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.
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