First appeared on February 10, 2016
in The Lebanon Reporter
Dear Peyton,
It's me. Well, it's you really. You know, it's Peyton, from the future. Look, I know you’re struggling with this whole retirement thing, and I totally understand because I’ve already been there; you know, since I’m from the future and all.
Anyway, I’m writing you to let you know that it would be best for all involved if you just retired right now, I mean, I would if I were you, which of course, I am. Just hurry up and get it over with. Think of it as ripping a Band-Aid off. Sure there’ll be some immediate pain and suffering, but after a long, long, long time, you won’t even miss football. And, considering you were sacked over 300 times in your career, it won’t really matter, because by that time you won’t even remember you played anyway.
Look, I get it. Football’s been really good to you and you love it more than Papa John Schnatter and life itself. And it’s going to be hard to walk away from the crowds chanting your name and the little kids running around in your jerseys and the millions upon millions of dollars in endorsements you stand to lose by retiring and the fact you are on national television sixteen weeks out of the year and the endless line of beautiful women fawning over you and the countless babies who bear your name. From where you sit right now, this retirement thing must look extremely disappointing and, I’ll be frank, it pretty much is (though, legally, I’m not supposed to tell you that).
I get that you want to keep playing, but the reality is you can't. Football is a violent sport that has taken a massive toll on your body. It's also an incredibly fast sport and, well you and fast are two words that have never shared space in the same sentence, except for last Sunday when my wife said, “Geez, did you see how fast Peyton went to kiss Papa John?” And, diminished skills aside, drinking Budweiser and eating Papa John’s pizza isn’t exactly the best training regimen if you plan on sharing a field with some of the best athletes in the world.
See, the media blasted Cam Newton for not jumping on a fumble, and he’s young, strong, athletic, and the reigning league MVP. Can you just imagine what they’ll do to you when it’s week 8 and you’re playing with two dislocated hips, have yet to complete a forward pass, and your coaches are lobbying the league to allow you to throw the ball from a litter carted around by your offensive line?
Besides, there’s plenty of cool stuff waiting for you in the future. Like right now, they’re offering a $30 million reward for anyone who can find President Sanders after he forgot who he was and wandered out of the White House two weeks ago. They also made this really awesome new Star Wars movie where the Rebels have to try and disable the Empire’s protective shield long enough to destroy this giant machine the Dark Side has created to blow up the universe; spoiler alert, the Rebels win.
You had a good, some would say maybe even better than Tom Brady, run. You won your last game, well, really, Von Miller and the rest of the Bronco defense won your last game, but you still have two rings, which means Thanksgiving and Christmas won’t be nearly as uncomfortable for you anymore. So do your knees, hips, back, arm, neck, shoulder, brain, wife and children a favor and hang the cleats up as soon as you finish reading this.
Sincerely,
Peyton from the Future
© 2016 Eric Walker Williams
Showing posts with label peyton manning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peyton manning. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Now its Manning vs. Father Time
First appeared on January 21st, 2016
in The Lebanon Reporter
We watch the NFL Playoffs for the exhilaration of an incredible play. This mixed with the world’s strongest men trying to avoid the finality of elimination. Iron faced warriors who, in the face of a crushing defeat, are often reduced to sniveling jellyfish.
After handing the NFL’s all time leading passer a clipboard just a few weeks before, Bronco Head Coach Gary Kubiak had no choice but to bring Peyton Manning out of early retirement Sunday. Despite posting a few dazzling seasons in Denver, Manning has suddenly become nothing short of average. Gone is both the zip from his fastball and killer look in his eyes.
Somehow you expect him to be there year after year having shown absolutely no signs of aging. How soon Father Time’s undefeated record is forgotten. He’s Michael Jordan in a Wizards uniform or Joe Montana as a Chief. And yet, as with Jordan and Montana before, you can’t bring yourself to root against him.
Your break up was incredibly difficult and, in many ways, Manning is that crush you just can’t shake. You’ve seen him at his best and worst and discovered multiple shortcomings, but still some part of you simply won’t let go. You no longer want your current signal caller, but you’re not a Broncos fan and you’re not a bandwagon jumper, which means you’re forced to long from afar.
Watching and wondering how perfect life would be if only he were your quarterback. You’ve tried everything short of therapy to get this crush out of your head. You ordered War and Peace off Amazon and fought your way to page 75. You signed up for a spinning class but soon decided you were getting nowhere and so you quit and joined a gardening club only to discover it’s dormant until Spring; which leaves only football.
So you wound up in front of the television Sunday as Denver met up with Pittsburgh convinced you were watching your crush playing his last game. He was the wounded wildebeest and Pittsburgh would play the swift and powerful lion. This wouldn’t take long. One quick swipe of a fore paw and Manning would be down, never to rise again.
And as one duck after another flew forth from his hands, Manning looked increasingly shell-shocked as the Broncos sputtered into the Fourth Quarter trailing. But then, just as the Steelers appeared ready to pounce and the beat writers were preparing his obit, Manning stood tall on a 3rd and 12 to deliver an absolute strike to Bennie Fowler for a 31 yard gain. To this point it marks the play that saved Denver’s season.
I still remember where I was when Kirk Gibson hobbled up to the plate and homered in the World Series against Oakland. Father time having stolen his luster and both knees. It was an ordinary moment sharing pizza with a brother who’d just returned from Germany until Gibson’s improbable home run burned it forever into my brain.
The smell of that pizza and grease on my fingers remain fresh thirty years later. That’s where we are with Manning. He’s Kirk Gibson struggling to the plate, a shell of what he was. No longer the imposing slugger, Manning still remains as good once as he ever was (thanks Toby) and he’s more than capable of offering up a forever moment.
And that’s why we watch. We hang on for those moments, be they good, bad or indifferent. Sunday has all the markings of a game that will undoubtedly provide such a moment. What remains to be seen is can Manning stave off Father Time for one more chance, or is this the end of the line for your old flame?
© 2016 Eric Walker Williams
in The Lebanon Reporter
We watch the NFL Playoffs for the exhilaration of an incredible play. This mixed with the world’s strongest men trying to avoid the finality of elimination. Iron faced warriors who, in the face of a crushing defeat, are often reduced to sniveling jellyfish.
After handing the NFL’s all time leading passer a clipboard just a few weeks before, Bronco Head Coach Gary Kubiak had no choice but to bring Peyton Manning out of early retirement Sunday. Despite posting a few dazzling seasons in Denver, Manning has suddenly become nothing short of average. Gone is both the zip from his fastball and killer look in his eyes.
Somehow you expect him to be there year after year having shown absolutely no signs of aging. How soon Father Time’s undefeated record is forgotten. He’s Michael Jordan in a Wizards uniform or Joe Montana as a Chief. And yet, as with Jordan and Montana before, you can’t bring yourself to root against him.
Your break up was incredibly difficult and, in many ways, Manning is that crush you just can’t shake. You’ve seen him at his best and worst and discovered multiple shortcomings, but still some part of you simply won’t let go. You no longer want your current signal caller, but you’re not a Broncos fan and you’re not a bandwagon jumper, which means you’re forced to long from afar.
Watching and wondering how perfect life would be if only he were your quarterback. You’ve tried everything short of therapy to get this crush out of your head. You ordered War and Peace off Amazon and fought your way to page 75. You signed up for a spinning class but soon decided you were getting nowhere and so you quit and joined a gardening club only to discover it’s dormant until Spring; which leaves only football.
So you wound up in front of the television Sunday as Denver met up with Pittsburgh convinced you were watching your crush playing his last game. He was the wounded wildebeest and Pittsburgh would play the swift and powerful lion. This wouldn’t take long. One quick swipe of a fore paw and Manning would be down, never to rise again.
And as one duck after another flew forth from his hands, Manning looked increasingly shell-shocked as the Broncos sputtered into the Fourth Quarter trailing. But then, just as the Steelers appeared ready to pounce and the beat writers were preparing his obit, Manning stood tall on a 3rd and 12 to deliver an absolute strike to Bennie Fowler for a 31 yard gain. To this point it marks the play that saved Denver’s season.
I still remember where I was when Kirk Gibson hobbled up to the plate and homered in the World Series against Oakland. Father time having stolen his luster and both knees. It was an ordinary moment sharing pizza with a brother who’d just returned from Germany until Gibson’s improbable home run burned it forever into my brain.
The smell of that pizza and grease on my fingers remain fresh thirty years later. That’s where we are with Manning. He’s Kirk Gibson struggling to the plate, a shell of what he was. No longer the imposing slugger, Manning still remains as good once as he ever was (thanks Toby) and he’s more than capable of offering up a forever moment.
And that’s why we watch. We hang on for those moments, be they good, bad or indifferent. Sunday has all the markings of a game that will undoubtedly provide such a moment. What remains to be seen is can Manning stave off Father Time for one more chance, or is this the end of the line for your old flame?
© 2016 Eric Walker Williams
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Time for Manning to kick the Colts
First appeared on November 6th, 2015
in The Lebanon Reporter
So your Colts are 3-5 and one person lighter on the payroll. They are a listing ship that has strayed far, far from course. A storm is brewing on the horizon, skies of dark blue and orange threaten as a power struggle has erupted at the helm.
Suddenly Jim Irsay, Chuck Pagano and Ryan Grigson are busy trying to elbow each other out of the way. Of course the bad news for Colts fans is, at this point it really doesn’t matter who grabs the wheel because nobody seems to know where they’re going anyway.
Pep Hamilton was forced off the plank, but don’t worry he didn’t see it coming. His face was buried in his poster-sized play chart hunting up another long pass play and he simply sunk like a stone. And now Rob Chudzinski has been handed the Scotch Tape and Superglue, so as to piece together what’s left of Andrew Luck’s ego. Meanwhile Luck, the once promising and unquestioned Captain, has been relegated to the hold, where he huddles in a dark corner, shell-shocked and shivering, mumbling to himself like a half-wit.
And the storm closes in as the ship rolls uncontrollably. An undefeated team, a tremendously talented defense and the future Hall of Famer the Colts gave up on four years ago are about to swamp what’s left of Indy’s half-submerged deck.
But he was done, his arm a noodle, no feeling in his hands. He can’t throw the deep ball anymore, look at his numbers. Manning isn’t what he used to be, Bob from Quality Control says, which is true, but he has a world class defense behind him you counter, one that has led him to an undefeated start. This is a point Bob is quick to shrug off as if he was the one who invented the Jet Sweep or Nickel Defense, which of course means conceding anything football to you is therefore forever beneath him.
Still, tired as he may appear, Manning’s Broncos are not the defenseless gazelle that has strayed from the herd, the one the Colts so desperately need to pounce on right now. Instead, they are a rabid she-wolf with superhuman strength and play every down as if you just kicked one of their pups in the teeth.
And so the greatest mind ever to play the sport sails in to town at the same time one of the games brightest young minds appears to have lost his. In the world of the NFL, the quarterback discussion will begin and end with Peyton until we are all dust in the wind, or Brett Favre attempts yet another comeback, whichever happens first.
So come on in Denver, everything else has gone wrong. Colts nation should embrace their impending beat down. They should open their arms and welcome the absolute skull-rattling thrashing their team will take Sunday. Here’s hoping the skies open up and it rains touchdowns. After all, the storybook years Peyton gave us deserve a Hollywood ending. One that includes his vanquishing the team that quit on him. And we all know a good vanquishing is not a true vanquishing without complete and utter domination.
Somehow it seems fitting that, for once, we should realize the fate so many suffered at the hands of Manning’s Colts for lo those many years. Don’t let the firing of Pep Hamilton fool you, this season is lost. With that in mind, let’s go out and set a new NFL record for points allowed. Let’s send Peyton out with more than a bang. Let’s send him out with an eruption of Krakatoan proportions.
© 2015 Eric Walker Williams
in The Lebanon Reporter
So your Colts are 3-5 and one person lighter on the payroll. They are a listing ship that has strayed far, far from course. A storm is brewing on the horizon, skies of dark blue and orange threaten as a power struggle has erupted at the helm.
Suddenly Jim Irsay, Chuck Pagano and Ryan Grigson are busy trying to elbow each other out of the way. Of course the bad news for Colts fans is, at this point it really doesn’t matter who grabs the wheel because nobody seems to know where they’re going anyway.
Pep Hamilton was forced off the plank, but don’t worry he didn’t see it coming. His face was buried in his poster-sized play chart hunting up another long pass play and he simply sunk like a stone. And now Rob Chudzinski has been handed the Scotch Tape and Superglue, so as to piece together what’s left of Andrew Luck’s ego. Meanwhile Luck, the once promising and unquestioned Captain, has been relegated to the hold, where he huddles in a dark corner, shell-shocked and shivering, mumbling to himself like a half-wit.
And the storm closes in as the ship rolls uncontrollably. An undefeated team, a tremendously talented defense and the future Hall of Famer the Colts gave up on four years ago are about to swamp what’s left of Indy’s half-submerged deck.
But he was done, his arm a noodle, no feeling in his hands. He can’t throw the deep ball anymore, look at his numbers. Manning isn’t what he used to be, Bob from Quality Control says, which is true, but he has a world class defense behind him you counter, one that has led him to an undefeated start. This is a point Bob is quick to shrug off as if he was the one who invented the Jet Sweep or Nickel Defense, which of course means conceding anything football to you is therefore forever beneath him.
Still, tired as he may appear, Manning’s Broncos are not the defenseless gazelle that has strayed from the herd, the one the Colts so desperately need to pounce on right now. Instead, they are a rabid she-wolf with superhuman strength and play every down as if you just kicked one of their pups in the teeth.
And so the greatest mind ever to play the sport sails in to town at the same time one of the games brightest young minds appears to have lost his. In the world of the NFL, the quarterback discussion will begin and end with Peyton until we are all dust in the wind, or Brett Favre attempts yet another comeback, whichever happens first.
So come on in Denver, everything else has gone wrong. Colts nation should embrace their impending beat down. They should open their arms and welcome the absolute skull-rattling thrashing their team will take Sunday. Here’s hoping the skies open up and it rains touchdowns. After all, the storybook years Peyton gave us deserve a Hollywood ending. One that includes his vanquishing the team that quit on him. And we all know a good vanquishing is not a true vanquishing without complete and utter domination.
Somehow it seems fitting that, for once, we should realize the fate so many suffered at the hands of Manning’s Colts for lo those many years. Don’t let the firing of Pep Hamilton fool you, this season is lost. With that in mind, let’s go out and set a new NFL record for points allowed. Let’s send Peyton out with more than a bang. Let’s send him out with an eruption of Krakatoan proportions.
© 2015 Eric Walker Williams
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
The Magic of Single A Football
First appeared on December 2, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter
Like a caravan crossing the desert, they come. They come in droves from the far-flung regions of Indiana. Emerging from the dark corners where signs of a once prosperous past, empty dime store windows and faded billboards, are left shivering in the breeze. They come from the small towns, where long ago an affordable automobile left walls to crumble and businesses to fail.
They come from the plains where the winter winds sweep hard across fallow fields. They come from the hinterlands, where islands of grain bins rise above an ocean of brown and beige. They come with Carhartts and cowbells, arriving wide-eyed and ready for their chance to embrace history.
They are corn pickers and cow milkers and hog growers, the lifeblood of a state. And while their crops are in, the harvest of a lifetime awaits inside the walls of Lucas Oil Stadium. Their chance for history. Their chance to take a Single A Title back home.
The purpose and effects of class basketball will forever be hotly contested and roundly debated. Football is another story. Football, with its machismo, violent collisions and trench warfare commands regulation. Such is necessary to prevent injury and ensure a level playing field exists. One magical byproduct of this regulation is Single A football.
A state championship game in Single A is a hearty stew chocked full of dreams and memories. It's the exhilaration of reaching the end of the tournament mixed with everything Mark Zuckerberg set out to capture with Facebook. Its two hours of striking a balance between cheering on your team and catching up with old friends and family. It’s learning the worst kid in your class has since fathered a stud linebacker or the quietest girl is mother hen to a trash talking tackle.
And so they sit, two sides facing each other across the cavernous house that Peyton built. Like tiny grains of sugar, they cling to the rim of a mostly empty cereal bowl while young men cut and block and hammer away at each other for four quarters. Kids who’ve fought and bled for years to reach this point. A short lifetime spent dreaming of this one moment. And there it is. The blue turf, the horseshoe, their school’s name on the jumbotron. Their coaches howl and point from the sidelines, the crowd surges as a sweep develops before their eyes.
In the end someone must win and someone must lose. Champions are revered for their exclusivity. It’s a life lesson, taught on the biggest stage most involved will ever see. And as the clock expires and the teams are left forming a line to shake hands, the Single A families pick up their belongings and move on. Back to the hinterlands. Back to the empty storefronts.
They go knowing full well this is most likely the only chance they’ll ever have. For once, the stars fell into perfect alignment. And from this course of events came their one shining moment. A moment to be relived over and over again between church pews and along the counter at the Whistle Stop.
A moment created by a group of young men who in time will share it with young sons of their own; wild-eyed boys who throw themselves fearlessly at life, buoyed by their newfound hopes and dreams. Dreams of a far away moment arriving and with it a chance to carry the hopes of an entire community upon their shoulders.
© 2014 Eric Walker Williams
in The Lebanon Reporter
Like a caravan crossing the desert, they come. They come in droves from the far-flung regions of Indiana. Emerging from the dark corners where signs of a once prosperous past, empty dime store windows and faded billboards, are left shivering in the breeze. They come from the small towns, where long ago an affordable automobile left walls to crumble and businesses to fail.
They come from the plains where the winter winds sweep hard across fallow fields. They come from the hinterlands, where islands of grain bins rise above an ocean of brown and beige. They come with Carhartts and cowbells, arriving wide-eyed and ready for their chance to embrace history.
They are corn pickers and cow milkers and hog growers, the lifeblood of a state. And while their crops are in, the harvest of a lifetime awaits inside the walls of Lucas Oil Stadium. Their chance for history. Their chance to take a Single A Title back home.
The purpose and effects of class basketball will forever be hotly contested and roundly debated. Football is another story. Football, with its machismo, violent collisions and trench warfare commands regulation. Such is necessary to prevent injury and ensure a level playing field exists. One magical byproduct of this regulation is Single A football.
A state championship game in Single A is a hearty stew chocked full of dreams and memories. It's the exhilaration of reaching the end of the tournament mixed with everything Mark Zuckerberg set out to capture with Facebook. Its two hours of striking a balance between cheering on your team and catching up with old friends and family. It’s learning the worst kid in your class has since fathered a stud linebacker or the quietest girl is mother hen to a trash talking tackle.
And so they sit, two sides facing each other across the cavernous house that Peyton built. Like tiny grains of sugar, they cling to the rim of a mostly empty cereal bowl while young men cut and block and hammer away at each other for four quarters. Kids who’ve fought and bled for years to reach this point. A short lifetime spent dreaming of this one moment. And there it is. The blue turf, the horseshoe, their school’s name on the jumbotron. Their coaches howl and point from the sidelines, the crowd surges as a sweep develops before their eyes.
In the end someone must win and someone must lose. Champions are revered for their exclusivity. It’s a life lesson, taught on the biggest stage most involved will ever see. And as the clock expires and the teams are left forming a line to shake hands, the Single A families pick up their belongings and move on. Back to the hinterlands. Back to the empty storefronts.
They go knowing full well this is most likely the only chance they’ll ever have. For once, the stars fell into perfect alignment. And from this course of events came their one shining moment. A moment to be relived over and over again between church pews and along the counter at the Whistle Stop.
A moment created by a group of young men who in time will share it with young sons of their own; wild-eyed boys who throw themselves fearlessly at life, buoyed by their newfound hopes and dreams. Dreams of a far away moment arriving and with it a chance to carry the hopes of an entire community upon their shoulders.
© 2014 Eric Walker Williams
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Cracks are forming in Goodell's Empire
First appeared on September 10, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter
So Commisar Goodell has orchestrated the start of another NFL season. And as the shield reigns supreme over the landscape of professional sports, the good Commisar considers it all from his reviewing stand, looking surly and sublime. By the millions the masses, foam fingers flailing, faces painted and clad in Manziel jerseys, throw themselves daily at his feet begging for more.
His face is the picture of confidence, yet even the Gruden-like scowl he casts down upon the little people cannot drown out the whispers. Cracks are forming. Tiny fissures in the massive wall he’s so cautiously and callously erected around his kingdom are beginning to form.
There are many examples throughout history of empires outgrowing their reach, overestimating their power and falling upon their own sword. The Romans, Mongolians and America are but a few examples that immediately leap to mind. But the sun always shines in Commisar Goodell’s empire, for when it doesn’t, he simply changes his mind, or the rules.
Ripples of discontent first began forming when the Ravens’ Ray Rice was only given two games for assaulting his girlfriend. Storm clouds roiled when a few popular players were given longer suspensions for failed drug tests, toss in more rules in an already over-legislated sport and what you have is Perestroika all over again.
And as we loyally toil in the shadow of his greatness, Goodell’s heavy handed manner has turned inconsistent and his incessant tinkering with the rules of a game, already the most popular in North America, have left many wondering if he isn’t approaching the land of megalomania (and by many here we mean me, and you should you happen to agree).
The hailstorm of penalty flags we saw early in the preseason created an impressive stir considering they were thrown in meaningless games only season ticket holders and those in the Witness Protection Program were actually watching. And yet almost immediately they were silenced, as if Goodell himself had sent the league’s head of officiating on a media blitz of Siberia in order to assume control of rule enforcement himself.
Still it does appear more rules have been added to give Manning, Brady and Brees the best opportunity to continue obliterating NFL passing records. At the same time the changes conveniently bolster the chances of the greatest quarterback in NFL history scoring another title.
But all of this was forgotten Monday when Goodell changed his mind in the face of new evidence and suspended Rice indefinitely. The decision unleashed a torrent of negative reaction which could potentially become a tidal wave capable of destroying the entire infrastructure of his empire.
In the 1960’s the Communist Party of China pushed Mao Zedong aside when they feared he’d lost the people’s trust. If that’s the route we have to go to save football, John Madden seems the logical choice for a Liu Shaoqi-type figurehead puppet. That way, instead the blathering semi-apologies and incredibly shortsighted suspensions Goodell has given us, we’d get a “Boom! Pow!” or at the very least we'd have plenty of roasted turkey to go around.
For now the NFL remains king. The game has made instant replay cool, put some serious lipstick on rotisserie baseball and lined the pockets of every agent and small time bookie from Oxnard to Old Town. And while we haven’t reached the point where Goodell’s picture is hung above every locker room and his diary required reading for all 32 teams, the Commissar does loom large over his league for the time being. Still it would seem even Goodell, as polished and powerful as he may be, has chosen a path that could lead him to the point of no return.
© 2014 Eric Walker Williams
in The Lebanon Reporter
So Commisar Goodell has orchestrated the start of another NFL season. And as the shield reigns supreme over the landscape of professional sports, the good Commisar considers it all from his reviewing stand, looking surly and sublime. By the millions the masses, foam fingers flailing, faces painted and clad in Manziel jerseys, throw themselves daily at his feet begging for more.
His face is the picture of confidence, yet even the Gruden-like scowl he casts down upon the little people cannot drown out the whispers. Cracks are forming. Tiny fissures in the massive wall he’s so cautiously and callously erected around his kingdom are beginning to form.
There are many examples throughout history of empires outgrowing their reach, overestimating their power and falling upon their own sword. The Romans, Mongolians and America are but a few examples that immediately leap to mind. But the sun always shines in Commisar Goodell’s empire, for when it doesn’t, he simply changes his mind, or the rules.
Ripples of discontent first began forming when the Ravens’ Ray Rice was only given two games for assaulting his girlfriend. Storm clouds roiled when a few popular players were given longer suspensions for failed drug tests, toss in more rules in an already over-legislated sport and what you have is Perestroika all over again.
And as we loyally toil in the shadow of his greatness, Goodell’s heavy handed manner has turned inconsistent and his incessant tinkering with the rules of a game, already the most popular in North America, have left many wondering if he isn’t approaching the land of megalomania (and by many here we mean me, and you should you happen to agree).
The hailstorm of penalty flags we saw early in the preseason created an impressive stir considering they were thrown in meaningless games only season ticket holders and those in the Witness Protection Program were actually watching. And yet almost immediately they were silenced, as if Goodell himself had sent the league’s head of officiating on a media blitz of Siberia in order to assume control of rule enforcement himself.
Still it does appear more rules have been added to give Manning, Brady and Brees the best opportunity to continue obliterating NFL passing records. At the same time the changes conveniently bolster the chances of the greatest quarterback in NFL history scoring another title.
But all of this was forgotten Monday when Goodell changed his mind in the face of new evidence and suspended Rice indefinitely. The decision unleashed a torrent of negative reaction which could potentially become a tidal wave capable of destroying the entire infrastructure of his empire.
In the 1960’s the Communist Party of China pushed Mao Zedong aside when they feared he’d lost the people’s trust. If that’s the route we have to go to save football, John Madden seems the logical choice for a Liu Shaoqi-type figurehead puppet. That way, instead the blathering semi-apologies and incredibly shortsighted suspensions Goodell has given us, we’d get a “Boom! Pow!” or at the very least we'd have plenty of roasted turkey to go around.
For now the NFL remains king. The game has made instant replay cool, put some serious lipstick on rotisserie baseball and lined the pockets of every agent and small time bookie from Oxnard to Old Town. And while we haven’t reached the point where Goodell’s picture is hung above every locker room and his diary required reading for all 32 teams, the Commissar does loom large over his league for the time being. Still it would seem even Goodell, as polished and powerful as he may be, has chosen a path that could lead him to the point of no return.
© 2014 Eric Walker Williams
Friday, January 31, 2014
Manning is the 'Top of the Heap"
First appeared on January 30, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter
Start spreading the news. I’m leaving today. I want to wake up in the city that doesn’t sleep and catch a train to the Super Bowl in New Jersey. Yes friends the infamous “New York” Super Bowl has finally arrived.
How fitting the forecast would be mid thirties and rain, considering the only thing worse than taking a train clogged with half-tanked businessmen in five hundred dollar arctic parkas before standing in a security line for two hours only to assume your tiny perch outside in a February rainstorm is the fact most have paid well over $3,000 for the chance to do so.
It’s been a long two weeks for Part Time Pretend Sports Columnists everywhere as storylines in New York, not unlike a meal for under $100, have proven difficult to find. They’ve done everything short of resurrecting Tim Tebow, bouncing from the Richard Sherman interview to Peyton’s legacy to the sophistication of New York to openly questioning the strong nose and masculine jaw line of Lady Liberty.
So the Mad Clapper, Seahawks coach Pete Carroll, giggle-snorts his way to the Big Apple as his Pro-Bowl corner reaffirms his position that he is in fact the greatest cornerback in our solar system. And as President Obama stood before a joint session of Congress to give his State of the Union address Tuesday night, surely even he must have realized that the Sherman interview, and ESPN’s subsequent fanning of the non-existent flames, did more in three days to galvanize the nation than he’s been able to do in the past five years.
Now we stand as an adopted nation of orange, shoulder to shoulder in our wooden barrels and Mork from Ork suspenders, our heads playing home, if only temporarily, to one of those ridiculous plastic horse-head hats that would make even Brad Pitt, dapper as he may be, look like a complete tool. Brimming with optimism, we are bolstered by the hope the Broncos will help Manning grab a second Lombardi Trophy, united in a mutual dislike for Pete Carroll.
The best Red Zone offense against the best Red Zone defense, a quarterback in the midst of the greatest season in the history of the forward pass and a notoriously loud, game-changing Twelfth Man left to scream their heads off in living rooms three thousand miles away. Yes, it would appear the only true hope Seattle has would be Chris Christie pulling a few strings to keep Manning out of the end zone.
For their part, Colts fans are left to cast a jealous eye from afar, knowing that no matter how many Super Bowls he may win as a Bronco, Peyton Manning will always be a Colt. Well at least he will be with the older generation whose attention span exceeds five minutes and realizes an appreciation for history is more than simply remembering how excellent those Pop Tarts were at breakfast.
So as ESPN beats the Manning angle to death and plays up the sophistication of New York City, its celebrities and everything it can boast that Indy could not, fear not fellow Hoosiers, let us rejoice in our forecast. No rain and a guaranteed 70 degrees. We can relax on the comfort of our own floral print couches, stuffing our faces with pork rinds, guzzling our 64 oz sodas while pausing our DVR’s to slop the hogs and open a fresh pouch of Red Man, all the while resting safe in the knowledge there’s a loaded shotgun behind the bedroom door and we hosted football’s big game long before the Big Apple. Good luck Peyton.
© 2014 Eric Walker Williams
in The Lebanon Reporter
Start spreading the news. I’m leaving today. I want to wake up in the city that doesn’t sleep and catch a train to the Super Bowl in New Jersey. Yes friends the infamous “New York” Super Bowl has finally arrived.
How fitting the forecast would be mid thirties and rain, considering the only thing worse than taking a train clogged with half-tanked businessmen in five hundred dollar arctic parkas before standing in a security line for two hours only to assume your tiny perch outside in a February rainstorm is the fact most have paid well over $3,000 for the chance to do so.
It’s been a long two weeks for Part Time Pretend Sports Columnists everywhere as storylines in New York, not unlike a meal for under $100, have proven difficult to find. They’ve done everything short of resurrecting Tim Tebow, bouncing from the Richard Sherman interview to Peyton’s legacy to the sophistication of New York to openly questioning the strong nose and masculine jaw line of Lady Liberty.
So the Mad Clapper, Seahawks coach Pete Carroll, giggle-snorts his way to the Big Apple as his Pro-Bowl corner reaffirms his position that he is in fact the greatest cornerback in our solar system. And as President Obama stood before a joint session of Congress to give his State of the Union address Tuesday night, surely even he must have realized that the Sherman interview, and ESPN’s subsequent fanning of the non-existent flames, did more in three days to galvanize the nation than he’s been able to do in the past five years.
Now we stand as an adopted nation of orange, shoulder to shoulder in our wooden barrels and Mork from Ork suspenders, our heads playing home, if only temporarily, to one of those ridiculous plastic horse-head hats that would make even Brad Pitt, dapper as he may be, look like a complete tool. Brimming with optimism, we are bolstered by the hope the Broncos will help Manning grab a second Lombardi Trophy, united in a mutual dislike for Pete Carroll.
The best Red Zone offense against the best Red Zone defense, a quarterback in the midst of the greatest season in the history of the forward pass and a notoriously loud, game-changing Twelfth Man left to scream their heads off in living rooms three thousand miles away. Yes, it would appear the only true hope Seattle has would be Chris Christie pulling a few strings to keep Manning out of the end zone.
For their part, Colts fans are left to cast a jealous eye from afar, knowing that no matter how many Super Bowls he may win as a Bronco, Peyton Manning will always be a Colt. Well at least he will be with the older generation whose attention span exceeds five minutes and realizes an appreciation for history is more than simply remembering how excellent those Pop Tarts were at breakfast.
So as ESPN beats the Manning angle to death and plays up the sophistication of New York City, its celebrities and everything it can boast that Indy could not, fear not fellow Hoosiers, let us rejoice in our forecast. No rain and a guaranteed 70 degrees. We can relax on the comfort of our own floral print couches, stuffing our faces with pork rinds, guzzling our 64 oz sodas while pausing our DVR’s to slop the hogs and open a fresh pouch of Red Man, all the while resting safe in the knowledge there’s a loaded shotgun behind the bedroom door and we hosted football’s big game long before the Big Apple. Good luck Peyton.
© 2014 Eric Walker Williams
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
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.
ATTENTION ASPIRING AND OTHERWISE ESTABLISHED WRITERS LOOKING TO HONE YOUR CRAFT- THERE IS A FREE GIVEAWAY OF ONE MS CRITIQUE FROM THE GOOD PEOPLE AT 'DEAREDITOR.COM'. Simply log on to 'deareditor.com' ASAP and register for this amazing opportunity!
© 2013 Eric Walker Williams
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.
ATTENTION ASPIRING AND OTHERWISE ESTABLISHED WRITERS LOOKING TO HONE YOUR CRAFT- THERE IS A FREE GIVEAWAY OF ONE MS CRITIQUE FROM THE GOOD PEOPLE AT 'DEAREDITOR.COM'. Simply log on to 'deareditor.com' ASAP and register for this amazing opportunity!
© 2013 Eric Walker Williams
Thursday, September 26, 2013
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
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
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
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
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
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Luck Vs. Manning-Get used to it
First appeared on July 26,2012
in The Lebanon Reporter
So Andrew Luck is officially an Indianapolis Colt. Which means we can officially put an end to the Peyton Manning era and declare the Andrew Luck era underway; officially. Colts Fans start your engines and let the comparisons begin. It’s a train wreck we all see coming. We’re destined for a good old fashioned comparathon.
The next 10 years will be filled with everything Manning did that luck couldn’t. That is at least until Luck wins a Super Bowl and multiple MVP’s, sets almost every major NFL passing record, appears on 3 out of every 5 commercials you see on television, hosts Saturday Night Live and fathers twins of course.
The media are all hunkered over their laptops and notebooks like medieval gargoyles, fangs bared and jowls salivating. Prepare yourself for the constant bombardment of Luck versus Manning factoids they’re going to send our way. For they will continue to come like a leaking faucet until your brain is completely flooded with information that seemed relevant at the time but in actuality foreshadowed absolutely nothing.
The truth is Andrew Luck deserves better. He should be able to report for duty on West 56th Street without everything from the car he drives to the food he eats to the type of Christmas gift he buys the lady who answers the phones (gift card and jewelry if he wants to keep up with Manning) to be subject to inspection and comparison to Peyton.
It simply isn’t fair and anyone who uses it as fodder for discussion, or Heaven forbid a weekly newspaper column, should be tarred, feathered and have their eyelashes plucked out one at a time by a group of camera waving Japanese tourists chain-smoking Lark Classic Milds while wearing full Samurai regalia (not that I’ve had that nightmare or anything).
All these inevitable comparisons are pointless considering there just isn’t much the two have in common anyway. Its sheer coincidence that these two would both be born in the United States to NFL quarterback fathers before growing up to be over 6’3 and be blessed with laser-rocket-arms that would enable them to play major college football where they both set several records only to be hung with the nice guy tag in lieu of winning a Heisman before going on to become the first overall pick for the same franchise. It’s uncanny but not worth comparing.
It’s a fruitless foray into the land of Apples and Oranges to compare them and only a fool would do it. After all Luck is a Virgo and Manning’s an Aries; which of course tells us that Luck is by nature a bit more modest and shy than Manning who is full of fire and comes equipped with a dominating spirit. Perhaps it was this spirit, or the new restrictions of the NFL salary structure, that helped Manning net 48 million with his first contract while Luck just inked a deal worth 22.1 million.
And while numbers are both an acceptable and proven method for comparing like commodities in this case they’re simply not worth mentioning. After all Manning, who is 36 years old, set 28 Tennessee Volunteer records while Luck, who is 23, set just 14 at Stanford.
So while yours truly pledges to resist, nothing can stop the comparisons from coming; not even the Great Drought of Ought Twelve. The fact that people will compare these two for the entirety of Luck’s career is a sure thing; as sure as Brother Mitt will have transferred some of his off shore funds to purchase more hair product twice before you finish reading this.
in The Lebanon Reporter
So Andrew Luck is officially an Indianapolis Colt. Which means we can officially put an end to the Peyton Manning era and declare the Andrew Luck era underway; officially. Colts Fans start your engines and let the comparisons begin. It’s a train wreck we all see coming. We’re destined for a good old fashioned comparathon.
The next 10 years will be filled with everything Manning did that luck couldn’t. That is at least until Luck wins a Super Bowl and multiple MVP’s, sets almost every major NFL passing record, appears on 3 out of every 5 commercials you see on television, hosts Saturday Night Live and fathers twins of course.
The media are all hunkered over their laptops and notebooks like medieval gargoyles, fangs bared and jowls salivating. Prepare yourself for the constant bombardment of Luck versus Manning factoids they’re going to send our way. For they will continue to come like a leaking faucet until your brain is completely flooded with information that seemed relevant at the time but in actuality foreshadowed absolutely nothing.
The truth is Andrew Luck deserves better. He should be able to report for duty on West 56th Street without everything from the car he drives to the food he eats to the type of Christmas gift he buys the lady who answers the phones (gift card and jewelry if he wants to keep up with Manning) to be subject to inspection and comparison to Peyton.
It simply isn’t fair and anyone who uses it as fodder for discussion, or Heaven forbid a weekly newspaper column, should be tarred, feathered and have their eyelashes plucked out one at a time by a group of camera waving Japanese tourists chain-smoking Lark Classic Milds while wearing full Samurai regalia (not that I’ve had that nightmare or anything).
All these inevitable comparisons are pointless considering there just isn’t much the two have in common anyway. Its sheer coincidence that these two would both be born in the United States to NFL quarterback fathers before growing up to be over 6’3 and be blessed with laser-rocket-arms that would enable them to play major college football where they both set several records only to be hung with the nice guy tag in lieu of winning a Heisman before going on to become the first overall pick for the same franchise. It’s uncanny but not worth comparing.
It’s a fruitless foray into the land of Apples and Oranges to compare them and only a fool would do it. After all Luck is a Virgo and Manning’s an Aries; which of course tells us that Luck is by nature a bit more modest and shy than Manning who is full of fire and comes equipped with a dominating spirit. Perhaps it was this spirit, or the new restrictions of the NFL salary structure, that helped Manning net 48 million with his first contract while Luck just inked a deal worth 22.1 million.
And while numbers are both an acceptable and proven method for comparing like commodities in this case they’re simply not worth mentioning. After all Manning, who is 36 years old, set 28 Tennessee Volunteer records while Luck, who is 23, set just 14 at Stanford.
So while yours truly pledges to resist, nothing can stop the comparisons from coming; not even the Great Drought of Ought Twelve. The fact that people will compare these two for the entirety of Luck’s career is a sure thing; as sure as Brother Mitt will have transferred some of his off shore funds to purchase more hair product twice before you finish reading this.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Goodbye 18, it's been real
First appeared on March 14th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter
So you’re the biggest Colts fan ever. Yet somehow the national search missed you and settled on some 12 year old freckle faced dork from Fort Wayne. So it was understandably troubling when you, like everyone on Earth including the Bushmen of the Kalahari and Inuits of Nunavut, heard there was a strong chance the Indianapolis Colts were going to release Peyton Manning. In fact the first time you heard the news you became so startled you dropped your autographed copy of his biography into a steaming bowl of Spaghettios splattering orange globs all over your 2010 AFC Pro-Bowl Jersey.
Your High School coach told you “never say never” when Floyd County had you down by 35 at halftime, but in Manning’s case you know you’ll never see anything like him again. That was five days ago and for four straight mornings now you’ve awaken to check the Colts roster online only to discover again that he really is gone. You knew this day was coming, you just hoped you’d have won the lottery and bought your own private island in the Caribbean first; maybe the one next door to Michael Jordan’s.
Here you’d read every Doc Savage book ever written as a cabana boy keeps your bottomless cup filled and it would be enough to help you forget how much professional football, and Manning more importantly, meant to you.
You know there’ll be other quarterbacks. Some with laser arms and some with rocket arms. But one with a laser-rocket arm is rare indeed, as rare as the Yeti or someone playing defense in the first quarter of an NBA game.
But now he’s gone and you don’t know what to do. Crying seems a bit extreme, especially since you were noticeably devoid of emotion when burying your child’s gerbil in the back yard last November. And yet that’s just what Jim Irsay seemed to be doing during his joint press conference with Manning-something as insignificant as planting a domesticated rat amongst a bed of Petunias.
You took note of how nonchalant Irsay was while showing the door to the man who sparked your enjoyment of football and so you decide it’s time to move on. You pack up your Colt replica helmet popcorn caddy and #18 wristbands and head off to the place everyone goes to say goodbye to old friends. And when you get to Goodwill you find a line out the door of former season ticket holders toting their Colts memorabilia off as well.
You’ve seen the grainy video of Manning throwing and heard every sportswriter with a functioning voice box weigh in on what the Colts should do and still you, along with Mick Jagger, have mixed emotions. But you’re powerless to stop it now; maybe the freckle faced dork, but not you.
You don’t know what the future holds and who could expect you to? You gave your Tarot Cards, Crystal Ball and Ouija Board to Goodwill three years ago. But as you survey the line of people waiting to dump their Colts gear it becomes clear just how much Jim Irsay has stolen from them. And then comes the epiphany.
There’s one thing Fast Jimmy can’t take away from you. So you return to your car; which is somewhat hard to find considering half of them in the parking lot have horseshoes painted on their hoods, and as you pull away you do so knowing full well that, while Irsay may have gashed your soul with that Samurai Sword he called a “business decision”, try as he may he cannot take away your memoires.
© 2012 Eric Walker Williams
in The Lebanon Reporter
So you’re the biggest Colts fan ever. Yet somehow the national search missed you and settled on some 12 year old freckle faced dork from Fort Wayne. So it was understandably troubling when you, like everyone on Earth including the Bushmen of the Kalahari and Inuits of Nunavut, heard there was a strong chance the Indianapolis Colts were going to release Peyton Manning. In fact the first time you heard the news you became so startled you dropped your autographed copy of his biography into a steaming bowl of Spaghettios splattering orange globs all over your 2010 AFC Pro-Bowl Jersey.
Your High School coach told you “never say never” when Floyd County had you down by 35 at halftime, but in Manning’s case you know you’ll never see anything like him again. That was five days ago and for four straight mornings now you’ve awaken to check the Colts roster online only to discover again that he really is gone. You knew this day was coming, you just hoped you’d have won the lottery and bought your own private island in the Caribbean first; maybe the one next door to Michael Jordan’s.
Here you’d read every Doc Savage book ever written as a cabana boy keeps your bottomless cup filled and it would be enough to help you forget how much professional football, and Manning more importantly, meant to you.
You know there’ll be other quarterbacks. Some with laser arms and some with rocket arms. But one with a laser-rocket arm is rare indeed, as rare as the Yeti or someone playing defense in the first quarter of an NBA game.
But now he’s gone and you don’t know what to do. Crying seems a bit extreme, especially since you were noticeably devoid of emotion when burying your child’s gerbil in the back yard last November. And yet that’s just what Jim Irsay seemed to be doing during his joint press conference with Manning-something as insignificant as planting a domesticated rat amongst a bed of Petunias.
You took note of how nonchalant Irsay was while showing the door to the man who sparked your enjoyment of football and so you decide it’s time to move on. You pack up your Colt replica helmet popcorn caddy and #18 wristbands and head off to the place everyone goes to say goodbye to old friends. And when you get to Goodwill you find a line out the door of former season ticket holders toting their Colts memorabilia off as well.
You’ve seen the grainy video of Manning throwing and heard every sportswriter with a functioning voice box weigh in on what the Colts should do and still you, along with Mick Jagger, have mixed emotions. But you’re powerless to stop it now; maybe the freckle faced dork, but not you.
You don’t know what the future holds and who could expect you to? You gave your Tarot Cards, Crystal Ball and Ouija Board to Goodwill three years ago. But as you survey the line of people waiting to dump their Colts gear it becomes clear just how much Jim Irsay has stolen from them. And then comes the epiphany.
There’s one thing Fast Jimmy can’t take away from you. So you return to your car; which is somewhat hard to find considering half of them in the parking lot have horseshoes painted on their hoods, and as you pull away you do so knowing full well that, while Irsay may have gashed your soul with that Samurai Sword he called a “business decision”, try as he may he cannot take away your memoires.
© 2012 Eric Walker Williams
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Memo to Colts fans: Its the end of a season as we know it, not the world
First appeared on February 10th, 2010
in The Lebanon Reporter
OK Colt’s fans, so you lost the Super Bowl. So what? Now’s not the time to go all George Bailey on the world, perching yourself on the side of a bridge while hoping for a guardian angel to talk you down. Heck, even if Clarence did show up, with your luck he’d probably be a Saints fan anyway. Its days like these, moments like Sunday night that inspired somebody to quip “These are the times that try sports fans souls” (or something like that).
So you’ve holed up with the shade pulled for three days now and the décor of your home resembles something out of the pages of a “Design by Oscar Madison” catalog. You roll over to greet another day smashing half-eaten sticky buns into your mattress and trying in vain to wash the Go Colts! temporary tattoo from your cheek. Fear not loyal fan for yours is merely a chance lost- not forever gone.
The glass is half full here folks. You still have a superstar quarterback and one of the most talented teams in professional football. This is not the Titanic. Let’s don’t lose sight of the obvious here, even though the Colts have an uncanny way of making things look easy, winning the Super Bowl is one of the hardest things to do in professional sports.
So you felt good after watching that 96 yard touchdown drive in the first quarter, you know the one that tied the longest in Super Bowl history and actually ended just a few moments ago? Then somewhere between that valiant goal line stand and the on-side kick to start the second half, life changed. Uncle Mo took traded his Manning jersey in for some Mardi Gras beads and joined the Who-Dat Nation permanently. If only the Colts would have had Betty White at the bottom of that pile when the on-side kick caught them with their pants down, perhaps then Bill Polian would have a Lombardi trophy for each hand.
Of course, five minutes after the game, the mass media pendulum had returned to the “Manning is great but not the greatest” argument. Despite the fact that he’ll shatter nearly every passing record and win more games than an entire divisions- worth of quarterbacks will win in a lifetime- somehow he still manages to float in and out of fancy amongst the talking heads of the sports world with relative ease.
But as great as Manning is, the Saints were better for one night. For one night they were more prepared, took more chances and played like they belonged there when NOBODY had given them a puncher’s chance. Truth is they have a talented quarterback, underrated defense, self-admitted film junkie for a head coach and play with an enormous chip on their shoulders as a whole.
Perhaps my 2 year old said it best when he called it the “Pooper Bowl”. We laughed at him for 3 quarters and then, strangely enough, found ourselves agreeing with him by the end. Well, Pooper Bowl or not, it’s been 10 years since the Pacers played for a championship, 8 since the Hoosiers had a chance (20 since their last win) and as for Purdue, well perhaps it’s best we just leave them out of this equation entirely. The point here is, win lose or draw- relish the moment. Celebrate the opportunity. After all some good did come of the Colts loss. At least the children of the Marshall Islands will be sporting some really good looking Super Bowl Champion T-Shirts for years to come. Who said this game isn’t global?
in The Lebanon Reporter
OK Colt’s fans, so you lost the Super Bowl. So what? Now’s not the time to go all George Bailey on the world, perching yourself on the side of a bridge while hoping for a guardian angel to talk you down. Heck, even if Clarence did show up, with your luck he’d probably be a Saints fan anyway. Its days like these, moments like Sunday night that inspired somebody to quip “These are the times that try sports fans souls” (or something like that).
So you’ve holed up with the shade pulled for three days now and the décor of your home resembles something out of the pages of a “Design by Oscar Madison” catalog. You roll over to greet another day smashing half-eaten sticky buns into your mattress and trying in vain to wash the Go Colts! temporary tattoo from your cheek. Fear not loyal fan for yours is merely a chance lost- not forever gone.
The glass is half full here folks. You still have a superstar quarterback and one of the most talented teams in professional football. This is not the Titanic. Let’s don’t lose sight of the obvious here, even though the Colts have an uncanny way of making things look easy, winning the Super Bowl is one of the hardest things to do in professional sports.
So you felt good after watching that 96 yard touchdown drive in the first quarter, you know the one that tied the longest in Super Bowl history and actually ended just a few moments ago? Then somewhere between that valiant goal line stand and the on-side kick to start the second half, life changed. Uncle Mo took traded his Manning jersey in for some Mardi Gras beads and joined the Who-Dat Nation permanently. If only the Colts would have had Betty White at the bottom of that pile when the on-side kick caught them with their pants down, perhaps then Bill Polian would have a Lombardi trophy for each hand.
Of course, five minutes after the game, the mass media pendulum had returned to the “Manning is great but not the greatest” argument. Despite the fact that he’ll shatter nearly every passing record and win more games than an entire divisions- worth of quarterbacks will win in a lifetime- somehow he still manages to float in and out of fancy amongst the talking heads of the sports world with relative ease.
But as great as Manning is, the Saints were better for one night. For one night they were more prepared, took more chances and played like they belonged there when NOBODY had given them a puncher’s chance. Truth is they have a talented quarterback, underrated defense, self-admitted film junkie for a head coach and play with an enormous chip on their shoulders as a whole.
Perhaps my 2 year old said it best when he called it the “Pooper Bowl”. We laughed at him for 3 quarters and then, strangely enough, found ourselves agreeing with him by the end. Well, Pooper Bowl or not, it’s been 10 years since the Pacers played for a championship, 8 since the Hoosiers had a chance (20 since their last win) and as for Purdue, well perhaps it’s best we just leave them out of this equation entirely. The point here is, win lose or draw- relish the moment. Celebrate the opportunity. After all some good did come of the Colts loss. At least the children of the Marshall Islands will be sporting some really good looking Super Bowl Champion T-Shirts for years to come. Who said this game isn’t global?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Escape from Revis Island
First appeared on January 27th, 2010
in The Lebanon Reporter
When Jets coach Rex Ryan said he would be “shocked” if his team lost to the Colts in the AFC championship game the mass media drooled. Crusty sports reporters whose brains had long ago turned to mush from years of habitually abusing coaching clichés were suddenly reenergized. They called Ryan a genius. A brilliant motivator; Eisenhower with a clipboard.
For two straight weeks the Jets were rammed down our throats as the NFL’s feel-good Cinderella story. Monday after their win over San Diego they were the inmates from “The Longest Yard”. By Wednesday they were the Ravens of 2000 and by the time they entered the Luke Sunday, they had become the ‘85 Bears. Well, this just in, the clock has struck midnight and it’s not 1969 anymore.
After handing the J-E-T-S a season ending L-O-S-S (that really should have came a month ago) Ryan now finds himself saddled with an oversized six shooter fresh out of bullets. For a month solid his pie hole was the Energizer Bunny of professional football. Then Austin Collie got loose in the secondary and, before Fireman Ed could find his seat after a halftime potty break, the Colts had found Ryan’s off button.
One can’t help but wonder if Ryan is shocked now. I’m guessing he’s the kind of guy who gets shocked a lot. He was probably shocked the first time he found out McDonalds stops serving breakfast at 10:30. And he was likely just as shocked to learn the McRib isn’t on the permanent menu. I wonder if he was shocked when the greatest quarterback to ever play the game wasn’t sidestepped at all by Ryan’s hollow attempts at intimidating him.
Meanwhile, as everyone from Roger Goodell to Joe Buck was rooting for Brett Favre and the Vikings to make it to Miami, how fitting was it that ultimately the Saints were the ones who benefited the most from Favre’s return to football? Indy against New Orleans, now this is the game the league wanted. Well at least it was the game they wanted a month ago anyway.
In making their escape from “Revis Island” the Colts will travel to their 2nd Super Bowl in 4 years. And while they’re in South Beach they’ll likely do the typical tourist stuff. You know- dip their toes in the Atlantic, eat at a chain restaurant and buy some shirts with “Team of the Decade” airbrushed on them from some cheap stand on the strip.
But the Colts franchise won’t be the only ones seeking Lady Destiny. For quite some time now Peyton Manning has been courting the title “Greatest Quarterback Ever”. Now it would appear the two are soon to be joined at the hip. Probably on the beach by some preacher/used car salesman who charges by the hour.
So the Colts have galloped their way into another Super Bowl. And now, in the absence of locker room controversy, spoiled superstars frothing at the mouth and prima donna quarterbacks, the mass media will have to find a way to sell the Colts to those living in the TMZ world.
In such uncertain economic times as these, if anything, Indy’s win goes a long way towards filling the sails of Hoosiers for another year. To be clear this was a big win. Bigger than Rex Ryan’s mouth and bigger than his headset. Bigger than the plate of crow he ate Monday and bigger than the list of things that shock him. And if Ryan was shocked at his team’s loss Sunday, just wait till he sees the price of Prime Rib in South Beach.
in The Lebanon Reporter
When Jets coach Rex Ryan said he would be “shocked” if his team lost to the Colts in the AFC championship game the mass media drooled. Crusty sports reporters whose brains had long ago turned to mush from years of habitually abusing coaching clichés were suddenly reenergized. They called Ryan a genius. A brilliant motivator; Eisenhower with a clipboard.
For two straight weeks the Jets were rammed down our throats as the NFL’s feel-good Cinderella story. Monday after their win over San Diego they were the inmates from “The Longest Yard”. By Wednesday they were the Ravens of 2000 and by the time they entered the Luke Sunday, they had become the ‘85 Bears. Well, this just in, the clock has struck midnight and it’s not 1969 anymore.
After handing the J-E-T-S a season ending L-O-S-S (that really should have came a month ago) Ryan now finds himself saddled with an oversized six shooter fresh out of bullets. For a month solid his pie hole was the Energizer Bunny of professional football. Then Austin Collie got loose in the secondary and, before Fireman Ed could find his seat after a halftime potty break, the Colts had found Ryan’s off button.
One can’t help but wonder if Ryan is shocked now. I’m guessing he’s the kind of guy who gets shocked a lot. He was probably shocked the first time he found out McDonalds stops serving breakfast at 10:30. And he was likely just as shocked to learn the McRib isn’t on the permanent menu. I wonder if he was shocked when the greatest quarterback to ever play the game wasn’t sidestepped at all by Ryan’s hollow attempts at intimidating him.
Meanwhile, as everyone from Roger Goodell to Joe Buck was rooting for Brett Favre and the Vikings to make it to Miami, how fitting was it that ultimately the Saints were the ones who benefited the most from Favre’s return to football? Indy against New Orleans, now this is the game the league wanted. Well at least it was the game they wanted a month ago anyway.
In making their escape from “Revis Island” the Colts will travel to their 2nd Super Bowl in 4 years. And while they’re in South Beach they’ll likely do the typical tourist stuff. You know- dip their toes in the Atlantic, eat at a chain restaurant and buy some shirts with “Team of the Decade” airbrushed on them from some cheap stand on the strip.
But the Colts franchise won’t be the only ones seeking Lady Destiny. For quite some time now Peyton Manning has been courting the title “Greatest Quarterback Ever”. Now it would appear the two are soon to be joined at the hip. Probably on the beach by some preacher/used car salesman who charges by the hour.
So the Colts have galloped their way into another Super Bowl. And now, in the absence of locker room controversy, spoiled superstars frothing at the mouth and prima donna quarterbacks, the mass media will have to find a way to sell the Colts to those living in the TMZ world.
In such uncertain economic times as these, if anything, Indy’s win goes a long way towards filling the sails of Hoosiers for another year. To be clear this was a big win. Bigger than Rex Ryan’s mouth and bigger than his headset. Bigger than the plate of crow he ate Monday and bigger than the list of things that shock him. And if Ryan was shocked at his team’s loss Sunday, just wait till he sees the price of Prime Rib in South Beach.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Tales from Jim O'Brien's Christmas Stocking
First appeared on December 16th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter
As Colts coach Jim Caldwell struggles with how best to play out his schedule, he has not been at a loss for advice. To the surprise of nobody, Peyton Manning and Dwight Freeney both say they want to play but will accept Caldwell’s decision. Most understand the pressures of mainstream society require that all card-carrying members of “The Former Coaches of America Club” weigh in on such unclear issues. Former Bears Coach Mike Ditka says play your starters till the end while Tony Dungy sticks by his decision to rest guys when there is nothing left to play for. While Caldwell wrestles with his decision, across town another professional coach is struggling with issues of his own. At the time of writing this the Pacers, despite winning two straight, were still 5 games under .500 and had just lost Danny Granger for a month.
While the Pacers struggles can’t be hung solely on one player, they likely will wind up hanging one man. It’s probably safe to say Pacer Coach Jim O’Brien’s season isn’t off to the start he’d hoped for. Though off season acquisitions Dahntay Jones and Tyler Hansbrough have brought excitement the Pacers still find themselves one game away from slipping into the Central Division basement; and taking up permanent residence here is likely not the best career move O’Brien could make right now.
According to the numbers the Pacers are better defensively. This comes as a relief after a long off-season that saw the front office wear the word defense out just as the mass media have drummed the Tiger Woods story to death. What then is the explanation?
One issue is Danny Granger. As good as he has been on the offensive end the Pacers need more from him defensively. Bird needs to rig the Pacer Secret Santa draw so he can gift Granger a DVD of Michael Jordan’s Greatest Hits. The idea is to understand how Mike dominated BOTH ends of the floor. To take his game to the next level, and win more games, Granger needs to welcome the match up with the opponent’s best offensive player (translation: stop making Jones guard LeBron). Granger’s athletic 6’8 frame should be enough to help him lock down the top scorers in the league.
The second hint Santa would stick in Jim O’Brien’s stocking if he were a Pacers fan is that its time to sit TJ Ford. In virtually every Pacer loss the team has suffered though dry spells where they’ve made scoring points look like a third grader trying to do Calculus. This falls on the point guard. It took Jarrett Jack about two months to put some doubt in O’Brien’s mind last year as to who should be starting. With Jack gone to Toronto, the same has now happened with Earl Watson.
The point is clear. When Watson is on the floor, the Pacers are stronger defensively and the ball moves better. Open shots are just one direct result of good ball movement and, with the shooters the Pacers have, finding more open shots should be enough to avoid those dreaded dry spells that have plagued them all season.
The point is not to give up on Ford. He can be a nice change of pace off the bench and provide your second five with some offense. If he doesn’t want this however, then the point is to give up on Ford.
in The Lebanon Reporter
As Colts coach Jim Caldwell struggles with how best to play out his schedule, he has not been at a loss for advice. To the surprise of nobody, Peyton Manning and Dwight Freeney both say they want to play but will accept Caldwell’s decision. Most understand the pressures of mainstream society require that all card-carrying members of “The Former Coaches of America Club” weigh in on such unclear issues. Former Bears Coach Mike Ditka says play your starters till the end while Tony Dungy sticks by his decision to rest guys when there is nothing left to play for. While Caldwell wrestles with his decision, across town another professional coach is struggling with issues of his own. At the time of writing this the Pacers, despite winning two straight, were still 5 games under .500 and had just lost Danny Granger for a month.
While the Pacers struggles can’t be hung solely on one player, they likely will wind up hanging one man. It’s probably safe to say Pacer Coach Jim O’Brien’s season isn’t off to the start he’d hoped for. Though off season acquisitions Dahntay Jones and Tyler Hansbrough have brought excitement the Pacers still find themselves one game away from slipping into the Central Division basement; and taking up permanent residence here is likely not the best career move O’Brien could make right now.
According to the numbers the Pacers are better defensively. This comes as a relief after a long off-season that saw the front office wear the word defense out just as the mass media have drummed the Tiger Woods story to death. What then is the explanation?
One issue is Danny Granger. As good as he has been on the offensive end the Pacers need more from him defensively. Bird needs to rig the Pacer Secret Santa draw so he can gift Granger a DVD of Michael Jordan’s Greatest Hits. The idea is to understand how Mike dominated BOTH ends of the floor. To take his game to the next level, and win more games, Granger needs to welcome the match up with the opponent’s best offensive player (translation: stop making Jones guard LeBron). Granger’s athletic 6’8 frame should be enough to help him lock down the top scorers in the league.
The second hint Santa would stick in Jim O’Brien’s stocking if he were a Pacers fan is that its time to sit TJ Ford. In virtually every Pacer loss the team has suffered though dry spells where they’ve made scoring points look like a third grader trying to do Calculus. This falls on the point guard. It took Jarrett Jack about two months to put some doubt in O’Brien’s mind last year as to who should be starting. With Jack gone to Toronto, the same has now happened with Earl Watson.
The point is clear. When Watson is on the floor, the Pacers are stronger defensively and the ball moves better. Open shots are just one direct result of good ball movement and, with the shooters the Pacers have, finding more open shots should be enough to avoid those dreaded dry spells that have plagued them all season.
The point is not to give up on Ford. He can be a nice change of pace off the bench and provide your second five with some offense. If he doesn’t want this however, then the point is to give up on Ford.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Just another boring day in the life of the Indianapolis Colts
First appeared on December 11th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter
So the Colts won again. With a 27-17 victory over the Tennessee Titans Sunday, Indianapolis ran its record to 12-0 on the season. Yawn. They also tied an NFL record with their 21st consecutive regular season win. Yawn. They have now won 12 games in a season for an NFL record 7th time. Yawn. The win was their 113th of the decade tying them with the San Francisco 49ers of the 90’s as the most wins ever by a team in a 10 year span. Yawn.
This is the typical reaction of so many to the success of the Indianapolis Colts. No matter what they do, those in the national media remain apparently unimpressed. There was more discussion on the post game shows Sunday about Ochocinco’s Sombrero and the state of Tom Brady’s pinkie finger than there was about the perpetual success of the Indianapolis Colts.
Be it a “small market conspiracy” or the fact that the face of the Colts is about as controversial and outspoken as a Buddhist Monk who’s taken a vow of silence, Indianapolis remains the NFL’s Rodney Dangerfield. What the Colts are doing has never been done before. I’ll pause while you think about that. Those of us in Indiana are likely guilty of overlooking them too. We see 18 take the field Sunday after Sunday and simply expect the Men in Blue to win as a result.
But the success of the Colts runs far deeper than Manning’s “laser rocket arm”. You could pay $75 for a ticket, $9 for nachos, squeeze yourself into a seat between the guy with a Colt blue mohawk and some dude who says he rotates Peyton’s tires and not see the real reason behind the unprecedented run of the Colts.
The real reason behind the success of the Colts can likely be traced to three things: The hiring of Bill Polian, his hiring of Tony Dungy and the drafting of Manning. The Colts were 3-13 the season before Polian was hired. The next year he sealed the fate of the franchise by selecting Peyton Manning and NOT Ryan Leaf (who draft guru Mel Kiper claimed had an attitude that would benefit any NFL team).
While most GM’s are working the phones and scratching the backs of greedy agents trying to land monster off season signings, Polian is standing in the rain on a Thursday night watching Ball State play Central Michigan. The draft is where he has built the Colts. The Colt’s have reaped the benefits of Polian’s notorious eye for talent and uncanny knack for finding difference makers in the most unlikely of places (see Pierre Garcon).
Bringing Tony Dungy in was a brilliant move as well. It can be argued that Dungy’s work in building the perfect beast that is the Colts was done largely off the field. He did more than simply coach a team up, Tony Dungy created a culture. And, though he is now working for NBC, that culture endures. Polian’s job then has always been to find guys who not only have talent, but also fit Dungy’s system; the prerequisite of which is to accept the responsibility that comes with being a Colt.
Of course thirdly is Manning whose success has been well documented so we’ll spare you the time. It would seem for now however the Colts are destined to remain the NFL’s “elephant in the room”, but if you happen to be a member of the Detroit Lions front office and are looking to blueprint anything about this franchise; forget about #18- you’d be wise to start with the culture.
in The Lebanon Reporter
So the Colts won again. With a 27-17 victory over the Tennessee Titans Sunday, Indianapolis ran its record to 12-0 on the season. Yawn. They also tied an NFL record with their 21st consecutive regular season win. Yawn. They have now won 12 games in a season for an NFL record 7th time. Yawn. The win was their 113th of the decade tying them with the San Francisco 49ers of the 90’s as the most wins ever by a team in a 10 year span. Yawn.
This is the typical reaction of so many to the success of the Indianapolis Colts. No matter what they do, those in the national media remain apparently unimpressed. There was more discussion on the post game shows Sunday about Ochocinco’s Sombrero and the state of Tom Brady’s pinkie finger than there was about the perpetual success of the Indianapolis Colts.
Be it a “small market conspiracy” or the fact that the face of the Colts is about as controversial and outspoken as a Buddhist Monk who’s taken a vow of silence, Indianapolis remains the NFL’s Rodney Dangerfield. What the Colts are doing has never been done before. I’ll pause while you think about that. Those of us in Indiana are likely guilty of overlooking them too. We see 18 take the field Sunday after Sunday and simply expect the Men in Blue to win as a result.
But the success of the Colts runs far deeper than Manning’s “laser rocket arm”. You could pay $75 for a ticket, $9 for nachos, squeeze yourself into a seat between the guy with a Colt blue mohawk and some dude who says he rotates Peyton’s tires and not see the real reason behind the unprecedented run of the Colts.
The real reason behind the success of the Colts can likely be traced to three things: The hiring of Bill Polian, his hiring of Tony Dungy and the drafting of Manning. The Colts were 3-13 the season before Polian was hired. The next year he sealed the fate of the franchise by selecting Peyton Manning and NOT Ryan Leaf (who draft guru Mel Kiper claimed had an attitude that would benefit any NFL team).
While most GM’s are working the phones and scratching the backs of greedy agents trying to land monster off season signings, Polian is standing in the rain on a Thursday night watching Ball State play Central Michigan. The draft is where he has built the Colts. The Colt’s have reaped the benefits of Polian’s notorious eye for talent and uncanny knack for finding difference makers in the most unlikely of places (see Pierre Garcon).
Bringing Tony Dungy in was a brilliant move as well. It can be argued that Dungy’s work in building the perfect beast that is the Colts was done largely off the field. He did more than simply coach a team up, Tony Dungy created a culture. And, though he is now working for NBC, that culture endures. Polian’s job then has always been to find guys who not only have talent, but also fit Dungy’s system; the prerequisite of which is to accept the responsibility that comes with being a Colt.
Of course thirdly is Manning whose success has been well documented so we’ll spare you the time. It would seem for now however the Colts are destined to remain the NFL’s “elephant in the room”, but if you happen to be a member of the Detroit Lions front office and are looking to blueprint anything about this franchise; forget about #18- you’d be wise to start with the culture.
Friday, November 20, 2009
You can put lipstick on a bad decision and it's still a bad decision
First appeared on November 18th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter
Sunday Night’s Colts-Patriots match up had it all. The bright lights of primetime, the drama that comes with two of the games biggest stars locking horns and, not to mention, all the excitement that comes with “Bring your own mousetrap night” at Lucas Oil Stadium.
With NBC’s Chris Collinsworth dubbing it the “greatest rivalry of all time”, this game had hype too. In fact when was the last time we saw so much hype surrounding anything? OK, obviously not counting Oprah’s interview with Sarah Palin. Patriot fans waited patiently and, this is just a guess, were probably disappointed (in both instances).
After the Pacers beat the Celtics Friday night, the weekend started very well for those who harbor a genuine dislike for professional sports franchises based in the New England area. And just when it seemed the Patriots would even the score Sunday Night, Patriots Head Coach Bill Belichick finally rolled the dice one too many times.
Chapter 1 of the “Idiot’s Guide to Beating the Colts” says load the line of scrimmage up and run the ball down their throats. In true Belichick style however, the Patriots threw the book out the window. New England appeared more interested in going after an Indianapolis secondary filled with so many new faces that even season ticket holders were busy scrambling for their programs.
It was quintessential Belichick, flying in the face of conventionality. Genius he may be, he still is as nontraditional as they come. Clad in a ratty sweatshirt and mousy hair, the Patriot’s head coach looks more like the volunteer assistant for a high school team rather than the leader of a three time World Champion. Despite this, all the guy does is generate game plans capable of stopping football’s version of Albert Einstein (Peyton Manning) in his tracks. Belichick is the image of the guy you’d see dipping snuff on the sidelines of a varsity game while telling 17 year olds to “check the tape” to prove he once scored five touchdowns against a county rival.
Looking back there were so many decisions that went wrong for Indianapolis. Poor choices that should have sunk them starting with the indoor fireworks that ignited the turf and almost caused the mass evacuation of 65,000 people. Then there was Peyton’s intercepted pass to Pierre Garcon in the 3rd quarter which became a poor choice considering it followed a momentum stealing pick by Antoine Bethea. And let us not forget the game time decision to keep the roof closed on the Luke; which one can only surmise was made to protect Al Michaels’ new hair hat from springing to life in the stirring Midwestern winds.
Of course the “Worst Decision of the Night” award goes to Belichick for not punting on 4th and 2 from his own 30 yard line with two minutes left in the game. In making the call so much was lost. The game, probably any hope for homefield advantage and perhaps even Belichick’s status as “Greatest Modern Football Mind”.
Forget the inability of the Colts to stop the run, the real story of this game was their inability to run the ball. Youth was another factor. All season long the Colts have leaned on a group of rookies for production. Sunday night this crew, who had previously been nothing but solid, finally looked like the rookies they are. All this together should have been enough to seal the fate of the men in blue, but then Belichick happened. Simply put, Indy’s the better team; and the good news for Belichick is we’ve got the tape to prove it.
in The Lebanon Reporter
Sunday Night’s Colts-Patriots match up had it all. The bright lights of primetime, the drama that comes with two of the games biggest stars locking horns and, not to mention, all the excitement that comes with “Bring your own mousetrap night” at Lucas Oil Stadium.
With NBC’s Chris Collinsworth dubbing it the “greatest rivalry of all time”, this game had hype too. In fact when was the last time we saw so much hype surrounding anything? OK, obviously not counting Oprah’s interview with Sarah Palin. Patriot fans waited patiently and, this is just a guess, were probably disappointed (in both instances).
After the Pacers beat the Celtics Friday night, the weekend started very well for those who harbor a genuine dislike for professional sports franchises based in the New England area. And just when it seemed the Patriots would even the score Sunday Night, Patriots Head Coach Bill Belichick finally rolled the dice one too many times.
Chapter 1 of the “Idiot’s Guide to Beating the Colts” says load the line of scrimmage up and run the ball down their throats. In true Belichick style however, the Patriots threw the book out the window. New England appeared more interested in going after an Indianapolis secondary filled with so many new faces that even season ticket holders were busy scrambling for their programs.
It was quintessential Belichick, flying in the face of conventionality. Genius he may be, he still is as nontraditional as they come. Clad in a ratty sweatshirt and mousy hair, the Patriot’s head coach looks more like the volunteer assistant for a high school team rather than the leader of a three time World Champion. Despite this, all the guy does is generate game plans capable of stopping football’s version of Albert Einstein (Peyton Manning) in his tracks. Belichick is the image of the guy you’d see dipping snuff on the sidelines of a varsity game while telling 17 year olds to “check the tape” to prove he once scored five touchdowns against a county rival.
Looking back there were so many decisions that went wrong for Indianapolis. Poor choices that should have sunk them starting with the indoor fireworks that ignited the turf and almost caused the mass evacuation of 65,000 people. Then there was Peyton’s intercepted pass to Pierre Garcon in the 3rd quarter which became a poor choice considering it followed a momentum stealing pick by Antoine Bethea. And let us not forget the game time decision to keep the roof closed on the Luke; which one can only surmise was made to protect Al Michaels’ new hair hat from springing to life in the stirring Midwestern winds.
Of course the “Worst Decision of the Night” award goes to Belichick for not punting on 4th and 2 from his own 30 yard line with two minutes left in the game. In making the call so much was lost. The game, probably any hope for homefield advantage and perhaps even Belichick’s status as “Greatest Modern Football Mind”.
Forget the inability of the Colts to stop the run, the real story of this game was their inability to run the ball. Youth was another factor. All season long the Colts have leaned on a group of rookies for production. Sunday night this crew, who had previously been nothing but solid, finally looked like the rookies they are. All this together should have been enough to seal the fate of the men in blue, but then Belichick happened. Simply put, Indy’s the better team; and the good news for Belichick is we’ve got the tape to prove it.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Manning or Brady? The steel cage death match to end all steel cage death matches
First appeared on October 14th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter
Be it the Bundys, Honeymooners or anyone representing the Raiders franchise, even the most legendary of arguers are apt to stumble upon arguments which appear endless. Explosive topics like which came first the chicken or the egg? Or, if a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around, does it make a noise? And then there is perhaps the most puzzling of all, who is the best quarterback of their generation, Tom Brady or Peyton Manning?
This is not a topic to tackle lightheartedly (unless you are the Ravens defense attempting to avoid another bogus penalty for sacking Brady of course). Stacking these two titans of sport up requires an appreciation of history, great knowledge of football and the ability to remain impartial. With this in mind, take what you’re about to read for what it’s worth.
At 6’5, Manning is a full inch taller than Brady; point Manning. Manning will play five primetime games this year to Brady’s four; advantage Manning. And before you begin thinking this is simply an attempt at inflating the legend of Peyton Manning like years of horse testosterone abuse inflated a stick thin outfielder whose Hall of Fame career may or may not have begun with the Pirates, Brady’s wife is a Supermodel; point Brady.
Hardware is a popular measure of the professional athlete. With this in mind, Brady has won three Super Bowls giving him two more rings than Manning; point Brady. Manning’s housekeeper has to dust around three league MVP trophies to Brady’s one however; advantage Manning.
Statistics are the measuring stick of choice amongst the mathematically inclined. For his career, Manning has over 20,000 more passing yards than Brady; advantage Manning. As a Colt Manning also has 121 career wins to Brady’s 107; advantage Manning. Though a detailed explanation of how it is calculated is best left for someone in possession of a PHD in statistics, Manning’s Quarterback Rating is 3 points higher than Brady’s; once again advantage Manning.
Many times the measure of a superstar is their imprint on popular culture. If there is anyone out there who hasn’t seen Manning hocking something on television they are most likely living in a thatch roofed hut somewhere in the Marshall Islands trying to dial a signal in with rabbit ears and tin foil. After all, the guy’s face is everywhere (see Gatorade, Sprint, Sony, MasterCard, H.H. Gregg and Direct TV for proof). With so much commercial face time it would appear that we have finally found somebody who could actually sell ice to an Eskimo; advantage Manning.
On paper Manning is clearly the better quarterback and his All Decade team selection is perhaps an early vote of confidence that history will ultimately find him the better player. In the court of public opinion however, Manning constantly finds himself audibilizing wildly (patting his head or flapping his arms while screaming nonsensical verbage) from the backseat with Brady confidently perched behind the wheel.
The thing about fans is they are notorious for only remembering the quarterback who wins the last game of the season as opposed to the one who puts up gaudy numbers for 16 straight weeks. With this in mind Manning needs one more ring to separate himself from Brady, otherwise only a Favre-like failure to recognize the deterioration of his own skills will keep Brady from going down as the best of his era. One more ring should cement Manning’s place as the greatest quarterback of his generation. Note to Jon Gruden: if you’re reading this, stop calling him the sheriff. That nickname’s like a rented tux-it just doesn’t fit!
in The Lebanon Reporter
Be it the Bundys, Honeymooners or anyone representing the Raiders franchise, even the most legendary of arguers are apt to stumble upon arguments which appear endless. Explosive topics like which came first the chicken or the egg? Or, if a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around, does it make a noise? And then there is perhaps the most puzzling of all, who is the best quarterback of their generation, Tom Brady or Peyton Manning?
This is not a topic to tackle lightheartedly (unless you are the Ravens defense attempting to avoid another bogus penalty for sacking Brady of course). Stacking these two titans of sport up requires an appreciation of history, great knowledge of football and the ability to remain impartial. With this in mind, take what you’re about to read for what it’s worth.
At 6’5, Manning is a full inch taller than Brady; point Manning. Manning will play five primetime games this year to Brady’s four; advantage Manning. And before you begin thinking this is simply an attempt at inflating the legend of Peyton Manning like years of horse testosterone abuse inflated a stick thin outfielder whose Hall of Fame career may or may not have begun with the Pirates, Brady’s wife is a Supermodel; point Brady.
Hardware is a popular measure of the professional athlete. With this in mind, Brady has won three Super Bowls giving him two more rings than Manning; point Brady. Manning’s housekeeper has to dust around three league MVP trophies to Brady’s one however; advantage Manning.
Statistics are the measuring stick of choice amongst the mathematically inclined. For his career, Manning has over 20,000 more passing yards than Brady; advantage Manning. As a Colt Manning also has 121 career wins to Brady’s 107; advantage Manning. Though a detailed explanation of how it is calculated is best left for someone in possession of a PHD in statistics, Manning’s Quarterback Rating is 3 points higher than Brady’s; once again advantage Manning.
Many times the measure of a superstar is their imprint on popular culture. If there is anyone out there who hasn’t seen Manning hocking something on television they are most likely living in a thatch roofed hut somewhere in the Marshall Islands trying to dial a signal in with rabbit ears and tin foil. After all, the guy’s face is everywhere (see Gatorade, Sprint, Sony, MasterCard, H.H. Gregg and Direct TV for proof). With so much commercial face time it would appear that we have finally found somebody who could actually sell ice to an Eskimo; advantage Manning.
On paper Manning is clearly the better quarterback and his All Decade team selection is perhaps an early vote of confidence that history will ultimately find him the better player. In the court of public opinion however, Manning constantly finds himself audibilizing wildly (patting his head or flapping his arms while screaming nonsensical verbage) from the backseat with Brady confidently perched behind the wheel.
The thing about fans is they are notorious for only remembering the quarterback who wins the last game of the season as opposed to the one who puts up gaudy numbers for 16 straight weeks. With this in mind Manning needs one more ring to separate himself from Brady, otherwise only a Favre-like failure to recognize the deterioration of his own skills will keep Brady from going down as the best of his era. One more ring should cement Manning’s place as the greatest quarterback of his generation. Note to Jon Gruden: if you’re reading this, stop calling him the sheriff. That nickname’s like a rented tux-it just doesn’t fit!
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