I have a new defense the next time I do something egregiously wrong, whether at work or personally…human error. How does that work? I’ll let Richard Justice of the Houston Chronicle explain:
McGwire’s Mistake was Human Error.
Pure, simple, could-happen-to-anyone human error. Like forgetting to carry a one or grazing the side of the garage when parking your car or purposefully injecting yourself with a not-quite-legal performance-enhancing drug that markedly improves your performance.
People are way more complicated than those of us in the media sometimes paint them. For instance, Mark McGwire. He was a great baseball player in every sense.
Except for that whole not cheating part.
Not only was he one of the best offensive players of all time, he handled himself with class off the field as well.
He helped little old ladies across the street, helped abused children and never swore. He also used the shit out of steroids. But he never swore.
His teammates loved him. They admired his talent, and they loved his humility and decency. They loved how he went about his business and placed winning above any individual accomplishment.
They loved how he gave them access to his dealer and his abnormal size and performance gains gave cover for their own steroid use. They loved how he never lorded it over them that he got into steroids first. They thought that it was pretty decent when he shared his needles. They loved how he made the 90s fun.
I got to know him over the years and found him to be smart, moody and dedicated to being the best he could be.
It’s weird, he was never described as moody during his early years in Oakland…
I know all the things he’s accused of doing, and I believe he did them. In his case, unlike those of Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, performance-enhancing drugs might have been critical to the career he had.
It would be pretty neat-o if sportswriters used actual evidence when they made an argument. It would help to make this credible, it’s kinda their job and it would make it so I wasn't wondering why Mark McGwire, an excellent player who became abnormally awesome in his twilight years, was good only because of performance-enhancing drugs, whereas Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, who were also both excellent players who became abnormally awesome in their twilight years because of performance-enhancing drugs too, would have been good anyway.
I am not saying this is wrong. I am not even saying that it is a ridiculous assertion because it is impossible to prove. I am just saying that a little information to back it up would be nice.
The Sept. 11 attacks had occurred two weeks earlier when we spoke, and McGwire’s eyes filled with tears as he talked of being glued to CNN for hours.
Or we could just change subjects. That’s cool, too.
He wondered what he could do to help the victims.
Strangely, neither 9/11 nor McGwire’s helping the victims are relevant to his unethical and illegal use of steroids, but let’s stick with this for a while. It’s a human interest story. People love that shit.
Even steroid users have charitable hearts.
Must be a side effect of the drug.
I’m guessing he has been devastated by the loss of his good name these past few years.
And the worst part is that because of the steroids, he’s still too bulky to pay the world’s smallest violin.
I figured he would be the first of the alleged steroid guys to tell the world what they did and why.
Me: Why Mark, why?
Mark McGwire: Well, I was in my late 30s and not that good anymore and wanted to be better so I could make millions more dollars.
Me: Hmm. Do you think that would make me better at my job?
Mark McGwire: What do you do?
Me: I blog.
Mark McGwire: Couldn’t hurt.
Me: Do you know a guy?
If that happens, others could come forward. They might find that people are way more forgiving than they think. The truth is we’re all trying to get our minds around baseball’s steroid era.
And the best way to get our minds off of the steroid era is to have a bunch of guys from the era talk about all the drugs they did. Logic. Fail.
… Forget prison. What Bonds and Clemens have lost is far worse than jail time. Their reputations have been destroyed, their accomplishments diminished.
Cheating leads to people thinking you are better than you are. Getting caught leads to people thinking that you’re not as good as they thought you were before they knew you were a cheat. And that is worse than jail.
Fans sometimes complain that players don’t care as much as they do. In the case of Bonds, McGwire and Clemens, they might have cared too much.
The old “I hit you because I love you” defense. Air tight.
They allowed their ambition to get the best of their judgment. For that, they’ll pay forever.
And that seems fair, right? What is Justice going to write next, an agonized defense of Madoff?
Friday, January 23, 2009
Jeff Kent: A be-mustached matryoshka doll of sensitivity
Bill Plaschke notes that under the close to two-decades of unpleasantness lies the *real* Jeff Kent.
In announcing his retirement Thursday, Jeff Kent finally showed the passion that he spent 17 years hiding underneath an icy veneer that won many games but few friends.
[Take note Albert Belle: When people refer to you as "surly," correct them; it was merely your *veneer* that was surly.]
He cried when talking about the Dodgers uniform, cried when talking about his family, sincerely thanked reporters for their questions, and even explained the last unexplainable thing in his career. "My dad was a police officer . . . hence, the mustache," he said, smiling below reddened eyes.
[Somewhere Nic Cage is nodding in approval.]
It's a sad thing, knowing now that he could have perhaps used some of this passion to have more impact as a leader.
[MORE impact as a leader?]
He spoke of his confrontations with everyone from Barry Bonds to Milton Bradley to Dodgers rookies as being part of a plan to sacrifice himself for the sake of the clubhouse. "The run-ins I might have had with teammates or some of the media, almost everything I did, I did purposely," he said.
[O Captain! My Captain!]
He said that his perceived toughness on teammates was just his way of injecting a respect for the game.
[Similar to when Kenny Rogers gave that cameraman an "esteem hug" back in June 2005.]
His one misgiving, he later admitted, was that perhaps he wasn't tough enough on one teammate. Kent will forever believe that after his San Francisco Giants blew the five-run lead in the last three innings of Game 6 of the 2002 World Series against the Angels, he should have fought Barry Bonds.
[He even went as far as passing the bat-boy a note addressed to Bonds that read: "Visitors parking lot - 30 minutes after the game. Be there. Or else. P.S. Nobody likes you."]
"If I had fought Barry, I could have gotten the focus off losing, and we could have been better prepared for Game 7."
[This has to be the mustache talking, right? I can hear the pre-game interview now: "You know, despite the fact that I have two broken bones in my hand and Barry's jaw is wired shut, we've never been more focused as a team than we are right now."]
We may have never known the depth of the real Jeff Kent, but the one we did know was plenty.
[Amen.]
In announcing his retirement Thursday, Jeff Kent finally showed the passion that he spent 17 years hiding underneath an icy veneer that won many games but few friends.
[Take note Albert Belle: When people refer to you as "surly," correct them; it was merely your *veneer* that was surly.]
He cried when talking about the Dodgers uniform, cried when talking about his family, sincerely thanked reporters for their questions, and even explained the last unexplainable thing in his career. "My dad was a police officer . . . hence, the mustache," he said, smiling below reddened eyes.
[Somewhere Nic Cage is nodding in approval.]
It's a sad thing, knowing now that he could have perhaps used some of this passion to have more impact as a leader.
[MORE impact as a leader?]
He spoke of his confrontations with everyone from Barry Bonds to Milton Bradley to Dodgers rookies as being part of a plan to sacrifice himself for the sake of the clubhouse. "The run-ins I might have had with teammates or some of the media, almost everything I did, I did purposely," he said.
[O Captain! My Captain!]
He said that his perceived toughness on teammates was just his way of injecting a respect for the game.
[Similar to when Kenny Rogers gave that cameraman an "esteem hug" back in June 2005.]
His one misgiving, he later admitted, was that perhaps he wasn't tough enough on one teammate. Kent will forever believe that after his San Francisco Giants blew the five-run lead in the last three innings of Game 6 of the 2002 World Series against the Angels, he should have fought Barry Bonds.
[He even went as far as passing the bat-boy a note addressed to Bonds that read: "Visitors parking lot - 30 minutes after the game. Be there. Or else. P.S. Nobody likes you."]
"If I had fought Barry, I could have gotten the focus off losing, and we could have been better prepared for Game 7."
[This has to be the mustache talking, right? I can hear the pre-game interview now: "You know, despite the fact that I have two broken bones in my hand and Barry's jaw is wired shut, we've never been more focused as a team than we are right now."]
We may have never known the depth of the real Jeff Kent, but the one we did know was plenty.
[Amen.]
Ingenius Tactics
After following the latest Caroline Kennedy/Senate developments, Donovan McNabb has announced that he is withdrawning himself from Super Bowl MVP consideration.
In other news, Buster Olney, on his ESPN blog, thinks that
A candidate for least interesting story of the year so far, for me, is word that Mark McGwire's brother, Jay, has circulated a book proposal in which the brother says the former slugger used steroids.
[I will follow Olney's lead and propose my own candidate for least interesting story of the year so far:
Buster Olney's piece devoted to the story that *he* deemed a candidate for least interesting story of the year so far.]
In other news, Buster Olney, on his ESPN blog, thinks that
A candidate for least interesting story of the year so far, for me, is word that Mark McGwire's brother, Jay, has circulated a book proposal in which the brother says the former slugger used steroids.
[I will follow Olney's lead and propose my own candidate for least interesting story of the year so far:
Buster Olney's piece devoted to the story that *he* deemed a candidate for least interesting story of the year so far.]
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Cardinals in the Super Bowl = BCS is awesome
Stewart Mandel, who I normally really like, launches a myopic (and kind of angry) defense of the current BCS system.
Each year, when fans, broadcasters and columnists engage in their annual hand-wringing over the lack of a college football playoff, the lords of the BCS defend their divisive system by noting a playoff would deflate the sport's uniquely gripping regular season.... Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the living embodiment of a devalued regular season: The Arizona Cardinals.
[Basing a broad argument on a sample size of *one* specific instance? Solid.]
Because the sport employs a traditional playoff rather than polls and computers, a Cardinals championship will be deemed far more legitimate than Florida's BCS title this past college season. Four great playoff games will override four months of mediocrity.
["Playing actual games" is an inherently more legitimate "polls and computers" means of determining which is the better team, right?]
"If the NFL has now arrived at a strange point where regular-season performance does nothing to predict playoff performance, and every team has an equal chance to win if they make the tournament, is that bad for the league?" Football Outsiders president Aaron Schatz wrote [Peter] King in an e-mail. It's certainly bad for the Tennessee Titans, whose league-best 13-3 record this season earned them ... bupkis.
[WRONG. Having the league's best record earned them (1) the privilege of playing one fewer game to win the championship (having to win 3 games >>> having to win 4 games); and (2) the opportunity to play at home (the Titans were 7-1 at home this year). Just because the Titans lost that playoff game does not mean that the privileges garnered by having the league's best record were devoid of value.]
[W]hy does the NFL even bother to hold a regular season? (Wait, I know -- for fantasy football and gamblers.) Why not stage one big, 32-team playoff?
[Glib.]
In a story from last week's Sports Illustrated leading up to the NFC title game, Cardinals defensive end Bertrand Berry explained his team's late-season slump thusly: "Mentally we eased up a little bit because we had clinched [the NFC West division] so early." That, my friends, is exactly what college football's powers-that-be fear most. Theirs is the only sport where every single game truly matters, where you can't afford to take your foot off the peddle for even one week.
[Again, not always true. Both Florida and Oklahoma lost a game in the regular season. Did it ultimately matter? No. They still made the title game. Plus, the "every game truly matters" mantra results in embarrassing non-conference scheduling by the perennial powers (e.g., Florida hosting Citadel, Oklahoma hosting Chattanooga, etc.). *Winning* every game truly matters, so let's line-up as many non-conference cupcakes as we can. Now THAT'S a meaningful regular season.]
The Virginia Tech Hokies are a more appropriate college parallel to the Cardinals. The Hokies won the ACC last season with a 9-4 record. They were ranked 19th in the final BCS standings and hadn't entered the national-title discussion since the preseason. However, in a playoff, Virginia Tech would have been guaranteed a berth. (Every other major sport, college and professional, gives first dibs to conference/division champions. College football wouldn't be any different.) Who's to say the Hokies couldn't have gotten hot, pulled off a couple of upsets and won the whole thing?
[I don't understand why a team getting "hot" is dismissed as some completely arbitrary stroke of luck. If a Florida's blow-out win against Citadel is so meaningful, why wouldn't a Virgina Tech win over Florida in a playoff format be viewed the same way?]
A national champion with four losses. There goes your "meaningful" regular season.
[Yes, because in a system wherein the contending teams almost *never* share common opponents, win-loss records should be the sole basis for comparing teams' relative dominance.]
Don't get me wrong, the BCS is far from ideal. Now more than ever, it's an inherently ludicrous task to identify just two teams worthy of a shot at the national championship.
[That's kind of *my* point, right? But yeah, let's just stick with the inherently ludicrious approach.]
With a playoff in place, fans would inevitably lose interest once their teams were eliminated from contention.
[Another off-base blanket statement. Most teams (in the current system) are out of contention once they lose their *first* game. I'm pretty sure most fans continue to follow as the season goes along.]
Even if the bowls stayed in business, they'd become to football what the NIT is to basketball.
[This argument always confuses me. Isn't that what the bowls already are?? We have the National Championship game, and then all other bowls. Am I missing something?]
Meanwhile, the regular season would become just like the NFL's and college basketball's. Instead of revolving around the national-title race, the biggest games at the end of the season would be those involving potential wild-card or at-large teams.
[Which would mean that there would be *more* big games each week, right? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills here.]
In college football, there's always at least one, if not several, big "national" games each week (like the ones GameDay features). With a playoff, it would be more like basketball, where there are only two truly "big" games unaffiliated fans watch in droves: The two Duke-North Carolina games. Just substitute Ohio State-Michigan and Oklahoma-Texas.
[See the previous point. Opening up a shot to play for a national title to four or eight teams (instead of just two) would inherently create more important regular season match-ups. That *has* to be correct, doesn't it?]
Obviously, the NFL doesn't exactly suffer because of its playoff format. Fans will not be any less interested in next September's games due to the Cardinals' presence in this year's Super Bowl.
[Ugh. I'm glad we just wasted the previous ten minutes reading how much the NFL's system sucks...... just to come to the conclusion that the NFL system is actually fine.]
If the Cardinals played in college, they might have finished their season in the hometown Insight Bowl. Last month, two 7-5 teams -- Minnesota and Kansas -- played in that relatively low-profile game. It's funny. In college, we complain when mediocre teams like the Gophers and Jayhawks are rewarded with bowl berths. In the pros, the system rewards comparable teams with a shot at the championship.
[This is hyperbole. A 7-5 team would *never* qualify for a four or eight team college playoff. And a "shot" at the championship still requires a team to win games (three, for a team like the Cardinals)-- which is not exactly a hand-out.
P.S. Mandel, ask undefeated Utah how truly meaningful the college football regular season is. The BCS will remain in place because it puts the big schools at an obvious and distinct advantage, thereby making the regular season almost completely meaningless for everyone not included in that group.]
Each year, when fans, broadcasters and columnists engage in their annual hand-wringing over the lack of a college football playoff, the lords of the BCS defend their divisive system by noting a playoff would deflate the sport's uniquely gripping regular season.... Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the living embodiment of a devalued regular season: The Arizona Cardinals.
[Basing a broad argument on a sample size of *one* specific instance? Solid.]
Because the sport employs a traditional playoff rather than polls and computers, a Cardinals championship will be deemed far more legitimate than Florida's BCS title this past college season. Four great playoff games will override four months of mediocrity.
["Playing actual games" is an inherently more legitimate "polls and computers" means of determining which is the better team, right?]
"If the NFL has now arrived at a strange point where regular-season performance does nothing to predict playoff performance, and every team has an equal chance to win if they make the tournament, is that bad for the league?" Football Outsiders president Aaron Schatz wrote [Peter] King in an e-mail. It's certainly bad for the Tennessee Titans, whose league-best 13-3 record this season earned them ... bupkis.
[WRONG. Having the league's best record earned them (1) the privilege of playing one fewer game to win the championship (having to win 3 games >>> having to win 4 games); and (2) the opportunity to play at home (the Titans were 7-1 at home this year). Just because the Titans lost that playoff game does not mean that the privileges garnered by having the league's best record were devoid of value.]
[W]hy does the NFL even bother to hold a regular season? (Wait, I know -- for fantasy football and gamblers.) Why not stage one big, 32-team playoff?
[Glib.]
In a story from last week's Sports Illustrated leading up to the NFC title game, Cardinals defensive end Bertrand Berry explained his team's late-season slump thusly: "Mentally we eased up a little bit because we had clinched [the NFC West division] so early." That, my friends, is exactly what college football's powers-that-be fear most. Theirs is the only sport where every single game truly matters, where you can't afford to take your foot off the peddle for even one week.
[Again, not always true. Both Florida and Oklahoma lost a game in the regular season. Did it ultimately matter? No. They still made the title game. Plus, the "every game truly matters" mantra results in embarrassing non-conference scheduling by the perennial powers (e.g., Florida hosting Citadel, Oklahoma hosting Chattanooga, etc.). *Winning* every game truly matters, so let's line-up as many non-conference cupcakes as we can. Now THAT'S a meaningful regular season.]
The Virginia Tech Hokies are a more appropriate college parallel to the Cardinals. The Hokies won the ACC last season with a 9-4 record. They were ranked 19th in the final BCS standings and hadn't entered the national-title discussion since the preseason. However, in a playoff, Virginia Tech would have been guaranteed a berth. (Every other major sport, college and professional, gives first dibs to conference/division champions. College football wouldn't be any different.) Who's to say the Hokies couldn't have gotten hot, pulled off a couple of upsets and won the whole thing?
[I don't understand why a team getting "hot" is dismissed as some completely arbitrary stroke of luck. If a Florida's blow-out win against Citadel is so meaningful, why wouldn't a Virgina Tech win over Florida in a playoff format be viewed the same way?]
A national champion with four losses. There goes your "meaningful" regular season.
[Yes, because in a system wherein the contending teams almost *never* share common opponents, win-loss records should be the sole basis for comparing teams' relative dominance.]
Don't get me wrong, the BCS is far from ideal. Now more than ever, it's an inherently ludicrous task to identify just two teams worthy of a shot at the national championship.
[That's kind of *my* point, right? But yeah, let's just stick with the inherently ludicrious approach.]
With a playoff in place, fans would inevitably lose interest once their teams were eliminated from contention.
[Another off-base blanket statement. Most teams (in the current system) are out of contention once they lose their *first* game. I'm pretty sure most fans continue to follow as the season goes along.]
Even if the bowls stayed in business, they'd become to football what the NIT is to basketball.
[This argument always confuses me. Isn't that what the bowls already are?? We have the National Championship game, and then all other bowls. Am I missing something?]
Meanwhile, the regular season would become just like the NFL's and college basketball's. Instead of revolving around the national-title race, the biggest games at the end of the season would be those involving potential wild-card or at-large teams.
[Which would mean that there would be *more* big games each week, right? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills here.]
In college football, there's always at least one, if not several, big "national" games each week (like the ones GameDay features). With a playoff, it would be more like basketball, where there are only two truly "big" games unaffiliated fans watch in droves: The two Duke-North Carolina games. Just substitute Ohio State-Michigan and Oklahoma-Texas.
[See the previous point. Opening up a shot to play for a national title to four or eight teams (instead of just two) would inherently create more important regular season match-ups. That *has* to be correct, doesn't it?]
Obviously, the NFL doesn't exactly suffer because of its playoff format. Fans will not be any less interested in next September's games due to the Cardinals' presence in this year's Super Bowl.
[Ugh. I'm glad we just wasted the previous ten minutes reading how much the NFL's system sucks...... just to come to the conclusion that the NFL system is actually fine.]
If the Cardinals played in college, they might have finished their season in the hometown Insight Bowl. Last month, two 7-5 teams -- Minnesota and Kansas -- played in that relatively low-profile game. It's funny. In college, we complain when mediocre teams like the Gophers and Jayhawks are rewarded with bowl berths. In the pros, the system rewards comparable teams with a shot at the championship.
[This is hyperbole. A 7-5 team would *never* qualify for a four or eight team college playoff. And a "shot" at the championship still requires a team to win games (three, for a team like the Cardinals)-- which is not exactly a hand-out.
P.S. Mandel, ask undefeated Utah how truly meaningful the college football regular season is. The BCS will remain in place because it puts the big schools at an obvious and distinct advantage, thereby making the regular season almost completely meaningless for everyone not included in that group.]
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Hyperbole = No Match for Jason Whitlock
An Inauguration-themed piece by Mr. Whitlock.
A half-black, half-white American president is stealing the spotlight this week, but Raheem Morris truly pulled off the impossible and proved just how far we've come in terms of racial equality.
[There's more....]
You want real proof of America's racial progress? Take a look at what just transpired with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers....
[One more....]
OK, so maybe Obama has a bit more on his plate than a couple of football coaches. I'm still more impressed with Morris' rise than Obama's.
[I've got nothing.]
[P.S. Who is Raheem Morris again?]
A half-black, half-white American president is stealing the spotlight this week, but Raheem Morris truly pulled off the impossible and proved just how far we've come in terms of racial equality.
[There's more....]
You want real proof of America's racial progress? Take a look at what just transpired with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers....
[One more....]
OK, so maybe Obama has a bit more on his plate than a couple of football coaches. I'm still more impressed with Morris' rise than Obama's.
[I've got nothing.]
[P.S. Who is Raheem Morris again?]
One more, then this story is dead to me. Honest.
As Nils has pointed out in previous episodes, Rick Reilly is a touch out-of-touch. His article on Larry Fitzgerald both reiterates that notion and serves as a perfect representation of the media's looking-the-other-way love affair with the star WR.
Obama is a football freak, so he'll be watching next Sunday when the world finally gets a load of Fitzgerald's son—the anti-T.O.—a receiver who catches everything and brags about nothing, who climbs his own invisible staircase to get to footballs, who dresses and speaks impeccably and travels the world alone in the off-season, taking in museums.
[Insert your own "must stay 200 feet away" joke with respect to the "travels the world alone" compliment.]
"He looks so much like his mother," says Larry Sr. "He has her humility, her smile and her stubbornness."
[I bet T.O. looks *nothing* like his mother.]
No wonder Junior still carries his mom's driver's license in his wallet. No wonder he wears his hair in long dreads—as she did—to honor her. And now this Samson comes into the Big Bowl as one of the main pillars the Steelers have to topple.
[This story is officially dead to me. Although, the following Wikipedia passage on Samson is a bit eerie:
--
Obama is a football freak, so he'll be watching next Sunday when the world finally gets a load of Fitzgerald's son—the anti-T.O.—a receiver who catches everything and brags about nothing, who climbs his own invisible staircase to get to footballs, who dresses and speaks impeccably and travels the world alone in the off-season, taking in museums.
[Insert your own "must stay 200 feet away" joke with respect to the "travels the world alone" compliment.]
"He looks so much like his mother," says Larry Sr. "He has her humility, her smile and her stubbornness."
[I bet T.O. looks *nothing* like his mother.]
No wonder Junior still carries his mom's driver's license in his wallet. No wonder he wears his hair in long dreads—as she did—to honor her. And now this Samson comes into the Big Bowl as one of the main pillars the Steelers have to topple.
[This story is officially dead to me. Although, the following Wikipedia passage on Samson is a bit eerie:
--
On the way to ask for the woman's hand in marriage, Samson is attacked by an Asiatic Lion and simply grabs it and rips it apart, as the Spirit of God moves upon him, divinely empowering him. This so profoundly affects Samson that he just keeps it to himself as a secret.--
Getting warmer.... (I think)
Can someone confirm that the Larry Fitzgerald-restraining order story is true? You know, this one. I don't mean to bring this up again, but Paola Boivin's article in the Arizona Republic about Anquan Boldin makes me start to think that the whole Fitzgerald thing is just something that I made up.
Super Bowl frenzy has arrived, which means the Cardinals season is officially available in high definition and double-digit megapixels. The smallest blemishes are magnified, a reality Anquan Boldin needs to take to heart.
[See what I mean?]
Former NFL safety Matt Bowen blogged on NationalFootballPost.com that "I've seen my 5-year-old nephew act better in times of adversity." The Miami Herald ran a story debating a Boldin trade and a YouTube video showing the wide receiver's shouting match with offensive coordinator Todd Haley in Sunday's NFC title game earned a five-star rating.
[Not a five-star rating on YouTube!?!]
The worst part? Many are slapping "diva" before Boldin's name, lumping him with the NFL's wide receiving Brat Pack. Terrell Owens, Plaxico Burress, Randy Moss. Really? Then show me the police files suggesting criminal behavior.
[.............. It's not just me, right?]
You can't, because Boldin is none of those things.... He's never embarrassed this organization off the field.
[(cough, like Fitzgerald, cough)]
His shouting match with Haley over his exclusion in a personnel grouping was ill-advised but not uncommon. That God-fearing quarterback himself, Kurt Warner, is often bickering with Haley....
[I wonder why it's cool when Warner does it? Hmmm....]
Yet, instead of talking about the accomplishments of this organization, coach Ken Whisenhunt was forced to answer questions Monday about Boldin's attitude.
[Fitzgerald must be *loving* this diversion. Everyone look over there at Anquan! Nothing to see here. No judicially mandated protection orders or anything! Hey, look how pouty Anquan looks!]
The Cardinals are a terrific story. I can't tell you the number of national media members who said they were grateful for the fresh story lines, impressed by the personalities in this locker room.
[Yeah, these guys get tired of covering star wide receivers with legal issues. Thanks for the *fresh* story lines (the ones we will choose to write about, that is).]]
"We will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench a fist," President Barack Obama said in a message directed at dictatorial leaders of other nations. The sports world wants to extend a hand to Boldin, too. If only he would accept it.
[Seriously?? We are going to make *Boldin* the villain of the Cardinals' receiver corps, AND we are going to use Obama's "unclench a fist" sound byte to make the point??]
Super Bowl frenzy has arrived, which means the Cardinals season is officially available in high definition and double-digit megapixels. The smallest blemishes are magnified, a reality Anquan Boldin needs to take to heart.
[See what I mean?]
Former NFL safety Matt Bowen blogged on NationalFootballPost.com that "I've seen my 5-year-old nephew act better in times of adversity." The Miami Herald ran a story debating a Boldin trade and a YouTube video showing the wide receiver's shouting match with offensive coordinator Todd Haley in Sunday's NFC title game earned a five-star rating.
[Not a five-star rating on YouTube!?!]
The worst part? Many are slapping "diva" before Boldin's name, lumping him with the NFL's wide receiving Brat Pack. Terrell Owens, Plaxico Burress, Randy Moss. Really? Then show me the police files suggesting criminal behavior.
[.............. It's not just me, right?]
You can't, because Boldin is none of those things.... He's never embarrassed this organization off the field.
[(cough, like Fitzgerald, cough)]
His shouting match with Haley over his exclusion in a personnel grouping was ill-advised but not uncommon. That God-fearing quarterback himself, Kurt Warner, is often bickering with Haley....
[I wonder why it's cool when Warner does it? Hmmm....]
Yet, instead of talking about the accomplishments of this organization, coach Ken Whisenhunt was forced to answer questions Monday about Boldin's attitude.
[Fitzgerald must be *loving* this diversion. Everyone look over there at Anquan! Nothing to see here. No judicially mandated protection orders or anything! Hey, look how pouty Anquan looks!]
The Cardinals are a terrific story. I can't tell you the number of national media members who said they were grateful for the fresh story lines, impressed by the personalities in this locker room.
[Yeah, these guys get tired of covering star wide receivers with legal issues. Thanks for the *fresh* story lines (the ones we will choose to write about, that is).]]
"We will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench a fist," President Barack Obama said in a message directed at dictatorial leaders of other nations. The sports world wants to extend a hand to Boldin, too. If only he would accept it.
[Seriously?? We are going to make *Boldin* the villain of the Cardinals' receiver corps, AND we are going to use Obama's "unclench a fist" sound byte to make the point??]
Monday, January 19, 2009
Peter King, Championship Sunday
King breaks down yesterday's Championship games.
[A] few words on what we saw last night in the Baltimore-Pittsburgh Texas Cage Match. This is now officially the best rivalry in football. It just passed New England-Indianapolis in my book. The thing is, it's a little bit like the running of the bulls in Pamplona, or Balboa-Creed. I'm not sure how often I want to see it. I'm afraid someone's going to get maimed.
[Sorry. Last night's game was unwatchable. It took forever to play (thanks to a discouraging number of injury timeouts and multiple lengthy replay reviews), there were five combined turnovers, dropped passes (followed by Sweed acting injured), stupid penalties (wasn't that "roughing the punter" penalty the ultimate irony compared to the rest of the absurdly violent game?), multiple players leaving with concussions, and Willis McGahee's near paralysis. That wasn't the *best* anything.]
If I'm Larry Fitzgerald or Kurt Warner, I'm saying a prayer the night before the Super Bowl. First, to give great thanks for one of the more incredible ascensions to a conference title ever. And second, to humbly ask, "Please do not let me get killed out there."
[Fitzgerald irony alert!]
I'm one of 44 voters for the Hall of Fame, and I could well be in the vast minority on this. But Warner, at this point, even with the victory over the Eagles, making him the second quarterback in NFL history (Craig Morton, Denver and Dallas) to quarterback different teams in the Super Bowl, is not yet a Hall of Famer to me. The reason, mostly, is longevity.... It comes down to this: Do five outstanding years make a Hall-of-Fame career?
[I guess not, according to King.]
In essence, five great years got Gale Sayers into the Hall of Fame, and I supported that.
[(nodding)]
I think the Ravens are going to have to pay Ray Lewis. I know he's 33, and a 13-year vet, and logic says you don't pay someone really big money at that stage of his career, but how about $15 million to sign, and a three-year deal with low base salaries -- say, totaling $9 million? He made as many heart-and-soul plays as anyone playing this weekend on the defensive side of the ball, and I think he must be rewarded.
[Nice. Anytime you start an arugment with "logic says X, but...," you know you are on the right track. This is the "Benjamin Button" approach to running a sports franchise. The player gets older and presumably less productive, but his subsequent contracts remain high-priced (or increases in value) because the team wants to retroactively "reward" the player for past performance. Good luck with that.]
The Arizona crowd sounded important over the TV.
[Huh?]
[A] few words on what we saw last night in the Baltimore-Pittsburgh Texas Cage Match. This is now officially the best rivalry in football. It just passed New England-Indianapolis in my book. The thing is, it's a little bit like the running of the bulls in Pamplona, or Balboa-Creed. I'm not sure how often I want to see it. I'm afraid someone's going to get maimed.
[Sorry. Last night's game was unwatchable. It took forever to play (thanks to a discouraging number of injury timeouts and multiple lengthy replay reviews), there were five combined turnovers, dropped passes (followed by Sweed acting injured), stupid penalties (wasn't that "roughing the punter" penalty the ultimate irony compared to the rest of the absurdly violent game?), multiple players leaving with concussions, and Willis McGahee's near paralysis. That wasn't the *best* anything.]
If I'm Larry Fitzgerald or Kurt Warner, I'm saying a prayer the night before the Super Bowl. First, to give great thanks for one of the more incredible ascensions to a conference title ever. And second, to humbly ask, "Please do not let me get killed out there."
[Fitzgerald irony alert!]
I'm one of 44 voters for the Hall of Fame, and I could well be in the vast minority on this. But Warner, at this point, even with the victory over the Eagles, making him the second quarterback in NFL history (Craig Morton, Denver and Dallas) to quarterback different teams in the Super Bowl, is not yet a Hall of Famer to me. The reason, mostly, is longevity.... It comes down to this: Do five outstanding years make a Hall-of-Fame career?
[I guess not, according to King.]
In essence, five great years got Gale Sayers into the Hall of Fame, and I supported that.
[(nodding)]
I think the Ravens are going to have to pay Ray Lewis. I know he's 33, and a 13-year vet, and logic says you don't pay someone really big money at that stage of his career, but how about $15 million to sign, and a three-year deal with low base salaries -- say, totaling $9 million? He made as many heart-and-soul plays as anyone playing this weekend on the defensive side of the ball, and I think he must be rewarded.
[Nice. Anytime you start an arugment with "logic says X, but...," you know you are on the right track. This is the "Benjamin Button" approach to running a sports franchise. The player gets older and presumably less productive, but his subsequent contracts remain high-priced (or increases in value) because the team wants to retroactively "reward" the player for past performance. Good luck with that.]
The Arizona crowd sounded important over the TV.
[Huh?]
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