For NBA roster keepers and jersey makers, the times they are a changin'

First appeared on July 15th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter

In case your cable got shut off and the internet is still a passing fad to you, here’s a heads up- the NBA off season has been anything but uneventful. Normally we’re accustomed to seeing contenders standing pat as ownership is satisfied to let their rosters mature for another season in fine wine fashion. But just like the mercurial North Korean leader Kim Jung IL, this year has been ‘different’. With so many names being tossed around the time seems right to let the second guessing begin.
Though most will agree his recording a Michael Jackson tribute song was undoubtedly wrong, Ron Artest joining the Lakers is nothing but right. This becomes ‘nothing but right’ because the Purple and Gold have proven they’re the best team in basketball, so instead of simply repeating as champs (yawn), they’ve taken on the league’s heaviest albatross in an effort to prove Jackson and Kobe can win no matter what self-imposed stumbling block comes their way.
While Trevor Ariza and Hedo Turkoglu are both highly skilled in different ways, there is no doubting each has resigned himself to a meaningless future of used car lot appearances and early playoff exits. Ariza’s choice of Houston becomes all the more perplexing considering the heart of that Western Conference finalist appears to have been ripped out by Yao’s career-threatening broken size eighteen and a team MVP whose split for the bright lights of Hollywood (Artest).
Turkoglu flirted with Portland until Orlando got wind of it and, in a fit of rage typical of a jealous girlfriend, sent him packing via trade to Toronto. Much to the chagrin of Turkoglu’s agent, along with the moon, Toronto is apparently the one place every NBA player would just as soon retire before playing in.
Believe it or not, with Shaq in Cleveland there are still those who feel the Cavaliers are a championship favorite. Apparently the office Secret Santa hasn’t stuffed a company calendar in these people’s stockings recently because it is 2009 in the real world (not 1999). Shaq can still be a force but unfortunately he can’t solve all of Cleveland’s problems. He should fit in though because, just like the rest of the Cav’s roster outside of LeBron, O’Neal can’t face the basket and create his own shot.
Of course some moves have made total sense. San Antonio got much stronger by adding the one thing they needed most; youth. In drafting DeJuan Blair and trading for Richard Jefferson the Spurs got younger and quicker and, toss in some added playoff experience in Antonio McDyess, suddenly they have the recipe for a Western Conference Finals appearance.
The Celtics signing of Rasheed Wallace is especially sexy because anytime Wallace gets a whiff of a deep playoff run, his mouth and short fuse take a much welcomed backseat to his unparalleled talent. Although their window of opportunity isn’t exactly propped wide open, look for Boston to charge deep into the playoffs next season provided they have their health and Rondo at the wheel.
While the Pacers won’t contend, the move for defensive specialist Dahntay Jones is attractive nonetheless. As everyone is busy one-upping each other with glamorous signings, Larry and Co. are quietly building a solid foundation of character guys and proven winners. In drafting Tyler Hansbrough and signing Jones, the blue and gold have added two hard nosed players who are accustomed to winning (see North Carolina and Duke respectively).
So maybe when it comes to the 2009 NBA offseason Yogi Berra put it best, “If you don’t know where you are going, you’ll wind up somewhere else.”

A brief comparison of Hot Dogs and the NBA Draft

First appeared on July 8th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter

It was high drama on our nation’s birthday as Americans swelled with great pride over one of our most cherished traditions. Breathless onlookers were left speechless after witnessing Joey Chesnut versus the Hot Dog. Stretching the physical limits of his own intestinal track, Chesnut inhaled 68 dogs in 10 minutes while besting former champ and Japanese cultural phenomenon Kobayashi.
What followers of the Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest may not realize is that former U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt actually served the same Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs Chesnut and Kobayashi dueled with on Saturday to the King and Queen of England in 1939. OK-so hopefully they weren’t the exact same dogs.
Watching Chesnut’s impressive inhalation of encased meat (imagine a wood chipper without the mess) was strangely reminiscent of another champion. A few weeks ago the Indiana Pacers selected former North Carolina power forward Tyler Hansbrough with the 13th overall pick in the NBA draft. For those unfamiliar with his game, Hansbrough attacks loose balls, opponents and the basket in much the same way Joey Chesnut would likely go after a street vendor’s Hot Dog cart.
As to be expected Hansbrough’s selection stirred a hornet’s nest of frenzied naysayers and sportswriters who can’t find anything else to write about in July. Amongst the most popular jabs being lobbed by critics is that today’s NBA is about athleticism and Hansbrough doesn’t fit that mold. Let’s be honest Tyler Hansbrough doesn’t fit any mold. In what may be the most obvious statement of the year Hansbrough simply just knows how to play basketball. And after being a three time First Team All American and North Carolina’s all time leading scorer, it would be an understatement to say he’s pretty good too.
Casual fans and avid You Tubers alike probably remember Hansbrough best for his remarkable dunk over the 7 foot 7 UNC Asheville center Kenny George (You Tube it now if you haven’t seen it), and to be sure it was a play that would never had happened if Hansbrough were not “athletic”. Real Carolina fans, you know the ones who actually know what a Tarheel is and not those who surface after a Final Four run with a new hundred and fifty dollar Starter jacket, remember him as the player teammates dubbed “Psycho T” for his reckless abandon on the basketball court.
“He’s too small” is a classic cut many draft analysts use when their proverbial ‘this guy won’t pan out’ gun is out of bullets. At 6’9 Hansbrough is the same size as Karl Malone and five inches taller than Charles Barkley standing on a phone book. Not to mention, anybody who can grab over 1,000 rebounds in a collegiate career is without a doubt big enough to get the job done.
Simply put forget his lack of size and anything else the critics may vomit up like a bad truck stop omlet, this was the right pick for the Pacers because more than anything Tyler Hansbrough is a winner. He won back to back state titles as a high schooler in Missouri and of course there was that National Championship in college last year. The largest missing piece from the Pacer locker room right now seems to be the “losing is not in my vocabulary” mentality Hansbrough carries. The good news is Pacer fans can rest safe knowing he will bring his “dominate or bust” attitude to practice and pregame workouts, he will bring it to the court every night and, while on the road, safe money says he’ll bring it to the hotel’s continental breakfast as well.

The Most Frustrating Man in the World

first appeared on July 1st, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter

When White Sox Shortstop Alexi Ramirez hit a run scoring single in the eighth inning of Saturday’s interleague game against the Cubs it marked the fourth blown save of the season for set up man Carlos Marmol. The hit was the beginning of a comeback that would help the Sox take two of three from the Cubs over the weekend. Marmol’s performance was a microcosm of the Cubs’ season. All year long the northisders have played well enough to win but by the time the Bleacher Bums have summoned the balance and concentration necessary to raise a celebratory toast, their team has somehow found a way to lose.
Marmol, a 27 year old right handed reliever who hails from the Dominican Republic, led the major leagues with 30 holds in 2008 and (despite a three week stretch in June when he appeared to be pitching with a blindfold on) threw like he was from another planet for most of last season. This year has been a completely different story for Marmol and all Cubs fans in general.
The Pitcher’s struggles are strangely reminiscent of the Dos Equis beer pitchman known as the “Most Interesting Man in the World” but instead of being interesting Marmol would definitley have to be the “Most Frustrating Man in the World”. In his first 8 innings of June Marmol surrendered 8 runs. Of course it goes without saying this is not good considering the expectation for a set up man is to preserve a team’s lead; a prerequisite of which would be to not give up any runs.
According to the commercials the Most Interesting Man in the World’s “reputation is expanding faster than the universe”. In Marmol’s case his reputation is without a doubt growing but it his ERA that is expanding faster than the universe. Much to the chagrin of Cubs fans and the Ice Road Truckers presumably, from 2007 to today the pitcher’s earned run average has mirrored ballooning gas prices as it has expanded from a rock solid 1.43 to a “soon to be greeting customers at Wal-Mart” 3.96.
The Most Interesting Man in the World “once had an awkward moment just to see how it feels”. Apparently in an effort to keep things interesting, Marmol once held a lead that was handed to him just to see how it feels. Of course we can’t hang all the Cubs’ troubles on The Most Frustrating Man in the World because that wouldn’t give me enough stuff to write about. Complimenting Marmol’s inconsistency well is the Cubs inability to hit or field like a major league team for most of the season. This is not to say they have not been worth the price of admission however. There have been exploding Gatorade machines, multiple live game balls tossed into the stands and witty barbs exchanged between members of the clubhouse that have served to keep things interesting.
So it goes for the Cubs as they limp towards the All Star break and a well earned chance to hole up and lick their wounds. There will be no part of this first half of the year worth remembering. Cubs historians will look back on this period and lament blown opportunities, blown saves and blown tops. Fortunately all that remains is 10 more games until we reach the second half. So can the Cubs pull things together and make a run for the playoffs or will their corpulent payroll and commonplace performance earn them the inauspicious title “New York Yankees of the National League”? We'll just have to wait and see, in the meantime-“stay thirsty my friends”.

Happy Fathers Day Lefty

First appeared on June 24th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter

As I stood in the check out line waiting to buy my Dad another tie I found myself pondering Father’s Day gifts, that was after making up another zip code for the cashier of course (who knew it would wind up being Wilkes-Barre Pennsylvania, and further who could have known there would actually be another Eric Williams living there? Enjoy your Christmas catalog from Tie World Eric Williams of Wilkes Barre).
With the announcement that Phil Mickelson’s wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer, the smooth left hander definitely overcame mixed emotions by entering this year’s U.S. Open at New York’s Bethpage Black. When it was publicized that his wife said having the trophy in her hospital room during the cancer treatments would make life easier, of course any contemplation of this weekend’s performance had to take on another meaning altogether for Mickelson. Therefore on this Father’s Day, instead of receiving another tie or “World’s Most Incredible Golf Courses” calendar, Lefty found himself the one choosing a gift by giving his family something they would not soon forget.
It’s been well documented Mickelson has struggled in the U.S. Open (now 5 time runner up and never the champ which he would begrudgingly admit is a record) and don’t mistake this as someone piling on the same tired storyline, rather this is a celebration of the special moments Lefty provided for his family, friends and fans over the course of Sunday and Monday’s rain-forced final round.
Making things all the more interesting was that Mickelson’s nemesis, Tiger Woods, was a deflating 9 shots back and yet seemingly the top of the leader board always seemed within striking distance. Woods struggled to find his stroke all weekend and, just like the father of a newborn fumbling for a three a.m. diaper in a pitch dark nursery, he never seemed to be able to find it. Yet, try as he may, Lefty’s effort to capitalize on a great opportunity turned out to be in total vain by the end.
Four times the bridesmaid and never the bride, everything seemed TaylorMade for Phil’s first U.S. Open win and it would have likely been so had it not been for a pair of young players even Bob Costas had probably never heard of before. Evidently Ricky Barnes and Lucas Glover didn’t get the memo that it was Mickelson’s turn to wear the dress (OK, so maybe that doesn’t sound right but you get the idea). Barnes and Glover’s path to the top of the leaderboard is no more amazing for the sheer fact they weren’t invited to Bethpage and had to qualify instead. Even David Duval, who came in ranked almost dead last amongst the world’s professional golfers, had to be surprised these two were in the proverbial “Zone” for much of the weekend.
Despite coming up short again, for one moment in time Mickelson gave his family something money can’t buy. They were all firm believers in his dream of winning the Open. They were no doubt huddled on the left coast somewhere watching their father as he let it all ride in a valiant effort at winning (4 birdies out of the last 6 holes during his third round and eventually taking the lead in the final round after being 12 shots back earlier). Despite playing well enough to win, perhaps his coming up short is fitting. Don’t let Tiger Woods fool you, winning is never easy and one can only imagine the road ahead won’t be easy for Mickelson’s wife and her family either. This being said the Father’s Day gift Lefty gave his family will, if anything, surely provide them hope.

Jackson's coronation as Greatest Coach Ever will have to wait

First appeared on June 17th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter

Even though the Lakers have wrapped up their 15th World Championship as a franchise, a few unanswered questions linger in Lakerland. Burning issues every true purple Laker Lover longs to know like just how long will Pau Gasol’s victory ciesta last? Will Derek Fisher successfully lobby the league for the use of wheelchairs next season so he can keep running in those back-breaking shots we’ve grown so accustomed to seeing? Or, perhaps most complexing, is Phil Jackson the greatest NBA coach of all time or not?
Most experts agree Red Auerbach is the gold standard amongst professional basketball coaches (at least that was until about 10:39 EST Sunday night). The debate for who is most deserving of having “Greatest NBA Coach Ever” tattooed on their forearm Popeye style is complicated at best. Of course since Auerbach never coached a game in my lifetime, any argument I could make for or against him would be about as legitimate as say last week’s presidential elections in Iran. Of course being taken seriously has never been something we (myself and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad) have ever expected before so why start now?
The case for Jackson is strong. They say the worst players make the best coaches and Phil is living proof considering as a player he never led the league in anything except personal fouls. After cutting his coaching teeth with the Isabela Fighting Cocks in Puerto Rico, Jackson has come a long way. The Zen master has 10 titles with two different teams (this doesn’t count the CBA championship he helped the Albany Patroons stake their claim too either). Jackson’s winning percentage is above 70% and he’s likely coached three future Hall of Famers (four if you believe Scottie Pippen will get there and five if Dennis Rodman ever lives to see the day the Hall lets players vote themselves in).
In the opposing corner of this heavyweight bout to determine the greatest of all time is of course Red Auerbach. Coach of nine World Champions (all with Boston), his championship run included a record setting eight titles in a row and during his days on the bench Auerbach coached nine players who found their way to the Hall of Fame. Perhaps most impressive is that four of his former players went on to win championships of their own as coaches. While he made a name for himself smoking victory cigars, Auerbach is also credited with helping to break the color barrier in the NBA by selecting the first African American draft choice in league history.
Debating the two is pointless at best. The NBA of today and the one Beaver Cleaver followed in the 1950’s are eons apart (and by eons we mean A LOT). Between the 24 second clock, free agency, dramatic increases in both the size of the league, size of it’s players, size of it’s fan base and conversely the size of it’s pay scale, all make debating Jackson versus Auerbach a fruitless endeavor; one akin to arguing over the greatest U.S. President.
The easiest solution would be to simply dynamite and chisel a Mt. Rushmore of coaches and call it a day. Jackson and Auerbach would no doubt be the first choices, the equivalent of Washington and Jefferson. Lincoln is another obvious choice so let’s throw Lenny Wilkens (most coaching wins in NBA history) up there too. That leaves the final choice that has baffled so many a schoolboy for so long- Teddy Roosevelt? Who would be the closest thing to a rough-riding, trust-busting coach the league has ever seen? Best we leave that one open to debate.

Welcome to the Finals Stan

First appeared on June 9th, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter

It’s time to shut down all this talk about the NBA playoffs being rigged. Everybody (except Orlando Magic fans I’m assuming) wanted Kobe and LeBron in the Finals. David Stern wanted it, Kobe and LeBron wanted it, evidently Kim Jung IL wanted it too for as soon as the Cavaliers were eliminated he crawled back into his sandbox and started playing with his missiles again.
In lieu of a sexy Kobe and LeBron match up we have Stan Van Gundy. This alone should be proof enough the playoffs are not rigged. This is the Finals. You know the place where bright lights showcase Jack and his Wayfarers, the Laker Girls and Stan Van Gundy?
Outside of Donald Sutherland’s hats, Van Gundy is the oddest thing to hit the Finals since Dennis Rodman. Sporting a mustache reminiscent of some 70’s detective show his black T-shirt and dinner jacket fail miserably in masking the coach’s dumpy frame. In fact Van Gundy looks like someone who’d have been booed off stage after trying to play his Tuba on the Gong Show. But the guy can flat out coach. Against all conventional wisdom, he has taken a cast of guys other franchises gave up on and managed to worm his way to the Finals despite the alleged small market conspiracy.
While he may dress like the manager of a movie theatre, Van Gundy has gotten something out of Hedo Turkoglu both Sacramento and San Antonio couldn’t. The Turkish born forward’s numbers are up in almost every statistical category and, after stellar performances in these playoffs, he’s making a name for himself as a big stage player.
While some coaches sport suits tailored by Armani or Perry Ellis, Van Gundy’s wardrobe appears to be sponsored by a community yard sale. Despite this, Mickael Pietrus has found success under the coach’s tutelage. Coming over from France riding a wave of hype the guard found rough sledding in Golden State but, after signing with Orlando in the off season, Pietrus is suddenly a name NBA Scouts know how to spell.
With the media flooding Kobe Bryant for quotes and quips, the only calls Van Gundy is fielding these days are from Don Johnson saying he wants his look back. All things considered he’s lucky to be in the Finals at all. In 2005 his mentor Pat Riley allegedly forced him out of Miami. After watching Riles win a title, Van Gundy turned down the Pacers job because it looked like Orlando wanted him; then Billy Donovan happened. It fell to Van Gundy only after Donovan went all “Brett Favre” and changed his mind returning instead to the Florida Gators.
The man Shaquille O’Neal once called the “Master of Panic” due to a compulsion for wilting under the intense pressure of playoff basketball has made strides in putting an end to all that talk. Still Van Gundy remains an island in an ocean of player’s coaches. He’s one of the last old school- in your face- screamers. You know the type; that Little League coach who berates the 13 year old umpire.
Still Van Gundy has shown he’s not entirely an old dog at heart. After Dwight Howard was openly critical of him following their game five loss to Boston, it looked like the Magic were Chernobyl bound, but somehow Van Gundy found a way to spin it into a motivational tool. While their odds at winning the Finals are long, whatever Van Gundy did to save the Magic season has to be fodder for a great book. A great book that shouldn’t be judged by the cover.

If Gatorade Machines could Talk

First appeared on June 3rd, 2009
in The Lebanon Reporter

Dear Chicago Cubs,
This is your dugout Gatorade Machine. Why do you hate me? I’m your biggest fan. Come rain or shine, through the misery of six 1 run losses, I’ve been here every night on the bench to support you and what thanks do I get? First Ryan Dempster (Lemon-Lime) puts a huge dent in my forehead with his fist then Carlos Zambrano (Orange) lays in to me with a bat?
I mean Zambrano? Seriously, is this really a fair fight? Big Z is pushing 300 pounds and I’m an inanimate object (that means I can’t move). It is a scientifically proven fact a bat wielding Zambrano charging at full speed can generate more momentum than a LeCar carrying Ruben Studdard, Ruben Studdard’s band, all their instruments, his background singers, the roadies and all three of his fans. I mean, seriously Zambrano’s so enormous if he was Alonzo Mournings leg, I’d be Jeff Van Gundy for crying out loud.
Could I really have anything to do with the fact that you have only won 4 of your last 14 games? I’m not the unlucky one, let’s just continue to hang that on the cat and the goat. It’s evident I’ve done my job dispensing multiple varieties of delicious drinks (orange, lemon-lime and water) at the perfect temperature, I mean last I checked no Cubs have went on the DL for dehydration for crying out loud. And what do I have to show for it? I’ve had my head pounded in twice and, to make things worse, Dempster wants to whine about having a blister on his pitching hand? He should try hitting his spots with a collapsed face.
Surely Lou Piniella (Water) doesn’t think I’m to blame. He has the 3rd highest payroll in all the majors at his disposal and yet you guys are currently last in hits and 12th in runs scored amongst teams in the National League. How can you point an angry finger at me when your batters are ranked 5th in the league in strike outs and your pitchers are near the bottom in most earned runs allowed?
I’ve heard the whispers; Pepsi machine, mini-fridge- you should show me some respect. I am a state of the art drink dispenser. In case you aren’t aware, I come from a very proud pedigree. Perhaps you’ve heard of my grandfather; the Gatorade water cooler? Of course you know him, he’s had more Super Bowl exposure than Janet Jackson. Most recognize the long-standing tradition of him getting dumped on the heads of coaches after they win (he hates that by the way). Well I may not be my grandfather, but I still command respect.
Look I know all about the 100 years deal. I know you have an enormous payroll and yet are still hovering around .500 for the season. The bottom line is the baseball season is a marathon, not a sprint. Maybe what you need is a break, there’s still plenty of time for you to right the ship. In the meantime I’ll be right here on the bench where all your desires are only a push-button away. So why don’t you pour yourself a cup, grab some braunschweiger and a seat on the bench next to me and sit this one out. Or, if you are Carlos Zambrano, sit the next six out.

Your Friend,

The Dugout Gatorade Machine

P.S. Do you know how many All Sport machines it takes to screw in a light bulb?