Thursday, February 22, 2007

As BC would say, "What's the deal son?"


I once was a proponent of the “professional athletes do not need to be role models for fans” argument. They are regular people who can do what they want just like anybody else. They are in the spotlight, true, and whatever they do is going to be scrutinized by hundreds of television outlets, radio talk show hosts and newspaper writers. I can’t imagine being under that kind of microscope. The same goes for celebrities. How would you feel if every time you went shopping you had cameras waiting for you outside the door?

After what happened in Las Vegas during All Star Weekend I have since changed my mind. Actually, it started years ago with the on court antics of the Pistons and the Pacers. Seriously though, what is the deal with professional athletes these days? Look at the Bengels this season. That team had an embarrassing showing off the field this year. The NBA isn’t far behind with a number of its players having off court trouble but professional athletes in general are out of control.

Pacman Jones *allegedly* caused an unthinkable tragedy at a strip club in Vegas this weekend that left two people in the hospital with gun shot wounds, one who was shot in the spine and is paralyzed and a third woman who was grazed in the ear by an errant bullet. All because a stripper went to pick up the hundreds of dollars were thrown on the stage? Isn’t that the intent of the person throwing the money on the stage? I haven’t been to too many strip clubs but I am pretty sure that I put money on the stage and tried to take it back I would be removed from the club. I hope to get a ruling on this from a more experienced strip club patron.

Regardless, pulling a gun out and shooting at someone and saying that you’re going to kill someone is ridiculous. Jones was in the wrong by trying to take the money off the stage in the first place. Then he attacked the stripper prompting bouncers to step in.

What is it about people in America that think actions like this are acceptable?

I am officially changing my point of view. Professional athletes should be roll models. Is that fair? Maybe not but if I was in the spotlight and I knew that my actions would be broadcast across the country I would think about that. I wouldn’t want to be cast in a negative light by something I can control.

Everyone makes mistakes. DUIs, I guess, happen. I enjoy having a drink on occasion just like a lot of people, but I try and be as responsible as possible. The difference for me is, no one knows me. ESPN doesn’t care about a 24 four year old living in New Jersey. Many more people are interested when a Tennessee Titan is involved in an incident including multiple shootings. You might want to think about how those actions will affect your public perception and your career. Both of which are not comparable to the life of other people who are trying to do their jobs. Just because you are an asshole thug doesn’t mean someone should suffer for the rest of their lives.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

It 'taint the worst part of the sports season


Each February I am reminded as to why I dislike the NBA. It isn’t the fact that I just don’t like professional sports much in general. I enjoy Major League Baseball and I enjoy the NFL, although not as much as college football. The NBA, however, will never be as entertaining to me as college basketball.

The biggest reason is the NBA draft.

Since December analysts, writers, radio hosts and blogs have been talking about the Celtics (and other teams, to a lesser extent, like the Sixers) intentionally losing so they can get the number one pick. (I’m looking at you, sports guy) As a former college athlete (not of any relevance, even on a small D-III basketball team) I can’t fathom losing on purpose. It was hard fathoming losing at all. It hurt too much. But losing on purpose to possibly get enough ping pong balls to earn the number one pick in the draft doesn’t make any sense to me.

In college sports there is no losing, especially in football and basketball. In football, where teams only play 12 games, a loss can ruin a team’s chances at making a bowl game of any meaning and two loses at most premier programs will effectively end a season, losing is not an option. In basketball, more than four or five losses can cost you several seeds in conference tournaments and if you make the tournament that many losses can leave you out, on the bubble or with a low seed. Every game means something.

When top teams are playing teams that are hungry and need a key win to get off the bubble games mean more for both teams. Florida can’t lose to Vanderbilt, Wisconsin can’t lose on the road to Michigan State and teams like Virginia Tech, Florida State and the University of Virginia can ruin Duke’s season. If the Pistons lose to the Celtics all people talk about is the Celtics winning a game ruining their chances of “winning” the Greg Oden Sweepstakes.

In college, every team has a player whether it be Collin Falls for Notre Dame or Drew Neitzel for Michigan State who can hit big shots and put a blemish on a great team’s season and boost their own team’s argument for making the tournament. Every game means something. Also in college, the atmosphere of a team’s gym can be the difference. Every time Neitzel hit a big three there were a thousand students in white jumping in the stands. Watching an NBA game is like watching an opera. “We paid $200 dollars to watch this, entertain us!” Unless Gilbert Arenas goes off for 50 the crowd is quiet, sipping their $9 beers and eating their $4.75 hot dogs and waiting for “Who let the dogs out” (is that still the anthem of choice in professional sports?) to play over the loud speaker.

So yea, the ballyhoo over the NBA and in some cases the NFL has always bothered me. At least college football fans can bitch and moan about how the BCS is crap which actually makes me watch the NFL more. Plus, football is only on twice a week. With 82 NBA games and a general lackluster, apathetic attitude from the players and fans, the NBA just doesn’t do it for me. The NFL has die-hard fans and it is America’s sport. College basketball? Greatest tournament in sports, rowdy, power hour-fueled fans in every gym and meaningful games all year long. February the taint of the sports year? Tell that to the Cameron Crazies.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Dopers, knock it off


What is it about doping and using steroids?

Do we need to monitor this? Should they be legal in all sports and should we let everyone do whatever they want?

I’m not sure what I think. We have baseball players who are breaking records, football players who are sacking the most quarterbacks while testing positive in the same season and we have cyclists who are winning the biggest race of the year while doping. Now we have Christian Pruhomme, the race director for cycling, who is thinking of not allowing cyclists compete while they are under investigation for doping during last year’s Tour de France.

What should happen? Should all dopers be disqualified from competition? Yes, they probably should. However, there is the task of keeping up with ever changing science and guys in lab coats thinking of new ways to skirt testing. There is also the task of keeping up with major sports leagues testing for this stuff. As seen in baseball, it is hard to convince player’s unions to test, mostly because the players know they are using and they don’t want to admit it, get caught, etc.

I don’t think that players should be allowed to use steroids or dope. Amphetamines are also illegal so they shouldn’t be allowed. What constitutes performance enhancing drugs, though? Some people have made ridiculous arguments that weight lifting and practice (we talking ‘bout practice) should be banned if performance enhancing drugs are. Those arguments are illogical. Athletes of all ages use creatine, protein, glutamine and other “performance enhancers.” That doesn’t mean they are giving unfair advantages to professional athletes or even high school athletes.

I myself have used creatine and protein and neither gave me an unfair advantage. They simply gave my body what it needed after working harder than the guy who didn’t want to be in the weight room or out shooting hundreds of jumpers or running sprints. Yes, they helped but not in as unnatural a way that steroids would help. And they certainly didn’t help like unnatural levels of testosterone would. You can ask anyone, I never looked like the Incredible Hulk after using creatine. I looked like I had been working hard-big difference.

Unfortunately the steroid era has created problems for all sports for years to come. Sports may never recover from this. We even have cheaters being found in chess completion. Chess for crying out loud. When will it stop?

It is a wild goose chase, a witch hunt. Unfortunately some players have ruined it everyone else. We may be in an unrecoverable situation here. The effect is yet to be seen.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Goin' Dancin'

There are some people on this earth who don’t get enough recognition. Raymond L. Crouch was one of them.

Serving in World War II and Korea, not to mention liberating two concentration camps during World War II left Mr. Crouch unsatisfied. When Vietnam began to unfold, right or wrong, Mr. Crouch was ready to serve his country. This time, in his 40s, the United States Government told him to stay home. The government refused him because of his age.

Mr. Crouch lived a life filled with great moments spent with family. His only child, Uncle Ray, as my family knows him, became one of my family’s best friends after we met in a community we shared river houses in. Quickly after meeting Ray Jr., we met Ray Sr. and his wife, Catherine.

The family couldn’t have been nicer - a rare find in our river community. The Crouch family was the one of the only reasons that I ever wanted to go to the river. Part of it was selfish; they had jet skis and their son, Cory, was fun as shit. We also played golf with the Rays - my dad, Wes, my brother, and my grandfather. I’m not sure I could have had more fun. Ray Sr. was calm but had a certain way about him. I was in my teens, thought I could crank every shot 250 yards and straight as an arrow. He would always make me take a mulligan when my divot went farther than my ball and say, “take a deep breath. It’s just a piece of cotton. Pick it off the ground, son.” Inevitably my shot would be one hundred times better than the first and since I always cranked my tee shots 250 yards my second would be on the green, or “on the dance floor,” as he would say. I was dancing after a quick lesson in breathing and taking my time.

His son was quite different.

Ray the junior was a little more colorful. He would lift his leg on the way to the tee box and rip a fart. As my little brother and I would laugh (we still have that type of sense of humor) he would ask with a smile on his face but with a certain seriousness, “who let that dog in here?”

Once after my very young brother crashed a golf cart, ran over my dad’s ankle and almost sent my 70-something grandfather flying out of the cart, Ray could only respond with the Ringling Brothers Circus tune. My dad in pain, my grandfather maybe a little dazed, I sat in the cart with Ray Jr. and laughed hysterically.

We would go back to their house, or ours, and eat a huge spread, drink a few beers and complain about the rest of the people who lived in the community before my family left to go home for whatever function my siblings or I had to attend.

On Christmas Eve in 2006 Mr. Crouch turned 83. The only reason I know that is because I was at his bedside. It was a few days after his family had pulled the plug.

Unable to speak and barely able to open his eyes, Mr. Crouch gave his family a thumbs up, as if to say, “I’m going dancing.”

Mr. Crouch left his wife, only son and his only grandson who was married a few years ago and soon after had a baby girl at home in Richmond, Va.

A few days after his family made the hardest decision imaginable, Mr. Crouch moved on. My dad was in the room, almost by chance. After respects had been paid, my dad accompanied Ray, Melinda, his wife, and Catherine back to Ray’s home to reminisce and drink a beer or two.

Tonight, I sit in New Jersey, two days after seeing a man who gave me some of the best advice I’ve ever received, drinking a beer in his honor and thinking of the simpler times in my life. The days I spent at the river with my family and my extended family: The Crouch family.

One last quick story: I had the job of sweeping one thing or another; a chore I found to be awful. I was 14, maybe 15; the last thing I wanted to do was sweep a sidewalk or a garage (probably because my family had neither at our river house, it wasn’t mine, whatever I was sweeping, so I REALLY didn’t want to do it). I’ve long forgotten what my actual task was. After doing a mediocre job it wasn’t my dad who called me out on it, it was Mr. Crouch. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Son, if you have time to do a job wrong, you have time to do a job right.

God Bless you, Mr. Crouch. One day we’ll all be up to go dancin’.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Happy Birthday, LB



Larry Bird turned 50 today, as noted all around the internet.

Everyone has a favorite Bird story, if they like him, which not everyone does. Favorite Bird moments have been noted on the internet as well, here is mine.

Larry Bird was someone who thrived on hustle and outworking everyone else. The Hick from French Lick, as he called himself would do anything to get the ball or make the shot including running laps around the Boston Garden to stay in shape during the season and shooting jumpers hours before game time. He is easily the best white player to ever put on an NBA uniform and one of the best players in the 80s.

That didn’t mean that he couldn’t get the job done. He could.

My favorite Bird story happened on Christmas Day in a game against the Indiana Pacers.

Bird told Chuck Person of the pacers that he had a Christmas present for him. After releasing a three pointer near the Pacer’s bench, Bird turned to Person and sniped “Merry fucking Christmas,” to him.

How perfect is that? And why Chuck Person?

I have no idea, couldn’t care less. What matters is the Hick From French Lick had the balls to talk trash about a shot that hadn’t even fallen yet. He also had the balls to premeditate a Christmas present for an opponent.

There are other instances of Bird’s cockiness.

In 1986 he was scheduled to shoot in the three point competition during All Star weekend. Beforehand he told the rest of the competitors that he was planning on taking the trophy home.

“I want all of you to know I am winning this thing. Who’s playing for second?”

Needing the last money ball for the title, he let it fly, began walking away and raised a single finger above his head because he knew it was going in. Who does that?

Larry Bird, that’s who.

Other notable trash talking instances are out there, like what caused the famous fight between he and Dr. J.

In 1984 Bird was absolutely handling Dr. J outscoring him 42-6. Throughout the game Bird reminded Erving of their point totals, something that is unfathomable. After you score 20 points or so it has to be hard to know exactly how many points you have and still be effective. If you have scored three lay ups that tally is relatively easy to compute. Bird, apparently, always knew how many points he had and I’m sure he knew his rebound and assist totals as well. Dr. J, it seems, didn’t appreciate having a statistician on the court and started a fight. I’m no fighter, but I can’t say that I would appreciate it either.

Not everyone is a Larry Bird fan, mind you.

One of my college roommates for instance is not. He and his family were waiting in an airport during one of their vacations. Bird was as well waiting on a flight. I don’t know how young my roommate and his younger brother was at the time but like any fans or kids they went over to get an autograph. Bird, long finished playing, didn’t want to be bothered and declined. I don’t know if there was any discontent displayed by Bird (it may have been a simple decline) and perhaps that is a reason to not like him but as a player, the man was unbelievable.

And that damn shooting jacket he wore all the time, as ugly as it was, I think it was fitting that he wore it.

Happy Birthday Birdman.