Realizations

Don't Kid Yourself

Once again, for the 4th time in the last five years, my step-mom is going to win the annual Bracket Competition on my Dad’s side of the family. Thank you Pittsburgh. Actually, shame on me for underestimating Jay Wright.

College basketball, more so than any other sport, is all about coaching. This year, the Final Four will consist of Tom Izzo, Jim Calhoun, Jay Wright and Roy Williams. I do not regret the picks I have made this year. My only regret with this entire tournament is the fact that I actually spent time this winter watching the College Basketball regular season. It is officially a waste of time.

A one seed, a three seed, who really cares? It doesn’t matter. Villanova has virtually played home games the entire way through the tournament thus far. Not that I am complaining, they earned that right by playing well in the best conference this season.

The men’s college basketball regular season is a joke. It has little to no bearing on who will compete for the National Championship. I never thought I would come to this point, but I finally understand why a playoff in College Football would be a bad idea. Forget money, logistics of scheduling, etc. I don’t claim to be smart enough to incorporate all of that. The fact of the matter is that a tournament in college football would make the regular season irrelevant. Why play the regular season? Put USC, LSU, Alabama, Ohio State, Oklahoma, Texas, Florida, and take your pick… put them in a tournament and be done with it.

My step-mom will admit to not watching a single college basketball game this year. Tournament included, other than the last three minutes of the close games. I think she is on to something. I on the other hand, spent my winter weekday nights tuned in to ESPN to watch the Big East or whatever overrated Big Ten team was being televised. The domination of Michigan State by Purdue in February in West Lafayette doesn’t really mean much now, does it? Boiler Up! Or how about the “epic battles” this year between UConn and Pittsburgh when DeJuan Blair had his way with Hasheem Thabeet? Have fun watching the big man in Detroit, DeJuan. I am making a remix to the Green Day song and replacing September with February. Wake Me Up When February Ends.

Oh but Brad! Arizona’s KEY victories in December are what got them into the tournament. Butler’s early season wins got them into the tournament even after losing in the Horizon League Championship. Yeah great, I’ll save Brad Stevens a seat next to me on the couch this weekend. Not you though, Budinger. Hands off the remote, you can watch America’s Next Top Model on your own television.

The tournament selection committee should be commended. They, as they normally do, got it right. Before this past weekend the top three seeds were a combined 24-0. The pod system, instituted by the NCAA to save money, has created chalk in the bracket. I love it. The favorites win their games and we get match-ups like we did this past weekend between powerhouse schools. As a side note, I’m still waiting to see how that injury to Jermone Dyson is going to affect Uconn. They look even better without him, to me.
The NCAA Tournament is fantastic, no one can dispute that. No one in America gets any work done those first two days. But, it comes at the expense of the regular season. How about all those all important conference tournaments at the end of the season? How many of the Final Four teams won theirs? I’ll give you a hint, it starts with “z” and ends with “ero”. Winning your conference means next to nothing, just ask Ricky P. Although, I guess it somehow gives Coach K a sense that he and his program are still relevant.

AMusings

Baseball Season Is Here Again

The baseball season is only one week away. It makes me think about all of the things I love about going to a baseball game. There is a certain feeling a person gets when they walk into a major league baseball stadium, sees the grass, smells the food, takes in all of the players warming up. Once the game begins though, there is a laundry list of things that take place that are not ok. Not even a little ok. Because I am a good person, and I am concerned about everyone’s well being, I am going to share with you the rules I have decided every fan needs to follow this baseball season.

Leave your shirt on.
It isn’t socially acceptable to take your clothes off anywhere else in the world with the exception of the beach or a swimming pool. There are plenty of alternatives to taking your clothes off. Why not wear a cut off t-shirt? How about drinking plenty of water? Let it be known, that this year, during the 2009 baseball season, I will be approaching any man with hooters who has taken his top off, and alerting him that he is being indecent at the very least.

Don’t give kids foul balls.
Aren’t we teaching the youngsters the wrong lesson by handing them foul balls that we caught? I was a kid for 14 whole years, and nobody ever gave me anything except way too many cookies. If I catch a foul ball at a baseball game, or better yet a home run ball, and a kid gives me puppy dog eyes, he’s got another thing coming.
More so, don’t boo the people that don’t give the balls to kids. It’s not their fault the kid had poor reaction time and didn’t catch the ball. The kid will learn to be quicker, and more agile. They will also learn the all important lesson that you can’t always get what you want. (But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.)

You may leave your seat one time during 9 innings.
Let me clarify, I will stand up for you when you leave your seat only once during a 9 inning baseball game. There is really no reason to need to get up more than once in a 3 hour span. Do you need to go to the bathroom? Oh poor baby. I’m sure the 15 Bud Lights that I had to pass down to you had nothing to do with that. Oh you’re hungry? You couldn’t go 3 hours at home without popcorn, a pretzel, a beef sandwich, a hot dog, a sausage, two pieces of pizza, an ice cream cone, and a pepsi? I find that hard to believe. If you’re in my row, you get one pass, really only because I’m a nice person. After that, you can figure out a way to step over my legs.

Don’t talk to me.
I have never had a meaningful conversation with anyone at a baseball game. Questions usually consist of really tough things to figure out like “What inning is it?” “What’s the score?” “Who is up?”. If you’re stupid (and you must be if you can’t figure out that information which is displayed on a gigantic scoreboard) then just pretend I’m not there. Don’t ask me anything.

Don’t wear obnoxious/over-exposed clothing and give me a dirty look when I stare.
I know you have to leave your shirt on, but that does not mean it should be a 1984 Giants jersey with your name on it. You look like an idiot. Also, men who wear their own names on jerseys traditionally resemble a blimp, and there is no way, even if they were Kirby Puckett or Tony Gwynn, they would have worn that size during their playing days.
Also, don’t buy those stupid t-shirts outside of the stadium that say things like “Cardinals take it up the Pujols” or “We got Wood” or anything like that. They’re not funny, and because you were dumb enough to shell out the $30 for the shirt, I know all I need to know to know that I hate you.

If you don’t know the words to the National Anthem, don’t sing.
Self explanatory, no? Maurice Cheeks isn’t going to help you this time, so don’t try.

When the game is over, LEAVE.
Once the 27th out has been made, you can go. There is nothing else to see. The team will line up, high five each other, and then walk into the dugout. I’m sorry I’ve ruined the ending for you, but that’s all there is to it. This rule especially applies to people sitting on the aisle. I want to go home. Just leave, so I can too.
This rule does not only apply to the end of the game. If your team is losing 16-0 in the 4th, you can go home if you like. I see no reason to stay. It’s not going to get better.

If you are a miserable person, stay home.
This rule applies to anyone who is going to the game to hold a business meeting, anyone who complains about how much they paid for anything (included in “anything” are tickets, parking, food, beer, souvenirs, or any combination of the former). Anyone who is incapable of controlling their children should not take them to the game. While you might find your 4 year old’s sneezing cute, I find it obnoxious.

So there. If we can all agree to these rules and follow them, we should have a wonderful baseball season.

Friday Night Lights

Eight (Times Two) Is Enough


Earlier this week, after the NFL owners' meetings in my adopted hometown of greater Los Angeles, where there is not a franchise, and where there never will be a franchise, commissioner (and Most Powerful Man in Sports, Like Can Have You Killed Within A Couple Minutes Powerful) Roger Goodell likely interrupted recession-oblivious (or maybe just oblivious) conversations about private jets, Cuban cigars, premium unleaded gasoline and preferred Vitamin Water flavors among 32 of the richest men on the planet by suggesting that the NFL expand its schedule to 18 games from the current 16 contests.

I'm not totally sure why Goodell would propose such a change. Ostensibly, Rog' wants to replace two of the four preseason showdowns with games that count. I've racked my brain for the last four and a half minutes and come up with an extensive list of pros and cons (mostly cons) that MPMSLCHYKWACMP must be considering as he dreams of Week 18 and 19 action (don't forget the bye week, kids).

Pros

1) (Maybe) increased television revenue. With two more games per season, Goodell could potentially milk a bit more cash out of CBS, Fox, NBC, and ESPN, especially now that the threat of placing games on the NFL Network can be used as a scare tactic to get the four major players to ante up. However, the NFL Network can't show 16 games per week. More importantly, the non-NFL-networks face incredible financial pressure as key advertisers hemorrhage cash and cut back on TV spending. Perhaps Goodell can flex his muscles here, but...

Giant, Massive Cons (and no, I'm not talking about NFL players)

1) Player health and safety. How ironic that Goodell's article came out the same day as an academic study that suggested NFL players lose two to three years off of their lives for each year they play football. Given the size of today's players and the speed and fury with which they play the game, I can only imagine how a two-game increase in the amount of bone-jarring hits and reckless collisions could affect that number.

2) Fading starpower, due to player health and safety. Welcome to the NFL of the 21st century, where Shaun Alexander was released two seasons after winning the 2005 NFL MVP award, and LaDainian Tomlinson is quickly following on the same path to irrelevance. The staying power of these stars is falling quickly due to the demands of a 16 game gridiron season. Two more games annually accelerates the decline of the NFL's most electrifying and marketable personalities.

3) Fan fatigue, which is already setting in for some (read: me), thanks to little bits of insanity like ESPN running new episodes of NFL Live every week in February and March.

Point being, though, the league enjoys such rabid fan interest because of the make-or-break nature of every single game. Add two additional contests, and the level of importance drops across the board, until you have an absurd situation like that which exists in baseball, where a talented team like the Yankees will seemingly drop ten straight just to make things interesting.

Likewise, when you add an additional home date for every team, it's that much easier to skip less enticing matchups in person and in front of the TV. Casual fans can only go crazy for so long.

4) Lack of incremental revenue improvements, which is business-ese for "Where's the extra money from your plan, Roger?" Now that NFL teams have wickedly (or wisely, depending on your perspective) forced season ticket holders to buy seats for their team's two preseason games across the board, I can't imagine two replacement regular season competitions drawing so much more revenue that you can risk cons 1, 2, and 3, even with some sort of broadcasting deal home run that may never happen.

So go ahead, Mr. Goodell. Extend football's regular season. But do so at the peril of your players, your teams, your fans, and ultimately, your league. It's your call.

Cousin Bink's Country Beer Jamboree

Volume 1, Issue 6

This Monday the World Baseball Classic came to an end finally. From what I saw on Sportscenter it was quite the exciting game with Ichiro hitting a 2 out hit in the top of the 10th to get in the winning run, but I with the rest of America reacted the same way: wondering how many days until the real baseball season starts.

You know the baseball season where there are 30 teams instead of 16. The season where the best players in the world play and are paid to play. The season that goes on for 6 months, not 4 weeks. The season that's basic set-up has been in place for over 100 years, not something Allan Bud Selig made up 4 years ago.

For those of you not aware, and judging by the TV ratings that's a Hell of a lot of people, the WBC is an event that will now be held every four years that attempts to be a World Cup of baseball. There's one big problem with that though; whole there are numerous major leagues of soccer that can claim to be the biggest and the best, Major League Baseball is where the big boys play (TM WCW).

The best players from Japan, Korea, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Venezuela, and even the Netherlands and Italy dream of playing in Major League Baseball, not leading their team to glory in the World Baseball Classic. I doubt Bert Blyleven would give up his World Series rings for a ring saying he guided the Netherlands to a World Baseball Classic win.

Personally my biggest problem with the WBC is how long it makes spring training which is like Advent to a baseball fan like me. Instead of starting in late February and going for four weeks through March, spring training this year is in it's sixth week, and there's still 10 days till the season starts. This is the equivalent of starting playing Christmas music in mid-November, rather than the day after Thanksgiving when it should start. I know Bud is Jewish and might not understand this, but surely someone in the MLB offices could have drawn a likable comparison for him.

I can name whose won every World Series since 1972 without batting an eye, but before this week I would have to think long and hard who won the WBC in 2006. This will not get over in the United States nor should it. Why would we want to watch a watered down tournament where many of the best players don't want to participate? As baseball fans we are trained to cheer for one team with players from all over the world. Baseball more than any other sport is an American sport in that it is a melting pot of cultures in one dugout. I think it would help to promote the game as the American sport rather than trying to split teams up and try and teach fans these guys are from your country and these are the only guys you should cheer. But then what do I know? I never caused a sport to miss it’s playoffs and then allowed every player and their mysterious Dominican cousin to take steroids to try and get the sport to be popular and relevant again. That’s the way you fix a sport, right Bud?.

Round 2 March Sippage

Here are the other two brackets...enjoy.

Ozzie Guillen
Peyton Manning

Tommy Lasorda
Michael Wilbon

Bob Costas
Carlos Zambrano

Jimmy Rollins
Dennis Rodman
************************************************

Charles Barkley
Eli Manning

Yao Ming
John Daly

Jim Leyland
Gus Johnson

Rick Sutcliffe
Mike Ditka

Smoke Break

“I had a friend was a big baseball player back in high school, he could throw that speed ball by you…” You know the rest. That’s also the only time I want to hear anyone talk about the prolific high school athletic career of anyone.

Yet whenever you run into someone from high school that you played organized sports with, the conversation creepily lurches back to the athletic prowess of your contemporaries on your high school athletic teams.

It’s rehearsed, rehashed and I almost always regurgitate when the conversation comes up. Living in the past is for cowards and losers. This wise quote from a man who has done nothing but financially live off his past more than Michael Jackson.

Between bites, Tony Soprano even said “remember when is the lowest form of conversation,” but it’s a form of conversation that most are comfortable with.

So when you run into any of these people you’re left to make small talk about what was and what could have been. “If we didn’t botch that snap and the quarterback didn’t fumble five times, we would have played for the state title that year.” Yes we would have. Oh balls said the queen, if I had two I'd be king (that's an old Uncle Frank line).

Then you’re forced to deal with the high school revisionists. I believe their ethnicity is one part Mel Kiper Jr., one part Ken Burns, two parts jackass. The talent scouts/historians always sing the praises of one person who in their mind could have played Division One football. Never mind the linebacker was 5’9, slower than Dick Vitale’s mental math skills and didn’t fit into any one position. (The linebacker can be read every Wednesday on CTT).

There’s no denying that playing sports in high school lays the groundwork for many outstanding friendships that still endure years after graduation. Many of the basic lessons of treating people with respect and conducting yourself as a human being are crafted on how well you perform under duress and how you cope with failure. There is no discredit to playing sports in high school, but there’s a certain nastiness that accompanies sharing tales of gridiron glory.

So, in my enduring crusade to make the world a better place (have you received my petition to make Jim Belushi the ambassador to Pakistan?) there are certain steps one can take to rid themselves of the annoyance that these historians bring us:

1. Make up a story: If you’re just in the second quarter of a Gulliver Travel-sized tale regarding the second game of your senior season, make up something to confuse the storyteller. When he comes at you with “Remember when Thomas hit two threes coming off screen-and-rolls to give us a seven point lead?” Rebut with, “Yea, it was right after Sister Alex decided to flash the scorekeeper!” It should scare the Dickens out of him and shut him up.
2. Produce amnesia: Ask your buddy for some background information on every name he mentions. “What did Brekston do?” “How was Timmons the running back? I thought he was in prison?” “Wasn’t Jennings the wide receiver who knocked up his girlfriend before he left for Iraq?” Your friend will be so perplexed he will lose interest in telling his story.
3. Fake a bladder control problem: The storyteller should understand. It’s a going problem, not a growing problem.
4. Walk away: Just like that…

Realizations

"WE Are The Champions"

I have often been a fan of using the word “we” when I speak about my favorite sports teams. This has lead to endless ridicule and public humiliation, courtesy of my friends and most notably the creator of this fine publication. So, to all of you “we” users out there… this is me standing up for you! I am not a fan of Mike and Mike, but I did hear this subject come up on a commercial (what I could make out through the swallowing of speech by the adjacent cheeks). I have had hour long debates with friends and foes on the issue, so here we go.

I was not blessed with height. I was not blessed with an intimidating physical stature. I was not blessed with an obscene amount of athletic ability. I like to think I am an above average golfer and I can knock down the cliché amount of open three pointers for a short and scrawny Caucasian. These attributes have forced me to remain connected to sports in other ways besides actually playing them.

I grow a special bond with the teams I root for, none more so than MY Indiana Hoosiers. Since I had the privilege of being a graduate of this fine university, I feel a sense of attachment. When cheering them to victory (or 20 some odd defeats) it is my duty to give it all I have. Please do not get this act confused with maintaining a sense of perspective. Referees do not win or lose games… unless you are the Denver Broncos.

Fans are a bigger part of the game than ever before. Home court/field advantage can have an enormous effect on the outcome of a game. Go to Lucas Oil stadium and make loud noises when Peyton is under center… I dare you.

Neh-sayers believe that no one but players on the actual roster should use the word “we” when discussing the team. Usually this argument is coming from a current or former jock. Like somehow if the word “we” is used by a sports fan it somehow diminishes from your sense of team or will strike your three and a half career sacks from the record books. Honestly, if the athlete expects the fan to look the other way when it comes to off the field/court incidents… the athlete can return the favor. After all, it is the fan who ultimately pays the salaries.

The rules are simple. The kicker is you must maintain the usage of the word “we” when your team loses… or hires a coach who has addiction to cell phones. You must own up to mistakes, playoff losses and horrible personnel moves. You must always, always maintain perspective. You must never become obnoxious. You can not bring up your team in conversation simply to use the word “we”. The “we rule” is in effect for casual situations. Do not use “we” in an argument, it’s like calling the other person a meanie-head. Show your pride and your allegiance without shoving it where it does not belong… much like the aforementioned Tim Tebow/religion debate. And finally, do not under any circumstances, over use the word “we”. “We” is a safety net. It is understandable to be extremely attached to your team and an occasional “we” drop is acceptable.



These are the standards I have set for myself. You may disagree, which is fine… we wouldn’t have gotten along anyway and you probably have three and a half career sacks.

Round 1 Results

Here are the match-ups in round 2 of "March Sippage."

Please Vote for these matchups...anyone please vote. Vote twice if you need to.

Lou Piniella
Bobby Knight

Warren Sapp
Michael Jordan

Floyd Mayweather Jr.
Jim Thome

Tony Kornheiser
Jim Mora

*****************************

Jerry Jones
Joe Paterno

Mark Grace
Pete Rose

Michael Irvin
Ron Gardenhire

Steve Rushin
Scott Van Pelt

AMusings

Little League = Big Fun

Springtime means one thing for gentlemen between the ages of 9-16: it is time for little league to begin. My little league memories are some of my favorite memories of my whole life. The season begins around late March when you are drafted either by a father of one of your league mates, or a volunteer coach who sends off pedophiliac waves a mile long. That coach then calls you and alerts you that you have been drafted by him and his team. That is not important at all. The next day in school is important. You get to ask your friends whose teams they are on, and see if any of them are your teammates.

That situation was always a little hard for me because I wasn’t very good. Who the hell am I kidding? I was terrible. I played my allotted 3 innings in right field, batted last in the order, and often times found myself not even having to shower post game on a 90 degree day because I didn’t move around enough to work up a sweat. When my teammates saw me walk into the first practice there would be audible moans and groans, and at least one chuckle as I lumbered towards the dugout.

I don’t want to say that I was not an important part of the team. I mean, sunflower seeds needed to be eaten, the scorebook needed to be kept, and the mothers in the stands needed a good conversationalist. I excelled at all three.

The next step in little league was practice. Every other day in my world, we would go out there, field ground balls and pop ups, and learn the correct way to baserun. (Due to my healthy figure, I was only allowed to lead off of first base with one step, while the others were allowed to walk half way to second.)

Batting practice usually didn’t start until about 2 or 3 weeks prior to opening day. This was one of the more embarrassing points in the season for me. I couldn’t hit in July. How the hell was I going to make contact when I hadn’t picked up a bat in 6 months, and my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sweatshirt was too small and cutting off circulation to my all important wrists?

The final obstacle towards opening day was picture day. I know this may surprise those of you who have seen my profile picture here at Celebrate the Temporary, but I’m not a terribly photogenic person. I don’t blame the photographers though, I blame the fact that I am a morbidly obese man who looks strangely like Rosie O’Donnell.

During picture day there were three things you had to do. First, you had to line up in order according to height. This was no problem, I was usually towards the back of the line with boys about my height, half my weight, and twice my talent. (Baseball talent. Not sunflower seed eating talent. I’m unparalleled there.) Second step was a little more simple. You had to take a team picture. Luckily I never had to sit Indian style in the front of the picture, but I always felt bad for the kids that did. The baseball picture Indian style sitting is different than your everyday Indian style sitting. Your knees had to be brought up to at least your ears so it looked like you were some type of human rhombus in a Cleveland Indians uniform.

By the way, I think Indian Style is still politically correct. If not, I apologize. However, if you are offended by it, you shouldn’t be. I sit that way all the time. It’s very, very comfortable.

The third and final step was to take your individual picture. You had to stand in front of an artificial background which was meant to look like you standing in front of a stadium full of people (represented by blue, red and yellow circles….very realistic if you are playing at Crayola Park). The photographer, who undoubtedly had never seen a baseball in his entire life, then handed you the heaviest baseball bat ever created and asked you to smile. So you did. And out came some of the most embarrassing pictures of my childhood.

So now you have reached opening day. Here in Chicago it was usually the last weekend of April which meant the game was either snowed out or postponed due to the cold weather. (Side note: I was always happy when games were postponed due to cold weather. I didn’t own batting gloves, and God forbid I make contact with a pitch, that would sting for days). Despite the games not going on that day, do you know what was never ever cancelled? If you answered the opening day parade you are correct!!

Mothers would line the streets and tell their “babies” how handsome they looked in their $8 Tigers jersey and ill-fitting grey baseball pants. Fathers would be standing next to them drinking “coffee” from their thermos and telling the other fathers how they would be a much better coach than “this guy” but they just don’t have the time.

As for us players (yes, I know I’m using the term loosely, but we paid the entrance fee), we had to walk around waving at people we didn’t know. Why? I haven’t got the slightest idea. No clue whatsoever. A parade is traditionally filled with people who want to be there, not 200 9-16 year olds who are upset that you’ve woken them up prior to 8am for a baseball parade on a Saturday when their damn game has been cancelled.

The little league baseball season was too fast. We played 15 games, and then everyone made the playoffs. Then, summer was over. Wait. What? The season ended before the fourth of July? What the hell was that all about? We couldn’t have played more than 15 games and played until August? Very stupid.

Everyone played little league at some point, and I think we are glad that we did. I miss it as a 25 year old man. I liked the excitement, the competition, the new friends made, and that one coach who kept inviting me over to his house for sleepovers. I declined, but in a totally unrelated note, these days he is not allowed to open the door on Halloween.

Friday Night Lights

UnderappreciatED


Unlike any other sport at any other level in the United States, and especially during March Madness, college basketball is universal. Everyone in the workplace, from the bald executive in the spacious corner office to the prematurely balding employee in the cramped cubicle who's writing this article, fills out a bracket, submits it to the finance guys who run the pool by default (or birthright), and hopes for Cinderellas from directional schools in directional conferences to knock off drab, overrated squads from the Big Ten and the Pac-10.

This scene plays out from sea to shining sea, from Maine to Hawaii, Alaska to Florida, and everywhere in between. It's electric for many reasons -- the thrill of clicking out of a spreadsheet to sneak a few minutes of the early game before lunch, the joy of tiny schools like Hampton knocking off power conference darlings that didn't have their best days on the court, and the pride that comes from seeing your alma mater competing in the sports world's version of Hanukkah -- eight crazy nights of the best competition any rabid sports fan could envision.

Just like everyone in the office has their favorite team, every fan has their least favorite player, the pariah (or golden boy) who inspires feelings of wrath and annoyance. Usually, this honor is split regionally, with the honor for "most hated" going to overcelebrated whiners like Christian Laettner or J.J. Redick. Unlike most years though, 2009's least favorite player by unanimous decision is Eric Devendorf.

Devendorf began earning his reputation early in the 2008-09 campaign, when he was arrested in November for striking a female acquaintance who was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place (that is, hanging out with Eric Devendorf) at the wrong time. He missed two games after being suspended by Syracuse's student conduct board for his offense, then promptly brought his antics back to the court.

This was most noticeable in the Big East Tournament, where Devendorf began his tournament of trash-talking with alternating episodes of false bravado and unnecessary woofing during a game against Seton Hall. Divine intervention (Devendorf's barely-late, last-second buzzer beater that would have beaten UConn at the end of regulation) didn't go far enough as our antagonist was allowed to play the rest of the tournament.

His behavior continued throughout the tournament, despite the fact that even parents Curt and Cindy Devendorf were probably joining all of Madison Square Garden in wishing that after his senior season, their only son would be coming off the bench as the eighth man for a third-division Polish team in a hardscrabble city like Wroclaw, traveling around by bus or unreliable train to gritty Eastern European locales, playing in front of fans that have not yet grasped the concepts of indoor plumbing or the use of vowels.

At this point, the hate for Devendorf has reached epic proportions. So I thought I'd use my public forum to write a brief list of good things about Eric. I feel it is my duty to prepare fans for his performance before the Orange take on Stephen F. Austin today. So without further ado, ten good things about Eric Devendorf:


1) The tattoo on Devendorf's right shoulder (basketball in the middle of a cross) almost exactly resembles a sample from the create-a-player mode of NBA 2k1 for the Sega Dreamcast

2) Sometimes it's nice to hear an E.D. reference without dropping the name of Viagra, Cialis, or Levitra

3) Devendorf is pursuing a degree in communications and rhetorical studies, which will prepare him well for a lifetime of circuit court appearances for petty crimes

4) #3 assumes he'll get his degree. Never mind.

5) The tattoo on the back of his neck, for his daughter, Madelyn, was constructed very artfully

6) Steadfastly maintains street image despite being from a town about as far north and as far right as Wasilla, Alaska

7) Devendorf has two sisters, who presumably, he has not punched in the face (recently)

8) Reneged on a verbal commitment to Michigan State -- Kalin Lucas is infinitely more exciting than Devendorf

9) Devendorf's urban image has increased the Orange fanbase at Rikers Island, especially when compared with the Gerry McNamara era

10) He actually considered going straight from Oak Hill Academy to the NBA -- good to see that his ego has always been in check


See, don't you like him more already?

Happy Bracketology everyone -- ring out ahoya this morning if you can.

Tournament Part 2 round 1

Dingles Region

Ozzie Guillen
Chris Cooley

Tommy Lasorda
Jamal Anderson

Bob Costas
Shane Battier

Jack McKeon
Jimmy Rollins

Pat Summerall
Dennis Rodman

Carloz Zambrano
William Petty

Michael Wilbon
Darryl Strawberry

Peyton Manning
Randy Moss

Tournament Part 2 round 1

Bink Region

Charles Barkley
Darren Daulton

Bill Rafferty
Yao Ming

Jim Leyland
Rick Reily

Rick Sutcliffe
Jay Bilas

Mike Ditka
Allen Iverson

Gus Johnson
Keith Jackson

Colin Cowherd
John Daly

Eli Manning
Big Cat Williams

Cousin Bink's Country Beer Jamboree

Volume 1, Issue 5

Later today (or currently, depending on when you're reading this) the scene will be the same at countless water holes around the country. Grown men will be yelling, giving high fives and firing off expletives at 20 year old college students from places they didn't know existed until they filled out their brackets earlier in the week. I offer you one plea as the NCAA tournament comes around again: chill out.

There are 64 teams in the tournament. For the millions that fill out a bracket each year that's 1/64 chance of picking the winner, or a 15% chance you randomly pick the winner. Now of course all teams aren't equal (Pittsburgh against East Tennessee State?) but technically everyone has the same amount of a shot at winning.

And no one wants to hear you at the bar talking about how you picked Stephen F. Austin as your upset pick but those damn Syracuse Orange somehow squeaked past them, and don't you think the ref was calling the game for Syracuse? No Syracuse is a much better team and won for a reason. Then the bartender tells the guy his $40 tab on $1.50 beer night needs to be paid.

I don't want to forgot the braggadocios guys who made all the right picks all day and no one else in the whole wide world saw them coming. "Hey you watching this one buddy? UConn's up 25 on Chattanooga, and I got them making the elite 8. Look's I can really pick 'em uh?" Yeah you picked a team that was ranked #1 three times in the season and thought they'd make it to the final 8 teams in the country, sure no one else has them. "Well I liked the Illini's D, but I just felt they wouldn't be able to stay with the upbeat offense of Western Kentucky so I went with my gut and went upset for the Hilltoppers and now I'm leading one of my 13 online brackets." Great that maybe because every single expert had U of I on upset watch, but nah, you're just such a student of the game. And it isn't ballsy to pick a 9 over an 8 as some stranger told me at a bar last year.

The point I'm trying to get across is enjoy this time of the year. The next three weekends are filled with 63 college basketball games, as well as Opening Day of baseball at the very end. But that's the main point, enjoy it. If Wisconsin knocks off your special elite 8 pick Florida State don't let it ruin your night. Hope your other teams pan out, and even if those suck also, say screw it and just enjoy the games.

I'm mainly talking to those of my ilk who aren't the biggest followers of college basketball. I watched the conference tournaments last week and know a little bit throughout the season by reading Sports Illustrated. I entered three pools, two for free online and one at work for $10. If I lose oh well, it's just a bucket of beer on that $1.50 beer night at the bar I was talking about. If I win...well that $1.50 beer night will be a long one.

Tournament

In order to drum up a few more votes, The first round games from Tuesday will stay up through today. We will then position the following rounds to give people two days to vote.

Smoke Break

The “Dennis Rodman Meltdown” has peppered commercials on NBC for the past few days. Seems Rodman lays his hands on country megastar (the word “megastar” is used in its loosest sense) Clink Black on the next episode of “The Apprentice.” I’m guessing Rodman has never heard Black’s music, otherwise he would have been inclined to use brass knuckles.

Rodman’s outburst ear-marks another public meltdown that has become “The Worm’s” M.O. since his professional basketball career began.

The John Stockton head-butting, cameraman groin-kicking Rodman made headlines for the wrong reasons most of the time. His antics since he retired are nothing short of bizarre and tacky on the level of Aeropostale. His behavior: bizarre. The hair color: needy. The piercings: strange. The only thing consistent was the way he played basketball: Beautifully and unselfishly on the cusp of perfection.

Turn on an NBA game in the late 90’s and Rodman was the first person you noticed. While the hair might have drawn you in, the rebounding kept me interested. Rodman prided himself on tipping, tapping, kicking and grabbing to get himself a rebound. He made no bones about the fact that he didn’t care about scoring (though in later years with the Bulls his three-point attempts were the equivalent of giving your little cousin a Sega controller without plugging it into the console).

Grabbing a defensive rebound, Rodman would tip the ball to himself until he controlled it with both hands while both of his feet were in the air. As his hands were coming down, Rodman would plant one foot and use the momentum he created to outlet the ball down the court to a teammate for an easy basket. At a small 6’6 Rodman would figure to be out-rebounded by most of the centers that had a few inches on him, but he had pristine positioning. If a center grabbed a rebound, they typically had to go over the back on Rodman, picking up a foul in the process.

While others prided themselves on lining up just outside the three-point line and the rest found few shots they despised, Rodman made his teams better by not shooting. He didn’t have to. Never has one player created so much by staying out of offensive sets.

Then there was his defense. Rodman not only defended players. He rattled them. Alonzo Mourning grew more concerned with planting a foot in Rodman than beating the Bulls. Shaquille O’Neal couldn’t handle Rodman’s antics. He had a way of getting under everyone’s skin yet he still had a way of looking composed for a man with gold hair and tattoos covering every inch of his body.

Many former players will tell tales of Rodman arriving late, or hung-over and often times both, but the stories are always coupled with the fact that Rodman always knew what he was doing on the court. Phil Jackson called him one of the smartest players he had ever coached. Is it any surprise that Rodman was a winner everywhere he went?

Granted, Isaiah Thomas, David Robinson, Vinnie Del Negro (wanted to see if you were awake) and Michael Jordan had a lot to do with that, but Rodman was vital to the success each team had. He gave those teams countless second chances.

Call him a goof, and I won’t disagree. Chide him as a joker and you have no debate here. But call him a bad basketball player and his NBA Championships will surely change your opinion.

CTB/Weaves Region

Here are the rules:

Select the winner of each first round game, just type their first name in the comments section. In case of a tie there will be a vote amongst the bloggers. Thanks and happy blogging.

CTB Region

Lou Piniella
Buzz Williams

Warren Sapp
Doug Gotlieb

Floyd Mayweather
Alex Rodriguez

Tony Kornheiser
Peter King

Jim Mora
Ickey Woods

Ed Hocule
Jim Thome

Michael Jordan
Gilbert Arenas

George Steinbrenner
Bobby Knight



Weaves Region

Jerry Jones
Peter Jacobsen

Mark Grace
Curt Schilling

Michael Irvin
Ron Artest

Steve Rushin
Mike Lavalliare

Scott Van Pelt
Kirk Herbstreit

Ron Gardenhire
Greg Oden

Pete Rose
John Wooden

Joe Paterno
Verne Lundquist

Realizations

No Sympathy For the Little Guy

I have often had a problem with inferior people, places and things who think it is their right to be treated equally. Before I get loads of hate mail, I would like to clarify. Women should be given equal wages to men, they should have the right to vote, and every person should be treated equally as a human being. What I mean by my opening statement is purely in the context of competition. Please do not tell me that Candace Parker could make an NBA roster, I don’t want to hear it. Kurt Rambis would have his way with her in a game of one-on-one. Michelle Wie should not be commended for playing PGA Tour events, she should try to win an LPGA event first.

This same pet peeve of mine is never more evident than in the Monday after the brackets are announced for the Men’s NCAA Tournament. Every single year we have to listen to Dick Vitale “represent the little guy” and cry as to why they got jobbed into not getting a chance to get demolished in the first round. This year is no different.

Contrary to my hip-hop nature, I am of the nonviolent sort. I prefer snooty comebacks and laughs to any sort of physical confrontation. However, last night, it took everything I had to not hurl the closest object within my reach at my television. My cat Sam is extremely thankful I was able to hold back.

It was Dicky V’s opinion that Saint Mary’s deserved a spot in this year’s tournament, instead of the Arizona Wildcats. His argument was based on the fact that unlike their big conference opponents, Saint Mary’s did not have the opportunity to play the big name schools in order to get those ever precious “key wins”. He also highlighted their road wins against Kent State and San Diego State, along with their biggest win of the year… a home victory against Providence. Really? Does Marquette get to say the same thing? Does Louisville get to list Providence as a key victory? It’s a joke. You cannot change the standard and give these smaller schools a helping hand.

Gonzaga, a team in the same conference, went out and played teams like Maryland, Oklahoma State, Tennessee and Connecticut in their non-conference schedule. And your big win is against Providence? You also play in a conference where, if you take out Gonzaga, the rest of the teams went a combined 1-18 vs. teams in the RPI top 50.

But, I have nothing personal against Saint Mary’s. If Patty Mills stays healthy, they are an easy selection to make the tournament, but he didn’t. No, my problem is this notion that we must give the little guys a chance. They do get a chance, just like everyone else. If Saint Mary’s were worthy of a tournament selection then they would not have dropped games against UTEP, Portland and Santa Clara. Meanwhile, the team that has evidentially replaced them with controversy, Arizona, has wins against Gonzaga (who beat Saint Mary’s three times), at Kansas, Washington, USC and UCLA.

I would much rather see a team like Arizona who has been battle tested against very good teams, than a team like Saint Mary’s who hasn’t played anyone. Yes, they can go out and schedule the big boy schools. They instead choose to play Kent State. If you play against lesser competition, you do not earn the right to get the benefit of the doubt.

There will be plenty of upsets, hoops fans. Do not worry your pretty little heads. But it is the job of the tournament selection committee to include the best 34 teams after the automatic bids. If you put Arizona and Saint Mary’s on a neutral floor… well… let’s just say Saint Mary’s would look more like Candace Parker than Kurt Rambis.

AMusings

The Selective Love of Vince McMahon

With the death of former pro wrestler Andrew “Test” Martin on Friday, it got me thinking about all of the wrestlers that have died prior to their 60th birthday in the last few years.

Let me stop there and promise that this blog is not about pro wrestling. Even if you don’t like wrestling, you may still enjoy the blog, so don’t stop reading just because you still have a grudge against Vince McMahon for the XFL.

The thing that really sticks out about the deaths of these wrestlers is that, for the most part, none of them were main eventers. (For those of you who are not familiar with the world of pro wrestling, a main eventer is a wrestler like Hulk Hogan or The Rock. Big names who bring a lot of people to live shows, and therefore make the company a lot of money.)

I know wrestling isn’t real, so these men don’t become main eventers by winning matches, but they are given that job by management. They’re given the job because if you are the champion, you are the main event, you are the reason people are coming to the shows. The management wouldn’t dare put the title on a person who couldn’t bring in a crowd.

It does not surprise me that people like Hulk Hogan, “The Macho Man” Randy Savage, Ric Flair, The Ultimate Warrior, “Rowdy” Roddy Piper, and “Stone Cold” Steve Austin are alive and well. Why wouldn’t Vince McMahon keep a close eye on these men to make sure they are not doing anything to harm themselves? The longer they live and continue making appearances for his WWE, the more money he makes.

What about the men and women who worked for the WWE or their main rival in the 1990’s WCW, that have died prior to 60 years old since the year 2000? According to my count there are 29 men and women who fall in that category. Only 3 of them ever held the WWE or WCW world championships.

First was the 600 pound, 2 time WWE champion, Yokozuna, who died of a massive heart attack in 2000. I can not say that a 600 pound man dying of a heart attack is a huge surprise, so we are going to say that this death was not at all related to wrestling.

Our second world champion was Chris Benoit. We all know his story. He went crazy and killed his wife (A professional wrestler known as “Woman”) and his son. He was set to win WWE’s ECW world championship the night he was found dead. The reason he was not at the show that evening was because Chairman McMahon granted Chris time at home to deal with his “personal issues”. Why would Vince do that? Was it because at the time of his death Chris Benoit was a hugely popular attraction and big money draw? Maybe.

Our third, and final former champion is Eddie Guerrero. Eddie died in 2005 of a heart attack caused by several years of drug abuse. Eddie was sober and clean at the time of his death, and had been for a couple of years. Why was Eddie clean and sober? Because Chairman McMahon paid for Eddie to go to rehab and straighten himself out. Eddie, who was hugely popular with the WWE’s sizeable Hispanic fan base, won the WWE championship soon after his stint in rehab. Coincidence? Probably not.

So, in the 29 wrestlers that have died since 2000 prior to the age of 60, only 3 were former champions, and 2 of them had had Vince McMahon attempt to save their lives. As for the other 26? Names that all of us grew up with, people like Curt “Mr. Perfect” Hennig, The Big Bossman, Miss Elizabeth, Hercules Hernandez, Chris “Skip” Candido, “The British Bulldog” Davy Boy Smith, “Sensational” Sherri Martel, Brian “Crush” Adams, Scott “Bam Bam” Bigelow and “Road Warrior Hawk”, were they just not bringing in enough money for Vince? Were they not selling enough t-shirts?

After the Chris Benoit tragedy, Vince offered help to any former employee of World Wrestling Entertainment if they wanted it. It was a see through attempt at taking the responsibility off of a man who narrowly escaped jail time in the early 90’s for providing steroids to his employees. Because one of his champions went nuts and killed his family, Vince offered help. Not because 24 of the 29 people on this list had died in the 6 years prior, but because McMahon was getting bad press.

If McMahon wants to say that wrestling is “sports entertainment” and not an actual sport so that he can escape things like drug testing and boxing and wrestling commissions, then so be it. It is his company, and he can do with it as he pleases, but he had better start thinking about the fact that due to his attitude, and blind eyes, he has allowed and, in my opinion, contributed to the deaths of too many young people for too long of a time.

It has been a problem for a while, but it has gotten much worse recently. In the 90’s, 12 men died prior to their 60’s, and amazingly, none of them were former champions. (For those of you who were wondering, in 1998 WWE’s “Monday Night Raw” and WCW’s “Monday Nitro” would draw a combined 15 million viewers each Monday night…there was too much on the line to let champions die then.)

In the 80’s, when steroids were rampant in the wrestling industry, and shows like “Wrestlemania III” could sell 97,000 tickets, 4 former WWE superstars died before they were 60, and none of them were even close to winning a title.

So what does all of this mean? It’s plain and simple: When Vince needs money, he makes damn sure the people bringing it in are healthy. When Vince stops making money, he could care less what happens to anyone. If he truly is the “god” of professional wrestling, maybe he should start caring a little more about his people. He’s not going to have any left at this rate.

Slight Schedule Update

Hello,

There has been a slight scheduling change on account of me being a moron. I can't find the brackets I created for the tournament, so round one will take place tomorrow and Wednesday and round two will take place Thursday and Friday.

Thanks for your understanding in this mishap.

Also, go to www.milwaukeebucks.com to vote for Nick Matkovich.

Friday Night Lights

Under the Table and Dreaming


By nature, Minnesotans are a guilty bunch. Our Scandinavian heritage and Lutheran religion require us to go through life shouldering a bigger burden than most men and women. Typically, this humble background prevents us from doing anything to gain an edge over our opponents, in sports and in life. Native Minnesotans are often hesitant to drive more than 55 miles per hour, call mulligans on the back nine, or take all but the slightest lead off of first base. Don't mistake this for weakness, though -- our guilty consciences may dominate our psyches, but most of the time, they prevent us from making embarrassing errors that cause irreparable damage to our lives, our families, and our basketball franchises.

Overriding the angel on your shoulder in the Upper Midwest is an idea on par with going binge drinking after a marinara-heavy meal. Our Scarlet Letter society is lightning-quick (and usually correct) with accusations of impropriety, and the consequences are usually brutal. This is basic knowledge in our homogeneous little state. Every Minnesotan has the burden of guilt placed upon them prior to preschool. Like it or not, it is a guiding principle impossible to shake regardless of creed, geographic location, or situation.

Glen Taylor and Kevin McHale both had this burden. The former was the son of a southwestern Minnesota farmer who made a fortune in the printing business before purchasing the Timberwolves. The latter grew up in the Iron Range town of Hibbing and proceeded to greatness at the University of Minnesota and later, with the Boston Celtics. After Taylor purchased the team, he actualized his man-crush on McHale by hiring him as assistant GM in 1994 and promoting him to VP of basketball operations one year later.

Like most NBA owner/general manager duos, this combination made some prescient moves while improving this recent addition to the league. Drafting Kevin Garnett out of Farragut Christian Academy in 1995 was brilliant, as was hiring coach Flip Saunders. Trading for Stephon Marbury in 1996 worked in the short term, but in the long run, original pick Ray Allen would have been a far better fit. Regardless, the team began to evolve into a perennial playoff squad, albeit one that couldn't make it out of the first round. Garnett needed help inside. McHale and Taylor began searching for a complementary player.

As the story goes (thanks, Wikipedia):

Before the 1998-1999 season, Smith agreed in secret to sign three one-year contracts with the Timberwolves for less than his market value. In return, Smith received a promise that the Timberwolves would give him a multi-year, multi-million dollar contract before the 2001-2002 season.

In 2000, after word of the secret agreement got out, NBA commissioner David Stern voided Smith's final one-year contract with the Timberwolves, making Smith a free agent. Stern also took away three of the Timberwolves' next five first-round draft picks and fined the team $3.5 million.

Presumably, other NBA teams were executing under-the-table deals with players far before Taylor and McHale brought their checkbook to the underachieving former No. 1 pick. But what made Glen and Kevin think they could escape generations of guilt, inquiry, and Minnesota scorn in making this move? And if they were convinced that cheating in this manner was the best option, why wouldn't they try this dangerous, risky move with someone a little more talented than Joe Smith?

The story would end here if the move wasn't basketball Kryptonite for Taylor and McHale. People forget that prior to the Smith scandal, the Timberwolves made great strides with new leadership, progressing from a struggling expansion team to a club en route to greatness.

Following the scandal, though, the pipeline of talent for the team dried up. Stern stripped the Wolves of first-round picks in 2000, 2001, and 2002. Taylor and McHale did the honors themselves in 2003, when they celebrated the ability to draft top-flight players again by picking high school tweener and rapid Association washout Ndudi Ebi over players like Josh Howard, Jason Kapono, and Leandro Barbosa.

Shortly thereafter, the lack of incoming talent clashed with the team's strategy of signing aging former stars like Latrell Sprewell and Sam Cassell. This plan brought the team to the Western Conference Finals in 2004, where they were unable to defeat the dynastic Lakers. Following this season, the team began to implode. Cassell and Sprewell began to complain, Saunders was fired, Garnett was traded, McCants was drafted, McHale became head coach. The team's death spiral continues to twist into the ground of obscurity.

But four consecutive years of zero production from the first round is what truly spelled disaster for the franchise. And this can be directly attributed to Taylor and McHale's ignorance of Minnesota justice. Though you can't fire an owner, you are able to remove a coach and former GM from office. Kevin McHale deserved this fate long ago.

Get The Vote Out

Hello friends,

I hope today finds you well. I have been selected as a finalist for the Milwaukee Bucks’ blogger contest. I am blogging about the game between the Bucks and Celtics on Sunday at noon. I am asking for a kind favor though, please vote for my blog after the game on Sunday at www.milwaukeebucks.com. Tell friends, foes, family, and everyone you know to vote. I greatly appreciate your help in this. The winner will blog at home games throughout the remainder of the season. Also, if all goes right this is a preventative measure to keep me from eventually living in your basement one day.

Thanks very much for your understanding and please vote.

The best of everything,

Nick

Grab A Drink, Grab A Glass

March intertwines two favorite things for all red-blooded Americans: The NCAA Tournament and St. Patrick’s Day (read as a time to have too much). Here at CTT, the uniting body of all creeds, Credes, religions, nationalities and political parties, we have come to you for help in uniting sports and alcohol. We need your help!

Starting this Monday we will run “March Sippage” a 64-person tournament matching up various personalities in the sports world. Pick the one you would rather bend an elbow with. We will whittle the list down to find that one person in sports that we would most like to get saucy with.

So lift us out of the gutter, spatula our face off the bar and provide us with a pair of extra shorts. There is no play-in game. First round action begins Monday.

Monday:

CTB Region: all games held at an off-Broadway production of Ragtime

Brad Region: all games held at a Kriss-Kross album release party

Tuesday:

Bink Region: all games held in a very long, wide gutter

Sam Region: all games held in the cafeteria of the School of Hard Knocks

Cousin Bink's Country Beer Jamboree

Volume 1, Issue 4

Earlier today I got the latest issue of Sports Illustrated in the mail and I saw Albert Pujols staring back at me, telling me that I can believe in him. Now, I would hope a guy who I'm sure is paying as much as he is to advisers and agents wouldn't say something like this if there is a positive test result of him floating around from 2003, but to me that doesn't prove him to be innocent. I'm not going to say he's guilty and this guy's guilty, but the fact is that there's no way of knowing who did and who didn't except knowing for sure the guys that have come out and said they did.

Take Pujols for example. Albert Pujols made his major league debut as a 21 year old in 2001, which is the same year Bonds hit his 73 home runs and steroids were running wild. How many 21 year olds debut on opening day and play 161 games their rookie year? No September call-up the year before, start on Opening Day and play the rest of the way. I just looked that up and am completely amazed at that. Even if he didn't use steroids from the second he was signed by the Cardinals, which was in August of 99, whose to say that when he was trying out for scouts in the Dominican Republic one or two of them didn't slip him a little pill that would make his muscles twitch just a bit quicker?

I'm not just talking about Albert Pujols here. Pick a major leaguer from the past 15 years. Even if everyone of them said from the second I get signed to a professional deal I will never do steroids, which would be quite the moral high ground for some of these guys to set, what if a scout, or a high school coach, or a family friend (such as your Dominican cousin Yuri) just give you something that will help you for that one day that you're recovering from a long night?

And at this point should it matter? Outside of something remarkable happening, I'm pretty sure my favorite sports team ever will be the 2005 Chicago White Sox. Now, no one from that team springs to mind as a steroid user, but if ten years from now Jermaine Dye is down on his money and decides to get some cash by writing a tell-all telling how he and Joe Crede were shooting each other up, what does that mean? It was all for nothing? Time to start an old-fashioned Baptist book-burning and throw all the newspaper clippings, World Series hats, and MLB DVDs? You can feel free to, but I'm going to watch my Michael Clarke Duncan narrated DVD thank you very much.

I honestly hope the steroid era in baseball has been curbed, but I don't think it will truly be over for quite some time. The best scientists in the world are the ones making the drugs, and the ones testing are far behind them. Hopefully, MLB has done enough to at least get rid of some of these science experiments but if not what can you do? The 2001 World Series will still be ended by Luis Gonzalez freaky one year giant arms flipping a single over Mariano Rivera, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa still drew fans back in 1998 and Roger Clemens is still a loud mouth hick, who deserves to just have one fastball beamed at his head once, steroids or no steroids.

Smoke Break

College basketball should be Corzine (Dave, DePaul director of basketball operations) through your veins right now. If not, we’ll get a Bishop (Rashad, forward, Cincinnati) a Pope (Herb, forward, Seton Hall) or Shaman (Craig, DePaul assistant director of basketball operations) to perform their own unique exorcism, guaranteed to cause nary an ounce of Payne (Cameron, guard, West Virginia). Why you won’t even need Gause (Paul, guard, Seton Hall).

Why all the Goode (George, guard, Louisville) Will (Scott, guard, Louisville) you ask? What’s the particular reason for the penned Kissel(s) (Stan, Syracuse director of basketball operations) and Huggins (Bob, West Virginia head coach)? Well it’s Big East Tournament time! Call me a basketball Sapp (Jessie, guard, Georgetown), but people from Paris (Horne, guard, Louisville) to the farthest outreaches of the West (Jonnie, guard, West Virginia) have to be excited.

Hope Bloom(s) (Matt, Rutgers basketball operations coordinator) anew for teams thought to be in Dyer (Rutgers, strength and conditioning coach) situations. Take DePaul. Blue Demon fans shuffled Rosario (Mike, guard, Rutgers) beads and Cross(ed) (Oswald, St. John’s administrative assistant) their fingers in hopes of being victorious in one Duell (Matt, guard, St. John’s) before the season’s close.

Oh dear Jesus (Verdejo, guard, South Florida)! The basketball gods had finally tossed some sunshine and Flowers (John, forward, West Virginia) to the tiny little school under the El tracks. The Blue Demons were King (Taylor, forward, Villanova) if only for a day. It was a collective Bird (Johnnie, guard, Connecticut) flipped at Cincinnati. The Bearcat’s NCAA Tournament hopes all Tucker(ed) (Dar, forward, DePaul) out. What long Summers (Dajuan, forward Georgetown) for coach Mick and the rest of his Cronins (Cincinnati head basketball coach).

But Thabeet (Hasheem, center, Connecticut) goes on. A certain Buzz (Williams, Marquette head coach) exists about the conference this year that could be heard in either a sound-proof Boothe (Malik, guard, St. John’s) or underwater Chambers (Patrick, Villanova associate head coach).

Pitt seems like the Wright (Jay, Villanova head coach) choice for a deep tournament run. After all, one of their post players weighs a Singleton (Billy, St. John’s director of basketball operations) and could easily drop anyone on the floor with a bump from his Heine (Connor, forward, Providence). However, consistent outside shooting remains the fly, or to be more precise, the Hornat (Alex, forward, Connecticut) in their ointment.

UConn might very well be the ones cutting down the nylon, or maybe it's Cashmere (Wright, forward, Cincinnati) come Saturday night, but consistent injuries to their star point guard lead some to believe he might need to be fitted for a customized Walker (Will, guard, DePaul).

Louisville has the number one seed, playing opposite the 15 other teams who serve as the Hunter (Georgetown assistant head coach). Don’t think they’ll get off Scott (Eric, Louisville director of basketball operations) free. An early loss in the tournament could Pierce (Jeff, Villanova head athletic trainer) their psyche come the following weekend.

Marquette has a new point guard driving their Carr (Jim, Rutgers assistant coach) since Dominic James’ injury ended his career as a Player (Dermon, Seton Hall assistant coach). Whatever the case, their short bench leaves them far from Fine (Bernie, Syracuse associate head coach).

With a Field(s) (Levance, guard, Pitt) as deep as this it is difficult to Keon (Lawrence, guard, Seton Hall) one team as a favorite. Peoples (Jonathan, forward, Notre Dame) of all ages will find something to excite them. Why this tournament could even raise Lazarus (Sims, Syracuse coordinator of player development/assistant strength and conditioning coach) from the dead.

All Rhodes (Roderick, Seton Hall administrative assistant) lead to Detroit. If your team ends up there, best to bring your Gatling (Darnell, guard, Seton Hall) gun.

Realizations

Letter To The Owner


Dear Jerry Jones:

First of all, I wanted to thank you for being an avid reader of “Celebrate The Temporary”. After you read my column, “Mulligans”, you really took my advice to heart. You did something that was not like you at all… you took the advice of everyone around you. Swallowing pride for a man who has far too much, must have been extremely difficult. I commend you, or give you props as they say.

By releasing Terrell Owens, you made your team better. The locker room will now be run by the team, instead of one player. Now, many people may be asking you if this was a difficult decision. Now Jerry… think long and hard before answering that question. If you are still the same Jerry Jones who had this to say to USA Today when asked if his team had chemistry problems, "They are a figment of the result. You didn't hear about those kinds of things when we were winning. You hear about those kinds of things when you're losing. ... If y'all [the media] knew more about some of the things you write about, you wouldn't be as concerned”, then the decision must have been difficult. But, if you are ever going to have any hope of winning another Super Bowl, then that decision has to be the easiest one you have ever made.

The skeptics are saying, Jerry, that the Cowboys offensive production is going to decline next season due to the departure of “the player”. You cannot honestly believe that. Your team was 18th in the NFL last season in points scored. So the skeptics are saying, Jerry, that your team is going to be no better than 19th next season? Not a chance. Your quarterback will be more confident and you have some other wide receiver by the name of Roy Williams.

Now don’t go patting yourself on the back quite so hard, Jerry. Releasing Terrell Owens and Adam Jones were two giant steps in the right direction, but your work is not done. In order to get back to the promise land Jerry, you will need to make the ultimate sacrifice. That’s right, you need to hire a coach who will not eat out of the palm of your hand. No more puppets on the sidelines. You need to hire a coach who isn’t afraid to stand up to you. I know you love being worshiped by your employees, but having a coach standing on the sidelines who constantly has the expression on his face that says, “Someone stole my ice cream sandwich…. and, and I don’t know where it is”, is not going to win you football games.

It is not a coincidence that the last time you had a coach who wasn’t as soft as a marshmallow (or looked like one), you won a Super Bowl. You had a great thing with Bill Parcells, but you felt that one wide receiver was more important to your football team than a disciplinarian head coach. Now, when Mr. Frosted Flakes is your head coach, that means it’s time to finally not side with the players. You must do both.

One last piece of advice, since I know you obviously take mine to heart. Get through this season with the Michelin Tires mascot and then let him go. Take a trip over to CBS studios and pull out your check book. Date it, sign it, and leave the amount blank and place it in front of Bill Cowher. Tell him to put whatever amount in the little box that he feels he deserves and call it a day.


Your life coach,

Brad

Big Announcement

Stay tuned to CTT for a major announcement concerning the site.

Happy reading.

AMusings

I am one of only two or three people that I know personally to have finished multiple 162 game seasons in baseball games. (I didn’t even make the playoffs in one of them. That’s how dedicated I am.) I can still play 16 games worth of Madden. It only takes a weekend. On this fine Monday, I would like to tell you about my personal history with maybe the most underrated aspect of sports: The video game.

My favorite Christmas was the Christmas of 1994. I was in 5th grade, and hoping against hope that Santa would reward my year of being good with a Super Nintendo. Obviously, the Super Nintendo would be nothing without the greatest game in the world: John Madden Football. So that was another reason for not lying to Mom or upsetting my baby sister for 365 days.

Santa did indeed reward me with these gifts, and my world of entertainment was changed forever.

Prior to Madden ’95 for SNES, my sports video game experience had consisted of RBI Baseball, which to me, is maybe the greatest game ever made, and Nintendo Baseball. That was the name of the game. Nintendo Baseball. There were no names of the players, only cities. Every player had the same figure and number. There were two pitches: fast and slow. I’m not 100% sure how I played that game for as long as I did, but I did.

Nintendo was the start, at least for me. The three games that stick out from my memory from my Nintendo days were the aforementioned “RBI Baseball”, “WCW Pro Wrestling”, and the greatest hockey game ever made, “Blades of Steel”.

Why did I love these games? Well look at all of the great things they had. WCW Pro Wrestling let you pick from 12 different WCW stars including Mike Rotundo and Sting. You could play a steel cage match, which, due to the wonderful graphics of the early 1990’s, caused the wrestlers to disappear momentarily when they ran near it. What else could I need?

RBI Baseball was amazing. You could bunt for God’s sake. Is there more needed? The teams had names, and so did the players. It was unheard of.

Blades of Steel though, that’s unbeatable. For those of you who have not had the privilege of Blades of Steel, here’s what you are missing: To start the game, the team you chose would skate out onto the ice with their opponents, skate around the rink, and then line up on the blue line. This in itself had already made it ahead of it’s time.

As you played the game you found you could fight. Yes, that’s right. If you were checked too hard, you could fight. Amazing.

In between the 2nd and 3rd periods, you got to play a shooting game on the big screen of the scoreboard as an added bonus. These were the things dreams were made of.

Now I, as many people my age, still find myself playing video games…well, playing them is a stretch. Few people can actually play a 16 game season in Madden without simulating at least two or three games in hopes of hurrying to the draft.

Sometimes I wish that we could head back to the simpler times of sports’ video games when the only option you had was to play the game. You could not manage, general manage, draft, etc. While a lot of these features are a great deal of fun (who doesn’t love trying to trade two middle relievers for an outfielder?) I miss the actual gameplay.

Take for instance the upcoming “Legends of Wrestlemania” video game. When I was growing up, the ability to play as Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, Ric Flair, The Ultimate Warrior and Shawn Michaels all in the same game would have been unbelievable. Now, in this newer age of games that are full of bells and whistles, I’m worried about whether the game will include their original entrance music.

And how about the wii? The whole idea of a video game is to relax. There was never any intention of video games to be healthy. Now I can’t golf or bowl without waking up in the morning and wondering if I blacked out and broke my arm in some bar brawl. I don’t want to be tired after playing a video game, I want to be relaxed. Big difference.

I don’t want to have to be concerned about my salary cap, my attendance, how happy my fans are, which tv contracts I have, how happy my players are, or when my contract is up. I want to sit on my couch, controller in hand, and play a video game. That’s all I want to do. That’s what I grew up doing, and that’s what I want to continue to do until the day I die…and if I keep playing the wii, that day might be sooner than I thought.

Friday Night Lights

The Man Who Saved Baseball (It’s Not Who You Think)

Do you remember how much you hated baseball after the 1994-95 strike? Even the most ardent fan took a step back and thought, “Hey, the playoffs and World Series, wiped out? It’s time to start golfing. Or bowling. Or fishing. Or doing crystal meth.” Could Donald Fehr be blamed for the explosion (no pun intended) in the manufacture of that drug in rural America?

Not that Fehr, the executive director of the player’s association, was ever blamed for anything. No, the fall guy was interim (and later full) commissioner Allen H. “Bud” Selig. Bud happily stepped forward, claimed his check, and received the ire and enmity of a nation of fans.

Far deeper than the strike, though, an enemy of baseball waited at the gates of the game. There were signs of the steroid scandal long before the first urine test came back positive. In fact, there were signs of this scandal even before the strike.

Dateline: Oakland, CA, 1989. The A’s beat the San Francisco Giants in the earthquake-interrupted World Series, four games to none. They won the Series behind the talent of the Bash Brothers, Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco. Perhaps those names sound familiar to you – perhaps as familiar as androstenedione and testosterone were to the Bash Brothers.

Then again, it’s highly probably that the World Series 20 years ago wasn’t the first tainted fall classic. Welcome to baseball, where it is honorable to bend the rules, as long as it helps you win. Pitchers doctoring baseballs, hitters corking bats, Kent Hrbek pulling Ron Gant’s leg off first base in the World Series – might as well give it a shot, as long as you can get an edge. Lyle Alzado, whose name became synonymous with steroids in football, began using in 1969. There’s no doubt in my mind that secrets are shared between sports.

And the secret was out once McGwire and Sammy Sosa went on their epic chase for Roger Maris’ record in 1998. Aided and abetted by new stadiums with Lilliputian dimensions, the Sultans of Steroids brought new interest to the game. Though supplanted by football as America’s pastime, baseball was relevant again, just three short years after a historic work stoppage that threatened to render the game summer’s version of hockey, adored by few and ignored by most.

The commissioner, once interim, now full, had to know that performance-enhancing drugs had infiltrated his once-proud game when McGwire and Sosa went off. I’ll stop short of saying that he ordered some already-strong players to start juicing (the visual of Bud injecting Mark and Sammy is surreal, yet strangely plausible), but Bud approved. After all, he had to.

Could you imagine what would have happened if Selig followed the advice of self-righteous sports commentators everywhere (myself included) and blew the whistle as soon as he knew about baseball’s little problem? Maybe as the home run chase ramped up in 1998? Instead of attention drawn to McGwire and Sosa, we’d have had parks full of asterisks and a tidal wave of shame descended on the game. It wouldn’t have been a death sentence for baseball. Monopoly sports are hard to kill. But recovery from labor strife and a crippling steroids scandal would have been borderline impossible.

So Selig chose path two. Leak individual results and make steroids a “personal” problem, rather than a league-wide dilemma. Don’t turn on the faucet all the way. Trickle the names of roided-out stars, one-by-one, so the nation doesn’t realize that their game is corrupt. Take the fall as the commissioner who should have been more vigilant.

Annually, the man has 17 million reasons to shoulder the blame. The commissioner’s salary is a bargain for the owners that reaped profit from this tainted, yet golden, era of the game.

Cousin Bink's Country Beer Jamboree

Volume 1, Issue 3

I consider myself a good Catholic. I don't eat meat during Lent, I attend mass at around a 65% rate, and though I was never approached, if Father Happy-Pants told me to kneel, I would have obliged. Now that works for me and whatever works for others is fine by me. If you like Buddha, rub that fat guy's stomach. You like Judaism, cool, just stay away from pork. But this isn't an article about religion and how we should choose our own. No it's about how I can't stand people pushing their religious beliefs on me. Now this doesn't sound like much coming from someone who attended 12 years of Catholic grammar and high school. But, when you go to a school that starts with St. or ends with of Mary you know what to expect. No, the one place I don't want to hear about religion is in sports.

While watching the pre-game show of the NFC title game I was treated to a ten minute piece on Kurt Warner and how he knew that Jesus was still with him when he got ran out of New York and he felt Jesus pulling him towards Arizona. Was it Jesus who made you decide that you'd love to stay in Arizona as long as they pay you $23 million for 2 years?

Warner is just one example (although one of the more visible and loudest) of the numerous pro athletes that tout religion and it's become commonplace to hear that, along with hearing how athletes can't "forget where they came from" when one runs afoul of the law. Usually after the run-in with the law the athlete turns to God, so then you have the double-dipper. As bad as the pro athlete Jesus Thumper is there's one person I can't stand even more than them.

Tim Tebow.

Also known as the 2007 Heisman Trophy Winner. 2-Time National Champion. Florida Gators legend. One of the 5 greatest college football players ever. And of course a man who if you spend 5 minutes with him, you will become a better person. The worst thing about this bozo? Someone advising him knows he won't be a high draft pick so we'll have to live through another year of any SEC football game being hijacked into a Tebow love-fest.

All the hyperbole at the beginning of the last paragraph is bad enough, but I could take that because it's just what others said about him and he can't be blamed for that. The constant talk about him circumcising poor Indonesians or wherever he went for his missionary work? Again, annoying but it's not like he was out there talking about it. At this point he's about as guilty as Mr. Effort Tyler Hansbrough, who is no more than a ESPN creation.

No, he gets the thumbs down from me for constantly thinking that he is the team and constantly having to have the focus all on him. His crying interview after the loss to Ole Miss, promising to never let down his teammates again. His constant running around and screaming at his teammates like the coach's 10 year old son. His stupid eye-black always saying a scripture verse.

I know Tebow has a lot of heart and effort and Jesus's love running through his veins, but he tries jumping into the special teams huddle before the (Insert name of unfortunate NFL team that drafts him) kick-off and he'll be knocked down so quick he'll wish he was acting as a mohel in the Philippines again. And I'll enjoy it all, while I pray for Jesus to help me win the Mega-Millions.

Smoke Break

If “Stripes” ended like this, I would have thrown the DVD against a wall.

Don’t blame me, but we’ve been conditioned for great endings and refuse anything short of bliss.

Things end with one ultimate quip. The bad guys have been arrested. The good guys are going to get laid and a feel-good Kenny Loggins song tells us it’s time to leave the theater feeling content.

Unfortunately, life is not all seashells and balloons and funny one-liners from Harold Ramis.

If it was, Dominic James would be bouncing on his toes in eager anticipation of Saturday’s senior day festivities instead of limping in street clothes to bid a final adieu to the home crowd at the Bradley Center.

When James landed awkwardly on his right foot in the infant stages of the UConn game a little over a week ago, no one had any idea what happened. No bad twist or sprain after awkwardly landing on Dwight Burke’s foot. No collision with Hasheem Thabeet. Nothing but a strange plant followed by a “something’s wrong” look on his face as he fat-man jogged over to the sidelines.

Never has one player who electrified crowds with his hops (whatever street cred I garnered over the years diminished after that last statement) left so quietly. It’ss not his fashion. He was Marquette basketball for the past four seasons.

Jerel McNeal became the team’s best player and Wes Mathews might have the longest professional career, but James was the face of the program as soon as he hit campus.

He jumped into a spot occupied by a fan favorite (Travis Diener) and had the unenviable task of grasping the supposed yellow-page sized playbook of Tom Crean.

He lent Crean his ear and James played out a tune of half court offense. This year James jumped out of first chair and grabbed the conductor’s wand. He orchestrated a fast break offense that would make Bach blush, (not the composer, but former Bulls assistant John).

Someone who invested that much time into justifying his existence as a top-flight prospect deserves a better exit.

Sinatra didn’t end his concerts with “The Girl From Ipanema.” Ron Harper was not the last name public address announcer Ray Clay belted out before sold out crowds at the United Center and James should not be remembered for sitting on the sidelines during the UConn game, but that’s the enduring image I have.

My heart goes out to him. Maybe it’s old age or too many episodes/columns of “Friday Night Lights” but a senior who contributed so much to the program should not be a spectator in his last home game as student athlete.

He doesn’t deserve this. The Lollipop Guild of 2009 were atop the list of teams people didn’t want to play come March. Could an impressive tournament improve an already iffy draft stock? How far could this guard-saturated team fight through the land of giants?

But it’s not about the team or March success, it is about James. The only thing worse than a bad ending is no ending at all. You can guarantee no Kenny Loggins song can raise our spirits from that.