Indiana MSU no rivalry now, but just wait

First appeared on December 31st, 2011 in The Lebanon Reporter
Ford vs. Chevy. Us vs. the Soviets. Kramer vs. Kramer. Elmer Fudd vs. Bugs Bunny. And, come November 2012, President Obama vs. someone the Republican Party really doesn’t want to nominate but at some point had to. We as American’s have a long history of being captivated by rivalries. They both fascinate and drive us. By nature we eat them up (and, as the most obese nation on Earth, apparently rivalries aren’t the only things we enjoy eating up).

When it comes to college basketball however Indiana vs. Michigan State doesn’t scream “rivalry” in any sense of the word. Fans of Indiana men’s basketball have come to appreciate rivalries. During the Bobby Knight era they learned to hate the General’s alma mater Ohio State and a jacket tossing, comb-over sporting Gene Keady only cemented their generational dislike for Purdue. More recently Hoosier fans failed to embrace the rivalries Kelvin Sampson tried to cultivate within the NCAA office of compliance.

But as for Michigan State, in the Tom Crean Era at least, the match up has been anything but a rivalry (for this to be the case Crean would actually have to win a game first). And before you blame everything on Coach Crean, the Hoosiers program has struggled for some time in East Lansing (their last win there coming during Bush the Firsts presidency). Clearly this can’t entirely be his fault, unless you factor in that many of those losses were dealt to the Hoosiers while Crean was on Tom Izzo’s bench, then it most likely is his fault.

But Wednesday night there was something lurking beneath the surface of the Big Ten opener. Something found beyond the 4 point 3 rebound performance of Super Frosh Cody Zeller and the fact Crean is now 0 for his life against his mentor (Izzo). Way past the fact sharpshooter Jordan Hulls likely had his worst shooting performance as a Hoosier, somewhere drifting far below the knowledge that the league’s best Sixth Man (arguably and Will Sheehey) did not play was the discovery that what we may have in Indiana Michigan State is a fast budding rivalry.

For example A that this is a budding rivalry consider the sight of both Izzo and Crean jumping around, veins popping in their necks and foreheads while throwing vicious uppercuts into the air as if they’d just finished Rex Kwondo’s eight week self-defense program for only $300 (as first seen on Napoleon Dynamite). This was a clear indicator that this December game was more than just a Big Ten opener.

One key ingredient in a rivalry is hatred and for the Indiana faithful there are numerous reasons to loath State. Beyond the fact Sparty has supplanted Indiana as the resident National Title contender in the conference, one Hoosier who was instrumental in making the last run for a Title in Bloomington is now on the bench in East Lansing (see Fife, Dane).

One must also remember Blue Chip recruit Gary Harris recently announced, after considering IU amongst a host of other schools, that he will take his talents north of the border and join Izzo. Harris is not the first recruit to choose State as currently there are 3 Hoosiers on Indiana’s roster including Brandon Wood who transferred from Valparaiso after scoring 1,000 points there. One thing remains clear. If this is to become a true rivalry, one capable of repeatedly generating the type of electricity we saw permeating the Breslin Center Wednesday night, Indiana will have to beat Michigan State. Their next opportunity comes on February 28th when Sparty travels to Assembly Hall.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

The Oaken Bucket is Full of Tradition

First appeared on December 1st, 2011 in The Lebanon Reporter

Through a World War, league expansion, Purdue Pete’s ill-fated experimentation with Botox and the addition of a gaudy, keeping up with the Joneses excuse of a cash-cow disguised as a championship game, there have remained few constants in Big Ten football. At 86 years old and with a face somewhat on the weathered side, she’s a bit more squat than most would prefer. And while she may not be as sexy as a season ending match up in a state-of-the art facility like Lucas Oil stadium, she’s everything when it comes to college football in the state of Indiana.

Of course we’re talking about the Old Oaken Bucket. The connection between football and a bucket somebody more than likely first used to avoid a midnight trip to the privy was first drawn in 1925 during the inaugural Oaken Bucket game, and, just like mediocrity and meaningless football, she has become a mainstay of the Indiana Purdue football rivalry ever since.

And while the kids would say, with its golden alphabet chain, she’s got enough bling to make Flavor-flav or Kim K jealous-she’s still a frumpy old housemaid who’ll never have what it takes to draw attention away from the fishnet stockings and stiletto heels of the Big Ten Championship Game.

And while “tradition” may be a word that puts today’s youth asleep faster than dial up internet or a stuffy old Geography teacher, it’s rarity in today’s world makes it all the more alluring. For those who weren’t in the stands for the consecutive 1-0 shutouts pitched by Purdue in 1893 and 4 (and if perhaps you were- Do you walk every day? Do you take vitamins? How much chocolate cake do you eat?), the rivalry between Indiana and Purdue dates back to before the Spanish American War. And if a 1-0 score wasn’t clue enough that this rivalry would involve some not so stellar football, the first Oaken Bucket game should have opened some eyes. That 1925 contest saw the two teams battle to a 0-0 tie. Clearly, it would have been more exciting and worthwhile to watch someone paint the bucket.

She’s had her moments though. In 1967 John Pont’s Indiana Hoosiers won the Oaken Bucket game before moving on the play in the Rose Bowl. The same happened for Purdue in 2000 while riding the arm of future Hall of Famer Drew Brees to a 41-13 victory in the Bucket game.

But just as with lipstick on a pig and a nationally televised interview in which you try to explain that showering with children is normal, some things can’t change the facts. It’s still Indiana and Purdue and they’re still playing for a wooden bucket. She may not be the Big Ten Championship game and she may not draw millions in advertising, but she’s paid for and she’s ours. True tradition lies in quaint rivalries like the Oaken Bucket. Someone should tell the Big Ten powers that be that tradition cannot be bought nor attained overnight.

There is no price tag you can put on watching Purdue destroy Indiana 60-0 (twice actually, in 1891 and 2) or Austin Starr nail the “Kick heard round the state” in 2007 that sent the Hoosiers bowling. Just as America has the Fourth of July and childhood obesity, the great thing about tradition is that it can mean different things to everyone. So hoist the bucket with pride ye Boiler fans. Fear not that you took it from a team that had only won 1 game, for paunchy silhouette and all, she’s yours to have and to hold for another year.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Go West Young Team

First appeared on December 14th, 2011 in The Lebanon Reporter

If you’re like me when you hear “Go West”, your thoughts automatically drift to the British Rock sensation whose singular gift to the world (King of Wishful Thinking) left an impact upon mankind that is perhaps rivaled only by cheese in aerosol form and Velcro tennis shoes.

Perhaps you count yourselves amongst that more mature, somewhat silver haired generation, who didn’t wear out a cassette of “Go West” in their 1989 Chevy Cavalier. If this is the case, then you likely remember “Go West” as the all call for westward expansion during the Manifest Destiny period of U.S. history (1830’s to the late 1880’s). OK, so maybe not.

But it would seem to find the answer to all his problems, specifically rebounding the basketball and interior scoring, Pacers President Larry Bird did in fact “go West”. Well-west that is provided you consider New Orleans part of the west, which the NBA apparently does. Though part of the west in Lewis and Clark days, the exact location of New Orleans in relation to the Mississippi is debatable at best. In reality however, whether geographically east or west of Old Man River, the Pacers did go west in search of an answer to their Power Forward shortcomings, west as in former New Orlean’s Hornet David West that is.

The Pacers have reportedly agreed to a 2 year deal worth $20 million to bring the former Xavier University graduate to Indy. For those who haven’t seen West play, he’s big. He can bang. He can stroke the 17 foot jumper and he can finish around the basket. And if that doesn’t convince Pacer fans they’re getting their money’s worth in West, I’m sure for $20 million he’ll don a green jacket to park cars and sell popcorn at Conseco too.

Simply put-West will be like both the Davis boys combined minus a few rebounds and their shot-blocking ability plus outside touch, the ability to catch and pass the ball cleanly while making more than 1/3 of his free throws. OK, so maybe that wasn’t so simple.

West doesn’t come without question marks however. He’s yet to play a full season, which may or may not matter in this particular lock-out-shortened campaign. It also remains to be seen if he’ll be willing to rotate over to stop the constant flood of players going around Danny Granger on their way to the basket.

Either way West is the “get” Larry Bird has been trying to get for quite some time now. Stalking him from afar, Bird knew this was the piece that would fit better than any and, after ‘reportedly’ landing him, the Pacers suddenly seem to be coming together in promising form. His arrival has a lot of Hoosiers (or at least 1) Googling “famous people named West”. Apparently there have been several famous west’s. Jerry, Adam, Mae and Kanye. And from this crop you have a man who gave birth to the NBA Logo, another who wore the gunmetal gray tights of Bat Man, a fox so stunning she became the most famous pin up of the “Greatest Generation” and a grown man who stormed the stage to elbow a 16 year old girl out of the spotlight.

Prediction- You will never read another sports column that uses the word “west” 22 times. Prediction #2- David West will be good; really good. Prediction #3- by the end of this NBA season, the most famous “West” according to Hoosiers will be wearing the Blue and Gold of our Indiana Pacers.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Latest Installment of Indiana Kentucky Rivalry should prove interesting

First appeared on December 8th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

At its best, Kentucky is an unfortunate hurdle on the way to Florida. My grandpa always said there was nothing in Kentucky but horses and horse thieves. He saw her as a desert of bluegrass where dogs went to get fleas and cousins went to get marriage licenses. Looking back I don't think he liked Kentucky.

I’ve never really had a high impression of the Bluegrass State either, sure they clean up nice (see the Kentucky Derby, Ashley Judd and Rick Pitino) but at the end of the day it would seem all they can boast is being home to an historic horserace and the highest per capita turkey population in the United States.

But alas, John Calipari has changed all that. Since his arrival in Lexington the Wildcats have done nothing but roll opponents on their way to a quick return to national prominence. Saturday Kentucky, the current number 1 team in the nation, will face an upstart Indiana Hoosier squad chomping at the bit to earn national attention. This contest becomes especially interesting considering it's been a while since IU had more than a puncher's chance in this game. And while one should not expect the Hoosiers to win, one should expect them to compete with Kentucky at the highest level.

For generations the Ohio River has been the only peacemaker separating these two rivals and whether it be competition for river traffic in the mid 1800’s or barn-burning All Star Games throughout the 1980’s, Indiana and Kentucky have learned to hate each other. While Indiana has blessed the world with deep fried Twinkies, David Letterman and the greatest spectacle in racing, Kentucky has been busy churning out Jack Daniels whiskey and air pollution.

And as we await the latest installment of this historic rivalry, many are spitting in the face of IU’s 9-0 record claiming they’ve yet to play anybody. If the Hoosiers are to take more than just another immeasurable baby step forward this season, if Tom Crean truly feels his program is ready for a coming out party-there's no better chance than Saturday. Beating Kentucky would send immediate shock waves across the Big Ten and the ripple effect should be enough to trigger national discussion if not a Top 25 ranking.

The experts will tell you Cody Zeller will need 30 and 15 or Jordan Hulls and Will Sheehey will have to shoot the lights out Saturday for Indiana to hang with Kentucky. But there is one factor the real (not part-time pretend) sports columnists will all overlook. And we’re not talking about Christian Watford or John Calipari’s hair stylist. For never granting an interview or providing a great sound bite, the most overlooked factor in Saturday’s game will be Assembly Hall.

When the Hall is full, and Indiana is right, there may not be a more intimidating place to play in the nation. She becomes a living, breathing thing capable of steering passes off course or causing shooters to short arm shots. A monster cloaked in red that can rise up and swallow opponents whole like Jonah and the whale or Herman Cain and the media.

For Indiana it's not every day you get a chance to slay goliath and it’s even rarer still when goliath happens to be a next door neighbor you’ve stubbornly tolerated (and secretly loathed) for nearly 200 years. So it is when Indiana and Kentucky take the floor that two states will watch, one breathless with anticipation of what could be this season, the other breathless simply because they are the 7th fattest state in the country.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

In Cody We Trust

First appeared on November 18th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to make the NCAA Tournament, the wretched refuse of yesteryear’s glory, send these, the hopeless non-believers to me as I hoist my jump hook outside the golden door of newfound glory. After just 2 games as an Indiana Hoosier, this is the inscription 6’11 Indiana Freshman Cody Zeller needs bronzed across his chest.

After totaling 23 points, 15 rebounds, 9 steals and 3 blocks over the weekend Zeller had no sooner taken his Superman cape off when he was named Big 10 Freshman of the week. The reigning Mr. Basketball has quickly risen like a Statue of Liberty over the harbor of ill content that was beginning to pool in Bloomington after Tom Crean had muddled his way through three straight losing seasons. Now Zeller stands larger than life, welcoming all Indiana Hoosier fans back.

For those who donated their candy stripe pants and giant crimson foam fingers to the town Time Capsule, the time has come to scramble to the courthouse grounds and excavate that thing faster than a Grave Digger being paid by the inch. All those Knight apologists who chased Mike Davis out of town before burying their heads in shame when Kelvin Sampson dropped an atomic bomb on every fundamental Indiana University was built upon, the doors are open and the time has come to return.

For all those who have routinely checked themselves into the Witness Protection Program every March for the last 10 years, the time has come to crawl out from whatever remote hole in the Earth the FBI has you stuffed you in (unless you are in a tropical location that has access to the Big Ten Network and ESPN, in which case- stay put). For the others, pick yourselves up, your bodies numb from the atrophy that lifeless basketball can so easily cause, wipe away the tears of frustration that have long since crusted upon your cheeks, pry open your eyes which have grown shut after 10 long years with no good reason, or basketball, to remain open, come forth now and let the world know who you are. Say it with me…”I am an IU fan.”

Understandably strong outings against Stony Brook and Chattanooga a National Champion does not make. But for the first in a great, long, let us never speak of this again, time, there is hope in Hoosier land. Zeller will not singlehandedly bring Indiana basketball back to relevance, but after seeing the emergence of Victor Oladipo and Will Sheehey, he may have more help than anyone anticipated.

Oladipo was the Big Ten’s player of the week after torching Stony Brook and Chattanooga for 37 points while Sheehey continues to develop as a player skilled in both the mid range and slashing game. These pieces coupled with Christian Watford, who was the most promising talent Crean brought to Bloomington in the B.C. (Before Cody) era, and what you have is a group of players who can both score and defend. A solid point guard who can stick open shots in Jordan Hulls rounds out what should be the core of an exciting team.

But clearly it all begins and ends with Zeller. Obvious proof that Tom Crean understands this is the fact he forced his teams to have his big man touch the ball before any of their baskets counted during practice scrimmages. The Hoosiers may not be ranked #1 anytime soon, but at minimum Zeller appears to be enough to get butts back in the seats; and for Tom Crean that should feel liberating enough.








© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Beyond the Land of Correctable Errors

First appeared on November 9th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Stress. Sleepless nights. Bags under the eyes. Worried about the tired voices crying out for change. You may think these words refer to embattled Colts coach Jim Caldwell, but in reality I’m actually talking about myself. For those who don’t read Who’s Who in Newborn America or Future U.S. Presidents Illustrated, my wife and I welcomed twin sons home a couple weeks ago and, as you can likely guess, much has changed since.

In the interest of full disclosure I’m admitting now that 3:30 a.m. feedings are the only reason I know who Matthew Lesko is. It was also during one of these blurry-eyed adventures that, whilst bathed in the flickering blue light of a muted television, the idea to get my wife a Robo-Stir for Christmas and outfit my mother-in-law in some Pajama Jeans came to me like the vision of a majestic White Buffalo charging through our dimly lit bedroom.

The unfortunate thing here is that as effective as the world of late night infomercials are at sneaking their way into our pocketbooks, they cannot offer any help to the 2011 Indianapolis Colts. Trust me, I’m pretty sure Jim Irsay has already looked into it. I think we can all agree the Magic Jack, Richard Simmons and the Juiceman are all practical commodities, but they are of no use to the Colts. And lord knows Irsay wants no part of the FlowBee.

While the longevity and consistency of Madam Cleo and Matthew Lesko have allowed both to stake their place on the Mt. Rushmore of bad late-late night TV, in the short time my sons were baking in the oven alone the Colts have fallen from their perch on the Mt. Rushmore of enviable NFL franchises. In 9 short months, the Colts have gone from a World Championship franchise with world class players and a state of the art front office to the dumpster-fire-like 0-7 shell of its former self they were the day my sons were born.

Unfortunately there is no “magic bullet” large enough for the Colts to pour their season into in order to blend it up into a better, more palatable form of itself. Instead they are only left to salvage what they can from what’s left of this campaign; or place everyone they have on the physically unable to perform list, sign a bunch of UPS drivers and begin negotiations with Andrew Luck’s agent.

The next three weeks are key if Caldwell is going to win another game as an NFL coach. If they lose the next two games (Home to Jacksonville, Bye, Home to Carolina) they will not win a game this year. After Carolina, 3 of their next 5 games are against current division leaders. In other words 3 of the next 5 games are against teams they would lose to 100 times out of 100.

This team is beyond the land of “correctable errors”. They are currently a runaway locomotive screaming through the depths of “soul searching” valley with no stations in sight along the way to “contemplation of retirement”-ville.

How strange would it be if the Colts headed into week 17 with an 0-15 record? Would Manning actually suit up and take the field to help them avoid an 0-16 season in much the same way Curtis Painter stepped in to help them forfeit their 16-0 season in 2009? Probably not, the Colts franchise is above records after all; or at least it was at one time.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

NBA Lock Out not drawing many fans

First appeared on October 26th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Between Google and Yahoo News, Twitter, Facebook and MySpace (if that child predator’s playground still exists), BlinkxTV, Clusty and any of dozens of Smart Phone Apps that will instantaneously update you the second NATO tries to clean the next Muammar Gadaffi’s ear with a Q-Tip (and by Q-Tip here we mean SCUD missile) ours truly is the Information Age.

Simply put its 2011 and there are plenty of ways to get the news. No longer are we slaves to Walter Cronkrite and Tom Brokaw. On a quick side note let’s say “Job done” to Bryant Gumbel for dredging the issue of slavery up from the bowels of that insidious netherworld where horrifically controversial topics go to die. Now we can all feel free to tiptoe around its appropriate usage once more.

It’s also interesting to note that after Gumbel compared NBA Commissioner David Stern to a slavery-era plantation overseer, there was no national “Fire Bocephus Now!” movement. Perhaps it was his lack of camouflage Crimson Tide hat and truck stop shades that led people to believe Gumbel was making an educated statement.

The real point here is not to draw attention to a sports show 90% of the nation didn’t even realize was on the air, rather it’s that never before have we been better informed or connected as a human race. So how then is it possible for players in the NBA to appear so disconnected from reality? The current NBA Lockout marks the 2nd work stoppage in 13 years for “the Association”. And as each side elbows its way towards a bigger piece of a $4 billion dollar pie, many fruitless meetings have been held.

To this point however nobody is budging as the preseason and first two weeks of the regular season have already been flushed down LeBron James’ toilet (which we can only guess is constructed of Shang Period porcelain and equipped with a diamond studded flush handle).

SportsCenter isn’t leading off broadcasts with Chicken Little “Lockout” updates as they did during the recent NFL work stoppage. Just as Late Night talk show hosts have not been delivering any material constructed around basketball’s labor rift. In short, few seem to care that the 2011-12 NBA season is fighting for its life.

The public’s reaction to the player’s demands, owner’s threats and subsequent Lockout goes far beyond crickets chirping. It’s more like somebody paid the Orkin man to torch the cricket field with Napalm, or whatever the world of professional pest extermination equivalent of Napalm would be.

With $3 gas and national unemployment approaching 10%, now is not the time for millionaires to be bickering over a larger share of a $4 billion pie; especially when the players are already getting 57% of it. It’s selfish, indefensible and disgusting; and that’s why most of us don’t care.

While there may have been a time when the public would have rallied behind players and their effort to “stick it to the man”, or “take it from the man”, or “refuse to cow to the man” whichever applies here, clearly now is not that time.

Last season 22 of 30 NBA teams lost money. In 2010 the Pacers needed to coax $10 million from the CIB just to cover operating costs. These are but two of several indicators indicating the exact same thing. Of course we’re talking about the need for blowing the NBA’s current business plan up and starting over. If the players union doesn’t get it then let them all play in Europe; no doubt they’ll be amongst the few who can afford the $6 gas there.


© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Crossfit Training: All the Kids are doing it

First appeared on October 12th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

At the behest of someone who clearly wanted to see great harm (or humiliation perhaps) come to me, I recently attended a workout session at CrossFit 180. Before I continue it’s best to clarify the word ‘workout’ to me is most often defined by any work done outside the house. This could be, but is not limited to, paying the kid across the street to mow the yard, standing outside while thinking about painting the window trim and walking around with rake in hand trying to humor the neighbor who accuses me of waiting for my leaves to blow into his yard.

You guessed right, I don’t work out. That’s why attending CrossFit was so out of the ordinary. CrossFit 180 is a local gym run by Brad and April Garner and while the exterior may appear unassuming trust me when I say the interior is a beehive of activity. For those not in the know, CrossFit is a new exercise program sweeping across the nation faster than Cold-War-Era- conversion-van-sized space-junk that has survived re-entry and is now careening towards Earth on a path left overtly vague and unspecified by NASA.

To learn more I did some in depth research. This included googling “CrossFit” and clicking on the first result. It was here I discovered the CrossFit creed: “…a fit person requires proficiency in each of ten general physical skills”. The program is currently employed as a training regimen for over 2,000 gyms worldwide, several fire departments and law enforcement academies as well as various branches of military service including the Canadian Forces and the Royal Danish Life Guards (not a joke).

One testament to its popularity is the fact there are CrossFit competitions held on every continent except Antarctica. And, given the enduring spirit of man, the grand opening of that gym on the South Pole can’t be far away.

In the interest of full disclosure, I learned most of this by leaning heavily upon the CrossFit Wikipedia page. And while Wikipedia isn’t considered a 100% reliable source, even in the world of the part-time pretend media, it was still interesting to discover that Long John Silver’s is a flagship sponsor of CrossFit and the origins of the program are traced back to the Girl Scouts of America.

At CrossFit 180, Brad helped me tailor the activities to meet my individual needs. This involved scaling my workout which basically meant doing less to reduce the stress on my muscles. Brad assured this was a good idea considering I was a beginner, and I agreed because doing less is generally what my body has grown accustomed to anyway.

There were several stations with various activities- jumprope, box jumps, sit ups, jumping pull ups, lunges, wall ball; all designed with the clear intention of toning muscles while making you question your decision to attend CrossFit to begin with. It was a complete workout, in fact the only station I could possibly suggest adding would be one with a Lazy Boy, television, bowl of potato chips, 2 liter of soda pop and vat of gravy complete with ladle.

All kidding aside, CrossFit employs the strategy of variation while also playing upon the human urge to compete. However its effectiveness lies in the unique ability to create a pack mentality. For at CrossFit 180 it’s not just you versus an exercise bike in a stubborn battle of wills, rather you and a group of people push each other to reach higher. The staff was friendly, the workout rewarding and the varied activities ensure your days at CrossFit 180 will be far from mundane.
Find out more at www.crossfit180.com

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

At the intersection of Purdue and Notre Dame

First appeared on October 5th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Webster’s defines hype as “something that will never live up to expectations”, or at least it should. It would seem that, as a rule, the more hype something gets the worse it tends to be. Coke Zero, Lethal Weapon II, sixth grade, these things were no different, or arguably better, than their predecessors.

As Americans we’ve grown accustomed to making things bigger and better. When the Russians sent a man into orbit, we sent one to the moon. When Japan bombed our naval base at Pearl Harbor we sent the Fat Man and Little Boy to level two of their cities. And when there wasn’t enough grease and cholesterol in our fast food we invented supersizing.

But perhaps there exists those things which we cannot improve upon. Innovations engineers actually perfected the first time, or things even evolution itself cannot make better. I would offer toilet seats, the Oreo cookie and Notre Dame Football all fall into this category.

Every year we hear Notre Dame will be in the BCS picture. Every year they are supposed to return to the green pastures that disturbingly strange looking Leprechaun mascot/guy and Irish fans once frolicked through together with regularity. But every year since Lou left town they’ve done nothing but prove themselves unworthy of such hype. Maybe we’re seeing the best Notre Dame today’s college football can give us.

Three straight Irish wins was all the more reason for Head Coach Brian Kelly to see Purdue as the ultimate trap game. On the other side of Saturday night’s match up was a Boilermaker team whose performance left fans scratching heads while wondering if Head Coach Danny Hope had a mere 2 minutes to prepare for the Irish instead of the 2 weeks he actually had.

With 2 weeks to prepare and an upset of an in-state rival riding on the game, the best Purdue could come up with was an interception on the first play from scrimmage and no plan whatsoever for covering Michael Floyd.

Pittsburgh had success negating Floyd two weeks ago, but apparently Danny Hope doesn’t watch game tape, or perhaps he lives in the one corner of the globe that can’t pull down an ABC affiliate. Either way, the Boilermakers clearly failed in the “stopping Michael Floyd” department (12 catches, 137 yards 1 touchdown).
So with the Irish surging, the Boilers remain the black and gold question mark they’ve been since Hope came to town. We heard all preseason about Ricardo Allen being the most talented defensive back to hit West Lafayette since Rod Woodson, and yet Saturday night Michael Floyd made Allen look nothing more than pedestrian.

We heard the book on Caleb TerBush was that, while he doesn’t make the big plays, he also doesn’t make mistakes that get you beat. Then he goes out and throws a pick on the first play from scrimmage. We were also told that a key strength for TerBush was his feet and yet we didn’t see his number called very much at all.

Saturday night was one of two things. Either it was an aberration for Purdue and they have the talent to stay competitive with Notre Dame, or we are seeing two programs heading in opposite directions. After a string of bowl berths left Purdue football fans thirsty for more they were quick to send Joe Tiller packing for his Wyoming ranch. Yet if Tiller is any guide (and he really has to be), in his 3rd year Hope should be bringing more to West Lafayette; more talent, more wins, more excitement- in short more hype.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Time for Colts to sleep in the bed they made

First appeared on September 28th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Don’t do it. Whatever happens, don’t fall into that trap. After all those years of practicing, it’s time to call upon your mad “Pitfall” skills by grabbing that vine and swinging over the trap door. Yes it’s been ugly and no Superman isn’t walking through that door anytime soon, but now is not the time to feel sorry for the Colts. The players maybe, but the organization definitely not.

If you want to feel sorry for someone try the people of Zimbabwe or all those who have received a re-gifted copy of Hilary Clinton’s autobiography as a belated birthday gift (not that the dog-eared pages were a dead giveaway or anything). Feel sorry for Fans of 'All My Children' or the kid whose parents are so cheap he’s forced to wear a black trash bag for Halloween, telling everyone he’s a meteorite while answering the same question 146 times: “now are you the one that hits Earth, or is that a meteoroid?” But don’t feel sorry for the Colts.

The day so many spoke of so often, the day all the talking heads warned would be here sooner rather than later has arrived. The moment Patriots fans all over the world have longed for in a not so secretive, Dick Cheney wants to go to war with someone-like manner has finally come. Peyton Manning can’t lace them up.

And while Sunday’s game went a long way towards keeping many Colts fans from slamming the door on the season, the clear reality now is this team won’t be very good this year. I don’t care how many tackles Joseph Addai plans on breaking (Sunday night was the hardest he’s ran since his rookie year) or how far Pat McAffee can kick the football, the Colts will struggle. Even if Dwight Freeney and Robert Mathis have record setting sack totals this season; this team will still struggle.

The cold hard truth is a series of unfortunate events have not put the Colts in this predicament. The Colts have no one to blame but themselves. They’re the ones who sent Jim Sorgi packing. They’re the ones who did not give Curtis Painter more reps in practice or, more importantly, some game time experience in all those 37-10 routs in which Manning held on to the very end racking up his sick stats.

They were the ones apparently hatching a plan to use Manning in Red Zone situations only instead of going into scramble mode to have a quarterback ready for the season. As a result, when it comes to running the offense with some level of comfort, Painter looks about as comfortable as Rick Perry trying to explain Mitt Romney’s penchant for flip-flopping.

The Colts organization are the ones who allowed Manning to usurp so much control he was basically quarterback, Team Captain, Offensive Coordinator, Quarterbacks Coach, Head Coach and head of Lucas Oil Stadium Security. So now it would seem the keys will be handed over to Painter. And while he did show signs of life Sunday night, he also missed a throw 57% of fans in attendance likely could have made. If there’s a silver lining for Colts fans it is found in the hope Painter’s story is yet to be written.

The good news in all of this is if the Colts go winless this year it will forever lay to rest the argument as to which is the better quarterback Manning or Brady; the bad news is you will have plenty of chances to watch them go winless as they will play 5 games this season in Prime Time.


© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Fever Breaks for Rare Title

First appeared on September 22nd, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

It has been a week of rarities in Indiana. First five Hudsonian Godwits were spotted at Goose Pond stopping along their way to South America. For those who don’t know, a Godwit or Limosa haemastica, is a large Arctic Shorebird with long legs and an upturned pink bill used to feed on insects and crustaceans living in shallow water and South America is the continent connected to North America.

Next the three major college football teams in the state all won a game on the same weekend (a feat that seemingly hasn’t happened since the Hoover Administration). This of course was followed by the Browns beating the Colts; which came like punch in the gut to Colts fans who were already doubled over from the kick in the man parts Houston gave them two weeks ago.

But as rare as all of these were, there remains in the Hoosier State something much more Halley’s Comet-like. Something so rare it makes Sasquatch sightings seem as ubiquitous as a corner Starbucks or bad drivers sporting “In God We Trust” license plates.

Yes, something I daresay is even more rare than a Republican Presidential candidate who is qualified, experienced enough, demonstrates mass appeal, speaks eloquently, possesses unique ideas and is capable of debating something intelligently besides the economy.

Of course we’re talking about a team in Indiana with a chance of winning a championship.
And, after Monday night’s 72-62 victory over the New York Liberty in Game 3 of the opening round of the WNBA Playoffs, the only hope of a Championship Hoosiers have now ride on the Indiana Fever.

Despite being the number 1 seed, Indiana had to exorcise some serious demons to eliminate the Liberty. First there was the nightmarish memory of last year’s First Round bow out compliments of New York. Then there was the Liberty’s pugnacious point guard Cappie Pondexter who, it would seem, has owned the Fever longer than Herb Simon. Pondexter not only killed Indiana last year with stellar play and timely shooting as New York’s floor general, she also guided the Phoenix Mercury team that defeated Indiana in the WNBA Finals two years ago.

She’s the Yin to Lin Dunn’s Yang. The thorn in the side of Katie Douglas and a small chunk of lightning quick kryptonite, with great court awareness and scoring ability, for Indiana’s Superwoman (Tamikia Catchings). But alas, Pondexter is firmly in the rearview mirror and now the Fever seem born anew heading into Thursday night’s match up with the Atlanta Soul.

In Monday night’s series clinching win Catchings had 17 points and 8 rebounds. But more than anything her effort and energy levels inspired passionate play from her teammates. Spunky point guard Erin Phillips nabbed a career high 5 steals while Douglas, the other half of Indiana’s two headed monster, used her silky smooth jumper to run in 21 points. Beyond the 5 steals, Phillips also helped reign in the turnovers that sank Indiana’s chances during Game 2 in Madison Square Garden.

So now the Fever find themselves in the Eastern Conference Finals again. And as the defending Eastern Conference Champion and overall number 3 seed, Atlanta is no slouch. To slide by the Soul they’ll need to slow down Angel McCoughtry. Dunn and her staff have 48 hours to figure out how to stop the 14 points per game McCoughtry has been netting in the playoffs to this point.

Meanwhile as rare as Championships in Indiana may be, when the Fever return to action they’ll do so with the Title hopes of 6 million Hoosiers resting squarely on their backs.


© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Colts Fans, climb down from the ledge

First appeared on September 8th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

So Peyton Manning won’t be playing Sunday when the Colts head to Houston. And, in true Colt fashion, it’s incredibly unclear when he’ll play again. The most amazing news we saw over the weekend wasn’t the fact that the only true (and by true we mean non-medicated) Cal Ripken of Football (Manning) wouldn’t be ready for the season opener; rather it was that Colts fans by the thousands rushed for the window ledge upon hearing the news.

This team deserves more. For over a decade we’ve come to expect two things from the Colts. 1. They will suck in the preseason and 2. They will win 10 games and make the playoffs. So many of us have dismissed their record string of winning seasons and record shattering performance of their quarterback as the norm.

The Colts have gone from playing in front of bag faced losers to changing the sports mindset of an entire state. The hiring of Bill Polian and drafting of Peyton Manning (of which came first I am admittedly too lazy to research) brought forth torrential rains to what was once a football desert (i.e. Indiana). Football was an afterthought in this state before the Colts began their historic run. Now Hoosiers everywhere are wandering through lush meadows filled with Wing T terminology and pausing to sniff the flowering buds of the Cover Two Zone.

All because a once floundering franchise changed their fortunes so fortuitously. And just when these Colts need you most, where are you? Hiking a leg over the gunwale to abandon ship? Scrabbling for a folding chair to bust a window out of the building you are convinced is on fire?

The buzz around the state right now isn’t about the Colts playing in the only Super Bowl Indy will ever host. Rather it’s more about Manning’s career being over and whether or not the Colts will win a game before Halloween.

These guys deserve more. For well over a decade they’ve given you everything they have and now, in what appears a desperate time, you need to give them everything you have. If you’ve ever flirted with the idea of painting your face blue at work now’s the time to do it (give your boss my editor’s number if he mentions your name and termination in the same sentence). If you’ve yet to see a Colts game in Lucas Oil Stadium, now‘s the time to go.

In short the season is not over. If anything, it just got more interesting. 10 to 1 says Jim Caldwell has already hit his guys with John Blutarsky’s motivational speech from Animal House. The one where that notorious underdog so deftly opined “was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor!?”

So Manning’s staying home with his wife and newborn twins. That mean’s only 1 of their 4 pro-bowlers is knee deep in diapers, they still have talented players and a veteran quarterback with enough experience to keep them in games. Don’t underestimate the immeasurable fact that the heart of a champion still bleeds blue under every jersey that will see the field Sunday in Houston either.

If you’re still unconvinced of the importance of maintaining your support for the Colts you’re likely spoiled by their excellence or unable to read English. In the case of the latter-caminar sustantivos!

It won’t be easy and it may be ugly- but come what may there remains one person this team should always be able to count on- you (provided of course you are a Colts fan, of which I am guessing you are considering you’re still reading this).

Dear Curtis Painter

First appeared on September 1st, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Dear Curtis Painter,

My name is Johnny. I’m in the 3rd grade at Riley Elementary. My dad loves you. He talks about you all the time. Every game you play, he says your name more than any other player on the field!

Dad even named our new pup after you. Well his name was Leroy until he started wetting all over the carpet. That’s when Dad started calling him Curtis and hitting him with a rolled up newspaper.

My Mom’s a big Colts fan too. She made Dad a little doll wearing your jersey. It even has long blonde hair just like you! Dad lets mom keep all her stick pins and sewing needles stuck in you so she don’t lose them. That shows you how important you are to them.

Dad knows all your stats by heart. Your zero career touchdowns, 8 total completions in 2 seasons and your 2 interceptions and 2 fumbles lost.
My Uncle Ronnie gave Dad your jersey for Christmas last year. It was pretty cool because Uncle Ronnie usually only gives gag gifts. Dad doesn’t wear it though, probably cause he don’t want to get it dirty.

When you played so good last week against the Packers Dad was real excited. He ran around the house screaming something about the “end of the world”. Mom was some kind of mad after Dad ran out and blew his paycheck on lottery tickets though.

I remember one time 2 years ago Dad took me to the Jets game. It was when you guys were undefeated. We didn’t get to stay the whole time. Dad was so excited when they put you in that he got chest pains and some guys had to take him away on a stretcher. I didn’t get to see the end of the game but it was still pretty cool because I got to ride in an ambulance.

Anyways my Dad’s turning 40. His birthday party is next week. I was wondering if you could come. How cool would it be if his favorite Colt was there? It is on Sunday the 11th. I’m guessing you won't have plans, after all the Colts ARE going to start Kerry Collins against Houston right?

Look forward to seeing you Curtis,

Johnny


© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Finding "Fair"ness in College Athletics

First appeared on August 24th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Writing a hard hitting column peppered with humor and unique insight is not as easy as some make it appear. Trust me, I fully understand this after reading several hard hitting columns peppered with humor and unique insight.

Earlier in the week I had this great idea about writing a piece comparing the State Fair with college football. However, what began with the most sublime of expectations quickly spiraled into something that is best classified as not sublime. At some point I guess I realized that either the State Fair and College football have nothing in common or it probably was just a bad idea to begin with.

Of course had I written it, the column would have been amazing. It probably would have said something about how the Circle City Stompers Clown Band, with their patchwork jackets of rainbow colors and instruments of faded copper, brought all the energy and spirit of a well tuned college band. There would have been some weak connection between frenzied fans flocking to merchandise stands to don the jerseys of their favorite players and State Fair vendors hocking everything from deep fried Twinkies to corn cob hats.

At some point it, in a fashion typical of the author, the piece probably would have attempted to sober itself by arguing College football programs exploit the talents of their marquee players in much the same way the State Fair exploits 1300 pound hogs and those patrons with a weakness for anything fried (and by anything here we mean lard and Kool Aid).

But alas there’s also a seedy underbelly to college football that reeks of greed and money and, try as I may, I could not find any seedy underbellies at the State Fair. I tried explaining to our 3 year old why the little piglets were so interested in their mommy’s underbelly but that conversation quickly deteriorated too.

To prevent further seed from taking root in the underbelly of College Football I would have argued that penalties levied by the NCAA should follow players to the next level just as seven pounds of fried food eaten tends to follow you around for a few days.

Between the bad puns and double entendres at some point I would have contended that, to truly police their sports, the NCAA should hire the slimiest agents out there to head a new task force charged with staying one step ahead of recruiting violators. As for a Fair tie in, this would be no different than Fair Operators hiring those who rubberneck hardest over someone else double fisting corn dogs or the ones eagerly forking over hard earned cash for a chance to see the “Cat Woman” (who by virtue of being a 90 year old lady mothering 75 cats is about as far from Michelle Pfeiffer as one can possibly get).

But if you have read anything I’ve written you arrive quickly at the understanding that an expert on anything relevant, I am not. However it seems there are many avenues the NCAA could explore to weed out agents and illegal boosters. Levying fines against those violators who sign professional contracts would be a start. As far as that goes, any money gained could even go towards scholarships for sports that draw less attention.

Putting some real teeth into the death penalty so that it brings an association with the actual death penalty and not merely a suspension might help too. In the meantime we have charming distractions like the State Fair to help us relax, unwind and forget about the hurricane of hypocrisy that is college athletics.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

More Curtis Painter Please

First appeared on August 17th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Let me be the first to say what every Colts fan is already thinking but is afraid to admit- “I need more Curtis Painter”. Yes I agree it does sound odd. Somewhere along the lines of please pass the monkey brains or do you know anyone who offers a good discount lobotomy?

But just as Christopher Walken so famously once quipped “More Cowbell!” on NBC’s Saturday Night Live, so too should Colts fans be eager to see “more Curtis Painter”. Those who haven’t dismissed me as someone who’s survived a bad discount lobotomy are still reading because they assume an explanation will follow.

Peyton Manning is the quarterback of the Colts. Discount lobotomy or not, nobody will ever dispute this. What some don’t realize, or wish to think about, is life without Manning. I’m not talking about retirement or a permanent replacement. In that respect Manning is a lot like Superman or Ramen Noodles for he, like them, could never be replaced.

This is more the idea of anyone in the Colts organization giving any thought to the options this team would have should Manning go down. And don’t give me that “well, their season is over then!” The players in the Colts locker room deserve more than that. Most of these guys are getting too long in the tooth to believe every play they’re fighting for would be lost should Manning go down.

As it stands now fans of the Colts are one Theismann-like play away from seeing #18 gesturing wildly from the sidelines with clipboard firmly in hand. This guy has been around so long it seems like he took over after Johnny Unitas left the press conference announcing his retirement and all this time he’s done nothing but stay healthy and play games.

Simply put the Colts have not done enough to prepare for life without Manning. They haven’t proved to the rest of us that they recognize the fact that Manning, despite his 6’5 frame and laser-rocket arm, is in fact human.

Case in point-Curtis Painter threw just 6 passes in the Colts first preseason game Saturday night. He completed 3 for 55 yards with 1 interception. The fact Painter didn’t throw the ball more has to explain something. If the guy is truly Manning’s back up then they need to play him more and open the playbook up. But with only 6 passes attempted, just like the Chinese place in the food court at the mall, the sample size clearly needs to be larger.

The only logical explanation for Saturday night is that perhaps the Colts aren’t as sold on Painter as they would have us believe. Maybe what they really think is that Dan Orlovsky is going to be their man but they’re just not 100% ready to make that public. So in the mean time they’ll keep Orlovsky’s fate on double-secret probation until the NFL forces the Colts to solidify their roster.

Long story short, if Curtis Painter can play at this level, now’s the time to prove it. Don’t give us any more observations from practice or press releases composed by Stuart Smalley. Get him out on the field more in the preseason. Make him prove to the rest of the football world that other defenses won’t make the Colts backfield look like the frenzied streets of an Arab Spring country without Peyton Manning.

In the meantime this is me doing my best Bruce Dickinson (picture slicked back hair, chocolate brown leather jacket, tinted Aviators) and I’m telling Jim Caldwell that what I really need is “more Curtis Painter baby!”

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Its time to cut Stevie Williams some slack

First appeared on August 9th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

It needs to stop and it needs to stop now. What is “it” you may or may not be asking? To quote a once famous talk show diva: “Stop the insanity!” When Stevie Williams walked off the 18th green Sunday after caddying for Adam Scott during the latter’s win in the Bridgestone Invitational, a microphone was thrust in his face.
And while it’s only a mild news story that anyone would take the time to interview a caddie, the bombshell came when Williams, obviously still bitter over his recent firing by Tiger Woods, didn’t hesitate to show it. And it’s an understatement to say he threw golf’s most controversial player under the bus. Williams threw Woods under the bus, and then backed the bus up to let every sponsor who has ever dumped Tiger as a spokesperson climb aboard before running his former boss over again.

Don’t get me wrong, what Williams said was outrageous. In a win that was clearly more the product of Adam Scott’s steady play than anything Williams could have possibly contributed, the caddie referred to himself more than 20 times in a 2 minute interview.

But the real issue here isn’t that Williams spoke like he’d singlehandedly won the Tour De France, Super Bowl and Presidency of Burkina Faso all in the same day, the real issue is that someone approached him at a vulnerable time.

In the world of mass media, there’s muckraking and there’s pot-stirring. Unfortunately many today bend towards the latter. These King of backhanded compliments are expert needlers, highly skilled at creating stories in places they may be nonexistent.

For scientific purposes (which could lead to the possibility of securing future congressional funding for further study) let’s call this issue the “Jim Gray Syndrome”. Those media members afflicted with JGS have an uncanny knack for giving people a platform at the exact moment they realize their victims are about to say something controversial.

Causes of JGS are traced to both a chemical imbalance in the brain and because deep down inside, in places we don’t talk about at family barbecues or the waiting rooms of our therapists, most of us love sensationalism. We enjoy watching the rich and famous getting beat up during an interview or saying outrageous things (see West, Kanye).

But in this instance, despite the ridiculous nature of his comments, Williams deserves some slack. It’s only natural to expect caddies to have the rare combination of supernatural powers and the ability to remain grounded, but Williams was emotional. It’s tapping into these emotions that remains the inherent danger of shoving a microphone into someone’s face at the wrong time.

To avoid a JGS flare up, Athletes need time to “decompress” as George Costanza once put it. It’s called the heat of the moment and it’s more than just a song by Asia (which by the way is the single greatest rock group ever to be named for a continent). There needs to be a stronger effort made to avoid the heat of the moment.

The sight of Jim Gray swimming upstream through a crowd of World Series champions in the throes of excessive celebration just to shove a microphone in the face of someone who would rather give his manager a wedgie than talk to an announcer has grown tiresome.

It has to stop now. Unfortunately there’s no known cure for JGS; therefore more funding is necessary. This means we need either more congressional dollars or a telethon. In the case of the latter I’m picturing Jim Gray as host with a performance from Kanye West minus the 7 second delay.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Nyad trying to prove 60 is the new 40

First appeared on August 3rd, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Do you think Sharks get excited about Shark Week? Are they tuning their television sets to Discovery Channel with a bowl of goldfish and an ice cold Landshark Lager? Do they enjoy watching humans poking, prodding, photographing, measuring and strapping everything from a camera to a monkey wearing a crash helmet to their backs?
I can’t say with any certainty how Sharks feel as a whole about Shark Week, I can say however that some will likely be excited about the prospect of meeting Diana Nyad. Having already proven she’s a fan of physical torture by swimming from the Bahamas to Florida, Nyad now wants to travel the 103 miles from Cuba to Florida. A previous attempt saw her lose 29 pounds after swimming just 42 of the estimated 60 hour trip.
The intimidating distance, wide array of health dangers (including the astounding rate of weight loss) and fact that this stretch of the Caribbean is what sharks of the world call the “Ginza District” are not the most amazing aspects of Diana’s journey. Nyad, who is a member of the International Swimming Hall of Fame, will attempt this swim at the age of 61.
When asked about embarking on such a physically demanding journey at a time when most her age are mulling retirement options, Nyad was clear the trip is not self-indulgent. “It’s about feeling strong at 60 and showing it”, she told NPR recently.
Already the owner of a record for longest ocean swim, Nyad is also the fastest to ever circumnavigate the Island of Manhattan. This second feat is vastly underrated considering the pollution rate of rivers on the Eastern Seaboard.
From 1990-94 the Hudson River swallowed over 1.7 million pounds of direct toxic discharge. The fact alone she survived circling Manhattan is perhaps the single greatest accomplishment known to man (outside Al Gore’s inventing the internet of course).
Members of PETA will tell you Nyad has nothing to worry about when it comes to swimming with the sharks of the Caribbean. But, for having never watched Shark Week or Jaws eleven times in a two day span, clearly they are not qualified to speak on this topic.
The 22 member team that will accompany Nyad on her trip will rely on satellites to generate positioning signals (fancy jargon for GPS) and have already employed the services of meteorologists (fancy jargon for modern day snake charmers) who are currently searching for the best 3 day window. As for infrared technology the team shouldn’t have trouble spotting Nyad swimming at night considering, after being in the Hudson River, she probably glows in the dark anyway.
Kayakers will follow dragging an electronic shark shield and a team of 4 Expert Shark Divers will intervene if necessary. Another swimmer completed the same trip in 1997 by swimming inside a steel shark cage. Nyad’s team either couldn’t afford one or it was confiscated by the TSA because she plans to swim without it. Still, the group is insistent no sharks will be harmed on the trip.
If successful in her endeavor, Nyad will certainly inspire many Americans. Her intention is to motivate people to go out and chase their dreams no matter their age; to finally do the things they’ve put off for years. And, if a 61 year old really can swim 100 miles, maybe I’ll be inspired to get off the couch instead of sending my three year old to the pantry to rummage for potato chips. He doesn’t seem to mind too much, as long as I promise not to turn off Shark Week that is.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Aroldis Chapman is a scary, scary man

First appeared on July 26th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

When I was 10 years old Tony Spencer could throw a baseball over 100 miles an hour. OK, so maybe it was more like 50, but at the time it seemed like 100. This was before the steroid era so we didn’t know enough to ask Tony to pee in a cup before we played our games.

To prepare for him we did drills in practice where our coach set bats behind our feet so if we tried to step out of the batter’s box we would fall down. And since I fell down more times than a World Cup Forward flopping for a call, I didn’t like Tony. I can admit it now because I’ve moved on, Tony scared me.
Players who strike fear in the heart of an opponent don’t come around very often. Many in the NFL will tell you James Harrison is the most feared player in the league. The NBA probably hasn’t had someone who truly scared people since the Knicks or Pistons of the early 90’s. But the Cincinnati Reds may have found one such player in Aroldis Chapman.

Take your pick as to what there is to fear most about this guy. He’s hit 105 miles per hour on the radar gun multiple times. From the mound his 6’4 frame and lanky arms make it look like his 105 MPH fastball is being shot at you from an F-16 Fighter Jet. He’s also left handed (which is in itself enough to creep me out) and did I mention he can throw over 100 miles an hour?
If you need more proof, try standing in the batter’s box after your manager delivers the scouting report on him: “He’s got a 105 mile an hour fastball kid, oh yeah- and a history of control problems”. In the minors he terrified both opposing batters with 49 strikes outs in 30 relief innings and his manager by leading the league with 14 wild pitches.

And what about the name? Aroldis? It’s a name so obscure even the most savvy of Scripps Howard National Champion Spellers wouldn’t touch it without placing a call to the guy who stitches the names on all the Red’s jerseys first. “Could you use it in a sentence please?”
“Yes… Aroldis throws a baseball so hard it could split your skull open.”

Perhaps you’re not convinced he’s scary. Let’s consider the fact then that Chapman defected from Cuba in 2009 which means he likely comes with many unanswered questions. Questions like is he really 23? Is he actually human? Or is he a Soviet era robot sent by Communist Cuba to discover the secrets to our economic success? Of course if the latter is the case then, in true Soviet style, he’s arrived 20 years too late.

Scary or not, there’s no disputing Chapman has been on fire since the All Star break. In his last 10 1/3 innings he’s given up just 2 runs and allowed only 5 base runners while striking out 17 batters. Opposing hitters are batting just .110 against him this year. This tells us either he’s got pretty good stuff or he’s only faced the absolute worst hitters in the league so far.

Either way he’s just what the Reds needed right now. To this point their bullpen has been about as shaky as 97 year old man riding a wooden roller coaster. In 34 opportunities Cincinnati’s pen has secured only 21 saves. Perhaps the scariest thought of all is, for the Reds to go anywhere in the Central this year, they might have to rely on Chapman.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

What we can learn from the British Open

First appeared on July 21st, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

0 for 17. This had to be racing through Phil Mickelson’s mind Sunday while standing over a long Birdie put on hole number 6 of England’s Royal St. Georges. For his career Lefty had made 17 appearances in the British Open without hoisting a Claret Jug. But after the wind blew his hat off on the tee, and was already moving several balls around on the greens, Mickelson was able to make that put before draining a spectacular Eagle put on 7 to grab a share of the lead.
The stage appeared set for Phil to secure both history and his first jug. All the elements of high drama were present. A local professional and gallery favorite (Darren Clarke), a young gun looking to steal a Major (Dustin Johnson) and the man who always seems to flirt with contention (Mickelson). After going six under through his first ten holes, Lefty looked unstoppable. But when a hiccup at 11 (short par put lipped out) was followed by bogeys at 13, 15 and 16, Phil’s chances were gone with the wind. Literally.
Watching the British Open I was reminded of why I will never go to England. It is inarguably the bleakest place on Earth. Forecasting the weather there must be easy-“Today expect overcast skies, howling winds and a 100% chance for precipitation.”
When I think of Augusta it’s sunshine and chirping birds (both real and electronic). The U.S. Open will always be the beautiful Pacific coastline of Pebble Beach. As for the British however, the wind is inescapable. The incessant, typhoon-like wind that pounds the coastline, pounds golfers, pounds their approach shots and pounds their scorecards.
Forget the Claret Jug, the winner of the British Open should get a lifetime contract as a Hurricane correspondent for the Weather Channel. As with most Open courses, Royal St. Georges is a treeless, pockmarked landscape similar to the moon wrapped in Astroturf. Modern golf dates back 500 years and Sunday’s coverage could have just as easily been from that era, if not for Rickie Fowler’s Sunkist orange pantsuit and the sight of a nuclear reactor on the horizon. “It’s a subtle beauty” some will opine, but don’t listen to them for these are the same people who enjoy staring at empty parking lots or directly at the sun.
Anyway you cut it, England seems like a good place to leave behind. After all, it’s been almost 400 years and I’m fairly certain the Mayflower Pilgrims aren’t second guessing themselves. And what have the English really ever given us that we actually need or use? I mean besides our language and freedom of course.
Tea? Crumpets? Cricket? Soccer? The list of English contributions to society that Americans have ignored is seemingly endless. Sure one can point to the Beatles, but everyone knows if you throw enough stuff against the wall, something is bound to stick. That’s the fundamental principle this column was founded upon.
The argument could be made that Carrot Top or Ronald McDonald have contributed more to American society than England. But Sunday England, Northern Ireland rather, did give us something. A humble champion with an appreciation for suffering and sacrifice. 42 year old Darren Clarke, who had no top 20 finishes in 6 years, bagged his first Major Sunday.
In its 151 year history, the British Open has been taken 74 times by a player from England or the islands surrounding it. This tells us that not only is modern golf alive and well in its birthplace, but those who stayed behind on the rock have undoubtedly learned to play the wind.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Americans Unite for Womens Soccer

First appeared on July 13th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Our teachers first taught us that we’re expected to do many things as Americans. It’s part of being who we are. Celebrating freedom, respecting our flag, paying taxes and carrying car insurance. That’s why as Americans we honor guys like Sgt. 1st Class Leroy Petry who, after being shot in Afghanistan, led his fellow soldiers to cover before picking up a live grenade to toss it back to the enemy. For his bravery, President Obama awarded Sergeant Petry the Medal of Honor this week.
As Americans we are obligated to eat hot dogs and apple pie drenched in syrup and ice cream while complaining why public education can’t do more to stop obesity. We are also expected to get teary eyed both when we see fireworks exploding over the Statue of Liberty and upon hearing Oprah is ending her show. And as Americans we should all feel compelled to tune in Wednesday to watch the U.S. women compete in the semis of the World Cup (12 p.m. EST ESPN).
Wednesday’s match up with France marks the sixth straight appearance for the U.S. Women’s team in the Semifinals of the World Cup (or the Final Four for those who don’t follow soccer). For those who don’t normally follow soccer, like me, its best to point out as well that this sixth straight appearance is perhaps most effectively explained as EVERY semifinal in Women’s World Cup history.
Yes it would appear the guys at the water cooler who stand around complaining about their raises and the fact that as Americans we suck at Soccer might want to turn on the television or pick up a newspaper because once again women are proving men wrong. In fact the U.S. has won 2 out of the 5 total Women’s World Cups. I’m fairly certain most guys know we’ve won at least one since they likely have yet to forget the image of Brandi Chastain’s post-match celebration. And before you label me, her theatrics were hard to get away from considering they appeared on the cover of Time, Newsweek and Sports Illustrated.
2011 features a fresh batch of new faces. Gone are the Mia Hamm’s and Chastain’s of the world. This current group of soccer stars is anchored by goalie Hope Solo who was riding a 796 minute scoreless streak during World Cup play at one point. The Hoosier state is represented on this year’s roster thanks to Indianapolis native Lauren Cheney. This 23 year old forward played collegiately at UCLA and is the Bruin’s all time leading scorer. She was a first team all American for four straight years and named 2007’s USA Young Female Player of the Year. Cheney cut her international teeth in 2008 as a member of the U.S. Olympic Team.
Some football and basketball fans find Soccer too uneventful to follow, but what they need to consider is just how stimulating play will be in their sports considering the current lock outs plaguing both leagues. Speaking of eventful, Sunday featured one of the greatest moments in U.S. Women’s Soccer history as Megan Rapinoe connected with Abby Wambach to tie the match with Brazil in the 122nd minute. This was followed by a penalty kick shootout which ultimately led to the U.S. prevailing 5-3.
So bust out your posters of Hitler or Napoleon voodoo dolls, the time has come once again to root against the French. The U.S. is 11-0-1 all time in “friendlies” with France, but that doesn’t mean the unthinkable can’t happen. Though, if history is any guide, it may take some help from the Americans for France to succeed.


© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

The Politics of Competitve Eating

First appeared on July 6th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

235 years ago our Founding Fathers shocked the world by penning the following: “When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth the right to gorge themselves on processed meat…” OK, so maybe that wasn’t exactly how it was written. But with a whole generation of children who won’t be able to read cursive writing in the lurch, it’s entirely possible that’s how the Declaration in its original form will be translated at some point.
The 96th annual Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest was held this past Fourth in Coney Island. Americans by the million tuned in because we love the spirit of competition and because ESPN really had nothing else to broadcast. The crowd was mesmerized by the display of natural athleticism and captivated by raw, or perhaps undercooked, suspense. Obviously Americans would find a love affair of food attractive while celebrating those who dare to test the limits of human digestion, we are after all the most obese nation in the world.
But as the contestants blew through their plates of Hot Dogs faster than a beaver gnawing chopsticks, one had to wonder if this was what the Founding Fathers envisioned? Is this really what Thomas Jefferson meant by the “pursuit of happiness”? Is the right of inhaling 62 dogs in 12 minutes the kind of ”inalienable right” they had in mind?
No doubt it’s a tough argument to swallow. Would a group of refined gentlemen plotting the course of a new nation actually do so with competitive eating in the back of their minds? Seeing Americans feverishly cheering Champion Joey Chestnut on is likely enough to have taken the curl out of George Washington’s hair, or at the very least cause him the sort of agitation he weathered upon discovering a run in his hose.
Teddy Roosevelt praised football for its mirroring the rugged, rough and tumble American way of life. What would the old Rough Rider himself think of competitive eating? And considering this “Super Bowl of the Surreal” took place in his native New York City, let us pause now for TR to turn over in his grave.
So maybe the Founding Fathers were closet Kobayashi fans, there is no arguing the popularity of revisionist history. However one of the biggest misnomers about our nation’s past, other than Ben Franklin’s never being President or the Civil War having not been won over England, is the fact Washington never signed the Declaration of Independence. Who would’ve guessed she would become such a big hit after being signed by the likes of Button Gwinnett, Francis Lightfoot Lee and William Williams? And with someone named Williams playing a role it comes as no surprise it is too long, somewhat difficult to decipher and lacks any entertainment value whatsoever.
So you can have Thomas Jefferson or your choice from any of the Adams boys, for eating an 11 pound Shoo-Fly pie in 8 minutes I want my kids to look up to Patrick Bertoletti . Legendary men like Eric Booker who once ate 49 glazed doughnuts in 8 minutes or Takeru Kobayashi who downed 17 pounds of Cow Brain in a quarter of an hour. These are the men worthy of having their faces carved into a mountain out in the middle of nowhere in a not-so-subtle effort at creating tourism in an otherwise non-touristy state.
So as Jefferson’s hand swept across that crusty old piece of paper listing all our grievances with the King 235 years ago, it all leads one to wonder if the almighty hot dog wasn’t actually first on his mind.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Water Ski Jumping not for the Faint of Heart

First appeared on June 28th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

While meant to be relaxing, summer vacations are more often exhausting and fraught with stress. After hours of debate, several Google searches and one dart tossing session that served only to lengthen my “Honey Do” list (see: spackling, vinyl), our 2011 vacation destination remained elusive.
When inspiration struck, the wife put down the remote and I my copy of 101 Places to See Before You Die as we, as though scripted by the writers of Glee, shared an over exuberant look before bursting out in harmonious melody(with perfect pitch mind you): “Yes Michigan!”
We proceeded to lock our navigation system on Northern Michigan and its crown jewel Mackinac Island. Interesting Side note: Michigan’s founding fathers were undoubtedly an odd lot. These gentlemen were apparently quite foresighted but hopelessly unoriginal. After deciding to lobby for Federal Park status to protect Mackinac, the General Assembly went on to push the limits of creativity by nicknaming the northern half of their state the “Up North” region.
Located amidst the Mackinac Straits which links Lake Huron with Lake Michigan, Mackinac Island is no longer a National Park. The island is however a mosaic of Victorian homes, dense forests of Pine, Cedar, Maple and Oak all shading patches of striking Forget-Me-Nots, Asters and bell shaped Lady Slippers.
Mackinac was a unique experience, but as if decreed by either the Laws of Nature or the U.S. Constitution, no vacation is complete without visiting family. So it was, after driving the wife (who has been with child for a mere 4 months now) like a sled dog on an 8 mile bike ride around the island, we bid Mackinac adieu before heading south.
Our journey took us through Oak Grove. And while you likely know this place for its outstanding Whitefish Dip and Meat Pasties, the Grove’s real celebrity lies in its position on the 45th parallel. So the next time you find yourself hauling the family from the Equator to the Arctic Circle via Michigan, book a room in Oak Grove because it marks the halfway point between the two.
Minnesota’s moniker “Land of 10,000 Lakes” may conjure images of Gophers on water skis and lead one to believe she has cornered the market on water sports, but Michigan certainly has grounds for protest. Water sports are big business in Michigan which we discovered after attending the 2011 King of Darkness Water Ski Jump.
Skiing behind a Malibu Response LXI with a Corvette engine flexing over 400 HP, competitors hit 36 miles per hour and can top 70 while whipping towards a ramp capable of propelling them over 200 feet across the water. All this makes one wonder: What could possibly be more extreme? This is where the “Darkness” part comes in. Apparently organizers decided that, outside of skiers strapped to rockets, the only way they could infuse more danger into their event would be to host it after dark.
For many of us the idea of extreme waterskiing involves Twiggy the squirrel but for those who haven’t seen it, Professional Water Ski Jumping is like Evel Knievel meets MTV’s Jackass. From the pounding bass of piped in music to booths hocking everything water sports to kids on wave skaters imitating their newfound heroes while weaving through a crowd packed so densely around the beach it appears one large mass of tattoos and board shorts, it was all a carnival of the extreme.
Held on tiny Stewart Lake in Groveland Oaks County Park, the 2011 King of Darkness competition brought in some of the top jumpers in the world. Vying for a share of $35,000 in prize money, the Men’s Finals pitted Florida native Freddy “The Nightmare” Krueger against Ryan “The Machete” Dodd.
Under the cover of darkness, the only visible light emanating from floating pontoon islands inhabited by generators charging telescoping light towers, these two men went toe to toe in a 3 jump final. Earlier in the competition, Krueger (who holds the world record jump besting 240 feet) had maxed out the Splasheye.com “Splash-O-Meter” after surging over 230 feet. In the end the Canadian Dodd was too strong however as he became the Skiers Pier 2011 “King of Darkness”.
While I would not advise Water Ski Jumping for the novice, I would not hesitate to recommend a trip to Mackinac Island or your attending a Professional Water Ski event. For both are certainly quite unique in their own way.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Yankees vs. Cubs is not fair in any sense of the word

First appeared on June 21, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Though it was not Paul Revere and his steady steed “Brown Beauty”, the call was clear this past weekend in Chicago. Down the Magnificent Mile and through the Plexiglas look-out of Willis Tower, the call rode upon the notorious winds while echoing from the Hancock Building to the Wrigleyville Rooftops: “One if by land, two if by sea-the Yankees are coming, the Yankees are coming!!” And boy did they ever. So many Yankee fans found their way to Wrigley Field for a 3 game set that one had to wonder if it wasn’t instead a gimmick dress up game like “Belligerent Tourist Night” or “Mafia Day” at the ball park.
The confluence of uproarious “Let’s go Yankees!”chants and glowering Cubs fans booing meekly produced an undoubtedly playoff atmosphere. For Orthodox Baseball Fans it was a surreal scene one should only witness once every 70 or 80 Octobers. And while snarky Yankee fans clad in garb boasting 5 of the last 15 World Series titles were certainly awestruck at the majesty that is Wrigley, they could do nothing but snigger at Cubs fans in their 1907-08 “Back to Back” championship celebratory t-shirts.
For far too long the Yankees have been the standard bearer of success in Major League Baseball while the Cubs the posterchild of futility. The Yankees are the carrot at the end of a stick as the Cubs once again play the role of bewildered Donkey. Yes, the Yankees are the Dean Martin to Chicago’s Jerry Lewis; although with all due respect, that is an insult to Jerry Lewis so let’s just call the Cubs Carrot Top instead.
Using the trusty thesaurus my old English teacher Emma Staller first armed me with 20 years ago, I‘ve found the perfect word to describe the 2010-11 Cubs; they are “bad”. Only one team in Major League Baseball has committed more errors this season than Chicago and, as you can likely surmise, that team is not very good either.
It would be far too easy to for the lowly Cubs to hang everything on poor fielding however. So it is with much relief they can boast having the worst ERA in the majors as well. Ever unsatisfied with any substandard level of mediocrity, they also lead everyone in batters walked.
First year manager Mike Quade speaks of injuries that have forced him to play more of “the kids”, or younger prospects the Cubs weren’t planning on pressing into service this soon. At this point it doesn’t really matter if they are playing savvy 20 year vets, wide-eyed rookies or Russian Cosmonauts riding donkeys, if they want to salvage anything of this season, the Cubs need to play better in the field.
And after taking 3 of 4 from Central Division leading Milwaukee late last week, the Yankees series suddenly appeared noteworthy. A “turn the season around” opportunity perhaps. Friday began with promise as Chicago drummed the Yanks 3-1 (we use “drum” here because Cubs fans are so unfamiliar with beating anyone this season that a 2 run win appears quite impressive) but Saturday and Sunday saw the Northsiders return to form.
To be fair, of the 27 innings played over the weekend, Chicago was excellent in 24. Their defense was solid and the pitching stronger. Wednesday of this week will mark the end of a stretch of 44 games in 46 days for Chicago, of which they’ve lost 24 including 8 straight. The key is finding a way to sustain solid defensive play for the foreseeable future, or at least the upcoming series against their Southside nemesis the White Sox.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Tales of the NBA Finals and its forgotten match-up

First appeared on June 14th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Congratulations Dallas Mavericks. You won what was the most exciting NBA Finals in recent memory. And spare us the “I’m going to Disneyworld” bit, we all know you ‘re headed back to Big D where owner Mark Cuban has likely contracted to host a yearlong Championship celebration complete with Fire Eating Cheerleaders and Barnstorming Chimpanzees.
Champagne showers aside, these Finals were about match ups. But as intriguing as they were, the greatest match-up wasn’t Udon versus Dirk or LeBron versus the Jet (and while we’re on match-ups a quick note for Erik Spoelstra-Mario Chalmers cannot guard J.J. Barea), rather this was about a larger match-up.
A match-up that no coach has control over. One that is timeless and will perhaps never be decided. We are of course talking about Fans of the NBA verus Fans of Real Basketball.
Fans of the NBA love the Miami Heat for their “Big 3”. Fans of Real Basketball loathe them for attempting to buy their way to a championship. Fans of the NBA were smitten by the glitz and pageantry of the “Big 3’s” pre-season celebration. Fans of Real Basketball would rather them have built some real chemistry by going to a gym and working out instead of going all Meg Ryan on us and faking chemistry all year by shaking hands and hugging after each win.
Fans of the NBA love LeBron for his highlight dunks and Dwayne Wade for his ability to contort his body and still finish shots. Fans of Real Basketball love Brian Cardinal for sacrificing his body and not complaining about spotty playing time. They also respect the way Jason Kidd used his brain to shave 10 years off his age.
Fans of the NBA relish the notion of two Superstars joining forces with another All Star to pursue a championship. Fans of Real Basketball love guys like J.J. Barea and Shawn Marion; players who were unheralded coming out of high school and were forced to pay their dues en route to earning everything they have to this point.
Don’t get me wrong. Both groups love basketball in one form or another. However Fans of the NBA wanted LeBron and Dwayne Wade to continue hoisting 3’s when their team was down double digits with less than 3 minutes left. Fans of real basketball wanted to see the Heat get the ball to the rim and play better defensively so that the game would have been closer and thusly more exciting.
Fans of the NBA loved the first half’s bench clearing “skirmish” brought on by an encounter between Udonis Haslem and Deshawn Stevenson. Fans of Real Basketball were too busy retching their nachos over the disgustingly bad foul shooting to even notice. Fans of the NBA loved the fact the referees could go to the monitor to try and sort out the “skirmish”. Fans of Real Basketball would rather them have let emotions brew to cultivate drama and transform the play of the respective teams.
In the end Fans of the NBA are left to wonder how the “Big 3” couldn’t get it done while Fans of Real Basketball understand Dallas is simply proof championships are best earned, not bought. Fans of Real Basketball appreciate the fact the Mavericks have labored for 5 long years just for a chance to get this point (For Kidd it’s been 17). Fans of Real Basketball also recognize Rick Carlisle was thrown on the scrap heap by two different franchises before finding someone who believed in him again. Unfortunately Fans of the NBA are too busy mourning the Heat to notice the real pageantry.


© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Never underestimate the Power of the Flop

First appeared on June 10th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

Webster’s Ninth New College Dictionary defines flop as “throwing ones self in a heavy, clumsy…manner”. And forget trapping the ball, isolations or running high pick and rolls, as these NBA Finals unfold the “flop” has leapfrogged its way to becoming the most favored approach for claiming victory; or at the very least getting ones self to the foul line.


Never before in the history of professional basketball has acting played a bigger role in the outcome of games. No right thinking individual will argue that the Miami Heat aren’t supremely talented. But not only do they have three of the best players on Earth, we’ve learned through the course of these playoffs that they are also capable of acting on a level that rivals the WWF during its glory years. In fact if the flopping persists, a championship-less Dallas fan base will be left with no other recourse but to lobby the league to rename Miami’s franchise the ‘Miami Cheat’.

As Americans we’re not unfamiliar with the power of the flop. Whether it be the Edsel or Sarah Palin as the choice to share a Presidential ticket, flops are nothing new. You flop on the bed, you flop on the couch, Donald Trump can flop his hair into place but you’re not supposed to flop your way through the NBA Finals.

At this rate, fans will surely pressure David Stern to green-light plans to have a monument to flopping chiseled in stone. We’ll call it Mt. Flopmore and it shall include the busts of Dwayne Wade, LeBron James, Chris Bosh and no discussion of flopping would be complete without including the floppingest flopper of them all- Reggie Miller.

ABC commentator Jeff VanGundy has been so embarrassed by the disgusting display of flopping he was moved to call it a “farce” and has opined for a penalty system to be incorporated league-wide in order to prevent them.

Now I am not here to advocate for such a rule change because I lack both the credibility and job title to do so. This is not to say the flop hasn’t become tiresome. It was at one time a quaint occurrence that was, at best, chuckle-worthy (see Laimbeer, Bill). It has morphed however into an invasive species so widespread and unstoppable that it’s choking the life out of the game.

The players cannot wear the blame entirely. Referees should be more vigilant in obvious flop situations (offensive rebounds, loose balls or drives to the basket when the opposition is in the penalty). They also apparently need to brush up on their math for when a 6’8 250 pound LeBron James crashes into a 6’2 180 pound Jason Terry the result should not be James ricocheting off with enough force to spill the drinks of millionaires or crack the foundation of American Airlines Arena.

Despite this scourge of fatalistic flopping, Dallas somehow managed to steal Game 4 after being outplayed for 3 1/2 quarters again. How interesting it was to hear Rick Carlisle imploring his team to “stay the course” heading into Game 4 while he did the complete opposite by changing his starting lineup. This of course is the equivalent of the captain of the Titanic asking everyone to return to their rooms while his crew is busy lowering him to safety in a lifeboat.

And so it is now a best of 3 series and while we’ve been treated to fantastic dunks and amazing shooting from a 7 foot German playing with only 9 fingers, a word to the wise- let not the flop decide the fate of the Larry O’Brien Trophy.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Epic, historic, ginormous-Anyway you slice it, Game Three will be huge

First appeared on June 4th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

In losing a 15 Point fourth quarter lead Thursday night before dropping Game 2 of the NBA Finals at home to the Dallas Mavericks, the Miami Heat put together a performance that legendary color man Bill Walton would have likely labeled “the single greatest choke job in the history of organized sport.” Funny what a difference 48 hours can make.


After Game 1 most in the sports writing/commentating business had crowned Miami champions. Like a horde of rabid AMS certified weathermen, so many earnestly celebrated the arrival of the Heat. Suddenly LeBron was the greatest player on Earth again as those in the know tweeted the most popular one-liners the bestselling “Greatest Hits of Sports Media Catch Phrases” have to offer. Unforgettable snippets like “Smothering defense” and “Won’t be denied”.

Dallas looked hopeless after Game 1. Things were so dire the Mavericks surely reassessed the workouts legendary coach Holger Gerschwindler was holding with their star Dirk Nowitzki. It appeared instead as though the Mavericks would benefit more by suiting the 66 year old Gerschwindler up; provided he could rebound of course. But something happened on the way to Game 2.

Miami struggled early only to later fight out to a 15 point fourth quarter lead. And then came the moment. That one singular span of time where it appeared Dallas had no sand left to speak of in their hourglass. A lucent moment where an open armed world would welcome the Heat as champions. But suddenly Dallas began getting stops and making shots. And in the end it was too much Nowitzki. With the surge of his play during these playoffs, the lanky 7 foot German has to be considered, at the very least, the most talented nine-fingered player in NBA history.

And so The Finals have arrived at a crossroads. And with all disrespect to Games 1 and 2, like expecting parents, we must now await the arrival of our all important Game 3. Games 1 and 2 had their moment. The time has come for them to open packages of underwear or Savings Bonds at Christmas while Game 3 is the one getting the shiny red bicycle or Star Wars Millennium Falcon complete with Han Solo Gunner Station.

Since the mid-80’s The Finals have been tied at 1 game apiece 11 times. In every case the team that has won Game 3 has gone on to win the series. That interesting nugget of information comes courtesy of those at ESPN because they have: a. Access to more resources b. Larger paychecks and c. More time on their hands.

So it is, Sunday night’s Game 3 will be the biggest game the NBA has seen in 10 years; or at the very least, the most important NBA game played that day; take your pick. And as we collectively gather the necessary resources (see: diapers, box of celebratory novelty cigars and list of emergency babysitters) and wait with baited breath for our beloved Game 3 to arrive one must ask who should the edge go to?

The Mavericks will be playing at home where they have been dominant while Miami has two of the greatest players on Earth. When James and Wade are locked in defensively, Miami is completely unstoppable. Most of their spectacular dunks and full court alley-oop passes came courtesy of defensive turnovers.

So clearly the challenge for Head Coach Erik Spoelstra is to keep his two megastars focused defensively until the final horn of the Finals. Of course we’re not in uncharted waters here, Spoelstra’s been trying to slay that same three headed monster all season.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Greatness of LeBron not defined just yet

First appeared on May 18th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

With all due respect to the late Rick James, LeBron James is the real Superfreak. The most talented player in the NBA, King James is arguably the most physical force defenses must deal with and at times he’s just flat unstoppable. That being said, with his team down 0-1 in the Eastern Conference Finals, he also seems destined to go down in league history as the “greatest regular season player ever”.


Understandably this is not a moniker most players strive for. No professional athlete wants to be laid to rest with this epitaph chiseled on his headstone. You aren’t going to find any Bentley’s or Land Rover’s rolling into the arena with the vanity plate “GRSPE” tagged on them (at least not during the playoffs). Michael Jordan certainly wouldn’t have embraced the label “greatest regular season player ever”.

When the Big Three came together last summer in Miami the sports world went through a range of emotion. First surprise. Then disgust. And lastly confusion. There’s a reason we’ve never seen real superstars join forces in their prime to pursue a world championship before-that’s because a true champion is a killer at heart.

And let’s be clear here, by using the term killer in this setting nobody is attempting to glorify John Wayne Gacy or those of his ilk. In the sports world killers don’t dress up in clown suits and prey on teenage boys. Killers in the sports world prey on opponents and long to slam the door on an enemy’s season. They are the snuffers of hopes and dreams. More than anything killers want fans to remember them as the one with their hands on that door.

By joining forces with Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh in Miami, James forgave any chance of being remembered as the man who brought a championship to South Beach. At the very least, he’ll have to share that spotlight with Wade. Simply put when you consider everything James has accomplished to this point in his career, it is impressive, but it’s hardly the resume of a killer.

A killer doesn’t leave any doubt where the ball needs to go on offense or defense. A killer openly accepts blame when he comes up short. And , like it or not, a killer shakes hands with the enemy win, lose or draw. Kobe was a killer, so was Michael and despite his baby face and sheepish looks, so was Tim Duncan.

Killer’s assume all and bear all responsibility. Coaches of killers don’t call time outs to flip a coin to see who will take the last shot at the end of a game. They do so to discuss strategy to employ after their killer has stepped on someone’s throat by making a huge shot.

If James were truly a killer cut from the same cloth as Larry, Michael or Magic, the Heat would not be in jeopardy of going down 0-2 in Chicago tonight. But he’s not, or at least we have to assume this because to this point the jury hasn’t seen evidence to convince them otherwise.

That being said, it would seem as though James’ fate is to become a champion someday. It does appear however that he will do so by forging a new image of what we see a champion as. I suppose history will remember James as a pioneer, a trailblazer of sorts. A modern day Magellan who discovered the quickest and easiest route for a mega-talent to win a championship. Unfortunately it will be a championship history will remember as being won by the big 3, not LeBron James.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams

Happy Birthday IMS

First appeared on May 26th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter 

Happy 100th Birthday Indy. IMS officials have surely wrestled with how best to commemorate your centenarianhood (my word for 100 years old). Donald Trump’s hair flapping in the breeze of a convertible pace car was scheduled to give the title “Greatest Spectacle in Racing” new legs but alas such is not to be the case. Instead IMS will celebrate the occasion with a 300 foot Hot Wheels sponsored truck jump.


While the 7 year old boy in me wants nothing more than to see a truck screaming down a 16 foot wide track made to resemble those I jumped cars off of as a child, it would seem a publicity stunt unworthy of such a fine occasion as this. But one can’t really blame race organizers for failing to rise to the lofty expectations of Indy’s 100th birthday, for in the beginning few expected her to ever make it this far.

In an era when car on buggy accidents spelled the dangers of the road, the Lebanon Pioneer’s headline following the first ever Indianapolis 500 mile race summarized contemporary opinion on the prospect of such an undertaking “One dead, eight hurt-First 500 mile automobile race may be lost”.

1911 was a time when people were still coming to terms with the fallout of the Civil War while sparring over a looming Prohibition. In central Indiana, Ed Adair was doing some repair work on the road in Ratsburg and an “old time slave”, some believe to have been 100, died in Hamilton County. Considering Studebaker was running advertisements boasting their “expert knowledge in wagon building” it’s safe to say nothing about life in 1911 was fast. It was a time when folks passing through Lebanon did so without exceeding 8 miles an hour while in the country speeds approached a white-knuckling 20.

It therefore becomes understandable how ridiculous the prospect of racing cars was. In the aftermath of the first 500 mile race in Indianapolis, the Pioneer speculated that “It is probable that the 500-Mile International Sweepstake race just finished will go down in history as the first and last contest of the sort ever waged”. Clearly unimpressed, The Patriot ran less than a paragraph 2 days following the race stating it ended with “(one) killed, and seven others injured and all for the fame fortune and glory of the automobile.”

Still on May 30th 1911 over 100,000 people arrived on what had been 180 acres of farm ground just a short 5 years prior. The crowd a kaleidoscope of dark Stetsons and lighter straw hats, parasols and white handkerchiefs all spinning just as furiously as the tires of the 40 competitors racing 500 miles. However on that day nothing could stand against Ray Harroun and his Marmon Wasp.

Though little about the early 1900’s appears precocious on the surface, perhaps this is the best word to describe the 500’s first winner. Flamboyant canary yellow paint job aside, his car was in itself a trendsetting model which became amongst the first to take aerodynamics into account. Harroun chose to race without a mechanic, opting instead for a rearview mirror; though it is a mainstay of the North America Automobile industry today, it was at the time a novelty yet to find its stride.

500 miles racing over bricks that 4 time winner A.J. Foyt once said could “shake the fillings out of your head” proved a brutal undertaking. Of the 40 competitors to make the field in 1911, only 12 finished the race. Like a herd of iron cattle, the group forged their way through a haze of exhaust and dust cast from 500 miles worth of pounding bricks. Racing at speeds the Pioneer declared were “almost beyond the conception of human eyes” one car lost control and busted through the fence killing Sam Dickson, a mechanic from Chicago.

With less than 10 miles to go Harroun found himself in a dogfight with two others. At one point Ralph Mulford’s no. 33 Lozier was able to crawl into the lead only to fall victim to an unexpected flat tire which sidelined his team for 2 full minutes. This would prove the difference between first and second place as Harroun grabbed the $10,000 prize, and perhaps more importantly his place in history as the first to accomplish what so many talented racers after would fail to do (see Andretti, Mario).

Perhaps the Lebanon Pioneer had it right by touting the dangers of such a race. For men like Harroun who found 500 miles on a brick raceway so punishing he swore “never again would he enter such a slaughter”, to men like Sam Dickson who had no choice but to end his racing days at the Brickyard, from its inception the Indianapolis 500 has stood as a symbol of American bravery.

It becomes fitting then that she be run on the weekend designated for remembrance of those who were bravest. For we Midwesterners, the Indianapolis 500 is an event linked to Memorial Day by Federal mandate. From 1911 when Boone County commemorated Memorial Day with a roll call of those killed during the Civil War followed by a recitation of the Gettysburg Address made by Alva Wynoop to 2011 when million dollar fighter jets fly over the racetrack in the missing man formation, Hoosiers refuse to forget bravery and sacrifice. And after 100 years there remains no better example than the Indianapolis 500 mile race.

© 2011 Eric Walker Williams