Stop the presses. Move over “Greased Lightning” and Willy T. Ribbs. You’ve got company.
For those ignorant of the accomplishments of those two gentlemen, let the record reflect that Wendell Scott was the first African-American to win a NASCAR race. I wouldn’t have known that — heck, I have trouble knowing who any of the CAUCASIAN NASCAR luminaries are — except for the fact that I’m a Richard Pryor fan, and he starred in an otherwise forgettable 1977 biopic about Mr. Scott called “Greased Lightning,” which I watched because, hey, Richard Pryor was in it.
Willy T. Ribbs — as aptly surnamed an individual as anyone who’s competed in a sport that treats barbecue almost as reverently as it does cars and speed — was merely the winningest African-American competitor in any motorsport. Not that that’s saying a lot. In some ways being the winningest African-American in a sport that has so few is like being the world’s tallest midget. But by all accounts Ribbs was pretty good.
He raced in IndyCar circuits, including CART, the Indy Racing League and even a couple of Indy 500’s. He was the first black man of any nationality to race Formula One. He came along before the heyday of NASCAR, but I suspect that the fit wouldn’t have been good anyway, since he’s been quoted referring to NASCAR (not without some grain of truth, I think) as “Neck-car.”
Ribbs did have a semi-significant impact on NASCAR, though not intentionally and not directly because of his race. According to his Wikipedia entry, a Winston Cup car owner entered him to drive a car in the 1978 World 600 at the Charlotte track, but after he “skipped two practice sessions and was arrested for evading police when he drove the wrong way down a one way street,” the owner replaced him with some guy named Dale Earnhardt (Sr., not Jr.), of whom you may have heard a thing or two. Mind you, given stock-car racing’s NASCAR’s roots in the moonshine-transportation industry we know so well from “The Dukes of Hazard,” I’m guessing that getting arrested for evading police after driving the wrong way down a one-way street would have gotten most drivers back then a standing ovation, not a suspension, as long as their skin was the right complexion.
But anyway, why am I dredging up this ancient history? ‘Cause a 23-year-old black man (a Brit, not an American), Lewis Hamilton, has just won the most coveted single title in Formula One circles, the World Driving Championship. In only his second year in Formula 1 racing, no less. He won 9 of the 35 F1 races he entered, and had 22 “podium finishes,” en route to this year’s championship. Last season, as a “rookie,” he finished second overall by a single point.
The achievements of black athletes should be no great surprise by now. But motorsports in general have been somewhat hostile to non-Caucasians. And Formula 1, in particular, with its aura of polo, gentlemen’s clubs and money, wouldn’t have been my first guess as the circuit that saw this stunning breakthrough.
Given that this is a Presidential election year in the U.S., take note that Mr. Hamilton, like Barack Obama, is the product of a marriage between a Caucasian mother and a black father; that he didn’t get where he is via “affirmative action”; and that, like black soccer players, he’s endured his share of vile racial taunts and epithets on the circuit. Is he an “agent of change”? Is he “the one” (or, as John McCain called him, “That One”? We should all stay tuned.
Speaking of matters of color, please color me “perplexed.” What is Detroit’s upside in 86ing Chauncey Billups, still one of the premier all-around point guards in the league, and Antonio McDyess, who’s not exactly washed up — or wasn’t in Game 4 of last season’s Eastern Conference Final, anyway, when he scored 21 and snared 16 boards to help the Pistons even that series — for an exciting, competitive, but oh-so-seriously flawed chucker like Allen Iverson?
Well, maybe they didn’t really trade McDyess. In the loony world of NBA trades in the salary-cap era, McDyess was thrown in to help make the salaries match, since AI earns more this year that McDyess and Billups combined. Indeed, Denver bought out McDyess and his final playing destination may well be — you guessed it — Detroit, at a reduced salary. Always fun to see a player traded for himself.
I understand that changes had to be made to the Pistons, who’ve underachieved and disappointed in the postseason for the past 4 years. Sure, they managed to win it all against an utterly dysfunctional (and injured) Lakers team in 2004, and have reached the Eastern Conference Final 4 straight years. But they’ve lost the last 3 straight, and have performed worse in each successive Conference Final. And even getting to that stage was a lesser achievement than it would seem to be at first blush, since there are fewer good teams in the East than in the West, even now. They never really had to play anybody until the Eastern Final.
The Pistons have had an enviable regular season record although the Pistons have perhaps the best overall regular season record the past 4-5 years, their weaknesses have been exposed cruelly in the playoffs. Among those weaknesses are: a lesser commitment to defense than they had when they were coached — and driven to distraction — by that neurotic genius, Larry Brown; no real inside play to speak of, once Ben Wallace went downhill seemingly overnight and the other Wallace, Rasheed, decided to play as if he were 5’11” instead of 6’11”; no real team speed; and no real “go-to” guys on offense.
Rip Hamilton is a fine player OFF THE BALL, and gives opposing defenders fits with his constant movement. But neither he nor, seemingly, anyone else on the team can get his own shot without lots and lots of screens. He’s sure not going to see the ball where he wants it MORE often, now that AI is responsible for its distribution.
Tayshaun Prince was deemed sufficiently accomplished to play for Team USA in this year’s Olympics. He’s a consummate role player, and a better-than-good defender, whose length always seems to give Kobe trouble. Every so often, he can stop and pop from outside. He’s effective when his team needs his offense, but he doesn’t need the ball all the time to be effective. But he’s not much of a rebounder, is easily muscled off his mark, and he isn’t all that consistent a shooter. And did I say he’s a role-player, albeit a very, very good one?
I like Rodney Stuckey’s physical skills and potential. But anyone who believes that playing with/behind Billups has been holding him back from stardom has, as they say, another think coming. The only thing Stuckey will learn more of from seeing AI strut his stuff in place of Billups is what NOT to do to run a team.
Still, it all starts and ends with Rasheed Wallace, who, were he so inclined, certainly could be a dominant power forward, if not a center. But the self-indulgent, narcissistic Rash-weed doesn’t like the scrum inside, and is ever more content to stay far away from the basket and shoot from outside, and to loaf on defense. He’s actually a decent shooter from distance, but the result is that he shoots only about 43% from the floor, instead of the 50%-plus that any near-7-footer should be averaging, and is always out of position for offensive rebounds and second-chance plays.
Does an NBA team with designs on a championship really want to have its sole significant inside presence — unless you count Kwame Brown, which no one who saw him play for the Wizards and the Lakers will ever do — voluntarily and selfishly remove himself from the place where he’s most valuable to the team? To ask the question is to answer it. If a team has to rely on Kwame “Scissorhands” Brown and Jason Maxiell to do what Wallace could and should do so much better, it’s not going anywhere.
As if Wallace’s self-indulgent play weren’t bad enough, he’s an even worse leader. That’s bad for the Pistons because, unfortunately, he’s probably the most influential player on the team, now that Billups is gonzo. Wallace’s attitude hurts his team even worse than his half-assed play. He’s a world-class pouter and head-case. He had one “bright, shining moment” during his half-season in the Pistons’ championship year, when his respect for Larry Brown and his realization that the gravy train would be consigned to the roundhouse permanently unless he straightened out, caused him to clean up his act long enough for a while. Even then, had Karl Malone been healthy during the Finals, Wallace would have vanished in 2004 the same way he has every playoffs since.
Despite his talents — and, some say, considerable intelligence — Wallace refuses to accept coaching; is now reaping the consistent and dubious “benefit” of his perpetual childish and erratic on-court behavior over the years that hasn’t endeared him to the people who hand out foul calls; and always seems to melt down emotionally at the most inopportune times. And THIS is the guy whom Dumars put in charge of the Pistons’ locker room by trading away Billups?
Billups, while obviously given far too much credit for whatever success the Pistons have had, was still crucial to the Pistons’ ability to compete. He’s lost a step or two, and seems more injury prone now than he used to be. But he was and remains a smart player, a pass-first ball distributor, a stalwart defender, a decent shooter when he has to be, generally unafraid to take shots in clutch situations, and, most importantly, an adult and authoritative voice in the locker room. What, AI of all people is going to keep Wallace in check? It is to laugh.
So, now, the Pistons have a “point guard” in name only, who’s justly known for being physically tough and a fearless competitor, but equally notorious for gumming up every offense he’s ever run — except, ironically, that one magical year when he bought into Larry Brown’s program. AI certainly has skills, and he’s still quick. But he’s not as quick as he used to be, and he hasn’t replaced his inevitable physical decline with increased “smarts” to compensate. He scores a lot of points because he’s a conscienceless volume shooter, but he’s not all that consistent.
Not only can’t he defend nearly as well as Billups, but he doesn’t even make any pretense of trying. Does anyone truly believe the Pistons haven’t suffered a net defensive loss with the swap?
As for offensive flow, Iverson’s averaged a tad over 6 assists per game over his career, and his assist totals over the past 3-4 years have been about the same as Billups’s, so it’s a wash in that department, right? Nope, just shows how misleading stats can be. Billups actually tries to run an offense and get his teammates involved; AI doesn’t. Sure, he gets assists, but his passes come, not as part of any cogent offensive plan, but only when he gets into trouble. And, unfortunately, there’s no stat of which I’m aware for making the initial entry pass that results in a basket one or two plays removed. Billups makes those passes; AI doesn’t, because he basically won’t pass unless it can show up on the stat sheet. His “pass only when the shot isn’t available” mentality certainly can gum up an offense — especially since his teammates rely on off-the-ball movement to get open for intelligent passes within the offensive flow. Not bloody likely to happen often, now.
I have a great deal of respect for Joe Dumars’s abilities as a GM. Who wouldn’t, given how well the Pistons have done for so many years under his “rule”? But c’mon. Who can seriously believe him when he says he got AI because the Pistons lacked a go-to guy who can create offense? The fact is that Billups’s best years are probably behind him, and it probably made little financial sense to tie up a lot of money in a long-term contract extension for him. Meanwhile, although AI has a monster contract, it expires after the season, leaving the Pistons room to go after top free agents, like LeBron James. As if LBJ includes Detroit among the teams on his wish list.
I understand the financial issues. I just don’t like anybody — not even the estimable Mr. Dumars — peeing on my back and telling me it’s raining.
Speaking of icky bodily functions, what was rising young star Alexander Semin thinking when he ripped the NHL’s designated darling, Sid Crosby, in an interview with Puckdaddy.com? May be he was inebriated by his sudden success, since he was leading the league in points when he eructed about Crosby.
For the record, Semin said the following:
“What’s so special about [Crosby]? I don’t see anything special there. Yes, he does skate well, has a good head, good pass. But there’s nothing else. Even if you compare him to Patrick Kane from Chicago. [Kane] is a much more interesting player. The way he moves, his deking abilities, his thinking on the ice and his anticipation of the play is so superb.”
Naturally he, his coach and his owner attributed the words to “bad translation.” Yeah, right. Just like politicians claim that their exact words, when repeated, were “taken out of context.” I don’t buy it for a second.
For reasons I can’t quite understand, the younger Russian players have always been savagely critical of Kid Sid. Maybe not Sid’s Russian teammates, like Evgeni Malkin. They seem to understand the leadership and skills he brings to a team that, lest we forget, did reach the Stanley Cup Finals last season while Semin’s Washington Capitals, even with league scoring leader and leading Crosby-hater Alex Ovechkin, didn’t do squat. But the young stars like Ovechkin, Semin and Atlanta’s Ilya Kovalchuk are as red-faced irate about Crosby’s success and public image as John McCain was about that upstart, Barack Obama.
Admittedly, Crosby did get overly upset about the no-calls and dirty hits he was taking during his rookie season — as an 18-year-old, mind you — and got a lot of penalties for his retaliation. He may be a bit of a whiner. But just to put matters in perspective, Wayne Gretzky, arguably the greatest hockey player or all time, and inarguably the face of the NHL in his era, was known outside Edmonton as “Whine” Gretzky because of the way he was always jawing at the officials. And the equally great Mario Lemieux did his share of pissing and moaning. So, while Crosby’s complaining may be irritating, it sure doesn’t detract from his greatness.
This is only Crosby’s 4th season in the NHL, and he’s still only, and barely, 21. He’s already taken his team to a Cup Final, become the youngest ever to reach 100 points in a season, won a Hart Trophy as MVP, a Lester B. Pearson Trophy as best player in the regular season, and an Art Ross Trophy for most points in the regular season. He’s been a “plus” in the plus/minus stat every year except his rookie year, when he was a mere -1 on a team that went 22-46 and gave up 316 goals. He’s physically fearless, and doesn’t shy away from contact, either on the receiving or the “giving” end. And he’s the unquestioned captain of his team. It’s a big deal to wear the “C” in the NHL.
No player can escape criticism. Just listen to sports talk radio, and you’ll hear the “Jeff From Tarzanas” of this world tell you that Kobe Bryant isn’t just a horrible human being, but not really all that much of a player, that Tom Brady and Eli Manning suck as QBs, and, well, you know the drill. But rational people can still hate great players and acknowledge that they’ve got game. For all his flaws and faults, Crosby is a great player. For Semin to flatulate on about him as he did suggests an irrationality fueled by jealousy. And, oh, yeah, just by the way, Crosby has closed the points gap on Semin, and is now a mere 3 points behind him in the scoring race. What’ll Semin be saying when all he can see is Crosby’s backside, as Kid Sid passes him in the scoring race?
Also, just for the record, saying Semin went a bit overboard about Crosby doesn’t mean that he was wrong about Patrick Kane, who has the misfortune to play for the perpetually mismanaged and undermanned Chicago Blackhawks. Kane, only 19 and in his second year, has talent to burn, and is currently just a point behind Crosby in the points race. And Chicago is off of a surprising 7-3-3 start. But just to put matters into perspective, while Kane got 21 goals and 51 assists as an 18-year-old rookie last year, Crosby went for 39 and 63 when HE was 18. It’s no insult to Kane to say he hasn’t shown he’s a Crosby yet; but it certainly is an insult to Crosby to imply that he’s a lesser player than Kane — who, by the way, is a winger, not a center, which does make a difference. As a matter of fact, Semin, Ovechkin and Kovalchuk are all wingers, too. Hmmm.
I can’t quit without a shout-out to the Atlanta Hawks, 2008-09 edition. I thought they’d for sure take a step backward without swingman Josh Childress, who decided to play in Greece this season for about 33 Million reasons — all bearing a picture of George Washington. I never thought Childress was a star, but he is a steady, intelligent “glue” type of player that the Hawks, with their plethora of young and talented but somewhat volatile and unstable group of players sorely needed. Or so I believed. A 6-0 start proved me wrong. Of course they’re bound to come back down to earth eventually, and their dysfunctional, fractious ownership group is likely to screw up the chemistry badly and soon, but right now they’re the feel-good story of the young season, and a treat to watch.
I underrated the Celtics all through last season’s playoffs — right up to the time they blew out the Lakers — because of how awful they looked when pushed to 7 games before escaping Atlanta in the First Round. Heck, had the Celts played Game 7 on a neutral floor, they’d have been out golfing early. Little did I know that the Hawks might have been the best opposition Boston faced in the entire postseason — including the Lakers. Just shows that one should always believe the evidence of one’s eyes, rather than stats and “history.”
Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.
Schadenfreude, the gift that keeps on giving. The Red Sox aren’t going to the World Series, and all’s well with the world. I don’t care who wins the damn thing, as long as Boston didn’t.
The Tampa Bay Rays are a good, heartwarming story, for sure. With all the talk the past several years about how the “small market” teams have no chance to compete against the financial behemoth Yankees, “Sawx,” Cubs and Angels, it’s refreshing to see a team with a collective payroll lower than A-Rod’s annual salary win the AL East, and then make it to the World Series. Clearly one of the feel-good stories of the year, and a team worth rooting for, if anyone’s so inclined.
But that’s not why I was rooting for them to win the ALCS. My main concern was that the odious Boston Red Sox NOT make it, and the Rays, being the last obstacle in their path, were the obvious favorite for my affections. My preference for true poetic justice would have been that my semi-hometown “Los Angeles” Angels of Anaheim be the authors of Boston’s postseason demise, but I’ll take the ultimate result any way I can get it. Thanks to the Rays’ improbable heroics, I’ll be spared the insufferable, incessant, self-congratulatory drivel from the troglodyte denizens of “Red Sox Nation” this offseason.
I don’t hate the players, mind you — except maybe that garrulous loudmouth Kurt Schilling, who apparently has no unexpressed thoughts (as Winston Churchill famously said of an overbearing woman who was boring him at a party). I certainly don’t hate Terry Francona, who’s quick to praise his players (and opponents) publicly, and keeps any negativity private. Heck, I even find it hard to hate that super “stat nerd” Harvard boy wonder, Theo Epstein, who’s proved that it’s possible to make SMART decisions with a huge payroll — unlike his Yankee counterpart. But that damned obnoxious effusively self-obsessed “Nation” was badly in need of a comeuppance, and got it.
It was a close thing, mind you. Who’d have thought that, down 7-0 in the bottom of the 7th in the close-out fifth game of the ALCS, the Sox would not only come back to stave off elimination, but win the next two and almost pull off the most stunning postseason comeback since — well, since they made history by coming back from an 0-3 deficit to stun the Yankees in 2004, en route to their first World Series championship in the post-Curse of the Bambino era? How can anyone hate on a team with that kind of mental toughness?
We’ll never know, but I wonder if they might have pulled off the comeback — or, even, might not have needed one — had they not traded mercurial Manny Ramirez. Sure, he had a bit of an attitude problem when he wasn’t offered the “respect” (pro athlete slang for value and length of contract) that he felt he was due, but he sure can pound the poop out of a baseball, can’t he? The insult to the Sox’s injury was that they not only let him go for next to nothing, but that they actually paid most of his salary as he enriched the McCourts’ coffers and carried the Dodgers to more postseason glory than they’d had in 20 years.
I was one of many who felt the Dodgers’ late-season acquisition of ManRam was ill-advised, given his well-documented attitude problems and his questionable approach to anything that doesn’t involve batting. On the other hand, looking back, he couldn’t have been a worse clubhouse influence than that notoriously saturnine red-ass, Jeff Kent, whose mere presence in the dugout sucked out all the oxygen and stifled the performance of the Dodgers’ young talent. When Kent went on the injured list, and Manny became the unquestioned man, the Dodgers finally started playing with energy, enthusiasm and success. Not to mention, drawing thousands more fans per game, and selling thousands more dollars worth of memorabilia.
Meanwhile, what about my Angels? Another year; another outstanding regular season; another pathetic postseason rollover to their Kryptonite, the Red Sox. Well, at least they did manage to win one game this time. It was a team loss, to be sure, but I can’t help but wonder whether Manager Mike Scioscia’s insistence on old-school “small ball” didn’t lose it for them — again. Not that bunting, suicide squeezes and the old hit-and-run don’t have their place, but in the end, statistically, those ploys don’t usually produce a lot of runs. And even if they’re successful, squeeze plays and sacrifices are just taking the bats out of the players’ hands and giving outs to the other team.
Some people justify Scioscia’s stubborn clinging to such antediluvian tactics by pointing out that they (allegedly) worked when the Angels won the whole thing in 2002. The simple answer is that no, they didn’t. A major reason the Angels won in 2002 is that their opponents, the Giants, unlike the Red Sox, could be relied on to self-destruct in a 7-game series, and did. More significantly, the Angels won because Scioscia let people like Scott Spiezio actually try to hit, and they responded with surprise home runs and extra-base hits. The Angels also won that series with solid defense, stalwart pitching, a rookie phenom lights-out closer named Francisco Rodriguez, and lots and lots of timely hitting. They DID NOT win it with “small ball.”
Scioscia’s still a fine manager. It’s not as if the Angels win 90-plus games every year by just rolling out the baseballs. How many years have we bemoaned the Angels’ refusal to disturb payroll sanity by signing a slugger who could protect Vladimir Guerrero? That they’ve been so successful without power hitting surely owes a little something to Scioscia’s managerial skills.
But this year, they broke the bank and traded for Marl Texeira. Nonetheless, Scioscia’s team STILL came up short. He’s proved that he can lose to the Sox in the playoffs with or without another solid bat. And that, too, has to be laid at his doorstep. I’d like to see the stats that he constantly claims prove the efficacy of his pantywaist approach to offense. I’ll bet that the stats actually prove just the opposite.
Compare Scioscia to the coach of the moment, Rays’ Manager Joe Maddon, who was one of the Angels’ coaches under Scioscia during that magical 2002 season. Friend of Mike though he may be, Maddon absolutely eschews the pitty-pat little things that give “traditionalists” wet dreams, believing that it’s better to let hitters hit and try to create runs, rather than give away outs to score a single run — at best. That’s my kind of attitude.
Mind you, as The Sportsgod accurately observed, Maddon and the Rays came pretty close to an historic meltdown against the Red Sox doing it their way. And they may well return to the dustbin of baseball history as quickly as they’ve ascended to their current position, no matter what Maddon’s baseball “philosophy” is, if only because they won’t be able to keep that team underpaid and together. Meanwhile, while the Angels are likely to surely going to keep cranking out those 90-win seasons for a long time — and, if they can just manage to avoid the Sox in the first round, maybe enjoy some postseason success, to boot. But, as of the end of the ALCS, “small-ball” lovers could kiss Mr. Maddon’s ample behind.
Well, except for when his hitters weren’t hitting, and he needed his team to scratch out runs to achieve its first (and, as it turned out, only) win of the World Series. Well, consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, I suppose.
Speaking of the Series, weren’t the Rays supposed to walk all over the Phillies because, after all, they come from the “real” Major League, while the Phillies represent the best that Triple A has to offer? At least, that’s what The Sportsgod keeps telling us. Unfortunately, the teams had to go and ruin his beautiful theory by actually playing the games.
The fact is that in baseball, maybe more than in any other major team sport, the better team (and league) may prove itself so over the course of an entire season, but anybody can beat anybody else in a short series — and “short” includes a 7-gamer.
But even aside from that glaringly obvious fact, the mere happenstance that a team has emerged as the best in a superior league doesn’t make it a lock to win against the best an inferior league has to offer. I think that Arizona, the Cards, and maybe now the Phillies have demonstrated that fallacy in the past several seasons. For that matter, there’s no question that the NBA East is overall inferior to the West, but we’ve still seen the Pistons, Miami, and most recently the Celtics win the NBA championship in the past several years. Just remember, Sportgod, when you assume, you make an “ass” of “u” and “me.”
Speaking of assumptions that don’t necessarily pan out, what about the common wisdom that the only pitchers who can shine in postseason play are power pitchers? Maybe someone should have sent that memo to Cole Hamels, who, while not exactly a pus-thrower, sure relies on control more than velocity. Are they going to withhold his World Series MVP award until he clocks at least 96 mph on the radar gun?
I know it’s a bit late, but speaking of schadenfreude, how about a shout-out to Becky Hammon, who led her San Antonio Silver Stars team to the WNBA Finals – and, way more importantly, past the L.A. Sparks in the process?
You remember Ms. Hammon, don’t you? The whipping-girl of red-blooded U.S. patriots everywhere, who followed her Olympic dream by playing for Russia (where she’s a star) after Team USA didn’t even invite her to try out. I was reminded of her just the other day, when I heard Chris Kaman interviewed on local sports talk radio. That’s the same Chris Kaman who got zero criticism at all for parlaying his grandparents’ German ancestry into a spot on the German team for those same Olympic Games. The disparate treatment accorded those two athletes was so palpable I could feel it, touch it, and taste it.
Anyway, the injustice of the rude and boorish treatment Ms. Hammon had to endure at the hands of her fellow countrywomen gave me what’s basically the only rooting interest I’ve ever had in a WNBA playoff series, when her San Antonio whatchamacallits played our own L.A. Sparks in the WNBA Western Conference Finals — and beat them in the deciding game, with Ms. Hammon administering the coup de grace. For some reason having nothing to do with any new-found love for the women’s game, it absolutely warmed the cockles of my heart (whatever “cockles” are) to see Ms. Hammon put the boot in the collective ass of the Sparks, who were led by Lisa Leslie and Candace Parker, who’d been ringleaders of the orchestrated Olympic snubbing. All she did in the final game was score 35 points, including 4 crucial free throws late, to lead her team to a 76-72 win. There is some justice in the world.
Just for the record, let me confess that I’ve never particularly liked Ms. Leslie, although she’s clearly one of the top women ever to play the game. Not that I know her. She may be an entirely delightful person in private. But her public persona as just another egotistical athlete with an hypertrophied sense of entitlement is something I – and sports – can do without.
My disdain for her started when she was in high school at Morningside High, and scored 101 points in the FIRST HALF against a hopelessly overmatched opponent. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she had her coach beg the other team to keep playing, so that she could set a record — utterly oblivious to the humiliation the girls on the other team must have been feeling. The opponents, appropriately, took umbrage and walked off the floor, rather than submit to even more humiliation.
It was that egoistic sense of entitlement, the belief that the opposing players should have been proud to participate in her burnishing her resume at their expense, that made me realize that not all insufferable athletes are men. There’s plenty of it to go around, and the disease knows no limitations of gender or race — or of the popularity the athlete’s sport enjoys.
By the way, just how drunk and obnoxious do you have to be before you’re booted out of a Hooters restaurant? Apparently, as drunk as John Daly, who allegedly was so s-faced that he passed out at one in North Carolina, and was taken into custody by the local constabulary after EMTs revived him. Remind me again why this train wreck of a bad example of a circus freak is so popular with so many golf fans, while unquestionably better golfers, of better character, far more deserving of their support and far more generous in respecting their adulation, are ignored.
I guess it’s all part of the reality televisionization of the country, which makes William Hung-types more popular than people with actual talent. Apparently there’s now no distinction at all among fame, popularity, and notoriety.
I’m not a big moralist, and the public can decide to love anyone nit wants to. But it’s a bit of a shame that guys who substitute boundless gluttonous appetite, unrelenting dedication to debilitating addictive behavior, and boorishness for genuine personality are lionized by the great unwashed, while their betters struggle in obscurity. Reminds me of that line by “The Wolf” in “Pulp Fiction” that just because you ARE a character doesn’t mean you have character. Not any more, apparently.
So, Ty Willingham has finally been axed at U-Dub. Can’t have been a surprise. No one who loses that many games at a high-profile school with lots of impatient, rich boosters is safe if he can’t put up the W’s. Especially if he’s as much of a, well, for want of a better term, Karl Dorrell, as Willingham is.
I don’t know if he’s a good coach, though his impressive record at perennial loser Stanford suggests he’s got something in the tank. Stanford’s never done as well since he left, has it? But there’s no question that he’s not much of a recruiter, and his refusal to compromise on bad behavior even by star athletes surely doesn’t help in that department. Guys who quickly turn around formerly high-profile programs tend to have either looser standards or more charismatic personalities than Mr. W — or both. Yeah, Nick Saban isn’t exactly Mr. Charm School, but one suspects his ethical standards are low enough to compensate.
Nonetheless, I have to agree with the L.A. Times’s Chris Dufresne and foxsports.com’s Jason Whitlock that his disastrous record in Seattle in no way retroactively justifies the way he was hosed by Notre Dame. And please don’t tell me that the Domers’ impatience with Willingham didn’t have a lot to do with how much melanin he has in his skin pigmentation. They gave Gerry Faust 5 years, and they gave Bob Davie 5 years. Both of them recruited better than Willingham, and their records sucked worse. They not only couldn’t wait to give Willingham’s successor, whom Whitlock cleverly dubbed “The Great Weis Hope,” 5 years, and they didn’t ride him out of town on a rail when he went 3-9 last season, against a less-than-overwhelming schedule. And, although Caucasian, Weis is about as arrogant and obnoxious as it gets.
I believe ND honks when they say the premature rug-yanking had nothing to do with race about as much as I believe the now-resigned head of the San Bernardino County Republican Women’s group that sent out that toxic anti-Obama mailer with the fake “Obama Food Stamp” when she says that they just happened to choose fried chicken, watermelon, ribs and Kool-Aid as the foods to be pictured, without even the slightest idea that many people associate them with African-Americans.
For coaches, it’s still like the early days of sports integration, where it was obvious that unless an African-American athlete was markedly better than his Caucasian counterparts, the Caucasian got the benefit of the doubt every single time. The issue isn’t whether Willingham was better than Faust, Davie or Weis. He may well not have been. The issue is that those three were given every chance to prove (or, at least in the cases of Faust and Davie, to “disprove”) themselves, while Willingham wasn’t. His flopperoo at U-Dub doesn’t change that fact.
It’s obviously way too early to make judgments or predictions, and I certainly don’t wish Greg Oden ill (except when his team plays the Lakers), but isn’t it starting to seem as if he’s going to be the next Sam Bowie? Bowie had some skills, and had he stayed relatively healthy he might have made Portland fans forget that the team drafted him instead of Michael Jordan. Well, maybe not; but he’d probably have had a quite commendable career.
The problem was that Bowie COULDN’T stay healthy, and never came close to fulfilling his promise after a pretty good rookie season. Lest we forget, Bowie had a decent rookie season, averaging 10 points, 8.8 boards and 2.7 blocks per game in 76 games. Unfortunately, he managed to play in just 38, 5, and 20 games, respectively, over the next 3 seasons, while MJ became, well, MJ. He actually played pretty well for a while after he left Portland, and averaged over 70 games in 4 seasons for the Nets after that, but he’ll be forever remembered as Portland’s wasted golden opportunity.
Oden didn’t even make it to his first season, sitting out all 82 games recovering from microfracture knee surgery. Then, in this year’s season-opener against the Lakers, he gave tantalizing hints of what kind of defensive force he could be — Andrew Bynum is still trying to rub off the “Spalding” tattoo on his forehead that Oden gave him — but lasted less than a half before going out with a “mid-lateral” foot sprain. Now, word is that he’ll be out a couple of weeks. Is that going to be his pattern from now on?
Pete Carroll was always a tad jealous of the accolades showered on the offensive genius of Norm Chow when the latter was the Trojans’ offensive coordinator. Whenever anyone talked about how well the offense was run, and especially how well it game-planned and made adjustments, Carroll always had to point out that he himself had a little something-something to do with it. He hasn’t been quite so eager to take credit now that Steve Sarkisian’s running the show, and showing a real inability to make half-time changes, has he? Not surprising, really. USC’s third string still has more talent than just about all the other Pac-10 teams’ starting 22, but it hasn’t always been evident on the field.
What’s the famous adage: “Success has many fathers; failure is an orphan.”? Not that the Trojans have failed in the past few seasons since Chow left, but they’ve certainly underperformed their talent level.
Speaking of Chow, he seems to be doing a creditable job at undermanned UCLA, which probably should be 1-7 instead of 3-5, despite having its top two QBs on the depth chart out all season with injuries. Other Pac-10 teams with similar problems are either winless or pretty well winless. I have to assume that once the Bruins get better athletes — that’s Slick Rick’s department — Chow’s offense will run a lot better.
But what must Chow be thinking about the Titans’ 7-0 start this season? Think he might have had a better record as offensive coordinator had he had the less gifted but more disciplined Kerry Collins at QB instead of Vince Young, who not only has refused since high school to do anything “boring,” like learning playbooks and technique, but who pretty clearly tanked for and passively-aggressively backstabbed Chow? We’ll never know, but I think so.
Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.
When I was a kid, one refrain I always heard was, “If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.” Apparently that old saw doesn’t apply to the IOC, which grudgingly and unconvincingly went through the motions of “investigating” the ages of key members of the Chinese women’s gymnastics team, for the sole purpose of making the controversy go away.
The “investigation” had all the sincerity and dedication of George W. Bush’s White House “investigating” who leaked Valerie Plame’s name to Robert Novak, or the firing of the U.S. Attorneys, or the numerous other illegal acts that have occurred in the past 8 years. In other words, whitewash. Like they were going to do anything to embarrass China with the Olympics in Beijing.
Frankly, although I admire the skill, grace, strength and toughness of women (and men) gymnasts, I think the REAL investigation should have been into how routines are judged.
Yeah, I said toughness. Female, and male, gymnasts regularly compete with excruciating pain, just like athletes in the sports we love all the time, not just once every four years — and they have to do it with a smile, and without appearing out of breath, because they’re judged on “presentation” as well as performance.
A Japanese male gymnast won gold for his country years ago with a difficult vault — with one ankle broken. So did Kerri Strug (with a sprained ankle, anyway) for the U.S. women in Atlanta in 1996. I mean, she STUCK that landing despite G-forces that should have made her collapse, writhing on the ground like an Italian or South American soccer player. Chellsie Memmel competed for the silver-medalist U.S. team this year (which likely would have become the gold-medalist team had the IOC actually conducted a serious investigation) with a broken bone in her foot. So don’t for a second think that gymnasts aren’t athletes and competitors just because they have to make everything look graceful, effortless and elegant.
But the flip-side of that coin — as with figure skating — is that the sport emphasizes “artistic presentation” alongside the incredible athleticism, and often seems to devalue the “steak” and overvalue the “sizzle.” The greatest athlete, who sticks every single move, may still come a cropper because of subjective comparisons of his or her “grace” and “artistry” compared to an opponent’s. And there are no truly objective, bright-line irrefutable standards for scoring the “sizzle.”
That’s why, in my opinion, anyway, gymnastics and figure skating (and we might as well throw diving and synchronized swimming in, too) are seriously flawed as credible competitive sports. The results depend way too much on judging, which at best is subjective. Proposed moves to increase points for “artistic presentation” and to decrease the importance of athleticism will merely make those competitions more of either a “crap-shoot” or a “Dance With The Stars” competition with even skimpier outfits.
And that’s if everything is on the up-and-up. Remember all those jokes about the East German judges, back in the day when there was a Soviet Union, and judges from “Iron Curtain” countries routinely gave Eastern Europeans high scores, and Americans low ones? It’s not as if nationalist prejudices have decreased over the years. To say nothing of out-and-out corruption, bribery and backroom deals. Remember the French judge taking a bribe from a Russian “mafia” multimillionaire to give the Russian pair the Gold over the Canadians in the 2002 Olympic figure skating in Calgary? That one stank so bad that the “event referee” actually filed an official complaint about the judging. But there’s suspicion that that kind of thing happens with some regularity, just better-disguised.
That’s what makes gymnastics, figure skating and their ilk, despite the athletic skills necessary to compete at the top levels, not “sports” worthy of consideration with other activities like basketball, hockey, baseball, football, soccer — even swimming and track.
Mind you, I consider boxing, basketball and baseball to be “real” sports, and none of them is exactly untainted by bad results caused by “judges.” Unless there’s a knockout or TKO in a boxing bout, there’s always a chance of a bad outcome. Even then there can be a bogus disqualification. Don’t bet against a Bob Arum fighter or Oscar De La Hoya in Vegas, or a Don King guy in New York or New Jersey.
It’s even worse in the Olympics, where there’s headgear, fights go only 3 rounds, and meaningless punches that barely land or are blocked with the arms seem to count as much as punches that do damage. There’s no doubt that the fix was in to help South Korean fighters in the Seoul Olympics. Just ask Roy Jones, Jr.
Heck, throw in Taekwondo, where — unlike fencing — there are no electronic sensors to prove that a “touch” occurred, and the determination of whether or not a blow landed is in the hands of a referee. No chance for subjectivity or corruption there, much?
As for basketball, we have the scandal of Tim Donaghy. Not only has he admitted to gambling on NBA games and influencing point spreads and outcomes by judicious use of his whistle, but he’s suggested that he wasn’t the only one. I believe him.
In baseball, calling balls, strikes and outs isn’t an exact science, to say the least. Just ask St. Louis Cardinals fans, whose team lost the 1985 Freeway Series to the Royals on a blown call at first base by Umpire Don Denkinger. Or Braves’ fans, who watched the 1997 Marlins beat the Tomahawk Choppers in the NLCS, when the umps without warning narrowed the strike zone for Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine, but widened it for the likes of Livan Hernandez.
So I understand that any sport that has referees is subject to outcomes determined by something other than objective criteria. But when the competitors aren’t even going head-to-head, and scores depend almost as much on how sinuously a competitor waves her arms, how well she points her toes, or even how her makeup, costume and hair ribbons look, there’s no hope.
After all, ballet dancers are incredibly skilled, too, and do wonderfully athletic things. They dance hurt, with sprains, pulled muscles and ligaments and what have you, all the time. They spend long hours torturing their bodies to get into and stay in dancing shape. But ballet surely isn’t a sport. Or is it? Let’s not forget that ballroom dancing was a demonstration “sport” at one Olympics. I don’t see a lot of difference between dancing and the “sports” of gymnastics, figure skating, rhythmic gymnastics, diving and synchronized swimming.
Not that I wasn’t impressed by China’s haul of Gold Medals, and not that I don’t believe the Chinese men and women were the best gymnasts and divers at this year’s Olympics (Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson being the notable counter-arguments), but it’s still worth noting that of that country’s 51 Gold Medals, 18 came in Gymnastics and Diving. Makes one think, at least.
I wrote the following before the U.S.-Spain Gold Medal game in Men’s Basketball:
How about those Argentine basketball players? They are tougher than their country’s renowned but chewy grass-fed beef. Even without Manu Ginobili, who obviously still hasn’t recovered from his ankle injury, they hung tough with Team USA, even after falling behind 30-11 in the First Quarter of their Semifinal match. They lost by 20, true, but the deficit was single digits for much of the Second and Third Quarters, and was only about 12 with 4 minutes to go. And let’s not forget that the bogus foul calls that always seem to go against U.S. players in international play, inexplicably went against the Argentines this time. I’d say that the U.S. team got at least 9, and maybe more, points from those phantom calls.
Luis Scola, who played so well for Houston last year, was an absolute beast, albeit a somewhat velocity- and gravity-challenged one. Oberto, Delfino and even Nocioni acquitted themselves more than honorably. I’m not even sure Team USA would have won had Ginobili been healthy, but they probably would have. With Manu in the mix, though, I’m convinced the margin would have been 10 or fewer. Team USA, 2004 version, would have lost that game by double-digits, even without Manu playing.
Amazing, when you think about it, because although the five players named above all play, or have played, in the NBA, I agree with Charley Rosen that only Manu (who barely played) could have made this year’s Team USA squad. Just goes to show you the benefits of having a team, with lots of time together and well-defined roles for the players.
Kobe, BTW, was 5-14 overall, jacked up 9 treys (made 2), and went to the line not even once. If he keeps up performances like that, sales of his jerseys in China may plummet faster and farther than Bears Stearns’s stock price. In fairness, he played some impressive, tight “D” on Delfino. But as we all know, defense may win championships, but it sure doesn’t sell jerseys.
Now that Team USA has squeaked by Spain, I haven’t really changed my mind a whole lot. Team USA’s win wasn’t a fluke. It probably deserved what it got. Its players, 1 through 12, were better overall than any other country’s. But please don’t try to hype what a great “triumph” the Gold Medal win represented, or try to sell me the idea that the win was the harbinger of a sea change in U.S. basketball. It wasn’t. The differences between the 2004 team aren’t as great as they’ve been painted, except that the players comported themselves with more couth. The players — and the veteran leadership — this time were just better overall.
Not that Spain was exactly lacking in the talent department. Their roster had lots of talent, more international experience, and was almost as deep as the U.S. squad, notwithstanding the misleading blowout in the Preliminary Round. They probably couldn’t have done much in a best-of-seven, but were certainly capable of testing the U.S. players in a one-game Final.
Pau Gasol, whatever our criticisms about his alleged lack of heart and toughness, is unquestionably a top-tier (or whatever we call the level just below “superstar) player in the NBA. I don’t know how well Rudy Fernandez will do in the NBA, but I can say that off his performance in the Olympics this year, I’m not exactly thrilled that an up-and-coming Portland team is going to have him on the roster this season.
Juan Carlos Navarro was stuck in a miserable situation in Memphis last season, and has returned to Europe, but there are plenty of NBA teams that would like him on their roster. Marc Gasol has limitations of speed and hops, but he’s big, smart and, like his brother, has a decent touch.
And that Ricky Rubio, who’s not even 18 yet, and made his Euroleague debut at age 16, just might be the real deal, if he ever learns to play a little “D” and to take some of the mustard off the hot dog. Sure, he made some mistakes and was inconsistent, but just remember how a 20-year-old Le Bron James, already a budding NBA star, played in 2004 before dismissing Rubio. Rubio’s first Olympics was certainly better than Le Bron’s first, and we knew LBJ was the real deal even as a rookie. Imagine what “Ricky” will be like in 2010, when he’s NBA draft-eligible. For the kid to play as well as he did, under pressure and on the biggest stage in world basketball, bodes pretty well for his, and his country’s, basketball future.
That’s forgetting Jose Calderon, who was good enough to convince Raptors’ management to make him the team’s starter at PG for next season and ship T.J. Ford’s ass back below the 49th Parallel. The correct decision, IMO. He’s not flashy, but he’s a very solid player. Who knows what would’ve happened had Calderon been able to play against Team USA? It’s not as if the “Redeem Team” had any breathing room with Calderon sitting out. Heck, it was 91-89 with only about 2 minutes gone in the Fourth Quarter.
For all the talk of how much better prepared, mature, committed, defense-oriented, yadda yadda this year’s team was compared to the one in Athens, it didn’t dominate in the “playoffs.” I’m not saying they were lucky to win, exactly. They were the best team with the best players, and finished where they should have. Still, they walked a thin line between success and failure, and should feel more relieved than ebullient about the result.
For one thing, they were lucky to avoid injuries to key players, while their top opponents didn’t. That certainly helped against an Argentine squad missing its best player, Manu, who can really call down the thunder in a hurry when he gets hot. And it really helped against a Spain squad that could have used its best — and best defensively — point guard.
Not that Team USA should be ashamed to take any gifts it was handed. You have to play the team that’s actually on the floor against you, not the team that might have been on the floor had things gone perfectly. Those are the breaks of the game. Not only do the breaks even out in the long run, but it often happens that the remaining teammates rally together and make up for the absence – especially in a one-and-done scenario. All I’m saying is that the breaks fell Team USA’s way this time. Had the situation been reversed, so might the results have been.
Then, of course, there’s international refereeing. It was, as it has always been, crappy with a capital “K.” Just ask Tim Duncan, who refused to re-up at least partly for that reason. That was to be expected. The surprise was that, this time, the questionable, ticky-tack and phantom calls didn’t all go against the Americans.
Mind you, I’m not down with the Spanish team’s whining that they would have won had the referees done their jobs. It sounds like a large vat of “uvas agrias” to me. They did a lot of hacking and obstruction of their own that went uncalled.
Still, it IS true that U.S. teams have pretty much always in the past received the short end of the stick when it came to officiating. It may be because foreign refs have an inbuilt dislike of U.S. players, or because U.S. players don’t really know the international game. Whatever the reason, U.S. teams have usually had to play 5 against 7 – 5 against 8, now that FIBA has added an extra official. When they’ve been way, way better than the opposition, they’ve overcome that burden; when they’ve been only a bit better, they haven’t always. This time, while I’m not prepared to say that the refs favored the Americans, it did seem to me that the bad calls were at least close to even — and that was enough to provide the margin of victory.
That, plus Kobe Bryant, one of the most infuriating great players ever. He’s obviously a preeminently great player, but he’s like the Cy Young pitcher with the weird delivery, or the Pro Bowl passer whose throws aren’t perfect spirals. Not that he’s not fundamentally sound. He is. It’s just that he seems to go for what the Aussies call “walkabouts,” when he forces things and obstructs the “chi” (or, since the Olympics were in Beijing, the “qi”). He does so many things on the court that seem stubborn, forced and ill-advised and make me want to shout at the TV — even if they succeed, which they often do. When they don’t succeed, welcome to the all-Kobe-hate-all-the-time blogosphere.
Yet, there’s also another side of KB24, or 10, or whatever number he’s wearing these days. That’s his flair for the dramatic, his ability to raise his game at the end of a close contest — even when he’s looked decidedly ordinary for much of the game — and pull his teammates’ “chestnuts” out of the open fire. He doesn’t do it all the time. No one can. But he does it more often than anyone else around these days, and he certainly did it on Sunday.
He certainly wasn’t the only reason for the success of Team USA. But he’s the guy who raised his game in the Fourth Quarter, and made certain that his teammates — All-Stars all — didn’t choke this one away. Had they done so — and they came perilously close — that loss would have been worse than the ones to Greece in the 2006 FIBA World Championships, or to Argentina in the 2004 Olympics. It would’ve been a stain on this country’s basketball reputation that all the Clorox in the world couldn’t have removed. And it would’ve cemented the prevailing view of NBA players as me-first divas with a hypertrophied sense of entitlement, more flash than filigree, who know nothing of team play.
Anyone who watched that Gold Medal game knows it could well have happened. A couple more bad possessions near the end, or a couple fewer stops on the defensive end, and it would have. It would’ve been an upset of Hurricane Katrina proportions – worse than Villanova’s upset of the Georgetown juggernaut (led by 1992 Dream Teamer Patrick Ewing) in the 1985 NCAA Final. The Americans had killed Spain — playing with a healthy Calderon — by almost 40 points just a few days previously. Sure, no one expected another blowout win, but no one expected such a close contest, either. A U.S. loss in the Gold Medal game, even by just a point or two, would have been a disaster greater than the 1972 medal robbery. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I believe the NBA itself might never have recovered its cachet.
It was Mr. Bryant who took matters into his own hands and refused to let that happen. KB, not anyone else. D-Wade was great. If there were any question that’s he’s back, this tournament, and the Gold Medal game, answered it. LBJ (the basketball player, not the dead President) was a stud. CP3 and D-Will, and Chris Bosh — and even Carmelo Anthony — were all there when they had to be. But it was Kobe the Closer whom Coach K asked to carry the team on his back in the endgame, and to whom all those great players deferred when the real pressure shots had to be taken.
The Mamba responded with panache, scoring 13 of his 20 points in the Fourth Quarter, including a nifty running 10-footer, and a cool three-pointer with Fernandez draped all over him, that not only went in, but had the added bonus of giving him a free throw (which he sank) and of fouling out a player who’d been a thorn in the Americans’ side all game.
He also had a team-high 6 assists (2 in a key stretch of the Fourth Quarter, including a brilliant pass inside to Dwight Howard after a fake that parted Rubio from his shorts and his jock), and made some key defensive plays at the end, in a game where defense wasn’t at a premium. Had he done even a smidgen less, his rep and marketability would have taken a hit from which he’d never have been able to recover. Global jersey and sneaker sales can now proceed apace!
I was gratified to see the members of Team USA, 2008 version, led by Le Bron, make it a point to go over after the game to shake announcer Doug Collins’s hand. Collins not only was the point guard of the 1972 team that had its Gold Medal stolen by inept or corrupt referees and by the head of FIBA; he was the guy who calmly sank 2 free throws with just a few seconds remaining in that game, to give the U.S. a 50-49 lead and what should have been the game. It was a nice “we paid ‘em back for you” for Collins and all his teammates from that team – none of whom, to this day, has deigned to accept or collect his tainted Silver Medal.
Not only was the gesture moving, even if possibly staged, but I was impressed by the fact that a group of young men, none of whom was even alive in 1972, actually were attuned to this black day in U.S. basketball history. I mean, few young baseball players – even African-American baseball players – knew who Jackie Robinson was or why what he did should mean anything to them. Good to see some sense of history from players who I’d always thought believed basketball started with Magic and Larry.
Incidentally, in case anyone wonders why NBA GMs and coaches are ambivalent about their players playing for their countries, it looks like the Bucks are going to be without the services of Andrew Bogut, and the Spurs minus Manu, for a while. Both of them suffered ankle injuries. Oh, yeah, and the aforementioned Senor Calderon has what appears to be a serious groin injury, which wasn’t what the Raptors were hoping for when they anointed him the starter. Luckily for those players, and unluckily for their teams, they all have guaranteed contracts.
There’s been a lot of ink spilled in comparing this year’s “Redeem Team” and the 1992 “Dream Team,” and speculation on which would win head-to-head. The comparisons are ridiculous. Dream Team, for sure — especially in a 7-game series.
Forget about the superstar nucleus. Jordan, Pippen and Barkley in their prime were formidable enough. Even the post-HIV Magic was a force to be reckoned with, despite not really having played for a couple of years. Larry Bird was aging and spavined by back pain. I’d still take those five as a better than “not bad” nucleus. But forget about them. Just consider the big men.
Dwight Howard is a great but still unfinished (boy, is he unfinished!) talent. He still hasn’t shown an understanding of the nuances of the center position. Chris Bosh is skilled, surprisingly tough for such a skinny guy, and played a tournament and a very solid game for the U.S. in the Final, but he’s no center. Carlos Boozer has his moments, but he’s a poor man’s Karl Malone.
The Dream Team, by contrast, had the REAL Karl Malone, to go with David Robinson and Patrick Ewing inside. Whatever their limitations – neither was my favorite player, as I’ve mentioned more than once in previous columns – The Admiral and The Hoya Destroya were head and shoulders above Howard and Bosh. That does it for me, right there. Add in Chris Mullin, who was a more consistent outside shooter than anyone this year’s team had, and John Stockton even hobbled as he was by a leg injury, and that was a pretty formidable team.
In fairness, every team since 1992 has faced increasingly tough competition, of a level with which the 1992 team never had to deal. I’m pretty confident in asserting that the 1992 team wouldn’t have gone through the competition so imperiously, had they had to face the current top international teams. Ironically, that’s partly the fault of the 1992 team.
As Pau Gasol said, watching the NBA stars perform in Barcelona inspired him, and lots of Euro kids, to work on their games to emulate those stars. The skills gap has narrowed significantly. And, over the years, lots of Euros have made it to the NBA — a trend that started before 1992, but accelerated after that watershed Olympics. They play against NBA stars all the time. They respect the great U.S. players, but they’re no longer afraid of them. The mystique – and the fear of U.S. players’ athleticism — is long gone.
The days of cakewalks, even when we send our best players and take the process seriously enough to do long-term planning, rather than just throw together a bunch of disparate talents a few weeks before a tournament, are past and won’t be coming back. In that sense, the Redeem Team has nothing to be embarrassed about, even though their last two wins weren’t blowouts.
Still, c’mon. The outcome shouldn’t have been in the balance with less than 5 minutes to play. It just shouldn’t have.
I’m not very big on showboating in sports. I tend to subscribe to the “when you get to the end-zone, try to act like you’ve been there before” school of thought. I particularly hate showboats who dance around as if they’ve accomplished something worthy of celebration when they score a meaningless TD when their team is behind by 30 points in the Fourth Quarter, make a sack in garbage time, or otherwise do things that don’t really affect the outcome of a match.
But I have to confess that I’m just fine with braggarts and arrogant athletes who back up the talk with impressive action. As “Wee” Willie Keeler said: “It ain’t bragging if you can do it.” As witness Usain “Lightning” Bolt, who now owns the mythic title of “World’s Fastest Man.” Not only did he pull off the rare 100- and 200-meter sprint Gold-Medal double — a feat accomplished only 8 times in Olympics history — but he did it with two world record times. To top it off, he anchored the Jamaican 4×100 relay team to a Gold Medal in another world record time.
Not only did he win, he won big. In events where the difference between the Gold and Bronze may be just hundredths of a second, he was FIVE-TENTHS of a second faster than the guy who won the Silver in the 200. He ran the last 15-20 meters of the 100 with his arms upraised. How fast might he have gone had he waited to celebrate until after he’d crossed the finish line?
So, naturally, Jacques Rogge, the President of the IOC, just had to call him out for displaying “poor sportsmanship.” Well, it undoubtedly was irritating to opponents who are The Flash compared to you and me, but who looked like plowhorses in Bolt’s wake. But lighten up. If a guy can run like Bolt, he’s entitled to enjoy himself and to celebrate his greatness, as long as he can back it up. It was pretty clear that he was reveling in the joy of his superhuman achievement, not the inferiority of his opposition – and well he should. When he stops winning but still acts like an ass, we can revisit the question.
I have no reason to believe or disbelieve that Mr. Bolt is taking performance-enhancers, but I won’t be surprised if it later comes out that he got some artificial help. If BALCO taught us anything, it’s that the creators and users of “designer drugs” are always a step or two ahead of the enforcers.
Drug testing can catch only known substances – or make that, only known substances that aren’t too expensive to test for. That’s how Marion Jones got away with her juicing for so long – she was using drugs that the tests couldn’t detect. Had her own (former) coach not had a brain-fart and provided a sample of the drug she was using to USADA in a fit of pique, she’d have been competing in Beijing and maybe picked up a few more medals.
So I’m unimpressed with the knowledge that an athlete has never tested positive. All that means is that the athlete was never positive for whatever the testing could detect. And let’s also acknowledge that Jamaican athletes are subject to a lot less random drug testing than athletes in North America or Europe.
I’m not saying Bolt used performance-enhancers. I’m just saying that if it comes out that he did, I, for one, won’t be shocked, and no one else should be, either.
Oh, by the way, the guy’s first name, “Usain,” sounds suspiciously like “Husein.” If he lived in the U.S., there’d be talk that he’s a Muslim, which would inevitably morph into claims that he’s a terrorist. After all, isn’t that what people are suggesting about that “Muslim,” Barack Husein Obama?
Maybe Barack should drop the “H” in his middle name, to make everyone think he’s not only not a Muslim, but maybe related to track’s newest “Golden Boy.” Of course, Barack might then be subject to being thought of as Jamaican, and we all know that aside from incredibly fast sprinters, Jamaica is best known for Rastafarians, Reggae, rum and ganja.
Can we all puh-leeze stop ganging up on Becky Hammon, the U.S. heartland born-and-bred basketball player who, despite being runner-up in the 2007 WNBA MVP voting, wasn’t deemed worthy of being invited to try out for the women’s version of Team USA. Since she’s a star in the Russian women’s league in the WNBA “offseason,” and, according to her, always dreamed of competing in the Olympics, she jumped at the chance to get fast-track Russian citizenship and compete for Russkyland.
We still haven’t stopped hearing U.S. team members, coaches and commentators pulling out all the stops. “Unpatriotic” is the least of the insults directed her way. That oaf Steve Mason goes so far as to call her a “traitor.”
And thus do serious concepts get cheapened into farce. If Becky Hammon is a “traitor,” what can we then call U.S. citizens who steal our nuclear and other technology secrets and sell them to other countries; who actually take up arms against and kill other U.S. citizens on the field of battle; who aid and abet foreign terrorists who plant bombs in our public places? If she’s a “traitor,” the word no longer has any legitimate meaning. All she did was get another country’s citizenship so that she could play in the Olympics — which, just by-the-by, was allegedly started to promote international friendship and unity, not the carrying-on of war and propaganda by other means.
Also, just by the by, she’s not even the first U.S. basketball player to take out Russian citizenship. Because of roster restrictions on “foreign” players in the Russian leagues, several top non-Russian women players have become Russian citizens, to allow their teams to sign more foreigners.
Not just the women, either. A guy named Travis Hansen, who grew up in Utah and played for BYU, then played for the Hawks for a season before heading overseas, to Spain and finally to Russia, is now a “Russian citizen” who plays for Dynamo Moscow. He’s become one of the top players in the Russian Super League, and was approached about maybe playing for Russia in Beijing. He didn’t make the team – I believe some unknown named Andrei Kirilenko nabbed the spot he’d have occupied – but it’s entirely possible he’d have played for Russia had AK-47 been unable to go.
Some guy named J.R. Holden, who grew up in Pittsburgh, played college ball at Bucknell, and hit the shot that won the 2007 Euroleague championship game, DID play for Russia in Beijing — and played darn well, too. Yet there was no great outcry to brand those two men as “traitors.”
Chris Kaman did the same. He’ll never in a million years be good enough to play for Team USA, but he’s plenty adequate for the German national team and, as it happens, he has grandparents who were from Germany. Under EU law, he’s eligible for German nationality and an EU passport. Not that he speaks German or anything, or had even visited the country before he joined its basketball team. But nobody dumped on him when he assented to Dirk Nowitzki’s request to become a German of convenience to play in the Olympics.
What’s the difference, that Kaman has some attenuated ancestral connection to Germany, while Ms. Hammon has no Russian forebears? Big deal. She’s actually visited and played basketball in Russia way more than Kaman’s done with Germany.
Or is it that Ms. Hammon is one of the top players in the WNBA, while Messrs. Hansen and Holden might never even have a shot at riding an NBA bench? If that’s the case, why didn’t the people filling the tryout roster for the women’s team even invite Ms. Hammon to camp until AFTER she’d made her commitment to Russia? What was she supposed to do, hang around for a phone call that might never have come, like some teenage girl dying to get asked to the prom by the high school quarterback, only to find out too late that that the guy had already made plans with the cheerleader, and that now even the geeks, nerds, misfits and nosepickers have other dates?
It’s so easy for people like Lisa Leslie, and Anne Donovan, the team coach, who was a mainstay of U.S. teams in international competition for years, to say that Hammon should’ve waited for the call that might never have come. THEY’ve never had to wait for those phone calls; they were always automatic shoo-ins to be invited to every national team training camp around. They were always the Prom Queens (figuratively speaking – just look at Ms. Donovan) whose only worry was which date to pick out of a long list of suitors. They don’t understand rejection, because they’ve never felt its sting.
Becky Hammon is 31 years old, and, despite the fact that she was an All-American in college and a very good WNBA player for a fair number of years, has NEVER been invited to try out for Team USA. If she’d hung around waiting for the call, she’d have missed out on this year’s Olympics. This was probably her last shot at it. What’d the odds have been that she’d have been invited in 2012, at age 35? Ah, but she’d have shown true “patriotism” by accepting the snub meekly, wouldn’t she?
It’s not as if the U.S. has any problem giving foreigners who happen to very good at Olympic sports fast-track citizenship so that they can compete for the U.S. — especially in sports where the U.S. is behind the curve. That’s OK, because after all, we’re the U.S. and they’re not. But God forbid that any other country try to do that, and we get our knickers in a major twist. Please, spare me the hypocrisy.
Strange how people can jump on a red, white and blue bandwagon to tar and feather an individual U.S. citizen who didn’t even get the chance to turn down, let alone try out for, the U.S. team, but have nothing to say about corporations founded in the U.S. that routinely do more damage to the fabric of our nationhood than Becky Hammon could do if she lived to be a thousand. I’m talking about U.S. corporations that reincorporate holding companies in foreign countries of convenience to avoid paying U.S. taxes even as they keep their operations here. And about U.S. corporations that care so little for the people of the country that makes them rich that they fall all over each other outsourcing U.S. jobs to foreign countries.
I’m also talking about megawealthy U.S. citizens who wouldn’t be hurt much in the pocketbook if they paid their fair share of taxes, but who illegally maintain large secret deposits in offshore tax havens so that they can avoid paying even the paltry tax levies that they’re subject to, courtesy of Dubya. About oil companies that make obscene profits, in large measure by helping inflate the price of oil and by NOT building new refineries. About armaments manufacturers and military contractors who overcharge our military for shoddy goods and incompetent services, and directly put the lives and safety of our troops in danger — and, to add insult to injury, “offshore” a lot of their profits.
Yet, Becky Hammon, whose actions harm not a single American, is the modern-day transgendered “Benedict Arnold,” while the scoundrels who rape and pillage our nation and endanger its wellbeing are just fine? George Orwell was off by 24 years.
J.R. Holden said it best, I think: “All I do is play basketball as a Russian. I pay taxes in the U.S, I live in the U.S., I do everything in the U.S. except play basketball. So I’m a traitor because I’m over here making a living? What about all the businessmen who travel overseas to do business?” Yeah, what about them? And what about the companies that not only do business overseas, but find ways not to repatriate their profits? Who are the real “traitors” here?
Speaking of women who’ve gotten way more criticism than they deserved, anyone remember Hope Solo, the women’s soccer team goalkeeper, who got slammed royally when she spoke out after the U.S. women lost 4-0 to Brazil in the Semifinals of the 2007 FIFA Women’s World Cup? She had started (and won) the 3 prior games, but the coach had replaced her on a hunch with 36-year-old veteran Briana Scurry. Ms. Solo simply said that she thought she’d have made the saves Ms. Scurry had missed, and that the U.S. team would have had a better chance to win had she been in.
Oy, what a storm of fecal matter ensued. She was benched for the Third-Place game, which the Americans won, and was Typhoid Mary to her teammates and to the American public.
It turned out, however, that she was still far and away the best player the U.S. had at her position, and the new national team coach took her back in a heartbeat. Wise decision, because it ALSO turned out that Ms. Solo had spoken nothing but the truth.
Facing the same Brazil team in the Gold Medal game at the Olympics, she did, in fact, make the saves. Brazil demonstrably outplayed the U.S. women, and launched hard-to-play shot after hard-to-play shot at the U.S. goal. Ms. Solo stood on her head, as they say, to stop every single one of them, allowing her teammates to win the game on a fortunate overtime goal against the flow.
More politic now, though, to her credit she spoke only about the team victory, and said nothing about the vindication she must be feeling after having been punished for being right last year. To their discredit, the media types who delighted in piling on her for her alleged egotistical statements last year, failed to point out that this year’s performance may be proof that she wasn’t being egotistical, but merely honest. Just goes to show you that honesty isn’t always the best policy.
Finally on the vindication front, how must Kobe be loving the latest wrinkle in the Shaq saga? While Kobe was refurbishing his tattered image, basking in the glow of the hero-worship in Beijing, and getting photographed enjoying the Olympics en famille, with wife and daughters prominently on display, the Shaqinator was getting his name on the TMZ website for, allegedly, stalking a threatening a former paramour, an Atlanta female rap artist whose stage name is “Mary-Jane” with such vigor and purpose that she’s gotten a restraining order against him.
According to the complaint, that fun-loving, impish, lovable lug just couldn’t take “drop dead” for an answer, and came up with the following puckish pranks to win back the lady’s affections:
Threatened to hurt her and harassed her with heavy-breathing over the phone.
Threatened to “blackball” her from the recording industry by paying established artists $50,000 each for their agreement to refuse to perform or record with her in the future.
Wrote her an E-mail or a text message that reads: “I dnt no who the [rhymes with “duck”] u think u dealin wit u will neva be heard from one phone call is all I gotta make no try me. Sho me.”
And, in a real display of class and savoir-faire, sent her “an unsolicited vulgar and offensive illustration of a man physically restraining a woman while forcing her to engage in sexual intercourse with him.”
Oh, what a practical joker.
Not exactly nonconsensual sex in a resort room in Eagle, Colorado, but not all that far away from it, either.
Of course, the claim against Shaq is just civil, not criminal, right now, and one shouldn’t believe everything a gold-digging floozy says to extort money or publicity. That never stopped the Court of Public Opinion from indicting and convicting Kobe, though, even as the charges in the REAL court system were dropped and the civil case settled. Shaq being Shaq, he’ll get the benefit of every doubt. But I just wonder if in a dark corner of his mind, Kobe’s thinking: “Hey, big guy, how does MY a** taste now?” Schadenfreude, the gift that keeps on giving.
Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.
