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