Father Christmas has been good to Hoosiers

First appeared on December 12, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

It’s that time again. Time to brave the crowds, embrace our hunter gatherer roots and fight the animal tendency in all of us to hammer our fellow man in the face, all in the name of making the Christmas dreams of our bright eyed children come true.

And knowing full well you won’t be the father of a four year old who can’t find Indiana on a map, you settle on the Melissa and Doug Wooden Puzzle of the United States. A must-have of every toy closet, stately cornstalks of gold mark Nebraska and there’s Florida with its proverbial giant round orange while a lone Saguaro cactus stands guard over Arizona.

Yes a marvel of modern Elf ingenuity indeed. But what’s this? Indiana has no race car or basketball? In their stead, crouched over the crossroads of America, is some strange creature that appears half whistle pig, half beaver.

This is what the national impression of Indiana has come to? An overgrown rat? Hoosiers have a better chance of seeing Sasquatch roaming their backyards than this Capybara-like creature. Melissa and Doug’s official statement is they chose a beaver for Indiana “due to all the parks.” Really? It’s insulting; to Indiana and beavers.
One can only hope that, in the last two months alone, Sports Illustrated has done more to remake Indiana’s image than anything Melissa and Doug could ever do to trash it. In that time the editors of SI have chosen the images of Indiana’s Cody Zeller, Notre Dame’s Football Team and the Colts’ Andrew Luck to move their magazine. This alone proves sports historians would be hard pressed to find a better time to be a Hoosier.

So what more do we have to do? Indiana hammers North Carolina and clearly has Kentucky’s John Calipari on the run (BTW John, you’re not fooling anyone, it’s not about capacity of arenas as much as it is your precious undefeated record at Rupp which you clearly understand Indiana will soil forever). Notre Dame runs the table and it still isn’t enough for national pundits to accept that maybe they’re just the best team in College Football. Meanwhile Andrew Luck has done nothing but prove his worth as the number one overall pick by making good decisions, throwing lasers and extending plays with his feet; all this while helping the surprising Colts sprint out to 9 wins.

Still in the national consciousness we remain sod-busting corn pickers who spend weekends ogling our cousins through the flickering television light. In one fell swoop Melissa and Doug has taken nearly 200 years of proud Hoosier tradition and reduced it to what appears to be a Grizzly Bear that’s had the gross misfortune of crossing paths with a Martian shrink ray.

So you bypass the puzzle and tuck a Tonka Truck tuck under your arm, sprinting towards the check-out line like OJ in a Hertz Commercial, leaping shopping carts and shoving pregnant mothers out of the way. And you do so because it’s the most wonderful time of the year and you’re a Hoosier; a gift you can never return. Hoosiers are proud of our deep fried Twinkies and lone Toll Road; even though it’s owned by a foreign country most can’t find on a map.

It will take more than a child’s puzzle and the worst artists’ rendering of a beaver since Grog first took to cave walls to ruin our holidays. For Hoosiers everywhere it’s time to celebrate who we are; and we do so knowing we have Indiana, Notre Dame and the Colts to speak for us. And speak they will.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Luck not the only one exceeding expectations

First appeared on November 29th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Lightning doesn’t strike twice. Somebody should have told Roy Sullivan that. He became known as “Dooms” after surviving a Guinness Record seven lightning strikes. Texan Joan Ginther wouldn’t subscribe to the adage either considering she’s won the Texas State Lottery four times amassing a fortune in excess of 20 million dollars.

Apparently ‘lightning doesn’t strike twice’ is an old wives tale not unlike ‘money doesn’t grow on trees’ or ‘small government’. Given the early success of Quarterback Andrew Luck, perhaps Colts owner Jim Irsay isn’t far removed from both Sullivan and Ginther. With Luck having exceeded expectations in every statistical and non-statistical category known to man, he seems poised to become the second Franchise Quarterback Irsay has managed to draft (insert poorly crafted ‘luck’ analogy here).

Exceeding expectations isn’t confined to Andrew however; this latest installment of the Indianapolis Colts could be categorized in much the same way. Sitting at 7-4 the Colts are flirting with a playoff berth in a season everyone forecast as lost before it even began.

Indianapolis was going to be young which is a black spot in the world of the NFL. They’d be a Manning-less band of timecard punchers buried by the storm surge that so often accompanies rebuilding, floundering their way to four wins with Luck spending more time on his back than feet. But what this team has taught us is simple; things don’t always go according to plan (see Mourdock, Richard and Romney, Mitt).

And while Luck’s play has been ahead of the curve and, dare we say, Manning-esque in some respects, the success of this team does not rest squarely on his shoulders alone. Head Coach Chuck Pagano put all the pieces in place and laid a foundation of belief before departing early to take on the toughest opponent anyone can ever face. In his place Interim Coach Bruce Arians seems to have arrived in a moment he’s spent all these seasons preparing for. It’s completely undeniable Arians’ experience has provided a steady hand in guiding these young Colts.

As strange as it sounds, the youth of this group is a strength. Nary a rock can be thrown in the Colts locker room without hitting a newcomer and their infectious energy shouldn’t be dismissed. After returning a punt for a Touchdown and catching one in the same game, T.Y. Hilton appears to be the return threat Colt fans have been asking for lo these many years. Not to be outdone, the other side of the ball has impacted the Colts season as well considering former Saskatchewan Roughrider linebacker Jerrell Freeman has ridden his way out of the Canadian Football League and up to the fifth spot amongst leading NFL tacklers.

But perhaps one man more than any other has held this ship together through what should have been much rougher seas. Reggie Wayne is quietly having his best season and, while the 12 year vet would be the first to tell you he’s just one of 53, Wayne’s professionalism shouldn’t be underestimated when trying to dissect the success of this group.

So go horse ye Colt fans for this group has given you the ultimate October surprise. At 7-4 they’re positioned for a postseason run. And postseasons that begin with no expectations are the ones that provide the best surprises. The Colts Brass languished over what to do with Manning at the end of last season and, in Dooms Sullivan style, it’s not out of the realm of possibility they’ll soon be languishing over the prospect of facing him in the postseason. After all, who said lightning doesn’t strike twice?

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

The Difference between Indiana and L.A.

First appeared on September 16th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

So the Lakers start out 1-4 and Head Coach Mike Brown gets an unexpected vacation. And what can you really say, it is L.A. after all. There are no surprises here. The Pacers, with all their lofty preseason goals, have stumbled out to a 3-6 record and there is no groundswell to send Frank Vogel packing; even after a disappointing two point home loss to Toronto was followed by a game in Milwaukee where they trailed by 30 at one point. I suppose that’s the difference between Indiana and L.A.

A little Midwestern patience versus the ‘what have you done for me today’ mentality of the West Coast. The Lakers are masters at the art of sleepwalking through the regular season, winning just enough games to get a decent playoff seed before throwing themselves into winning a championship with everything they’ve got.

And yet this appears to be the mentality of the Pacers to this point. The trouble with following this blueprint is of course that the Pacers are not the Lakers. They do not have a rich championship pedigree or one of the largest fan bases in professional sports; and more to the point they don’t have Kobe Bryant. Such is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

So you have a franchise willing to can a coach a week into the regular season. One that has, with great regularity, made its name sending one aging All Star after another packing in favor of newer, younger models. A franchise that has amassed more championships than half the league combined. This is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

And so the Pacer fan waits. Patiently. His team will figure this out. They will discover that great defense begats steady offense. Their young coach will find a way to string some wins together and their sharpshooting small forward will return just in time to round himself into shape before the playoffs. There will be no panic inspired trades or front office demands. Such is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

For all Reggie Miller went through one can’t imagine a time when he would have felt it necessary to give his “blessing” to the hiring of a coach. In fact it’s unimaginable to think he’d have ever demanded a trade if the front office didn’t change coaches or turn the Earth on its axis trying to rebuild the roster. Pacer fans loved Thirty-One not for the championships he tallied, but for the memories he left behind. Memories of an underdog throwing unabashed uppercuts. But I suppose that’s the difference between Indiana and L.A.

And so we’ll remain the small market ne’er do wells. Sure we’ll still buy our tickets, eat our corndogs and be happy with maybe winning a first round series, maybe not. And while most days we’re just happy to have a little professional franchise to call our own, we’ll also be quick to tell you all about that one time we flirted with a championship. How in one fell swoop a franchise and a fan base both were taught the hard and cruel lesson that there’s more to winning an NBA Title than heart, hustle and desire.

How sometimes there are powers bigger than you at play. And so now when we tuck our children in at night we’re sure to remind them that sometimes in life the monsters under our beds may or may not have the authority to award the other team free throws and send your best players to the bench with foul trouble, and this is why we aren’t the lead story on SportsCenter. But such is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Indiana's "To Do" List quite lengthy

First appeared on November 7th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Dear Purdue,

This is Indiana. In case you haven’t heard I’m the national preseason number one in Men’s College Basketball. Save your congratulations; they’re not necessary and would be neither genuine nor heartfelt. I know what you’re thinking and I agree, it’s been a long time since I’ve been looking down on so many people, including yourself.

I just wanted to take this opportunity to let you know I have big plans for this season. And when I say “big plans” I mean big as in a 1976 kind of big. Yogi Ferrell, Jeremy Hollowell and Hanner Perea are part of the best recruiting class I’ve had in a long time and, oh yeah, they’ll team up with the Preseason player of the year Cody Zeller; so I’ve got that going for me.

Clearly I’ll be dangerous, after all why else would Kentucky be dodging me? Look, I’ll be frank, ours is a checkered past. And I don’t just mean that whole “We have Five National Championships” and “You have more Big Ten Titles” deal. We had a good run with that one guy in the sweater and the other guy who liked to toss his jacket into the stands, but this is not 1989. From the Duel in the Dome to the seventeen point beat down I left in the comb-over’s mouth after the last chance he ever had at beating me, it’s been fun but now it’s time for the dawning of a new era.

Let me cut to the chase. I don’t plan on showing any mercy this year. I’ve taken my lumps for far too long. Everyone from Lipscomb to Penn State has gotten their licks in and now I’ve got a long list of people who are going to pay for all that’s happened since my fall from grace. And I’ll be honest your name’s on it (remember the sweeps of 2010 and 11? I do). Your cell phone jokes are tired by the way; it’s time to get some new material.

This is going to be a big season for me. I plan on winning my first Big Ten Title since 2002 while also notching my first Conference Player of the Year since 2007. I plan to win my first Big Ten Tournament Title after snapping a twenty year losing streak at Michigan State’s Breslin Center. And of course, though I don’t want to jinx it, the NCAA Championship game will be held in Atlanta again this year and I’m sure you remember 2002’s Title Game in the Georgia Dome because I played in it and lost to Maryland.

Now I know this is a lot for you to process considering you’ve been the darling of the state for so long (that is as long as we both agree to overlook Butler in the same way ESPN has for so long). Either way let this stand as fair warning that this will be a season to remember; at least for one of us.

Yours in perpetuity,

Indiana Men’s Basketball



© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

The Indiana Fever deserve your support

First appeared on October 19, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

This October basketball fans face some tough choices. The Minnesota Lynx say they deserve to be WNBA Champions for a second straight year, but can they really be trusted? After all they’ve been champion for an entire season and are you really any better off now than you were a year ago?

The Indiana Fever are an exciting team that shares the basketball and plays smothering defense. This October the choice is clear. If the Fever become WNBA Champion, they won’t rest until there’s a chicken in every pot and a basketball hoop on every garage.

Haven’t we had enough of the Minnesota Lynx? After all, can we really count on a team that relies so heavily on just two players? America deserves a champion that has more to offer than just four time All American Maya Moore and former WNBA Rookie of the Year Seimone Augustus. The Indiana Fever on the other hand are a true team in every sense of the word, boasting a roster of talented players including the NBA’s top defensive stopper in Tamika Catchings and a sharpshooter in Katie Douglas (currently nursing an injured ankle).

Leadership. The Fever have two spunky guards (Briann January and Shavonte Zellous) that are proven leaders and solid decision makers. Together they’ve worked hard to prevent the damaging turnovers that can destroy a team’s chances. The Minnesota Lynx say they’re a good team, but they averaged a disappointing 13 turnovers last year.

Teamwork. Indiana knows the value of teamwork that’s why the Fever guards have demonstrated their willingness for bipartisanship by reaching into the lane to work with the forwards all season long. Hard work. Bruisers Eriana Larkins and Jessica Davenport understand the value of hard work and their dedication and loyalty to the American people are the backbone of this great nation of ours (and both are capable of scoring inside and protecting the glass which doesn’t hurt either).

Americans deserve a candidate who is strong on defense but the Minnesota Lynx’s record show they are too soft. This season the Lynx allowed a startling 76.7 points per game. This is the most important time in history and now more than ever Basketball fans deserve a champion who can get stops when you need them most. The Indiana Fever have a proven record for being tough on defense, holding their opponents to just .415 shooting from the field.

We can’t afford another year with the Minnesota Lynx as champions. An independent study revealed most voters believe the Minnesota Lynx park in handicap parking spaces, scare babies and steal candy from children. This October the choice for WNBA Champion is clear. The Indiana Fever are the most exciting and most qualified candidate so do America a favor and give them your support. This message is not, but most likely would be, approved by the Indiana Fever.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Stay Chuckstrong Coach

First appeared on October 5, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Life is strange. You scratch off a fifty dollar winner and race out to collect only for your foot to discover Fido from next door has left another steaming surprise in your front yard. The insignificance of this turn of events is soon brought to light when your wallet is forced to come to terms with the fact the Service Engine Soon light has just come on in your car.

Sundays are the closest thing we have to the days of the Roman Gladiator. Men larger than life, some for weighing over three bills and others for doing seemingly impossible things, all running into each other with enough force to break bones and jar the brain matter of the strongest men history has known. They appear superhuman to the guy who lounges his Sundays away in the Lazy Boy lamenting the Junior High coach who elected to hand the ball to Jimmy instead of him. From Seventh Grade on he had no shot. It was over before the band even had a chance to play.

And while we perceive those in the NFL as leaders of charmed lives, the recent news of Colts Head Coach Chuck Pagano’s impending battle with Leukemia should serve as a clear indicator these men are in fact human beings not unlike you and I. There is no transcendental message here other than life is short and often has a way of surprising us when we least expect it. This holds true whether you’re paid to knock the paint off Jay Cutler’s helmet or scrape the grease out of the fryer at McDonalds.

The battle Pagano and so many others are forced to wage should serve as inspiration for those struggling to face another day with their overbearing boss or obnoxious cube mate. Lost in the hectic nature of a 21st century life and holiday traffic is the fact that every day you put your feet on the floor with a clear mind and good health is worth far more than any winning lottery ticket.

Now is not the time to critique the forces of nature or probe for hidden meaning; that is best left to someone with a much more impressive resume and an eternity to work on it. Your time is better spent sharing a smile with the people in your life. Cast aside the jaded predilections Coach Wannaputuonthebench fostered in you and stop to look at the moon or bask in the happiness your dog gets from peeing on a tree.

Of course the Colts have no choice but try and move on. And though the boys in blue will have had much to process in 7 days, Green Bay is still going to try to put 100 points on the scoreboard Sunday no matter how shattered Indy’s spirit is. After all, given the events of two weeks ago, the Pack can’t afford to lose another game they should have won.

The Hollywood in all of us expects to see the Colts use Pagano’s situation as fuel for a ride to the front but the cold hard truth remains Indianapolis won’t win every game left on their schedule or play for a Super Bowl this year. Interim coach Bruce Arians made it clear the Colts need to keep their focus and can’t afford to be “over-hyped about trying to do something extra”; but he never said they can’t go out and play with the heart, guts and toughness Pagano will no doubt display during his biggest battle. Stay chuckstrong Coach.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Calgon! Take the Cubs Away!

First appeared on September 28th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

WARNING: What you are about to read comes from a red, white and blue Cubs fan and is not intended to bring disgrace to anyone, past or present, who has played on the North Side.

Like me, channel surfers everywhere may have stumbled upon the single most disturbing event in the history of television last night. And before you guess, it wasn’t the Dancing With the Stars All Star competition or a replay of Piers Morgan's interview with a perpetually incoherent Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, rather it was the fact the Chicago Cubs are still playing baseball.

Finding out the Cubs are still playing baseball is like discovering Branson actually has a Neil Diamond Tribute show. And with Chicago at 59-97 it’s no stretch to say the ticket to see a fake Neil Diamond 2,000 miles from the real Las Vegas is likely hotter than anything Wrigley can offer. In fact something tells me more people would walk across the street to see how many pork rinds Honey Boo Boo can eat before throwing up than those who would actually want to see the Cubs play.

The Cubs should do their fans, Cooperstown, all competitive sports everywhere including Jai Alai and the integrity of the game a favor and stop playing baseball as soon as possible. In fact maybe the Diamondbacks could play the recently fired NFL Replacement Refs tonight in Arizona if only to give us a break from the Cubs and MLB ratings a temporary bump.

Since mid June the Cubs season has been dying a slow death; like a Billy the Kid has already emptied his Six Shooter and they’re still clinging to life with garbled groans kind of slow. Call them what you will, a hot mess, a dumpster fire or God’s gift to perpetual disappointment, the Cubs are on a fast track to whatever the next stop beyond irrelevance is. And while this isn’t uncharted territory for the Northsiders, Cubs fans have had enough and the brass at Wrigley better do something in the next 7 months or the only thing their ticket takers will be gathering next season is cobwebs.

In fact if the Cubs don't do anything before next year I’m not sure a "Free Season Ticket Night" will be enough to get people out to Wrigley. Barring a remarkable finish, this team is going to lose 100 games which means that, instead of newspapers, people will begin associating Cubs tickets with the lining of bird cages or as a cheaper option for papier-mâché.

And don't tell me to wait for next year. Waiting for next year is the single greatest marketing ploy since Publisher’s Clearinghouse or the Doublemint Twins. Besides there are no 40 somethings out there actually sitting in their parent's basement clad in Cubs garb with a copy of the 2013 schedule and calendar in hand waiting for the season to begin or Mitt Romney would have mentioned them by name during the welfare crusade he launched at his $50,000 a plate fundraiser.

But alas if we’re to raise any fingers towards the Cubs organization for their 2012 product perhaps it’s best pointed at Theo Epstein for he is the one who traded, released or reassigned almost every player the Cubs had who could hit, field or stay upright with any regularity. The good news for Epstein is Cubs fans may be a beleaguered and oft-tortured bunch but, if anything, they’re also patient. And in the interest of being fair most will wait Epstein out. After all he is seen as the man who ended the Red Sox curse.

He better hope the “trade every relevant player you have away” philosophy he’s borrowed from the Marlins organization actually pans out however because, after a 100 loss season, nothing less than a World Series win will suffice. OK, so maybe we’ll settle for an appearance. Heck even after 100 years, we’re still willing to settle for baby steps.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Time to cut the fake refs some real slack

First appeared on September 21st
in The Lebanon Reporter

We all misremember things from time to time. I’m sure you’ve misremembered to read my column at some point and I can’t get too upset considering I misremembered to write one worth reading this week. Roger Clemens once told Congress that the former teammate who accused him of using PED’s “misremembers things” while former President Bill Clinton simply misremembered that Americans, and Congress, are too smart to fall for semantics.

NFL fans are not above misremembering things either. We’re just two weeks into the season and so many have dragged replacement officials through the mud that it’s taught us just how easy it is for fans and the talking heads to misremember the fact NFL referees were never really all that good to begin with. Which is of course why we have replay.

The sudden love and unforeseen empathy America has for the formerly faceless NFL referee is not unlike the time Sally Jones dumped you in Junior High. The ethereal Sally Jones, whose stunning hair was more long and flowingly beautiful than anything man had seen since Secretariat, who left you so crushed you became convinced there’d never be another like her and that the times you shared during “talk time” in Homeroom were more precious than anything you’d ever know again. You’d gone so low that the decision to quit life altogether was a simple one and then the 1st period bell rang and you moved on.

Still the blathering, incoherent reaction you had to Sally’s “Did you know I’m dating
Kate’s cousin Ricky? Check Yes or No” note is not unlike the reaction America is having to the lockout of NFL Officials. One good thing to come of all this is the fact fans who for so long had berated the real NFL officials are finally admitting the existence of a competent referee. Which comes to us as if straight out of the Bizaaro World and something Roger Goodell is undoubtedly pasting in his scrapbook as we speak.

The truth is when it comes to Replacement Officials I expected much worse. In fact, given the speed of the NFL game, I expected to see something along the lines of a tribe of Kalahari Bushmen trying to referee a football game. Yes there have been problems, but by and large they’ve not been that bad.

What did one expect to see after the league scrambled together an army of men who weren’t good enough to referee at this level to begin with and put as much lipstick on them as was possible in a month before throwing them to the dogs? Asking these guys to call an NFL game is the equivalent of asking a nine year old who’s just mastered flying his remote controlled airplane to pilot the Space Shuttle. It’s like handing an M-16 to a Middle School Hall Monitor before asking them to eradicate Mexican drug runners from the border region.

The truth is officials are a necessary evil. And the human being, albeit sophisticated and well engineered, is still littered with flaws. And it doesn’t matter if they blow a whistle for a living or sack your groceries, everyone makes mistakes. The difference is some of us are fortunate enough to make them in a place and time that sees them go largely unnoticed.

And while there may be a small difference between stacking canned goods on top of a loaf of bread and blowing a call that decides a game upon which millions of dollars is riding, is it not the nature of human beings to forgive. Or is it forget? Either way the NFL Replacement Official wins.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

What now Commissar Goodell?

First appeared on September 13th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Upon further review, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell's suspension of 4 players for the Bounty Gate fiasco has been reversed. This remarkable decision tells us either the evidence the NFL had doesn’t warrant the suspensions handed down, or it’s yet another clear sign the authoritarian regime Goodell has so meticulously created is another work stoppage or reversed decision away from spiraling into another Iraq.

For good reason he remains an insulated figure operating under a cloak of secrecy as both players and owners have taken to social media to openly question many decisions he has made in the past.

Americans love Goodell for being cocksure and an indefatigable warrior for truth whose blisters pus toughness; he’s John Wayne in a $300 suit. Fans of the former Soviet Eastern Bloc get teary eyed and wax poetic over his propensity for being heavy handed and uncompromising. Goodell’s approach has made him more commissar than commissioner and he remains the closest thing we have left to a Cold War Era dictator.

But, just as any good communist regime before him, Goodell’s world seems to be crumbling. The off season saw the NFL uncover one of the ugliest scandals in its history and, on a somewhat less significant note according to the league, the NFL Referees have undertaken their own Perestroika movement.

The time has come for Commissar Goodell to do some real soul searching. Is he destined to become the Mikhail Gorbachev of professional sports or is he going to fill the void and become the iron fisted ruler the world is so sorely missing. Now is not the time for compromise; after all, Glastnost did bring a Super Power to its knees. And if the Soviet Union has taught us anything it’s that nobody can look cool in an Ushanka hat and giving people a more open government doesn’t always translate to world domination.

Forget fines and suspensions. The North Korean government used to force citizens to pack their sports arenas to witness public executions. 50,000 men, women and children all clad in the most depressing shade of gray possible while sitting on the edge of their seats under a monotone voice droning over a crackling loudspeaker. Something about the sanctity of the State being compromised because someone had the audacity to jaywalk during rush hour. I don’t see any wardrobe malfunctions in the NFL’s future should Goodell adopt this policy for helmet to helmet contact.

So now the media wants full access to the Bounty Gate evidence and the phones in New York are ringing nonstop with frantic calls from Junior High Athletic Director’s everywhere begging for their referees back. And when the people call for change or demand answers the commissar must act.

What Goodell really needs most now is a convenient distraction. The NBA Lock Out was a godsend, but that league is currently on the rebound. He must remember that an uprising or highly public purging of your once most loyal underlings isn’t always a bad thing. In this case however Goodell might be surprised at the reaction should he simply announce that compromise is on the horizon before invading a smaller country.

In the meantime the Commissar will consider his options and we will eat unhealthy food and watch football. Still we are left wondering, had they not scrapped the idea, if the Ronald Reagan hologram the Republican’s planned to have at their convention was programmed to say “Vote for Mitt” or perhaps it was destined to utter a more effective, vote eliciting declaration such as “Mr. Goodell, tear down that wall!”


© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Nike can't sneak anything buy us

First appeared on August 30th, 2012
in the Lebanon Reporter

LeBron James is the best basketball player on the planet, a three time MVP, NBA Champion, Olympic Gold Medalist and yet remains largely a public relations disaster. When news broke recently that Nike would unveil James’ latest shoe (dubbed “Signature X”) for a retail price of $300 Shoeheads everywhere eagerly rubbed their hands together while the rest of us, you know those with real jobs who have bills to pay and kids to feed, were left scratching our heads.

The last thing LeBron needed was another reason for John Q. Public to loathe him. All this after he'd done so much to heal his reputation. He'd said and done all the right things since the "I'm taking my talents to South Beach" debacle left him flat on his back with two black eyes. He'd finally dominated the playoffs in the way so many deemed him incapable of. He captured his first NBA Title and won his third MVP trophy with humility. He even showed a measureable level of maturity after taking a backseat for much of the Olympics without complaint. And now this.

Aside from the 1930’s and Washington’s winter at Valley Forge, has there ever been a worse possible time to ask $300 for a shoe? With unemployment at 8.2% and an estimated 15 million American children living in poverty, how can Nike justify charging $300 for this shoe? It’s especially unnerving considering they were more than likely put together in some unventilated ramshackle aluminum shed by Vietnamese children being paid in McDonald’s coupons.

Perhaps the more pressing issue here is just who exactly is in the market for a $300 shoe anyway? Clearly Forbes Magazine said it best when they surmised wearing the right pair of sneakers can “make you look something else: rich.” And if you count yourself amongst the throngs of other twenty somethings trying to “look rich”, just remember layaway was originally meant to assist struggling families during the Great Depression, not for you to blow a month’s salary on a tennis shoe. Especially when that money could be used to keep the lights on your house; you know the same one your parents call the basement.

And if you count yourself amongst the famed 1% who actually have $300 to flush on a tennis shoe that will be cool only as long as it takes Nike to release someone else’s new shoe, then perhaps the Pintando Pasas by Converse is the more responsible choice. These are shipped to a rural Mexican village where kids decorate them before sending them back to the U.S. where they’re sold for around $300. And while you’ll probably get laughed off the court should you show up calling “next game” wearing them, the silver lining around the Pintando Pasas is that the shoe benefits a youth art program in Mexico.

Basic economics tells us there’s a market for this shoe or Nike wouldn’t be pricing it as if it were made from leather recovered from the Tomb of King Tut. Unfortunately it appears to be just another example of the continued misadventures of American priorities. Either way little has changed for LeBron James. He remains a guy America is trying so hard to fall in love with despite the unfortunate knack he has for finding ways to make himself look really bad.

The answer is simple. We launch a Facebook campaign to convince those in the market for new athletic footwear to boycott Nike in favor of a more sensible option (Kangaroos), or we round up everyone who buys the “Signature X” and demand to see their tax returns.


© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Calm Down Colts Fans

First appeared on August 23rd, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

At this time it might be a good idea for Colts Fans to take a deep breath, put down their glass of Kool aid and pause to reflect. Sure you dismantled the Rams 38-3 in the first Pre Season game of the year. Sure Andrew Luck threw a touchdown on his first unofficial NFL pass and sure he looked steady in his first unofficial outing as a Colt; but one must remember it was the Rams and it was the Preseason.

Sure your Colts hung tough with perennial AFC power Pittsburgh Sunday night as Andrew Luck’s solid decision making helped move the ball while the defense showed signs of being an animal unlike the one we’ve grown accustomed to watching lo these many years. But it was the preseason.

There are two reasons those outside the part-time pretend sports journalism world should not yet predict a Super Bowl season for Indianapolis. These are of course that their big win came courtesy of the Rams and it still is the Preseason. Another clear indicator nobody should attempt to hang a solid win prediction on this team is the fact the Colts saw almost every rostered player anyone outside Indianapolis could name leave town during the off season. This in itself should, not unlike the face of Joan Rivers, scream rebuilding.

St. Louis won just 2 games last year and is itself in the midst of a head coaching change. This means they’re probably not the measuring stick you want for your team; that is unless you’re aspiring to win 3 games or have set the goal of becoming the greatest Preseason football team in NFL history.

One probably shouldn’t read too much into the Pittsburgh outing either. There was an imbalance in urgency considering the Steelers are an established team while the Colts are largely a collection of unknowns beating each other’s brains out for 53 spots. However Indy’s play to this point has gone a long way to lifting the ominous cloud of doubt Peyton’s departure left hovering over Lucas Oil Stadium. But it shouldn’t dissipate it completely. We are talking about the Preseason after all. And there are no words in the English language strong enough to fully illustrate the level of insignificance NFL Preseason Football has achieved.

The Preseason is like blocking off four hours and finding the one babysitter able to pass most of your wife’s background checks before going out to watch that Academy Award winning film everyone has told you so much about only to sit through 4 straight weeks of previews for movies you’ll never see like “Weekend at Bernies 3” or “Weekend at Bernies 3 in 3D”.

And just when you thought there was no way they could make Preseason football more laughable; they have. The only reason more people aren’t up in arms about replacement officials right now is because nobody is watching right now. When the big lights come on, those of the regular season and Vegas, hard working fans will clamor for something other than licensed high school officials on the field.

So keep your perspective Colts Fans. You have a rookie quarterback and new head coach. You have a new offensive scheme and are completely overhauling your defense. These have never been (and aren’t likely to become) hallmarks of a Super Bowl Champion. And while it always feels good to win, it’s a fair bet Jim Irsay gutted his team to do more than just tweet “The Preseason rocks harder than Mick Jones on London Calling!”

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

America should parlay its olympic excellence

First appeared on August 10th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Ours is the most politically fractured, culturally inept and obese nation on Earth. And yet once every four years we find a way to pull it together and kick the rest of the world in the pants during the Summer Olympics. And London’s 2012 Games are shaping up to be no different.

We lead this summer’s overall medal count with 90 total; including 39 Gold. The U.S. Women’s Soccer Team brought gold home after avenging a World Cup loss to Japan and our ladies Water Polo team kept their heads above water long enough to secure their first ever gold medal. It was an American versus American final in Women’s Beach Volleyball which of course saw us win gold as the team of Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh-Jennings won their third straight (which came after having never lost a match in Olympic play).

This is of course all the more reason for the world to hate us. They hate us for Iraq and our two car garages, for pounding Nigeria 156-73 and for making every single major contribution to the world of technology in the last 100 years. They hate us for being a place where chasing ones dreams is encouraged and for boasting a selection of more than 1 television channel.

Ours is a nation full of fast food jockeys, dissatisfied office workers and professional politicians mixed with a handful of ambitious young athletes willing to dedicate themselves to becoming the best at what they do. Forget Democrats and Republicans, why not channel the energy and gusto of this last group into diplomacy? It only seems fitting that we should find a way to use our Olympic dominance to heal this begrimed view the world holds of us.

If Gabby Douglas were deployed as Special Envoy to Pyongyang then perhaps she could bring an end to the stalemate that has existed there since the 1950’s. If the Flying Squirrel tumbled her way onto the Korean Peninsula then simply flashing her gold medal and million dollar smile would be enough to bridge any differences lingering between South Korean President Lee Myung-Bak and whatever number Kim Jung the North Koreans are worshipping these days.

If Michael Phelps could swim to South Sudan (with a naval escort to protect him from Somali Pirates of course) then perhaps he could help combat the level of uncertainty that fledgling nation faces. Because it’s such a long road ahead for the world’s newest country they could use the services of a crafty champion who has stared down the improbable only to succeed. The 18 gold medals Phelps has racked up alone would be enough to both back an entire nation’s currency and make South Sudan the richest African nation overnight.

So wave your flag with pride and keep your Kleenexes at the ready. For you may need them the next time you hear somebody out there doesn’t like us, or perhaps when you find another American teenager atop the podium with the Star Spangled Banner showering down upon them. That magical instant you can read in their eyes. How for the first time in their life they fully understand what it means to be an American.

That as ugly, tragic and amazing as our history can be, we remain the most powerful nation on Earth. And while ours may not be the blueprint for diplomacy every nation wants to follow, nothing can shatter an American’s pride. Perhaps that’s where the hatred comes from; for over 200 years and counting we’ve been the rabbit the rest of the world hasn’t been able to catch.


© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

A Real Man's Thoughts on the Olympics

First appeared on August 3rd, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

This one goes out to Real Men everywhere. Those who drink kerosene, belch fire and fart rocket fuel. The one’s who don’t consider a day complete until they’ve spit, scratched, cursed for no reason and blown something up. The one’s who sought professional counseling when Oprah took on the cattle industry and those who believe Roger Goodell is fast-tracking the wussification of America.

Real Men can’t be fooled. We realize until they’re replaced with “No Flavor” that low fat labels will always be a legal form of false advertising. NBC can’t fool us either. In this ultra sophisticated world of ours there is no way the Olympics can be broadcast in the same manner in which they were in 1992.

And so it was Real Men everywhere grilled a medium raw T-Bone, drenched it with sautéed mushrooms, grabbed a stick of butter from the fridge and sat down with a frozen mug filled with German inspiration to watch the Women’s Team Gymnastics finals Tuesday night. But what they saw instead was a travesty of broadcasting.

Real Men will unanimously agree the achievements of the newly dubbed “Fab Five” were both compelling and remarkable. The rub is the fact NBC went out of their way to fabricate a historic moment. After American Champion Jordyn Wieber had previously failed to qualify for the individual competition, the suits at Rockefeller saw an opportunity to create some history. Fans who tuned in were subjected to a heartfelt mini-documentary on Wieber’s rise and fall as an Olympian which culminated with a tease for the one chance Wieber had at rescuing her legacy from the jowls of humiliation.

It was a nice 3 minutes. The only issue here is that when NBC ran the “Can Jordyn Could Put Together that One Perfect Performance and Save Her Gold Medal Chances?” piece, she’d already done it; like 6 hours beforehand. NBC has to revisit business as usual. There is perhaps a small demographic who still huddle inside their homes beside their rotary phones avoiding any means of contact whatsoever to the outside world, all the while waiting until primetime to turn their televisions on like preprogrammed robots. But this group does not include many Real Men.

Real Men want to witness Olympic history. The Dream Team of ’92 completely embarrassing every team that was forced to take the court with them, Michael Phelps netting 8 Gold Medals in a single games or Kerry Strug’s dramatic vault which included an amazing landing with one good ankle. The trouble is for these to be authentic and memorable they also have to be spontaneous. They cannot be manufactured in the fashion NBC attempted Tuesday night. You cannot fabricate history, this is not a communist country or a Reality Television show.

So what is the solution you may ask? I have no idea. What I do know is that the rules are different now. After all any unemployed twenty something with a Smart Phone and access to someone who could actually afford tickets to an Olympic event can use a 140 character post on Twitter to bring the 70 year old industry that is television advertising to its knees.

So it’s not about hiding the fact the team representing the Isle of Man medaled in Synchronized Kayaking for a few hours, it’s about rethinking Olympic coverage. Broadcast it in Real Time, make the coverage straightforward and let history take its own course. Besides if Real Men have a plate of corn dogs and a Bloomin’ Onion garnished with deep fried butter chunks on their laps during the broadcast they won’t complain anyway.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Luck Vs. Manning-Get used to it

First appeared on July 26,2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

So Andrew Luck is officially an Indianapolis Colt. Which means we can officially put an end to the Peyton Manning era and declare the Andrew Luck era underway; officially. Colts Fans start your engines and let the comparisons begin. It’s a train wreck we all see coming. We’re destined for a good old fashioned comparathon.

The next 10 years will be filled with everything Manning did that luck couldn’t. That is at least until Luck wins a Super Bowl and multiple MVP’s, sets almost every major NFL passing record, appears on 3 out of every 5 commercials you see on television, hosts Saturday Night Live and fathers twins of course.

The media are all hunkered over their laptops and notebooks like medieval gargoyles, fangs bared and jowls salivating. Prepare yourself for the constant bombardment of Luck versus Manning factoids they’re going to send our way. For they will continue to come like a leaking faucet until your brain is completely flooded with information that seemed relevant at the time but in actuality foreshadowed absolutely nothing.

The truth is Andrew Luck deserves better. He should be able to report for duty on West 56th Street without everything from the car he drives to the food he eats to the type of Christmas gift he buys the lady who answers the phones (gift card and jewelry if he wants to keep up with Manning) to be subject to inspection and comparison to Peyton.

It simply isn’t fair and anyone who uses it as fodder for discussion, or Heaven forbid a weekly newspaper column, should be tarred, feathered and have their eyelashes plucked out one at a time by a group of camera waving Japanese tourists chain-smoking Lark Classic Milds while wearing full Samurai regalia (not that I’ve had that nightmare or anything).

All these inevitable comparisons are pointless considering there just isn’t much the two have in common anyway. Its sheer coincidence that these two would both be born in the United States to NFL quarterback fathers before growing up to be over 6’3 and be blessed with laser-rocket-arms that would enable them to play major college football where they both set several records only to be hung with the nice guy tag in lieu of winning a Heisman before going on to become the first overall pick for the same franchise. It’s uncanny but not worth comparing.

It’s a fruitless foray into the land of Apples and Oranges to compare them and only a fool would do it. After all Luck is a Virgo and Manning’s an Aries; which of course tells us that Luck is by nature a bit more modest and shy than Manning who is full of fire and comes equipped with a dominating spirit. Perhaps it was this spirit, or the new restrictions of the NFL salary structure, that helped Manning net 48 million with his first contract while Luck just inked a deal worth 22.1 million.

And while numbers are both an acceptable and proven method for comparing like commodities in this case they’re simply not worth mentioning. After all Manning, who is 36 years old, set 28 Tennessee Volunteer records while Luck, who is 23, set just 14 at Stanford.

So while yours truly pledges to resist, nothing can stop the comparisons from coming; not even the Great Drought of Ought Twelve. The fact that people will compare these two for the entirety of Luck’s career is a sure thing; as sure as Brother Mitt will have transferred some of his off shore funds to purchase more hair product twice before you finish reading this.

Pacers can't let big Roy walk

First appeared on July 10th,2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

It’s the unexpected that keeps us moving forward. Most can forecast the mundane with greater accuracy than an AMS certified weatherman. Things like bills, bad reports from the dentist or the fact your yard will at some point need to be mowed again are all the harsh realities of life; but it’s those little nuggets of the unexpected that keep us on our toes.

Things like a co-worker’s comment that digs at you for days or the moment the Bachelorette gets interrupted by a Special Report just as she’s about to tell a fourth different guy she loves him or worse yet how about the Pacers finding out their biggest worry this off season won’t be bolstering their bench after all.

After completing his fourth season Pacers big man Roy Hibbert is a Restricted Free Agent. Many believed Hibbert would attract interest but nothing that would possibly lead him to google “Indianapolis area U-Haul dealers”. But a max deal from Portland has completely muddied the waters and now Hibberts future has never been more uncertain.

The first sign of trouble for the Pacers Brass was likely Hibbert’s selection to the All Star Team this past season. While they beamed for the press and slapped big Roy on the back during the announcement, what the photographs failed to show were the wheels that were already spinning in their minds. The math is easy to do even for those of us who loathe it.

All Stars command more money. And not only is Roy an All Star but he’s also one who works hard on his game and goes out of his way be a positive force in the community. From here the answer is simple. Sign Hibbert. Of course it’s far more complex than that.

There are factors at play here that a team of MIT Scientists and doctoral level economists can’t even put into terms simple enough to keep us from reacting like a monkey that’s just been handed processed banana chips in a vacuum sealed bag.
In this case the unexpected is painfully clear however.

Indiana needs to do whatever it takes to keep Hibbert in a Pacer uniform. And ‘whatever it takes’ means there appear to be many options the talking heads have overlooked. Hijacking a Brinks truck and setting up a counterfeiting ring in the basement of Bankers Life Fieldhouse are just two illegal methods that leap to mind. If public relations weren’t an issue the Pacers suits could go downtown and sit at the corner of Illinois and Maryland with a cup and cardboard sign reading “Keep Roy”. Lottery tickets, putting $10 million on Red and an Area 55 IPO are some of the more risky options for quick cash as well.

If you can work your way past the depressing (for us, not Roy) numbers and confusing semantics of the salary cap and focus simply on basketball in its purest form (yes I understand how laughable it is to include the NBA and pure basketball in the same thought) Hibbert makes Indiana better. He’s not a 30 and 10 guy, but the list of things he does to help Indiana win games is quite lengthy.

Losing Hibbert would be a setback the Pacers would spend 3-4 years recovering from. And by that point the young promising team they’ve assembled will be a decent yet aging team making perennial trips to the first round of the playoffs and staying just long enough to dip a toe in. And if this is what actually comes of this young core, the Pacers suits will find themselves on Illinois and Maryland anyway.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Larry was a rare Bird indeed

First appeared on June 29th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Larry Bird was a good man. I think it’s Proverbs that says “A man of understanding is of an excellent spirit”; that was Larry, always full of life…what’s that? He’s not dead? Oh, sorry I guess it’s just the melodramatic side of me that wants to wax poetic about someone retiring as if they were dead.

It’s the natural reaction all card carrying part time pretend sports columnists are required to have anytime someone in the sports world hangs them up. And Larry is. Well, at least for a year anyway. The kids call it flirting with retirement and that’s what you do when you’ve seen the top.

It would seem Americans are good at three things. Fighting, eating and waxing sentimental over the lives of people they’ve never met and most likely never will. But we’re Hoosiers and when Larry Bird is involved all bets are off. The rules simply don’t apply.

Most first saw him in the baby blue of Indiana State, hair gold as a shock of wheat and socks pulled to his ears. He would go on to become part of so many seminal moments in basketball history-the 1979 NCAA Title Game, the Lakers and Celtics rivalry of the 80’s and the Olympic Dream Team of 1992, that his place on the Mount Rushmore of basketball was solidified long before he was both NBA Coach and Executive of the year (1998 & 2012).

When I was twelve my Dad took me to a Celtics game at Market Square Arena. It was like stepping into another world, as if we’d been teleported to Boston upon clearing the turnstiles. The entire arena (and that is not an exaggeration) was a sea of green.
The crowd cheered louder for the Celtics and booed anytime the Pacers dared to fight back. Watching Bird warm up was more memorable than the game. There were no reverse dunks or three quarter court shots with his back to the basket; but the guy didn’t miss a shot, not one. I should know because after he’d made his fifth straight three pointer my eyes didn’t leave him for the rest of pregame.

Bird’s range extended well beyond the 23 feet 9 inches of the NBA three point line too. When I was in elementary school I wore his black Converse Weapons and my best friend Todd had the Lakers version (purple and gold). We wound up on opposing intramural teams fully expecting life to imitate art.

In a perfect world Todd would have had a baby sky-hook and we’d have played for the championship 3 times. And after realizing that whipping a towel over my head wouldn’t be enough to beat him I would have sulked in the locker room before telling the press my fourth grade teammates played like a “bunch of sissies”.

Larry was the sole reason a pimply 14 year old in Cass County Indiana wore the same Celtics jersey everyday for countless summers. At the time he fancied himself a tough match up on the blacktop, but looking back he supposes it had more to do with the fact nobody wanted to guard him since his mother refused to do the laundry more than once a week.

So we’re left to find a way to deal with his loss again. To close another of life’s chapters and find a way to move on knowing there are moments we can simply never have back. And while Todd and I may never film a Converse commercial together, he knows I’d still own him anytime, anywhere and I guess that’s enough.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Stop Watching the Finals

First appeared on June 21st, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Stop watching the Finals. Yes I know they’re amongst the highest rated of all time and ours is a free country, but the only people still watching the Finals are the very same who’ll pay money to see Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.

Yes I realize there are 3 games left but they’re meaningless so catch an American Pickers marathon, teach your cat Spanish or grab your moccasins and thunderstick and go outside to pray for rain-it really doesn’t matter just don’t waste your time watching the Finals.

Will anyone really miss them after all? (Besides the 16 million people who’ve been watching each game on average of course). They were the most misunderstood Finals in history. Lost in all the static over James and his legacy, Wade and his health, Durant and his impending superstardom or Westbrook and his shaky decision making was the fact that the entire series hinged on Chris Bosh.

Bosh came to Miami the third wheel of the much ballyhooed “Big Three” tricycle. A conveyance Heat fans were going to ride to more championships than LeBron could count on one hand. After one season however it became painfully clear that Bosh wasn’t superstar material when his touches were limited by the ball hawking James and Wade.

So he was relegated to accepting a role he’d likely never imagined himself playing. It took him a while to sort all this out and find his role, but we’re finally seeing Bosh embrace it in these Finals.

James and Durant have the inside track for Series MVP, but the ultimate destination of the Larry O’Brien Trophy remains in the hands of Bosh. When he’s good, and playing the role they need, Miami is very good. But when he’s trying to be the Chris Bosh of Toronto Raptor-fame he becomes a non-factor and the Heat struggle. The latter of these two is the only shot OKC has, which is why I’ve declared the Finals over.

And forget scrambling for the stat sheet because what makes Bosh effective doesn’t show up in the box score. Nobody charts how many shots he alters around the rim or how many plays Bosh keeps alive by tapping out a rebound he can’t corral. There is no value to be placed on the energy he infuses into the arena, and consequently his teammates, by diving on the floor for a loose ball. He can do all of this as a 7 foot multi-billionaire, and yet he can also pop out of a screen and roll to nail an open 20 foot jumper when OKC sends two defenders at James.

You knew all along James would get his 30 and Wade would rack up some highlight plays on his way to 25. But what Miami needs in addition to this is Bosh’s energy and leadership. Without his presence there’s nobody to challenge Harden and Westbrook at the rim. And Bosh remains the perfect, and perhaps only, counterbalance whenever any power struggle arises between James and Wade.

Unfortunately the Finals are over and you’ll have to wait another year to prove me wrong. Should you happen to find basketball being played Thursday night at 9:00 on ABC surf on, for it is most likely highlights of the Israeli professional circuit or home movies from the VanGundy boys youth league days back in NYC.

It’s tough navigating this hypersensitive, politically correct world of ours, so when I say stop watching I don’t mean to speak to you like you are a trained monkey or loyal dog; it’s just that these Finals are over so sit boo-boo, sit.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Digging Deeper into the Playoffs

First appeared on June 7th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Old versus Young. Experience versus enthusiasm. Carson versus Arsenio. We’ve seen this act before so it should be nothing new. Well maybe new is a bad choice of words if you happen to be fans of the San Antonio Spurs or Boston Celtics. Either way Father Time remains the most overlooked, least analyzed, scrutinized or scouted player in the 2012 NBA Playoffs.

The Heat were for all intents and purposes the most logical choice for pre-season NBA Champions. And after a quick 2-0 start to the Eastern Conference Finals, Miami has been blindsided by a Boston team that has lathered their joints with enough WD 40 to remind all of us why they don’t hand trophies out before the season begins.

And while Oklahoma City continues to churn out posterizing dunks at an unprecedented rate, San Antonio remains Watty Piper’s original Little Engine that Could, busy plodding along on a journey towards The Finals. Both series are a lesson in life. There is something to be said for experience.

The Media would have us believe that OKC is a newborn infant ready to shed their diapers and claim a title while San Antonio is the toothless grizzled relic of yesteryear huddling behind their bedroom door as the Grim Reaper’s scythe is reaching in for them.

In a league built on young superstars and athletic role players the NBA finds itself at war with itself. And while this is a great recipe for producers of Keeping up with the Kardashians or Jersey Shore, it doesn’t compute in David Stern’s world. The NBA brands itself as fresh, young and exciting. The Spurs and Celtics are none of these.

And yet there they are again. Those darned fundamentals. The Spurs and their screens, the Celtics and their stifling team defense. The Big Fundamental and his unstoppable 17 foot bank shot and Rajon Rondo and his- well OK maybe we need to leave Rondo out of any discussion that involves fundamental basketball.

So you’re a 25 year veteran of accounting and some hotshot kid comes in fresh out of the Kelley School of Business. The stuffed shirt who signs your paychecks starts suggesting you might be able to learn a few things from Billy with the spiked hair. Whether it’s an out of town seminar he arranges for the two of you to attend together or something far less subtle, like an email that reads “Hey, you could learn a few things from Billy”, either way you feel slighted. So you find a new resolve. A rediscovered determination that carries you from the water cooler to the vending machine in record time.

This is another X factor currently propelling both the Spurs and Celtics. Her name is disrespect and she is both bold and beautiful. All season long every talking head in the NBA, every basketball magazine cover, every SportsCenter lead-in and every kid aged 10-19 (including Billy with the Spiked Hair) has done nothing but talk about Miami and Oklahoma City.

And suddenly there they are. Two former champions. Two groups feeling disrespected and boasting more playoff experience than half the other teams in the league combined. The NBA has long sold fans on rivalries. The Lakers and Celtics. The Bulls versus the Bad Boys. Tim Donaghy versus the Federal Government. Who knew the new rivalry would take such an old approach?

It may be true what they say “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks”, but in this case it’s rapidly becoming clear these old dogs don’t need any.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

That old familiar feeling for Pacer Fans

First appeared on May 26th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

So the Pacers bid to upset the Miami Heat fell short. Thirty two points short in Game 5 to be exact. And as the Pacers ride off into the sunset for greener fairways and All-Inclusive resorts with white sandy beaches, the rest of us are left to ponder what could have been.

Pacer fans sit with incredulous faces, popcorn littered at their feet, luke warm beers in hand. A golden army 15,000 strong sitting in complete silence. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. When was the last time Hollywood gave us a blockbuster where the bad guys actually won?

It was almost a magical story. The Indiana legend turned Executive of the Year and his band of blue collar players, those same players who were branded misfits by the media and NBA officiating during the series, almost eliminating the league’s two sacred cows. In the end it wasn’t the MVP who stepped on the Pacers throat, rather it was Dwayne Wade who made so many impossible shots Thursday night it seemed as if he were trying to beat himself in a game of Horse.

But beyond the court the Pacers have aroused within us a spirit of bygone days. The inner Pacer fan in all of us had lay dormant for many moons. We first crawled our way into the cave in 2000 when the Pacers made the NBA Finals only to go on and lose in 6 games to the Lakers. Hibernation seemed the only tonic strong enough to prevent what we all saw coming; the collapse of a franchise that had carried us through the 90’s. And while we struggled to keep our eyes propped open through Reggie’s retirement, we succumbed to the sweet relief of slumber through the Brawl and subsequent countless nightclub melees and shootings. And we snored long and hard through many a fruitless season.

Now with a spirited performance against the Heat, the Pacers have done nothing but leave an entire fan base wanting more. Younger fans got a taste of what we all gorged ourselves upon during the days of the Davis boys and the Dunking Dutchman and yet now the lights are out in Banker’s Life and the only person moving up and down the floor is a lonely custodian sweeping away the blood, sweat and tears of another lost season.

Unanswered questions remain. What will become of Larry? Will Roy Hibbert and George Hill be back? The Pacers front office and players have both done so much work to get to this point that it would seem this group deserves to stay together at least until West’s contract expires. And one would think pushing Miami as far as Indiana did would be enough to eradicate the scourge of empty seats that has befallen Banker’s Life Fieldhouse for lo these many years.

So as the Aussies say, “Belt Up” Indiana Fans. It’s time to move on. But as you do, remember to nurture what the Pacers gave you this year. For it is a seed. A seed of hope. Make sure you care for it. Give it all the love and attention it requires for that seed holds great promise. Perhaps next year, or at some other not so distant point, that seed will bloom into the promises that went unfulfilled oh so many moons ago.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers must find a way to turn down the Heat

First appeared on May 15th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

OK so Sunday didn’t turn out to be the bloodbath so many had predicted. And though the Heat are one step closer to proving Jon Barry’s theory of a sure-fire Miami sweep correct, what remains to be seen is not the outcome of the series but rather how the Pacers will respond. Compounding matters for fans of the Blue and Gold, it would seem Miami took Indiana’s best punch in the first half Sunday and rallied to win with a dominating Fourth Quarter.

Of course the experts love for the Heat is nothing new. I’m sure had ESPN covered the Germans during World War II or filmed a 30 for 30 on Napoleon, they would have given the Russian’s no shot as well. The trouble of course is the magic of the upset lies in the fact nobody sees it coming. Who knew Stalingrad would become a Hornets nest capable of crippling Hitler’s Eastern advance? Or that Napoleon would taste defeat for the first time at the hands of an army perhaps made most famous by their propensity for retreat?

And really, who can fault those in the full-time-not-pretend media? The truth is the predictability of the NBA is tiresome. Of course the quintessentially obstinate American in all of us would say this is simply all the more reason for Indiana to take Miami down.

Let us not forget the Heat are the epitome of everything that is wrong with professional basketball. In a league completely driven by Superstars and propped up by those who gaze at them in captivated wonderment, Miami has three of them. Three talented men who should be filling seats on their own in smaller markets. Three men who came together and used the magic powers of artificial smoke and strobe lights to morph into the “Big Three”; a trio of superheroes joining forces to do something they clearly felt incapable of doing alone.

Meanwhile with no true Superstar, Indiana is the Yin to Miami’s Yang. They have no cult following. They are not paparazzi worthy. Heck, the only time Banker’s Life ever saw a smoke machine was when House of Hair came to town. On paper the match-up doesn’t have the magnetism of Ali-Frazier, but the fact remains there are no guarantees in life (see Lugar, Richard).

So while David Stern busies himself ensuring that those elves in his workshop busy engraving the Larry O’Brien Trophy realize the ‘b’ in LeBron is in fact capitalized, the Pacers need to set their jaw, clench their fists and get ready to take their best shot at Miami; again. Only this time hit harder, hit smarter and don’t let them get up when you have them down.

And after a 95-86 loss Sunday, Indiana remains at a crossroads. In a Pacer blue convertible the dapper Frank Vogel is slumped at the wheel while in the passenger seat alongside Larry gnaws at a thumbnail with Boomer’s overinflated head looking on from the backseat he’s sharing with that one guy with the hardhat, flip signs and pink flamingo.

They can forge ahead, take their medicine and lay down as Miami rolls on to the Eastern Conference Finals, or they can put their turn signal on and take the NBA for an unexpected ride. Tuesday night the basketball world will wait breathlessly to see if Indiana fights back, if Vogel follows his league-issued Garmin, or will we hear the presumptuous voice of David Stern choking out “RECALCULATING!!” as the Pacers try to derail the only sure thing the NBA has had since the Zenmaster traded his clipboard for a fly rod.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers are Back Baby!

First appeared on April 28th
in The Lebanon Reporter

“Hello relevance, my old friend. It’s been a long time. Seems like just yesterday Reggie was slinging 3’s from the rafters with Slick swooning ‘Boom Baby!’ into the microphone as if he were one Davis boy dunk away from keeling over for good.” If the Pacers Franchise were a comatose patient granted an unforeseen and temporary reprieve from the land of squash and turnips to utter his first words in 10 years as friends and family look on in disbelief, there is no question this would be the bleary eyed response.

The Pacers are back. And we don’t mean back from vacation or back from the dead, rather they are back in the land of relevance.
Finally the Blue and Gold are more than a bottom feeding zygote fighting for the last playoff spot in a Conference dominated by sub .500 teams. In fact they have the 3rd best record in the Eastern Conference and 5th best in the League.

And for you fans of the artificial cacophony of whining Indy Cars being piped in over the Banker’s Life loudspeaker, it would seem things are coming together at the right time. Danny Granger is no longer shooting the ball as if he were the victim of a botched Lasik procedure while David West has been playing out of his mind the last two weeks. And while Darren Collison appears to be handling his demotion like a mature veteran, fans of the Blue and Gold should also relish the fact the Pacers are healthy and, perhaps more importantly, Orlando’s Dwight Howard is not.

Saturday the Pacers will begin just their second Playoff Series since 2006 and it’s been a long road. From the depths of the Brawl Larry Bird bid Reggie farewell and basically kicked everyone else off the elevator with the exception of Jeff Foster (who took himself off earlier this year by retiring). It hasn’t exactly been a meteoric rise either. There were times when the elevator jammed (see Shawne Williams and Jammal Tinsley) and there were times when those non-part-time-pretend sports columnists wanted Larry to step off as well.

But finally it would seem the Blue and Gold are nearing the Penthouse Suite. And on their way they’ve shot past so many others including Rick Santorum, whose polite nod assured the doorman he was in fact heading down. The problem for the Pacers now is that someone has hung a tag on the door to the top floor which reads “Ocupado”. By all accounts the Miami Heat and Chicago Bulls appear to be chummy roomies in the Eastern Conference Penthouse Suite and it would seem there is no room for an upstart franchise, especially one from a small market with no Superstar or NBA Championship Pedigree.

So there’s only one way to get inside now. If Indiana wants to break through this year they’ll have to kick the door down Steven Segal style. And while it will take more than skin tight blue jeans, a ponytail and some really poorly written (and equally as poorly delivered) catch phrases to get past Orlando, Indiana seems poised to make a run at least at the Eastern Conference Finals this year.

Of course along the way Larry and Frank Vogel will likely need to stop on Commissioner Stern’s floor first to collect some hardware, but the last stop most definitely is the Penthouse. And before you fret, I’m fairly certain Paul, Danny, Roy and the rest will be happy to squeeze in to make room for you should you choose to come along for the ride.


© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Time for America to Lead Environmental Change

First appeared on April 21st, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Some would argue winning World War II was America’s high water mark. And for you kids too busy for a history lesson, it’s true your great-grandparents helped save the world sans the cape and tights. And for our efforts, or more to the point those of your great-grandparents, we became honorary Captains of the World.

And while we wore this title with great pride and paraded our values around the globe with the noblest of intentions, shoving freedom in every open craw we came across, somehow the America heading for the twenty-teens, the same place that gave the world the airplane, computers and the Internet, suddenly finds itself an oil-splotched, coal fired dinosaur, defecating mountains of garbage and farting ozone depleting gasses.

If we are still to be the world’s Go-To-Guy on everything then the greatest fight perhaps lies ahead. Once again the world needs rescuing; only this time it’s from itself. If you please, swallow the urge to belch “This sounds like an Al Gore rant”, I’m not here to browbeat you for driving to work alone while drinking your coffee in Styrofoam cups only to turn around and hop on my private jet bound for the weekend shack I bought in Cannes using the money I earned by investing in a Styrofoam coffee cup start up.

But be it an addiction to oil, phobia of renewable energies or the unfathomable amount of garbage we create daily, there are problems the world needs to address. And before Dick Cheney tries to convince you there’s a military option, it starts with us (as in me the person who wrote this and you, the person reading it right now).
From its inception America has been a leader, and it’s this punch first hope for the best style that makes us the beautiful tragedy we are. Today it’s time for us to lead the world in a new direction however. One that will bring us a longer life and our children a healthier planet.

To date recycling is the easiest method we have for saving the world and yet, just like soccer and the Metric System, Americans are yet to fully embrace it. Jennifer Lawrence, Executive Director of the Boone County Solid Waste Management District, says inconvenience is the number one reason people give for not recycling.“(Boone County offers) alternatives such as curbside pick-up, the Lebanon Street Department, (and) County recycling drop locations,” Lawrence explains.

Many of you already recycle to which the Earth, wheezing for oxygen and fighting a bad case of garbage-induced indigestion, says thank you. Jennifer points out that those of you who do recycle have already helped create new materials from your old garbage. “The list of items that can be produced directly from recycled materials is endless,” Lawrence points out. Everything from Picnic Tables and Park Benches to Rubber Playground Mulch, Bicycle Racks, Clothes, Stuffed Animals, Pens, and Pencils can all be made from recycled materials.

Lawrence advises batteries can be tricky. “Rechargeable batteries and cell phones are probably the least recycled,” She explains, “Alkaline household batteries are not recyclable nor hazardous.” The BCSWMD also wants people to know they have a local office in Lebanon where residents can either leave items or find help determining the best destination for taking them.
Still, with so many alternatives, far too much goes unrecycled.

Packaging is a notorious culprit. And while some Americans have done it, working around packaging is not a viable option in many cases. Nobody is asking for you to move up into the mountains, put out a self-sustaining garden, grow a beard and build a bi-level out of rocks and moss; rather the idea is to simply take a second look at what the family puts in the garbage bin.

The website “how to make a difference now” reminds us there are many ways we can reduce packaging. The 2 easiest methods being to take our own reusable bags to the grocery while also buying items in bulk whenever we can.
For some it’s about a lifestyle change. But not a stop cutting your hair and pay $50,000 for a 3 cylinder car that runs on a mix of switchgrass, sunflower seeds and used Q-Tips kind of change. Rather it’s simply a second look at what gets purchased and what gets tossed away.

Perhaps it has another use besides becoming archaeological fodder for some team of scientists 2,000 years from now who are left only to ponder why individual packs of Capri Sun were necessary if people drank them in their homes anyway.
The time has come for America to take the lead in building a greener world. But for those of us worried about getting Johnny to soccer practice on time or making sure the local utilities don’t shut the lights off at home anytime soon, developing new alternatives to fossil fuels and reducing carbon ozone emissions may be lofty goals.

But to take a second look at what we purchase and what we throw away isn’t asking all that much; and what better time to start than on Earth Day? And if you’re still unconvinced, or want the complete rundown of what is and is not recyclable or where to take them, give Jennifer a call at BCSWMD; she is nice and they can be reached 8-4 Monday through Friday at 483-0687.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Despite record, Pacers' attendance woes continue

First appeared on April 12th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

In my hometown the corner barber shop was the place to go for the low down. To find out what the weather would be like that week or how much Artie Johnson paid for that new truck with the fancy running boards and tinted rain guards. It was also the place the old hayseeds gathered on Saturday mornings to ruminate the fallout of Friday night’s high school game. Old men in overalls who chewed longleaf tobacco and cursed the new varsity coach, openly lamenting the death of the underhanded free throw.

Most know Indiana for two things, the deep fried Twinkie and a long love affair with basketball. I first learned how much basketball meant to me from hearing those hayseeds, their passion as strong as their gnarled hands.

So you take a team with the 3rd best record in the NBA’s Eastern Conference and one with a budding young star grouped with a collection of no-nonsense, hardnosed players and you’d expect to find them near the top in league attendance. Especially if you were told that same team with the high flying wing and the bruising power forward played its home games in Indiana, the self-proclaimed capital of Basketball-land.

Currently however the Indiana Pacers are edging out the New Jersey nets for 29th place in attendance (convenient time to remind you there are only 30 teams in the NBA). And when you factor in the fact the Jersey mafia has more than likely killed off another 7 season ticket holders since I pounded this out, the Nets are technically drawing more people to games than we are.

So what is to explain this plague of empty seats that has fallen upon our Pacers? I, like fans of the Cleveland Cavaliers and ESPN analysts explaining why the Heat have yet to win a Title, blame LeBron. Unfortunately the NBA has become a cult of personality and Indiana, like Brother Mitt, simply has none.

When one considers every other Top Flight Playoff Team there’s no shortage of stars. Durant, Howard, Bryant, Nowitzki, the list reads like a Who’s Who of people the average basketball player wishes they were, or at the very least could be for a day. OK, so maybe a month. A month of 4 Star hotels, pregame massages, paychecks that read like a lottery windfall and an endless line of wide eyed autograph seekers you have to muster the energy just to grumble over. Just a month of that and you are happy to go back to accounting. Back to trying to determine why the guy in the cubicle next to you, the one who loves Public Radio and drives a car nobody can hear coming, always smells like cucumbers.

The Pacers could have put all their money in one hat and thrown it at a big name free agent. Maybe even Dwight Howard. Yes perhaps Superman himself would be willing to come here; if only it were written in his contract that the Pacers be willing to fire their coach anytime Howard found himself struck with the notion of course.

And if it’s not a “cult of personality” issue, then it surely is a bad case of lockout fatigue. No matter the real direction fingers need be pointed in that whole ugly lockout mess, at the end of the day you’re smart enough to realize it was still someone with more money than you would see in five lifetimes asking for even more money.

It’s a sad story indeed. And one that would surely have the old men in the barber shop spitting on the floor.


© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

R-E-G-G-I-E wasn't always popular

First appeared on April 5th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Donnie Walsh is a well dressed man. And whether he chooses his shirt and tie combos in the morning or some fashionista recently fired by the E! Network because numerous plastic surgeries have her face resembling a traditional Gabonese Fang mask does it for him remains a mystery. But in the summer of 1987 Donnie made a choice that was as public as the library or a Facebook rant against your boss.

The spring of ‘87 saw Steve Alford lead the Indiana Hoosiers to the National Championship. I know it to be true because I watched it sitting in the living room with my Dad sharing a bowl of popcorn and a coke (or an eighth of his coke that is; which was customary per our arrangement as father and son) and also because there is a giant red banner in Assembly Hall (which most Indiana fans generally are not slow to point out) which stands in remembrance of that monumental moment.

My Father said Alford would be a saint for leading Indiana to the Promised Land and, after he’d explained what a saint was, I fully agreed despite our not being Catholic. Alford was a dashing young man with perfect hair who had proposed to his wife by hanging the net during a private shoot around; she the beautiful girlfriend who hung around the gym to climb the ladder and pull the net down anytime her boyfriend wrapped it and was surely surprised the day she reached the top of the ladder and found an engagement ring box stuck on the back of the rim. Storybook indeed.

So it looked to be a match made in heaven. The Pacers were a professional franchise that was an ABA Title Machine turned Floundering NBA Failure. In the summer of 1987 they were desperately in need of direction. A hero; a face. And for the average Hoosier fan moonlighting as a casual Pacer fan, what better face than pretty boy Steve’s?

So it was the sharp dressed Donnie Walsh went to the 1987 Draft with Hoosiers one and all fully expecting to hear Alford’s name called as the 11th pick. But upon hearing the loudspeaker boom out “Reggie Miller” fans responded with a hailstorm of boos and cat-calls. Yes, even from the start Reggie was polarizing.

The first time I saw Reggie Miller in a Pacer uniform he was bald, looked like an untwisted pretzel and appeared to have the quickness of a newborn dairy calf. I didn’t see the player who would become the Pacers All Time Leading Scorer and the second best Three Point Shooter in League History; probably one strong indicator of why my front office days have been so slow to develop.
But from the day Pacer fans first booed the 6’7 wing out of UCLA until the day he played his last game in that same uniform 18 years later, all he did was prove people wrong. Despite a highly unorthodox release, Miller became one of the greatest sharpshooters in NBA history. He climbed many mountains including the aforementioned reservations of Pacer fans as well as Spike Lee, while leaving others unconquered (Michael Jordan and an NBA Title).

And if Manning brought a passion for professional football to Indiana then Miller was Manning before Manning was Manning. He built the following the Pacers enjoyed at their height and along the way, be it 8 points in 8 seconds or “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead”, Reggie carved out a lasting place in Hoosier Hearts big enough for both himself and the Blue and Gold as well.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

A Match Made Somewhere other than Heaven

First appeared on March 27th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Throughout history there have walked the earth that very few men who’ve changed the world. A number so select one may count them upon a single hand; Hammurabi, Guttenberg, Henry Ford, Steve Jobs, Mr. Speckowski (6th grade Science at Lincoln Elementary).

But alas, if we were capable of springing a sixth digit like children born within the Chernobyl exclusion zone, then one man would make the list. One who lingers a Super Bowl win away from finding his face chiseled upon Mount Rushmore. One born destined to become the first man to spend U.S. currency possessing his own image. A trailblazer spreading his message of faith with a rock jaw and harder head. Of course we’re speaking of one Timothy Richard Tebow.

The problem here is Jets coach Rex Ryan thought we were talking about him. And now a star- crossed trade has brought the NFL’s two biggest caricatures together. Ryan is the blustery head coach who loves guarantees and a good continental breakfast. And Tebow, the quarterback who’s used his superstar status to become a spokesman for sandal wearing carpenters everywhere.

Both are exhausting yet refreshing. Frustrating yet somehow strangely inspiring. One simply cannot look away when either is on TV. Ryan the “King of Blusterstan” and Tebow a Kardashian in shoulder pads. Like moths to a flame or hot dog carts to an Overeaters Anonymous convention-we’re suckered in every time.

So the Jets can’t win a Super Bowl and the front office decides the best way to steal headlines from their roommate who could (the New York Giants) is to bring Ryan and Tebow together; thus adding a fourth ring to their already world famous circus. If Donald Trump has taught us anything, other than you too can become a bizillionaire by simply making ridiculous statements, it’s that there’s only room for 1 dominating personality in the board room. Now the Jets have two.

The impact each has had upon the world is inarguable. The Global Language Monitor recently recognized “Tebowing” as a word while Rex Ryan has a half tribal art, half sea monster tattoo on his calf. But to believe the coexistence of these two is the recipe the Jets need to win a Super Bowl is to believe socialized medicine and cars that don’t need gasoline will solve all of America’s problems.

While Tebow loves quoting passages from the Bible and pausing to thank a higher power, Ryan is more about ripping large chunks of raw flesh from your posterior region while quoting lines from “The Idiot’s Guide to Talking like a Trucker”.

Tebow’s a superhero whose Justice League of America card was earned by persevering despite draft experts arguing the NFL wouldn’t have his awkward delivery and upright, run the ball down your throat style. Yet lost in the chatter over his unorthodox passes and propensity for taking linebackers head on is the fact that, unlike Plastic Man or the Wonder Twins, Tebow is apparently immune to arrogance. The guy’s everything that’s right with sports and Americans love him for flying in the face of conventional wisdom. For this he’s become the stuff of myth.

And so now this Sasquatch in cleats meets a modern day John Wayne armed with clipboard and Burger King headset. A vampire who feeds on arrogance, Ryan learned the ropes from his legendary father (see the man whose defense MADE Mike Ditka) and he makes no apologies.

Both men are occupiers in a league that breeds conformity. And while the result may not be a Super Bowl it will certainly be worth more than the price of admission.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

March Madness is many things to many people

First appeared on March 20, 2012

March Madness is many things to many people. For basketball fans it is the greatest time of the year because the ubiquity of buzzer beating plays injects itself into the national consciousness faster than a congressman can tap your foot under a restroom stall. For haters of power programs, and fans of those ugly, plain clothed teams who didn’t get asked to the dance, it’s a time to rejoice that David’s stone was true once again as you go online and order a Norfolk State Basketball T-Shirt.

For the average part-time pretend sports columnist it’s a great time as well if for the simple fact the tournament produces such incredible stories. Turns of event that allow you to prattle on about nothing of note all the while stating what is fairly obvious in as many different ways as you possibly can think of; and you do it with pride because this is what your readers have come to expect of you.

It’s a prognosticators playground for they, even those who know nothing about basketball, have a 1 in 64 chance of being right. For Bill in Purchasing it’s a chance to remind people to listen to him because he was, at one time, a stand out varsity player; while others only see him as a bitter pill who has succumbed to both the jagged hands of Father Time and one dozen too many Dunkin’ Donuts Munchkins. And while these can wreck his frame and rob the “quickest first step in Wabash County”, they cannot harm his pride.

Drama, upsets, the same 5 commercials looping constantly, March Madness is also a television station manager’s dream. The Genie that is the NCAA Tournament is so mesmerizing it has ridden its magic carpet straight into the Oval Office. And as Obama took time away from solving Mid-East peace to share his picks with the world, it was a chance for the President to both show his non-political side while also pandering to the little-sought-after demographic of former basketball players turned couch potatoes.

For one month we become both zombie and robot, slaves one and all to the melodious voice of Jim Nantz or the herky-jerky Kevin Harlan. Only in March can Gus Johnson make something as innocuous as a twelve year old filling Gatorade cups behind the bench sound like the greatest thing since Neil Armstrong placed his size 11 down upon the surface of the Moon.

But as with everything in life, except bunny rabbits and free beer, there is a dark underbelly to March Madness. Fans of Missouri and Duke are suffering through March Sadness after they made tournament history by becoming the first pair of number 2 seeds to fall in the same year. The finality of the tournament can drop you like a steel hammer. That head-splitting moment when March Madness becomes “April Malaise” leading you to torch your own bracket; frustrated that it wasn’t the best of 6 million submitted online to ESPN.

Or it’s a warrior like Robbie Hummel giving the fight of his life before going down. And it’s the sight of her son dropping his sword for the final time that moves a mother to tears. Yes, it’s the rare combination of beauty and tragedy; Broadway meets testosterone.

But until this moment comes, the Tournament holds great promise. So your team wins a game at a very late hour and you go in and kiss your sons on the forehead as they sleep because that is the only thing that can possibly add to your happiness at that moment. And what a sweet moment indeed.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Goodbye 18, it's been real

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

So you’re the biggest Colts fan ever. Yet somehow the national search missed you and settled on some 12 year old freckle faced dork from Fort Wayne. So it was understandably troubling when you, like everyone on Earth including the Bushmen of the Kalahari and Inuits of Nunavut, heard there was a strong chance the Indianapolis Colts were going to release Peyton Manning. In fact the first time you heard the news you became so startled you dropped your autographed copy of his biography into a steaming bowl of Spaghettios splattering orange globs all over your 2010 AFC Pro-Bowl Jersey.

Your High School coach told you “never say never” when Floyd County had you down by 35 at halftime, but in Manning’s case you know you’ll never see anything like him again. That was five days ago and for four straight mornings now you’ve awaken to check the Colts roster online only to discover again that he really is gone. You knew this day was coming, you just hoped you’d have won the lottery and bought your own private island in the Caribbean first; maybe the one next door to Michael Jordan’s.

Here you’d read every Doc Savage book ever written as a cabana boy keeps your bottomless cup filled and it would be enough to help you forget how much professional football, and Manning more importantly, meant to you.

You know there’ll be other quarterbacks. Some with laser arms and some with rocket arms. But one with a laser-rocket arm is rare indeed, as rare as the Yeti or someone playing defense in the first quarter of an NBA game.

But now he’s gone and you don’t know what to do. Crying seems a bit extreme, especially since you were noticeably devoid of emotion when burying your child’s gerbil in the back yard last November. And yet that’s just what Jim Irsay seemed to be doing during his joint press conference with Manning-something as insignificant as planting a domesticated rat amongst a bed of Petunias.

You took note of how nonchalant Irsay was while showing the door to the man who sparked your enjoyment of football and so you decide it’s time to move on. You pack up your Colt replica helmet popcorn caddy and #18 wristbands and head off to the place everyone goes to say goodbye to old friends. And when you get to Goodwill you find a line out the door of former season ticket holders toting their Colts memorabilia off as well.

You’ve seen the grainy video of Manning throwing and heard every sportswriter with a functioning voice box weigh in on what the Colts should do and still you, along with Mick Jagger, have mixed emotions. But you’re powerless to stop it now; maybe the freckle faced dork, but not you.

You don’t know what the future holds and who could expect you to? You gave your Tarot Cards, Crystal Ball and Ouija Board to Goodwill three years ago. But as you survey the line of people waiting to dump their Colts gear it becomes clear just how much Jim Irsay has stolen from them. And then comes the epiphany.

There’s one thing Fast Jimmy can’t take away from you. So you return to your car; which is somewhat hard to find considering half of them in the parking lot have horseshoes painted on their hoods, and as you pull away you do so knowing full well that, while Irsay may have gashed your soul with that Samurai Sword he called a “business decision”, try as he may he cannot take away your memoires.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Indiana and Purdue Fans need to take a closer look

First appeared on March 7th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

A wise man once told me “sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees”. And while it sounds very prophetic, I literally had no idea what it meant until I heard Andy Taylor explain it once on the ‘Andy Griffith Show’. You’ve probably seen the episode; the one where Opie gets busted for lying about something he did despite hearing Andy warn him beforehand that it was a bad idea (OK, so maybe that describes all of them).

For fans of the Indiana Hoosiers this should be a time of great rejoice. For the first time since 2006 they swept their arch rival Purdue in basketball and yet the grumbling of Hoosier Nation lingers. In one season Indiana fans went from ”We’ve got a shot at another National Title” to “FIRE TOM CREAN!!”

Oh the ‘forest for the trees’ indeed. In bringing the Hoosiers back to the Top 20 and dusting off their dancing shoes, Tom Crean has completely pulled Indiana's program from the toilet bowl Kelvin Sampson so carelessly dumped it into. Hoosier fans should simply be thankful that, before he could flush the program entirely, Sampson paused to make a cell phone call long enough to be fired.

Indiana fans should relish the little things right now. Things like the fact Robbie Hummel will suffer nightmares of Cody Zeller’s second half swat for years to come. That rejection was so bad Hummel will likely toss around at night with visions of Zeller swatting his pop tart away from the toaster rolling through his head.

Instead of bemoaning three straight conference losses, Indiana fans should rest safe in the knowledge that, after hearing the cheer block chanting “Jailbird” at one Boilermaker, Indiana University is producing a student body so well rounded they value the importance of staying abreast of current events.

Before Boiler fans start feeling too good about themselves, they aren’t exactly boasting 20/20 vision either. Proof they can’t see ‘the forest for the trees’ can be found in their questioning of Head Coach Matt Painter’s dismissal of Kelsey Barlow at such a critical point in the season. And while at the time, considering Painter’s lack of depth, it seemed the equivalent of Custer sending someone out for donuts in the middle of his last stand, clearly it was the right move. For, despite being swept by their arch enemy, it’s almost indisputable that the Boilers are playing much better basketball now.

I always thought Indiana was so tough to beat at Assembly Hall because of magic or divine intervention but, according to Painter, it’s a result of making shots instead. For, after the Hoosiers excelled in numerous phases of the game, Painter refused to acknowledge the performance, instead chalking the loss up to Indiana’s “making shots”.

But after getting down by 18 in one of the most difficult places to play in college basketball Sunday Night, Purdue had enough heart to fight their way back into the game. For all Matt Painter’s team has endured over the last 3 years, this should bode well moving forward.

Oh the ‘forest for the trees’. Lost in the bluster of Sunday Night’s rivalry game was the fact that neither had any remaining hopes of a regular season conference title. What many also failed to see was the fact both teams have won 20 games and were fighting for a middle of the road seed in the Big Ten Tourney. Indeed it’s a far cry from the heyday of Knight and Keady but, trees or not, we can all see one thing clearly-these two still don’t like each other.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams