the game

 

It's been a long and very enjoyable summer of baseball. Our primary source of sports entertainment was the Keene Swamp Bats who won the New England Collegiate Baseball League (NECBL) championship this season. The league consists of still active college players from across the country who spent the (short) summer league living in local homes and playing about 45 games throughout a chunk of New England. We also had a chance to see the Portland Sea Dogs host the Reading Fighin' Phils while on vacation (p.s. Portland's Hadlock Field is a very nice stadium). What brought this to the fore was following the Nationals v Mets game online last night. It was one of those games you rarely see where it gets totally crazy in the late innings. The gist: First, the Mets suck. Second, the game was to be a pitching dual between the last three Cy Young holders: Max Scherzer and Jacob de Grom. Scherzer exited first, de Grom went long, but all we need to know is the Nats closed to 5-4 at the end of the eight. I figured they'll get a shot in the 9th, right? Well, the bullpen gave up five in the top of the 9th, three unearned., and staring at a 10-4 deficit was rough. In quite a turn, the Nats rallied in the bottom of the 9th for...wait on it...seven runs. It all happened like this.

I've been following the Nats very closely this year, and it all seemed lost early on; lost for a really good team (if one overlooks a struggling bullpen, which every team seems to have this year). They started 19-31 (.380 ball on pace for 100 losses) that ended with an awful four-game (losing) sweep at CitiField in New York. Since then they've gone a MLB-best 59-28 (.678) and have both a MVP leader in Anthony Rendon (.338/32/112/1.054) and an outside shot at a Cy Young with Stephen Strasburg. They won't catch the Braves for the division, but they have just about locked up the #1 wild card slot. Granted, a one-game wild card playoff won't be my favorite, but it's what you get.

drifting

I've been sitting on this one for awhile. Well, not sitting so much as forgetting to ply my reader(s) with stories. This was in the NYTimes about a month ago and is easily the coolest story I've read in the last year. Any number of hooks get me: adventure, awe at how far they flew, the technology and skill involved, the freedom of the sky, and the final compeition unfolding before our eyes. The idea that one last 'lift' will get you there seems surreal. Great, great story. The Times also has a bunch of photos and interactive features that I didn't have as I read the newsprint version on my couch that Sunday morning.

not a dream, just losing sleep

I was younger and probably slightly more impressionable back in 1992 when the Dream Team ran rampant at the Barcelona games. We are happening upon this entry because through my Spurs enjoyment I’m also subjected to commercials touting a lame, 20-year anniversary/celebration documentary of the Dream Team. I need to get a few things out the way before I rant: the serendipity of having Jordan, Bird, and Magic playing in the same NBA era was fortuitous. Without those three, who are undoubtedly three of the most strong willed and talent players ever to grace the NBA, the whole experiment wouldn’t have been quite so ‘amazing’. Since 1992, we’ve seen U.S. team after U.S team struggle as the world has gotten better and the vast NBA talent pool of the mid-1980s to mid-1990s has disappeared. There certainly were some greats around those three, but honestly, we could have thrown in Shaq (a rookie), Larry Johnson, Dennis Rodman, and/or Reggie Miller and been just fine. Aside from the big three the only NBA title(s) on the roster came from Pippen (playing with Jordon, whether you like it or not); one from Drexler later in his career, post Olympics – courtesy of Hakeem; and David Robinson with two, also post-Olympics. I count that as three: MJ, Magic, and Bird finished with 14. That’s my introduction.

Here’s the hammer : the Dream Team wasn’t that impressive. If we took the best NFL players right now, a 2012 all-pro team, and trotted them out there for a new Olympic football competition they’d destroy everyone else. We could throw the Lions out there and destroy anyone else. In fact, in 1992 the Chicago Bulls would have annihilated the Olympic field. When the most dominant professional league is hosted in the U.S. – and in 1992 it was a hundred times more talented than the next – putting an all-star team on the court vs. Venezuela isn’t really impressive. Wow! They won by 47! None of it was really impressive back then, and it’s less impressive now. We used to hate the Soviet team that won the hockey gold every Olympics because they were simply a professional team rolled out every four years to destroy everyone else. What happened in the 1980 Olympics, within an athletic competition framework, was far, far more impressive than the Dream Team. If you aren’t old enough to remember the entirety of the situation, bear in the mind the gnashing of teeth between those players, their “professional” sponsors, and the uniform. All of the Nike-owned players covered the Reebok logo on their uniforms during the medal presentation ceremony – left shoulder with a flag. They couldn’t even be bothered to simply let that go. Maybe it’s an unfair critique, but it simply added fuel to my fire because the 60- and 79-point wins over Panama and Cuba weren’t distasteful enough. I certainly don’t need to sit around and watch a documentary full of these players talking about how “there’ll never be anything like this again.” Yes, Larry there will be – when the US fields a rugby team against the All Blacks Dream Team in some Olympic games.  Also remember that all of this came about after the U.S. only won the bronze medal in 1988 – a team that was 5-0 in pool play (with a winning margin that averaged  35 per game) but lost by six point in the semi-finals. We might call this dream thing a bit of an overreaction.

The last thing I want to sit through are a bunch of Dream Teamers and journalists harkening back to the day when the USA was number 1 – in a field of amateurs.

That’s all. At least I can watch the Spurs again tonight.

greatest ever

A bit of snooker talk that devolves into overall sport. Stephen Hendry retired yesterday after his loss at the World Championships. He’s won more of everything (7 World titles, ranking tournaments, etc.) than any in history – most of them coming in the 1990s when he dominated the sport. This has led to the discussion of whether he was the best ever, and it’s opened the floodgates of opinion comparing him not only to his ‘contemporaries’ (O’Sullivan, Higgins, Williams, etc.), but to the greats of the past (primarily a trio of Davises). Only one commentary clarified the debate, particularly among his peers, and it was a declaration that there wasn’t a ‘fag paper’ (British commentary) between all of them in terms of talent. I couldn’t agree more. What that tells me, or anyone, is that with equal talent to the rest he won more often than any of them. Higgins has four titles, O’Sullivan three, Hendry – seven. Greatness comes from the ability to separate yourself from the amazing talent around you and excel more often. It’s the same with all individual sports and to some extent with leaders in team sports. We often debate the era in which players compete, the talent around them (team sports), but the fact is that when you are at the pinnacle of your sport, every single person in that league or association is separated from each other, talent wise, by microns.  The great separate and win. It’s pretty simple.

i hate those people

I have a winner. I've often babbled about how much I hate people in grocery stores; in this day-and-age of no courtesy clerks (my title at Albertson's in Omaha back in 1983 - a bagger). I'm at Balducci's the other night - a problem in and of itself - and I'm behind the worst....ever. She's standing at the register reading a magazine. As the cashier scans and bags her one bag of groceries, she does nothing. When done, the old bat then walks back 15 feet to the front of the register to replace the magazine she's reading. Really? Then, back at the point-of-sale, she pulls out her store card for discount, waits, waits, waits....and then goes for her money. Sllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww. Finally, it appears the transaction is complete, but old bat doesn't like the fact that her smallish order, "with two bottles of wine", isn't double bagged. She attempts to put the already packed bag into another bag (won't work) while I wait and hope I don't slash her neck. The clerk lets her know that the maneuver she's attempting won't work, to which she belts out, "There are two bottles in here, I need it double bagged!"

1. Shut up
2. If you were watching, you would have caught this earlier
3. It doesn't need to be double bagged, you're an ass clown
4. You're an ass clown
5. I hate

Moving along.

I've been weaning myself from sport for a few years, believe it or not. I'm down to Capitals' hockey, but even those days are numbered. It's a bit like how I got off golf about 10 years ago - I don't have the time or energy to focus on hours-long stuff that somehow misses what I'm looking to accomplish. Nothing against golf, it's quite enjoyable. Within that discussion has long been a position that college sports - and certainly athletic scholarships - should be eliminated. Truth be told, nothing good ever comes from college athletics - as a program within a university. Competition is good, sport is good, the system isn't. The NCAA should have been abolished decades ago, colleges need to refocus on what they are suppose to be doing, and the idea of anyone attending college based on athletic prowess is comical on its face. There isn't any other valid position.

One more thing: the next person who uses the "you don't know what you would have done" in a given situation, as some sort of defense, gets the same treatment as the shitty, non-bagging lady.

I'm really a nice person. Really.

one more trot

I was only 10 when Harmon Killebrew retired. We moved to The Cities (Edina, home of the cake eaters) when I was very young (maybe 3 or 4), and then on to Omaha in the summer of 1972, when I was 7. The things I remember most about my time in Edina were: a kid starting to latch onto sports (the Vikings have stuck with me), Harmon Killebrew, mosquitos, the neighbors on our street, Southdale Mall, being a horrid ice skater, and breaking my arm. Oh, and Miss Mary’s afterschool care (macaroni-and-cheese and/or Spaghetti-ohs from a can for snacks, naps on quilts, etc.)

For some reason, the Twins never took with me even though Killebrew, Carew, and Oliva were there early in my sport-following life. Maybe it was due to my future disdain for the American League – it wasn’t long after 1972 that I became a Cubs’ fan, no doubt during some visiting to Chicago. But, I still remember Killebrew, as much for how that name would stick in a 7 year-old’s head as for the massive number of home runs he hit in his career. As with many players, in all sport back then, their personality was more tied to the city in which they played than it was to a national audience. I always feel like I’ve kept some connection to the Twin Cities, and I always sneak a peak at the Twins in the standings.

Killebrew died today after a long battle with cancer. That photo above? That looks like a baseball player.

old crazy

I have a few thoughts on sport. Not sport on TV or in person, but life sport.

I remember very little about my days playing little league baseball. Then again, I stopped playing at a young age and stuck more to basketball. I remember my basketball playing days (they don’t call it little league; it was the South Southwest Omaha YMCA grouping). Our team won the ‘state championship’ for fifth- and sixth-graders at the big tournament in Lincoln. That was memorable more for the weekend trip, playing on the road, and being in the Final Four. The games themselves don’t stand out. Practice at myriad Omaha area elementary schools on cold and damp weeknights (usually something like Tuesday and Thursday) don’t stand out. If pressed, I can probably bring forth a half-dozen real memories from those years of youth organized basketball. What I do remember of my youth and sport is the hours upon hours I spent playing pick-up basketball at YMCAs, churches, my drive way, and my friends’ houses. I remember me and the neighbors playing hours of a made-up baseball in the front yard: pitcher, hitter, one fielder. A whiffle bat, a yellow Trac-ball, and a fence. Once you fielded the ball you had to hit one of the first three fence planks (1st base/only base) to get the runner out before he tagged it. Repeat. This was far more exciting than any organized stuff I ever played. I remember my greatest pick-up games like they were yesterday. I remember playing Pepper in the front yard for hours.

Here’s the deal, and my crazy talking: get rid of organized sports for kids. Keep the fields, keep them nice, and let them play – just without our getting the way. If they want to play, they will. The practice and sorting of rules amongst themselves is far more of a life lesson than schedules on Excel spreadsheets, bad umpiring/referees, and overbearing parents. Open spaces and open minds. The thought of little league stuff these days just turns my stomach. Why can’t it be like this?



And why can’t we let kids make the teams – or sort the hopefuls and others. It works.



I think I might give you some time to digest this craziness before I continue on with my “let all track-and-field athletes dope all they want” position. That may be too much for one day.

at the buzzer

While I was watching Game 7 of the NBA Finals, where the Lakers came back from a double-digit deficit to beat the Celtics, a few light bulbs flashed. The first was this, “Why am I watching an NBA game?” The second was “How come there’s only one really good player on the court?” Lastly, the coup de grace: if you’re making a push to comeback in a free flow sport (basketball, tennis, hockey, etc.) you better get over the hump the first time or you’re finished; the expended energy leaves nothing for a second run. And for the lead defender, you simply need to keep the top of the mountain free from challenge. In Game 7 you could see both sides of the battle with the Lakers clearly having the bit between their teeth and the Celtics defending the summit; it was enthralling stuff to watch. The Celtics are considerably older than the Lakers and throughout the fourth quarter you just knew that if they could survive the rush, and not fall behind by even 3 or 4 points, then they’d win. As the Lakers got within a few points, tied it a few times, and the Celtics fought back, it looked like they’d win the title. But, alas, the Lakers put their nose ahead by 3 or 4 and you knew the game was over: The Lakers had cleared the summit. If they’d been unable to put that small distance between themselves and the C’s then everything would have still been in play. This is a VERY long back story, I know, but the point is that you get one shot: over or you’re out.

What I realized this morning, after watching some interviews from the big rally in D.C. over the weekend, was this: The Republican party is trying to summit and they’re gambling on getting over-the-top in one push. That idea is a perfectly considered strategy if their current compromises weren’t taken into account. The compromise is twofold: the crop of tea party candidates and the pandering of the ‘moderate’ candidates in order to survive a challenge. What’s happened so far is that the party is putting forward (and the voters are supporting it) tea party candidates for the general election and we don’t really know how they’ll fare against Democrats or Independents when the voting public pulls the lever. All of these ‘upsets’ so far have been Republicans losing to Republicans.

The mid-terms will give the Republicans/Tea Party a significant increase in seats in Congress. Since the Civil War there are only three instances of the mid-term elections not taking seats from the President’s party: FDR in 1934, Clinton in 1998, and Bush in 2002. Add in that the country is quite split right now and there may be a bigger swing than normal. But, that swing won’t be 40 seats in the house. Same with the Senate – only twice has a swing of double digits been seen and that’s what would have to happen this year. It’ll be close in the end but voters across the board will probably give us the Dems with 52 seats in the Senate, plus two independents, and something like 225 to keep control of the House. I don’t want to see those seats lost but it’s the nature of the beast. At the same time, let’s go back to Game 7 of the NBA Finals and add in another damning fact.

If the Republicans don’t gain control of either end of the capitol, or both, then they’ll spend even more years in the wilderness. This is the one push they get and if they only get close, but don’t get a nose in front, then not only will they have to battle an Obama reelection campaign in 2012 they’ll have to fight their own past. Imagine they find themselves short in numbers after this election and a good number of those seats are filled by incumbent tea party members come 2012. How do you address that election? The party is going to need to rid themselves of the extreme incumbents they elected in this desperate 2010 election season whilst trying to also battle another massive surge of Democratic campaigning. Getting even this year will not be enough to prevent a slaughter in 2012 and I don’t see them getting there in two months time. It is the long view, isn’t it?

52 and 225. Mark it.

Up next, music clouds.

northwestside story

I finally remembered my camera after all these years and snap some photos while heading to the DuPont Circle farmers market this morning. I usually park right near the Iraq Embassy on 18th St. NW and walk north a block before turning east to the market. These two badass associations are right across 18th St. from each other and I always imagine them as two rival gangs occasionally getting drunk on a Friday night, calling out insults across the street, and eventually rumbling in the middle of the street around midnight.

"You guys suck at splitting binomials!"

"What are you made of? Iron? Waffle iron? Wafflers!"

"Oh, yeah, find x, you no-talent eighth grade dropouts!"

"Quick, call Karl Rove. The game is on!"

I'm vaguely watching the Germany v. Australia tie at the World Cup and with Ally McCoist doing the color, I feel like either Sue Barker or John Parrott are going to bust in soon enough with either flirting or quips, respectively. I know, that's pretty deep, but if you lived in England for any period of time then you'll know what I'm talking about.

It's pizza night so I'm busy enough this evening. L. has added sausage as an option on her cream cheese extravaganza...we'll see how that works out.

t

say it's so, Joe

I don't have much love for baseball these days. I'm still a Cubs fan but that's not the issue. I find the 'salary cap' to be a joke, the PEDs, and the game to be boring. It's such a distance that I don't even know if the Cubs making the World Series would bring me back.

What has caught my attention over the last three years is Joe Mauer. I don't completely disconnect when it comes to sport and Mauer may be the best player in baseball. He's a Twin Cities legend, he was the Gatorade high school football player of the year and now he's the MLB MVP and three-time batting champion. If I had to pick an AL team, it'd be the Twins - the team of my youngest days in Edina. To see the Twins lock him up - with a beautiful new stadium next season - instead of the Yanks or Sox poaching him, makes me feel good. There will be many great summer nights in the Cities.

t

wrapping the weekend

While working - nay, manning - the LOC information desk yesterday I had one of those special moments. A gentleman and his girlfriend came to the desk and asked to see "the instruments"; we have a collection of violins and cellos on exhibit in the Whitthall Pavilion. They include all the great instruments of the day: Stradivarius, a Crisler donation, and about a half-dozen other pieces. The Whitthall isn't something that folks wander through as a matter of course being that it's a room off a downstairs hallway, but in my 20 months at the LOC I've had maybe 20 folks who've come to specifically see the instruments. The Library also pulls them out quite often for concerts in the Coolidge Auditorium by traveling players. Anyway, once I got the key from the supervisor we headed downstairs for a quick look and I find out that this gentlemen is the guitarist for Pete Seeger and has been building violins by hand for over 40 years. You will rarely in your life witness such happiness as I saw when he caught a glance of the instruments; there may have been tears in his eyes. His girlfriend, who'd found about the exhibit on-line, was all smiles to see just how happy he was to come across all of this on their visit to D.C. (they came down from NYC). I had the benefit of getting a nice, in-depth explanation of the shapes and design of violins - something I found horribly interesting. After about 45 minutes of joy they headed out with plans to come back to the City - the next time I told them to call ahead and speak with the musical instruments librarian; they are perfectly happy to actually pull out the pieces and let folks examine and hold them. It was wonderful to see them head out on the 1st St. NW so happy.

I'm watching the Sunday night NFL game on-line; Colts v. Pats. If the fans of each team (or haters of each team) can throw out that bias, watching these two teams is what football is all about. Both of them are so well-coached and so much fun to watch that I think they may be the only teams across sport that I'll watch and not have a rooting involvement. Brady and Manning are really something like heavyweights going at it. Great stuff.

It's looking more and more like L. will end up here in January. Details are being sorted but if it works out I hope she'll be here until the end of the summer...updates to follow.

retest

I guess the quiz last night reminded me I hadn't posted for awhile; we didn't do as well as last week but it was a bit harder. I figure we finished about 10th out of 45, or so, teams. Who's going to remember walk current day animal most resembles the extinct quagga?

For some reason on Sunday night X decided she wanted to watch a Clara Bow movie. I agreed and then asked "who is Clara Bow?" We ended up streaming The Plastic Age via Netflix (and our Roku). For those not in the know, and who is?, Clara was a silent-age film 'star' from the teens and '20s. The Plastic Age (name for who know what) isn't really a Clara Bow vehicle as far as I'm concerned - she just played the hotsy-totsy gal who nearly ruins - no, she does ruin - the grand college life of one Hugh Carver, Track Star. You know her type: big eyes, little pursed mouth and too much lipstick. The cool thing about silent movies is that you can sit at home and talk or make fun of various bits in the film without much worry. In fact, you could wander off if you wanted and come back with a cup of coffee and be well caught up. The silents remind me of opera; lots of stuff supposedly happening but it's mostly just either singing or people moving about the place.

There's rumor about the L. may come here to live around the Holidays and stay through her next semester of high school. I'll keep folks updated on progress which is slow but gathering steam.

The Capitals' season is off to a bit of an uneven start but Mr. Ovechkin came ready to play this season - 9 goals, 8 games, leading the league in scoring. What I realized - again - while watching him at Verizon last week was that I'm very lucky to be in a city, and at games, with a sublime talent like him playing. If you want to swing by I have two seats for half the games; you'll be hooked. If you're interested, here's AO scoring both goals in regulation and the only goal in the shootout for the win - he does this stuff EVERY night.

We've got a little concert on Friday night (Tarbox Ramblers) and Lost in Yonkers at the JCC on Saturday. Conveniently, the boys will be out of town for the weekend so we can do as we please. Reviews to follow on both.

Our weather held nice for the last two days but I have no expectations that the depths of autumn isn't upon us.

Love to all.

t

If you ain't cheatin', you ain't tryin'

Motorsport entry! Motorsport entry!

I don't get this. Another Formula 1 controversy (pronounced: khan-trah-vezy) has resolved itself this week. I love Formula 1 but it may be the most mafia-like sport in the World. Renault (Benetton as they will always be to me - home of four World Champions) was dynamited when former driver Nelson Piquet, Jr. revealed that he intentionally crashed during a race last year in order to sway the outcome towards his teammate, Fernando Alonso. What's even more interesting than the result for his teammate, who I think finished third or so, was that the rest of the field was jumbled and the eventual World Champion would not have won the title if it'd been a straight race. The details have to do with crashing on the track in a position and style that would warrant the safety car to come out thus screwing with everyone's fuel strategy; this is some pretty heinous racing stuff. When you're dealing with race fixing - which is what this was, especially intentional crashing - then the sport has some serious issues. When the story broke, all those primarily involved including team technical director Pat Symonds and owner / director (and all-World Playboy) Flavio Briatore denied everything. Of course, there's little chance they were telling the truth. (In fact, the telemetry alone from the car should have tipped off F1A to the cheating.) Eventually, both resigned and have been banned for something like five years to infinity. The team will continue to exist on a two-year probationary period. I felt the punishment was lame on all fronts. I would have suspended the team - across the board - from F1 for at least ten years and fined the ownership something near an assload of money.

To put things in perspective, McLaren-Mercedes was found guilty a few years ago of having confidential Ferrari tech manuals. They denied it, it went to the court of appeals, and they were found guilty. This is some Cold War-like espionage but I don't put it on the same level as actually fixing a race. Their punishment included some probation and a fine equal to $100 million. Pay up, baby! $100 million is absurd but it would certainly sends a message - or, one would think so. Apparently, Renault didn't get the memo. Then again, they didn't have to vacate any results and they still get constructor money.

The McLaren fine got us talking about the Patriots and SpyGate a few years back. I think the Pats were chastised and lost a first-round pick (which isn't nothing) and paid a million dollar fine ($500k from the team and $500k from Bill Belichick). Imagine if the NFL has been badass and fined a team a cool $100 million? That would have made news.

beauty

I find most of the stunt and trail riders to be simply stunning. Add in a great song and camera work and it flows beautifully. Great stuff.

one more

I'm off baseball for the year; no apparent reason, just am. But, Mark Buehrle of the ChiSox pitched his second no hitter this afternoon on the South Side - this one a perfect game, only the 18th in history. The most stunning play? One out, top of the ninth and he's two outs from the finish. Normally, the final out is the highlight clip but there's no doubt that the 26th out was historical within historical. Watch the video and watch this kid go, and go, and go. That shot was hit hard and DeWayne Wise covers at least 30-35 yards just to get to the fence before he pulls the ball back, bobbles it, and finally holds on. Amazing stuff. Stuff of legend.

on a lighter note

After The Eleven put a wrap on our civil rights discussion (Ricci) and my query as to whether or she felt Roger Federer’s 15 Grand Slam titles or Tiger Woods’ 14 Major Championships was more impressive (she went with Tiger), we finally settled into bed about midnight. At which point there was some story from her youth that included the following phrases: Fra Angelico Blue, a “pigment enthusiast”, “started her own religion”, and Ruthie. That was enough to send me to sleep with a chuckle but I was also then lucky enough for her to speak of “scrapping dead chickens off the road”, as if that were a normal pursuit in every child’s upbringing.

a manouever

I mistakenly forgot to pass along my tennis confession. I watched the first 4 1/2 sets online at NBC.com - but suddenly, and without warning, they cut the feed at 6-6 in the fifth. The feed continued to post "network difficulties" but it was clearly a matter of the "fuck yous". I was, surprisingly enough, fully able to reconfigure and watch the Travelers' commercials - shocking. Suddenly, action needed to be taken - heroic action - and we fired up the big 36" Sony Wega configured with the digital converter box. It was all for shit and the remote did nothing but fire the on/off switch if you hit any button: no scan, no channels, something messed up in the wiring. As we tried to rescan the channels and get NBC to configure we were stuck sorting out how to start the scan, remove the batteries quickly enough to allow scan completion, and then repower the system to get the tennis on. You've got to be kidding me. Or, in the immortal words of John McEnroe, "You CAN'T be serious!" X manned the remote and longed for the ribbon deloader while I sat on my ass directing activities. As she finally managed to yank the AAAs from the remote in mid-tune, and we suddenly had the NBC picture - the only one that came in since it's first - she fell to the floor in misery as I told her to quit her belly-aching; shhhh, the tennis is on. By that time it was 10-9, Federer, and I called in for assistance. Needless to say, she was fine and assitance wasn't required as she later in the evening said to me, "You didn't mention my heroic effort that allowed you to watch that tennis thing."

I love her.

t

30 is the new 40, and 15, and love

In the end, the fifth set could never go any other way. Roddick broke Federer in the first - to win the set - and early in the fourth to essentially grasp hold of that one; but it wasn't going to happen in the fifth. Even though Federer didn't get that first break until the ultimate game, Roddick had zero chance to break over those 15, fifth-service games. If you look at the numbers from the fifth it's not so much that they are lopsided as it becomes clear that Roddick never even sniffed a deuce game. I think he may have gotten to 30 two or three times, led at 0-15 or 15-30 twice, and got lambasted the remaining games. Federer, on the other hand, continued to chip away at Roddick's service games, getting to deuce at least the final three games - probably four times in the set - and eventually he was going to close one out. Both men played fantastic tennis and I sat mesmerized for the final 3 1/2 hours; like Pete Sampras, I showed up a bit late.

"She was reliable 90 percent of the time." I've lifted this little gem from a news story. I'm trying to sort out at exactly what level you'd classify someone who is reliable 100 percent of the time. I imagine telling my boss that I'll be reliable, for the most part, and only skip out on work one day every two weeks. I mean, I'll be around but it'll be a bit of a mystery as to why I'm not at work. I like this management style.

I'm running a strange experiment on tonight's - delayed from Friday - pizza night. Don't worry, the boys will get the usual but I'm going to try to do a roasted new potato, roasted corn, leek and garlic wonder; with everything resting on a vidalia onion, white wine sauce. Reports to follow.

It was a very cool 70-degree holiday weekend. Everyone still has all their fingers since we didn't really do fireworks.

hey to all.

t

whack jobs

I was listening to some commentary this morning about the various state governors either refusing stimulus money in whole, or wanting to move the money from one program to another. I’m of the opinion that governors probably have a better idea of where their state might need funds but, unfortunately, it becomes a problem when stimulus money is just passed out to folk and they are allowed to do as they please (see: AIG). If a federal stimulus plan is based on the ideals of the administration and congress in charge then it’s going to lead to some gnashing of teeth on programs. Clearly, the Obama plan is to build infrastructure, education, support unemployment benefit pools, and hopefully reassess and support the mortgage market. If, as a governor, you don’t agree with that, so be it – make a rational argument. But if you’re Mark Sanford (S.C.) apparently your input is that the stimulus package will lead to “debt” and “higher taxes” As Seth and Amy might say, really? If you want to push back, not take money, request to move money, or fight for your people….do so, just don’t look like an idiot. How exactly does he think it is going to work? I’ll give Gov. Sanford a story problem: you need $100,000 to get yourself through a year of your life but you only earn $70,000 a year and you can’t sell your house because the market’s for junk. What are you going to do Mr. Man? You either need to bring in more money or you’ll need to borrow. Or, if you’re Mark Sanford, you complain that living with less than you need can’t possibly be remedied if those are the choices. Sanford is nothing but static gumming up the airwaves. The state of South Carolina requires more money than they are bringing in and they’ve got a few choices: cut services, raise taxes, or increase debt. Take your pick as opposed to saying that your choices are cutting services, raising taxes, or increasing debt; that’s actually the question, not the answer. If your state’s unemployment benefit pool is almost empty and you are offered help then you should probably take it. Yes, I understand that the money won’t magically be created down the road; it’ll have to come from higher taxes and it adds to the debt – do you think you’re telling us something we don’t know? And if I may, finally, I’ll add that Sanford is a Republican – a hack Republican, but a Republican, nonetheless – and his party has spent hundreds of billions of dollars that the government didn’t actually have – we also call that debt in the liberal movement. In order to pay back this debt….they cut taxes. What? Let’s see: I ran up my credit card with more than I can afford and I think the best solution might be for me to quit my job and cut my revenues; excellent plan. That’s that, I guess.

On a lighter note; sports fans are nuts. I’m a huge fan of a number of teams – most don’t win many championships – but I don’t think that I ever get completely thrown off my rocker. Some of the Capitals fans who “contribute” to the blog at the WaPo are seriously crazed people. (The Caps have had a very uneven start to the month.) I actually think there are old coots out there who think they should win every, single game – it’s mind-numbing. Maybe I just shouldn’t read the blog; there’s a solution.

My cat, even though already demanding more than is necessary, has decided to actually speak to me when she wants her pets. She used to just climb up on my lap but suddenly she’s taken to making noise prior to arrival and attacking my hand with the top of her pretty little head. I didn’t ask for any of this…

fun-da-mentals (clap clap - clap clap clap)

One of Slate’s writers finally added his voice to the much read and discussed Shane Battier story in the NYTimes Sunday Magazine from a few weekends ago. The kinfolk from Vermont were down visiting for Second Christmas when one of our late night rap sessions slipped toward sport and superstars. It’s happened in the past, and I’m probably the cause of the jumps, but there are some sports happenings that equate well to various real-life situations – I don’t remember the source of this particular foray. Oddly enough, the morning after our chat the Battier piece shows up on our doorstep as if called from the beyond. I also broached the subject of the article with my resident Sabermetrician and he assured me that the article “was all the talk” in and around the community over the weekend. I felt a bit nerdy knowing that something I found interesting was the “talk” of the Sabermetrician community; they’re a strange breed.

The piece struck me in two different ways: first, it confirmed my long-held suspicions that there are many aspects of team athletic endeavors that go unnoticed. As X pointed out while reading the article, why have we chosen to only accept (and pay athletes) by the defined box score numbers we see in the paper? Second, I wanted to believe that I was Shane Battier – and I’m also apparently the guy who could be writing the Slate piece. Hey, I lived in Arlington until this year and I have prescription Rec Specs! Secondly, my final season of playing organized basketball was way back in 1995 as I was finishing up my first tour in England and a lot of the story rings true for a mid-level player. I finally gave up playing after that year because when you hit 30 it all becomes too much. Well, that and the fact that I have a very low threshold of pain and blowing out a knee didn’t seem like anything I might be interested in experiencing. And, if I may let you know, most military bases have regular basketball leagues and over-30 leagues: I was barely interested enough in playing with 18- and 19-year-olds heaving up twenty-five footers and dressing like MJ – there was no way I was showing up to play with the old guys. My retirement at 30 had long been on the table and that Spring it was formally announced and reported to my rearview mirror on my drive home through the English fens. Those last two seasons were spent doing the same junk I'd always done: rebounding, blocking out, playing defense, setting picks, moving without the ball, and hoping that the *Kevin Johnson-wannabe point guard would somehow manage to not turn the ball over or possibly figure out how to use a pick. Two things quickly became evident way back then: the point guard would never figure out the pick and I was getting way too old and tired to play with the kids. It was also during that final season that I was ejected from a game for the first time. Oddly enough, it wasn’t because I was hanging 30 points on the opposition or yanking down 20 rebounds and the other team was targeting me; it was because of a beautiful blindside pick set on the point guard’s defender as they were hurtling down the court. For some reason, or more likely simple luck, the point ran his man right into the pick. I had the benefit of seeing it coming (don’t think I wasn’t smiling….) and had time to brace for impact. The poor defender was simply de-cleated, if you will, and he was pissed at everything. No foul was called but chucklehead was none too happy when he got up off the ground and threw a punch. I ducked – I’m a lover, you know – and the ref ejected us both: he for being a jerk, me for being too good. Or being Shane Battier, had we known.

I pulled off my Rec Specs, wiped the sweat away, and headed home. A good night, indeed.

t

*I had to dig through my dusty brain to come up with a 1995 era point guard. I was going to throw out Steve Nash or Allen Iverson but that would have taken my readers outside the picture I was creating. I would have had all kinds of feedback about how Steve Nash wasn’t yet an NBA MVP so how could that kid in 1995 have wanted to be Steve Nash? Was he Canadian? Nevermind.