Merry Christmas from the Sports World

First appeared on December 18, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

For you Christmas lost its meaning in third grade when the Santa outside 3D got mad at you for crushing the pack of cigarettes he’d stashed in his front pocket. And as his profane string of insults throttled your virgin ears, they arrived riding the strangest of smells.

A toxic potpourri that would remain undiscovered until many years later, where at a gathering of so called friends in a dark college apartment, full of crushed cigarettes and hormone-powered profanities, you found yourself bitten by the Wild Turkey for the first time.

Today the sermons sound simple and ring true. Speeches about caring for others and giving to the less fortunate, but for you Christmastime remains frozen in time. It’s the season to wish for the things you don’t have. Things that seem within reach but for a variety of reasons remain at arm’s length. And so you still compose lists in your head, your own personal get back for that rag tag Santa who shattered the world as you once knew it.

Those in the sports world profess to be selfless human beings, but we know deep inside the depths of their souls, in a place no probing journalist has ever found, lurks an ugly Grinch-like desire to lie, steal and cheat their way to the top of Mount Crumpit. Facts are facts, you don’t get to the top without a little of the green guy in you.

With this in mind, coaches and teams are not above wishing for things that could make them better. Tom Crean’s list begins, “Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas is someone taller than 6’8 who can play.” Meanwhile, eighty miles to the north, Matt Painter is up late baking gingerbread cookies to leave out with his short note, the one asking for a chance to play North Florida again.

John Calipari’s list is a bit longer. He wants an undefeated season for his Kentucky Wildcats capped by a National Championship, and he’d like it to arrive as soon as possible, that way he has enough time to enjoy it before the NCAA strips it away. Indiana fans want a chance to play the Wildcats again, while Kentucky’s faithful have written the North Pole hoping for things like some new socks, a professional sports franchise other than UK’s basketball team and more front porch space.

Frank Vogel wants his team to play hard, fight every night and scrap their way into the Playoffs. Apparently his list includes an opening round bloodbath at the hands of the Cleveland Cavaliers as well. Meanwhile, every Pacer fan on earth wants them to lose every game by 50 and stink their way into the lottery where they might luck out and pick up one of Kentucky’s bench players.

The Colts are asking Santa to bring Andrew Luck a pair of glasses so that he might see the opposing team’s secondary while Reggie Wayne is hoping to find a new pair of knees under the tree on Christmas morning.

For Cubs fans Christmas came early with the signing of free agent Jon Lester and for Lester’s kids, well there’s really no reason for them to make out a Christmas list now is there? But Cubs fans have been down this road before, they know it’s too soon to talk World Championship. This means they’ll just bide their time and wait for the wheels, or Lester’s arm, to fall off before their season crashes and burns up in a fiery, catastrophic and somewhat all too familiar, death.

Merry Christmas to you and yours and may God bless us everyone (even the Kentucky fans).

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

Prepare to be Shocked: Wichita State no Cinderella

First appeared on March 26, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

The blueprint for life is simple. Eight glasses of water a day, four glasses of milk, six helpings of fruit, a teaspoon of red meat here and there, stay on the right side of the road, avoid falling space junk, squeeze in twenty five hours of exercise a week and maybe you live to see sixty.

The blueprint for building a college basketball program is a bit more complex. Recruiting used to be simple. A high profile coach takes a Friday night trip to a small town gym. Red faced locals stop riding that new coach, the one who thinks you can win games playing zone and walking the ball up the floor, long enough to fawn over the big dog in the crowd. The high profile coach smiles, shakes hands with the parents, walks around and kicks the tires while saying all the right things. The deal gets done with a handshake, sealing a young player's lifelong dream of playing for State U.

Today coaches are up against ESPN, internet rankings, Twitter and the seedy underbelly of AAU circuits. Maybe that’s what made Gregg Marshall and Wichita State so appealing. They seemed to provided a much needed alternative. On the surface they were everything big time college basketball wasn’t.

Enter Kentucky and their high flying Blue Bloods. Hot off the AAU circuit, the best recruiting class in college basketball history. Enter John Calipari. One part college coach, one part politician, one part Dark Lord of the One and Done World. Work the phones, kiss some babies, get the top five guys on the board and ride them like the British are coming. And when the dust settles and they’ve all declared for the Draft, pick up your phone and start over.

Surely Calipari would take one look at Gregg Marshall and tell you that boy’s climbing on the horse from the wrong end. For if John Calipari’s a chef, Gregg Marshall’s an architect. Building something from the ground up. Taking kids so far from Kentucky’s radar they might as well have been playing in some remote Pacific island near Kiribati, shooting coconuts into empty oil drums nailed to palm trees. Molding them, shaping them, teaching them to be part of something bigger than themselves.

Maybe it was the fact Marshall’s speeches seemed so authentic, his words bordering on the prophetic that made me want to see Wichita State drum Kentucky Sunday. “Play angry, play for each other”. Maybe it was the little dog in the big fight that had me clambering onto the Shocker bandwagon, or maybe it was simply the fact that, as a Hoosier, I’m blessed with a bottomless reservoir of hatred for the Wildcats.

Either way it was short lived. In the end Kentucky’s thoroughbreds thundered past the Shockers. Thirty five wins and a cloud of dust. Still the power of the team isn’t lost. What five players, five recruits the big schools barely knew existed, connected on both ends of the floor can do, even when pitted against the best recruiting class in NCAA history.

They took Kentucky to the edge. They mussed Calipari’s perfect hair. And though they came up short on the scoreboard, Gregg Marshall did more than put Wichita State back on the map, he reminded us all what college basketball is supposed to be. Players committed to each other, committed to the name on the front of the jersey.

Players thinking, acting, responding and moving as one. In today’s land of one and dones, Wichita State was ice cold lemonade on the Fourth of July, proving Marshall’s blueprint, while not the most popular, remains time tested.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

Father Christmas has been good to Hoosiers

First appeared on December 12, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams