Its not such a 'Wonderful Life' in NBA

First appeared on December 28, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Outside of therapy or a Phil Jackson locker room meditation ceremony, there’s no better exercise for centering one’s self during the holidays than watching It’s a Wonderful Life. The film, best viewed in black and white, sharpens ones focus and encourages a reevaluation of priorities.

So as Adam Silver takes the wheel from departing NBA Commissioner David Stern, he does so in a very despondent George Bailey kind of way. Perched nervously on a bridge outside the NBA headquarters, a blurry eyed Silver curses the heavens while lamenting the league for what it is now. With only three teams in the Eastern Conference mustering winning records to this point and a disappointing Christmas Day bonanza, the NBA equivalent of an NFL Thanksgiving, that saw five games finish with an average margin of victory in double figures, including one 29 point blow-out, trouble looms on the horizon.

Silver can curse SportsCenter and the way Americans lap up its spectacular dunks night after night not unlike the hard drinking husbands of school teachers who haunt Martini’s Bar. And while it still remains largely foreign to those drawing steady paychecks, he can blame a video game culture altogether familiar to owners laboring to appease this younger crowd by filling out rosters with ultra-athletic racehorses well versed in the business end of an alley-oop. All this is done while gambling these still generally underdeveloped talents will work diligently to develop their skills (see George, Paul). In the meantime the quality of play and overall skill level within the league continues to deteriorate.

Silver nervously gazes past his toes at the icy water below, knowing full well games are both sloppy and sluggish at times while consistent refereeing remains professional basketball’s white whale. He realizes even the league’s marketing has grown stale as the Christmas Day jerseys, Grinch shoes and scantily clad cheerleaders in Santa hats only made fans forget temporarily they were watching a wholly substandard product.

And then, just at the moment Silver is ready to give up and throw himself into the frigid black water, something altogether amazing and strangely predictable occurs. Appearing amidst a blizzard of fake snow, clutching a dog eared copy of the NBA Rule Book, is David Stern, his guardian angel.

Stern takes Silver on a guided tour of what the NBA once was. And unlike the somewhat laughable Clarence who was yet to earn his wings, there’s no better figure to guide a pretend tour of the league’s past than the man who oversaw its resuscitation and piloted it to its height of popularity.

Along the way, Silver discovers strong rivalries made the league. Rivalries like Detroit/Chicago, Boston/LA, the Knicks and well, OK maybe we’ll just leave the Knicks out of this since the Thunder’s road win total alone bests New York’s overall victories this season.

A wide-eyed Silver marvels at the league’s most successful days, days built on the backs of likable Superstars like Michael, Magic and Larry seasoned with the occasional rise of a spunky underdog like Reggie Miller who tried his best to stick a finger in the eye of big market viewers everywhere.

The unfortunate thing for Silver is, just when he’s seen enough to climb down off the bridge, no Hollywood ending awaits. There is no culminating scene with Silver running through the streets screaming “Merry Christmas you old referring scandal!”, instead he’s left to clean up Stern’s mess while reshaping the league on his own. This will prove a tall task, even one that can't be solved by the town of Bedford Falls bursting through his door while scrambling to unload their pockets to help save his new league.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

This Just In-Brad Stevens can Coach

First appeared on December 11th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Those of us with Midwestern roots are ingrained with certain inalienable virtues. And be it Rome, Tokyo, numerous careers of varying success or simply crossing the county line, these tend to travel well wherever we go. Webster’s would define these as “taking pride in hard work, maintaining a no-nonsense attitude and knowing when it’s cold enough to start using the buttons on your jacket”.

So it was Brad Stevens announced in July that he was leaving Butler for the NBA and, while those close to the program were rocked to their core, the talking heads declared it one of those rare occasions where both parties involved had made a colossal mistake. For Stevens, leaving Butler appeared a disastrous move. The Bulldogs were entering a new conference which meant new opportunities and wider exposure. All of which figured to reap stronger recruiting classes and the possibility of challenging once again for that elusive National Title he’d already been so close to snatching up from his tiny perch at Butler.

For the Celtics, it meant hiring a coach with no NBA experience and one that had been leading a Mid-Major program for only 6 seasons. His introduction to the NBA would include piloting a roster comprised largely of castaways and project players destined to wilt in the shadow of two cornerstone stars who’d bolted, chasing another ring out of town.

Stevens was walking into a meat-grinder. The NBA would slap that boyish grin from his face before he could call his first time out. He’d be a shell of his former pragmatic self by Thanksgiving. But when the Celtics took the floor last week and completely dismantled the New York Knickerbockers and their high priced roster 114-73, there they were; taking pride in hard work and approaching things with a no-nonsense attitude.

Of course all this should be prefaced by the fact the NBA’s Eastern Conference is a disaster unlike anything Professional Basketball, and more pointedly, professional sports has ever seen. Coming in to Tuesday night there were three teams in the entire Conference with winning records. I’ll pause to let that soak in. Still the reenergized Celtics had recorded 10 wins with what was really supposed to be a rudderless team reeling without Rajon Rondo (man, that’s a lot of R’s).

Seriously, who are these guys? Vitor Faverani, Phil Pressey, Kris Kardashian-Humphries? Bleeding 10 wins from this roster is enough for Stevens to walk away right now. Go try to hit a baseball for a while Brad, there’s nothing left to prove here. You’re obviously really good.

In fact, forget about Baseball. There are far more opportunities hocking whatever pixie dust Stevens sprinkled on the Boston roster before the season began. To this point the Celtics have been that movie the wife dragged you to that you just knew would be awful and you sit down, glancing around to make sure nobody within your inner circle of most trusted man-friends sees you in the theatre, only to discover it’s a surprisingly good film.

Much remains to be seen obviously. Can Boston sustain their winning ways until April? Will the impending return of an All Star caliber player in Rondo serve as a shot in the arm to a roster already light years ahead of the majority of the Eastern Conference? Or will the return of Rondo spawn a cancer that spells doom for the Celtics and Stevens?

One thing’s for sure, if the Celtics continue to take pride in outworking opponents and approach things with a no-nonsense attitude, the sky’s the limit; well at least in the Eastern Conference it is.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Indiana Hoosiers don't have time to be young

First appeared on November 26, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

When Syracuse beat Indiana last March Tom Crean looked like a guy who’d let half his 401K ride on Tyson beating Buster Douglas. His energetic and positive mannerisms were replaced with the same disgusted look Ralphie sported upon discovering his Little Orphan Annie Secret Decoder Ring only told him to “drink your Ovaltine”.

And who can blame him? Indiana had spent 10 weeks at number one and finished fifth in the nation in scoring only to go down in flames with a 50 point performance in the Sweet Sixteen. It was supposed to be “the year”. Everyone was back. This includes Crean’s roster as well as Hoosier Nation, shoulder to shoulder for the first time since Bobby gave his farewell speech to students in Dunn Meadow. The same hormone-fueled students who took a break from keg standing and bathing with Hairy Buffalo long enough to pretend they actually understood this white haired guy whose shtick was a propensity for demanding respect, launching into vulgar laden tirades, form-fitting red sweaters and a strong right hand.

Indiana had come so far under Crean’s guidance, but 12-13 was to be more than another building block. It was to be a banner year. And by “banner year” we’re not talking about cutting down the nets following a home loss (note to Tom: Next time the voices in your head tell you to wheel the ladders out after a loss, keep stuffing gum into their mouths until you can no longer understand them).

Beyond the ugly loss, Crean’s incredulous demeanor was more a reaction to his knowing the heart of his program had taken its final beat. After that loss Super Sophomore Cody Zeller and Junior standout Victor Oladipo both declared for the draft. This while graduation took gutsy sharpshooter, and former Mr. Basketball, Jordan Hulls along with Christian Watford, one who will forever be remembered for nailing one of the greatest shots in Hoosier history. And there was no measure of clapping that could ever bring them back.

So, unsure of what lay ahead, a weak kneed Crean boarded a plane headed back to Bloomington; rocketing into bitter darkness. Criticism abounded as he found himself in the crosshairs for the first time. For, just as the nation had tired of hearing the President blame his predecessor, suddenly mentioning Kelvin Samson’s name wasn’t enough either.

Enter the most promising Freshman class Crean has amassed in his tenure at Indiana. More to the point, enter Noah Vonleh and Troy Williams. Thursday night’s near twenty point victory over Pac 10 power Washington allowed Hoosier fans to take their first steps toward a brave new world.

If anything, this group is exciting. Vonleh’s a hard worker who punishes people inside while Williams is busy watching it all from above the rim. And as Vonleh and Williams have been busy opening eyes, Indianapolis product Devin Davis has assumed the role of team Swiss Army Knife by rolling his sleeves and doing little things winners require.

Indeed, all this talent is useless without proper direction. And if there’s one person who wasn’t devastated by last year’s departures it’s Yogi Ferrell. The sophomore point guard has been more everything. More vocal, more aggressive, more effective and more dominant.

So the Hoosiers have replenished their talent pool and fans are slowly reloading the bandwagon. Now Crean must accept blueprints can’t be four year plans. In today’s college basketball the window of opportunity is much smaller. So the challenge is before him. To avoid another long plane ride, Crean must find a way to squeeze as many wins out of this young roster as possible.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Move over '72 Dolphins, here come the Indiana Pacers

First appeared on November 8th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Move over ’72 Miami Dolphins here come the Indiana Pacers. At 5-0 and coming off a big win over Central Division rival Chicago, Indiana appears unstoppable and seems poised to run the table. 82-0 has never happened and those who say it can’t are the same glass half empty contrarians who told Roger Bannister he’d never break a 4:00 mile or snickered when Mark Zuckerberg said one day half the planet would waste hours of their own lives looking at online photos of other peoples cats dressed in Halloween costumes.

An undefeated NBA team usually means you’ve played a string of home games to start the year, caught somebody without their Superstar and won one or two at the buzzer. This is the typical 5-0 start to an NBA season. But to borrow a phrase from a 90’s Rapper with a penchant for obnoxious jewelry and pants large enough to fit the business end of an Elephant, the Pacers’ 5-0 start is legit; yes “too legit to quit” in fact.

Pushing an aging Miami Heat team to the final game of the Eastern Conference Finals wasn’t enough for the Pacers brass to toss their golf clubs in the trunk while embracing their inner Cubs fan. They went on the offensive instead, securing Power Forward David West’s services for another three years while also adding some complimentary pieces to an already talented roster.

Back-up point guard C.J. Watson and long distance dead eye Chris Copeland were two free agents brought in with the intention of making the Blue and Gold bench more reliable. Of all the acquisitions however, Luis Scola appears the odds on favorite to win the “That one guy who gave us just enough firepower to finally get past Miami in the Playoffs” Award. In his seventh season out of Argentina, Scola brings the toughness, hustle and rebounding expertise of a Tyler Hansbrough (who stumbled around and elbowed his way to Toronto in the off season) along with the much needed ability to score in various ways.

While so much has been made about the possible return of Danny Granger, Lance Stephenson and Paul George have shown what an off season spent out of the clubs and in the gym can do. Both have raised their level of play this year including George who has scored over 20 points in every game so far.

And who could forget the man in the middle? Roy Hibbert’s performance has been so altogether inspirational it will likely result in Area 55 being expanded to include the entire lower bowl of Banker’s Life. The Big Fella is averaging over 5 blocks a game and, perhaps more importantly, is yet to foul out. In short the Pacers won’t be beaten, can’t be beaten for that matter.

So while the Heat spend their time learning to handle a Just for Men applicator and trying to get logged in to the Affordable Health Care Website, Indiana will continue to drum every team that crosses their path. At this rate the Central Division should be locked up by the end of November and home court throughout the playoffs will be Larry Bird’s Christmas gift to Pacer fans everywhere.

I’ll be the first to admit knowing you are going to win the next 77 games in a row does take some of the excitement out of watching them, but true fans will gut it out no matter how pointless it may seem. So hang in there Pacer Fans and enjoy every moment, no matter how uneventful the ride may be.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Welcome Home Peyton?

First appeared on October 25th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Welcome Home Peyton, it’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you so much we decided to give you a 39-33 beat down on national television. OK, so maybe “beat down” goes too far when describing Sunday night, but surely it wasn’t the coming home party Manning envisioned.

The guys “coming home” after all. When was the last time you went home and got punched in the face? (all apologies to Anthony Weiner, this isn’t about you). This was supposed to be a smile for the cameras before tossing ten touchdowns and making Jim Irsay eat the biggest plate of crow since Skip Bayless ridiculed the Colts for letting Manning go to draft Andrew Luck kind of night.

But it wasn’t. Instead it became the Colts making Manning look ordinary despite the fact he was on pace to have the greatest season in NFL history. There was no moment Manning looked comfortable. From the video tribute where he made the Spartan-like gesture of removing his helmet to acknowledge the fans, to the first drive, to Robert Mathis and his sack-fumble-safety, Manning looked rattled from start to finish.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Colts fans longed to see Manning light the scoreboard up, if only to come up short in the end. They didn’t want to see four sacks, countless wobbly ducks and Britton Colquitt taking the field seven times.

They wanted a shootout at the OK Corrall between Andrew “The Kid” Luck and “The Sheriff”. What they got instead was a dominating Colt defense and a victory that somehow left them feeling sorry for the greatest quarterback in NFL history.

The hype machine had us drooling with anticipation. To welcome him home, we envisioned the city of Indianapolis replacing Lady Victory with a bust of Manning while the State legislature would lobby Washington to make Indiana the 18th state. Jim Irsay would cough up enough coin to commission a statue of Manning while Roger Goodell would make an appearance to knight “the Sheriff” beforehand.

Manning would take the field on a litter toted by the Broncos Offensive Line while the London Symphony Orchestra (accompanied by a nattily clad Jim Nabors) cranked out their own rendition of “Back Home Again in Indiana”. From the stands wives would faint into the arms of their husbands, thrusting them once again into the eternal struggle of woman vs. beer.

Meanwhile children in Manning Colt jerseys their parents are too cheap to replace, would sob uncontrollably as if the jumbo-tron had just revealed Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are both fictionalized products of an unstable economic model based upon consumerism.
This was the welcome home Manning was to have, the welcome home he deserved.

What the Colts gave him Sunday night flies in the face of everything ‘Hoosier Hospitality’ stands for. And so we’re left to ponder just how much of Manning’s ineffectiveness was a product of the Colt pass rush and secondary play, and how much of it was his inability to move past the fact he was playing in Indianapolis again.

Is it possible the man who tried for so long to mask his emotions, was so overcome with them that it actually impacted his play? All these years Defensive Coordinators charged with stopping Manning have lost time pounding their heads against the wall while chain smoking cheap cigarettes when the answer was right there in front of their faces.

The best way to attack Manning is not with an exotic blitz package or Nickel coverage, rather it’s to strike straight for the heart. For after Sunday night, this appears to be his lone vulnerability.

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© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Hello Indiana, this is Football

First appeared on October 7th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Historically speaking Indiana and football are two words that have shared an awkward moment when finding themselves in the same sentence, not unlike ‘extra large and diet coke’ or ‘functional and government’.

They were those two kids at the middle school dance lingering in opposite corners, one fighting to hide braces, the other using shadows to cure a bad case of acne, so many having tried before to bring them together only to fail in a miserable, flaming ball of disappointment and loss. Lots of losses.

But that has changed. Saturday was more than just a victory over Penn State for the Indiana Hoosiers. It was more than just their first win in 17 tries against the Nittany Lions. Saturday was different. Saturday was a glimmer of hope for Hoosier nation, a shot in the arm for Kevin Wilson’s program and potential vindication for IU athletic director Fred Glass.

Aside from taping a million dollars under one of Memorial Stadium’s 52,000 seats, Glass has done nearly everything in his power to get people to come to The Rock. This includes a multi-million dollar North End Zone renovation, erecting the largest flagpole in college athletics, adding a new scoreboard, developing a play area for the kids and now, apparently, fielding a defense capable of making the stops necessary to beat quality Big Ten opponents.

But just like that church that tries to get younger by offering a full coffee bar, free donuts, sermons best timed with a stopwatch, digital projectors and live music featuring electric guitars, drum machine and confusing front man who seems more interested in finding a captive audience than flirting with real faith, people initially attend out of curiosity. It’s real belief that brings them back every time.

Before Saturday real belief in Indiana Football simply didn’t exist. While Glass’ hiring of former Oklahoma Offensive Coordinator Kevin Wilson was seen as a coup at the time, two years of continued frustration saw Wilson entering the third year of his contract as an unproven commodity.

Labeled a mad scientist by some for his offensive innovation, the fact alone Wilson left a prominent position with one of the perennial powers in college football to take the Indiana job is reason enough to consider him mad. For, before Wilson’s arrival, Indiana had been a place where good coaches went to die.

But Saturday the world got a glimpse of what Wilson imagined his Hoosiers could be. Potent on offense, stout on defense. And while Penn State may be a current shell of its former self, they remain a quality Big Ten opponent and another win in Indiana’s quest to return to a bowl.

Coming into Saturday, Indiana’s 2-2 start had left many fans fuzzy and disillusioned, uncertain that recognizable progress was being made. To quote former Arizona Cardinals head coach Dennis Green, it seemed as though the Hoosiers “are who we thought they were!”, a high powered offense and lackluster defense; the Loyola Marymount of Football.

But Saturday was different. Saturday was the first win over Penn State in school history. After coming up short against Navy and Missouri, Indiana found what they needed most; a victory over somebody they weren’t supposed to beat.

Moving forward, Doug Mallory and the Hoosier Defense appear destined to determine Indiana’s bowling fate. Wilson’s offense can score points against anybody in the country but the hope of playing 13 lies with the defense. And, at least for one afternoon, the defense gave hope to Hoosier Nation that football was more than a giant flagpole, million dollar scoreboard and endless activities for the kids.


© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Don't Feel Sorry for Captain Comeback

First appeared on September 25th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

The San Francisco 49ers have gone from their SuperBowl appearance to preseason favorites to win the NFC West to a team racked with desperation after a 1-2 start. In the throes of Sunday’s 27-7 win, euphoric Colts fans became strangely conflicted over images of a lonely man on the sidelines. The one sporting the black turtleneck, sharpie clipped to his neck hole. A laconic face forced to look on helplessly, anguishing over every play, staring at his team in disbelief. That’s not the Jim Harbaugh we remember.

Sunday Indy was flawless. The defense reacting from perfect position, tackling with textbook precision. And in a league fawning over the pass, the Colts jettisoned one of the best defenses in the NFL by promptly running the ball down their throat in the Fourth Quarter. So with four minutes remaining and their team leading, a long forgotten part of every Colts fan began thinking comeback.
For, Colin Kaepernick voodoo doll or not, the tide simply had to turn at some point. This is completely understandable considering Captain Comeback himself was at the helm of the enemy ship.
But in the end Harbaugh came up short again.

Alas, don’t feel sorry for the man and don’t offer a hand up. The sons of football coaches line their bird cages with “Get Well Soon” cards. Besides, Harbaugh’s Midas touch from last year only meant his clipper ship was bound to hit rough waters some time. That’s Murphy’s Law and nobody’s exempt from it except apparently Bashar Al-Assad and the Chicago Cubs.

And while they exchanged a quick handshake at midfield, perhaps Chuck Pagano owed his opponent more. After all Harbaugh’s prints are all over Pagano’s team and the franchise. From his Captain Comeback days to the grooming of Andrew Luck at Stanford to helping Colts Offensive Coordinator Pep Hamilton author a ball control running style that, at least on Sunday, looks very promising, this latest incarnation of the Indianapolis Colts were built following a blueprint Harbaugh authored.

To Colts Fans Harbaugh remains a hero whose fate is tied to one play. One that again saw their quarterback scrambling for his life trying to avoid one of the 36 sacks he survived that season. One play from David, clutching a well worn copy of Football for Dummies, the chapter on ‘Winning Football’ still bookmarked with a Mayflower packing slip, versus the Goliath that was the Pittsburgh Steelers defense.

One play, one Hail Mary that would determine the AFC representative in the SuperBowl. One wobbly pass that seemed to hang in the frigid Pittsburgh air for an entire season, pulling Colts fans one and all from their couches in unison only to watch as it ricocheted off players like Oswald’s magic bullet before falling to the cold, hard, Three Rivers turf.

We recognized Harbaugh’s steely stare, his fiery bravado. But by Sunday’s Fourth Quarter, the stare was blank and the Colts had doused the bravado, if only temporarily. There was no better time for Indianapolis to play their best game. Falling to 1-2 after a disappointing home loss the week before and the earth-shaking trade it prompted would have been bad. And by bad, we’re talking a “Jim Irsay lobbying Twitter for more than 140 characters” kind of bad.

So many are quick to credit Peyton Manning with creating a football culture in Indiana. But history tells us it was more likely the run the Colts made in 1995, primarily under Harbaugh’s guidance, that first planted the seed. A magical season that saw Captain Comeback, and a once hapless franchise, come one play away from the SuperBowl.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Johnny Football and the Case of the Missing Paycheck

First appeared on September 13, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

So Johnny Football put his Johnny Hancock on a few footballs and a stray mini-helmet or two and the world loses its mind. Meanwhile Syria continues to eat itself from the top down and Senator Dianne Feinstein goes on television to talk about intervention vowing to vote against her constituents because “quite simply, they don’t know what I know”. What a wonderful world indeed.

Though the same can’t be said for Senators, it used to be Heisman Trophy winners conducted themselves with class. They’d score their parents a luxury apartment on a “friend of the programs” dime and arrive at award shows via limousine, or in other cases flush a Hollywood career down the toilet after being accused of killing their ex-wife.

So Johnny Football sells some autographs, gets booted from a summer camp and does the same thing 97% of college students do with regularity anyway and suddenly he’s public enemy number two behind Bashar al-Assad. If History’s any guide, we should cut the kid some slack. After all, those who’ve come before haven’t exactly been ripped from a Rockwell painting.

For many years the argument for paying college athletes has welled up like a great reservoir of greed, equality, compassion, righteousness and justice (the last two we recognize as distant possibilities) behind a dam that is the NCAA. And here comes Johnny Football, full head of steam, shoulder lowered, charging towards an already much assaulted, aging and crumbling dam.
And what should be a dislocated shoulder becomes instead an earth-shaking moment as, with the power of ESPN and the rest of the college football media behind him, young Johnny hits the dam with all the force of a Ram Pick Up.

So as the torrents rage from behind the dam, we pause on our long journey down the road towards equality to take a long look in the mirror. Is this about making things right with college athletes or making things right with ourselves? We know full well college athletics are dirty and there’s obviously little the NCAA can do about it. This means, in order for us to keep cheering our favorite teams on in good conscience, we’re suddenly fine with athletes being paid.

When everything’s “over the table” we somehow feel as if we still hold some control over the six headed monster we refuse to believe busted its chains and left the reservation a long time ago. Putting everything “over the table” supposedly eliminates “friends of the program “and those greedy ambulance chasers lurking in the shadows. It levels the playing field and makes the SEC an actual entity of the NCAA instead of Minor League Football.

Putting everything “over the table” makes college athletics the Frankenstein to our Gene Wilder. And we stand alongside beaming with pride at how we’ve tamed this gruesome beast using a crude brain transplant machine, a hunchbacked assistant and a fortuitous bolt of lightning. The audience claps and cheers with happy amazement until the stage lights begin exploding and Dr. Frank-un-schteen loses complete control of his great experiment.

As with most things in the real world there are no simple answers. Simple answers exist only on The Brady Bunch or in Third Grade. The NCAA will react in the way we’ve become so accustomed to seeing the NCAA react as the problem continues to grow uglier and faster than a malignant tumor. One thing’s for sure, we don’t have to worry about Washington mucking this deal up anytime soon. It appears they’re far too busy tossing the old political football around out on the Mall to worry about little Johnny Football.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Andrew Luck: This is Your Life

First appeared on August 30th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Dear Annoying Person whose life is so important you don’t have time to push your shopping cart to the corral and choose instead to abandon it in the empty parking spot one good stiff breeze away from my previously unscratched door, you annoy me. You remain the only effective argument for tougher gun laws and something tells me if your life was really so important that you couldn’t spare thirty seconds to push your cart an extra twenty feet, you probably wouldn’t have been in the Kroger parking lot to begin with.

If I had to guess, the brain trust at ESPN is comprised of highly decorated scholars in well pressed suits who can quote to the line the current value of their stock options. Men who rake in obscene amounts of money and wear crooked smirks that squeal “We control half the media world”. Still as polished and accomplished as these men are, at the end of the day, they remain the same ones who leave their cart unattended next to your car in the Kroger parking lot.

ESPN thinks if they beat you over the head with something long enough (A ROD, Brett Favre, Johnny Football) you will eventually come around to caring about it. They cater to the sensationalized and stories relevant to major television markets. For years the Colts dominated the NFL regular season and yet were rarely the lead story on SportsCenter.

Peyton Manning shredded defenses and shattered records as the little franchise that could went on to win double figure games in 12 out of 14 years. Meanwhile the talking heads in Bristol yawned. Manning tosses nine touchdowns (including one to himself) in a 35 point come from behind win and SportsCenter grants it token coverage before inundating us with updates about Tom Brady’s hangnail or the bad plate of sushi he had in New York.

I suppose this milk has long since spoiled and the proper thing to do is tell Andrew Luck that no matter what he does, as long as Robert Griffin the III is upright and able to strap a helmet on, the backseat is a place young Andrew should learn his way around.
Welcome to your life Andrew Luck. You take a 2 win team to the playoffs, throw for more touchdowns and a thousand more yards than the NFL Rookie of the Year and ESPN responds by spending millions on the production of “RG3: The Will to Win” and promotes it relentlessly. It didn’t matter the Colts won more games despite a strength of schedule that ranked them ten places higher than Washington last year, ESPN’s response is to say the Colts are overrated and will take a major step backward this season.

Don’t let ESPN’s fear of covering Midwestern teams scare you young Andrew, there are plenty of hayseeds left out here in the sticks willing to climb down off our horses long enough to pat you on the back and tell you what a great job you’re doing. Take your big city money and go buy yourself a nice log cabin near Lucas Oil Stadium (I’ve got a cousin willing to clear the land if you need it).

The first lesson of playing professional sports in the Midwest is understanding the spotlight of the big media will only reach you when every team east of the Appalachians has closed its doors or global warming has become a reality and flooded the eastern seaboard. Meanwhile get to know the people who leave their carts unattended for one day they shall inherit the Earth from the ESPN brass.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

This just in...Baseball is Broken

First appeared on August 16th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Baseball is broken. In fact Baseball is beyond broken, it’s flat-lining. Lying on the table, a team of despondent doctors surround Baseball, heads shaking at the impotent shell of a once proud national pastime, hobbled by scandal and decaying from extensive overuse of chemical enhancers. Things have gotten so bad that somewhere Babe Ruth has turned over in his grave, not before ordering a double and lighting a cigar of course.

All apologies to Apple Pie, but Baseball has gone so rogue America should file a restraining order as soon as possible to prevent the words “Baseball” and “America” from ever appearing in the same phrase again.

The American public is so over Baseball they’re feverishly awaiting the start of football, this despite a colorful offseason for the NFL which saw countless arrests and other off field issues. Maybe Charles Barkley was right when he said athletes are not “role models”.

So what does Baseball do to fix itself besides get tougher on PED’s and pray for a steroid scandal to hit professional football? Bringing Sosa and McGwire back seems illogical at this point. And this is way beyond increasing the quality of ball game give-aways and tackling concession stand prices. The Cubs could put a replay board the size of Mt. Rushmore in right field and it still wouldn’t heal the scar steroids has left on baseball. This is an issue that, like Babe Ruth and October, threatens to become part of the fabric of the game.

PSA’s and rookie orientation programs won’t scare this elephant from the room either. It appears far too large, too entrenched. You can forget about trotting Pete Rose out too. Nobody can argue his story is tragic and should serve to prevent players from making poor choices, but for players struggling just to break through the stakes are way too high to worry about somebody who hasn’t laced a pair of spikes up in thirty years.

Forget about “This Time it Counts” or replay in baseball, steroids appear destined to become Bud Selig’s legacy. If Ryan Braun and Alex Rodriguez have done anything other than thumb their nose at baseball while shattering the dream of thousands of Little Leaguers everywhere simultaneously, they’ve stranded the Commish at a crossroad as well. If Selig doesn’t do something decisive, something powerful, something Roger Goodell-like soon then steroids stand to bury him too.

Selig’s opportunity has been lost in the buzz surrounding A-Rod’s return and the ridiculous payday Braun will still enjoy despite running the hand that feeds him through a meat grinder. At this point it would appear the only logical move for Selig is to get tough with the Players Association and lobby for a lifetime ban for steroid offenders. The future of the game hangs in the balance.

And if you’re the MLBPA, now’s not the time to come to the rescue of guys like Braun and Rodriguez. Doing so only threatens your legitimacy and risks fracturing your clientele. If Baseball has any chance of getting off the table now all parties involved need to come together and foster real solutions.

A lifetime ban seems the only logical plan of action. When they’re serious, the powers that be will consider a punishment of this magnitude for first time offenders, but until then, this dance we’ve all come to know so well will continue. In the meantime, say a little prayer for Baseball because things don’t look good.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Save Wrigley Field?

First appeared on July 24, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

When I was in seventh grade we circulated a petition asking one of our lunch ladies to try different deodorant, and while we generated some much needed hygienic awareness amongst many classmates and picked up a lot of signatures, we also got detention, stern lectures from both Administration and our parents, as well as the coldest hamburgers you could imagine.

So when I received a request recently to sign a petition to “Save Wrigley Field” I was somewhat confused. After all Wrigley does predate the discovery of dirt, so what could it possibly need saving from? Apparently Wrigley needs saving from itself.

Cubs ownership wants to institute $500 million in renovations to Wrigley. This demand has sparked a wrestling match between Rooftop Owners, one crabby Alderman, the Landmarks Commission and the Mayor of Chicago. According to plans, the exterior will be restored to 1938 status, a year the Cubs were swept in the World Series which is in itself surprising on multiple levels.
Wrigley is already a local landmark, but will work to achieve National Landmark Status while implementing the renovations simultaneously. The most impressive aspect of the project is that it will all be done with private money.

But as negotiations floundered, Tom Ricketts knew the trump card lay in the pocket of his David Beckham Collection, double breasted, Armani suit lined with the fur of the rare and endangered Pamir Spotted Zebra all along. But does the owner of the Chicago Cubs really want to go down in history as the man who tore down Wrigley? Did he pay $900 million for the team just to have the chance at writing an even darker chapter of history in what has already been a genuinely lackluster and laughable existence?

I suppose it’s fitting the Ricketts and the Cubs found each other considering the Ricketts family is ranked 371 out of the 400 Wealthiest People according to Forbes, this of course places them near last on the list and that’s where the team has been languishing since the day the Ricketts bought them.

Being one of only a handful who could pay cash for the Space Shuttle is proof Tom Ricketts is undoubtedly a smart man. Surely then he understands 97.8% of Cubs Fans are so because of Wrigley Field. Does anyone really believe Cubs Fans actually follow their team? The same one that hasn’t won a World Series since Teddy Roosevelt was President? The one that hasn’t appeared in a World Series since we were dropping bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki?

Cubs Fans live for Wrigley. They are fans because the Cubs are one of the last franchises left who embrace losing. OK, so maybe it’s not so much the losing as it is the belief that a World Series title can only be fully appreciated if preceded by a lifetime of
extreme heartache and disappointment first.

It’s the pomp and circumstance that lures Cubs Fans out in droves year after year. The fact the Cubs happen to play baseball at Wrigley Field is secondary and serves only to force people to hang around a bit longer than normal for fear of appearing rude.
Cubs Fans embrace Wrigley for all that the park stands for. Things like the Ivy, pad-less brick walls, occasional chunks of concrete falling from the ceiling of the grandstands and Bleacher Bums fumbling their way through the Seventh Inning Stretch while sharing overpriced refreshments with the heads, shoulders and laps of their fellow man. For all of mankind, the sooner those in high places realize the rare gem they have in Wrigley the better.


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© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Dazed and Confused: The Legacy of David Stern

First appeared on July 3, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

David Stern seems like a legacy guy. There’s nothing wrong with legacy guys of course, unless they elbow women and children aside on their way to the life boat claiming they’ve ‘yet to fulfill their legacy’ that is. So as Stern climbs some stacked milk crates to board his trusty steed and steer himself into the sunset after 30 years as NBA League Commissioner, the part-time pretend sports columnist in all of us must wonder, what is his legacy?

When he assumed his post during the winter of 1984, the league was fumbling its way through a dark period. The Bird and Magic rivalry hadn’t hit its stride yet and the NBA had little more than some really tight uniforms, arenas that openly encouraged smoking and a former ABA star to hang its hat on. Nobody can argue Stern’s entrance marked an upturn in the fortunes of the league. However, what drove this surge in popularity is extremely debatable. Was it Stern’s steady hand, cunning business sense and flair for marketing or was it simply some dynamic basketball being played by two teams that were both piloted by mega-stars who legitimately hated losing to each other?

In his time as Commissioner, Stern’s experiences have run the gamut. He was accused of rigging the 1985 draft lottery that helped the Knicks land Patrick Ewing and later caused major unrest amongst players when the voices in his head told him to switch to a new basketball, thus replacing the one that had previously been in use for 37 years. During his tenure, 6 franchises had to relocate, the players’ wardrobe became subject to mandate, one referee was thrown in Federal prison and there were a total of four work stoppages.

Under Stern’s watch television contracts exploded, the league added 7 franchises, basketball became a global game which saw the infusion of talent from every inhabited continent and a luxury tax was put in place to try and prevent teams from adopting the New York Yankee blueprint for success.

But for all he’s done, Stern’s legacy may struggle to escape the shadow of today’s game. For when the Commissioner’s time comes and Saint Peter jingles the Keys to the Kingdom before him, the question “Is the NBA better off now than it was 30 years ago?” is sure to arise. In terms of pure economics the answer is technically yes, but when it comes to overall product quality, the answer must be a resounding no.

The influx of young talent has changed both the quality and style of professional basketball. Even the unorganized masses who staunchly oppose Stern, including those who ambush telemarketers with a well rehearsed anti-Stern rant or spend their free time tossing darts at a life size Fathead of the Commissioner they inexplicably keep pasted to their living room wall, have to admit he showed some cognizant understanding of basketball when recognizing inexperienced players are bad for business. For proof one need look no further than his instituting the infamous “One and Done” rule during the 2005 collective bargaining agreement.

Still it portends of large issues. Stern leaves behind a world where teams burn through coaches as if they were employees of a temp agency instead of experienced professors of basketball who know what’s best for the young men they lead. Stern’s legacy appears to be having created a system where players dictate most front office moves including which coaches to hire and players to pursue. This is a business model most fans are going to grow tired of quickly and one no well placed smile or anecdote will excuse.

Popovich is a Difference Maker

First appeared on June 19th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Most NBA coaches are brainless troglodytes in $300 suits. Men who believe success lies in Xeroxing every move of a Champion. These are the same guys who stop eating oranges and start drinking 17 cups of coffee a day because one story on the Evening News told them of a very important “scientific” study just completed. Of course the story often leaves out the important fact these studies were funded by a rogue anti-orange fringe group and the coffee industry, but such is life.

This might be part of the reason there’ve been a record setting 12 NBA coaching changes made since the end of the regular season alone. These one-time titans of the game have been relegated to babysitters clad in Armani and armed with clipboards. In a word, the NBA coach has become expendable. San Antonio Head Coach Gregg Popovich is not one of these guys. He’s cut from a different, albeit largely unattractive and semi-abrasive, cloth.

It’s hard to argue with Pop. He’s piloted the Spurs to four World Championships and is one of two coaches to record 900 wins with one team. He’s twice been named NBA Coach of the Year and is the longest tenured Head Coach in the four major North American professional sports leagues.

As Hoosiers we can lay claim to Pop. Well, at least our claim is more legally binding than say Albuquerque, New Mexico or the country of Honduras. Born and raised in the Region, Popovich traces his roots to East Chicago and Merrillville High School. As Hoosiers we appreciate his team-oriented style. As Hoosiers we recognize the no-nonsense, hard-nosed disciplinarian Popovich is at times and understand this simply to be the product of a childhood spent in East Chicago. As cranky people we identify with his disdain for the media. Answering questions and providing explanations are not beneath Popovich, they’re simply an unnecessary byproduct of the popularity of his profession.

What separates Popovich from the average NBA coach is both extraordinary and revolutionary in that he actually coaches his players. He holds them accountable and calls them out when they’re not pulling their weight or are off-blueprint. He blushes at the power that comes with their million dollar lifestyles before telling them “that was a really dumb pass, now sit down!” He’s both fascinating and irascible, and he’s been the difference in these Finals to this point.

When was the last time you saw any NBA coach outside San Antonio get in the face of his players? NBA coaches who tell the media their teams played terrible are about as common as $3 gas or the Ivory Billed Woodpecker. The coach most owners favor today are those who call time outs to hint at what teams need to do and tell them they’re playing spectacular basketball despite being down 20.

This much seems recognizable from our distant perch yet there must remain a great equalizer. That unknown which Popovich labors so hard to conceal. In today’s world, no matter the results, the modern athlete seems incapable of tolerating constant berating and foul mouthed motivation. There must be a layer unseen by the public. A kinder, gentler Popovich that reaches out to his players and labors to establish meaningful relationships with them.

Perhaps this explains his notoriously abrasive behavior. It could be in providing a non-sensical explanation for how his team is defending the pick and roll, Popovich is simply masking his “Fun Uncle Pop” side. The side only those stranded in the trenches with him can see. Or it could be the product of just being a great coach.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers remain so close....

First appeared on June 5th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Back in the day the man perm was an unstoppable force of nature. And, with all apologies to the late Rick James, when it comes to man perms few could rival John Oates of Hall and Oates fame. After Monday night’s debacle in Miami, fans of the Blue and Gold were left lamenting the 32 points King James dropped on Indiana or the fact the league’s MVP absolutely shut down Paul George in the biggest game of his life; but my mind was on Hall and Oates.

How fitting would it have been for one of the greatest duos of the 80’s to be waiting in the Pacers tunnel as they sulked from the floor? Perched on their stools, rocking a single amp, John Oates still looking like 1983 with Daryl Hall’s golden pipes bellowing out “So close, yet so far away”.

That’s what the Pacers were, so close, yet the Heat’s dominating performance in Game 7 made it clear Indiana remains so far away. As great as the Pacers were, the Heat reminded them what a true Champion is. Turnovers erased any chance Indiana had at playing for an NBA Championship, thus deep sixing what Marv Albert had already dubbed the “greatest upset in NBA Playoff History”; clearly Marv hasn’t gotten over Reggie Miller.

Forgetting Marv Albert’s misguided prophecy, and unflattering hat helmet, for a moment, up until Monday night the Indiana Pacers were on a run that seemed destined for the Finals. It could be said everything they touched turned “blue and gold”. The 1980’s brand of smashmouth basketball the Pacers were playing looked so effective that somewhere Chuck Daly was smiling behind a Poker table while those with the most titles in front offices around the league were silently questioning their movement away from a dominating front line.

The usually outlandish and cranky Sir Charles was actually spot-on when comparing Roy Hibbert and David West’s dominating play to Russell and Chamberlain. Mix in strong all around play from the emerging superstar Paul George, sharp shooting (at times) from George Hill and the surprising arrival of Lance Stephenson, and the Pacers quickly became the second worst nightmare Erik Spoelstra could have; the first of course being Pat Riley coming out of the stands to ask “have you seen my clipboard?”

The outcome of Monday’s game was far more than “LeBron being LeBron” or the Big Three finally engaging themselves at the same time. It was more than the “will of a champion” or the Heat having stars and the Pacers having players who may or may not be stars depending on who you’re talking to, the day of the week and the price of oil in China. So close, yet so far away.

It came down plain and simply to turnovers. The Pacers were careless with the ball which would be a creative strategy to employ for any coach who actually wants to win. 21 turnovers in an elimination game can be a sign of many things. The short list includes: inexperience, youth, poor eyesight, teammates in camouflage uniforms and really, really dumb decisions. Those who watched Indiana Monday night know the answer is “D All of the Above”.

There’s a restless look in your eyes tonight (Paul George), there’s a secret hurt in my heart (strange little hardhat wearing man who carries a pink flamingo around to every Pacer game), and the dream that pulls us together (winning a championship), is the dream that pulls us apart (this last part is up to Vogel and the Pacers front office to prevent). So close, yet so far away.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Hicks versus Knicks Redux

First appeared on May 16th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Somewhere between a flopping Carmelo Anthony and a well disguised Tyson Chandler leg whip I was reminded of something Saturday night. Something I’d boxed up long ago. A once deep seated philosophy, forged from titanic showdowns replete with historic moments. I’m talking of course about my hatred for the New York Knicks.

This wasn’t a “how long is this guy going to let cars pile up behind him in the left lane?” kind of hatred either. That’s a mere annoyance. This was the kind of festering disgust that made you flirt with the idea of adopting a homeless dog just to name him Spike, strap a goofy hat to his head before shaving all his fur off and writing “Go Pacers” across him in Sharpie. In its heyday it was “Hicks versus Knicks”, Spike Lee’s mouth and Charles Oakley’s square jaw. It was John Starks’ epic struggle with humility and Patrick Ewing blowing a point blank dunk that became the finger roll heard ‘round the world.

In the middle of it all was Reggie Miller. His contributions are now the stuff of folklore. Eight points in six seconds, jawing with Spike while backpedaling from another three pointer and connecting on the only dunk in traffic I ever saw the guy attempt (and one that nearly caused the premature collapse of Market Square Arena).

Unfortunately today’s version just isn’t the same. These aren’t your Grandfather’s Pacers. Which is good, because if they were my five year old would have A LOT of explaining to do. Few would argue this series lacks the black eyes and showmanship of those mid nineties showdowns. Those were great Pacer teams. A prideful collection of savvy veterans, unselfish, hungry and all firmly in the middle of their strides.

This current group of Pacers seem to still be feeling their way. They’re youth is perhaps one logical explanation for the 30-2 run New York pasted them with last week. Fast forward to Saturday night and we saw a more focused group. One that teased us with a glimpse of what Roy Hibbert may be capable of becoming. In a brilliant performance Hibbert played a brand of tough and hungry basketball, the kind that may as well have been ripped from the heart of those old Pacers-Knicks series.

But as reassuring as Hibbert’s performance was, my recollections of series past went beyond a hatred for the Knicks. I was reminded of old Thirty-One. The cold blooded killer who always wanted the ball, always hungry to make a play. In this series, the standard Pacer response to any Knick run is to appear disoriented. David West has been the closest thing to a closer for Indiana, but it has to be Paul George moving forward. His 14 point, 8 rebound, 8 assist and 5 steal performance was inarguably solid, but George needs to be more. He needs to be a closer.

In the waning moments Saturday, the Pacers third year All Star watched the clock dwindling with the ball in his hands and instead of getting to the rim and making a play, he gave it up (before any help had arrived mind you) so the little used reserve Sam Young could take a 19 foot jumper instead. How Un-Reggie-like indeed.

Let me stop you before you label this a “Why can’t you be more like Reggie” rant. Consider it rather one part-time pretend sports columnist’s opinion that Indiana won’t make real progress until they find a bonafide closer. It took a closer to get to the Finals in 2000 and, as much as I hate the Knicks, it will take a closer to get past them in this series too.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

A Warning to Well Intentioned Pacer Fans

First appeared on April 24th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Standing 6 feet 9 inches tall and weighing 225 pounds, Josh Smith is a big man. As someone who boasts career highs of 38 points, 22 rebounds, 11 assists and 10 blocks, Josh Smith can be scary good. And you probably don’t need me telling you anyone with the nickname “J Smoove” is clearly capable of world domination in anything, anytime, anywhere.

The AP’s recount of his performance in the opening round of the Playoffs so accurately summarized the life-giving bolt of invigoration Smith’s game can be, “He scored 15 points and grabbed 8 rebounds in Atlanta’s 107-90 defeat”. Talk about world domination indeed.

So it begs the question, after Smith was so lackluster in Sunday’s loss, why would anyone in the non-Atlanta media be quick to call him out? Mike Wells of the Indy Star said “The more jumpers Smith takes…the less likely the Hawks will win” and Pacer Blogger Conrad Brunner bluntly declared “Josh Smith is the worst good player I’ve ever seen”.
If Smith wants to go through the motions defensively and fire up long jump shots early in the shot clock, who are we to tell him no?

What do we care? We’re not Hawks fans or “Smoovers and Shakers” (Affectionate nickname given to card carrying members of the “J-Smoove” fan club; only a guess here). What do these people want? Are they hoping Smith drops 40 on the Blue and Gold? Do they want the Pacers’ first round match up to be more than a tune up? Clearly they’ve never dealt with anyone younger than ten years old.
The Hawks are a shell of a playoff team and Smith is the only person capable of making them as un-shell like as possible.

As Pacer fans, rather than tearing Smith down, now is the time we should be building him up. Telling him he’s the best 30% Three Point shooter we’ve ever seen and asking him to sign the ball we caught after another one of his errant passes has rocketed over a teammates hands before landing in our laps.

We should let him know the fact he led the Hawks in turnovers for a second straight season simply means his teammates need their vision checked or may have to actually click on a link and read something when he’s told them to Google “How to catch a basketball” for the twentieth time. He needs to hear that his 50% shooting from the foul line this season is more than enough justification to stand 30 feet from the basket and hoist jumpers until his shoulder goes numb or the rest of his teammates have lost interest, walked off the court and tweeted #neverplayingbasketballagain from the locker room.

In short Smith is a sleeping giant, let him rest. He’s the only person capable of making this series longer than it needs to be. If Pacers fans are lucky, Smith will continue pretending to play hard and Hawks fans will continue to pretend to care when their team loses. He’s a Five Tool player, the only problem for Atlanta right now is that Smith’s five tools are scoring, rebounding, defending, ball handling and only performing on the third Tuesday of every other month.

Perhaps most amazing of all is the fact Smith is finishing a contract year. But there’s no time for second guessing. Let’s all quietly bear witness now, for the day is coming when we’ll sit our children down to tell them how we watched J Smoove doin’ work. Of course that will require a complete transformation of the word ‘work’, but you’ll figure something out.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Michigan's season was bigger than one loss

First appeared on April 11th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

When Jordan Morgan’s shot rolled off the rim at the buzzer giving Tom Crean and the Indiana Hoosiers their first outright Big Ten title in 20 years, all hope seemed lost for the Wolverines. In that moment Beilein’s crew went from talented upstarts, far too young to realize brazen doesn’t wear well in the Midwest, to a group of Thriller-like zombies shocked into a state of disbelief.

They were the closest thing Ann Arbor has seen to the Fab Five since those fashionistas first set foot on campus 20 years ago. Good news for Michigan fans is, while this current batch may have the baggy shorts and above the rim game, they lack the ugly baggage and propensity for calling time outs when they have none. But that moment, on the last day of the season in their own building, should have been the crushing blow in what was already becoming a frustrating end to a promise filled season. A Tyson-style haymaker delivered from Cody Zeller and his national darling Indiana Hoosiers.

On the surface it appeared a turning point for Indiana who, after making NCAA history the week before in becoming the first team to cut the nets down following a loss, finally claimed their trophy. Tom Crean and future All-American Victor Oladipo shared a moment in what they surely believed was a stepping stone to hanging another banner as the Wolverines stumbled off the court like stunned cattle.

Someone more famous than me once quipped “these are the times that try men’s souls” and while it might be difficult to prove, I’m fairly certain they were talking about the 2013 Michigan Wolverines. For as they retired to their locker room to sweep what was left of their hopes and dreams into a Maize and Blue Rubbermaid dustpan every media member in the nation, part-time pretend or not, believed Blue had flat lined then and there. But from the ashes left smoldering on the Crisler Center court came a resurgent group of Wolverines who were, in the infamous words of Frank Costanza, “like a Phoenix, rising from Arizona”.

Michigan’s impressive surge to the Final Four wouldn’t have been possible without two things; the surprising play of Superfrosh Mitch McGary and a near forty foot jumper from Trey Burke that eventually buried then flavor of the month Kansas. For those wanting hard hitting analysis, look no further than an enormous charge from Jordan Morgan, role players like Spike Albrecht and Caris LeVert quietly doing their jobs and Head Coach John Beilein’s innate ability for developing system-specific skill sets in his players.

But in prevailing 82-76 Monday night, Louisville proved to have more experience and were quite simply tougher. There’s something to be said for toughness in this modern world of empty threats and helicopter parents. It takes real guts to reach down inside and find the strength necessary to fight harder at that precise moment when so many before have quit. To fight that which has been conditioned in you.

So we’re left to hope history will remember Michigan not as a team that wasn’t good enough on one night, rather as an exciting team that showed guts in overcoming a disastrous finish to their season. And while another installment of March Madness has came and went bringing an end to the greatest three weeks in sports, we move forward knowing every day puts us one day closer to its return. CBS will put Greg Gumbel back on the shelf for another year, but soon enough the Road to the Final Four will point the way west to Dallas.


© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Proof in the Pudding Sweet for Big Ten

First appeared on March 27th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

When I was 14 I saw Rex Chapman in the Indiana-Kentucky All Star Game. After it was over I asked Kentucky’s Mr. Basketball for his autograph and he punched my dad in the face and burnt down the orphanage for handicapped Somali children my parents ran out of their home. OK-so maybe that didn’t happen exactly as I recall, but for a myriad of reasons I did learn to loathe Chapman while he was at Kentucky.

Who knows where my Rex-o-phobia began, perhaps it’s simply the hatred for Kentucky that, like a love for anything breaded and deep fried, comes to Hoosiers naturally. More likely it’s, despite our similar age and love of basketball, Chapman was a high school All Star, Division one stand out and 10 plus year veteran of the NBA and I clearly was not.

But recently Rex erased any doubt of my overall disdain for him when the former Kentucky Wildcat said the Big Ten was “overrated” and the Big East was “the best conference in America”. This affront led me to settle things in true Hoosier fashion; one on one with Rex Chapman.

Arranging a game with Chapman wouldn’t be easy considering getting him back in Indiana would probably be the equivalent of helping Robert E. Lee book a vacation to Gettysburg or asking Magic Johnson to come back to late night TV. Ours would be a virtual tussle.
Chapman made millions in the NBA and has a job as an analyst on the Tru TV Halftime show. In between diaper changes and my many other duties as a patriotic American, I hammer out stories of debatable journalistic merit that the local paper uses as filler when things are so slow they’re unable to locate other, more relevant news. Advantage Chapman.

Chapman was a two time participant in the NBA Dunk Contest and I…well advantage Rex. Once sporting a proud hair helmet that was half mullet, half jerry-curl and entirely backwoods fabulous, Chapman has since moved on to the ever popular shaved head look so many aging sports stars subscribe to. Begrudgingly, advantage Chapman.

As for the picks, the part time pretend journalist in me wanted more information but after googling “Rex Chapman’s bracket” all that came up was some obscure fishing rod contraption Chapman may or may not have endorsed when money got tight after retiring from the NBA. I’d have to stick to his man-crush on the Big East.

After the first three rounds of the Men’s Tournament the Big East Conference has gone 6-5 while the Big Ten has posted a sparkling 10-3 record. Advantage me. Of these six wins, it should be noted two came from Marquette who could have lost twice if not for a boneheaded cross court pass and botched out of bounds play by Butler.

The Sweet 16 includes four Big Ten teams and three from the soon to be imploded Big East including the aforementioned Marquette and what’s left of their nine lives. Point me. According to CBS.com the Big Ten’s conference RPI is second only to the Mountain West; and while I’m no mathematician and haven’t studied the full list, I’m fairly certain this places the Big Ten ahead of the Big East. Advantage clearly me.

So we stand eye to eye, score knotted at 3. Thursday’s showdown between Indiana and Syracuse looms featuring two legendary programs. And, because we’re both too out of shape to continue, Chapman offers the couch on his front porch and we agree to let it ride on Thursday’s Big Ten/Big East face off. Winner takes all, once and for all.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

The Worm takes a spin on the Axis of Evil

First appeared on March 6th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Most people who call this great nation home are in agreement that greasy cheeseburgers taste good, President’s Day is not a holiday that screams “Let’s go buy a car!” and there is no better example of an oxymoron than the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
Yet in this age where social media and popular culture are the accepted barometer for everything American perhaps it’s only fitting the Harlem Globetrotters, long time bastions of American culture and new to the scene political activists, dispatched Dennis Rodman to North Korea last week to extend an olive branch, albeit heavily tattooed and pierced, to Kim Jong Un.

It used to be the U.S. only exported cars and airplanes from factories filled with men who coached Little League and drank heavy beer and didn’t bellyache about having to work 12 hour shifts, but we’ve since moved on to Democracy and, perhaps worst of all, Dennis Rodman and Honey Boo-Boo.

Don’t get me wrong there was a time when Rodman was amazing. Hunter Orange hair and wedding dresses aside, anyone who can boast nearly 12,000 rebounds, two NBA Defensive Player of the Year Awards and five championship rings was clearly more than a million dollar sandbag holding the bench down. But like most, the Worm has struggled with the whole “riding off into the sunset” bit.

There are so many unanswered questions surrounding Rodman’s vacation in the land of the oppressed and home of the eternally intimidated. Considering Kim is an avid fan of basketball, we can assume the two spent hours dissecting the art of rebounding and flopping, as well as the most effective methods for staying out of Michael Jordan’s way on offense. But the world longs to know more. Did the two talk politics? What was Rodman’s motivation? And just how long did it take him to remove enough piercings to pass through airport security?

Of course the real problem with Rodman visiting Pyongyang isn’t necessarily that it legitimizes a rogue government, rather it’s the cartoonish perception the rest of the world will have of us. It does more damage to Americans than anyone else. I once met a man in Africa who was convinced, at one point or another, I’d been to the White House and met George W. Bush just as every other American had. It’s best we understand now the small flashes of American politics and culture that make it to the far corners of the Earth have the staying power of a “Brad and Angelina Forever” Tatoo.

Rodman’s vacation has prompted so much attention that Press Secretary Jay Carney took a clear line Monday by saying North Korea should “focus on the well-being of its own people, who have been starved, imprisoned and denied their human rights.” Of course any fears Washington has of Rodman’s visit to North Korea somehow sparking sympathetic feelings to any hard line the U.S. may need to establish later should only be justified if they’re convinced the majority of Americans look to celebrities who are no longer relevant for political advice; OK so it’s a safe assumption Washington is terrified.

Compounding matters Rodman made an uncomfortable appearance on Good Morning America where he drew a shockingly ineffective comparison between President Clinton’s infidelities and North Korean labor camps while waving his hands around like a magician and muttering “Guess What” about 350 times in a six minute interview with George Stephanopoulos.
Upon second glance perhaps North Korea and the Worm were made for each other. After all both are strange, hard to understand and it would seem Americans don’t have time for either one anyway.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

This Time Maybe It's Not About the Money

First appeared on February 25, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

A gallon of premium gasoline hit $4.00 this week. And, for those looking to diversify their chosen method of transportation, they aren’t giving hogs away either. We in the 99% realize money is tight these days and, with the ‘Roaring Twenties’ firmly in our rearview, most in the Midwest have been raised to keep an eye on the sky and a tight grip on their wallets.

So you go to the coffee shop for a bottomless cup, knowing it’s also one of the last places a free newspaper still exists, one without pay walls and pop ups. But the rack is empty so you slide to the counter, sandwiched between an insurance man on the prowl and a newly retired newspaperman. The buzzing chatter seems to intimate Al Qaeda is behind the rising price of hogs and the Indiana Pacers are fighting a rash of empty seats downtown.

The team itself is surely not to blame you theorize, after all they’ve axed ticket prices, given away everything from umbrellas to bobble head dolls, hired plate twirlers who set themselves on fire while swallowing a fistful of Asian Forest Scorpions just to entertain the folks at halftime and still, despite all this, the Fieldhouse remains half empty.

At 14 games over .500 Indiana has one of the top teams in the East, one that has already defeated the defending World Champions twice this season. One that includes a group of young men who trust each other, know no jealousies and can rely upon the services of a budding superstar poised to leave many Pacer fans wondering “Reggie who?” soon. And still it’s not been enough to get people to put down the remote, load the kids in the car and drop a hard earned Benjamin Franklin at BLF.

Considering there is no half-full optimism in the Pacers Marketing Department, they must be wondering if maybe, this time anyhow, it’s not about money. When one takes a second to look at the state of the NBA (for a second is all many can tolerate anyway) it isn’t entirely clear what one sees. Clearly it boasts the most athletic and ultra talented basketball players on Earth playing a fast paced, physical game above the rim. One might be left believing this alone would be enough to spin the turnstiles nightly but such has not been the case, at least not in Indianapolis.

Some blame the Colts, others the Hoosiers and still another lost soul makes some hair brained proclamation it’s somehow or another connected to race. Alas many have missed the most obvious of villains; apathy. Apathy, not about the Pacers themselves, but rather what the Association has become.

Apathy borne from multimillionaires complaining about having to practice and wear ties to games. Apathy that results from seeing a self-proclaimed Superman quit on his team only to fly cross-country with designs on teaming up with a Superstar. One already in possession of a reputation for taking 95% of the shots and yet we pretend to be shocked when his spoiled toddler shtick continues after discovering the aforementioned Superstar continues taking 95% of the shots.

Apathy that can only result from a man already living the dream of millions intentionally firing an air ball up in a game before storming to the locker room upon learning his coach is somehow disappointed in him. If I could hand David Stern a solution we’d all be eating bacon on our doughnuts and driving Hummers. Until then, understand apathy here means fans lack the hunger required to jump those hoops associated with attending games; and the sooner the NBA addresses this, the better.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

ESPN is Wrecking College Basketball

First appeared on February 6th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

What is it about ESPN that makes them so loathsome yet completely irresistible simultaneously? From steroids in baseball to Favre and Tebow, ESPN truly is the only great, relatively inexpensive and 100% absolutely legal, mind-altering drug of our generation.

I’ll be the first to admit I once had a problem. My life revolved around SportsCenter. Days weren’t complete without it. When my cable was out for a week I became irritable and lashed out at others, going so far as to dress my dog in a Sanchez jersey screaming “You’re no Tebow!” at him. But I’ve since moved on, after discovering a whole new world outside watching sports highlights on television exists and also after it became clear ESPN panders to a demographic that sees me as old and creepy.

And so it’s only now, with the clairvoyant perspective one can only have from looking in from the outside, that things are clear. ESPN brings College Game Day to Bloomington and the masses turn out to holler and carry on as if ours is some great dark corner of the world where nothing of note happens and nobody matters. And in these moments, with the white hot spotlight upon them, the talking heads are contractually obligated to fill air time and generate tweet-worthy commentary.

It should be enough to say Victor Oladipo is a really good college basketball player. One who’s built himself from an unknown recruit to one of the best in college. Instead they’re compelled to predict all that could go wrong, as if a nine dollar snowglobe from the ESPN.com gift shop were a functioning crystal ball.
Different players wearing the same tired labels. He’s too short, he’s not the prototypical NBA guard, he doesn’t have the range you need on the next level and he’s too nice so there’s no way he’ll ever shoot up a night club or openly complain about having to practice.

Cody Zeller’s draft stock rises and falls on a near hourly basis as if being driven by the gravity of the moon. Yes Zeller was the single largest reason Indiana, and Tom Crean, turned things around. In fact, in going from 6 wins to the top ranked team in the country, we haven’t seen a resurrection like this since Betty White turned up at halftime of the Super Bowl. But he’s not going to be the next Tim Duncan and if you think this perhaps you should take all the money you have and bury it in the backyard right now.

It should be enough for Zeller that he helped Indiana return to glory. Mr. Basketball, High School State Champion, Trester Award winner. What else do we need him to do? Find a cure for cancer on his way to the basket? Leave the kid alone. Let him be a college sophomore. Celebrate him for who he is and not who he may or may not be someday.

It’s become simply exhausting, and hokey. Forsaking innovative programming, ESPN has instead become list happy, ranking everything from pregame meals to anti-inflammatory creams. Could it be that every player or coach they cover is the best at something? “He has to be the most talented left handed sixth man not born in the United States playing in college basketball today”.

Rank what they may and label what they will, ESPN and their millions still can’t fabricate moments like Christian Watford’s shot over Kentucky. The allure of these lies in the reaction, not the tease. So let your cameras roll ESPN for we want to witness all the nouns we wouldn’t normally. In the meantime live by the mantra “produce more, pontificate less”.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers Surging, not Surprising

First appeared on January 17, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

When I was ten years old my English teacher became so distraught at my inability to make a lower case cursive q she had me sweating my chances at making fifth grade. “Why can’t you be more like Adam Montgomery?” she would croon and howl as I squiggled out one puny lower case cursive q after another.

In my defense Adam Montgomery was state of the art. What with his Rockwellian family, athletic prowess and flawless upper case D. First in gym class sprints, first in board races, line leader and hall monitor, Montgomery was the kind of kid who would have stood in front of Mt. Rushmore huffing, “I thought it’d be bigger.”

Nobody measured up to Adam Montgomery, and the incessant comparisons my teachers made turned most exhausting by our Senior year. My being forever doomed to a coach seat on the midnight train to Nowheresville made Adam Montgomery seem larger than life. As if he didn’t put his pants on one leg at a time and still need a mother’s reminder to close the barn door like everyone else.

I never mastered the lower case q and, looking back now, I don’t know what’s more surprising, the fact Adam Montgomery isn’t a world renowned guru making regular visits to the White House as a handwriting tutor for the Obama girls, or that I haven’t used cursive since fifth grade.

But it would seem Adam Montgomery and the Miami Heat aren’t far apart in their state of the art-ed-ness. The talking heads say nobody can beat the Heat, so it is the remainder of this much too long season and impending playoffs are about as relevant as the Mayan calendar.

If Montgomery was the Heat before the Heat were even the Heat then, in my teacher's eyes, I surely was the Pacers. Of course I was a much shorter, slower, less athletic and not as wealthy version, but the point here lies in the opinion of the masses being Montgomery was invincible.

Over the last week the Heat have proven themselves human. Losers of 4 out of their last 7, Miami suddenly doesn’t seem like the sure-fire lock for another Eastern Conference Title they once did. And meanwhile the Pacers are surging.

Surging without the “one time soon to be face of the franchise” Danny Granger in the line up. Surging despite all the NBA headlines targeting the dysfunctional Lakers, bloviating that a cure for more wins could lie in their firing of a second coach this season alone. Surging in spite of a maxed out center stumbling through an awkward, midseason identity crisis.

Surging on the wings of a budding young superstar who is discovering himself more and more with every game. But, most notably, surging on the wings of solid defense being played with consistent effort. This last part of the equation was notably absent earlier in the season (see the 90-89 loss to Charlotte in November and subsequent 4-6 start). In giving a solid defensive effort every night, Indiana seems to have found its niche.

And it’s been their ability to channel this “inner Adam Montgomery” that’s led to Indiana’s correcting a season that was bordering a steep, irreversible nose dive. A correction that’s seen their ascension to the top spot in the Central Division and third best record in the East.

But will it be enough? None of us could ever reach the stratosphere Adam Montgomery so nonchalantly called home back then and it still remains to be seen if anyone in the NBA, Pacers included, can match the Heat stride for stride come April.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Pudue dethaws against Illinois

First appeared on January 5th,
in The Lebanon Reporter

Pardon the cliché but while it was cold outside, inside Mackey Arena Wednesday night was red hot. So loyal Boilermaker fans by the hundreds trudged in on their snowshoes cloaked in bulky Arctic parkas lined with fur from the durable, and yet always fashionable, Musk Ox. They’d come most likely to see Illinois play, having given up on their beloved Boilers sometime after the Bucknell loss (three games into the season).

Illinois had been good. Scary good. After winning the Maui Invitational in a championship game in which they beat Butler by 17 points, first year head coach Jim Groce’s team had won six of seven coming in.

Seeing DJ Byrd play an integral role in winning a basketball game is nothing new to folks in this part of the state, but the number 11 ranked Illinois Fighting Illini were blindsided by the 6’5 Senior Wednesday night. The Purdue Boilermakers (7-6) did what nobody on Earth, including all 9,874 people inside Mackey, believed they could; they beat Groce’s upstart Illinois team 68-61.

Purdue came in with absolutely nothing to hang their hats on following a lackluster preseason. And clearly there was little for Purdue fans to look forward to coming in to the season what with all the attention their arch rivals downstate had garnered before anyone had even had a chance to embarrass a directional school.

So the near zero degree temperatures outside must have seemed balmy to Matt Painter as he took the court with his team, considering the fervor Purdue fans once had for the coach’s program was quickly freezing over.

The Boilers don’t boast the top recruiting class in the nation or a preseason All American, but what they do have is a coach who instills a faith in hard-nosed defense and hustle. The product is of course oftentimes a brand of basketball so ugly even Sports Illustrated doesn’t have enough airbrush artists on staff to make the average basketball fan interested in watching it. But more often than not, when players are on board, it produces wins; of course nothing helps a group buy in faster than winning a game nobody has given you a chance in.

The heat wave came after Purdue outrebounded the Illini 45-34. And in doing so Purdue not only helped themselves compensate for a lack of shot making but may have revealed a glaring weakness in this Illini team at the same time. Illinois is a flashy and athletic team that can shoot the basketball, but what we saw Wednesday was a much less talented and far less athletic team punch them square in the face.

This physical, Gene Keady style “football on the hardwood” was enough to put Painter’s team in a position to win, but as they came down the stretch Purdue began to tighten up. You could see their arms get shorter and feel their throats drying up.

Knowing you’re a terrible foul shooting team late in a game you have no business leading must be a lot like diving with sharks wearing a wetsuit lined with chum. But in the end the Boilers were able toss Byrd into the microwave long enough for him to reach just the right temperature and, after proving to have the perfect amount of seasoning, the senior was able to make all the plays necessary at the end to help his team win.

There’s nothing like a nice win to warm ones soul on a cold winter night. And while it may come as a welcome distraction to the Arctic conditions in which we currently exist, Purdue fans should temper their blue lips, for nobody wants January 2nd to be the high water mark of their season.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams