at the Super Bowl runs put together by the likes of Starr, Bradshaw, Montana, Aikman, Elway and Brady. Their numbers are very good--sometimes breath-taking, like 1989, the year Montana completed 70.2% of his passes for the season and the 49ers defeated their playoff and Super Bowl opposition by a combined score of 126-26.
But what these QBs are in particular, in every case, is models of efficiency. The don't scramble, they rarely improvise, and they don't throw the ball much more than 25 times a game. They minimize mental errors (e.g., when to throw a pass out of bounds), they manage the clock with uncanny awareness, and they take their teams on critical, game-breaking drives with poise and uncommon nerve. And, above all, they use every weapon in their arsenal. Running backs, tight ends and wide receivers shoulder equal burdens because the QBs know how to mix it up and keep their opponent off-balance.
In short, successful quarterbacking is more about leadership than it is about flinging a ball 60 yards after running all over the backfield eluding desperate defensive linemen. In fact, the earliest template for non-success is Tarkenton: he may have been a white man, but that didn't help him, because what he was first and foremost was a scrambler and an improviser. He was sure interesting to watch, but he couldn't win the big one. And he's the only multiple Super Bowl QB who never went to Disney World.
The only question now is: Which of the new breed of African American hotshots will learn his craft, and take his place next to Doug Williams?
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Now Let's Talk About the REAL Curse...
Yeah, yeah, yeah....THE CURSE. We're hearing about it so damn much that a reasonably contrary individual--who might otherwise be pulling like mad for the Boston Red Sox in the World Series--could start to get fed up and switch allegiance to the St. Louis Cardinals.
Not that I want to jinx anybody or anything. Sure, the Red Sox are cuddly. They sucked it up but good and bested the talented Yankees in historically improbable fashion. Which spawned a debate over whether THE CURSE is considered lifted by virtue of the Yankees being vanquished. How sweet it was.
But no, they were talking about THE CURSE in 1986, when the bad-ankle-hobbled Bill Buckner blew a potential Series-winning grounder in Game 6 versus the New York Mets. The endlessly vilified Buckner--who was a very good baseball player (go check the numbers)--never has lived it down, because the Mets went on to win that game and also Game 7, to snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat. The point being that the Sox were better than the Yankees back then, but didn't win the whole enchilada, which reestablished that THE CURSE was really all about the fact that the Red Sox have not won a world championship since 1918.
They've had their chances, though. Before the '86 fiasco, there was 1946 and 1967, when they lost the Series, both times, to (gulp) the St. Louis Cardinals. (Not a good sign to anyone who believes in the big "C," I daresay.) The Sox also lost the classic 1975 Series to the Reds, when Carlton Fisk gestured his Game 6-winning homer to stay fare. It matters little that, as of this writing, the Red Sox are up two games to none heading into Game 3 in St. Louis. If THE CURSE is real, then there is still plenty for Sox fans to fear.
But the focus on the Sox as the ultimate baseball tragedians is totally off-base. The saddest sacks of all are the Chicago Cubs. If black magic has a hold on any MLB franchise, it's the Cubs.
Consider: Red Sox fans moan that their team hasn't won a World Series since 1918. Gotcha beat: the Cubs have not won a World Series since 1908. Furthermore, while the Red Sox are currently making their fourth World Series appearance in 37 years, the Cubs have not participated in a Series since 1945. That's 59 years without a league championship, and 96 years without a world championship. If anyone's got the bad karma, it's the Cubs, who are the oldest established baseball franchise to have gone the longest without tasting some kind of finite victory. Heck, even the Arizona Diamondbacks and the Florida Marlins, both fairly recent expansion teams, have won all the marbles.
No, something REALLY deep afflicts the Cubs. One need look for proof no further than 2003's playoff set pitting Cubs versus Marlins. Nerdy-looking Steve Bartman interferes with a potential pop-foul out, and the Marlins take advantage, winding up winners. (I wonder if there's a desert island somewhere, where guys like Bartman and Buckner can live out their lives in relative peace. Sort of an anti-Field of Dreams. Other spotted drinking coconut juice: Ralph Terry, Fred Merkle, Mitch ("Wild Thing") Williams, Carl Yastrzemski, the entire 1981 Montreal Expos team.)
Yeah, I'm losing my jizz where the Red Sox are concerned. Because THE CURSE doesn't really belong to them. I'm here to set the record straight: the Cubs are the sorriest old-line franchise in baseball. Even when they have talent, they manage to tank out. And they do it really pathetically. Their record of ineptitude is unparalleled. They are cursed beyond the boundaries of normal cursedom.
Of course, the title will go to Chicago if the Red Sox should win it all. There will be no more talk about "long-suffering Bosox fans." No more expletives uttered in conjunction with the name of Bucky Dent. No more Bill Buckner to kick around anymore.
But if the Sox blow it, and all that public angst and media-intensive wailing and gnashing of teeth has us back on THE CURSE Watch, I say, "Sorry, Ben Affleck, your team may blow the Big One, but at least you GET to the Big One..."
Cubs fans are the loneliest baseball fans on the planet. They always, ultimately, have absolutely nothing to cheer about. This despite their share of philosophical reasons to hope for better days. The Red Sox, after getting their hopes up, may become disappointed with the girl they've brought to the prom, but heck, the Cubs can't even get a date.
So the Sox have a golden opportunity to put an end to THE CURSE folderol. I wish 'em luck, if that's what they really want. It's not gonna be the same, though. They'll become the "all-powerful Red Sox," then. If they wanna throw 86 years of charismatically frustrating tradition down the drain, that's their prerogative. At least then the Cubs can wear the crown that has always been rightfully theirs.
But hey, don't count the Red Sox out yet. A two-game lead is nothing these days. They proved that themselves only last week. But if you do win it all, Bosox, you can't ever get THE CURSE back. So you might wanna re-consider.
Prediction: Cards in 7. THE CURSE lives.
Justice for Leslie Frazier
I lived in Chicago for about 20 years. It's arguably the greatest sports town in the land. During my years there, I was let down plenty of times by the baseball teams (and that beat goes on...and on). But I was also present for all six of the Chicago Bulls' Michael Jordan-led world championships. And, perhaps most memorably, I was there in 1985, when the Chicago Bears Super Bowl Shuffled their way to the NFL title. The Bears had a ferocious defense, a varied offense led by Walter Payton and Jim McMahon, and they finished the season 15-1. They then vanquished their three postseason opponents by a combined score of 91-10, including kicking the New England Patriots all around the field in Super Bowl XX. Final score in New Orleans: 46-10.
Among the Bears' excellent players was a quietly efficient cornerback named Leslie Frazier. Frazier was a fifth-year pro out of Alcorn State in Mississippi. He led the Bears in interceptions that year with six. Aside from that, you never really heard Frazier's name called that much by the broadcasters. He just seemed to show up every week, clamped down on opposing receivers, got his occasional pick (he ran one back for a touchdown in 1985), and otherwise played his role on a brutal and fearsome defensive squad. Frazier was, if nothing else particularly noticeable, tenacious. And he never got his name called much on TV, I guess, because not that much got past him. On a team that had big-name defenders like Mike Singletary, Richard Dent, Dan Hampton, Wilber Marshall, Otis Wilson, and William ("The Refrigerator") Perry, Frazier was unsung.
But getting his Super Bowl ring was a bittersweet thing for Frazier. In the second quarter of the big game, Frazier was called upon to carry the ball on a fake punt. The play was a flop. Worst of all, Frazier tore his anterior cruciate ligament at the end of the play. He hobbled off the field--and he never played another second of pro football in a regulation game. He attempted comebacks in 1986-87 with the Bears and Eagles, suiting up for pre-season games, but he never got a roster spot.
For years, I used to think about what a screw job Frazier had gotten. He was a first-string cornerback. What was he doing on the special teams helping them run a trick play? Just always seemed a cruel turn of fate to me. While the city of Chicago's Super Bowl celebration reached delirium proportions, talented, stalwart Leslie Frazier was finished. And I always wondered what the heck happened to him.
Fast forward to last night's "Monday Night Football" game. The Cincinnati Bengals, looking a lot more aggressive and hungry than usual, trying to rebuild under head coach Marv Lewis, squared off against the generally formidable Denver Broncos. Whattya know...the Bengals roar and beat the Broncs decisively, 23-10. Then the camera zeroes in on an intense, nice-looking guy holding a clipboard. Shazam! It's the Bengals' defensive coordinator--none other than Leslie Frazier--and Al Michaels and John Madden are singing his praises.
So the question that has dogged me for nearly 20 years has been answered. How did Frazier do it? Sort of like he played cornerback: quietly, determinedly.
After leaving the game behind as a player, Frazier took a job at tiny Trinity (IL) College, where he was the NAIA school's first ever head coach from 1988 to 1996. He departed in 1997 to take a coaching job at the University of Illinois, but not before Trinity would name its football field after him. (Frazier was all of 38 at the time.) After two years with the Illini as a defensive secondary coach, Frazier joined head coach Andy Reid's staff with the Philadelphia Eagles in 1999. Four successful seasons coaching Eagles defensive backs led to Frazier's appointment in 2003 as Bengals defensive coordinator.
The Bengals have been an NFL doormat for a long time now. They showed signs of life early last year, then kind of underachieved their way to an 8-8 record. But even that was a huge improvement over 2002, when they were 2-14, and they haven't had a winning record since 1990. Their modern-day futility is legendary.
But maybe they're gonna get good. And maybe Leslie Frazier's gonna have something to say about it.
I don't know where all those big Bears stars of 1985 are now. I'm sure most of them are doing fine, though I seem to recall both McMahon and Hampton getting DUIs sometime in the not too distant past. Lord only knows what the "Fridge" is doing these days. Sadly, the great Payton left this mortal coil in 1999.
But Leslie Frazier, a fine football player who should have played a lot longer than he did, picked himself up off the slag heap of the game and went out and made an even better name for himself in the sport he loves so much.
This is the kind of justice I like. Way to go, Les.
Among the Bears' excellent players was a quietly efficient cornerback named Leslie Frazier. Frazier was a fifth-year pro out of Alcorn State in Mississippi. He led the Bears in interceptions that year with six. Aside from that, you never really heard Frazier's name called that much by the broadcasters. He just seemed to show up every week, clamped down on opposing receivers, got his occasional pick (he ran one back for a touchdown in 1985), and otherwise played his role on a brutal and fearsome defensive squad. Frazier was, if nothing else particularly noticeable, tenacious. And he never got his name called much on TV, I guess, because not that much got past him. On a team that had big-name defenders like Mike Singletary, Richard Dent, Dan Hampton, Wilber Marshall, Otis Wilson, and William ("The Refrigerator") Perry, Frazier was unsung.
But getting his Super Bowl ring was a bittersweet thing for Frazier. In the second quarter of the big game, Frazier was called upon to carry the ball on a fake punt. The play was a flop. Worst of all, Frazier tore his anterior cruciate ligament at the end of the play. He hobbled off the field--and he never played another second of pro football in a regulation game. He attempted comebacks in 1986-87 with the Bears and Eagles, suiting up for pre-season games, but he never got a roster spot.
For years, I used to think about what a screw job Frazier had gotten. He was a first-string cornerback. What was he doing on the special teams helping them run a trick play? Just always seemed a cruel turn of fate to me. While the city of Chicago's Super Bowl celebration reached delirium proportions, talented, stalwart Leslie Frazier was finished. And I always wondered what the heck happened to him.
Fast forward to last night's "Monday Night Football" game. The Cincinnati Bengals, looking a lot more aggressive and hungry than usual, trying to rebuild under head coach Marv Lewis, squared off against the generally formidable Denver Broncos. Whattya know...the Bengals roar and beat the Broncs decisively, 23-10. Then the camera zeroes in on an intense, nice-looking guy holding a clipboard. Shazam! It's the Bengals' defensive coordinator--none other than Leslie Frazier--and Al Michaels and John Madden are singing his praises.
So the question that has dogged me for nearly 20 years has been answered. How did Frazier do it? Sort of like he played cornerback: quietly, determinedly.
After leaving the game behind as a player, Frazier took a job at tiny Trinity (IL) College, where he was the NAIA school's first ever head coach from 1988 to 1996. He departed in 1997 to take a coaching job at the University of Illinois, but not before Trinity would name its football field after him. (Frazier was all of 38 at the time.) After two years with the Illini as a defensive secondary coach, Frazier joined head coach Andy Reid's staff with the Philadelphia Eagles in 1999. Four successful seasons coaching Eagles defensive backs led to Frazier's appointment in 2003 as Bengals defensive coordinator.
The Bengals have been an NFL doormat for a long time now. They showed signs of life early last year, then kind of underachieved their way to an 8-8 record. But even that was a huge improvement over 2002, when they were 2-14, and they haven't had a winning record since 1990. Their modern-day futility is legendary.
But maybe they're gonna get good. And maybe Leslie Frazier's gonna have something to say about it.
I don't know where all those big Bears stars of 1985 are now. I'm sure most of them are doing fine, though I seem to recall both McMahon and Hampton getting DUIs sometime in the not too distant past. Lord only knows what the "Fridge" is doing these days. Sadly, the great Payton left this mortal coil in 1999.
But Leslie Frazier, a fine football player who should have played a lot longer than he did, picked himself up off the slag heap of the game and went out and made an even better name for himself in the sport he loves so much.
This is the kind of justice I like. Way to go, Les.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Black Athletes, White Women and the Economics of Modern Love
There's an old shibboleth that mothers used to repeat to their daughters: "You can marry a rich man just as easily as you can marry a poor one." The message is clear, and one is tempted to paraphrase Tina Turner; it's not at all clear what love has to do with it.
Recently, I turned on the television and saw a news report about a local fundraising fashion show. In attendance were many members of the Tennessee Titans football team. It looked to be a bit of a gala affair, and reporters were working the room, extracting supportive comments from players and their wives. I was struck by the fact that veteran Titans defensive lineman Kevin Carter's wife was white. So too was defensive back Andre Woolfolk's. A few weeks back I'd seen a TV feature on Titans tight end Erron Kinney and his family. His wife too is white.
I'm gonna betcha that there is at least one other black Titans player who is married to a white woman. Which means there are probably a whole bunch of black NFL players whose wives are white. Possibly a hundred or even a lot more, if you take the Titans as a typical group and do the math.
Now, I'm a firm believer in live and let live. And I've got nothing against white women marrying black men. Or vice-versa, for that matter. But it wasn't very long ago where interracial marriages were still considered fairly controversial in American society. There are still people who just aren't automatically comfortable with the idea, no matter how much social progress has been made since Brown v. Board of Education in 1954. I don't know about you, but, practically speaking, I still don't see interracial marriages very often.
Clearly, this is only a serious problem for those who have a serious problem with it, and their numbers are dwindling. With every passing day, you will find fewer and fewer Americans who would raise an eyebrow at an interracial marriage. And that's a good thing for social progress.
So let's say for the moment that indeed the doors to interracial marriage have eased open quite a bit, and there's pretty much access for all. Now, I want someone to do a demographic study and compare the percentage of white women who have married black professional athletes versus the percentage of white women who have married a) black dishwashers; b) black taxi drivers; and c) black hardware store clerks.
I used to work in a restaurant with a black dishwasher named Carl. He was one of the coolest guys I ever met. Great sense of humor, loving, patient, and sensitive. As a man, I'd stack him up against any professional athlete you can show me. Funny, I didn't see any babe-licious white ladies hanging around him. Carl went along his hardworking way, and eventually married a very nice lady named Joanne. As far as I know, they're very happy.
But the cynic in me says that the situation in the NFL, where interracial marriage is so easily accepted, has nothing to do with racial openness or true love but has everything to do with economic reality. Mother was right: You CAN marry a rich man just as easily as a poor one, and why not expand the preferred pool by targeting the whole new class of athlete insta-millionaires? Sure, some of them are white--one wonders how many of them have married black women--but the majority are black, and mother never put a color-coding on that old adage. Except maybe the color green.
I'd love to believe that these jock wives totally fell in love with their husbands. That 24-year-old Andre Woolfolk's young, blonde wife worships the ground he walks on. But athletes these days are like rock stars, and you gotta wonder about the driving force that, within this self-contained world, suddenly has everyone way more color-blind than people probably are in almost every other area of society.
But hey, more power to the white girls. They're roping in prime studs who earn millions---presuming they remain at the top of their game, or don't blow a knee out in their rookie season. Mother'd be proud.
I don't guess your average black hardware-store clerk worries too much about why white babes aren't flocking around him. And sad-sack white guys in dead-end jobs never have a shot at ladies like that anyway.
But I do wonder this: Does it piss off the black girls?
Recently, I turned on the television and saw a news report about a local fundraising fashion show. In attendance were many members of the Tennessee Titans football team. It looked to be a bit of a gala affair, and reporters were working the room, extracting supportive comments from players and their wives. I was struck by the fact that veteran Titans defensive lineman Kevin Carter's wife was white. So too was defensive back Andre Woolfolk's. A few weeks back I'd seen a TV feature on Titans tight end Erron Kinney and his family. His wife too is white.
I'm gonna betcha that there is at least one other black Titans player who is married to a white woman. Which means there are probably a whole bunch of black NFL players whose wives are white. Possibly a hundred or even a lot more, if you take the Titans as a typical group and do the math.
Now, I'm a firm believer in live and let live. And I've got nothing against white women marrying black men. Or vice-versa, for that matter. But it wasn't very long ago where interracial marriages were still considered fairly controversial in American society. There are still people who just aren't automatically comfortable with the idea, no matter how much social progress has been made since Brown v. Board of Education in 1954. I don't know about you, but, practically speaking, I still don't see interracial marriages very often.
Clearly, this is only a serious problem for those who have a serious problem with it, and their numbers are dwindling. With every passing day, you will find fewer and fewer Americans who would raise an eyebrow at an interracial marriage. And that's a good thing for social progress.
So let's say for the moment that indeed the doors to interracial marriage have eased open quite a bit, and there's pretty much access for all. Now, I want someone to do a demographic study and compare the percentage of white women who have married black professional athletes versus the percentage of white women who have married a) black dishwashers; b) black taxi drivers; and c) black hardware store clerks.
I used to work in a restaurant with a black dishwasher named Carl. He was one of the coolest guys I ever met. Great sense of humor, loving, patient, and sensitive. As a man, I'd stack him up against any professional athlete you can show me. Funny, I didn't see any babe-licious white ladies hanging around him. Carl went along his hardworking way, and eventually married a very nice lady named Joanne. As far as I know, they're very happy.
But the cynic in me says that the situation in the NFL, where interracial marriage is so easily accepted, has nothing to do with racial openness or true love but has everything to do with economic reality. Mother was right: You CAN marry a rich man just as easily as a poor one, and why not expand the preferred pool by targeting the whole new class of athlete insta-millionaires? Sure, some of them are white--one wonders how many of them have married black women--but the majority are black, and mother never put a color-coding on that old adage. Except maybe the color green.
I'd love to believe that these jock wives totally fell in love with their husbands. That 24-year-old Andre Woolfolk's young, blonde wife worships the ground he walks on. But athletes these days are like rock stars, and you gotta wonder about the driving force that, within this self-contained world, suddenly has everyone way more color-blind than people probably are in almost every other area of society.
But hey, more power to the white girls. They're roping in prime studs who earn millions---presuming they remain at the top of their game, or don't blow a knee out in their rookie season. Mother'd be proud.
I don't guess your average black hardware-store clerk worries too much about why white babes aren't flocking around him. And sad-sack white guys in dead-end jobs never have a shot at ladies like that anyway.
But I do wonder this: Does it piss off the black girls?
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
And Now...A Few Words About Julio Franco
Julio Franco just completed another season of major league baseball with the Atlanta Braves. He played in 125 ballgames and batted .309. Nothing, on the surface, particularly earth-shattering about that. Good numbers, though. I'm sure he played a serious role in helping the team win its 14th division title in a row (or whatever the heck it is for the Braves, who, remarkably, keep grinding it out, even if they don't ever win the World Series).
But here's what has me scratching my head: On August 23 of this summer, Julio Franco turned 46 years old. Now, I've been thinking. And doing a little research, too. The question that spurred me on was this: Has ANYONE in the history of major league baseball ever played 125 games at the age of 46 and batted .309???
Well, I didn't search out every nook and cranny of the record book. But I'll tell you what I DID find. Neither Pete Rose nor Ty Cobb ever played to age 46. Cobb did bat .323 his last year at the age of almost 42. Rose, at 45, batted .219 his last year, and he probably should've hung 'em up a couple of years prior. And you can come up with a whole bunch of old-timers, guys born in the 19th century, who played baseball well into their 40s. Guys with names like Jim O'Rourke, Sam Thompson, Kid Gleason, Dan Brouthers, Hughie Jennings, and Arlie Latham. As far as I can see, every one of these guys was making only token appearances at their advanced ages. They sure didn't play in 125 games.
In more modern times there was the legendary Minnie Minoso, who had a huge reputation as being older than God and still able to swing a bat. But really, Minoso's later exploits were overblown, and in fact his baseball skills--considerable in his prime in the '50s--had deteriorated by his late 30s. The Chicago White Sox used to trot ol' Minnie out for show, and he actually appeared in a game at the age of 57. More recently, Carlton Fisk played to the age of 45, remarkable especially because he was a catcher. But Fisk hit .189 in 25 games his final season, and truthfully, he hung on about two seasons too long (though the longevity helped him get into the Hall of Fame, methinks).
There have been a raft of modern-era players, great ones all, who have played on into their 40s. Dave Winfield almost made it to his 44th birthday. He batted .191 his final season. Carl Yastrzemski DID make it to 44. He batted .266 that final year. Paul Molitor batted .281 in his final season in which he played 126 games. But he retired a mere pup at the age of 42. There are others. Ted Williams, 42. Enos Slaughter, 43. And, of course, Willie Mays, whom many sadly remember from his last season, at age 42, falling down on national television during the 1973 postseason playing for the New York Mets in a last-gasp effort to reclaim the spotlight. It wasn't the kind of attention Willie wanted. He batted .211 that year.
As for Franco, it's not like he's on the downslide. He batted .284 in '02, and .294 in '03. He's actually improving! Even more ironically, after a career spent mostly in the American League, where they have the designated hitter option for aging players, Franco has spent his final four years in the National League, where he must play a position. More recently, that's been first base, but Franco has played every position but catcher over the course of his long career. Another oddity: Franco was out of big-league baseball for all of '95, '98 and '00 and virtually all of '99. (He was playing in Latin America during that time.) He made his triumphant return to the majors in 2001--at the age of 43!
Franco's career numbers are excellent. He's got 2,457 hits, 1,110 RBIs and a lifetime batting mark of .300. If he'd played those years he was out of MLB, he definitely would have hit the 3,000 mark for hits.
So as far as I'm concerned, Julio Franco is the greatest oldest baseball player who ever lived. I applaud him heartily. I salute him with utmost respect. I doff my hat to him. I wish I could shake his hand. Someone oughta give him a parade.
Tough part now is, I don't want Julio's luster to fade. I wonder if he's thinking of coming back next year... Hmmm...
Maybe hang 'em up, Julio. Go out a champ. Don't pull a "Willie" on us. Preserve the legend, and know that you struck a blow for middle-aged men everywhere.
Friday, October 15, 2004
The Great Colin Cowherd Experiment
...is a bust. I've tried and tried to listen to this guy, who took over Tony Kornheiser's old morning slot on ESPN Radio. But it's useless. What is it about this guy? He has some ideas, like lining up a bunch of long-distance phone feeds from a string of beat reporters nationwide. In rapid succession, we get team updates from the best local sources, and all the reporters apparently are content with holding on the line while Cowherd gets to them in turn. Unfortunately, we have to listen to Cowherd ask them the questions.
This guy is earnest, all right. Too much so. He's also kinda insecure, which, in fact, he has good reason to be. For one thing, his vocal style needs a Valium. Also, when he defaults to telling personal stories, it's always lame-o. (Nobody cares, Colin.) In addition, his sports knowledge is of the canned variety, filled with fake enthusiasm and insights that might've come from a press release. Where'd this guy come from, anyway?
I used to bitch that Kornheiser had turned his radio gig into a version of "Sports Entertainment Tonight." And Tony also used to spend too much time telling us about his son going to Penn, or his membership in the exclusive Columbia Country Club in Chevy Chase, Md., or any number of other arrogant things. The constant plugs for "PTI" were also obnoxious. In fact, there was a lot that was obnoxious about Kornheiser on radio, yet the guy was smart and he conducted interviews well. There was also a joie de vivre on that show that made it listenable even when it was annoying. Tony may have been a legend in his own mind, but it was still fun to tune him in.
I've given Mr. Cowherd (nice name...NOT!) every chance. Sorry, he's wimpy and he sucks. If anyone at ESPN Radio has any sense, they should be plotting his ouster as we speak. What's more curious, though, is how this guy got on the air in the first place. He's not an ex-jock, which is often a good explanation for lame-o on-air sports personalities. So, in fact, someone thought he had talent. Or maybe Cowherd is in possession of some compromising photos of an ESPN exec. Otherwise, logical explanations for his ascent to this choice radio slot remain elusive.
Seeya, Colin. Good luck, wherever you land.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
What's Wrong with the Redskins?
A lot it would seem. At 1-4, the fabled team looks like a sleek new automobile with all kinds of systemic failures. Joe Gibbs' return to the NFL sidelines has not been smooth or productive, and quite honestly Joe looks a little lost out there. He's still learning how to challenge a referee's call, and the team has otherwise had time-management problems that seem to be the result of bad communication from sideline to the field. These gaffes are correctable, and one assumes that once Gibbs gets his sea legs again, after a 12-year absence from the game, he'll know how to use the clock and work the challenge system. Now if he can only do a serious tune-up job on his offense.
It's funny. Brian Billick was brought in to coach the Ravens years back on the strength of his reputation in Minnesota as an offensive coordinator. Ever since, the Ravens have been known as a brutalizing defensive team with pedestrian offenses.Then Tony Dungy was brought in to Indianapolis on the strength of his reputation in Tampa Bay as a defensive guru. Now the Colts are an offensive juggermaut with a fairly porous (though possibly improving) defense. Same with Gibbs. Hailed as an offensive genius through the '80 and '90s, leading his Redskins to four Super Bowl appearances (winning three of them), Gibbs now oversees a team with a tough-minded defense but an offense that is going nowhere.
The off-season signing of veteran QB Mark Brunell looked smart at first. Gibbs took a serious meeting with the former Jaguars star, supposedly to probe his character and see if D.C. might be a good place for him to rejuvenate his career. (Brunell's got serious stats, dating back to 1993. As of this writing, he's thrown for 26,610 yards with a 60% completion rate and a fabulous TD/INT ratio.) Maybe Joe channeled the Lord, and was told that a big, strong guy named Mark, who played his college ball in the state of Washington, could lead the team to the Super Bowl, just like Gibbs' "other" Mark--Rypien--did after the 1991 season. Whatever the reason, Gibbs didn't have enough faith in third-year pro Patrick Ramsey NOT to sign Brunell. Now the 34-year-old lefty QB is helming a popgun offense characterized by awful dinks and dunks, which usually follow yet another abortive run by hotshot off-season acquisition Clinton Portis.
At one point in last Monday night's game against the Ravens, I counted nine straight plays in which Portis got the ball: eight runs, one pass. Uh...pathetic. Then Brunell dumps a 5-yard pass off to rookie H-back Chris Cooley. More pathetic. Gibbs should ask the Lord to tell him where in the heck are Rod Gardner and Laveranues Coles, the team's ace receivers. This engine needs a new transmission; the 'Skins can hardly get out of first gear.
The Portis situation is a problem, but for a different reason. The guy's a huge talent. His stats the past two years with Denver don't lie. But Gibbs is running him into the ground. Besides this being strategic folly, Portis is gonna get beat up that way. Portis is not a big back. He's not small, but he's no John Riggins either. It's getting to be "cringe time" every time Portis takes a handoff. The Ravens especially hammered him, and Gibbs kept sending him into the line. Scary stuff. This offense needs to at least ATTEMPT diversification, if only to take the heat off Portis and give him a chance to be effective.
The Redskins defense actually looks pretty good, now under the direction of Gregg Williams, formerly the Bills head coach and the defensive coordinator of the Titans' 1999-season Super Bowl team. The 'Skins are playing aggressively under Williams' tutelage, even without Lavar Arrington, the All-Pro linebacker hobbled by injury. However, they're not a great defense by any means, and this team needs an effective offense to even begin to think about winning consistently.
Is Brunell washed up? The thought crossed my mind Monday night. He wouldn't be the first 34-year-old athlete to simply "lose it." The Ramsey option still intrigues. He's young and strong and he's got a pro arm. He seemed to be a pretty tough character the past two years, as defenders constantly harassed him. Ramsey would fend off incoming linebackers, then bravely step up into the pocket, often taking a hard lick as he released the ball. Alas, consistency was a problem. Can he handle the supposed intricacies of a Gibbs offense? Maybe not. On the other hand, he certainly can hand the ball off to Portis, which is all that Brunell is doing presently.
When Gibbs first came to Washington in 1981, the team had a disastrous 0-5 start. He was 40 years old, full of evangelistic zeal and a lot of offensive ideas, and he turned the team around fast. They finished the '81 season winning 8 of their last 11 games, and the next year went to the Super Bowl, beating the Dolphins when Riggins made a now-storied game-breaking touchdown run. But it's no consolation to think that Gibbs has "been here before." That's not the way it was supposed to be. Fact is, it's a lot harder to cut an icon any slack. Gibbs' postgame comments are amazingly bland and generic, and you gotta wonder what's going on here. You can bet petulant team owner Little Danny Snyder is.
'Skins fans hope the Lord is on Gibbs' side, and I guess he gets a pass for a little while. But here's the $64,000 question no one wants to ask: Has the game passed Gibbs by?
It's funny. Brian Billick was brought in to coach the Ravens years back on the strength of his reputation in Minnesota as an offensive coordinator. Ever since, the Ravens have been known as a brutalizing defensive team with pedestrian offenses.Then Tony Dungy was brought in to Indianapolis on the strength of his reputation in Tampa Bay as a defensive guru. Now the Colts are an offensive juggermaut with a fairly porous (though possibly improving) defense. Same with Gibbs. Hailed as an offensive genius through the '80 and '90s, leading his Redskins to four Super Bowl appearances (winning three of them), Gibbs now oversees a team with a tough-minded defense but an offense that is going nowhere.
The off-season signing of veteran QB Mark Brunell looked smart at first. Gibbs took a serious meeting with the former Jaguars star, supposedly to probe his character and see if D.C. might be a good place for him to rejuvenate his career. (Brunell's got serious stats, dating back to 1993. As of this writing, he's thrown for 26,610 yards with a 60% completion rate and a fabulous TD/INT ratio.) Maybe Joe channeled the Lord, and was told that a big, strong guy named Mark, who played his college ball in the state of Washington, could lead the team to the Super Bowl, just like Gibbs' "other" Mark--Rypien--did after the 1991 season. Whatever the reason, Gibbs didn't have enough faith in third-year pro Patrick Ramsey NOT to sign Brunell. Now the 34-year-old lefty QB is helming a popgun offense characterized by awful dinks and dunks, which usually follow yet another abortive run by hotshot off-season acquisition Clinton Portis.
At one point in last Monday night's game against the Ravens, I counted nine straight plays in which Portis got the ball: eight runs, one pass. Uh...pathetic. Then Brunell dumps a 5-yard pass off to rookie H-back Chris Cooley. More pathetic. Gibbs should ask the Lord to tell him where in the heck are Rod Gardner and Laveranues Coles, the team's ace receivers. This engine needs a new transmission; the 'Skins can hardly get out of first gear.
The Portis situation is a problem, but for a different reason. The guy's a huge talent. His stats the past two years with Denver don't lie. But Gibbs is running him into the ground. Besides this being strategic folly, Portis is gonna get beat up that way. Portis is not a big back. He's not small, but he's no John Riggins either. It's getting to be "cringe time" every time Portis takes a handoff. The Ravens especially hammered him, and Gibbs kept sending him into the line. Scary stuff. This offense needs to at least ATTEMPT diversification, if only to take the heat off Portis and give him a chance to be effective.
The Redskins defense actually looks pretty good, now under the direction of Gregg Williams, formerly the Bills head coach and the defensive coordinator of the Titans' 1999-season Super Bowl team. The 'Skins are playing aggressively under Williams' tutelage, even without Lavar Arrington, the All-Pro linebacker hobbled by injury. However, they're not a great defense by any means, and this team needs an effective offense to even begin to think about winning consistently.
Is Brunell washed up? The thought crossed my mind Monday night. He wouldn't be the first 34-year-old athlete to simply "lose it." The Ramsey option still intrigues. He's young and strong and he's got a pro arm. He seemed to be a pretty tough character the past two years, as defenders constantly harassed him. Ramsey would fend off incoming linebackers, then bravely step up into the pocket, often taking a hard lick as he released the ball. Alas, consistency was a problem. Can he handle the supposed intricacies of a Gibbs offense? Maybe not. On the other hand, he certainly can hand the ball off to Portis, which is all that Brunell is doing presently.
When Gibbs first came to Washington in 1981, the team had a disastrous 0-5 start. He was 40 years old, full of evangelistic zeal and a lot of offensive ideas, and he turned the team around fast. They finished the '81 season winning 8 of their last 11 games, and the next year went to the Super Bowl, beating the Dolphins when Riggins made a now-storied game-breaking touchdown run. But it's no consolation to think that Gibbs has "been here before." That's not the way it was supposed to be. Fact is, it's a lot harder to cut an icon any slack. Gibbs' postgame comments are amazingly bland and generic, and you gotta wonder what's going on here. You can bet petulant team owner Little Danny Snyder is.
'Skins fans hope the Lord is on Gibbs' side, and I guess he gets a pass for a little while. But here's the $64,000 question no one wants to ask: Has the game passed Gibbs by?
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
The Sad Case of Joe Buck
What a break baseball fans got this Sunday past, when Fox broadcaster Joe Buck had to fly somewhere to cover a football game. Finally, we were spared his desperate attempts at presenting himself as a "seasoned" baseball broadcaster. He doesn't do football any better, but the action is faster and we're not as conscious of him. The same can't be said of baseball, whose languorous pace is a part of its charm, but also induces lightweights like Buck to prattle on between pitches as if they have something of substance to contribute. Sadly, Buck was back in the baseball booth with sidekick Tim McCarver—see photo—on Tuesday night, for the opening game of the Yanks-Red Sox LCS.
I'm not sure what's worse: the worthless things Buck says, or the overly pious and pseudo-dramatic way in which he says them. One of the worst things that ever happened to sports broadcasting was the passing of Jack Buck, Buck the Lesser's dad, a grizzled voice announcer who made his mark on the national scene as well as a broadcaster for the St. Louis Cardinals. The younger Buck had already wimped his way into the profession on the strength of the family name. Then, when Poppa Buck passed, network executives began to foist Joe on us like some anointed prince. Joe doesn't mind evoking dad's memory on the air, either. He seems to do it every chance he gets. Which maybe means that even though Junior is a relentlessly annoying on-air presence--filling the air with stupid and speculative commentary delivered with faux authority--he might have a brain cell working. Now anointed on the strength of the outpouring of sympathy for his departed dad, Young Buck can be expected to parlay his good fortune (Thanks, Dad!) into a multi-decade career as signature sports broadcaster. No doubt, eventually, he'll be dubbed venerable, and the suck-up broadcasters that follow him will then talk about what a "great broadcaster Joe was." Even more galling is the fact that Bucky has recently taken to commercials, as manipulative advertisers try to cash in on his "new young breed" looks. (Yuck.)
Earlier in the past year, Mark Howard, a local Nashville television sports reader, wrote a newspaper column in which he defended himself and his profession, saying that being on TV, and in sports broadcasting, wasn't as easy as it looks. It was a strange defense, one getting the impression that Howard felt the need to lash out publicly at something someone might've said at a cocktail party. You can almost hear some oafish dude, three beers over his limit, saying to Howard: "Oh yeah, you're that sports guy on TV. Christ, what a cushy gig THAT must be. How do they give out those jobs, anyway? Is there a big lottery, or is it all about having a relative grease the wheels? It can't possibly be based on merit, or objective criteria. You sit there and read the sports stuff off a TelePrompter, and we're supposed to believe that there's something 'professional' about the way you do it. Sort of like the way Star Jones is a 'professional' on 'The View.' Hell, my 14-year-old knows more about football than Dennis Miller, and they paid that guy a ton to be on TV. I guess you're a lucky stiff too. Well, anyway, nice to meet ya. Go Titans!"
The fact of the matter is that Howard's counter-salvo (or whatever it was) sounded just too defensive to be true. Like he knew the truth for sure, but had to strike a blow in the press for sports broadcasters everywhere. Give us a break, Mark. There are probably hundreds, maybe thousands, of young broadcasters all over the country, many of them dying for the kind of chance Buckette has gotten. They'd kill for Howard's gig too. As the saying goes, "this ain''t rocket science," and if it were even close to that, then broadcasters would be hired for their intelligence and artfulness behind a microphone. Instead, we get absolute meatheads like ex-jock Mike Golic, who's an abomination on ESPN Radio, yet is allowed to continue because--why else?--he's an ex-jock. Which is a huge problem that will never go away. All those college kids in radio/TV programs across the country, and most don't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting to the top of their profession because the ex-jocks have decided that they're going to simply segue from the playing field to the broadcast booth. Do they go to college for it? No. Do they get any extensive broadcast experience to prep for their chores? No. What? They didn't make enough money playing football or baseball, so now they have to horn in on the most lucrative industry on the planet?
And then Mark Howard comes along wondering why people think what he does is a snap. Well, hey, if lame-brains like Terry Bradshaw and Dan Dierdorf (who I turn down the moment I hear his distinctively blubbery and overwrought voice) can do it, then so could I, Mark. And so could the guys who've been to broadcasting school but face years in obscurity because bigmouths like Neon Deion and Shannon Sharpe were bored after leaving the game and didn't have anything to do but use their celebrity to make a pile of TV cash prattling on with make-believe enthusiasm.
So it's all about who you know or if you played the game. For anyone outside that category, it all looks like a crap shoot. And let's face facts: there IS no objective criteria for sports broadcasting. Hell, there isn't much subjective criteria, either, since having a pleasant speaking voice doesn't even figure into things. (One presumes being able to read counts for something, but who knows? What comes out of the mouth of Tim McCarver--Buck's sidekick--is certainly improvised nonsense, delivered in an annoying drawl, so maybe reading is an irrelevant skill, after all.)
Too bad. Dumbass glad-handers too often rule the sports airwaves. And connected insiders get the plum gigs. (Which reminds me, Is Kenny Albert Marv Albert's brother?? He sure reeks of it.)
Meanwhile, we have to suffer in silence--providing we have the sense to turn down the sound. Now, if only Paul Maguire looked like Melissa Stark, he could at least be seen and definitely not heard.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
The Kid Has Arrived
This is Nashville, Tenn. Home of the Tennessee football Titans. So it's appropriate on Columbus Day, 2004, to talk about Chris Brown, a young man who has truly arrived in a New World. In his second pro season, Brown has replaced the venerable ex-Titan Eddie George at running back. and has gained over 100 yards in each of four of the first five games. And while the Titans, currently 2-3 on the season, appear to have some problems (more on that later), they also appear to have found a marquee runner.
Brown is tall and rangy--6'3", 219lbs.--but without the absolute bulk of George. He gets criticized for his "straight up" running style, but the critics are biding their time at the moment, since Brown, with his smooth gait and deceptive speed, has nothing but impressive results to show for his efforts (556 yards). The most immediate comparison that comes to mind is Eric Dickerson, also a sleek, straight-up runner, who gained 13,259 yards in a stellar career (1983-1993) with the Rams, Colts, Raiders and Falcons. Dickerson had a lot of muscle as well as speed, which probably helped him to avoid injuries, maybe the straight-up runner's biggest nemesis.
There's a reason why coaches tell runners to lower their heads: you can "power" through the line, protect the ball, and also protect yourself. But that's a lot easier to do when you're 5'11" and built lower to the ground. Brown does appear to be a wide-open target, but so far he's outrunning defenders, and he's also shown a penchant for a wicked stiff-arm. Brown, a third-round 2003 draft choice (#93 overall) out of Gary Barnett's program at Colorado, also appears to be a nice kid with a genuine enthusiasm for the game.
You always gotta wonder what's happening on draft day, when a talent like Brown slips down a few rounds. There were three RBs selected before him in '03--Willis McGahee (out of Miami), Larry Johnson (Penn State) and Musa Smith (Georgia). I'd say Titans general manager Floyd Reese pulled another rabbit out of his hat--in this case, a big jackrabbit.
Everyone in Nashville wishes Eddie George a gracious end to his career with the Cowboys (or wherever he ends up). He still might have some years left as a role player. But we all know that running back is a young man's position, and no amount of experience can compensate for flat-out youthful speed and an ability to hit a hole with maximum quickness. We mourn Eddie's passing in Nashville, and we thank him for his 8 previous courageous years. But the future is now, and his name is Chris Brown.
Speaking Sportswise
I'm a professional journalist. Mostly covering artistic concerns such as books, theater and music. Occasionally, I get the chance to write about sports. But if I'd had my druthers, I'd've launched a career as a sportswriter long ago. I have a huge appetite for, and knowledge of, baseball and football. I like basketball okay, but it's not my long suit. Still, especially when the NCAA Tournament comes around, I like to think I know my general roundball business. I also enjoy the world of golf. (As for hockey, you can have it.) The "big three" is basically where I'm at, and you can expect plenty of football discussion at this site. Moreover, expect a wealth of opinion on the media of sports: how it's covered, how the scribes and announcers relate it, how the players act on and off the field, how the fans react, what the experts are saying--in short, anything that relates to the games and the guys (and, where applicable, the girls) involved.
This is a huge time of year, what with the NFL in full swing and the baseball playoffs hot and heavy. So roll up your sleeves and get ready to join in with the newest, rockingest, frankly-est opinionated and entertaining online sports outlet.
Sincerely,
Martin Brady
This is a huge time of year, what with the NFL in full swing and the baseball playoffs hot and heavy. So roll up your sleeves and get ready to join in with the newest, rockingest, frankly-est opinionated and entertaining online sports outlet.
Sincerely,
Martin Brady
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