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