The Devil You Don't Know--Until Gwen Ifill Tells You About It

The definition of Muslim Brotherhood, according to Wikipedia: “The Society of the Muslim Brothers (often simply, The Brotherhood or MB) is an Islamic transnational movement and the largest political opposition organization in many Arab states. The group is the world's oldest and largest Islamic political group, and the ‘world's most influential Islamist movement.’ The Brotherhood has as its slogan, ‘Islam is the solution.’ It was founded in 1928 in Egypt by the Islamic scholar and schoolteacher Hassan al-Banna.”

Wow. Really?

Now, I ask you: Until all this Egypt stuff started, had you EVER heard of the Muslim Brotherhood? I hadn’t, and I consider myself a fairly media-savvy individual. It’s been more than 30 years since the Iranian Revolution, and since then there’ve been numerous international events that have heightened our exposure to all things Islamic, including the Gulf War and many terrorist events before that and since, not least of all 9/11.

In fact, in the U.S., in the modern age, we have been pretty much obsessed with Islam, Muslims, Arabs, etc., not only because of the terrorist aspects that affect our country, but also because the U.S. maintains a cozy relationship with Israel--a relationship that is forever in danger of being stressed by our need to deal with the Arabs. (We need their oil and Arab countries essentially surround Israel, whom historically they don’t like.)

But really, folks, why is it that only fast on the heels of Egyptian upheaval are we learning about the Muslim Brotherhood--”the world's oldest and largest Islamic political group, and the ‘world's most influential Islamist movement.’ ”? What the--??

I’ve been watching PBS news and news programming for decades. I catch “Meet the Press” fairly often. I’ve watched the cable news wars. And never once did I hear Gwen Ifill, John McLaughlin or the late Tim Russert or the current David Gregory or anybody else say a single word about the MB. Not even after 9/11, when everyone was rushing to their computers to research Al Qaeda, was there any common profiling of this group. And whatever there was must have been pretty sketchy.

Now, the MB are (is?) this supposedly hugely influential group in the Arab world. All of a sudden. Just like that.

Well, no, they’ve been around a long time, apparently. But it’s very interesting to me that it’s only now that the average American citizen is learning of them.

I must say, their name doesn’t exactly inspire a warm, fuzzy feeling. The Muslim Brotherhood. It seems closer to organized crime than to thoughtful, measured Middle Eastern political policy. Presumably, it’s not a sisterhood, either. So that would exclude the thousands of Egyptian females that kept popping up on American news programs--the ones in Tahrir Square who kept saying they wanted to become doctors and lawyers and teachers and scientists.

All we really know is that the MB is Muslim, and while we’re trying to be openminded and all--support your local mosque, either at Ground Zero or in Murfreesboro, Tennessee--whatever we're feeling presently doesn't exactly smack of peace of mind.

At any rate, now we know who’s calling the shots for Middle East governments. We can use that information--as one Arab nation after another collapses under the weight of its newfound desire for “freedom” and “prosperity.” Hmmmm...

We can only hope the MB play fair. And have a vision characterized by progressive thought and good intentions. But if I’m an Israeli, I’d be a little more nervous than I already am.

OC/DC: Munchak Announces Appointments to Key Titans Coaching Slots

Caught this afternoon on The Zone, radio 104.5 FM: The Tennessee Titans’ press conference where head coach Mike Munchak presented new defensive coordinator Jerry Gray to the media. Gray sounded, uh, like a mediocre mind. Hate to say it, but that’s the vibe he transmitted. He even seemed to struggle with his cliches. Gray is a veteran position coach and former DC with the Buffalo Bills, where he actually had some statistical success. Let’s hope his performance on the field surpasses his rather halting responses at the podium.

The bigger news on the Titans front, however, is the announcement that former NFL coach Chris Palmer has been appointed offensive coordinator. Palmer, most recently a coach in the UFL, has been an assistant many places but also was head coach of the Cleveland Browns, whom he “led” to a dismal 5-27 record in 1999-2000.

Neither of these hires inspires any immediate confidence, but then the promotion of Munchak didn’t do that either. The Titans look to be in trouble, and with Jeff Fisher gone, we may be reflecting often in 2011 on just how important his leadership and decisionmaking were to the team’s past success.

Not that we don't wish "Munchie" well. Life goes on. But the season ahead could be a really long one.

MediaNotes
According to 104.5 FM “3 Hour Lunch” co-host Brent Dougherty--the guy with the meathead voice who actually does a good job as the 12 noon-3 p.m. show’s point man--local Channel 2-WKRN news anchor Christine Maddela Tweeted an ageist remark about the 60something Palmer. Something about his bedtime, thus necessitating an earlier-in-the-day scheduling for the Titans press conference.

Uh...that’s pretty interesting, if not downright shocking, since you’d think that a Hispanic female news lady--of whatever age--would be sensitive to bigoted remarks. You’d also think that a product of the famed Mizzou journalism program would be smart enough not to be posting ageist statements in a public forum. Which just goes to prove that there are more insidious bigotries out there than the racial kind. (We further note with no little irony that male hormone replacement providers are regular sponsors of 104.5 sports programming.)

Come to think of it, I saw Maddela last year at a TPAC theatrical event, and I was surprised at how, er, big-boned, she looked in person. Just being forthright and honest. Right, Christine?

I’m coming to the conclusion that Twitter is the refuge of the emotionally immature. It’s kind of like writing on the bathroom walls. Except attributed. Eeeesh...

Gaga Over Gaga

Monday is the worst television night of the week--for those of us who are cable-challenged. And so it was with great joy that I ran into Lady Gaga last night as a guest on “The Tonight Show” on “free” TV NBC.

I’m here to say it publically: I love Gaga. No, wait: More than that, I might even march with her into hell. What’s more, I’m unable to properly explain why those feelings are so strong, though I’ll try.

I certainly loved “Poker Face.” Great song. It’s catchy, quirky and lovably weird, and the arrangement is great. Plus you can dance to it. (Really: I don’t care what it’s about!) I give it a 99.

Now, what I’ve heard of Gaga musically since then has been totally vague and scattershot. I couldn’t even name you another one of her songs. (“Just Dance”?? How does that go again?) But, really, I don’t care about that. If Gaga’s goal was to make her very walking being an appealing art form, then she has succeeded.

My admiration is particularly surprising to me because in my “real life” I’m an entertainment critic, gifted at dissecting theatrical performance and backing up my opinions. I tend to “be critical.” I tend to formulate specific reasons why I like or dislike something/anything/anybody.

Yet even through the TV screen, Gaga--not yet 25 but so self-possessed--communicates something so personally likable that I find myself simply smiling and enjoying her. Without any questions at all.

Let’s look at some conventional gauges. She’s an attractive gal--but she’s not a great beauty. She has a decent figure--but she’s not really voluptuous or overtly sexy. She can and does sing and dance--but I’m not sure she’s going to challenge for top skill honors in either category.

Frankly, I wouldn’t care if Gaga never recorded another song. It is, in the end, her PERSONHOOD I celebrate. She seems like a truly decent and honest (enough) human being, that rare celebrity who actually doesn’t seem to take her celebrity that seriously.

Sure, I could be wrong. It might all be a plausible misperception. Maybe, since she made it big early in life--what a relief THAT is, right?!--there’s no way to really be sure of Gaga’s personal integrity. But for now, and with all my heart, I think Lady Gaga--nee Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta--has character, and that’s something you don’t see much anywhere, but especially not in show business. Because show-biz makes whores of everybody, and the lure of the easy buck makes character a negotiable commodity.

I don’t know why, America, but I trust Lady Gaga. I think she’s intelligent, inherently kind and blessed with a wonderfully winking sense of humor.

She makes me laugh. And that’s what I like in a lady.

Viva La Gaga!

Santa Anita--The Horse Palace in Arcadia

I recently paid a visit to California--to get out of the dark and coldness of the Southeast in an attempt to rejuvenate a flagging spirit. I was moderately successful. It was 60s and 70s in the Los Angeles area with general sun, though chilly in the mornings and at night, as deserts can be. I never got to a beach. Mostly I hung with my brother, visited with a long-lost cousin, and spent ample time in internet cafes on a laptop and on my cell phone, and also reading LA Weekly cover to cover. (Nice rag.)

The only really big thing I did, on Saturday, Jan. 29, was go to Santa Anita Park, for the running of the Sunshine Millions, where, in selected races, Cal-bred horses squared off against Florida-bred. I placed a bet on the first race, $2 on Joe Ja (below, in the paddock with handlers) to win at 6-1, and sure enough the three-year-old descendant of Birdonthewire hustled to the finish line with a dramatic victorious flourish. The bet returned me about $14--the $12 I'd won plus my bet of $2.

At the pay window, I was handed $13 plus some change. Not bad for beginner's luck. I never won money on another single race the rest of the entire day. Such is gambling at the track.

Yet the thoroughbreds are beautiful and powerful, and each race is a joyous series of protocols, where fans can view the pre-race preparations at close quarters, then watch the jockeys mount up, ride the horses out near the statue of Seabiscuit to greet their owners, and from there parade onto the track.

Learning about Santa Anita is interesting and fun. But there's no substitute for being there. Among other things, it's the air. (Or the iPhone dolls, left.) The track turned 76 this past Christmas Day. She remains an elegant art-deco beauty, attracting the most eclectic crowds you'll ever see anywhere, everyone in thrall to the horses. (Something I learned on the way to looking up other things: From 1942 to 1944, Santa Anita was suspended from racing and was used as a Japanese American internment center. Some 17,000 people resided there.)

I ate a fantastic fresh turkey sandwich at Santa Anita, prepared by a gentleman who had to be well into his 60s. Maybe he was 70. There were a lot of older folks at the track--WORKING! It crossed my mind that an older fellow could do worse than to end up amid the hubbub of a major American race track on a sunny Saturday afternoon, making good hot sandwiches and earning an honest buck while thousands--all ages, ethnicities, shapes and sizes--bustled about keeping an eye on the nags and their wagers.

If someone hasn't done it yet, they should write a mystery novel that begins at Santa Anita with the murder of... a horse?? Uhm, scratch that? I dunno. But the place is so damn atmospheric--with the majestic San Gabriel Mountains proudly backdropping the sport of kings.

Next time I go to Santa Anita--and I suspect I will--I intend to take a lot more pictures. Of the horses. Actually running the races. My first time through this horse palace of all horse palaces was distracting--too much to think about. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

100K Run: Sports Media America Avoids AOL Buyout, Settles on Milestone

Interesting. Sports Media America and Huffington Post were both founded about six years ago. Both were aiming to change the world. I can’t imagine why, but for some reason Arianna Huffington recently parlayed her venture into a huge, rich-beyond-all-dreams buyout by AOL, while we still sit here unnoticed by the big money. But who can really understand the strange workings of the new-media world? Some of us are meant, I suppose, to go about our brilliance on the relative QT. (Cold, hard truths: I suck at marketing, and I have no budget or friends in high places.)

And yet, sometime in the past week or so--completely unnoticed by me, I might add shame-facedly--Sports Media America passed the 100,000 hits mark. There were no bells or whistles to alert me, and I’ve been so busy or distracted or traveling that I had not paid attention to the site for a while. When I went to do the editorial on new contributor Henry Nichols’ story on the Tennessee Titans’ recent search for a head coach, I vaguely looked down at the SMA hit-counter and exclaimed (in my own head), “Eureka!”

Launched late in 2004, SMA was a means to indulge my serious interest in, and vast knowlege of, sports, particularly football and baseball, but potentially anything else sporting or non-sporting that could fit within our loose-ish parameters, i.e., those determined by the word media.

Happy little things happened along the way. For instance, my brother Steve became a seriously knowledgeable horse player in California, and it turned out that he was also a serious talent writing about the sport of kings. His stories on Triple Crown events have been special additions to the SMA lineup.

Sports media has exploded in the past decade, so I am ever sure that the site concept is a valid one. Sometimes it’s to the point where those reporting the news are as central to our interests as those performing on the playing fields. So I guess we’ll just keep muddling along here, posting interesting, well-written opinion pieces, sending them out into cyberspace, hoping we continue to grab our little piece of the action.

We’re very grateful to you, the mighty 100K, who have seen fit to take the time to read, and appreciate, our humble little efforts.




Sincerely,

Martin Brady
Editor/Producer

Coaching Carousel: Titans Seek Quick Fix in the Wake of Fisher’s Sudden Departure

By Henry Nichols

After two of the more disastrous seasons in a 17-year coaching regime spanning four home venues, Jeff Fisher and the Tennessee Titans finally reached their breaking point--and not a few weeks after it appeared Fisher had finally triumphed in the greatest coach-player (Vince Young) power struggle of an otherwise streamlined tenure.

To say it has been an epic offseason so far for the original AFC Oilers/Titans would define “understatement.” Truth be told, one may have to go back so far as then-new Cowboys owner Jerry Jones’ unceremonious dismissal of coaching icon Tom Landry in 1989 to find a starker break from a decorated-but-stale tradition of NFL franchise functionality.

The savvy observer might expect an upstart NFL owner like Jones or Washington’s Daniel Snyder to make a clean break with the past, however glorious, with hopes of building superior pillars upon the foundations of his predecessors’ success. But when the 88-year-old creator/owner of a franchise decides to completely revamp the fabric of his long-standing house so far into the twilight of his years, that’s a different story.

Titans octagenarian owner K.S. (“Bud”) Adams Jr., his top brass and Fisher mutually agreed on an official “parting of ways” Jan. 27, but to let such a presumably coveted coaching free-agent get away seems a dubious course for an old man who dreams desperately of another Super Bowl before his passing.

It is widely speculated that the real final straw in the soap opera between Adams and Fisher was the coach’s recent string of clandestine contracts/extensions aimed at retaining his favored assistants, allegedly made without the blessings of Adams, club president/general counsel Steve Underwood and general manager Mike Reinfeldt. This revelation explains why embattled defensive coordinator Chuck Cecil was re-signed immediately after the season only to be fired a week before Fisher stepped down.

So, for the first time in Nashville major-revenue pro sports history, a coaching change is afoot. (Fisher was hired in 1994 as the Houston Oilers’ interim coach before being promoted full-time that offseason.) But will the new hire constitute a regime change? Not necessarily.

Adams is famous for his tight-fisted ways, even if it seemingly leads to ham-fisted outcomes. With Fisher allegedly due $4 million through his contract buy-out, plus hundreds of thousands owed on assistants’ contracts that have since been terminated, you can take it to Bud’s bank that the next hire will be penny-wise rather than dollar-foolish.

More specifically, the consensus scuttlebutt is that Adams will simply look in-house for a short, quick, cost-cutting promotion process between a few loyal lieutenants.

While conventional wisdom might suggest that an outside choice is prudent--to bring a fresh voice and direction to the organization--that doesn’t seem to be the kind of gamble that Adams wants to make when he might be able to count the number of years he has left on one hand. Instead of a “Hail Mary,” he’ll likely hope that a couple of internal tweaks with the right candidate will get him to one more Super Bowl.

THE INSIDER CANDIDATES

• Mike Munchak, Fisher’s longtime offensive line coach, interviewed this past Monday for the head-coaching job. The factors that led many to believe Munchak is the frontrunner include “favored son” status with Adams and a relationship with Reinfeldt that goes back to their days as Oilers teammates circa the “Love Ya Blue” era of the late ’70s/early ’80s.
  
  Though he lacks coordinator experience, Munchak is reputed as a key cog in Fisher’s success through his underrated influence in the Titans’ run schemes and steadying influence on a usually solid group in the trenches. The biggest pro of promoting Munchak would obviously be focused around streamlined organizational continuity and offsetting the price of Fisher’s exit for Adams. The biggest drawback, just as with the other Titans assistants being considered, is the question of where he will assemble his new staff from and how long his contract will be. If he is afforded a cheap contract with little more than an interim status attached to it, then the realistic best-case scenario he could hope for would be convincing the few assistants still on staff to stay and hustling to fill in the remaining gaps with the best available candidates, many of whom won’t think Munchak is being put in a position to compete in the AFC South. In an eerie way, a Fisher-to-Munchak torch passing would very closely mirror the Bobby Johnson/Robbie Caldwell switch at Vanderbilt almost exactly half a year ago.
  
  
• Another logical choice for coach/caretaker (as the NFL heads into relatively uncertain times during the new collective bargaining agreement) would be linebackers coach Dave McGinnis. Also Fisher’s assistant head coach, McGinnis first earned his stripes as head coach of the Arizona Cardinals (2000-03), where he went 17-40 with one of the NFL’s more inept rosters. McGinnis’ elevation could easily be validated through his past experience in directing a rebuilding franchise that’s recently fallen from performance peaks; before his promotion to head coach at Arizona, he was the defensive coordinator for the 1998 team that reached the playoffs for the first time since the franchise moved to Phoenix. However, McGinnis is 59 years old, relatively old for a pro coach to begin such a massive undertaking and his hire would be equally met by media, prospective coaches and free-agents with long-term skepticism and questions about the short-term upside of the Titans. Like Munchak, McGinnis would have a hard time hiring a competitive AFC staff.
  
  
• Fisher’s longtime offensive coordinator Mike Heimerdinger, in a vacuum, would easily be regarded as the most innovative and pedigree-strong in-house candidate. However, even as a potential caretaker, Heimerdinger’s hire would be regarded as the shakiest of the in-house candidates due to his ongoing cancer treatment and chemotherapy. In fact, had Fisher stayed, it was questionable as to whether ’Dinger would ultimately be well enough to carry on in a coordinator’s role through 2011 since he indefinitely relinquished his play-calling duties Nov. 24. Once a burgeoning candidate for several NFL skipper openings, his candidacy for the Titans or anyone else right now might be a non-starter, though he did interview for the job Tuesday.
  

DARKHORSES

• Like Fisher, Jim Mora Jr. is a successful former San Francisco 49ers defensive coordinator and was the victim of a “coach-killer” star quarterback during a somewhat successful tenure as Atlanta’s head coach (2004-06), where he went 26-22 and advanced to the NFC Championship Game in his first year. He also shares some “Six Degrees” familiarity with the AFC South through his dad, Jim E. Mora, whose 13-3 Colts squad lost an AFC divisional round home playoff game in 1999 to the Titans, 19-16, during Tennessee’s Super Bowl run. Reinfeldt, previously the Seahawks’ VP of Football Administration, worked with Mora Jr. in Seattle, albeit very briefly for half a month in early 2007 (just after the Seahawks hired Mora as assistant head coach and just before the Titans hired Reinfeldt). Few know what impression Mora left on Reinfeldt during that sliver of time, but there is no doubt he is a promising young coach with a wealth of coaching connections and personnel resources. He was fired after going 5-11 during his only season as Seahawks coach in 2009 following Mike Holmgren’s coaching retirement, but his dismissal was more a function of a general manager switch than judgment of an overall body of work.
  
  
• Alabama coach Nick Saban was rumored to have met with the Titans this week as part of their search, and believe it or not, he has an organizational connection that goes back longer than Fisher or Williams. Saban served as the Oilers’ defensive backs coach in 1988-89 before spending the 1990 season as Toledo’s head coach. Apart from Saban’s abbreviated stint as head coach of the Dolphins, where he went 15-17 from 2005-06, he also served as Bill Belichick’s defensive coordinator with the Browns from 1991-94. After winning a national championship at Alabama in 2010, the itinerant taskmaster may feel his batteries are properly re-charged for another shot at the big-time in an organization where he already has a comfort level. Oh, and he probably wouldn’t have to sell his house. If hired, Saban could and would likely push for significant control over personnel matters and be able to hire a stellar staff. Hey, there’s certainly worse PR moves than hiring a “Belichick disciple.”
  
  
• Former Titans wide receivers coach Ray Sherman is talking with the brass in Tennessee this week about the gig, but it is likely only a token interview to fulfill the NFL’s Rooney Rule requiring the interviewing of at least one minority candidate for a vacant head-coaching job. Like McGinnis, Sherman is nearly 60 and hasn’t served in a coordinator’s role since 1999 (as the offensive coordinator of the Vikings). He has been out of coaching this month since the Cowboys decided not to bring him back for the 2011 season.
  
  
• Former Colts coach Tony Dungy seems to me like a perfect match on paper for the Titans. His newfound celebrity as a Christian author would play well deeper into the Bible Belt and his defenses are always solid regardless of the personnel available to him. He has one Lombardi Trophy under his belt (two if you count the 2002 title Jon Gruden won with his staff and players in Tampa Bay) and might feel re-energized enough to try again at the helm of his old AFC South rival. And while he is a defensive match for Fisher as a coach, his schemes would bring something new and exciting to Nashville and he could probably reel in virtually any available assistant he wants on staff. Then again, the former University of Minnesota quarterback and ex-Vikings defensive coordinator may feel compelled to wait and see what happens with Minnesota’s coaching position after the 2011 season, where Leslie Frazier’s coaching security is relatively tenuous.
  
  IN THE MIX: Also reportedly in consideration are former Buffalo head coach Mike Mularkey and Giants defensive coordinator Perry Fewell.

Contributor Henry Nichols is a Nashville-based sports reporter, writer and radio personality. He has worked for WNSR-560 AM and CBSSports.com.

End of an Era: Young Texts and Tweets His Way Out of Music City

Remember about a month or so ago, when Titans quarterback Vince Young texted an apology to his coach, Jeff Fisher? That was weird.

Vince tweets also, and, of course, that’s what people do nowadays. The texters and tweeters have helped mightily to fulfill philosopher/social critic/communication theorist Marshall McLuhan’s prescient statement of 47 years ago: “The medium is the message.” See, it doesn’t matter what you say anymore, it’s what cool gizmo you use to say it with that counts.

I dunno. Probably the last thing VY should do is tweet. Instead of relegating his thoughts and feelings (such as they are) to an emotion-less, iPhone-generated electronic mouthpiece, VY might want to “man up” and “get real.” Addressing his “fan base” with pat responses to big issues just seems lame. And immature.

Alas, electronic gadgetry--however it may mask immaturity--cannot mask failure. Young, 27, was at it again Wednesday, tweeting with typical blandness, after getting his ass kicked off the Tennessee Titans, a team that waited five years for its first-round 2006 draft choice to learn the system, mature as a leader, and then translate his vast physical tools into postseason NFL success.

That never happened. But Vince thanked everyone for his opportunity. In a tweet. Way to go, Vince. (To be fair, Young was quoted in the Tennessean, the local paper of record, expressing some sense of disappointment. So he did apparently talk to a fellow humanoid. Keep that up, Vince. Very therapeutic.)

Young had a penchant for the occasional blockbuster play, and he actually posted a very respectable W-L percentage (.638) in games he started (30-17). Which certainly makes the average Titans fan wonder if the former University of Texas demi-god won’t re-surface somewhere else in the league, where maybe an older but wiser Vince can eventually harness his athleticism and merge that with on-field savvy.

Fact is, sometimes, reflecting on Young’s performance the past five years, it’s tempting to wonder what things might’ve been like if the Titans had simply let the stallion run wild on the field, exercising the improvisational skills that made him a hero in Austin.

Instead, head coach Jeff Fisher and his assistants spent all of their time trying to re-make Vince into a conventional NFL quarterback. That’s pretty much what always happens to athletes like Young. Because NFL history teaches us that conventional quarterbacks, operating from the pocket--poised and absent of panic--win Super Bowls.

Maybe Young will get another chance. Maybe he’ll find success after hooking on with another team, where the karma might be more welcoming. Where he’ll be older but wiser.

Seems unlikely, though. In five years, VY never even came close to running an offense like Brady or Manning or Brees. Neither did he do it in Roethlisbergian fashion, with uncanny strength and absolute determination. And, unlike Michael Vick, Young never found a way to utilize his assets with discernible consistency. (Oh well. At least he didn't get involved in a dog-fighting scandal.)

Young did have his moments, though. He looked capable of making the throws and, for one brief series of shining moments, he even used his athleticism to tantalizingly run the option attack in tandem with fleet running back Chris Johnson. Those possibilities just seemed to die on the vine.

There was some genuine excitement in the Young Era, but--unlike Vince when his protection broke down--things just never took off.

Now there’s really nothing much left to say. Or text. Or tweet. Vinny, we hardly knew ye.

THE BOYS OF ’06

Way too often, big-time (and small-time) college quarterbacks don’t pan out in the NFL. Here’s a rundown of the QBs drafted along with Vince Young in 2006, including brief commentary on their whereabouts.

#3 (1st Round) Vince Young/Texas/Tennessee Titans--Currently unemployed

#10 (1st Round) Matt Leinart/USC/Arizona Cardinals--Mediocre results with the Cards; now a backup with the Houston Texans

#11 (1st Round) Jay Cutler/Vanderbilt/Denver Broncos--Strong arm in evidence but stint with Broncos proved disappointing; now heading into his first-ever playoff game with the Chicago Bears

#39 (2nd Round) Kellen Clemens/Oregon/New York Jets--Had some opportunities as a starter, but now a backup with Jets

#64 (2nd Round) Tarvaris Jackson/Alabama State/Minnesota Vikings--On and off starter; still with Vikings, but maybe not for long

#81 (3rd Round) Charlie Whitehurst/Clemson/San Diego Chargers--Benchwarmer for the Chargers, and now a backup for the Seattle Seahawks, who, surprisingly, he led to a key victory and a playoff berth last weekend

#85 (3rd Round) Brodie Croyle/Alabama/Kansas City Chiefs--Never took advantage of starting opportunities; now a backup for Chiefs

#148 (5th Round) Ingle Martin/Furman/Green Bay Packers--Former Montgomery Bell Academy (Nashville) multi-sport standout did the practice-squad and backup thing for several NFL teams; now out of football

#164 (5th Round) Omar Jacobs/Bowling Green/Pittsburgh Steelers--Former NFL practice-squader was later a star in the American Indoor Football Association

#194 (6th Round) Bruce Gradkowski/Toledo/Tampa Bay Buccaneers--Little-known MAC product has shown some skills while bouncing from Tampa to Cleveland to Oakland; currently an erstwhile starter for the Raiders, but hampered by injuries

#223 (7th Round) D. J. Shockley/Georgia/Atlanta Falcons--Former Falcons bench-warmer and practice-squader suffered bad knee injuries in 2007; last seen playing in the United Football League

Brady on Brady; or, Why the Titans Aren’t the Patriots

I watched the Tennessee Titans lose to the Miami Dolphins yesterday afternoon, 29-17. The Dolphins lost their first- and second-string quarterbacks—the two hanging Chads, Pennington and Henne—to injury during the game, yet the Titans couldn’t take advantage of the situation. Miami’s last QB standing, Tyler Thigpen, finished off the victory, looking savvy and determined and making me wonder—after the Chads return—if possibly the Dolphins could lend us Thigpen. See, the Titans have quarterback issues: the play of Vince Young and Kerry Collins is erratic, and injuries have set them back.

The Titans also have arguably the finest runner, Chris Johnson, in the NFL. When he gets loose, Johnson is as dangerous as they come, but alas, despite good numbers this season, he too has been erratic. Too often, Johnson gets bottled up, tending to spin his wheels in the backfield or at the line of scrimmage. His play has also given rise to suspicions that maybe the Titans’ offensive line isn’t maybe as good as everyone supposed.

The Titans’ defense also has some problems, but lack of effort doesn’t seem to be one of them. It can be fairly stated that if the Titans’ offense were more consistent, the defense would probably look a lot better.

Later yesterday, I watched the New England Patriots dominate the Pittsburgh Steelers, 39-26 (it wasn’t that close, really). They beat them in Pittsburgh, no less, and once again America saw why Patriots head coach Bill Belichick is the greatest coach of his generation.

He may seem surly and manipulative and ego-maniacal, and doubtless Belichick has his personal foibles and tics, but his ability to re-tool his team—dumping older players and finding rookies and youngsters and the occasional free-agent pickup to replace them—is simply uncanny.

Belichick is in his 11th season as Patriots coach. His first year, 2000, he was 5-11. He hasn’t had a losing record since. He hasn’t even had a .500 record since. From 2000 through 2009, Belichick’s regular season record is 112-48, with seven postseason appearances and three Super Bowl victories (plus one SB loss). The team is 7-2 in 2010. The only constants in this run of success are Belichick’s brain and the guts and right arm of Tom Brady, who, no matter what Peyton Manning supporters might say, can rightfully claim the title of best pro quarterback of his era.

Belichick and Brady proved it yet again Sunday evening. Belichick’s defense started four rookies. There’s almost no one left recognizable from their previous successful defenses. Those guys either retired or were let go or traded. A few of the down linemen—Wilfork, Warren—were familiar veterans, but otherwise, Belichick plugs in defenders, especially defensive backs, like new ecologically friendly light bulbs. Suddenly, a third-year linebacker like Jerod Mayo is playing like Mike Singletary in his prime. The D-team was all over Steelers QB Ben Roethlisberger, the original immovable object, sacking him five times.

On offense the Pats are the model of efficient system play. No Chris Johnson in the backfield? No problem. Just use instead a three-headed monster comprising the immortal BenJarvis Green-Ellis, Danny Woodhead and Sammy Morris, who together gained 100 yards on 23 carries. Brady also does something that might seem downright innovative in Tennessee: He uses his running backs as pass receivers! All the time! (In their confusion this year, the Titans apparently forgot that Chris Johnson on the move, taking swing passes and screen passes, could be hugely dangerous and tough to predictably defend.)

Even after the Pats dumped receiver Randy Moss—who ironically is now a Titan—Brady just finds others to throw to. He still has Wes Welker, who is the best possession receiver in the game, and has somehow miraculously returned after blowing out a knee at the end of last season. After Moss left, the Pats reacquired Deion Branch, who played on two of their SB teams. They are also developing second-year man Brandon Tate, who didn’t catch a single pass in 2009 but seems to have a knack for getting open deep. (Hey, why pay Moss millions to do that when you don’t have to and can get the same results?)

And then there’s Brady, who, after rebounding in ’09 himself from knee surgery that scuttled his ’08 season, takes advantage gladly of an offensive line hellbent on protecting him. Whereupon he stands back there, smartly surveying the field and finding his open man. Sunday night was vintage Brady: 43-30, 350 yards, 3 TDs, 0 INTs and a QB rating of 117.4.

And it’s not just Brady’s accurate arm that matters. Like a truly great QB, he also handles the ball flawlessly, faking to his runners convincingly—Ever see Vince Young try that? No one is ever fooled—and operating the play-action to perfection, maximizing his options and unrelentingly moving his team down the field.

I don’t know if the Pats are the very best team in football in 2010. Certainly they will have their challengers. But if the Pats are the template for success, then the Titans, now 5-4, surely are NOT a viable contender for the Super Bowl crown. As Brady and the Patriots have proven for a decade, without reliably consistent and deftly executed quarterbacking, it’s almost impossible to move into the NFL’s upper echelon.

For Titans fans, that means more of the same: watching the physically gifted Young have his exciting moments, rise to occasional wondrous feats, win a few games...but falter as soon as he meets a first-rate defense, and just when it matters most.

Nats Win! Nats Win! (Sort Of): Rangers Offer Redemption for Aging Senators Fans

My brother Steve has a baleful saying: “We’re gonna die just in time...” It is his commentary on being a certain advanced age—older than 40, at least—while experiencing the absurdist, wrongheaded and presumably irretrievably corrupt sociopolitical state of the world in general and the U.S. in particular. In other words, things are so bad that death looks good.

Normally, I agree with this deliciously cynical observation. Except now that the Texas Rangers have made it to their first World Series, I’m going to have to pray for a definite reprieve. (Dear Lord, get me through at least to Nov. 1, after the World Series is over...)

No, it didn’t happen the way it could have, but there’s a twisted kind of joy that can be experienced now by anyone, like me, who, in the 1960s, rooted seriously for, and lived and died with, the Washington Senators, one of the worst baseball teams in history, but a team with an interesting, if somewhat offbeat, pedigree, and who, as of this morning, are the champions of the American League.

Quick history: Following the 1960 baseball season, Calvin Griffith, owner of the Washington Senators, longtime league doormat, took his team and moved them to Minnesota, where they became the Twins, and, just five years later, made it to the World Series, led by former Senators like Harmon Killebrew and Zoilo Versalles and Bob Allison.

In the wake of Griffith’s cruelty to longtime Senators fans, and in acknowledgment that it’s best not to piss off the political types in the nation’s capital, the American League granted Washington a new franchise, an expansion team made up of castoffs from everywhere else, plus marginal minor league prospects and fading demi-stars.

The expansion Senators, colloquially known as the “Nats”—borrowed from an old nickname, the Nationals, and easier on the newspaper headlines, e.g., “NATS LOSE AGAIN”—were terrible. You could look it up. Myself and thousands of local D.C.-area kids rooted for ’em, and so did foolish grown men and women.

Each of their first four years, the new Senators lost at least 100 games. Then they improved slightly when the late Gil Hodges took over as manager. He didn’t exactly spin gold out of straw, but Hodges took a very mediocre talent pool and squeezed some life out of them. They never hit the .500 W-L mark, but they were especially fun to watch in 1967, after which Hodges went to the Mets and won them a legendary World Series in 1969.

Meanwhile, the Senators tanked in 1968 under former outfielder and local fan favorite Jim Lemon, who didn’t get a second season at the helm, because new team owner Bob Short had the brilliant idea to recruit the great Ted Williams as manager. Ol’ Teddy Ballgame, full of piss and vinegar, came to D.C., and showed a somewhat talented club how to be better, how to draw more walks, how to choose pitches carefully, and flat-out how to get better results at the plate.

Eureka! Career ciphers like good-fielding shortstop Ed Brinkman batted .266 with 153 hits. Unreal. Free-swinging first baseman Mike Epstein hit 30 home runs. Wow. The wonderfully freakish Frank Howard hit a career-high 48 homers and actually drew 102 walks, and for the first time in his career did NOT strike out 100 times.

Williams handled a rather patchwork pitching staff pretty well also, and the team finished 86-76. What might be a disappointing season for other teams was near Nirvana for us Senators fans. Oh happy day!

Nothing lasts forever, of course. And in Washington baseball lore, nothing apparently lasts for more than even one season. Team owner Short started making bad trades, and the Williams magic wore off quickly. By 1971, when the team was trying to make reclamation projects out of pitcher Denny McLain and outfielder Curt Flood—both of them baseball bad boys, but for very different reasons—fans had a disaster on their hands, to the tune of a 63-96 record. A team batting average of .230 said it all. So did McLain’s 10-22 W-L record. So did the unruly mob that interrupted the final game at RFK Stadium, forcing the Senators into forfeiting to the Yankees. Ugly.

The near-riot was evoked by Short’s announcement that he was moving the team to Texas, where they began life as the Rangers for the 1972 season. Nothing like getting slapped in the face hard twice in 11 years. Bye-bye baseball in D.C. Again.

Yet this is where it all comes full circle. Though the Rangers struggled for years, they actually got pretty respectable, and in the ’90s made fairly regular appearances in the playoffs, though greater success always eluded them.

Now the Rangers/Senators have defeated the Yankees, and they are going to the World Series. What little kid in Washington, D.C., in the ’60s could ever dream that the lineage of Coot Veal, Don Lock, Fred Valentine, Bob Saverine, Willie Tasby, Dave Stenhouse, Marty Keough, Jim Hannan, Chuck Cottier and Paul Casanova could ever lead to offspring Vladimir Guerrero, Josh Hamilton, Michael Young, Nelson Cruz, Ian Kinsler, Cliff Lee and a journeyman pitcher named Colby Lewis, who prior to this season’s mediocre 12-13 record had a career record of 12-15 and had spent the past two years prior to 2010 playing in Japan? Yet Lewis shut the Yanks down twice in the ALCS with a 1.98 ERA—and that smacks truly of destiny.

(Colby, with those regular-season numbers, you might’ve been a Washington Senator once upon a time. Now, you are the MAN!)

So go Rangers!! Go old Senators!! Maybe there is, after all, redemption. Or something somewhat close to it. If only we live long enough to experience it.

Sucking Their Way to Respectability

It’s been a long time since this blog has seen any action. Let’s skip the whys and wherefores. Instead, let’s get right down to engaging in our favorite sport: knocking sports media.

There’s always so much to dissect and ridicule, but some tidbits from Saturday’s TV coverage should suffice.

It’s hard to know who to begin with: Cornball has-been Dick Enberg or super-weenie, speech-impedimented Josh Lewin.

It’s a toss-up, so let’s start with the venerable Enberg. At least, everyone else seems to consider him venerable, since he’s been broadcasting sports for about 50 years. Like politicians, old buildings and whores, sports broadcasters tend to achieve respected status if they’re around long enough. Even if they suck. (Remember Harry Kalas?)

Enberg—hold on to your uppers—is 75. (No wonder younger guys can’t get a leg up in the lucrative world of sportscasting. Between moronic ex-jocks who can’t talk and old farts like Enberg and Brent Musberger, both past 70, how would a recent broadcasting grad ever get a job?)

Check Enberg out on Wikipedia, and you’ll find a dude who is an achiever (it says he holds a doctorate in health sciences). Whatever. He’s also probably a millionaire many times over, after breaking in to TV and radio sports in the ’60s. He was with NBC-TV for years and years, doing football, and he’s always had gigs doing California pro and college teams in various sports. Enberg’s resume is impressive and long, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t probably the luckiest SOB alive.

Currently, he’s the main dude for CBS-TV’s broadcast of the U. S. Open tennis championship—and boy does he suck. Who else but cornball old Enberg would display his “eloquence” by referring to finalist Vera Zvonereva as “the 26-year-old Muscovite.” Or to women’s finals winner Kim Clijsters as “the 27-year-old mom from Bree, Belgium.” (Hard to know what to make of this style; it’s as if Enberg’s auditioning to do the play-by-play for a beauty pageant.)

Enberg is Mr. Pollyanna, and his make-no-waves, ultra-saccharine approach to sports is tough to take. Always has been. He’s a corporate shill masquerading as a fan, and he’s been pulling off this charade for decades.

Occasionally, Dick’ll show up wanting to do one of his “commentaries,” which qualify as the tofu of sports reporting—just godawful blandness and cheerleading and homerism, with Enberg never truly making an incisive point about anything or anybody, presumably for fear he might offend.

Many was the moment during the current U. S. Open telecast when one had to wonder what the heck Enberg was doing there, besides waxing faux-rhapsodic and pseudo-poetic about the New York setting, the weather, the enthusiastic crowds, and the little “heart-rending” tidbits he’d boned up on regarding the players and their loved ones, etc., etc., etc., ad nauseam.

Enberg is less a play-by-play guy than he is a publicity agent. He might be what is termed “obsequious.” Synonyms might be, courtesy of the Mac dictionary, “servile, ingratiating, sycophantic, fawning, unctuous, oily, oleaginous, groveling, cringing, subservient, submissive, slavish; informal brown-nosing, bootlicking, smarmy; vulgar slang ass-kissing.” Yep, those all work.

Enberg wrote a book once about himself. He called it Oh My!—after his big “catchphrase.” Eeeesh... I cringe whenever Enberg says, “Oh my!” I’m pretty sure the South Park kids would agree that that’s really gay.

Then there’s the strange case of Lewin, whom we have written about previously. If the Enbergs of the world won’t move over to let younger talent get a crack at the big jobs, even more worrisome is the fact that Lewin stays gainfully employed—perhaps the only play-by-play man in the history of broadcasting who has a speech impediment.

Honestly, no one wants to poke fun at anyone’s affliction. So I won’t do that. Instead, I’ll just pose a question: Under what circumstance would a professional sports franchise or major sports network hire a play-by-play guy with an oh-so-noticeable lisp? Lewin, who seems to go from pillar to post, a bona fide broadcasting whore, currently has a gig doing San Diego Chargers football and also Texas Rangers baseball, but he turns up nationally on FOX’s Saturday baseball broadcasts, too. (Ka-ching!)

Lewin is also really corny, as he attempts to cozy up to sidekicks like Mark Grace, who both know each other from their days with the Cubs. Lewin calls Grace “Gracie.” I guess a lot of people call Grace that, but when Lewin does it, it sounds really gay.

Lewin has an unpleasant, unmodulated tenor-y voice to begin with, and he uses it to pepper his narrative with phrases that sound memorized from The Gee-Whiz Phrases and Colorful Terms You Can Use When Doing Your Own Backyard Baseball Telecast Handbook. (Today, Lewin told us that Nate McLouth “hightailed it into third.” Wow. Colorful.)

But really, Lewin does have a lisp, and it sounds more pronounced now than it did 10 years ago. Coupled with his other failings, I can’t listen to the guy for more than about a minute, especially when he gets on a roll and likes to start speculating about stuff that he probably doesn’t really know anything about. And especially if what he’s saying has a lot of s’s and diphthongs in it.

He’s also one of those guys who comes prepared with stats, so he can find unnatural moments to throw them in to the broadcast, so he sounds “premised.” (Sorry, Josh, you just sound fake.)

What can I say...Lewin the broadcaster is as phony as a three-dollar bill. And he’s got this awful lisp, which ought to disqualify him from an on-air job. Why he continues to work is a mystery.

But don’t worry. Give it some time, and eventually Lewin will also reach the status of an old whore: Respected as a survivor, even if he’s been sucking for decades.

Strasburg Doesn't Disappoint in Nats Debut

In 1971, the Washington Senators broke my young heart when they up and moved to Texas to become the Rangers. The caliber of baseball pretty much sucked in hometown Washington, D.C., but I still loved the Senators. They were my team.

When I moved to Chicago, I got two teams for the price of one, Cubs and White Sox, and that was okay by me. Since I wasn't a Chicago native, I didn't bring any of that North Side/South Side rivalry stuff to the table, and I got my first exposure to National League baseball teams.

Now I'm in Nashville, home of the AAA Sounds, the farm club of the Milwaukee Brewers. The Sounds are cool, though I don't go as often as I should. And in 2005, when the Montreal Expos up and moved to Washington to become the Nationals, I felt childhood baseball longings creeping into my soul. At last! Baseball again in my hometown.

So the Nationals, like their forebears, have sucked too, but like some dopey, blindly loyal kid, I don't care. I still root for 'em. And after right-handed pitcher Stephen Strasburg's debut performance for the Nats last night, I have a feeling that rooting for my favorite team just got a whole lot easier.

Strasburg, media-hyped to the max, and before a sellout Nation's Capital crowd, coolly struck out 14 Pittsburgh Pirates in a marvelous seven-inning stint. He gave up only four hits, and his one mistake—a home-run ball to Delwyn Young—almost looked like a total fluke: Young's golfish chip shot just looked like an accident, really.

Strasburg threw 97 MPH routinely, hitting 98 and 99 often, and, according to the MLB Network speed gun, hit 101 MPH at least twice. If that weren't enough, this guy has a wicked curve. A NASTY curve. (He calls it a "slurve," but whatever.) His changeup ain't bad, either. But the real tell-tale stat in this winning performance (final score: Washington 5, Pittsburgh 2) was the fact that Strasburg didn't walk a single batter. He threw 94 pitches and didn't walk a soul. Now that's notable. (By comparison, it took the great Koufax about seven years to overcome the control problems that threatened to make his eventual Hall of Fame career merely a mediocre one.)

To have an arm that live, to throw with that velocity, and to apparently have such control of one's arsenal is simply phenomenal, and bodes really well for a Nationals team that seems to be taking steps toward getting better.

Funny thing: When Strasburg was pulled last night for a pinch-hitter, the final two innings were entrusted to set-up guy Tyler Clippard and closer Matt Capps, who've both had their share of success this season, though anyone who knows this club knows there are no guarantees out of the bullpen. (Capps, for example, blew a late-inning lead versus the Reds over the weekend.) Clippard and Capps got the job done all right, but in the future, just to be safe, Nats manager Jim Riggleman might just want to let Strasburg finish his own games. (Just sayin'.)

On their way to respectability, the Nats got home runs last night from the heart of their batting order, Ryan Zimmerman, Adam Dunn and Josh Willingham, and as it came in support of the 21-year-old wunderkind Strasburg, it meant good omens all around.

Here's the reality check: Last night's victory brought the Nats' record to 28-31, tied for last in the NL East. Strasburg looks great, but this club still needs better starting pitching (from those not named Strasburg), better relief pitching, and more hitting punch, especially from the outfielders in their lineup. Plus, Strasburg won't face the likes of the mediocre Pirates all the time. There are the Phillies and Braves to contend with, among other better teams, and we'll be watching closely how the kid handles them.

For now, there is joy in Mudville. Mighty Stephen has struck 'em out.

Start Spreading the News: NFL Bosses Will Find Worm in Big Apple Super Bowl Decision

The worst thing that ever happened to this country was 9/11. Not only because thousands died in the WTC terrorist attack and Bush subsequently fought a stupid war, but also because that event put New York City back on the map in a real obnoxious way.

Increasingly, in the last couple of decades leading up to 9/11, Americans were more and more discovering the values of Sun Belt, or more southerly or less congested, living, or living in general that, via increased telecommunications and computer devices, commensurately diminished focus on New York as the be-all, end-all metropolis it used to be. No longer did the average person have to pay obeisance to New York's superiority in areas of culture or political or economic influence, because larger numbers of Americans were realizing that they didn't need New York, and they basically didn't give a hoot about the people who lived there. Appropriately, we all started concerning ourselves more and more with the people who lived where WE lived, or, for that matter, anyplace else in regional America where you could readily find sophistication and culture and interesting urban-style living and major sports and progressive ideas of any kind. Somewhat signaling this change even in spite of 9/11, the Arizona Diamondbacks, symbol of new-style, warmer, enlightened American living, beat the Yankees in the World Series in 2001, just weeks after 9/11.

New York City almost officially joined the Rust Belt it would have seemed. And that would have been fine with those of us who are tired of the undue power and influence wielded in Gotham.

But 9/11 gave the media reason enough to re-state the case for New York as the centerpiece city in the U.S.—a power source for finance and culture, symbol of American might. Bah! We all know what New York's financial wizards were doing to us all that time. (Bend over, America.)

The post-9/11 fallback position was to feel sorry for NYC, and to marvel at the town's grit in coming back from the Bin Laden attacks. Fine and dandy. No city should have to be airplane-attacked. Sorry it happened, New York.

One thing that never changed, before or after the World Trade Center, was ESPN's unending promotion of New York teams whenever possible. This continues without let-up, and last weekend, both on Saturday and Sunday nights, the network broadcast consecutive Yankees-Mets games. Why we'd have to watch two games in a row between the same two second- and last-place teams is beyond fathoming. Doubtless there were other mediocrities facing off who we might've watched, for variety's sake. Heck, there might've even been a first-place team playing somewhere that we'd have enjoyed watching. But no, we get the New York teams, two nights in a row, the Mets in last place at the time, the Yankees reeling from injuries and not really playing their best.

The endless promotion of New York teams is basically puke-inducing, since probably 95% of the country couldn't care less—especially about the Mets. Doubtless, there is some kind of ratings rationale for this state of affairs, New York being a populous region and guaranteeing a certain ratings share that would eclipse that achieved with a game involving, say, the Giants and A's. Maybe. But what if Tim Lincecum is pitching? So maybe not.

Yet ESPN can always make that argument, and thus deprive viewers nationwide the opportunity to see other, equally interesting teams. How about the Twins-Rays game—two first-place teams squaring off? But they don't do that at ESPN, the all-New York all-the-time network.

And now comes the most galling example of New York's privileged sense of over-reach: The 2014 Super Bowl, following the 2013 football season, will be in New Jersey, IN AN OPEN-AIR STADIUM.

Okay, granted, most of us don't have the bucks or pull to get to a Super Bowl, so the fact that the crowd in early February 2014 will be freezing their gonads off doesn't affect those of us who will be sitting at home. But really, what kind of lame-ass reasoning has placed the most important football game of any season at risk of utter disaster?

Sure, you can argue that the weather might comply that day. Maybe it'll be invigorating football weather. But what if there's a blizzard on the East Coast? What if airports from Washington to Boston are shut down? What if there's a record cold snap, with temperatures plunging well below zero? What if ground transportation is slowed to a crawl due to cold and/or snow? What if people who paid hundreds or thousands of dollars for tickets are stranded at airports, unable to fly in to the New York area?

Last but not least, what if the game totally sucks because it's cold as hell, the ball and the turf are frozen and hard, the snow on the ground makes footing impossible, the players have to huddle around heaters on the sidelines hardly able to think much less figure out the next play, and fans sit there having the most miserable time of their lives?

And this decision was made...why? This huge risk was taken...why? Maybe New York/New Jersey should have put a dome on their new stadium. DOH! Instead, they go open-air, and now lobby for NFL execs to give them a Super Bowl in February, potentially one of the worst, most weatherly treacherous times of the year in the Northeast.

It's madness, is what it is. It's the ol' New York suck-up—or strong-arm tactic—and it's a huge disservice to football. But actually, you can even leave the New York part out of this argument. What if Boston was granted a Super Bowl in an open-air stadium? Or Chicago? Madness. Stupidity. And we the fans will suffer, one way or the other.

Mark my words. Because this decision was made, you can pretty much bet that the weather will somehow complicate the 2014 Super Bowl. Stupid men; stupid pointless decision.

I'll take Manhattan...not.

You Gotta Play to Win—The 2010 Kentucky Derby

By Steve Brady

The interesting thing about this year’s Kentucky Derby? The horse I think is best equipped to win it didn’t even get in. SETSUKO is only 1 for 8 in getting to the winner’s circle, but he has been showing steady improvement with each start, and has a powerful closing kick that I thought would give him a strong chance against this field. He also had one of the most visually impressive workouts in preparation for Derby weekend. But, because admission to the Derby is based exclusively on graded stakes earnings, Richard Mandella’s trainee did not earn enough to get in, and so will be running at Churchill the day before in the $175,000 American Turf Stakes. (Bet him with both fists at 4-1!!)

Other notables missing from this year’s Derby are former favorite ESKENDEREYA and Sunland Derby winner ENDORSEMENT. Both were thought to have good chances, but both are now sidelined due to foot or leg injuries.

Oh well, we can only handicap the 20 that are running, and, although not the strongest field in memory, this looks like a decent betting race. I’m changing my format a bit this year, and breaking the contenders down by their chances to win—or at least end up in the money.

Strong Chance

LOOKIN AT LUCKY 3-1 ML (Trainer: Bob Baffert; Jockey: Garrett Gomez)
I’m going against my annual tradition, and picking the favorite this year. This son of Smart Strike would actually have been my pick even if Eskendereya was running. With Eskendereya out, I like him that much more. Despite his unlucky third in the Santa Anita Derby, Lookin At Lucky is the most battle-tested of these runners. He faced trouble and a wide trip and lost by just a nose in the Breeders’ Cup Juve. That might have been a fortunate technicality for him, as BC Juve champs almost never go on to win the Derby. He also had to overcome adversity in the G-2 Rebel Stakes at Oaklawn, and then again in the Santa Anita Derby, where he got squeezed on the rail and had to slam on the brakes, almost losing rider Garrett Gomez. Unless he just has a propensity for finding trouble, he should get a cleaner trip—especially after the scolding Baffert gave Gomez for putting his prize colt at risk.

AWESOME ACT 10-1 ML (Trainer: Jeremy Nosada; Jockey: Julien Leparoux)
My top two picks have a few things in common. They both had bad racing luck in their last outings; they are piloted by the two winningest jockeys in the nation; and both will be rolling late. While Lookin At Lucky’s bad trip was obvious to even the most casual viewer, Awesome Act’s misfortune can only have been seen with the help of a zoom lens. He kicked his front shoe off at the break of the Wood Memorial, and was easily beaten by Eskendereya. Still, that’s like trying to run a 100-yard dash with your shoe untied. It’s amazing he ran as well as he did. I’m ignoring that race, and focusing on his previous steady improvement and his impressive recent workout at Churchill Downs.

ICE BOX 10-1 ML (Trainer: Nicholas Zito; Jockey: Jose Lezcano)
This is the only true late closer in the group, and with the pace expected to be very fast early, I expect this guy to be passing them in the late stretch, and he might catch Lookin before the wire.



Possible

NOBLE’S PROMISE 12-1 ML (Trainer: Kenneth McPeek; Jockey: Willie Martinez)
Despite four straight races without getting his picture taken, there’s a lot to like about Noble’s Promise. He’s keeps ending up behind Lookin At Lucky, but aside from the Arkansas Derby (where he had a shaky start), he’s usually right there at the wire.

PADDY O’PRADO 20-1 ML (Trainer: Dale Romans; Jockey: Kent Desormeaux)
Although I’m generally suspicious of speed horses this year, I still think this colt has a chance. He hasn’t raced on traditional dirt since his first race on a sloppy track, so the surface is a question mark. But he sure has been firing bullets in his recent workouts.

DEVIL MAY CARE 10-1 ML (Trainer: Todd Pletcher; Jockey: John Velazquez)
Filly in the Derby. She’s part of the Todd Squad, subbing in for Eskendereya (and picking up his rider). We’ve all become aware in recent big races that the girls can certainly compete with the boys, and she gets the 5-lb weight break for being a girl. She’s also one of only three here who’s ever gotten a 100 Beyer figure. Hmmm…I wonder if I’m rating her high enough.

JACKSON BEND 10-1 ML (Trainer: Nicholas Zito; Jockey: Mike Smith)
I hope I’m not being a sucker here. I’m kinda going by past reputation and who he’s been beaten by. This is one of the other horses with a 100 Beyer, but that was six and a half months ago at Calder, and JB hasn’t cracked 95 since then. Hall of Famer Smith jumps on for the first time. He’s workin’ fast at Churchill. Don’t ask questions. I think he’s got a shot.

Outside Shot

SIDNEY’S CANDY 5-1 ML (Trainer: John Sadler; Jockey: Joe Talamo)
I’d love to root for this horse as my top pick. I’ve watched him race all year at Santa Anita; love his trainer; it's a second chance for jockey Smokin’ Joe (after I Want Revenge’s late scratch as the favorite last year) in the Derby; and Jenny Craig owns him and named him for her late husband. (Yeah, Jenny Craig! The weight loss lady!!) Sidney's Candy’s the second favorite on the morning line, but I don’t think he’s gonna win. I’m not even sure he comes in the money. It looks like he’ll like running on real dirt, but I just don’t think he’s gonna get one of the carefree trips he’s been getting at Santa Anita. He’s coming out of the 20-hole, and he’s gonna have to bust his ass to get to the lead, and then they’re gonna be on his back all the way around. I’m afraid to toss him completely, but I just don’t think he’ll hold up. I’m sorry, I feel bad saying that.

AMERICAN LION 30-1 ML (Trainer: Eoin Harty; Jockey: David Flores)
Here’s another one that, if I were consistent, I’d be tossing out. He’s gonna be toward the lead on a fast pace, and that’s not a good game plan. Still, he sure perked up when he went to real dirt in the Illinois Derby, and he hasn’t needed the absolute lead in most of his races. What the hell—at 30-1, I’m leaving him in the trifecta. I’m big that way.

CONVEYANCE 12-1 ML (Trainer: Bob Baffert; Jockey: Martin Garcia)
Another speedball I’m giving a chance to. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t. But I’ve been watching Baffert and Garcia team up for stakes wins all year, and based on works, this guy certainly seems to like the track. I’m operating on pure fear.

DUBLIN 12-1 ML (Trainer: D. Wayne Lucas; Jockey: Terry Thompson)
Despite his inability to close the deal his past several races, I’m giving this guy a chance. Dublin has the late-running style that this race sets up for, and Lucas has won four Derbies. I’m keeping him in.

SUPER SAVER 15-1 ML (Trainer: Todd Pletcher; Jockey: Calvin Borel)
Part of the Todd Squad; also part of the early speed. But I’ve been hearing nothing but how good this guy looks in the morning, and disregarding “Bo-Rail” cost you a couple hundred on a $2 bet last year, didn’t it? Leave him in!!

Toss

MISSION IMPAZIBLE 20-1 ML (Trainer: Todd Pletcher; Jockey: Rajiv Maragh)
Another part of the Todd Squad, but doesn’t really belong in this field. He hasn’t really beaten (or been beaten by) anybody, and his Beyers don’t stick out. He’s just going to add to Pletcher’s gaudy Derby loss numbers.

DISCREETLY MINE 30-1 ML (Trainer: Todd Pletcher; Jockey: Javier Castellano)
Okay, now we’re getting into some big longshot numbers here. No Beyers over 95; he beat no one special, and he’s gonna get burnt out on the lead. He ain’t gonna be 30-1. The morning line guy was being nice. At least fitty!! Fitty to one!

STATELY VICTOR 30-1 ML (Trainer: Michael Maker; Jockey: Alan Garcia)
He won as a 40-1 longshot in the Toyota Bluegrass Stakes. The Bluegrass is run on synthetic surface; the Derby’s on dirt. Before that, he’d barely cracked an 80 Beyer. He seems to be working okay, but there’s nothing to raise expectations that he’ll make a radical move forward. Hope, I guess. (A guy based a presidential campaign on that recently, didn’t he?)

LINE OF DAVID 30-1 ML (Trainer: John Sadler; Jockey: Rafael Bejarano)
Nice upset shocker in Arkansas. His Beyers are improving. Still, he didn’t get much pressure up front there; it’s gonna be a whole different picture in Louisville. At Santa Anita, I have a rule: if Rafi’s odds go up, bet him. These odds will go up, and I’m not betting on Rafi today.

HOMEBOY KRIS 50-1 ML (Trainer: Richard Dutrow; Jockey: Ramon Dominguez)
Fun trivia: Joe Torre owns a piece of this horse. Dutrow can train; Dominguez can ride; the horse had a nice workout the other day. I just don’t see anything in the record, though, to suggest he’s got even an outside chance here. This is the kind that ends up biting you in the ass.

DEAN’S KITTEN 50-1 ML (Trainer: Michael Maker; Jockey: Robby Albarado)
On the pace deal, I think this one’s got a better chance than the Pletchers. Still, it took him a long time to finally break a 90 Beyer, and he did that on a synthetic surface in a race that doesn’t usually produce Derby winners. Doesn’t seem realistic.

MAKE MUSIC FOR ME 50-1 ML (Trainer: Alexis Barba; Jockey: Joel Rosario)
I don’t even know why this horse is in here. Probably just to mock me. A short while ago, I had him pegged as a horse to watch. He didn’t deliver for me then, and now he’s just in over his head. I hope running in a brutal contest like this doesn’t ruin whatever career he might have had.

BACKTALK 50-1 ML (Trainer: Thomas Amoss; Jockey: Miguel Mena)
He got beat by American Lion by 14 lengths in the Illinois Derby. He won a couple of graded sprints early in his career. (Those two-year-old sprints earnings should not count towards the Derby.) The longest race he ran well in was a mile. He simply doesn’t belong in here. The 50-1 is another gift.

Betting Strategy

I feel good enough about Lookin At Lucky that I’m going to suggest a fairly risky bet, which would pay off very handsomely: A Trifecta using Lookin At Lucky on top, all of those horses I said were okay in the 2nd slot, and then Awesome Act in third. Then, make the same play, but switch the horses in the place and show slots, putting Awesome Act in 2nd this time. So, when placing the bet, it would look as follows:

1 /with 2, 3, 4, 7, 10, 11, 12, 13, 17, 20 / with 16
and then
1 / with 16 / with 2, 3, 4, 7, 10, 11, 12, 13, 17, 20

Each bet would be $10. So, for a total of $20, you could potentially make thousands. I think it’s worth a shot.

[Steve Brady is Sports Media America's Los Angeles-based horse-racing handicapper.]

His Heart Belongs to Daddy

Sometimes the smallest little news items can grab your attention. Such as the AP story today stating that Kevin Gilbride Jr., son of New York Giants offensive coordinator Kevin Gilbride Sr., has been added to the Giants' coaching staff.

This kind of blatant nepotism wouldn't be so bad if Jr. had a competitive resume. I mean, really, isn't making it into the NFL coaching ranks the dream of many a college assistant? Even college head coaches? And what're the odds? Seems like the tumblers have to fall into place, and not everybody can get a sweet "in" like Gilbride Jr.—not even assistants at big-name colleges.

Now, besides being his daddy's son, Gilbride Jr.—who will be the Giants' new offensive quality control coach, whatever the f&%k that means—brings to his position a football coaching background of three seasons as wide receivers coach at Temple. Prior to that, Gilbride coached receivers and tight ends and "did some work on special teams" at Georgetown. Before that, he was a grad. ass. at Syracuse.

Syracuse, Georgetown and Temple. Except for Temple's modest resurgence this year, that program's been terrible for years. Ditto Syracuse. Georgetown? That program isn't too far removed from its club football days. So you can't say Jr. has exactly been distinguishing himself with kickass college organizations. But now he's an NFL assistant.

One more lesson in "It's not what you know, it's WHO you know," and daddy's the best one to know.

Heart Update

Walked 1.2 miles this morning. Day 11, Nicotine Clean.

Tiger, Tiger, Burning Not So Bright...

Poor Tiger Woods. So talented. So rich. So pheromonal.

So messed up.

Media reaction to Tiger’s apologia publica Friday has ranged from astonished praise to outright cynicism. As for me, I’m trying to find the middle ground, though it’s not that easy to do. Like newspaper writer and TV bigmouth Stephen A. Smith, I am tending toward mistrust on Tiger’s mea culpa.

It’s not that I don’t think Tiger wants to be apologetic, or try to put a better foot forward, regarding revelations about his marital infidelity. But the whole 14 minutes, despite a few moments of possible credibility, smacked of theater—and not a very convincing brand, either. More like community theater, at best.

One post-show pundit said, “He’s not an actor,” as if that excused Tiger from his awkwardnesses and helped to affirm the authenticity of his address and the feelings behind it.

But the more I watched—CNN and ESPN showed the “press conference” repeatedly—and with his wife, Elin, thunderously NOT present, the more Tiger’s words became "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing" [Macbeth, Act V, Scene V]. Even those carefully scripted crescendos intended to chastise the press for exploiting his wife and kids seemed like somewhat lame attempts to boost his own chivalry despite his obviously most unchivalric situation. Which just made it all look curious.

There was a side of me that actually wondered if Tiger weren’t coming across as sociopathic. Certainly he registered pretty high on the narcissism scale.

Ultimately, I just think this came off as a bad idea that really didn’t work very well. If he had faced a battery of reporters and answered their questions straightforwardly, he’d’ve had a better chance to come off as honest, even if he proved reluctant to answer some questions or even just pled “no comment.”

At a time when Tiger needs to look more human and humble than ever, he came off as robotic and sometimes churlish. (The perfect passive-aggressive cocktail of emotion.)

He made some headway in explaining his situation with Elin—if you believe him, that is—but he still struck out in explaining himself.

The Heart Chronicle (Part 5)

So I’m finally at home, rebounding from cardiac surgery and the shock of it all, glad to be within my own four, very dingy, walls. Then my friend, singer Stacey Shaffer-Bishop, calls me, and says she’s coming over with stuff for me to eat. And gosh darn if she doesn’t bring me a big, big pot of homemade chicken soup (no salt used in its preparation), coffee, matzo crackers, salad greens, some Girl Scout cookies(!), and other assorted sidebars. Most all of this stuff is good (or not bad, anyway) for one’s heart.

The matzo crackers, for example, have almost freaking nothing in them: no fat, no trans fat, no cholesterol, no sodium. They are bland to the taste, yeah, but you can put some organic cream cheese on one (Stacey brought me that, too!), and it’s not bad at all.

Then a few days later, my friend Deanna brought over two kinds of homemade soups—the Soup Sisters rule!—plus a box of stone ground sesame crackers and a bottle of sparkling cranberry drink. Fantastic!

And now I’m an oatmeal freak. (No one in my past life would ever believe that.)

As I’ve pointed out previously, I don’t think, pre-heart attack, I would have fallen into the category of horrendous eater, but clearly I wasn’t doing myself any good. Basically I was doing what too many typical American males do: Eating exactly what I wanted when I wanted. That has to change, but complete denial of the goodies can be avoided if I’m smart about it. (And it was very wonderful to learn through my experience that I am not diabetic. Those folks face real challenges.)

With a little help from my friends, I’m already learning things about fat and sodium and cholesterol and trans fats, etc. Watching one’s daily allotment for intake of potentially harmful substances pays dividends, I’m sure, and I can guess that, once it becomes habit-forming, also becomes a little easier to parse through. I say this with all cautious optimism, ‘cause—dammit!—I love to eat sometimes...

Meanwhile, I’ve been investigating some food-biz movies of the recent era, documentaries and docu-dramas like Fast Food Nation and Super Size Me and Food, Inc. Now I’m not going to go all wild-eyed political here on the state of food in this country. You can do that for yourself once you watch these well-known flicks, if you haven’t seen them already.

Super Size Me, Morgan Spurlock’s journey through a McDonald’s-only diet, can be viewed in 10-minute increments on You Tube. The other two are available through NetFlix or wherever.

These flicks are only tangential to the personal heart-attack experience—after all, we’re each responsible for our own body, right? Yet they do help shine some light on the culture of food in America, with a special spotlight on the nexus where profitability and health meet and then diverge.

In corporate America’s desire to maximize profits in food, they essentially exploit two things: humankind’s addictive tendency; and poverty. These are huge things for our society to consider and confront. Not to mention where capitalism fits into the whole scenario, where thousands of workers earn their livings from the business of foisting crap on their fellow citizens.

Like many things in America, it’s not really about class or race or education—it’s mostly about money: who has it and who can afford to spend wisely and healthfully on food. Anyway, within this general subject heading, there is much for the average person to learn about healthful eating.

What can I say? I love a Big Mac, too. And the fries. And eating those once in a while isn’t going to destroy my health profile. But really, more thoughtfully, why would you put that stuff into your system when you don’t have to? Something to think about always when the fast-food, or quick-food, decision is before you.

And seriously, if everyone in the U.S. got healthier in their eating, I guess thousands of people at McDonald’s and Burger King and the candy companies and farmers cranking out high-fructose corn syrup and fattening up hogs and cows and chickens in suspicious ways would soon enough be unemployed. (Okay, I’m not getting into government subsidies for agri-products, but that subject needs to be discussed, too.)

Hell, once I get my ticker back in shape, I could very well eat myself a naughty burger. Believe me, I approach all of this stuff with humility. But if my thinking about it gets others to think about it, too, then that’s cool.

The Heart Chronicle (Part 6) is up next: Smoking.

The Heart Chronicle, Part 4: Mostly for Men Only

I received three particularly interesting phone calls within a day or two of my surgery. All were from males. All were non-smokers, right around 50 years old. All lived alone. All expressed their concern for my brush with mortality, but I perceived something else behind their words and their cautious attitude.

Suddenly, I was doing the listening. And I guess that was okay because I had endured my crucible and survived and now I could be a kind of father-confessor for these “men of a certain age.” Each guy told me his feelings about his own current health, whether he ate well enough or exercised enough or worried about his blood pressure or had some family health history that gnawed at him.

It was really quite endearing, and I started to see how my heart attack was already serving a broader purpose: it had created awareness among guys who probably would just rather not think about these things.

Hell, I never wanted to think about ’em. I love cigarettes and coffee. I like rich foods. I love sugary citrus drinks. I like salting my French fries. I love a Fat Mo’s burger [local reference]. I like everything with a Reese’s candy label on it. I can devour a box of deluxe LU dark-chocolate cookies in one sitting. I like sodium-rich canned chicken corn chowder. I like to make my own tacos, and be generous with the sour cream. I put butter on everything. The list goes on.

Alas, like boxing, all that is a young man’s game. So, even if you’re a guy who does not smoke, there are things that demand your vigilance. It doesn’t take much time or effort or expense to get your blood pressure and cholesterol checked out, just to see where you’re at—and where you OUGHT to be at. (For the record, my numbers weren’t shockingly bad, but they were elevated, and combined with smoking, well...yeah.)

Making modest dietary adjustments can make a huge difference, and you can still have some of your favorite junky foods often enough. The exercise angle is also not that demanding: Just get out two, three, four days a week, WALKING. You’ll feel better as a matter of course—like a tiger, I hope—but also you’ll be doing ongoing maintenance on your cardiovascular system. (And thus helping yourself to avoid a costly, time-consuming trip to a hospital.)

Such changes can be interpolated pretty easily into one’s weekly routine, without a lot of denial. And here’s the fact: Males encounter cardiac difficulties 10 years earlier than women, on average. By age 45— whether you smoke or not—you are in a risk category, and that’s just the way it is.

Yes, fear is a psychological player in this scenario. Yes, it COULD happen to you. And even supposedly healthy people have heart attacks. But, you know, knowledge is power. Maintenance reaps good results and provides you a feeling of control. And really, the odds are on your side.

I guess, coming from a nicotine fiend like me, it sounds disingenuous, but... living healthy is its own reward. That’s a really good lesson to learn—and you don’t have to have a heart attack to learn it.

The Heart Chronicle (Part 5) is coming soon. Stay alert!

Brad Paisley's Crappy Happy Talk

A few words about Brad Paisley’s video, Welcome to the Future, which I continue to see in rotation on CMT, though it’s been more than six months since its release. How about “Yuck”? Or “Ugh”?

Paisley, well-respected as a country artist, has finally jumped the shark. About as "country" as a shopping mall in Minnesota, Paisley unselfconsciously strives to use his considerable podium as a way to “transform” country music, to truly expand its influence to a broader popular market—$$$!—while also attempting to hold on to the things that make the country market “country.”

Paisley wants to have his cake and eat it too: Pretend that he’s the scion of the music of Hank Williams, but also a cool, contemporary (and sexy!) rockin’ cat not too far removed from the teenage concerns of his supposed audience, redneck or otherwise.

But popular music—never mind “country”—is in the shitter, methinks, when we have a song with lyrics like, “I’d have given anything to have my own Pac-Man game at home...” or “I was on a video chat this morning with a company in Tokyo...” Now that’s poetry, man...

All of this is in tribute to the technical age we live in: “Hey, glory, glory, hallelujah / Welcome to the future...” Wow. Brad Paisley meets George Orwell. Or at least hints that he might know who George Orwell is. Or what the future is. Pretty rad for C&W, right?

Of course, this is the good future. Squeaky-clean and upbeat. Where classic country music never necessarily went.

In Paisley’s world, kids with artificial limbs and in wheelchairs smile and look forward to competing in athletic events, the video style of director Jim Shea limning the candy-coated drek of public service announcements ad nauseam. It’s all blessedly One World. Apolitical. Unrealistic. Video crystal meth for ostriches.

Paisley's also got one de rigueur early verse about “My grandpa was in World War II...” Yah, let’s not forget to play the war card, Brad—it’s a country song, remember?—and war SUCKS, but it’s okay to celebrate it if Gramps “fought against the Japanese / He wrote a hundred letters to my grandma / Mailed ‘em from his base in the Philippines...” Those words are devoid of rhyme or inspiration but gol-dang if it doesn’t connect pretty-boy Brad to blood and guts (which he’ll never have to spill, for anyone). In case you didn’t know, this is called MANIPULATION.

Then Paisley throws in two verses about racism—”They burned a cross in his front yard / For asking out the homecoming queen...” plus “From a woman on a bus [Rosa Parks, in case you didn’t guess] / To a man with a dream...” (Doh!) Were those lines written by the “Family Guy” manatees on “South Park”?

Yeah, let’s head racism off at the pass with that one. It’s ALL good, now, folks, ’cause Everyman Brad says it’s so.

Now, I have no problem with our world becoming ever more Paisley Perfect. What I resent is crappy, uninspired, formulaic, warmed-over music with vile lyrics that have no heart and are designed to get the sheeple out to buy CDs and attend concerts. ‘Cause, you know, like, everything’s fantastic!!

Only in your world, Brad. Only in your world.

P.S. According to Wikipedia, "Paisley played the song at the White House for President Barack Obama." That may help explain a lot of things.