Here I am again, needing to apologize for an extended absence. This time I can't blame my lack of blogging on my daughter. I can't blame it on my new position at work. And I can't even blame it on the women of The View.
(I must say, perhaps the only negative outcome to having our first child is the fact that my wife started watching The View while she was on maternity leave. What's worse, she now DVRs it and watches it in the evening. I try to remind myself that she did indeed graciously sit through numerous football games that I was only interested in because my fantasy team's tight end or third wide receiver was playing...but still. There's only so much a man can take. I think I've figured out why I'm having those reoccurring nightmares about drowning in a vat of estrogen. Needless to say, my next child really, really needs to be a boy.)
No. The fact is--I was afraid. I was afraid to blog about the Packers. That's as honest and simple as I can put it. I was 100% determined that the moment I started to type about the emergence of Greg Jennings or how Donald Driver is the most underrated wide receiver in the league or why Donald Lee might be the most important ingredient for the offense, the wheels would fall off the Packer caravan. And the truth is, I'd never forgive myself.
I realize my superstition probably seems silly. But you're talking about the guy who begged Ted Thompson to sign Larry Johnson, only to watch LJ pull up lame and ruin my fantasy football season in our No Sallies League. Your talking about the guy who sang the praises of Yi Jianlian only to watch him throw up a 1-for-6 shooting, 2 rebound performance the day after the blog was posted. Forgive me for wanting to have kept my mouth closed about the Packers chances. Actually, now that I think about it--you should probably be thanking me.
During my absence, it was nice to get emails from three of my readers, asking when my next blog post would be on the way. (I do wonder where my other four readers where during this time...but I'm just insecure like that.) This weekend, I received an email from a high school friend, Brian, who asked if I had moved the blog to a new site. Brian is in New York, and if my blog gives him just the smallest taste of what the sports scene is like back in Wisconsin--then dammit; I owe it to him. I owe it to all seven of my readers. So I'm promising to post something every weekend moving forward. I'm just not promising how long that promise will last.
But it's not like I can jinx the Packers anymore this season. This afternoon, my mother was in town for Darian's baptism, and she asked me if I was over the loss to the Giants yet. I answered as honestly as I could: I'm not even close. It looks as though I'm going to have to pass through all of the stages of grieving. I was in denial the night after the game, anger Monday through Wednesday, and I'm still hanging out in the bargaining phase as we speak--"Come on Brett, give us one more year."
As much as I've tried to tell myself that back in August I would have been thrilled to be cheering during the NFC Championship game, I can find no solace in that accomplishment. This weekend, one of the cable networks was showing the movie, The Whole Nine Yards, and I've decided that this movie is the perfect metaphor to represent the Packers 2007-'08 season. You see, I like The Whole Nine Yards, I think it's a pretty well written movie. Matthew Perry pretty much plays Chandler Bing in it, but Bruce Willis is quite funny. And the two make a pretty good team, comically speaking. The script has some fun reversals; Michael Clarke Duncan makes me laugh; and Amanda Peete is, as they say, easy on the eyes. But then you get to the end of the movie and have to hear what may be the worst line to ever have been crafted in the history of Hollywood. As Matthew Perry is finally getting a chance to propose to Natasha Henstridge, she asks him if he really wants to marry him, to which he replies something along the lines of "No. I don't just want to marry you. I want to marry you more than any man has ever wanted to marry a woman in the history of the world." Okay, that's probably not the exact quote. But it really is something like that. And the first time I heard the line, it nearly ruined the whole movie for me. I started wishing that Jimmy the Tulip had just shot Oz on the boat. That would have been a more satisfying ending than that corny ass line.
And that's how I feel about the Giants game. That one painfully depressing lame-ass Sunday almost negates all the fun I had this season watching the Pack from September to January. That one loss almost erases the memory of an otherwise spectacular and almost surreal season. Just like one bad line from Matthew Perry practically killed my enjoyment for an entire movie...
But I did watch parts of the The Whole Nine Yards when it was on this weekend. I just tried to avoid that one dreaded line. And I suppose, when I go back and watch the highlights of the Packers' season, there will still be moments I'd like to see. Let's take a look at my favorite moments in the movie and see how they compare to Packer highlights...
1. The Return of Natasha Henstridge to the big screen. Admit it, if you were a guy living in the '90s you enjoyed Species. And it had nothing to do with the plot. No, it had much more to do with the sexy naked alien who was walking around naked looking only to mate with and kill numerous men while she was stark raving naked. On top of that...she was naked. You figured there would be worse ways to die. And you frequently pressed rewind on the VCR.
PACKER EQUIVALENT: The return of Brett Favre. Not sure who the old guy posing as Favre the past two years was, but it sure was nice to see the real Brett back again. He walked around with a killer confidence, he made sexy plays, and he reminded us all why he's Wisconsin's all-time great sports icon.
2. Seeing the softer side of Michael Clarke Duncan.
PACKER EQUIVALENT:Seeing the funny side of Mark Tauscher. He may look a bit like a drunken redneck, but the kid from Auburndale is articulate, insightful and downright funny. Whether he was on the Fox 6 Blitz, Steve the Homer True's "Tuesdays with Tauscher" or introducing Brett Favre on MNF as Vinnie Testaverde's dad, the man kept us entertained. The Packers haven't had that kind of locker room character since LeRoy Butler hung'em up.
3. Amanda Peete's topless scene in the window.
PACKER EQUIVALENT: Favre to Jennings in OT on Monday Night Football. It was hands down the sexiest play of the entire NFL season, certainly the most memorable, and something you could watch again and again.
4. Willis throws Perry a beer. It's a small moment near the end of the movie, not too long before the fateful line that ruins it all. After Jimmy the Tulip shoots Frankie Figs, he tosses Oz a beer. Oz, in shock over Frankie getting killed just lets the beer pass by and it lands harmlessly in the water. It's a subtle moment, but it makes me smile every time I see it.
PACKER EQUIVALENT: Favre throws snowball.
Not long before the disgusting conclusion to the season, Favre is playful in the snow. All is well. And it makes me smile.
So there you have it. There are great memories to take away from the season. That one game doesn't have to ruin it all for you. Just don't ask me to watch the Super Bowl.
Because truth be told, I never watched THE WHOLE TEN YARDS either. For some things you just can't forgive...
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
And then I saw Yi Play--Now I'm a Believer!!!
Forgive me for my extended absence.
A part of my blogging deficiency can certainly be traced to the arrival of my beautiful daughter, Darian. Another part can simply be blamed on the fact that I hate admitting when I am wrong.
But it happens. Even the wisest of sports fans, the savviest of fantasy sports players, and the cagiest of armchair quarterbacks are wrong at times. And never let it be said that I’m not man enough to admit when I’ve erred. I was wrong about John Jaha becoming a perennial all-star. I was wrong about Ron Dayne becoming the next Jerome Bettis. I was wrong about the greatness of Cop Rock. And I was wrong about Yi.
So there. I’ve said it. But I do want to remind my seven readers that I never questioned Yi’s talent. What I questioned was Yi’s desire to play for the Milwaukee Bucks. And I questioned Harris’ continual arrogance in thinking that he could call Yi’s agent’s bluff. But he was right. And now that I’ve seen Yi play, I understand why the gamble was more than worth taking.
Now, we need to be very clear about this—Yi is probably not going to win Rookie of the Year, or put up dominating stat lines that get him noticed nationally (meaning within the U.S.) right away. He’s raw, and he still looks lost on the court at times. But there’s something about the kid that forces you to keep your eyes on him whenever he steps away from the scorer’s table...
So last night, as the Bucks were throttling the Raptors, I lied on the couch with my wonderfully fussy daughter on my chest…
(By the way, I don’t want to get overly sentimental because this is a sports blog after all, but I can’t begin to describe how great a feeling it is to have your own child cradled next to you. Those of you that are fathers already know exactly what I mean. Even as I type this I’m trying to think of something to compare it to, and I keep coming up short. Like the adrenaline of a big sports win or the high of a first kiss, it’s something that has a special feeling all to itself. So for those of you who are not fathers, I strongly recommend you go and knock somebody up. Immediately.
I also want to stress that I’ve decided that I’m never using the phrase “sleep like a baby” EVER again. Just not going to do it. I’ve only recently realized that it’s a phrase I’ve overused in the past. And on top of that--I was using it incorrectly. Because you know, I’d go out and play some basketball or some serious racquetball and as the last ounce of fluid would drip out of my body in a sweat saltier than the Pacific, I’d let out a sigh and say, “man, I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight.” But I can assure you that I was not intending to imply that I would be sleeping only in two and a half hour intervals as I demanded something to eat and as I filled my shorts with a mustard poop that would make the fine people at French’s worry that they might be forced out of business. Nope. I didn’t mean that at all. So I’m not using the phrase ever again. I just thought you should know this.)
…and enjoyed the play of Yi Jianlian. As I discussed with my cable-lacking pal Brent (who is forced to either listen to the Bucks on the radio or watch as it’s updated on his computer), the thing about watching Yi play is that he is somehow able to show that he is playing hard and hustling with maximum effort, but at the same time manages to look graceful and effortless. Offensively, his footwork is well polished for a young (albeit, of an indeterminate age) player and even though he hasn’t truly found his shot yet, his form is a thing of beauty. It’s like watching a pure two-guard playing in a seven footer’s body. As Yi releases his shot, it’s like someone took Mark Price’s body and stretched him out to seven feet tall.
But even more impressive, is the way he hustles on the defensive end. Contrary to my draft day concerns, Yi’s not at all stiff or awkward. He really can defend more than just a chair. He has let a few guys blow by him on occasion, but he has also displayed much more physicality in the paint than I had expected, along with a much needed ability to alter shots. And he runs out and gets a hand in the face of shooters with a hustle that one can only hope is adopted by the entire team--a hustle that has been lacking in Milwaukee on the defensive side of the ball since Sidney Moncrief officially called it quits.
And, of course, on top of all of these intangibles, is that little extra element Yi adds in the way of revenue. When you consider that 100 million people in China tuned in for the Bucks/Bulls game you really start to grasp the economic impact that Yi could mean for the Bucks. There’s going to be a lot of Yi Jerseys sold in China. So many, in fact, that the fine people of China might deserve the naming rights of any future arena that may come Milwaukee’s way.
So yes, I now understand why Senator Kohl and Larry Harris wouldn’t back down. And I’m going to be patient as I enjoy Yi’s development. Because now I believe that this kid is destined for greatness…
That's right. I saw Yi play. And I'm a believer...
And there’s not a trace. Of doubt in my mind…
A part of my blogging deficiency can certainly be traced to the arrival of my beautiful daughter, Darian. Another part can simply be blamed on the fact that I hate admitting when I am wrong.
But it happens. Even the wisest of sports fans, the savviest of fantasy sports players, and the cagiest of armchair quarterbacks are wrong at times. And never let it be said that I’m not man enough to admit when I’ve erred. I was wrong about John Jaha becoming a perennial all-star. I was wrong about Ron Dayne becoming the next Jerome Bettis. I was wrong about the greatness of Cop Rock. And I was wrong about Yi.
So there. I’ve said it. But I do want to remind my seven readers that I never questioned Yi’s talent. What I questioned was Yi’s desire to play for the Milwaukee Bucks. And I questioned Harris’ continual arrogance in thinking that he could call Yi’s agent’s bluff. But he was right. And now that I’ve seen Yi play, I understand why the gamble was more than worth taking.
Now, we need to be very clear about this—Yi is probably not going to win Rookie of the Year, or put up dominating stat lines that get him noticed nationally (meaning within the U.S.) right away. He’s raw, and he still looks lost on the court at times. But there’s something about the kid that forces you to keep your eyes on him whenever he steps away from the scorer’s table...
So last night, as the Bucks were throttling the Raptors, I lied on the couch with my wonderfully fussy daughter on my chest…
(By the way, I don’t want to get overly sentimental because this is a sports blog after all, but I can’t begin to describe how great a feeling it is to have your own child cradled next to you. Those of you that are fathers already know exactly what I mean. Even as I type this I’m trying to think of something to compare it to, and I keep coming up short. Like the adrenaline of a big sports win or the high of a first kiss, it’s something that has a special feeling all to itself. So for those of you who are not fathers, I strongly recommend you go and knock somebody up. Immediately.
I also want to stress that I’ve decided that I’m never using the phrase “sleep like a baby” EVER again. Just not going to do it. I’ve only recently realized that it’s a phrase I’ve overused in the past. And on top of that--I was using it incorrectly. Because you know, I’d go out and play some basketball or some serious racquetball and as the last ounce of fluid would drip out of my body in a sweat saltier than the Pacific, I’d let out a sigh and say, “man, I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight.” But I can assure you that I was not intending to imply that I would be sleeping only in two and a half hour intervals as I demanded something to eat and as I filled my shorts with a mustard poop that would make the fine people at French’s worry that they might be forced out of business. Nope. I didn’t mean that at all. So I’m not using the phrase ever again. I just thought you should know this.)
…and enjoyed the play of Yi Jianlian. As I discussed with my cable-lacking pal Brent (who is forced to either listen to the Bucks on the radio or watch as it’s updated on his computer), the thing about watching Yi play is that he is somehow able to show that he is playing hard and hustling with maximum effort, but at the same time manages to look graceful and effortless. Offensively, his footwork is well polished for a young (albeit, of an indeterminate age) player and even though he hasn’t truly found his shot yet, his form is a thing of beauty. It’s like watching a pure two-guard playing in a seven footer’s body. As Yi releases his shot, it’s like someone took Mark Price’s body and stretched him out to seven feet tall.
But even more impressive, is the way he hustles on the defensive end. Contrary to my draft day concerns, Yi’s not at all stiff or awkward. He really can defend more than just a chair. He has let a few guys blow by him on occasion, but he has also displayed much more physicality in the paint than I had expected, along with a much needed ability to alter shots. And he runs out and gets a hand in the face of shooters with a hustle that one can only hope is adopted by the entire team--a hustle that has been lacking in Milwaukee on the defensive side of the ball since Sidney Moncrief officially called it quits.
And, of course, on top of all of these intangibles, is that little extra element Yi adds in the way of revenue. When you consider that 100 million people in China tuned in for the Bucks/Bulls game you really start to grasp the economic impact that Yi could mean for the Bucks. There’s going to be a lot of Yi Jerseys sold in China. So many, in fact, that the fine people of China might deserve the naming rights of any future arena that may come Milwaukee’s way.
So yes, I now understand why Senator Kohl and Larry Harris wouldn’t back down. And I’m going to be patient as I enjoy Yi’s development. Because now I believe that this kid is destined for greatness…
That's right. I saw Yi play. And I'm a believer...
And there’s not a trace. Of doubt in my mind…
Monday, October 8, 2007
Do as Isiah, Not as Isiah Do...?
The ultrasound says my wife is going to have a girl.
This is a good thing...because I'm torn.
You see, ever since the time I was a sophomore in high school, my first son was always going to be named Isiah. It was simply a given--Isiah Thomas Rosenthal. Or maybe Isiah David Rosenthal (named after my father, not the cold hearted son-of-a-gun who stole my No Sallies fantasy championship on Christmas Eve last year). I would even share this information with girls on first dates. (In retrospect, I'm now getting a sense as to why I wasn't more lucky with the ladies as an adolescent...) No ifs, and, or buts about it...My son was going to be "Isiah."
The problem is:now there's a "but."
You see, I'm a pretty simple sports fanatic, and I live by a couple of the simple rules of the sports fan. One is you never go and get a beer for a friend if he just referred to you as "beer bitch." (Unless of course you just lost a game and are therefore the official "beer bitch", in which case grabbing the beer is now mandatory.) Another is you never leave a ball game early, unless the starters have been removed. (Because if the coach has given up, any hope for that miraculous comeback has been shattered.) You never answer the phone during a Packer game. You never celebrate getting a foul ball if you picked it up off the ground. You never pee in the urinal right next to a guy, if there's an open urinal two or more spaces away.
(By the way, this last rule is an extremely important one in my book. I was traumatized in the eighth grade while peeing in the Middle school bathroom when our friend Metke stood two feet behind me and peed between my legs into my chosen urinal. As I hollered, "What the F are you doing?" he only laughed and said, "Stay still. We don't want to cross the streams." I felt like Batman in the old tv series, praying that the laser beam would not come close to me and slice at the inner side of my pants leg. "Will this be the end of our hero? Tune in tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel..." Miraculously, my jeans somehow remained dry, but to this day I break into a sweat any time the lines at Lambeau's urinals are four or five deep behind me. Because even though we're both in our mid-30s now, I have no doubt that if I met up with Metke in some arena's bathroom, he'd do the exact same thing today...)
And you never name your son after a man found guilty of sexual harassment.
This is a good thing...because I'm torn.
You see, ever since the time I was a sophomore in high school, my first son was always going to be named Isiah. It was simply a given--Isiah Thomas Rosenthal. Or maybe Isiah David Rosenthal (named after my father, not the cold hearted son-of-a-gun who stole my No Sallies fantasy championship on Christmas Eve last year). I would even share this information with girls on first dates. (In retrospect, I'm now getting a sense as to why I wasn't more lucky with the ladies as an adolescent...) No ifs, and, or buts about it...My son was going to be "Isiah."
The problem is:now there's a "but."
You see, I'm a pretty simple sports fanatic, and I live by a couple of the simple rules of the sports fan. One is you never go and get a beer for a friend if he just referred to you as "beer bitch." (Unless of course you just lost a game and are therefore the official "beer bitch", in which case grabbing the beer is now mandatory.) Another is you never leave a ball game early, unless the starters have been removed. (Because if the coach has given up, any hope for that miraculous comeback has been shattered.) You never answer the phone during a Packer game. You never celebrate getting a foul ball if you picked it up off the ground. You never pee in the urinal right next to a guy, if there's an open urinal two or more spaces away.
(By the way, this last rule is an extremely important one in my book. I was traumatized in the eighth grade while peeing in the Middle school bathroom when our friend Metke stood two feet behind me and peed between my legs into my chosen urinal. As I hollered, "What the F are you doing?" he only laughed and said, "Stay still. We don't want to cross the streams." I felt like Batman in the old tv series, praying that the laser beam would not come close to me and slice at the inner side of my pants leg. "Will this be the end of our hero? Tune in tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel..." Miraculously, my jeans somehow remained dry, but to this day I break into a sweat any time the lines at Lambeau's urinals are four or five deep behind me. Because even though we're both in our mid-30s now, I have no doubt that if I met up with Metke in some arena's bathroom, he'd do the exact same thing today...)
And you never name your son after a man found guilty of sexual harassment.
As a kid, I had developed a knack at looking past Isiah's indiscretions. When he was accused of trying to orchestrate a freeze out of Michael Jordan at the all-star game, I chalked it up as a veteran trying to teach a young up-and-comer an important lesson. When he fell under fire for saying that Larry Bird would be just another ball player if he was black, I was quick to point out that Rodman had actually made that statement first, not Isiah. (He just agreed with it.)
And regardless of what was going on with Isiah Thomas the person at that time, all of it was forgotten whenever I was able to sit back and enjoy Isiah Thomas the ball player. Now, you can argue with me all you want, but nobody is going to ever convince me that there was a better player of his height than Zeke. What has always impressed me most about Isiah was his willingness to sacrifice his personal success for the success of the team. Many players will claim they are willing to do whatever it takes to win a championship. Few actually follow through. Isiah Thomas is one of the few exceptions.
Isiah could have been Allen Iverson before Allen Iverson was Allen Iverson. I have no doubt in my mind about this. As a matter of fact, I think he could have been an even more prolific scorer than Iverson because he was a better shooter, and could blow by any point guard who tried to defend him. (As a matter of fact, I remember my friends used to tease me that Isiah was only shooting 45% from the floor. It seems crazy now, considering how many times Iverson has failed to even hit 40%.) But Isiah knew (largely because Daley convinced him it was so) that in order to win championships he'd have to focus on making his teammates better. And he did just that. Oh, he'd still score. But he'd pick his spots and only start shooting daggers when the game was on the line. This is similar to the approach Jason Kidd takes today. Except, as great as Kidd is, he's nowhere close to Isiah on the all-time list of greats, largely because Kidd has nowhere near the same kind of scoring tools that Zeke had. As a matter of fact, I rank Isiah as the 9th greatest player of my lifetime, behind
1. Jordan
2. Magic
3. Bird
4. Olajuwon
5. Shaq (Lean, dominating Shaq of the early '90s)
6. Dr. J
7. Duncan
8. Barkley
9. Isiah
D-Wade and Lebron certainly have the potential to join this list and knock Isiah out of the top 10, but they're not there yet. I'd listen to anyone make a case for Kobe too, but since he wasn't smart enough to recognize how sweet he had it and orchestrated the trade that sent Shaq packing, I refuse to put him ahead of the guy that made the likes of Vinnie Johnson, Rick Mahorn, John Salley and Dennis Rodman become three times the players that they really were anytime he stepped on the floor.
Anyhow, I could defend Isiah the player for days...
I'm not so sure, however, I could do the same for Isiah the person. Running the CBA straight to bankruptcy and running the Knicks to quickly becoming the embarrassment of the league was tough enough to defend.
But there's no defending his use of the word "bitch" towards a woman, especially in a professional setting. And even more so, there's no defending someone who shows no remorse for doing it. I'm puzzled about Isiah's opinion that it's okay for him to call an African American woman a "bitch" because he's black. And I'm wondering if there's anyway I can blame it on Dennis Rodman.
But as for my son, whenever he might be born, I don't know if the name Isiah makes sense anymore. And unfortunately, my wife despises the names "Brett" and "Robin."
I suppose I could name him after one of my high school friends, Eric or Darren. But they don't really set the greatest example either...
...especially when you consider how often they tried to make me their beer bitch.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Not Quite Ready to Move On...
I shat my pants for the Cubs Friday night.
No. I'm just kidding. I didn't do that.
But you know what else I didn't do?
When one of the many drunken Cubs fans that had infiltrated Miller Park on Friday night came up to me saying that he was sick and tired of getting hit and that he wasn't going to be responsible if he "got into it" with someone, I certainly didn't bother calling anyone for assistance. I didn't even get out of my chair to see who was bothering him. This was the same Cubs fan, mind you, that I had witnessed earlier in the night screaming "Tough luck, buddy; it ends tonight" in the face of a nine year old wearing a Prince Fielder jersey. So you can see why I was slow to react. I made an executive decision that he had probably antagonized these Brewers fans and provoked them to throw things at him. And I figured if I wasn't working the game, I would have probably thrown things at him too...and, you know...I don't want to be a hypocrite.
Ah well. I'm optimistic that I'll get over the disappointment of the Brewers collapse by the time my daughter is old enough to register for tee ball. Given my wife's due date is still three weeks away, it looks like I've got four and half good years to put the frustration behind me. And thankfully, Willie Randolph did everything in his power to lead a collapse that has all but erased the Brewers downfall from the nation's collective memory.
Anyhow, I suppose it's time to move on to Packer season, and I've certainly ignored the stellar play of the Badgers (and my future fantasy football tight end Travis Beckum).
But before I can completely let go of the season that was, I feel it's important to look ahead. Disappointment or no disappointment--the one thing the '07 Brewers gave me is a ton of optimism for '08. Today, the Journal Sentinel took the time to look at the top ten things that went wrong this year. That seemed a bit idiotic to me--anyone who watched the games can tell you what went wrong.
No. What I want to do is look ahead. So, my dear seven readers, here are the top 10 questions the Brewers will face in the coming off season:
10. Contact hitter. It's not a question of do they need one; they do. The question is: who will it be? It's fun watching the Brewers hit the ball out of the yard as effortlessly as we used to hit the tennis ball out of the old middle school playground. But it's not fun watching guys constantly strike out with runners at second and third. Quite frankly, that's as "not fun" as it gets for me as a baseball fan. But it doesn't take an avid baseball fan to understand that more home runs equals more strikeouts. I'm not talking about needing a Tony Gwynn senior, but a Jeff Cirillo or Mark Loretta type (while in their prime) is the piece of the puzzle that this lineup is sorely missing. Maybe J.J. can be that type of hitter in time, but this year he failed to drop a bunt or move a runner far too many times.
And, of course, maybe Tony Jr. will finally get his shot...
9. Catcher--If Damian Miller's run is over, then it's going to be important to find a defensive catcher who can throw guys out. Opponents ran on Estrada with less fear than the Duke boys when they sped through Hazard County. If Mike Rivera or Vinnie Rotino are not the answer, than it will be important to find a veteran catcher that can handle the young staff. Is Estrada for sale? Despite two grand slams, he certainly wasn't the offensive force the Brewers were hoping for...
8. Centerfield. There are three solid candidates to roam center next year. Hall, Hart, and Gwynn. Gross played well in spurts, but I'm still not convinced he's going to be an every day outfielder, and I think Brewers management shares this concern. Regardless, the player who ends up in center, will dictate the rest of the outfield. If Gwynn finally gets his shot, you'd certainly feel good defensively with an outfield of Hart, Gwynn and Hall (in left?). Like Estrada, Hall might be dangled to see if teams show interest, despite his down season and new contract. His versatility and ability to play SS might make him more coveted than Brewers fans might initially think.
7. The Diamond Dancers--Seriously, I like flesh, women, and the flesh of women as much as the next married guy...but some of these gals had guts that rivaled Homer Simpson. I vote we throw them up in Bernie's chalet full time and call them "Bernie's biatches." The conga line down the slide alone is worth the price of admission. Either that or perhaps we save the half naked dancing girls for the Bradley Center.
6. Capuano. Quick story--When I was a kid playing little league I had a lucky pair of underwear. I'm not really sure how they came to be my lucky pair of underwear. I think I hit a little league homer (translation: a single and then a bunch of errors that allow you to run around all the bases) while wearing them, and from that point on they were officially my lucky underwear. Funny thing though--after about three games in a row of taking the collar, I quickly decided that they were not my lucky underwear anymore. I loved them drawers, but they just didn't have any magic left. Do you see where I'm going with this? The Brewers had lost 20 straight games in which Cappy had pitched, but yet they threw him out there on the day we were eliminated.
Needless to say, a change of scenery may be in order. And because he's a left-handed starter, the Brewers will get something good for him. (Maybe even a contact hitter.)
5. Veteran leadership. All spring training we heard how the Brewers had a great balance of youth and veteran leadership. But it's hard to follow those veterans when they don't perform. If you looked up "clutch" in the baseball dictionary the second or third definition listed would read "not Geoff Jenkins." Counsell was simply atrocious. Even Suppan struggled until September. This is why our 23 year-old firstbaseman emerged as the team leader. It's a great story, but it also happened out of necessity. Melvin needs to take some pressure of the kids and find the right veteran leaders this offseason.
4. Middle Relief. There was a message on my phone after the Monday night win to the Cardinals. It was my friend Darren saying that he wasn't giving up hope yet, but if the Brewers blew their chance I should look no further than Rick (and yes, he said "Rick") Weeks and Bill Hall. Now I hate to argue with Darren; he's a doctor, a real smart guy, and if I was ever being chased by the mafia I'd turn to him to help me pay off my gambling debts. Nonetheless, the real reason the Brewers blew their chance at the division was because of the 6th and 7th inning collapses that kept happening all season long. The not-so-sweet sixteen, if you will--the sixteen games in which the Brewers blew a lead of 3 runs or more. This bullpen needs to be revamped. I know the numbers say that Turnbow was on more often than he was off, but you simply can't put your pennant race hopes on a pitcher who too frequently loses the strike zone. The good news is that guys who can throw in the upper 90s are still highly regarded, so Turnbow might bring us something good in return. I'd bring back Linebrink, Shouse and King, give youngsters like Aquino and Stetter a shot, and then revamp the rest.
3. Ben Sheets. I know, I know. The Sheets fans are going to tell me that I'm crazy to mention a possible Sheets trade. And they have a good case--after all, the Brewers were horrible when he went down. The other side of that argument, of course, is that you have to worry every time Sheets sneezes for fear that he might pull something. And with just one year left on his contract, the Brewers probably do have to make a move so they don't lose Sheets and get nothing but a draft pick in return. Raise your hand if you thought the Brewers overpaid Suppan. Well, you can bet Sheets' next contract will be much closer to Bary Zito money than it will be to Jeff Suppan money. Since it would be bad PR to trade him at the deadline next year (assuming the Brewers will be in the midst of another run), it might make sense to deal him when there's snow on the ground. At this point, I'm not really sure what will happen. But the only three pitchers I'm willing to bet on as members of the rotation come April are named Suppan, Gallardo and Villanueva.
2. Francisco Cordero. Once they pay Jenkins his $500,000 buyout, the Brewers will have an extra $6.5 mil to play with. I say you put as much of that towards Ko-Ko as necessary and sign him quicker than you can yell, "click, click, boom!"
1. Retro Fridays. Anyone who read the article on my encounters with many of the '82 Brewers knows that they will forever have a special place in my heart. But just like the Packers had to let go of the Lombardi era, it's time for the Brewers to let 1982 go. There's a new legacy about to be written with names like Fielder, Braun and Gallardo. Leave the retro wear for the fans. Let's start turning our focus to the future....
Go Crew. We'll get 'em next year...
No. I'm just kidding. I didn't do that.
But you know what else I didn't do?
When one of the many drunken Cubs fans that had infiltrated Miller Park on Friday night came up to me saying that he was sick and tired of getting hit and that he wasn't going to be responsible if he "got into it" with someone, I certainly didn't bother calling anyone for assistance. I didn't even get out of my chair to see who was bothering him. This was the same Cubs fan, mind you, that I had witnessed earlier in the night screaming "Tough luck, buddy; it ends tonight" in the face of a nine year old wearing a Prince Fielder jersey. So you can see why I was slow to react. I made an executive decision that he had probably antagonized these Brewers fans and provoked them to throw things at him. And I figured if I wasn't working the game, I would have probably thrown things at him too...and, you know...I don't want to be a hypocrite.
Ah well. I'm optimistic that I'll get over the disappointment of the Brewers collapse by the time my daughter is old enough to register for tee ball. Given my wife's due date is still three weeks away, it looks like I've got four and half good years to put the frustration behind me. And thankfully, Willie Randolph did everything in his power to lead a collapse that has all but erased the Brewers downfall from the nation's collective memory.
Anyhow, I suppose it's time to move on to Packer season, and I've certainly ignored the stellar play of the Badgers (and my future fantasy football tight end Travis Beckum).
But before I can completely let go of the season that was, I feel it's important to look ahead. Disappointment or no disappointment--the one thing the '07 Brewers gave me is a ton of optimism for '08. Today, the Journal Sentinel took the time to look at the top ten things that went wrong this year. That seemed a bit idiotic to me--anyone who watched the games can tell you what went wrong.
No. What I want to do is look ahead. So, my dear seven readers, here are the top 10 questions the Brewers will face in the coming off season:
10. Contact hitter. It's not a question of do they need one; they do. The question is: who will it be? It's fun watching the Brewers hit the ball out of the yard as effortlessly as we used to hit the tennis ball out of the old middle school playground. But it's not fun watching guys constantly strike out with runners at second and third. Quite frankly, that's as "not fun" as it gets for me as a baseball fan. But it doesn't take an avid baseball fan to understand that more home runs equals more strikeouts. I'm not talking about needing a Tony Gwynn senior, but a Jeff Cirillo or Mark Loretta type (while in their prime) is the piece of the puzzle that this lineup is sorely missing. Maybe J.J. can be that type of hitter in time, but this year he failed to drop a bunt or move a runner far too many times.
And, of course, maybe Tony Jr. will finally get his shot...
9. Catcher--If Damian Miller's run is over, then it's going to be important to find a defensive catcher who can throw guys out. Opponents ran on Estrada with less fear than the Duke boys when they sped through Hazard County. If Mike Rivera or Vinnie Rotino are not the answer, than it will be important to find a veteran catcher that can handle the young staff. Is Estrada for sale? Despite two grand slams, he certainly wasn't the offensive force the Brewers were hoping for...
8. Centerfield. There are three solid candidates to roam center next year. Hall, Hart, and Gwynn. Gross played well in spurts, but I'm still not convinced he's going to be an every day outfielder, and I think Brewers management shares this concern. Regardless, the player who ends up in center, will dictate the rest of the outfield. If Gwynn finally gets his shot, you'd certainly feel good defensively with an outfield of Hart, Gwynn and Hall (in left?). Like Estrada, Hall might be dangled to see if teams show interest, despite his down season and new contract. His versatility and ability to play SS might make him more coveted than Brewers fans might initially think.
7. The Diamond Dancers--Seriously, I like flesh, women, and the flesh of women as much as the next married guy...but some of these gals had guts that rivaled Homer Simpson. I vote we throw them up in Bernie's chalet full time and call them "Bernie's biatches." The conga line down the slide alone is worth the price of admission. Either that or perhaps we save the half naked dancing girls for the Bradley Center.
6. Capuano. Quick story--When I was a kid playing little league I had a lucky pair of underwear. I'm not really sure how they came to be my lucky pair of underwear. I think I hit a little league homer (translation: a single and then a bunch of errors that allow you to run around all the bases) while wearing them, and from that point on they were officially my lucky underwear. Funny thing though--after about three games in a row of taking the collar, I quickly decided that they were not my lucky underwear anymore. I loved them drawers, but they just didn't have any magic left. Do you see where I'm going with this? The Brewers had lost 20 straight games in which Cappy had pitched, but yet they threw him out there on the day we were eliminated.
Needless to say, a change of scenery may be in order. And because he's a left-handed starter, the Brewers will get something good for him. (Maybe even a contact hitter.)
5. Veteran leadership. All spring training we heard how the Brewers had a great balance of youth and veteran leadership. But it's hard to follow those veterans when they don't perform. If you looked up "clutch" in the baseball dictionary the second or third definition listed would read "not Geoff Jenkins." Counsell was simply atrocious. Even Suppan struggled until September. This is why our 23 year-old firstbaseman emerged as the team leader. It's a great story, but it also happened out of necessity. Melvin needs to take some pressure of the kids and find the right veteran leaders this offseason.
4. Middle Relief. There was a message on my phone after the Monday night win to the Cardinals. It was my friend Darren saying that he wasn't giving up hope yet, but if the Brewers blew their chance I should look no further than Rick (and yes, he said "Rick") Weeks and Bill Hall. Now I hate to argue with Darren; he's a doctor, a real smart guy, and if I was ever being chased by the mafia I'd turn to him to help me pay off my gambling debts. Nonetheless, the real reason the Brewers blew their chance at the division was because of the 6th and 7th inning collapses that kept happening all season long. The not-so-sweet sixteen, if you will--the sixteen games in which the Brewers blew a lead of 3 runs or more. This bullpen needs to be revamped. I know the numbers say that Turnbow was on more often than he was off, but you simply can't put your pennant race hopes on a pitcher who too frequently loses the strike zone. The good news is that guys who can throw in the upper 90s are still highly regarded, so Turnbow might bring us something good in return. I'd bring back Linebrink, Shouse and King, give youngsters like Aquino and Stetter a shot, and then revamp the rest.
3. Ben Sheets. I know, I know. The Sheets fans are going to tell me that I'm crazy to mention a possible Sheets trade. And they have a good case--after all, the Brewers were horrible when he went down. The other side of that argument, of course, is that you have to worry every time Sheets sneezes for fear that he might pull something. And with just one year left on his contract, the Brewers probably do have to make a move so they don't lose Sheets and get nothing but a draft pick in return. Raise your hand if you thought the Brewers overpaid Suppan. Well, you can bet Sheets' next contract will be much closer to Bary Zito money than it will be to Jeff Suppan money. Since it would be bad PR to trade him at the deadline next year (assuming the Brewers will be in the midst of another run), it might make sense to deal him when there's snow on the ground. At this point, I'm not really sure what will happen. But the only three pitchers I'm willing to bet on as members of the rotation come April are named Suppan, Gallardo and Villanueva.
2. Francisco Cordero. Once they pay Jenkins his $500,000 buyout, the Brewers will have an extra $6.5 mil to play with. I say you put as much of that towards Ko-Ko as necessary and sign him quicker than you can yell, "click, click, boom!"
1. Retro Fridays. Anyone who read the article on my encounters with many of the '82 Brewers knows that they will forever have a special place in my heart. But just like the Packers had to let go of the Lombardi era, it's time for the Brewers to let 1982 go. There's a new legacy about to be written with names like Fielder, Braun and Gallardo. Leave the retro wear for the fans. Let's start turning our focus to the future....
Go Crew. We'll get 'em next year...
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Don't Stop Believin'
Just a small town boy
Living in his Brewer joy...
They took the midnight train to the post season...
I know. That's really, really corny.
But Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" was one of my favorite songs when I was a kid in 1982. (And, yes, I know--you're going to tell me that the song was actually a hit in '81, but you need to know that I was 9 and I lived in the sticks. We were a little behind on the current hits in LeRoy, Wisconsin) That song always reminds me of the 1982 Brewers and the fact they never gave up despite being down 0-2 in that glorious A.L. Series.
Before I continue, I have to explain that I really thought my next article would be about the Packer game that I attended on Sunday. The fact is, it was the greatest game I've attended since the Yancey game, and I can't begin to explain how privileged I felt to be in attendance at Lambeau when Favre tied Marino's TD record. The Packers impressive start to the season has been truly inspiring, and as we made the drive back down I-43, my brother and I decided that if the loss to the Braves proved to be the final nail in the Brewers coffin...
(They kept us updated of the Brewers' score on the Jumbotron, but Tim also frequently tapped into his cell phone/PDA/paper shredder/potato masher for updates. Seriously, the only thing these hand held devices can't do nowadays is assist the Brewers in holding on to a 7th inning lead.)
...at least we witnessed the perfect segue from one season to the other.
But I told Tim Sunday afternoon, and I'll say it again and again until the Brewers are mathematically eliminated--this race isn't over just yet.... Look, I know what the supposed experts have been saying--no team has come back from 3 and half back with only a week to play since World War II. I know hoping for the post season at this point is improbable. Highly unlikely. But you have to believe, Brewers fans. You've invested in the team for this long; don't stop believin' now.
Perhaps I am the perpetually deluded optimist. But I am a playwright--and we playwrights know that you can't have drama without conflict. In order to have your audience root for your hero, you need to give him an obstacle to overcome. And of course, you can't have a storybook ending without first having a little adversity.
And this Brewers team has certainly experienced it's share of adversity--from Verlander's no-no, to Ben "Paper" Sheets' constant crumpling, to that horrible weekend in Atlanta--the Brewers have eaten an ample serving of humbling pie...but yet each time the pundits were ready to count them out, they've gotten up off the mat and flexed their collective muscle again and again...So why not one more time?
After all, there is a history behind my optimism. I take you back to fourth grade, when little Tommy was first unwilling to give up on his beloved Brewers. His classmates at Southview Elementary School ridiculed him and told him he was crazy to think the Brewers could come back from that 0-2 deficit. "It's NEVER happened. Don't you get that, stupidhead?" they jeered. "No team has ever done it before..."
But every record comes to an end. And once-in-a-while the baseball gods smile on your team and they drop that ball off Cecil Cooper's bat into left field, just as he motioned it to do...and history is rewritten...
And there's really no way to explain the joy of a fourth grade boy who carried in the Milwaukee Sentinel the next morning and proudly displayed the paper's headline:
NEVER SAY DIE; BREWERS DON'T!
And so I say, you just never know. Maybe the Cubs continue to be baffled by the Marlins. Maybe Adam Dunn hits 5 home runs in Cincinnati this weekend. Or maybe, just maybe...Milton Bradley injures himself during a temper tantrum and leaves the Padres without their best offensive weapon for the final series... anything is possible...
Regardless, it's been a remarkable atmosphere at Miller Park the last two nights. I've dreamed of being able to do serious scoreboard watching during the final week of September since the day Rene Lacheman was fired. And I was so elated after Hall's home run tonight that I couldn't keep my mouth shut when I encountered Davey Nelson on the employee's service elevator in the 6th inning. Even though we're not supposed to bother the "celebrities" when we encounter them, I had to let Davey know that I won't stop believin'...
Me: So far, so good.
Davey: Yeah, it's going well...the Cubs lost...now we just gotta keep going after it.
Me: Yeah, if we keep winning, that noose around the Cubs neck is gonna get tighter and tighter.
Davey: (a smile) That's right. That's right.
Davey believes, Brewer fans. The question is: Do you?
Living in his Brewer joy...
They took the midnight train to the post season...
I know. That's really, really corny.
But Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" was one of my favorite songs when I was a kid in 1982. (And, yes, I know--you're going to tell me that the song was actually a hit in '81, but you need to know that I was 9 and I lived in the sticks. We were a little behind on the current hits in LeRoy, Wisconsin) That song always reminds me of the 1982 Brewers and the fact they never gave up despite being down 0-2 in that glorious A.L. Series.
Before I continue, I have to explain that I really thought my next article would be about the Packer game that I attended on Sunday. The fact is, it was the greatest game I've attended since the Yancey game, and I can't begin to explain how privileged I felt to be in attendance at Lambeau when Favre tied Marino's TD record. The Packers impressive start to the season has been truly inspiring, and as we made the drive back down I-43, my brother and I decided that if the loss to the Braves proved to be the final nail in the Brewers coffin...
(They kept us updated of the Brewers' score on the Jumbotron, but Tim also frequently tapped into his cell phone/PDA/paper shredder/potato masher for updates. Seriously, the only thing these hand held devices can't do nowadays is assist the Brewers in holding on to a 7th inning lead.)
...at least we witnessed the perfect segue from one season to the other.
But I told Tim Sunday afternoon, and I'll say it again and again until the Brewers are mathematically eliminated--this race isn't over just yet.... Look, I know what the supposed experts have been saying--no team has come back from 3 and half back with only a week to play since World War II. I know hoping for the post season at this point is improbable. Highly unlikely. But you have to believe, Brewers fans. You've invested in the team for this long; don't stop believin' now.
Perhaps I am the perpetually deluded optimist. But I am a playwright--and we playwrights know that you can't have drama without conflict. In order to have your audience root for your hero, you need to give him an obstacle to overcome. And of course, you can't have a storybook ending without first having a little adversity.
And this Brewers team has certainly experienced it's share of adversity--from Verlander's no-no, to Ben "Paper" Sheets' constant crumpling, to that horrible weekend in Atlanta--the Brewers have eaten an ample serving of humbling pie...but yet each time the pundits were ready to count them out, they've gotten up off the mat and flexed their collective muscle again and again...So why not one more time?
After all, there is a history behind my optimism. I take you back to fourth grade, when little Tommy was first unwilling to give up on his beloved Brewers. His classmates at Southview Elementary School ridiculed him and told him he was crazy to think the Brewers could come back from that 0-2 deficit. "It's NEVER happened. Don't you get that, stupidhead?" they jeered. "No team has ever done it before..."
But every record comes to an end. And once-in-a-while the baseball gods smile on your team and they drop that ball off Cecil Cooper's bat into left field, just as he motioned it to do...and history is rewritten...
And there's really no way to explain the joy of a fourth grade boy who carried in the Milwaukee Sentinel the next morning and proudly displayed the paper's headline:
NEVER SAY DIE; BREWERS DON'T!
And so I say, you just never know. Maybe the Cubs continue to be baffled by the Marlins. Maybe Adam Dunn hits 5 home runs in Cincinnati this weekend. Or maybe, just maybe...Milton Bradley injures himself during a temper tantrum and leaves the Padres without their best offensive weapon for the final series... anything is possible...
Regardless, it's been a remarkable atmosphere at Miller Park the last two nights. I've dreamed of being able to do serious scoreboard watching during the final week of September since the day Rene Lacheman was fired. And I was so elated after Hall's home run tonight that I couldn't keep my mouth shut when I encountered Davey Nelson on the employee's service elevator in the 6th inning. Even though we're not supposed to bother the "celebrities" when we encounter them, I had to let Davey know that I won't stop believin'...
Me: So far, so good.
Davey: Yeah, it's going well...the Cubs lost...now we just gotta keep going after it.
Me: Yeah, if we keep winning, that noose around the Cubs neck is gonna get tighter and tighter.
Davey: (a smile) That's right. That's right.
Davey believes, Brewer fans. The question is: Do you?
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Reality Football
(Editor's note: Although the author began this article on Tuesday night and had previously been able to write while watching sporting events, he has learned that writing during a September pennant race is next to impossible. Since the words "Brewers" and "pennant chase" have not appeared in a sentence for the past 25 seasons, we have decided to give the writer a pass on the disjointed article that follows:)
I yanked the zipper off of my khaki pants at work on Friday.
I'm not reporting this because I'm proud of removing my zipper. Actually, it's rather embarrassing when you have to let your co-workers know that you are currently unable to close up your fly. Safety pins wouldn't do the trick, and to be honest--I wasn't all that comfortable having pins in my nether regions anyhow. But I'm not trying to brag about my zipper yanking strength, and I'm not going to stoop for the easy boyish joke of having too much girth in my trousers (although...)
No, the only reason I'm sharing this embarrassing moment with you is because I had to take a drive home to retrieve another pair of khaki pants in the middle of the work day. (And since khakis are the official uniform bottoms of a Miller Park concierge, I have three pairs in the old closet.) And during that drive, I happened to catch a little of the Jim Rome show.
Now, I'll admit; there was a time when I was a pretty big fan of Jim Rome. I'll never forget when he called Jim Everett "Chris" (you know, like the tennis player), and Everett went over the table and tackled him. Ironically, Rome called Everett "Chris" because he said he was afraid to take a hit. Apparently, he wasn't afraid to give one to a smarmy sports host.
But like so many of the sports personalities of the past couple decades, once Rome became larger than the sports he was discussing--I seemed to completely lose interest in him. It happened with Madden too. I used to love to grab the remote and turn on his selection show of the All-Madden team. Now I find myself grabbing the remote to press mute just about any time he opens his mouth. Likewise, I used to think Dick Vitale brought excitement to college basketball. Now I just think he yells a lot. And Chris Berman used to give funny nicknames. Now I just think Chris Berman looks funny.
Who knows--maybe I've just grown cynical since my college years. But far too many of these sports personalities remind me of the movie Jerry MaGuire--You know, because you start out thinking that you're watching this good sports movie about an agent and his star player. You like Rod Tidwell. You even celebrate the moment he makes the winning catch against Dallas, and you laugh as he does his elaborate touchdown dance. But by the time the movie ends...it suddenly dawns on you that what you were watching may not have had that much to do with sports after all...And you feel a little foolish when it's over, just about the time you realize that Jerry had her at hello. That's how it is with me and Rome--he just seems to have crossed over the line between sports and fluffy entertainment.
Regardless, on Friday afternoon I did tune in to Jim Rome (silently praying I wouldn't have to hear him yell "rack 'em" ) and listened to a fascinating interview with Redskins tight end, Chris Cooley. (Which is the point of this whole story in the first place.) I was just about to change the channel when suddenly Cooley said something that greatly concerned me...he said, "Yeah, I play fantasy football. I have since high school."
Time out. Now, I love fantasy football. Love it. I mean, I love it like O.J. loves collectibles. It's a serious problem for me. And my wife often misses me on Sunday afternoons because I'm lost in the world of fantasy stats where I'm often found yelling at my computer to throw the damn ball to Anquan Boldin. And I even think it's cool that Ben Sheets runs a fantasy league in the Brewers clubhouse every year. (Perhaps he should spend less time running the league and more time finding ways to stay healthy, but that's another story...). But when an NFL player admits that he too plays fantasy football...well, perhaps this whole thing has gotten a bit out of hand.
Of course, it's also pretty cool (forgive me) that Cooley still participates in a league with his high school friends. It's refreshing to know that stardom hasn't changed him. After all, he admitted that he never really thought the NFL was a possibility until his senior year at Utah State.
And Cooley confessed to Rome that he never gets the chance to draft himself because others in his league rate him higher than he does. Imagine what that must be like on draft day:
Token Friend: "Yeah, uhm...with the 4th pick in the 7th round I choose...him."
Cooley: "Me?"
TF: "Yeah. I need a tight end. So I picked you."
Cooley: "Dude. That's way too high for me."
TF: "Just make sure you catch the ball. All right? I'm counting on you."
Cooley: "Whatever, man. I'm just saying--it's a reach. Especially with Heap and Watson still on the board."
It has to be awkward. And what happens when Cooley plays himself on a given week? If it's Monday Night Football and he has nobody left to play, while holding just a slight lead...well, maybe he's not getting open quite so easily.
Impossible, you say.
Oh really?
How many times have die-hard Packers fans (not naming any names) caught themselves not minding all that much when a TD pass is scored against the Pack because Roy Williams or L.J. Smith was on the receiving end? Be honest. It happens to the best of us.
After all, the Redskins are usually well out of playoff contention by the time Cooley's fantasy bowl rolls around. So you just never know.
So that's why I've decided not to draft or trade for Chris Cooley ever again until he drafts or trades for himself first. Because if HE's not grabbing the fantasy version of himself...what's that say in reality?
.....................................
Since it's taken me over three days to complete this article--I have to link you to Simmons ESPN blog on Friday Night Lights. Like Simmons, I too enjoyed the hell out of FNL last year. But I didn't wait until after the season to watch it on DVD. I was right there with Riggins, Street and Crash from the opening week until the season ended. Every week I kept calling it "the soap opera disguised as a sports show," but yet every week I was right there on the couch hoping that Matt would win the Coach's approval. And if I gave Sonia the option to watch either Heroes or FNL from the saved programs on our DVR, she always chose FNL.
I had no idea that FNL was in jeopardy of being cancelled, so I'm joining in on Simmons' plea to save the show:
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/070919
I yanked the zipper off of my khaki pants at work on Friday.
I'm not reporting this because I'm proud of removing my zipper. Actually, it's rather embarrassing when you have to let your co-workers know that you are currently unable to close up your fly. Safety pins wouldn't do the trick, and to be honest--I wasn't all that comfortable having pins in my nether regions anyhow. But I'm not trying to brag about my zipper yanking strength, and I'm not going to stoop for the easy boyish joke of having too much girth in my trousers (although...)
No, the only reason I'm sharing this embarrassing moment with you is because I had to take a drive home to retrieve another pair of khaki pants in the middle of the work day. (And since khakis are the official uniform bottoms of a Miller Park concierge, I have three pairs in the old closet.) And during that drive, I happened to catch a little of the Jim Rome show.
Now, I'll admit; there was a time when I was a pretty big fan of Jim Rome. I'll never forget when he called Jim Everett "Chris" (you know, like the tennis player), and Everett went over the table and tackled him. Ironically, Rome called Everett "Chris" because he said he was afraid to take a hit. Apparently, he wasn't afraid to give one to a smarmy sports host.
But like so many of the sports personalities of the past couple decades, once Rome became larger than the sports he was discussing--I seemed to completely lose interest in him. It happened with Madden too. I used to love to grab the remote and turn on his selection show of the All-Madden team. Now I find myself grabbing the remote to press mute just about any time he opens his mouth. Likewise, I used to think Dick Vitale brought excitement to college basketball. Now I just think he yells a lot. And Chris Berman used to give funny nicknames. Now I just think Chris Berman looks funny.
Who knows--maybe I've just grown cynical since my college years. But far too many of these sports personalities remind me of the movie Jerry MaGuire--You know, because you start out thinking that you're watching this good sports movie about an agent and his star player. You like Rod Tidwell. You even celebrate the moment he makes the winning catch against Dallas, and you laugh as he does his elaborate touchdown dance. But by the time the movie ends...it suddenly dawns on you that what you were watching may not have had that much to do with sports after all...And you feel a little foolish when it's over, just about the time you realize that Jerry had her at hello. That's how it is with me and Rome--he just seems to have crossed over the line between sports and fluffy entertainment.
Regardless, on Friday afternoon I did tune in to Jim Rome (silently praying I wouldn't have to hear him yell "rack 'em" ) and listened to a fascinating interview with Redskins tight end, Chris Cooley. (Which is the point of this whole story in the first place.) I was just about to change the channel when suddenly Cooley said something that greatly concerned me...he said, "Yeah, I play fantasy football. I have since high school."
Time out. Now, I love fantasy football. Love it. I mean, I love it like O.J. loves collectibles. It's a serious problem for me. And my wife often misses me on Sunday afternoons because I'm lost in the world of fantasy stats where I'm often found yelling at my computer to throw the damn ball to Anquan Boldin. And I even think it's cool that Ben Sheets runs a fantasy league in the Brewers clubhouse every year. (Perhaps he should spend less time running the league and more time finding ways to stay healthy, but that's another story...). But when an NFL player admits that he too plays fantasy football...well, perhaps this whole thing has gotten a bit out of hand.
Of course, it's also pretty cool (forgive me) that Cooley still participates in a league with his high school friends. It's refreshing to know that stardom hasn't changed him. After all, he admitted that he never really thought the NFL was a possibility until his senior year at Utah State.
And Cooley confessed to Rome that he never gets the chance to draft himself because others in his league rate him higher than he does. Imagine what that must be like on draft day:
Token Friend: "Yeah, uhm...with the 4th pick in the 7th round I choose...him."
Cooley: "Me?"
TF: "Yeah. I need a tight end. So I picked you."
Cooley: "Dude. That's way too high for me."
TF: "Just make sure you catch the ball. All right? I'm counting on you."
Cooley: "Whatever, man. I'm just saying--it's a reach. Especially with Heap and Watson still on the board."
It has to be awkward. And what happens when Cooley plays himself on a given week? If it's Monday Night Football and he has nobody left to play, while holding just a slight lead...well, maybe he's not getting open quite so easily.
Impossible, you say.
Oh really?
How many times have die-hard Packers fans (not naming any names) caught themselves not minding all that much when a TD pass is scored against the Pack because Roy Williams or L.J. Smith was on the receiving end? Be honest. It happens to the best of us.
After all, the Redskins are usually well out of playoff contention by the time Cooley's fantasy bowl rolls around. So you just never know.
So that's why I've decided not to draft or trade for Chris Cooley ever again until he drafts or trades for himself first. Because if HE's not grabbing the fantasy version of himself...what's that say in reality?
.....................................
Since it's taken me over three days to complete this article--I have to link you to Simmons ESPN blog on Friday Night Lights. Like Simmons, I too enjoyed the hell out of FNL last year. But I didn't wait until after the season to watch it on DVD. I was right there with Riggins, Street and Crash from the opening week until the season ended. Every week I kept calling it "the soap opera disguised as a sports show," but yet every week I was right there on the couch hoping that Matt would win the Coach's approval. And if I gave Sonia the option to watch either Heroes or FNL from the saved programs on our DVR, she always chose FNL.
I had no idea that FNL was in jeopardy of being cancelled, so I'm joining in on Simmons' plea to save the show:
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/070919
I don't know if I agree with him that it's the best Sport show ever. I always really liked those Scooby Doo episodes when the Globetrotters helped out.
Now that, my friends, was real.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Rambling Rose, Part 4
I haven't had a lot of time to blog of late, and for that I apologize.
But you can't really blame me. Every time I've been ready to share my reaction on an important sports event, another one comes up that's even bigger and more exciting. Every Brewer game (with the exception of last night's dud in Pittsburgh) gets more and more dramatic as we approach October, and the football season kicked off with a bevy of intrigue, upsets and fantasy football disappointments (at least for me--thank you very much Mr. Johnson and Mr. Jackson). There's been an Appalachian upset, a Donovan bootleg, a cheating Belichek, a phantom offensive pass interference call (on my fantasy tight end, mind you), and a Brewers game that opened with back-to-back-to-back home runs. The fact is--I couldn't blog. I was too afraid that if I'd leave the tv, I'd miss something else. It was like the scene in Porky's when Pee Wee couldn't see any of the girls in the shower. I didn't want to be stuck behind the fat girl and miss something good. So I stayed right where I was--comfortably in front of the tv. (By the way, any man who hasn't seen Porky's and is therefore confused by the reference needs to rent it immediately. Seriously. Go right now.)
Anyhow, since there's so much to discuss, it seems like a perfect opportunity to ramble...
--I think I finally figured out what was going on with the Crew in Pittsburgh. There had to be some explanation to why every time the Brewers travel to PNC Park they play like...well...like Pittsburgh. I mean, other than Freddy Sanchez (especially considering that Bay is hurt) there is no hitter in that line-up that you would want to add to the Brewers starting 9. And with the way Rickie's getting on base, you could argue against Sanchez as well. But every year, the Brewers travel into Pittsburgh as if they were Brittany Spears heading into a spelling bee. It's that atrocious...
(Host: "Ms. Spears, your word is atrocious."
B: "Atrocious?"
H: "Yes."
B: "You mean like Super-fragi-calli-licious-expi-al-atrocious?"
H: "No. I don't mean that at all."
B: "Could you use it in a sentence, please?"
H: "Brittney's parenting skills are atrocious."
B: "OH! I get it. Atrocious. A-T-R-O-W-S-H-I-S. Atrocius."
(Bell rings.)
B: Hello?
Anyhow, I've figured out the cause of it all--Yancey Thigpen. You see, I was at that game when Yancey dropped the pass in '95. And I specifically remember closing my eyes and pleading with God to please, please, please give us the division title. You see, the last Packers division title had been in 1972. I was born in 1973. I really, really wanted that game. So I bargained with the Lord. I told him that Pittsburgh could have something else over the next few years, but we in Wisconsin needed that game.
Well, you know the rest. To this day, whenever someone drops anything (a beer that's tossed to them, a bag of peanuts, the remote control) the first thing out of my mouth is "nice hands, Yancey."
But I spoke to the Lord this evening and asked him if we in Wisconsin have indeed now paid our debt for the Yancey game. I reminded him that the Steelers recently won a Super Bowl and that, despite the Pirates thirteen consecutive losing seasons, they at least got rid of Bonds before his head grew to the size of a Steelers helmet. Besides, a 19-41 record at PNC park seems like more than enough payment for the Yancey drop.
Anyhow, to all you unbelievers who doubt--apparently God does listen. To the tune of: Brewers 6, Pirates 1.
--Speaking of steroids, I love the new video game commercial with Shawn Merriman and Stephen Jackson as they go from stadium to stadium taking on blockers and/or tacklers on their way down the field. Despite how cool the commercial is--am I the only one who finds it odd that Merriman is featured on a video game? If he ends up breaking the all-time sacks record someday, will anyone demand that an asterisk be placed by his name? I mean, sure he hit a lot of quarterbacks, but he wouldn't have hit them nearly as hard without the help of steroids. Right?
--And as far as video games go--is there a cooler name than Atari Bigby? If he even has a halfway decent year, the Bigby jersey is as good as purchased. And man, if I could find a way to brainwash my wife to the name "Atari" for our first child. Well, I'd be all in.
--In the 10 year history of our "No Sallies" Fantasy Football league, I have owned my older brother Tim. In 19 previous match-ups, I was 16-3 against him, although he did win the only time we met in the postseason. In each of the two seasons I had lost to him, my team was pretty miserable, including the only season that I did not make the play-offs. Based on the fact that I lost opening week to Tim, I'm seriously considering renaming my team to "Rebuilding Year."
--The greatest line at this year's fantasy draft had to come from our friend Jonny. As the draft completed, he sees his older brother Eric on the phone with his wife, letting her know everyone that he drafted. So Jonny yells, "Guys, guys! This is the part where the giant beer can falls on Eric's head." Classic. And appropriate. I'm already writing a rule for next year that at least 2 hours have to pass before you can share your roster with your spouse...
--Wow. Rickie Weeks. Did I or did I not say that Rickie would be a key ingredient for this team's run? It's nice to have him back. I am a little concerned about his recent yips in the field, but hopefully it's just a Pittsburgh thing.
--Houston just won in the bottom of the 11th. 1 game lead! See, I just peed a little now for the Brewers. Ain't no thing but a chicken wing.
--Finally, with my first child only six weeks from entering the world, I'm really trying to cut back on the cursing I do during Brewers games. (Like tonight when Jenkins rolled into a double play with two on and no out. By the way, the only guys I don't bunt in that situation are Braun and Fielder. If it's anyone else, they're dropping it down and I'm getting a run.) To help with this, I've recently installed a punching bag in my basement. It works pretty well for taking out my frustration. Now I just have to find a way to eliminate the cursing on my way to the bag. Ah well, baby steps...
But you can't really blame me. Every time I've been ready to share my reaction on an important sports event, another one comes up that's even bigger and more exciting. Every Brewer game (with the exception of last night's dud in Pittsburgh) gets more and more dramatic as we approach October, and the football season kicked off with a bevy of intrigue, upsets and fantasy football disappointments (at least for me--thank you very much Mr. Johnson and Mr. Jackson). There's been an Appalachian upset, a Donovan bootleg, a cheating Belichek, a phantom offensive pass interference call (on my fantasy tight end, mind you), and a Brewers game that opened with back-to-back-to-back home runs. The fact is--I couldn't blog. I was too afraid that if I'd leave the tv, I'd miss something else. It was like the scene in Porky's when Pee Wee couldn't see any of the girls in the shower. I didn't want to be stuck behind the fat girl and miss something good. So I stayed right where I was--comfortably in front of the tv. (By the way, any man who hasn't seen Porky's and is therefore confused by the reference needs to rent it immediately. Seriously. Go right now.)
Anyhow, since there's so much to discuss, it seems like a perfect opportunity to ramble...
--I think I finally figured out what was going on with the Crew in Pittsburgh. There had to be some explanation to why every time the Brewers travel to PNC Park they play like...well...like Pittsburgh. I mean, other than Freddy Sanchez (especially considering that Bay is hurt) there is no hitter in that line-up that you would want to add to the Brewers starting 9. And with the way Rickie's getting on base, you could argue against Sanchez as well. But every year, the Brewers travel into Pittsburgh as if they were Brittany Spears heading into a spelling bee. It's that atrocious...
(Host: "Ms. Spears, your word is atrocious."
B: "Atrocious?"
H: "Yes."
B: "You mean like Super-fragi-calli-licious-expi-al-atrocious?"
H: "No. I don't mean that at all."
B: "Could you use it in a sentence, please?"
H: "Brittney's parenting skills are atrocious."
B: "OH! I get it. Atrocious. A-T-R-O-W-S-H-I-S. Atrocius."
(Bell rings.)
B: Hello?
Anyhow, I've figured out the cause of it all--Yancey Thigpen. You see, I was at that game when Yancey dropped the pass in '95. And I specifically remember closing my eyes and pleading with God to please, please, please give us the division title. You see, the last Packers division title had been in 1972. I was born in 1973. I really, really wanted that game. So I bargained with the Lord. I told him that Pittsburgh could have something else over the next few years, but we in Wisconsin needed that game.
Well, you know the rest. To this day, whenever someone drops anything (a beer that's tossed to them, a bag of peanuts, the remote control) the first thing out of my mouth is "nice hands, Yancey."
But I spoke to the Lord this evening and asked him if we in Wisconsin have indeed now paid our debt for the Yancey game. I reminded him that the Steelers recently won a Super Bowl and that, despite the Pirates thirteen consecutive losing seasons, they at least got rid of Bonds before his head grew to the size of a Steelers helmet. Besides, a 19-41 record at PNC park seems like more than enough payment for the Yancey drop.
Anyhow, to all you unbelievers who doubt--apparently God does listen. To the tune of: Brewers 6, Pirates 1.
--Speaking of steroids, I love the new video game commercial with Shawn Merriman and Stephen Jackson as they go from stadium to stadium taking on blockers and/or tacklers on their way down the field. Despite how cool the commercial is--am I the only one who finds it odd that Merriman is featured on a video game? If he ends up breaking the all-time sacks record someday, will anyone demand that an asterisk be placed by his name? I mean, sure he hit a lot of quarterbacks, but he wouldn't have hit them nearly as hard without the help of steroids. Right?
--And as far as video games go--is there a cooler name than Atari Bigby? If he even has a halfway decent year, the Bigby jersey is as good as purchased. And man, if I could find a way to brainwash my wife to the name "Atari" for our first child. Well, I'd be all in.
--In the 10 year history of our "No Sallies" Fantasy Football league, I have owned my older brother Tim. In 19 previous match-ups, I was 16-3 against him, although he did win the only time we met in the postseason. In each of the two seasons I had lost to him, my team was pretty miserable, including the only season that I did not make the play-offs. Based on the fact that I lost opening week to Tim, I'm seriously considering renaming my team to "Rebuilding Year."
--The greatest line at this year's fantasy draft had to come from our friend Jonny. As the draft completed, he sees his older brother Eric on the phone with his wife, letting her know everyone that he drafted. So Jonny yells, "Guys, guys! This is the part where the giant beer can falls on Eric's head." Classic. And appropriate. I'm already writing a rule for next year that at least 2 hours have to pass before you can share your roster with your spouse...
--Wow. Rickie Weeks. Did I or did I not say that Rickie would be a key ingredient for this team's run? It's nice to have him back. I am a little concerned about his recent yips in the field, but hopefully it's just a Pittsburgh thing.
--Houston just won in the bottom of the 11th. 1 game lead! See, I just peed a little now for the Brewers. Ain't no thing but a chicken wing.
--Finally, with my first child only six weeks from entering the world, I'm really trying to cut back on the cursing I do during Brewers games. (Like tonight when Jenkins rolled into a double play with two on and no out. By the way, the only guys I don't bunt in that situation are Braun and Fielder. If it's anyone else, they're dropping it down and I'm getting a run.) To help with this, I've recently installed a punching bag in my basement. It works pretty well for taking out my frustration. Now I just have to find a way to eliminate the cursing on my way to the bag. Ah well, baby steps...
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