First off, all hail the Oregon State Beavers, 2018 College World Series Champions.
But you've gotta feel for the Arkansas Razorbacks. In the best two-out-of-three series, they had won the first and were one strike away from winning the second to clinch it themselves. Then something weird happened that will be discussed (and replayed) for a long time. To the chagrin of Arkansas, particularly three of their players.
Behind 3-2 in the ninth inning of what would have been the deciding game, O.State had two outs and a man on third. The batter lifted a tall pop-up down the first base line. Three Hawgs converged on it in foul territory, namely the first baseman, second baseman, and right fielder. Any of them could have, and likely should have caught it to seal the deal. But somehow they let it drop between them. The Beavers got another shot. Sure enough, clank, a single to left field to score the tying run. Next man up clubs a two run homer to right field. Then, instead of being ahead 3-2, Arkansas was behind 5-3. Down they went in the bottom of the ninth to lose the game. On to the deciding tie-breaker.
Recently concluded, O State ace pitcher Kevin Abel threw a masterpiece. A two-hit shutout, while throwing an astounding 130 pitches. It was, in fact, the first time Arkansas had been shut out all year, and it couldn't have come at a worse time for them. Or a better time for the Beavers, who easily prevailed 5-0.
So yep, Leave it to the Beavers, sorry, to pull off an almost miraculous comeback.
But woe be it to the guys from Clinton country. They were so close. Just one strike away.
They had it. All but in the proverbial bag.
And then poof, it was gone.
The three fielders mentioned above are going to feel terrible for a very long time, likely the rest of their lives. They could have been champions, if not for misplaying a lousy pop-up.
So it's great in one way, but heart-breaking in another.
Nevertheless, somebody had to win and somebody had to lose.
Lady luck just happened to smile on Oregon State. That and a stud pitcher turning in what was probably the greatest performance of his young life.
Hats off to the champs.
Thursday, June 28, 2018
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Those pesky Tigers
The Detroit Tigers' colossal swoon continues. After getting smacked around for two games in Cincinnati, off they went to Cleveland. Where they were given a world-class beat-down by the Indians for a four game series. When the combined scores of four games is 26-3, and you're on the short side of that, you just got taken to the woodshed.
Maybe the Puddy Tats should consider staying out of Ohio for a while. But then they went back home to the friendly confines of Comerica Park to face the Oakland Athletics. It couldn't get any worse -- right?
Not so fast. The Tigers have dropped the first three games, including blowing a six run lead in the second, to extend their losing streak to eight. And don't look now, but the not so good Minnesota Twins have passed them up in the divisional standings.
What was almost comical after losing the third game of that set earlier tonight were the Tiger announcers. Never mind their pitching staff is getting shellacked, particularly the bullpen, all they could do was crow about one Leonys Martin, Tiger center-fielder. He made a couple good, not great catches of deep fly balls.
Here's the thing. When your center-fielder has to repeatedly run back to the wall to grab 400 foot bombs, the other guys are teeing off. A little to the left or right and those balls go deep into the seats for homers. But the "homer" announcers didn't want to talk about that. Better to interview Martin and tell him what a great job he's doing. Then again, when one is grasping at straws, anything is better than nothing. And nothing pretty well sums up the Tigers of late. These guys are bad. Turrible, as Charles Barkley would say.
On the golf front, the ever-faithful Tiger Woods groupies are up to their old tricks. Anything to get Eldrick into the conversation, though he hasn't won squat in 5 years. Today's earth-shaking news is dear Tiger is trying out a new putter. As if that's going to correct all that ails his game.
Though never more than a duffer myself, I know three things about putting. Any idiot does. You have to ---
1). "Read" the putt correctly.
2). Strike it on the proper line you just read.
3). With the right speed.
If any of these are off, you miss. Pretty simple, but hard to do.
And Eldrick's missed a whole bunch of "makeable" putts lately.
But guess what? It isn't the putter's fault. It's HIS. Especially considering he's been putting with a flat blade stick for roughly twenty years he's been out on tour. Does he really think changing to a "mallet" is some sort of magical cure? Worse, are the talking heads gullible enough to believe it?
Evidently so. See another Tiger interview. One way or the other, they'll always find a way to give Tiger face time. It must be in the fine print of their network contracts somewhere. Maybe somebody should take another form of mallet and hit these guys over the head with it. Enough with the Tiger mania already. Wake me up if and when he actually accomplishes something besides flapping his gums.
Tigers, Tigers everywhere.
And none of them are any good.
Sheesh.
Maybe the Puddy Tats should consider staying out of Ohio for a while. But then they went back home to the friendly confines of Comerica Park to face the Oakland Athletics. It couldn't get any worse -- right?
Not so fast. The Tigers have dropped the first three games, including blowing a six run lead in the second, to extend their losing streak to eight. And don't look now, but the not so good Minnesota Twins have passed them up in the divisional standings.
What was almost comical after losing the third game of that set earlier tonight were the Tiger announcers. Never mind their pitching staff is getting shellacked, particularly the bullpen, all they could do was crow about one Leonys Martin, Tiger center-fielder. He made a couple good, not great catches of deep fly balls.
Here's the thing. When your center-fielder has to repeatedly run back to the wall to grab 400 foot bombs, the other guys are teeing off. A little to the left or right and those balls go deep into the seats for homers. But the "homer" announcers didn't want to talk about that. Better to interview Martin and tell him what a great job he's doing. Then again, when one is grasping at straws, anything is better than nothing. And nothing pretty well sums up the Tigers of late. These guys are bad. Turrible, as Charles Barkley would say.
On the golf front, the ever-faithful Tiger Woods groupies are up to their old tricks. Anything to get Eldrick into the conversation, though he hasn't won squat in 5 years. Today's earth-shaking news is dear Tiger is trying out a new putter. As if that's going to correct all that ails his game.
Though never more than a duffer myself, I know three things about putting. Any idiot does. You have to ---
1). "Read" the putt correctly.
2). Strike it on the proper line you just read.
3). With the right speed.
If any of these are off, you miss. Pretty simple, but hard to do.
And Eldrick's missed a whole bunch of "makeable" putts lately.
But guess what? It isn't the putter's fault. It's HIS. Especially considering he's been putting with a flat blade stick for roughly twenty years he's been out on tour. Does he really think changing to a "mallet" is some sort of magical cure? Worse, are the talking heads gullible enough to believe it?
Evidently so. See another Tiger interview. One way or the other, they'll always find a way to give Tiger face time. It must be in the fine print of their network contracts somewhere. Maybe somebody should take another form of mallet and hit these guys over the head with it. Enough with the Tiger mania already. Wake me up if and when he actually accomplishes something besides flapping his gums.
Tigers, Tigers everywhere.
And none of them are any good.
Sheesh.
Monday, June 25, 2018
The silliness of "highlights"
Every night, ESPN -- and other TV channels -- have their sports "highlights". The Top Ten, as it were. These are supposed to be spectacular plays. And so often, they are nothing more than boring -- business as usual.
A few examples.
We'll always see a dunk or three on a basketball court. Hey, every NBA player can dunk, most college cagers, and even a lot of high-schoolers these days. To boot, every single variation of dunk has already been done. Behind the back, through the legs, a 360 or even 720 spin, off the backboard, you name it and it's old news. There's nothing remotely "exciting" about a 6-8 player getting a running head start and jamming a basketball through a rim. Dunks in basketball are like 6-inch putts in golf. Everybody can do it. What IS a highlight is when one of them is missed.
In baseball, we'll see one outfielder or another running a distance and stretching out, sometimes even flying through the air, to catch a fly ball. It happens every day. Major leaguers, college kids, etc., this is old news too, when everybody can do it.
Willie Mays made a "fantastic" catch at the time on a deep fly ball off the bat of Vic Wertz back in the Leave It To Beaver days. But was it really? Nowadays, most outfielders make the same sort of catch look routine. Why? Because Mays took a bad angle on that ball and made it look harder than it had to be. Every major league outfielder can get back to the fence on a long fly ball these days to haul it in. No big deal.
We'll always see a goal or two in soccer. Well yeah, ANY goal in soccer is a highlight, considering fans sometimes have to wait for hours to actually witness one. I equate watching a futbol match with following an afternoon soap opera.
Once upon a time I was laid up with a knee injury and couldn't leave my upstairs apartment for a few weeks. So I picked a soap opera to watch. Almost a month later, when I could walk again, not much had changed on the show. Just a bunch of pseudo-drama that amounted to nothing.
Soccer's sort of like that. You can start to watch a game, then take a shower, get a bite to eat, maybe do a load of laundry, tune back in and nothing is different than it was a couple hours ago. No wonder the fans and GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL announcers go so berserk when one is actually scored. And sometimes it never is. What's more boring than a soccer game that turns out 0-0? Beats me -- maybe watching a marathon race with no finish line. They just keep running until everybody falls down. Would you tune into that a second time?
Speaking of which, where do these folks get their "distances" from when an actual goal is scored. Sometimes we'll see 75 feet. But looking at the replay, one has to ask -- 75 feet from WHAT? The tenth row of the stands? When the striker hit the goal-scoring ball, he was no further than maybe 30 feet from the goal. So what gives with that? I understand they want to max out the moment, but c'mon, let's not get ridiculous here. Viewers have eyes, and sometimes even a little brains -- ya know?
Don't know about you, but I wince every time I see the name of that game that involves throwing bean bags into a circular opening on a slanted wooden box 30-40 feet away. Used to play it myself in my younger days while drunker than a skunk coming off a canoe trip down a river back to the campground. Never did know the name of it. Turns out, we were playing "cornhole" all along. Had we been aware of such back in those days, none of us, especially the wives and girlfriends, would have participated in such an activity under ANY circumstances. Much better to throw horseshoes, even without pits or stakes. Bocce ball in the river. Hoops with no rims or nets. Rousing games of chess with only pawns on the board. Chase chipmunks through the woods. ANYTHING but cornhole. Oh, the shame of it all. I pucker up to this day just thinking about it. But evidently, there are cornhole highlights too these days. Excuse me if I pass on checking them out. Where's the PC word police when you need them? Brrr.
A few examples.
We'll always see a dunk or three on a basketball court. Hey, every NBA player can dunk, most college cagers, and even a lot of high-schoolers these days. To boot, every single variation of dunk has already been done. Behind the back, through the legs, a 360 or even 720 spin, off the backboard, you name it and it's old news. There's nothing remotely "exciting" about a 6-8 player getting a running head start and jamming a basketball through a rim. Dunks in basketball are like 6-inch putts in golf. Everybody can do it. What IS a highlight is when one of them is missed.
In baseball, we'll see one outfielder or another running a distance and stretching out, sometimes even flying through the air, to catch a fly ball. It happens every day. Major leaguers, college kids, etc., this is old news too, when everybody can do it.
Willie Mays made a "fantastic" catch at the time on a deep fly ball off the bat of Vic Wertz back in the Leave It To Beaver days. But was it really? Nowadays, most outfielders make the same sort of catch look routine. Why? Because Mays took a bad angle on that ball and made it look harder than it had to be. Every major league outfielder can get back to the fence on a long fly ball these days to haul it in. No big deal.
We'll always see a goal or two in soccer. Well yeah, ANY goal in soccer is a highlight, considering fans sometimes have to wait for hours to actually witness one. I equate watching a futbol match with following an afternoon soap opera.
Once upon a time I was laid up with a knee injury and couldn't leave my upstairs apartment for a few weeks. So I picked a soap opera to watch. Almost a month later, when I could walk again, not much had changed on the show. Just a bunch of pseudo-drama that amounted to nothing.
Soccer's sort of like that. You can start to watch a game, then take a shower, get a bite to eat, maybe do a load of laundry, tune back in and nothing is different than it was a couple hours ago. No wonder the fans and GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL announcers go so berserk when one is actually scored. And sometimes it never is. What's more boring than a soccer game that turns out 0-0? Beats me -- maybe watching a marathon race with no finish line. They just keep running until everybody falls down. Would you tune into that a second time?
Speaking of which, where do these folks get their "distances" from when an actual goal is scored. Sometimes we'll see 75 feet. But looking at the replay, one has to ask -- 75 feet from WHAT? The tenth row of the stands? When the striker hit the goal-scoring ball, he was no further than maybe 30 feet from the goal. So what gives with that? I understand they want to max out the moment, but c'mon, let's not get ridiculous here. Viewers have eyes, and sometimes even a little brains -- ya know?
Don't know about you, but I wince every time I see the name of that game that involves throwing bean bags into a circular opening on a slanted wooden box 30-40 feet away. Used to play it myself in my younger days while drunker than a skunk coming off a canoe trip down a river back to the campground. Never did know the name of it. Turns out, we were playing "cornhole" all along. Had we been aware of such back in those days, none of us, especially the wives and girlfriends, would have participated in such an activity under ANY circumstances. Much better to throw horseshoes, even without pits or stakes. Bocce ball in the river. Hoops with no rims or nets. Rousing games of chess with only pawns on the board. Chase chipmunks through the woods. ANYTHING but cornhole. Oh, the shame of it all. I pucker up to this day just thinking about it. But evidently, there are cornhole highlights too these days. Excuse me if I pass on checking them out. Where's the PC word police when you need them? Brrr.
Sunday, June 24, 2018
Detroit Tigers finding their natural level
All year long the Detroit Tigers have struggled mightily to reach the .500 mark. And they've come oh-so-close on a few occasions.
There they were, just a week ago, merely one game shy of breaking even and headed to Cincinnati for a two game series. It should be noted the Reds are neck and neck with Miami for the worst record in the entire National League. What could go wrong?
Turns out, plenty. The little Detroit engine that had chugged, chugged, chugged its way uphill, and possibly could, finally blew a gasket.
The Reds would sweep the two game series, slapping the Tigers back down once again.
Well OK, let's get out of Cincinnati and head off to....
Cleveland. Where they were promptly shelled for a three game series, to the tune of a 26-4 run disadvantage. That's a serious beat-down.
What seems to have been a mystery all year is why it took the Indians so long to find their stride. In the otherwise pitifully weak American League Central Division, Cleveland is obviously head and shoulders above the competition.
Better pitching, both starters and relievers. Better hitters, both for average and power. Superior defense all over the field. More speed on the base-paths. You name it, and the Indians have a lot more of it than the Tigers. It finally showed -- in a big way -- with their own sweep of the Puddy Tats, in embarrassing fashion. 26-4 over three games? And BTW, giving up 26 runs, including eight homers and two grand slams along the way, isn't exactly good for Tiger pitching stats. As their team record is falling, the collective ERAs are definitely rising.
Yet it should come as no surprise. After all, the Tigers, long overdue for a rebuild, finally blew it up and got rid of any marketable talent they once had. Basically, it's a minor league team with a couple aging veterans long past their prime that have ridiculously bloated mega-contracts the Tigers continue to be saddled with. No other team was going to touch these guys. (See Miguel Cabrera and Victor Martinez).
So now, instead of getting to .500, the Tigers find themselves 6 games under, and a whopping 8 games back of the Indians.
It was sadly comical to watch them play against Cleveland. See a line drive hit right at Detroit shortstop Jose Iglesias. See him wave at it. In hockey terms, one could say it beat him cleanly on the glove side. On the very next play, see a routine ground ball hit at the same Iglesias, him throw a strike to the first baseman, only to hit him square in the glove -- and drop it. See one Tiger batter after another flailing at unhittable pitches far out of the strike zone. Whiff, whiff, whiff. This is Little League stuff.
Sure, nobody expected the Tigers to do much this year. At least those that are semi-sane and haven't partaken of any Detroit kool-aid of late. It seems to be particularly addicting stuff in that town, and makes the fans somewhat delirious with false hope. (See the Detroit Lions year after year, after decade).
So no, the Tigers won't be going to the playoffs. Forget that. With a whole lot of luck they might -- MIGHT finish in second place in the AL Central. The Minnesota Twins, hardly world beaters themselves, are nipping at their heels. The Chisox and KC Royals are both flat out awful.
By the time the season is over, look for them to be at least 20 games behind the Indians, because the difference in talent is just that obvious. It will show over the long haul.
Meanwhile, as mentioned before in this space, once again injured former super-star Miguel Cabrera, is sitting back collecting $76,000 a day, EVERY day, for not playing. And the Tigers are stuck with him for a mind-boggling FIVE MORE YEARS. Who's the management genius that signed off on THAT contract?
It just is what it is in Detroit.
And it's bad.
Very bad.
There they were, just a week ago, merely one game shy of breaking even and headed to Cincinnati for a two game series. It should be noted the Reds are neck and neck with Miami for the worst record in the entire National League. What could go wrong?
Turns out, plenty. The little Detroit engine that had chugged, chugged, chugged its way uphill, and possibly could, finally blew a gasket.
The Reds would sweep the two game series, slapping the Tigers back down once again.
Well OK, let's get out of Cincinnati and head off to....
Cleveland. Where they were promptly shelled for a three game series, to the tune of a 26-4 run disadvantage. That's a serious beat-down.
What seems to have been a mystery all year is why it took the Indians so long to find their stride. In the otherwise pitifully weak American League Central Division, Cleveland is obviously head and shoulders above the competition.
Better pitching, both starters and relievers. Better hitters, both for average and power. Superior defense all over the field. More speed on the base-paths. You name it, and the Indians have a lot more of it than the Tigers. It finally showed -- in a big way -- with their own sweep of the Puddy Tats, in embarrassing fashion. 26-4 over three games? And BTW, giving up 26 runs, including eight homers and two grand slams along the way, isn't exactly good for Tiger pitching stats. As their team record is falling, the collective ERAs are definitely rising.
Yet it should come as no surprise. After all, the Tigers, long overdue for a rebuild, finally blew it up and got rid of any marketable talent they once had. Basically, it's a minor league team with a couple aging veterans long past their prime that have ridiculously bloated mega-contracts the Tigers continue to be saddled with. No other team was going to touch these guys. (See Miguel Cabrera and Victor Martinez).
So now, instead of getting to .500, the Tigers find themselves 6 games under, and a whopping 8 games back of the Indians.
It was sadly comical to watch them play against Cleveland. See a line drive hit right at Detroit shortstop Jose Iglesias. See him wave at it. In hockey terms, one could say it beat him cleanly on the glove side. On the very next play, see a routine ground ball hit at the same Iglesias, him throw a strike to the first baseman, only to hit him square in the glove -- and drop it. See one Tiger batter after another flailing at unhittable pitches far out of the strike zone. Whiff, whiff, whiff. This is Little League stuff.
Sure, nobody expected the Tigers to do much this year. At least those that are semi-sane and haven't partaken of any Detroit kool-aid of late. It seems to be particularly addicting stuff in that town, and makes the fans somewhat delirious with false hope. (See the Detroit Lions year after year, after decade).
So no, the Tigers won't be going to the playoffs. Forget that. With a whole lot of luck they might -- MIGHT finish in second place in the AL Central. The Minnesota Twins, hardly world beaters themselves, are nipping at their heels. The Chisox and KC Royals are both flat out awful.
By the time the season is over, look for them to be at least 20 games behind the Indians, because the difference in talent is just that obvious. It will show over the long haul.
Meanwhile, as mentioned before in this space, once again injured former super-star Miguel Cabrera, is sitting back collecting $76,000 a day, EVERY day, for not playing. And the Tigers are stuck with him for a mind-boggling FIVE MORE YEARS. Who's the management genius that signed off on THAT contract?
It just is what it is in Detroit.
And it's bad.
Very bad.
Friday, June 22, 2018
The utter shame of new Detroit sports owners
Not that long ago, pizza baron Mike Ilitch owned both the Detroit Tigers and the Detroit Red Wings. The former didn't win a World Series under his watch, but at least they were competitive for a number of years. The latter indeed won a few Stanley Cups.
And then he died. The kids took over. Since then, the Tigers have totally gone in the tank, shedding whatever talent they could, and are in ground zero rebuild mode.
The Wings long streak of playoff appearances came to a screeching halt. And they look like they're going to get even worse before they ever get better.
Once upon a time, one Bill Davidson built a brand new state of the art arena (the Palace) for the Detroit Pistons out of his own money. No gouging the taxpayers. Imagine that. And he put it in a spot easily accessible to major roads, but out of the way, so as not to throw people out of their homes via the dreaded "eminent domain" law that is so often abused by billionaires and the like.
And the Detroit Pistons flourished. Three NBA titles, and numerous trips to at least the conference finals.
And then he died.
Enter one Tom Gores, a Flint native, but long a west coast guy that made his billions shuffling other people's money around. Old Bill's heiress daughter Karen didn't seem interested in running a pro basketball franchise, so she cashed out and disappeared to live the life of luxury somewhere. Good for her, definitely her choice.
But in the seven years Tom Gores has been running the show, the Pistons have been Gawd-awful. One measly playoff appearance, in which they were unceremoniously swept. And how can they justify giving Lebron-ish max contracts to the likes of Andre Drummond and Blake Griffin? It's absurd, and has crippled them salary cap-wise as to getting more talent.
Sure, they've made the usual noise about bringing in Dwayne Casey as the new head coach, but he was fired by the Toronto Raptors just months ago for heading up a team of underachievers. Does anybody really think he'll be able to whip the rag-tag sorry Pistons into any sort of contenders? Only Tom Gores could come up with this sort of twisted logic.
On the NFL front, the Detroit Lions have been the epitome of punching bags for six decades, all they way back to the Eisenhower administration. Perhaps it was a bad omen when former owner William Clay Ford sealed the deal to become majority owner -- on the very same day JFK got shot in Dallas.
And then he died.
If old Bill wasn't bad enough, enter his widow Martha, well into her nineties, and her daughters, hardly spring chickens themselves, to run the show. What was one of their first brilliant moves?
Bring in an "estate planner", a guy that dealt in wills, inheritances and the like, and make him team president. The man himself admitted he didn't know squat about running an NFL team. But he was Martha's pick for the job. If it wasn't so utterly clueless, it would be laughable.
So yep, the "old guard" of the Detroit professional sports teams may have had their ups and downs, but at least they occasionally gave the fans a reasonable chance of hope. Sometimes far-fetched, but a shot.
Nowadays, the Detroit professional sports landscape looks more like a bombed out war zone. A ghetto. Siberian tundra. Michigan roads.
Tis a sorry state of affairs when Detroit sports fans have to reminisce about the "good old days" that weren't that good in the first place.
Because the "new" generation of owners is most definitely worse -- a LOT worse -- than their predecessors.
I mean, c'mon. Out of all the cities from coast to coast that have professional sports franchises, nary a one comes anywhere close to Detroit when it comes to being a loser across the board.
As Charles Barkley would say -- turrible. Just turrible.
And then he died. The kids took over. Since then, the Tigers have totally gone in the tank, shedding whatever talent they could, and are in ground zero rebuild mode.
The Wings long streak of playoff appearances came to a screeching halt. And they look like they're going to get even worse before they ever get better.
Once upon a time, one Bill Davidson built a brand new state of the art arena (the Palace) for the Detroit Pistons out of his own money. No gouging the taxpayers. Imagine that. And he put it in a spot easily accessible to major roads, but out of the way, so as not to throw people out of their homes via the dreaded "eminent domain" law that is so often abused by billionaires and the like.
And the Detroit Pistons flourished. Three NBA titles, and numerous trips to at least the conference finals.
And then he died.
Enter one Tom Gores, a Flint native, but long a west coast guy that made his billions shuffling other people's money around. Old Bill's heiress daughter Karen didn't seem interested in running a pro basketball franchise, so she cashed out and disappeared to live the life of luxury somewhere. Good for her, definitely her choice.
But in the seven years Tom Gores has been running the show, the Pistons have been Gawd-awful. One measly playoff appearance, in which they were unceremoniously swept. And how can they justify giving Lebron-ish max contracts to the likes of Andre Drummond and Blake Griffin? It's absurd, and has crippled them salary cap-wise as to getting more talent.
Sure, they've made the usual noise about bringing in Dwayne Casey as the new head coach, but he was fired by the Toronto Raptors just months ago for heading up a team of underachievers. Does anybody really think he'll be able to whip the rag-tag sorry Pistons into any sort of contenders? Only Tom Gores could come up with this sort of twisted logic.
On the NFL front, the Detroit Lions have been the epitome of punching bags for six decades, all they way back to the Eisenhower administration. Perhaps it was a bad omen when former owner William Clay Ford sealed the deal to become majority owner -- on the very same day JFK got shot in Dallas.
And then he died.
If old Bill wasn't bad enough, enter his widow Martha, well into her nineties, and her daughters, hardly spring chickens themselves, to run the show. What was one of their first brilliant moves?
Bring in an "estate planner", a guy that dealt in wills, inheritances and the like, and make him team president. The man himself admitted he didn't know squat about running an NFL team. But he was Martha's pick for the job. If it wasn't so utterly clueless, it would be laughable.
So yep, the "old guard" of the Detroit professional sports teams may have had their ups and downs, but at least they occasionally gave the fans a reasonable chance of hope. Sometimes far-fetched, but a shot.
Nowadays, the Detroit professional sports landscape looks more like a bombed out war zone. A ghetto. Siberian tundra. Michigan roads.
Tis a sorry state of affairs when Detroit sports fans have to reminisce about the "good old days" that weren't that good in the first place.
Because the "new" generation of owners is most definitely worse -- a LOT worse -- than their predecessors.
I mean, c'mon. Out of all the cities from coast to coast that have professional sports franchises, nary a one comes anywhere close to Detroit when it comes to being a loser across the board.
As Charles Barkley would say -- turrible. Just turrible.
Thursday, June 21, 2018
The three winners story
The latest edition of Sports Illustrated featured a cover about 3 days and 3 champions. Indeed, it's odd that the NBA, NHL, and horse racing would all crown champs in such a short amount of time. But it happened.
Though Washington DC is certainly known for inept politicians, a football team with a controversial name, a major league baseball team that chokes every year in the playoffs, and a hoops squad that can't seem to get out of their own way -- the hockey guys finally got it right.
Yep, the Washington Capitals, long the proverbial playoff underachievers, brides maids, are now the proud owners of Lord Stanley's cup. And good for them. Alex Ovechkin, a sure bet first ballot Hall of Famer, has finally tasted sweet glory. Da, comrade.
In the NBA, it came as no surprise the Golden State Warriors swept the Cleveland Cavaliers in the Finals. Even J. R. Smith's brain-lock moment didn't really make that much difference. Had the dolt known the score was tied -- not too much to ask from a highly paid professional athlete, one would think -- and made a put-back bucket to win Game One as time was running out -- the writing was already clearly on the wall. Yes, that Lebron guy is really good, perhaps the best of all time. But collectively the Dubs were far superior. The only bad outcome of the sweep that followed was Golden State didn't get another -- cha-ching -- home date for a Game Five.
Back to the Capitals. No one can say they had an easy road to the Cup. Good grief, they were down 0-2 to Columbus in the opening round, before overcoming it. Then they had to face their nemesis in the Pittsburgh Penguins. In the conference finals, the Tampa Bay Lightning, whom many picked to win the Cup, awaited. But they overcame them as well. Then came the upstart expansion Vegas Golden Knights, who had roared through an improbable season themselves, and had home-ice advantage over the Caps. Down they went in five. Very impressive stuff by the Caps. Worthy champions indeed.
Last but not least was thoroughbred horse racing. Some colt named Justify won the Triple Crown, as in the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont.
Here's what I think I know about horses. They're not too bright as animals go. (Of course the same could be said of many of the politicos mentioned above).
Even if they become champions ala Justify, they eat a lot.
And poop even more.
Somebody has to clean that up. We're talking serious land mines here.
Then, if they were fast enough to win a couple major races, let alone the sacrosanct Triple Crown, they'll be put out to stud. Bring on the pretty fillies.
According to Sports Illustrated, the last Triple Crown winner, American Pharoah, was "having his way" with upwards of 200 Grade A Playboy caliber horse ladies a year. Now THAT'S just about enough to make any red-blooded he-man horse kick it into overdrive for a few races.
Pampered every day, eating the best of horse chow, and a world-class equine harem delivered to them to indulge at their whim? Dang, what a life.
No, Justify will likely never experience some of the greater tastes in life -- like Stroh's ice cream, Wendy's chili and dressed up baked taters, KFC cole slaw, or the beef and cheddar from Arby's, but hay, excuse, hey, all in all that's a pretty sweet gig. I'd bet even Mr. Ed, as famous as he was, would have thrown Wilbur and the TV gig under the bus to experience a year or three of that.
So OK, the Capitals got their parade in DC. Ditto the Dubs in the Bay area.
Justify didn't get a parade. But it's only logical.
He's likely too busy screwing his brains out right about now.
A horse is a horse, of course, of course. Right Ed?
Though Washington DC is certainly known for inept politicians, a football team with a controversial name, a major league baseball team that chokes every year in the playoffs, and a hoops squad that can't seem to get out of their own way -- the hockey guys finally got it right.
Yep, the Washington Capitals, long the proverbial playoff underachievers, brides maids, are now the proud owners of Lord Stanley's cup. And good for them. Alex Ovechkin, a sure bet first ballot Hall of Famer, has finally tasted sweet glory. Da, comrade.
In the NBA, it came as no surprise the Golden State Warriors swept the Cleveland Cavaliers in the Finals. Even J. R. Smith's brain-lock moment didn't really make that much difference. Had the dolt known the score was tied -- not too much to ask from a highly paid professional athlete, one would think -- and made a put-back bucket to win Game One as time was running out -- the writing was already clearly on the wall. Yes, that Lebron guy is really good, perhaps the best of all time. But collectively the Dubs were far superior. The only bad outcome of the sweep that followed was Golden State didn't get another -- cha-ching -- home date for a Game Five.
Back to the Capitals. No one can say they had an easy road to the Cup. Good grief, they were down 0-2 to Columbus in the opening round, before overcoming it. Then they had to face their nemesis in the Pittsburgh Penguins. In the conference finals, the Tampa Bay Lightning, whom many picked to win the Cup, awaited. But they overcame them as well. Then came the upstart expansion Vegas Golden Knights, who had roared through an improbable season themselves, and had home-ice advantage over the Caps. Down they went in five. Very impressive stuff by the Caps. Worthy champions indeed.
Last but not least was thoroughbred horse racing. Some colt named Justify won the Triple Crown, as in the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont.
Here's what I think I know about horses. They're not too bright as animals go. (Of course the same could be said of many of the politicos mentioned above).
Even if they become champions ala Justify, they eat a lot.
And poop even more.
Somebody has to clean that up. We're talking serious land mines here.
Then, if they were fast enough to win a couple major races, let alone the sacrosanct Triple Crown, they'll be put out to stud. Bring on the pretty fillies.
According to Sports Illustrated, the last Triple Crown winner, American Pharoah, was "having his way" with upwards of 200 Grade A Playboy caliber horse ladies a year. Now THAT'S just about enough to make any red-blooded he-man horse kick it into overdrive for a few races.
Pampered every day, eating the best of horse chow, and a world-class equine harem delivered to them to indulge at their whim? Dang, what a life.
No, Justify will likely never experience some of the greater tastes in life -- like Stroh's ice cream, Wendy's chili and dressed up baked taters, KFC cole slaw, or the beef and cheddar from Arby's, but hay, excuse, hey, all in all that's a pretty sweet gig. I'd bet even Mr. Ed, as famous as he was, would have thrown Wilbur and the TV gig under the bus to experience a year or three of that.
So OK, the Capitals got their parade in DC. Ditto the Dubs in the Bay area.
Justify didn't get a parade. But it's only logical.
He's likely too busy screwing his brains out right about now.
A horse is a horse, of course, of course. Right Ed?
Sunday, June 17, 2018
2018 U. S. Open
First off, all hail Brooks Koepka, the winner of the 2018 U.S. Open. To boot, he's a back-to-back champ. The first time that's been done since Curtis Strange pulled it off way back in 1989-90. Yessirree, that muscle-bound, handsome rascal from Florida came out on top again. It would appear Koepka is a bit like Sara Lee, she of the tasty desserts. Nobody doesn't like Brooks either. And a couple million bucks for four days work isn't too shabby.
But there were certainly some very weird happenings along the way as well. Consider the list of world class golfers that didn't even make the cut at Shinnecock Hills. Familiar names abound.
Jordan Spieth
Jason Day
Rory McIlroy
Bubba Watson
Adam Scott
Sergio Garcia
Jon Rahm
Martin Kaymer
Ernie Els
Matt Kuchar
And Rickey Fowler. Though nobody's much mentioned it, Saturday seems to have become Ricky's doomsday in a lot of tournaments. He'll typically play well on Thursday and Friday. Sometimes lights out on Sunday. But he has this nasty habit of blowing up on Saturdays. This year at the Open? Try an 84, a whopping 14 over par.
Phil Mickelson did something even stranger. Lefty has long been considered a paragon of virtue. The ultimate professional. Class supreme and all that. True, he gets the yips once in a while when it comes to makeable putts, but he's kinda like Sara Lee as well. How can one NOT like this guy?
Yet there he was, in full buffoon mode, whacking at a still moving ball on a putting green. Evidently, he'd lost it. Not cool, nor even remotely professional. Trying to explain it away later, saying he knew about the 2 stroke penalty, but was willing to take it anyway, only made him look worse.
However, perhaps there's a logical explanation for him "snapping". His playing partner at the time. One Andrew Johnson.
This is one ugly dude. How ugly? That smile of his could....
Make the dimples on a golf ball disappear.
Stop bird poop in mid-air.
Cure Trump (and every other politician) of ever telling another lie.
Make Anderson, Ellen, and Rachel go straight.
Now THAT'S some serious ugly going on.
Looking at that all day while playing golf would be just about enough to drive anybody bat-$hit bonkers.
The most amazing story came from one Tommy Fleetwood. In the final round of the Open, on a still ridiculously tough course, TF fired an unbelievable 63, tying the lowest final round ever in the event. Move over Johnny Miller. For that, he wound up in sole possession of second place, and a cool million and change. Did I mention Sara Lee?
All in all, a very entertaining golf tournament, though the USGA and Shinnecock folks have deservedly caught some major flak over how the course was set up. Sure, an Open is supposed to be difficult. But not ridiculous, with balls hit 10-15 feet from the flag rolling 20-30 yards OFF the green or into a sand trap. It's a wonder a few more guys didn't snap like Phil.
But at the end of the day, Brooks Koepka had managed to dispatch all others, for a repeat as U.S. Open champion.
Hail, hail indeed for a job well done.
But there were certainly some very weird happenings along the way as well. Consider the list of world class golfers that didn't even make the cut at Shinnecock Hills. Familiar names abound.
Jordan Spieth
Jason Day
Rory McIlroy
Bubba Watson
Adam Scott
Sergio Garcia
Jon Rahm
Martin Kaymer
Ernie Els
Matt Kuchar
And Rickey Fowler. Though nobody's much mentioned it, Saturday seems to have become Ricky's doomsday in a lot of tournaments. He'll typically play well on Thursday and Friday. Sometimes lights out on Sunday. But he has this nasty habit of blowing up on Saturdays. This year at the Open? Try an 84, a whopping 14 over par.
Phil Mickelson did something even stranger. Lefty has long been considered a paragon of virtue. The ultimate professional. Class supreme and all that. True, he gets the yips once in a while when it comes to makeable putts, but he's kinda like Sara Lee as well. How can one NOT like this guy?
Yet there he was, in full buffoon mode, whacking at a still moving ball on a putting green. Evidently, he'd lost it. Not cool, nor even remotely professional. Trying to explain it away later, saying he knew about the 2 stroke penalty, but was willing to take it anyway, only made him look worse.
However, perhaps there's a logical explanation for him "snapping". His playing partner at the time. One Andrew Johnson.
This is one ugly dude. How ugly? That smile of his could....
Make the dimples on a golf ball disappear.
Stop bird poop in mid-air.
Cure Trump (and every other politician) of ever telling another lie.
Make Anderson, Ellen, and Rachel go straight.
Now THAT'S some serious ugly going on.
Looking at that all day while playing golf would be just about enough to drive anybody bat-$hit bonkers.
The most amazing story came from one Tommy Fleetwood. In the final round of the Open, on a still ridiculously tough course, TF fired an unbelievable 63, tying the lowest final round ever in the event. Move over Johnny Miller. For that, he wound up in sole possession of second place, and a cool million and change. Did I mention Sara Lee?
All in all, a very entertaining golf tournament, though the USGA and Shinnecock folks have deservedly caught some major flak over how the course was set up. Sure, an Open is supposed to be difficult. But not ridiculous, with balls hit 10-15 feet from the flag rolling 20-30 yards OFF the green or into a sand trap. It's a wonder a few more guys didn't snap like Phil.
But at the end of the day, Brooks Koepka had managed to dispatch all others, for a repeat as U.S. Open champion.
Hail, hail indeed for a job well done.
Friday, June 15, 2018
Sports hits
Wow. That Shinnecock Hills golf course at the US Open is really tough. Who would have guessed Rory McIlroy, Jason Day, and Jordan Spieth world class linksters all, would all miss the cut?
I almost spit out my Mountain Dew when I saw the promo on TV. "From the mind of Kobe Bryant" is supposed to be can't miss viewing?
Get outta here.
That makes about as much sense as, say....
From the humble abode of Donald Trump, or
From the kitchen of Jeffrey Dahmer, or
Tips on marriage fidelity from Tiger Woods, or
101 ways to act like a classy lady, by Roseanne.
You get the drift.
Dang. Can it be?
Former sports agent supreme Lee Steinberg, the guy who once represented tons of high profile jocks, could get an audience with the President, and was reputedly worth hundreds of millions of dollars --- is now an ambulance chaser? Like that Sam guy and his kids? Oh my, how far the mighty sometimes fall indeed.
According to Sport Illustrated, tiny Iceland, with an entire population about the same as Peoria, is the favorite to win the soccer (futbol) World Cup?
Wouldn't that be something?
Count me in as rooting for them, but I still lean towards Mike Ditka's take on the sport in general. To wit -- "If God wanted us to play soccer, he wouldn't have given us arms". Touche.
And if not Iceland, I've got Italy #2, for no other reason than I really, REALLY like Italian food.
I wouldn't want to be in Philadelphia Eagles head coach Doug Pederson's shoes. On the one hand, he has quarterback Carson Wentz, a recent top draft pick, that they expected to be the face of their franchise for many years. But when he got hurt last year, unheralded Nick Foles stepped in and led them to an improbable Super Bowl victory over the Brady bunch from New England.
So who's he going to designate the starter when the NFL kicks off in a few months?
Tough call.
I almost spit out my Mountain Dew when I saw the promo on TV. "From the mind of Kobe Bryant" is supposed to be can't miss viewing?
Get outta here.
That makes about as much sense as, say....
From the humble abode of Donald Trump, or
From the kitchen of Jeffrey Dahmer, or
Tips on marriage fidelity from Tiger Woods, or
101 ways to act like a classy lady, by Roseanne.
You get the drift.
Dang. Can it be?
Former sports agent supreme Lee Steinberg, the guy who once represented tons of high profile jocks, could get an audience with the President, and was reputedly worth hundreds of millions of dollars --- is now an ambulance chaser? Like that Sam guy and his kids? Oh my, how far the mighty sometimes fall indeed.
According to Sport Illustrated, tiny Iceland, with an entire population about the same as Peoria, is the favorite to win the soccer (futbol) World Cup?
Wouldn't that be something?
Count me in as rooting for them, but I still lean towards Mike Ditka's take on the sport in general. To wit -- "If God wanted us to play soccer, he wouldn't have given us arms". Touche.
And if not Iceland, I've got Italy #2, for no other reason than I really, REALLY like Italian food.
I wouldn't want to be in Philadelphia Eagles head coach Doug Pederson's shoes. On the one hand, he has quarterback Carson Wentz, a recent top draft pick, that they expected to be the face of their franchise for many years. But when he got hurt last year, unheralded Nick Foles stepped in and led them to an improbable Super Bowl victory over the Brady bunch from New England.
So who's he going to designate the starter when the NFL kicks off in a few months?
Tough call.
Thursday, June 14, 2018
Miguel Cabrera and utter lunacy
Just when Detroit Tiger fans probably thought things couldn't get any worse -- they did.
It was bad enough that, after a few years of being semi-contenders, the "brain trust", and I use that term very loosely, decided to get rid of whatever marketable talent they had. These days the Tigers look more like a Triple A team than Major Leaguers.
And now slugger, or at least former slugger, Miguel Cabrera is lost for the remainder of the season with a ruptured biceps tendon in his left arm. Simply by swinging a baseball bat.
But it gets worse. Much worse.
Cabrera is under contract through the 2023 season. Counting the rest of this one, let's call that five and a half years. The contract is also guaranteed money. Miggy gets the dough whether he's good, mediocre, terrible, or even not playing.
That figure is a whopping $154,000,000. Doing a little math, that averages out to roughly $76,000 a day, EVERY day for the next 5 1/2 years.
In other words, Cabrera will get paid more every day than the average school teacher, cop, plumber, electrician, accountant, etc., makes in an entire year. And likely twice as much as people in the service industry, mechanics, and whoever else comprises maybe 75% of the work force. People you depend on, even need to take care of one thing or another.
$76,000 a day. Every day. Most CEOs don't make anywhere near that.
This is utter lunacy.
Now that he's out -- again -- Cabrera will have only played 28 games in 2018. A guy who, even when healthy, had digressed to a .250 hitter, seldom hit a home run, racked up an RBI, was a mediocre fielder, and slower than molasses on the base paths. He's quickly gone from Triple Crown to Triple Clown. And an absurdly expensive one at that.
Do the math again. Twenty eight games equals out to maybe a million bucks a pop. For an over the hill player who's skills had already rapidly diminished.
And the Tigers are on the hook for another five and a half years at this mind-boggling salary? Whether he plays or not? And no matter how bad if he does?
Did I mention utter lunacy?
It's reminiscent of the $600 manually operated fastener impellers (hammers), and $800 swiveling insulated hygienic buffers (toilet seats) the cost conscious folks at the Pentagon foisted on the American taxpayers a while back. Madness.
Want to know why it costs so much to go to a ball game these days?
And while on that subject, what gives with the slop they pass off as food at the concession stands? People have to pay six bucks for a leathery over-cooked hot dog they wouldn't feed to their neighbor's dog, let alone eat themselves. A draft beer that's probably worth about a quarter might run you ten bucks.
Nothing tastes like a ball park frank -- they say?
No doubt. Though I can't confirm it, I'd be willing to bet nothing tastes quite like bat dung either. And it's probably a lot cheaper and more nutritious.
There's a reason the Tigers couldn't unload Cabrera. Any sane Major League club isn't going to take on the outrageous salary of a washed up player that can't even stay healthy.
So now Cabrera, after getting an operation and that can maybe put him back together again, can kick back and do nothing -- while watching $76,000 a day pour into his bank account.
There's something really, REALLY wrong with this picture.
It was bad enough that, after a few years of being semi-contenders, the "brain trust", and I use that term very loosely, decided to get rid of whatever marketable talent they had. These days the Tigers look more like a Triple A team than Major Leaguers.
And now slugger, or at least former slugger, Miguel Cabrera is lost for the remainder of the season with a ruptured biceps tendon in his left arm. Simply by swinging a baseball bat.
But it gets worse. Much worse.
Cabrera is under contract through the 2023 season. Counting the rest of this one, let's call that five and a half years. The contract is also guaranteed money. Miggy gets the dough whether he's good, mediocre, terrible, or even not playing.
That figure is a whopping $154,000,000. Doing a little math, that averages out to roughly $76,000 a day, EVERY day for the next 5 1/2 years.
In other words, Cabrera will get paid more every day than the average school teacher, cop, plumber, electrician, accountant, etc., makes in an entire year. And likely twice as much as people in the service industry, mechanics, and whoever else comprises maybe 75% of the work force. People you depend on, even need to take care of one thing or another.
$76,000 a day. Every day. Most CEOs don't make anywhere near that.
This is utter lunacy.
Now that he's out -- again -- Cabrera will have only played 28 games in 2018. A guy who, even when healthy, had digressed to a .250 hitter, seldom hit a home run, racked up an RBI, was a mediocre fielder, and slower than molasses on the base paths. He's quickly gone from Triple Crown to Triple Clown. And an absurdly expensive one at that.
Do the math again. Twenty eight games equals out to maybe a million bucks a pop. For an over the hill player who's skills had already rapidly diminished.
And the Tigers are on the hook for another five and a half years at this mind-boggling salary? Whether he plays or not? And no matter how bad if he does?
Did I mention utter lunacy?
It's reminiscent of the $600 manually operated fastener impellers (hammers), and $800 swiveling insulated hygienic buffers (toilet seats) the cost conscious folks at the Pentagon foisted on the American taxpayers a while back. Madness.
Want to know why it costs so much to go to a ball game these days?
And while on that subject, what gives with the slop they pass off as food at the concession stands? People have to pay six bucks for a leathery over-cooked hot dog they wouldn't feed to their neighbor's dog, let alone eat themselves. A draft beer that's probably worth about a quarter might run you ten bucks.
Nothing tastes like a ball park frank -- they say?
No doubt. Though I can't confirm it, I'd be willing to bet nothing tastes quite like bat dung either. And it's probably a lot cheaper and more nutritious.
There's a reason the Tigers couldn't unload Cabrera. Any sane Major League club isn't going to take on the outrageous salary of a washed up player that can't even stay healthy.
So now Cabrera, after getting an operation and that can maybe put him back together again, can kick back and do nothing -- while watching $76,000 a day pour into his bank account.
There's something really, REALLY wrong with this picture.
Monday, June 11, 2018
Lebron and the broken hand gambit
So Lebron James now claims to have suffered a broken hand after Game One of the Finals -- eh?
I find that extremely hard to believe.
Yours truly suffered a broken right hand many years ago, so I know what it feels like. Basically, it hurts like hell. My particular break was the bone from the wrist to the pinkie finger, and I'm no doctor, but even I could see the break on the X-rays.
So off to the bone doctor, a lady in this case, to get it set and casted. Here's a tip. If you're ever in that situation and they offer to give you a numbing shot before setting the bone -- take it. I passed on it just to get it over with. And if it hadn't been for the beefy guy holding me down on the table, I would have jumped off it when the doc got the bone lined up. Yes, it's...just...that... painful. Only for a few agonizing seconds and the pain then quickly subsides.
So OK, six weeks of wearing a cast with only the tips of my thumb and fingers protruding. How tough can it be -- right? Turned out, plenty.
Here's something you can try at home. Attempt to wipe your backside with your "other" hand when you're ready to get off the toilet and see how well that works. Or try to sign your name. It'll look like kindergarten doodling. Or try buttoning a shirt or blouse with one hand. Or fastening a belt. These are things that take a while to semi-master.
Here's another little test you can self-administer. I was instructed to keep the cast dry. So stand in the shower with your right arm (hand) held over your head and try to wash your left armpit. Or shave your face (or legs) with your off hand. A lot of things get complicated in a hurry when you take one hand away, especially the dominant one.
Yet Lebron was able to play three more games with a broken hand?
He didn't appear to have any trouble dribbling, shooting, rebounding, slam-dunking, giving high fives, even doing push-ups. Good grief, he averaged almost 40 points and 10 rebounds a game.
I'm telling you from first hand, excuse the unintended pun, experience, you do not, repeat NOT do any of those things if you have a broken bone in your hand.
Just getting through the everyday minor tasks of life is difficult enough. See above.
And I wonder what the chances are that he would have came up with this story had he and the Cavaliers won the series instead of getting broomed?
So no. I'm not buying a word of it.
No way.
I find that extremely hard to believe.
Yours truly suffered a broken right hand many years ago, so I know what it feels like. Basically, it hurts like hell. My particular break was the bone from the wrist to the pinkie finger, and I'm no doctor, but even I could see the break on the X-rays.
So off to the bone doctor, a lady in this case, to get it set and casted. Here's a tip. If you're ever in that situation and they offer to give you a numbing shot before setting the bone -- take it. I passed on it just to get it over with. And if it hadn't been for the beefy guy holding me down on the table, I would have jumped off it when the doc got the bone lined up. Yes, it's...just...that... painful. Only for a few agonizing seconds and the pain then quickly subsides.
So OK, six weeks of wearing a cast with only the tips of my thumb and fingers protruding. How tough can it be -- right? Turned out, plenty.
Here's something you can try at home. Attempt to wipe your backside with your "other" hand when you're ready to get off the toilet and see how well that works. Or try to sign your name. It'll look like kindergarten doodling. Or try buttoning a shirt or blouse with one hand. Or fastening a belt. These are things that take a while to semi-master.
Here's another little test you can self-administer. I was instructed to keep the cast dry. So stand in the shower with your right arm (hand) held over your head and try to wash your left armpit. Or shave your face (or legs) with your off hand. A lot of things get complicated in a hurry when you take one hand away, especially the dominant one.
Yet Lebron was able to play three more games with a broken hand?
He didn't appear to have any trouble dribbling, shooting, rebounding, slam-dunking, giving high fives, even doing push-ups. Good grief, he averaged almost 40 points and 10 rebounds a game.
I'm telling you from first hand, excuse the unintended pun, experience, you do not, repeat NOT do any of those things if you have a broken bone in your hand.
Just getting through the everyday minor tasks of life is difficult enough. See above.
And I wonder what the chances are that he would have came up with this story had he and the Cavaliers won the series instead of getting broomed?
So no. I'm not buying a word of it.
No way.
Saturday, June 9, 2018
And now it gets REALLY boring
The same thing happens every year. While the NFL and college football are center stage, nobody pays much attention to the NBA or NHL. But once the bazillion bowl games, some of which are ridiculous, are over, and the Super Bowl champ has been determined, hoops and hockey get more attention.
Then there's the dreaded March Madness, the ultimate hype of college basketball. Of the 64 -- or is it 68 teams these days? -- that get the coveted invite, typically less than a dozen, particularly on the ladies' side, have any chance of actually winning the tournament. It's cha-chings for the schools and various venues around the country that host the preliminaries.
The Masters golf tournament is a one time deal. So is the Indy 500. Hype, hype, hype, and then they're so quickly over.
Yes, there's probably tennis tournaments going on somewhere, and for sure soccer matches, but who cares? A bunch of grunting and/or shrieking females and teams of guys running miles back and forth across a field while seldom accomplishing anything worthwhile.
Interest perks up when the NHL and NBA playoffs finally get underway. For the most part the TV geniuses do a good job with the scheduling. It seems every night one or the other is featured, oftentimes double or triple headers. A sports junkie's (sometimes known as couch tater) nirvana. Beer, huge HD flat screen, loaded up pizza, KFC, more beer, or even some of that Chinese stuff in large quantities.
[Idle thoughts on that. Does anybody really know what "subgum", "suey", "gai kow", "gkun bo har", and "szechuan" are? And who in the hell is General Tso, and what war did he fight in? I'd like to believe "foo young" is better than "foo old", but ya never know. Depends what a "foo" is. Probably the people that keep buying this slop. BTW, always beware of the dreaded "special". It might just be those squirrels, raccoons, opossums, skunks, and stray dogs and cats that tragically become "road kill" you see on occasion wind up in the kitchen of your favorite Chinese place. And why do they call them egg rolls when there aren't any eggs in them?]
But I'm getting a bit off-topic here. Sorry.
So now the NHL and NBA champions have been determined. The Washington Capitals -- quite a surprise -- and the Golden State Warriors -- which was expected.
True, the US Open of golf kicks off next week, and no doubt Tiger mania will be back in full delusional force. Eldrick's chances of winning a major these days? Almost non-existent against the formidable field of younger hot-shots that are out on tour. Forget that. I give him a 50-50 chance of even making the cut.
Tennis champs will be crowned in the French Open this weekend. Two words. Who cares?
And then the world of sports gets REALLY boring.
No more hoops. Hockey's done. Football is going through spring practices and OTAs, which I've long thought should stand for Overly Tedious Assemblies, or perhaps Only Touching Allowed. Older Teammates Absent or Oh-so Traditionally Asinine anyone?
And then it's -- yawn -- baseball. The long and grinding dog days of summer, in more ways than one.
Every day will feature a bunch of games on TV, screaming announcers that will invent some all-time " record" of one sort or another having just been set, and the "homers" shamelessly promoting their teams despite how terrible they really are.
None of it matters, of course. Major League Baseball doesn't begin to get interesting until September or so. By that time the nags in the field will have been exposed for how bad they are -- see 10-20 games back -- and the thoroughbreds will start slugging it out in earnest for a chance to get to the World Series.
In the meantime for the next couple months, and no, preseason games in the NFL don't count any more than early straw polls in any given major political contest, sports junkies like yours truly will become extremely frustrated with the lack of any decent "action".
I might even try some of that sweet and sour gai ding subgum curry lomein stuff with a side order of "pork eggs" just for kicks. Dang, I never knew pigs ever laid eggs.
The things you learn reading a Chinese menu.
Amazing.
Then there's the dreaded March Madness, the ultimate hype of college basketball. Of the 64 -- or is it 68 teams these days? -- that get the coveted invite, typically less than a dozen, particularly on the ladies' side, have any chance of actually winning the tournament. It's cha-chings for the schools and various venues around the country that host the preliminaries.
The Masters golf tournament is a one time deal. So is the Indy 500. Hype, hype, hype, and then they're so quickly over.
Yes, there's probably tennis tournaments going on somewhere, and for sure soccer matches, but who cares? A bunch of grunting and/or shrieking females and teams of guys running miles back and forth across a field while seldom accomplishing anything worthwhile.
Interest perks up when the NHL and NBA playoffs finally get underway. For the most part the TV geniuses do a good job with the scheduling. It seems every night one or the other is featured, oftentimes double or triple headers. A sports junkie's (sometimes known as couch tater) nirvana. Beer, huge HD flat screen, loaded up pizza, KFC, more beer, or even some of that Chinese stuff in large quantities.
[Idle thoughts on that. Does anybody really know what "subgum", "suey", "gai kow", "gkun bo har", and "szechuan" are? And who in the hell is General Tso, and what war did he fight in? I'd like to believe "foo young" is better than "foo old", but ya never know. Depends what a "foo" is. Probably the people that keep buying this slop. BTW, always beware of the dreaded "special". It might just be those squirrels, raccoons, opossums, skunks, and stray dogs and cats that tragically become "road kill" you see on occasion wind up in the kitchen of your favorite Chinese place. And why do they call them egg rolls when there aren't any eggs in them?]
But I'm getting a bit off-topic here. Sorry.
So now the NHL and NBA champions have been determined. The Washington Capitals -- quite a surprise -- and the Golden State Warriors -- which was expected.
True, the US Open of golf kicks off next week, and no doubt Tiger mania will be back in full delusional force. Eldrick's chances of winning a major these days? Almost non-existent against the formidable field of younger hot-shots that are out on tour. Forget that. I give him a 50-50 chance of even making the cut.
Tennis champs will be crowned in the French Open this weekend. Two words. Who cares?
And then the world of sports gets REALLY boring.
No more hoops. Hockey's done. Football is going through spring practices and OTAs, which I've long thought should stand for Overly Tedious Assemblies, or perhaps Only Touching Allowed. Older Teammates Absent or Oh-so Traditionally Asinine anyone?
And then it's -- yawn -- baseball. The long and grinding dog days of summer, in more ways than one.
Every day will feature a bunch of games on TV, screaming announcers that will invent some all-time " record" of one sort or another having just been set, and the "homers" shamelessly promoting their teams despite how terrible they really are.
None of it matters, of course. Major League Baseball doesn't begin to get interesting until September or so. By that time the nags in the field will have been exposed for how bad they are -- see 10-20 games back -- and the thoroughbreds will start slugging it out in earnest for a chance to get to the World Series.
In the meantime for the next couple months, and no, preseason games in the NFL don't count any more than early straw polls in any given major political contest, sports junkies like yours truly will become extremely frustrated with the lack of any decent "action".
I might even try some of that sweet and sour gai ding subgum curry lomein stuff with a side order of "pork eggs" just for kicks. Dang, I never knew pigs ever laid eggs.
The things you learn reading a Chinese menu.
Amazing.
Friday, June 8, 2018
Golden State Warriors. NBA champions
To the surprise of likely nobody, the Dubs finished off the sweep of the Cleveland Cavaliers. In beat-down fashion.
It had to be disheartening for the Cavs fans in attendance. Lord knows, they probably had to skip a house payment or two for the dough required to buy tickets.
And you know something is horribly wrong when your (home) team pulls its biggest star (one Lebron James) with over four minutes left in the game. Did I mention beat-down?
Now it would appear as if only three questions remain.
#1. Will James exercise his opt-out clause and bail (again) on Cleveland?
#2. And if so, where to? Houston? Philly? LA? Boston? How good with the latter be with LJ in the line-up and stars Gordon Hayward and Kyrie Irving coming back next year? Thing is, Celtics general manager Danny Ainge might not even want him. He's done a masterful job of tearing down the team and completely rebuilding it into contenders. Throwing James into the mix, with the max contract he'd no doubt demand, and the forced shedding of other role players might screw up the whole works.
Last but not least.....
#3. Will the Donald even invite the Dubs to the White House? Or in a pre-emptive strike of Trump "genius", will he dis-invite them first, without ever having extended the original invitation? Hard to tell with that guy. Just when you think things can't possibly get any dumber, BAM, he'll come up with something.
Nevertheless, all hail the Golden State Warriors. NBA champions. Again. Three titles in four years is starting to have the ring of a mini-dynasty to it.
And if that team stays together, given their relatively young collective ages, who's going to beat them in the next few years?
It had to be disheartening for the Cavs fans in attendance. Lord knows, they probably had to skip a house payment or two for the dough required to buy tickets.
And you know something is horribly wrong when your (home) team pulls its biggest star (one Lebron James) with over four minutes left in the game. Did I mention beat-down?
Now it would appear as if only three questions remain.
#1. Will James exercise his opt-out clause and bail (again) on Cleveland?
#2. And if so, where to? Houston? Philly? LA? Boston? How good with the latter be with LJ in the line-up and stars Gordon Hayward and Kyrie Irving coming back next year? Thing is, Celtics general manager Danny Ainge might not even want him. He's done a masterful job of tearing down the team and completely rebuilding it into contenders. Throwing James into the mix, with the max contract he'd no doubt demand, and the forced shedding of other role players might screw up the whole works.
Last but not least.....
#3. Will the Donald even invite the Dubs to the White House? Or in a pre-emptive strike of Trump "genius", will he dis-invite them first, without ever having extended the original invitation? Hard to tell with that guy. Just when you think things can't possibly get any dumber, BAM, he'll come up with something.
Nevertheless, all hail the Golden State Warriors. NBA champions. Again. Three titles in four years is starting to have the ring of a mini-dynasty to it.
And if that team stays together, given their relatively young collective ages, who's going to beat them in the next few years?
Thursday, June 7, 2018
Caps win Stanley Cup?
Get outta here. That can't be right. We've all long known that if a professional team is from Washington (DC), they have to choke in the playoffs. It's in the sports by-laws somewhere.
The Washington Nationals of Major League Baseball, despite being loaded with talent, have made the post-season swoon an art form over the years.
The Wizards of the NBA have been over-hyped and under-performing since as far back as anybody can remember.
The Redskins of the NFL seem to devote more time defending their name than winning on the gridiron.
When it comes to DC, there seems to be no limit on choking. Good grief, Congress and the Prez make millions of citizens gag every day.
The Washington Generals long served as cannon-fodder to the Harlem Globetrotters.
And now we're supposed to, gulp, gasp, swallow the notion that the Washington Capitals are NHL champions? Something must be horribly wrong.
Yet it appears it's true. Old time sniper Alex Ovechkin will finally have his name etched on Lord Stanley's bauble. Da, comrade. Ya done good. Will he take the Cup back to his native Russia sometime during the off-season? Maybe. It might just be that one Vladimir Putin will get a chance to drink some vodka from it. Or fill it full of borscht. Or soak his feet in it. Oh my, put those images on the internet and watch the Donald go ballistic on twitter. But it could happen. To the winners go the spoils, however unsavory they might become.
Thing is, one group is really -- REALLY breathing a huge sigh of relief.
That would be the bookies that, before the season started, listed the Vegas Golden Knights as up to a 500:1 long shot at winning the cup. Anybody that plopped down a measly Hamilton at those odds was looking at a 5 grand pay-off had the VGK pulled it off. No way were they supposed to get anywhere near the Finals. But they did. It's been estimated that, had Vegas actually won, the bookies would have taken anywhere from a $20-50 million dollar hit. A bank breaker? No, but more than a few "wise guys" would have had some serious 'splainin to do.
You have to hand it to Vegas for getting as far as they did. A first year expansion team, made up of players not deemed good enough by their former clubs to "protect", multiple (crap shoot) draft choices, and a few free agents that apparently couldn't catch on elsewhere.
They came together and made a magical season out of it. Hats off to the runners-up for accomplishing far more than most thought they would.
But for now, all hail the Washington Capitals. Champions of the hockey world, at least in the western hemisphere.
DC finally got something right.
Amazing.
Next thing ya know, Tony Kornheiser, the gas-bag from ESPN's Pardon the Interruption, and a DC-er, will actually let his co-host Mike Wilbon get through an entire sentence without rudely interrupting him to spout even more inane drivel.
Nah.
Even miracles have their limits.
The Caps will have to do for now.....
The Washington Nationals of Major League Baseball, despite being loaded with talent, have made the post-season swoon an art form over the years.
The Wizards of the NBA have been over-hyped and under-performing since as far back as anybody can remember.
The Redskins of the NFL seem to devote more time defending their name than winning on the gridiron.
When it comes to DC, there seems to be no limit on choking. Good grief, Congress and the Prez make millions of citizens gag every day.
The Washington Generals long served as cannon-fodder to the Harlem Globetrotters.
And now we're supposed to, gulp, gasp, swallow the notion that the Washington Capitals are NHL champions? Something must be horribly wrong.
Yet it appears it's true. Old time sniper Alex Ovechkin will finally have his name etched on Lord Stanley's bauble. Da, comrade. Ya done good. Will he take the Cup back to his native Russia sometime during the off-season? Maybe. It might just be that one Vladimir Putin will get a chance to drink some vodka from it. Or fill it full of borscht. Or soak his feet in it. Oh my, put those images on the internet and watch the Donald go ballistic on twitter. But it could happen. To the winners go the spoils, however unsavory they might become.
Thing is, one group is really -- REALLY breathing a huge sigh of relief.
That would be the bookies that, before the season started, listed the Vegas Golden Knights as up to a 500:1 long shot at winning the cup. Anybody that plopped down a measly Hamilton at those odds was looking at a 5 grand pay-off had the VGK pulled it off. No way were they supposed to get anywhere near the Finals. But they did. It's been estimated that, had Vegas actually won, the bookies would have taken anywhere from a $20-50 million dollar hit. A bank breaker? No, but more than a few "wise guys" would have had some serious 'splainin to do.
You have to hand it to Vegas for getting as far as they did. A first year expansion team, made up of players not deemed good enough by their former clubs to "protect", multiple (crap shoot) draft choices, and a few free agents that apparently couldn't catch on elsewhere.
They came together and made a magical season out of it. Hats off to the runners-up for accomplishing far more than most thought they would.
But for now, all hail the Washington Capitals. Champions of the hockey world, at least in the western hemisphere.
DC finally got something right.
Amazing.
Next thing ya know, Tony Kornheiser, the gas-bag from ESPN's Pardon the Interruption, and a DC-er, will actually let his co-host Mike Wilbon get through an entire sentence without rudely interrupting him to spout even more inane drivel.
Nah.
Even miracles have their limits.
The Caps will have to do for now.....
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
Cleveland Cavaliers. Outta here
As the song goes --
Na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na,
Hey-ey-ey good-bye.
The Peter Principle has finally caught up to Lebron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers.
Waltzing through the likes of the mediocre Indiana Pacers, the ever playoff choking Toronto Raptors, and being taken to seven games against a Boston Celtics team without their two beat players is one thing.
But the Golden State Warriors are a whole different breed of animal.
The chances of Cleveland rallying from an 0-3 NBA Final deficit against THOSE guys?
It's theoretically possible, if at least a couple of their starters suffer major injuries. Or the team comes down with a nasty flu bug/food poisoning/the black plague/mass hysteria, take your pick, that lays them up for a week or two. Or their team plane takes a serious wrong turn and somehow winds up out of fuel in Antarctica. Or an overzealous ICE team makes a horrific mistake and deports them all to, say, Afghanistan. And we can't totally rule out the possibility of the Warriors spontaneously combusting en-masse due to the sheer excitement of it all. But the odds are very long that any of those scenarios would happen.
Assuming they make it to the arena in one piece, Golden State is now on cruise control. It would surprise very few if they finished off the sweep in Game Four.
And even if not, the Cavs chances of winning this series now are about as good as Hillary getting a recount and belatedly becoming President. I would't exactly count on it.
In other words, color the Cleveland Cavaliers gone.
Winning four in a row, with two of them in Oakland? Not a chance.
Then two questions will arise.
Will we see another political circus as to whether the Dubs get invited to the White House? Probably.
More importantly, what will Lebron James do next? Though he has a year left in his contract, he can opt out of it -- basically become a free agent. And he just might. The current Cleveland team has little hope of contending for a championship in the future. With the rise of Boston, particularly when they get Gordon Hayward and Kyrie Irving back next year -- and young Philly's coming -- the Cavs will be second class citizens in the East.
We can remember Lebron almost single-handedly leading the Cavs to the brink of championships in his first go-round with Cleveland, only to fall short. We can also remember how Cavs fans burned his jersies went he "took his talents" to Miami. And how they forgot about all that and gave him a hero's welcome when he returned home again, especially capturing a title.
If he leaves -- again -- a definite possibility -- will we see Jersey Burning, the sequel? Probably.
But where could he go to win another title that he'd fit in? To the hated Celtics? Seems unlikely, and they might not want him anyway, given the massive salary cap hit he'd bring along with him.
Houston? That would probably put the Rockets over the top, but a chemistry issue might rear its ugly head. Would the likes of likely NBA MVP James Harden, who runs the offense, take a back seat to Lebron having the ball so much? And the Rockets have ZERO cap space as it is. How could they make that work?
The Lakers? Even with him, the glitzy boys team wouldn't nearly be good enough to challenge either the Rockets or the Warriors.
It might just be that Lebron James winds up staying in Cleveland, whether he likes it or not. The lone exception would seem to be the 76ers. They've got a young team, cap space, and plopping James onto that squad would most certainly cause a dynamic shift in the Eastern Conference. Much to the chagrin of the Celtics.
We shall see in the next few months.
But for now, you can pretty much pencil in -- in fact, put it in indelible ink -- the Golden State Warriors as repeat NBA champions.
Nobody's going to knock those guys off four in a row.
Forget that.
It's over.
Na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na,
Hey-ey-ey good-bye.
The Peter Principle has finally caught up to Lebron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers.
Waltzing through the likes of the mediocre Indiana Pacers, the ever playoff choking Toronto Raptors, and being taken to seven games against a Boston Celtics team without their two beat players is one thing.
But the Golden State Warriors are a whole different breed of animal.
The chances of Cleveland rallying from an 0-3 NBA Final deficit against THOSE guys?
It's theoretically possible, if at least a couple of their starters suffer major injuries. Or the team comes down with a nasty flu bug/food poisoning/the black plague/mass hysteria, take your pick, that lays them up for a week or two. Or their team plane takes a serious wrong turn and somehow winds up out of fuel in Antarctica. Or an overzealous ICE team makes a horrific mistake and deports them all to, say, Afghanistan. And we can't totally rule out the possibility of the Warriors spontaneously combusting en-masse due to the sheer excitement of it all. But the odds are very long that any of those scenarios would happen.
Assuming they make it to the arena in one piece, Golden State is now on cruise control. It would surprise very few if they finished off the sweep in Game Four.
And even if not, the Cavs chances of winning this series now are about as good as Hillary getting a recount and belatedly becoming President. I would't exactly count on it.
In other words, color the Cleveland Cavaliers gone.
Winning four in a row, with two of them in Oakland? Not a chance.
Then two questions will arise.
Will we see another political circus as to whether the Dubs get invited to the White House? Probably.
More importantly, what will Lebron James do next? Though he has a year left in his contract, he can opt out of it -- basically become a free agent. And he just might. The current Cleveland team has little hope of contending for a championship in the future. With the rise of Boston, particularly when they get Gordon Hayward and Kyrie Irving back next year -- and young Philly's coming -- the Cavs will be second class citizens in the East.
We can remember Lebron almost single-handedly leading the Cavs to the brink of championships in his first go-round with Cleveland, only to fall short. We can also remember how Cavs fans burned his jersies went he "took his talents" to Miami. And how they forgot about all that and gave him a hero's welcome when he returned home again, especially capturing a title.
If he leaves -- again -- a definite possibility -- will we see Jersey Burning, the sequel? Probably.
But where could he go to win another title that he'd fit in? To the hated Celtics? Seems unlikely, and they might not want him anyway, given the massive salary cap hit he'd bring along with him.
Houston? That would probably put the Rockets over the top, but a chemistry issue might rear its ugly head. Would the likes of likely NBA MVP James Harden, who runs the offense, take a back seat to Lebron having the ball so much? And the Rockets have ZERO cap space as it is. How could they make that work?
The Lakers? Even with him, the glitzy boys team wouldn't nearly be good enough to challenge either the Rockets or the Warriors.
It might just be that Lebron James winds up staying in Cleveland, whether he likes it or not. The lone exception would seem to be the 76ers. They've got a young team, cap space, and plopping James onto that squad would most certainly cause a dynamic shift in the Eastern Conference. Much to the chagrin of the Celtics.
We shall see in the next few months.
But for now, you can pretty much pencil in -- in fact, put it in indelible ink -- the Golden State Warriors as repeat NBA champions.
Nobody's going to knock those guys off four in a row.
Forget that.
It's over.
Tuesday, June 5, 2018
All hail Florida State. National champs
I've been all over Florida through the years. Lakeland (spring training home of the Detroit Tigers), a little berg off I-Ten called Lake City, where a friend lives, to Jacksonville, Daytona (for both Bike Week and the 500), the obligatory trips to Disney outside of Orlando, my late mom used to live in Ft. Myers, Bonita Springs has the greyhound track, Naples is a high-rent district, a buddy of mine has a place in Jensen Beach, Lauderdale, West Palm, Miami, deep sea fishing off Clearwater (caught nothing and got sea-sick -- yuck), Tampa/St.Pete, the glass bottom boats in Silver Springs, on down US One to Key West a few times, up through orange country in the middle of the state, and probably a few others that escape me at present.
But I've never been through the "panhandle". Hence, places like Panama City and Tallahassee are unknown to yours truly. Maybe someday.
Turns out, the ladies collegiate fast-pitch softball national champions of 2018 are the Florida State Seminoles. Chop, chop. And congrats to them on a job well done.
Who would have thought FSU, merely a #6 seed, would wind up facing off with Washington, a #5, for all the marbles? So much for seeds.
But you have to give it up to the 'Noles,. In the double knock-out format, they lost their very first game of the tournament. That became a very tough road. I've played in enough (slo-pitch) softball tournaments myself to know slogging through the "loser's bracket" is no easy chore. You have to play more games, while those in the winner's bracket get byes.
On the other hand, the Lady Huskies had knocked off the two-time defending champion Oklahoma Soonerettes, and #1 ranked Oregon. Impressive stuff.
But this was FSU's year to shine. They dispatched the pesky Huskies two straight in the best of three series, and convincingly at that.
Maybe I should put Tallahassee on my bucket list of places to see.
Then again, why would I spend all that time and money going to a place that, near as I can tell, is home to all the state politicians, and offers little else other than an occasional hurricane blowing through?
After due consideration, I think I'll pass on that.
Nonetheless, hats off to the Nolettes. 2018 national softball champs.
It's at least something.
But I've never been through the "panhandle". Hence, places like Panama City and Tallahassee are unknown to yours truly. Maybe someday.
Turns out, the ladies collegiate fast-pitch softball national champions of 2018 are the Florida State Seminoles. Chop, chop. And congrats to them on a job well done.
Who would have thought FSU, merely a #6 seed, would wind up facing off with Washington, a #5, for all the marbles? So much for seeds.
But you have to give it up to the 'Noles,. In the double knock-out format, they lost their very first game of the tournament. That became a very tough road. I've played in enough (slo-pitch) softball tournaments myself to know slogging through the "loser's bracket" is no easy chore. You have to play more games, while those in the winner's bracket get byes.
On the other hand, the Lady Huskies had knocked off the two-time defending champion Oklahoma Soonerettes, and #1 ranked Oregon. Impressive stuff.
But this was FSU's year to shine. They dispatched the pesky Huskies two straight in the best of three series, and convincingly at that.
Maybe I should put Tallahassee on my bucket list of places to see.
Then again, why would I spend all that time and money going to a place that, near as I can tell, is home to all the state politicians, and offers little else other than an occasional hurricane blowing through?
After due consideration, I think I'll pass on that.
Nonetheless, hats off to the Nolettes. 2018 national softball champs.
It's at least something.
Monday, June 4, 2018
Will Cain and the suck it up factor
Yours truly would be the first to admit I've said and done a lot of boneheaded -- see wrong -- things in my life. Some were out of ignorance -- not informed enough to know better before speaking or acting. Others were due to flat-out stupidity and/or bullheadedness. Still others were the result of frustration, anger, jealousy, the usual gamut of emotions most humans experience at one time or another, especially when younger. There were even times when I tried to do something nice, only to see it blow up into something terrible. It happens.
Consequently, I've eaten a lot of the proverbial crow/humble pie, apologized countless times, bought flowers and other goodies when I thought it might help smooth things over, and otherwise tried to atone for these misdeeds. It seemed the least I could do.
But the #1 most important thing all along was -- I had to own it. No deflections (but Billy did the same thing, why am I in trouble?), no changing the subject, no excuses. Period.
Enter Will Cain, the ESPN radio/TV talking sports head. It has become apparent the good Mr. Cain seems to think he can say or do no wrong. He's always right. Just ask him. Anybody that disagrees with one of his opinions Cain will deem a fool to be scoffed at.
On a recent show, Cain was musing about Lebron James and a few of his Cleveland Cavalier teammates appearing to "throw in the towel" -- give up, late in Game Two of the NBA Finals.
This was not acceptable to Cain.
"SUCK IT UP!!", he exhorted. [Just when you think you don't have anything more to give -- of course you do, if you can reach down deep enough and have the willpower to bring it out.]
Cain would go on to use the analogy of a marathon runner. Would one of them "wimp out" after 24 miles with only 2 miles to go? Of course not. They'd suck it up and find a way to finish.
Easy for him so say, having admitted he'd never even attempted to run a marathon, hence is clueless to the agony a participant endures towards the latter stages of such a grueling race.
Full disclosure here. No, I've never tried to run a marathon either. But I know people who have, and they say it's the hardest, most physically (and mentally) demanding thing they've ever done. So I take them at their word.
Cain seems to think one always has a reserve of hidden energy, if only they have the gumption to summon it.
Perhaps a different analogy is in order.
If your car runs out of gasoline, having consumed the last drop in the tank, it's dead -- now. You can crank the starter until the battery is completely dead as well, but guess what? It's not going to start, no matter how much you "will" it to. Out of gas is out of gas. Period.
I would suggest the same is true of humans as well, no matter how well conditioned they are. Everybody has their physical and/or mental "limits", and when it's reached, like the car with a gas gauge that reads "E", they're not going anywhere further either. At least not for a while, until they can rest and refuel.
This concept seems lost on Will Cain. True, he runs his own 3 hour talk-a-thon every afternoon on ESPN, but I would suggest his idea of "sucking it up" is vastly different from those that actually participate in the contests he comments on. They're DOING it. Cain only yaps about it.
No, I wouldn't expect a person like Will Cain to admit he's ever wrong. It's not in his DNA to do so.
Yet perhaps, as he gets older, and hopefully more mature about the ways of the world, he'll come to understand and appreciate the incredible efforts so many athletes put into their work.
If they deem themselves "out of gas", well maybe, just maybe, they really are.
And all the "suck it up" mentality in the world doesn't matter.
You can't summon up what you don't have.
Consequently, I've eaten a lot of the proverbial crow/humble pie, apologized countless times, bought flowers and other goodies when I thought it might help smooth things over, and otherwise tried to atone for these misdeeds. It seemed the least I could do.
But the #1 most important thing all along was -- I had to own it. No deflections (but Billy did the same thing, why am I in trouble?), no changing the subject, no excuses. Period.
Enter Will Cain, the ESPN radio/TV talking sports head. It has become apparent the good Mr. Cain seems to think he can say or do no wrong. He's always right. Just ask him. Anybody that disagrees with one of his opinions Cain will deem a fool to be scoffed at.
On a recent show, Cain was musing about Lebron James and a few of his Cleveland Cavalier teammates appearing to "throw in the towel" -- give up, late in Game Two of the NBA Finals.
This was not acceptable to Cain.
"SUCK IT UP!!", he exhorted. [Just when you think you don't have anything more to give -- of course you do, if you can reach down deep enough and have the willpower to bring it out.]
Cain would go on to use the analogy of a marathon runner. Would one of them "wimp out" after 24 miles with only 2 miles to go? Of course not. They'd suck it up and find a way to finish.
Easy for him so say, having admitted he'd never even attempted to run a marathon, hence is clueless to the agony a participant endures towards the latter stages of such a grueling race.
Full disclosure here. No, I've never tried to run a marathon either. But I know people who have, and they say it's the hardest, most physically (and mentally) demanding thing they've ever done. So I take them at their word.
Cain seems to think one always has a reserve of hidden energy, if only they have the gumption to summon it.
Perhaps a different analogy is in order.
If your car runs out of gasoline, having consumed the last drop in the tank, it's dead -- now. You can crank the starter until the battery is completely dead as well, but guess what? It's not going to start, no matter how much you "will" it to. Out of gas is out of gas. Period.
I would suggest the same is true of humans as well, no matter how well conditioned they are. Everybody has their physical and/or mental "limits", and when it's reached, like the car with a gas gauge that reads "E", they're not going anywhere further either. At least not for a while, until they can rest and refuel.
This concept seems lost on Will Cain. True, he runs his own 3 hour talk-a-thon every afternoon on ESPN, but I would suggest his idea of "sucking it up" is vastly different from those that actually participate in the contests he comments on. They're DOING it. Cain only yaps about it.
No, I wouldn't expect a person like Will Cain to admit he's ever wrong. It's not in his DNA to do so.
Yet perhaps, as he gets older, and hopefully more mature about the ways of the world, he'll come to understand and appreciate the incredible efforts so many athletes put into their work.
If they deem themselves "out of gas", well maybe, just maybe, they really are.
And all the "suck it up" mentality in the world doesn't matter.
You can't summon up what you don't have.
Sunday, June 3, 2018
And the NBA champions will be....
The Cleveland Cavaliers had an unexpected opportunity to "steal" Game One from the Golden State Warriors. True, they wound up losing by 10 points in overtime, but it could be argued they could have -- perhaps should have -- won the game in regulation. One made free throw -- instead of a miss -- or J.R. Smith not going brain dead with a few seconds remaining likely would have put them over the top.
But they blew it.
To nobody's great surprise, the Warriors thumped Lebron and the Cavs in Game Two.
Golden State now leads the series 2-0 as it moves back to Cleveland. Is it over?
Technically no.
After all, the Cavaliers were down 2-0 to the Boston Celtics in the Eastern Conference Finals, and came back to win -- including an unlikely victory at Boston in Game Seven of that series. The first home loss the Celtics had endured throughout the playoffs. In that game, as noted a few days ago in this space, the Celtics either went temporarily blind, became spastic, or flat-out choked. Their shooting was just that atrocious. Brick, after brick, after brick, from a usually very good shooting team.
So the question now becomes -- can Lebron, through sheer will-power (and maybe a few more 50 point games), lead the Cavs past the Warriors in similar fashion?
The answer ------
Nope. Ain't gonna happen.
The Dubs aren't the Beaners. Far from it.
No doubt, Cleveland will come out with maximum effort in Game Three of the series. And it wouldn't be too much of a surprise to see them win it.
But look for the Warriors to "steal" one of the next two games in Ohioland.
Barring any major injuries, Golden State is just too much for Cleveland.
Dubs in 5.
And then the Lebron James free-agency circus will begin.
Will he stay? Will he go? And if the latter -- where?
But they blew it.
To nobody's great surprise, the Warriors thumped Lebron and the Cavs in Game Two.
Golden State now leads the series 2-0 as it moves back to Cleveland. Is it over?
Technically no.
After all, the Cavaliers were down 2-0 to the Boston Celtics in the Eastern Conference Finals, and came back to win -- including an unlikely victory at Boston in Game Seven of that series. The first home loss the Celtics had endured throughout the playoffs. In that game, as noted a few days ago in this space, the Celtics either went temporarily blind, became spastic, or flat-out choked. Their shooting was just that atrocious. Brick, after brick, after brick, from a usually very good shooting team.
So the question now becomes -- can Lebron, through sheer will-power (and maybe a few more 50 point games), lead the Cavs past the Warriors in similar fashion?
The answer ------
Nope. Ain't gonna happen.
The Dubs aren't the Beaners. Far from it.
No doubt, Cleveland will come out with maximum effort in Game Three of the series. And it wouldn't be too much of a surprise to see them win it.
But look for the Warriors to "steal" one of the next two games in Ohioland.
Barring any major injuries, Golden State is just too much for Cleveland.
Dubs in 5.
And then the Lebron James free-agency circus will begin.
Will he stay? Will he go? And if the latter -- where?
Saturday, June 2, 2018
What's the hold up?
Well OK, the Golden State Warriors and Cleveland Cavaliers went into overtime in Game One of the NBA Finals. They were no doubt gassed by the time it was over.
But wait a second. They then got three days off before the next game? In the same building? As in no travel? No wonder these things drag out so long.
Hey, they played a basketball game, which has plenty of breaks in the action to rest. It's not like running a marathon or slugging it out in a 12 round boxing match, much less getting into an octagon for the savagery that typically goes on there.
Now those folks need sufficient time to recover. But not basketball players. Good grief, they often play back-to-back games during the regular season. And they'll never be BETTER physically conditioned/in shape than they are after playing all year.
So what's the hold up? Three days of rest? Get outta here. Wimps.
Some golfers (notably Jordan Spieth, but there are others) drive me absolutely bonkers with their pre-shot rituals.
See them check with their caddie for the precise yardage. See them meditate over which club to choose. See them line up the shot. Tick, tick, tick. See them take 3-4-5 practice swings. Hey, they probably took a couple hundred practice swings on the range before they even started. How many do they need?
See them finally address the ball.
Oops, see them step away in indecision and start the whole process all over. Tick, tick, tick.
Finally, mercifully, it appears they might actually, you know, hit the dang thing.
And then -- evidently somebody in the gallery breathed just a little too loudly. So they start the ritual all over yet AGAIN. Tick, tick, tick.
Good grief. Trump has tweeted four or five more times. Men need to shave -- again. Flowers have bloomed and wilted. Women have gone into labor and delivered.in the time it takes some of these guys to hit one golf shot.
And then they sail it into the woods, or dump it into a sand trap, or the water?
Hey, any duffer could do that in a fraction of the time. Even a klutz like me.
So what's the hold up?
Let's GO!!!
But wait a second. They then got three days off before the next game? In the same building? As in no travel? No wonder these things drag out so long.
Hey, they played a basketball game, which has plenty of breaks in the action to rest. It's not like running a marathon or slugging it out in a 12 round boxing match, much less getting into an octagon for the savagery that typically goes on there.
Now those folks need sufficient time to recover. But not basketball players. Good grief, they often play back-to-back games during the regular season. And they'll never be BETTER physically conditioned/in shape than they are after playing all year.
So what's the hold up? Three days of rest? Get outta here. Wimps.
Some golfers (notably Jordan Spieth, but there are others) drive me absolutely bonkers with their pre-shot rituals.
See them check with their caddie for the precise yardage. See them meditate over which club to choose. See them line up the shot. Tick, tick, tick. See them take 3-4-5 practice swings. Hey, they probably took a couple hundred practice swings on the range before they even started. How many do they need?
See them finally address the ball.
Oops, see them step away in indecision and start the whole process all over. Tick, tick, tick.
Finally, mercifully, it appears they might actually, you know, hit the dang thing.
And then -- evidently somebody in the gallery breathed just a little too loudly. So they start the ritual all over yet AGAIN. Tick, tick, tick.
Good grief. Trump has tweeted four or five more times. Men need to shave -- again. Flowers have bloomed and wilted. Women have gone into labor and delivered.in the time it takes some of these guys to hit one golf shot.
And then they sail it into the woods, or dump it into a sand trap, or the water?
Hey, any duffer could do that in a fraction of the time. Even a klutz like me.
So what's the hold up?
Let's GO!!!
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