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.