Calm Down Colts Fans

First appeared on August 23rd, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

At this time it might be a good idea for Colts Fans to take a deep breath, put down their glass of Kool aid and pause to reflect. Sure you dismantled the Rams 38-3 in the first Pre Season game of the year. Sure Andrew Luck threw a touchdown on his first unofficial NFL pass and sure he looked steady in his first unofficial outing as a Colt; but one must remember it was the Rams and it was the Preseason.

Sure your Colts hung tough with perennial AFC power Pittsburgh Sunday night as Andrew Luck’s solid decision making helped move the ball while the defense showed signs of being an animal unlike the one we’ve grown accustomed to watching lo these many years. But it was the preseason.

There are two reasons those outside the part-time pretend sports journalism world should not yet predict a Super Bowl season for Indianapolis. These are of course that their big win came courtesy of the Rams and it still is the Preseason. Another clear indicator nobody should attempt to hang a solid win prediction on this team is the fact the Colts saw almost every rostered player anyone outside Indianapolis could name leave town during the off season. This in itself should, not unlike the face of Joan Rivers, scream rebuilding.

St. Louis won just 2 games last year and is itself in the midst of a head coaching change. This means they’re probably not the measuring stick you want for your team; that is unless you’re aspiring to win 3 games or have set the goal of becoming the greatest Preseason football team in NFL history.

One probably shouldn’t read too much into the Pittsburgh outing either. There was an imbalance in urgency considering the Steelers are an established team while the Colts are largely a collection of unknowns beating each other’s brains out for 53 spots. However Indy’s play to this point has gone a long way to lifting the ominous cloud of doubt Peyton’s departure left hovering over Lucas Oil Stadium. But it shouldn’t dissipate it completely. We are talking about the Preseason after all. And there are no words in the English language strong enough to fully illustrate the level of insignificance NFL Preseason Football has achieved.

The Preseason is like blocking off four hours and finding the one babysitter able to pass most of your wife’s background checks before going out to watch that Academy Award winning film everyone has told you so much about only to sit through 4 straight weeks of previews for movies you’ll never see like “Weekend at Bernies 3” or “Weekend at Bernies 3 in 3D”.

And just when you thought there was no way they could make Preseason football more laughable; they have. The only reason more people aren’t up in arms about replacement officials right now is because nobody is watching right now. When the big lights come on, those of the regular season and Vegas, hard working fans will clamor for something other than licensed high school officials on the field.

So keep your perspective Colts Fans. You have a rookie quarterback and new head coach. You have a new offensive scheme and are completely overhauling your defense. These have never been (and aren’t likely to become) hallmarks of a Super Bowl Champion. And while it always feels good to win, it’s a fair bet Jim Irsay gutted his team to do more than just tweet “The Preseason rocks harder than Mick Jones on London Calling!”

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

America should parlay its olympic excellence

First appeared on August 10th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Ours is the most politically fractured, culturally inept and obese nation on Earth. And yet once every four years we find a way to pull it together and kick the rest of the world in the pants during the Summer Olympics. And London’s 2012 Games are shaping up to be no different.

We lead this summer’s overall medal count with 90 total; including 39 Gold. The U.S. Women’s Soccer Team brought gold home after avenging a World Cup loss to Japan and our ladies Water Polo team kept their heads above water long enough to secure their first ever gold medal. It was an American versus American final in Women’s Beach Volleyball which of course saw us win gold as the team of Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh-Jennings won their third straight (which came after having never lost a match in Olympic play).

This is of course all the more reason for the world to hate us. They hate us for Iraq and our two car garages, for pounding Nigeria 156-73 and for making every single major contribution to the world of technology in the last 100 years. They hate us for being a place where chasing ones dreams is encouraged and for boasting a selection of more than 1 television channel.

Ours is a nation full of fast food jockeys, dissatisfied office workers and professional politicians mixed with a handful of ambitious young athletes willing to dedicate themselves to becoming the best at what they do. Forget Democrats and Republicans, why not channel the energy and gusto of this last group into diplomacy? It only seems fitting that we should find a way to use our Olympic dominance to heal this begrimed view the world holds of us.

If Gabby Douglas were deployed as Special Envoy to Pyongyang then perhaps she could bring an end to the stalemate that has existed there since the 1950’s. If the Flying Squirrel tumbled her way onto the Korean Peninsula then simply flashing her gold medal and million dollar smile would be enough to bridge any differences lingering between South Korean President Lee Myung-Bak and whatever number Kim Jung the North Koreans are worshipping these days.

If Michael Phelps could swim to South Sudan (with a naval escort to protect him from Somali Pirates of course) then perhaps he could help combat the level of uncertainty that fledgling nation faces. Because it’s such a long road ahead for the world’s newest country they could use the services of a crafty champion who has stared down the improbable only to succeed. The 18 gold medals Phelps has racked up alone would be enough to both back an entire nation’s currency and make South Sudan the richest African nation overnight.

So wave your flag with pride and keep your Kleenexes at the ready. For you may need them the next time you hear somebody out there doesn’t like us, or perhaps when you find another American teenager atop the podium with the Star Spangled Banner showering down upon them. That magical instant you can read in their eyes. How for the first time in their life they fully understand what it means to be an American.

That as ugly, tragic and amazing as our history can be, we remain the most powerful nation on Earth. And while ours may not be the blueprint for diplomacy every nation wants to follow, nothing can shatter an American’s pride. Perhaps that’s where the hatred comes from; for over 200 years and counting we’ve been the rabbit the rest of the world hasn’t been able to catch.


© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

A Real Man's Thoughts on the Olympics

First appeared on August 3rd, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

This one goes out to Real Men everywhere. Those who drink kerosene, belch fire and fart rocket fuel. The one’s who don’t consider a day complete until they’ve spit, scratched, cursed for no reason and blown something up. The one’s who sought professional counseling when Oprah took on the cattle industry and those who believe Roger Goodell is fast-tracking the wussification of America.

Real Men can’t be fooled. We realize until they’re replaced with “No Flavor” that low fat labels will always be a legal form of false advertising. NBC can’t fool us either. In this ultra sophisticated world of ours there is no way the Olympics can be broadcast in the same manner in which they were in 1992.

And so it was Real Men everywhere grilled a medium raw T-Bone, drenched it with sautéed mushrooms, grabbed a stick of butter from the fridge and sat down with a frozen mug filled with German inspiration to watch the Women’s Team Gymnastics finals Tuesday night. But what they saw instead was a travesty of broadcasting.

Real Men will unanimously agree the achievements of the newly dubbed “Fab Five” were both compelling and remarkable. The rub is the fact NBC went out of their way to fabricate a historic moment. After American Champion Jordyn Wieber had previously failed to qualify for the individual competition, the suits at Rockefeller saw an opportunity to create some history. Fans who tuned in were subjected to a heartfelt mini-documentary on Wieber’s rise and fall as an Olympian which culminated with a tease for the one chance Wieber had at rescuing her legacy from the jowls of humiliation.

It was a nice 3 minutes. The only issue here is that when NBC ran the “Can Jordyn Could Put Together that One Perfect Performance and Save Her Gold Medal Chances?” piece, she’d already done it; like 6 hours beforehand. NBC has to revisit business as usual. There is perhaps a small demographic who still huddle inside their homes beside their rotary phones avoiding any means of contact whatsoever to the outside world, all the while waiting until primetime to turn their televisions on like preprogrammed robots. But this group does not include many Real Men.

Real Men want to witness Olympic history. The Dream Team of ’92 completely embarrassing every team that was forced to take the court with them, Michael Phelps netting 8 Gold Medals in a single games or Kerry Strug’s dramatic vault which included an amazing landing with one good ankle. The trouble is for these to be authentic and memorable they also have to be spontaneous. They cannot be manufactured in the fashion NBC attempted Tuesday night. You cannot fabricate history, this is not a communist country or a Reality Television show.

So what is the solution you may ask? I have no idea. What I do know is that the rules are different now. After all any unemployed twenty something with a Smart Phone and access to someone who could actually afford tickets to an Olympic event can use a 140 character post on Twitter to bring the 70 year old industry that is television advertising to its knees.

So it’s not about hiding the fact the team representing the Isle of Man medaled in Synchronized Kayaking for a few hours, it’s about rethinking Olympic coverage. Broadcast it in Real Time, make the coverage straightforward and let history take its own course. Besides if Real Men have a plate of corn dogs and a Bloomin’ Onion garnished with deep fried butter chunks on their laps during the broadcast they won’t complain anyway.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Luck Vs. Manning-Get used to it

First appeared on July 26,2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

So Andrew Luck is officially an Indianapolis Colt. Which means we can officially put an end to the Peyton Manning era and declare the Andrew Luck era underway; officially. Colts Fans start your engines and let the comparisons begin. It’s a train wreck we all see coming. We’re destined for a good old fashioned comparathon.

The next 10 years will be filled with everything Manning did that luck couldn’t. That is at least until Luck wins a Super Bowl and multiple MVP’s, sets almost every major NFL passing record, appears on 3 out of every 5 commercials you see on television, hosts Saturday Night Live and fathers twins of course.

The media are all hunkered over their laptops and notebooks like medieval gargoyles, fangs bared and jowls salivating. Prepare yourself for the constant bombardment of Luck versus Manning factoids they’re going to send our way. For they will continue to come like a leaking faucet until your brain is completely flooded with information that seemed relevant at the time but in actuality foreshadowed absolutely nothing.

The truth is Andrew Luck deserves better. He should be able to report for duty on West 56th Street without everything from the car he drives to the food he eats to the type of Christmas gift he buys the lady who answers the phones (gift card and jewelry if he wants to keep up with Manning) to be subject to inspection and comparison to Peyton.

It simply isn’t fair and anyone who uses it as fodder for discussion, or Heaven forbid a weekly newspaper column, should be tarred, feathered and have their eyelashes plucked out one at a time by a group of camera waving Japanese tourists chain-smoking Lark Classic Milds while wearing full Samurai regalia (not that I’ve had that nightmare or anything).

All these inevitable comparisons are pointless considering there just isn’t much the two have in common anyway. Its sheer coincidence that these two would both be born in the United States to NFL quarterback fathers before growing up to be over 6’3 and be blessed with laser-rocket-arms that would enable them to play major college football where they both set several records only to be hung with the nice guy tag in lieu of winning a Heisman before going on to become the first overall pick for the same franchise. It’s uncanny but not worth comparing.

It’s a fruitless foray into the land of Apples and Oranges to compare them and only a fool would do it. After all Luck is a Virgo and Manning’s an Aries; which of course tells us that Luck is by nature a bit more modest and shy than Manning who is full of fire and comes equipped with a dominating spirit. Perhaps it was this spirit, or the new restrictions of the NFL salary structure, that helped Manning net 48 million with his first contract while Luck just inked a deal worth 22.1 million.

And while numbers are both an acceptable and proven method for comparing like commodities in this case they’re simply not worth mentioning. After all Manning, who is 36 years old, set 28 Tennessee Volunteer records while Luck, who is 23, set just 14 at Stanford.

So while yours truly pledges to resist, nothing can stop the comparisons from coming; not even the Great Drought of Ought Twelve. The fact that people will compare these two for the entirety of Luck’s career is a sure thing; as sure as Brother Mitt will have transferred some of his off shore funds to purchase more hair product twice before you finish reading this.

Pacers can't let big Roy walk

First appeared on July 10th,2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

It’s the unexpected that keeps us moving forward. Most can forecast the mundane with greater accuracy than an AMS certified weatherman. Things like bills, bad reports from the dentist or the fact your yard will at some point need to be mowed again are all the harsh realities of life; but it’s those little nuggets of the unexpected that keep us on our toes.

Things like a co-worker’s comment that digs at you for days or the moment the Bachelorette gets interrupted by a Special Report just as she’s about to tell a fourth different guy she loves him or worse yet how about the Pacers finding out their biggest worry this off season won’t be bolstering their bench after all.

After completing his fourth season Pacers big man Roy Hibbert is a Restricted Free Agent. Many believed Hibbert would attract interest but nothing that would possibly lead him to google “Indianapolis area U-Haul dealers”. But a max deal from Portland has completely muddied the waters and now Hibberts future has never been more uncertain.

The first sign of trouble for the Pacers Brass was likely Hibbert’s selection to the All Star Team this past season. While they beamed for the press and slapped big Roy on the back during the announcement, what the photographs failed to show were the wheels that were already spinning in their minds. The math is easy to do even for those of us who loathe it.

All Stars command more money. And not only is Roy an All Star but he’s also one who works hard on his game and goes out of his way be a positive force in the community. From here the answer is simple. Sign Hibbert. Of course it’s far more complex than that.

There are factors at play here that a team of MIT Scientists and doctoral level economists can’t even put into terms simple enough to keep us from reacting like a monkey that’s just been handed processed banana chips in a vacuum sealed bag.
In this case the unexpected is painfully clear however.

Indiana needs to do whatever it takes to keep Hibbert in a Pacer uniform. And ‘whatever it takes’ means there appear to be many options the talking heads have overlooked. Hijacking a Brinks truck and setting up a counterfeiting ring in the basement of Bankers Life Fieldhouse are just two illegal methods that leap to mind. If public relations weren’t an issue the Pacers suits could go downtown and sit at the corner of Illinois and Maryland with a cup and cardboard sign reading “Keep Roy”. Lottery tickets, putting $10 million on Red and an Area 55 IPO are some of the more risky options for quick cash as well.

If you can work your way past the depressing (for us, not Roy) numbers and confusing semantics of the salary cap and focus simply on basketball in its purest form (yes I understand how laughable it is to include the NBA and pure basketball in the same thought) Hibbert makes Indiana better. He’s not a 30 and 10 guy, but the list of things he does to help Indiana win games is quite lengthy.

Losing Hibbert would be a setback the Pacers would spend 3-4 years recovering from. And by that point the young promising team they’ve assembled will be a decent yet aging team making perennial trips to the first round of the playoffs and staying just long enough to dip a toe in. And if this is what actually comes of this young core, the Pacers suits will find themselves on Illinois and Maryland anyway.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Larry was a rare Bird indeed

First appeared on June 29th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Larry Bird was a good man. I think it’s Proverbs that says “A man of understanding is of an excellent spirit”; that was Larry, always full of life…what’s that? He’s not dead? Oh, sorry I guess it’s just the melodramatic side of me that wants to wax poetic about someone retiring as if they were dead.

It’s the natural reaction all card carrying part time pretend sports columnists are required to have anytime someone in the sports world hangs them up. And Larry is. Well, at least for a year anyway. The kids call it flirting with retirement and that’s what you do when you’ve seen the top.

It would seem Americans are good at three things. Fighting, eating and waxing sentimental over the lives of people they’ve never met and most likely never will. But we’re Hoosiers and when Larry Bird is involved all bets are off. The rules simply don’t apply.

Most first saw him in the baby blue of Indiana State, hair gold as a shock of wheat and socks pulled to his ears. He would go on to become part of so many seminal moments in basketball history-the 1979 NCAA Title Game, the Lakers and Celtics rivalry of the 80’s and the Olympic Dream Team of 1992, that his place on the Mount Rushmore of basketball was solidified long before he was both NBA Coach and Executive of the year (1998 & 2012).

When I was twelve my Dad took me to a Celtics game at Market Square Arena. It was like stepping into another world, as if we’d been teleported to Boston upon clearing the turnstiles. The entire arena (and that is not an exaggeration) was a sea of green.
The crowd cheered louder for the Celtics and booed anytime the Pacers dared to fight back. Watching Bird warm up was more memorable than the game. There were no reverse dunks or three quarter court shots with his back to the basket; but the guy didn’t miss a shot, not one. I should know because after he’d made his fifth straight three pointer my eyes didn’t leave him for the rest of pregame.

Bird’s range extended well beyond the 23 feet 9 inches of the NBA three point line too. When I was in elementary school I wore his black Converse Weapons and my best friend Todd had the Lakers version (purple and gold). We wound up on opposing intramural teams fully expecting life to imitate art.

In a perfect world Todd would have had a baby sky-hook and we’d have played for the championship 3 times. And after realizing that whipping a towel over my head wouldn’t be enough to beat him I would have sulked in the locker room before telling the press my fourth grade teammates played like a “bunch of sissies”.

Larry was the sole reason a pimply 14 year old in Cass County Indiana wore the same Celtics jersey everyday for countless summers. At the time he fancied himself a tough match up on the blacktop, but looking back he supposes it had more to do with the fact nobody wanted to guard him since his mother refused to do the laundry more than once a week.

So we’re left to find a way to deal with his loss again. To close another of life’s chapters and find a way to move on knowing there are moments we can simply never have back. And while Todd and I may never film a Converse commercial together, he knows I’d still own him anytime, anywhere and I guess that’s enough.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Stop Watching the Finals

First appeared on June 21st, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Stop watching the Finals. Yes I know they’re amongst the highest rated of all time and ours is a free country, but the only people still watching the Finals are the very same who’ll pay money to see Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.

Yes I realize there are 3 games left but they’re meaningless so catch an American Pickers marathon, teach your cat Spanish or grab your moccasins and thunderstick and go outside to pray for rain-it really doesn’t matter just don’t waste your time watching the Finals.

Will anyone really miss them after all? (Besides the 16 million people who’ve been watching each game on average of course). They were the most misunderstood Finals in history. Lost in all the static over James and his legacy, Wade and his health, Durant and his impending superstardom or Westbrook and his shaky decision making was the fact that the entire series hinged on Chris Bosh.

Bosh came to Miami the third wheel of the much ballyhooed “Big Three” tricycle. A conveyance Heat fans were going to ride to more championships than LeBron could count on one hand. After one season however it became painfully clear that Bosh wasn’t superstar material when his touches were limited by the ball hawking James and Wade.

So he was relegated to accepting a role he’d likely never imagined himself playing. It took him a while to sort all this out and find his role, but we’re finally seeing Bosh embrace it in these Finals.

James and Durant have the inside track for Series MVP, but the ultimate destination of the Larry O’Brien Trophy remains in the hands of Bosh. When he’s good, and playing the role they need, Miami is very good. But when he’s trying to be the Chris Bosh of Toronto Raptor-fame he becomes a non-factor and the Heat struggle. The latter of these two is the only shot OKC has, which is why I’ve declared the Finals over.

And forget scrambling for the stat sheet because what makes Bosh effective doesn’t show up in the box score. Nobody charts how many shots he alters around the rim or how many plays Bosh keeps alive by tapping out a rebound he can’t corral. There is no value to be placed on the energy he infuses into the arena, and consequently his teammates, by diving on the floor for a loose ball. He can do all of this as a 7 foot multi-billionaire, and yet he can also pop out of a screen and roll to nail an open 20 foot jumper when OKC sends two defenders at James.

You knew all along James would get his 30 and Wade would rack up some highlight plays on his way to 25. But what Miami needs in addition to this is Bosh’s energy and leadership. Without his presence there’s nobody to challenge Harden and Westbrook at the rim. And Bosh remains the perfect, and perhaps only, counterbalance whenever any power struggle arises between James and Wade.

Unfortunately the Finals are over and you’ll have to wait another year to prove me wrong. Should you happen to find basketball being played Thursday night at 9:00 on ABC surf on, for it is most likely highlights of the Israeli professional circuit or home movies from the VanGundy boys youth league days back in NYC.

It’s tough navigating this hypersensitive, politically correct world of ours, so when I say stop watching I don’t mean to speak to you like you are a trained monkey or loyal dog; it’s just that these Finals are over so sit boo-boo, sit.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams