Idle thought: It seems only fitting the name Harpo was Oprah spelled backwards. One never talked and the other never shuts up.
This was a very strange week in the NFL. Few would have foreseen the previously undefeated Carolina Panthers getting beat in Atlanta. Just a few weeks ago Cam and company had clobbered the Falcons 38-0. And the surviving members of the 1972 Miami Dolphins team get to hoist yet another glass of champagne. Their one and only perfect season remains unequaled.
Green Bay got waxed @ Arizona. Maybe a surprise, maybe not. The Cards are really good in all phases of the game. After a quick start to the season, the Packers are starting to look mighty vulnerable. Wide receiver supreme Jordy Nelson going down early for the entire year was a terrible blow. The odds of the Cheesers making it to the Super Bowl? Long.
New England has been decimated in several ways. Injuries to their offensive line, a bunch of receivers going down, their #1 and 2 running backs getting hurt, and they had already lost run stuffing nose tackle Vince Wilfork to free agency. Yep, they're back in the playoffs again, but just got beat by the NY Jets. The JETS!!. Despite the genius of Brady and Belichick, the Patriots look very vulnerable as well. Super Bowl chances? Never count them out, but....
The KC Chiefs have been coming on like gangbusters. After a slow start, they've won nine in a row. They're in. But few really think they're Super Bowl caliber.
Seattle is a hard team to figure. Just when they had begun to seemingly round back into whup-ass mode, they got beat at home by the lowly St. Louis Rams. But don't sleep on the Seahawks. If these guys play up to their capabilities, they can beat anybody -- anywhere. Consider them a very dangerous dark horse.
Denver's been without Peyton for a while, but the Broncos are the best defensive team in the league. Thing is, even if the Omaha man is healthy enough for the post-season, these guys look shaky. On top of that, Manning's productivity on the field had already take a serious nosedive. The man's pushing 40, and Father Time seems to have beat him with the reality stick of late. It's time for him to get out before something truly bad happens. And it just might, if he continues to hang on in name only. Those young studs in the other jerseys don't give a rat's behind about Peyton and his legacy. They'd just as soon bust his chops as look at him.
Somebody had to win the NFC East and it turned out to be the Redskins. It's a pitiful division and Washington has no -- repeat NO shot of advancing far in the playoffs. The only good things that came out of this year was the "brain trust" of the Skins finally realized Robert Griffith III was a bust, and maybe the NY Giants will finally get around to bouncing the clueless Tom Coughlin as their head coach.
The always respectable Pittsburgh Steelers were on a roll, but then got beat by the lowly Baltimore Ravens. That wasn't supposed to happen. Mike Tomlin's boys rebounding to make a Super Bowl run? First, they have to make the playoffs as a wild card -- no given. But if they sneak in, they just might be the AFC's version of Seattle. You never know with those guys.
Some say the Cincinnati Bengals are the most "complete" team. Perhaps, but they always fold in the playoffs. And losing starting QB Andy Dalton to injury doesn't exactly help their cause. The Super Bowl? Nah.
How about Minnesota? They've got YO Adrian running wild again, but no way is Teddy ready for prime time just yet. Not a chance.
So add it all up and what do you have? Beats the hell out of me. Only one thing is for sure. The game announcers will hyperventilate while screaming into their microphones next week, and the talking heads on TV will be wall to wall with more possibilities and stats from hell than those pollsters following the current Presidential race.
On to Week 17. Mercifully, we'll all finally find out which teams make it into the playoffs. But then the hype will get ramped up even more. Countless droning on for hours of pre-game chatter, halftime chatter, post-game chatter, and "analysts/experts" telling us what we're about to see -- or have already seen. Evidently we, the public, are too stupid to comprehend how any particular football game turns out. This must be explained to us in excruciating detail. Hey, here's a thought. When it's over, we pretty much get it that one team will move on, while the other goes home. We don't care about stats from hell. At the end of the contest, whichever team has the most points on the scoreboard is usually the winner. Pretty simple. All the rest is just drivel coming from yappy heads that think they're smarter than we are. Like the above-mentioned politicos, these are the sort of people that aren't qualified, willing, or able to go get a REAL job as productive members of society. They just talk, while basically accomplishing nothing.
Nevertheless, here's an early Super Bowl prediction. Arizona meets New England.
And the Cardinals win.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Three Archies and a Dippy
"Archie" isn't exactly a common name. Yet yours truly can think of three notable ones in years past.
There was Archie Andrews of comic book fame. He hung around with Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Jughead, and occasionally got clocked by Moose when he flirted with Midge. This Archie met his demise by taking a bullet meant for his gay friend. I never would have saw that coming back in the 70's.
Everybody remembers Archie Bunker, the lovable bigot. He tried to "stifle" his dingbat wife Edith, had an air-head daughter Gloria, and a meathead son-in-law named Michael. Oh the way Glen Miller played -- songs that made the hit parade -- guys like him they had it made -- those were his days indeed.
In the sports world, one Archie Manning stands out for two reasons. He had a long career as an NFL quarterback on horrible teams and spawned a couple sons that would go on to win Super Bowls. You know, Peyton and Eli. A recent statistic came to light. Old Arch was sacked 396 times during his career. Peyton has 302 to his dubious credit. At last count, Eli had been forced to eat it 303 times. Add it all up and what do you have? The family of a thousand quarterback sacks. That's a bunch.
Of course a mere thousand pales in comparison to the seemingly millions of kindergarten level commercials the younger Mannings have shamelessly cha-chinged their way into over the years. And when it comes to dumb looks, perhaps the late astronomer Carl Sagan put it best. Billions and billions.
Though Mr. Andrews dates back a little further, all three of these Archies had something in common. They were a big deal in the above-mentioned 70s. All In The Family was the #1 ranked TV show, and while the elder Manning was not only getting sacked and absorbing losses playing for the dreadful New Orleans Aints, he spawned both Peyton and Eli.
Alas, Andrews' creators decided to finally kill him off in a blaze of politically "correct" glory, and Bunker moved on to be a sheriff in a small southern town in the heat of the night, where he would eventually marry a black woman. Times had changed indeed. He has since passed on to the mysterious land of "who the hell was I?" in the sky.
All of which brings me to a certain Dippy. There's only ever been one of those. About the same time the three Archies were strutting their stuff back in the early 70's -- good, bad, or otherwise -- Dippy had yours truly mesmerized. A fascinating creature. Never saw her image in any comic books, and trying to stifle her when she was in dingbat mode was futile. As for getting "sacked"? Let's just say it's probably a fair statement to say her stats surpassed those of the entire Manning clan.
No doubt, the early 70's featured some really interesting stuff going on in several different ways.
Forever and remember indeed.
There was Archie Andrews of comic book fame. He hung around with Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Jughead, and occasionally got clocked by Moose when he flirted with Midge. This Archie met his demise by taking a bullet meant for his gay friend. I never would have saw that coming back in the 70's.
Everybody remembers Archie Bunker, the lovable bigot. He tried to "stifle" his dingbat wife Edith, had an air-head daughter Gloria, and a meathead son-in-law named Michael. Oh the way Glen Miller played -- songs that made the hit parade -- guys like him they had it made -- those were his days indeed.
In the sports world, one Archie Manning stands out for two reasons. He had a long career as an NFL quarterback on horrible teams and spawned a couple sons that would go on to win Super Bowls. You know, Peyton and Eli. A recent statistic came to light. Old Arch was sacked 396 times during his career. Peyton has 302 to his dubious credit. At last count, Eli had been forced to eat it 303 times. Add it all up and what do you have? The family of a thousand quarterback sacks. That's a bunch.
Of course a mere thousand pales in comparison to the seemingly millions of kindergarten level commercials the younger Mannings have shamelessly cha-chinged their way into over the years. And when it comes to dumb looks, perhaps the late astronomer Carl Sagan put it best. Billions and billions.
Though Mr. Andrews dates back a little further, all three of these Archies had something in common. They were a big deal in the above-mentioned 70s. All In The Family was the #1 ranked TV show, and while the elder Manning was not only getting sacked and absorbing losses playing for the dreadful New Orleans Aints, he spawned both Peyton and Eli.
Alas, Andrews' creators decided to finally kill him off in a blaze of politically "correct" glory, and Bunker moved on to be a sheriff in a small southern town in the heat of the night, where he would eventually marry a black woman. Times had changed indeed. He has since passed on to the mysterious land of "who the hell was I?" in the sky.
All of which brings me to a certain Dippy. There's only ever been one of those. About the same time the three Archies were strutting their stuff back in the early 70's -- good, bad, or otherwise -- Dippy had yours truly mesmerized. A fascinating creature. Never saw her image in any comic books, and trying to stifle her when she was in dingbat mode was futile. As for getting "sacked"? Let's just say it's probably a fair statement to say her stats surpassed those of the entire Manning clan.
No doubt, the early 70's featured some really interesting stuff going on in several different ways.
Forever and remember indeed.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
If I made the rules.....
I'm an NFL head football coach and call in my offensive and defensive coordinators (Sam and Dave) for a meeting.
Hey Sam. These silly penalties are going to stop or you'll be looking for another job. There is no excuse -- NONE -- for false starts by our offensive linemen. If these clowns are too stupid to remember the snap count for the 10-15 seconds it takes to break the huddle until the actual play, they're too dumb to play on my team. Further, when one of those boneheads commits such an infraction, he will be immediately yanked out of the game and forced to wear a dunce cap on the sidelines. Got it?
(Sam). Yeah, but....
No butts. Buttheads seem to be the whole problem. Tell your guys when you leave this room that for every yard in dumb penalties they cost us -- they're going to be running that many 100 yard gassers in the next practice. Five yards is five 100 yard sprints -- and guess what? You'll be running right along with them. This nonsense is going to stop -- dammit. Now go do what you gotta do.
I've discovered something amazing about a few of your boys, Dave.
(Dave). What's that?
I had no idea all our defensive backs were concert pianists or brain surgeons in the off season.
(Dave). Huh?
How else to explain how they protect their precious hands? When trying to make a tackle, these guys lead with their helmets and shoulder pads, and hope they can bump the ball carrier down. They never actually extend their arms and wrap a guy up. Any high school coach would find that unacceptable, and I'm not about to tolerate it at the professional level.
(Dave). But they've become accustomed to that. Every other DB around the league does the same thing.
Well, maybe they can find a job with another team, and you too Dave, if you can't get them to use proper tackling techniques. This is the NFL, not brain surgery or a concerto in A minor on a Steinway. Next time I see a guy wimp out with his arms and hands, he gets yanked on the spot too. I've ordered a lot of dunce caps. BTW, two questions. What's your hat size and when's the last time you ran a bunch of gassers back to back? On your way out, send in Leroy, the special teams coach. I want to have a word with him.
(Leroy). What's up boss?
You need to get something straight with our punt returners. These clowns need to develop a sense of awareness -- quickly.
(Leroy). Not sure I follow.
Let me put it to you this way. When the other team has advanced beyond their own 40 yard line but are still out of field goal range on 4th down, our punt returner will normally set up around our own 10 yard line, right?
(Leroy). Sounds about right.
So why can't they seem to grasp the obvious? Here's what I want you to tell them. If they're starting off standing on the 10 yard line and the punt drives them back even one inch -- let it go without trying to catch it. Chances are it will bounce into the end zone and we'll get it on the 20. If not, that was my call and I'll live with it. If they have to come forward to field a shorter kick, then make the best of it. If they fumble it, I have a few hats on order. You can ask Sam and Dave about those. But here's the most important thing. The next time I see one of your punt return "specialists" calling for a fair catch inside our own 10 yard line, guess who's going to be fielding the next punt?
(Leroy). Beats me.
That would be you, Leroy. Enjoy the thundering herd bearing down on you while the ball seems to hang in the air forever. And BTW, if you call for a fair catch, regardless of what yard line you're standing on -- consider yourself immediately fired. You will catch it and take whatever comes next. Good luck. Now go talk to your boys.
I'm the Supreme authority of the NBA. No, not that floppy-eared, bald, peanut head Adam Silver that weaseled his way into being the Commissioner. I am Odin, Thor, Zeus, Apollo, and Anderson Cooper all rolled into one. By god, I'm in CHARGE of this round ball nonsense.
And by thunder, I'm changing some rules. You know all those intentional fouls a team about to lose keeps hacking away at to put a poor free-throw shooting opponent on the foul line in the hopes of pulling out a miracle? It's an insult not only to fans, but the very integrity of the game itself. From now on, things are going to be different.
If a player intentionally fouls an opponent, the fouled team not only gets 2 free throws, but gets to pick anyone on their roster to shoot them. Further, make or miss, the fouled team retains possession of the ball. That would put an end to this nonsense.
NBA teams get what -- 10 time-outs per half? That's always been ludicrous. I'm cutting it down to three apiece like the NFL. It's still too many, but I have to start somewhere. Remember NHL teams get only one timeout for the entire game. And soccer teams don't get any. Their game clock never stops (though the mystery of "extra time" known only by the referee on the field seems to remain top secret classified information -- go figure).
No sense addressing all the traveling and palming the ball violations that occur constantly in every NBA game. It's become so ingrained that most have come to accept it. But it's still not right. And why is it that superstars seem to have a different set of rules to play by than role players? That's definitely not right. Do they teach the officials this in ref school?
One last hat. I am lord and master of boxing. Yes, I understand the sport has pretty well gone the way of Enron, Bear-Stearns, Lehman Bros., Hudsons, Montgomery Wards, Borders, and even objective journalism in recent years, but these things happen in the USA. Dog eat dog, indeed. Yet boxing always had, and still does, a flaw that turns off many people.
This is the only sport where nobody knows what the score is until the match is over. A knockout presents an obvious winner, but if it goes the distance, three supposedly neutral judges will decide after their "scorecards" are tallied. What has long been known is that many of these experts are not only hand picked by fighters and their camps with enough influence to do so, but they are also free to go back and change their score on any given round before submitting their final tally. This practice has been, is, and remains an open invitation for corruption. How many times have we seen a fight where one guy got beat up throughout, but eventually had his hand raised as the victor?
As lord and master, I am immediately instigating a new rule. The scores from each judge, round by round, will be immediately displayed on a scoreboard so everybody in attendance and at home watching on TV knows -- well -- what the score is. What could possibly be wrong with that? And the same will apply to the latest rage -- cage fighting. Be it 3 rounds or 5, put the damn scores up there after each round. The fans and the fighters themselves have a right to know who's officially ahead and behind throughout such a contest. This is not a difficult concept. In the name of fairness and transparency, I hereby decree it shall be done.
Of course, this edict would be met with a lot of resistance by the powers that be in such activities.
Don King, Bob Arum, and Dana White would likely not approve their fiefdoms being challenged.
Maybe they should talk to Sam, Dave, and Leroy. And who wouldn't love to see King, Arum, and White running gassers alongside them as well? They've pumped us full of enough gas over the years for their own benefit. Seems fair enough.
Yessirree. If I made the rules, a few things would change right away.
Hey Sam. These silly penalties are going to stop or you'll be looking for another job. There is no excuse -- NONE -- for false starts by our offensive linemen. If these clowns are too stupid to remember the snap count for the 10-15 seconds it takes to break the huddle until the actual play, they're too dumb to play on my team. Further, when one of those boneheads commits such an infraction, he will be immediately yanked out of the game and forced to wear a dunce cap on the sidelines. Got it?
(Sam). Yeah, but....
No butts. Buttheads seem to be the whole problem. Tell your guys when you leave this room that for every yard in dumb penalties they cost us -- they're going to be running that many 100 yard gassers in the next practice. Five yards is five 100 yard sprints -- and guess what? You'll be running right along with them. This nonsense is going to stop -- dammit. Now go do what you gotta do.
I've discovered something amazing about a few of your boys, Dave.
(Dave). What's that?
I had no idea all our defensive backs were concert pianists or brain surgeons in the off season.
(Dave). Huh?
How else to explain how they protect their precious hands? When trying to make a tackle, these guys lead with their helmets and shoulder pads, and hope they can bump the ball carrier down. They never actually extend their arms and wrap a guy up. Any high school coach would find that unacceptable, and I'm not about to tolerate it at the professional level.
(Dave). But they've become accustomed to that. Every other DB around the league does the same thing.
Well, maybe they can find a job with another team, and you too Dave, if you can't get them to use proper tackling techniques. This is the NFL, not brain surgery or a concerto in A minor on a Steinway. Next time I see a guy wimp out with his arms and hands, he gets yanked on the spot too. I've ordered a lot of dunce caps. BTW, two questions. What's your hat size and when's the last time you ran a bunch of gassers back to back? On your way out, send in Leroy, the special teams coach. I want to have a word with him.
(Leroy). What's up boss?
You need to get something straight with our punt returners. These clowns need to develop a sense of awareness -- quickly.
(Leroy). Not sure I follow.
Let me put it to you this way. When the other team has advanced beyond their own 40 yard line but are still out of field goal range on 4th down, our punt returner will normally set up around our own 10 yard line, right?
(Leroy). Sounds about right.
So why can't they seem to grasp the obvious? Here's what I want you to tell them. If they're starting off standing on the 10 yard line and the punt drives them back even one inch -- let it go without trying to catch it. Chances are it will bounce into the end zone and we'll get it on the 20. If not, that was my call and I'll live with it. If they have to come forward to field a shorter kick, then make the best of it. If they fumble it, I have a few hats on order. You can ask Sam and Dave about those. But here's the most important thing. The next time I see one of your punt return "specialists" calling for a fair catch inside our own 10 yard line, guess who's going to be fielding the next punt?
(Leroy). Beats me.
That would be you, Leroy. Enjoy the thundering herd bearing down on you while the ball seems to hang in the air forever. And BTW, if you call for a fair catch, regardless of what yard line you're standing on -- consider yourself immediately fired. You will catch it and take whatever comes next. Good luck. Now go talk to your boys.
I'm the Supreme authority of the NBA. No, not that floppy-eared, bald, peanut head Adam Silver that weaseled his way into being the Commissioner. I am Odin, Thor, Zeus, Apollo, and Anderson Cooper all rolled into one. By god, I'm in CHARGE of this round ball nonsense.
And by thunder, I'm changing some rules. You know all those intentional fouls a team about to lose keeps hacking away at to put a poor free-throw shooting opponent on the foul line in the hopes of pulling out a miracle? It's an insult not only to fans, but the very integrity of the game itself. From now on, things are going to be different.
If a player intentionally fouls an opponent, the fouled team not only gets 2 free throws, but gets to pick anyone on their roster to shoot them. Further, make or miss, the fouled team retains possession of the ball. That would put an end to this nonsense.
NBA teams get what -- 10 time-outs per half? That's always been ludicrous. I'm cutting it down to three apiece like the NFL. It's still too many, but I have to start somewhere. Remember NHL teams get only one timeout for the entire game. And soccer teams don't get any. Their game clock never stops (though the mystery of "extra time" known only by the referee on the field seems to remain top secret classified information -- go figure).
No sense addressing all the traveling and palming the ball violations that occur constantly in every NBA game. It's become so ingrained that most have come to accept it. But it's still not right. And why is it that superstars seem to have a different set of rules to play by than role players? That's definitely not right. Do they teach the officials this in ref school?
One last hat. I am lord and master of boxing. Yes, I understand the sport has pretty well gone the way of Enron, Bear-Stearns, Lehman Bros., Hudsons, Montgomery Wards, Borders, and even objective journalism in recent years, but these things happen in the USA. Dog eat dog, indeed. Yet boxing always had, and still does, a flaw that turns off many people.
This is the only sport where nobody knows what the score is until the match is over. A knockout presents an obvious winner, but if it goes the distance, three supposedly neutral judges will decide after their "scorecards" are tallied. What has long been known is that many of these experts are not only hand picked by fighters and their camps with enough influence to do so, but they are also free to go back and change their score on any given round before submitting their final tally. This practice has been, is, and remains an open invitation for corruption. How many times have we seen a fight where one guy got beat up throughout, but eventually had his hand raised as the victor?
As lord and master, I am immediately instigating a new rule. The scores from each judge, round by round, will be immediately displayed on a scoreboard so everybody in attendance and at home watching on TV knows -- well -- what the score is. What could possibly be wrong with that? And the same will apply to the latest rage -- cage fighting. Be it 3 rounds or 5, put the damn scores up there after each round. The fans and the fighters themselves have a right to know who's officially ahead and behind throughout such a contest. This is not a difficult concept. In the name of fairness and transparency, I hereby decree it shall be done.
Of course, this edict would be met with a lot of resistance by the powers that be in such activities.
Don King, Bob Arum, and Dana White would likely not approve their fiefdoms being challenged.
Maybe they should talk to Sam, Dave, and Leroy. And who wouldn't love to see King, Arum, and White running gassers alongside them as well? They've pumped us full of enough gas over the years for their own benefit. Seems fair enough.
Yessirree. If I made the rules, a few things would change right away.
The LA Clipper problem(s)
The LA Clippers just knocked off the LA Lakers to raise their record to 17-13. Respectable, to be sure, but in the whole scheme of things, just a little better than average. Yet the Clips have a problem. Actually two of them.
The first pertains to their competition in the NBA west. No one would seriously doubt the Golden State Warriors remain far and away the class of the field. A 28-1 record pretty well speaks for itself. These guys are so good they can run on autopilot. In other words, they don't need a head coach. Indeed, Steve Kerr has long been out rehabbing a back problem while novice Luke Walton has been subbing for him, yet their beat rolls on.
Coach Pop and his Spurs down in San Antonio remain a standard of excellence. They might not win it all every year -- nobody does -- but when it comes to smarts and the execution of overall team play -- nobody does it better than the Spurs. Their lofty 25-6 record is no accident.
The Oklahoma City Thunder are quite good as well. With Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook headlining the show, the Seattle Supersonic transplants can light it up in any given game. Or they can get beat. 20-10 is an admirable record, but they made a huge mistake when they let point guard/playmaker/shooter supreme James Harden get away in free agency to Houston a couple years back.
The point is the Clips remain a second-tier team in the NBA west. Good, but not great. Few would consider them championship contenders this year. Everybody knows who Chris Paul is. If they didn't before, they certainly do after having been force fed a bazillion TV spots featuring him and his "twin" brother Cliff hawking an insurance company.
Thing is, despite all the hype, Paul and the Clips have never even made it to a conference finals series, let alone sniffed a championship. The second round of the playoffs seems to be their ceiling. In all likelihood, barring a rash of serious injuries on other teams, the very same fate would seem to be in store for the Clips this season. They might squeak by the Thunder in the playoffs, but no way are they good enough to get past the Spurs -- must less Steph Curry and the Warriors. Ain't gonna happen.
[Idle thought. Anybody heard a peep from former Clips owner Donald Sterling lately? Maybe be bought a tropical paradise somewhere with the ridiculous $2 Billion Steve Ballmer ponied up for the basketball team, and is having his every whim catered to by an army of beautiful young women. A private island and a few billion bucks normally tends to attract a horde of gold diggers. Here's wishing him well but, please, let us all pray he spares us the videos of his latest sexual escapades. Eww.]
[Idle thought II. I wonder if Ballmer displayed the same spaz tendencies when he was a hot shot exec at that software company? Have you seen him dance at Clipper games? This is not funny. It's pitiful and painful to watch. How can a guy supposedly so smart act so stupidly?]
So OK. Regardless of dubious ownership, I think we can pretty much agree the Clippers won't be going to the NBA Finals this year either. They have four really good players on their entire team. After that, the talent level drops off dramatically. Lack of depth/bench is a fatal flaw when trying to run the formidable gauntlet of the playoffs. Doc Rivers may or may not be a great coach, but even he can only "take the whip" to the thoroughbreds down the stretch for so long before they run out of gas and break down short of the finish line.
Nevertheless, the Clips are vastly superior to the woeful Lakers. As we know, they not only play in the same town, but share the same arena -- Staples Center.
[Idle thought III. I bet it gets old for the arena crew to keep changing the playing surface to either feature the Clippers' or the Lakers' logos and colors. Wouldn't it be a lot easier, much less hassle, and cheaper, to settle on a hybrid that acknowledges both?]
But that's where the Clippers evidently have their other problem. In their own home arena. While squaring off against the Lakers (who were technically the "home" team), the fans in attendance made it quite clear who they were rooting for. It wasn't the Clips.
Despite the fact the Clips have at least been semi-competitive in recent years (it started with Sterling) while the Lakers have become a laughingstock, Doc, Chris, Blake, Deandre, and even the spaz still find themselves getting the Rodney Dangerfield treatment in their own building.
Oh yeah. The Clippers definitely have problems.
The first pertains to their competition in the NBA west. No one would seriously doubt the Golden State Warriors remain far and away the class of the field. A 28-1 record pretty well speaks for itself. These guys are so good they can run on autopilot. In other words, they don't need a head coach. Indeed, Steve Kerr has long been out rehabbing a back problem while novice Luke Walton has been subbing for him, yet their beat rolls on.
Coach Pop and his Spurs down in San Antonio remain a standard of excellence. They might not win it all every year -- nobody does -- but when it comes to smarts and the execution of overall team play -- nobody does it better than the Spurs. Their lofty 25-6 record is no accident.
The Oklahoma City Thunder are quite good as well. With Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook headlining the show, the Seattle Supersonic transplants can light it up in any given game. Or they can get beat. 20-10 is an admirable record, but they made a huge mistake when they let point guard/playmaker/shooter supreme James Harden get away in free agency to Houston a couple years back.
The point is the Clips remain a second-tier team in the NBA west. Good, but not great. Few would consider them championship contenders this year. Everybody knows who Chris Paul is. If they didn't before, they certainly do after having been force fed a bazillion TV spots featuring him and his "twin" brother Cliff hawking an insurance company.
Thing is, despite all the hype, Paul and the Clips have never even made it to a conference finals series, let alone sniffed a championship. The second round of the playoffs seems to be their ceiling. In all likelihood, barring a rash of serious injuries on other teams, the very same fate would seem to be in store for the Clips this season. They might squeak by the Thunder in the playoffs, but no way are they good enough to get past the Spurs -- must less Steph Curry and the Warriors. Ain't gonna happen.
[Idle thought. Anybody heard a peep from former Clips owner Donald Sterling lately? Maybe be bought a tropical paradise somewhere with the ridiculous $2 Billion Steve Ballmer ponied up for the basketball team, and is having his every whim catered to by an army of beautiful young women. A private island and a few billion bucks normally tends to attract a horde of gold diggers. Here's wishing him well but, please, let us all pray he spares us the videos of his latest sexual escapades. Eww.]
[Idle thought II. I wonder if Ballmer displayed the same spaz tendencies when he was a hot shot exec at that software company? Have you seen him dance at Clipper games? This is not funny. It's pitiful and painful to watch. How can a guy supposedly so smart act so stupidly?]
So OK. Regardless of dubious ownership, I think we can pretty much agree the Clippers won't be going to the NBA Finals this year either. They have four really good players on their entire team. After that, the talent level drops off dramatically. Lack of depth/bench is a fatal flaw when trying to run the formidable gauntlet of the playoffs. Doc Rivers may or may not be a great coach, but even he can only "take the whip" to the thoroughbreds down the stretch for so long before they run out of gas and break down short of the finish line.
Nevertheless, the Clips are vastly superior to the woeful Lakers. As we know, they not only play in the same town, but share the same arena -- Staples Center.
[Idle thought III. I bet it gets old for the arena crew to keep changing the playing surface to either feature the Clippers' or the Lakers' logos and colors. Wouldn't it be a lot easier, much less hassle, and cheaper, to settle on a hybrid that acknowledges both?]
But that's where the Clippers evidently have their other problem. In their own home arena. While squaring off against the Lakers (who were technically the "home" team), the fans in attendance made it quite clear who they were rooting for. It wasn't the Clips.
Despite the fact the Clips have at least been semi-competitive in recent years (it started with Sterling) while the Lakers have become a laughingstock, Doc, Chris, Blake, Deandre, and even the spaz still find themselves getting the Rodney Dangerfield treatment in their own building.
Oh yeah. The Clippers definitely have problems.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Merry Christmas and one bah humbug
First things first. Merry Christmas to all. And a bunch of thank yous are in order. I once again thank my editor, one Jeff Kuehn, for giving me this venue to rant in a few years back. No doubt there have been times when he regretted it due to my many foibles, but he's hung with me throughout. Merry Christmas boss, wherever you are.
I thank my friends for being -- well -- who they are. Most people need someone to lean on once in a while and yours truly is no exception. Thanks for all the laughs, hugs, bad jokes, other banter, favors traded, occasional shared tears, and even the rarer disagreements. Add it all up and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
For whatever reasons, my family pretty much scattered to the winds long ago, but I thank them for what we once had.
I thank the readers of my rants. Some I know, most I don't. And a special thanks to any that have taken the time to comment -- good or bad -- on my various rants in this venue. I really do try to keep things light, and spoof myself as much as any other person or entity in the sports world. But I know there are times when my words can be quite sharp -- even caustic. I get that. Yet there are times people and things deserve to be ripped -- in my opinion.
The name of this blog -- The Wrath of John -- actually came about as a play on words regarding the old Star Trek movie The Wrath of Khan. It was likely a poor choice on my part, but it's way too late in the game to change it now. Nevertheless, it hardly meant or means I'm pissed all the time. Nothing could be further from the truth. The above-mentioned friends know this. In truth, I can't actually remember the last time I got truly mad at somebody. Life's too short, bad stuff happens sometimes, and getting all torqued out of shape only raises your blood pressure while resolving nothing else. True, it took a few decades for my feeble brain to figure this out, but I thank the Lord for letting me hang around long enough to finally see the light. Amen, indeed.
With apologies to the late Jimmy Stewart in his classic movie portrayal -- all in all - mine has been a wonderful life indeed. So many people and things to give thanks for.
[Speaking of bad versus good -- just when you think all is lost with Shaq doing those moronic body powder commercials and Sammy Jack resurrecting his "what's in your wallet" credit card carnival barking, along comes Santa Claus and LA Clipper Deandre Jordan to playfully snipe at each other over their prowess on the hard court. Very yuk-worthy stuff. Ho ho ho. ]
Alas, there is a bah humbug. Though the much awaited mini rematch between the Cleveland Cavaliers and Golden State Warriors will happen on Christmas day, one Lebron James is not happy. He doesn't like to play on Christmas.
Well then, let's see. Mr. James is making somewhere in the neighborhood of $25 million this one year to play basketball. This is likely more money than you, your family, and close friends will cumulatively make in their entire lifetimes. Put another way, over the course of the 82 game NBA season, LJ is making roughly $300,000 dollars -- PER GAME. Win, lose, light it up, or stink it up, James is going to haul down more money for each two hour job shift than you likely make slaving away for 40-50 hours a week over the course of 5-6 YEARS.
Plus he's got a lifetime guaranteed shoe contract that pays him at least an extra $10,000,000 every year. This is not even to mention his other array of endorsement cha-chings. Nor does it count the big playoffs bucks when those games start happening next spring. He gets to fly first class and stay in 5-star hotels -- FREE. Every little whim he might have is instantly catered to. Also gratis. All in all, James is probably knocking down $50M a year while living in the lap of luxury. This is because he is better than most at finding ways to put a ball in a basket, or keeping his opponents from doing so.
[Hmm. Maybe there was something to that Wrath of John thing after all. I'm starting to get a little stoked here over the absurdity of it all.]
Regardless, the poor, abused dear is whining about having to play a basketball game on Christmas day.
To which I say BAH HUMBUG. That means you Lebron Raymone James. How about you suck it up, shut it up, and go out to Oakland for another ass-whipping on national TV? Bet if you and the Cavs were playing at home against the woeful 76ers on Christmas, where your team could romp, your tune would be quite different.
Who does this guy think he's kidding? There's over seven BILLION people on the planet earth that wished they had HIS little problem.
But in the end, no matter what, here's wishing a Merry Christmas to one and all out there. And if you're reading this, yet another thank you.
I thank my friends for being -- well -- who they are. Most people need someone to lean on once in a while and yours truly is no exception. Thanks for all the laughs, hugs, bad jokes, other banter, favors traded, occasional shared tears, and even the rarer disagreements. Add it all up and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
For whatever reasons, my family pretty much scattered to the winds long ago, but I thank them for what we once had.
I thank the readers of my rants. Some I know, most I don't. And a special thanks to any that have taken the time to comment -- good or bad -- on my various rants in this venue. I really do try to keep things light, and spoof myself as much as any other person or entity in the sports world. But I know there are times when my words can be quite sharp -- even caustic. I get that. Yet there are times people and things deserve to be ripped -- in my opinion.
The name of this blog -- The Wrath of John -- actually came about as a play on words regarding the old Star Trek movie The Wrath of Khan. It was likely a poor choice on my part, but it's way too late in the game to change it now. Nevertheless, it hardly meant or means I'm pissed all the time. Nothing could be further from the truth. The above-mentioned friends know this. In truth, I can't actually remember the last time I got truly mad at somebody. Life's too short, bad stuff happens sometimes, and getting all torqued out of shape only raises your blood pressure while resolving nothing else. True, it took a few decades for my feeble brain to figure this out, but I thank the Lord for letting me hang around long enough to finally see the light. Amen, indeed.
With apologies to the late Jimmy Stewart in his classic movie portrayal -- all in all - mine has been a wonderful life indeed. So many people and things to give thanks for.
[Speaking of bad versus good -- just when you think all is lost with Shaq doing those moronic body powder commercials and Sammy Jack resurrecting his "what's in your wallet" credit card carnival barking, along comes Santa Claus and LA Clipper Deandre Jordan to playfully snipe at each other over their prowess on the hard court. Very yuk-worthy stuff. Ho ho ho. ]
Alas, there is a bah humbug. Though the much awaited mini rematch between the Cleveland Cavaliers and Golden State Warriors will happen on Christmas day, one Lebron James is not happy. He doesn't like to play on Christmas.
Well then, let's see. Mr. James is making somewhere in the neighborhood of $25 million this one year to play basketball. This is likely more money than you, your family, and close friends will cumulatively make in their entire lifetimes. Put another way, over the course of the 82 game NBA season, LJ is making roughly $300,000 dollars -- PER GAME. Win, lose, light it up, or stink it up, James is going to haul down more money for each two hour job shift than you likely make slaving away for 40-50 hours a week over the course of 5-6 YEARS.
Plus he's got a lifetime guaranteed shoe contract that pays him at least an extra $10,000,000 every year. This is not even to mention his other array of endorsement cha-chings. Nor does it count the big playoffs bucks when those games start happening next spring. He gets to fly first class and stay in 5-star hotels -- FREE. Every little whim he might have is instantly catered to. Also gratis. All in all, James is probably knocking down $50M a year while living in the lap of luxury. This is because he is better than most at finding ways to put a ball in a basket, or keeping his opponents from doing so.
[Hmm. Maybe there was something to that Wrath of John thing after all. I'm starting to get a little stoked here over the absurdity of it all.]
Regardless, the poor, abused dear is whining about having to play a basketball game on Christmas day.
To which I say BAH HUMBUG. That means you Lebron Raymone James. How about you suck it up, shut it up, and go out to Oakland for another ass-whipping on national TV? Bet if you and the Cavs were playing at home against the woeful 76ers on Christmas, where your team could romp, your tune would be quite different.
Who does this guy think he's kidding? There's over seven BILLION people on the planet earth that wished they had HIS little problem.
But in the end, no matter what, here's wishing a Merry Christmas to one and all out there. And if you're reading this, yet another thank you.
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
The Odell Beckham debacle
I probably should have included some of the following in my previous post regarding the Bonehead Files, but it had run on a bit long.
Nevertheless, any football fan knows NY Giant wide receiver Odell Beckham went berserk on the football field and wound up getting suspended for a game by the NFL honchos (see Roger Goodell). This happened in a game against the undefeated Carolina Panthers on Monday Night Football. Millions of people saw the obvious. Somehow Beckham forgot about being a professional athlete and became a gang banger, a thug out to wreak violence on another "boy in the 'hood" that had dissed him. Definitely not cool.
[Time out for the ultimate hypocrisy. On the 4-letter sports network, one Trey Wingo stated this story had "taken on a life of it's own". Yours truly stared dumbstruck in disbelief. Did he actually just say that? Thing is, if it wasn't for Wingo and his talking head minions breathlessly reporting on this story every 5 minutes and hyping it like it was nuclear war, there would be no such hysteria in the first place. If Odell got suspended for a week, perhaps Trey should be reduced in rank to Deuce, and suspended for a week or two himself. The crime? Gross media overkill.]
So OB did what every other athlete would do after getting his pee-pee whacked for "conduct unbecoming". He appealed. This is where the professional sports leagues have a major flaw. Granted, a Commissioner like Roger Goodell hearing the appeal of a sentence he has already handed down has always been ludicrous and a travesty of justice, but word has it a fix is in the works. In the future, any appeal will be heard and ruled upon by a neutral third party. It's a start. But this is about the other flaw.
Currently, players have nothing to lose by appealing a fine and/or suspension. The worst that can happen is it will be upheld, but oftentimes the punishment is reduced. We see it all the time. In some cases it's justified. In yet others, they likely shouldn't have been banged in the first place. There was no proof of wrong doing. See Tom Brady and the trumped up Deflategate fiasco.
Yet in still others, the evidence of guilt is so overwhelming that one is left to wonder -- how dare this guy try to scam the system?
In real courts, many criminal defendants have a choice. They can cop a plea for a reduced charge and punishment -- or -- they can roll the dice and opt for a full blown trial. Thing is, if they lose there, the punishment normally gets harsher. We see that all the time as well.
It should be the same way with professional athletes. In Beckham's case, the evidence was indeed overwhelming. Yes, his antagonist, one Josh Gordon, a defensive back, had done his best to get into Beckham's head, but this sort of stuff happens all the time in sports. Stare downs at pre-fight boxing or mixed martial arts bouts. Trash talking on the ice, the court, or some 95 MPH "chin music" to a good hitter in baseball. Kids in high school, much less college or the pros, have long talked trash. It's just a part of their psych ritual. Pump themselves up while trying to get the opponent off his game.
Sure, if a pro football player wants to grapple with an opponent, by all means have at it. Heck, grappling and throwing people to the ground are the very essence of the game. As are hard hits. And if one player wants to slug the other in his facemask -- feel free to do so -- though facemasks are typically much more resilient than bones in a human hand. For sending such a "message" of stupidity a player will typically be assessed a 15 yard personal foul penalty, but no harm has really been done.
But Beckham went WAY too far. Evidently frustrated by not only the trash talk but having Gordon play him physically in man coverage and shut him down, Odell crossed a major line.
On a play that was already over, Beckham got a 10 yard running head start and blindsided Gordon on a helmet to helmet hit. It was the ultimate thug maneuver and definitely meant to cause injury. For this there was no excuse. Luckily, Gordon wasn't seriously injured, but he easily could have been. Besides the possibility of a broken jaw or, God forbid even neck, from such a cheap goonish shot were in play. It could have happened. And while the NFL has finally come around to put in place a long overdue proper "concussion protocol" -- this was exactly the sort of thing that led to so many brain injuries in the first place. A defender lowering his head as a battering ram and delivering a sideways lick on an opponent's helmet. A lot of things can happen, and most of them are bad.
The incriminating evidence was indeed obvious. Beckham did the crime and he should be held accountable for it. Yet Odell Beckham had the utter audacity to appeal his one game suspension. BTW, this was his third personal foul of the game. A player clearly out of control. Again, we've all seen the video(s) countless times because guys like Trey/Deuce seem to think it's mandatory every 5 minutes to force feed it to sports fans. Over, and over, and over again.
Almost surprisingly, the NFL upheld his 1 game suspension. In recent times Goodell and company have gotten so many things wrong, it's hard to predict what they might bungle next.
Which brings me back to the "other" flaw in the system mentioned above. Odell Beckham deserved a much worse fate than what he got. Missing one game check when he's already making millions hardly serves as a deterrent to others that might contemplate such mayhem in the future.
Like courts, the NFL should have another option. When a guy is so obviously guilty -- the videos don't lie -- and he has the audacity to waste the time and services of others trying to scam his way out of it -- he should be banged even harder.
One game is not enough. If yours truly was the judge, I would rule as follows:
Mr. Beckham, your one game suspension may have been fitting for your goonish behavior on the field. I found your deliberate attempt to injure appalling, but such is the nature of a lot of things in the NFL. Everybody wants to hurt everybody else.
However, given the egregious nature of your violent conduct, and the very fact you stand before me trying to justify it, is truly offensive to this court. While I applaud your abilities to catch footballs with one hand, you sir, contrary to the hero worship you may have received of late, and not above the laws of human dignity.
Therefore, I not only uphold your one game suspension, but am tacking on 5 more games. You will not play in the 2015 season finale for the Giants, and will sit out the first four games of the 2016 season as well -- without pay.
This court stands adjourned. What's that? You object, Mr. Beckham?
Fine. I object to your your ridiculous hair. Make that 8 games. Any more questions?
I thought not. Merry Christmas and to all a good night.
Nevertheless, any football fan knows NY Giant wide receiver Odell Beckham went berserk on the football field and wound up getting suspended for a game by the NFL honchos (see Roger Goodell). This happened in a game against the undefeated Carolina Panthers on Monday Night Football. Millions of people saw the obvious. Somehow Beckham forgot about being a professional athlete and became a gang banger, a thug out to wreak violence on another "boy in the 'hood" that had dissed him. Definitely not cool.
[Time out for the ultimate hypocrisy. On the 4-letter sports network, one Trey Wingo stated this story had "taken on a life of it's own". Yours truly stared dumbstruck in disbelief. Did he actually just say that? Thing is, if it wasn't for Wingo and his talking head minions breathlessly reporting on this story every 5 minutes and hyping it like it was nuclear war, there would be no such hysteria in the first place. If Odell got suspended for a week, perhaps Trey should be reduced in rank to Deuce, and suspended for a week or two himself. The crime? Gross media overkill.]
So OB did what every other athlete would do after getting his pee-pee whacked for "conduct unbecoming". He appealed. This is where the professional sports leagues have a major flaw. Granted, a Commissioner like Roger Goodell hearing the appeal of a sentence he has already handed down has always been ludicrous and a travesty of justice, but word has it a fix is in the works. In the future, any appeal will be heard and ruled upon by a neutral third party. It's a start. But this is about the other flaw.
Currently, players have nothing to lose by appealing a fine and/or suspension. The worst that can happen is it will be upheld, but oftentimes the punishment is reduced. We see it all the time. In some cases it's justified. In yet others, they likely shouldn't have been banged in the first place. There was no proof of wrong doing. See Tom Brady and the trumped up Deflategate fiasco.
Yet in still others, the evidence of guilt is so overwhelming that one is left to wonder -- how dare this guy try to scam the system?
In real courts, many criminal defendants have a choice. They can cop a plea for a reduced charge and punishment -- or -- they can roll the dice and opt for a full blown trial. Thing is, if they lose there, the punishment normally gets harsher. We see that all the time as well.
It should be the same way with professional athletes. In Beckham's case, the evidence was indeed overwhelming. Yes, his antagonist, one Josh Gordon, a defensive back, had done his best to get into Beckham's head, but this sort of stuff happens all the time in sports. Stare downs at pre-fight boxing or mixed martial arts bouts. Trash talking on the ice, the court, or some 95 MPH "chin music" to a good hitter in baseball. Kids in high school, much less college or the pros, have long talked trash. It's just a part of their psych ritual. Pump themselves up while trying to get the opponent off his game.
Sure, if a pro football player wants to grapple with an opponent, by all means have at it. Heck, grappling and throwing people to the ground are the very essence of the game. As are hard hits. And if one player wants to slug the other in his facemask -- feel free to do so -- though facemasks are typically much more resilient than bones in a human hand. For sending such a "message" of stupidity a player will typically be assessed a 15 yard personal foul penalty, but no harm has really been done.
But Beckham went WAY too far. Evidently frustrated by not only the trash talk but having Gordon play him physically in man coverage and shut him down, Odell crossed a major line.
On a play that was already over, Beckham got a 10 yard running head start and blindsided Gordon on a helmet to helmet hit. It was the ultimate thug maneuver and definitely meant to cause injury. For this there was no excuse. Luckily, Gordon wasn't seriously injured, but he easily could have been. Besides the possibility of a broken jaw or, God forbid even neck, from such a cheap goonish shot were in play. It could have happened. And while the NFL has finally come around to put in place a long overdue proper "concussion protocol" -- this was exactly the sort of thing that led to so many brain injuries in the first place. A defender lowering his head as a battering ram and delivering a sideways lick on an opponent's helmet. A lot of things can happen, and most of them are bad.
The incriminating evidence was indeed obvious. Beckham did the crime and he should be held accountable for it. Yet Odell Beckham had the utter audacity to appeal his one game suspension. BTW, this was his third personal foul of the game. A player clearly out of control. Again, we've all seen the video(s) countless times because guys like Trey/Deuce seem to think it's mandatory every 5 minutes to force feed it to sports fans. Over, and over, and over again.
Almost surprisingly, the NFL upheld his 1 game suspension. In recent times Goodell and company have gotten so many things wrong, it's hard to predict what they might bungle next.
Which brings me back to the "other" flaw in the system mentioned above. Odell Beckham deserved a much worse fate than what he got. Missing one game check when he's already making millions hardly serves as a deterrent to others that might contemplate such mayhem in the future.
Like courts, the NFL should have another option. When a guy is so obviously guilty -- the videos don't lie -- and he has the audacity to waste the time and services of others trying to scam his way out of it -- he should be banged even harder.
One game is not enough. If yours truly was the judge, I would rule as follows:
Mr. Beckham, your one game suspension may have been fitting for your goonish behavior on the field. I found your deliberate attempt to injure appalling, but such is the nature of a lot of things in the NFL. Everybody wants to hurt everybody else.
However, given the egregious nature of your violent conduct, and the very fact you stand before me trying to justify it, is truly offensive to this court. While I applaud your abilities to catch footballs with one hand, you sir, contrary to the hero worship you may have received of late, and not above the laws of human dignity.
Therefore, I not only uphold your one game suspension, but am tacking on 5 more games. You will not play in the 2015 season finale for the Giants, and will sit out the first four games of the 2016 season as well -- without pay.
This court stands adjourned. What's that? You object, Mr. Beckham?
Fine. I object to your your ridiculous hair. Make that 8 games. Any more questions?
I thought not. Merry Christmas and to all a good night.
The Bonehead Files. Jim Caldwell and his wonder boy Matthew
Just when you think something or somebody can't possibly get even dumber -- well -- we know what usually happens. The last couple days have been chock full of boneheads.
Detroit Lions' head coach Jim Caldwell said quarterback Matthew Stafford is progressing nicely with the offense but, "but doesn't have (grasp) it all yet because it hasn't all been installed".
Well gee, Jimbo. We're heading into Week 16 of the NFL season and your team is hopelessly out of playoff contention. Just when, pray tell, do you think would be a good time to put in the rest of the plays? Next year? Chances are you and your sorry staff won't even be around next year. Then again, it IS the Lions. Maybe they'll give you a 20 year guaranteed contract extension at, say, $10 million a year.
[I dare say that would tide you over quite nicely as you bonehead your way through your golden years. Never underestimate the incredible naivete of the Ford family when it comes to owning an NFL franchise. If memory serves me correctly, the late Willy Clay was a charter member of the Bonehead Files.]
This warrants two more inductions into the Bonehead Files. Caldwell is obvious. And Matthew Stafford gets a spot just in case he's as dumb as what Caldwell subtly hints at. The Georgia Peach in in his 7th season as a starting QB for the Lions. If he can't grasp an NFL offense by now and execute all the plays -- then he never will. Maybe that's why he keeps racking up gaudy personal passing statistics but has yet to win a single playoff game. During crunch time when the pressure is on, he and Caldwell revert back to their inner selves. Boneheads. It's in their DNA.
Welcome to the hallowed halls, boys. We'll put your Bonehead plaques right along side other infamous folks once associated with the Lions. There's the Fords, Russ Thomas, Matt Millen, other inept front office personnel, a whole slew of clown coaches over the years -- the latest being that lovable berserkazoid loose cannon Jim Schwartz -- and definitely several players. Lots of premier draft choices that crashed and burned. We have a stomper and even the losingest player in the history of the NFL. Some loud mouth center named Dom that mercifully finally retired after last year. Remember, he was your team leader for years. Such a clown could only be a team spokesman in Detroit. Oh yes, Room L (guess what that stands for -- it's not Lions) is chock full of Honolulu blue and silver lore. You'll fit right in.
Here's a wild idea. As long as the Lions have already stunk up another season, how's about putting in the rest of the plays they've supposedly have been holding back? At this point -- what do they have to lose?
This can only boil down to one of two things. Either these magical plays are a figment of Caldwell's imagination, or he indeed doesn't think his QB is bright enough to comprehend, much less execute them. Neither bodes well.
But there is no disputing one age old truth. It's still the same old Lions. In the whole scheme of things, they're SUPPOSED to serve as a bad example and be the punch line of jokes. It's not only their rightful place in the world of professional sports, it's their very destiny.
One more sad sack season on top of their historic pile should hardly come as a surprise.
Nor should two more inductees into the Bonehead Files.
Jim Caldwell and Matthew Stafford. At least one of them is clueless. Best to take no chances and honor both.
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