“You become a millionaire overnight and you don’t know what do with it. We don’t understand taxes. We don’t understand lifestyles. We create a big expensive lifestyle for ourselves… I had some fetishes that I liked, materialistic things… and then obviously you get into an investment world that you don’t know about, that you don’t learn about in college and you put your money in the hands of other people that try to take care of it,” he said.
While the NBA does give its rookie players a “crash course” on finances, Walker said it needs to do more. That’s why he’s teaming up with Morgan Stanley Global Sports & Entertainment (MS) to help educate student athletes on their finances.
Prior to the extended dejá-vu session that saw the New York Mets lose their 2016 season opener to Kansas City (with a Yeonis Cespedes error taking center stage), the hosts raised their World Series championship banner in a pregame ceremony the ever-sportsmanlike Ned Yost called, “awkward”. Were the clubs’ roles reversed, however, Metsradamus is adamant that when and if it comes time for the Mets to commemorate a title, he’ll leave no stone unturned :
Hell, I’ll go as far as to say this: If the Mets are fortunate enough to be celebrating this next year, I want to go all out. I want the banner raising on Opening Day, and then I want separate ring ceremonies for every player individually to be spread out through the end of July. Players, coaches, trainers, Bobby Bonilla since he’s still on the payroll, everyone gets a ceremony. And these ceremonies are to take place against division rivals, and whatever team Chase Utley is playing with in 2017. And if he’s retired, then the ring ceremony takes place at his house. Because fuck Chase Utley through his pee hole with a saw.
I’m pretty into the idea of awarding rings to any number of persons connected with the franchise, past and present, but I absolutely draw the line at Chris Cotter.
Eric Hosmer’s fateful decision to try and score from 3rd on an infield grounder in the 9th inning of last November’s World Series Game 5 worked out splendidly for the eventual champion Royals, not nearly so well for Mets 1B Lucas Duda, whose wild throw evaded the grasp of Travis D’Arnaud. Fast forward to Opening Night in Kansas City, and Duda — while owning the error — has heard just enough about the play from Royals 3B coach Rusty Kuntz. From Newsday’s Marc Carig :
“I read something from Kuntz, the third-base coach,” Duda said of the Royals’ first-base coach. “He said ‘we’ve got this guy as a DH,’ and again, that’s an opinion. But it’s somebody to me that really doesn’t matter. How many big-league games has that guy played in?”
The answer is that before becoming a well-respected coach, Kuntz played 277 games in parts of seven seasons with three different big-league teams. To Duda, the point still stands.
“That opinion has no substance,” he said. “It’s a guy talking that coaches third base.”
“He gave it to me pretty good,” Duda said, once again seizing upon Kuntz’s comments. “It’s his opinion, man. If he thinks I’m a [expletive] first baseman, then it’s OK.”
(Phil should be pleased to learn the above garment is currently available on eBay for a mere $8.99)
In today’s New York Post, resident sports media conscience Phil Mushnick takes the opportunity of this weekend’s Final Four to lay into Syracuse and North Carolina head coaches Jim Boeheim and Roy Williams, but not before offering the following introduction / context :
Been singing it to myself all week. It’s a mournful, hopeless Neil Young dirge with the refrain, “It doesn’t matter.”
Several years ago we bought expensive tickets to a Young concert only to be surprised and disappointed that nearly the entire show was devoted to new songs with a repetitive theme: the shameful greed of corporate America.
At the same venue, there were kiosks hawking official Neil Young T-shirts. For $45. Hmm.
See? It doesn’t matter what the matter is; it doesn’t matter.
Phil may or may not be aware that typically, large venues (many of which are owned by, y’know, corporations) command a rather robust percentage of an artist’s merchandise cut. So while it would be somewhat hysterical to start a GoFundMe for Neil Young anytime soon, there’s nothing hypocritical or ironic whatsoever about his singing about corporate greed. He experiences it firsthand!
Lifelong Swindon Town fan Sam Morshead grew up to cover the club for the Swindon Advertiser and the Daily Mail ; in Thursday’s Guardian, he explains how this nasty sports journalism stuff has essentially ruined following The Robins (“following the 2013 takeover of the club, the boardroom has been dominated by hearsay, scandal, infighting and uncertainty…now the stroll to the stadium was just a walk to work”).
For months, embedded reporters had to handpick reality from make-believe on a daily basis. Many of us were fans and I felt envious of those who were not. Two warring owners threw loose accusations at one another with increasing regularity. Some allegations were made public and supporters had to watch their club tugged around like a scraggy rope in the High Court. My job was to watch the entire episode through a microscope, poring over the tiny details.
Had it been another industry or even another team in the Football League, it would have been fascinating. The stories at hand were the kind that journalists delight in – the intrigue, the dirt, the mystery – but this was my club. I wanted to look on it with childish enthusiasm and to be in the away end at Elland Road, jumping into a stranger’s arms as Charlie Austin scored the third goal in a 3-0 win. Instead, I was fielding questions about the insolvency history of Swindon’s majority shareholder
I miss having to restrain my emotions in the press box when Swindon score; recently they recovered from 3-1 down to beat Crewe 4-3 and I caught myself groaning about the resultant 91st-minute rewrite. I no longer walk into the concourse and feel at home; I’ve been banned, ostracised and accused of lying on multiple occasions by the current owner and now play the role of “unwanted guest number one” on matchdays.
In the days before Steph Curry and the defending NBA champion Golden State Warriors were nothing short of a global pop culture phenomenon, the franchise’s ownership struggled to galvanize the attention of hoops casuals (losing nearly 300 games in 5 seasons, punctuated with Latrell Sprewell strangling P.J. Carelismo didn’t help). Displaced to San Jose for the 1996-97 season, the Warriors canned incumbent mascost Berserker (the David Yow theme didn’t really translate to Northern California) and replaced him with Thunder, in the form of gymnast/trampoline dunker Sadaki Fuller. Strolling down memory lane with the New York Times’ Scot Cacciola, Fuller explains the pitfalls of showing some initiative upon accepting the position :
Fuller felt obliged to help sell people on the team, he said, because the Warriors were not — how to put this mildly? — setting the region ablaze. He recalled running into the lobby of a bank near the team’s offices — in full costume, no less. That alone was a startling sight, and then Fuller opened his mouth and said, “This is a stickup!”
Nobody making a deposit that day recognized Thunder as an N.B.A. mascot. Most were under the impression that a less-than-sane person in a superhero outfit was attempting to rob the bank until Fuller backflipped out of the lobby while shouting, “Go Warriors!”
When Fuller returned to the team’s headquarters, he was met by several members of the team’s front office. They had received word of his marketing ploy.
“They were like, ‘Listen, it’s great that you’re doing everything with so much enthusiasm, but you can’t run into banks,’ ” Fuller said. “I was young. I didn’t get it.”
… but it clearly doesn’t hurt. KFNS’ Dino Costa would have you believe he’s bulletproof. In defending the leap of faith made by boss/benefactor Randy Markel of Chuck’s Boots, Costa points out that Markel previously hired Michael Brown’s shooter, former Ferguson police officer Darren Wilson.
“When Daily Mail Online visited a pile of Confederate Flag bandanas lay on the counter by the till.”
“Chuck’s Boots owner Randy Markel did not return a message asking for comment.”
So all things considered, I do sorta see where Dino’s coming from. If Markel suffered little or no embarrassment from being associated with Darren Wilson (or selling Confederate paraphernalia), what possible harm can come from Costa preaching to a couple of hundred simpletons at 6am in the nation’s 21st media market?
That’s why it’s necessary for Bonkers to troll the planet with predictable clickbait like “keep sports radio all-male” (and if Costa is indeed, 590 The Fan’s Program Director, this is essentially an open admission that he’d use gender to determine hiring). He’s well aware that such calculated stunts are recirculated via outlets with far greater reach than he or Markel can muster. That somebody out there actually eats this shit up — possibly an parent quick to let their unfortunate kids know that gender determines the full extent of what they can or cannot do in this world — is of zero consequence to Bonkers. However much contempt he has for so-called liberals, he’s also demonstrated zero respect for his dopey acolytes or the unlucky communities he broadcasts to (you’ll note I’ve not said “broadcasts in” because while Screamo is happy to attend St. Louis Blues games, he’s yet to lower himself to actually residing in the town he claims to be saving).
In short, he’s as sickening, duplicitous and cynical a mercenary as you’ll find in media, sports or otherwise. In turn, Randy Markel seems to fancy himself some sort of guardian angel for people who’ve more than earned their pariah status.
As you’ve probably heard else, an overnight health scare of epic proportions for Matt Harvey turned out to be a mere bladder condition caused by the Mets starter’s heroic refusal to use the men’s toilets at Port St. Lucie’s Tradition Field until the state of Florida makes ‘em all gender neutral. Since Harvey’s a quiet, unassuming guy who shuns the spotlight, Jay Horowitz came up with a crazy story about NYC’s most eligible bachelor simply holding it in too long, and regrettably, the Wall St. Journal’s Andrew Beaton bought it, hook, line and sinker.
“The main issue is I hold my urine in for too long instead of peeing regularly,” said Harvey, adding that he underwent a procedure to ensure everything was clear, and that he will indeed make his scheduled opening-day start in Kansas City.
There are many potential causes for blood in the urine said Dr. Ash Tewari, the Chair of Urology for the Mount Sinai Health System. They can start in many places—the urethra, prostate, bladder and kidneys—and may be triggered by an infection, stones, or in the unlikeliest of cases, some form of cancer.
Infection, said Dr. Tewari, is the most common reason for having a clot. And yes, holding it can be a factor: The longer the urine is in one’s system, the longer bacteria it contains has a chance to infect.
“Think about a pond versus a stream,” Dr. Tewari said. “A stream is less likely to have an infection, but a pond is more likely.”
I’d like to presume this blog’s readership requires little introduction to Bill Walton, certainly one of the most dominant college basketball players in the game’s history, and an at times polarizing figure in post-Watergate America whose injury-plagued NBA tenure is agonizing to recount. In Sunday’s New York Times Magazine, Sam Anderson takes the occasion of the publication of Walton’s “Back From the Dead: Searching for the Sound, Shining the Light and Throwing It Down” to quiz the self-proclaimed “most-injured athlete in the history of sports” on a variety of topics. For those who’ve followed Walton on and off-the-court, it will come as no surprise that the Grateful Dead figure strongly in Anderson’s excellent article.
Walton and I spent much of our time together in his car, listening to the Grateful Dead on our way to and from San Diego’s most scenic vistas. Walton knew every song that came on. Several times, he got excited because the music seemed to be speaking directly to us. Once, for instance, when we were talking about Larry Bird, the Dead sang the words “leader of the band,” and Walton said: “See, that’s exactly what Larry was: the leader of the band.” It became increasingly clear that the Grateful Dead was an omnipresent scripture rolling through Walton’s mind.
On our second morning together, driving downtown, Walton and I hit a particularly good patch of Dead. The jam grew and broke into multiple subjams, which wove themselves back together into something bigger and then bounced around. This made Walton genuinely happy. He turned the volume up, then turned it up some more, until the music was the only thing in the car. Even when we reached our destination, when Walton pulled to the curb and the valet-parking attendant came over to take the keys, Walton couldn’t bring himself to leave: The flow was too strong. Interrupting it would have been sacrilege, so he waved the parking attendant away and turned the music up even louder.
Walton and I sat there for several minutes, not moving, at the curb, inside the music. Occasionally, he would shout out some ecstatic explication —“That’s Phil Lesh on the bass, laying down that flesh-eating low end.” Or: “This is from 1968, before the band really even knew what it could do.” Hearing this song first thing in the morning, Walton decided, was a good omen. We would have a lucky day.
Millennials live in the now. They don’t want to hear about tomorrow because they realize today is tenuous, having grown up when planes were crashing into the World Trade Center and social media began to sabotage lives.
Yes, you know, social media, where people circulate stories about sportswriters beating up their girlfriends and pleading guilty. Total life-destroying stuff.
What’s endearing about the Warriors is how they don’t hide their desire to establish history, yet do so in a way that doesn’t create resentment among opponents or the nation’s sports fans.
Yes, Spurs fans LOVE the Warriors. Not only are they rooting for Golden State to set the record, they’re praying San Antonio is victim no. 72! Such is the universal affection for all things Stef Curry!
In the algorithmic extravagaza known as Nate Silver’s FiveThirtyEight site, the latest postseason forecast came out Monday. The Warriors were given a 36 percent chance to win the NBA title. The Spurs were given a 37 percent chance.
There is always a doubter to quiet.
When you’ve hung with Anthony Kiedis and signed autographs for half of the fucking L.A.P.D. (who know a thing or two about famous men being set up), you can prognosticate all you want. Until then, well, SUCK IT NERD(S).
OK, that’s not exactly what 2003 no. 2 overall pick Darko Milicic — last seen in this space making his sport of the future debut — had to say about a peripatetic, underachieving NBA career highlighted by being super-glued to the Pistons bench. With comments culled from Blic by Hoops Hype, Darko insists, “I don’t miss basketball. I live very well, thank God.”
“I thought as a kid that talent was God-given, but it’s not. God gives you talent and you should use that talent with the real meaning of that word. I was stubborn. Maybe being young had something to do with it. There was option then of going to the NBA or staying in Serbia because Hemofarm knew that if I went to NBA they would get more money than they would get if I went to some European club. Here you had poverty and money was there.”
“Their system is cruel and I don’t like it. If a young player doesn’t succeed, they don’t look after him. That sucks. You have players who are first or second in the draft that get a chance to play. I didnt get the chance. LBJ is a killer now, but he did get a chance in his first year, he could shoot from the stands if he wanted. I barely got the chance. I had that situation in Orlando where if I shoot from perimeter, my coach Hill would yell, “Pass to Howard.” In Detroit nothing went right. Larry Brown always told me to go near the basket. They offered me a $40 million, four-year contract in Orlando, and then their manager blows it off, out of nowehere. My manager told me he would deal with it. I said OK, but just not Memphis. Anywhere but there. And, of course, I went to Memphis. Then I got injured, didn’t play much.
“I can’t play with American players. They only talked about who dunked on whom, who crossed over whom. I was weird to them because I didn’t think that way.”
Fisher said the report regarding Sam was “absolutely absurd.”
“It’s 100% incorrect,” Fisher said. “I was really taken aback by those comments. It’s insulting, from my standpoint, as it relates to Michael.
“We had three seventh-round picks. We drafted Michael, he was the best player on the board. Who in their right mind would think that you give up a draft choice to avoid doing something like that, something that I think that would benefit the organization?”
The Rams cut Sam, who signed with the Montreal Alouettes of the Canadian Football League. He left the team in 2015 for personal reasons.
“Michael worked so hard,” Fisher said. “He was the best player on the board.
“He worked so hard to try to make this football team. Obviously, we had a good defensive line. But really not fair to Michael because of all the hard work he put in as well.”
OK, the views expressed by one M.H. Wiebe are without question, as reprehensible as her (ahem) unique brand of delivery. On the bright side, however, there’s finally a rapper that Dino Costa can really get behind.
Though regarded by some portion of US media and public alike as a reliable/easy source of mirth, life as an actual constituent of former Toronto Mayor / crack cocaine enthusiast Rob Ford (above, left) was something less than a laff riot writes Haemorrhage Music’s Richard Feren. Ford, who died from cancer Tuesday, was “a disastrous mayor, but also a liar, a bully, an abuser, and an all-around horrible person,” writes Feren. But at least he was a man of the people!
Ford doesn’t deserve our compassion because he refused to ever learn from his wrongdoing, instead blaming everyone else, and because he showed so little compassion for anyone who didn’t belong to his small coterie of supporters. Everyone else was a target for his intolerant wrath: people who lived in the old city of Toronto, bicyclists (whom he blamed entirely for their own traffic fatalities), journalists, members of unions, homosexuals, civil servants, police chiefs… and all substance abusers other than himself. He once publicly proclaimed that crack smokers should be jailed, and even as his own drug-abuse scandal unfolded he railed against a proposal for safe-injection sites, which he claimed, without irony, would “set a bad example”.
Ten years ago, when he was a city councillor, a drunken Rob Ford caused such a disturbance at a Maple Leafs game that he had to be removed by security. A couple visiting from out of town received the brunt of his abuse, as he shrieked things like “How would you like your little wife to be raped and shot in Iran?” to them. While he could be forgiven for this misbehaviour (after all, he’s not the first person to be an obnoxious drunk at a sporting event), what he did next cannot be forgiven. Two days after the game, he was confronted by National Post reporters who’d gotten wind of this incident when they learned of a complaint filed by that visiting couple to the city clerk. Ford, presumably not drunk at the time, insisted to the media that it wasn’t him, he wasn’t even at that game, and that the couple must be lying. The following day, he reluctantly admitted the truth, but a pattern was established that he would repeatedly follow for the rest of his life: when caught doing something wrong, he would first deny it, and call his accusers liars, until his own lie could no longer be sustained, at which point he would begrudgingly own up to his own actions, while lashing out at anyone who mentioned it. This despicable modus operandi would be repeated on the 2010 campaign trail, when he denied that he’d ever been charged with drug possession in a 1999 Florida drunk-driving incident, and most famously when he denied for six whole months that he’d been caught on video smoking crack with violent street-gang members. For those six months, Ford continually accused reporters who’d seen the video of lying, until eventually when the police recovered the video, he finally admitted to smoking crack, and claimed that his six months of lying was the fault of reporters who “hadn’t asked the right question”.
One of Ford’s most jarring hypocrisies, given his condition, was his rejection of public healthcare: “I don’t believe in all this public-funded healthcare,” he said. “If you want healthcare, you pay for it.” To my knowledge, Ford never publicly revised his stand on this issue, and there’s been no hint that the Ford family intends to repay taxpayers for the costs of his medical treatment. This, above all, really sums up who Rob Ford truly was: a spoiled rich guy who rejected public healthcare until he needed it himself, while still wanting to deny that same treatment to other cancer victims. Let that be his epitaph.
HIATT : You’ve said, “In the good old days, he would have been ripped out of his seat so fast, you wouldn’t believe it.” Isn’t that condoning violence?
TRUMP: No, because what I am referring to is, we’ve had some very bad people come in. We had one guy — and I said it — he had the voice — and this was what I was referring to — and I said, “Boy, I’d like to smash him.” You know, I said that. I’d like to punch him. This guy was unbelievably loud. He had a voice like Pavarotti. I said if I was his manager I would have made a lot of money for him, because he had the best voice. I mean, the guy was unbelievable, how loud he was. – Washington Post, March 22, 2016
You know what actually has no place in legitimate sports radio? Or the locker room? Or in America more generally? Anything that makes it harder to be women. Anything. I’m owning my privilege here, I’m a feminist but not a woman, no one’s asked me to speak for them, and god knows women don’t need my defense. I’m speaking because I’m mad, and only because I’m mad. But if you’re like me and you’ve spent the last few years watching street harassment videos and shockingly belligerent snaps from dating apps go viral you hopefully have no choice but to realize that sexism is a sickness that is deep in America’s soul, and all that’s special about Dino is he was dumb enough to say it out loud, without coding it first.
For sexists like you, you think there’s just something women could never understand about male sports and let me tell you I know exactly why you wish that were true. Women in sports are smarter than you, Dino, although from over here that doesn’t look that hard. They’re tougher than you because they’ve had to put up with you and people like you for a very long time. And if there’s any justice in the world, a woman will take your job real soon. There’s no place in this world, this America, for Boys’ Clubs, and the most important reason that’s true is because only little boys want to belong to them.
“No, I think the WTA – you know, in my next life when I come back I want to be someone in the WTA, (Laughter because they ride on the coattails of the men. They don’t make any decisions and they are lucky. They are very, very lucky.
“If I was a lady player, I’d go own every night on my knees and thank god that Roger Federer and Rafa Nadal were born, because they have carried this sport. They really have.”
The above quotes come courtesy Indian Wells CEO Raymond Moore who for reasons only known to himself, chose the morning of the BNP Paribas Open final between Serena Williams and Victoria Arazenka to suggest (among other things) that the women’s tour has a number of (physically) “attractive” players. While campaigning for Moore’s resignation, Forbes’ Patrick Rishe asks, “I wonder if any of the young whippersnappers at MIT have come up with a formula to quantify stupidity?”
First of all, for a variety of reasons, women’s tennis is every bit as popular as men’s tennis…and has been for a long time. Has Mr. Moore attended any of the major events in recent years? Or how about the last two decades?
Second, how out-of-touch (or at least temporarily careless) can a guy be when he makes gender sensitive comments as the leader of any organization…let alone the leader of a tennis event.
Third, let’s talk about the timing of these comments. To make these comments on the morning of the women’s finals is insensitive enough. But to make matters worse, you say it when Serena Williams – who had not participated at this particular venue for several years and surely helped sell tickets to this year’s event – is one of the contestants in the finals.
Dino Costa’s first week on the air at St. Louis’ KFNS was marked to some degree by the growing feud between himself and the station’s incumbent afternoon host, Kevin Slaten. After a testy exhange between the pair on March 11, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s Dan Casesar reports both broadcasters have been ordered by station owner Randy “Money” Markel to cease the bickering, but not before Costa, as unimaginative a misogynist as you’ll find, wondered, “since when has this alleged king turned into the queen of St. Louis radio?…if he left our station tomorrow, there’s not a station in this market that would pay him to be on their airwaves.” That’s a funny position to take given there’s zero evidence Costa has generated ratings anywhere or that any of his whistle stops across the radio landscape have suffered even the slightest dip in advertising revenue after his termination. Or as Slaten puts it, “I’ll put my W-2s up against his any time of the day…unlike Donald Trump, I’ll show mine.”
“If I couldn’t get hired in this town, how come I’ve been hired everywhere I’ve wanted to be hired?”, Slaten said. “I don’t come into a strange town and attack teammates. He does. I don’t come into a town trying to destroy what people have built up. He does. I don’t get into his sandbox and play juvenile games. He does. Anytime he wants to take me on, try it again. I guess if you didn’t learn your lesson the first time, there’s always a second time.”
“He somehow thinks it’s good radio if he attacks me. It’s not good radio, it never has been to attack people you work with. It’s juvenile radio, and that’s the tactic people use who have no talent. … He’s a psycho.”