A series win this afternoon after getting swept over the weekend. Not only that, a convincing win the day after a shutout loss. Dare I hope this is a sign of inner strength that has been missing from the Indians?
Winning pitcher Jake Westbrook and the Tribe bullpen let the Rangers get no closer than 5-4 in the fifth inning.
The scariest part of the game was Ronnie Belliard colliding with an umpire in the field as he tried to make a play. Belliard left the game with a stiff neck and is listed as day-to-day.
The Indians remain three games back of idle Oakland in the wild card race. Baltimore comes to town to open a three-game series Friday night.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Moving up in the world
This is either really good news for Outdoor Life Network, or really bad news for the NHL.
Or both.
ESPN said "thanks, but no thanks" when the NHL tried to extend the league's television contract with the cable network. As a fallback, the NHL negotiated a two-year deal with Outdoor Life Network that could be extended up to six years.
Aside from specials on RVs and boating, OLN's contribution to sports broadcasting to this point includes coverage of this year's Tour de France, and yearly tape-delayed coverage of the Gravity Games.
Like I said, this is either a sign that OLN is going to vault into the cable powerhouse realm occupied by ESPN, CNN and TNT, or (more likely), the NHL is sliding closer and closer to minor-league status in the U.S.
This means the NHL now doesn't have a U.S. free TV contract or a contract with cable-sports leader ESPN. This can't bode well for viewership.
Other sports leagues can now blow their noses on the relatively puny money advertisers and TV networks are apparently paying to be associated with professional hockey.
The NHL has no marketable superstars that transcend the sport (maybe Pittsburgh first-round pick Sidney Crosby will become that, but not as of now.) The NHL has little mass-appeal. The NHL is still expensive, even though most teams are lowering ticket prices in the wake of the lockout.
The NHL is struggling. It might even be dying. Something big, bigger than baseball's homerun record chase of 1998, is going to have to happen to rescue hockey's top pro league.
When a purported major-league sport is downgraded from ESPN and ABC to OLN, it's losing a lot more than alphabetical placement in the alphabet soup of cable networks.
Hockey is an indoor sport, anyway. What is it doing on the Outdoor Life Network?
Or both.
ESPN said "thanks, but no thanks" when the NHL tried to extend the league's television contract with the cable network. As a fallback, the NHL negotiated a two-year deal with Outdoor Life Network that could be extended up to six years.
Aside from specials on RVs and boating, OLN's contribution to sports broadcasting to this point includes coverage of this year's Tour de France, and yearly tape-delayed coverage of the Gravity Games.
Like I said, this is either a sign that OLN is going to vault into the cable powerhouse realm occupied by ESPN, CNN and TNT, or (more likely), the NHL is sliding closer and closer to minor-league status in the U.S.
This means the NHL now doesn't have a U.S. free TV contract or a contract with cable-sports leader ESPN. This can't bode well for viewership.
Other sports leagues can now blow their noses on the relatively puny money advertisers and TV networks are apparently paying to be associated with professional hockey.
The NHL has no marketable superstars that transcend the sport (maybe Pittsburgh first-round pick Sidney Crosby will become that, but not as of now.) The NHL has little mass-appeal. The NHL is still expensive, even though most teams are lowering ticket prices in the wake of the lockout.
The NHL is struggling. It might even be dying. Something big, bigger than baseball's homerun record chase of 1998, is going to have to happen to rescue hockey's top pro league.
When a purported major-league sport is downgraded from ESPN and ABC to OLN, it's losing a lot more than alphabetical placement in the alphabet soup of cable networks.
Hockey is an indoor sport, anyway. What is it doing on the Outdoor Life Network?
Zeroes
The irony is...
In order to have a ghost of a chance to re-sign Kevin Millwood this off-season, the Indians are going to have to make significant improvements to their offense and prove to Millwood that 2006 won't be another double-digit loss season with one of the best ERAs in the league, as 2005 has become.
But in order to make those improvements, the Indians are probably going to have to spend themselves out of a shot at Millwood.
Millwood dropped his 10th game of the year Wednesday night at Jacobs Field as the Indians were shut out by the Rangers 3-0. You might justifyably think this was about the 20th time the Indians have been shut out this year, but it was actually just the ninth. Millwood has been the hapless victim in four of those blankings.
He's lost two other games by 2-1 scores.
Millwood sports a very nice 3.11 ERA and a day-old-chicken-salad 6-10 record. You'd excuse him if he goes to sleep at night and dreams about pitching for the Yankees or Red Sox.
Wednesday night, Millwood was outdueled by Chris Young of the Texas Rangers.
Young is the same height as Randy Johnson (6'-10"), but the similarities end there. Young is a righty with an average fastball settling around 91-92 mph. He has just one other major-league pitch, a change-up. He had a 9-7 record with a ERA well over 4.00 heading into last night's start.
But he used his fastball/change-up combo to flat-out dominate the Indians lineup, allowing two hits in eight innings.
To listen to Tribe manager Eric Wedge describe it to reporters after the game, Young was an unsolvable riddle. His height confounded Cleveland's lineup, The Plain Dealer reported Wedge as saying. He had some kind of a hitch in his delivery that made the ball especially hard for hitters to pick up.
But if Young's height is a legitamite excuse, how do you explain the runs the Indians have scored off the two other 6'-10" pitchers they have faced this year -- Johnson and Kansas City's Andy Sisco?
Instead of pawning it off on being dominated by a pitcher who had just one win in his last eight starts prior to last night, let's be real about this. Wednesday's loss sounds suspiciously like the attention-deficit disorder that has plagued Cleveland's lineup all year, especially when Millwood is on the mound.
Locked in one night, putting great at-bats together. Mentally absent the next, swinging early and often.
This Cleveland offense, through financial necessity, is designed to need discipline to survive. There are no musclehead ball-clubbers in this lineup (besides maybe Travis Hafner).
If Tribe hitters go up to plate hacking away randomly, nights like Wednesday will happen. And continue to happen. This offense isn't talented enough to get lucky on most nights by simply slashing the bat through the hitting zone. What the Indians' offense lacks in physical ability, it has to make up for with mental approach.
It was already going to be a hard sell trying to convince Millwood to stay in Cleveland when deeper-pocketed teams come knocking in November. The offense, and its inability to remain focused, might be sealing the deal.
In order to have a ghost of a chance to re-sign Kevin Millwood this off-season, the Indians are going to have to make significant improvements to their offense and prove to Millwood that 2006 won't be another double-digit loss season with one of the best ERAs in the league, as 2005 has become.
But in order to make those improvements, the Indians are probably going to have to spend themselves out of a shot at Millwood.
Millwood dropped his 10th game of the year Wednesday night at Jacobs Field as the Indians were shut out by the Rangers 3-0. You might justifyably think this was about the 20th time the Indians have been shut out this year, but it was actually just the ninth. Millwood has been the hapless victim in four of those blankings.
He's lost two other games by 2-1 scores.
Millwood sports a very nice 3.11 ERA and a day-old-chicken-salad 6-10 record. You'd excuse him if he goes to sleep at night and dreams about pitching for the Yankees or Red Sox.
Wednesday night, Millwood was outdueled by Chris Young of the Texas Rangers.
Young is the same height as Randy Johnson (6'-10"), but the similarities end there. Young is a righty with an average fastball settling around 91-92 mph. He has just one other major-league pitch, a change-up. He had a 9-7 record with a ERA well over 4.00 heading into last night's start.
But he used his fastball/change-up combo to flat-out dominate the Indians lineup, allowing two hits in eight innings.
To listen to Tribe manager Eric Wedge describe it to reporters after the game, Young was an unsolvable riddle. His height confounded Cleveland's lineup, The Plain Dealer reported Wedge as saying. He had some kind of a hitch in his delivery that made the ball especially hard for hitters to pick up.
But if Young's height is a legitamite excuse, how do you explain the runs the Indians have scored off the two other 6'-10" pitchers they have faced this year -- Johnson and Kansas City's Andy Sisco?
Instead of pawning it off on being dominated by a pitcher who had just one win in his last eight starts prior to last night, let's be real about this. Wednesday's loss sounds suspiciously like the attention-deficit disorder that has plagued Cleveland's lineup all year, especially when Millwood is on the mound.
Locked in one night, putting great at-bats together. Mentally absent the next, swinging early and often.
This Cleveland offense, through financial necessity, is designed to need discipline to survive. There are no musclehead ball-clubbers in this lineup (besides maybe Travis Hafner).
If Tribe hitters go up to plate hacking away randomly, nights like Wednesday will happen. And continue to happen. This offense isn't talented enough to get lucky on most nights by simply slashing the bat through the hitting zone. What the Indians' offense lacks in physical ability, it has to make up for with mental approach.
It was already going to be a hard sell trying to convince Millwood to stay in Cleveland when deeper-pocketed teams come knocking in November. The offense, and its inability to remain focused, might be sealing the deal.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
More LeBron
The man is just everywhere this week. First, he's in Summit County Common Pleas Court with a small battalion of lawyers, defending himself against promoter Joseph Marsh, who is alleging LeBron reneged on an oral agreement to produce a biographical documentary.
Marsh is reportedly seeking millions of dollars in damages, The Plain Dealer reported today. Marsh testified he loaned LeBron, and his mother, Gloria James, $100,000 in 2003, prior to LeBron being taken by the Cavaliers with the first overall pick in the NBA draft. Gloria James and Eddie Jackson, LeBron's father figure from his days at Akron St. Vincent-St. Mary High School, agreed to pay back the loan with 10 percent interest prior to the trial, The Plain Dealer reported.
However, the documentary still hasn't been produced and Marsh is claiming he has lost $5.75 million from LeBron's backout.
LeBron's legal team is claiming no contract was ever signed or agreement made between the two parties concerning a documentary.
An eight-member jury will decide the case.
If litigation wasn't enough, LeBron will also debut his new PowerAde flavor this week, the promotion of which led to this unlikely photo op.
Yes, that's right folks. LeBron James and NASCAR. Together at last.
The graphics job on Bobby Labonte's car is pretty cool, though.
Marsh is reportedly seeking millions of dollars in damages, The Plain Dealer reported today. Marsh testified he loaned LeBron, and his mother, Gloria James, $100,000 in 2003, prior to LeBron being taken by the Cavaliers with the first overall pick in the NBA draft. Gloria James and Eddie Jackson, LeBron's father figure from his days at Akron St. Vincent-St. Mary High School, agreed to pay back the loan with 10 percent interest prior to the trial, The Plain Dealer reported.
However, the documentary still hasn't been produced and Marsh is claiming he has lost $5.75 million from LeBron's backout.
LeBron's legal team is claiming no contract was ever signed or agreement made between the two parties concerning a documentary.
An eight-member jury will decide the case.
If litigation wasn't enough, LeBron will also debut his new PowerAde flavor this week, the promotion of which led to this unlikely photo op.
Yes, that's right folks. LeBron James and NASCAR. Together at last.
The graphics job on Bobby Labonte's car is pretty cool, though.
They killed Kenny!
Kenny Rogers finally found a place where he can't hide behind an army of sympathizers and sycophants. And I'm proud to say, it's Cleveland.
Ronnie Belliard found a Rogers pitch to his liking with the bases loaded in the seventh inning, and treated it like Rogers treated the equipment of two cameramen in June, yanking it for a bases-clearing double that proved to be the decisive blow in an 8-2 Indians win.
This victory is satisfying on so many levels. First, and most importantly, it clotted the remaining blood still flowing from this weekend's embarrassing sweep at the hands of the Devil Rays. Second, it came against Rogers. Sure, it was nice to beat baseball's No. 1 thug in the heat of a wild card race, certainly after arbitrator Shyam Das gave Rogers a shoulder rub by reducing his suspension from 20 to 13 games.
But let's not forget Rogers is a slop-throwing lefty in the mold of Jamie Moyer. Soft-tossing southpaws give the Indians fits no end, every year, regardless of how good or bad the offense is. To get a six-run win against a pitcher like Rogers is important if for no other reason than it doesn't happen everyday.
Finally, C.C. Sabathia, persecuted by fans and media (including me) for his struggles in July, picked up the win. He dueled Rogers to a 2-2 draw through seven innings before Belliard and the Tribe offense picked him up. Sabathia showed some of the intestinal fortitude fans have been waiting for recently. He is now 3-0 with a 3.79 ERA in his last three starts.
Now, the Indians have to build on this win. Considering the Rangers have now lost eight in a row, I'd say a series victory is a must.
(Side note: Bill Livingston, in his Plain Dealer column today, reported WEWS Channel 5 cameraman Tom Livingston -- no relation -- decided to play a joke and showed up to work Tuesday at Jacobs Field with a hard hat on, apparently ready for anything Rogers was ready to throw at him. Sure, it was a smart-ass move, but it's not like Rogers doesn't deserve it. Livingston took the construction hat off before entering the Rangers clubhouse.)
Ronnie Belliard found a Rogers pitch to his liking with the bases loaded in the seventh inning, and treated it like Rogers treated the equipment of two cameramen in June, yanking it for a bases-clearing double that proved to be the decisive blow in an 8-2 Indians win.
This victory is satisfying on so many levels. First, and most importantly, it clotted the remaining blood still flowing from this weekend's embarrassing sweep at the hands of the Devil Rays. Second, it came against Rogers. Sure, it was nice to beat baseball's No. 1 thug in the heat of a wild card race, certainly after arbitrator Shyam Das gave Rogers a shoulder rub by reducing his suspension from 20 to 13 games.
But let's not forget Rogers is a slop-throwing lefty in the mold of Jamie Moyer. Soft-tossing southpaws give the Indians fits no end, every year, regardless of how good or bad the offense is. To get a six-run win against a pitcher like Rogers is important if for no other reason than it doesn't happen everyday.
Finally, C.C. Sabathia, persecuted by fans and media (including me) for his struggles in July, picked up the win. He dueled Rogers to a 2-2 draw through seven innings before Belliard and the Tribe offense picked him up. Sabathia showed some of the intestinal fortitude fans have been waiting for recently. He is now 3-0 with a 3.79 ERA in his last three starts.
Now, the Indians have to build on this win. Considering the Rangers have now lost eight in a row, I'd say a series victory is a must.
(Side note: Bill Livingston, in his Plain Dealer column today, reported WEWS Channel 5 cameraman Tom Livingston -- no relation -- decided to play a joke and showed up to work Tuesday at Jacobs Field with a hard hat on, apparently ready for anything Rogers was ready to throw at him. Sure, it was a smart-ass move, but it's not like Rogers doesn't deserve it. Livingston took the construction hat off before entering the Rangers clubhouse.)
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
My LeBron day
I can't explain why, but LeBron James was extremely prevalent in my day Monday, a day in the middle of August when virtually no one is thinking about basketball.
I come to work, and realize I had to return to someone a copy of LeBron James' biography that's been sitting in my car for a couple of months. So, while carrying that around, I go to Medina Municipal Court for my daily check on felonies. Leaving the counter, one of the clerks calls for a man with a last name of "LeBron" to come to the window. The man's last name was also listed on the daily docket I check.
On my way to returning the book, Medina's finance director tells me Dru Joyce, LeBron's former coach at Akron St. Vincent-St. Mary High School, and the current coach at the University of Akron, will be speaking to his Kiwanis Club meeting on Thursday. I'll be going. Stay tuned for a blog post.
So, is this all coincidence? Or a series of cryptic messages telling me I need to become part of LeBron's posse? You decide.
I come to work, and realize I had to return to someone a copy of LeBron James' biography that's been sitting in my car for a couple of months. So, while carrying that around, I go to Medina Municipal Court for my daily check on felonies. Leaving the counter, one of the clerks calls for a man with a last name of "LeBron" to come to the window. The man's last name was also listed on the daily docket I check.
On my way to returning the book, Medina's finance director tells me Dru Joyce, LeBron's former coach at Akron St. Vincent-St. Mary High School, and the current coach at the University of Akron, will be speaking to his Kiwanis Club meeting on Thursday. I'll be going. Stay tuned for a blog post.
So, is this all coincidence? Or a series of cryptic messages telling me I need to become part of LeBron's posse? You decide.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Hopes down
The teeth of the fans are clenching again. The roller coaster is careening back downhill.
The low point of the Indians season was still probably the four-game sweep at the hands of the White Sox in mid-July, but being swept three straight at home by the last-place Devil Rays has to be a close second.
What's worse, this sweep was already in the works by the second inning of Friday's game. The Indians looked like they were going to pick right back up after six stright wins against the Tigers and Royals, jumping out to a 3-0 lead in the first inning Friday.
Then Jake Westbrook took the mound in the second, and sealed the fate of the game, and most likely the series, by hacking up six runs (with the aid of a Jhonny Peralta error) in the top of the second.
A totally different team took the field after the second inning. A team with no focus, no patience and no stomach for adversity. Once again abandoning the "one-through-nine" team hitting mantra, Cleveland's delicate offense fell down like a house of cards, abandoning disciplined at-bats in the name of pressing for production, which never works.
Cleveland hitters grounded into four double plays, including an Aaron Boone 6-4-3 job to end the game. Numerically, it fit nicely with four Cleveland errors, including a botched pick-off throw from Westbrook and an aimless heave to second base by Victor Martinez in a futile effort to cut down a base stealer. The throw sailed into center field.
No one, I think, would be surprised if this sweep ignites a three-week strech of losing that kills the Indians' playoff hopes once and for all. I'm not so sure today's off day is a good thing, giving players an extra day to stew over getting swept.
You are seeing a team that is not yet mature enough to handle real contention. They haven't yet learned to let a loss be simply a loss. After a week of Houdini acts in Detroit and Kansas City, the Indians were due to receive a shin-kick of their own, which they did on Friday night.
A more veteran team would be able to shake off Friday's loss and come back to the ballpark ready to compete on Saturday. The Indians let Friday's loss get in their heads and haunt them for the rest of the weekend, which is kind of ridiculous considering even the best teams lose 60 to 70 games a year.
By Sunday, the sweep was kind of a given. Indian hitters went to the plate spooked, terrified of getting swept. The result was a 1-0 loss and a great pitching performance by Cliff Lee wasted.
This team isn't going anywhere toward October until they learn how not to let a semi-shocking loss turn into a three-week, 3-14 catastrophe. Some of that will come as guys like Martinez, Peralta, and Travis Hafner become veteran players. But this team could still use a few more Kevin Millwoods for the coming years.
Seriously, could you imagine this team with a lead in a first-round playoff series right now? They go up 2-0 in the series, have a 5-0 lead in Game 3, then the roof caves in and they lose, say, 8-5.
The series is over right then. The Indians would spend the remainder of the series in full-scale retreat and lose in five.
The Indians have to overcome themselves before they can overcome other teams.
The low point of the Indians season was still probably the four-game sweep at the hands of the White Sox in mid-July, but being swept three straight at home by the last-place Devil Rays has to be a close second.
What's worse, this sweep was already in the works by the second inning of Friday's game. The Indians looked like they were going to pick right back up after six stright wins against the Tigers and Royals, jumping out to a 3-0 lead in the first inning Friday.
Then Jake Westbrook took the mound in the second, and sealed the fate of the game, and most likely the series, by hacking up six runs (with the aid of a Jhonny Peralta error) in the top of the second.
A totally different team took the field after the second inning. A team with no focus, no patience and no stomach for adversity. Once again abandoning the "one-through-nine" team hitting mantra, Cleveland's delicate offense fell down like a house of cards, abandoning disciplined at-bats in the name of pressing for production, which never works.
Cleveland hitters grounded into four double plays, including an Aaron Boone 6-4-3 job to end the game. Numerically, it fit nicely with four Cleveland errors, including a botched pick-off throw from Westbrook and an aimless heave to second base by Victor Martinez in a futile effort to cut down a base stealer. The throw sailed into center field.
No one, I think, would be surprised if this sweep ignites a three-week strech of losing that kills the Indians' playoff hopes once and for all. I'm not so sure today's off day is a good thing, giving players an extra day to stew over getting swept.
You are seeing a team that is not yet mature enough to handle real contention. They haven't yet learned to let a loss be simply a loss. After a week of Houdini acts in Detroit and Kansas City, the Indians were due to receive a shin-kick of their own, which they did on Friday night.
A more veteran team would be able to shake off Friday's loss and come back to the ballpark ready to compete on Saturday. The Indians let Friday's loss get in their heads and haunt them for the rest of the weekend, which is kind of ridiculous considering even the best teams lose 60 to 70 games a year.
By Sunday, the sweep was kind of a given. Indian hitters went to the plate spooked, terrified of getting swept. The result was a 1-0 loss and a great pitching performance by Cliff Lee wasted.
This team isn't going anywhere toward October until they learn how not to let a semi-shocking loss turn into a three-week, 3-14 catastrophe. Some of that will come as guys like Martinez, Peralta, and Travis Hafner become veteran players. But this team could still use a few more Kevin Millwoods for the coming years.
Seriously, could you imagine this team with a lead in a first-round playoff series right now? They go up 2-0 in the series, have a 5-0 lead in Game 3, then the roof caves in and they lose, say, 8-5.
The series is over right then. The Indians would spend the remainder of the series in full-scale retreat and lose in five.
The Indians have to overcome themselves before they can overcome other teams.
Indian nicknames
In response to the comment to the post below, I forgot to mention while I do not believe in trying to convince people something they find offensive is not, in fact, offensive, I still support a team's or college's right to use a nickname.
In my mind, it is a case of agreeing to disagree. This era is far more focused on cultural sensitivity than the eras when most of these professional and college teams first received their monikers. But the teams now have a long-standing investment in those names, and most don't want to risk alineating their mostly non-Native American fan bases by undergoing a total identity change in the name of appeasing a few. Fans vote with their pocketbooks, and if a team or college sells merchandise with their Native American nickname and logo attached, of course they want to keep it.
I can understand that. Nobody said business was soft and cuddly.
I'll hit close to my own home and use the case study of the Cleveland Indians, who have had their nickname since 1915, and have used a stereotypical caricature of an Indian as their primary logo since the late 1940s.
This might surprise a few readers, but I don't totally support the Indians in their use of the caricature, which became known as "Chief Wahoo." Teams change logos all the time, and if the Indians one day decided they wanted a more culturally sensitive logo (like the Class AAA Indianapolis Indians), I'd have no problem with that.
However, I think changing the nickname "Indians" is going too far. That's the team's identity going back 90 years.
Changing a team logo is like painting your house. Changing a nickname is like legally changing your surname.
I think most of the people who have a problem with the Indians' appearance have a problem primarily with Chief Wahoo. In my experience, that's where the protestors have drawn the line.
(Ironically, the Washington Redskins are probably the reverse of the Indians, with a helmet logo featuring a dignified-looking Indian man, and a racial slur for a nickname. That's why this issue is so complex.)
Thanks to all my commenters, and keep reading.
In my mind, it is a case of agreeing to disagree. This era is far more focused on cultural sensitivity than the eras when most of these professional and college teams first received their monikers. But the teams now have a long-standing investment in those names, and most don't want to risk alineating their mostly non-Native American fan bases by undergoing a total identity change in the name of appeasing a few. Fans vote with their pocketbooks, and if a team or college sells merchandise with their Native American nickname and logo attached, of course they want to keep it.
I can understand that. Nobody said business was soft and cuddly.
I'll hit close to my own home and use the case study of the Cleveland Indians, who have had their nickname since 1915, and have used a stereotypical caricature of an Indian as their primary logo since the late 1940s.
This might surprise a few readers, but I don't totally support the Indians in their use of the caricature, which became known as "Chief Wahoo." Teams change logos all the time, and if the Indians one day decided they wanted a more culturally sensitive logo (like the Class AAA Indianapolis Indians), I'd have no problem with that.
However, I think changing the nickname "Indians" is going too far. That's the team's identity going back 90 years.
Changing a team logo is like painting your house. Changing a nickname is like legally changing your surname.
I think most of the people who have a problem with the Indians' appearance have a problem primarily with Chief Wahoo. In my experience, that's where the protestors have drawn the line.
(Ironically, the Washington Redskins are probably the reverse of the Indians, with a helmet logo featuring a dignified-looking Indian man, and a racial slur for a nickname. That's why this issue is so complex.)
Thanks to all my commenters, and keep reading.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Guilt trip
So the NCAA is going to "strongly discourage" the use of Native American mascots and imagery in association-sanctioned postseason tournaments.
Just Native American.
If that's the way the NCAA feels, fine. I am not going to sit here and type some idiotic belief that the mascots aren't offensive, or shouldn't be percieved as offensive. If a group bristles at the use of Native American images and mascots as sports trademarks, then, to them, it is an offensive practice, and far be it from me to tell them otherwise.
I do, however, have a problem with a practice of selective enforcement against ethnic and racial names that reeks of white guilt over this country's historic treatment of American Indian tribes.
So, we can have "Fightin' Irish," at Notre Dame, complete with a logo featuring a leprechaun-looking man with his dukes up, mentioned at NCAA posteseason tourneys, but nicknames like the Seminoles and the Fighting Illini are taboo.
How is Notre Dame's logo and nickname not offensive to the Irish when taken in the exploitation-and-stereotype context that many Native American rights groups use to justify their war against Indian mascots?
For crying out loud, the Fightin' Irish nickname has its roots in long-ago fans who thought the Notre Dame football team played hard like brawling Irishmen outside a pub.
For years in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Irish immigrants were held in the same second-class-citizen regard as African Americans and Native Americans. They were viewed as dumb, drunk, violent, and incapable of holding a high position in society. It took the presidency of John F. Kennedy to finish erasing most of those perceptions.
But let's be honest: because most of those Irish immigrants and their descendants are as pasty white as the people who hold the power and money base in this country, they were assimilated into mainstream society sooner rather than later.
Now, we can uniformally look at a stereotypical rendering of an Irishman, much like an Italian or a German, and laugh.
But mix in increased pigment amounts in the skin, and then you start crossing racial lines, and then you have a problem.
White stereotypes in this country are viewed as humorous. Anyone with darker skin, it is viewed as offensive. Certainly, there is a track record of exploitation with blacks, Hispanic, Asian and Native Americans that warrants that.
But when we say Native American nicknames and logos are exploitative, but nicknames that stereotype the Irish, the Scottish and the Dutch aren't, that's still a double standard.
Someone is wrong here. Either us white folk have to have a little more respect for our old-country heritage, or Native American rights groups have to re-evaluate just how much a sports team's nickname brands their people as Tonto in this day and age.
Just Native American.
If that's the way the NCAA feels, fine. I am not going to sit here and type some idiotic belief that the mascots aren't offensive, or shouldn't be percieved as offensive. If a group bristles at the use of Native American images and mascots as sports trademarks, then, to them, it is an offensive practice, and far be it from me to tell them otherwise.
I do, however, have a problem with a practice of selective enforcement against ethnic and racial names that reeks of white guilt over this country's historic treatment of American Indian tribes.
So, we can have "Fightin' Irish," at Notre Dame, complete with a logo featuring a leprechaun-looking man with his dukes up, mentioned at NCAA posteseason tourneys, but nicknames like the Seminoles and the Fighting Illini are taboo.
How is Notre Dame's logo and nickname not offensive to the Irish when taken in the exploitation-and-stereotype context that many Native American rights groups use to justify their war against Indian mascots?
For crying out loud, the Fightin' Irish nickname has its roots in long-ago fans who thought the Notre Dame football team played hard like brawling Irishmen outside a pub.
For years in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Irish immigrants were held in the same second-class-citizen regard as African Americans and Native Americans. They were viewed as dumb, drunk, violent, and incapable of holding a high position in society. It took the presidency of John F. Kennedy to finish erasing most of those perceptions.
But let's be honest: because most of those Irish immigrants and their descendants are as pasty white as the people who hold the power and money base in this country, they were assimilated into mainstream society sooner rather than later.
Now, we can uniformally look at a stereotypical rendering of an Irishman, much like an Italian or a German, and laugh.
But mix in increased pigment amounts in the skin, and then you start crossing racial lines, and then you have a problem.
White stereotypes in this country are viewed as humorous. Anyone with darker skin, it is viewed as offensive. Certainly, there is a track record of exploitation with blacks, Hispanic, Asian and Native Americans that warrants that.
But when we say Native American nicknames and logos are exploitative, but nicknames that stereotype the Irish, the Scottish and the Dutch aren't, that's still a double standard.
Someone is wrong here. Either us white folk have to have a little more respect for our old-country heritage, or Native American rights groups have to re-evaluate just how much a sports team's nickname brands their people as Tonto in this day and age.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Braylon's contract
The past 24 hours of the Braylon Edwards contract fiasco demonstrates beautifully what is so messed up about the way the NFL handles rookie contracts.
But to the NFL, it might be the price paid to keep control of salaries and team finances.
Edwards is reportedly signed, sealed, in camp and ready for a highly displeased Romeo Crennel to go drill sergeant on him. But even that was in doubt as late as Wednesday evening.
Edwards, his parents and agent Lamont Smith were in Cleveland yesterday. As the Browns practiced, Edwards and his entourage were reportedly upstairs with Browns salary-cap coordinator Trip McCracken trying to hammer out the sticking points to his rookie deal.
The Plain Dealer reported this morning the pact seemed like just a matter of time.
Then, suddenly, talks choked again. News cameras caught a visibly sullen Edwards leaving the Browns practice facility in Berea with an equally-as-glowering Smith.
When reporters asked him if he had a deal, he simply shook his head. When pressed for more details, he pointed in the direction of his agent without saying a word.
Team Edwards reportedly retreated back home to Detroit.
Then, sometime after dark, daylight broke for both sides. Edwards and the Browns cleared the final hundred feet of the marathon negotiating process and Edwards finally, finally was cleared for camp.
Finally.
This process, to some degree, was repeated in NFL cities around the country. Posturing, threatening, holdouts, playing to the media, not commenting to the media, smiles, frowns, clenched teeth and lots of aspirin ingested.
There has to be a better way to do this. There is, actually, but it would involve guaranteeing money in rookie contracts like the NBA does, and the NFL, which deals with arguably the weakest players' union of the four major-league sports, won't go there.
The NFL won't change the way they handle contracts, because they pride themselves on the non-guaranteed deal. Sure, there are astronomical dollars to be made in signing and roster bonuses, which are guaraneteed, but anything above that is not guaranteed.
Haggling and holdouts over rookie deals appears to be a necessary evil in the NFL's eyes. Non-guaranteed contracts means most every team is only several seasons away from being under the NFL's salary cap, no matter how overburdened they are with bad deals.
The system seems to work in the big picture. There is very little hand-wringing over the financial state of the NFL. While baseball watches the Yankees and Red Sox spend virtually at will as the Royals and Pirates are fielding essentially minor-league teams, while the NBA narrowly escaped a work stoppage in June, while a lockout cost the NHL an entire season and a lot of its relevance to the American public at large, the NFL hasn't had a work stoppage since 1987.
The NBA handles rookie contracts the sanest way a league can. A draft pick's guaranteed salary is slotted based on where he was picked. It's the same concept as hassle-free car buying: no negotiating. What the price is is what the price is.
But the NBA also has some of the largest guaranteed money deals in sports. Case in point: Shaquille O'Neal, who recently inked a five-year, $100 million extension with the Heat.
Baseball is a given. Alex Rodriguez's $252 million deal with the Rangers in 2000 is a worldwide public-service announcement on the dangers of overpaying athletes.
You won't see those kind of deals in the NFL, certainly not for guaranteed money. And that's just the way the league likes it, even if it causes agents and contract negotiators to chug more antacid.
But to the NFL, it might be the price paid to keep control of salaries and team finances.
Edwards is reportedly signed, sealed, in camp and ready for a highly displeased Romeo Crennel to go drill sergeant on him. But even that was in doubt as late as Wednesday evening.
Edwards, his parents and agent Lamont Smith were in Cleveland yesterday. As the Browns practiced, Edwards and his entourage were reportedly upstairs with Browns salary-cap coordinator Trip McCracken trying to hammer out the sticking points to his rookie deal.
The Plain Dealer reported this morning the pact seemed like just a matter of time.
Then, suddenly, talks choked again. News cameras caught a visibly sullen Edwards leaving the Browns practice facility in Berea with an equally-as-glowering Smith.
When reporters asked him if he had a deal, he simply shook his head. When pressed for more details, he pointed in the direction of his agent without saying a word.
Team Edwards reportedly retreated back home to Detroit.
Then, sometime after dark, daylight broke for both sides. Edwards and the Browns cleared the final hundred feet of the marathon negotiating process and Edwards finally, finally was cleared for camp.
Finally.
This process, to some degree, was repeated in NFL cities around the country. Posturing, threatening, holdouts, playing to the media, not commenting to the media, smiles, frowns, clenched teeth and lots of aspirin ingested.
There has to be a better way to do this. There is, actually, but it would involve guaranteeing money in rookie contracts like the NBA does, and the NFL, which deals with arguably the weakest players' union of the four major-league sports, won't go there.
The NFL won't change the way they handle contracts, because they pride themselves on the non-guaranteed deal. Sure, there are astronomical dollars to be made in signing and roster bonuses, which are guaraneteed, but anything above that is not guaranteed.
Haggling and holdouts over rookie deals appears to be a necessary evil in the NFL's eyes. Non-guaranteed contracts means most every team is only several seasons away from being under the NFL's salary cap, no matter how overburdened they are with bad deals.
The system seems to work in the big picture. There is very little hand-wringing over the financial state of the NFL. While baseball watches the Yankees and Red Sox spend virtually at will as the Royals and Pirates are fielding essentially minor-league teams, while the NBA narrowly escaped a work stoppage in June, while a lockout cost the NHL an entire season and a lot of its relevance to the American public at large, the NFL hasn't had a work stoppage since 1987.
The NBA handles rookie contracts the sanest way a league can. A draft pick's guaranteed salary is slotted based on where he was picked. It's the same concept as hassle-free car buying: no negotiating. What the price is is what the price is.
But the NBA also has some of the largest guaranteed money deals in sports. Case in point: Shaquille O'Neal, who recently inked a five-year, $100 million extension with the Heat.
Baseball is a given. Alex Rodriguez's $252 million deal with the Rangers in 2000 is a worldwide public-service announcement on the dangers of overpaying athletes.
You won't see those kind of deals in the NFL, certainly not for guaranteed money. And that's just the way the league likes it, even if it causes agents and contract negotiators to chug more antacid.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Rally-capped
There are stumbles. There are collapses. Then there is what happened to the Royals in the ninth inning of last night's game against the Indians.
Leading 7-2 heading into the top of the ninth, the Royals appeared to be headed toward snapping their 10-game losing streak that has plummeted them to the worst record in the American League. The Indians, in the curb-your-enthusiasm fashion that has tempered the fans every time they get on a roll, were about to lose a dud of a game to said worst team in the league.
Royals manager Buddy Bell, highly cognizant of ending the 10-game slide, even sent out fireballing closer Mike MacDougal for the ninth in a non-save situation just to be sure.
It didn't matter.
Casey Blake hit a leadoff double. Grady Sizemore drove him in with a double wo make it 7-3. Coco Crisp singled home Sizemore to make it 7-4. MacDougal finally whiffed Jhonny Peralta for the first out, but the blood was already in the water.
Travis Hafner doubled to right, and Crisp went to third. Victor Martinez singled in Crisp to make it 7-5.
Then it was time for the Kansas City defense to get in on the act.
Shortstop Angel Berroa never got to a pop up hit by Ronnie Belliard, which fell in short center field to draw the Indians within a run at 7-6 as Hafner scored. Berroa managed to retrieve the ball and force Martinez at second, putting the Royals one out away from the win.
Then came the jaw-dropping moment of the inning. Pinch-hitter Jeff Liefer lifted a fly ball into the left field corner. Left fielder Chip Ambres should have had it. He did have it, actually. He was there to make the game-ending catch with plenty of time. But when he closed his glove, the ball wasn't there. It ricocheted off the heel of his glove and started rolling.
Belliard, chugging as hard as his legs could carry him, scored from first to tie the game. Liefer wound up at second.
The leaks had finally turned into a raging torrent. Aaron Boone singled home Liefer to give the Indians the lead. Blake came back up and drew an intentional walk off lefty Jimmy Gobble, who mercifully relieved MacDougal. But the Indians kept teeing off. Sizemore followed and got his second hit of the inning, driving in Boone. Blake scored on the play when the ball hopped up, hit charging right fielder Emil Brown in the leg, and bounced toward center field. It was Kansas City's third error of the inning, and made the score 10-7. Crisp followed and drew a walk on a 3-2 pitch.
Bob Wickman was warming up in the bullpen for yet another save opportunity, but Peralta gave him a rest by nixing the save situation. He hit a three-run homer to make it 13-7.
The inning ended on the 13th batter when Hafner struck out.
Thirteen batters, 11 runs, eight hits, three errors and none left on base. Bob Howry set the Royals down in order in the bottom of the ninth to end the game.
Scott Sauerbeck got the win for being the pitcher of record during the rally. He recorded the last two outs of the eighth.
It was the most runs the Indians scored in an inning since plating 12 against the White Sox in September 1999. It was, without a doubt, the worst and most demoralizing ninth inning in recent Royals history.
The win, coupled with an Oakland loss to the Angels, pulled the Indians to within 3 1/2 games of the Athletics in the wild card race.
Leading 7-2 heading into the top of the ninth, the Royals appeared to be headed toward snapping their 10-game losing streak that has plummeted them to the worst record in the American League. The Indians, in the curb-your-enthusiasm fashion that has tempered the fans every time they get on a roll, were about to lose a dud of a game to said worst team in the league.
Royals manager Buddy Bell, highly cognizant of ending the 10-game slide, even sent out fireballing closer Mike MacDougal for the ninth in a non-save situation just to be sure.
It didn't matter.
Casey Blake hit a leadoff double. Grady Sizemore drove him in with a double wo make it 7-3. Coco Crisp singled home Sizemore to make it 7-4. MacDougal finally whiffed Jhonny Peralta for the first out, but the blood was already in the water.
Travis Hafner doubled to right, and Crisp went to third. Victor Martinez singled in Crisp to make it 7-5.
Then it was time for the Kansas City defense to get in on the act.
Shortstop Angel Berroa never got to a pop up hit by Ronnie Belliard, which fell in short center field to draw the Indians within a run at 7-6 as Hafner scored. Berroa managed to retrieve the ball and force Martinez at second, putting the Royals one out away from the win.
Then came the jaw-dropping moment of the inning. Pinch-hitter Jeff Liefer lifted a fly ball into the left field corner. Left fielder Chip Ambres should have had it. He did have it, actually. He was there to make the game-ending catch with plenty of time. But when he closed his glove, the ball wasn't there. It ricocheted off the heel of his glove and started rolling.
Belliard, chugging as hard as his legs could carry him, scored from first to tie the game. Liefer wound up at second.
The leaks had finally turned into a raging torrent. Aaron Boone singled home Liefer to give the Indians the lead. Blake came back up and drew an intentional walk off lefty Jimmy Gobble, who mercifully relieved MacDougal. But the Indians kept teeing off. Sizemore followed and got his second hit of the inning, driving in Boone. Blake scored on the play when the ball hopped up, hit charging right fielder Emil Brown in the leg, and bounced toward center field. It was Kansas City's third error of the inning, and made the score 10-7. Crisp followed and drew a walk on a 3-2 pitch.
Bob Wickman was warming up in the bullpen for yet another save opportunity, but Peralta gave him a rest by nixing the save situation. He hit a three-run homer to make it 13-7.
The inning ended on the 13th batter when Hafner struck out.
Thirteen batters, 11 runs, eight hits, three errors and none left on base. Bob Howry set the Royals down in order in the bottom of the ninth to end the game.
Scott Sauerbeck got the win for being the pitcher of record during the rally. He recorded the last two outs of the eighth.
It was the most runs the Indians scored in an inning since plating 12 against the White Sox in September 1999. It was, without a doubt, the worst and most demoralizing ninth inning in recent Royals history.
The win, coupled with an Oakland loss to the Angels, pulled the Indians to within 3 1/2 games of the Athletics in the wild card race.
Rogers coddled again
Add arbitrator Shyam Das to the long list of people who want Kenny Rogers' autograph. Or maybe some box-seat tickets to a Rangers game.
Das felt sorry for poor little Kenny, suspended 20 games by commisssioner Bud Selig for assaulting two cameramen in June. So he lifted the suspension Tuesday after 13 games. Rogers is slated to start against the Red Sox tonight.
I don't agree with Selig on a lot of things, but I am in his corner here.
Selig let his feelings be known in a statement sent to media outlets Tuesday:
"I strongly disagree with arbitrator Das' decision today. It sends the wrong message to every one of our constituents: the fans, the media, and our players.
"There is a standard of behavior that is expected of our players, which was breached in this case. The arbitrator's decision diminishes that standard and is contrary to the terms of the collective bargaining agreement. In my opinion, the decision is seriously ill-conceived."
Rogers committed a crime more savage than Rafael Palmeiro testing positive for steroids. Palmeiro is the one who will probably be made an example of. Rogers, with an army of apologists that starts in the Rangers clubhouse and extends to the broadcast booth, the stands, and it turns out, an arbitrator's office in Chicago, gets a sympathetic pat on the back from everyone.
Perception is reality, it turns out. Rogers has been vindicated, and a deservedly harsh slap delivered by Selig is made a mockery of by a sycophantic arbitrator apparently eager to please a rich, famous athlete.
So, go on Kenny. Lose your temper. Shove people. Punch them, too. Heck, rob a 7-Eleven at gunpoint. There will always be ways for you to slither off the hook because of who you are.
There will always be another Shyam Das to give you a knowing wink from across the room.
Das felt sorry for poor little Kenny, suspended 20 games by commisssioner Bud Selig for assaulting two cameramen in June. So he lifted the suspension Tuesday after 13 games. Rogers is slated to start against the Red Sox tonight.
I don't agree with Selig on a lot of things, but I am in his corner here.
Selig let his feelings be known in a statement sent to media outlets Tuesday:
"I strongly disagree with arbitrator Das' decision today. It sends the wrong message to every one of our constituents: the fans, the media, and our players.
"There is a standard of behavior that is expected of our players, which was breached in this case. The arbitrator's decision diminishes that standard and is contrary to the terms of the collective bargaining agreement. In my opinion, the decision is seriously ill-conceived."
Rogers committed a crime more savage than Rafael Palmeiro testing positive for steroids. Palmeiro is the one who will probably be made an example of. Rogers, with an army of apologists that starts in the Rangers clubhouse and extends to the broadcast booth, the stands, and it turns out, an arbitrator's office in Chicago, gets a sympathetic pat on the back from everyone.
Perception is reality, it turns out. Rogers has been vindicated, and a deservedly harsh slap delivered by Selig is made a mockery of by a sycophantic arbitrator apparently eager to please a rich, famous athlete.
So, go on Kenny. Lose your temper. Shove people. Punch them, too. Heck, rob a 7-Eleven at gunpoint. There will always be ways for you to slither off the hook because of who you are.
There will always be another Shyam Das to give you a knowing wink from across the room.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Braylon's holdout: day 27
Seeing as how the holdout of Browns first-round pick Braylon Edwards is getting more ridiculous than even last year's Kellen Winslow Jr. circus, I started to wonder how Braylon passes the days. Biting his nails, no doubt, hanging on the edge of his BarcoLounger, wondering when that phone is going to ring, when he's going to hear those magic words:
"Large pepperoni for Edwards? I'm in the lobby."
A day in the life of Braylon Edwards: August 9, 2005.
12:30 p.m.: "Wake up. No Cocoa Puffs left in the cupboard, so have to settle for Lucky Charms. Too many of those little marshmallows make my teeth hurt."
1:24 p.m.: "Shower for approximately 45 minutes. Watch 'Pimp My Ride' on the cable-ready shower TV my high-school coach bought me as draft present. Draw fake play diagrams on the shower door condensation. Always a pass play to yours truly, of course."
2:20 p.m.: "Get dressed, which basically consists of throwing on a new t-shirt and basketball shorts. A least I think they're new. They smell kind of rank. I pulled them out of pile at the base of my dresser, so I really have no idea if they're clean or not. Every article of lounge and workout clothing I own is gray, maize and blue, so it makes discerning dirty from clean kind of hard. I miss the days when I could go home and have Mom do my laundry."
2:22 p.m.: "Resume watching TV. Sip on a bottle of Arctic Shock Gatorade (the kind that turns your tongue blue). Soap opera. Soap opera. "The View." "Real World" (seen that one about a hundred times already.) SportsCenter. Another first-round pick signed. Can't watch it. ESPN Classic has some wack tennis highlights on."
3:40 p.m.: "Lunch consists of cold pizza, Doritos and more Gatorade. Afterward, I can hear my conditioning coach from U of M telepathically yelling at me for my poor eating choices, so I appease him by eating an orange."
4:05 p.m.: "Daily phone conversation with agent. Nothing new on the contract front, but he assures me I am still the best player taken in the draft, and we won't settle for anything less than best-player money. Tells me the Browns are nothing without me. I'm the franchise, he says. I'm the future. I'm already the best receiver on the team simply by virtue of being drafted. As he keeps talking, I realize I have an itch in the spot on my back where I can't reach. After several seconds of contorting myself, I get up and scratch against a doorway. Relief. Now what was he saying?"
4:30 p.m.: "Daily workout. Every athlete needs to keep training. I have a neighborhood kid fling me some passes. After six reps, I'm done. Don't want to go too hard. I have a whole season ahead of me."
4:35 p.m.: "Homies come over. Spend next six hours playing Xbox and blasting hip-hop tunes from my sick new speaker system. Dinner is pizza for the 10th straight night."
11 p.m.: "Head out to the clubs. Homies get hammered. I'm the designated driver. Can't drink because I don't want to do something stupid and wind up on the police blotter. My agent called it the 'Kellen Winslow rule,' whatever that means."
2:56 a.m.: "Arrive back home. Dog tired. Hit the sack. Life as an NFL rookie sure is hard."
"Large pepperoni for Edwards? I'm in the lobby."
A day in the life of Braylon Edwards: August 9, 2005.
12:30 p.m.: "Wake up. No Cocoa Puffs left in the cupboard, so have to settle for Lucky Charms. Too many of those little marshmallows make my teeth hurt."
1:24 p.m.: "Shower for approximately 45 minutes. Watch 'Pimp My Ride' on the cable-ready shower TV my high-school coach bought me as draft present. Draw fake play diagrams on the shower door condensation. Always a pass play to yours truly, of course."
2:20 p.m.: "Get dressed, which basically consists of throwing on a new t-shirt and basketball shorts. A least I think they're new. They smell kind of rank. I pulled them out of pile at the base of my dresser, so I really have no idea if they're clean or not. Every article of lounge and workout clothing I own is gray, maize and blue, so it makes discerning dirty from clean kind of hard. I miss the days when I could go home and have Mom do my laundry."
2:22 p.m.: "Resume watching TV. Sip on a bottle of Arctic Shock Gatorade (the kind that turns your tongue blue). Soap opera. Soap opera. "The View." "Real World" (seen that one about a hundred times already.) SportsCenter. Another first-round pick signed. Can't watch it. ESPN Classic has some wack tennis highlights on."
3:40 p.m.: "Lunch consists of cold pizza, Doritos and more Gatorade. Afterward, I can hear my conditioning coach from U of M telepathically yelling at me for my poor eating choices, so I appease him by eating an orange."
4:05 p.m.: "Daily phone conversation with agent. Nothing new on the contract front, but he assures me I am still the best player taken in the draft, and we won't settle for anything less than best-player money. Tells me the Browns are nothing without me. I'm the franchise, he says. I'm the future. I'm already the best receiver on the team simply by virtue of being drafted. As he keeps talking, I realize I have an itch in the spot on my back where I can't reach. After several seconds of contorting myself, I get up and scratch against a doorway. Relief. Now what was he saying?"
4:30 p.m.: "Daily workout. Every athlete needs to keep training. I have a neighborhood kid fling me some passes. After six reps, I'm done. Don't want to go too hard. I have a whole season ahead of me."
4:35 p.m.: "Homies come over. Spend next six hours playing Xbox and blasting hip-hop tunes from my sick new speaker system. Dinner is pizza for the 10th straight night."
11 p.m.: "Head out to the clubs. Homies get hammered. I'm the designated driver. Can't drink because I don't want to do something stupid and wind up on the police blotter. My agent called it the 'Kellen Winslow rule,' whatever that means."
2:56 a.m.: "Arrive back home. Dog tired. Hit the sack. Life as an NFL rookie sure is hard."
Monday, August 08, 2005
Truly depressing
Sigh.
Bill Simmons is the funniest and most readable columnist ESPN has in their arsenal, but I guess I have to add him to the legion of East Coast/West Coast media elitists who believe LeBron James can't possibly want to stay in Cleveland any longer that he has to, right?
Geez, the vultures come from all over, waiting for their favorite team, be it the Knicks, the Celtics, the Lakers, the Nets or whoever else to glean LeBron from the Cavs' rotting carcass. Simmons and others assume the notion of playing in Cleveland has got to be so repugnant to any millionaire professional athlete worth his weight in salt that they are all counting the days until they can cast off the shackles, especially when "real" cities like New York, Boston and Los Angeles are waiting.
I know LeBron isn't feeling the love in Cleveland now. I know last season ended badly. I know it's going to take a whole lot of winning in the coming years to convince LeBron that this is a place he wants to commit to long-term. But there's still time, and early returns show new general mananger Danny Ferry taking initiative, and new owner Dan Gilbert willing to spend money.
It's one thing if the Cavs can't get their act together. It's entirely another if you're assuming LeBron won't want to stay in Cleveland simply because it's Cleveland.
One is logical. The other is arrogant.
Did I mention the Cavs can offer LeBron the most money when and if he becomes a free agent? And that the Akron Beacon Journal reported some weeks ago that LeBron's Nike contract contains no escalator clause if he plays in a large market?
Some of LeBron's other endorsement deals do, but they are all small potatoes compared to his $90 million shoe contract.
Spare me the Boston-Los Angeles arrogance, Simmons. I find your stuff a little less funny today.
Bill Simmons is the funniest and most readable columnist ESPN has in their arsenal, but I guess I have to add him to the legion of East Coast/West Coast media elitists who believe LeBron James can't possibly want to stay in Cleveland any longer that he has to, right?
Geez, the vultures come from all over, waiting for their favorite team, be it the Knicks, the Celtics, the Lakers, the Nets or whoever else to glean LeBron from the Cavs' rotting carcass. Simmons and others assume the notion of playing in Cleveland has got to be so repugnant to any millionaire professional athlete worth his weight in salt that they are all counting the days until they can cast off the shackles, especially when "real" cities like New York, Boston and Los Angeles are waiting.
I know LeBron isn't feeling the love in Cleveland now. I know last season ended badly. I know it's going to take a whole lot of winning in the coming years to convince LeBron that this is a place he wants to commit to long-term. But there's still time, and early returns show new general mananger Danny Ferry taking initiative, and new owner Dan Gilbert willing to spend money.
It's one thing if the Cavs can't get their act together. It's entirely another if you're assuming LeBron won't want to stay in Cleveland simply because it's Cleveland.
One is logical. The other is arrogant.
Did I mention the Cavs can offer LeBron the most money when and if he becomes a free agent? And that the Akron Beacon Journal reported some weeks ago that LeBron's Nike contract contains no escalator clause if he plays in a large market?
Some of LeBron's other endorsement deals do, but they are all small potatoes compared to his $90 million shoe contract.
Spare me the Boston-Los Angeles arrogance, Simmons. I find your stuff a little less funny today.
Hopes up
The teeth of Indians fans are once again unclenching. The roller coaster is on the way up again.
A 6-5 come-from-behind win over the Tigers Sunday clinched a three-game sweep. They have now won eight of their last 10 to improve to 60-52, the first time they have been eight games over .500 since being 46-38 on July 6.
A gangbusters June. A tepid July. Now, it appears the Indians are in for a winning August.
What does that mean for September? Or shouldn't I ask?
The fans keep waiting for the Indians to gain some measure of consistency, to find some kind of water level above .500. Is this hot streak it? Or are they going to tank again at some point this season?
One more stretch of baseball like the Indians had in mid-July, and that will probably be the end of playoff contention this year. As it is, they sit 4 1/2 games out of the wild card, and can't seem to make up any ground on the smoking-hot Athletics, who are in the midst of the best two-month stretch of baseball in team history.
It seems the only hope for the Indians to reach the postseason this year is for the Angels to fall and for the Yankees and their Jurassic Park pitching staff to remain inconsistent. At this rate, Oakland will win the AL West.
The Indians certainly have the schedule in their favor. The final two months are chock full of dates against dregs like Kansas City and Tampa Bay, and reeling teams like the Tigers, Twins, Rangers and Orioles. The Tribe is done with the Angels, Yankees and Red Sox, and has just three games left with the A's in September.
The biggest hurdle the Indians have to clear is six dates with the White Sox in the final two weeks of the season. By then, however, the White Sox should have the AL Central title formally secured and might be on pre-playoff auto pilot, more concerned with resting their regulars than running up their win total.
My preseason prediction of a Cleveland wild card berth is still possible, but the slide in July means the Indians aren't in the driver's seat. They need other teams above them to stumble.
There's a lot to be hopeful about. Travis Hafner is back from a beanball concussion and has picked right back up hitting. Victor Martinez has been hitting since June, Jhonny Peralta is hitting around .300, as is Coco Crisp, Grady Sizemore has leveled off in the .280s and has held onto his leadoff spot, and even fan punching bag Aaron Boone hit over .300 in July.
Boone's July was enough for the Indians to pick up his 2006 option.
The pitching has no Cy Young candidates, but Kevin Millwood is among the league leaders in ERA, Cliff Lee is among the league leaders in wins, Jake Westbrook and Scott Elarton have been good, and even C.C. Sabathia has gotten off to a good start in August.
Bob Wickman is still tops in the AL in saves, too.
Last year at this time was when the Indians crashed and burned after a valiant run that brought them to within a game of first place. This season promises, if nothing else, playoff hopes extending deeper into the season. How much deeper depends on the intestinal fortitude of the men on the field and the coaches in the dugout.
The stats are all nice, but stretching the win column out is the only real goal.
A 6-5 come-from-behind win over the Tigers Sunday clinched a three-game sweep. They have now won eight of their last 10 to improve to 60-52, the first time they have been eight games over .500 since being 46-38 on July 6.
A gangbusters June. A tepid July. Now, it appears the Indians are in for a winning August.
What does that mean for September? Or shouldn't I ask?
The fans keep waiting for the Indians to gain some measure of consistency, to find some kind of water level above .500. Is this hot streak it? Or are they going to tank again at some point this season?
One more stretch of baseball like the Indians had in mid-July, and that will probably be the end of playoff contention this year. As it is, they sit 4 1/2 games out of the wild card, and can't seem to make up any ground on the smoking-hot Athletics, who are in the midst of the best two-month stretch of baseball in team history.
It seems the only hope for the Indians to reach the postseason this year is for the Angels to fall and for the Yankees and their Jurassic Park pitching staff to remain inconsistent. At this rate, Oakland will win the AL West.
The Indians certainly have the schedule in their favor. The final two months are chock full of dates against dregs like Kansas City and Tampa Bay, and reeling teams like the Tigers, Twins, Rangers and Orioles. The Tribe is done with the Angels, Yankees and Red Sox, and has just three games left with the A's in September.
The biggest hurdle the Indians have to clear is six dates with the White Sox in the final two weeks of the season. By then, however, the White Sox should have the AL Central title formally secured and might be on pre-playoff auto pilot, more concerned with resting their regulars than running up their win total.
My preseason prediction of a Cleveland wild card berth is still possible, but the slide in July means the Indians aren't in the driver's seat. They need other teams above them to stumble.
There's a lot to be hopeful about. Travis Hafner is back from a beanball concussion and has picked right back up hitting. Victor Martinez has been hitting since June, Jhonny Peralta is hitting around .300, as is Coco Crisp, Grady Sizemore has leveled off in the .280s and has held onto his leadoff spot, and even fan punching bag Aaron Boone hit over .300 in July.
Boone's July was enough for the Indians to pick up his 2006 option.
The pitching has no Cy Young candidates, but Kevin Millwood is among the league leaders in ERA, Cliff Lee is among the league leaders in wins, Jake Westbrook and Scott Elarton have been good, and even C.C. Sabathia has gotten off to a good start in August.
Bob Wickman is still tops in the AL in saves, too.
Last year at this time was when the Indians crashed and burned after a valiant run that brought them to within a game of first place. This season promises, if nothing else, playoff hopes extending deeper into the season. How much deeper depends on the intestinal fortitude of the men on the field and the coaches in the dugout.
The stats are all nice, but stretching the win column out is the only real goal.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
The lonely field
"Hey, where's Frost? I want to see him shank a few more punts."
Last season, Derrick Frost was the Jhonny Peralta of the Browns. Like Peralta, the Indians shortstop who was charged with replacing a cherished Cleveland institution in Omar Vizquel this spring, Frost was the rookie punter brought in from Northern Iowa to succeed Chris Gardocki, arguably the team's MVP through the years of three-and-out possessions. Gardocki was a directional-punt expert, capable of consistently planting the other team's offense inside their 10-yard line.
Prior to last season, Butch Davis cast Gardocki aside without so much as a bat of the eyebrows, claiming Gardocki's leg was weakening. To many outsiders, it looked like another ploy by Davis to eliminate any remnant of the Dwight Clark regime.
Gardocki had handled every single punt and held every single field goal and extra point since the team's rebirth in 1999. Frost had big shoes to fill.
At first he did, garnering one of the top punt-yardage averages in the league through the first half of the season.
Then came a Sunday night in Baltimore, a seven-yard shank, and infamy.
Frost looked inept for much of the second half of the season. Not that he was alone on the Browns roster, but when a punter fails standing back there all alone 15 yards behind the line of scrimmage, people tend to notice. Fans started releasing their frustration on the rookie punter as the season continued to rot.
Kyle Richardson was signed as a free agent this off-season by new general manager Phil Savage. The punter's job is his to lose, but Frost is still in camp this year to give Richardson his obligatory dose of competition.
The fans still haven't forgotten last year.
"Oh, you better watch out, 3! Sixty-four is showing you up!"
The practice field for kickers and punters at Browns training camp is no place to fade into the background. Stands line one side, and while herds of brown-and-white clad members of the offense and defense go through plays on adjacent fields, the kickers, punters and long snappers, less than 10 in number, are left to fend for themselves.
Frost, jersey No. 3, had his back to the stands and the few young men trying to get under his skin Friday evening. In between punt drills, he was playing long toss with long snapper Ryan Pontbriand, No. 64.
The few fans laid in wait, hoping for Frost to so something, anything worthy of a chide. Every time Pontbriand laid a tight spiral into Frost's hands, his detractors wanted to see a wounded-duck pass go the other way. Unfortunately, he gave them the ammo they were looking for when an errant pass wobbled and fell short of Pontbriand.
"Riiiii-chardson! Riiii-chardson!"
The good news for Frost is NFL punting is nearly itinerant work. Except for the blessed few, many punters don't stay in one place for very long. Frost has a very good chance of getting a fresh start elsewhere.
In the end, the Derrick Frost experiment was probably another poor judgment of maturity on the part of Davis. Davis, it turns out, was not a good judge of players between the ears. Frost probably wasn't ready to play and struggle in front of 72,000 fans every Sunday. Richardson is a better bet to be able to handle the pressure.
But Davis and his errors are gone, and left to take the bullet is Frost, a kid just looking for a chance to punt in the pros. A kid who is in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The vultures are circling over the lonliest field at Browns camp. No more Gerard Warren, no more Quincy Morgan, no more Tim Couch, so some fans decided to make the loneliest field at Browns training a bit more hostile for someone else.
Last season, Derrick Frost was the Jhonny Peralta of the Browns. Like Peralta, the Indians shortstop who was charged with replacing a cherished Cleveland institution in Omar Vizquel this spring, Frost was the rookie punter brought in from Northern Iowa to succeed Chris Gardocki, arguably the team's MVP through the years of three-and-out possessions. Gardocki was a directional-punt expert, capable of consistently planting the other team's offense inside their 10-yard line.
Prior to last season, Butch Davis cast Gardocki aside without so much as a bat of the eyebrows, claiming Gardocki's leg was weakening. To many outsiders, it looked like another ploy by Davis to eliminate any remnant of the Dwight Clark regime.
Gardocki had handled every single punt and held every single field goal and extra point since the team's rebirth in 1999. Frost had big shoes to fill.
At first he did, garnering one of the top punt-yardage averages in the league through the first half of the season.
Then came a Sunday night in Baltimore, a seven-yard shank, and infamy.
Frost looked inept for much of the second half of the season. Not that he was alone on the Browns roster, but when a punter fails standing back there all alone 15 yards behind the line of scrimmage, people tend to notice. Fans started releasing their frustration on the rookie punter as the season continued to rot.
Kyle Richardson was signed as a free agent this off-season by new general manager Phil Savage. The punter's job is his to lose, but Frost is still in camp this year to give Richardson his obligatory dose of competition.
The fans still haven't forgotten last year.
"Oh, you better watch out, 3! Sixty-four is showing you up!"
The practice field for kickers and punters at Browns training camp is no place to fade into the background. Stands line one side, and while herds of brown-and-white clad members of the offense and defense go through plays on adjacent fields, the kickers, punters and long snappers, less than 10 in number, are left to fend for themselves.
Frost, jersey No. 3, had his back to the stands and the few young men trying to get under his skin Friday evening. In between punt drills, he was playing long toss with long snapper Ryan Pontbriand, No. 64.
The few fans laid in wait, hoping for Frost to so something, anything worthy of a chide. Every time Pontbriand laid a tight spiral into Frost's hands, his detractors wanted to see a wounded-duck pass go the other way. Unfortunately, he gave them the ammo they were looking for when an errant pass wobbled and fell short of Pontbriand.
"Riiiii-chardson! Riiii-chardson!"
The good news for Frost is NFL punting is nearly itinerant work. Except for the blessed few, many punters don't stay in one place for very long. Frost has a very good chance of getting a fresh start elsewhere.
In the end, the Derrick Frost experiment was probably another poor judgment of maturity on the part of Davis. Davis, it turns out, was not a good judge of players between the ears. Frost probably wasn't ready to play and struggle in front of 72,000 fans every Sunday. Richardson is a better bet to be able to handle the pressure.
But Davis and his errors are gone, and left to take the bullet is Frost, a kid just looking for a chance to punt in the pros. A kid who is in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The vultures are circling over the lonliest field at Browns camp. No more Gerard Warren, no more Quincy Morgan, no more Tim Couch, so some fans decided to make the loneliest field at Browns training a bit more hostile for someone else.
Cleveland.com
One thing I failed to mention while I was on vacation (which I am back from now, incidentally), is that this blog is now listed and linked on Cleveland.com's blog list.
I'm looking for ways to publicize this site, and Cleveland.com has a list of local-content blogs links. A perfect match, as far as I am concerned.
However, my blog link is listed only as "Erik Cassano," which doesn't really relate the sports content of my blog. As such, a blog name change might be in the offing. Stay tuned.
I'm looking for ways to publicize this site, and Cleveland.com has a list of local-content blogs links. A perfect match, as far as I am concerned.
However, my blog link is listed only as "Erik Cassano," which doesn't really relate the sports content of my blog. As such, a blog name change might be in the offing. Stay tuned.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Perjury?
The Rafael Palmeiro steroid fiasco is getting much more serious than I originally thought.
Wednesday, I (and the rest of the country) learned three major things:
One, Palmeiro likely tested positive for steroids twice back in May and June, and has been part of a wide-ranging effort to cover up the results while Palmeiro fought the results through appeals channels. This means he eclipsed 3,000 hits with full knowledge he had tested positive for steroids.
Two, the Baltimore Sun reported Wednesday that the type of steroid Palmeiro reportedly had in his system is rather strong, and it is unlikely he simply ingested it by not looking closely enough at the label of his protein shake powder.
Three, Palmeiro might have lied to a congressional committee last winter when he testified he never took steroids. That's perjury, boys and girls, and that's a serious crime.
If Palmeiro is found to have perjured himself under oath to a congressional committee, his 10-game suspension from Bud Selig will look like a walk in the park. Are we talking jail time? Possibly.
Sad to say, but Palmeiro might be made an example of by baseball and the U.S. government to show they are serious about cracking down on steroids. Other, more apparently blatant steroid offenders like the hulking Barry Bonds might have time to get right and get off steroids while the buzzards are busy picking away at the innards of Palmeiro's reputation.
I said two posts ago I believe Palmeiro is still worthy of the hall of fame. If someone comes forth with proof Palmeiro has played the majority of his career with the aid of steroids, I might change my mind. Right now, I'll labor under the pretense that Palmeiro did this recently because he was getting older and wanted to keep his athletic edge as he jockeyed for position in the history books.
But that might not be the case at all. That's the truly troubling part.
If Palmeiro's lifetime achievements, on par with all-time greats Willie Mays and Hank Aaron, has been found to be almost entirely the product of steroid enhancement, there will be little left for Palmeiro to stand on. And then his hall of fame eligibility might be in question.
And I'm not talking about what the baseball writers and veterans committee has to say with their votes. I'm talking banishment.
Pete Rose and eight members of the 1919 White Sox were banished 69 years apart for sins of money. This could all end with Palmeiro being the first man banned from baseball for sins of the body.
Wednesday, I (and the rest of the country) learned three major things:
One, Palmeiro likely tested positive for steroids twice back in May and June, and has been part of a wide-ranging effort to cover up the results while Palmeiro fought the results through appeals channels. This means he eclipsed 3,000 hits with full knowledge he had tested positive for steroids.
Two, the Baltimore Sun reported Wednesday that the type of steroid Palmeiro reportedly had in his system is rather strong, and it is unlikely he simply ingested it by not looking closely enough at the label of his protein shake powder.
Three, Palmeiro might have lied to a congressional committee last winter when he testified he never took steroids. That's perjury, boys and girls, and that's a serious crime.
If Palmeiro is found to have perjured himself under oath to a congressional committee, his 10-game suspension from Bud Selig will look like a walk in the park. Are we talking jail time? Possibly.
Sad to say, but Palmeiro might be made an example of by baseball and the U.S. government to show they are serious about cracking down on steroids. Other, more apparently blatant steroid offenders like the hulking Barry Bonds might have time to get right and get off steroids while the buzzards are busy picking away at the innards of Palmeiro's reputation.
I said two posts ago I believe Palmeiro is still worthy of the hall of fame. If someone comes forth with proof Palmeiro has played the majority of his career with the aid of steroids, I might change my mind. Right now, I'll labor under the pretense that Palmeiro did this recently because he was getting older and wanted to keep his athletic edge as he jockeyed for position in the history books.
But that might not be the case at all. That's the truly troubling part.
If Palmeiro's lifetime achievements, on par with all-time greats Willie Mays and Hank Aaron, has been found to be almost entirely the product of steroid enhancement, there will be little left for Palmeiro to stand on. And then his hall of fame eligibility might be in question.
And I'm not talking about what the baseball writers and veterans committee has to say with their votes. I'm talking banishment.
Pete Rose and eight members of the 1919 White Sox were banished 69 years apart for sins of money. This could all end with Palmeiro being the first man banned from baseball for sins of the body.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
On the road: Washington, D.C.
If you come here in late July and early August, bring two things: sunscreen and walking shoes.
The Sun blazes away like you were in South Carolina this time of year. As proof, the highs are going to be in the 90s almost all week.
Once you have negotiated the Sun, there is plenty to do. Coming from a city like Cleveland, which has few main street shopping districts to explore (the browsing kind, not the Wal-Mart kind), Washington is like a breath of fresh air.
Alexandria, Virginia is about 20 miles south of D.C. and can boast over a dozen tree-lined blocks of restaurants and shops leading to a waterfront along that Potomac River. The waterfront has boat tours available, and a crane-your-neck view of the U.S. Capitol in the distance.
If you were wondering how Washingtonians are adjusting to life as a major-league city again, the Nationals have become part of the daily summer heartbeat of the city. The sports page of the Washington post gripes openly about the Nats' recent slide that has caused them to slip five games back in the N.L. East.
The Nats, on a road trip through Atlanta and Florida this week, were below the fold of the Post's sports page Monday. The big story was the opening of training camp for the Redskins.
FedEx Field, home of the Redskins, is viewable from Interstate 695 through trees. Amazingly, owner Dan Snyder doesn't require a deposit to see the stadium from the highway.
Once upon a time, Snyder tried to charge fans an admission fee to training camp. That has since been abolished, but I can't imagine a bigger moneygrubbing act than to charge fans to see players slam into tackling dummies and run scripted plays in shorts for two hours.
The Sun blazes away like you were in South Carolina this time of year. As proof, the highs are going to be in the 90s almost all week.
Once you have negotiated the Sun, there is plenty to do. Coming from a city like Cleveland, which has few main street shopping districts to explore (the browsing kind, not the Wal-Mart kind), Washington is like a breath of fresh air.
Alexandria, Virginia is about 20 miles south of D.C. and can boast over a dozen tree-lined blocks of restaurants and shops leading to a waterfront along that Potomac River. The waterfront has boat tours available, and a crane-your-neck view of the U.S. Capitol in the distance.
If you were wondering how Washingtonians are adjusting to life as a major-league city again, the Nationals have become part of the daily summer heartbeat of the city. The sports page of the Washington post gripes openly about the Nats' recent slide that has caused them to slip five games back in the N.L. East.
The Nats, on a road trip through Atlanta and Florida this week, were below the fold of the Post's sports page Monday. The big story was the opening of training camp for the Redskins.
FedEx Field, home of the Redskins, is viewable from Interstate 695 through trees. Amazingly, owner Dan Snyder doesn't require a deposit to see the stadium from the highway.
Once upon a time, Snyder tried to charge fans an admission fee to training camp. That has since been abolished, but I can't imagine a bigger moneygrubbing act than to charge fans to see players slam into tackling dummies and run scripted plays in shorts for two hours.
Rafael Palmeiro suspended
Rafael Palmeiro suspended 10 days, effective immediately, for reported steroid violations. Color me naive, but wow.
Not only is a top superstar being made an example of, but a top superstar who has already been at the center of a hurricane this year concerning his hall-of-fame eligibility.
If baseball had a reason to protect anybody, it was Palmeiro. He is one of baseball's nice guys, one of the men baseball is proud to bestow the title of "ambassador" upon.
In a summer filled with the flaky aloofness of Barry Bonds and the blatant thuggery of Kenny Rogers, Palmeiro offered us lifetime achievement as he became just the fourth hitter in history to reach both the 3,000 hit and 500 homerun plateaus.
I was among the legions who consider any argument that Palmeiro doesn't belong in the hall of fame to be outlandish. I still feel that way, but the events of the past 24 hours certainly gives the side that believes Palmeiro isn't good enough for Cooperstown a lot of momentum.
ESPN reported this morning that Palmeiro probably ingested something he shouldn't have. In other words, this was probably a diet supplement or "pep pill" that contained something banned by baseball. This probably wasn't something straight out of Jose Canseco's brain, with Palmeiro baring his buttocks so a teammate could shove a needle in.
Physically, Palmeiro doesn't even look like a steroid user. He's big, but not ogre-like as Bonds and Mark McGwire are. Not that it's any type of argument in Palmeiro's favor, but if you did a lineup of major-league sluggers, Palmeiro wouldn't be suspect No. 1 as far as steroids.
Having said that, Palmeiro is nearing 40, nearing the end of his career, and was probably thinking about his place in history. He knew as much as anyone that 3,000 hits and 500 homeruns would all but punch his ticket for the hall, and might have been looking for something medicinal that could trim a few years off his body for the time being.
With five years to meditate on this until he is eligible (assuming Palmeiro still plans to hang 'em up at the end of this season), Palmeiro has plenty of time to atone and sail into the hall of fame with flying colors. But the debate just intensified.
I thought the battle lines over steroids and the hall of fame would be drawn over Bonds. Turns out, the lightning rod might be decidedly skinnier.
Not only is a top superstar being made an example of, but a top superstar who has already been at the center of a hurricane this year concerning his hall-of-fame eligibility.
If baseball had a reason to protect anybody, it was Palmeiro. He is one of baseball's nice guys, one of the men baseball is proud to bestow the title of "ambassador" upon.
In a summer filled with the flaky aloofness of Barry Bonds and the blatant thuggery of Kenny Rogers, Palmeiro offered us lifetime achievement as he became just the fourth hitter in history to reach both the 3,000 hit and 500 homerun plateaus.
I was among the legions who consider any argument that Palmeiro doesn't belong in the hall of fame to be outlandish. I still feel that way, but the events of the past 24 hours certainly gives the side that believes Palmeiro isn't good enough for Cooperstown a lot of momentum.
ESPN reported this morning that Palmeiro probably ingested something he shouldn't have. In other words, this was probably a diet supplement or "pep pill" that contained something banned by baseball. This probably wasn't something straight out of Jose Canseco's brain, with Palmeiro baring his buttocks so a teammate could shove a needle in.
Physically, Palmeiro doesn't even look like a steroid user. He's big, but not ogre-like as Bonds and Mark McGwire are. Not that it's any type of argument in Palmeiro's favor, but if you did a lineup of major-league sluggers, Palmeiro wouldn't be suspect No. 1 as far as steroids.
Having said that, Palmeiro is nearing 40, nearing the end of his career, and was probably thinking about his place in history. He knew as much as anyone that 3,000 hits and 500 homeruns would all but punch his ticket for the hall, and might have been looking for something medicinal that could trim a few years off his body for the time being.
With five years to meditate on this until he is eligible (assuming Palmeiro still plans to hang 'em up at the end of this season), Palmeiro has plenty of time to atone and sail into the hall of fame with flying colors. But the debate just intensified.
I thought the battle lines over steroids and the hall of fame would be drawn over Bonds. Turns out, the lightning rod might be decidedly skinnier.
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