While RB Ricky Williams’ NFL reputation remains mixed (to put it politely), the Heisman Trophy winner (above, left) is still revered around CSTB’s neck of the woods, Austin, TX. So imagine the dismay of the Austin Chronicle’s Alex Dunlap, who admittedly set out to compose “a fluff piece about one of my all-time favorite football players” and his charitable foundation, and instead learned that Williams’ fund-raising efforts are now tied to Access Consciousness, and that group’s controversial leader/faith healer, Gary Douglas.
Some call Access a movement, some call it a cult. In performing a simple Internet search, it is not hard to find scathing remarks regarding their methodologies, some from individuals claiming real-life experience within the culture. Their teachings are based in freedom from judgment in our conscious experiences. This idea manifests itself in many ways, including emphasis on sexual freedom.
Williams is now a devout accessory of the Access movement, and the mission of his Ricky Williams Foundation has transformed into an outlet for delivering the controversial teachings of Access Consciousness to the underprivileged children who attend their camps. This is currently taking place, in Austin, on AISD property.
Douglas is a significant investor and is bankrolling a large sum of costs by live streaming the event to devout accessories all over the globe for quite a pretty penny. (Replays of certain live streams can sell for upward of $1,200.) Williams was the camp’s instructor last week for Level I of the course. “Advanced” levels II and III will be delivered to these children by the person who accessories all over the world call their “fearless leader,” Gary Douglas himself.
NCAA President Mark Emmert (above, right) lowered the boom on Penn State earlier today, slapping the institution that effectively enabled the predatory Jerry Sandusky with penalties so severe, PSU might well have preferred a one year suspension of the football program. I’m not entirely sure how pressing the history eraser button on Joe Paterno’s last 13 years of coaching serves the purpose of helping children in peril, but that’s a minor consideration compared to the lack of due process from a governing body that’s picked a rather convenient (some will say appropriate) moment in history to warn of football taking precedence over anything and everything.
The Nation’s Dave Zirin — mindful that PSU trustees and Pennsylvania Gov. Tom Corbett have yet to have their feet held to the fire — calls Emmert’s laundry list of punishments, ” a farcical public relations move that distracts the public from actually holding to account those responsible for protecting Sandusky… nothing less than an extra-legal, extrajudicial imposition into the affairs of a publicly funded campus.”
Take a step back from the hysteria and just think about what took place: Penn State committed no violations of any NCAA bylaws. There were no secret payments to “student-athletes,” no cheating on tests, no improper phone calls, no using cream cheese instead of butter on a recruit’s bagel, or any of the Byzantine minutiae that fills the time-sheets that justify Mark Emmert’s $1.6 million salary.
What Penn State did was commit horrific violations of criminal and civil laws, and it should pay every possible price for shielding Sandusky, the child rapist. This is why we have a society with civil and criminal courts. Instead, we have Mark Emmert inserting himself in a criminal matter and acting as judge, jury and executioner, in the style of NFL commissioner Roger Goodell. As much as I can’t stand Goodell’s authoritarian, undemocratic methods, the NFL is a private corporation and his method of punishment was collectively bargained with the NFL Players Association. Emmert, heading up the so-called nonprofit NCAA, is intervening with his own personal judgment and cutting the budget of a public university. He has no right, and every school under the auspices of the NCAA should be terrified that he believes he does.
I’ve been against trading Lester all season, if only because it doesn’t make a lot of sense to deal a player when his value is at its lowest. Forty, 50 cents on the Lester dollar just to get him out of town seemed overly reactionary a month ago, or even a week ago. But for the first time I understood — if not quite agreed with — the idea that this might be unsalvageable after watching Lester take a beating on Sunday. I hate reading into body language — was Lester supposed to be thrilled while giving up 11 runs? — but this looked an awful lot like a guy who had given up. I don’t know how else to explain what we saw on Sunday and what we’ve seen this year. Can it really just be mechanics, can it really just be that Lester is right and all the umpires have decided to get together and screw him? I’ve kept an open mind for as long as I can, and now it’s at least fair to wonder if Jon Lester simply doesn’t want to be in Boston anymore.
If that’s the case, he’s got to go. Same with Beckett — if the Red Sox believe that these two have crossed the point of no return as players and people, it’s a no-brainer. But what scares you about this organization — and whoever is running it — is that they don’t have the guts to make a move that would signal surrender, that would punt the 2012 season away, because they think it would look bad. The reality is 48-48, 78-83 and last place on July 23 looks a lot worse.
Dolan’s basketball people make recommendations but ultimately it is Dolan who rules with an iron fist. Just ask Donnie Walsh, Mike D’Antoni and most recently, Jeremy Lin. Gone are the days when the executives at Madison Square Garden would go to great lengths to paint Dolan as a warm and cuddly hands-off owner. It was a smart way to shield Dolan from criticism when things went array even though the notion of Dolan not being involved in the day-to-day operations of the team is preposterous.
The fans aren’t blaming general manager Glen Grunwald, head coach Mike Woodson or even Dolan confidant Isiah Thomas for the ending Linsanity. The anger is being directed at Dolan, who was upset that Lin went back to the Rockets last to get the third year of his contract increased from $9.8 million to $14.9 million. The Garden’s unofficial response, leaked to their media friends, is that it was strictly a financial decision.
That certainly is a lot of money for a point guard with 25 career starts but we all know that Dolan wasn’t worried about the contract or the luxury tax. He felt betrayed and deceived and then made a decision based on emotion.
When a certified tinfoil hat-wearing, fraudulent nutjob like Sirius/XM’s Dino Costa takes to the airwaves floating the possibility that James Holmes was “a false flag”, later suggesting this tragedy might’ve been God’s wrath, I don’t honestly expect anyone to take notice. Not even when the Mad Dog Radio host claims he’d have heroically stopped Holmes’ onslaught with his own gunfire, do the former’s employers find anything nonsensical or creepy about such grotesque grandstanding. Sadly, if Dino is out-to-lunch-as-usual, he’s got some company at the fucktard table. When a former elected offical asks, “where were the men of flight 93????”, I’m going to take an extremely wild guess that they all perished when Flight 93 crashed.
Given the paucity of licensed firearms carriers in our cinemas, perhaps now would be a good time for pontificators like Costa and Sen. Pearce to consider new lines of work? The latter’s currently out of the office and the former is a year away from standing alongside the highway with a sign reading “WILL PODCAST 4 FOOD”, so they’ve got little to lose.
1) Assemble an arsenal.
2) Get some enterprising FIT grad to design appropriate super hero costumes (nothing too swishy for Dino, thanks, he’d prefer a cowboy motif).
3) And with that, these incredibly courageous men can patrol the nation’s multiplexes, ready to eliminate the godless, the goth-y, and or course, THE GOVERNMENT PLANTS, with extreme fucking prejudice!
…when does Nick Zedd get tapped for the Super Bowl Halftime show? Alright, that’s a rather clumsy, if not totally inappropriate analogy, and one that pales in comparison to the Guardian’s Charlie Lyne proposing alternative British cinematic directorial icons for the Summer Olympiad’s most garish glittering spectacle.
TONY SCOTT : A deafening gangsta rap soundtrack blares from the arena’s 50ft loudspeakers as fireworks explode arbitrarily from all directions. The news comes in: a rogue cable car travelling close to the speed of light is rocketing towards the Olympic Stadium, threatening to destroy everything within its path, including (but not limited to) tens of thousands of audience members, the world’s largest branch of McDonald’s and the Duke of Edinburgh. Responsibility falls to hard-bitten veteran track cyclist Chris Hoy and plucky young diver Tom Daley to halt the car’s destructive rampage, forcing the unlikely duo to put aside their differences and work together to give London a “sporting chance” of survival.
KEN LOACH : After scouring the length and breadth of the British Isles in search of the brightest luminaries in music, dance, film and performance art, Redder Ken assembles one of the greatest opening ceremonies in Olympic history – a dynamic, exuberant and undeniably moving spectacle that perfectly encapsulates modern Britain in half an hour of theatrical brilliance. Sadly, against the express wishes of Olympic officials, Loach elects to equip the stadium with only one lighting rig and a single amplified microphone, both of which are fixed not on the spectacular but squarely on him as he delivers a stinging diatribe against Israeli occupation of the West Bank.
Presumably, those costs don’t include the expense of acquiring any new talent you might actually have to pay for. One might think going 1-7 since the All-Star Break might create some sense of urgency on the part of Fred Wilpon or Sandy Alderson, but much the way Miguel Batista “believes” the Mets are superior to the NL East-leading Nationals, perhaps ownership is equally convinced a .500 record on July 21 is accomplishment enough.
Fox Sports’ Tim McCarver will be honored in Cooperstown tomorrow as recipient of this year’s Ford C. Frick Award, an occasion that requires something of a career retrospective from the New York Times’ Richard Sandomir. There’s no shame, however, in McCarver’s walk down memory lane being overshadowed by his longtime colleague, Ralph Kiner (above)
McCarver spent 16 seasons with the Mets — “the most exciting years of my professional life” — in a delightful booth partnership with Ralph Kiner, whose stories, humor and historical gravitas have long merged with his malaprops, mispronunciations and memory lapses. Kiner called McCarver “Sid,” “Ted” and “Jim,” and “Tim MacArthur,” too. Sometimes, Kiner simply forgot his friend’s name (and his own).
Kiner once had to describe the entrance of a San Diego Padres reliever while satisfying a sponsor, American Cyanamid. McCarver had checked the sponsor lineup beforehand, saw the company’s name and said, “Oh boy, that’s tough to pronounce.” And, he added, “Sure enough, Ralph said, ‘The Padres make a pitching change, and this is brought to you by American Cyanide.’
“We were advocating cyanide pills,” McCarver said. “That’s how bad the Mets were playing.”
“Obviously I want to make it back to the NBA, but even if I don’t I have a good family and good friends.” So claims former no. 3 overall draft pick Adam Morrison (above), whose most recent professional experience came with a brief stint with the Turkish Basketball League’s Besiktas Milangaz. Having toiled earlier this month for the Nets’ Orlando Summer League squad, Morrison is currently excelling for the Clippers’ Vegas Summer League club, writes True Hoop’s Andrew McNeil. Who amongst us would bet against Morrison earning a 3rd World Championship ring? Aside from, y’know, every single person who knows how to read and/or has watched a basketball game.
“Maybe I’ve been typecast as a certain player, certain type of person, but I just want to show people I can play, I’m a good teammate and a good dude in the locker room,” Morrison said.
In a game against the Lakers Thursday which saw neither team shoot over 44 percent, Morrison hit eight of 13 from the field, showing he still excels in one area that NBA teams value. Though, having spent four years in the NBA, he knows that isn’t enough to get him on a roster.
“Everybody’s going to laugh, but I think I’ve played decent defensively,” he said. “Obviously I’m not Michael Cooper, but I’m not a complete sieve.”