So much for a semi-daily blog, huh? At the risk of stating the obvious, I will admit that I have been a little absent from blogging over the past two months. But what may not be so obvious are my myriad reasons for doing so. Changes are coming, my friends, changes are coming. And those changes have much to do with my absence and even more to do with why I write today.
Today marks both the end of a chapter and the start of a new one for Katie and me – and really for all of our immediate family members as well. For starters, today is significant as this is the last day for me at my current work location, the same location at which I have been for nine months now (nine months, now there’s an interesting choice of words that relates to another upcoming change). Tomorrow morning I begin work at a new location, with new co-workers and a very different outlook on my career. I am staying with my current employer, but I am transferring to a new branch where I will work part-time hours. Today is also the day that marks my ‘official’ acceptance into the graduate program at Converse College in Spartanburg. I say ‘official’ because we were fairly certain all along that I would be accepted, but the actual final decision was made yesterday when the graduate committee met.
As a result of my acceptance into the master’s program, the part-time status at work is necessitated by that decision I made to go back to school. I will be in school full-time as I try to finish as quickly as possible so I can begin teaching as quickly as possible. In many ways, this will be the beginning of the fulfillment of a dream that I have and have had for some time. Without philosophizing about dreams and desires too much and boring you with some emotional story about me trying to “find myself,” I will say this: I have spent the past few years being fairly successful at jobs I can’t stand; I think it’s time to go after something I know I will love.
This decision-making process has indeed been emotional and it has been tough. It affects and will affect so many of the people that I love and that, in and of itself, has forced me to pause and really consider everything – and everyone – involved. Know that I have done exactly that.
And while I have your attention, I want to let you know that one passage from Matthew 25 has particularly helped me during this process. The Parable of the Talents is one of Jesus’ parables that I would normally put in the category of ‘uncomfortable’ as it has a tendency to make people – including myself - at least a little uneasy. Recently, however, I have taken it as more of a challenge. I really believe that God expects us to take chances for Him (or steps out on faith, if you will) while we are on earth. He is not, I believe, so much concerned with what these chances are as long as they are something (that’s probably a grammatically incorrect sentence, but hang in there with me). After reflecting on that parable and what Jesus’ intention was, I think the main point has to do with the one-talented servant and his laziness. I think God is saying to that servant and to us as well: “If you would have tried anything I could have blessed it. If I don’t like it, then I won’t bless it. But please try something.” The point is that this one-talented servant didn’t try anything at all. He took his talent and buried it in the ground. As a result, Jesus calls him wicked and worthless. Personally, I don’t want to be wicked and worthless. So I took the parable as a challenge. And I really started to think about what my talents are and how I could use them to not only do what I want to do, but – and more importantly - what God wants me to do as well.
So here I am. I’m in my last day at my current branch, twelve days away from going back to school and just a few days away from moving in with my in-laws.
Gasp.
Yes, you read that correctly. Katie and I are moving in with her parents. Which I do not think is really as bad as it may initially sound. Their current situation – big house, plenty of room, supportive of our decision – gives us the opportunity to accomplish what we need to accomplish. With Katie still lacking a class and student teaching before she graduates and with a new baby on the way, this gives us both the chance to afford and finish school without a mortgage payment and all those other bills that come with owning a house. Which of course, leads to the final step in this process: selling our house.
We have had some people express interest in the house and have actually shown it quite a few times, but we obviously have yet to sell it. Once the house is sold, we will be free and clear of major bills and we will be able to really concentrate on school and making sure our new addition (somewhere around December 9th) has all that he or she needs.
So, in the end, this decision and these changes have as much to do with me as they do with my family and my God. I truly believe that I can make a difference as a teacher (and hopefully one day as a professor) and this profession will provide with the opportunity to pursue other things that are important to me and my growing family.
I think I am finally beginning to learn what is truly important in life, what it is that really matters (learning that your wife is pregnant will cause a man to really start thinking about those sorts of things). It may have taken me a while to grow up (not that I am necessarily there yet) and realize that there is more to life than 49er football and Bruce Willis movies, but I think I am beginning to learn. And for those of you who are reading this and have hung in there with me all these years, I thank you for your support – past, present and future. I am under no false pretenses that this will be easy, but I do know that I am passionate about it and this is what I really want to do.
And I promise that I will try to keep my blog updated on a more regular basis!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Double-speak and No Pun Intended
I’m a big fan of quotable quotes. Whether they come from speeches, movies, television shows or song lyrics, if a phrase is timely, humorous, cynical or satirical, I take note of it and make an attempt to share it (or use it in conversation) at some point.
Along with Mark Twain, Yogi Berra is one of my favorite quotable people. He is a former New York Yankee catcher, where he played Hall of Fame baseball with the likes of Mickey Mantle and Joe Dimaggio for a number of years. “It’s Déjà vu all over again” is probably his most famous quote. But his most recent quotable quote, “They give you cash, which is just as good as money,” can be heard in an AFLAC commercial and its wit fits right in with some of his more famous lines.
In today’s blog, I have chosen to include some of Yogi’s best from over the years. I have put my most favorite quips at the top and again at the very bottom. Feel free to add your own personal favorite (whether from Yogi or someone else). Enjoy…
I usually take a two hour nap, from one to four.
Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded.
90% of the game is half mental.
I really didn't say everything I said.
I knew I was going to take the wrong train, so I left early.
If I didn't wake up, I'd still be sleeping.
If you don't set goals, you can't regret not reaching them.
We're lost, but we're making great time!
I knew exactly where it was, I just couldn't find it.
It gets late early out there. (Referring to the sun conditions in left field at the stadium)
You can observe a lot just by watching.
Why buy good luggage? You only use it when you travel.
Steve McQueen looks good in this movie. He must have made it before he died.
You better cut the pizza in four pieces. I'm not hungry enough to eat eight.
Once, Yogi's wife Carmen asked, "Yogi, you are from St. Louis, we live in New Jersey, and you played ball in New York. If you go before I do, where would you like me to have you buried?" To this, Yogi replied, "Surprise me."
I always thought that record would stand until it was broken.
If you don't know where you are going, you will wind up somewhere else.
It was hard to have a conversation with anyone - there were too many people talking.
Pair up in threes.
And, finally, another of my personal favorites:
No, you didn't wake me up. I had to get up to answer the phone anyway.
Along with Mark Twain, Yogi Berra is one of my favorite quotable people. He is a former New York Yankee catcher, where he played Hall of Fame baseball with the likes of Mickey Mantle and Joe Dimaggio for a number of years. “It’s Déjà vu all over again” is probably his most famous quote. But his most recent quotable quote, “They give you cash, which is just as good as money,” can be heard in an AFLAC commercial and its wit fits right in with some of his more famous lines.
In today’s blog, I have chosen to include some of Yogi’s best from over the years. I have put my most favorite quips at the top and again at the very bottom. Feel free to add your own personal favorite (whether from Yogi or someone else). Enjoy…
I usually take a two hour nap, from one to four.
Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded.
90% of the game is half mental.
I really didn't say everything I said.
I knew I was going to take the wrong train, so I left early.
If I didn't wake up, I'd still be sleeping.
If you don't set goals, you can't regret not reaching them.
We're lost, but we're making great time!
I knew exactly where it was, I just couldn't find it.
It gets late early out there. (Referring to the sun conditions in left field at the stadium)
You can observe a lot just by watching.
Why buy good luggage? You only use it when you travel.
Steve McQueen looks good in this movie. He must have made it before he died.
You better cut the pizza in four pieces. I'm not hungry enough to eat eight.
Once, Yogi's wife Carmen asked, "Yogi, you are from St. Louis, we live in New Jersey, and you played ball in New York. If you go before I do, where would you like me to have you buried?" To this, Yogi replied, "Surprise me."
I always thought that record would stand until it was broken.
If you don't know where you are going, you will wind up somewhere else.
It was hard to have a conversation with anyone - there were too many people talking.
Pair up in threes.
And, finally, another of my personal favorites:
No, you didn't wake me up. I had to get up to answer the phone anyway.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Whatever You Do To The Least Of These...
I am looking at well over a week now since my last blog. In an effort to keep my job, I have chosen to refrain from blogging while at work. I think you would agree with me that, in the grand scheme of things, keeping food on my table is at least a little more important than providing a daily updated blog for my legions of devoted fans. But being the devoted fans that you are, I’m sure you will understand and will therefore wait with baited breath for my next installment. And here it is:
The word Christian gets thrown around quite a bit these days. It gets thrown around so much that the word itself has lost its meaning.
What is a Christian? Who are Christians? Am I a Christian? Are you a Christian?
CNN’s Anderson Cooper declared recently that 85% of Americans claim to be Christian. Eight-five people out of every hundred in this country follow the teachings and example of Jesus Christ. Now, that’s pretty amazing. One would think that with numbers that high, this country had finally figured out how to love our neighbor and our God (certainly not in that order, however). After all, any Christian should be able to tell you that those are the two greatest commandments. But the evidence proves to the contrary and I have two timely examples that I think will validate my point.
In case you don’t know, I live in Greenville, South Carolina. While this fair city is not necessarily the "buckle" of the Bible belt, (Nashville, Tennessee is; trust me, I know) it could certainly comprise a notch or two of that belt.
As in most Southern cities, there is a church on every corner and enough Christian television and radio stations to keep the averaged home-school kid sheltered from anything having to do with the outside world. Luckily, we also have a strong representation of the beloved ultra-conservative version of religious political activism. I write with a hint (only a hint) of cynicism here because, as the contemporary bumper sticker so proudly proclaims, "the Religious Right is neither." And that political special interest group, led by guys like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, is exactly what exists in cities like Greenville.
This "Religious Right" is evident everywhere here, much to the chagrin of Christians like me who would rather open wide the doors of the church than padlock them securely shut. This phobia of actually letting into our church people who look different than we do was, for me, epitomized last Friday night as I arrived at the Elton John concert here at Greenville’s own Bi-Lo Center.
Looking for a reasonably priced parking space, we turned left off of East North Street. Quickly we saw, standing right there on the corner, a group of well-dressed Christians protesting with signs and slogans the concert itself and the "Sodomites" who were apparently not only performing (Elton John is a homosexual), but would be attending as well. Some of the signs were blatantly condemning, some included references to Scripture and some were just outright disgraceful.
Then, once we had found a parking space and made our way to the entrance of the Bi-Lo Center, we ran into another group. Their signs were bigger, more colorful and more offensive. You almost had to trip over these guys just to get inside. Anyone who entered the arena from that main front entrance saw the protestors in all their glory and were hopefully as disgusted as I was.
I sarcastically muttered to myself, "I can’t imagine why homosexuals think Christians hate them." My wife heard my utterance and chuckled painfully as this topic represents an ongoing dialogue between the two of us. I can’t speak for her, but I’m pretty sure she would have joined me had I mustered-up the nerve to do what I really wanted to do: walk up to and apologize – on behalf of loving Christians everywhere - to every single person who saw those signs and was offended, especially those who happened to be gay. But I did nothing like that. I simply stood and stared at the painful exhibition on display that afternoon. My heart sank and I could almost hear the entire evangelical world collectively take two huge steps back in our fight to preserve whatever tiny bit of ground we had taken in our battle to show the gay community that we do not hate them, that God does not hate them.
I have only one question for those protestors: what exactly did you expect to accomplish with actions such as those? If their goal was to alienate more non-believing homosexuals with their actions, then they did exactly that. If their goal was to try and bring more people to Christ (shouldn’t that always be our goal?), then they failed and failed miserably.
On a more positive note, I heard a story recently about another Christian who looks at things a little differently than these Christian protestors do. This particular Christian was in a setting that put him in direct contact with a man who was obviously gay (he had announced his sexual preference to the group he was with earlier in the day). It was also obvious that this man had a rather large chip on his shoulder. The entire situation struck a cord in the heart of this Christian and he felt something needed to be done.
So, when the time was right and he was sure an encounter would not bring unwarranted attention to himself or the other man, this disciple of Christ approached the gay man and apologized. He apologized for how Christians had treated homosexuals in the past. He apologized for the hate-filled venom that had been spewed at gays by Christians in the past. He told him that Jesus Christ – the One whose example we follow – taught us to love our neighbor, not hate him and that he was ashamed at the way gays had been treated by preachers and leaders who claim to be Christians. It was a simple conversation and also fairly one-sided. When it was over, the other man thanked him politely, accepted his apology and the two went on their separate ways.
Now, I pose this question to you: which individual or group of individuals displayed the more Christ-like characteristics? Was it the boisterous, judgmental group of protestors or the humble, apologetic man who personally reached out to a societal outcast?
I don’t recall too many instances in the Gospels that found Jesus on a street corner calling-out people for their sins and condemning them. I do, however, find several instances in which Jesus Himself ate dinner with "sinners" and even had a few meaningful conversations with them. While it is important to note that Jesus did not condone their behavior, He did not shun them either. God forbid we should ever forget that.
I am not ignorant or naïve enough to think that there are not some in the homosexual community who hate Christians. Hate for Christ and what He taught and what His followers believe exists in groups all across this country, all over the world. But what I saw from this group of protesters the other night is the same type of hate that non-believers display every single day. They protested a concert in which the headlining act was an openly gay man and made complete fools out of themselves in the process (on a related note, I haven’t seen any instances where these protestors have picketed adult bookstores or strip clubs – and there’s quite a few of them here; they don’t stand outside bars and harass patrons as they drunkenly stumble to their cars each night; and they certainly can’t be seen standing outside the state capitol demonstrating against politicians and the lies they must have told to get to their respective offices).
They affected no lives, changed nobody’s heart. The only thing they did accomplish is to confirm what should be an incorrect stereotype – both in and out of the gay community – that Christians hate both the sinner and the sin.
Yes, the word Christian gets thrown around quite a bit these days. And maybe the word itself has lost some of its meaning. But Jesus Christ never intended for His Name to be synonymous with a judgmental attitude, condemnation or hate. Until we, as Christians, realize that and put it into practice every day of our lives, we have a long long way to go.
The word Christian gets thrown around quite a bit these days. It gets thrown around so much that the word itself has lost its meaning.
What is a Christian? Who are Christians? Am I a Christian? Are you a Christian?
CNN’s Anderson Cooper declared recently that 85% of Americans claim to be Christian. Eight-five people out of every hundred in this country follow the teachings and example of Jesus Christ. Now, that’s pretty amazing. One would think that with numbers that high, this country had finally figured out how to love our neighbor and our God (certainly not in that order, however). After all, any Christian should be able to tell you that those are the two greatest commandments. But the evidence proves to the contrary and I have two timely examples that I think will validate my point.
In case you don’t know, I live in Greenville, South Carolina. While this fair city is not necessarily the "buckle" of the Bible belt, (Nashville, Tennessee is; trust me, I know) it could certainly comprise a notch or two of that belt.
As in most Southern cities, there is a church on every corner and enough Christian television and radio stations to keep the averaged home-school kid sheltered from anything having to do with the outside world. Luckily, we also have a strong representation of the beloved ultra-conservative version of religious political activism. I write with a hint (only a hint) of cynicism here because, as the contemporary bumper sticker so proudly proclaims, "the Religious Right is neither." And that political special interest group, led by guys like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, is exactly what exists in cities like Greenville.
This "Religious Right" is evident everywhere here, much to the chagrin of Christians like me who would rather open wide the doors of the church than padlock them securely shut. This phobia of actually letting into our church people who look different than we do was, for me, epitomized last Friday night as I arrived at the Elton John concert here at Greenville’s own Bi-Lo Center.
Looking for a reasonably priced parking space, we turned left off of East North Street. Quickly we saw, standing right there on the corner, a group of well-dressed Christians protesting with signs and slogans the concert itself and the "Sodomites" who were apparently not only performing (Elton John is a homosexual), but would be attending as well. Some of the signs were blatantly condemning, some included references to Scripture and some were just outright disgraceful.
Then, once we had found a parking space and made our way to the entrance of the Bi-Lo Center, we ran into another group. Their signs were bigger, more colorful and more offensive. You almost had to trip over these guys just to get inside. Anyone who entered the arena from that main front entrance saw the protestors in all their glory and were hopefully as disgusted as I was.
I sarcastically muttered to myself, "I can’t imagine why homosexuals think Christians hate them." My wife heard my utterance and chuckled painfully as this topic represents an ongoing dialogue between the two of us. I can’t speak for her, but I’m pretty sure she would have joined me had I mustered-up the nerve to do what I really wanted to do: walk up to and apologize – on behalf of loving Christians everywhere - to every single person who saw those signs and was offended, especially those who happened to be gay. But I did nothing like that. I simply stood and stared at the painful exhibition on display that afternoon. My heart sank and I could almost hear the entire evangelical world collectively take two huge steps back in our fight to preserve whatever tiny bit of ground we had taken in our battle to show the gay community that we do not hate them, that God does not hate them.
I have only one question for those protestors: what exactly did you expect to accomplish with actions such as those? If their goal was to alienate more non-believing homosexuals with their actions, then they did exactly that. If their goal was to try and bring more people to Christ (shouldn’t that always be our goal?), then they failed and failed miserably.
On a more positive note, I heard a story recently about another Christian who looks at things a little differently than these Christian protestors do. This particular Christian was in a setting that put him in direct contact with a man who was obviously gay (he had announced his sexual preference to the group he was with earlier in the day). It was also obvious that this man had a rather large chip on his shoulder. The entire situation struck a cord in the heart of this Christian and he felt something needed to be done.
So, when the time was right and he was sure an encounter would not bring unwarranted attention to himself or the other man, this disciple of Christ approached the gay man and apologized. He apologized for how Christians had treated homosexuals in the past. He apologized for the hate-filled venom that had been spewed at gays by Christians in the past. He told him that Jesus Christ – the One whose example we follow – taught us to love our neighbor, not hate him and that he was ashamed at the way gays had been treated by preachers and leaders who claim to be Christians. It was a simple conversation and also fairly one-sided. When it was over, the other man thanked him politely, accepted his apology and the two went on their separate ways.
Now, I pose this question to you: which individual or group of individuals displayed the more Christ-like characteristics? Was it the boisterous, judgmental group of protestors or the humble, apologetic man who personally reached out to a societal outcast?
I don’t recall too many instances in the Gospels that found Jesus on a street corner calling-out people for their sins and condemning them. I do, however, find several instances in which Jesus Himself ate dinner with "sinners" and even had a few meaningful conversations with them. While it is important to note that Jesus did not condone their behavior, He did not shun them either. God forbid we should ever forget that.
I am not ignorant or naïve enough to think that there are not some in the homosexual community who hate Christians. Hate for Christ and what He taught and what His followers believe exists in groups all across this country, all over the world. But what I saw from this group of protesters the other night is the same type of hate that non-believers display every single day. They protested a concert in which the headlining act was an openly gay man and made complete fools out of themselves in the process (on a related note, I haven’t seen any instances where these protestors have picketed adult bookstores or strip clubs – and there’s quite a few of them here; they don’t stand outside bars and harass patrons as they drunkenly stumble to their cars each night; and they certainly can’t be seen standing outside the state capitol demonstrating against politicians and the lies they must have told to get to their respective offices).
They affected no lives, changed nobody’s heart. The only thing they did accomplish is to confirm what should be an incorrect stereotype – both in and out of the gay community – that Christians hate both the sinner and the sin.
Yes, the word Christian gets thrown around quite a bit these days. And maybe the word itself has lost some of its meaning. But Jesus Christ never intended for His Name to be synonymous with a judgmental attitude, condemnation or hate. Until we, as Christians, realize that and put it into practice every day of our lives, we have a long long way to go.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Friday Quick Hitters
This has been a relatively slow week in the sports world, but a busy week for me personally. So my contribution here has been lacking and I apologize to my thousands of fans all over the world who expect more from me. I will try to do better, I promise. That being said, I will devote today’s blog to a few short ramblings on some recent happenings. Enjoy…
Atlanta Braves
So the Braves take two out of three from the Mets in New York last weekend and then lose two out of three in Miami to the Marlins. It’s very frustrating. Even more frustrating is this: Tim Hudson pitched eight innings of nearly un-hittable ball Wednesday night and they still manage to lose. Hudson’s ERA going into the ninth inning that night was 0.51. Yes, 0.51. But three of the four runs that eventually scored in that inning belonged to him, so it ballooned to 1.22. Still, that’s not bad. I figured that at some point, Wickman was going to blow a save (he had only blown one other opportunity since become a Brave last year) and I guess Wednesday night was it. So let’s look on the bright side and hope he got it out of his system and he’s as good as gold for the next several months. I’m not worried about Hudson either. He just got tired (you could tell early on in the ninth that he was getting tired as his pitches were mostly up in the strike zone) and Bobby Cox should have pulled him after the first batter singled. But he didn’t and Atlanta lost their first series of the year. I’m not blaming Cox or Wickman or Hudson or anyone else for that matter. This is baseball and, because it is what it is (as in, a 162-game schedule), you get another shot to make things better rather quickly. Atlanta gets their shot tonight, tomorrow and Sunday in Colorado against the underrated Rockies. Sweeping these guys would make up for all of it.
NFL Draft
I’m already tired of the 2007 NFL Draft and it hasn’t even started. If you read my blog regularly (if you don’t, shame on you!) you know how I feel about the 24-hour news/sports cycle we have to endure. ESPN has only succeeded in firmly cementing my feelings regarding their incessant ramblings about stuff that is completely irrelevant. Speaking of irrelevance, they actually interviewed a guy yesterday that has a chance of being this year's “Mr. Irrelevant” (aka, the last guy picked in the Draft). Are they hard-up for news or what?
If you know me, you know I love football, I love the NFL. But this draft coverage is ridiculous. And it’s been like this for almost two months now. Sure, I want to know who the 49ers are thinking about drafting. But I don’t need a daily three-hour diatribe on who they might also draft in the sixth round. It’s very tiresome.
But it makes my wife happy because I’m finally learning that there are channels other than ESPN.
A-Rod
Alex Rodriguez in on a roll unlike any we have seen in a long time. I am by no means a Yankee fan, or even a big follower of Rodriguez, but I have to be impressed with what he’s accomplished so far this season. And it’s legitimate. While A-Rod pounds out legitimate homer after legitimate homer on the East Coast, Barry Bonds and his campaign of illegitimacy chase history on the West Coast.
Mr. Potato Head is going to break Aaron’s record, probably before the All-Star Break. It’s very very sad. But let’s all take solace in the fact that – if the early part of this season is any guide – Alex Rodriguez just might be the guy who will eventually break Bonds’ record. And he will do so legitimately, giving us all something to celebrate.
Also, the first of the Democratic Presidential Debates was held last night, right here in South Carolina, a full year and a half before Election Day. With that in mind, if any of us - myself included - think that coverage of things like the NFL Draft is redundant, we ain’t seen nothing yet. This 2008 Presidential race is going to be utterly ridiculous.
Atlanta Braves
So the Braves take two out of three from the Mets in New York last weekend and then lose two out of three in Miami to the Marlins. It’s very frustrating. Even more frustrating is this: Tim Hudson pitched eight innings of nearly un-hittable ball Wednesday night and they still manage to lose. Hudson’s ERA going into the ninth inning that night was 0.51. Yes, 0.51. But three of the four runs that eventually scored in that inning belonged to him, so it ballooned to 1.22. Still, that’s not bad. I figured that at some point, Wickman was going to blow a save (he had only blown one other opportunity since become a Brave last year) and I guess Wednesday night was it. So let’s look on the bright side and hope he got it out of his system and he’s as good as gold for the next several months. I’m not worried about Hudson either. He just got tired (you could tell early on in the ninth that he was getting tired as his pitches were mostly up in the strike zone) and Bobby Cox should have pulled him after the first batter singled. But he didn’t and Atlanta lost their first series of the year. I’m not blaming Cox or Wickman or Hudson or anyone else for that matter. This is baseball and, because it is what it is (as in, a 162-game schedule), you get another shot to make things better rather quickly. Atlanta gets their shot tonight, tomorrow and Sunday in Colorado against the underrated Rockies. Sweeping these guys would make up for all of it.
NFL Draft
I’m already tired of the 2007 NFL Draft and it hasn’t even started. If you read my blog regularly (if you don’t, shame on you!) you know how I feel about the 24-hour news/sports cycle we have to endure. ESPN has only succeeded in firmly cementing my feelings regarding their incessant ramblings about stuff that is completely irrelevant. Speaking of irrelevance, they actually interviewed a guy yesterday that has a chance of being this year's “Mr. Irrelevant” (aka, the last guy picked in the Draft). Are they hard-up for news or what?
If you know me, you know I love football, I love the NFL. But this draft coverage is ridiculous. And it’s been like this for almost two months now. Sure, I want to know who the 49ers are thinking about drafting. But I don’t need a daily three-hour diatribe on who they might also draft in the sixth round. It’s very tiresome.
But it makes my wife happy because I’m finally learning that there are channels other than ESPN.
A-Rod
Alex Rodriguez in on a roll unlike any we have seen in a long time. I am by no means a Yankee fan, or even a big follower of Rodriguez, but I have to be impressed with what he’s accomplished so far this season. And it’s legitimate. While A-Rod pounds out legitimate homer after legitimate homer on the East Coast, Barry Bonds and his campaign of illegitimacy chase history on the West Coast.
Mr. Potato Head is going to break Aaron’s record, probably before the All-Star Break. It’s very very sad. But let’s all take solace in the fact that – if the early part of this season is any guide – Alex Rodriguez just might be the guy who will eventually break Bonds’ record. And he will do so legitimately, giving us all something to celebrate.
Also, the first of the Democratic Presidential Debates was held last night, right here in South Carolina, a full year and a half before Election Day. With that in mind, if any of us - myself included - think that coverage of things like the NFL Draft is redundant, we ain’t seen nothing yet. This 2008 Presidential race is going to be utterly ridiculous.
Will the REAL Article Please Show Up?
Recently I wrote an article for a local publication which shall remain nameless. Due to what I would like to call 'editorial fascism,' my article was almost completely altered, rendering it virtually unreadable. For those of you who look to that paper to see what I write, you will find only a semblance of my original production in this week's edition. Since this is my blog, I have included the original version below. Enjoy...
You’ve heard of the Grand Ole Opry.
You’ve heard of the Ryman Auditorium.
These two still-standing country music monuments virtually ooze with tradition as, over the years, performers like Merle Haggard, LeAnn Rimes, Alan Jackson, Reba McEntire and Hank Williams Jr. have graced the stages of these respective concert halls with their talents. These venues are very popular tourist attractions and fans of country music from all over the world are drawn to them each and every year.
Perhaps you’ve even been to one of these historic landmarks, both situated very close to downtown Nashville, Tennessee. If you have been to either or both of them, you know it requires at least five to six hours of your time to get there by car from just about anywhere in the Upstate. Factor in gas at an average cost of three bucks a gallon these days and you’re almost better off flying – assuming you can afford that, too. Regardless of the difficulty you may find in getting to Music City, it is certainly worth the time and money you will spend.
But please don’t go all the way there just to get a taste of the tradition of country music – or music in general, for that matter. We have our own example right here in the Upstate. Nestled in the heart of downtown Spartanburg is a venue that rivals both the Opry and the Ryman in the number of country music superstars it has seen roam its halls during the past quarter century.
You may know that.
However, what you may not know is that the Spartanburg Memorial Auditorium (SMA) has also featured – unlike its Nashville counterparts – rock n’ roll artists like Bob Dylan, Billy Joel, Widespread Panic, Phish, Dave Matthews and Stevie Ray Vaughn, just to name a few.
Would you rather have a little more R & B flavor in your music? The late James Brown brought some soul to SMA. So did Patti Labelle, B B King and the Temptations.
Okay, maybe music isn’t your thing. Then try comedians like Jeff Foxworthy, Jerry Seinfeld, Carrot Top and the Smothers Brothers; they have all performed there.
Still not impressed? Then the rest of your family might be with shows like Sesame Street Live, the Magic of David Copperfield and the Lipizzaner Stallions - again, just to name a few.
Since its opening on December 1, 1951, the SMA has seen its fair share of eclectic performers and shows. When the honky-tonk sounds of Dwight Yoakam or Travis Tritt fill the air one night and Gallagher is busy smashing watermelons on the front few rows the next, you know you’re witnessing entertainment variety at its finest.
But this thirty-two hundred seat auditorium, which was really in its heyday during the country music boom of the late 80s and early 90s, has seen better days. The multi-million dollar renovation that was completed in October of 2000 has not brought back the glory days of the venue. And, in more recent years, the SMA is more likely to feature child and family-oriented shows such as Sesame Street Live than it is the rambunctious performances of college bands like Widespread Panic or Phish. Consequently, getting artists like Kenny Chesney or Ben Harper to return would be a tall order as well.
Most of this is due to the fact that performers and their promoters (and their record labels) are more drawn to the large arenas and stadiums than they are to the smaller, more intimate settings of places like SMA. Money, of course, has a large part to play in their decisions. Guys like Dave Matthews, in particular, have often shown an affinity for the smaller venues, but the record executives usually make the call and would rather see the artist perform at places such as the Bi-Lo Center or Philips Arena. Imagine an acoustic Dave Matthews or Billy Joel armed with just his piano cozily singing some of your favorites in a room no bigger than the auditorium of a large Baptist Church. This is what many of the concerts were like at "The Showplace of the South" just a little more than a decade ago. Performances like that created a buzz both in and around the auditorium that translated into tremendous success for all involved.
It has happened before – and it could happen again.
Steve Jones, the SMA’s General Manager, and his staff have worked very hard as of late to bring back some of the magic that has been lost.
This is evidenced by the fact that country music legend Loretta Lynn hits the stage for a one-night-only performance on May 5th. Then, just two weeks later on May 20th, SMA welcomes John Anderson and Marty Stuart to the stage. If you visit SMA’s website at www.crowdpleaser.com, you’ll notice that a local country radio station is working with the auditorium on the promotion of both shows. Working hand-in-hand with radio stations and agencies to bring in big name talent is what will help get more artists like Lynn, Anderson and Stuart in, and that’s exactly what Jones and his crew are doing. That being said, these two shows collectively could signal a potential renaissance of country concerts at SMA. If that’s the case, and the auditorium is readying itself for a resurgence, then the staff is ready.
I spent a few minutes the other day with one of the essential members of SMA’s staff, a local music lover named Bryan Wagner. Bryan does it all around SMA; one day you might find him backstage, the next he may be in the ticket office and the next he could be helping to promote an upcoming show. He was nice enough to take me on a behind-the-scenes tour of the auditorium.
Generally, when working on a story like this, a writer has to ask several questions about a given topic to get the interviewee to open up.
Not so with Bryan. While we walked around, he was very candid as he entertained me with stories and anecdotes of how he came to work there, why he continues to work there and how much he really loves the place. He astounded me with facts and figures (SMA seats exactly 3,217 people he quickly pointed out without needing to check for verification) and before I had a chance to ask what I thought were very important questions he said, with a tinge of nostalgia in his voice, "I love the building. Being someone that loves the arts, loves music, I just wanna be here."
Do you love where you work that much?
To say the staff and supporters of SMA want to see the venue resurrected as "the place to be" in downtown Spartanburg is an understatement. Most of them have been there long enough to remember how it was when it was "the place to be." Atlee Pettit, the current Operations Manager, is the patriarch of the place, having worked there off and on for nearly forty years. Jonathan Pitts, the Assistant Manager, has been there for almost twenty years, as has the aforementioned General Manager, Steve Jones. Their combined experience alone is enough to keep SMA plugging along.
But it is the storied history of the venue and the continual focus by its staff on bringing in a variety of both fresh and established artists that will help re-create a buzz. Jonathan Pitts put it like this: “I think we have such history here and we do so well with local events that we’ll be fine. Steve [Jones] is constantly in touch with agencies who promote the artists. We’re tracking who’s up and coming and who’s hot. But we also have to be selective and supplement it with local stuff.” A good variety of local and non-local shows is what helped establish SMA during its prime, and that’s exactly what its management feels will keep it successful for years to come.
But these guys – Jones, Pitts, Pettit, Wagner and the rest of the staff – are in it for more than just being successful. They want Spartanburg Memorial Auditorium to be what it once was: a place where both up-and-coming as well as established artists can be proud to perform while they entertain Upstate fans in an intimate and inspiring setting. When that happens, the venue will once again live up to its mantra as "The Showplace of the South."
You’ve heard of the Grand Ole Opry.
You’ve heard of the Ryman Auditorium.
These two still-standing country music monuments virtually ooze with tradition as, over the years, performers like Merle Haggard, LeAnn Rimes, Alan Jackson, Reba McEntire and Hank Williams Jr. have graced the stages of these respective concert halls with their talents. These venues are very popular tourist attractions and fans of country music from all over the world are drawn to them each and every year.
Perhaps you’ve even been to one of these historic landmarks, both situated very close to downtown Nashville, Tennessee. If you have been to either or both of them, you know it requires at least five to six hours of your time to get there by car from just about anywhere in the Upstate. Factor in gas at an average cost of three bucks a gallon these days and you’re almost better off flying – assuming you can afford that, too. Regardless of the difficulty you may find in getting to Music City, it is certainly worth the time and money you will spend.
But please don’t go all the way there just to get a taste of the tradition of country music – or music in general, for that matter. We have our own example right here in the Upstate. Nestled in the heart of downtown Spartanburg is a venue that rivals both the Opry and the Ryman in the number of country music superstars it has seen roam its halls during the past quarter century.
You may know that.
However, what you may not know is that the Spartanburg Memorial Auditorium (SMA) has also featured – unlike its Nashville counterparts – rock n’ roll artists like Bob Dylan, Billy Joel, Widespread Panic, Phish, Dave Matthews and Stevie Ray Vaughn, just to name a few.
Would you rather have a little more R & B flavor in your music? The late James Brown brought some soul to SMA. So did Patti Labelle, B B King and the Temptations.
Okay, maybe music isn’t your thing. Then try comedians like Jeff Foxworthy, Jerry Seinfeld, Carrot Top and the Smothers Brothers; they have all performed there.
Still not impressed? Then the rest of your family might be with shows like Sesame Street Live, the Magic of David Copperfield and the Lipizzaner Stallions - again, just to name a few.
Since its opening on December 1, 1951, the SMA has seen its fair share of eclectic performers and shows. When the honky-tonk sounds of Dwight Yoakam or Travis Tritt fill the air one night and Gallagher is busy smashing watermelons on the front few rows the next, you know you’re witnessing entertainment variety at its finest.
But this thirty-two hundred seat auditorium, which was really in its heyday during the country music boom of the late 80s and early 90s, has seen better days. The multi-million dollar renovation that was completed in October of 2000 has not brought back the glory days of the venue. And, in more recent years, the SMA is more likely to feature child and family-oriented shows such as Sesame Street Live than it is the rambunctious performances of college bands like Widespread Panic or Phish. Consequently, getting artists like Kenny Chesney or Ben Harper to return would be a tall order as well.
Most of this is due to the fact that performers and their promoters (and their record labels) are more drawn to the large arenas and stadiums than they are to the smaller, more intimate settings of places like SMA. Money, of course, has a large part to play in their decisions. Guys like Dave Matthews, in particular, have often shown an affinity for the smaller venues, but the record executives usually make the call and would rather see the artist perform at places such as the Bi-Lo Center or Philips Arena. Imagine an acoustic Dave Matthews or Billy Joel armed with just his piano cozily singing some of your favorites in a room no bigger than the auditorium of a large Baptist Church. This is what many of the concerts were like at "The Showplace of the South" just a little more than a decade ago. Performances like that created a buzz both in and around the auditorium that translated into tremendous success for all involved.
It has happened before – and it could happen again.
Steve Jones, the SMA’s General Manager, and his staff have worked very hard as of late to bring back some of the magic that has been lost.
This is evidenced by the fact that country music legend Loretta Lynn hits the stage for a one-night-only performance on May 5th. Then, just two weeks later on May 20th, SMA welcomes John Anderson and Marty Stuart to the stage. If you visit SMA’s website at www.crowdpleaser.com, you’ll notice that a local country radio station is working with the auditorium on the promotion of both shows. Working hand-in-hand with radio stations and agencies to bring in big name talent is what will help get more artists like Lynn, Anderson and Stuart in, and that’s exactly what Jones and his crew are doing. That being said, these two shows collectively could signal a potential renaissance of country concerts at SMA. If that’s the case, and the auditorium is readying itself for a resurgence, then the staff is ready.
I spent a few minutes the other day with one of the essential members of SMA’s staff, a local music lover named Bryan Wagner. Bryan does it all around SMA; one day you might find him backstage, the next he may be in the ticket office and the next he could be helping to promote an upcoming show. He was nice enough to take me on a behind-the-scenes tour of the auditorium.
Generally, when working on a story like this, a writer has to ask several questions about a given topic to get the interviewee to open up.
Not so with Bryan. While we walked around, he was very candid as he entertained me with stories and anecdotes of how he came to work there, why he continues to work there and how much he really loves the place. He astounded me with facts and figures (SMA seats exactly 3,217 people he quickly pointed out without needing to check for verification) and before I had a chance to ask what I thought were very important questions he said, with a tinge of nostalgia in his voice, "I love the building. Being someone that loves the arts, loves music, I just wanna be here."
Do you love where you work that much?
To say the staff and supporters of SMA want to see the venue resurrected as "the place to be" in downtown Spartanburg is an understatement. Most of them have been there long enough to remember how it was when it was "the place to be." Atlee Pettit, the current Operations Manager, is the patriarch of the place, having worked there off and on for nearly forty years. Jonathan Pitts, the Assistant Manager, has been there for almost twenty years, as has the aforementioned General Manager, Steve Jones. Their combined experience alone is enough to keep SMA plugging along.
But it is the storied history of the venue and the continual focus by its staff on bringing in a variety of both fresh and established artists that will help re-create a buzz. Jonathan Pitts put it like this: “I think we have such history here and we do so well with local events that we’ll be fine. Steve [Jones] is constantly in touch with agencies who promote the artists. We’re tracking who’s up and coming and who’s hot. But we also have to be selective and supplement it with local stuff.” A good variety of local and non-local shows is what helped establish SMA during its prime, and that’s exactly what its management feels will keep it successful for years to come.
But these guys – Jones, Pitts, Pettit, Wagner and the rest of the staff – are in it for more than just being successful. They want Spartanburg Memorial Auditorium to be what it once was: a place where both up-and-coming as well as established artists can be proud to perform while they entertain Upstate fans in an intimate and inspiring setting. When that happens, the venue will once again live up to its mantra as "The Showplace of the South."
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Can't Have One Without The Other
I would like to focus the subject of today’s blog on something that I think perfectly defines irony. To do this, I will use an illustration from this week’s – and this year’s - most newsworthy event. To me, this particular scene from the event itself is further evidence that, when it comes to God and who He is, this country just does not get it.
You’ve seen all the coverage on the news channels about the senseless slaughter that happened at Virginia Tech earlier this week. This blog entry is not about that act, a debate on gun control or any psycho-babble that may or may not be related to it. What I’m going to focus on here are the many memorial services that have taken place since the massacre occurred and why what happened in them is more a commentary on what’s wrong with our world and our country than the brutal act itself.
This is probably going to rub some people the wrong way and I understand that. So, let me make this disclaimer before I get started: what that man did was horrible, absolutely horrible. There is no debating that fact. By not focusing on what he did, I am in no way excusing or neglecting what happened. The wonderful news media has already dissected the massacre ad nauseam, so I will not add to their fodder here. They have reacted exactly the way the killer wanted them to: he is now a household name.
Many thanks to NBC for callously playing his video and releasing his manifesto. If my sister or any other family member had been killed Monday, I would be taking a trip to Rockefeller Center in New York to personally punch NBC’s President right in the face. Was it really necessary to broadcast that nut’s drivel all over the place? I guess in the name of the public’s so-called ‘right to know’ it was. I completely disagree. But nobody asked me…
Anyway, to honor the lives of the victims, there have been countless memorial services taking place all across the country this week. I personally find the one held on Virginia Tech’s campus to be particularly noteworthy. As is the custom these days, the memorial services included moments of silence instead of prayers and references to every religious figure from allah to buddha to zeus without once mentioning Jesus. That being said, I’m not necessarily offended by the failure to mention Jesus in the same sentence as those other guys because, by putting them together in the same category, you essentially place them all on a level playing field – which is, of course, a gross misrepresentation. So collectively mentioning all those other figures in an effort to uphold political correctness is not something I’m going to get fired up about. These are the times in which we live and, as Christians, the sooner we realize that, the less angry we will become (I’m not advocating indifference here, just a reality check).
I’m digressing a little here, so I’ll make my main point: at the very end of the initial memorial service, the audience broke into a spontaneous rendition of “Amazing Grace.” As beautiful and as touching as that song is, I’m not too sure that many of those singing it really understood its meaning. I guess that singing it may have made them feel spiritual for a few moments, but I really find the whole scene to be ironic.
You simply cannot ignore the name of Jesus in one breath and sing a song about the grace we have because of Him the next. This amazing grace does not exist because of what buddha or zeus did. Honoring them, ignoring Jesus and then singing “Amazing Grace” is ignorant of them and insulting to me.
Still, this irony exists everywhere in our culture. Our ignorance of who God is gets proven over and over again every single day. It’s not that we’ve forgotten who He is; it’s that we’ve tried to make Him more like who we want Him to be. As a result, we are now totally clueless when it comes to knowing who our Creator is.
Our society, which all but worships at the altar of consumerism and materialism, emblazons “In God We Trust” on all of our money. It causes me to wonder if that statement is one of fact, hope or sarcasm.
We claim the Ten Commandments are what helped establish and still guide our moral code and laws. Yet, the “thou shall not kill” part is blatantly ignored when it comes to abortion, euthanasia and war.
Since the events of September 11, 2001 “God Bless America” has become some sort of a national slogan. And our attitude seems to reflect just that. God blessing America is fine, but please, we quietly pray, don’t bless the rest of the world too.
Again, instead of having an understanding of God as He is, we invent different versions of Him to fit our needs or whims. Singing “Amazing Grace” feels good and it feels right to us when tragedy strikes. And it is accurate to say that if there is anything anywhere that could save or could have saved Cho Seung-Hui it would only be God’s grace. But I doubt that’s why those in attendance at the memorial service were singing that particular song.
Amazing grace is an inoffensive concept. On the contrary, Jesus is apparently very offensive. So they keep the grace and leave out the Savior. It’s actually very convenient: all of the benefits, none of the work and none of the consequences.
It all makes sense when viewed through the lens of a culture that has absolutely no idea who God is anymore. So, if you will, allow me to clarify it just a little: God is the God of the sinners and the saints, of Americans and the rest of the world, of people who believe in Him and people who do not. He is the God of those who understand Him and the God of those who just don’t have a clue, the God of murderers and the God of victims. He’s even the God of those who don’t quite understand what songs like “Amazing Grace” are all about.
But I am certain that He would point out to all of us that to really understand His amazing grace, we need to get to know His Son first.
You’ve seen all the coverage on the news channels about the senseless slaughter that happened at Virginia Tech earlier this week. This blog entry is not about that act, a debate on gun control or any psycho-babble that may or may not be related to it. What I’m going to focus on here are the many memorial services that have taken place since the massacre occurred and why what happened in them is more a commentary on what’s wrong with our world and our country than the brutal act itself.
This is probably going to rub some people the wrong way and I understand that. So, let me make this disclaimer before I get started: what that man did was horrible, absolutely horrible. There is no debating that fact. By not focusing on what he did, I am in no way excusing or neglecting what happened. The wonderful news media has already dissected the massacre ad nauseam, so I will not add to their fodder here. They have reacted exactly the way the killer wanted them to: he is now a household name.
Many thanks to NBC for callously playing his video and releasing his manifesto. If my sister or any other family member had been killed Monday, I would be taking a trip to Rockefeller Center in New York to personally punch NBC’s President right in the face. Was it really necessary to broadcast that nut’s drivel all over the place? I guess in the name of the public’s so-called ‘right to know’ it was. I completely disagree. But nobody asked me…
Anyway, to honor the lives of the victims, there have been countless memorial services taking place all across the country this week. I personally find the one held on Virginia Tech’s campus to be particularly noteworthy. As is the custom these days, the memorial services included moments of silence instead of prayers and references to every religious figure from allah to buddha to zeus without once mentioning Jesus. That being said, I’m not necessarily offended by the failure to mention Jesus in the same sentence as those other guys because, by putting them together in the same category, you essentially place them all on a level playing field – which is, of course, a gross misrepresentation. So collectively mentioning all those other figures in an effort to uphold political correctness is not something I’m going to get fired up about. These are the times in which we live and, as Christians, the sooner we realize that, the less angry we will become (I’m not advocating indifference here, just a reality check).
I’m digressing a little here, so I’ll make my main point: at the very end of the initial memorial service, the audience broke into a spontaneous rendition of “Amazing Grace.” As beautiful and as touching as that song is, I’m not too sure that many of those singing it really understood its meaning. I guess that singing it may have made them feel spiritual for a few moments, but I really find the whole scene to be ironic.
You simply cannot ignore the name of Jesus in one breath and sing a song about the grace we have because of Him the next. This amazing grace does not exist because of what buddha or zeus did. Honoring them, ignoring Jesus and then singing “Amazing Grace” is ignorant of them and insulting to me.
Still, this irony exists everywhere in our culture. Our ignorance of who God is gets proven over and over again every single day. It’s not that we’ve forgotten who He is; it’s that we’ve tried to make Him more like who we want Him to be. As a result, we are now totally clueless when it comes to knowing who our Creator is.
Our society, which all but worships at the altar of consumerism and materialism, emblazons “In God We Trust” on all of our money. It causes me to wonder if that statement is one of fact, hope or sarcasm.
We claim the Ten Commandments are what helped establish and still guide our moral code and laws. Yet, the “thou shall not kill” part is blatantly ignored when it comes to abortion, euthanasia and war.
Since the events of September 11, 2001 “God Bless America” has become some sort of a national slogan. And our attitude seems to reflect just that. God blessing America is fine, but please, we quietly pray, don’t bless the rest of the world too.
Again, instead of having an understanding of God as He is, we invent different versions of Him to fit our needs or whims. Singing “Amazing Grace” feels good and it feels right to us when tragedy strikes. And it is accurate to say that if there is anything anywhere that could save or could have saved Cho Seung-Hui it would only be God’s grace. But I doubt that’s why those in attendance at the memorial service were singing that particular song.
Amazing grace is an inoffensive concept. On the contrary, Jesus is apparently very offensive. So they keep the grace and leave out the Savior. It’s actually very convenient: all of the benefits, none of the work and none of the consequences.
It all makes sense when viewed through the lens of a culture that has absolutely no idea who God is anymore. So, if you will, allow me to clarify it just a little: God is the God of the sinners and the saints, of Americans and the rest of the world, of people who believe in Him and people who do not. He is the God of those who understand Him and the God of those who just don’t have a clue, the God of murderers and the God of victims. He’s even the God of those who don’t quite understand what songs like “Amazing Grace” are all about.
But I am certain that He would point out to all of us that to really understand His amazing grace, we need to get to know His Son first.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
We're Not Perfect, But Our Women Are
Amazingly enough, my very patient and very understanding wife does not have the same enthusiasm for sports that I do. So, last night, when the Braves regained the lead over the Cubs in the seventh evening and I jumped up off the couch, she was not amused. I pumped my fist in the air as Kelly Johnson singled to right, waking her up and forcing a scowl to cross her face. In case you’re wondering, the scowl was for me; I must also add that the look I received from my dog was not much better. But, no matter, the Braves had fought back from a one-run deficit to take a two-run lead into the eighth inning. It was a lead they would not relinquish and they eventually won the game 8-6.
For me, it was one of the best and most exciting baseball games I have seen this year. For my wife, it was another in a long line of sleep interruptions perpetrated by yours truly in the name of "supporting the team." Bless her heart, she just doesn’t understand. And, honestly, I don’t expect her to. But to her credit she has tried to understand. Since marrying me, she has found herself in this bizarre world where her husband suddenly yells, from seemingly out of nowhere, at inanimate objects.
Case in point: the other night, we were driving to a friend’s house and the Braves game was on the radio. With two outs and a runner on base, the dangerous Andruw Jones strolled to the plate. I muttered under my breath, "Come on, Andruw." At least I thought I said it quietly. As it out, turns I didn’t. I said it out loud and she heard me.
"Brad, why are you talking to the radio?" she facetiously inquired. "He can’t hear you."
Before I continue, there a couple of disclaimers I need to make here. First, that wasn’t the first time something like that has happened. On several other occasions, this same scenario has played out and I usually just shrug my shoulders and move on, pretending that it’s really no big deal that a grown man talks to his radio. Second, I am not the smartest guy on the planet, but I do know that Andruw Jones could not hear me. I am well aware of the fact that I do not have an instant communication feed directly to the Braves dugout and, even if I did, I know that Jones would not necessarily seek me out for a motivational diatribe. All of this really goes without saying, but I wanted to make the point that I have not completely lost my mind.
Back to the story: Andruw promptly stuck out, ending the inning and igniting a not-so-pertinent discussion that went absolutely nowhere. I pointed out to her what I previously noted to you, that I realize these guys cannot hear me. But I get lost in the game, in the moment, in the situation and cheering out loud makes me feel like I’m right there. I care about what happens; I am emotionally involved in the game. So, of course I find it necessary to talk to the radio, television or whatever else is close by. You can easily see how this progression of caring about something to carrying on incoherent conversations with a television or radio occurs… can’t you?
Needless to say, my poor attempt at an explanation did no good. In fact, it may have made matters worse. Not only was I someone who talked to inanimate objects and expected results because of it, but I had also somehow rationalized the behavior in my mind. I think I would have been better off staying consistent with my previous reactions and simply shrugged off her question to mere female foolishness. But I didn’t just shrug it off. I couldn’t. I had to offer what – in my mind at least – amounted to somewhat of a logical explanation. Again, my explanation did absolutely no good.
Trust me, there are plenty of other examples. But telling them puts me more and more at risk of being labeled a complete nut, so I will abstain. Still, I must pay tribute to my wife – and all the other wives and/or girlfriends out there who put up with guys like me. Because as strange as this type of behavior may be, it is not uncommon.
We are the guys who have conversations with our televisions and our radios. We are the guys who jump up off the couch at ten o’clock at night while our wives quietly sleep next to us. We may wake you up, but we mean you no harm. Seriously, we don’t. And that’s the truth.
My wife, in particular, puts up with quite a bit. Football in the fall and winter is followed by college basketball in the late winter and early spring, which is then followed by a summer full of baseball. She would probably say that it seems like baseball is on every night. And, as I have said before, I tend to agree with her. The baseball season should be shortened by at least 18 games (for more on that, see a previous blog of mine), which still wouldn’t provide much relief for her. So, either way you look at it, she is stuck with this seemingly endless (to her) barrage of sports as she is also stuck with me. In my defense, I would like to point out that she knew about this long before we were married. She knew very well what she was getting when she said "I do."
And I knew exactly what I was getting into as well. I’m the lucky one. Unless I’ve done something extremely foolish (like leave the toilet seat up or drink out of the milk carton), you would be hard-pressed to find me enduring anything close to what my wife endures on a regular basis. She loves to watch cooking shows. But if Martha Stewart is seconds away from putting the finishing touches on a delicious pound cake, there is no shouting, there is no fist-pumping and there is no obnoxious incoherent one-sided television conversations. My wife refrains from all of that.
So, here’s to all the wives and girlfriends who put up with guys like me. We may wake you up with our rabid enthusiasm over a seemingly insignificant win in the fourteenth game of a one-hundred and sixty-two game season, but we don’t mean anything by it. It may indeed make you feel like you’re stuck with us. But in the words of Huey Lewis, "we’re happy to be stuck with you."
For me, it was one of the best and most exciting baseball games I have seen this year. For my wife, it was another in a long line of sleep interruptions perpetrated by yours truly in the name of "supporting the team." Bless her heart, she just doesn’t understand. And, honestly, I don’t expect her to. But to her credit she has tried to understand. Since marrying me, she has found herself in this bizarre world where her husband suddenly yells, from seemingly out of nowhere, at inanimate objects.
Case in point: the other night, we were driving to a friend’s house and the Braves game was on the radio. With two outs and a runner on base, the dangerous Andruw Jones strolled to the plate. I muttered under my breath, "Come on, Andruw." At least I thought I said it quietly. As it out, turns I didn’t. I said it out loud and she heard me.
"Brad, why are you talking to the radio?" she facetiously inquired. "He can’t hear you."
Before I continue, there a couple of disclaimers I need to make here. First, that wasn’t the first time something like that has happened. On several other occasions, this same scenario has played out and I usually just shrug my shoulders and move on, pretending that it’s really no big deal that a grown man talks to his radio. Second, I am not the smartest guy on the planet, but I do know that Andruw Jones could not hear me. I am well aware of the fact that I do not have an instant communication feed directly to the Braves dugout and, even if I did, I know that Jones would not necessarily seek me out for a motivational diatribe. All of this really goes without saying, but I wanted to make the point that I have not completely lost my mind.
Back to the story: Andruw promptly stuck out, ending the inning and igniting a not-so-pertinent discussion that went absolutely nowhere. I pointed out to her what I previously noted to you, that I realize these guys cannot hear me. But I get lost in the game, in the moment, in the situation and cheering out loud makes me feel like I’m right there. I care about what happens; I am emotionally involved in the game. So, of course I find it necessary to talk to the radio, television or whatever else is close by. You can easily see how this progression of caring about something to carrying on incoherent conversations with a television or radio occurs… can’t you?
Needless to say, my poor attempt at an explanation did no good. In fact, it may have made matters worse. Not only was I someone who talked to inanimate objects and expected results because of it, but I had also somehow rationalized the behavior in my mind. I think I would have been better off staying consistent with my previous reactions and simply shrugged off her question to mere female foolishness. But I didn’t just shrug it off. I couldn’t. I had to offer what – in my mind at least – amounted to somewhat of a logical explanation. Again, my explanation did absolutely no good.
Trust me, there are plenty of other examples. But telling them puts me more and more at risk of being labeled a complete nut, so I will abstain. Still, I must pay tribute to my wife – and all the other wives and/or girlfriends out there who put up with guys like me. Because as strange as this type of behavior may be, it is not uncommon.
We are the guys who have conversations with our televisions and our radios. We are the guys who jump up off the couch at ten o’clock at night while our wives quietly sleep next to us. We may wake you up, but we mean you no harm. Seriously, we don’t. And that’s the truth.
My wife, in particular, puts up with quite a bit. Football in the fall and winter is followed by college basketball in the late winter and early spring, which is then followed by a summer full of baseball. She would probably say that it seems like baseball is on every night. And, as I have said before, I tend to agree with her. The baseball season should be shortened by at least 18 games (for more on that, see a previous blog of mine), which still wouldn’t provide much relief for her. So, either way you look at it, she is stuck with this seemingly endless (to her) barrage of sports as she is also stuck with me. In my defense, I would like to point out that she knew about this long before we were married. She knew very well what she was getting when she said "I do."
And I knew exactly what I was getting into as well. I’m the lucky one. Unless I’ve done something extremely foolish (like leave the toilet seat up or drink out of the milk carton), you would be hard-pressed to find me enduring anything close to what my wife endures on a regular basis. She loves to watch cooking shows. But if Martha Stewart is seconds away from putting the finishing touches on a delicious pound cake, there is no shouting, there is no fist-pumping and there is no obnoxious incoherent one-sided television conversations. My wife refrains from all of that.
So, here’s to all the wives and girlfriends who put up with guys like me. We may wake you up with our rabid enthusiasm over a seemingly insignificant win in the fourteenth game of a one-hundred and sixty-two game season, but we don’t mean anything by it. It may indeed make you feel like you’re stuck with us. But in the words of Huey Lewis, "we’re happy to be stuck with you."
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Ladies of the Evening With Unclean Hair Follicles
I told myself last week when the story first broke that I was going to ignore this whole Don Imus controversy. Some radio host who looks like he just stepped out of an ad for Stetson cologne and his off-the-wall comments one morning, regardless of how offensive they may be to me or anyone else, doesn't seem to me to be the most newsworthy event that has ever happened. But apparently I need to wake up and start paying attention to what’s really important. And pay attention I can, because luckily we live in this world of the 24-hour news cycle - and all that it entrails (oops, did I say entrails instead of entails? Must have been a Freudian slip) - to properly inform us what is of monumental significance. Still, what's even more wonderful is that we are blessed to have not just one, but no less than four 24-hour news channels.
But it doesn’t stop there. Check this out: since this Imus issue is apparently so earth-shatteringly important (his comments were directed toward the Rutgers women’s basketball team), it has also spilled over into the world of sports, adding the ever-growing empire of ESPN into the mix. ESPN now has two channels on basic cable and up to three more if you have expanded cable. Put the five ESPN networks together with the four news channels and you can watch the same thing unfold on nine different channels! It’s spectacular!
It doesn't stop there because, yes, there’s more to get excited about: if you’re lucky enough to tune-in during the six or seven o’clock hours, you can add the ABC, CBS and NBC newscasts to the growing number of talking heads and the number increases to twelve. Twelve channels! Even if you have over a hundred stations from which to choose, you have a good chance of getting updates on what might have changed since you last checked five seconds ago. Is this fabulous or what? And thanks to the ticker running along the bottom of your screen, you can always keep tabs on the other, apparently less-important happenings like the Iraq War, the escalating situation with Iran and the AIDS pandemic in Africa.
Don Imus couldn’t have asked for more exposure unless he had gotten a boob job, changed his name to Anna Nicole Smith and overdosed on drugs. But then he would be dead, so this is a much better option.
Instead, all he had to do was insult a gender and an entire race with one flippant comment and he’s suddenly all over the news. It’s a great PR move if you ask me. Sure, Proctor and Gamble has pulled its sponsorship and MSNBC has now taken his simulcast off the air. But he has caught the attention of the two faces that are virtual metaphors for everything that is wrong with race relations in America today: Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. That alone brings with it publicity that money cannot buy. So Imus has spent the past few days sheepishly kissing-up to the black community and the female gender by apologizing for uttering a phrase that can be found on almost every rap album ever released. All the while, putting himself in more and more hot water – and getting more exposure than a Super Bowl halftime wardrobe malfunction.
Don’t misunderstand me, I am not excusing his remarks – nor am I saying that he should not be fired. But I am also not going to excuse insensitive remarks made by anybody else, including hip-hop artists who insult females with reckless abandon. Many of the talking heads on the numerous cable networks seem to be trying to prove that somehow rappers or comedians are exempt from the same kind of standards that Imus must uphold. Snoop Dogg or Eminem can insult anyone they want in the sacred name of artistic freedom, but Sharpton, Jackson and their imps pounce on anything anywhere else that might even resemble a racially insensitive remark or action. Come on, people: if it’s wrong, then it’s wrong. Period.
Just like it was wrong for the Sharpton and Jackson ship of idiots to zoom down to Durham, North Carolina last year and condemn the Duke lacrosse players for doing something that it turns out they never did. What I would really like to see is the two “Reverends” take a page out of Imus’ book and apologize to those lacrosse players and their families. I don't really care how sincere they may or may not be.
But will we see it? Probably not.
And the reason why we won’t see it is because right now, the 24-hour circus of a news media we have is completely engrossed in the Don Imus controversy. The fact that the Duke players have been exonerated is, at best, page six material. It will be covered, but it’s old news and so it won’t get the coverage it should. These lacrosse players have already been condemned in the court of public opinion, so to declare their innocence now would undermine the monopoly on truth the media thinks it has. Now I’m not going to go on some Limbaugh or O’Reilly-esque tirade about the so-called liberal media bias (this rant of mine has nothing to do with politics) but, to me at least, the cable news networks and ESPN are doing more to promote the idea of “killing your television” than any hippie grass-roots bumper-sticker movement could ever accomplish.
So we’re back to where we began: the redundant existence of the 24-hour news cycle in all its glory. What’s most recent or outrageous is what’s most important, despite its relevancy or truth. So when some out-of-touch disc jockey mistakes racial and sexist slurs for comedy, it gets plastered all over everywhere and everything until we start to resemble the vomit-spewing demon-possessed Exorcist girl. It’s disgusting but appropriate imagery as the whole thing is quite nauseating.
Don Imus’ comments, the media’s reaction, Sharpton and Jackson’s involvement and the public’s fascination with it all – it’s enough to make you want to turn the channel to American Idol and vote for that Sanjaya guy.
But it doesn’t stop there. Check this out: since this Imus issue is apparently so earth-shatteringly important (his comments were directed toward the Rutgers women’s basketball team), it has also spilled over into the world of sports, adding the ever-growing empire of ESPN into the mix. ESPN now has two channels on basic cable and up to three more if you have expanded cable. Put the five ESPN networks together with the four news channels and you can watch the same thing unfold on nine different channels! It’s spectacular!
It doesn't stop there because, yes, there’s more to get excited about: if you’re lucky enough to tune-in during the six or seven o’clock hours, you can add the ABC, CBS and NBC newscasts to the growing number of talking heads and the number increases to twelve. Twelve channels! Even if you have over a hundred stations from which to choose, you have a good chance of getting updates on what might have changed since you last checked five seconds ago. Is this fabulous or what? And thanks to the ticker running along the bottom of your screen, you can always keep tabs on the other, apparently less-important happenings like the Iraq War, the escalating situation with Iran and the AIDS pandemic in Africa.
Don Imus couldn’t have asked for more exposure unless he had gotten a boob job, changed his name to Anna Nicole Smith and overdosed on drugs. But then he would be dead, so this is a much better option.
Instead, all he had to do was insult a gender and an entire race with one flippant comment and he’s suddenly all over the news. It’s a great PR move if you ask me. Sure, Proctor and Gamble has pulled its sponsorship and MSNBC has now taken his simulcast off the air. But he has caught the attention of the two faces that are virtual metaphors for everything that is wrong with race relations in America today: Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. That alone brings with it publicity that money cannot buy. So Imus has spent the past few days sheepishly kissing-up to the black community and the female gender by apologizing for uttering a phrase that can be found on almost every rap album ever released. All the while, putting himself in more and more hot water – and getting more exposure than a Super Bowl halftime wardrobe malfunction.
Don’t misunderstand me, I am not excusing his remarks – nor am I saying that he should not be fired. But I am also not going to excuse insensitive remarks made by anybody else, including hip-hop artists who insult females with reckless abandon. Many of the talking heads on the numerous cable networks seem to be trying to prove that somehow rappers or comedians are exempt from the same kind of standards that Imus must uphold. Snoop Dogg or Eminem can insult anyone they want in the sacred name of artistic freedom, but Sharpton, Jackson and their imps pounce on anything anywhere else that might even resemble a racially insensitive remark or action. Come on, people: if it’s wrong, then it’s wrong. Period.
Just like it was wrong for the Sharpton and Jackson ship of idiots to zoom down to Durham, North Carolina last year and condemn the Duke lacrosse players for doing something that it turns out they never did. What I would really like to see is the two “Reverends” take a page out of Imus’ book and apologize to those lacrosse players and their families. I don't really care how sincere they may or may not be.
But will we see it? Probably not.
And the reason why we won’t see it is because right now, the 24-hour circus of a news media we have is completely engrossed in the Don Imus controversy. The fact that the Duke players have been exonerated is, at best, page six material. It will be covered, but it’s old news and so it won’t get the coverage it should. These lacrosse players have already been condemned in the court of public opinion, so to declare their innocence now would undermine the monopoly on truth the media thinks it has. Now I’m not going to go on some Limbaugh or O’Reilly-esque tirade about the so-called liberal media bias (this rant of mine has nothing to do with politics) but, to me at least, the cable news networks and ESPN are doing more to promote the idea of “killing your television” than any hippie grass-roots bumper-sticker movement could ever accomplish.
So we’re back to where we began: the redundant existence of the 24-hour news cycle in all its glory. What’s most recent or outrageous is what’s most important, despite its relevancy or truth. So when some out-of-touch disc jockey mistakes racial and sexist slurs for comedy, it gets plastered all over everywhere and everything until we start to resemble the vomit-spewing demon-possessed Exorcist girl. It’s disgusting but appropriate imagery as the whole thing is quite nauseating.
Don Imus’ comments, the media’s reaction, Sharpton and Jackson’s involvement and the public’s fascination with it all – it’s enough to make you want to turn the channel to American Idol and vote for that Sanjaya guy.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A Break From the Ordinary
C.S. Lewis or Max Lucado I am not and I don’t pretend to be. But Easter Sunday has come and gone and I would be remiss if I didn’t take a few moments away from sports and focus on what really matters. I hope you enjoy…
As has been my recent tradition right around Easter Sunday each year, I watched The Passion of the Christ the other night. Just like most movies that I watch multiple times, I tend to notice something different each time I see it. While the movie is, and rightfully so, a two-hour barrage of graphic violence and seemingly endless torture, the subtleties of its message can get lost in the brutality. You focus so much on the inhumane treatment of Jesus that you forget about the little things, the often overlooked nuances that only add to the temporary sorrow of the film and the story itself. In my most recent viewing of the movie, I picked up on some of these and I want to share them with you now.
The movie opens with our Hero in the Garden of Gethsemane praying with the type of intensity typically reserved only for the terminal wing in hospitals. But even that metaphor doesn’t do it justice. Maybe this will help: Scripture says that while He prayed, Christ’s sweat was like drops of blood as it dripped off of him and onto the ground below. It was dripping onto ground which I’m sure was not very far from his drenched face.
Now I have read in many different places that this sweat-into-blood thing is an actual existing condition called hematohydrosis, insinuating to me that this occurrence is not only possible, but probable as well. However, I’m not really into this idea that everything can be explained away by scientific rationale. After all, we’re dealing with the Son of God here, not some laboratory guinea pig lying in a gurney having needles inserted into its body every five minutes. Therefore, I’m willing to accept some supernatural influence in this situation. Regardless of whether this is an existing condition or not, the point is made – both in Scripture and in the movie – that this scene in the garden was one of extreme personal agony, one that lasted almost the entire night.
This is the ultimate example of the all-night prayer vigil. My church recently held one of those vigils as we prepare to break ground on our new church building. People signed up for different times throughout the night to pray for the elders, our church and the building process itself. It was a noble effort, indeed. But I doubt anyone was found that night to be suffering from hematohydrosis. This is not a knock against my church or churches in general; our problem as humans is that we sometimes lack that mustard-seed faith which spurs on life-changing all-night prayer vigils like this one.
When dealing with Christ’s all-night prayer vigil in the garden, we are talking about the ultimate in human agony and sorrow. That’s human agony and sorrow. But this is no ordinary human. You have to remember that our Hero knew well in advance what was in store for Him. He knew what was going to happen, how it was going to happen and who was going to do it. He knew the details, not because He was a psychic, but because He was God incarnate. And foreknowing what was going to take place only added to the agony He must have felt.
Hence the sweat turning to blood. Hence the tears. Hence the total reliance on His Father for deliverance.
How many of us – myself included – have ever prayed like Christ prayed that night? How many of us have felt such deep despair that depending on God was our only hope? How many of us have that faith, the faith that trusts completely in God no matter what the conditions are? We pray for God to deliver us from the rough times, but do we trust in Him to help us if He allows us to experience them?
The answer is typically no, and the sleeping disciples just a few feet away from Him are perfect examples of that. Forgive them for their ignorance and seeming indifference (we must forgive, as we are often also guilty of the same thing), they had been on a three-year whirlwind of a ride with a Man who had turned their lives upside down and their heads were probably still spinning from it.
This is another subtlety that can be easily overlooked if you watch The Passion only once. Far from being portrayed as saints, the disciples are shown as imperfect followers of a perfect Christ. Specifically, the movie shows sides of both Peter (“the Rock”) and John (“the disciple whom Jesus loved”) that Scripture may not include, but certainly are believable. Peter displays a sharp tendency toward violence and rage; John is almost completely lacking in the kind of forcefulness and zeal that is so evident in the books he wrote. If we are honest, we realize that we are more like them than we want to admit. We are more like the men who deserted Christ in His time of need than we are like the Man who held a personal all-night prayer vigil.
That’s yet another subtlety of the movie that a simple reading of the Gospels may or may not reveal. Christ was deserted by his closest companions in His greatest time of need. Outside of a loyal few (mostly women I might add), He was abandoned and left to suffer almost completely by Himself. It is safe to say that He suffered almost as much emotionally and spiritually as he did physically. And His despair in the garden during the prayer vigil is a preview of that suffering yet to come. Still, it is the suffering that the movie itself does a great job of portraying, until ending triumphantly with the resurrection and a not-so-subtle glimpse of the nail-scarred hands.
So another Easter has come and gone, but hopefully our focus will not change as the dates do. Some of the Christian world distinguished last week as “Holy Week,” even going so far as to give each day a special name. While all of that is fine and good, it tends to limit the celebration of what really happened to just a few days each year. And that is exactly what should not happen.
The Passion of the Christ has its obvious themes and its subtle points. But there is nothing subtle about the veil that was torn or the body that was raised or the hope that we have.
As has been my recent tradition right around Easter Sunday each year, I watched The Passion of the Christ the other night. Just like most movies that I watch multiple times, I tend to notice something different each time I see it. While the movie is, and rightfully so, a two-hour barrage of graphic violence and seemingly endless torture, the subtleties of its message can get lost in the brutality. You focus so much on the inhumane treatment of Jesus that you forget about the little things, the often overlooked nuances that only add to the temporary sorrow of the film and the story itself. In my most recent viewing of the movie, I picked up on some of these and I want to share them with you now.
The movie opens with our Hero in the Garden of Gethsemane praying with the type of intensity typically reserved only for the terminal wing in hospitals. But even that metaphor doesn’t do it justice. Maybe this will help: Scripture says that while He prayed, Christ’s sweat was like drops of blood as it dripped off of him and onto the ground below. It was dripping onto ground which I’m sure was not very far from his drenched face.
Now I have read in many different places that this sweat-into-blood thing is an actual existing condition called hematohydrosis, insinuating to me that this occurrence is not only possible, but probable as well. However, I’m not really into this idea that everything can be explained away by scientific rationale. After all, we’re dealing with the Son of God here, not some laboratory guinea pig lying in a gurney having needles inserted into its body every five minutes. Therefore, I’m willing to accept some supernatural influence in this situation. Regardless of whether this is an existing condition or not, the point is made – both in Scripture and in the movie – that this scene in the garden was one of extreme personal agony, one that lasted almost the entire night.
This is the ultimate example of the all-night prayer vigil. My church recently held one of those vigils as we prepare to break ground on our new church building. People signed up for different times throughout the night to pray for the elders, our church and the building process itself. It was a noble effort, indeed. But I doubt anyone was found that night to be suffering from hematohydrosis. This is not a knock against my church or churches in general; our problem as humans is that we sometimes lack that mustard-seed faith which spurs on life-changing all-night prayer vigils like this one.
When dealing with Christ’s all-night prayer vigil in the garden, we are talking about the ultimate in human agony and sorrow. That’s human agony and sorrow. But this is no ordinary human. You have to remember that our Hero knew well in advance what was in store for Him. He knew what was going to happen, how it was going to happen and who was going to do it. He knew the details, not because He was a psychic, but because He was God incarnate. And foreknowing what was going to take place only added to the agony He must have felt.
Hence the sweat turning to blood. Hence the tears. Hence the total reliance on His Father for deliverance.
How many of us – myself included – have ever prayed like Christ prayed that night? How many of us have felt such deep despair that depending on God was our only hope? How many of us have that faith, the faith that trusts completely in God no matter what the conditions are? We pray for God to deliver us from the rough times, but do we trust in Him to help us if He allows us to experience them?
The answer is typically no, and the sleeping disciples just a few feet away from Him are perfect examples of that. Forgive them for their ignorance and seeming indifference (we must forgive, as we are often also guilty of the same thing), they had been on a three-year whirlwind of a ride with a Man who had turned their lives upside down and their heads were probably still spinning from it.
This is another subtlety that can be easily overlooked if you watch The Passion only once. Far from being portrayed as saints, the disciples are shown as imperfect followers of a perfect Christ. Specifically, the movie shows sides of both Peter (“the Rock”) and John (“the disciple whom Jesus loved”) that Scripture may not include, but certainly are believable. Peter displays a sharp tendency toward violence and rage; John is almost completely lacking in the kind of forcefulness and zeal that is so evident in the books he wrote. If we are honest, we realize that we are more like them than we want to admit. We are more like the men who deserted Christ in His time of need than we are like the Man who held a personal all-night prayer vigil.
That’s yet another subtlety of the movie that a simple reading of the Gospels may or may not reveal. Christ was deserted by his closest companions in His greatest time of need. Outside of a loyal few (mostly women I might add), He was abandoned and left to suffer almost completely by Himself. It is safe to say that He suffered almost as much emotionally and spiritually as he did physically. And His despair in the garden during the prayer vigil is a preview of that suffering yet to come. Still, it is the suffering that the movie itself does a great job of portraying, until ending triumphantly with the resurrection and a not-so-subtle glimpse of the nail-scarred hands.
So another Easter has come and gone, but hopefully our focus will not change as the dates do. Some of the Christian world distinguished last week as “Holy Week,” even going so far as to give each day a special name. While all of that is fine and good, it tends to limit the celebration of what really happened to just a few days each year. And that is exactly what should not happen.
The Passion of the Christ has its obvious themes and its subtle points. But there is nothing subtle about the veil that was torn or the body that was raised or the hope that we have.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Six Games In, Let the Fun Begin!
One series certainly does not make a season; neither do two. You need to at least take an entire month or two of baseball into account before you can even begin forecasting the fate of a given team. But you have to like what you saw from the Atlanta Braves last week in the season’s first six games.
Three road wins against the solid Philadelphia Phillies and then taking two out of three against the mighty New York Mets is certainly a good way to start a season. Three of the five wins were of the come-from-behind variety; two of the five came in extra innings. But it was Sunday’s victory that proved to be the most improbable and important of them all.
Trailing for most of the afternoon, Atlanta had only one hit through four innings and then proceeded to leave a total of six men on base over the next three. When the bottom of the eighth finally rolled around, the Braves were still facing a 2-1 deficit and the infamous "Jonesboys" were due up. Chipper led off with a stand-up double and Andruw unceremoniously struck-out swinging. The two guys who have spent the last several years comprising the heart of Atlanta ’s lineup have begun the year with batting averages that would make Bob Uecker cringe. Up until Chipper’s lead-off double, the pair (and the entire team for that matter) were relying heavily on the number five and six hitters in the lineup - namely Brian McCann and Jeff Francoeur - to come up big.
And come up big they did.
McCann followed Andruw’s strikeout with a double to left, driving in Chipper, and Francoeur promptly doubled to right, which drove in McCann and gave Atlanta a 3-2 lead they would not surrender.
Surrendering is something the Braves did a lot of last year. Time after time (after time after time), the 2006 version of this team raised the white flag and just gave up. You knew exactly when it was coming. Every time Bobby Cox picked up the bullpen phone to make the call, it was over. Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, the supporting cast of Atlanta ’s pitching staff was about as consistent as they come. Consistently bad, that is. Even the most casual fan knows that had the bullpen held the lead for only half of the games they lost for John Smoltz, the veteran would have walked away with the Cy Young Award.
But that was last year. This year is different. It just has to be.
The Braves aren’t going to be caught handing the National League East to the Mets two years in a row. And, let’s face it, that’s exactly what happened last year. Going back to the John Smoltz theory of bullpen ineptitude: if they could have simply held the lead for half of those games, Atlanta at the worst wins the wild card and at best the whole division.
Be that as it may, they did not win their division in 2006 for the first time since the Bush administration was in office – Bush number forty-one, that is – and they couldn’t even string together a run at a wild card berth. But the Braves are back and, six games into the season at least, they are for real. If the Jonesboys can get their bats going and Kelly Johnson proves to be even a little more adept than Marcus Giles in the lead-off spot, this will be a very tough team to beat.
No, six games does not a season make, but what I’ve seen so far sure beats the heck out of the 162 they played last year.
Three road wins against the solid Philadelphia Phillies and then taking two out of three against the mighty New York Mets is certainly a good way to start a season. Three of the five wins were of the come-from-behind variety; two of the five came in extra innings. But it was Sunday’s victory that proved to be the most improbable and important of them all.
Trailing for most of the afternoon, Atlanta had only one hit through four innings and then proceeded to leave a total of six men on base over the next three. When the bottom of the eighth finally rolled around, the Braves were still facing a 2-1 deficit and the infamous "Jonesboys" were due up. Chipper led off with a stand-up double and Andruw unceremoniously struck-out swinging. The two guys who have spent the last several years comprising the heart of Atlanta ’s lineup have begun the year with batting averages that would make Bob Uecker cringe. Up until Chipper’s lead-off double, the pair (and the entire team for that matter) were relying heavily on the number five and six hitters in the lineup - namely Brian McCann and Jeff Francoeur - to come up big.
And come up big they did.
McCann followed Andruw’s strikeout with a double to left, driving in Chipper, and Francoeur promptly doubled to right, which drove in McCann and gave Atlanta a 3-2 lead they would not surrender.
Surrendering is something the Braves did a lot of last year. Time after time (after time after time), the 2006 version of this team raised the white flag and just gave up. You knew exactly when it was coming. Every time Bobby Cox picked up the bullpen phone to make the call, it was over. Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, the supporting cast of Atlanta ’s pitching staff was about as consistent as they come. Consistently bad, that is. Even the most casual fan knows that had the bullpen held the lead for only half of the games they lost for John Smoltz, the veteran would have walked away with the Cy Young Award.
But that was last year. This year is different. It just has to be.
The Braves aren’t going to be caught handing the National League East to the Mets two years in a row. And, let’s face it, that’s exactly what happened last year. Going back to the John Smoltz theory of bullpen ineptitude: if they could have simply held the lead for half of those games, Atlanta at the worst wins the wild card and at best the whole division.
Be that as it may, they did not win their division in 2006 for the first time since the Bush administration was in office – Bush number forty-one, that is – and they couldn’t even string together a run at a wild card berth. But the Braves are back and, six games into the season at least, they are for real. If the Jonesboys can get their bats going and Kelly Johnson proves to be even a little more adept than Marcus Giles in the lead-off spot, this will be a very tough team to beat.
No, six games does not a season make, but what I’ve seen so far sure beats the heck out of the 162 they played last year.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Now I Have A Dream
I read an article earlier this week about golf super-phenom Tiger Woods. With it being Masters Week, the article was timely and appropriate as it focused on the perennial favorite to be wearing the green jacket come Sunday afternoon. I have no argument against Woods’ place as today’s best golfer, and perhaps as even the best of all time. He has earned the right to be mentioned in the same breath with Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus.
What I do have a problem with is the obvious obsession the media has with his skin color. What this particular article focused on was exactly that: Tiger Woods’ skin color and why there has not been a dramatic increase of young black (or minority) golfers since his emergence in the golf world. The writer was apparently appalled that, although the best golfer in the world is “black”, there has been no sudden influx of new young black golfers (I use quotation marks here because Woods himself has never claimed to be black; on the contrary the word he has actually used is ‘conglomerate’ as both of his parents were either bi-racial or multi-racial).
What a tragedy.
I saw a white guy play cornerback for the New York Giants a few years ago and I am saddened to report that there has not been a sudden influx of new white defensive backs in the NFL. While I’m at it, Dat Nguyen, a native of Vietnam, started at middle linebacker for the Cowboys a while back. With the exception of Hines Ward (who is – gasp – bi-racial) and Nguyen, there haven't been many Asians popping up on NFL rosters lately. I’m not exactly a hockey expert, but I have also noticed a lack of black, Asian or Hispanic players on NHL rosters. And, frankly, I think we need to start a committee because obviously the NFL, the NHL and the PGA Tour are all desperately in need of diversity training.
All sarcasm aside, this has gotten a bit ridiculous. It is Masters Week, one of the most sacred golf weeks of the entire year. The eyes of the golfing world are focused on Augusta, Georgia this weekend. The event itself is dripping with history and tradition – some good and some bad. There is more than a tinge of racism amongst the fairways of Augusta National, but you won’t hear anyone there argue that Tiger Woods isn’t a great golfer in his own right. And you certainly will be hard-pressed to find anyone there who will focus as much on the race issue as the derelict who wrote that article did.
When and why did everything become a race issue? Why do we have to throw some Presidential-sized gala when a black coach wins the Super Bowl or a Hispanic kid shoots even par on a putt-putt course?
After all, aren’t we all just people? Do our actions and accomplishments have to be defined based solely on or in light of our skin color or our heritage?
I know from past interviews I’ve seen that Tiger Woods certainly does not want to be labeled based on the pigment of his skin. So please accommodate his request.
Sure, there’s racism out there. I am not arguing that racism isn’t a real problem in America and in the rest of the world. What I am arguing is that this fixation, this utter obsession with pointing out every athlete’s accomplishments as it relates to their race or ethnicity is absurd. It does more harm than good.
The state of Alabama and the university that bears its name does not have a long history of racial harmony. But the football team had a coach a few years back that you may have heard of.
Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant was responsible for racially integrating a team that even before it included some of the nation’s best black players was a football powerhouse, consistently contending not only for SEC crowns, but national championships as well. After a few years had gone by and the Crimson Tide had at least as many black players as white players, Coach Bryant was asked by some brainless reporter (maybe the same one that wrote that article on Woods), “How many black players do you have on your team?” Bryant’s answer was as honest as it was poignant, “I don’t have black players. I don’t have white players. I just have players.” A guy never really known for his wit, Bryant answered the question in such a way that makes me wish he was still around to leave reporters like this joker speechless.
Several years later, another coach you may have heard of was on a stage, lofting a silver trophy which signified that he had reached the pinnacle of his profession and was literally on top of the world.
Tony Dungy, head coach of the Indianapolis Colts had just won the Super Bowl. It was during this moment of celebration and triumph that some moron with a microphone jumped in and asked another in a long line of dumb questions. “Coach Dungy, how does it feel to be the first black head coach to win a Super Bowl?”
Before I share Coach Dungy’s answer, let me tell you about what had gone on in his life during the previous year before that Super Bowl. In December of 2005, Dungy’s eighteen-year old son committed suicide. It was a loss that affected the entire Colt organization, not to mention the whole Dungy family. It certainly caused the coach to put things in their proper perspective, and it is also probably what triggered the following response to an otherwise asinine question. “Well, I am proud to be the first black coach to do that. But what I’m more proud of is that two Christian coaches were out here today proving that you can do things the Lord’s way and still be successful.” I would say the man definitely learned how to put things in perspective.
In the end, that’s all I am really asking of the media. Follow the lead of guys like Bryant and Dungy and put things in their proper perspective. There is no need to focus – ad nauseam – on issues like the lack of young, up-and-coming minority golfers. Focus instead on Tiger Woods the athlete – not the black athlete – and what amazing things he has accomplished as a golfer. If what I said earlier does not confirm the utter stupidity of some in the media and their obsession with this race issue, let me offer up another anecdote.
Back in January of 1988, in the week leading up to Super Bowl XXII, Doug Williams was about to become the first black quarterback to play in the NFL’s Championship Game. During a press conference, a reporter sincerely asked the following question of the man who would later lead the Washington Redskins to an improbable blowout of the heavily favored Denver Broncos: “Mr. Williams, how long have you been a black quarterback?”
That solidifies it for me. Please, can’t they all just be athletes instead of black or white or pink or blue athletes or whatever other color they may be? Can we please just focus on the individual and their accomplishments and not their skin color? After all, in agreement with Tony Dungy, that’s the Lord’s way of doing it.
What I do have a problem with is the obvious obsession the media has with his skin color. What this particular article focused on was exactly that: Tiger Woods’ skin color and why there has not been a dramatic increase of young black (or minority) golfers since his emergence in the golf world. The writer was apparently appalled that, although the best golfer in the world is “black”, there has been no sudden influx of new young black golfers (I use quotation marks here because Woods himself has never claimed to be black; on the contrary the word he has actually used is ‘conglomerate’ as both of his parents were either bi-racial or multi-racial).
What a tragedy.
I saw a white guy play cornerback for the New York Giants a few years ago and I am saddened to report that there has not been a sudden influx of new white defensive backs in the NFL. While I’m at it, Dat Nguyen, a native of Vietnam, started at middle linebacker for the Cowboys a while back. With the exception of Hines Ward (who is – gasp – bi-racial) and Nguyen, there haven't been many Asians popping up on NFL rosters lately. I’m not exactly a hockey expert, but I have also noticed a lack of black, Asian or Hispanic players on NHL rosters. And, frankly, I think we need to start a committee because obviously the NFL, the NHL and the PGA Tour are all desperately in need of diversity training.
All sarcasm aside, this has gotten a bit ridiculous. It is Masters Week, one of the most sacred golf weeks of the entire year. The eyes of the golfing world are focused on Augusta, Georgia this weekend. The event itself is dripping with history and tradition – some good and some bad. There is more than a tinge of racism amongst the fairways of Augusta National, but you won’t hear anyone there argue that Tiger Woods isn’t a great golfer in his own right. And you certainly will be hard-pressed to find anyone there who will focus as much on the race issue as the derelict who wrote that article did.
When and why did everything become a race issue? Why do we have to throw some Presidential-sized gala when a black coach wins the Super Bowl or a Hispanic kid shoots even par on a putt-putt course?
After all, aren’t we all just people? Do our actions and accomplishments have to be defined based solely on or in light of our skin color or our heritage?
I know from past interviews I’ve seen that Tiger Woods certainly does not want to be labeled based on the pigment of his skin. So please accommodate his request.
Sure, there’s racism out there. I am not arguing that racism isn’t a real problem in America and in the rest of the world. What I am arguing is that this fixation, this utter obsession with pointing out every athlete’s accomplishments as it relates to their race or ethnicity is absurd. It does more harm than good.
The state of Alabama and the university that bears its name does not have a long history of racial harmony. But the football team had a coach a few years back that you may have heard of.
Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant was responsible for racially integrating a team that even before it included some of the nation’s best black players was a football powerhouse, consistently contending not only for SEC crowns, but national championships as well. After a few years had gone by and the Crimson Tide had at least as many black players as white players, Coach Bryant was asked by some brainless reporter (maybe the same one that wrote that article on Woods), “How many black players do you have on your team?” Bryant’s answer was as honest as it was poignant, “I don’t have black players. I don’t have white players. I just have players.” A guy never really known for his wit, Bryant answered the question in such a way that makes me wish he was still around to leave reporters like this joker speechless.
Several years later, another coach you may have heard of was on a stage, lofting a silver trophy which signified that he had reached the pinnacle of his profession and was literally on top of the world.
Tony Dungy, head coach of the Indianapolis Colts had just won the Super Bowl. It was during this moment of celebration and triumph that some moron with a microphone jumped in and asked another in a long line of dumb questions. “Coach Dungy, how does it feel to be the first black head coach to win a Super Bowl?”
Before I share Coach Dungy’s answer, let me tell you about what had gone on in his life during the previous year before that Super Bowl. In December of 2005, Dungy’s eighteen-year old son committed suicide. It was a loss that affected the entire Colt organization, not to mention the whole Dungy family. It certainly caused the coach to put things in their proper perspective, and it is also probably what triggered the following response to an otherwise asinine question. “Well, I am proud to be the first black coach to do that. But what I’m more proud of is that two Christian coaches were out here today proving that you can do things the Lord’s way and still be successful.” I would say the man definitely learned how to put things in perspective.
In the end, that’s all I am really asking of the media. Follow the lead of guys like Bryant and Dungy and put things in their proper perspective. There is no need to focus – ad nauseam – on issues like the lack of young, up-and-coming minority golfers. Focus instead on Tiger Woods the athlete – not the black athlete – and what amazing things he has accomplished as a golfer. If what I said earlier does not confirm the utter stupidity of some in the media and their obsession with this race issue, let me offer up another anecdote.
Back in January of 1988, in the week leading up to Super Bowl XXII, Doug Williams was about to become the first black quarterback to play in the NFL’s Championship Game. During a press conference, a reporter sincerely asked the following question of the man who would later lead the Washington Redskins to an improbable blowout of the heavily favored Denver Broncos: “Mr. Williams, how long have you been a black quarterback?”
That solidifies it for me. Please, can’t they all just be athletes instead of black or white or pink or blue athletes or whatever other color they may be? Can we please just focus on the individual and their accomplishments and not their skin color? After all, in agreement with Tony Dungy, that’s the Lord’s way of doing it.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Just Above Defrosting My Freezer
Always keeping in mind that this is my blog and, therefore, what I say here is what goes, I have a brief list of what I consider to be completely unwatchable sports. Excluding the more obscure sports that not even ESPN2 will show anymore (although they did show the National Jump Rope Championship yesterday), my list includes hockey, auto racing and soccer. Please don't misunderstand me, I am not merely buying into some stereotype, I have legitimately tried to watch and enjoy all three of these sports.
Much to my chagrin, I have enjoyed none of them.
Hockey is too Canadian, auto racing - NASCAR specifically - still carries with it the persona of being geared (pun intended) to the type of crowd that doesn’t know what “persona” means and soccer is the entertainment equivalent of watching paint dry, grass grow, snails move and so forth.
So now that I have completely alienated half of those that read my blog (I think I’m up to five or six people now), let me underscore again that this is how I feel. And why I do think that it’s also how you should feel, I can still maintain an open mind about differing opinions.
Plus, I’m realistic: NASCAR has a huge audience, soccer is the world’s most popular sport and somebody somewhere is still watching hockey – I think.
But right there with hockey, auto racing and soccer is another sport that, for many different reasons, I have an extremely hard time watching as well. Regular-season NBA basketball is an over-hyped, cacophony of show-boating, rule-breaking and me-first hoops that perpetually exhibits a complete disregard for the fundamentals that are at the heart of an otherwise beautiful sport.
Whatever happened to referees actually blowing the whistle on walking, traveling or palming violations? Whatever happened to team-oriented offense? Whatever happened to defense?
Now, I am all for one-hundred point games – just not by one person. Kobe Bryant’s eighty-one point performance last year was celebrated as a monumental achievement, the likes of which had not been seen since, well, the last time the Lakers’ superstar hogged the ball for a full forty-eight minutes.
And while I don’t mean to blame one player for all the ills of the NBA, guys like Bryant tend to be the flag-bearers for most of what epitomizes the problems the sport has. You could actually insert any number of names in Byrant’s place: Iverson, McGrady, Anthony, Pierce, James; the list of guys whose contributions to the betterment of the game itself are basically null and void goes on and on (please excuse my failure to mention Ron Artest in this list; I’m trying to create debate here, not completely close the case. To bring that guy into the conversation would not be fair to those who think the NBA does not have an image problem).
However, it isn’t just this self-promoting style of anything-goes-basketball that has left me disgruntled with the league. For me at least, there is a paradox that exists. See, I can watch playoff NBA basketball - not the first round variety where almost half the league somehow finds a way into the league’s tournament, but the second round and following – and especially the Finals. But the regular season is almost nauseating. Eighty-two games of selfish offense and non-existent defense is just way too much for me to handle. The playoffs, on the other hand, are turned up a few extra notches. Defense suddenly appears – from seemingly out of nowhere – and teams quickly find at least some semblance of an offense.
Now I realize that this disparity between regular and post-season effort and intensity exists in almost every major sport, but not to the extent that it does in the NBA.
Major League pitchers can’t fudge a fastball in June or more men will round the bases on them than Heidi Fleiss at a post-Oscar party. NFL linebackers can’t take a couple of downs off in early September or some four-hundred pound behemoth of an offensive lineman will give him the rest of the season off. Pitchers and linebackers have to maintain a high level of focus and intensity throughout the season in order to perform at an even higher level when October and January comes around. Again, the intensity disparity exists, but not like it does in the NBA.
Still, there is hope. Players like Dwyane Wade in Miami, Steve Nash in Phoenix, Tim Duncan in San Antonio, Kevin Garnett in Minnesota and even Allen Iverson in Denver (yes, I know I called him out earlier; but he rarely takes nights off) seem to bring their intensity and effort to the court each night – regular or post-season. But this type of player is rather difficult to spot in today’s NBA. Most guys seem to believe that entertaining, rather than being a good teammate, is what’s really important.
I have heard it said many times that in college basketball, the name on the front of the jersey is what’s important. In pro basketball, the name on the back of the jersey is what’s important. And therein lies the problem.
No, I am not naïve enough to think that NFL and Major League players aren’t selfish or egotistical. But the game of basketball inherently provides numerous opportunities for players on a game-by-game basis to either be self-centered or team-oriented. You do need the Michael Jordans or the Kobe Bryants to step up in the final minute and be willing to take the game-winning shot, but there are forty-seven other minutes in which the four other players on the team can be and should be involved.
The University of Florida won the 2007 Men’s Basketball National Championship with five starters that each averaged scoring at least ten points a game, with none averaging more than fourteen. Yes, the college game is different – much different. But basketball is basketball is basketball and until the NBA moves away from this seeming obsession with thirty, forty or fifty point scorers and into a direction that incorporates more of a team concept, the regular season will continue to fade into anonymity and, as I have stated before, be ranked somewhere on my priority list just above defrosting my freezer.
Much to my chagrin, I have enjoyed none of them.
Hockey is too Canadian, auto racing - NASCAR specifically - still carries with it the persona of being geared (pun intended) to the type of crowd that doesn’t know what “persona” means and soccer is the entertainment equivalent of watching paint dry, grass grow, snails move and so forth.
So now that I have completely alienated half of those that read my blog (I think I’m up to five or six people now), let me underscore again that this is how I feel. And why I do think that it’s also how you should feel, I can still maintain an open mind about differing opinions.
Plus, I’m realistic: NASCAR has a huge audience, soccer is the world’s most popular sport and somebody somewhere is still watching hockey – I think.
But right there with hockey, auto racing and soccer is another sport that, for many different reasons, I have an extremely hard time watching as well. Regular-season NBA basketball is an over-hyped, cacophony of show-boating, rule-breaking and me-first hoops that perpetually exhibits a complete disregard for the fundamentals that are at the heart of an otherwise beautiful sport.
Whatever happened to referees actually blowing the whistle on walking, traveling or palming violations? Whatever happened to team-oriented offense? Whatever happened to defense?
Now, I am all for one-hundred point games – just not by one person. Kobe Bryant’s eighty-one point performance last year was celebrated as a monumental achievement, the likes of which had not been seen since, well, the last time the Lakers’ superstar hogged the ball for a full forty-eight minutes.
And while I don’t mean to blame one player for all the ills of the NBA, guys like Bryant tend to be the flag-bearers for most of what epitomizes the problems the sport has. You could actually insert any number of names in Byrant’s place: Iverson, McGrady, Anthony, Pierce, James; the list of guys whose contributions to the betterment of the game itself are basically null and void goes on and on (please excuse my failure to mention Ron Artest in this list; I’m trying to create debate here, not completely close the case. To bring that guy into the conversation would not be fair to those who think the NBA does not have an image problem).
However, it isn’t just this self-promoting style of anything-goes-basketball that has left me disgruntled with the league. For me at least, there is a paradox that exists. See, I can watch playoff NBA basketball - not the first round variety where almost half the league somehow finds a way into the league’s tournament, but the second round and following – and especially the Finals. But the regular season is almost nauseating. Eighty-two games of selfish offense and non-existent defense is just way too much for me to handle. The playoffs, on the other hand, are turned up a few extra notches. Defense suddenly appears – from seemingly out of nowhere – and teams quickly find at least some semblance of an offense.
Now I realize that this disparity between regular and post-season effort and intensity exists in almost every major sport, but not to the extent that it does in the NBA.
Major League pitchers can’t fudge a fastball in June or more men will round the bases on them than Heidi Fleiss at a post-Oscar party. NFL linebackers can’t take a couple of downs off in early September or some four-hundred pound behemoth of an offensive lineman will give him the rest of the season off. Pitchers and linebackers have to maintain a high level of focus and intensity throughout the season in order to perform at an even higher level when October and January comes around. Again, the intensity disparity exists, but not like it does in the NBA.
Still, there is hope. Players like Dwyane Wade in Miami, Steve Nash in Phoenix, Tim Duncan in San Antonio, Kevin Garnett in Minnesota and even Allen Iverson in Denver (yes, I know I called him out earlier; but he rarely takes nights off) seem to bring their intensity and effort to the court each night – regular or post-season. But this type of player is rather difficult to spot in today’s NBA. Most guys seem to believe that entertaining, rather than being a good teammate, is what’s really important.
I have heard it said many times that in college basketball, the name on the front of the jersey is what’s important. In pro basketball, the name on the back of the jersey is what’s important. And therein lies the problem.
No, I am not naïve enough to think that NFL and Major League players aren’t selfish or egotistical. But the game of basketball inherently provides numerous opportunities for players on a game-by-game basis to either be self-centered or team-oriented. You do need the Michael Jordans or the Kobe Bryants to step up in the final minute and be willing to take the game-winning shot, but there are forty-seven other minutes in which the four other players on the team can be and should be involved.
The University of Florida won the 2007 Men’s Basketball National Championship with five starters that each averaged scoring at least ten points a game, with none averaging more than fourteen. Yes, the college game is different – much different. But basketball is basketball is basketball and until the NBA moves away from this seeming obsession with thirty, forty or fifty point scorers and into a direction that incorporates more of a team concept, the regular season will continue to fade into anonymity and, as I have stated before, be ranked somewhere on my priority list just above defrosting my freezer.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
A Rather Full Trophy Case
Every now and then in the world of sports we are fortunate enough to witness something remarkable, something unprecedented and something that will probably never happen again. And as much as I would absolutely love to spend my time here ridiculing and wielding my words in such as way as to perpetually humiliate the Buckeyes for their inept display against the mighty Gators of the SEC (two times now in the span of a few months), I will not do such a thing.
I will, however, congratulate the University of Florida for what is essentially back-to-back-to-back championships and continue to proudly raise and wave the banner of the most powerful conference in all of college sports, the SEC.
It is simply an amazing accomplishment for Billy Donovan, Urban Meyer and their teams to do what they have done over the past twelve months. Three undisputed national championships in the span of a year is something of which legends are made.
Over the years, the NCAA Tournament has proven to be a literal gauntlet for many of the most talented teams in college basketball. What happens – more often than not – is that the “best” team in the country does not win it all, leaving many to scratch their heads and wonder “what could have been?” That may have been the case last year, but certainly not this year.
This Gator team was the best in college basketball from start to finish this season, no question about it. What’s more impressive than that is this: Donovan’s Gators have run that gauntlet two years in a row now, winning national championships both times. Coupled with their success in the SEC Tournament, they have now racked up eighteen consecutive post-season wins. They did it this year with the veritable bull’s eye on their jerseys all season long, making this year’s run maybe even more remarkable than the one a year ago. To my friends who are also members of the ever-expanding Gator Nation, congratulations again. Today is at least the third time in the last 365 days when you can say, “It’s great to be a Florida Gator.”
Now, onto the cynicism. If it is indeed true that “cynicism is the tool of the lazy thinker,” then call this criticism instead of cynicism. Whatever you want to call it, I have a few bones to pick with the handling of this year’s NCAA Tournament – by the refs, CBS, the Tournament Committee and Billy Packer himself.
First, the refs: unlike Packer (who I will deal with later), I do think that five personal fouls should mean disqualification for a player. I think, for the most part, college referees are fair and (unlike NBA refs) do not give preferential treatment to star players. So I do not have a huge problem with the number of fouls called on guys like Oden or Hibbert or Noah; that is part of the game. What I do have a problem with is consistency - as in, there is none. Last night’s National Championship Game was the epitome of inconsistent officiating and ambiguous calls. Oden all but tackled Brewer at one point as the Gator forward went up for a dunk – no call. On the other end, Noah swats at the ball and gets called for a foul. I could go on and on with examples – and not just from last night’s game. The entire tournament was poorly (see: Jeff Green moon-walking in the final seconds of Georgetown’s win over Vanderbilt and other occurrences) and inconsistently officiated. I am not asking for Noah not to get called for swatting at the ball, I just want consistency.
Second, CBS: you would think that the network was trying to set some kind of world record for number of commercials shown during a three-week span. If I see another one of those Chevrolet commercials with Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and some rapper driving a car to the tune of a new-age version of “Sweet Home Alabama,” I might just go postal.
Still, I have to commend Clark Kellogg for his analysis, which is outstanding year after year. He is simply one of the best studio analysts on television. I wish I could say the same for Seth Davis.
Third, the Tournament Committee: all I have to say is one word: Stanford. How in the world does Stanford get in the tournament? I know that each year there is at least one or two teams that get unfairly left out of the field and there is this endless debate over who should have gotten in or who should not have. But, Stanford? These guys went 18-13. They lost to Santa Clara by 16 and Air Force by 34.
And then they lost in the first round of the tournament to Louisville by 20. It was poetic justice, I guess you could say.
Finally, Billy Packer: he is easily the most annoying college basketball analyst this side of Dick Vitale. At least with Vitale, you know he’s going to champion the cause of Duke every time he opens his mouth (many thanks to the inventor of the mute button). With Packer, it changes from game to game. But no matter what, you always seem to get the same kind of pointless drivel coming out of his mouth.
Last night it was an in-depth commentary on how the Buckeyes looked tired from the opening tip. “Oden looks so tired,” he would say. “The Buckeyes are worn out,” he would add later.
I said earlier that if I see that Chevy commercial again, I will go postal. If I hear Packer talk about how tired Oden and the Buckeyes looked again, I will make the CBS analyst my first target. Somebody tell that admiral of asinine statements that it’s the NCAA Tournament and there is no tomorrow. So if you’re tired, too bad. You should have actually run wind sprints and committed yourself to conditioning back in October so that with fifteen minutes left in the first half you don’t look like Rosie O’Donnell climbing the steps to the local deli for another foot-long hoagie. Fatigue had nothing to do with it. Florida was just the better team last night, period. Come on, Packer, give credit where credit is due.
Overall, while the tournament itself was a little lacking in excitement (no big upsets), the Final Four was exactly what it should be. Four powerhouse programs made it to Atlanta and provided three pretty good games. As far as conferences go, the SEC and PAC-10 made the most noise, while the ACC and Big Ten (aside from Ohio State and North Carolina) didn’t even show up. That’s two years in a row that the ACC has underachieved in the tournament and you won’t hear any complaints coming from me. Hopefully it will keep Vitale’s mouth shut for a few months.
So, here I am, bidding farewell to March and the madness it held. I turn my attention away from basketball and toward baseball because I rank the NBA somewhere just above defrosting my freezer on my priority list. And, trust me, that’s not very high…
I will, however, congratulate the University of Florida for what is essentially back-to-back-to-back championships and continue to proudly raise and wave the banner of the most powerful conference in all of college sports, the SEC.
It is simply an amazing accomplishment for Billy Donovan, Urban Meyer and their teams to do what they have done over the past twelve months. Three undisputed national championships in the span of a year is something of which legends are made.
Over the years, the NCAA Tournament has proven to be a literal gauntlet for many of the most talented teams in college basketball. What happens – more often than not – is that the “best” team in the country does not win it all, leaving many to scratch their heads and wonder “what could have been?” That may have been the case last year, but certainly not this year.
This Gator team was the best in college basketball from start to finish this season, no question about it. What’s more impressive than that is this: Donovan’s Gators have run that gauntlet two years in a row now, winning national championships both times. Coupled with their success in the SEC Tournament, they have now racked up eighteen consecutive post-season wins. They did it this year with the veritable bull’s eye on their jerseys all season long, making this year’s run maybe even more remarkable than the one a year ago. To my friends who are also members of the ever-expanding Gator Nation, congratulations again. Today is at least the third time in the last 365 days when you can say, “It’s great to be a Florida Gator.”
Now, onto the cynicism. If it is indeed true that “cynicism is the tool of the lazy thinker,” then call this criticism instead of cynicism. Whatever you want to call it, I have a few bones to pick with the handling of this year’s NCAA Tournament – by the refs, CBS, the Tournament Committee and Billy Packer himself.
First, the refs: unlike Packer (who I will deal with later), I do think that five personal fouls should mean disqualification for a player. I think, for the most part, college referees are fair and (unlike NBA refs) do not give preferential treatment to star players. So I do not have a huge problem with the number of fouls called on guys like Oden or Hibbert or Noah; that is part of the game. What I do have a problem with is consistency - as in, there is none. Last night’s National Championship Game was the epitome of inconsistent officiating and ambiguous calls. Oden all but tackled Brewer at one point as the Gator forward went up for a dunk – no call. On the other end, Noah swats at the ball and gets called for a foul. I could go on and on with examples – and not just from last night’s game. The entire tournament was poorly (see: Jeff Green moon-walking in the final seconds of Georgetown’s win over Vanderbilt and other occurrences) and inconsistently officiated. I am not asking for Noah not to get called for swatting at the ball, I just want consistency.
Second, CBS: you would think that the network was trying to set some kind of world record for number of commercials shown during a three-week span. If I see another one of those Chevrolet commercials with Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and some rapper driving a car to the tune of a new-age version of “Sweet Home Alabama,” I might just go postal.
Still, I have to commend Clark Kellogg for his analysis, which is outstanding year after year. He is simply one of the best studio analysts on television. I wish I could say the same for Seth Davis.
Third, the Tournament Committee: all I have to say is one word: Stanford. How in the world does Stanford get in the tournament? I know that each year there is at least one or two teams that get unfairly left out of the field and there is this endless debate over who should have gotten in or who should not have. But, Stanford? These guys went 18-13. They lost to Santa Clara by 16 and Air Force by 34.
And then they lost in the first round of the tournament to Louisville by 20. It was poetic justice, I guess you could say.
Finally, Billy Packer: he is easily the most annoying college basketball analyst this side of Dick Vitale. At least with Vitale, you know he’s going to champion the cause of Duke every time he opens his mouth (many thanks to the inventor of the mute button). With Packer, it changes from game to game. But no matter what, you always seem to get the same kind of pointless drivel coming out of his mouth.
Last night it was an in-depth commentary on how the Buckeyes looked tired from the opening tip. “Oden looks so tired,” he would say. “The Buckeyes are worn out,” he would add later.
I said earlier that if I see that Chevy commercial again, I will go postal. If I hear Packer talk about how tired Oden and the Buckeyes looked again, I will make the CBS analyst my first target. Somebody tell that admiral of asinine statements that it’s the NCAA Tournament and there is no tomorrow. So if you’re tired, too bad. You should have actually run wind sprints and committed yourself to conditioning back in October so that with fifteen minutes left in the first half you don’t look like Rosie O’Donnell climbing the steps to the local deli for another foot-long hoagie. Fatigue had nothing to do with it. Florida was just the better team last night, period. Come on, Packer, give credit where credit is due.
Overall, while the tournament itself was a little lacking in excitement (no big upsets), the Final Four was exactly what it should be. Four powerhouse programs made it to Atlanta and provided three pretty good games. As far as conferences go, the SEC and PAC-10 made the most noise, while the ACC and Big Ten (aside from Ohio State and North Carolina) didn’t even show up. That’s two years in a row that the ACC has underachieved in the tournament and you won’t hear any complaints coming from me. Hopefully it will keep Vitale’s mouth shut for a few months.
So, here I am, bidding farewell to March and the madness it held. I turn my attention away from basketball and toward baseball because I rank the NBA somewhere just above defrosting my freezer on my priority list. And, trust me, that’s not very high…
Monday, April 2, 2007
Two Barrys By The Bay, Let's Hope One Goes Away
I am not in my mid-eighties, so I never saw Babe Ruth play. I am also under forty, so I have only seen old highlights of Hank Aaron. Fortunately, however, I am old enough to have seen Barry Bonds play for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the late 80s and early 90s. I saw him hit, run and play left field like some of the best baseball ever had to offer. At that time he was what has become a rarity in today’s game: a legitimate five-tool player. But that was fifteen years, three hat sizes and five hundred illegitimate home runs ago.
Now, he's a supped-up version of his old, Hall of Fame self; disgustingly muscular, obnoxiously arrogant and irritatingly close to one of sports' most hallowed records. As a result, in the Spring and Summer of 2007, we find ourselves in the midst of the biggest sports snafu since college football’s Bowl Championship Series began in 1999. Despite the erroneous nature of both Bonds’ pursuit of the home run record and the establishment of the BCS, the difference between the two is that the BCS was not on the verge of breaking one of its sport’s most sacred and beloved records when it was formed. Bonds is on the road to breaking a record that most would have sworn would never be broken.
How in the world could anyone anywhere hit more than 755 home runs in a career?
It would take a miracle, an act of God, a month full of full moons; all the stars in the universe would have to be perfectly aligned for anyone to even come close. Baseball deserves a larger-than-life hero to break its sacred records. Jerry Rice was worthy enough to break the NFL's touchdown records. Emmitt Smith was also as worthy to break Sweetness' yardage mark. Cal Ripken was certainly justified in breaking baseball's consecutive games played streak. So, give us someone worthy to break Hammerin' Hank's mark, please.
Unfortunately, it has not worked out that way at all. Instead what we get is a man with fewer scruples than Tony Soprano – and with even shadier connections.
Barry Bonds is a cheater, plain and simple. His freakish appearance is enough to give that away. Nobody’s middle-aged head grows to the size of an over-inflated basketball without some serious genetic assistance. Genetic assistance, in this case, being steroids.
Still, he’s gotten away with it up to this point. He is currently so far away from being caught that the San Francisco Giants re-signed him to a one-year deal that will guarantee him more money than his cohort Soprano could make in a decade at Bada-Bing.
Speaking of cohorts, the Giants added another Barry – Zito, to be exact – to their repertoire, moving the perennial American League All-star from just across the bay to the friendly confines of the house that Bonds built. What is definitely a good move for the Giants is bad for the Athletics and has created a strange set of circumstances in the Bay Area. We have two Barry’s in San Francisco, one with a big arm and one with a big head. You figure out which one is which.
The success of the Giants depends on both Barry’s having good seasons. For Barry Bonds, having a good season means that he will break Aaron's home run record (probably at least by mid-season) and break the hearts of sports fans all over America who haven't been living under a rock for the past several years. For Barry Zito, having a good season means the Giants win the NL West, giving him a realistic shot to actually win a playoff series and possibly make a World Series appearance.
Whatever happens, the San Francisco Giants are legitimate contenders for at least a division title. And I certainly would not begrudge at least one of the Barry’s a shot at that.
Which one is that, you ask?
Oh, the one with the normal sized head.
Now, he's a supped-up version of his old, Hall of Fame self; disgustingly muscular, obnoxiously arrogant and irritatingly close to one of sports' most hallowed records. As a result, in the Spring and Summer of 2007, we find ourselves in the midst of the biggest sports snafu since college football’s Bowl Championship Series began in 1999. Despite the erroneous nature of both Bonds’ pursuit of the home run record and the establishment of the BCS, the difference between the two is that the BCS was not on the verge of breaking one of its sport’s most sacred and beloved records when it was formed. Bonds is on the road to breaking a record that most would have sworn would never be broken.
How in the world could anyone anywhere hit more than 755 home runs in a career?
It would take a miracle, an act of God, a month full of full moons; all the stars in the universe would have to be perfectly aligned for anyone to even come close. Baseball deserves a larger-than-life hero to break its sacred records. Jerry Rice was worthy enough to break the NFL's touchdown records. Emmitt Smith was also as worthy to break Sweetness' yardage mark. Cal Ripken was certainly justified in breaking baseball's consecutive games played streak. So, give us someone worthy to break Hammerin' Hank's mark, please.
Unfortunately, it has not worked out that way at all. Instead what we get is a man with fewer scruples than Tony Soprano – and with even shadier connections.
Barry Bonds is a cheater, plain and simple. His freakish appearance is enough to give that away. Nobody’s middle-aged head grows to the size of an over-inflated basketball without some serious genetic assistance. Genetic assistance, in this case, being steroids.
Still, he’s gotten away with it up to this point. He is currently so far away from being caught that the San Francisco Giants re-signed him to a one-year deal that will guarantee him more money than his cohort Soprano could make in a decade at Bada-Bing.
Speaking of cohorts, the Giants added another Barry – Zito, to be exact – to their repertoire, moving the perennial American League All-star from just across the bay to the friendly confines of the house that Bonds built. What is definitely a good move for the Giants is bad for the Athletics and has created a strange set of circumstances in the Bay Area. We have two Barry’s in San Francisco, one with a big arm and one with a big head. You figure out which one is which.
The success of the Giants depends on both Barry’s having good seasons. For Barry Bonds, having a good season means that he will break Aaron's home run record (probably at least by mid-season) and break the hearts of sports fans all over America who haven't been living under a rock for the past several years. For Barry Zito, having a good season means the Giants win the NL West, giving him a realistic shot to actually win a playoff series and possibly make a World Series appearance.
Whatever happens, the San Francisco Giants are legitimate contenders for at least a division title. And I certainly would not begrudge at least one of the Barry’s a shot at that.
Which one is that, you ask?
Oh, the one with the normal sized head.
The Maiden Blog
Coincidentally - or not coincidentally, however you may see it - I begin my blog on Opening Day of the 2007 MLB season. The older I get, the more I find myself year after year anxiously anticipating the start of a new baseball season. The Mets and Cardinals started things off last night, but today is officially Opening Day; and for the next seven months, there is baseball on TV nearly every single day (if you ask my wife, it is on every single day). While you will not hear me argue that there is too much baseball on, I will have to concede that 162 games are far too many. Could we not go back to the 144-game schedule and still muster up the same excitement and pageantry? I think shortening the season would only add to the excitement, not take away from it.Still, you will probably never see the schedule shortened - other than in a strike season of course - so my argument is inherently futile and pointless. But it makes for good bloggin'...
As with each baseball season, my eyes this year are on the Atlanta Braves. Admittedly, I am excited and more than a little optimistic about their chances. Simply put, this 2007 group of Braves is a very likable team. It hearkens back to the days of yore (Yore? yes, yore) when guys like Mark Lemke, Sid Bream, Terry Pendleton and Ron Gant comprised a team that you could not help but support and admire. But likeability and camaraderie do not win Division titles, League Pennants or World Series rings - talent does. Please do not hear me wrong and think I'm stepping out on a ledge and predicting a World Series Title for this team, but I do like the lineup and I am impressed with the off-season improvements made in a bullpen that last year handed the division to the Mets. Plus, as a Georgia boy myself, I have to like a team that - on any given night - could put as many as five born and raised Georgians on the field. Not bad...
Sports Illustrated has picked a Dodger/Angel World Series, some "experts" like the Giants' chances out west, the Yankees always get their notoriety, the Cardinals are still very good and the Mets are a popular pick in the NL East. I will stick with my Braves in the NL East (the Mets' starting pitching is just not strong enough), the Phillies as the Wild Card, the Giants in the West and the Cardinals in the Central. Watch out for the Dodgers and the Brewers. Yes, the Brewers.
Now I am really going to go out on a limb and take the Yankees and Red Sox in the AL East, with the Angels and the Tigers winning their respective divisions. As we have learned from years past, you cannot count out Oakland - no matter what month it is - and Minnesota is still quite strong. Why not have a Cardinals/Yankees World Series? Sounds good to me...
Before I close, I want it known that I am one of only about 250,000 other people who correctly picked this year's Final Four. Of course, I also had Georgia Tech going to the Sweet 16. Quite a paradox, huh? That's why it's called March Madness...
More to come later, including:
The Giants' two Barrys: Wishing One's Season Would End Quickly
March Madness Wrap Up
Why I Can't Watch the NBA Regular Season
It's coming soon! I'm sure you're holding your breath...
As with each baseball season, my eyes this year are on the Atlanta Braves. Admittedly, I am excited and more than a little optimistic about their chances. Simply put, this 2007 group of Braves is a very likable team. It hearkens back to the days of yore (Yore? yes, yore) when guys like Mark Lemke, Sid Bream, Terry Pendleton and Ron Gant comprised a team that you could not help but support and admire. But likeability and camaraderie do not win Division titles, League Pennants or World Series rings - talent does. Please do not hear me wrong and think I'm stepping out on a ledge and predicting a World Series Title for this team, but I do like the lineup and I am impressed with the off-season improvements made in a bullpen that last year handed the division to the Mets. Plus, as a Georgia boy myself, I have to like a team that - on any given night - could put as many as five born and raised Georgians on the field. Not bad...
Sports Illustrated has picked a Dodger/Angel World Series, some "experts" like the Giants' chances out west, the Yankees always get their notoriety, the Cardinals are still very good and the Mets are a popular pick in the NL East. I will stick with my Braves in the NL East (the Mets' starting pitching is just not strong enough), the Phillies as the Wild Card, the Giants in the West and the Cardinals in the Central. Watch out for the Dodgers and the Brewers. Yes, the Brewers.
Now I am really going to go out on a limb and take the Yankees and Red Sox in the AL East, with the Angels and the Tigers winning their respective divisions. As we have learned from years past, you cannot count out Oakland - no matter what month it is - and Minnesota is still quite strong. Why not have a Cardinals/Yankees World Series? Sounds good to me...
Before I close, I want it known that I am one of only about 250,000 other people who correctly picked this year's Final Four. Of course, I also had Georgia Tech going to the Sweet 16. Quite a paradox, huh? That's why it's called March Madness...
More to come later, including:
The Giants' two Barrys: Wishing One's Season Would End Quickly
March Madness Wrap Up
Why I Can't Watch the NBA Regular Season
It's coming soon! I'm sure you're holding your breath...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
