The boy made up his mind when he was 7-yeard old. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a ballplayer,” he told his parents. He spent hours on the diamond, the back of his neck burning under the summer sun and his knees skinned from stretching a single into a double. The boy begged Dad for one more catch and fell asleep each night to the familiar voice of the home team announcer crackling through the radio.
He loved baseball, and he wasn’t alone. Aside from the dozen football players and the handful of astronauts the entire first grade class wanted to go pro. But the puberty hormones the nurse warned about in fifth grade must have done something terrible to the boys. As the kids grew up, their aspirations changed. They started playing Sega instead of stickball and chasing girls rather than fly balls. And it only got worse.
Each year, the class lost a couple right fielders to the real world, as pitchers decided they would be policemen and first basemen switched to firemen. By high school, the boys had turned into young men. The lineup— now filled with doctors and lawyers and teachers— dwindled to one.
The boy tried to fight it and hold onto his childhood dream. “I’ll be the one who makes it,” he told himself between reps in the weight room and between cuts off the tee. “I just have to work harder.” He was constantly refining his swing, calling everyone in his phone book to play. When no one agreed, he cleaned his sister’s room so she would throw him batting practice.
Finally, when he started looking at colleges, the scrappy second baseman had to grow up…but only a little. Sure the boy’s dreams have changed but his passion for sport has not faltered.
With the same zeal, the boy hones his writing as he did his swing. English classes are his new batting practice; the professors are his new coaches. And the boy pushes himself just as hard.
In terms of the big leagues, he may have struck out swinging but it will take more than that to get him out of the game. Today the boy tells his family, “Someday, I’m going to be a sportswriter.”
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Brett Favre 2009: The Season of Treason
With less than two minutes left in Sunday’s NFC divisional playoff game and the Minnesota Vikings commanding a 27-3 lead over the Dallas Cowboys, head coach Brad Childress decided to go for it on 4th and 3, deep in Dallas territory. It seemed like a logical decision: the Vikings had already put the game away and didn’t need another three points. So you figure they keep the kicker on the sideline and hand the ball to Adrian Peterson. With a 3-yard run, the Vikings get the first down, take a couple knees, and call it a game.
But in a move that defied football logic and spit in the face of good sportsmanship, Brett Favre slung an 11-yard touchdown pass to Visante Shiancoe. The pass screamed to the football world, “The old man still got it!” Silver-haired Favre celebrated his fourth touchdown pass of the game, chest bumping lineman and slapping coach Childress five.
But to the Cowboys, what initially appeared to be a classy gesture turned out to be a self-serving ego boost. So what the Vikings didn’t kick the field goal, instead Favre and Childress kicked the Cowboys right in the balls.
Dallas linebacker Keith Brooking barked at Farve as the quarterback trotted to the sideline. Translating the expletives to English, Brooking probably said something along the lines of, “What was that for?”
I find myself asking Favre the same question a lot over the past two seasons—first when he came out of retirement to quarterback the Jets and then again when he signed with the Vikings.
When Favre retired in 2007, he had everything a quarterback could ask for: three MVPs, the all-time record for touchdown passes and passing yards, and a Superbowl ring. Most importantly, Favre had left a legacy. Green Bay was ready to build monuments for its venerated play caller. Men named their first born after him. To be called “the next Brett Favre” was the ultimate term of endearment.
Sports Illustrated named Favre "Sportsman of the Year" and published a cover photo of the teary-eyed quarterback's farewell. Fans were content to see the old gunslinger fade into the sunset as one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time.
Four months later when Favre announced that he was considering coming out of “retirement” to play for another team, sports fans wondered, “What more does Favre want?” Favre’s success over the ensuing two seasons, including the late touchdown strike in Sunday’s game, shows that the old man got his touch back, but is it worth it? Are another two Pro Bowls appearances and another 55 touchdown passes and another 700 completions worth tainting the Green Bay legacy with purple?
Sure he's just two wins away from a second Superbowl ring, but I’m with Brooking on this one. Like he said after the game, “This is the NFL. That’s not what it’s all about.”
I imagine Green Bay is with us too where fans who once marveled over his accuracy now scowl at his treachery. Monument blueprints are in ruins. And in schools across Wisconsin boys named Brett are jammed into lockers. As for the Favre name, let’s just say it doesn’t mean what it used to. When someone calls you a “Brett Favre,” they probably mean some of the four-letter words Brooking screamed at number four.
But in a move that defied football logic and spit in the face of good sportsmanship, Brett Favre slung an 11-yard touchdown pass to Visante Shiancoe. The pass screamed to the football world, “The old man still got it!” Silver-haired Favre celebrated his fourth touchdown pass of the game, chest bumping lineman and slapping coach Childress five.
But to the Cowboys, what initially appeared to be a classy gesture turned out to be a self-serving ego boost. So what the Vikings didn’t kick the field goal, instead Favre and Childress kicked the Cowboys right in the balls.
Dallas linebacker Keith Brooking barked at Farve as the quarterback trotted to the sideline. Translating the expletives to English, Brooking probably said something along the lines of, “What was that for?”
I find myself asking Favre the same question a lot over the past two seasons—first when he came out of retirement to quarterback the Jets and then again when he signed with the Vikings.
When Favre retired in 2007, he had everything a quarterback could ask for: three MVPs, the all-time record for touchdown passes and passing yards, and a Superbowl ring. Most importantly, Favre had left a legacy. Green Bay was ready to build monuments for its venerated play caller. Men named their first born after him. To be called “the next Brett Favre” was the ultimate term of endearment.
Sports Illustrated named Favre "Sportsman of the Year" and published a cover photo of the teary-eyed quarterback's farewell. Fans were content to see the old gunslinger fade into the sunset as one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time.
Four months later when Favre announced that he was considering coming out of “retirement” to play for another team, sports fans wondered, “What more does Favre want?” Favre’s success over the ensuing two seasons, including the late touchdown strike in Sunday’s game, shows that the old man got his touch back, but is it worth it? Are another two Pro Bowls appearances and another 55 touchdown passes and another 700 completions worth tainting the Green Bay legacy with purple?
Sure he's just two wins away from a second Superbowl ring, but I’m with Brooking on this one. Like he said after the game, “This is the NFL. That’s not what it’s all about.”
I imagine Green Bay is with us too where fans who once marveled over his accuracy now scowl at his treachery. Monument blueprints are in ruins. And in schools across Wisconsin boys named Brett are jammed into lockers. As for the Favre name, let’s just say it doesn’t mean what it used to. When someone calls you a “Brett Favre,” they probably mean some of the four-letter words Brooking screamed at number four.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Mark McGwire*
Over the past two decades, Mark McGwire has broken our records and our hearts. Now, after five years of isolation, the slugger has finally broken his silence. Emerging from exile, McGwire released a statement to the AP yesterday admitting that he took steroids throughout the 90’s—including the 1998 season—officially turning the question mark after his records into an asterisk.
For most of us, the news comes as no surprise. After years of watching homerun balls leave the park faster than a Pirates fan in August, we pretty much figured that both McGwire’s numbers and his hulk-like frame were artificially inflated. McGwire may as well have released a statement saying Santa wasn’t real. After all, anyone older than 12 probably figured out for themselves that the big man in the red suit was a fraud five years ago.
So why confess now? Why not confess at the 2005 congressional hearing on steroids in baseball? Why not in the ensuing years? Instead at the hearings, Big Mac responded to each question with, “I will not talk about the past.” And after the hearing, McGwire went into hiding.
According McGuire’s statement, the slugger wanted to come clean at the time, but couldn’t because he wasn’t granted immunity and feared potential legal backlash. He says now that he is rejoining the Cardinals as a hitting coach he finally has an opportunity to own up to his mistakes. But I’m not buying that one, not now.
I might have been a bit more gullible back in 1998. Hypnotized by the magical homerun chase, I followed McGwire’s moonballs and counted along with the rest of the country all the way up to 70. But I’m not eight years old anymore and won’t be so easily duped.
If you ask me, McGwire’s admission has less to do with conscience than with Cooperstown. I think Big Mac remained silent for all these years because he was hoping Hall of Fame voters would immortalize him alongside the folkloric homerun heroes he tainted. McGwire hoped that without proof that voters would look at his 583 career homeruns (eighth all-time) and ignore the speculations. But when that strategy failed for the fourth time on January 6th with McGwire receiving 128 votes (23.7 percent), the slugger decided to change streams.
Maybe McGwire thought a public statement and a couple tears on TV would make it all go away like it did for Manny, Big Papi, and Alex Rodriguez. Heck, it worked for A-Rod. Last winter, he was exposed for steroid use and deemed A-Fraud in a bestselling book by the same title. But after powering the Yankees to their 27th World Series championship, the nation is calling him a hero again.
Likewise, Yankees pitcher Andy Petite was exposed in the 2007 Mitchell investigation but owned up. The lefty said he used Human Growth Hormone twice in 2002 to recover from elbow surgery and the national quickly forgave him.
McGwire echoed Petite’s medical defense for using PEDs and was looking for the same forgiveness. In his statement to the AP McGwire said, “During the mid-'90s, I went on the DL seven times and missed 228 games over five years. I experienced a lot of injuries, including a ribcage strain, a torn left heel muscle, a stress fracture of the left heel, and a torn right heel muscle. It was definitely a miserable bunch of years and I told myself that steroids could help me recover faster. I thought they would help me heal and prevent injuries, too”
In Petite’s case, I don’t overlook his drug use, but I believe his story. But McGwire’s latest lie proves this is the new go-to deflection technique, replacing the old excuses that the accused never “willingly or knowingly used steroids” and the “everyone was doing it” claims. It ranks right up there with “My dog ate my homework” and “I was just holding it for a friend.”
The only part of McGuire’s statement I agree with is, “I wish I had never played during the steroid era.”
Looking back, I wish you wouldn’t have played during the steroid era as well Big Mac. In fact, I wish you— along with Bonds and Palmeiro and Sosa and Conseco— would have never played at all.
For most of us, the news comes as no surprise. After years of watching homerun balls leave the park faster than a Pirates fan in August, we pretty much figured that both McGwire’s numbers and his hulk-like frame were artificially inflated. McGwire may as well have released a statement saying Santa wasn’t real. After all, anyone older than 12 probably figured out for themselves that the big man in the red suit was a fraud five years ago.
So why confess now? Why not confess at the 2005 congressional hearing on steroids in baseball? Why not in the ensuing years? Instead at the hearings, Big Mac responded to each question with, “I will not talk about the past.” And after the hearing, McGwire went into hiding.
According McGuire’s statement, the slugger wanted to come clean at the time, but couldn’t because he wasn’t granted immunity and feared potential legal backlash. He says now that he is rejoining the Cardinals as a hitting coach he finally has an opportunity to own up to his mistakes. But I’m not buying that one, not now.
I might have been a bit more gullible back in 1998. Hypnotized by the magical homerun chase, I followed McGwire’s moonballs and counted along with the rest of the country all the way up to 70. But I’m not eight years old anymore and won’t be so easily duped.
If you ask me, McGwire’s admission has less to do with conscience than with Cooperstown. I think Big Mac remained silent for all these years because he was hoping Hall of Fame voters would immortalize him alongside the folkloric homerun heroes he tainted. McGwire hoped that without proof that voters would look at his 583 career homeruns (eighth all-time) and ignore the speculations. But when that strategy failed for the fourth time on January 6th with McGwire receiving 128 votes (23.7 percent), the slugger decided to change streams.
Maybe McGwire thought a public statement and a couple tears on TV would make it all go away like it did for Manny, Big Papi, and Alex Rodriguez. Heck, it worked for A-Rod. Last winter, he was exposed for steroid use and deemed A-Fraud in a bestselling book by the same title. But after powering the Yankees to their 27th World Series championship, the nation is calling him a hero again.
Likewise, Yankees pitcher Andy Petite was exposed in the 2007 Mitchell investigation but owned up. The lefty said he used Human Growth Hormone twice in 2002 to recover from elbow surgery and the national quickly forgave him.
McGwire echoed Petite’s medical defense for using PEDs and was looking for the same forgiveness. In his statement to the AP McGwire said, “During the mid-'90s, I went on the DL seven times and missed 228 games over five years. I experienced a lot of injuries, including a ribcage strain, a torn left heel muscle, a stress fracture of the left heel, and a torn right heel muscle. It was definitely a miserable bunch of years and I told myself that steroids could help me recover faster. I thought they would help me heal and prevent injuries, too”
In Petite’s case, I don’t overlook his drug use, but I believe his story. But McGwire’s latest lie proves this is the new go-to deflection technique, replacing the old excuses that the accused never “willingly or knowingly used steroids” and the “everyone was doing it” claims. It ranks right up there with “My dog ate my homework” and “I was just holding it for a friend.”
The only part of McGuire’s statement I agree with is, “I wish I had never played during the steroid era.”
Looking back, I wish you wouldn’t have played during the steroid era as well Big Mac. In fact, I wish you— along with Bonds and Palmeiro and Sosa and Conseco— would have never played at all.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
From Lombardi to Lethargy
A season of dropped balls, blown coverage, and missed opportunities has turned the defending Superbowl Champion Pittsburgh Steelers into a squalid 9-7 squad. Sportswriters and analysts blame the “Superbowl hangover” for Pittsburgh’s fall from grace, and maybe accurately so. Like a hangover, the black and gold’s lackluster performance has Steeler Nation feeling bleary-eyed, a bit nauseous, and asking “What the hell just happened?”
Early on it looked like the franchise that has won more Superbowls than any other in NFL history was cruising for the postseason once again. Through eight games, the team was fighting atop the division with a 6-2 record, including back-to-back wins against what were considered, at the time, two of the best teams in the league (undefeated Minnesota and one-loss Denver). Conceivably, the team could have been undefeated headed into week 9 if it wasn’t for a couple key slip-ups (see Santonio Holmes’ dropped pass in the end zone and Jeff Reeds’ two missed field goals in a three point loss to Chicago and a Limus Sweed dropped touchdown pass in another three point loss to division rival Cincinnati.)
But rather than fixing the flaws, the boys from the ‘Burgh allowed them to fester. And Pittsburgh went on a five game losing streak that all but eliminated the team from playoffs contention. The stretch featured torturous losses against divisional opponents (Baltimore and Cincinnati), some of the worst teams in the league (2-7 Kansas City and 3-8 Oakland), and both (1-11 Cleveland). The losses to the Ravens and Cincinnati—especially after seasons of supremacy—felt like losing to your little brother. But even worse, the Browns-- the cellar-dwelling mutt that the black and gold has kicked around even during the worst stretches-- bit back at the Steelers and left the team feeling like they’d just been smacked by their little sister.
Game after grueling game, fans pulling their hair out at Heinz field and kept asking, “Is this even our team?” Sure they were wearing black and gold, but other than that the team looked like a whole different ball club. All the Steeler signatures, a hardnosed defense and a powerful rushing attack, were gone. Instead, Big Ben commanded the offense out of the shotgun in Bruce Error-ians, or I mean Arrians, pass-happy system. While on the other side of the ball, the defense surrendered the lead five times in the fourth quarter.
Rather than twirl them, Steeler Nation was about ready to throw in the towel on their team. What happened to the beloved Blitzberg? Where was the Pittsburgh pride? And for god’s sake, what the hell was Ben Rothlisberger doing in the shotgun on first down? With all the questions fans had, one thing was certain—this was not Steeler Football.
Early on it looked like the franchise that has won more Superbowls than any other in NFL history was cruising for the postseason once again. Through eight games, the team was fighting atop the division with a 6-2 record, including back-to-back wins against what were considered, at the time, two of the best teams in the league (undefeated Minnesota and one-loss Denver). Conceivably, the team could have been undefeated headed into week 9 if it wasn’t for a couple key slip-ups (see Santonio Holmes’ dropped pass in the end zone and Jeff Reeds’ two missed field goals in a three point loss to Chicago and a Limus Sweed dropped touchdown pass in another three point loss to division rival Cincinnati.)
But rather than fixing the flaws, the boys from the ‘Burgh allowed them to fester. And Pittsburgh went on a five game losing streak that all but eliminated the team from playoffs contention. The stretch featured torturous losses against divisional opponents (Baltimore and Cincinnati), some of the worst teams in the league (2-7 Kansas City and 3-8 Oakland), and both (1-11 Cleveland). The losses to the Ravens and Cincinnati—especially after seasons of supremacy—felt like losing to your little brother. But even worse, the Browns-- the cellar-dwelling mutt that the black and gold has kicked around even during the worst stretches-- bit back at the Steelers and left the team feeling like they’d just been smacked by their little sister.
Game after grueling game, fans pulling their hair out at Heinz field and kept asking, “Is this even our team?” Sure they were wearing black and gold, but other than that the team looked like a whole different ball club. All the Steeler signatures, a hardnosed defense and a powerful rushing attack, were gone. Instead, Big Ben commanded the offense out of the shotgun in Bruce Error-ians, or I mean Arrians, pass-happy system. While on the other side of the ball, the defense surrendered the lead five times in the fourth quarter.
Rather than twirl them, Steeler Nation was about ready to throw in the towel on their team. What happened to the beloved Blitzberg? Where was the Pittsburgh pride? And for god’s sake, what the hell was Ben Rothlisberger doing in the shotgun on first down? With all the questions fans had, one thing was certain—this was not Steeler Football.
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