Merry Christmas from the Sports World

First appeared on December 18, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

For you Christmas lost its meaning in third grade when the Santa outside 3D got mad at you for crushing the pack of cigarettes he’d stashed in his front pocket. And as his profane string of insults throttled your virgin ears, they arrived riding the strangest of smells.

A toxic potpourri that would remain undiscovered until many years later, where at a gathering of so called friends in a dark college apartment, full of crushed cigarettes and hormone-powered profanities, you found yourself bitten by the Wild Turkey for the first time.

Today the sermons sound simple and ring true. Speeches about caring for others and giving to the less fortunate, but for you Christmastime remains frozen in time. It’s the season to wish for the things you don’t have. Things that seem within reach but for a variety of reasons remain at arm’s length. And so you still compose lists in your head, your own personal get back for that rag tag Santa who shattered the world as you once knew it.

Those in the sports world profess to be selfless human beings, but we know deep inside the depths of their souls, in a place no probing journalist has ever found, lurks an ugly Grinch-like desire to lie, steal and cheat their way to the top of Mount Crumpit. Facts are facts, you don’t get to the top without a little of the green guy in you.

With this in mind, coaches and teams are not above wishing for things that could make them better. Tom Crean’s list begins, “Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas is someone taller than 6’8 who can play.” Meanwhile, eighty miles to the north, Matt Painter is up late baking gingerbread cookies to leave out with his short note, the one asking for a chance to play North Florida again.

John Calipari’s list is a bit longer. He wants an undefeated season for his Kentucky Wildcats capped by a National Championship, and he’d like it to arrive as soon as possible, that way he has enough time to enjoy it before the NCAA strips it away. Indiana fans want a chance to play the Wildcats again, while Kentucky’s faithful have written the North Pole hoping for things like some new socks, a professional sports franchise other than UK’s basketball team and more front porch space.

Frank Vogel wants his team to play hard, fight every night and scrap their way into the Playoffs. Apparently his list includes an opening round bloodbath at the hands of the Cleveland Cavaliers as well. Meanwhile, every Pacer fan on earth wants them to lose every game by 50 and stink their way into the lottery where they might luck out and pick up one of Kentucky’s bench players.

The Colts are asking Santa to bring Andrew Luck a pair of glasses so that he might see the opposing team’s secondary while Reggie Wayne is hoping to find a new pair of knees under the tree on Christmas morning.

For Cubs fans Christmas came early with the signing of free agent Jon Lester and for Lester’s kids, well there’s really no reason for them to make out a Christmas list now is there? But Cubs fans have been down this road before, they know it’s too soon to talk World Championship. This means they’ll just bide their time and wait for the wheels, or Lester’s arm, to fall off before their season crashes and burns up in a fiery, catastrophic and somewhat all too familiar, death.

Merry Christmas to you and yours and may God bless us everyone (even the Kentucky fans).

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

BEWARE: Bad Basketball Ahead

First appeared on December 11, 2014 in
The Lebanon Reporter

So David stood lock kneed and jaw set, stones in hand. Goliath loomed over him as the undefeated heavyweight champion of the Philistines, menacing scowl, bloodthirsty eyes and a frame large enough for ten men. And surely, at some point, David was thinking, “There’s no way this is going to work out.”

From the stands fish and loaves vendors wandered a sea of beige tunics as spectators stopped complaining about seven dollar hot dogs long enough to snort, “A rock? Really? Who brings a rock to fight Goliath?”

If you know the mascot of the New Jersey Institute of Technology (NJIT), Eastern Washington or North Florida then you should be pretending to be a sports columnist instead of me. And don’t worry, I’ve set the bar incredibly low so things should work out for you just fine. Of course what the NJIT Highlanders, North Florida Ospreys and Eastern Washington Eagles all have in common, other than the widespread publicity this column offers, is relative obscurity, entry level Division One status and the fact they’ve all beaten a Big Ten team this year.

The question isn’t how these schools can slay larger Division One programs, rather its why larger Division One programs continue playing these schools. Half of Indiana’s first ten opponents are so obscure and unknown their school names alone would challenge the most knowledgeable of U.S. geography buffs.

This in the name of 20 wins. And what does it really mean to win 20 games when half of them come against teams whose entire fan base could share the same Sprint Family Plan? Directional schools with names that appear to have been chosen by blindly dumping a Scrabble bag out and picking up the first four tiles to hit the table.

If college athletics is about television money, then someone needs to explain these tremendously weak out of conference schedules. Schedules that give us excruciating match ups that, excusing the random upset, generally spiral into glorified intra-squad scrimmages replete with terrible defense and a lifetimes worth of incomplete alley-oop passes. For their part the announcers do their best to spur viewer interest, digging up nuggets like the third cousin of the school’s first president was the man who sold John Wilkes Booth his fabled Philadelphia Deringer. Or they gush over the winning mentality the coach has instilled in his little program that could, this moments before the control room flashes his 143-287 record across the screen.

And don't rely on the coaches for they will only explain away their ridiculous schedules. They’re about exposure for former assistants or getting a player closer to home where they can play in front of friends and family. This comes as little consolation to fans. You know, the ones subjected to some really ugly games and truly bad basketball.

Justifying this scheduling is a fruitless endeavor. Some things are best left to discover on one’s own. For we adults this includes our faith and political persuasions, for three year olds it’s coming to the realization a toilet is in fact a germ magnet and not a giant empty bowl of Spaghettios or magic portal capable of producing Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny with each flush.

So NJIT stood toe to toe with mighty Michigan, just as David did so long ago. And while David’s victory would propel him to the throne, NJIT will most likely be forgotten before March arrives. What can’t be forgotten is the fact we as fans deserve more. We deserve a constitution of college basketball. One that guarantees equality amongst all schools and conferences, quality play and challenging match ups, or at the very least opponents we can find on a map.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

The Magic of Single A Football

First appeared on December 2, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

Like a caravan crossing the desert, they come. They come in droves from the far-flung regions of Indiana. Emerging from the dark corners where signs of a once prosperous past, empty dime store windows and faded billboards, are left shivering in the breeze. They come from the small towns, where long ago an affordable automobile left walls to crumble and businesses to fail.

They come from the plains where the winter winds sweep hard across fallow fields. They come from the hinterlands, where islands of grain bins rise above an ocean of brown and beige. They come with Carhartts and cowbells, arriving wide-eyed and ready for their chance to embrace history.

They are corn pickers and cow milkers and hog growers, the lifeblood of a state. And while their crops are in, the harvest of a lifetime awaits inside the walls of Lucas Oil Stadium. Their chance for history. Their chance to take a Single A Title back home.

The purpose and effects of class basketball will forever be hotly contested and roundly debated. Football is another story. Football, with its machismo, violent collisions and trench warfare commands regulation. Such is necessary to prevent injury and ensure a level playing field exists. One magical byproduct of this regulation is Single A football.

A state championship game in Single A is a hearty stew chocked full of dreams and memories. It's the exhilaration of reaching the end of the tournament mixed with everything Mark Zuckerberg set out to capture with Facebook. Its two hours of striking a balance between cheering on your team and catching up with old friends and family. It’s learning the worst kid in your class has since fathered a stud linebacker or the quietest girl is mother hen to a trash talking tackle.

And so they sit, two sides facing each other across the cavernous house that Peyton built. Like tiny grains of sugar, they cling to the rim of a mostly empty cereal bowl while young men cut and block and hammer away at each other for four quarters. Kids who’ve fought and bled for years to reach this point. A short lifetime spent dreaming of this one moment. And there it is. The blue turf, the horseshoe, their school’s name on the jumbotron. Their coaches howl and point from the sidelines, the crowd surges as a sweep develops before their eyes.

In the end someone must win and someone must lose. Champions are revered for their exclusivity. It’s a life lesson, taught on the biggest stage most involved will ever see. And as the clock expires and the teams are left forming a line to shake hands, the Single A families pick up their belongings and move on. Back to the hinterlands. Back to the empty storefronts.

They go knowing full well this is most likely the only chance they’ll ever have. For once, the stars fell into perfect alignment. And from this course of events came their one shining moment. A moment to be relived over and over again between church pews and along the counter at the Whistle Stop.

A moment created by a group of young men who in time will share it with young sons of their own; wild-eyed boys who throw themselves fearlessly at life, buoyed by their newfound hopes and dreams. Dreams of a far away moment arriving and with it a chance to carry the hopes of an entire community upon their shoulders.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

Next year too far away for Crean and Painter

First appeared on November 25, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

Don’t look now but here comes basketball season. That familiar chill is in the air and suddenly moving to Florida to run the trailer park Uncle Rich left behind doesn’t look so bad. A few backed up toilets and a gator in a kiddie pool sound fairly glamorous when stacked up against shoveling snow in thirty mile an hour winds and subzero temperatures.

If football sends us out on a Friday night under a blazing fall sunset to breathe in the first chill of an emerging winter, basketball finds us huddling around a space heater and blowing into our hands while passing a bottle of something warm around. And for the first time in a great long while, it would seem fans of basketball at Indiana and Purdue find themselves passing the bottle around in the same place (all regards to both Nick’s and Harry’s).

So fans are left muddling through this contentious congregation in some dark room in the back as head coaches Matt Painter and Tom Crean are forced to leave the party early. Sharing the same elevator, an awkward moment finds Crean tugging at his belt nervously while Painter uncrosses his arms long enough to wipe a stream of sweat from his forehead. And as the doors slide shut, both are left to wonder if they’re bound for a higher level of success or coaching purgatory.

Once again we find Matt Painter struggling to construct a time machine capable of catapulting him out of the Baby Boiler era. Finding a fresh group of talent to regain solid footing in West Lafayette has become Painter’s white whale. For since Moore, Johnson and Hummel left town, Purdue has floundered through one untimely departure after another and a seemingly endless supply of Johnson’s.

But fear not Boiler fans, for the cupboard finally appears stocked with some promising, and conveniently interchangeable, pieces. These young players should fit nicely around a battled tested big man in Carmel Junior AJ Hammons, also known as the most intriguing (and at times frustrating) talent Purdue has seen in many moons.

For seven years Tom Crean has been living off the life insurance policy Kelvin Samson’s untimely death caused. Hoosier fans rallied around Crean in the beginning. They welcomed Cody Zeller with open arms and celebrated the evolution of Victor Oladipo. But somewhere along the way a really talented and deep team failed to escape the Sweet Sixteen. Fast forward and we find Crean’s program hit with one unexpectedly terrible black eye after another. Now he’s hoping a young and tremendously undersized team is enough to keep his red hot seat from turning white.

What we have here is a story of two programs. Two programs, once proud and accustomed to high levels of success. Two programs suddenly stuck in a perpetual state of mediocrity. Two programs who find themselves relegated to middle of the pack horses in an ever widening race. Two programs struggling to strike a balance between lofty fan expectations and the realities of college basketball as we know it today.

Still, it’s no secret these fan bases are growing restless. Both coaches have reached the point where next year is too far away. Crean’s advantage is a set of talented wings who can make plays and score, but Hammons size gives the Boilers the best chance to win in the Big Ten. And be wary of that guy, the one saying there’s no way either coach will be fired; for this is likely the same person who’d tell you the best way to get that gator out of the kiddie pool is to dive in after it.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

Loyalty and the NBA: Strange Bedfellows Indeed

First appeared on November 18, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

When I was in the Third Grade I had a crush on Mary Beth Stevens. She of the hair like golden shocks of wheat and dangerous blue eyes so crystal clear they cast perfect reflections of the checkerboard tile floor in the multi-purpose room. Then at recess, while Mary Beth was in a heated game of tetherball, I confessed my love only to have the cutest girl in the Fourth Grade ask me out moments later.

As a simple boy who still raced Matchbox cars and believed the Legion of Doom was in fact the greatest threat facing the world, how was I to know it was a test of my loyalty? A devious plot hatched by the Black Widow Mary Beth herself. But I stood tall and strong, like a 4’3 oak. And for two magical hours we were Charles and Diana, until Mary Beth asked me to dump her lunch tray and never spoke to me again.

Perhaps it’s no secret that, just like fashion in North Korea and the careers of most male meteorologists, loyalty is dead. It’s a powerful statement indeed and one that applies wholeheartedly to the National Basketball Association.

So LeBron is hailed for his loyalty after abandoning Cleveland only to return on a hobbled white horse with two rings earned in the service of another kingdom. How quickly it was forgotten, that ill-fated night Cleve-landers torched King James jerseys in the streets, stomping and dancing all over them. Or what about the “Witless” and “LeBum” posters they displayed when LeBron returned with the Heat?

And then there’s Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert; also known as the one welcoming James back with open arms. This after penning a scathing letter to his fan base denouncing the King 30 seconds after LeBron announced he was divorcing his “hometown” four years ago. A fickle beast loyalty is not. Loyalty is an eternal test of ones will and, when the going gets tough, the truly loyal go nowhere.

But what exactly does loyalty get one? For Cub fans it’s apparently a lifetime of disappointment, frustration and embarrassment. For members of ISIS, it’s a date with a Hellfire missile and an eternity spent looking for a glass of ice water. For Kobe Bryant it’s pumping in 31,000 points for the Lakers and dropping five championship trophies in the broom closet only to return from injury to find trade rumors flaring up after going 1-6 out of the gate.

And before we carve the NBA up for being selfish and materialistic, its best to understand professional basketball is likely a product of our own society. Sports fans, not unlike your two year old, want everything immediately. There’s no waiting in life. They don’t want to hear another one of Daddy’s sermons on patience.

They want the best coach, a franchise player, deep playoff runs and championship trophies, and if they don’t have them by the close of business, the bandwagon gets lighter and season tickets wind up on EBAY with an opening bid of twelve cents.
Loyalty is hard work and we’ve become a people who are, by and large, highly allergic to hard work. Of course there are times when loyalty pays off. For if there weren’t, who in their right mind would ever have it?

Truly rare moments that are magical and powerful and lasting and try as we might we can never get them back. Moments that often take a lifetime to reach and mere seconds to expire. And yet it’s the allure and rarity of these that keep the truly loyal in the game. Moments that keep us picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off time after time.

So here’s to you who count yourself amongst the loyal, that ever dwindling crowd of the lonely and the ridiculed, smile and wave at all those chasing empty calories, for you know your moment, far off as it may be, does in fact lie ahead somewhere.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

Pep Hamilton, Meet Andrew Luck

First appeared on November 6, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

As Joe Colt Fan watched his team destroy the Giants on Monday Night Football, there were many positives for him to dote on. The offense was clicking, the defense ground up the Giants and Pat "boomstick" McAfee continued his stellar special teams play. Lost in the shuffle however, was one small U-turn that has completely transformed the Colt offense.

When Pep Hamilton was asked to write the Colt offensive playbook, his declaration they would become a “power running team” caught many off guard (and by many here, we mean everyone but Pep Hamilton). And while most first time NFL coordinators would tailor their offense around the strongest pieces they have, like say maybe a 6’4 lumberjack of a quarterback who happens to be a number one overall pick blessed with an uncommon natural play-making ability, Hamilton shocked the world by choosing to go against the grain.

It’s true we as red, white and blue blooded Americans love celebrating those who find success in unconventional ways, but in this case success and the Colts as a “power running team” are mutually exclusive. Coming in to play Monday night, the Colts rushing attack was ranked 15th in the NFL; a position that doesn’t warrant the descriptors “power” or “running team”.

Then, somewhere along the way to Monday night, Hamilton’s approach changed. We may never know if his recent revelation, the one better known as the decision to focus the offense around Andrew Luck instead of an ill-conceived vision for becoming a “power running team”, came because Hamilton realized Luck is a rare talent, or he simply wanted to keep his job.

For all Joe Colts Fan knows Hamilton woke up one day, still fully committed to developing his “power running team”, only to slip on the bathroom floor and hit his head on the tub. Perhaps it was the ensuing case of amnesia that led Hamilton to call Chuck Pagano for advice on the Colt Offense. It’s quite possible Pagano told a foggy Hamilton, “Well, Pep, I don’t know much about coaching that side of the football, but seems to me the ball should be in Andrew’s hands 90-95% of the time.”

Or maybe Hamilton woke up one night, clad in striped one piece PJ’s complete with long sleeping cap, only to find the ghost of terrible first halves past had jangled his way to the foot of his bed to remind Pep how many times the Colts had been down double digits at halftime only to abandon the power running game and storm back on the arm and legs of Andrew Luck.

It’s of little consequence to Joe Colts Fan what predicated the switch because his life is now far too exciting to waste time on conjecture. Suddenly Joe Colts Fan’s phone is blowing up because Luck is an MVP candidate and the Colts are Super Bowl favorites. Let us not forget, they’re also the gold standard in the AFC South (OK, so maybe it’s entirely possible their position in the AFC South would remain unchanged even if Roy Rogers’ stuffed horse Trigger were taking snaps).

The moral is Joe Colts Fan shouldn’t get lost in the semantics of varying offensive philosophies. He’s always been a give me the facts kind of guy. And, as of this week anyway, the facts remain Luck is doing what Luck does best, making plays with the ball in his hands. So fear not Joe Colt Fan, for it seems your team has finally realized what you and those in your inner circle, including that one brother in law who says he played in high school but you suspect doesn’t know a football from a coconut, knew all along. Andrew Luck is a rare talent and a horse that should be ridden for four quarters.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

Big Issues for the Big Ten

First appeared on October 16, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

Dear College Football Experts,

Hello, my name is the Big Ten Conference. Recently, I’ve heard a lot about these so-called glaring deficiencies destined to send me spiraling down a path towards humiliation and national disgrace. I’ll be honest, it’s a lot to take, this constant belittling and the nonstop comparisons to the other power conferences. And I’m not afraid to admit that one coping mechanism my therapist suggested was reaching out to you so that we might find common ground.

I guess I’ll start by facing the elephant in the room. Just exactly why do you hate me? I believe that being the oldest conference in Division One sports should account for something. Where I come from, a place where God fearing people still have faith in Washington and families eat meals with the television off, we respect our elders.

So you’ve got some newfangled four team playoff system you’re shoving down everyone’s throats and somehow I’m supposed to be a major player in it. And now that my preseason Heisman candidate is done for the year and none of my teams can seem to keep pace with the best of the SEC, the sports world wants to look down their collective noses at me? Awesome.

Let’s not forget, I never pretended to be the football power conference you made me out to be. After all, how can anyone expect me to compete when I don’t get the best recruits money can buy? And, yes that was meant to be a literal cliché. Besides, my students have been busy doing amazing things off the grid iron. Things like becoming President, walking on the moon and being Cindy Crawford.

See, in the Big Ten we’re about tradition. Traditions like the Old Oaken Bucket, Paul Bunyan’s Axe and repeatedly coming up short in National Championship games. That last part might be what my therapist refers to as a ‘Freudian slip’. At any rate, when people say we need to care more about your four team playoff system or find new ways to evolve because we’ve fallen behind, we just smile and wave because that’s how we in the Midwest were taught to deal with criticism.

As the proud parent of 14 beautiful institutions, it’s very hard to sit by idly while you drag my family through the mud. When you’re left to play god with college football by telling us who can and can’t participate in your four team dog and pony show, the result will be counterproductive.

You’ll unintentionally breed an entire generation of fans who long for the unattainable spotlight, thus trivializing the accomplishments of those regional schools they follow. In other words, not everyone can be Gerald Ford, Neil Armstrong and Cindy Crawford, so why not learn to celebrate joy in your own life where it exists? Don’t worry, I won’t charge you $75 an hour for that advice.

So yes, I’m writing you today to concede I’m old fashioned. However, I’m also loyal at the same time. And while these things may fall flat with the cool kids and won’t qualify me for your four team playoff, over the years they’ve garnered the support of throngs of diehard fans. Fans who consider themselves part of a larger family. And you, with your panel of experts and supercomputers that have never tailgated before a game at “The Big House”, will never understand what we dinosaurs in the Midwest came to realize a long time ago. That time with family will always carry you further than the spotlight of any national stage possibly could.

Yours truly,

The Big Ten Conference


© 2014 Eric Walker Williams