Rushmore not big enough for Indiana Legends

First appeared on February 14, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

Completed in 1941, Mount Rushmore’s sixty foot tall façade was carved from sheer rock, blasted by dynamite and chiseled by hand. Commemoration on a massive scale, and yet only four men were chosen. Four Presidents of the 29 grazing in the paddock at the time. So much for the Adams boys or Woodrow Wilson. And what do you say to William Howard Taft? “We’re sorry Mr. Former President Sir, but the geologists feared there just wasn’t enough rock in all of South Dakota to carve you.”

Thanks largely to its remote location and proximity to nothing, Mount Rushmore has become one of our most forgotten National Treasures. But it surfaced earlier this week when LeBron James, apparently trying to change the subject from the fact he’s been looking up at the Pacers all season, offered his “Mount Rushmore of the NBA” instead. In the world according to LeBron, the four greatest players ever are Larry, Magic, Michael and Oscar Robertson.

The fact half of King James’ choices included former Hoosiers was immediately apparent. And while his comments inspired a flurry of lists including everything from the “Rushmore of NFL Greats” to that of “Best Sports Equipment Managers”, it did get this Part Time Pretend Sports Columnist thinking.

In a state infatuated with round ball, is it possible to determine the four greatest players ever? Any list involving the state of Indiana’s Mount Rushmore of Basketball surely must include Oscar Robertson first. The Big O remains the only NBA player to average a triple double for an entire season. His trophy case boasts our nation’s first State Title won by an all black school (’55-Crispus Attucks), a gold medal (‘60 Olympics) and a World Championship (‘71 Milwaukee Bucks).

The Rocket would be next. Rick Mount’s picture perfect jumper and propensity for scoring propelled him onto a historic 1966 Sports Illustrated cover. This honor did more than introduce a phenom to the nation, it threw a national spotlight on Indiana High School basketball, effectively becoming the cornerstone for our state’s reputation as a hotbed for the sport. After 50 years, Mount’s 2,595 career points at Lebanon still ranks fourth all time in state history and his 2,323 points at Purdue is still the most ever scored by a Boilermaker. All this, it should be noted, done while being a sharpshooter with dynamic range playing in an era without a three point line.

Larry Bird’s journey began in the hills of Orange County. At Springs Valley High he averaged 31 points, 21 rebounds and 4 assists before going on to lead tiny Indiana State to a watershed Final Four match-up with Michigan State’s Magic Johnson. As a Celtic, Bird earned 3 league MVP’s and 3 NBA Championships in addition to a gold medal playing for the single greatest basketball team ever assembled (Note to younger readers: google the ‘92Dream Team’).

The fourth and final face was admittedly most difficult. Honorable mention goes to Marion Pierce, George McGinnis and Damon Bailey, but in the end it’s Steve Alford. A former Mr. Basketball (’83), Olympic Gold Medalist (’84) and NCAA Champion (’87), Alford was also a two time NCAA All American while playing for the legendary Bobby Knight at Indiana University.

From John Wooden to the Milan Miracle to over 150 players who’ve gone on to play professionally, Indiana has more than a passion for basketball, it has a rich history as well. And you can forget the side of a mountain, true Hoosiers will want these faces painted on the roof of an old Mail Pouch Tobacco barn somewhere far from the beaten path.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

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

As AJ Hammons Turns...

First appeared on January 17th, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

Potential. It’s such an enigmatic term. And as a rule, throughout history, in most credible walks of life and the marriages of at least one part time pretend sports columnist, ‘potential’ doesn’t get one very far.

Yet potential can mean everything to sports fans. You see a 6’7 Adonis-in-Jumpman shorts with the wingspan of Christ the Redeemer (yes Jay Bilas, we said wingspan) grab a nickel off the top of the backboard and immediately people are talking Championship.
But does potential really exist, or is it simply a term used to describe anything that’s underperforming? Few will argue the massive ‘potential’ Purdue’s sophomore center AJ Hammons possesses and Boiler fans will testify unanimously that, when AJ wants to play, he’s capable of completely transforming the make-up of Purdue’s team.

Many a late night has been spent by a bleary eyed Matt Painter, scouring EBAY for a Tyler Hansbrough-like motor he can score on the cheap. For he knows, if such a motor were propelling Hammons’, Purdue wouldn’t lose another game; ever. Well, at least not until he graduates or enters the NBA draft, the latter of which appears most likely to occur first.

What really exists is Hammons 7’0, 250 pound frame and wingspan; one rivaling a small single engine Cessna (yes Jay, that’s massive). In fact no player in the Big Ten, NCAA, or most of the NBA’s Eastern Conference for that matter, is capable of stopping an engaged AJ Hammons. The part where Matt Painter’s head begins to reunite with the locker room wall repeatedly is Hammons’ play, which was integral in Purdue’s road victory at Illinois Wednesday night but has been noticeably inconsistent.

Painter’s group garnered no preseason attention and, with Sparty still chugging along strong, Wisconsin entering conference play undefeated and Iowa busy opening eyes nationally, Purdue remains firmly entrenched under the radar. Despite this, Painter has quietly put together a promising freshman class.

Fort Wayne’s Bryson Scott leads the Boilers in steals while Basil Smotherman (Lawrence North) is a slippery wing capable of making heady plays. These two join a pair of transplants from the Land of Lincoln in Jay Simpson, a punishing 6-10 Red Shirt, and Kendall Stephens, who leads the team in three pointers and enters with the added pressure of being the son of Boilermaker legend Everett Stephens.

Clearly young talent abounds in Painter’s stable, but these pieces are rendered moderately ineffective when Hammons is battling fouls or taking one of his frustratingly frequent breaks from playing inspired basketball. The obvious elephant in the room is the fact Hammons appears to be everything Matt Painter never even wanted in a basketball player. A fondness for high energy, hustle guys who play their guts out has become Painter’s calling card and to this point Hammons simply doesn’t play his guts out that much, if ever.

His size, brute strength and wingspan (put the tape measure away Jay) makes it possible for him to dominate without, you know, breaking a sweat or increasing his resting heart rate. Hammons came into the Illinois game averaging just south of 10 points and 7 rebounds a game. Wednesday night NBA Scouts could only drool longingly as Painter’s pivot scored 17 points, grabbed 8 boards and rejected 3 shots, including a late run where he scored on an offensive rebound before notching a key blocked shot to help seal the win.

So as Painter labors to restore relevance to his program amidst a Big Ten season that can be brutally long, he does so knowing full well this particular season, much like Hammons, is chocked full of potential.


© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Its not such a 'Wonderful Life' in NBA

First appeared on December 28, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Outside of therapy or a Phil Jackson locker room meditation ceremony, there’s no better exercise for centering one’s self during the holidays than watching It’s a Wonderful Life. The film, best viewed in black and white, sharpens ones focus and encourages a reevaluation of priorities.

So as Adam Silver takes the wheel from departing NBA Commissioner David Stern, he does so in a very despondent George Bailey kind of way. Perched nervously on a bridge outside the NBA headquarters, a blurry eyed Silver curses the heavens while lamenting the league for what it is now. With only three teams in the Eastern Conference mustering winning records to this point and a disappointing Christmas Day bonanza, the NBA equivalent of an NFL Thanksgiving, that saw five games finish with an average margin of victory in double figures, including one 29 point blow-out, trouble looms on the horizon.

Silver can curse SportsCenter and the way Americans lap up its spectacular dunks night after night not unlike the hard drinking husbands of school teachers who haunt Martini’s Bar. And while it still remains largely foreign to those drawing steady paychecks, he can blame a video game culture altogether familiar to owners laboring to appease this younger crowd by filling out rosters with ultra-athletic racehorses well versed in the business end of an alley-oop. All this is done while gambling these still generally underdeveloped talents will work diligently to develop their skills (see George, Paul). In the meantime the quality of play and overall skill level within the league continues to deteriorate.

Silver nervously gazes past his toes at the icy water below, knowing full well games are both sloppy and sluggish at times while consistent refereeing remains professional basketball’s white whale. He realizes even the league’s marketing has grown stale as the Christmas Day jerseys, Grinch shoes and scantily clad cheerleaders in Santa hats only made fans forget temporarily they were watching a wholly substandard product.

And then, just at the moment Silver is ready to give up and throw himself into the frigid black water, something altogether amazing and strangely predictable occurs. Appearing amidst a blizzard of fake snow, clutching a dog eared copy of the NBA Rule Book, is David Stern, his guardian angel.

Stern takes Silver on a guided tour of what the NBA once was. And unlike the somewhat laughable Clarence who was yet to earn his wings, there’s no better figure to guide a pretend tour of the league’s past than the man who oversaw its resuscitation and piloted it to its height of popularity.

Along the way, Silver discovers strong rivalries made the league. Rivalries like Detroit/Chicago, Boston/LA, the Knicks and well, OK maybe we’ll just leave the Knicks out of this since the Thunder’s road win total alone bests New York’s overall victories this season.

A wide-eyed Silver marvels at the league’s most successful days, days built on the backs of likable Superstars like Michael, Magic and Larry seasoned with the occasional rise of a spunky underdog like Reggie Miller who tried his best to stick a finger in the eye of big market viewers everywhere.

The unfortunate thing for Silver is, just when he’s seen enough to climb down off the bridge, no Hollywood ending awaits. There is no culminating scene with Silver running through the streets screaming “Merry Christmas you old referring scandal!”, instead he’s left to clean up Stern’s mess while reshaping the league on his own. This will prove a tall task, even one that can't be solved by the town of Bedford Falls bursting through his door while scrambling to unload their pockets to help save his new league.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

This Just In-Brad Stevens can Coach

First appeared on December 11th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Those of us with Midwestern roots are ingrained with certain inalienable virtues. And be it Rome, Tokyo, numerous careers of varying success or simply crossing the county line, these tend to travel well wherever we go. Webster’s would define these as “taking pride in hard work, maintaining a no-nonsense attitude and knowing when it’s cold enough to start using the buttons on your jacket”.

So it was Brad Stevens announced in July that he was leaving Butler for the NBA and, while those close to the program were rocked to their core, the talking heads declared it one of those rare occasions where both parties involved had made a colossal mistake. For Stevens, leaving Butler appeared a disastrous move. The Bulldogs were entering a new conference which meant new opportunities and wider exposure. All of which figured to reap stronger recruiting classes and the possibility of challenging once again for that elusive National Title he’d already been so close to snatching up from his tiny perch at Butler.

For the Celtics, it meant hiring a coach with no NBA experience and one that had been leading a Mid-Major program for only 6 seasons. His introduction to the NBA would include piloting a roster comprised largely of castaways and project players destined to wilt in the shadow of two cornerstone stars who’d bolted, chasing another ring out of town.

Stevens was walking into a meat-grinder. The NBA would slap that boyish grin from his face before he could call his first time out. He’d be a shell of his former pragmatic self by Thanksgiving. But when the Celtics took the floor last week and completely dismantled the New York Knickerbockers and their high priced roster 114-73, there they were; taking pride in hard work and approaching things with a no-nonsense attitude.

Of course all this should be prefaced by the fact the NBA’s Eastern Conference is a disaster unlike anything Professional Basketball, and more pointedly, professional sports has ever seen. Coming in to Tuesday night there were three teams in the entire Conference with winning records. I’ll pause to let that soak in. Still the reenergized Celtics had recorded 10 wins with what was really supposed to be a rudderless team reeling without Rajon Rondo (man, that’s a lot of R’s).

Seriously, who are these guys? Vitor Faverani, Phil Pressey, Kris Kardashian-Humphries? Bleeding 10 wins from this roster is enough for Stevens to walk away right now. Go try to hit a baseball for a while Brad, there’s nothing left to prove here. You’re obviously really good.

In fact, forget about Baseball. There are far more opportunities hocking whatever pixie dust Stevens sprinkled on the Boston roster before the season began. To this point the Celtics have been that movie the wife dragged you to that you just knew would be awful and you sit down, glancing around to make sure nobody within your inner circle of most trusted man-friends sees you in the theatre, only to discover it’s a surprisingly good film.

Much remains to be seen obviously. Can Boston sustain their winning ways until April? Will the impending return of an All Star caliber player in Rondo serve as a shot in the arm to a roster already light years ahead of the majority of the Eastern Conference? Or will the return of Rondo spawn a cancer that spells doom for the Celtics and Stevens?

One thing’s for sure, if the Celtics continue to take pride in outworking opponents and approach things with a no-nonsense attitude, the sky’s the limit; well at least in the Eastern Conference it is.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Indiana Hoosiers don't have time to be young

First appeared on November 26, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

When Syracuse beat Indiana last March Tom Crean looked like a guy who’d let half his 401K ride on Tyson beating Buster Douglas. His energetic and positive mannerisms were replaced with the same disgusted look Ralphie sported upon discovering his Little Orphan Annie Secret Decoder Ring only told him to “drink your Ovaltine”.

And who can blame him? Indiana had spent 10 weeks at number one and finished fifth in the nation in scoring only to go down in flames with a 50 point performance in the Sweet Sixteen. It was supposed to be “the year”. Everyone was back. This includes Crean’s roster as well as Hoosier Nation, shoulder to shoulder for the first time since Bobby gave his farewell speech to students in Dunn Meadow. The same hormone-fueled students who took a break from keg standing and bathing with Hairy Buffalo long enough to pretend they actually understood this white haired guy whose shtick was a propensity for demanding respect, launching into vulgar laden tirades, form-fitting red sweaters and a strong right hand.

Indiana had come so far under Crean’s guidance, but 12-13 was to be more than another building block. It was to be a banner year. And by “banner year” we’re not talking about cutting down the nets following a home loss (note to Tom: Next time the voices in your head tell you to wheel the ladders out after a loss, keep stuffing gum into their mouths until you can no longer understand them).

Beyond the ugly loss, Crean’s incredulous demeanor was more a reaction to his knowing the heart of his program had taken its final beat. After that loss Super Sophomore Cody Zeller and Junior standout Victor Oladipo both declared for the draft. This while graduation took gutsy sharpshooter, and former Mr. Basketball, Jordan Hulls along with Christian Watford, one who will forever be remembered for nailing one of the greatest shots in Hoosier history. And there was no measure of clapping that could ever bring them back.

So, unsure of what lay ahead, a weak kneed Crean boarded a plane headed back to Bloomington; rocketing into bitter darkness. Criticism abounded as he found himself in the crosshairs for the first time. For, just as the nation had tired of hearing the President blame his predecessor, suddenly mentioning Kelvin Samson’s name wasn’t enough either.

Enter the most promising Freshman class Crean has amassed in his tenure at Indiana. More to the point, enter Noah Vonleh and Troy Williams. Thursday night’s near twenty point victory over Pac 10 power Washington allowed Hoosier fans to take their first steps toward a brave new world.

If anything, this group is exciting. Vonleh’s a hard worker who punishes people inside while Williams is busy watching it all from above the rim. And as Vonleh and Williams have been busy opening eyes, Indianapolis product Devin Davis has assumed the role of team Swiss Army Knife by rolling his sleeves and doing little things winners require.

Indeed, all this talent is useless without proper direction. And if there’s one person who wasn’t devastated by last year’s departures it’s Yogi Ferrell. The sophomore point guard has been more everything. More vocal, more aggressive, more effective and more dominant.

So the Hoosiers have replenished their talent pool and fans are slowly reloading the bandwagon. Now Crean must accept blueprints can’t be four year plans. In today’s college basketball the window of opportunity is much smaller. So the challenge is before him. To avoid another long plane ride, Crean must find a way to squeeze as many wins out of this young roster as possible.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Move over '72 Dolphins, here come the Indiana Pacers

First appeared on November 8th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Move over ’72 Miami Dolphins here come the Indiana Pacers. At 5-0 and coming off a big win over Central Division rival Chicago, Indiana appears unstoppable and seems poised to run the table. 82-0 has never happened and those who say it can’t are the same glass half empty contrarians who told Roger Bannister he’d never break a 4:00 mile or snickered when Mark Zuckerberg said one day half the planet would waste hours of their own lives looking at online photos of other peoples cats dressed in Halloween costumes.

An undefeated NBA team usually means you’ve played a string of home games to start the year, caught somebody without their Superstar and won one or two at the buzzer. This is the typical 5-0 start to an NBA season. But to borrow a phrase from a 90’s Rapper with a penchant for obnoxious jewelry and pants large enough to fit the business end of an Elephant, the Pacers’ 5-0 start is legit; yes “too legit to quit” in fact.

Pushing an aging Miami Heat team to the final game of the Eastern Conference Finals wasn’t enough for the Pacers brass to toss their golf clubs in the trunk while embracing their inner Cubs fan. They went on the offensive instead, securing Power Forward David West’s services for another three years while also adding some complimentary pieces to an already talented roster.

Back-up point guard C.J. Watson and long distance dead eye Chris Copeland were two free agents brought in with the intention of making the Blue and Gold bench more reliable. Of all the acquisitions however, Luis Scola appears the odds on favorite to win the “That one guy who gave us just enough firepower to finally get past Miami in the Playoffs” Award. In his seventh season out of Argentina, Scola brings the toughness, hustle and rebounding expertise of a Tyler Hansbrough (who stumbled around and elbowed his way to Toronto in the off season) along with the much needed ability to score in various ways.

While so much has been made about the possible return of Danny Granger, Lance Stephenson and Paul George have shown what an off season spent out of the clubs and in the gym can do. Both have raised their level of play this year including George who has scored over 20 points in every game so far.

And who could forget the man in the middle? Roy Hibbert’s performance has been so altogether inspirational it will likely result in Area 55 being expanded to include the entire lower bowl of Banker’s Life. The Big Fella is averaging over 5 blocks a game and, perhaps more importantly, is yet to foul out. In short the Pacers won’t be beaten, can’t be beaten for that matter.

So while the Heat spend their time learning to handle a Just for Men applicator and trying to get logged in to the Affordable Health Care Website, Indiana will continue to drum every team that crosses their path. At this rate the Central Division should be locked up by the end of November and home court throughout the playoffs will be Larry Bird’s Christmas gift to Pacer fans everywhere.

I’ll be the first to admit knowing you are going to win the next 77 games in a row does take some of the excitement out of watching them, but true fans will gut it out no matter how pointless it may seem. So hang in there Pacer Fans and enjoy every moment, no matter how uneventful the ride may be.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams