The Thunderstorm...

I am still in shock from what I saw four nights ago. 

The Spurs dominated the first half, clicking on all cylinders.  They looked as good as a basketball team could possibly look while cruising to an eighteen point lead.  Everyone was contributing and it looked like we were headed for a game seven. 

But then the second half happened.  Wow.

The Oklahoma City Thunder made every possible adjustment on defense, locking in and shutting down the high octane Spurs, and at the same time they somehow raised their offensive game to a level I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before. The Spurs did not collapse, they were collapsed.  They didn’t blow the lead, it was outright snatched from them, in every way. The Spurs played great in this series, but the Thunder were even better, and they left absolutely no doubt.  They are the best team in the league.     

Let’s put it this way.  If you watched these games you'd have to think that the Spurs would have beat the Heat in 4 and the Celtics in 4, maybe 5.  Right?  And the Thunder just beat them.  It’s true folks.  The Eastern Conference Finals was only a formality.  The NBA champion has already been crowned. 

Even so, I do want to talk about the East a little bit.  It was a great shame for America that the Celtics dropped game six so hard at home the other night.  Wasn’t it?  It’s hard to explain what happened.  Or even what it looked like.  You would think that the Celtics might have been tired, or that injuries had caught up to them, (or their well documented age,) but on the court it just looked like a lack of effort.  Everyone was a step slow, Doc Rivers couldn’t inspire them, and they looked like a different team from what we had seen so far in the series. Even Rondo didn’t seem as aggressive as he had been up until then, and he seemed about half as fast as he had been earlier in the series, (or maybe that’s just an optical illusion after watching Tony Parker against Russell Westbrook.  The fastest I’ve ever seen.) 

Which leads me to a point (or tangent) that I’m sad and shocked that I haven’t heard anyone make on ESPN yet… here we go, ready?  Ahem.

It looked like the East and West were playing two different sports!

Didn’t it?  San Antonio against Oklahoma City was unbelievable basketball.  Fluid, exacting, they spaced the floor perfectly, great passing, great transition games, and great defense.  And so fast!  It was incredible that the older Spurs could keep up, but they did.  Nothing was arbitrary in that series.  They were both meticulous, and well coached, always moving the ball, making the extra pass, almost always getting a good shot.  It just turns out that Oklahoma City was the better of the two.  But what would they have looked like against the Celtics in that last game? (when they really started clicking, at a level that I’m sure even surprised them?)  They would have won by 50.  Against the Heat?  They would have won by 50!  I’m telling you.  There is no way either of those teams would have stayed in the same building with them.  They are that much better.  Or at least they were against the Spurs. 

For Miami everything is arbitrary. There is never any flow.  Do they ever run an offense? LeBron makes it look okay when he is making shots, and he has been miraculous so far in the playoffs, because he’s that good as a player, but Miami has serious issues on offense.  Issues that they would never have if Gregg Popovich was their coach.  By the way (quick tangent within the tangent) Could you IMAGINE how good LeBron would be if Pop was his coach.  Woah, that just got really scary.  Anyway, I would have loved watching the Spurs absolutely dissect and dismantle the Heat in that hypothetical series.  It wouldn’t have been close.  And it would have been so wonderful to see.

But here in reality, all we get is the real, so it’s The Thunder against the Heat in the NBA Finals.  Which is definitely a great matchup.  For the league and for purists, and for the public.  It has everything that you’d want.  Big Three vs Big Three, LeBron vs Durant, a team hastily constructed against a team organically grown, glitz and glamour vs… well, Oklahoma City.  I love where this can go.  There is intrigue galore.

I just hope that Scotty Brooks can get his team hyped up and focused enough to continue playing as well as they were when they closed out the Spurs.  Because if they can play to that level then it will be a sweep.  Miami would have absolutely no chance.  But if the Thunder “play down,” as can very often happen in sports, especially with young teams, or if they get caught up in the sideshow of the Finals; or if they get intimidated by the fact that two of the best three players in the world are on the same team, against them, then Miami may have a chance in the series. Miami is a good high screen, perimeter defensive team, because of their length, and that’s the Thunder’s strength, so one might give them a fighter’s chance.  But if the Thunder play like they did on Thursday night… there is no chance.  None.    

So a lot of this will depend on Thunder coach Scotty Brooks.  It’s like he has the keys to an untested, hyper-dynamic marvel of technology.  No one is really sure how much it is capable of yet, including him.  Attitude will go a long way.  Maybe he needs to hypnotize them into believing they are still playing the Spurs.  The team that pushed them to a supernatural level.

The Thunder deserve the title.  They went through the Lakers, Mavericks, and Spurs to get here.  Three teams that combine to account for 10 of the last 13 NBA Championships.  Meanwhile, the Heat struggled with Indiana, and bumbled their way through an injury depleted East.  But as we know, there is no justice in the NBA playoffs.  You have to show up.  It's zero-zero, right now.        

So there you have it.  

There's the rub.  Once again.  It’s Luke vs the Death Star.

So this must be Return of the Jedi, right?  (We need a picture of Kevin Durant with a light saber and LeBron James with a heavy hooded cloak.)  

Let’s do this America…

It’s time for the NBA FINALS!

The Real...

Over the last nine months I took a break.  Personal issues in my life and a job situation that was rather isolating, moved me to a peculiar place mentally and emotionally.  I was frustrated, I was disenchanted.  I wanted no part of the world as it was before.  I wanted to get away from myself.  In a lot of ways I didn’t want to be happy, or maybe I wanted to find a new way to be happy.  Either way, for whichever the most appropriate or significant reason, about nine months ago for the first time in my life, I decided that I didn’t care about sports.

But that’s another story for another day.  This blog is about today.  And as I find myself thrust back into the real world (and the real America,) I’ve let myself re-enter interest, at least somewhat, into a place that has been so familiar to me over my lifetime; not just sports, but the best one, the NBA playoffs.  Honestly though, it was only of mild interest to me for the first few rounds, which of course was a huge change from past years.  It wasn’t all that important to me who won or lost, or that they were playing at all really, but every few days I would check the scores to see who had advanced.  It was familiar, but it certainly didn’t command that much of my attention.  But then about a week and half ago, things changed.  I started watching the Conference finals.

In short, these have been the most compelling two Conference finals matchups (taking place at the same time) that I can ever remember.  And that is really saying something.  For numerous and varying reasons, they have both been absolutely captivating.  Like, you-have-to-see-the-entire-game kind of captivating!  When has that ever happened in the NBA?  I’ve considered myself a huge NBA fan for more than 20 years, but if it wasn’t “my team” that was playing (in the Conference Finals or NBA Finals,) I was fine with missing the first quarter, or even the first half.  Hell, what’s the hurry right?  If it’s a blowout, the team that’s behind will come back and make it close.  All the real action happens in the third and fourth quarters anyway, right?  Every fair-weather fan knows that!!!  Well, not this time.  And for so many reasons.  Let’s start with the West. 

The San Antonio Spurs vs The Oklahoma City Thunder.

You could put aside the similarity of these two teams.  The small market financial limitations aspect, the brilliant way in which the teams were assembled (each team’s best four players were drafted and developed by them,) the complimentary way the players fit together, how deep each team is.  You could even ignore the fact that the architect of this Oklahoma City team, Sam Presti, used to work for San Antonio, and basically stole the entire “blueprint” and philosophy.  (Really, he was just doing what every NBA team should have done.  Y’know, wwtsasd?  What-Would-the-San-Antonio-Spurs-Do?) 

You could completely discard all of that, and the obvious old-verses-young, “changing of the guard” storyline.  Plus the other similarities.  Like the unusually humble superstar (Durant and Duncan,) each team’s unbelievably skilled and lightning fast floor general (Westbrook and Parker,) and each team’s all-star third option, usually coming off the bench even! (Harden and Ginobili.)  Or even the similarities of the fan bases.  Each team is the only “major league” game in an otherwise “minor league” town, and each building is rocking with intense fans. 

Of course there is one major difference there.  The San Antonio fans have basically had fourteen years of a basketball utopia.  The Spurs have been the best team in the league over that span (apologies to the Lakers,) always contending and winning four championships along the way. (They would have won more if they weren’t in the brutal West.)  The Oklahoma City crowd has had none of that.  The team has only been in town for four years, and while they’ve been improving every year, they’ve always been a young team, full of potential but lacking experience.  Still both fan bases love their teams unconditionally, and that can’t be said about too many of the teams in the NBA. 

So basically these two teams are bizarro versions of each other.  One created in the other’s image trying to ascend and usurp the throne.  The other trying desperately to defend the young challenger’s assault and remain on top.

But, you could throw all of that stuff completely out the window.  And you’d still have to watch every minute of these games.  Why?  Well.  Because they are playing the best basketball we’ve ever seen.

Plain and simple. 

When I saw the first two games of this series I was amazed.  The Spurs played incredibly well, and won both games.  But what was so compelling was the fact that the Thunder were playing brilliantly too.  Offensively and defensively, both teams were just awesome.  I’ve never seen a better matchup.  It was just perfect basketball.  Whoever had enough energy at the end was going to get the win, but it was going to be impossibly hard.  Two things became clear to me at that point.

First, whichever team wins the Eastern Conference will not win ONE game against either of these teams in the Finals. Neither the Heat or Celtics will stand a chance. These two are, by far, the best two teams in the league.  And secondly, this series was all going to depend on adjustments.  Which coach would be able to make the changes necessary to get any possible edge, and will his team through the thick of it, to do the incredible?  Because it was going to be unbelievably difficult.

So now it all comes down to game 6 tonight in Oklahoma City.  And it feels like a game 7 really, because neither team can really afford to lose.  Who will have the will and the skill to finish with the win?  Tonight we’ll find out.    

It’s been nothing short of amazing so far.  Seriously. 

If you love basketball… it doesn’t get any better than this.    

Underdogs out.      

              

     

Tebow; the Ultimate Underdog...

There are those who seem to have the respect of all of those around them right from the outset.  They have all of the right abilities, determination, and leadership qualities that they need to climb to the top of their craft, and doing so seems like a natural ascension.  Regarding football, this was the case for Tim Tebow.  From pee-wee football, through Middle School and High School, all the way up to the most prestigious Football University in his home state, Tebow embodied success.  He won at every level and eventually won the respect and adoration of everyone who ever saw him play.  By the time he left the University of Florida he had captured two National titles, a Heisman Trophy, and the attention of the whole country.  But no one knew what would come next.

Every sports fan knows who Tim Tebow is.  Droves of college football fans couldn’t stand him when he was at Florida, while countless others crossed school and conference (and maybe even religious) allegiances to root for the guy.  But when the NFL draft came around last year after Tebow’s final season in college, everyone could agree on one thing.  He didn’t stand a chance in the Pros. 

The opinions came early and often from everywhere.  Tebow’s success and leadership came from an intense passion.  He possessed an incredible set of intangibles and a determination that was unrivaled perhaps in college football history, but in the NFL those attributes just wouldn’t translate.  In the history of the league there had never been a player like him that any “expert” could relate him to.  There was no way to predict a path for him.  He was a running quarterback who relied on his strength and power, over any type of passing accuracy.  But the only successful “running” quarterbacks the league had ever seen had been super fast and agile athletes who could also much more ably sling the ball downfield.  Tebow, on the other hand, appeared more like the Fullbacks of old , that don’t even really exist in the league anymore, than any quarterback (Tom Rathman, John Riggins anyone?) but ultimately his inferior passing skills and the much larger size of defensive players he would face sealed the expectation for his NFL career.  The verdict was in.  Tebow was a great kid, and one of the best college football players of all time, but he had no future in Football.   

For the first time in his life he was an underdog. 

As a Florida Gator I am biased when it comes to Tim Tebow.  When he was a true freshman he played a bizarre, but extremely important role on a National Championship team as a 3^rd or 4^th down quarterback.  Every now and then he would jump under center to run for short yardage (and almost always pick it up.)  The defenses knew he was going to run it, but somehow he always seemed to get the yardage the team needed.  I’d never seen anything like it.  I’d never seen football even played that way before.  Normally if you wanted to run it you’d hand it to a runningback right?  But with Tebow in there running the option, he could keep it, pitch it, pass for short yardage, or even jump pass it (like a basketball move) which I don’t think anyone had ever seen.  Right from the beginning you could tell that there was something different about this kid.  And over the next four years, the Gators invented an offense around his skill set, and had great success in the process.  But even I had huge reservations about Tebow having any type of NFL career.  It just seemed impossible.  So I was shocked when I saw that the Denver Broncos took him in the first round.  Beyond shocked really.  I thought they had made a huge mistake. 

The fans didn’t feel that way though.  His Number 15 became one of the highest selling NFL jerseys overnight.  I was shocked to see it last year, when I was able to visit the Bronco’s practice facility during training camp.  Tebow Jerseys were everywhere!  Maybe even half of the fans there.  Whole families were wearing number 15.  He hadn’t even played a single down for the team!  And he was projected to be the third string quarterback.  What in the world was going on? 

The fans sensed that none of that negative stuff mattered, and that all of the doubters would just make him stronger.  After years of mediocrity in Denver, maybe they needed Tebow.  Beyond football, maybe they needed something to believe in.  In a way, Tebow became the ultimate underdog, and it endeared him to that fan base in a way that I never expected.  It seemed like nobody else believed in him, and that included team management.  Shortly after Tebow was drafted, former Bronco great (and all-time great passer) John Elway took over as General Manager, and guess what…  Elway never would have drafed Tebow.  As quarterbacks they represent polar opposites.  Tebow couldn’t avoid the scrutiny even in his own clubhouse, and it looked like he would never even get on the field.

So the fans put up a billboard.  No seriously.  They bought time on a giant billboard and advertised their plea for Bronco’s management to start Tebow.  They brought signs to the stadium.  They chanted his name.  They called into radio shows and begged the team to trade starting quarterback Kyle Orton and start Tebow.  Never before in NFL history had a team been in this position before.  It was a daily question.  When would Tebow start?  How long can management anger the fans?  Will they have to start him to avoid an all out fan boycott?  It was like the film Rudy, but in real life.  Crazy stuff. 

Eventually toward the end of the season, the Broncos were so bad that it didn’t matter anymore, and management gave in.  They might as well give the rookie some time.  And he did well; inspiring the players around him with his contagious enthusiasm and leading the team back for a couple of meaningless victories.  But the doubters were still there in full force.  No one thought he could be a full time quarterback in the league, and coming into this year the jury was still out.  Once again he would not be the starter.  He would have to earn it.  And of course, he did. 

After becoming the starter 5 weeks ago, Tebow is 4-1 as the Broncos Quarterback this season.  7-2 in his career.  Perpetuating the notion that in spite of his offensive “limitations” he is somehow able to win.  There can be no statistic to verify this, but somehow… the guy just wins.  Even Elway has to admit that.  And the Bronco fans Love it!  But of course Tebow’s future is still uncertain.  Eventually, NFL defenses will adjust and it will be get harder and harder for him to do the things he’s most comfortable doing.  Can he overcome it?  Can he adapt his game too?  Can he defy the enormous odds he faced in regards to succeeding in the NFL?  These are the great questions, and ultimately only time will tell.  But in the meantime, how can you root against him?

Is it possible?

He’s become the ultimate underdog.  

And we love this stuff.   

Thanks for reading!

Oh What A Night... The Tampa Bay Rays and Destiny...

Noooooooo Waaaaaaaay!... that just happened.  (or)  Oh, what a night!  (or) A meditation on how the final games of the regular season in 2011 may have been the single greatest night of baseball in Major League history.

You gotta be kidding me!

So, just like that, I am headlong back into baseball.  What an incredible couple of hours we experienced last night!  It just goes to show you that if you can have a final night of the season like that, you can recapture the hearts and minds of the country in a hurry.  Wow.  Four teams entered the night striving for the last two spots left in the playoffs; The Cardinals, Braves, Rays, and Red Sox.

The Cards won easily and guaranteed themselves at least one more game early on, but the other three games… were wild.  The Phillies scored in the ninth to tie up the Braves and then eventually broke their collective playoff hearts in the 13^th.  Baltimore scored two runs, with two outs in the bottom of the ninth to shock the Sox in dramatic fashion.  The Rays, on the other hand, took it to another level.

Watching the Rays last night was as close to watching a Sports Film as I’ve ever seen in real life.  The Rays were down seven to zero heading into the eighth inning.  It looked like curtains.  (Meanwhile the Red Sox were stuck in a rain delay leading Baltimore 3-2 in the 7th.)  It was looking like the Sox were going to win and, if the Rays were lucky, the best they could do was force a one-game playoff.  Yea.  All they had to do was score seven runs in two innings.  And, as we all know, that just doesn’t happen very often in baseball.  Well not in real life anyway…

But by the end of the eighth the Rays had incredibly closed to within one run at 7-6.  Whaaaaat?  Was this really happening?  You could see the looks on the faces of the Tampa fans.  They were excited, they felt the energy, but they had to be cautious.  They knew that those six runs wouldn’t matter at all if they couldn’t get just one more.  All over the stadium, diehard Rays fans were donning their Rally Caps, their faces frozen with an odd a mixture of disbelief, longing, elation, and extreme nervousness.

The next thing I knew it was the bottom of the ninth, Rays still down one.  There were two outs, and two strikes  Everything was on the line.  And up at the plate was a pinch hitter no one had ever heard of named Dan Johnson, whose batting average for the season was a less than balmy .105.  The Tampa announcers had already swerved into concession mode; they were thanking their producers and various crew members on a great season, thanking the fans for their support… the fans looked on with the expressions of condemned people awaiting their final moments, when, suddenly, CRACK!  A shot, deep to right!  He didn’t!  It’s not possible!!!  He did.  It’s GONE!  The crowd was in shock, as was I.  It was unreal.  The Rays had tied the game.  Were the Rally caps working???

Fast forward to the top of the 12th.  The Yankees had runners on the corners quickly with nobody out.  All they had to do was score one run to put the Ray’s hopes of advancing in serious jeopardy.  But they couldn't score.  It was just crazy.  And suddenly, Tampa was looking like a team of destiny.  They were not to be denied.  Not on this night.

Cut to the bottom of the 12^th. Two out.  The news of the Red Sox loss had spread throughout the stadium.  The Rays were guaranteed at least one more game, but you just felt that there weren't satisfied yet.  Up comes Evan (don’t call me Eva) Longoria.  The stadium was percolating.  They could feel it.  They knew it was happening.  Cue the heavily orchestrated underscore and the slow-motion tilt down from the Yankees pitcher (Scott Proctor) as he winds up, then cut to a slow-motion tilt up on Longoria, waiting intensely, his eyes focused like laser beams.  Here comes the pitch.  The crowd holds it's breath.  And then… CRACK!  It can’t be.  But it is.  It’s GONE.  Solo shot.  Game over.  The Rays had done it with a walk-off home run.  It’s what they used to write poems about… like Casey at the Bat.  It’s what grandfathers tell their grandkids… I’m telling you.  I’ve been around for years, and this stuff just doesn’t happen.  Not in real life.

The Rays (the sports world’s ultimate underdog) had gone from almost certainly being out of the playoffs, to solidifying their spot IN the playoffs within a span of about 20 minutes, and the Red Sox completed their historic collapse.  And the rest of us just went along for the ride.  The final drama of the Sox losing and the Rays winning actually happened within three minutes.  You couldn't script this stuff.  It’s why we love sports.  It’s why we just have to tune in at the end of the season.  And I know it seems like I say this every year, but I can't help it.  Baseball is back, folks.

No Rays fan will EVER forget what that game felt like last night.  And some fans go their whole lives without knowing that kind of elation.     

Because a night like last night was as close to magic as anything can be.
At least in real life. 

This is the Underdogs.

And we OUT!

Enjoy the Playoffs.                    

The day the Blue Jays stole the Red Sox's Mojo...

Aaaah yes.  It’s that time of year again.  The time to acknowledge that baseball exists.  I know, I know… this is the third straight year that I’ve said this but, how much longer could a 162 game season seem?  Why does it seem like they play 262 games???  Maybe it’s because this is the third straight year that the Mets have been so far out of the pennant race that they make the proverbial Tortoise look like Usain Bolt (Bu-DuM Chiie!!)  But honestly folks, why does it seems like most baseball fans checked out months ago?  The answer, of course, is because they have.

This is not the NFL.  Baseball fans watch their teams and don’t really follow the others.  And that’s fine.  It's actually a pretty refreshing sports notion these days, when most people care more about their fantasy teams and individual performances than actual games.  But that same wide-sweeping notion seems to have diminished a good portion of the “National pastime’s” flair.  Does anybody care about the ole Ball Game anymore?  Case-in-point, Matt Kemp of the LA Dodgers entered the last week of the season with a legitimate chance to win the triple-crown!  It hasn’t happened in forty-five years, and since 1937, only four guys have done it.  But has anyone mentioned this?  Except for those faithful that bleed Dodger-Blue, nope.  National headlines?  Not many.  Seems like that’s baseball these days. 

But!  Now comes the best part.  We get to jump back in at the last minute (and pretend we’ve been paying attention all along.)  Because, for the Boston Red Sox and (the 2008 Underdog-of-the-Year) Tampa Bay Rays, that 162 game season has come down to ONE game.  It’s beautiful.  The whole nation will be anxiously tuning in tonight to see if those amazing Rays can pull another miracle (with a payroll total of around one-fourth of the one that Boston pays out, by the way.)  And naturally a whole lot of people will also be tuning in tonight to see if the Saux will complete a historic collapse.  No team has ever lost a playoff spot after having such a large lead at the start of September.  The Mets in 2007 come to mind though, when they lost 12 of their last 17 games and unbelievably Laaaame-ified their way out of the post-season (*tear.)  But the Mets only blew a seven game lead.  These Sox were up nine.

About 3 weeks ago, right about the time when things started to go sour for the Sox, they were here in Toronto, and I went out to the Rogers Center (Formally called the Sky Dome, of ’92 and ’93 World Series Fame.  Joe Carter anyone?) along with a couple of my Disney pals, Jarek, Brigid, and Miss RedSox herself, Eve… or as she would say it Miss REEEEEDDDD SAAAAAAUUUXXXXXX!!!!

It was a beautiful night and the Dome was open, providing a spectacular view of the CN Tower.  To say that the stadium was one-eighth of the way filled might have been an overstatement, but whataya want right?  It’s September and the Jays were way out of the race.  Sound familiar?  Anyway, it was still a blast, and a good game.  I was amazed at how absolutely terrible Tim Wakefield looked on the mound for the Sox though.  I mean, I know that Knuckleballers inherently look pretty bad because the ball comes out so slowly.  Plus I think Wakefield is around 45 these days and, as the girls pointed out early on, it kinda looks like he has a beer-belly.  So it seemed a little bit like old-timer night in that regard, and the Jays were rocking him.  The Sox offense gave him a lot of help though on the scoreboard.  Which included a monster home-run from Big Papi (or David Ortiz if ya not hip), that, oh by the way… EVE CALLED!!!  Seriously.  She called the shot!!!  Jarek and Brigid as my witnesses.  Eve declared “BIIGGGG PAAAAAAPI IS GONNA HIT A HOOOOOOMMMMME-RRRUUUUUNNNN!!!!”… and two seconds later, CRACK!  He did.  I had never seen that before in my life.

So even with old man Wakefield giving up five runs early, the Sox still had an 8-5 lead going into the bottom of the eighth.  It had been sprinkling on and off and was starting to get a little chilly (sadly, not enough for them to close the roof though, because I would have loved to have seen that!  That thing weighs 11,000 tons!!!  A little bit more than the anchor weighs, right Chris?  I'll explain later.)  But anyway, things seemed in-hand for the Sox so we decided to take it on home and leave early.  We committed the Cardinal Sin.  Eve figured Boston had done enough to win it and I maaaay have mentioned the fact that they “were definitely going to the playoffs anyway”….. um…… Oops.

Toronto scored Five runs in the bottom of the eighth and won the game.  Boston has dropped 9 games in the standings since.  Whaaaaaaat?

The moral of this story.  It ain’t over til it’s over, folks.

Sorry Eve!  (Aw, look how happy she was in the seventh inning :)
    

Either way, we already have Underdogs Galore in the baseball playoffs this year; the Rangers, Brewers, Tigers, Diamondbacks!  It's gonna be a good one, I can feel it.  Is there room for one more long shot?  Or can the Sox turn it back around?  

Tonight will tell.  

Thanks for reading.

and Goodnight from Canada,

Underdogs OUT.       

The Summer of Silliness...

So we’re right in the thick of it folks.  Sports as culture again.  Silly culture.  

Welcome back to the Underdogs.

It’s been the summer of labor strife in sports, with two of the three most popular leagues in this country having extended work-stoppages.  It hasn’t been for games or scores that people have been tuning into ESPN, it's been for updates on meetings and deliberation; it’s lawyers and their technical jargon.   The NFL famously took 5 months to figure out how to fairly split about 9 Billion Dollars.  But in spite of their "lockout," no one really thought for a second that any of the 2011-12 season would be missed in the NFL.  The NBA however, is a different story.

For those of you that don't know about the NBA labor situation right now, I'll sum it up here… the roof is about to cave in.  No one is sure exactly how this happened, but somehow, over the last 20 years in the NBA, money started getting thrown around like it was Mardi Gras… like every day!  The owners did a pretty good job of reigning things in a little bit, in the late 90’s when they successfully implemented a rookie-salary scale and maximum salaries for veterans, which worked very well when it came to dealing with the great players.  But where the league has failed (and astronomically so) in the last decade has been in dealing with the middle class.  For the past 12 years, middle tier players in the NBA have been extremely over-paid.  The players have been winning big!

The last time Stan Van Gundy smiled this close to Lewis

Now this blog in particular has been admittedly guilty of raking the likes of say, Brian Scalabrine - (what's up Big Red?) over the proverbial coals during the last couple years.  And while he was an Awesome example of the NBA’s ridiculous propensity to overpay players, he was really only the tip of the ice-berg.  Basically, the agents have the ruled the league for the last twenty years.  They are soooo good at negotiating.  They’ve had teams bidding against each-other, and sometimes inexplicably, bidding against themselves.  Yes, I’m talking to you Orlando Magic GM, Otis Smith.  Remember when you signed Rashard Lewis for 6 years, ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN MILLION DOLLARS?  Which some reporters said was something like 20 Million Dollars more than any other team in the league could have offered him.  What?  Who was Otis Smith bidding against?  Not to mention the fact that he wasn’t worth even HALF of that.  Where is the accountability for these guys?  Why didn’t the Magic owner fire Otis Smith for gross incompetence?  Although it shouldn’t really be surprising.  (Isiah made even worse deals and still managed to stay with the Knicks about three horrendous seasons too long.)  At least Smith’s Magic have been contending during his time in office, something Isiah could never say.  (Well actually, he's so clueless he probably would say it!)    

Anyway, fast-forward five years and the league hasn’t seen any drop off in these Rashard Lewis types of deals, even while the owners have been lamenting huge financial losses.  Comically overpaid role players become albatrosses on team’s salary caps on day one, and basically become immediately untradeable.  But the league has pretty much been treating these signings as a regrettable, but ultimately inevitable phenomenon.  It's just been business as usual.  The agents have been in charge, and the NBA owners have been their own respective worst enemies, willingly driving up player prices. 

So the whole reason for this lockout is so the owners can try for wholesale changes in the amounts of money they can pay players in the new Collective Bargaining Agreement.  They basically need to be protected from themselves; really from their own collective stupidity.  But oddly, given the way the rules are now, it’s understandable.  Well, unless you are a player, I guess.  They don’t seem to understand it at all.  They don’t want to give up their sweet deal.  (57% of overall Basketball Related Income, off the top.  Before expenses are taken out.)  Or at least, they’d like to keep more of it (they offered 54.7%.  Owners want 50%.)

Curry ATE himself out of the league

It seems to me that 57% is way too much for the players, because the owners have to spend money to make that money, and the players don’t.  So for them to get a percentage of Gross revenue (as opposed to net revenue) doesn’t make any sense.  But even if they sort that out, the other major sticking point is that the owners want shorter contract lengths.  Y’know, to protect themselves from paying players that don’t perform up to snuff; (like our friend Rashard Lewis… or Eddie Curry, or Gilbert Arenas, or Hedo Turkoglu, or Elton Brand.)  Those guys all made about 10 million dollars too much last year… each!  And those guys just came off of the top of my head.  There are dozens more just like em.  So, the owners are saying to the players, “look, we want to guarantee you guys 50% of revenue; probably around $2 Billion a year.  We will have to pay you guys this!  The individual contracts just determine which players get what piece of the pie.  We want to pay the players that deserve it, instead of having all this this dead (and expensive) weight at the end of the bench.”  I have to admit that this makes sense to me.    

But it seems that the players don’t want to hear it.  At all.  Because they want that chance to sign a huge “career” contract.  Y’know the old saying right?  "You too can be Kevin Garnett.”  I guess I understand that too.  They have to get what they can, while they can.  

So sadly, it seems like this is where the two sides will sit for a while.  Maybe a couple more months, maybe six more.  Maybe a year.  With each side just sitting back waiting for the other side to budge.  And of course, that means that there might not be NBA basketball this season.  Ugh, it’s a horrible prospect to be sure.  I don't even want to think about it... well, anymore, that is.

I feel like all we can do now is hope that somehow these guys can work it out (because it would be nice to have Hoops this year) but we have to just leave it at that.  The fans don't factor in at all when it comes to this stuff.  It's up to them, and there's the rub.  Hopefully they'll get a deal done though because there's too much at stake!  The NBA wouldn't squander one of their best years ever by actually missing games the following season would they?  (Well... this has been the Summer of Silliness.  Let's just hope that's where it stays.)

And in the meantime, whataya say we move on from this gloominess... let's do some football!
NCAA this weekend, NFL next.  Life is good!

Thanks for reading.

Underdogs OUT  

Happy Father's Day

When I was a kid I was a Major Leaguer.  Yea, I also played little-league with the other guys my age, as well as football, soccer, basketball, tennis; pretty much any sport we could get our hands on.  But in the backyard, when my dad would say, “Hey Jeff, you wanna toss around the ole apple?”  We both transformed.  In fact, the whole backyard did.  Suddenly it was Shea Stadium or Wrigley Field.  I’m not sure where this game came from, if it was something he planned out or if we just kind of invented it together, but what it amounted to was two guys playing every position on the diamond, in the outfield, and in the commentator’s box!  And it was always the Chicago Cubs vs the New York Mets. 

Probably because in those days we didn’t have instant access to any major league roster online, or maybe just because we liked those teams the best, it was always those two teams.  Frozen in time circa their 1987/1988 rosters, as best we could remember them. 

The Cubs had Ryne Sandberg, Andre Dawson, Shawon Dunston, Mark Grace, Vance Law, Ron Cey*, Rafael Palmeiro*, Dwight Smith, Greg Maddux, and Rick Sutcliffe.

The Mets had Daryl Strawberry, Gary Carter, Keith Hernandez, Howard Johnson, Lenny Dykstra, Rafael Santana, Mookie Wilson, Wally Backman, Dwight Gooden, and Ron Darling. 

(* of course Palmeiro was long gone by the time Mark Grace joined the club and Ron Cey had retired by then I think.  But there they all were, somehow, in the backyard.)  

It would start with Dwight Gooden (me), pitching to Gary Carter (dad), in the top of the first at Shea.  He’d say, “and here comes Shawon Dunston to the plate, folks, to lead off the game.  Shawon has struggled against Doc Gooden over the years posting only a .165 batting average against him in his career.  He’s hoping to turn that around today, Harry.”  And then he’d say, “He sure is Mel, Doc has started to cost this guy some serious psychiatrist bills in the offseason.  Here comes the first pitch!”  I’d give him my fastball.  And he’d say, “Steeeeee-Rike one!  A heater right down the middle, and Dunston was a take all the way on that one, Mel!”  Then he’d throw the ball back to me and say, “No doubt about it Harry, Gooden knows he’s got Dunston’s number.  Gary Carter gives Doc the sign, Doc shakes him off… he wants to go heater again I think Mel.  And here comes the pitch... “

I’d throw another fastball.  “Swing and a ground ball to third base!”  He’d stand up and throw a grounder off to my right.  I’d run to it and field it, as he’d say, “Just inside the chalk, Howard Johnson comes up with it and turns to throw to first.”  I’d throw it back to him as fast as I could, while he transformed from Gary Carter to Keith Hernandez at first base.  “Dunston’s really on his horse, trying to beat the throw…”  He’d catch it, “but not in time!  Johnson throws out Shawon Dunston by a hair at first.  Yea, and good play by Hernandez, stretching out to reach that ball, Harry.”  He’d say to himself.

Mark Grace would follow Dunston, with a single up the middle.  Then Ryne Sandberg would hit a dribbler to Rafael Santana at short, who would try to turn the double play.  Santana (me) would snatch it and flip it to Wally Backman (dad) to get Grace at second, and then he’d turn to throw it to Keith Hernandez (me) to try for two.  I’d catch it.  “But Sandberg beats the throw to first!”  He’d interject.  “Backman held it just a second too long, Harry, and Ryno gets to first on a fielder’s choice.  And that brings up Andre Dawson."

"Yes indeed Mel!  And the Hawk’s already got 28 homers this year, as well as 10 against Gooden in his career.  Could he pull some long ball magic here in the first?”  I’d wind up and send along another heater.  “Here comes the pitch!  Swing and a drive!  Deep to right!”  He’d stand up and throw a fly ball over my head.  I’d turn and sprint toward the fence.  “Daryl Strawberry’s chasing it deep toward the warning track…”  Then Strawberry (me) would turn and snag it at the fence.  “And what a catch by Daryl at the warning track to save two runs, Harry.  I’ll tell you what Mel, that was a fantastic catch!  Doc Gooden knows that he owes Daryl a steak dinner later tonight for hauling that one in!”

Then the bottom of the first would come around and dad would become Greg Maddux, and I’d take over the commentating duties.  Mookie Wilson would single to left, Lenny Dykstra would strike out, and Wilson would get nailed trying to steal second.  Then Strawberry would blast a high fly ball to center that Dunston would catch at the warning track.  “Boy oh boy, Harry,” I’d say, “The crowd here at Shea was ready to explode if that one left the yard.  No doubt about it Mel!  Well that’s it for the first inning, we’ve got a good one going here folks!”

And it would continue like this for a few hours.  Usually the scores would end up being pretty high.  Like 9-8 or 13-11, including probably too many grand slams.  Just fun (if usually unrealistic) fan-friendly scores.  And invariably at some point, Gary Carter (dad) would come out to talk to Dwight Gooden (me) for a meeting at the mound, as would often happen in the majors.  And he’d say what he always assumed the catcher said to the pitcher in this situation, “Hey Dwight, what are you thinking about for dinner tonight?  You got plans after the game?”

Some of my favorite times happened in those backyards over the years.  And I’m sure to my mom, it looked like he was spending quality time with me and that he was a great dad (which he was of course.)  But to us it was a game.  It was the fun of the sport, and having no idea what was going to come of it.  The time would just fly by and pretty soon it’d be too dark to see the ball, so we’d have to call it, and we’d run in for dinner. It didn’t’ seem like he was “fitting me in” or “spending quality time with his son.”  It didn’t seem like he was trying to be a good dad.  It was effortless.  It was an unspoken connection, and as silly as it’s sounds, we bonded because of it; because of this wacky game.

To this day when I talk with my pops on the phone or even in person, we talk sports.  Somehow it grounds us.  Like I had to text him when I was at a Mets game a few weeks ago.  We were sitting right near the commentators booth, where Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling are calling games now.  Hernandez waved to me as I snapped a picture.  Or a few years ago when I was at a Brooklyn Cyclones game where Gary Carter manages the Mets minor league affiliate.  I had to give my dad a call because these guys, oddly or not, are kind of like old friends in our lives.  They used to play ball with us.  

My dad and I don’t only talk sports, but when we do get into it the time just flies, like it did in those old backyards.  In a way, it really is what sports are all about.  Connecting us in so many ways, not really possible in other aspects of life.  I remember one time when I was visiting my folks a few years ago and my mom set up a lunch date with just my dad and me.  She said, “Do me a favor.  Please don’t talk about sports the whole time!”  And she was right.  We do need to talk about other things.  We just need to be reminded sometimes.  So, thanks mom for that.

And thanks Dad, for all those backyard ballgames.  And all the other great times too.  You have been a huge inspiration in my life and are obviously, the greatest dad ever.  Right guys?

"There's no doubt about it.  What do you think, Mel?"
"Harry... I couldn't agree more!"

Happy Father’s Day Pops.