August marks the official dog days of summer, and nowhere is that more apparent than from where I sit, in the scorching Sonoran desert, a place where you can get serious degree burns from the cheap seats if you keep them out in the sun for too long uncovered. August means the start of the annual NFL journey through the preseason, and training camp fisticuffs and holdouts among a slate of completely meaningless games that teams nonetheless charge full price for and networks cover as if they mattered. August signifies young collegians heading off to the hinterlands to live and train their bodies and minds in Spartan conditions for the upcoming football season, my own alma mater and team of choice heads to the high country of Northern Arizona to a place known as Camp Tontazona, which sounds like a cross between a summer camp and an archaeological dig site. Every four years, August brings us the Summer Olympic Games, this year’s version coming from the smog choked and Internet censoring Bejing, China. But most importantly, August brings the start of baseball’s pennant races, and an unofficial end to baseball’s trading season. I say unofficial because players can still be traded but they have to pass waivers, where any other team can claim them and thus prevent the trade from being executed. Most big name players will not be offered during this time, but moves can still be made and the true deadline is in September when teams must set their 40 man rosters of players eligible for the post-season tournament. The term pennant race is also a bit archaic, as it refers to a bygone era where the winner of each league won the pennant and went straight to the Fall Classic. The current set-up requires those who qualify for the postseason to go through two more rounds of playoff baseball to get to the promised land, so the battle to qualify is really only the first stage in a three month run to glory.
Semantics aside, what always precedes the great chase is the setting of the table in July, when teams declare themselves as being part of one of three camps. There are the sellers, the perennial also-rans in what used to be known as the second division, before there actually were divisions. These teams, such as the Kansas City Royals and Pittsburgh Pirates in the current era, are generally well out of contention by July, and are almost always out of contention when it comes to keeping their promising young talent by signing them to big dollar long-term contracts. So instead of letting valuable commodities go without much in the way of compensation, they trade them to contending teams for prospects. In baseball’s perverse economic system, these prospects that do turn out to be quality players eventually end up being traded a few years down the road when they are again on the verge of achieving stardom and the big payout that goes with it, and the cycle continues. The frustration of being a fan of the Pirates or Royals must be nearly unbearable, as these once proud franchises who could boast contending teams in small markets have now become nothing more than farm systems for the wealthy big city boys.
Which brings us to the second group of teams, the buyers, who are the teams that have the money to burn, often the prospects stockpiled in their farm systems to let go, all in the pursuit of the holy grail of sports, winning now. These are the big bucks, big market franchises, the New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, LA Dodgers, and New York Mets to name the biggest spenders, and most years they are ready to deal away prospects for the best and brightest available. Recently the Chicago Cubs have joined the list of buyers, thanks in no small part to their ownership by a major media chain, the Tribune Company. As any baseball fan knows, money doesn’t always guarantee success, nor does it buy you happiness, but it sure doesn’t hurt your chances either.
The final group is the ones that sit on the sideline, baseball’s middle class if you will. They are neither flush with cash to go after every pretty blonde with a flirtatious smile and flip of her hair, nor are they walking around with nothing but lint in their pockets. They generally try to hold onto what they’ve got, to build from within and go after the middle-market free agents to bolster their rosters. Teams such as my hometown Arizona Diamondbacks fit this mold, as do successful and storied franchises like the St. Louis Cardinals, Detroit Tigers, and Chicago White Sox, who while they share a city with the Cubbies, do not have the same fan base or revenue stream as do their neighbors to the north side of town.
This year we saw three major trades, and many other minor ones whose results often go unnoticed outside of the affected cities but can play a big role nonetheless. However, the three biggies to focus on will be the topic at hand; the first was the first one executed, and arguably the one that will have the biggest impact. The Milwaukee Brewers, heretofore one of baseball’s underclass since their last playoff appearance and pennant a quarter century ago, went out and got one of the games top shelf starting pitchers, one of its best and biggest aces in CC Sabathia. Sabathia gives a team already loaded with promising young talent the anchor that may very well allow it to beat out the more noted Cubs and Cardinals in the NL Central, and if they make the postseason, CC gives them a fighting chance in any seven game series. It is said that momentum in baseball is your next day’s starting pitcher, and in a short series, the big fella gives the Brew Crew tons of momentum.
The next trade was the one made by the South Siders of Chicago, the Chi Sox, who went out and got themselves one of the game’s all-time greats in Ken Griffey Jr. Before injuries got the best of him, Griffey was the dominant all-around player in baseball, along with Barry Bonds and Frank Thomas back in the mid to late 90’s. While Griffey is no longer the player he once was, and while his once seemingly certain quest for Hank Aaron’s home run crown is now all but over, he is still a dangerous hitter and a center-fielder who can track down and kill more than his share of extra base hits in the gap. His clubhouse presence alone may be enough to put the White Sox over the top in a close AL Central race and get them into the postseason, where as recently as a few years ago they were able to go all the way.
The most recent trade and the one that made the biggest splash is the three-way deal between two buyers, the Boston Red Sox and LA Dodgers, and perennial seller Pittsburgh. The Pirates, as usual, got the prospects; see above for the likely scenario with them and their newfound talent. The main deal however was between the defending champion Bo Sox, who got rid of their run producing and headache inducing machine, Manny Ramirez, and the Los Angeles Dodgers, who get Manny being Manny in Chavez Ravine. The Red Sox got in return, Jason Bay, a very good young player who while lacking the Hall of Fame credentials of Manny, is much younger and figures to help Boston get back to the tournament to defend their crown. The effect of Manny in LA is tougher to gauge, mainly because it makes a mediocre team a little less so, but doesn’t seem to be enough to put the Dodgers ahead of the young, talented, and pitching rich Diamondbacks in the NL West. The Dodgers have a mixture of young players and veterans, who will likely welcome Ramirez into the fold, and he won’t be there long enough to cause too much trouble, but the effect of one player in the lineup, even as prolific a run producer as Manny is usually less than the effect of a starting pitcher. I wouldn’t want to be a clubhouse attendant in LA on one of Manny’s bad days, but that’s another story.
Again, it is often the lesser noted deals that have a bigger impact, I am reminded of the early 90’s when my boyhood team, the LA Dodgers made a huge splash by acquiring Darryl Strawberry from the New York Mets, sort of a Manny of his time, but it was actually their acquisition of Brett Butler, a premier leadoff hitter and defender, that had the biggest effect on the team. But of the three big trades, I would rank the Griffey deal third, as his new team was likely headed into October even without him, but he will only help matters. The Manny trade comes in second, for while he is still productive, his presence may not be enough to put his new mates over the hump. The Sabathia trade gets the highest marks, as starting pitching tends to have the biggest impact. It still may not be enough to get the Brewers into the postseason, but if they do make it, in all likelihood this will be the move that allowed it to happen. The beautiful thing about it all is that we get to watch the action unfold over the next two months and then into October where the champion will be decided. Next time on the View, we’ll look at the teams most likely to still be getting after it come early fall.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The View From the Cheap Seats
Time for a semi-regular view from where the real fans sit, and since the actual cheap seats ain’t so cheap anymore, I’m talking about the ultimate cheap seats, the broken down and well worn family recliner, or in my case, my comfy chair at Starbucks. The coffee isn’t so cheap, but it’s darn good, and the chair is free. So what is up in the wonderful wide world of sports these days?
For starters, Manny is a complete arse. For those who may not recognize a pompous arse by first name only, I am referring to Manny Ramirez, the RBI machine who has toiled for mere multi-millions for the last eight or so years with the Boston Red Sox. While there can be no doubt that Manny is a prolific run producer, which is what it’s all about for an offensive player in baseball, scoring them and driving them in, and while he is also no doubt a first ballot hall of famer, he is also a first class jerk and a malcontent. The jerk was evident in his recent physical abuse of a clubhouse attendant, the malcontent arises often, and the latest is his quest for mental peace and his little backhanded slap at Bosox fans. See, Manny thinks that you fans are just a bunch of dumb sheep that do and believe whatever the team and media wants you to. The Red Sox have turned the fans against other fellow star players, and Manny doesn’t want to be the latest victim. I’ve got a mental piece for you Manny, fans aren’t so dumb, even the ones who hail from the right coast that I semi-affectionately like to refer to as east coast monkeys due to their ape like passion for their teams. Fans turn on a player when he becomes blatantly disloyal, or when he fails to show up for work and hustle, or when he stops producing. Clearly Manny still produces, but his disloyalty and constant trade demands may finally turn fans sour on him, just as it did with Alex Rodriguez who was pretty well liked before he bailed out on the Seattle Mariners for a huge payout in Texas, or Mike Piazza, who engineered his way out of LA when 90 million just wasn’t enough to satisfy his enormous ego. Likewise for Scotty Pippen when he refused to put his shoes back on and come in at the end of a game when his number wasn’t going to be called, or Randy Moss when he declared that he only plays when he feels like it. Granted these guys to a large degree were able to rehabilitate their damaged reputations, but the real fans in the cheap seats don’t forget a slight.
You see, those of us who actually work for a living, bust our tails every day, play by the rules in our lives, don’t hold out for more money or otherwise shirk from our duties because of real or perceived slights from our bosses, we don’t take too kindly to all this nonsense about respect and mental peace and getting paid what you are worth. To us, just being able to play a kid’s game well into your 30’s is reward enough, and getting paid at all for it, let alone outrageous sums that allow you to take care of yourself and your family for the rest of time just puts icing on the cake life you already live. That’s why we dislike players who don’t seem to appreciate what they have and who act with a sense of entitlement, such as Barry Bonds, who is arguably the greatest hitter who ever lived, yet who will never hold the spot in fan’s hearts that Cal Ripken does. It’s why fans got so fired up back in the magical summer of 1998, before we became obsessed with steroids, when Sosa and McGuire were battling for the home run record. Those two guys seemed like they were enjoying the pursuit, that they got it and we could enjoy their battle vicariously through them. If A-Rod were to go on a similar pursuit now it would be hard to get as excited, the guy just seems to be a phony, and more concerned about his bank account and his image than just being about the love of the game. Pure, unadulterated love of the game is why Brett Favre is a legend in our hearts and minds, when you watch the guy play you can imagine that is how you and your buddies would be if you only had the chance. Same for my all-time favorite athlete, Magic Johnson, whose infectious smile and genuine love of the game of basketball came through every time he stepped onto the court at the Fabulous Forum back in the glory days of Showtime.
As it turns out then, fans actually do think for themselves, and don’t just go along with what the teams or press wants us to go along with, and we do usually reward the good guys and shun the bad guys. Guys like Manny and his ilk will never get it, and thankfully guys like Phil Mickelson do get it, and fans will always appreciate their efforts, even when they fall short. Think about it, Ripken won a total of one World Series with the Orioles, and Favre led the Packers to one Super Bowl title, Mickelson’s failures outnumber his successes in majors, Charles Barkley never won a title, yet all of these athletes hold a special place in the cheap seats hall of fame. Bonds and A-Rod may well end up one-two in all-time home runs, Manny surely will rank among the top RBI guys in history, Roger Clemens will go down as arguably the greatest power pitcher ever, but none of them will get the adulation and accolades that their on-field accomplishments would suggest, for the simple reason that their behavior and the way they carried themselves turned people off.
Well, it’s time for my free refill, so this will have to be a wrap from the cheap seats for today. But fear not sports fans, the view will be back, with opinions and observations on the upcoming Olympic Games, the breathlessly awaited and eagerly anticipated X-games, the shaping up of the baseball pennant races, and of course, much ado about football, college and pro, including my Pac-10 predictions. Here’s a hint, I’m picking a certain pigskin powerhouse to win their seventh straight conference championship, but I’ve got a couple perennial contenders dropping into the second division, and a couple of also-rans climbing into the upper half of the conference. Until we meet again, may the victories be sweet, may the beers be ice cold, the picture crystal clear and highly defined, the remote always close at hand, and may the good guys get the W when it’s all said and done.
For starters, Manny is a complete arse. For those who may not recognize a pompous arse by first name only, I am referring to Manny Ramirez, the RBI machine who has toiled for mere multi-millions for the last eight or so years with the Boston Red Sox. While there can be no doubt that Manny is a prolific run producer, which is what it’s all about for an offensive player in baseball, scoring them and driving them in, and while he is also no doubt a first ballot hall of famer, he is also a first class jerk and a malcontent. The jerk was evident in his recent physical abuse of a clubhouse attendant, the malcontent arises often, and the latest is his quest for mental peace and his little backhanded slap at Bosox fans. See, Manny thinks that you fans are just a bunch of dumb sheep that do and believe whatever the team and media wants you to. The Red Sox have turned the fans against other fellow star players, and Manny doesn’t want to be the latest victim. I’ve got a mental piece for you Manny, fans aren’t so dumb, even the ones who hail from the right coast that I semi-affectionately like to refer to as east coast monkeys due to their ape like passion for their teams. Fans turn on a player when he becomes blatantly disloyal, or when he fails to show up for work and hustle, or when he stops producing. Clearly Manny still produces, but his disloyalty and constant trade demands may finally turn fans sour on him, just as it did with Alex Rodriguez who was pretty well liked before he bailed out on the Seattle Mariners for a huge payout in Texas, or Mike Piazza, who engineered his way out of LA when 90 million just wasn’t enough to satisfy his enormous ego. Likewise for Scotty Pippen when he refused to put his shoes back on and come in at the end of a game when his number wasn’t going to be called, or Randy Moss when he declared that he only plays when he feels like it. Granted these guys to a large degree were able to rehabilitate their damaged reputations, but the real fans in the cheap seats don’t forget a slight.
You see, those of us who actually work for a living, bust our tails every day, play by the rules in our lives, don’t hold out for more money or otherwise shirk from our duties because of real or perceived slights from our bosses, we don’t take too kindly to all this nonsense about respect and mental peace and getting paid what you are worth. To us, just being able to play a kid’s game well into your 30’s is reward enough, and getting paid at all for it, let alone outrageous sums that allow you to take care of yourself and your family for the rest of time just puts icing on the cake life you already live. That’s why we dislike players who don’t seem to appreciate what they have and who act with a sense of entitlement, such as Barry Bonds, who is arguably the greatest hitter who ever lived, yet who will never hold the spot in fan’s hearts that Cal Ripken does. It’s why fans got so fired up back in the magical summer of 1998, before we became obsessed with steroids, when Sosa and McGuire were battling for the home run record. Those two guys seemed like they were enjoying the pursuit, that they got it and we could enjoy their battle vicariously through them. If A-Rod were to go on a similar pursuit now it would be hard to get as excited, the guy just seems to be a phony, and more concerned about his bank account and his image than just being about the love of the game. Pure, unadulterated love of the game is why Brett Favre is a legend in our hearts and minds, when you watch the guy play you can imagine that is how you and your buddies would be if you only had the chance. Same for my all-time favorite athlete, Magic Johnson, whose infectious smile and genuine love of the game of basketball came through every time he stepped onto the court at the Fabulous Forum back in the glory days of Showtime.
As it turns out then, fans actually do think for themselves, and don’t just go along with what the teams or press wants us to go along with, and we do usually reward the good guys and shun the bad guys. Guys like Manny and his ilk will never get it, and thankfully guys like Phil Mickelson do get it, and fans will always appreciate their efforts, even when they fall short. Think about it, Ripken won a total of one World Series with the Orioles, and Favre led the Packers to one Super Bowl title, Mickelson’s failures outnumber his successes in majors, Charles Barkley never won a title, yet all of these athletes hold a special place in the cheap seats hall of fame. Bonds and A-Rod may well end up one-two in all-time home runs, Manny surely will rank among the top RBI guys in history, Roger Clemens will go down as arguably the greatest power pitcher ever, but none of them will get the adulation and accolades that their on-field accomplishments would suggest, for the simple reason that their behavior and the way they carried themselves turned people off.
Well, it’s time for my free refill, so this will have to be a wrap from the cheap seats for today. But fear not sports fans, the view will be back, with opinions and observations on the upcoming Olympic Games, the breathlessly awaited and eagerly anticipated X-games, the shaping up of the baseball pennant races, and of course, much ado about football, college and pro, including my Pac-10 predictions. Here’s a hint, I’m picking a certain pigskin powerhouse to win their seventh straight conference championship, but I’ve got a couple perennial contenders dropping into the second division, and a couple of also-rans climbing into the upper half of the conference. Until we meet again, may the victories be sweet, may the beers be ice cold, the picture crystal clear and highly defined, the remote always close at hand, and may the good guys get the W when it’s all said and done.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
It's All About the Pigskin
Alright sports fans, time to buckle up the chin straps, slip on the pads, and get your mouthpieces in. That’s right, the long awaited and much anticipated 2008 football season is nearly upon us. So it’s still over a month away, it’s close enough that we can start measuring the time until opening kickoff in weeks not months, and that is cause for any red blooded American male, not to mention a growing number of females, to get excited. In less than six weeks we will be spending our Sunday mornings prepping for the National Football League, and in less than five we will be waking up on Saturday mornings to Chris Fowler, Kirk Herbstreit, and Lee Corso on ESPN getting us ready for the day’s college gridiron action. From Corso’s “not so fast my friend” to Boomer’s “he could go all the way” we are in for another great college and pro football season, and weekends will once again be full of life and meaning and relevance. Get your yard work done over the next few weekends, because come September the yard goes dormant, the pool gets dirty, and the garage will remain in its present state until the bye week in late January.
There is no sport that is as classic Americana as football. Once upon a time baseball was our national pastime. It represented who we were as a nation in the early to mid 20th century, rural, pastoral, easy going and slow moving. It’s rhythms and cadence was in sync with the national populace for the first half of what has been termed the American Century, and I’m not referring to the sponsor of the celebrity golf tournament in Lake Tahoe, but to the century during which America became first a player on the international scene, then one of the two major superpowers of the world, and finished as the undisputed heavyweight champ in terms of politics, military power, and economic might. As we have grown into a more urban and industrial power, a process which began in earnest after the Second World War and had pretty much been accomplished by the start of the 1960’s, we have changed our pace and tempo. We became much more aggressive, much more dominant in the world, and much more militaristic. We also became a nation defined not so much by baseball, and the other big sports of the first half of the century, boxing and horse racing, and became a nation that embraced the passion and controlled violence of football, along with the other dominant sports of the day, basketball and NASCAR. But make no mistake, while baseball remains a big deal in our culture and sports landscape, and while basketball has become arguably the second most popular pastime with those under the age of 40, football is king.
Football is the perfect blend of brute strength, flash and finesse, incredible stamina, with strong doses of intelligence and creativity. There is something beautiful and symmetric about a march down the field that starts at the 20 yard line, a few runs up the middle, some short swing passes out to the flat, a big completion over the middle for first down on 3rd and 8 at midfield to keep the drive alive, an exciting cut back 12 yard run on 1st and 10, a precision strike 20 yards down field to get into scoring range, a big push by the offensive line and a fullback plowing ahead for a first down on 3rd and 1, and the finish, the touchdown pass, catch, and run, the ball breaking the plain of the goal line and the home crowd going crazy as six points are registered on the big board.
We hold the head coach and his lieutenants in the highest intellectual esteem, we throw around terms like creative genius to describe men in gray sweatshirts who spend most of their waking hours holed up in their coaching bunkers, watching game film and plotting strategy like military generals. Those who do it well are heralded and regaled by the public, those who don’t succeed are ridiculed and pushed to the boiling point by fans and media alike, until they are put on the next train out of town, only to resurface in some new outpost with a new crew and fresh hope. We marvel at the physical dexterity of the skill position players, the prima donna ballerina wide outs, the dashing and daring running backs, the highway bandits known as defensive backs. We stand in awe at the ferocity of linebackers and defensive lineman who get us slobbering on our chicken wings and spitting out our beer when they jack someone up. We are amazed at the sheer size and strength of offensive lineman, enormous men in excess of 300 pounds who can nonetheless move with a measure of grace and fluidity as they open holes and keep would be assassins away from their quarterback. We cringe at kickers the way we do when we see that certain neighbor that we would rather avoid, but we love them when they work their magic. And quarterbacks, ahh quarterbacks. They are the gunslingers of the modern era, the dashing leading men admired by men and women alike, the fearless leaders who ride in from the sideline on their white horse and take us to the Promised Land. We love them and hate them, cheer them and curse them, name our sons after them, my own son is named Jake, in part for my favorite Arizona State QB, Jake Plummer, and follow their moves like heads of state. In fact the only person getting more publicity and media coverage right now than Brett Favre is probably Barack Obama.
Some of us prefer the pros on Sundays, others are more partial to the collegians on Saturdays, and others like me are equally enamored of both, although I must profess a slight partiality to the pro game. Each has its own unique qualities and advantages. While the professionals are undoubtedly the more physical and more skilled, and while pro teams represent the passion and hopes of their respective cities, there is nothing quite like the raw emotion of rooting for your favorite college team, be they your alma mater or the team that portrays your home state in a positive or negative light. There is nothing quite like the intensity of the great college rivalries, the closest thing to civil war that we have had since the Yanks and Rebs squared off for keeps. There is nothing that matches the anticipation of the weekend’s upcoming games, making predictions, breaking down the matchups, analyzing the point spreads, and setting fantasy rosters. When the smorgasbord comes to a conclusion with the final gun on Monday night, we go to bed exhausted but with smiles on our faces, knowing that after a couple days to recover and occupy ourselves with the rest of our lives, it will be time to start breaking down and looking forward to the next weekend’s slate of action.
So get the chores done, the errands run, and the long term projects completed. Take the family trips, spend some quality time with the wife, and write some letters to the in-laws. Watch some more baseball, enjoy the upcoming Olympic Games in smog choked China. Then get your hats on and bust out the jerseys, fly the flags and stock up on beer, meats that lend themselves to the grill, and anything and everything with cheese in it, and I’m not talking about those goofy foam hats either. Only four more Saturdays and five more Sundays without our beloved pigskin on the tube, and in our hearts and minds. Then the air gets clearer, the views get sharper, especially if you have high def, the food tastes better and the world gets more interesting. May your college team make a run for the roses, or your bowl of choice, and may your pro team be playing well into January. Here’s to another great football season, enjoy it while it’s here, because before you know it, it will be February and we’ll be suffering from the post Super Bowl blues and wondering how we will ever occupy our time for the next seven months. But for now, that is light years away, and life starts anew in just a few short weeks. Then it will once again, be all about the pigskin.
There is no sport that is as classic Americana as football. Once upon a time baseball was our national pastime. It represented who we were as a nation in the early to mid 20th century, rural, pastoral, easy going and slow moving. It’s rhythms and cadence was in sync with the national populace for the first half of what has been termed the American Century, and I’m not referring to the sponsor of the celebrity golf tournament in Lake Tahoe, but to the century during which America became first a player on the international scene, then one of the two major superpowers of the world, and finished as the undisputed heavyweight champ in terms of politics, military power, and economic might. As we have grown into a more urban and industrial power, a process which began in earnest after the Second World War and had pretty much been accomplished by the start of the 1960’s, we have changed our pace and tempo. We became much more aggressive, much more dominant in the world, and much more militaristic. We also became a nation defined not so much by baseball, and the other big sports of the first half of the century, boxing and horse racing, and became a nation that embraced the passion and controlled violence of football, along with the other dominant sports of the day, basketball and NASCAR. But make no mistake, while baseball remains a big deal in our culture and sports landscape, and while basketball has become arguably the second most popular pastime with those under the age of 40, football is king.
Football is the perfect blend of brute strength, flash and finesse, incredible stamina, with strong doses of intelligence and creativity. There is something beautiful and symmetric about a march down the field that starts at the 20 yard line, a few runs up the middle, some short swing passes out to the flat, a big completion over the middle for first down on 3rd and 8 at midfield to keep the drive alive, an exciting cut back 12 yard run on 1st and 10, a precision strike 20 yards down field to get into scoring range, a big push by the offensive line and a fullback plowing ahead for a first down on 3rd and 1, and the finish, the touchdown pass, catch, and run, the ball breaking the plain of the goal line and the home crowd going crazy as six points are registered on the big board.
We hold the head coach and his lieutenants in the highest intellectual esteem, we throw around terms like creative genius to describe men in gray sweatshirts who spend most of their waking hours holed up in their coaching bunkers, watching game film and plotting strategy like military generals. Those who do it well are heralded and regaled by the public, those who don’t succeed are ridiculed and pushed to the boiling point by fans and media alike, until they are put on the next train out of town, only to resurface in some new outpost with a new crew and fresh hope. We marvel at the physical dexterity of the skill position players, the prima donna ballerina wide outs, the dashing and daring running backs, the highway bandits known as defensive backs. We stand in awe at the ferocity of linebackers and defensive lineman who get us slobbering on our chicken wings and spitting out our beer when they jack someone up. We are amazed at the sheer size and strength of offensive lineman, enormous men in excess of 300 pounds who can nonetheless move with a measure of grace and fluidity as they open holes and keep would be assassins away from their quarterback. We cringe at kickers the way we do when we see that certain neighbor that we would rather avoid, but we love them when they work their magic. And quarterbacks, ahh quarterbacks. They are the gunslingers of the modern era, the dashing leading men admired by men and women alike, the fearless leaders who ride in from the sideline on their white horse and take us to the Promised Land. We love them and hate them, cheer them and curse them, name our sons after them, my own son is named Jake, in part for my favorite Arizona State QB, Jake Plummer, and follow their moves like heads of state. In fact the only person getting more publicity and media coverage right now than Brett Favre is probably Barack Obama.
Some of us prefer the pros on Sundays, others are more partial to the collegians on Saturdays, and others like me are equally enamored of both, although I must profess a slight partiality to the pro game. Each has its own unique qualities and advantages. While the professionals are undoubtedly the more physical and more skilled, and while pro teams represent the passion and hopes of their respective cities, there is nothing quite like the raw emotion of rooting for your favorite college team, be they your alma mater or the team that portrays your home state in a positive or negative light. There is nothing quite like the intensity of the great college rivalries, the closest thing to civil war that we have had since the Yanks and Rebs squared off for keeps. There is nothing that matches the anticipation of the weekend’s upcoming games, making predictions, breaking down the matchups, analyzing the point spreads, and setting fantasy rosters. When the smorgasbord comes to a conclusion with the final gun on Monday night, we go to bed exhausted but with smiles on our faces, knowing that after a couple days to recover and occupy ourselves with the rest of our lives, it will be time to start breaking down and looking forward to the next weekend’s slate of action.
So get the chores done, the errands run, and the long term projects completed. Take the family trips, spend some quality time with the wife, and write some letters to the in-laws. Watch some more baseball, enjoy the upcoming Olympic Games in smog choked China. Then get your hats on and bust out the jerseys, fly the flags and stock up on beer, meats that lend themselves to the grill, and anything and everything with cheese in it, and I’m not talking about those goofy foam hats either. Only four more Saturdays and five more Sundays without our beloved pigskin on the tube, and in our hearts and minds. Then the air gets clearer, the views get sharper, especially if you have high def, the food tastes better and the world gets more interesting. May your college team make a run for the roses, or your bowl of choice, and may your pro team be playing well into January. Here’s to another great football season, enjoy it while it’s here, because before you know it, it will be February and we’ll be suffering from the post Super Bowl blues and wondering how we will ever occupy our time for the next seven months. But for now, that is light years away, and life starts anew in just a few short weeks. Then it will once again, be all about the pigskin.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
One More Comeback for Favre
Quick, who is the NFL’s all-time leading passer, as measured in the stats that matter most, touchdowns thrown, passing yards, completions, and most importantly, victories? He is the QB that has started 275 consecutive games, including playoffs, in an era when most signal callers don’t last an entire 16 game campaign without going down with some sort of injury. He was the MVP of the league for three straight years, two of which ended in his squad playing in the Super Bowl, the first culminating in a championship, the second a loss to fellow NFL legend John Elway and the Denver Broncos in one of the greatest title games ever played. He is the man who led one of the NFL’s most storied franchises from decades of oblivion to relevance, then to contender status, and after the Dallas Cowboys were finally eliminated from top dog status, to a championship team. He led Green Bay, after a few down years and in a season when most would have picked the Pack as middle of the pack at best, back to within a game of the sports world’s most important and grandest stage.
Now, look at it another way. Who was the Packers quarterback before Brett Farve took the reins? How often was Green Bay on TV outside of the state of Wisconsin before #4 started calling the signals? Were the green and gold ever considered to be title contenders in the two and a half decades in between Bart Starr and Brett Farve? Herm Edwards knows the answer to this one, why do we play the games? In case you were wondering, Don Majkowski, aka the Majick man, was the Packers quarterback, and an able one at that, but no his squad was not considered to be title contenders before Farve came. In the nearly quarter century between Star and Favre, the Packers had a mere five winning seasons, and managed a grand total of two playoff appearances and one playoff win. They were rarely on TV and the only Packer highlights you were likely to see in the pre-Farve days were of the Ice Bowl in the late 60’s with steam coming out of Bart Star’s helmet or of Vince Lombardi prowling the sidelines wondering what the hell was going on around here. Lastly, as Herm Edwards so aptly put it, you play to win the games.
Which is why this decision seems to be the biggest no-brainer since Tom Brady’s last contract renegotiation. Brett Farve is not only a legend, in my opinion the third greatest quarterback of all-time, ranking behind only Joe Montana and John Elway, but he is still at the top of his game. He led his squad to a 13-3 regular season and the conference title game last year before bowing out to the New York Giants, who were on such a roll that nobody was able to stop them. Granted, Farve didn’t play his best game in that title game, but there can be no doubt that without his play Green Bay wouldn’t have been in that game, and likely wouldn’t even have made it out of the first round of the playoffs. If you’ve got one of the game’s best of all-time, still at the top of his game, and he wants to come back for at least one more go-round, what do you say? You say when can you start, and then get the heck out of the way and let him do his thing. So what the hell is going on around here?
Many people are feeling pity for Farve’s current backup, Aaron Rodgers. Aaron Rodgers may be a nice fellow, heck, he may even turn out to be a serviceable quarterback, one never knows in pro sports, and the quarterback position is one of the most difficult to predict. Remember when it was a legitimate question whether or not the Colts should take Peyton Manning or Ryan Leaf with the first pick in the draft? Remember Akili Smith and Cade McNown? Remember the handful of quarterbacks that were taken ahead of Dan Marino, or that Joe Montana was a third round pick? So this isn’t about Aaron Rodgers, and if he needs to carry a clipboard for one more season nobody should feel sorry for the young man, he is still being paid quite well, he still has the opportunity to learn from one of the masters, and he still needs to be ready to go, because as amazing as Farve’s consecutive game streak is, it isn’t guaranteed to continue, especially at age 38. But Farve gives the Packers the best chance to win in 2008, and that alone should be the reason that he is welcomed back with open arms. Building for the future is all fine and well, but you don’t start tearing down the house when it is still in fine working order, and if you’ve got a team that is one game away from the big dance, you would have to be awful foolish to blow that up for an unknown future with an unproven commodity.
I’m not a Packers fan, so I’m coming at this from the perspective of an unbiased observer, but I’m certainly not disinterested. As a long-time fan of the greatest game ever created, I know and appreciate being able to watch a legend and how short careers can be. I’ve been fortunate to witness the exploits of Montana and Elway, Marino, Aikman, and Kelly, and Fouts and Bradshaw. I’m currently enjoying, like most of us, the era of Brady and Manning. I don’t want to see Brett Farve go softly into the gentle night, I want to see our favorite gunslinger getting after it for at least one more season of Sunday afternoons, one more season of thrilling comebacks and gut wrenching interceptioins. I want to see #4 with the big G on his hat daring defensive backs to react quickly enough to one of his bullet passes, knowing that while the chance of interception is certainly there, the chance of being turned into burnt toast and making another reel in the Farve highlight film always waits around the next snap. Sure we can see our guy go somewhere else, and that would certainly be better than nothing at all, but the Packers are one of those teams, and Farve one of those players, that unless you are a fan of a rival team, you can’t help but root for. Green Bay owes it to themselves to take at least one more shot at the title with their franchise quarterback at the helm, anything less would be a disservice to their fans and to the game in general. Here’s hoping that wiser heads prevail, and come September football fans from coast to coast, with the exception of those in Chicago, Motown, and the Twin Cities, will be gathering round their television sets hoping to see America’s quarterback working his magic for at least one more season.
Now, look at it another way. Who was the Packers quarterback before Brett Farve took the reins? How often was Green Bay on TV outside of the state of Wisconsin before #4 started calling the signals? Were the green and gold ever considered to be title contenders in the two and a half decades in between Bart Starr and Brett Farve? Herm Edwards knows the answer to this one, why do we play the games? In case you were wondering, Don Majkowski, aka the Majick man, was the Packers quarterback, and an able one at that, but no his squad was not considered to be title contenders before Farve came. In the nearly quarter century between Star and Favre, the Packers had a mere five winning seasons, and managed a grand total of two playoff appearances and one playoff win. They were rarely on TV and the only Packer highlights you were likely to see in the pre-Farve days were of the Ice Bowl in the late 60’s with steam coming out of Bart Star’s helmet or of Vince Lombardi prowling the sidelines wondering what the hell was going on around here. Lastly, as Herm Edwards so aptly put it, you play to win the games.
Which is why this decision seems to be the biggest no-brainer since Tom Brady’s last contract renegotiation. Brett Farve is not only a legend, in my opinion the third greatest quarterback of all-time, ranking behind only Joe Montana and John Elway, but he is still at the top of his game. He led his squad to a 13-3 regular season and the conference title game last year before bowing out to the New York Giants, who were on such a roll that nobody was able to stop them. Granted, Farve didn’t play his best game in that title game, but there can be no doubt that without his play Green Bay wouldn’t have been in that game, and likely wouldn’t even have made it out of the first round of the playoffs. If you’ve got one of the game’s best of all-time, still at the top of his game, and he wants to come back for at least one more go-round, what do you say? You say when can you start, and then get the heck out of the way and let him do his thing. So what the hell is going on around here?
Many people are feeling pity for Farve’s current backup, Aaron Rodgers. Aaron Rodgers may be a nice fellow, heck, he may even turn out to be a serviceable quarterback, one never knows in pro sports, and the quarterback position is one of the most difficult to predict. Remember when it was a legitimate question whether or not the Colts should take Peyton Manning or Ryan Leaf with the first pick in the draft? Remember Akili Smith and Cade McNown? Remember the handful of quarterbacks that were taken ahead of Dan Marino, or that Joe Montana was a third round pick? So this isn’t about Aaron Rodgers, and if he needs to carry a clipboard for one more season nobody should feel sorry for the young man, he is still being paid quite well, he still has the opportunity to learn from one of the masters, and he still needs to be ready to go, because as amazing as Farve’s consecutive game streak is, it isn’t guaranteed to continue, especially at age 38. But Farve gives the Packers the best chance to win in 2008, and that alone should be the reason that he is welcomed back with open arms. Building for the future is all fine and well, but you don’t start tearing down the house when it is still in fine working order, and if you’ve got a team that is one game away from the big dance, you would have to be awful foolish to blow that up for an unknown future with an unproven commodity.
I’m not a Packers fan, so I’m coming at this from the perspective of an unbiased observer, but I’m certainly not disinterested. As a long-time fan of the greatest game ever created, I know and appreciate being able to watch a legend and how short careers can be. I’ve been fortunate to witness the exploits of Montana and Elway, Marino, Aikman, and Kelly, and Fouts and Bradshaw. I’m currently enjoying, like most of us, the era of Brady and Manning. I don’t want to see Brett Farve go softly into the gentle night, I want to see our favorite gunslinger getting after it for at least one more season of Sunday afternoons, one more season of thrilling comebacks and gut wrenching interceptioins. I want to see #4 with the big G on his hat daring defensive backs to react quickly enough to one of his bullet passes, knowing that while the chance of interception is certainly there, the chance of being turned into burnt toast and making another reel in the Farve highlight film always waits around the next snap. Sure we can see our guy go somewhere else, and that would certainly be better than nothing at all, but the Packers are one of those teams, and Farve one of those players, that unless you are a fan of a rival team, you can’t help but root for. Green Bay owes it to themselves to take at least one more shot at the title with their franchise quarterback at the helm, anything less would be a disservice to their fans and to the game in general. Here’s hoping that wiser heads prevail, and come September football fans from coast to coast, with the exception of those in Chicago, Motown, and the Twin Cities, will be gathering round their television sets hoping to see America’s quarterback working his magic for at least one more season.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Masterful Dodger Pitching Performances
In honor of the masterful outing by "rookie" Hiroki Kuroda, who took a perfecto into the 8th, despite the efforts of Gregor Blanco to lay down a bunt and break it up in the 7th, and although he lost the perfect game was able to nail down a one-hit shutout and get the boys in blue back into a first place tie. For now we can forget about the fact that they are still a game under .500, first place is first place, and as I will write about soon, just getting into the playoff tournament gives you a heck of a shot at the pennant, as the numerous wild card pennant winners in the last decade can attest. As the Rockies showed last year, a team that gets hot at the right time can do some damage come October. But more on that in a later posting, the topic for today is masterful pitching performances by a franchise that historically has had one of the best staffs in the game.
Going back before my time and based on the stories told to me by my dad, who grew up a Dodger fan in Southern California in the 50's and 60's, you would have to put in any of the four no-hitters logged by legendary lefty Sandy Koufax. I have also heard countless stories of matchups between the Big D, Don Drysdale and hated Giant Willie McCovey. My first great Dodger pitching memory would be Bobby Welch striking out Reggie in the Series, which had my neighborhood in Torrance, a suburb of LA, buzzing for days, although unfortunately the pin-stripers would go on to win the series. There was also a game that I happened to be in attendance at a few years later where Welch threw a masterful one-hitter against the Braves, Chris Chambliss getting the only hit on a single in the fourth inning, or at least that's how I remember it.
While not a single performance, what Dodger fan over the age of 35 can forget Fernando-mania in the magical 1981 season. For one wonderful spring and summer, every time Fernando pitched was a special occasion, I remember playing in Little League games on such nights with Vinny calling the game on the radio and the parents in the stands listening and giving us updates in between innings. Speaking of runs, the great run of Bulldog, Orel Hersheiser in 1988, the other championship season of my lifetime, was something to behold. The scoreless innings streak to end the season, chasing down the magic number of 59 set by Drysdale, and having to go 10 innings in a 0-0 game against the Padres to get to 60. Then the incredible run continued as the Dodgers upset first the mighty Mets in the NLCS, or simply the playoffs as they were known back then, and then the vaunted Oakland A's in the Series. Most people remember Gibson's home run off lock down closer Dennis Eckersley, but just as instrumental was the role of the Dodgers bench players, the stunt men as they were known, led by Mickey Hatcher, and the pitching of Bulldog.
Another performance that I had the good fortune of attending in person at Chavez Ravine was Ramon Martinez striking out 18 against the Braves, and there was the Fernando no-hitter long after he had passed his prime, one last hurrah for a Dodger legend. So Kuroda's performance is one of many great Dodger pitching performances over the years, and hopefully will get the squad going for the stretch run. Pitching and defense, with just enough timely hitting have always been the Dodgers calling card, and with Joe Torre at the helm and a good young squad, this might just be the year that the Boys of Summer get back to the promised land, which would be a great way to mark the 20 year anniversary of their last championship season. 20 years may not be quite up to the 100 years that Cubs fans have had to wait, but for a Dodger fan who came up in the 70's and 80's it is longer than we ever thought we'd have to wait in between titles, let alone a single playoff series victory. Here's hoping that this latest pitching performance is the start of yet another magical summer.
Going back before my time and based on the stories told to me by my dad, who grew up a Dodger fan in Southern California in the 50's and 60's, you would have to put in any of the four no-hitters logged by legendary lefty Sandy Koufax. I have also heard countless stories of matchups between the Big D, Don Drysdale and hated Giant Willie McCovey. My first great Dodger pitching memory would be Bobby Welch striking out Reggie in the Series, which had my neighborhood in Torrance, a suburb of LA, buzzing for days, although unfortunately the pin-stripers would go on to win the series. There was also a game that I happened to be in attendance at a few years later where Welch threw a masterful one-hitter against the Braves, Chris Chambliss getting the only hit on a single in the fourth inning, or at least that's how I remember it.
While not a single performance, what Dodger fan over the age of 35 can forget Fernando-mania in the magical 1981 season. For one wonderful spring and summer, every time Fernando pitched was a special occasion, I remember playing in Little League games on such nights with Vinny calling the game on the radio and the parents in the stands listening and giving us updates in between innings. Speaking of runs, the great run of Bulldog, Orel Hersheiser in 1988, the other championship season of my lifetime, was something to behold. The scoreless innings streak to end the season, chasing down the magic number of 59 set by Drysdale, and having to go 10 innings in a 0-0 game against the Padres to get to 60. Then the incredible run continued as the Dodgers upset first the mighty Mets in the NLCS, or simply the playoffs as they were known back then, and then the vaunted Oakland A's in the Series. Most people remember Gibson's home run off lock down closer Dennis Eckersley, but just as instrumental was the role of the Dodgers bench players, the stunt men as they were known, led by Mickey Hatcher, and the pitching of Bulldog.
Another performance that I had the good fortune of attending in person at Chavez Ravine was Ramon Martinez striking out 18 against the Braves, and there was the Fernando no-hitter long after he had passed his prime, one last hurrah for a Dodger legend. So Kuroda's performance is one of many great Dodger pitching performances over the years, and hopefully will get the squad going for the stretch run. Pitching and defense, with just enough timely hitting have always been the Dodgers calling card, and with Joe Torre at the helm and a good young squad, this might just be the year that the Boys of Summer get back to the promised land, which would be a great way to mark the 20 year anniversary of their last championship season. 20 years may not be quite up to the 100 years that Cubs fans have had to wait, but for a Dodger fan who came up in the 70's and 80's it is longer than we ever thought we'd have to wait in between titles, let alone a single playoff series victory. Here's hoping that this latest pitching performance is the start of yet another magical summer.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Great Rivalries That Make Sports Fun
Everybody I suppose has their own reasons for watching, or not watching particular sports, and sports in general. For some it is a diversion from doing chores or paying bills, or talking to their wives and kids. For others it may be one of many forms of entertainment, a way to keep abreast of popular culture and to be able to chime in with the talk around the water cooler. Some are true fanatics, who live and die with a particular team or set of teams, and only have an interest in watching if their boys are playing. Some are fond of particular athletes, and may tune in to see Tiger Woods or Tom Brady without much regard for their teammates or opponents. Some fans love to watch great teams, they get involved with the great dynasties, in recent times that would include the pre-9/11 New York Yankees, the New England Patriots, or the USC Trojans football squad. Others love the underdog and tune in to root against the Goliaths of the sports world, these are the fans who love the Cinderella teams in the NCAA Hoops Tournament, or Appalachian State knocking off mighty Michigan, or probably anyone who handles Notre Dame, which of course these days isn't quite the accomplishment it used to be. Of course most of us love sports for some or all of these reasons, and in addition we enjoy marvelling at guys doing with such great skill and precision what we can do, but not nearly in the same manner. How many of us will feel the rush of hitting the green on a Par 3, ripping off the glove and reaching for our putter as we make the walk up to the green, knowing that even if we may be 25 feet from the cup, at least we don't have to chip, and if we can just avoid the dreaded three-putt we'll walk to the next tee box with the sense of satisfaction that comes from logging a par on the scorecard. The pros would be disgusted with leaving a 7 iron so far from birdie range, and that's one of the reasons we love to watch them do what they do.
One reason to watch and be enthralled with any athletic competition is when it involves hated and dreaded rivals, friendly rivals will do in a pinch, but is there anything that makes sports more worth our time than when our team is taking on the bums from across town, or across the state or region? As a lifelong and die hard Dodgers fan, nothing gives me greater pleasure than when the Boys in Blue take it to the Giants, as they just did over the weekend taking two of three from the Nocals and their fans. One of my favorite Dodger memories comes from 1993, the year of the last great division race in baseball, when on the final day of the season and the Giants needing one more victory to force a one game playoff with the Atlanta Braves, the Dodgers thoroughly spanked the marauders from the north and sent them and their 100 plus wins home for the winter. Conversely, one of the worst memories is of the fat tub of goo, Terry Forster, giving up a homer to Joe Morgan and the Dodgers getting beat by the dreaded Giants and being knocked out of the playoffs themselves on the last day of the 1982 campaign.
More recently, another rivalry near and dear to my heart that has thankfully resurfaced is the classic Lakers-Celtics feud. My memories go back to the days of my youth, the Showtime Lakers that I loved growing up against the Celtics of Bird, McHale, Parish, and the rest of their henchmen, most notably the absolutely hateable Danny Ainge. Although the battles of the 60's were before my time, as a Laker fan growing up in Southern California I knew the stories and the numerous defeats the Purple and Gold took at the hands of the mighty and invincible Celtics. So when the Lakers finally broke through in 1985 to beat Boston, it was similar to when the Dodgers finally broke through against the Yankees in 1981. You didn't have to be alive in 1955 or even to have ever visited the borough of Brooklyn to appreciate the history of that rivalry anymore than you needed to be around to see Jerry West and company go down to Bill Russell and the Red Auerbach led teams of the black and white era to understand what the rivalries meant. Similarly, fans under 25 today who wouldn't have any memories of those great 80's clashes should still be able to get a taste for what the Lakers-Celtics rivalry means, and although the results are still fresh in the memory and a bitter pill to swallow, I'm thankful for the opportunity to get fired up again over these two classic franchises getting it on. San Antonio and Detroit, or Miami v. Dallas just doesn't get the juices flowing in quite the same way.
There are so many rivalries that make sports fun, too many to mention in a column such as this without getting crazy on the length and no matter how many one might list there will inevitably be some that are left out. Some of the top ones that come to mind though are the Yankees-Red Sox and Cubs-Cardinals in baseball, the Packers-Bears and my personal favorite, Raiders-Chiefs in pro football, Ohio St.-Michigan leads a litany of great rivalries in college football, my own preference is for the unique crosstown rivalry of UCLA v. USC, but almost any college gridiron fan can name his or her favorite and most relevant match-up that makes or breaks their year. We have great individual rivalries as well, Magic and Bird in hoops, Mays and Mantle in the days of old, Brady v. Manning today is as good as Aikman v. Young in the early 90's, or Bradshaw-Staubach from the 70's. Even though they have been largely discredited, who can ever forget the magical slug fest between Sosa and McGuire in '98, and individual sports have their own rivalries that peak interest in their sports. Ali-Frazier, and later Ali-Foreman are the stuff of legends. Leonard-Duran, Leonard-Hearns, and Hearns-Hagler defined the golden days of boxing that I grew up with. Nicklaus-Palmer was the great rivalry my dad grew up with, for me it was Nicklaus-Watson. Tennis as well, as we saw recently with Federer-Nadal, which hearkens memories of Sampras-Agassi or Bjorg-McEnroe.
Often the lack of a rival can lessen the accomplishments, or at least the enjoyment of the accomplishments of certain teams of specific eras. Case in point is the 90's Bulls, a great team without peer, and therefore hard to compare favorably to the teams that preceded them. How many more titles would either LA or Boston have captured had they not had to deal with each other, if instead they had merely to beat up on Seattle, Phoenix, and Utah? A similar case could be made for the Spurs, who have won four titles, but yet don't get quite the same run as other teams that won over a similar stretch of time. Even though the Cowboys of the 90's won one more title than the 'Boys of the 70's, we tend to remember the 70's group more fondly because they did battle with the legendary Steelers, not to mention having to go through powerhouse teams like the Rams and Vikings to win their five conference titles. Tiger, as undeniably great as he is, still has no true rival to match and challenge him. The occasional Bob May or Rocco Mediate notwithstanding, potential foes from David Duval to Ernie Els to Phil Mickelson have failed to provide the true test of greatness that makes the victories that much more meaningful. Tiger may very well pass Nicklaus in majors won, but no one can argue that he has had to compete with nearly the same field that Jack had to battle with. One can imagine how many of those amazing 19 second place major finishes would have been firsts had Nicklaus not had to contend with other legendary players like Palmer, Player, Watson, Trevino, and Miller to name a handful.
There can be no doubt that among the myriad factors that make sports great fun, rivalries are perhaps at the top of the list. They provide sharp contrast between styles, give us bad guys to hate and good guys to revere, memorable moments, and provide fodder for countless and endless barroom banter, and sometimes brawls, over who was better than who and why. What makes a great rivalry? That will have to be the topic of another column in the near future, as this one is about to be put to bed. But suffice to say that just as there can be endless debate over what rivalries are at the top of the list, the same can be said for what factors make them great. I would love to hear comments from any readers on your favorite rivalries and memories you have. Let's face it, if you've made it this far in the column, you are to be commended for you attention span and deserve to have your voice heard. Which is really what makes sports fun, the chance to wax nostalgic about the good old days, to prognosticate about days to come, and to simply argue and debate current issues and events in the games that happily devour so much of our time and energy.
One reason to watch and be enthralled with any athletic competition is when it involves hated and dreaded rivals, friendly rivals will do in a pinch, but is there anything that makes sports more worth our time than when our team is taking on the bums from across town, or across the state or region? As a lifelong and die hard Dodgers fan, nothing gives me greater pleasure than when the Boys in Blue take it to the Giants, as they just did over the weekend taking two of three from the Nocals and their fans. One of my favorite Dodger memories comes from 1993, the year of the last great division race in baseball, when on the final day of the season and the Giants needing one more victory to force a one game playoff with the Atlanta Braves, the Dodgers thoroughly spanked the marauders from the north and sent them and their 100 plus wins home for the winter. Conversely, one of the worst memories is of the fat tub of goo, Terry Forster, giving up a homer to Joe Morgan and the Dodgers getting beat by the dreaded Giants and being knocked out of the playoffs themselves on the last day of the 1982 campaign.
More recently, another rivalry near and dear to my heart that has thankfully resurfaced is the classic Lakers-Celtics feud. My memories go back to the days of my youth, the Showtime Lakers that I loved growing up against the Celtics of Bird, McHale, Parish, and the rest of their henchmen, most notably the absolutely hateable Danny Ainge. Although the battles of the 60's were before my time, as a Laker fan growing up in Southern California I knew the stories and the numerous defeats the Purple and Gold took at the hands of the mighty and invincible Celtics. So when the Lakers finally broke through in 1985 to beat Boston, it was similar to when the Dodgers finally broke through against the Yankees in 1981. You didn't have to be alive in 1955 or even to have ever visited the borough of Brooklyn to appreciate the history of that rivalry anymore than you needed to be around to see Jerry West and company go down to Bill Russell and the Red Auerbach led teams of the black and white era to understand what the rivalries meant. Similarly, fans under 25 today who wouldn't have any memories of those great 80's clashes should still be able to get a taste for what the Lakers-Celtics rivalry means, and although the results are still fresh in the memory and a bitter pill to swallow, I'm thankful for the opportunity to get fired up again over these two classic franchises getting it on. San Antonio and Detroit, or Miami v. Dallas just doesn't get the juices flowing in quite the same way.
There are so many rivalries that make sports fun, too many to mention in a column such as this without getting crazy on the length and no matter how many one might list there will inevitably be some that are left out. Some of the top ones that come to mind though are the Yankees-Red Sox and Cubs-Cardinals in baseball, the Packers-Bears and my personal favorite, Raiders-Chiefs in pro football, Ohio St.-Michigan leads a litany of great rivalries in college football, my own preference is for the unique crosstown rivalry of UCLA v. USC, but almost any college gridiron fan can name his or her favorite and most relevant match-up that makes or breaks their year. We have great individual rivalries as well, Magic and Bird in hoops, Mays and Mantle in the days of old, Brady v. Manning today is as good as Aikman v. Young in the early 90's, or Bradshaw-Staubach from the 70's. Even though they have been largely discredited, who can ever forget the magical slug fest between Sosa and McGuire in '98, and individual sports have their own rivalries that peak interest in their sports. Ali-Frazier, and later Ali-Foreman are the stuff of legends. Leonard-Duran, Leonard-Hearns, and Hearns-Hagler defined the golden days of boxing that I grew up with. Nicklaus-Palmer was the great rivalry my dad grew up with, for me it was Nicklaus-Watson. Tennis as well, as we saw recently with Federer-Nadal, which hearkens memories of Sampras-Agassi or Bjorg-McEnroe.
Often the lack of a rival can lessen the accomplishments, or at least the enjoyment of the accomplishments of certain teams of specific eras. Case in point is the 90's Bulls, a great team without peer, and therefore hard to compare favorably to the teams that preceded them. How many more titles would either LA or Boston have captured had they not had to deal with each other, if instead they had merely to beat up on Seattle, Phoenix, and Utah? A similar case could be made for the Spurs, who have won four titles, but yet don't get quite the same run as other teams that won over a similar stretch of time. Even though the Cowboys of the 90's won one more title than the 'Boys of the 70's, we tend to remember the 70's group more fondly because they did battle with the legendary Steelers, not to mention having to go through powerhouse teams like the Rams and Vikings to win their five conference titles. Tiger, as undeniably great as he is, still has no true rival to match and challenge him. The occasional Bob May or Rocco Mediate notwithstanding, potential foes from David Duval to Ernie Els to Phil Mickelson have failed to provide the true test of greatness that makes the victories that much more meaningful. Tiger may very well pass Nicklaus in majors won, but no one can argue that he has had to compete with nearly the same field that Jack had to battle with. One can imagine how many of those amazing 19 second place major finishes would have been firsts had Nicklaus not had to contend with other legendary players like Palmer, Player, Watson, Trevino, and Miller to name a handful.
There can be no doubt that among the myriad factors that make sports great fun, rivalries are perhaps at the top of the list. They provide sharp contrast between styles, give us bad guys to hate and good guys to revere, memorable moments, and provide fodder for countless and endless barroom banter, and sometimes brawls, over who was better than who and why. What makes a great rivalry? That will have to be the topic of another column in the near future, as this one is about to be put to bed. But suffice to say that just as there can be endless debate over what rivalries are at the top of the list, the same can be said for what factors make them great. I would love to hear comments from any readers on your favorite rivalries and memories you have. Let's face it, if you've made it this far in the column, you are to be commended for you attention span and deserve to have your voice heard. Which is really what makes sports fun, the chance to wax nostalgic about the good old days, to prognosticate about days to come, and to simply argue and debate current issues and events in the games that happily devour so much of our time and energy.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Wimbledon 2008-The Changing of the Guard
Six and a half hours after it began, the changing of the guard had been accomplished when a Roger Federer shot fell harmlessly into the net, ending a match for the ages, and quite possibly the best tennis match ever played. Draped in the red and gold Spanish flag, fighting back tears of joy and exhaustion, dirt on his back from the famed grass of Wimbledon's Centre Court, Rafael Nadal, the 22 year-old Spaniard took his place among the pantheon of tennis legends as the 2008 men's Wimbledon Champion. In becoming the first men's player to win the French Open and Wimbledon Championship in the same season in nearly 30 years, he also ended the reign and run of the legendary Roger Federer, the 26 year-old Swiss great who had won the last five Wimbledon titles, a stretch that matched that of Bjorn Borg, who was also the last man to win the French and Wimbledon in the same year back in 1980, before either of these competitors was born.
After a two set stretch that saw neither player break serve, but with the match in the 5th set and without the chance of a third straight tiebreak to decide the winner of the set and championship, someone would have to flinch, or more on point, someone would have to snatch the match and take the title. That someone turned out to be Nadal, who broke Federer for the fourth time in the match, but the first break since the third set, to go up 8-7 in the fifth and final set, allowing him to serve for the championship, and his rightful place in tennis and sports lore. After 58 games and two tiebreakers, the match stood all square at seven games apiece when Nadal broke through against the dominant service game of Federer, and one game later brought to an end a contest that no one could have wanted to ever come to an end.
Nadal was broken only once in the longest championship match played, which became even longer thanks to a nearly two hour rain delay that interrupted play late in the third set with the Spaniard up two sets to none and possibly on his way to a second consecutive straight sets victory over his greatest rival, and heretofore tennis' undisputed number one player. Before the rain, Federer had taken advantage of only one of twelve chances to break serve, and in fact would only break his opponent once in the match. The other thing that would do in the defending champ was his unforced errors, which he had accumulated before the delay at a better than two to one clip as his opponent. Yet after the break, Federer seemed to be revitalized, and while the errors continued to haunt him, his dominating serve and a litany of masterful passing shots mixed in with timely charges to the net put him in position for a modern era record sixth straight championship heading into the final set tied at two apiece. And for the first fourteen games of that final set, as it had for the entire fourth set, form held as neither player seemed likely ever to budge.
Time after time the Swiss champ would show signs of vulnerability, only to come storming back from 0-30 or 15-40 and protect his service game. Yet Nadal's own booming serve, which reached a Sampras-like 125 mph in the early going, held up time after time, proving that his game is suited for more than just the red clay of Roland Garros in Paris. Grunting like a man with something to prove, Nadal was a whirling dervish, a bundle of energy who covered the court from side to side with lightning quickness, a contrast to the seemingly effortlessness and cool calm of his older and more accomplished foe. Rafa, as he is affectionately known, was broken by Federer in the second game of the second set, and never again. Roger's best chance may have come in that set's eighth game, when the champ missed what looked like an easy kill shot, instead taking another unforced error, and missing one of the early opportunities that Federer referred to in his post-match interview as having cost him later on. At one point early in that second set after another missed shot, Federer looked to the heavens, seeming to question the wind, but one suspects he may actually have been looking to the tennis gods wondering if this would be the day in which the fortunes stopped smiling on him.
Indeed the fates of tennis turned their gaze and approval to the young Spaniard, and in doing so gave Spain its first title at the All England Lawn and Tennis Club in 42 years, and gave the Spanish sports aficionado a second major championship to celebrate in as many weeks, coming on the heels of the Spanish football squad's victory in the Euro 2008 tournament, the first such title for Spain in 44 years. Sports fans of all nationalities were treated to another chapter in what has become one of the great rivalries of the sport, on par if not surpassing that of Bjorg-McEnroe or Sampras-Agassi.
It is hard to say which winds were blowing harder, the local storm winds that may have moved a shot or two off its intended target, or the winds of change that came blowing into the famed stadium, intent on sweeping away, at least temporarily, the great champion Federer, and supplanting him with the new boss, the young and handsome star with the penetrating dark features and balanced game that would suggest he will be very difficult to remove from his new perch over the next few years. The sports fan can only hope that these two will stay healthy and focused, and that this rivalry will continue for as long as possible into the future, for if a rivalry such as this and a match such as this doesn't get one fired up about this sport, nothing will. In a sports era where it is all too easy to become jaded over steroids and questionable morals and behavior of athletes, it is heartening to see such great competitors do battle with class and vigor that hearken memories of a bygone golden age. Perhaps this is but one wonderful morning and afternoon in July that will fade with time, but perhaps it is more than that, maybe it is a return to what makes sports great and unlike any other form of entertainment. Let's hope for the latter, let's hope that the recent run that sports fans have had, starting with an all-time Super Bowl in February, the great mano a mano finale of the U.S. Open in June, and now a Wimbledon Final for the ages in July, are a harbinger of things to come in the world of sport. At least for one day, a grown man can feel like a kid again, full of wonder and excitement about the possibility of sport, and wondering if that old racket can be dug up somewhere out in the garage and dusted off after all these years. Bravo Messieurs Nadal and Federer, and thanks for the memories, here's hoping there are many more to come.
After a two set stretch that saw neither player break serve, but with the match in the 5th set and without the chance of a third straight tiebreak to decide the winner of the set and championship, someone would have to flinch, or more on point, someone would have to snatch the match and take the title. That someone turned out to be Nadal, who broke Federer for the fourth time in the match, but the first break since the third set, to go up 8-7 in the fifth and final set, allowing him to serve for the championship, and his rightful place in tennis and sports lore. After 58 games and two tiebreakers, the match stood all square at seven games apiece when Nadal broke through against the dominant service game of Federer, and one game later brought to an end a contest that no one could have wanted to ever come to an end.
Nadal was broken only once in the longest championship match played, which became even longer thanks to a nearly two hour rain delay that interrupted play late in the third set with the Spaniard up two sets to none and possibly on his way to a second consecutive straight sets victory over his greatest rival, and heretofore tennis' undisputed number one player. Before the rain, Federer had taken advantage of only one of twelve chances to break serve, and in fact would only break his opponent once in the match. The other thing that would do in the defending champ was his unforced errors, which he had accumulated before the delay at a better than two to one clip as his opponent. Yet after the break, Federer seemed to be revitalized, and while the errors continued to haunt him, his dominating serve and a litany of masterful passing shots mixed in with timely charges to the net put him in position for a modern era record sixth straight championship heading into the final set tied at two apiece. And for the first fourteen games of that final set, as it had for the entire fourth set, form held as neither player seemed likely ever to budge.
Time after time the Swiss champ would show signs of vulnerability, only to come storming back from 0-30 or 15-40 and protect his service game. Yet Nadal's own booming serve, which reached a Sampras-like 125 mph in the early going, held up time after time, proving that his game is suited for more than just the red clay of Roland Garros in Paris. Grunting like a man with something to prove, Nadal was a whirling dervish, a bundle of energy who covered the court from side to side with lightning quickness, a contrast to the seemingly effortlessness and cool calm of his older and more accomplished foe. Rafa, as he is affectionately known, was broken by Federer in the second game of the second set, and never again. Roger's best chance may have come in that set's eighth game, when the champ missed what looked like an easy kill shot, instead taking another unforced error, and missing one of the early opportunities that Federer referred to in his post-match interview as having cost him later on. At one point early in that second set after another missed shot, Federer looked to the heavens, seeming to question the wind, but one suspects he may actually have been looking to the tennis gods wondering if this would be the day in which the fortunes stopped smiling on him.
Indeed the fates of tennis turned their gaze and approval to the young Spaniard, and in doing so gave Spain its first title at the All England Lawn and Tennis Club in 42 years, and gave the Spanish sports aficionado a second major championship to celebrate in as many weeks, coming on the heels of the Spanish football squad's victory in the Euro 2008 tournament, the first such title for Spain in 44 years. Sports fans of all nationalities were treated to another chapter in what has become one of the great rivalries of the sport, on par if not surpassing that of Bjorg-McEnroe or Sampras-Agassi.
It is hard to say which winds were blowing harder, the local storm winds that may have moved a shot or two off its intended target, or the winds of change that came blowing into the famed stadium, intent on sweeping away, at least temporarily, the great champion Federer, and supplanting him with the new boss, the young and handsome star with the penetrating dark features and balanced game that would suggest he will be very difficult to remove from his new perch over the next few years. The sports fan can only hope that these two will stay healthy and focused, and that this rivalry will continue for as long as possible into the future, for if a rivalry such as this and a match such as this doesn't get one fired up about this sport, nothing will. In a sports era where it is all too easy to become jaded over steroids and questionable morals and behavior of athletes, it is heartening to see such great competitors do battle with class and vigor that hearken memories of a bygone golden age. Perhaps this is but one wonderful morning and afternoon in July that will fade with time, but perhaps it is more than that, maybe it is a return to what makes sports great and unlike any other form of entertainment. Let's hope for the latter, let's hope that the recent run that sports fans have had, starting with an all-time Super Bowl in February, the great mano a mano finale of the U.S. Open in June, and now a Wimbledon Final for the ages in July, are a harbinger of things to come in the world of sport. At least for one day, a grown man can feel like a kid again, full of wonder and excitement about the possibility of sport, and wondering if that old racket can be dug up somewhere out in the garage and dusted off after all these years. Bravo Messieurs Nadal and Federer, and thanks for the memories, here's hoping there are many more to come.
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