Johnny Football and the Case of the Missing Paycheck

First appeared on September 13, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Andrew Luck: This is Your Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

This just in...Baseball is Broken

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Save Wrigley Field?

First appeared on July 24, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Dazed and Confused: The Legacy of David Stern

First appeared on July 3, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Popovich is a Difference Maker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers remain so close....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams