Simply candid or fuse-blowing scary? I’d opt for the former in describing the work of ESPN’s Jay Bilas — generally no favorite of mine — who pulled no punches in sneering over the Big Dance qualifications of California and Washington this morning on “College Gameday”. In the eyes of the New York Daily News’ Bob Raissman however, the former Dukie’s work during the Big East Tournament “was unnecessarily confrontational.”
One of his mates, the gregarious Bill Raftery, called him “cranky.” Bilas certainly sounded inpatient, at one point ordering Raf to “finish your thought.” Whatever. Bottom line here: Listening to Bilas was uncomfortable. Perhaps one of the sociology profs on the Bristol Clown Community faculty will encourage him to work on his courtside manner. That would be much appreciated. It would also discourage those going to the mute button when Bilas opens his yap.
Of a mooted swap of 1B’s Albert Pujols and Ryan Howard, the Good Phight’s Whole Camels likens such chatter to “sort of like me having internal discussions about trading my wife for Charlize Theron” (pre or post “Monster”?). And while the Philadelphia Daily News considers the rumor too insubstantial for even a mention on their website Sunday, Phillies GM Ruben Amaro had little patience for a weekend call from ESPN’s Buster Olney :
“Lies,” Amaro said. “That’s a lie. I don’t know who you’re talking to, but that’s a lie.”
I’m not sure I’d take nearly as much offense. Amaro’s already shown a bit of daring-do in flipping Cliff Lee for Roy Halliday, though a Pujols/Howard exchange would rank as one of the bigger blockbusters in history. And that’s without having a photograph of Mrs. Camels for reference.
“At any given time, there are going to be 10 fans in the stands who can throw harder than him,” says Rany Jazayerli of Royals reliever Chris “Disco” Hayes, so dubbed because his signature submarine delivery rarely results in a pitching leaving the ’70’s. While I’m thrilled no one ever came up with Tom “Post-Punk” Glavine, Hayes’ exploits, on and off the field, provide thrilling fodder for the Chicago Tribune’s Oscar Avila.
“It’s kind of hard for people to picture how this is going to work for me,” Hayes said. “If you wanted to turn somebody into a hurdler and some guy walks up and he’s shorter than the hurdle, you’d say, ‘I can’t imagine him running in the Olympics.’
Hayes is especially popular with promoters of sabermetrics, “advanced statistics” they say are a better predictor of success than merely observing a player. Jazayerli said he thinks a strong season could land Hayes in the majors this year.
Take Hayes’ boyish facade — he looks and sounds like actor Matt Damon — and add his off-kilter wit, and it’s easy to see why so many pull for him. His blog (discohayes.mlblogs.com) is the sixth-most popular in Major League Baseball’s entire network.
It mixes baseball analysis with endearing tangents, such as when Hayes was caught without a plunger as he did battle with a “toilet of doom” as a houseguest on the road. Hayes knew the blog’s audience had gotten big when, days later, a fan in the stands held up a plunger and asked him to autograph it.
“I’d like to think I’ve signed more plungers than anybody,” Hayes said.
Former WFAN fixture/reprobate Sid Rosenberg has a new autobiography hitting bookstores later this month, ‘You’re Wrong & You’re Ugly’, and the Miami Herald’s Barry Jackson helpfully leaks some of the deeper thoughts from the current WQAM morning host ;
• Rosenberg started betting at age 11: “In Brooklyn in the late 1970s and early 1980s, it was not tough to find a bookie on any corner.” He bet “on thousands and thousands of games” and “lost in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. . . . It’s a horrible, horrible addiction.”
He said people called his house, looking for money on bets he lost, and “I’ve been uncomfortable. But I never really borrowed enough or lost enough to risk bodily harm.” The most he bet on a game was $10,000, which he won by picking Pittsburgh over Seattle in the 2006 Super Bowl. He regularly attends Gamblers Anonymous meetings: “Three times now, I’ve left and come back to the program.”
• Rosenberg wrote he has been diagnosed as bipolar and is “incredibly insecure” about everything other than his broadcast talent.
“Can I be happy? No, I can’t. I’ve gone to enough shrinks and therapists to figure this out. . . . I’ve sabotaged myself. If I didn’t have the off-field issues, I know I would be the biggest radio star to work in New York. If not now, then when Mike Francesa leaves.”
• He attributed his departure from 790 last March to philosophical differences, noting the station’s preference to make his show more local-oriented.
• Rosenberg suggested he’s well-accepted among Broward and Palm Beach listeners but “when you start getting to Kendall and Homestead and parts of Miami, those are the people [who] don’t appreciate the New Yorkers. . . . It’s a geographical bias that I have to deal with every single day. My listeners hear my accent, and right away I become the enemy. The fans down in Miami are not nearly as passionate — or, for that matter, as intelligent — as New York fans. I don’t want to call my fan base stupid, but it’s not the same.”
Thursday’s Rays/Pirates exhibition tilt featured a combined 30 hits, 31 runs and took nearly 4 hours to complete. That said, Hardball Talk’s Craig Calcaterra described the setting with unusual gusto (”the worst baseball game of my life was 100 times better than the best day I ever had in an office”), detailing a) Jose Tabata’s misadventures in centerfield, b) Tampa bullpen coach Bobby Ramos taunting the paying customers and c) home plate umpire John Hirshbeck punishing the Rays’ S-Rod for excessive (and weirdly inappropriate) celebrating. Among other things. But here’s an item that really stuck out — could the NBC columnist have discovered a future big league GM in the making? Or at least a really good wedding planner?
As the National Anthem was being sung, the Pirates’ employee who seemed to be in charge of everything going on that day saw that one of the padded panels on the outfield wall had fallen down. He jumped on his walkie talkie and started stage managing. In the space of, like, 25 seconds, he had (a) dispatched a couple of members of the grounds crew to fix the wall; (b) got someone else to go tell John Russell and the umpires about the panel and to not start the game yet; (c) spotted a plastic bag floating across the field and got someone else to run out and retrieve it; and (d) watched the guy retrieve it and reminded everyone on the line to NOT walk over the pitcher’s mound if you have to go out on the field. The dude was just hyper-competent. If they could bottle whatever moxy he has and distribute it throughout the rest of the organization the Pirates wouldn’t be in nearly the dire straits they’re in these days.
Did Mike Francesa’s former WFAN colleague Chris Carlin get the above scoop spectacularly wrong? It kinda looks like it, but is that justification for the complete evisceration performed by the “Mike’d Up” host? Without even getting into Francesa’s batting average in such instances —- which last time I checked, wasn’t nearly 1.000 — who else makes sports radio seem so utterly joyless, so unrelentingly grim?
[Lenny Dykstra: Hit with charges of sexual harassment, racism, and financial chicanery, yet claiming this week to be worth $100 million – ah, nothing an hour of Suze Orman couldn't fix.]
Hey, I like schadenfreude as much as the next guy. In this economy, it’s my best entertainment dollar. Still, I found Mark Riddix’ article on “investopedia.com” – in which he details the respective financial collapse of, among others, Mike Tyson, John Daly, and Lenny Dykstra – a pretty lame, opportunistic use of celebrity to sell Investopederast’s sponsor bullshit. Riddix offers up some sad statistics via Sports Illustrated that 80% of NFL players consider bankruptcy within two years of retirement and 50% of NBA players are broke within five years. Yes, you could boil it down, as Riddix does, to bad planning and bad business sense. That’s an especially convenient analysis for a site that loads its articles themselves with links to gouging, amoral corporations like Bank of America (sure, I’d like advice on getting a Federal bailout just like BoA’s) or that peddle financial planning books . But, in the cases of Tyson, Daly, and Dykstra, and many others, do you need a psychologist to see some truly screwed-up emotional, chemical, and criminal behavior? Yes, Scottie Pippen buying a Gulfstream IV is retarded – but is an egomaniac who thinks he needs a Gulfstream IV going to hire the right financial planner or buy the right book off Investopod in the first place? It all completely misses the point of what happens when you offer people with no emotional stability piles of cash and massive celebrity because they have one marketable skill. It means nothing to them. How do you financially plan, or even understand what your planner is telling you, when you got through the NCAA on jock passes? How do you financially plan when you’re a violent drunk or a sociopath? Riddix goes thru these people and critiques their spending v. income on a balance sheet. It’s like pointing out to an alcoholic that you get drunk when you drink too much, so don’t drink so much. Mission accomplished. I’m sure all Iron Mike’s problems are answered in a copy of 6 Months to a Better Budget. Writes Riddix:
Mike Tyson The king of them all is boxer Mike Tyson, who squandered a $350 to $400 million dollar fortune. So what did “Iron” Mike spend his fortune on? Everything. He dropped half a million dollars on a 420 horsepower Bentley Continental SC with lamb’s wool rugs, a phone and a removable glass roof. It is one of only 73 Bentley Continental SC’s ever built. The sad part is that’s not even the only Bentley that Tyson owned! He spent over $4.5 million dollars on cars alone. Throw in a $2 million dollar bathtub and $140,000 for two Bengal tigers and you can see why Tyson’s fortune is down for the count. He filed for bankruptcy in 2003.
Conclusion You can learn a lot by watching the poor financial decisions that many athletes have made. While you may never find yourself in Vegas about to drop $20,000 at the roulette wheel, we all have blind spots when it comes to certain types of spending. Looking at these formers millionaires’ rapid decline, you have to wonder when excessive spending goes from a manageable extravagance to a decision that will land you in the poorhouse. (For further reading check out 6 Months To A Better Budget.)
As you’re undoubtedly aware, PTI’s Tony Kornheiser recently served a two week suspension from ESPN after referring to Hannah Storm’s red skirt and go go boots combo as “a horrifying, horrifying outfit.”. While Don Ohlmeyer (above) admits, “derogatory comments about a fellow employee’s appearance, male or female, should be unacceptable”, he uses his most recent ESPN ombudsman column to subtlety suggest that maybe Kornheiser had a point.
In terms of attire, all ESPN commentators are supposed to select their wardrobes with the approval of producers and consultants. The byword of corporate guidance is “appropriateness,” but a large number of the letters on the Kornheiser suspension questioned just that — the appropriateness of Storm’s clothing choices.
Storm is an excellent sports broadcaster — knowledgeable, articulate, likeable and entertaining. Her breezy, relaxed delivery works particularly well on morning “SportsCenters.” She’s had an exemplary career, but if critiques in this mailbag reflect the audience at large, her choices for attire are not helping either Storm or the network. If anything distracts the audience from interesting content professionally presented, ESPN should take notice.
It’s a little hard for me to understand what exactly about Ms. Storm’s get up has Kornheiser and some percentage of the WWL’s viewers all hot and bothered, but given that Ohlmeyer considers their opinions valid, maybe ESPN’s female air talent might consider an alternative wardrobe. For instance, hands up, everyone in the sports blogosphere waiting for Erin Andrews to don one of these?
The poster on the top is courtesy of Obsolete Industries‘ Billy Bishop. If you turn up early on March 17, there should be a limited quantity of silk-screened versions available. If you want a copy my John Holmes flyer, surely you’ve got a printer of your own, right?
Smoking gun or just business as usual in most locker rooms around the country? I’ll guess the latter, but it’s possible administrators at Texas Tech might claim otherwise after a pair of profanity-laced postgame speeches by recently deposed head coach Mike Leach were obtained by Orangebloods.com’s Chip Brown via the Texas Open Records Act.
After a 20-13 victory over Baylor on Nov. 28, 2009, Leach is seen for several minutes using expletives to criticize his players for thinking they’re “too good” to play Baylor and for an up-and-down season, including a “close” loss to Texas.
“There’s a couple of you guys that your current living situation is going to change,” Leach says. “We’ve got several of you, particularly on offense, all you do is pull mediocrity out of one another. Well, you’re going to live somewhere else. Last time I checked, we’re paying the (expletive) bills.”
After a 42-21 victory over Kansas on Oct. 31, 2009, Leach directs some of his players, whom he calls “God squad guys,” about how to pray.
“What does God say? ‘If you’re lukewarm, I’ll spew you out,’” Leach says. “? If you’re a defensive player, I don’t need one side of the brain on playing defense and one side thinking, ‘Oh gee, I wonder, this. I wonder that. I wonder the other thing.’ No, no. Screw that.
“Your whole head’s got to be on defense. Your whole head has to be on offense. Your whole head for that play has to be on special teams. If you’re not doing that, you guys who are throwing the book around all the time, you’re defying the book.”
It’s out there, somewhere, on the internet: the column containing the first sour-stomached VORP joke, the first figurative blogger dismissively imagined hacking away in his mother’s basement. It wouldn’t be surprising if, even in that pathbreaking bit of on-deadline snarkery, those phrases came off tired. Those particular jokes were born tired, and born of tiredness: just some beaten-down coffee-breathed sportswriter type slapping away something outside of his experience, for the reason that it’s outside of his experience, over and over again forever. All to avoid having to unpack an acronym.
This is not where great thinking or writing comes from, of course — very little worth reading has ever been written in the service of advancing an objection to thought. While it’s tempting to write that this sort of self-flattering dismissiveness is where our terrible politics and obese and lazy national conversation come from — tempting because, on a different scale and in a different frame, this sort of huffy, self-pleased ignorance is the exact foundation of, say, Palinism. But true though it might be, it’s a temptation I’m going to work to dismiss. This is sports we’re talking about, and there are currently strawmen getting whomped in the discourse whose assault is a much bigger deal. Anti-nerd sportswriting is plenty stupid in its own right, and objectionable even in context, so I’ll try to leave it in that context. The question, for me, is whether it’s even worth addressing.
Obviously, I’m answering that question by writing this. And to the extent that the weirdly persistent subgenre of anti-nerd sportswriting/talk has given anything to people who read about sports — beyond a window into Marty Noble’s forbidden love for the weirdest homemade stats — it has been through the responses to it. Fire Joe Morgan was kind of the same thing all the time, but it was a very good and pretty important thing, all that kicking against the pricks and steadfast refusal to humor stubborn ignorance; at a time when people of that same mean small-mindedness were running the country, it almost felt significant to see commentators get busted for refusing to think about something and dedicating themselves to cheapjack mockery of those who were. (Yes, even when the “something” in question is the relative value of Willy Taveras or whatever)
And it’s not that there’s no reason to criticize or make fun of statheads, either. Enough time has elapsed in Billy Beane’s tenure in Oakland to draw some conclusions, good or ill, on his work there, but that’s not what, say, Buzz Bissinger wants to do. And the Internet Stat Lords can be peevish and group-thinky and are eminently mockable — witness the frenzied offseason pumping of gimpy 38-year-old catcher Gregg Zaun as a prime free agent by sabermetrically-minded bloggers, and you’ll believe that on-base percentage can be overvalued. But that conversation hasn’t even really been started. Lord knows that anti-nerd sportswriters aren’t interested in having it. They are, as far as I can tell, interested in getting those youngsters off the lawn, first, foremost and only.
And there will be a market for that sort of grousing, no matter how small-minded and predictable and boring and identikit it all is. The most rancid and ignorant and trollish sportswriter dudes will always find work; people will always be shocked when Craig Carton says on the radio that Jose Reyes can die at 50 for all he cares if he brings a World Series to Queens, and Craig Carton will always say that. This is because the aforementioned people are assholes, but also because people apparently keep responding to it. (One thing I wonder about: has the alternative been tried enough to say that Assholes are more popular than, say, your Joe Posnanskis of the world?) Our sports discourse is home to a great many of these glorified message-board trolls, and trolls are going to be trolls. For instance, WEEI’s Jerry Thornton (above) is going to be a troll:
There’s no escaping this conclusion: the Stat Geeks have quietly and insidiously taken power [with the Red Sox]. Every hot stove report I’ve read this offseason, every article written from Fort Myers, every statement from Sox brass, has the Stat Geeks’ grubby little fingerprints on it. They’re like the Communist Party plotting to take over Hollywood in the 1950s before Ronald Reagan got wise to them and kicked their pinko butts all the way back to Moscow and Harvard Square. Only, instead of trying to write screenplays full of anti-capitalists rants, the Stat Geeks have succeeded in making otherwise normal, decent, God-fearin’ Americans start talking about VORP (Value Over Replacement Player) ratings and UZR (Ultimate Zone Rating) numbers like they really believe in this nonsense.
In its way, that’s a pretty impressive paragraph, just in terms of the sheer amount of hackish parochialism and sour stupidity packed into four sentences. But of course it’s also fucking ridiculous. The whole article is, and it’s not worth reading unless you’re in a scab-picking mood. There’s a kind of palpable delight in it, though, that should tell you where Thornton’s real intentions lie. He’s just trying to stir some shit up, piss some people off. He is trying to get linked to from… well, probably not from CSTB, but from Deadspin (which happened) and to elicit earnest outrage from people like SNY’s Ted Berg, who obliges in a post that’s as unnecessary as it is amusing and on-point. Berg’s post is pretty amusing and pretty on-point.
But it’s also counterproductive, I think. It is a drag, a profound fucking drag, that so many of the sport-pundits with the biggest megaphones and audiences are so steadfastly resistant to writing anything interesting or displaying any thought, and so content to bait their audiences with lazy provocations. The disjunction between how terrible someone like Jerry Thornton is at his job and how much better and safer a job he has than do a ton of better writers and thinkers is vexing and baffling — and not going anywhere. It’s not going anywhere because, on its own bankrupt terms, Thornton’s piece was a success. That is what the market does to the discourse; pieces like his, and people like him are the natural result of the downward intellectual pressure of the click-economy every bit as much as is, say, a true sub-basement dweller like TMZ Sports. I know that I oftenbleat about this topic, and I know there’s not much we can do about it. Except for one thing, I guess.
I’d really love to see the writers I respect ignore these empty, obvious provocations from empty, obvious doofuses like Thornton in the future. Or at least to address them in context, not point-by-point, since they really only matter when taken as a group; piece by piece and line by line, they’re obviously worthless. I’m not taking my own advice by writing this post, and I probably won’t take it from time to time going forward. But the way to critique the snarling trolls poisoning the way we talk about sports (and plenty else), I can’t help but think, is just to do better work, seek out better work, and avoid playing their dumb game. CSTB would cease to exist if we followed that to the letter, of course, and I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t enjoy reading (and writing) some of that stuff. But you lose an argument with Jerry Thornton just by humoring him to enter it.
“So much has been destroyed.” opines the New York Times’ Richard Sandomir, “that it’s hard to feel even a tingle of fuzzy nostalgia for the house that Ruth built.” That’s pretty cold-blooded ; I’m no Yankee fan and I’m already kinda wistful for any number of spring-autumn evenings spend listening to visiting center fielders described as pedophiles or worse. Sure, everyone loves the $25 steak sandwiches at the Nu Stadium (not to mention the cheapo home runs) but it’ll take more than YouToob’d demolition of the old joint to erase warm feelings.
In addition to throwing the football like a pansy, mucho-decorated Florida’s Tim Tebow found his intellectual chops under fire Thursday after the Palm Beach Post’s Ben Volin revealed the Christlike QB had scored a below average mark on the Wonderlic, a 12 minute, 50 question quizzed administered at the NFL Scouting Combine. Vince Young’s poor showing on the Wonderlic was widely exaggerated 4 years ago and may or may not have played a role in the Texans and Saints selecting Mario Williams and Reggie Bush ahead of the Houston product (well, that and his throwing the football like a pansy).
Tebow scored a 22 out of 50 on the Wonderlic test, an NFL source told the Post Wednesday. The score falls slightly below the average score for an NFL quarterback, which is 24. But the average for 30 quarterbacks slated to start in 2010 is even higher, at 28.5. And the average score among the past seven Super Bowl winners is a 30.1. The scores for Kansas City’s Matt Cassel and Carolina’s Matt Moore could not be found.
Tebow also recorded the lowest Wonderlic score among the four top quarterback prospects in the 2010 draft. Oklahoma’s Sam Bradford led the way with a 36, according to the source, while Texas’ Colt McCoy scored a 25 and Notre Dame’s Jimmy Clausen a 23.
While Tebow’s score of 22 would place him in a tie for 25th with Brett Favre and Chad Henne among starting NFL quarterbacks, the score likely won’t affect Tebow’s draft status nearly as much as his passing ability will.
The NFL is littered with mediocre quarterbacks who scored well (Ryan Fitzpatrick 48, Alex Smith 40, Matt Leinart 35) and star quarterbacks who scored poorly (Donovan McNabb 14, Dan Marino 15, Jim Kelly 15, Daunte Culpepper 18).
And make no mistake, hitting leadoff or 3rd for the New York Mets would qualify as exertion in the eyes of most medical professions, even the short-sighted quacks employed by Flushing’s National League entry. After initial tests indicated New York SS Jose Reyes’ thyroid condition was benign enough that he could rejoin the club sometime this week, Mets GM Omar Minaya instead described a far more serious situation with reporters prior to an exhibition game with Boston earlier today. From the New York Daily News’ Adam Rubin :
Follow-up tests at the Hospital For Special Surgery showed Reyes’ thyroid levels spiked upward again once he did controlled exercise on Monday and Tuesday.
“He was very disappointed because the initial results said that he could possibly be back in a matter of days,” agent Peter Greenberg said. “We’re guilty of speaking a little bit too soon, unfortunately.”
GM Omar Minaya and agent Greenberg indicated that Reyes’ thyroid levels will be tested weekly, and he’ll be cleared to resume physical activity once those normalize. That could take as long as two months, however. Reyes will remain in New York and should be absent several weeks beyond when the thyroid normalizes because he will need to get back into playing shape.
Adding to the complexity is that Reyes is returning from a torn hamstring and surgery to repair a severed hamstring tendon.
“But it’s a completely curable, treatable situation,” Greenberg said about the hyperthyroidism. “I think we all view it as good news. He’s supposed to rest and watch his diet. He’s not supposed to do anything that is going to raise the heart level, so that the irritation can go down.”
All of which means Alex Cora is likely to get drafted a few more times in NL-only leagues. And Jerry Manuel is likely to be catching up with “The Price Is Right” before the All-Star Break.
USA Today’s Bob Nightengale recently hosted a discussion regarding the role of African-Americans in today’s baseball landscape, a chat that included Halos OF Torri Hunter describing Latino players as “imposters” (”we have a theory that baseball can go get an imitator and pass them off as us…it’s like they had to get some kind of dark faces, so they go to the Dominican or Venezuela because you can get them cheaper. It’s like, ‘Why should I get this kid from the South Side of Chicago and have Scott Boras represent him and pay him $5 million when you can get a Dominican guy for a bag of chips?’”). Writing for his MLB.com blog, Hunter attemped today to clarify matters, stressing “I am hurt by how the comments attributed to me went off the track and misrepresented how I feel.” In short, the Angel misquoted himself.
What troubles me most was the word “impostors” appearing in reference to Latin American players not being black players. It was the wrong word choice, and it definitely doesn’t accurately reflect how I feel and who I am.
What I meant was they’re not black players; they’re Latin American players. There is a difference culturally. But on the field, we’re all brothers, no matter where we come from, and that’s something I’ve always taken pride in: treating everybody the same, whether he’s a superstar or a young kid breaking into the game. Where he was born and raised makes no difference.
I was a football player as a kid. Football was my life where I grew up. But people like Scipio Spinks, who pitched in the Major Leagues and saw me play, and my grandfather were able to convince me that I could have a long career in baseball and not tear up my body. I am grateful I listened to them and followed this path. Now I’m dedicated to spreading the word to other young kids.
Persons with short memories might not recall that prior Derek Jeter’s face-defying dive into the stands rendered Boston’s brooding superstar persona non grata, Nomar Garciaparra was arguably the most beloved active sporting figure in New England. Tom Brady, Paul Pierce and David Ortiz have all been deified to one extent or another since the controversial dumping of Garciaparra on the Cubs in July of 2004, but before the injuries, the innuendo from Bob Ryan, the contract squabbles and accusations of official scorer harassment, Nomar wasn’t just a local icon, he was routinely mentioned in the same breath as Jeter and A-Rod when it came to game’s greatest contemporary shortstops. Despite occasional flashes of his old offensive self in Los Angeles, particularly in 2006, Garciaparra never came close to the form he displayed between ‘97 and 2003. He’ll be fondly recalled, especially in wake of today’s stagey retirement as a member of the Red Sox, but who’d have imagined a decade ago — when Garciaparra hit .372 and posted an OPS of 1.033, that he’d be washed up as a full-time player by the time he was 33?
The Cincinnati Enquirer’s John Fay requested a moment of Brandon Phillips‘ time last week, and the Reds second baseman replied, “I’ve been here a week and now you’re gonna try to talk to me?”. Such behavior strikes Fay as a bit diva-esque, given that “Ken Griffey Jr. would have given me the keys to his yacht to leave him alone for the first week of spring training”. For shame on the player, then, for not knowing Fay’s reputation in advance!
Phillips felt slighted because he wasn’t one of the first three position players I wrote about.
The three position players I had written about had more newsworthy stories.
I wrote about Joey Votto, who was coming off a year in which he missed 31 games with depression and anxiety issues.
I wrote about Jay Bruce, who had struggled mightily and was coming off a broken wrist.
I wrote about Scott Rolen, who had redone his contract at a reduced rate for 2010.
The reason I chose Phillips that day was I thought the story would get a good ride in the paper. My theme was going to be about what he had to do to take the next step – to go from a very good player to a great one.
Phillips’ hero growing up was Barry Larkin. It’s hard to fathom Larkin refusing an interview because of a perceived slight in the pecking order.
No one is claiming a pattern of mal-behavior w/ Roethlisberger. YET. After SB win #1, photos taken in basement of a college party w/ college-aged girls, drunk as shit. Then he tries a relationship with a woman, Natalie Gulbis, who will no longer speak his name. Apparently, women and Ben don’t mix. Then Ben goes to Vegas* and, according to hospital staff, rapes a hotel employee, andrea McNulty. McNulty is kinda messed up and is a “worshipper” – kinda like a college girl. Then Ben goes to a club in a WOMEN’S ONLY college town, sets up in a back room and commences to demanding sex from college girls.
Lesson: WHITE ATHLETES DON’T HAVE NEGATIVE BEHAVIORAL PATTERENS.
There is a criminal investigation underway in Milledgeville, Georgia and Ben Roethlisberger left town without so much as a whisper from the police or the press.
Lesson: WHITE ATHLETES ARE DECIDEDLY MORE TRUSTWORTHY THAN BLACK ATHLETES.
The saying from the press with EVERY Black athlete who finds himself in trouble, either of his own doing or having something done to him is, “Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.”
Lesson: WHITE ATHLETES CAN HANG OUT WHEREVER THEY WANT AT ALL HOURS OF THE NIGHT AND THE PRESS WILL NOT CHASTISE THEM FOR GETTING INTO TROUBLE.
I managed to buttonhole Michael Lewis, and got this bit of news: the rebooted Moneyball movie, scripted by Aaron Sorkin, is scheduled to start shooting in June. According to Lewis, Brad Pitt’s still going to play Billy Beane. But Demetri Martin’s out as Paul DePodesta (above). Instead — ready for this? — the ex-football player and Harvard graduate will be portrayed by … Jonah Hill.
The addition of “Superbad”’s Hill to the cast all but guarantees there will be hardly any money left in the studio’s budget for John Hawkes to play Jeremy “Soft Body” Brown, Ed Harris as Art Howe or Frankie Faison to channel Joe Morgan.
The (surprisingly recent) closure of Chris Webber’s Sacramento sports-staurant presumably dealt a serious blow to the food scene in California’s capital, but that’s sort of the market at work, isn’t it? A long-departed power forward’s sports grill(e?) can be good for what it is, but it’s not the sort of thing that can keep up with a restaurant created by a professional chef/TV personality/”food dude” (sorry) like Guy Fieri. Admittedly, I’m reaching for a way to rope some sort of CSTB-relevance onto this pretty funny blog post about visiting Fieri’s Sacramento flagship restaurant, which is called — and I apologize for this, too — Tex Wasabi’s Rock-N-Roll Sushi BBQ.
I actually have to say the inside of Tex Wasabi’s was pretty kick ass. A completely tasteless mish-mosh of cheap Asian influenced knick-knacks bought at the local Cost Plus World Market, interspersed with random cowboy hats, whips, horsey saddles and chaps n’ shit. Kind of like P.F. Chang’s meets The S.F. Eagle. There were TV’s EVERYWHERE broadcasting various episodes of Guy’s many highly rated Food Network shows, except one HUGE TV in the middle of the room that had Rush Hour 2 on a loop. Blasting on the radio? Well the soulful blues styling of Stevie Ray Vaughn of course! The waitresses were all very helpful and sweet and all looked like they were on some sort of rockabilly roller-derby team.
I asked my lovely waitress to just bring me whatever the most popular dish was and she brought me, and I’m seriously about to barf just thinking about it, a roll of sushi called The Screaming Gobbler described as such: ‘Roasted turkey, jalapenos, pepper jack, avocados, green onions, mayonnaise and sriracha mayonnaise wrapped in sushi rice and tapioca paper. First you’ll gobble, then you’ll scream.’
It ends about as well as you’d imagine; the post has many visual elements, from an animated .gif of the Tex Wasabi logo to a photo of GF onstage with his band (?) in a tuxedo t-shirt, so it might be worth the click-through. Link found via Maura Johnston’s Tumblr. So I guess… thanks?
“Allen Iverson is in trouble, folks, deep trouble.” warns the Philadelphia Inquirer’s resident Blackberry fiend Stephen A. Smith. “The combination of alcohol and gambling – and a once-promising career in tatters because of the first two – won’t culminate in anything short of disaster if help does not arrive in short order.” Suffice to say, these issues seem a bit more serious than A.I.’s oft-stated protests about coming off the bench, at least if we trust SAS’ source, Iverson’s business manager, Gary Moore.
Iverson’s wife, Tawanna, having hired some high-powered Atlanta attorney and filed for a divorce last week, does not help matters. Nor does it help that she’s already separated from her husband, with custody of their five kids and seeking both alimony and child support.
When you consider Iverson’s well-known penchant for alcohol and his banishment from casinos in Detroit and Atlantic City, if disgust and sadness don’t come to mind, at least one question does:
Where is Pat Croce when you need him? Or Iverson’s coach at Georgetown, John Thompson?
Where is the person with the ideal combination of compassion and toughness who would shelter Iverson at the same time he’s holding his feet to the flames? Someone whose vested interest is in Iverson’s well-being, someone who doesn’t need his money or cachet?
Thompson’s an obvious candidate to lead the intervention, but perhaps the Commissioner’s office ought to be interested to, given the extent to which the Association has profited wildly from Iverson’s presence over the years. Assuming no portion of Smith’s tale is exaggerated, anyway.
Feller walked into the media work room at Goodyear, Ariz., this past week for the first time since the Reds joined the Indians at their spring training home.
Cincy’s prize off-season acquisition was Cuban defector Aroldis Chapman, who signed a six-year $30.25 million deal in January.
Said Feller: “What about that Cuban kid? He must’ve got Obama stimulus money.”
(University Of Oregon DL Ra’shon Harris struts his stuff for an audience of rich white guys and football degenerates watching on television)
Recently, yours truly disparaged the NFL Scouting Combine as “a meat market” , though Jeff Pearlman — never as smart or as good looking as when he’s echoing my sentiments — goes a bit further in likening the televised spectacle to a modern slave auction. That Rich Eisen 40 yard dash doesn’t seem nearly so funny now, does it?
In short: (With rare exception) A bunch of old, wealthy white men sit in the stands with stopwatches, clocking (with rare exception) a bunch of young, inexperienced black men. The bidding takes place in April, with the most money spent earning the most promising (with rare exception) black man. In my radio friend’s words, “It’s creepy.” I agree.
Whenever I watch ESPN or the NFL Network and see their so-called “Draft experts,” I think “I’d rather be a garbage man specifically in charge of used condom disposal than report on this shit.” Seriously. You’re Mel Kiper. You’re 50-years old. You have a family, a life, hopes and dreams. And your days are spent, quite literally, chasing around 20-year-old kids to find out what their future plans are. You pitch a tent if they text you, and an even larger tent if they call to say, “Hey, Mel, I’m going to Miami.” It’s a sad existence, one I wouldn’t wish on my worst journalistic enemy.
I’ll run the risk of coming off (again) like a total jerk by saying I never got into the Dancing Hoods. I was also a pretty late convert to the majesty of Mark Linkous’ Sparklehorse. It wasn’t until 2001’s cameo-packed ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ that Linkous’ full strengths as a songwriter became super obvious to me (and congrats to those who figured it out years earlier, you were amply rewarded) and subsequent recordings (2006’s ‘Dreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain’ and last year’s ‘In The Fish Tank’ collaboration with Christian Fennesz) were equally affecting and powerful. Last night, Rolling Stone.com reported that Linkous committed suicide ; visitors to the Sparklehorse website were greeted with a photograph of the late Vic Chesnutt (since removed). My thoughts are with Linkous’ family, friends and co-conspirators.
Louisville helped its NCAA case immeasurably today with a convincing 78-68 home win over number one Syracuse, the second time the Lil’ Pitinos have beaten the Orange this season. But the biggest story about the game itself — bigger even than Louisville getting a super-clutch 22-point dunk-fest from this ultra-anonymous dude — was that it marked the last Louisville game at Freedom Hall. CBS gave this all the pomp one would expect, including a moderately over-the-top highlight reel dedicated to the arena which was highlighted by the amusingly jarring transition from a voiceover by Denny Crum to one by Rick Pitino.
Freedom Hall, the building, is geographically isolated and bereft of character – two qualities that are uncommon in a college basketball arena. From the outside, it looks like an airplane hangar. It isn’t on campus; rather, it was slapped together in a massive concrete desert south of downtown. The desert, which stretches for miles, is home to an expo center, a Six Flags that just went out of business, an airport, and a seldom-used mixed-use stadium. I’m saying that whenever I go there, I experience the urge to take a bunch of high-contrast black-and-white photos, caption them with lower-case pithy descriptors, and post them on my blog (which is probably named “s e e i n g t h e w o r l d” or something equally banal).
Remember fifth period in high school, when you wanted to grab a seat next to the wall so you could lean against it and try to fall asleep? Freedom Hall is made entirely of that wall.
… Of all the sports venues in the United States, Freedom Hall is surely the easiest to draw in MS Paint. My God, this building is boring. I do not know who designed it but I will bet you ten dollars that his favorite dish was oatmeal.
eBay auction link courtesy of Sally Crewe. If you think this shirt is crazy, wait ’til you get a load of their Durutti Column tee featuring a photograph of Peter Kay.
Just one of the highlights (so far) of Villanova’s visit to West Virgina (Wildcats leading, 34-30, early in the second half). Hugo Savinovich, unavailable for comment.
When Fox Sports’ Bob Klapisch cites “a whispering campaign” regarding the condition of Jason Bay’s knees, perhaps that’s what WEEI’s ferociously unfunny Gerry Callahan was alluding to Friday morning when he joked, “did you hear? Jason Bay’s into kiddie porn.” Klapisch adds, “a clean bill of health from the Mets’ medical staff is as reassuring as an IOU from Lenny Dykstra”, before giving the newly aquired Amazins’ LF another opportunity to question Peter Gammons’ credibility.
Although Bay is aware of the obvious drawbacks in 2010 — it’ll be harder to hit home runs at Citi Field than at Fenway, and he’ll have more ground to cover in the gaps — he says there has been no culture shock in wearing a Mets uniform.
Bay specifically disputes Peter Gammons’ on-air assertion that the slugger stalled in talks with the Mets because he would’ve rather played “in Beirut” before moving to Flushing.
“I like Peter; I don’t think he meant anything malicious about it, but what he said was just one more thing that I’ve had to deal with that wasn’t true,” Bay said.
“I’m happy with the Mets. I’ve been here less than a week, and it feels like I’ve been part of this team for five months. The atmosphere is great, and I have to say, playing in Boston has prepared me for the media, the market, the team.”
….it would actually represent an improvement on his recent multi-media offensive. With the possible exception of Stephon Marbury, there is no one else in 2010 who so thoroughly serves as a cautionary tale ; just because you can videotape/twitter everything thought that comes into your head, that doesn’t mean you should.
I write this in full knowledge that I run the risk of being compared to B. Brian Blair.
It’s kinda been apparent the Knicks have been in comprehensive tank mode since Zach Randolph (All-Star) and Jamal Crawford (leading sixth-man candidate) were given away.
What, D’Antoni wasn’t really on board with Walsh’s “master plan” when he accepted $24 million for four years? Why is he acting like the consummate sore loser, as if he didn’t know the first two seasons were going to get fragged? Why so grumpy when his tactics and techniques, or lack thereof, is questioned, as if he’s Phil Jackson and is above being challenged?
Had Walsh selected his draft picks more prudently and chosen a path of resistance vs. concession, the Knicks’ current starters would be Randolph, David Lee, Brook Lopez, Brandon Jennings and Crawford . . . and they would own their own first-rounders in 2011 and 2012 instead of the distant hope of landing James, Wade or both.
Any dimwit knows enough to offer LeBron and Wade max contracts. What happens if they are off the market? Walsh is 0-2 in the draft and D’Antoni, when doubling as Suns general manager, gifted Marcus Banks $4.5 million per guaranteed for five years.
These are the two Knicks in charge of evaluating free-agent talent.
The PR-spinning wizards at Blabbermouth.net happily report that former Dio guitarist Craig Goldy, “has amassed ‘an incredible knowledge of the inner workings of the record industry,’ from how to write hit songs, to creating hit bands and how to bypass the major traps and pitfalls that musicians fall into ‘trying’ to make it big in the music industry. He has gathered all of this information into a program called ‘Destiny Bridge’ and is making it available to the public at www.craiggoldy.com.” I’ve yet to review said program from start to finish, so I don’t know at what point aspiring superstars are advised to hock their old gear on eBay.
OK, this takes a bit of the shine off Nelson Figueroa’s 2nd quality outing of the spring. The New York Daily News’ Adam Rubin reports Mets SS Jose Reyes has a Monday appointment at the Hospital for Special Surgery to check on a just-discovered thyroid imbalance. It’s shocking stuff — who thought the Mets could discover anything wrong with Reyes besides his hamstrings?
The potential thyroid hyperactivity was flagged when results of a blood test Reyes took at the start of camp were analyzed, the shortstop said. Reyes went for a second blood test on Thursday, and local doctors cleared him to resume playing. But with Reyes prepared to go to the field with teammates to stretch before Friday’s game against the Marlins, trainer Ray Ramirez stopped the shortstop and informed him that the team’s New York doctors wanted to exam him before he continued baseball activities.
“I was already walking out to stretch and Ray called me and said, ‘Oh no, man, I don’t think you’re going to play today. I think you’re going to go to New York,’” Reyes said. “I feel good. … I feel the same. My energy level is there. (Thursday) the doctor said I was going to be able to play. But I think they sent the tests to the guy in New York, to the doctor, and he said, ‘No, we have to check him again and see what’s going on.’ If I get on the field it can be dangerous for me. I have to be concerned about it and find out what’s going on.
“We’re not talking about my leg. Nothing like that. We’re talking about my health. That’s even worse. So I have to be concerned about it.”
Don Cherry’s return to Boston last night was possibly not what NESN had in mind. Fast forward to about 1:43 in to hear Grapes essentially call Milan Lucic a big pansy.
(chairman Ken Bates celebrates his lack of accountability)
League One’s Leeds United announced a hike in season ticket prices for 2010-2011 yesterday in anticipation of securing promotion to English football’s 2nd division, the Championship. If you’re a United supporter wishing to express your dismay at such a proposition, please address your complaints to “Who Fucking Knows?”, as the Guardian’s David Conn explains.
Politicians from the three main parties and football supporters’ groups have united in calling for the Football League to make public who owns its clubs after the league approved as “fit and proper” the offshore owners of Leeds United while keeping their identity private.
The sports minister, Gerry Sutcliffe, said: “Fans of any football club have a right to know who the owners are. We want to see greater supporter representation in the running of football clubs and far greater accountability. The League should insist on clubs making public to their supporters who owns them.”
The Premier League does now require its clubs to publish the names of all shareholders with stakes of 10% or more, but the Football League does not. Instead, clubs must tell the League’s chairman, Lord Mawhinney, and three other senior executives, who the ultimate owners are, but the information is not made public.
Leeds have declined requests from the Guardian, following the League’s ratification, to say who the ultimate owners are. The only response this week came from Peter Boatman of Château Fiduciare, the Geneva-based financial administrator of Leeds’ holding company, Forward Sports Fund. “It is not necessary for you to have that information,” he said.
Mariners OF/DH/ticking time-bomb Milton Bradley’s toiled for 8 teams in 11 years, but to hear him tell the tale to the New York Times’ Tyner Kepner, except for one ill-fated season at Wrigley’s, it’s been nothing but smooth sailing. “If he leads the league in O.P.S., as he did for Texas in 2008, the Mariners could be very good,” predicts Kepner, but if Milton leads the AL in Obscene Protests & Screaming, they could be very, very bad.
“Two years ago, I played, and I was good,” Bradley said. “I go to Chicago, not good. I’ve been good my whole career. So, obviously, it was something with Chicago, not me.”
He added: “Just no communication. I never hit more than 22 homers in my career, and all of a sudden I get to Chicago and they expect me to hit 30. It doesn’t make sense. History tells you I’m not going to hit that many. Just a lot of things that try to make me a player I’m not.”
Chone Figgins, who signed for $36 million over four years, said he was excited to see what Bradley can do.
“I’ve always liked his game,” Figgins said. “He hits for power, he can steal you a base, he’s a patient hitter, he’s a good hitter, plays the outfield well. He’s a prototypical five-tool player. He’s going to be fun.”
I’ll never forget sitting in a private on-the-record interview with Phil Jackson in 1998 when he began describing the bathroom habits of Michael Jordan and Bulls GM Jerry Krause. It was disgusting, and Jackson did it to embarrass Krause (and perhaps even Jordan) in the course of a fierce public relations battle Jackson was waging with Bulls’ management and ownership.
It was an ugly, ugly time, and I was there to report much of it. Jackson has in the past quoted Abraham Lincoln about the better angels of our nature. Phil Jackson knows that when he turns to his own better angel he’s a pretty fine basketball coach. I think he’ll also admit in his most honest moments that he’s capable of some absolutely deplorable behavior. Aren’t we all? But you could make the case that because Jackson is so bright and talented, his highs are obviously higher than those for most of us. And his lows are really low. He can be a real creep if he thinks no one is looking.
Having lived through that intense experience in Chicago, I employ a certain belief in writing about Jackson in Los Angeles. If I see signs of the worse angel of Jackson’s nature starting to roam, I try to write about it. And when I do write about it, I don’t make it cute or pretty.
[Tony LaRussa's favorite couple: steroid tell-all author and McGwire accuser Jose Canseco and current embarrassment to the Cardinals org, poker-queen Miss Heidi Northcott.]
I’m happy to accuse the St. Louis Cardinals of almost anything, but soft core porn? Who knew I’d be given the gift today of learning that the video of mixed martial arts bruiser Chuck Liddel and girlfriend Heidi Northcott working out nude was filmed at the home of St. Louis Cardinal Brad Penny? As to what people do in the privacy of their own homes, I could care less. However, if I can expand the current list of Cardinal embarrassments – a DADT policy for injured players, an utterly unbelievable bubble of steroid denial from Tony LaRussa, the on-going family drama of baby-swatting former drug user Mark McGwire, not to mention the annual emotional dramas La Genius struggles with over perceived slights – if I can add to that laundry list providing production facilities for soft-core fetish shoots, I’m only too happy to do so. The odd thing is that the nude workout video was made without Liddell or Northcott’s knowledge, and they claim not to know who made it. So, yes, I’ll be watching Brad Penny and the DL closely this year, looking for broken bones, concussions, busted noses, lost teeth, or anything else that might smack of a mixed martial arts ass-kicking.
The story and much-viewed video can be found here, with the AP reporting that Liddell “claims to have been at the house of Cardinals pitcher Brad Penny when he and Heidi ‘thought it would be funny’ to exercise naked. Liddell denies knowing who shot the footage, and while he does not sound particularly angry about the video, he says explaining it to his children is ‘hard.’”
However foolhardy Gene Mauch was in running his starters into the groundin 1964, the facts were pretty straightforward: On the morning of September 16, Bunning was 17-5 and the Phils were still five games in front. Their ace would make five starts between that day and September 30, and he went 1-4 with a 7.46 ERA. The Phils finished third, though Bunning did win on the last day of the season in a game that could have theoretically forced a playoff.
In 1966, the Phils were still on the outskirts of the pennant race on September 5th, seven out. Bunning had a 16-9 record. He dropped five of his remaining eight decisions and the Phils were no factor down the stretch.
In the winter of 1967-68, the Pirates stripped their farm system of a couple of top prospects (shortstop Don Money, who made it, and lefty pitcher Bill Laxton, who didn’t) and packaged them with quality lefthander Woody Fryman to pry Bunning from Philadelphia. He went 4-14.
You can’t pin any of these pennant race collapses entirely on Bunning. In ‘64 the Phillies would never have been in the position to fold had he not dominated the league until the middle of September. In ‘68 a lot more went wrong with Pittsburgh than just Bunning. And in ‘69 he pitched some fine games in LA that the Dodgers could not win for him. But it is odd that not once in four pennant sprints did he finish strongly.
The state of Arizona and the Cactus league have come down with a severe case of affluenza. The symptoms are classic: on one hand, Republican fury over taxes and “government waste” while the other hand finds itself busy in the public’s pocket. As AP reports in today’s Baltimore Sun, at Casa De Ricketts, they have no problem with levying taxes on the locals for the benefit of their sports franchises:
PHOENIX – Four teams opposed to a funding plan for a new Chicago Cubs spring-training stadium skipped a kickoff event Tuesday hosted by Mesa.
Angels spokesman Tim Mead said it’s fundamentally wrong to implement a tax on loyal baseball fans.
State Rep. John McComish’s bill would add a $1 surcharge to car-rental fees in Maricopa County and an 8 percent surcharge to all spring-training tickets. It’s intended to generate $58 million that would finance bonds issued by the Arizona Sports and Tourism Authority for a new Cubs complex.
Mesa would be responsible for $26 million of the $84 million price tag.
Given the state of Arizona’s shameful political legacy (playing host to the Keating / S&L scandals of the 80s, giving MLK the finger, electing Senator/Douchebag John “unemployment benefits prevent people from looking for work” Kyl), there is much to like in the poetically just idea that Cub Nation’s new bosses have chosen those particular sun-bleached suburbs for their panhandling efforts using local government as a sock puppet.
Yet, it shouldn’t pass without comment that the billionaire Ricketts clan, far from shining examples of the wonders of free-market capitalism, are old hands at socialism for the rich. In 2006, family trust member Pete Ricketts’ attempt to buy a Nebraska Senate seat included a TV spot where the plucky former Ameritrade CEO is transplanted to a farm and thereupon fulminates against “special interests” and rising taxes from atop a hay bale, the accompanying bucolic aroma no doubt appropriate to the hypocrisy.
Ailing film critic Roger Ebert (shown above, right, with Russ Myer) appeared on “The Oprah Winfrey Show” yesterday, an occasion that inspired only slightly more emotion than the publication of Will Leitch’s “My Roger Ebert Story” at Deadspin. Our Man From Mattoon, as it turns out, was mentored by Ebert during the former’s tenure at the Daily Illini. Later, after arriving in New York and being encouraged to cultivate, uh, his snarky side, Leitch composed a hatchet job for Ironminds entitled “I Am Sick Of Roger Ebert’s Fat Face”. Though Leitch openly regrets the ill-advised piece (and Ebert has graciously forgiven him), the timing of the Deadspin entry is more than a little opportunistic. It’s entirely noble to call attention to Ebert’s work or to his habit of assisting young writers. It’s the height of narcissism, however, to flip the switch from Ebert’s writing or his courageous struggle with cancer to yet another clumsy bit of Leitch’s introspection.
The New York Times’ David Carr, not nearly as sickened as I, wrote, “who among us hasn’t fired the rocket, experiencing the atavistic glee of aiming something horrible at what we thought was some big, lumbering gasbag, and then come to realize that whatever the shortcomings of our target, we have just proved we are far more despicable?” That’s a fair enough question to ask, but not all of us would fire said missile at a target who’d gone out of his way to be a pal. And not all of us would use the occasion of said target’s major TV appearance to call attention to ourselves. And if you’re still wondering what would possibly provoke Leitch to have lashed out at a man he clearly considered to be something of a hero (watch your back, Rick Ankiel!), here’s his explanation.
The Web was beginning to emerge, and we young turks, swept in during the dot-com boom, all thought we were punk rock gods, ready to kill our idols. Ebert began to feel like the old guard: In the wake of Siskel’s death, he had become a ubiquitous presence on television, at the expense of his writing, I felt. In 2000, when I’d moved to New York and, like everybody else, was being paid far too much just to be told I was part of the next “MTV Generation” of Internet stars, I thought I knew everything. You had to burn down the past. These were the days of We Live in Public, of Pets.com, of bringing your dog in the office, of Webvan, of espnet.sportszone.com. We all thought we were hot shit.
I’m not sure Leitch realizes the absurdity of the claim “we all thought we were punk rock gods, ready to kill our idols.” You can rest assured Sonic Youth didn’t actually consider Robert Christgau to be an idol, but nor were they in his debt in 1983. But it’s a revealing paragraph just the same, and one that rings just as hollow as Alex Rodriguez’ talk of a loosey-goosey clubhouse climate. Leitch puts his rotten behavior into the context of the internet boom (nice work not citing Suck.com, Will) but maybe the real gist of it is something much more simple. I’ve called him “ethically challenged” in this space previously, but never before had the benefit of this intensely unpleasant social climber serving up the evidence himself on a silver platter.
(the view from row 4, Section 436 of Citi Field, Monday, April 13, 2009)
OK, the above headline has been employed before and with good reason. Not only did the Mets sell obstructed view seats at regular (ie. obscene) prices during Citi Field’s inaugural season, but they proceeded to ignore complaints from the same fans they’d repeatedly harassed about buying tickets. When the firestorm of criticism grew, a highly unconvincing liar was dispatched to spew the company line — that Citi’s crap seats were in fact, a byproduct of the venue’s “cozy” configurations (and actually being able to witness the action down below was surplus to requirements).
In Tuesday’s NY Times, Ken Belson noted the club have ‘fessed up that seats like those shown above do not, in fact, guarantee decent sightlines, an admission Faith & Fear In Flushing’s Greg Prince likens to “a sea change — or Bay change, since we’re talking left — from deny, deny, deny”
It’s really quite substantial: an acknowledgment by the typically admit-nothing Mets that what they’re selling isn’t close to perfect, even if took them a year to nod toward the reality that everyone else discovered upon trying to take in the entire outfield from any given seat in Promenade. I assumed the Mets would instead dig their heels in deeper and insist that these were actually the best tickets you could purchase; my wife came up with a fantastically Metsian term for the areas from which you couldn’t clearly make out the left fielder: Vantage Point Seating. We expected to receive a brochure hyping it as New For 2010.
Rebuilding is something the Mets do clumsily when it comes to their roster, so I guess it’s not surprising that building a grandstand (and a case for its drawbacks) would befuddle them. At the very least, they can label the tickets with a proper warning. And they’ve done that.
[Sully, caught in the act by yrs truly in 2009 at AT&T Park's Press Box – how he got in, I don't know. "This isn't going up on the Internet is it?" asked Sully. Weird, because every time I read a Sullivan story I ask the same damn thing. Ben Schwartz/CSTB]
Jeez, I thought I’d written enough about the lameness of Chicago media and Milton Bradley. If Bradley’s exit from the Friendly Confines did anything, it appears to have done some permanent damage to those who baited him from day one of his signing. Apparently, the traumatic specter of an uppity black man not “yes, sirring” and “no sirring” the paunchy middle-brows of Chicago’s sporting press can’t be shaken, specifically by the Trib’s Paul Sullivan. With Spring Training open, Sully went right back to racially profiling a player not even on the squad anymore versus the Cubs’ new hire, Marlon Byrd. And without Bradley’s own volatile personality as a distraction, what Sullivan did all last year is now painfully obvious. Wrigleyville 23 astutely picked up on Sullivan’s obsessions here, via a Sully tweet from camp. Then, Bruce Levine and Jonathon Hood, without naming Sullivan, brought up his profiling issue (and Wrigley’s racist rep in the league) with Derrek Lee on their ESPN 1000 “Talkin’ Baseball” show:
“It’s ridiculous,” Lee told Bruce Levine and Jonathan Hood on ESPN 1000’s “Talkin’ Baseball” Saturday morning. “If it was a white guy who came over [to the Cubs] would he be [called] the ‘anti-Milton Bradley’? It just makes no sense. Marlon’s a completely different guy. He wasn’t traded for Milton. He signed here as a free agent, so why even bring Milton Bradley’s name into it? It really makes no sense and it’s just, again, the media trying to make something out of nothing.”
Bradley’s tenure with Cubs was tumultuous, with the switch-hitting right fielder accusing some fans of hurling racially charged taunts his way at Wrigley Field.
Lee said that Bradley’s accusations and similar comments from former Cub Jacque Jones don’t help in luring African-American players to the North Side.
“It’s definitely not a positive when you’re looking at coming to Chicago,” Lee said. “But I think overall, the positives do outweigh the negatives and we’re baseball players, so we’re pretty good at kind of blocking out all of that outside stuff and focusing on in between the lines. And in between the lines, Chicago’s a good place to play.”
Milton Bradley’s 2009 at Wrigley was a disaster, but at least those who wanted it that way and worked so hard for it are getting some of the credit.
Print is dead? Not, apparently, to Guy Morris, who at least you can’t accuse of failing upwards. The former Kentucky and Baylor coach is now at Texas A&M University-Commerce, which I guess is where the kids who aren’t good enough to play at Texas A&M-Kingsville go. From The Battalion, via Romenesko:
Texas A&M University-Commerce football Head Coach Guy Morris admitted to police that his team was responsible for the removal of student newspapers distributed on campus Wednesday.
Lt. Jason Bone, crime information officer, later interviewed Morris, who admitted to his team members’ involvement in the theft and said he supported their actions.
“I am proud of my players for doing that,” Morris said. “This was the best team building exercise we have ever done.”…
According to Bone’s police report, Athletic Director Carlton Cooper said the football team could not have stolen the papers without the aid of outside help.
“I don’t think they are smart enough to do this on their own,” he said.
The Louisville Courier-Journal’s Brett Dawson reports Brett Dawson reports venerable whiskey imprint Marker’s is planning a limited edition product bearing the brooding visage of University Of Kentucky men’s basketball coach John Calipari. Surely there’s a Chianti brand eager to do something similar with Rick Pitino?
Marker’s Mark will produce 24,000 bottles bearing Calipari’s likeness. They’re expected to sell for about $49 each, according to a UK news release, if retailers take their normal markup.
Calipari is scheduled to take part in a bottle signing April 9 at Keeneland.
Maker’s Mark will donate proceeds from the sales — estimated to be about $300,000 from 24,000 bottles — to an extension program that is bringing the UK Symphony Orchestra and students from the UK School of Music into public schools and communities throughout Kentucky.
According to a news release, UK is in the process of securing matching grants that, if sales of the bottles are successful, may create funding for the program in excess of $1.2 million.
Despite Yankee 3B Alex Rodriguez’ insistence yesterday that the FBI quizzing him about ties to Tiger Woods’ alleged HGH supplier “is about someone else”, the Bergen Record’s Ian O’Connor vehemently disagrees ; “this isn’t about someone else. It’s about a once-in-a-generation ballplayer who cheated the game, cheated the fans and cheated himself, and who now is discovering that even a World Series ring and ticker-tape parade can’t absolve him of his not-so-venial steroid sins.”
It’s quite possible Rodriguez will tell the feds he never received performance-enhancing drugs from Tony Galea or anyone else, and this flare-up will go away. At least until the next flare-up.
It’s also possible Rodriguez will tell investigators a different tale, one that could earn him a minimum 50-game suspension. That’s the worst-case scenario — Rodriguez cops to using a banned substance after the penalty phase of baseball’s drug program kicked in, and Bud Selig makes A-Rod wish he chose football as a kid.
It sounds unlikely, but when it’s A-Rod, worst-case scenarios are always in play.
“Again,” Rodriguez insisted, “this is about someone else.”
Only A-Rod made it about himself by inviting suspicion with his own deeds. Every day he walks past a posted clubhouse memo on the substances and stimulants added to the sport’s no-no list, a warning posted too late for a legacy forever stained.
When the Nets play the Orlando Magic this Friday, New Jersey residents 18 or older who attend the game will get a coupon that they can redeem at a Roni Deutch Tax Center to get their state income tax done free.
Representatives of Roni Deutch Tax Centers — there are nine in the New York area — will be at the game to answer tax-related questions.
Roni Deutch says she hopes that if her company prepares fans’ state tax forms free, some of them will pay to have their federal income taxes done as well. She also had no trouble linking her fortunes to the worst team in the N.B.A.; in fact, she said she relished the chance.
“It’s easy to jump on the Lakers’ bandwagon,” said Deutch, who claims to have been the first girl to play Little League baseball on an all-boys team in her home state, California. “The hallmark of a strong company is one that aligns with young companies. I’m a betting woman, and I think the Nets are going to win a championship this decade.”
With a remake of George Romero’s 1972 saga “The Crazies” hitting multiplexes over the weekend, Oklahoma City’s MVP candidate Kevin Durant — a self-styled horror buff — weighs in with the following review.
It was kind of like a new-age zombie movie about a disease taking over a town and taking over most of the people. Only a couple of people got out alive, and I think an army quarantined the whole city and shut off the highways. It was intense – a lot of blood. It was cool how it ended, but I won’t spoil it for you.
I usually don’t watch scary movies by myself. I usually watch them with a friend or a teammate or someone. I saw this one with James, Jeff and Eric. We just went to the theater at a local mall and since it was a Saturday night it was real crowded. Obviously, we were some of the tallest people there so they were asking if we played ball. We just sat in the middle back row so we could see everything. But as far as scary movies go, sometimes you just want to see something intense, and I get that feeling watching scary movies. That’s how I felt yesterday. It was definitely something I would recommend for people to go see.
Hey, if you want serious celluloid analysis, you’re just gonna have to stick around for Russell Westbrook’s thoughts on “The White Ribbon”.
Two days after losing 2-0 at Middlesbrough, Queens Park Rangers have made the much-traveled Neil Warnock their 263rd manager in the past 4 years, paying a reported half million pounds in compensation to cash-strapped Crystal Palace for the privilege of gaining Warnock’s services. Rangers and Eagles are both relegation contenders at present, with the former clinging to 21st place in the Championship over Sheffield Wednesday only on goal difference. The Stupor Hoops have a 3 point advantage (and a game in hand), but more importantly, now have the benefit of Warnock’s legendary wisdom and patience, samples of which are available above.
Former Washington Times’ columnist Thom Loverro has reviewed the allegations made by Mark McGwire’s estranged brother Jay, and while he’s careful to call Little Mac “a sleazeball”, it seems the bodybuilder-turned-author has more credibility than Cardinals skipper Tony La Russa (”his role in the steroid era is as large and loathsome as McGwire’s, Barry Bonds, or any of the high-profile cheaters”). (ESPN 980.com, link swiped from Repoz and Baseball Think Factory)
If we believe La Russa, he was ignorant of any performance-enhancing substance use in both Oakland and St. Louis. This man — George Will’s example of brilliance in the book, “Men at Work,” a baseball manager with a law degree, the subject of the book, “Three Nights in August,” by Buzz Bissinger, a book that, according to Publisher’s Weekly, “reveals La Russa’s history and personality, conveying the manager’s intensity and his compulsive need to be prepared for any situation that might arise during ” ‘the war’ of each at-bat” — didn’t know the stars of his teams were using steroids.
Of all the absurdities of the steroid era, this might be the most absurd.
La Russa’s claim of ignorance smacks of arrogance, the very arrogance that has motivated him to bring McGwire, who had been a hermit since his embarrassing appearance before Congress in 2005, back into the game as the Cardinals hitting coach. The last thing baseball needs is one of the biggest remainders of one of its most shameful eras back in the game and in uniform. It is not good for the game, and certainly not good for the Cardinals franchise, which has become divided over McGwire’s presence.
One of the culturally dense contributors to The Sports Section recently described Nardwuar The Human Serviette as “a local (Vancouver) celebrity”. Funny, you’d think New York Magazine had internet access.
The New York Post’s Marc Berman cited Knicks coach Mike D’Antoni’s “heated 4½-minute explanation on his philosophy about committing intentional fouls when his team is up three points in the final 15 seconds.” Prior to last night’s home loss to Memphis and the resurgent Zach Randolph, D’Antoni chose not to instruct his charges to mug Wizards C Javelle McGee with 12 seconds left in regulation, with Washington’s Nick Young hitting a game-tying 3 moments later in a contest New York would ultimately win in O.T. Berman failed to mention, however, the cranky reply seemed to be aimed directly at the Daily News’ Frank Isola, who argues, “D’Antoni has been treated with kid’s gloves for almost two years. Only recently have issues like his lack of communication with the players, his lack of attention to defense and the lack of wins come to the forefront.”
This is less about D’Antoni’s strategy and more with how he is dealing with the slightest criticism. On Saturday, D’Antoni grew increasingly agitated when he addressed the matter before finally looking at me and saying, “Oh that’s right, you’re undefeated as a coach.”
Good one, Mike.
You’re absolutely correct. I have never had the privilege of coaching an NBA game and have never been in position to earn $6 million by making such life-or-death choices like deciding when or if to foul up three.
Not that it matters, but I do have the ultimate respect for coaches since it is their butt that is on the line when things don’t go right.
But if I were an NBA head coach making $6 million a year I would hope that I would understand that second guessing comes with the territory. (Or did the Garden stop teaching “Hate and Don’t Trust the Press 101” during their wonderful media training classes.)
I was a little surprised that he felt the need to make a let-me-attempt-to-embarrass-the-reporter-in-front-of-his-peers remark by sarcastically saying that I was “undefeated as a coach.”
(For the record, I was an assistant coach when my son’s team won the New Jersey U11 state soccer championship. Does that count? I’m guessing probably not since I was volunteering my time.)
[Pictured, the real Willie Mays still dwarfed by his mythic image.]
It goes to show you how deeply steroids = baseball itself to some people, when Pete Hamill, reviewing the new Willie Mays bio in The New York Times, writes:
A long time ago in America, there was a beautiful game called baseball. This was before 30 major-league teams were scattered in a blurry variety of divisions; before 162-game seasons and extended playoffs and fans who watched World Series games in thick down jackets; before the D.H. came to the American League; before AstroTurf on baseball fields and aluminum bats on sandlots; before complete games by pitchers were a rarity; before ballparks were named for corporations instead of individuals; and long, long before the innocence of the game was permanently stained by the filthy deception of steroids.
In that vanished time, there was a ballplayer named Willie Mays.
And how. For the record, ‘Ol Man Hamill appears to approve of desegregated baseball, night games, and (maybe) West Coast baseball. And as a blogger without a copyeditor, I appreciate his use of sentence fragments throughout his piece. Still, his dreamy memories and tired nostalgia in reviewing the new James Hirsch Willie Mays biography make your teeth grind all over again re the steroids era. I’m guessing this is the first thing Hamill ever read about Willie Mays, since his impression of WM derives almost entirely from when Hamill was 12.
I mentioned Mays last week when Ernie Banks went off on steroids and Sammy Sosa. Do the amphetamine driven ballplayers of Mays’s era deserve the same asterisks and loathing? Hamill says that San Francisco’s windy Candlestick Park probably robbed Mays of over 100 HRs in his career. He glosses over how many extra games, hits, HRs, whatever that Mays’ drug use may have brought him. Mainly, I guess because Hirsch’s book does the same. Mays nor anyone else from back then needs an asterisk, nor do Babe Ruth or Lou Gehrig for never facing a black ballplayer (well, ok, yes, that last era does). Mays also gained lots of HRs in his lifetime as new ballparks were built as hitters parks … However, only the adolescent perfection of Hamill’s pre-teen Brooklyn seems to matter as a yardstick here. To him, steroids are apparently the only thing in baseball history that has “permanently stained” the innocence of the game. Not segregation (90 years of it?), not pre-steroid era drugs, bans on free agency, the Black Sox, not the pre-union days of discarded and broken players without health care, not the totally arbitrary “golden age” of NY Babe Ruth baseball v reality in determining records and Hall of Fame ballots or standards of achievement … nope, just steroids. And Astro-turf. Guys like Hamill wring their hands over the day they realized baseball is a big business. For him, it was when the Dodgers moved to LA. For a lot of us non-NewYorkers, that’s the day NYC finally ceased to be the center of baseball.
Ok, it’s just a game. For many of us, it’s history, reflecting life in America. That’s the real value of Hirsch’s book, and why reexamining Mays’ career again is worth while. It’s not that Mays needs a takedown. His career makes him worthy of serious treatment. Not for this Paul Bunyon hooey of Hamill’s: “The result: Hirsch has given us a book as valuable for the young as it is for the old. The young should know that there was once a time when Willie Mays lived among the people who came to the ballpark. That on Harlem summer days he would join the kids playing stickball on St. Nicholas Place in Sugar Hill and hold a broom-handle bat in his large hands, wait for the pink rubber spaldeen to be pitched, and routinely hit it four sewers. The book explains what that sentence means. Above all, the story of Willie Mays reminds us of a time when the only performance-enhancing drug was joy.”
If memory serves, that four sewer moment of Mays playing ball on Sugar Hill was staged for Life magazine. It’s why people recall it so vividly. The press was there to cover it for a national magazine, as PR, to inform kids like Hamill of a myth that they still hold dear and insist on selling us today.
The Washington Post’s Chico Harlan achieved a modest level of national celebrity last year, telling another publication “I don’t like sports. I am embarrassed that I cover them.” At the time, CSTB’s David Roth said of Harlan’s gig — beat reporter covering the hapless Washington Nationals — “it’s either an amazing job or something much shittier, depending on how you feel about interviewing Austin Kearns 190 times a year.” As he’s bolting Spring Training to become the WaPo’s Tokyo correspondent, Harlan admits he’s endured a grind of sorts (”in my tenure as the Nats writer, I’ve seen 205 losses, two GMs, two managers, one ‘deliberate, premeditated fraud,’and at least one pitcher released when the GM got ‘tired of watching him’”), but waves goodbye to his old job with equal parts contrition and gratitude.
The stuff I said last year, I deserved everything that followed. Covering baseball is a privilege; I learned that too late. Keeping your mouth shut and working hard is a duty; I learned that too late as well. Since the publication of those Washingtonian quotes, I’ve apologized to people, and I’ve asked the tough questions about why I got myself in trouble (ego? hubris?), and I’ve obviously taken another job that has nothing whatsoever to do with food writing, a venture that probably sounded good at the time only because it didn’t involve Daniel Cabrera. I learned this too late, also: A man should start talking only when he knows what to say.
It is for others to judge, eventually, but I hope I am leaving this job as a better, wiser person than the one who began it. This job, everything about it, has been worthwhile.
