Brian Sabean recently said that the San Francisco Giants consider several players untouchable. Among the players he named were Tim Lincecum, Matt Cain, and Brian Wilson. To me, Cy Young and Cain make perfect sense.
But Brian Wilson?
Let me start by saying I am a die-hard Giants' fan and have been since soon after my family moved to the Bay Area in 1987. I have seen several iterations of closers pass through the Orange and Black. The list is long and, at times, ignominious:
Scott Garrelts, Steve Bedrosian, Craig Lefferts, Jeff Brantley, Dave Righetti, Rod Beck, Rob Nen, Tim Worrell (oh man...), Matt Herges (...I think...), Dustin Hermanson (...I'm gonna be...), Tyler Walker (...sick...), Armando Benitez (...and there it is), Mike Stanton, Brad Hennessey, and Brian Wilson.
Except for the move from Beck to Nen, it hasn't been a smooth ride.
So I appreciate the value of a reliable fireman. And I would put Wilson, after just one full year on the job, behind only Nen and Beck. Those are the Giants' best and two of the best in baseball's history at the role.
So I appreciate Brian Wilson's considerable value in particular.
But to label him untouchable is, in my opinion, a bad mistake (unless of course it's a bargaining ploy by Sabean, which is entirely possible). I believe that for the following reasons:
1. Genuinely reliable closers are exceptionally rare, but impostors come along frequently.
Problem is, they're impossible to tell apart at first because both can come from anywhere at any time, but the impostors will regress to kerosene with equal unpredictability.
Joakim Soria? Jonathan Papelbon? Joe Nathan? Francisco Rodriguez? Jose Valverde? Kerry Wood? George Sherrill? Please explain a science of predicting these guys.
Or take a guy like Brad Lidge. He came from nowhere, aped the Sandman, then got torched, and now he's back to dominating - having just polished off a perfect season at the end of games.
Or Manny Corpas. He rose to filthy heights from nowhere last year and was so bad this year that he couldn't make it out of May with the job.
Bottom line - closers are as unpredictable as the rest of the bullpen, which means a seemingly reliable guy could go up just as easily as you could pluck the next Soria from the scrap heap. Only a couple guys are exceptions to this and it's too early to tell regarding Wilson.
2. Only championship contenders really need to find and hold a lights-out closer.
Sure, it's frustrating to blow late leads for any team. But the warm-and-fuzzy security that the best closers provide comes at a steep price. They are outrageously expensive to sign and/or to keep plus their full value isn't realized until they can enter those coal-to-diamond situations in which they so inexplicably and uniquely thrive.
A rebuilding or even marginal contender probably won't ever create those situations. Therefore, such a team wastes money that could be spent on more useful players that don't require the terminal stages of championship contention to approach full value.
A reliable closer is a luxury item.
In an ideal world, he is the final piece to a championship because acquiring one too soon can actually retard World Series aspirations.
3. The San Francisco Giants are not realistically going to be a championship contender next year, as is.
I recently wrote an article advocating a move or two this offseason to make the Giants playoff contenders. In that piece, I said any team that makes the playoffs is a championship contender. But playoff contention does not actually require making the playoffs.
I sincerely believe the Gents are a good-sized move or two away from playoff contention. I also sincerely believe they are several bigger moves away from actually making the playoffs.
Everything could break right for SF and they could find themselves inexplicably playing for baseball's biggest prize in 2009, but I doubt a money closer will make or break those odds.
4. Huston Street is the centerpiece of the Matt Holliday trade.
Didn't I say that closers were outrageously expensive?
I'm not going to go through the stats because they are so incomparable as to be useless. Suffice it to say that, although Carlos Gonzalez is a promising young player, his offensive contribution is not going to replace Holliday's any time soon, if ever. And Greg Smith, while also promising, just had elbow surgery.
Additionally, the Rockies figure to lose Brian Fuentes to free agency and Corpas was, ahem, unsteady in the closer's role last year.
In other words, the two young guys are relative question marks and long-term projects at best. Colorado figured to lose its closer and had no attractive replacement. That means, the main and immediate prize for Matt Holliday was Huston Street.
5. Brian Wilson is insanely better than Huston Street.
You can draw any conclusion you want based on the peripheral stats. In truth, they are very similar. But for a closer, only one stat matters and that is save percentage.
Wilson was 41 for 47. Street lost the job after going 18 for 25. Argument over.
So if Huston Street plus some blue-chip prospects equals Matt Holliday, what could SF get for Brian Wilson? And if Oakland's budget allowed them to go after a guy like Holliday, what could San Francisco's considerably larger budget produce?
I doubt Colorado would have traded Holliday to a division rival so I don't mean to imply that, had Sabean been willing to move Wilson, we could be watching Matt Holliday in SF's outfield next year.
But I do mean to imply that San Francisco might be able to land a similar whale for Brian Wilson and some of the young guys. The right whale would be worth it because Wilson may or may not be the genuine article.
And, even though I think he is the real deal, Wilson's more valuable to the Giants ultimate goal if he's walking out the door.
Of course, Brian Wilson and Tim Lincecum are apparently close friends. So, what if trading Wilson would upset the Franchise?
In that case, forget I wrote anything.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Notre Dame Football: The Devil In Disguise
I ran across something that absolutely disgusted me while reading about Notre Dame football. When discussing sports, you frequently use severity and exaggeration as hammers to drive home a point.
This is not one of those situations.
I was not a fan of the program before, but my antipathy blossomed from admittedly petty reasons. Because I acknowledged this pettiness, I tempered my feelings. Capped them at intense dislike.
No more.
I literally hate Notre Dame football and what it represents - the perfect National Collegiate Athletic Association program.
Heretofore, I could only say that I hated the Los Angeles Dodgers. They were the one rival I allowed myself to hate because I take no pleasure in that emotion. But I'm a San Francisco Giants' fan, what could I do?
Apparently, the answer was to find a worthier target. And I've found one.
The NCAA's mission statement reads like this: "Our purpose is to govern competition in a fair, safe, equitable and sportsmanlike manner, and to integrate intercollegiate athletics into higher education so that educational experience of the student-athlete is paramount."
Paramount. As in, above all others in importance and priority.
If you know about the program's recent history and you re-read that paragraph, you will realize that Notre Dame football is Job Bluth, the Great Magician.
You will realize that, intentionally or not, the Tyrone Willingham-Charlie Weis Civil War that rages is a singularly transcendent bit of misdirection. It's the next shit and the NCAA is the program's pusher.
Can anyone remember anything about ND football before this scuffle broke out? Before ESPN assaulted the airwaves with rumors, whispers, and nuanced accusations of racism at the nation's most popular Catholic university. Before each ND win or loss became an excuse to dissect Willingham's recruiting versus that of Weis and to revive the race issue.
It is only a slight stretch to say that Notre Dame's long history seems to have been truncated, consisting merely of the last seven years. Especially in today's ADHD world.
How often does Bob Davie's name get mentioned? In fact, I might have to remind some people that he was the coach that preceded TW.
And if the administration at Notre Dame has enough brain cells to blow its collective nose, they should be spending a lot of extra time in divine genuflection for that little bit of deliverance.
Because in 2001, Notre Dame football received the American Football Coaches Association Achievement Award for graduating, get this, 100% of its football players.
100%. As in every single player eligible for graduation. At a competitive, big-time football program.
Schools like Notre Dame will always graduate a higher percentage of their athletes because they simply draw that type of individual. But 100% is perfection.
And 2001 was Bob Davie's last year under the employ of that fine academic institution.
Davie was fired after five years during which he compiled a 35-25 record, accepted invitations to three bowl games, reached the school's first Bowl Championship Series game, eventually graduated everyone eligible for that honor, and was exceptionally inconsistent (they lost all three bowl games).
Anything else? Oh yeah, he had stepped into the rather commodious shoes of Lou Holtz.
To be fair, Davie also received and deserved (to a degree) criticism for opening the University to an age-discrimination suit by mishandling the firing of a long-time Holtz guy.
And it also must be mentioned that Notre Dame received probation from the NCAA during his tenure for a scandal involving improper gifts from a booster to players. Although, how poorly that should reflect on Bob Davie is a matter of debate.
Regardless, no individual is perfect. More importantly, he was not fired for either scandal. He was fired because Notre Dame was closer to average than great under his command and was inconsistent. The scandals did make nice moral cover.
But of paramount importance, at least according to the NCAA, should have been that he ensured every single player eligible for one of life's most valuable assets (a college degree) received it. And apologists could argue that it was the most important thing Davie did.
Except he was fired the year he did it.
"[T]o integrate intercollegiate athletics into higher education so that educational experience of the student-athlete is paramount."
From that statement, the NCAA draws many benefits. One particularly significant such benefit is a tax-exempt status in the eyes of our government. Think about the repercussions of all that revenue sans taxation, both on the NCAA's bottom line and our country's.
Now consider the Draconian constraints placed on the athletes from which all that tax-free revenue is generated. And all the misery sown when immature adolescents break those impossibly unjust constraints.
The NCAA is a greedy, hypocritical parasite and Notre Dame football is its superlative exemplar.
The program is a license to print money. During its finest years, it can compete with all but the most elite programs. It is nationally-revered for its integrity, the premium it places on the intellectual sustenance of its athletes, and its refusal to compromise in that regard.
Notre Dame football is sold to and by the national media as an athletic powerhouse and a bastion of intellectual perseverance through athletic achievement. It sells well.
And it is a vomitous lie.
Notre Dame football is a voracious wolf in sheep's clothing. Its concern over its athletes' intellectual advancement is tertiary. Only when the program's financial and competitive health have been maximized can the program trouble itself with developing its players' minds.
Apologists for Notre Dame and the NCAA will point to the fact that the program continues to graduate a high percentage of its players and has subsequently repeated as winner of the Academic Achievement Award.
But the mission statement does not say the goal of the NCAA is to maximize athletic proficiency and, consequently, profit generation while maintaining an excellent commitment to education. It says education is "paramount."
That means the ideal is a 100% graduation rate while winning national championships. Short of that, it means the next rung on the Ideal Ladder is a 100% graduation rate while staying competitive. It means that the education of its athletes should never be compromised until absolutely necessary.
And Notre Dame football compromised it for a mercurial shot at a marginal gain in athletics. A marginal gain that has yet to materialize. The program sold its soul and has yet to see any return.
Apologists will point to other programs and cry, "guilty!" But those programs are not cast and do not cast themselves as the great and unique intellectual benefactor. Notre Dame football is and does.
It is as a beacon on a hill, but burns its principles to throw that light.
And I will hate Notre Dame football until that changes.
This is not one of those situations.
I was not a fan of the program before, but my antipathy blossomed from admittedly petty reasons. Because I acknowledged this pettiness, I tempered my feelings. Capped them at intense dislike.
No more.
I literally hate Notre Dame football and what it represents - the perfect National Collegiate Athletic Association program.
Heretofore, I could only say that I hated the Los Angeles Dodgers. They were the one rival I allowed myself to hate because I take no pleasure in that emotion. But I'm a San Francisco Giants' fan, what could I do?
Apparently, the answer was to find a worthier target. And I've found one.
The NCAA's mission statement reads like this: "Our purpose is to govern competition in a fair, safe, equitable and sportsmanlike manner, and to integrate intercollegiate athletics into higher education so that educational experience of the student-athlete is paramount."
Paramount. As in, above all others in importance and priority.
If you know about the program's recent history and you re-read that paragraph, you will realize that Notre Dame football is Job Bluth, the Great Magician.
You will realize that, intentionally or not, the Tyrone Willingham-Charlie Weis Civil War that rages is a singularly transcendent bit of misdirection. It's the next shit and the NCAA is the program's pusher.
Can anyone remember anything about ND football before this scuffle broke out? Before ESPN assaulted the airwaves with rumors, whispers, and nuanced accusations of racism at the nation's most popular Catholic university. Before each ND win or loss became an excuse to dissect Willingham's recruiting versus that of Weis and to revive the race issue.
It is only a slight stretch to say that Notre Dame's long history seems to have been truncated, consisting merely of the last seven years. Especially in today's ADHD world.
How often does Bob Davie's name get mentioned? In fact, I might have to remind some people that he was the coach that preceded TW.
And if the administration at Notre Dame has enough brain cells to blow its collective nose, they should be spending a lot of extra time in divine genuflection for that little bit of deliverance.
Because in 2001, Notre Dame football received the American Football Coaches Association Achievement Award for graduating, get this, 100% of its football players.
100%. As in every single player eligible for graduation. At a competitive, big-time football program.
Schools like Notre Dame will always graduate a higher percentage of their athletes because they simply draw that type of individual. But 100% is perfection.
And 2001 was Bob Davie's last year under the employ of that fine academic institution.
Davie was fired after five years during which he compiled a 35-25 record, accepted invitations to three bowl games, reached the school's first Bowl Championship Series game, eventually graduated everyone eligible for that honor, and was exceptionally inconsistent (they lost all three bowl games).
Anything else? Oh yeah, he had stepped into the rather commodious shoes of Lou Holtz.
To be fair, Davie also received and deserved (to a degree) criticism for opening the University to an age-discrimination suit by mishandling the firing of a long-time Holtz guy.
And it also must be mentioned that Notre Dame received probation from the NCAA during his tenure for a scandal involving improper gifts from a booster to players. Although, how poorly that should reflect on Bob Davie is a matter of debate.
Regardless, no individual is perfect. More importantly, he was not fired for either scandal. He was fired because Notre Dame was closer to average than great under his command and was inconsistent. The scandals did make nice moral cover.
But of paramount importance, at least according to the NCAA, should have been that he ensured every single player eligible for one of life's most valuable assets (a college degree) received it. And apologists could argue that it was the most important thing Davie did.
Except he was fired the year he did it.
"[T]o integrate intercollegiate athletics into higher education so that educational experience of the student-athlete is paramount."
From that statement, the NCAA draws many benefits. One particularly significant such benefit is a tax-exempt status in the eyes of our government. Think about the repercussions of all that revenue sans taxation, both on the NCAA's bottom line and our country's.
Now consider the Draconian constraints placed on the athletes from which all that tax-free revenue is generated. And all the misery sown when immature adolescents break those impossibly unjust constraints.
The NCAA is a greedy, hypocritical parasite and Notre Dame football is its superlative exemplar.
The program is a license to print money. During its finest years, it can compete with all but the most elite programs. It is nationally-revered for its integrity, the premium it places on the intellectual sustenance of its athletes, and its refusal to compromise in that regard.
Notre Dame football is sold to and by the national media as an athletic powerhouse and a bastion of intellectual perseverance through athletic achievement. It sells well.
And it is a vomitous lie.
Notre Dame football is a voracious wolf in sheep's clothing. Its concern over its athletes' intellectual advancement is tertiary. Only when the program's financial and competitive health have been maximized can the program trouble itself with developing its players' minds.
Apologists for Notre Dame and the NCAA will point to the fact that the program continues to graduate a high percentage of its players and has subsequently repeated as winner of the Academic Achievement Award.
But the mission statement does not say the goal of the NCAA is to maximize athletic proficiency and, consequently, profit generation while maintaining an excellent commitment to education. It says education is "paramount."
That means the ideal is a 100% graduation rate while winning national championships. Short of that, it means the next rung on the Ideal Ladder is a 100% graduation rate while staying competitive. It means that the education of its athletes should never be compromised until absolutely necessary.
And Notre Dame football compromised it for a mercurial shot at a marginal gain in athletics. A marginal gain that has yet to materialize. The program sold its soul and has yet to see any return.
Apologists will point to other programs and cry, "guilty!" But those programs are not cast and do not cast themselves as the great and unique intellectual benefactor. Notre Dame football is and does.
It is as a beacon on a hill, but burns its principles to throw that light.
And I will hate Notre Dame football until that changes.
Monday, November 10, 2008
It's Rare, But the Patience of San Francisco Giants' Fans Is Wearing Thin
This can't go on all the time - all this franticness and jumping around. We've got to go someplace, find something. - Jack Kerouac, On the Road
For the San Francisco Giants, that place is the World Series. That thing is the championship trophy.
After five long years of frantic futility and jumping around the peripheral of the National League West races, the time for excuses has long since passed.
Consider the following:
Some hold it against us, say that it means we aren't real fans. We can't be the geniune article because we don't care enough to boo at the drop of a ball or walk of a batter.
I say it's that we care just as much, but maintain a healthy perspective of sports vis-a-vis life. That point can be debated.
What cannot be debated is that five long years of utter futility for a franchise that fielded a championship contender almost every year from 1993 through 2003 is long enough. Especially when there is over $10 million sitting in reserve that must be spent on talent to keep a promise to customers.
Especially when the team already has a one-two punch of Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain.
Especially when they can follow that up with Jonathan Sanchez, Barry Zito, and Brian Wilson.
Especially when they already have a nice little offensive nucleus of Aaron Rowand, Bengie Molina, Randy Winn, Emanuel Burriss, Freddie Lewis, and Pablo Sandoval.
The Giants' 2009 roster will not overwhelm anyone offensively, but it features a pitching staff that should do quite well with just an average offense. If everything breaks right, the 2009 Giants' offense, as-is (or will be), might be average. But it could easily be above average if management adds the right piece to the mix.
That piece is NOT Manny Ramirez.
We just washed off the stink of Bonds'. I loved Barry as much as any die-hard fan would love a player who carried his/her favorite team to the postseason almost every year. But I was well aware that it was an adoration with a price: you couldn't feel totally clean about yourself (and I'm not talking steroids, I'm talking the guy is human garbage by all accounts).
But at least Barry was the best chemically-enhanced player this game has ever seen. Ramirez isn't even the best hitter it's seen and his act is already tired. That was before he caught the Dodger Blue bug.
Ugh. Keep that train wreck away.
Nor is that piece C.C. Sabathia.
I'm as big a fan of Sabathia as the next guy. But I already listed the virtues of the as-assembled 2009 San Francisco Giants. Points one and two were pitching. Really, points three and four are pitching as well, but I'm being optimistic. The Gents simply do not need more pitching.
It sounds odd to say that in the modern era, but it's true. The organization even has a couple more young arms down on the farm. Our cup runneth over (if form holds true, admittedly a large if).
Of course, signing Sabathia would make sense if you moved some of that young pitching, but why take that very expensive risk on the heels of Zito? SF would have to move Noah Lowry, Cain, Sanchez, or one of the guys on the farm; it would probably be Cain. Those young arms are MUCH cheaper than C.C.
Granted, they are not the same quality. But who knows what quality Sabathia's next team will get? I can promise you I'm not the only person concerned by all those innings under so much stress with so little rest in between. He's young and he's an absolute monster, but he's still human.
Regardless, signing him would require huge money and the trade of a promising young arm (or two). That's a big risk for anyone to take and the Giants just failed pretty spectacularly on another large risk with Zito's contract.
Thankfully, neither Ramirez nor Sabathia (nor the trade of Cain for that matter) looks likely. Yet, all have been mentioned by people inside baseball so none is ridiculous.
What would be ridiculous would be a repeat, in 2009, of the impotence that has befouled our recent seasons.
Management owes us more than that.
For the San Francisco Giants, that place is the World Series. That thing is the championship trophy.
After five long years of frantic futility and jumping around the peripheral of the National League West races, the time for excuses has long since passed.
Consider the following:
- The Giants haven't finished above .500 since 2004; they haven't really been close.
- They haven't managed better than a third place finish in Major League Baseball's weakest division since that same year.
- Their 2007 payroll of over $90 million was good for 12th in MLB.
- Barry Bonds' 2007 salary was $15.8 million.
- SF's 2008 payroll of just under $77 million was good for 17th in MLB and they actually spent less per player than the Cincinnati Reds (who finished 18th in total payroll).
- Barry Lamar Bonds no longer patrols leftfield.
- We loyal fans were assured that the money freed by Bonds' departure wouldn't just be pocketed by the owners, that a substantial amount would be put back into spikes.
Some hold it against us, say that it means we aren't real fans. We can't be the geniune article because we don't care enough to boo at the drop of a ball or walk of a batter.
I say it's that we care just as much, but maintain a healthy perspective of sports vis-a-vis life. That point can be debated.
What cannot be debated is that five long years of utter futility for a franchise that fielded a championship contender almost every year from 1993 through 2003 is long enough. Especially when there is over $10 million sitting in reserve that must be spent on talent to keep a promise to customers.
Especially when the team already has a one-two punch of Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain.
Especially when they can follow that up with Jonathan Sanchez, Barry Zito, and Brian Wilson.
Especially when they already have a nice little offensive nucleus of Aaron Rowand, Bengie Molina, Randy Winn, Emanuel Burriss, Freddie Lewis, and Pablo Sandoval.
The Giants' 2009 roster will not overwhelm anyone offensively, but it features a pitching staff that should do quite well with just an average offense. If everything breaks right, the 2009 Giants' offense, as-is (or will be), might be average. But it could easily be above average if management adds the right piece to the mix.
That piece is NOT Manny Ramirez.
We just washed off the stink of Bonds'. I loved Barry as much as any die-hard fan would love a player who carried his/her favorite team to the postseason almost every year. But I was well aware that it was an adoration with a price: you couldn't feel totally clean about yourself (and I'm not talking steroids, I'm talking the guy is human garbage by all accounts).
But at least Barry was the best chemically-enhanced player this game has ever seen. Ramirez isn't even the best hitter it's seen and his act is already tired. That was before he caught the Dodger Blue bug.
Ugh. Keep that train wreck away.
Nor is that piece C.C. Sabathia.
I'm as big a fan of Sabathia as the next guy. But I already listed the virtues of the as-assembled 2009 San Francisco Giants. Points one and two were pitching. Really, points three and four are pitching as well, but I'm being optimistic. The Gents simply do not need more pitching.
It sounds odd to say that in the modern era, but it's true. The organization even has a couple more young arms down on the farm. Our cup runneth over (if form holds true, admittedly a large if).
Of course, signing Sabathia would make sense if you moved some of that young pitching, but why take that very expensive risk on the heels of Zito? SF would have to move Noah Lowry, Cain, Sanchez, or one of the guys on the farm; it would probably be Cain. Those young arms are MUCH cheaper than C.C.
Granted, they are not the same quality. But who knows what quality Sabathia's next team will get? I can promise you I'm not the only person concerned by all those innings under so much stress with so little rest in between. He's young and he's an absolute monster, but he's still human.
Regardless, signing him would require huge money and the trade of a promising young arm (or two). That's a big risk for anyone to take and the Giants just failed pretty spectacularly on another large risk with Zito's contract.
Thankfully, neither Ramirez nor Sabathia (nor the trade of Cain for that matter) looks likely. Yet, all have been mentioned by people inside baseball so none is ridiculous.
What would be ridiculous would be a repeat, in 2009, of the impotence that has befouled our recent seasons.
Management owes us more than that.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
East of the BCS's False Eden
You are one of the rare people who can separate your observation from your preconception. You see what is, where most people see what they expect. - John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Lines like that announce and define great writers. Simple and incisive confrontations with the human condition that echo in every area of every life. Sometimes the stories and characters keep pace with this ability to focus the reader on the universal truths; all the better, but that is not the requirement.
The wisdom of Steinbeck's words is no more evident than in the world of sports. ESPN and its cavalcade of media outlets ensure that you need not face a moment of independent introspection upon your favorite ones.
Throw in Fox Sports, CBS Sportsline, Yahoo! Sports, Deadspin, our lovely little forum here, etc. and there is no shortage of people telling you how it is, when it is, and where it is (or should be). I'm not saying this is a bad thing; we participate in all of it voluntarily.
I am saying that Steinbeck's words should be heeded. The trick, as always, is to see the forest of truth through the trees of opinion (often disguised as fact).
Which brings me to college football.
Such an ability to see teams for what they really are is most important in this sport because there is no playoff. There is no normalizing event that pits the best of the strongest against each other. Instead, we are left to conjecture and compare by association, which is borderline useless.
So what if Team A from the SEC beat Team B from the Big 10? That doesn't tell us much about Team C from the SEC because the world of sports is not that of algebra. Neither football nor any arena of athletic competition follows the law of transitivity, even though it frequently pans out along those lines.
Of course, since there's no guarantee Team C and B will ever meet, the above comparison is the best we've got so it's what we go on. That's a simplification, but I think it fairly approximates the situation.
Do we know Florida isn't as good as Texas Tech just because they have a loss? After all, that loss wasn't to the Red Raiders.
Or what about an undefeated Ball State team and any other undefeated team? I mean, that quarterback looked pretty ridiculous, albeit against Northern Illinois.
College football is also the sport where such an ability to objectively, independently, and accurately assess each team is most difficult to develop and most frustrating to have once you get it (I'm guessing here because I don't pretend to have it).
Again, because of the lack of a playoff.
Each year is the same. This season, it's shaping up to be a debate between the SEC and the Big 12: the best of both conferences look like monsters, but who is the best?
Look at the schedules:
That discussion is more complicated because you have to consider more conferences. You need to include the Big 10 because of the newly-minted, one-loss Nittany Lions. And the Pac 10 to account for USC. And I won't forget the other undefeated non-BCS teams (Utah and Boise State).
Both debates are predicated on which conferences are the best, a fundamentally problematic question.
For instance, I saw that Texas-Texas Tech game. I'm still not sure whether the Big 12 is a conference full of good offenses and abysmal defenses or great offenses that would chew up any defense. Texas Tech looked like the latter, but not conclusively.
Meanwhile, the SEC looks like a conference full of teams that can dominate on both sides of the ball. But, again, who knows? I base that lead statement largely on the SEC's history of obliterating foes in bowl games. In previous years.
How ludicrous is that?
The cacophony of "experts" irritates the entire mess because the tide of popular opinion is even more powerful without the equalizer of a playoff.
Consider that, at this point, if the Crimson Tide get to the SEC title game, they play for the National Championship - win or lose.
They would be a one-loss SEC regular season champion. Their only loss would be in the postseason tournament's last game. That's a team that makes it in over every other team except two undefeated BCS-conference reps. Texas Tech is the only other such school.
But is that because of reality or expectation?
We don't expect a team like Ball State to be able to stun a one-loss, BCS-conference team. Especially from the mighty SEC. Forget about an undefeated one.
But what about Doug Flutie? Broadway Joe? People won't like this, but Michael Vick leading Atlanta into Lambeau Field during the January playoffs?
Doesn't football's history tell us a prolific talent can carry a team to one, single, improbable victory?
Doesn't Nate Davis have the talent and weapons to take down an Alabama, Texas Tech, Florida, or USC? Couldn't he make Ball State better for one afternoon? It's obviously unlikely, but well within the confines of reality.
And it's unlikely we'll ever get to find out.
Too bad. Because a reality breaking from expectation, in large part, defines the greatness of sports.
Lines like that announce and define great writers. Simple and incisive confrontations with the human condition that echo in every area of every life. Sometimes the stories and characters keep pace with this ability to focus the reader on the universal truths; all the better, but that is not the requirement.
The wisdom of Steinbeck's words is no more evident than in the world of sports. ESPN and its cavalcade of media outlets ensure that you need not face a moment of independent introspection upon your favorite ones.
Throw in Fox Sports, CBS Sportsline, Yahoo! Sports, Deadspin, our lovely little forum here, etc. and there is no shortage of people telling you how it is, when it is, and where it is (or should be). I'm not saying this is a bad thing; we participate in all of it voluntarily.
I am saying that Steinbeck's words should be heeded. The trick, as always, is to see the forest of truth through the trees of opinion (often disguised as fact).
Which brings me to college football.
Such an ability to see teams for what they really are is most important in this sport because there is no playoff. There is no normalizing event that pits the best of the strongest against each other. Instead, we are left to conjecture and compare by association, which is borderline useless.
So what if Team A from the SEC beat Team B from the Big 10? That doesn't tell us much about Team C from the SEC because the world of sports is not that of algebra. Neither football nor any arena of athletic competition follows the law of transitivity, even though it frequently pans out along those lines.
Of course, since there's no guarantee Team C and B will ever meet, the above comparison is the best we've got so it's what we go on. That's a simplification, but I think it fairly approximates the situation.
Do we know Florida isn't as good as Texas Tech just because they have a loss? After all, that loss wasn't to the Red Raiders.
Or what about an undefeated Ball State team and any other undefeated team? I mean, that quarterback looked pretty ridiculous, albeit against Northern Illinois.
College football is also the sport where such an ability to objectively, independently, and accurately assess each team is most difficult to develop and most frustrating to have once you get it (I'm guessing here because I don't pretend to have it).
Again, because of the lack of a playoff.
Each year is the same. This season, it's shaping up to be a debate between the SEC and the Big 12: the best of both conferences look like monsters, but who is the best?
Look at the schedules:
- Texas Tech played NOBODY outside the Big 12. They've looked awesome inside the conference, but what does that really tell us?
- Oklahoma beat TCU and Cincinnati, who are juggernauts compared to the powder-puffs that populate the non-conference schedules of the Sooners' competition.
- Texas stomped all over Arkansas, but so has its SEC opposition.
- Alabama roughed up what was then a ninth-ranked Clemson squad. They are currently a 4-5 Clemson squad, toiling near the cellar of the ACC.
- Florida battered Miami, which isn't the resume-builder it used to be.
- Georgia played cupcakes outside conference.
That discussion is more complicated because you have to consider more conferences. You need to include the Big 10 because of the newly-minted, one-loss Nittany Lions. And the Pac 10 to account for USC. And I won't forget the other undefeated non-BCS teams (Utah and Boise State).
Both debates are predicated on which conferences are the best, a fundamentally problematic question.
For instance, I saw that Texas-Texas Tech game. I'm still not sure whether the Big 12 is a conference full of good offenses and abysmal defenses or great offenses that would chew up any defense. Texas Tech looked like the latter, but not conclusively.
Meanwhile, the SEC looks like a conference full of teams that can dominate on both sides of the ball. But, again, who knows? I base that lead statement largely on the SEC's history of obliterating foes in bowl games. In previous years.
How ludicrous is that?
The cacophony of "experts" irritates the entire mess because the tide of popular opinion is even more powerful without the equalizer of a playoff.
Consider that, at this point, if the Crimson Tide get to the SEC title game, they play for the National Championship - win or lose.
They would be a one-loss SEC regular season champion. Their only loss would be in the postseason tournament's last game. That's a team that makes it in over every other team except two undefeated BCS-conference reps. Texas Tech is the only other such school.
But is that because of reality or expectation?
We don't expect a team like Ball State to be able to stun a one-loss, BCS-conference team. Especially from the mighty SEC. Forget about an undefeated one.
But what about Doug Flutie? Broadway Joe? People won't like this, but Michael Vick leading Atlanta into Lambeau Field during the January playoffs?
Doesn't football's history tell us a prolific talent can carry a team to one, single, improbable victory?
Doesn't Nate Davis have the talent and weapons to take down an Alabama, Texas Tech, Florida, or USC? Couldn't he make Ball State better for one afternoon? It's obviously unlikely, but well within the confines of reality.
And it's unlikely we'll ever get to find out.
Too bad. Because a reality breaking from expectation, in large part, defines the greatness of sports.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Fear and Loathing in the National Football League
No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs. Reality itself is too twisted. - Hunter S. Thompson "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"
If I were Derek Anderson, those words would have been ricocheting off the walls of my skull all night as I watched Brady Quinn from the sidelines.
That would be the same Derek Anderson who seemingly rose from nowhere last year to lead the Cleveland Browns to a 10-6 record and received a juicy new contract in the offseason for his efforts. The same Derek Anderson who went to the Pro Bowl last year, a very competitive year for American Football Conference quarterbacks.
Let me repeat: Cleveland Browns, 10-6, Pro Bowl QB.
And then reality twisted.
The calendar flipped to 2008 and the Browns struggled out of the gate. One thing led to another and Anderson was chucked (intentionally or not) under the bus. Romeo Crennel yanked him just in time to insert Quinn against a seemingly defenseless Denver Broncos team at home.
On a nationally-televised, Thursday night game.
For the NFL Network's 2008 debut.
Now, I don't follow the Browns. I don't know what caused their early struggles nor do I pretend to know if Anderson or Quinn is better going forward.
What I do know is what I saw Thursday night.
I know that the problem with the Browns is not the quarterback. Their offense may have been sluggish, but the problem is the defense.
I also know that I see reason to be excited about Jay Cutler. I see those feathery touch throws, the cannon arm, and the accuracy on the move.
I can't say the same about Brady Quinn. I see hype, but I don't understand it. Maybe he will be a difference maker for the rest of the season, but he certainly didn't make much of one Thursday.
And that's why the reality of football is so twisted.
Because Derek Anderson is not getting that job back any time soon and it really doesn't have anything to do with his play. With the running game moving the ball as well as it was moving it against the Broncos and all that time to throw, I'm willing to bet good money a guy who was a Pro Bowler last year could have made every throw Quinn made.
Not to mention starting from the freakin' 50 every series.
Cris Collinsworth, who I generally don't like, made a great point. He said that throwing the ball in the NFL isn't too difficult between the 20s. The real quarterbacks are made inside the Red Zone. I don't know if Collinsworth is right, but it makes sense since there's less real estate to cover and explore.
And I didn't see Quinn make any especially nice throws inside the 20.
In fact, I didn't really see him make that many impressive throws or plays, period.
One of the reasons I don't like Collinsworth is that he inexplicably fixates on certain players, certain plays, or certain aspects of the game. And he was guilty of it last night with Quinn. Cris kept talking about how great Brady looked, about how well he moved in the pocket.
Don't give me that nonsense. I know that's the Kool-Aid flavor o' the day, but keep it moving.
That hop-pass he made to Jamal Lewis in the fourth quarter was very nice. That's it.
The touchdown with the guy in his face? C'mon. It took some guts, but has the NFL really deteriorated to the point where we can't even expect that much from the average professional signal-caller? And the other touchdown (as well as much of Quinn's yardage) was created by Kellen Winslow after the catch.
Not to mention those picks the Brown receivers seemed to be running? How were those flying under the refs' radar?
On the other hand, I saw Brady make quite a few ugly throws.
In fact, judging from the highlights, the only real difference between Quinn and Anderson is that Quinn's go-to guy (Winslow) can catch most of the time whereas Anderson's (Braylon Edwards) seems to have a gnarly case of the dropsies.
Incidentally, what is the deal with all the dropped passes lately? The Broncos tight end dropped a couple, Edwards tallied his customary share, Brandon Marshall dropped a touchdown, and that's just a few from one game. It seems to be a League-wide phenomenon.
I guess that's the risk you run pimping Terrell Owens so hard.
But back to Derek Anderson and Brady Quinn.
Quinn finished the game 23-35 with 239 yards and two touchdowns. He had Cleveland headed towards a win until the defense turtled to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Or at least that's the way it will be written in the papers.
And the job will be Brady's to lose.
He'll owe it to Jamal Lewis and the offensive line, who finally answered the bell.
He'll owe it to a Denver defense that missed Champ Bailey and didn't put up much of a fight.
He'll owe it to Romeo Crennel, a coach whose fix for a team fielding a defense capable of allowing 21 points in the fourth quarter of a nationally-televised home game is a quarterback change.
He'll owe it to just another day in the NFL.
The Vegas of the sports' world. It is not a good sport for psychedelic drugs.
Reality itself is far too twisted.
If I were Derek Anderson, those words would have been ricocheting off the walls of my skull all night as I watched Brady Quinn from the sidelines.
That would be the same Derek Anderson who seemingly rose from nowhere last year to lead the Cleveland Browns to a 10-6 record and received a juicy new contract in the offseason for his efforts. The same Derek Anderson who went to the Pro Bowl last year, a very competitive year for American Football Conference quarterbacks.
Let me repeat: Cleveland Browns, 10-6, Pro Bowl QB.
And then reality twisted.
The calendar flipped to 2008 and the Browns struggled out of the gate. One thing led to another and Anderson was chucked (intentionally or not) under the bus. Romeo Crennel yanked him just in time to insert Quinn against a seemingly defenseless Denver Broncos team at home.
On a nationally-televised, Thursday night game.
For the NFL Network's 2008 debut.
Now, I don't follow the Browns. I don't know what caused their early struggles nor do I pretend to know if Anderson or Quinn is better going forward.
What I do know is what I saw Thursday night.
I know that the problem with the Browns is not the quarterback. Their offense may have been sluggish, but the problem is the defense.
I also know that I see reason to be excited about Jay Cutler. I see those feathery touch throws, the cannon arm, and the accuracy on the move.
I can't say the same about Brady Quinn. I see hype, but I don't understand it. Maybe he will be a difference maker for the rest of the season, but he certainly didn't make much of one Thursday.
And that's why the reality of football is so twisted.
Because Derek Anderson is not getting that job back any time soon and it really doesn't have anything to do with his play. With the running game moving the ball as well as it was moving it against the Broncos and all that time to throw, I'm willing to bet good money a guy who was a Pro Bowler last year could have made every throw Quinn made.
Not to mention starting from the freakin' 50 every series.
Cris Collinsworth, who I generally don't like, made a great point. He said that throwing the ball in the NFL isn't too difficult between the 20s. The real quarterbacks are made inside the Red Zone. I don't know if Collinsworth is right, but it makes sense since there's less real estate to cover and explore.
And I didn't see Quinn make any especially nice throws inside the 20.
In fact, I didn't really see him make that many impressive throws or plays, period.
One of the reasons I don't like Collinsworth is that he inexplicably fixates on certain players, certain plays, or certain aspects of the game. And he was guilty of it last night with Quinn. Cris kept talking about how great Brady looked, about how well he moved in the pocket.
Don't give me that nonsense. I know that's the Kool-Aid flavor o' the day, but keep it moving.
That hop-pass he made to Jamal Lewis in the fourth quarter was very nice. That's it.
The touchdown with the guy in his face? C'mon. It took some guts, but has the NFL really deteriorated to the point where we can't even expect that much from the average professional signal-caller? And the other touchdown (as well as much of Quinn's yardage) was created by Kellen Winslow after the catch.
Not to mention those picks the Brown receivers seemed to be running? How were those flying under the refs' radar?
On the other hand, I saw Brady make quite a few ugly throws.
In fact, judging from the highlights, the only real difference between Quinn and Anderson is that Quinn's go-to guy (Winslow) can catch most of the time whereas Anderson's (Braylon Edwards) seems to have a gnarly case of the dropsies.
Incidentally, what is the deal with all the dropped passes lately? The Broncos tight end dropped a couple, Edwards tallied his customary share, Brandon Marshall dropped a touchdown, and that's just a few from one game. It seems to be a League-wide phenomenon.
I guess that's the risk you run pimping Terrell Owens so hard.
But back to Derek Anderson and Brady Quinn.
Quinn finished the game 23-35 with 239 yards and two touchdowns. He had Cleveland headed towards a win until the defense turtled to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Or at least that's the way it will be written in the papers.
And the job will be Brady's to lose.
He'll owe it to Jamal Lewis and the offensive line, who finally answered the bell.
He'll owe it to a Denver defense that missed Champ Bailey and didn't put up much of a fight.
He'll owe it to Romeo Crennel, a coach whose fix for a team fielding a defense capable of allowing 21 points in the fourth quarter of a nationally-televised home game is a quarterback change.
He'll owe it to just another day in the NFL.
The Vegas of the sports' world. It is not a good sport for psychedelic drugs.
Reality itself is far too twisted.
Razing Cain
My dad and I have an ongoing debate. Or, to be more precise, we have an annual debate that begins around July and proceeds until October. It's started earlier the last couple years because the official starter's gun goes off once the San Francisco Giants surrender for the season.
It goes like this: my dad thinks the Giants should trade Matt Cain and I do not.
The problem is that pops is very smart and an avid baseball fan, but not a fan of one team in particular. It's the product of loving the game, but spending the first 40+ years of his life in St. Louis and the last 20+ in San Francisco. Both strong baseball towns (although SF doesn't get the credit because a lot of the die-hards are priced out of Pac Bell) that pulled his allegiance until they obliterated it.
It's a problem because his background makes him objective and objectivity plus intelligence usually equals an accurate assessment. If that's the case here, Cain would be better off in another uniform.
His argument is that pitching for the no-margin-of-error Orange and Black for too long will do irreparable damage to Cain's approach and psyche. In essence, the team behind him is infecting his career.
That is a truly horrible prospect.
One made all the more horrific because it has happened in the past. How many times do we see a change of scenery revive an otherwise flat-lining career? It doesn't always happen, but it happens enough to seriously consider the idea.
Matt Cain deserves that much.
In a lot of ways, the Big Boy is more freakish than the Freak.
Although Tim Lincecum is actually several months older than Cain, Cain has three years and change in the Show, which is two more than Timmy's got. It might not seem so significant, but it means that Cain debuted at the tender age of 20. He underwent baptism by professional fire right out of high school while the Franchise got to hone his craft against the aluminum bats of college players - more dangerous weapons it is true, but wielded by vastly inferior opponents.
It means that the Franchise got to work on his mental development far from the spotlight of Major League Baseball while Cain was forced (and chose) to work on his in its glare.
It means that Lincecum takes the mound with the same margin for error (virtually zero), but does so with the confidence born of several years of domination.
Matt Cain does not.
And it is that intangible but profound difference that can perhaps account for the enormous difference in numerical performance between the two pitchers despite a similarly dominating arsenal.
For instance, imagine both pitchers facing a hitter's count in the early frames of a game with a dangerous hitter on deck.
Lincecum can draw on an experiential reserve of facing dangerous hitters in college and dominating them. True, that is a far cry from dominating Major Leaguers, but it's funny how effectively and quickly the subconscious can rationalize things to facilitate success. Such instantaneous processing allows Lincecum to take some edge off the pressure and make his pitch.
Even if he fails, the extra years of confidence maturation allow him to continue working under less oppressive circumstances and minimize any subsequent damage. Something evidenced by the astonishing rarity with which the wheels totally come off a Lincecum start.
Now imagine Cain in the same situation.
His experiential reservoir tells him that, if he makes a couple mistakes (like walking this hitter and making a single bad pitch to the guy on deck), he and his team will lose the game. He has no recent history of domination except in high school. He has done so at the pro level in spots - far more frequently than a pitcher of his years should - but he has been inconsistent.
That inconsistency is the only major hole in the dike against debilitating self-doubt, but it is sufficient.
Cain's experience puts an extra edge on the pressure and makes it even more difficult to throw his pitch. The pressure gets exponentially worse as the situation deteriorates.
Yet, more often than not, Cain makes his pitch. More often than not, Cain thrives working without that margin for error. Like I said, his numerical performance doesn't show it, but that is because he faces the above hypothetical every time he takes the mound.
Furthermore, his numbers do show it if you look closely.
In his three years plus seven starts, Matt Cain has compiled a record of 30-43. In 104 starts (105 appearances), he has pitched 654 2/3 innings. Consider what that means. It means the Kid averaged at least six innings per start between the ages of 20 and 23. During the Steroid Era. For a very bad team.
In those 650+ innings, Cain struck out 558 batters while walking 276; almost a perfect 2:1 K to BB ratio. He turned these numbers into an earned run average of 3.74 and a WHIP of 1.277, both substantially better than the league averages over those same years.
Again, from a guy between the ages of 20 and 23. Right out of high school.
Just for good measure, he's done his part to carry on the legacy started by guys like the Caveman and Livan Hernandez. The legacy of stout hurlers who just might yank one out.
The only category that lacks real luster is his winning percentage. That is obviously a factor of his team, considering who he pitches for and his peripherals.
Which brings me full circle because that is what my dad (and others) would point to.
How long before that won-loss record gets inside Matt Cain's head? How long before that winning percentage begins to define him?
I say it never will. I say the Kid is too mentally tough, too much of a psychological horse for that to ever happen.
But I have to consider the possibility if for no other reasons than baseball and Matt Cain deserve better than such a tragic fate. A fate that has befallen others before him.
Cain is a special talent, which is why I am so happy to read that Brian Sabean and the organization consider him untouchable. But it is a talent too special to waste.
Even if it means it has to be realized in another uniform.
It goes like this: my dad thinks the Giants should trade Matt Cain and I do not.
The problem is that pops is very smart and an avid baseball fan, but not a fan of one team in particular. It's the product of loving the game, but spending the first 40+ years of his life in St. Louis and the last 20+ in San Francisco. Both strong baseball towns (although SF doesn't get the credit because a lot of the die-hards are priced out of Pac Bell) that pulled his allegiance until they obliterated it.
It's a problem because his background makes him objective and objectivity plus intelligence usually equals an accurate assessment. If that's the case here, Cain would be better off in another uniform.
His argument is that pitching for the no-margin-of-error Orange and Black for too long will do irreparable damage to Cain's approach and psyche. In essence, the team behind him is infecting his career.
That is a truly horrible prospect.
One made all the more horrific because it has happened in the past. How many times do we see a change of scenery revive an otherwise flat-lining career? It doesn't always happen, but it happens enough to seriously consider the idea.
Matt Cain deserves that much.
In a lot of ways, the Big Boy is more freakish than the Freak.
Although Tim Lincecum is actually several months older than Cain, Cain has three years and change in the Show, which is two more than Timmy's got. It might not seem so significant, but it means that Cain debuted at the tender age of 20. He underwent baptism by professional fire right out of high school while the Franchise got to hone his craft against the aluminum bats of college players - more dangerous weapons it is true, but wielded by vastly inferior opponents.
It means that the Franchise got to work on his mental development far from the spotlight of Major League Baseball while Cain was forced (and chose) to work on his in its glare.
It means that Lincecum takes the mound with the same margin for error (virtually zero), but does so with the confidence born of several years of domination.
Matt Cain does not.
And it is that intangible but profound difference that can perhaps account for the enormous difference in numerical performance between the two pitchers despite a similarly dominating arsenal.
For instance, imagine both pitchers facing a hitter's count in the early frames of a game with a dangerous hitter on deck.
Lincecum can draw on an experiential reserve of facing dangerous hitters in college and dominating them. True, that is a far cry from dominating Major Leaguers, but it's funny how effectively and quickly the subconscious can rationalize things to facilitate success. Such instantaneous processing allows Lincecum to take some edge off the pressure and make his pitch.
Even if he fails, the extra years of confidence maturation allow him to continue working under less oppressive circumstances and minimize any subsequent damage. Something evidenced by the astonishing rarity with which the wheels totally come off a Lincecum start.
Now imagine Cain in the same situation.
His experiential reservoir tells him that, if he makes a couple mistakes (like walking this hitter and making a single bad pitch to the guy on deck), he and his team will lose the game. He has no recent history of domination except in high school. He has done so at the pro level in spots - far more frequently than a pitcher of his years should - but he has been inconsistent.
That inconsistency is the only major hole in the dike against debilitating self-doubt, but it is sufficient.
Cain's experience puts an extra edge on the pressure and makes it even more difficult to throw his pitch. The pressure gets exponentially worse as the situation deteriorates.
Yet, more often than not, Cain makes his pitch. More often than not, Cain thrives working without that margin for error. Like I said, his numerical performance doesn't show it, but that is because he faces the above hypothetical every time he takes the mound.
Furthermore, his numbers do show it if you look closely.
In his three years plus seven starts, Matt Cain has compiled a record of 30-43. In 104 starts (105 appearances), he has pitched 654 2/3 innings. Consider what that means. It means the Kid averaged at least six innings per start between the ages of 20 and 23. During the Steroid Era. For a very bad team.
In those 650+ innings, Cain struck out 558 batters while walking 276; almost a perfect 2:1 K to BB ratio. He turned these numbers into an earned run average of 3.74 and a WHIP of 1.277, both substantially better than the league averages over those same years.
Again, from a guy between the ages of 20 and 23. Right out of high school.
Just for good measure, he's done his part to carry on the legacy started by guys like the Caveman and Livan Hernandez. The legacy of stout hurlers who just might yank one out.
The only category that lacks real luster is his winning percentage. That is obviously a factor of his team, considering who he pitches for and his peripherals.
Which brings me full circle because that is what my dad (and others) would point to.
How long before that won-loss record gets inside Matt Cain's head? How long before that winning percentage begins to define him?
I say it never will. I say the Kid is too mentally tough, too much of a psychological horse for that to ever happen.
But I have to consider the possibility if for no other reasons than baseball and Matt Cain deserve better than such a tragic fate. A fate that has befallen others before him.
Cain is a special talent, which is why I am so happy to read that Brian Sabean and the organization consider him untouchable. But it is a talent too special to waste.
Even if it means it has to be realized in another uniform.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Observations from the NFL's Parallel Universe
The National Football League is like another universe. It's got a lot of the same features as ours except everything is just a little bit more outrageous. Especially the hypocrisy.
For instance, there's a story out of Boston that's getting some play right now about the Patriots firing an 18-year-old cheerleader. Shouldn't the Patriots' hiring of an adolescent girl as erotic accoutrement be the story?
Hmm. An adolescent cheerleader. In the NFL. What could possibly go wrong?
This is an organization whose employees routinely find themselves in trouble because of strip club visits and dalliances of questionable judgment with the opposite sex. An organization powered by young, virile men in their physical and financial primes. Men who are fueled for most of their lives by testosterone and taught to intensify their more primitive/savage tendencies. Men who are usually too immature and naive to safely navigate the novel waters of celebrity and wealth.
Men who are insanely vulnerable targets to prurient predation.
And we're sending them to work in the same building with a nubile vixen who gets paid to shake her ass? Whoa.
Or how about all the hand-wringing and consternation over the current crop of New Orleans Saints, et alia, who have been shockingly pinched for using steroids or other performance enhancers?
Wait, you mean the human body isn't supposed to be 6'1" and 260 lbs. of pure muscle? No way.
You mean 6'6" men who tip the scale north of 280 don't naturally combine a 4.4 40 with a 60" vert? Are we sure?
Furthermore, didn't Shawne Merriman piss hot a couple years ago, get suspended for four games, and then win Defensive Player of the (same) Year? What exactly is the message we're trying to send here? I know a rule has been passed subsequently that prevents a repeat of this episode, but that it happened in the first place is the condemnation.
Then there is this business of guys like Michael Vick, Pacman Jones, Chris Henry, and (apparently) Larry Johnson.
Think about this. We give them passes or slaps on the wrist repeatedly, even as the offenses escalate, in an effort to teach them respect for the rules and laws of our society. However, in what is surely one of life's greatest mysteries, they fail to grasp that message and eventually do something unforgivable. Something that demands serious punishment.
Something that effectively ends their career. Sometimes their productive lives.
And we toss the book at them. Write 'em off. After all, they've had numerous chances to straighten up and fly right. They took those chances and used them to stray further from the path of righteousness. That's it; you had your chances and now it's over.
But step back from the picture. Who has failed whom?
If we were concerned about the individual's best interests, wouldn't it make far more sense to hit 'em the first time? To punish them appropriately when that punishment doesn't disqualify them from their chosen life's work? Isn't that what we, as a society, usually do?
Instead, we tell them the right message (your actions have serious consequences) while reinforcing the wrong message with our actions (your talent is a get-out-of-jail-free card). Not only that, our actions send them back into a world where the parasitic entourage further undermines our verbal message with words and actions of its own to the contrary.
And we're outraged when they put themselves right back in the crosshairs?
If you let an individual off the hook the first time, there are two possible outcomes: a change in behavior to conformity or a continuation of nonconforming misbehavior.
The same person who will conform when treated leniently will probably conform after appropriate punishment.
The same person who will continue to misbehave after appropriate punishment will probably continue to misbehave after lenience.
However, a person who will continue to misbehave after lenience may conform after appropriate punishment. Therefore, with lenience, we have lost an opportunity to teach that individual a valuable lesson.
Furthermore, we have lost an equally valuable chance to assess his/her psychological constitution. A person who fails to conform after experiencing the adverse consequences of his/her actions probably lacks such constitution required for the public scrutiny that symbiotically lives with a professional athlete.
Failure to conform after punishment tells us something useful whereas such failure after lenience tells us very little, almost nothing.
Of course, what we don't lose (at first) is money.
That initial offense can be ignored with little public fallout. And that means you can keep your revenue-generating superstar on the field. You can squeeze as much money out of him/her while hoping he/she gets the message. If the moment ever comes that announces he/she will never get the message, you can safely cut ties before suffering implication by association.
You can maximize the profits from one individual and then move on to the next when the first forfeits his/her value. And you can even join in the indignant vilification. You can hide behind those previous leniencies as evidence that you really wanted to help. You even tried.
And these are only three examples. There are many more.
I have written that football's parallel universe is a beautiful thing. And that is true.
But my hypocrisy would be equally criminal if I left it at that.
Because beauty is not necessarily perfection. Certainly not in this case.
For instance, there's a story out of Boston that's getting some play right now about the Patriots firing an 18-year-old cheerleader. Shouldn't the Patriots' hiring of an adolescent girl as erotic accoutrement be the story?
Hmm. An adolescent cheerleader. In the NFL. What could possibly go wrong?
This is an organization whose employees routinely find themselves in trouble because of strip club visits and dalliances of questionable judgment with the opposite sex. An organization powered by young, virile men in their physical and financial primes. Men who are fueled for most of their lives by testosterone and taught to intensify their more primitive/savage tendencies. Men who are usually too immature and naive to safely navigate the novel waters of celebrity and wealth.
Men who are insanely vulnerable targets to prurient predation.
And we're sending them to work in the same building with a nubile vixen who gets paid to shake her ass? Whoa.
Or how about all the hand-wringing and consternation over the current crop of New Orleans Saints, et alia, who have been shockingly pinched for using steroids or other performance enhancers?
Wait, you mean the human body isn't supposed to be 6'1" and 260 lbs. of pure muscle? No way.
You mean 6'6" men who tip the scale north of 280 don't naturally combine a 4.4 40 with a 60" vert? Are we sure?
Furthermore, didn't Shawne Merriman piss hot a couple years ago, get suspended for four games, and then win Defensive Player of the (same) Year? What exactly is the message we're trying to send here? I know a rule has been passed subsequently that prevents a repeat of this episode, but that it happened in the first place is the condemnation.
Then there is this business of guys like Michael Vick, Pacman Jones, Chris Henry, and (apparently) Larry Johnson.
Think about this. We give them passes or slaps on the wrist repeatedly, even as the offenses escalate, in an effort to teach them respect for the rules and laws of our society. However, in what is surely one of life's greatest mysteries, they fail to grasp that message and eventually do something unforgivable. Something that demands serious punishment.
Something that effectively ends their career. Sometimes their productive lives.
And we toss the book at them. Write 'em off. After all, they've had numerous chances to straighten up and fly right. They took those chances and used them to stray further from the path of righteousness. That's it; you had your chances and now it's over.
But step back from the picture. Who has failed whom?
If we were concerned about the individual's best interests, wouldn't it make far more sense to hit 'em the first time? To punish them appropriately when that punishment doesn't disqualify them from their chosen life's work? Isn't that what we, as a society, usually do?
Instead, we tell them the right message (your actions have serious consequences) while reinforcing the wrong message with our actions (your talent is a get-out-of-jail-free card). Not only that, our actions send them back into a world where the parasitic entourage further undermines our verbal message with words and actions of its own to the contrary.
And we're outraged when they put themselves right back in the crosshairs?
If you let an individual off the hook the first time, there are two possible outcomes: a change in behavior to conformity or a continuation of nonconforming misbehavior.
The same person who will conform when treated leniently will probably conform after appropriate punishment.
The same person who will continue to misbehave after appropriate punishment will probably continue to misbehave after lenience.
However, a person who will continue to misbehave after lenience may conform after appropriate punishment. Therefore, with lenience, we have lost an opportunity to teach that individual a valuable lesson.
Furthermore, we have lost an equally valuable chance to assess his/her psychological constitution. A person who fails to conform after experiencing the adverse consequences of his/her actions probably lacks such constitution required for the public scrutiny that symbiotically lives with a professional athlete.
Failure to conform after punishment tells us something useful whereas such failure after lenience tells us very little, almost nothing.
Of course, what we don't lose (at first) is money.
That initial offense can be ignored with little public fallout. And that means you can keep your revenue-generating superstar on the field. You can squeeze as much money out of him/her while hoping he/she gets the message. If the moment ever comes that announces he/she will never get the message, you can safely cut ties before suffering implication by association.
You can maximize the profits from one individual and then move on to the next when the first forfeits his/her value. And you can even join in the indignant vilification. You can hide behind those previous leniencies as evidence that you really wanted to help. You even tried.
And these are only three examples. There are many more.
I have written that football's parallel universe is a beautiful thing. And that is true.
But my hypocrisy would be equally criminal if I left it at that.
Because beauty is not necessarily perfection. Certainly not in this case.
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