So what's in a second, then? Or a fraction thereof, actually?
In a second, in a fraction, there is euphoria and then despair and then the grim set of a jaw, because the job isn't finished yet after all.
In a second, in a fraction, there is the end of 39 years of drought and then its continuation, by the barest of margins possible.
In a second, in a fraction, there is an eyeblink, a hitched breath, a Final Four, not a Final Four, the beginning of a drawn-out "Arrrrrrggh!" from everyone out there in America whose hearts bleed black-and-old-gold.
Tell you what there isn't, in a second or a fraction thereof.
Perspective.
Which will come now, hours after Virginia 80, Purdue 75, hours after Mamadi Diakite got his shot off with that second or a fraction thereof left in regulation, a shot that somehow cleared 7-foot-3 Matt Haarms and dropped down the well to force overtime.
Where, for the second time, Purdue was 5.7 seconds away from the Final Four. Where, finally, Carsen Edwards' pass glanced off Ryan Cline's hand and out of bounds, and that was the end of it.
Once again, Purdue was denied entry into the Final Four. Once again, 1980 will remain more than just another year in the march of years, because it remains the last year a Purdue basketball team played in the Final Four.
But hours later, there is the beginning of perspective. There is the beginning of understanding that this season will be remembered more for what happened than what didn't happen, that years and decades from now the faithful will still be talking about it, still be talking about Haarms and Carsen Edwards and Ryan Cline and Grady Eifert the way they still talk about Rick Mount and Joe Barry Carroll and Glen Robinson, and the Three Amigos, Lewis and Mitchell and Stephens.
They will remember the 2018-19 Boilers as the team that got as close to the Final Four as humanly possible without actually getting there. They'll remember them as the team that outdid the Amigos and Big Dog and all the great Purdue teams that have come between 1980 and now. And they'll remember Carsen Edwards in particular for the greatest individual tournament run in Purdue basketball history.
It's hard to see it otherwise after what Edwards did these last three games, which is what almost no one has done in the long stretch of March Madness. In four tournament games, he averaged 34.8 points, the most for any tournament player in 29 years. His 28 3-pointers in four games was a tournament record. And last night ...
Well. Last night he put Purdue on his back again, dropping 42 points for the second time in three games, hitting 10 3s from ridiculous places against one of the best defenses in the country. It was so jaw-dropping that not only were Edwards' teammates awed, but so were his opponents.
No, it wasn't enough to get Purdue to the Final Four. But this March Madness will carry the Boilermakers' imprint anyway; whatever happens in Minneapolis next weekend, they were part of two games that helped make this tournament -- so far, the two best games.
In the end, it was another almost. But this time, a truly epic one.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Friday, March 29, 2019
Elite
Now it's a history deal, for this Purdue basketball team that wasn't supposed to act like this. What's it been, 19 years? Almost two full decades since Purdue basketball raised this sort of ruckus?
Best game of Da Tournament so far down there in Louisville last night, and when it was over, Purdue somehow was not. The Boilermakers blew an 18-point second-half lead despite shooting 52 percent from the field, and if this looked like a classic case of the Boilers Purdue-ing it up again in March Madness, suddenly, madly, it wasn't.
Ryan Cline kept hitting 3s to keep 2-seed Tennessee from taking over. Carsen Edwards kept being Carsen Edwards. And the Boilers got it to overtime, and then they ended Tennessee's season, 99-94.
And it's on to the Elite Eight. For the first time since, yes, 2000.
When Drew Brees was a college kid who'd just taken Purdue to the Rose Bowl.
When Matt Painter was a 29-year-old assistant coach at Southern Illinois.
When the twin towers still stood, and September 11 was just a date on the calendar, and Donald Trump was just another meathead celebrity tycoon.
Now the meathead is the Meathead in Chief, and Matt Painter is north of 300 wins as a head coach at Purdue. And somehow, with a team that lost four starters and didn't bring in any lights-out freshmen, he's going to the Elite Eight.
He's doing it with a team with one bonafide star (Edwards), one walk-on turned program avatar (Grady Eifert) and a whole bunch of kids who have wholly bought in to what Painter sold them, which is that everyone has a role to play. Play your role, and it all works. Step outside of it, and Purdue is as ordinary as everyone expected it to be.
But it's not, of course.
On the contrary, what the Boilers are is the very embodiment of everything Purdue basketball has come to mean since Gene Keady showed up almost 40 years ago: Tough, hard-edged, un-pretty and remarkably un-killable. Tennessee found that out last night, when the Volunteers likely expected the Boilers to fold like laundry after surrendering the 18-point lead. Instead ...
Instead, Ryan Cline hit another 3. And another. And also another. And pretty soon, Carsen Edwards drew the foul and dropped two of the three free throws to force OT, and then the Purdues wrapped it up.
On to Saturday, as Painter said.
Where 1-seed Virginia awaits, after surviving 12-seed Oregon by four last night. I don't know if Purdue can beat the Cavaliers, because everything's about matchups in Da Tournament, and the matchups will be different this time. But then I didn't think they'd beat Tennessee, so what do I know.
All I know is this: Virginia had better bring its big-boy pants.
'Cause if you're gonna kill these Purdues, you gotta kill 'em. And woe is you if you don't.
Best game of Da Tournament so far down there in Louisville last night, and when it was over, Purdue somehow was not. The Boilermakers blew an 18-point second-half lead despite shooting 52 percent from the field, and if this looked like a classic case of the Boilers Purdue-ing it up again in March Madness, suddenly, madly, it wasn't.
Ryan Cline kept hitting 3s to keep 2-seed Tennessee from taking over. Carsen Edwards kept being Carsen Edwards. And the Boilers got it to overtime, and then they ended Tennessee's season, 99-94.
And it's on to the Elite Eight. For the first time since, yes, 2000.
When Drew Brees was a college kid who'd just taken Purdue to the Rose Bowl.
When Matt Painter was a 29-year-old assistant coach at Southern Illinois.
When the twin towers still stood, and September 11 was just a date on the calendar, and Donald Trump was just another meathead celebrity tycoon.
Now the meathead is the Meathead in Chief, and Matt Painter is north of 300 wins as a head coach at Purdue. And somehow, with a team that lost four starters and didn't bring in any lights-out freshmen, he's going to the Elite Eight.
He's doing it with a team with one bonafide star (Edwards), one walk-on turned program avatar (Grady Eifert) and a whole bunch of kids who have wholly bought in to what Painter sold them, which is that everyone has a role to play. Play your role, and it all works. Step outside of it, and Purdue is as ordinary as everyone expected it to be.
But it's not, of course.
On the contrary, what the Boilers are is the very embodiment of everything Purdue basketball has come to mean since Gene Keady showed up almost 40 years ago: Tough, hard-edged, un-pretty and remarkably un-killable. Tennessee found that out last night, when the Volunteers likely expected the Boilers to fold like laundry after surrendering the 18-point lead. Instead ...
Instead, Ryan Cline hit another 3. And another. And also another. And pretty soon, Carsen Edwards drew the foul and dropped two of the three free throws to force OT, and then the Purdues wrapped it up.
On to Saturday, as Painter said.
Where 1-seed Virginia awaits, after surviving 12-seed Oregon by four last night. I don't know if Purdue can beat the Cavaliers, because everything's about matchups in Da Tournament, and the matchups will be different this time. But then I didn't think they'd beat Tennessee, so what do I know.
All I know is this: Virginia had better bring its big-boy pants.
'Cause if you're gonna kill these Purdues, you gotta kill 'em. And woe is you if you don't.
Thursday, March 28, 2019
And now ... baseball!
Opening day in the major leagues (or, Opening Day), and you know what that means, people.
It means lots of folks in puffy coats huddled together for warmth, pretending 42 degrees feels like July.
It means believing July might eventually arrive ... someday ... maybe.
It means hot dogs, and hot chocolate. The muffled sound clapping makes when swaddled in mittens. The realization that, on this day at least, "warming up in the bullpen" is just a figure of speech.
Oh, yeah. And this:
The fleeting euphoria, which usually only lasts a day, of believing this is the year my cruddy Pittsburgh Pirates finally go 162-0.
("Ah, geez. Them again?" -- The Blobophiles.)
Yes, them again. Deal with it.
Anyway, I have surveyed all the various predictions, and I am pleased to report the status remains quo. Which is to say, the Pirates will be cruddy again, but maybe not horrendously cruddy. They'll only be cruddy enough to finish either last or next-to-last in the NL Central, their customary place of residence.
Oh, there are some addled folk out there who think the Buccos might actually be one of baseball's surprise teams this year, on account of their pitching. It's actually supposed to be pretty decent, if you can believe that. They've got a starting rota led by Jameson Taillon, and a bullpen stuffed with live arms: Felipe Vazquez, Keone Kela, Richard Rodriguez. One of them might even be the next Dave Giusti, or even Kent Tekulve.
(To dredge up a couple Pirates of yore.)
The problem, weirdly, is the Bucs have no bats. Their offense -- once the Pirates' signature -- looks like it's commencing to be stinky. In which case the pitching better be pretty decent, or the upgraded Reds are going to zoom past them, and the Battle for the Cellar will be over before it begins.
("No! Not that stupid Battle for the Cellar again!" -- The Blobphiles.)
Yes, that stupid Battle for the Cellar. It revs up again today.
Settle in, boys and girls. And try to stay warm.
It means lots of folks in puffy coats huddled together for warmth, pretending 42 degrees feels like July.
It means believing July might eventually arrive ... someday ... maybe.
It means hot dogs, and hot chocolate. The muffled sound clapping makes when swaddled in mittens. The realization that, on this day at least, "warming up in the bullpen" is just a figure of speech.
Oh, yeah. And this:
The fleeting euphoria, which usually only lasts a day, of believing this is the year my cruddy Pittsburgh Pirates finally go 162-0.
("Ah, geez. Them again?" -- The Blobophiles.)
Yes, them again. Deal with it.
Anyway, I have surveyed all the various predictions, and I am pleased to report the status remains quo. Which is to say, the Pirates will be cruddy again, but maybe not horrendously cruddy. They'll only be cruddy enough to finish either last or next-to-last in the NL Central, their customary place of residence.
Oh, there are some addled folk out there who think the Buccos might actually be one of baseball's surprise teams this year, on account of their pitching. It's actually supposed to be pretty decent, if you can believe that. They've got a starting rota led by Jameson Taillon, and a bullpen stuffed with live arms: Felipe Vazquez, Keone Kela, Richard Rodriguez. One of them might even be the next Dave Giusti, or even Kent Tekulve.
(To dredge up a couple Pirates of yore.)
The problem, weirdly, is the Bucs have no bats. Their offense -- once the Pirates' signature -- looks like it's commencing to be stinky. In which case the pitching better be pretty decent, or the upgraded Reds are going to zoom past them, and the Battle for the Cellar will be over before it begins.
("No! Not that stupid Battle for the Cellar again!" -- The Blobphiles.)
Yes, that stupid Battle for the Cellar. It revs up again today.
Settle in, boys and girls. And try to stay warm.
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Naming rights
And now the best of all brackets in this Season of Brackets, the most fun bracket, the bracket where a 16 can beat a 1 all hollow because it's all about subjective personal taste and not RPIs or MREs or SUVs.
It's Deadspin's 2019 Name of the Year bracket, ya'll!
In which we are assured that all 60 names therein are actual real names, although the Blob somewhat doubts it. I mean, Dijonnaise Norman is one thing, but General Booty? Please.
In any event, it's a strong field this year, with a whole lot of dangerous mid-majors lurking in the shadows. And that's even without the runaway best name in the NCAA Tournament, Admiral Schofield of Tennessee.
I'll see your General Booty and raise you an Admiral. Or something like that.
The Blob is not disposed to giving anyone a peek at how it's filled out its Name of the Year bracket, but it will do something almost as fun and as open to ridicule: It's going to pick out a handful of, um, handles, and match them to their imagined sport.
And so ...
Ionosphere Torres: New York City playground legend. Once won a bet by dunking over a bus while eating a ham sandwich.
Cash Kinghorn: Champion bullrider. Famous for his belt buckle, which is the size of a serving tray.
Kermit Sprinkles: Olympic figure skater. Famous for live boa constrictor boa.
Paisley Boney IV: America's Cup skipper. Best known for saying "We'll sink the bloody Aussies, and then it's off to the Hamptons for croquet and champagne!"
Alpha Omega Nickelberry III: Last man to beat Paisley Boney IV in croquet.
Cletorius Aretha Fry: Point guard for Clemson. Offspring of former Clemson star Potatus Fry, last seen as a character (really!) in Dan Jenkins' novel "You Gotta Play Hurt."
Truman Peyote: U.S. disc golf champ.
Surrender Nada: UFC welterweight contender. Son of failed UFC fighter Igot Nada.
Princehoward Barebecue Yee: Left fielder, Hiroshima Toyo Carp. Yankees, Cubs, Red Sox currently bidding for his services.
Ecclesiastical Denzel Washington: Goes by "E.D." Hall of Fame high school football coach, Millard Fillmore East High, Dirt Clod, Nebraska.
Harrison Treegoob: Golfer, Web.com tour.
Sureal Sparx: Center, Phoenix Mercury, WNBA.
Syndronica Redd: Wide receiver, Alabama Crimson Tide.
Corno Pronk: Tight end, Michigan Wolverines.
And last but not least ...
Storm Duck, Cory Phast Lane, Terry Tickhill Terrell: NASCAR truck series drivers. Of course.
It's Deadspin's 2019 Name of the Year bracket, ya'll!
In which we are assured that all 60 names therein are actual real names, although the Blob somewhat doubts it. I mean, Dijonnaise Norman is one thing, but General Booty? Please.
In any event, it's a strong field this year, with a whole lot of dangerous mid-majors lurking in the shadows. And that's even without the runaway best name in the NCAA Tournament, Admiral Schofield of Tennessee.
I'll see your General Booty and raise you an Admiral. Or something like that.
The Blob is not disposed to giving anyone a peek at how it's filled out its Name of the Year bracket, but it will do something almost as fun and as open to ridicule: It's going to pick out a handful of, um, handles, and match them to their imagined sport.
And so ...
Ionosphere Torres: New York City playground legend. Once won a bet by dunking over a bus while eating a ham sandwich.
Cash Kinghorn: Champion bullrider. Famous for his belt buckle, which is the size of a serving tray.
Kermit Sprinkles: Olympic figure skater. Famous for live boa constrictor boa.
Paisley Boney IV: America's Cup skipper. Best known for saying "We'll sink the bloody Aussies, and then it's off to the Hamptons for croquet and champagne!"
Alpha Omega Nickelberry III: Last man to beat Paisley Boney IV in croquet.
Cletorius Aretha Fry: Point guard for Clemson. Offspring of former Clemson star Potatus Fry, last seen as a character (really!) in Dan Jenkins' novel "You Gotta Play Hurt."
Truman Peyote: U.S. disc golf champ.
Surrender Nada: UFC welterweight contender. Son of failed UFC fighter Igot Nada.
Princehoward Barebecue Yee: Left fielder, Hiroshima Toyo Carp. Yankees, Cubs, Red Sox currently bidding for his services.
Ecclesiastical Denzel Washington: Goes by "E.D." Hall of Fame high school football coach, Millard Fillmore East High, Dirt Clod, Nebraska.
Harrison Treegoob: Golfer, Web.com tour.
Sureal Sparx: Center, Phoenix Mercury, WNBA.
Syndronica Redd: Wide receiver, Alabama Crimson Tide.
Corno Pronk: Tight end, Michigan Wolverines.
And last but not least ...
Storm Duck, Cory Phast Lane, Terry Tickhill Terrell: NASCAR truck series drivers. Of course.
Mercy killing
In the end, the season died as it lived.
With a clank, and a splat, and a booiiiing.
With a not-very-good visitor trashing the Sacred Confines.
With an Indiana team that was really good for awhile, and then really awful, and then kinda-sorta good again, and finally, irrevocably, not good enough.
The Hoosiers were the top seed in the NIT, Wichita State was a 6-seed, and yet the Shockers won by 10 last night in Assembly Hall. It was one more loss to a team to which Indiana should never lose in the Hall -- really, how incorrigibly mediocre do you have to be to be a 6-seed in the NIT? -- and it happened because, once again, Indiana lost the ability to hit water falling out of a boat.
The Hoosiers reverted to their brick-laying ways, clanking and splatting and booiiiiing-ing 45 shots out of the 65 they took. That's 38.5 percent to you and me, kids. And that was still five percentage points better than they shot from the 3-point line, where they were a back-to-basics 6-of-18.
A lot of that was spearheaded by the backcourt, which was the key all season for the Hoosiers and was again last night. Robert Phinisee missed eight of the nine shots he took. Devonte Green and Al Durham each missed nine of their 14 attempts. That's a combined 11-of-37 shooting for the Indiana guards.
(And, no, once again, Romeo Langford did not play. Which means the Blob was, once again, wrong, wrong, wrong. The official story was he has an ouch-y back he didn't need to aggravate by playing in the Not Interested, Terribly tournament. The unofficial story is probably a bit different.)
In any case, the Hoosiers' season is over at 19-15, and perhaps a debt of gratitude is owed Wichita State for what was essentially a mercy killing. Archie Miller and the lads at least put up a fight in the last weeks of the season, so their competitive instinct is not in question. But I can't but think that somewhere deep inside, a small part of them is relieved it's over.
Now it's on to figuring out what went wrong this season, and how to fix it. And to ensure that, somewhere down the road, the maintenance crew in the Hall will have to figure out where to hang another banner.
Once more they are spared that task, this offseason. Not much call for an NIT Elite Eight banner, after all.
With a clank, and a splat, and a booiiiing.
With a not-very-good visitor trashing the Sacred Confines.
With an Indiana team that was really good for awhile, and then really awful, and then kinda-sorta good again, and finally, irrevocably, not good enough.
The Hoosiers were the top seed in the NIT, Wichita State was a 6-seed, and yet the Shockers won by 10 last night in Assembly Hall. It was one more loss to a team to which Indiana should never lose in the Hall -- really, how incorrigibly mediocre do you have to be to be a 6-seed in the NIT? -- and it happened because, once again, Indiana lost the ability to hit water falling out of a boat.
The Hoosiers reverted to their brick-laying ways, clanking and splatting and booiiiiing-ing 45 shots out of the 65 they took. That's 38.5 percent to you and me, kids. And that was still five percentage points better than they shot from the 3-point line, where they were a back-to-basics 6-of-18.
A lot of that was spearheaded by the backcourt, which was the key all season for the Hoosiers and was again last night. Robert Phinisee missed eight of the nine shots he took. Devonte Green and Al Durham each missed nine of their 14 attempts. That's a combined 11-of-37 shooting for the Indiana guards.
(And, no, once again, Romeo Langford did not play. Which means the Blob was, once again, wrong, wrong, wrong. The official story was he has an ouch-y back he didn't need to aggravate by playing in the Not Interested, Terribly tournament. The unofficial story is probably a bit different.)
In any case, the Hoosiers' season is over at 19-15, and perhaps a debt of gratitude is owed Wichita State for what was essentially a mercy killing. Archie Miller and the lads at least put up a fight in the last weeks of the season, so their competitive instinct is not in question. But I can't but think that somewhere deep inside, a small part of them is relieved it's over.
Now it's on to figuring out what went wrong this season, and how to fix it. And to ensure that, somewhere down the road, the maintenance crew in the Hall will have to figure out where to hang another banner.
Once more they are spared that task, this offseason. Not much call for an NIT Elite Eight banner, after all.
A fleeting glimpse of parity
So, you miss it right?
You miss the unpredictability. You miss the wailing and gnashing of teeth. You miss pouring lighter fluid on your NCAA Tournament bracket and setting it on fire because bleeping Loyola or bleeping Bucknell or bleeping Middle Tennessee State just atomized it two days into the thing.
Well, you're not getting that this year, as the Blob pointed out yesterday. This year has been chalkified, which is to say a snoozefest, which is to say no damn fun at all.
Want to know the weirdest thing about that?
It's what the women's tournament used to look like.
Now, though, it's far less chalky than the men's side. And who would ever have thought that could happen?
The women set their Sweet Sixteen last night, and, yes, the 1-seeds were as dominant as they always are. Notre Dame launched 9-seed Michigan State into orbit by 28 points in the round of 32. Baylor carpet-bombed 8-seed Cal by 39. So the rich got richer.
However ...
However, there was also 6-seed UCLA taking down 3-seed Maryland. And 6-seed South Dakota State knocking out 3-seed Syracuse. And -- whoa, look at this! -- 11-seed Missouri State shocking 3-seed Iowa State.
An 11 over a 3, on the women's side. Used to be turtles would fly and sing the lead in a Broadway show before you saw that.
But now you've got a Sweet Sixteen on the men's side with one 5-seed and one 12-seed -- and that 12-seed is from the Pac-12, so it hardly counts as a true underdog. On the women's side, meanwhile, you've got a Sweet Sixteen with two 6-seeds, a 5-seed and an 11-seed.
And two of those (Missouri State and South Dakota State) are mid-majors.
So what in the name of Nancy Lieberman is going on here?
One word: UConn.
Back when the Huskies were beating everyone eleventy-hundred to 12 and winning the national title every year, the ongoing debate was whether Geno Auriemma's mighty legions were good for the women's game. They were so good, and everyone else was so deep in their wake, that the women's tournament was barely worth watching. You tuned in only at the end, to see how bad Geno would cripple whatever no-hoper his team faced in the title game.
What he said about that, and what no one wanted to hear, was this: That it wasn't up to him to play down to everyone else's level. It was up to everyone else to raise their level.
Which is exactly what has happened.
UConn is still a power, but it hasn't won a national title since 2016. South Carolina won in 2017, after Mississippi State knocked out the Huskies in the national semifinal. And Notre Dame won last year after beating Mississippi State on Arike Ogunbowale's buzzer-beater in the title game.
This year?
This year, UConn isn't even a 1-seed. It's a 2.
Progress.
You miss the unpredictability. You miss the wailing and gnashing of teeth. You miss pouring lighter fluid on your NCAA Tournament bracket and setting it on fire because bleeping Loyola or bleeping Bucknell or bleeping Middle Tennessee State just atomized it two days into the thing.
Well, you're not getting that this year, as the Blob pointed out yesterday. This year has been chalkified, which is to say a snoozefest, which is to say no damn fun at all.
Want to know the weirdest thing about that?
It's what the women's tournament used to look like.
Now, though, it's far less chalky than the men's side. And who would ever have thought that could happen?
The women set their Sweet Sixteen last night, and, yes, the 1-seeds were as dominant as they always are. Notre Dame launched 9-seed Michigan State into orbit by 28 points in the round of 32. Baylor carpet-bombed 8-seed Cal by 39. So the rich got richer.
However ...
However, there was also 6-seed UCLA taking down 3-seed Maryland. And 6-seed South Dakota State knocking out 3-seed Syracuse. And -- whoa, look at this! -- 11-seed Missouri State shocking 3-seed Iowa State.
An 11 over a 3, on the women's side. Used to be turtles would fly and sing the lead in a Broadway show before you saw that.
But now you've got a Sweet Sixteen on the men's side with one 5-seed and one 12-seed -- and that 12-seed is from the Pac-12, so it hardly counts as a true underdog. On the women's side, meanwhile, you've got a Sweet Sixteen with two 6-seeds, a 5-seed and an 11-seed.
And two of those (Missouri State and South Dakota State) are mid-majors.
So what in the name of Nancy Lieberman is going on here?
One word: UConn.
Back when the Huskies were beating everyone eleventy-hundred to 12 and winning the national title every year, the ongoing debate was whether Geno Auriemma's mighty legions were good for the women's game. They were so good, and everyone else was so deep in their wake, that the women's tournament was barely worth watching. You tuned in only at the end, to see how bad Geno would cripple whatever no-hoper his team faced in the title game.
What he said about that, and what no one wanted to hear, was this: That it wasn't up to him to play down to everyone else's level. It was up to everyone else to raise their level.
Which is exactly what has happened.
UConn is still a power, but it hasn't won a national title since 2016. South Carolina won in 2017, after Mississippi State knocked out the Huskies in the national semifinal. And Notre Dame won last year after beating Mississippi State on Arike Ogunbowale's buzzer-beater in the title game.
This year?
This year, UConn isn't even a 1-seed. It's a 2.
Progress.
Monday, March 25, 2019
Chalk outlines, Part Deux
In the end, even geometry favored the overdog.
Two times Sunday in the space of as many breaths, Duke's season hung on the square root of the hypotenuse, or something like that. First, B.J. Taylor's driving runner spun high and delicate off the glass, but not quite delicate enough; then, Aubrey Dawkins' follow tip just ahead of the horn kissed the glass again, took another lap or two around that pitiless rim -- and fell off.
And so top-seed Duke 77, 9-seed Central Florida 76, and the entire first weekend of the NCAA Tournament was, in the way that most matters, a bust. The Big Knockout never happened; in the one game where it should have, being both lucky and good proved just enough for the Dukies. And so we go to a Sweet Sixteen without a true Cinderella, without a storyline that will rivet us the way Sister Jean and Loyola did a year ago.
Sixteen teams still alive in this thing, and 15 of them are seeded 5 or higher. All four 1, 2 and 3 seeds are still present. The East and West regionals are 100 percent chalk, with the top four seeds remaining; the Midwest features the 1, 2, 3 and 5 seeds -- and the 5 seed, Auburn, should probably have been seeded fourth instead of the Kansas team it dismantled Sunday.
Every one of the 16 remaining teams are from the Power 5 conferences except Houston, which represents the only-one-tick-lower American Athletic Conference. And the only "Cinderella" left in this?
That would be 12-seed Oregon, which won the Pac-12 tournament. Which is sort of like a Kardashian masquerading as Cinderella.
And, yes, while this promises some terrific basketball this weekend, it also promises zero romance. Unless you're a fan or alum of the 16 assorted big shots, who is left the casual observer can get behind? Who's still around to whom he or she can give his or her heart? Can you really plight your troth to, I'm sorry, Oregon?
Don't think so. What we've got here are the royals in short pants and sneakers: A whole lot of glitz and glamour, signifying nothing. Because without any of the bootstrap storylines that have always put the Mad in March Madness, what are we left with?
March Meh-ness, that's what. One Shining Moment, hold the Shine.
Damn you, geometry. Damn you.
Two times Sunday in the space of as many breaths, Duke's season hung on the square root of the hypotenuse, or something like that. First, B.J. Taylor's driving runner spun high and delicate off the glass, but not quite delicate enough; then, Aubrey Dawkins' follow tip just ahead of the horn kissed the glass again, took another lap or two around that pitiless rim -- and fell off.
And so top-seed Duke 77, 9-seed Central Florida 76, and the entire first weekend of the NCAA Tournament was, in the way that most matters, a bust. The Big Knockout never happened; in the one game where it should have, being both lucky and good proved just enough for the Dukies. And so we go to a Sweet Sixteen without a true Cinderella, without a storyline that will rivet us the way Sister Jean and Loyola did a year ago.
Sixteen teams still alive in this thing, and 15 of them are seeded 5 or higher. All four 1, 2 and 3 seeds are still present. The East and West regionals are 100 percent chalk, with the top four seeds remaining; the Midwest features the 1, 2, 3 and 5 seeds -- and the 5 seed, Auburn, should probably have been seeded fourth instead of the Kansas team it dismantled Sunday.
Every one of the 16 remaining teams are from the Power 5 conferences except Houston, which represents the only-one-tick-lower American Athletic Conference. And the only "Cinderella" left in this?
That would be 12-seed Oregon, which won the Pac-12 tournament. Which is sort of like a Kardashian masquerading as Cinderella.
And, yes, while this promises some terrific basketball this weekend, it also promises zero romance. Unless you're a fan or alum of the 16 assorted big shots, who is left the casual observer can get behind? Who's still around to whom he or she can give his or her heart? Can you really plight your troth to, I'm sorry, Oregon?
Don't think so. What we've got here are the royals in short pants and sneakers: A whole lot of glitz and glamour, signifying nothing. Because without any of the bootstrap storylines that have always put the Mad in March Madness, what are we left with?
March Meh-ness, that's what. One Shining Moment, hold the Shine.
Damn you, geometry. Damn you.
Sunday, March 24, 2019
Coaches gone wild
Michigan State easily cleared its round of 32 hurdle Saturday, pounding a few more lumps on a favorite punching bag (Minnesota) enroute to a 20-point victory and another advance to the Sweet Sixteen.
The best part about that was Tom Izzo didn't have to go Section Eight again.
By now everyone in America has heard about, or seen, the way he lit into Spartan freshman Aaron Henry as Sparty struggled to put away 15-seed Bradley the other day. Perhaps he was having a gruesome flashback to 2016, when 15-seed Middle Tennessee State knocked him out of Da Tournament. Perhaps he was just trying to light a fire under his gifted freshman, which was his story. And perhaps we should get off poor Tom's case, because all he was doing was Coaching Up His Player and not being all touchy-feely about it the way everyone tends to be now in our sad, pathetic, everybody-gets-a-trophy society.
Which was the story for a lot of other folks, even some who should know better.
It's a curious tic in our sporting landscape that a certain segment of fan/sports scribe loves to see coaches scream at players like lunatics, and the more red-faced, bug-eyed, spittle-flinging the better. To that certain segment, this is coaching. To that certain segment, it opens up a big ol' can of nostalgia, in which back-in-the-day types remember with a bizarre fondness the times Coach abused them.
And ol' Coach, why, then he grabbed my facemask and give it a good shake. Like to broke my damn neck. Screamed at me 'til my eardrums bled. Man, those were the days ...
Something like that.
Here's the problem: If you come out and say coaches shouldn't be losing their minds to the point where they have to be restrained by their own players, the way Izzo did the other day, you're immediately tagged as someone who's against any disciplining of players. Which of course isn't remotely true.
Look. Coaches yell. It's what they do. And sometimes they have to, because they're coaching kids, and kids frequently are dopes. If they weren't, raising them would be easy.
So Izzo yelling at Henry?
Don't have a problem with that. He's a fiery guy. Sometimes he's gotta be who he is.
But Izzo losing control so completely he had to be restrained? By his own players?
That's crossing the line. So was defending it in the postgame, to the point where he lectured the media on accountability.
Sorry, Coach. But no one from Michigan State, of all places, gets to lecture anyone on accountability.
The whole thing takes me back 30 years to the girls state basketball finals, which I was covering that year because one of Fred Fields' excellent Huntington North squads was there. One of the other teams there had one of the bug-eyed spittle-flingers for a coach. Kept grabbing players and practically throwing them on the bench when they did something on the floor that displeased him. It got so bad the Huntington North fans started hollering at him, even though their team wasn't even playing in the game.
In front of me, another coach from the Spittle-Flinger's school was sitting at the scorer's table. He turned and glared at the Huntington North folks. Said they didn't get it.
Yes, they did, Coach. They got it way better than you did.
The best part about that was Tom Izzo didn't have to go Section Eight again.
By now everyone in America has heard about, or seen, the way he lit into Spartan freshman Aaron Henry as Sparty struggled to put away 15-seed Bradley the other day. Perhaps he was having a gruesome flashback to 2016, when 15-seed Middle Tennessee State knocked him out of Da Tournament. Perhaps he was just trying to light a fire under his gifted freshman, which was his story. And perhaps we should get off poor Tom's case, because all he was doing was Coaching Up His Player and not being all touchy-feely about it the way everyone tends to be now in our sad, pathetic, everybody-gets-a-trophy society.
Which was the story for a lot of other folks, even some who should know better.
It's a curious tic in our sporting landscape that a certain segment of fan/sports scribe loves to see coaches scream at players like lunatics, and the more red-faced, bug-eyed, spittle-flinging the better. To that certain segment, this is coaching. To that certain segment, it opens up a big ol' can of nostalgia, in which back-in-the-day types remember with a bizarre fondness the times Coach abused them.
And ol' Coach, why, then he grabbed my facemask and give it a good shake. Like to broke my damn neck. Screamed at me 'til my eardrums bled. Man, those were the days ...
Something like that.
Here's the problem: If you come out and say coaches shouldn't be losing their minds to the point where they have to be restrained by their own players, the way Izzo did the other day, you're immediately tagged as someone who's against any disciplining of players. Which of course isn't remotely true.
Look. Coaches yell. It's what they do. And sometimes they have to, because they're coaching kids, and kids frequently are dopes. If they weren't, raising them would be easy.
So Izzo yelling at Henry?
Don't have a problem with that. He's a fiery guy. Sometimes he's gotta be who he is.
But Izzo losing control so completely he had to be restrained? By his own players?
That's crossing the line. So was defending it in the postgame, to the point where he lectured the media on accountability.
Sorry, Coach. But no one from Michigan State, of all places, gets to lecture anyone on accountability.
The whole thing takes me back 30 years to the girls state basketball finals, which I was covering that year because one of Fred Fields' excellent Huntington North squads was there. One of the other teams there had one of the bug-eyed spittle-flingers for a coach. Kept grabbing players and practically throwing them on the bench when they did something on the floor that displeased him. It got so bad the Huntington North fans started hollering at him, even though their team wasn't even playing in the game.
In front of me, another coach from the Spittle-Flinger's school was sitting at the scorer's table. He turned and glared at the Huntington North folks. Said they didn't get it.
Yes, they did, Coach. They got it way better than you did.
Sweetest
Oh, right. Those guys.
Or should I say: That guy.
That Guy being Carsen Edwards, whom everyone familiar with a basketball (round ... orange ... routinely hurled violently through orange rings by Zion Williamson) knew needed to get going if Purdue was not going to Purdue this up again. Carsen Edwards needed to get out of this funk he was in, if Purdue was going to play like the regular season Big Ten champs. Carsen Edwards needed to, oh, I don't know, make a damn shot once in awhile.
Well. Consider that box checked off.
Because here came defending national champion Villanova in the round of 32, and here came Edwards, and there went Villanova. The final was Purdue 87, Villanova 61, and Edwards had 42 of Purdue's 87. Neither the score nor Edwards' point total was anything anyone was expecting, least of all Villanova, who was not last year's team but did win 26 games this year.
I mean, come on. If I'd told you before it tipped last night that Purdue would have been up 56-24 on the defending national champs at one point in the second half, you would have sent me to rehab. Even Purdue Pete would have laughed inside that big head with the creepy dead eyes.
And yet ... it happened. Edwards went for 42 on just 21 shots, and as so often happens, that opened up everything else for Purdue. Matt Haarms added 18 points and nine boards. Ryan Cline scored 12. And Grady Eifert had pretty much the signature Grady Eifert stat line: 5 points, 7 rebounds, 5 assists and a steal.
The Purdues shot 53 percent and limited 'Nova to 35 percent. They outrebounded 'Nova by an astounding 42-24. And they reminded everyone, again, that winning the Big Ten regular-season title wasn't something that happened because the basketball gods meant to write down "Michigan State" and accidentally wrote down "Purdue" instead.
And so now it's on the Sweet Sixteen for the third straight year for Matt Painter's crew, and who knows what happens next. Momentum is a fever dream in the NCAA Tournament, because everything's about matchups and what you do one night rarely translates to what you do another. Just ask Wofford sniper Fletcher Magee, who dropped seven 3s and 24 points in a first-round rout of Seton Hall, then scored just eight points and was 0-for-12 from the arc as Wofford bowed to Kentucky in the round of 32.
So, who knows. Likely the Boilermakers get 2-seed Tennessee next, if the bracket holds. They shouldn't win that game, if the brackets continue to hold. But Tennessee can be had, just as everyone in this tournament can be had. Auburn got hot and drilled them by 20 in the SEC title game. In other words ...
In other words, Auburn went Purdue-vs.-Villanova.
Commence the Music of Foreshadowing.
Or should I say: That guy.
That Guy being Carsen Edwards, whom everyone familiar with a basketball (round ... orange ... routinely hurled violently through orange rings by Zion Williamson) knew needed to get going if Purdue was not going to Purdue this up again. Carsen Edwards needed to get out of this funk he was in, if Purdue was going to play like the regular season Big Ten champs. Carsen Edwards needed to, oh, I don't know, make a damn shot once in awhile.
Well. Consider that box checked off.
Because here came defending national champion Villanova in the round of 32, and here came Edwards, and there went Villanova. The final was Purdue 87, Villanova 61, and Edwards had 42 of Purdue's 87. Neither the score nor Edwards' point total was anything anyone was expecting, least of all Villanova, who was not last year's team but did win 26 games this year.
I mean, come on. If I'd told you before it tipped last night that Purdue would have been up 56-24 on the defending national champs at one point in the second half, you would have sent me to rehab. Even Purdue Pete would have laughed inside that big head with the creepy dead eyes.
And yet ... it happened. Edwards went for 42 on just 21 shots, and as so often happens, that opened up everything else for Purdue. Matt Haarms added 18 points and nine boards. Ryan Cline scored 12. And Grady Eifert had pretty much the signature Grady Eifert stat line: 5 points, 7 rebounds, 5 assists and a steal.
The Purdues shot 53 percent and limited 'Nova to 35 percent. They outrebounded 'Nova by an astounding 42-24. And they reminded everyone, again, that winning the Big Ten regular-season title wasn't something that happened because the basketball gods meant to write down "Michigan State" and accidentally wrote down "Purdue" instead.
And so now it's on the Sweet Sixteen for the third straight year for Matt Painter's crew, and who knows what happens next. Momentum is a fever dream in the NCAA Tournament, because everything's about matchups and what you do one night rarely translates to what you do another. Just ask Wofford sniper Fletcher Magee, who dropped seven 3s and 24 points in a first-round rout of Seton Hall, then scored just eight points and was 0-for-12 from the arc as Wofford bowed to Kentucky in the round of 32.
So, who knows. Likely the Boilermakers get 2-seed Tennessee next, if the bracket holds. They shouldn't win that game, if the brackets continue to hold. But Tennessee can be had, just as everyone in this tournament can be had. Auburn got hot and drilled them by 20 in the SEC title game. In other words ...
In other words, Auburn went Purdue-vs.-Villanova.
Commence the Music of Foreshadowing.
Friday, March 22, 2019
Chalk outlines
Things you are probably not saying this morning, if you filled out a bracket and didn't do anything crazy, like pick Abilene Christian to knock off Kentucky:
"Crap! One day in and my bracket is WHEAT TOAST!"
"Who seeded this thing? A llama?"
"Well, I can cancel that ocean cruise I was planning if I won the office pool."
No, you weren't saying any of that, because the first of the best two days of the NCAA Tournament was a freaking chalk outline. Almost every game went according to seeding, and the rare ones that didn't felt like they did. Even the lone alleged shocker -- Murray State blowing out Marquette, the traditional 12-over-5 that always happens -- didn't feel like a 12-over-5, on account of Murray State had Ja Morant and Marquette didn't.
(Seriously, is he even human? Seventeen points, 16 assists, 11 rebounds, a poster dunk that will live forever in the annals of poster dunks. And he's only 6-2. I think the Cylons just screwed up big time, letting one of their skin jobs reveal himself like that).
(A reference to the late, awesome series "Battlestar Galactica." If you missed it, you can probably stream it somewhere. And should).
Where was I again?
Oh, yeah. Thursday and its chalky aftertaste.
Oh, there were a couple of 10s-over-7s, and a 9-over-8, but come on, those don't even count. Only 15-seed Bradley having a brief out-of-body experience and 2-seed Michigan State playing like a bunch of goobers gave us even a fleeting oh-my-god moment, and then even that was gone. Down the stretch the Spartans got their collective stuff together, and Bradley ran out of fairy dust. And Michigan State won by double digits.
Elsewhere?
Well, the 1s beat the 16s like they were supposed to, ditto the 3s over the 14s, and on and on. Among Thursday's games, there were a few almosts -- 3-seed LSU held off 14-seed Yale by five, 5 seed Auburn came a missed buzzer beater from losing to 12 seed New Mexico State, and 6 seed Maryland held off 11 seed Belmont by two -- but in the end, form held. And there was a 38-point blowout, a 35-point blowout and a 34-point blowout, plus a couple of 19- and 18-point wax jobs.
Which suggests the power conferences have separated themselves from everyone else to a greater degree than usual. And that's no fun at all.
Of course, there's always today. Keep you fingers crossed, and your bracket ready to set on fire.
"Crap! One day in and my bracket is WHEAT TOAST!"
"Who seeded this thing? A llama?"
"Well, I can cancel that ocean cruise I was planning if I won the office pool."
No, you weren't saying any of that, because the first of the best two days of the NCAA Tournament was a freaking chalk outline. Almost every game went according to seeding, and the rare ones that didn't felt like they did. Even the lone alleged shocker -- Murray State blowing out Marquette, the traditional 12-over-5 that always happens -- didn't feel like a 12-over-5, on account of Murray State had Ja Morant and Marquette didn't.
(Seriously, is he even human? Seventeen points, 16 assists, 11 rebounds, a poster dunk that will live forever in the annals of poster dunks. And he's only 6-2. I think the Cylons just screwed up big time, letting one of their skin jobs reveal himself like that).
(A reference to the late, awesome series "Battlestar Galactica." If you missed it, you can probably stream it somewhere. And should).
Where was I again?
Oh, yeah. Thursday and its chalky aftertaste.
Oh, there were a couple of 10s-over-7s, and a 9-over-8, but come on, those don't even count. Only 15-seed Bradley having a brief out-of-body experience and 2-seed Michigan State playing like a bunch of goobers gave us even a fleeting oh-my-god moment, and then even that was gone. Down the stretch the Spartans got their collective stuff together, and Bradley ran out of fairy dust. And Michigan State won by double digits.
Elsewhere?
Well, the 1s beat the 16s like they were supposed to, ditto the 3s over the 14s, and on and on. Among Thursday's games, there were a few almosts -- 3-seed LSU held off 14-seed Yale by five, 5 seed Auburn came a missed buzzer beater from losing to 12 seed New Mexico State, and 6 seed Maryland held off 11 seed Belmont by two -- but in the end, form held. And there was a 38-point blowout, a 35-point blowout and a 34-point blowout, plus a couple of 19- and 18-point wax jobs.
Which suggests the power conferences have separated themselves from everyone else to a greater degree than usual. And that's no fun at all.
Of course, there's always today. Keep you fingers crossed, and your bracket ready to set on fire.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
Bracket-allergy
The first full day of spring snuck in this morning on a fake ID, a sky the color of slate lidding a whole lot of chill and wet. But later there will be basketball, lots of basketball, so we'll serve Spring a beer or three anyway, and let it cheer for Gonzaga or someone.
We'll also let it fill out a bracket, because the Blob will not. The Blob does not fill out brackets, not after that year UConn won and the Blob got beat by someone who picked the Huskies because, you know, huskies are just so darn cute.
Never again. The Blob is officially allergic to brackets. They make the Blob break out in hives. And so you can come at me with your Bracket Challenges and your Bracket Showdowns, and the Blob will simply turn the other cheek.
"Coward!" you're saying now.
Yeah, well ... sticks and stones. I don't care. I am not going to fall into the trap of picking Iowa State into the Final Four again and watching it get beat by Whatsamatta U. in the first round, like I did one year. Or picking Michigan State into the Final Four and watching it get beat by Directional Hyphen Somewhere In Tennessee State, like I did another year.
No, I am free now to just watch and root for, say, Yale against LSU, because at least Yale's coach isn't a crime lord currently doing time in the NCAA hoosegow. I am free to root for Vermont because I have friends who live in Vermont, and also because "Catamounts" is a way cool nickname, and also because the Catamounts have five kids from Indiana on the roster -- including three from one high school, Evansville Harrison.
I am also free to pick Coastal Carolina as this year's Loyola, even though Coastal Carolina isn't in the field. But I'll pick 'em anyway just because they have an even cooler nickname -- the Chanticleers, which are a kind of rooster -- and because their mascot, Chauncey, is the best mascot in college buckets.
"But Mr. Blob," you are saying now. "Isn't this just as bad as people picking UConn because they're dog lovers? Or picking Purdue because Purdue Pete has lifeless eyes?"
Nah. See, I'm not really picking anybody. So therefore I can pick anyone I want, even if they're not in the tournament. And at the end of all this I can say I didn't miss a pick.
"But that's just silly, Mr. Blob," you're saying.
Yeah, well. Is it any sillier than Maryland Baltimore County beating Virginia last year? Or Duke losing to Mercer that other year? Or Kansas losing to Bucknell that other, other year?
There's a reason they call it March Madness, you know.
"Because you, yourself, are completely mad?" you're saying.
Not where I was going with that. But whatever.
We'll also let it fill out a bracket, because the Blob will not. The Blob does not fill out brackets, not after that year UConn won and the Blob got beat by someone who picked the Huskies because, you know, huskies are just so darn cute.
Never again. The Blob is officially allergic to brackets. They make the Blob break out in hives. And so you can come at me with your Bracket Challenges and your Bracket Showdowns, and the Blob will simply turn the other cheek.
"Coward!" you're saying now.
Yeah, well ... sticks and stones. I don't care. I am not going to fall into the trap of picking Iowa State into the Final Four again and watching it get beat by Whatsamatta U. in the first round, like I did one year. Or picking Michigan State into the Final Four and watching it get beat by Directional Hyphen Somewhere In Tennessee State, like I did another year.
No, I am free now to just watch and root for, say, Yale against LSU, because at least Yale's coach isn't a crime lord currently doing time in the NCAA hoosegow. I am free to root for Vermont because I have friends who live in Vermont, and also because "Catamounts" is a way cool nickname, and also because the Catamounts have five kids from Indiana on the roster -- including three from one high school, Evansville Harrison.
I am also free to pick Coastal Carolina as this year's Loyola, even though Coastal Carolina isn't in the field. But I'll pick 'em anyway just because they have an even cooler nickname -- the Chanticleers, which are a kind of rooster -- and because their mascot, Chauncey, is the best mascot in college buckets.
"But Mr. Blob," you are saying now. "Isn't this just as bad as people picking UConn because they're dog lovers? Or picking Purdue because Purdue Pete has lifeless eyes?"
Nah. See, I'm not really picking anybody. So therefore I can pick anyone I want, even if they're not in the tournament. And at the end of all this I can say I didn't miss a pick.
"But that's just silly, Mr. Blob," you're saying.
Yeah, well. Is it any sillier than Maryland Baltimore County beating Virginia last year? Or Duke losing to Mercer that other year? Or Kansas losing to Bucknell that other, other year?
There's a reason they call it March Madness, you know.
"Because you, yourself, are completely mad?" you're saying.
Not where I was going with that. But whatever.
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Clockworked
It's basketball state finals week in Indiana again, and you know what that means.
No, not, "Great, more snow."
No, not, "Nobody cares about high school basketball in Indiana anymore, even though scads of people still keep showing up at the games and the last time I covered a semistate, there was a traffic jam in Huntington."
(This is true. The last time I covered a semistate, four or so years ago, it was at Huntington North. I sat in the left turn lane at the intersection of US 24 and SR 5 for, like, an hour. And the gym was so full they were bribing the fire marshals).
Anyway, what that means is the eight state finals coaches gathered Monday in Indy for the traditional presser, and the latest topic du jour in Indiana high school basketball came up -- i.e., should the IHSAA adopt a shot clock?
Almost all the state finals coaches were either in favor of it, or not opposed. This should not have been all that shocking, because their teams were in the state finals. Which means they're all really good, and it's the really good teams who stand to benefit most from a shot clock.
This is the best argument the Blob can think of for the IHSAA not instituting a shot clock, aside from the cost to already-strapped school systems and the fact it's a cure in search of an illness. Truth is, in probably 99 percent of high school games played each winter in Indiana, a shot clock would rarely come into play. And in the 1 percent where it does?
Well. Let me ask you a question.
What's possibly the most iconic image in the history of Indiana high school basketball?
Thaaat's right: Bobby Plump standing there with the ball under his arm for one, two, three, four minutes against Muncie Central while his coach, Marvin Wood, tried to think of something to do.
A shot clock would have erased that image, and likely Milan's upset-but-not-really of Muncie Central, and years later there would never have been a Jimmy Chitwood. And the central pillar upon which the single-class diehards have always built their argument never would have existed.
Look. I get it. No one goes to a high school basketball game to see one guy hold the basketball under his arm for quarters at a time. I know this because I covered the epic (or not) 16-14 sectional game between Norwell and Wayne a few years back. It was probably the shortest high school game I ever covered because there were almost no stoppages in play. That might have been the only upside for a guy on deadline.
Although ...
Although, it was a lot less boring to watch than it sounds. You kept waiting for one team or the other to come out and extend its defense, and then to see how the team holding the ball would react. I can't say it was the most exciting game I've covered, but it might have been the most fascinating from a strategy standpoint.
It's also a way for an overmatched team to stay in a game. And that's not a bad thing.
Even hacked up into four classes, there remain monumental mismatches in Indiana's high school tournament, particularly at the sectional level. Institute a shot clock, and those mismatches would not only mestastasize, they would rise to the level of farce. Would more 72-33 blowouts improve the quality of the tournament?
No, they would not. And so when School X draws School Ridiculously-Better-Than-X in the sectional, a shot clock would overwhelmingly favor the latter. In other words, the overwhelming favorite would be an even more overwhelming favorite.
And who wants to see that, unless your kid plays for School Ridiculously-Better-Than-X?
Not me. I want to see the underdog get to play the only chip in its pile and slow it down. Maybe it'll work. Probably it won't. But the underdog should at least have that option.
That's not too much to ask, is it?
No, not, "Great, more snow."
No, not, "Nobody cares about high school basketball in Indiana anymore, even though scads of people still keep showing up at the games and the last time I covered a semistate, there was a traffic jam in Huntington."
(This is true. The last time I covered a semistate, four or so years ago, it was at Huntington North. I sat in the left turn lane at the intersection of US 24 and SR 5 for, like, an hour. And the gym was so full they were bribing the fire marshals).
Anyway, what that means is the eight state finals coaches gathered Monday in Indy for the traditional presser, and the latest topic du jour in Indiana high school basketball came up -- i.e., should the IHSAA adopt a shot clock?
Almost all the state finals coaches were either in favor of it, or not opposed. This should not have been all that shocking, because their teams were in the state finals. Which means they're all really good, and it's the really good teams who stand to benefit most from a shot clock.
This is the best argument the Blob can think of for the IHSAA not instituting a shot clock, aside from the cost to already-strapped school systems and the fact it's a cure in search of an illness. Truth is, in probably 99 percent of high school games played each winter in Indiana, a shot clock would rarely come into play. And in the 1 percent where it does?
Well. Let me ask you a question.
What's possibly the most iconic image in the history of Indiana high school basketball?
Thaaat's right: Bobby Plump standing there with the ball under his arm for one, two, three, four minutes against Muncie Central while his coach, Marvin Wood, tried to think of something to do.
A shot clock would have erased that image, and likely Milan's upset-but-not-really of Muncie Central, and years later there would never have been a Jimmy Chitwood. And the central pillar upon which the single-class diehards have always built their argument never would have existed.
Look. I get it. No one goes to a high school basketball game to see one guy hold the basketball under his arm for quarters at a time. I know this because I covered the epic (or not) 16-14 sectional game between Norwell and Wayne a few years back. It was probably the shortest high school game I ever covered because there were almost no stoppages in play. That might have been the only upside for a guy on deadline.
Although ...
Although, it was a lot less boring to watch than it sounds. You kept waiting for one team or the other to come out and extend its defense, and then to see how the team holding the ball would react. I can't say it was the most exciting game I've covered, but it might have been the most fascinating from a strategy standpoint.
It's also a way for an overmatched team to stay in a game. And that's not a bad thing.
Even hacked up into four classes, there remain monumental mismatches in Indiana's high school tournament, particularly at the sectional level. Institute a shot clock, and those mismatches would not only mestastasize, they would rise to the level of farce. Would more 72-33 blowouts improve the quality of the tournament?
No, they would not. And so when School X draws School Ridiculously-Better-Than-X in the sectional, a shot clock would overwhelmingly favor the latter. In other words, the overwhelming favorite would be an even more overwhelming favorite.
And who wants to see that, unless your kid plays for School Ridiculously-Better-Than-X?
Not me. I want to see the underdog get to play the only chip in its pile and slow it down. Maybe it'll work. Probably it won't. But the underdog should at least have that option.
That's not too much to ask, is it?
Air currents
So I guess this is the new Deflategate, and Tom Brady wasn't even involved. No, the main actor this time was something much more formidable than a mere NFL quarterback, even the GOAT.
That actor would be the Indianapolis 500. And the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, pro forma denials notwithstanding.
In case you missed it, here's the skinny: It seems an environmental group called Balloons Blow decided to put up a billboard along 16th Street -- right in the Speedway's backyard, in other words -- decrying the balloon release that's been part of the race morning ritual since God was a boy. The billboard contained an image of a balloon juxtaposed with a photo of a bird chomping down on a balloon fragment, with this message: "BALLOONS POLLUTE AND KILL. #StopLitteringIMS BalloonsBlow.org."
As with much else in this realm, Balloons Blow's heart was in the right place even if its judgment wasn't. Which is to say, the billboard vanished almost as quickly as it went up. The Speedway was the prime suspect, even though IMS spokesman Alex Damron said no one from there called the billboard company and asked it to be taken down.
The Blob, in keeping with its nature, remains deeply suspicious of this. I know, it's my cross to bear.
In any case, call this another instance of well-meaning folk taking on deeply entrenched tradition, and coming out of it decorated with tire tracks. There are traditions you have an outside shot at challenging in Indiana -- even single-class high school basketball eventually went down -- but the Indianapolis 500 is not one of them.
Very simply, it's the biggest single-day sporting event in the world, and it's been going on every May since 1911. When Ray Harroun either did or didn't win the first one (no one will ever really know, scoring technology being what it was in those days), William Howard Taft was president. The Wright brothers were still a thing. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, who won the Medal of Honor at Gettysburg, was still alive, and so were a pile of other Civil War veterans.
A thing that old tends to collect tradition like sailing ships collect barnacles, and so now we have the field of 33, and Gentlemen, Start Your Engines, and the bottle of milk, and Back Home Again In Indiana. We also have the balloon release, hundreds of balloons going up the bright May sky from the infield to become part of every Indianapolis 500 montage you've ever seen.
So ... no. Sorry. The Balloons Blow folks have a legit point, but this wasn't the place to make it. You've got to pick your battles, and this was like Custer picking the Little Bighorn.
Which didn't last very long, either, if memory serves. Thus endeth the lesson.
That actor would be the Indianapolis 500. And the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, pro forma denials notwithstanding.
In case you missed it, here's the skinny: It seems an environmental group called Balloons Blow decided to put up a billboard along 16th Street -- right in the Speedway's backyard, in other words -- decrying the balloon release that's been part of the race morning ritual since God was a boy. The billboard contained an image of a balloon juxtaposed with a photo of a bird chomping down on a balloon fragment, with this message: "BALLOONS POLLUTE AND KILL. #StopLitteringIMS BalloonsBlow.org."
As with much else in this realm, Balloons Blow's heart was in the right place even if its judgment wasn't. Which is to say, the billboard vanished almost as quickly as it went up. The Speedway was the prime suspect, even though IMS spokesman Alex Damron said no one from there called the billboard company and asked it to be taken down.
The Blob, in keeping with its nature, remains deeply suspicious of this. I know, it's my cross to bear.
In any case, call this another instance of well-meaning folk taking on deeply entrenched tradition, and coming out of it decorated with tire tracks. There are traditions you have an outside shot at challenging in Indiana -- even single-class high school basketball eventually went down -- but the Indianapolis 500 is not one of them.
Very simply, it's the biggest single-day sporting event in the world, and it's been going on every May since 1911. When Ray Harroun either did or didn't win the first one (no one will ever really know, scoring technology being what it was in those days), William Howard Taft was president. The Wright brothers were still a thing. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, who won the Medal of Honor at Gettysburg, was still alive, and so were a pile of other Civil War veterans.
A thing that old tends to collect tradition like sailing ships collect barnacles, and so now we have the field of 33, and Gentlemen, Start Your Engines, and the bottle of milk, and Back Home Again In Indiana. We also have the balloon release, hundreds of balloons going up the bright May sky from the infield to become part of every Indianapolis 500 montage you've ever seen.
So ... no. Sorry. The Balloons Blow folks have a legit point, but this wasn't the place to make it. You've got to pick your battles, and this was like Custer picking the Little Bighorn.
Which didn't last very long, either, if memory serves. Thus endeth the lesson.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Future considerations
The kid will play on, by all accounts. That's just who he is.
In a world of snark and general asshat-ery, Romeo Langford is that rarest of species: A genuine Nice Guy. He signs autographs. He works his tail off. He defers to his teammates, sometimes too much, and his swagger quotient is woefully deficient.
He'll also be on the floor tonight for Indiana in the NIT, even though he has nothing to gain and a whole lot potentially to lose.
He'll be playing St. Francis (Pa.) in a tournament whose acronym might as well stand for Nobody's Interested, Terribly, because, well, nobody's interested, terribly. This is especially true for Langford, who has a date with the NBA draft come June. So there is absolutely no earthly reason he needs to play in this deal, other than to fulfill the albeit fleeting commitment he made to Indiana and Archie Miller.
Lots of smart people think the smart business move would be to say, "Thanks, guys, but I'm out," and they're not wrong. Bloomington and those candy-stripe warmups are for all intents and purposes in his rearview mirror; the future is what matters now. And a foot placed wrong tonight, or in subsequent nights, could jeopardize that future.
It probably won't, mind you. Injuries that wreck a man's career, or at least severely curtail his earning power, rarely happen in basketball. Just ask Paul George and Gordon Hayward, who suffered two of the most gruesome leg injuries you'll ever see, and yet now are back to being Paul George and Gordon Hayward.
So, yeah. Langford might as well play.
There are some who think he might as well stay, too, at least for another season. The Blob was one of those, until it realized: The Romeo Langford we're seeing now is not the Romeo Langford the draft gurus continue to say is a lottery pick.
The Romeo we're seeing now certainly is not that. He's an incomplete player whose offensive game is built almost entirely on explosion to the rim. Take that away from him, as teams intermittently have this season, and what's left is an inconsistent shooter who can rarely make you pay for overplaying him. He simply doesn't yet have an NBA mid-range or 3-point shot.
The key word being "yet."
It's the word the Gurus treasure above every other, especially when it comes to evaluating 19-year-olds. At 19, Romeo Langford was still good enough to average 16.5 ppg in the Big Ten, lead his team in scoring and finish second on the team in rebounds and third in assists. That's what the Gurus are looking at. They're looking at him at 19 and seeing him at 22 or 23. They're remembering what, say, Kawhi Leonard was coming out of college as a non-lottery pick, and what he is now.
Langford isn't Kawhi Leonard, but maybe he'll follow a similar trajectory. Maybe he won't. But he'll be paid like he will, so he might as well join the party now.
After, of course, he does what he promised Indiana he would do. And don't think that won't be a point in his favor, too.
In a world of snark and general asshat-ery, Romeo Langford is that rarest of species: A genuine Nice Guy. He signs autographs. He works his tail off. He defers to his teammates, sometimes too much, and his swagger quotient is woefully deficient.
He'll also be on the floor tonight for Indiana in the NIT, even though he has nothing to gain and a whole lot potentially to lose.
He'll be playing St. Francis (Pa.) in a tournament whose acronym might as well stand for Nobody's Interested, Terribly, because, well, nobody's interested, terribly. This is especially true for Langford, who has a date with the NBA draft come June. So there is absolutely no earthly reason he needs to play in this deal, other than to fulfill the albeit fleeting commitment he made to Indiana and Archie Miller.
Lots of smart people think the smart business move would be to say, "Thanks, guys, but I'm out," and they're not wrong. Bloomington and those candy-stripe warmups are for all intents and purposes in his rearview mirror; the future is what matters now. And a foot placed wrong tonight, or in subsequent nights, could jeopardize that future.
It probably won't, mind you. Injuries that wreck a man's career, or at least severely curtail his earning power, rarely happen in basketball. Just ask Paul George and Gordon Hayward, who suffered two of the most gruesome leg injuries you'll ever see, and yet now are back to being Paul George and Gordon Hayward.
So, yeah. Langford might as well play.
There are some who think he might as well stay, too, at least for another season. The Blob was one of those, until it realized: The Romeo Langford we're seeing now is not the Romeo Langford the draft gurus continue to say is a lottery pick.
The Romeo we're seeing now certainly is not that. He's an incomplete player whose offensive game is built almost entirely on explosion to the rim. Take that away from him, as teams intermittently have this season, and what's left is an inconsistent shooter who can rarely make you pay for overplaying him. He simply doesn't yet have an NBA mid-range or 3-point shot.
The key word being "yet."
It's the word the Gurus treasure above every other, especially when it comes to evaluating 19-year-olds. At 19, Romeo Langford was still good enough to average 16.5 ppg in the Big Ten, lead his team in scoring and finish second on the team in rebounds and third in assists. That's what the Gurus are looking at. They're looking at him at 19 and seeing him at 22 or 23. They're remembering what, say, Kawhi Leonard was coming out of college as a non-lottery pick, and what he is now.
Langford isn't Kawhi Leonard, but maybe he'll follow a similar trajectory. Maybe he won't. But he'll be paid like he will, so he might as well join the party now.
After, of course, he does what he promised Indiana he would do. And don't think that won't be a point in his favor, too.
Monday, March 18, 2019
Dancin' with the smalls
Amazing what the great unwashed can learn, listening to the NCAA bracket nerds with their slide rules and Quadrant 1-2-3-4 physics on Selection Sunday. I mean, I never knew what a snub was until the nerds kept jawing that Indiana was "snubbed" by the committee.
Who knew a 17-15 team that lost eight in a row and 12 of 13 at one point, then got flamed by a mediocre Ohio State team in the first round of the Big Ten tournament, could be left out of the 68-team bracket? How is that for injustice?
That apparently it was will come as a shock to those of us who figured Indiana needed at least two wins in the Big Ten tournament to get in, and was a mortal lock for the NIT after that didn't happen. But then, that is the way of things for the nerds, who never stop to consider esthetics when it comes to the Madness. It's all about Quadrant 1-2-3-4 wins divided by the hypotenuse of Dick Vitale's schtick, times the trajectory of a Fletcher Magee 3-ball.
Who, by the way, is a senior guard and the leading scorer for the Wofford Terriers, your Southern Conference champions and the counter-argument to the bracket nerds. Isn't the NCAA tournament the show it is because of the Woffords of the world -- or the Fairleigh Dickinson Knights, Colgate Raiders or Gardner-Webb Runnin' Bulldogs, who also made the tournament despite the crippling absence of a 17-15 record in a power conference?
Of course it is. Except for their alums, no one's going to tune in this week to see if some mid-pack Big Ten or SEC poser can knock off some other mid-pack Big Ten or SEC poser. Those teams are just field filler, landing spots because they happened to go .500 or so in a power conference. It's the Woffords and Fairleigh Dickinsons and Gardner-Webbs we tune in to see.
We tune in to see if guys with wonderful names like Tacko Fall (Central Florida) and Vasa Pusica (Northeastern) can possibly be as awesome as their handles. We tune in to find out what a Catamount is (Vermont). We tune in to see if Ja Morant of Murray State is the stunning talent we've been told he is, given that he averaged 24.6 points and a staggering 10 assists per this season, or who are the better Gaels -- Iona or St. Mary's.
The bracket nerds never get this, which is why they cast a Big Ten pack rat like Indiana as "snubbed," and why only two of the available 36 at-large bids went to mid-majors. Everything else went to Ohio State and Minnesota and Ole Miss and Florida and zzzzzzzz.
Meanwhile, it'll be, say, the Belmont Bruins who give the tourney its flavor and substance. It'll be Abilene Christian, playing in its first NCAA Tournament in only its sixth season in Division I. It'll be, yes, Wofford, a 7-seed, who'll be playing Seton Hall in the first round.
Wofford has won 29 games this year, in case you didn't know. It's a Methodist school in Spartanburg, S.C., founded in 1854. Its student body, at 1,592 souls, is almost exactly the size of Manchester University's here in northeast Indiana. And in addition to Fletcher Magee, it features another guard named Storm Murphy, who is the team's assists leader.
Storm Murphy and Fletcher Magee. How is that not a completely transcendent backcourt?
And wouldn't you rather watch them than, say, Baylor?
Who knew a 17-15 team that lost eight in a row and 12 of 13 at one point, then got flamed by a mediocre Ohio State team in the first round of the Big Ten tournament, could be left out of the 68-team bracket? How is that for injustice?
That apparently it was will come as a shock to those of us who figured Indiana needed at least two wins in the Big Ten tournament to get in, and was a mortal lock for the NIT after that didn't happen. But then, that is the way of things for the nerds, who never stop to consider esthetics when it comes to the Madness. It's all about Quadrant 1-2-3-4 wins divided by the hypotenuse of Dick Vitale's schtick, times the trajectory of a Fletcher Magee 3-ball.
Who, by the way, is a senior guard and the leading scorer for the Wofford Terriers, your Southern Conference champions and the counter-argument to the bracket nerds. Isn't the NCAA tournament the show it is because of the Woffords of the world -- or the Fairleigh Dickinson Knights, Colgate Raiders or Gardner-Webb Runnin' Bulldogs, who also made the tournament despite the crippling absence of a 17-15 record in a power conference?
Of course it is. Except for their alums, no one's going to tune in this week to see if some mid-pack Big Ten or SEC poser can knock off some other mid-pack Big Ten or SEC poser. Those teams are just field filler, landing spots because they happened to go .500 or so in a power conference. It's the Woffords and Fairleigh Dickinsons and Gardner-Webbs we tune in to see.
We tune in to see if guys with wonderful names like Tacko Fall (Central Florida) and Vasa Pusica (Northeastern) can possibly be as awesome as their handles. We tune in to find out what a Catamount is (Vermont). We tune in to see if Ja Morant of Murray State is the stunning talent we've been told he is, given that he averaged 24.6 points and a staggering 10 assists per this season, or who are the better Gaels -- Iona or St. Mary's.
The bracket nerds never get this, which is why they cast a Big Ten pack rat like Indiana as "snubbed," and why only two of the available 36 at-large bids went to mid-majors. Everything else went to Ohio State and Minnesota and Ole Miss and Florida and zzzzzzzz.
Meanwhile, it'll be, say, the Belmont Bruins who give the tourney its flavor and substance. It'll be Abilene Christian, playing in its first NCAA Tournament in only its sixth season in Division I. It'll be, yes, Wofford, a 7-seed, who'll be playing Seton Hall in the first round.
Wofford has won 29 games this year, in case you didn't know. It's a Methodist school in Spartanburg, S.C., founded in 1854. Its student body, at 1,592 souls, is almost exactly the size of Manchester University's here in northeast Indiana. And in addition to Fletcher Magee, it features another guard named Storm Murphy, who is the team's assists leader.
Storm Murphy and Fletcher Magee. How is that not a completely transcendent backcourt?
And wouldn't you rather watch them than, say, Baylor?
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Branded
And now your People Who Don't Understand How Media Works moment for today, brought to you not by your friendly neighborhood Trumpoids but by the not-so-good folks at Bradley University, whose motto apparently is E Tantrumus Unum -- or, "Proudly Lying On The Floor Kicking And Screaming For Over 100 Years."
This from Deadspin: Dave Reynolds, a Journal Star beat writer who’s been covering Bradley for 29 years, was approached by assistant director of athletic communications Jason Veniskey while covering a team media information event on Friday. Veniskey told Reynolds that he was essentially not allowed to be there because of a policy in place that prevented him from receiving “extra coverage opportunity,” according to a commentary article on the Journal Star. Here’s how Reynolds says the conversation went down:
And yet ...
And yet, in an era when actual media competes in an increasingly dense wilderness of fanboy amateurs, I suppose Veniskey gets something of a pass here. It is easy to get confused these days. So perhaps Veniskey really does believe there's no discernible difference between the fanboys and, you know, actual working journalists.
And it's not like the general public hasn't for years been a tad murky about the job of team beat writers. They are, after all, fans, and see everything through that prism. And so if you're compelled to write, after Notre Dame gets floor-waxed 38-0 by Michigan, that the Fighting Irish are a pretty cruddy football team, you hear about it.
And I did, on that particular occasion and others. In fact if I had a nickel for every time I heard "You hate Notre Dame/IU/Purdue" after Notre Dame/IU/Purdue stunk up the joint ... well, I'd have a whole pile of nickels I'd have to take to the bank's change-counting machine.
People with an investment in a certain school don't cotton to being told their school's team isn't very good when it isn't very good. But when you're not just a fan but a representative of that school, and charged with the specific task of facilitating media coverage, you don't have the option of having skin so thin you can see through it. Most sports information directors -- the good ones, anyway, and I've known plenty -- understand this, even in today's murky landscape. The bad ones ...
Well, the bad ones say stuff they should know isn't true, like Veniskey telling a veteran beat writer he's being punished for not promoting the brand. In so doing, the bad ones forget a few things, like how difficult it is to cover a team that isn't very good. Every sportswriter who ever fought a deadline will tell you it's way more fun to cover a winning team than a losing one. For that reason, no one roots for the team he or she covers to be bad, or for the chance to be negative. It just doesn't work that way.
Again, Veniskey should know this -- especially in this circumstance. For most of the last decade, after all, Bradley hadn't exactly been Duke. From 2009 until last season, the Braves were 92-161. Their only two winning seasons in that span were 18-17 and 16-15; in that same span, they threw in a 9-24 season, a 7-25 season and, three seasons ago, a 5-27 gem.
Not a lot of positives there for a beat writer to sink his teeth into, if he's doing his job right. Yet the Bradley folks had the temerity to whine about Reynolds' negative coverage; after the 5-27 season, the Braves' head coach, Brian Wardle, actually had the gall to issue a veiled threat, telling Reynolds that when Bradley turned it around he would "remember who (his) friends were."
Which only put Wardle in the swelling rank of folks at Bradley who don't get it.
Because you see, Coach, it's not Reynolds' job to be your friend. It's his job to cover your team.
This from Deadspin: Dave Reynolds, a Journal Star beat writer who’s been covering Bradley for 29 years, was approached by assistant director of athletic communications Jason Veniskey while covering a team media information event on Friday. Veniskey told Reynolds that he was essentially not allowed to be there because of a policy in place that prevented him from receiving “extra coverage opportunity,” according to a commentary article on the Journal Star. Here’s how Reynolds says the conversation went down:
“One of the players I wanted to talk with was Nate Kennell, and I motioned to Jason, ‘I’d like to talk to Nate.’ [Veniskey] said, ‘I want to talk to you for a minute.’Well, OK. So he should know that.
“He pulled me aside and said their policy of me not given extra coverage opportunity was still in place, and I was not allowed to do any interviews. I told him, ‘The newspaper received the invitation.’ He said, ‘That was directed to (the sports editor), not to you.’ I said, ‘He doesn’t cover the team. I have for 29 years.’
“He responded by saying, ‘You don’t promote the Bradley brand, and basically we don’t want you here.’ I said, ‘Jason, that’s not my job to promote the Bradley brand. You know that.’
And yet ...
And yet, in an era when actual media competes in an increasingly dense wilderness of fanboy amateurs, I suppose Veniskey gets something of a pass here. It is easy to get confused these days. So perhaps Veniskey really does believe there's no discernible difference between the fanboys and, you know, actual working journalists.
And it's not like the general public hasn't for years been a tad murky about the job of team beat writers. They are, after all, fans, and see everything through that prism. And so if you're compelled to write, after Notre Dame gets floor-waxed 38-0 by Michigan, that the Fighting Irish are a pretty cruddy football team, you hear about it.
And I did, on that particular occasion and others. In fact if I had a nickel for every time I heard "You hate Notre Dame/IU/Purdue" after Notre Dame/IU/Purdue stunk up the joint ... well, I'd have a whole pile of nickels I'd have to take to the bank's change-counting machine.
People with an investment in a certain school don't cotton to being told their school's team isn't very good when it isn't very good. But when you're not just a fan but a representative of that school, and charged with the specific task of facilitating media coverage, you don't have the option of having skin so thin you can see through it. Most sports information directors -- the good ones, anyway, and I've known plenty -- understand this, even in today's murky landscape. The bad ones ...
Well, the bad ones say stuff they should know isn't true, like Veniskey telling a veteran beat writer he's being punished for not promoting the brand. In so doing, the bad ones forget a few things, like how difficult it is to cover a team that isn't very good. Every sportswriter who ever fought a deadline will tell you it's way more fun to cover a winning team than a losing one. For that reason, no one roots for the team he or she covers to be bad, or for the chance to be negative. It just doesn't work that way.
Again, Veniskey should know this -- especially in this circumstance. For most of the last decade, after all, Bradley hadn't exactly been Duke. From 2009 until last season, the Braves were 92-161. Their only two winning seasons in that span were 18-17 and 16-15; in that same span, they threw in a 9-24 season, a 7-25 season and, three seasons ago, a 5-27 gem.
Not a lot of positives there for a beat writer to sink his teeth into, if he's doing his job right. Yet the Bradley folks had the temerity to whine about Reynolds' negative coverage; after the 5-27 season, the Braves' head coach, Brian Wardle, actually had the gall to issue a veiled threat, telling Reynolds that when Bradley turned it around he would "remember who (his) friends were."
Which only put Wardle in the swelling rank of folks at Bradley who don't get it.
Because you see, Coach, it's not Reynolds' job to be your friend. It's his job to cover your team.
Your fantasy football update
... or to put it another way: Your indoor football update.
In which we learn the National Gridiron League, which encompasses teams from around the country or so we've been told, is pushing back the beginning of the season to May. According to the commissioner/league owner, this is so franchises have a chance to do some marketing.
Of course, you would think the franchises would have already begun marketing, but apparently not. The substance of marketing for Fort Wayne's entry, the Indiana Blue Bombers -- not to be confused with the Indiana Other Guys down in Evansville -- consists of having a website on which you can buy tickets. If it has a staff in place locally, it's done an excellent job of lying low.
In any case, the season is on hold until May. The Blob suspects this has less to do with the official narrative than it does with the possibility a lot of the teams aren't really, well, situated yet. Which is to say, they may or may not actually have buildings in which to play.
And so it goes, and so it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut was fond of saying. The Blob may be a hardened cynic where indoor football at this level is concerned, but only because it's lived through the four other incarnations and knows how slapdash it all tends to be. If I have the queasiest of feelings that I've seen this movie before, it's only because I've seen this movie before.
In any case, what was a 16-game season is now down to 12, and the Blue Bombers are scheduled to open at home on May 5 against the Pennsylvania Pioneers. Then they travel to Evansville to play the Other Indiana. Then they take on the Arkansas Twisters and the Mississippi Mudcats.
These teams may all exist. Or they may not. The Blob will reserve judgment until they actually show up.
Or until the Blue Bombers do. You never know with these guys.
In which we learn the National Gridiron League, which encompasses teams from around the country or so we've been told, is pushing back the beginning of the season to May. According to the commissioner/league owner, this is so franchises have a chance to do some marketing.
Of course, you would think the franchises would have already begun marketing, but apparently not. The substance of marketing for Fort Wayne's entry, the Indiana Blue Bombers -- not to be confused with the Indiana Other Guys down in Evansville -- consists of having a website on which you can buy tickets. If it has a staff in place locally, it's done an excellent job of lying low.
In any case, the season is on hold until May. The Blob suspects this has less to do with the official narrative than it does with the possibility a lot of the teams aren't really, well, situated yet. Which is to say, they may or may not actually have buildings in which to play.
And so it goes, and so it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut was fond of saying. The Blob may be a hardened cynic where indoor football at this level is concerned, but only because it's lived through the four other incarnations and knows how slapdash it all tends to be. If I have the queasiest of feelings that I've seen this movie before, it's only because I've seen this movie before.
In any case, what was a 16-game season is now down to 12, and the Blue Bombers are scheduled to open at home on May 5 against the Pennsylvania Pioneers. Then they travel to Evansville to play the Other Indiana. Then they take on the Arkansas Twisters and the Mississippi Mudcats.
These teams may all exist. Or they may not. The Blob will reserve judgment until they actually show up.
Or until the Blue Bombers do. You never know with these guys.
Friday, March 15, 2019
Vanishing act
As Chief Dan George famously said in "Little Big Man": Sometimes the magic works. Sometimes it doesn't.
Which is to say, you know the magic beans or alchemy or witches' brew Archie Miller conjured to turn Indiana into the team everyone thought it could be these last two weeks?
Yeah, well ...
Turns out they had an expiration date.
That expiration date was early yesterday afternoon, when an Indiana team that had won four straight and resembled in no way the team that had previously lost 12 of 13 reverted to its previous incarnation. It lost its Big Ten tournament opener to Ohio State, 79-75, a game virtually everyone figured the Hoosiers would win given the way they'd been playing.
Alas, no. OSU led by seven at the half and by 20 with seven minutes to play, before Devonte Green's out-of-body experience -- he came off the bench to hit eight 3s and score 26 points, and where did that come from? -- led a furious comeback that fell just short.
Otherwise, it was back to Bad Indiana. Justin Smith turned back into Justin Smith, going scoreless on 0-for-5 shooting. Romeo Langford missed eight of his 12 shots, turned it over twice and finished with nine points. And Robert Phinisee, whose re-energized play was a significant part of the Hoosiers' resurgence, went 1-for-6 and had more turnovers (3) than points (2).
It was the signature stat line on an afternoon when Indiana kicked it away 17 times -- four more turnovers than they'd had in their previous two games together.
And so now the season is done except for a possible NIT bid, and in a way it was the perfect closing act. This entire season, after all, has been one long pulling of the rug out from under the Indiana faithful, and Thursday was the final yank. Hey, look, Hoosier Nation, we're 12-2 ... no, wait, now we're losing eight in a row and 12 of 13 ... no, wait, wait, now we've WON four in a row ... no, wait, wait, wait ...
Buckeyes 79, Hoosiers 75. Fooled ya again, din't we?
Yes, they did. The final ledger is 17-15, and no Dance except (possibly) the Dance of the Also-Rans. This was surely not what anyone expected going in, all this nausea-inducing roller-coastering. And hard telling how it will impact Langford's draft status come June, although the gurus continue to insist he's a solid lottery pick.
The Blob doesn't see it, frankly. But then the Blob isn't a Guru, and doesn't have a Guru's apparent powers of discernment in these matters.
In the meantime, it's back to the drawing board for Miller and his staff. This season is finally, mercifully done, mostly. It's time to start building a better roller coaster.
Ideally, one that's not a roller coaster.
Which is to say, you know the magic beans or alchemy or witches' brew Archie Miller conjured to turn Indiana into the team everyone thought it could be these last two weeks?
Yeah, well ...
Turns out they had an expiration date.
That expiration date was early yesterday afternoon, when an Indiana team that had won four straight and resembled in no way the team that had previously lost 12 of 13 reverted to its previous incarnation. It lost its Big Ten tournament opener to Ohio State, 79-75, a game virtually everyone figured the Hoosiers would win given the way they'd been playing.
Alas, no. OSU led by seven at the half and by 20 with seven minutes to play, before Devonte Green's out-of-body experience -- he came off the bench to hit eight 3s and score 26 points, and where did that come from? -- led a furious comeback that fell just short.
Otherwise, it was back to Bad Indiana. Justin Smith turned back into Justin Smith, going scoreless on 0-for-5 shooting. Romeo Langford missed eight of his 12 shots, turned it over twice and finished with nine points. And Robert Phinisee, whose re-energized play was a significant part of the Hoosiers' resurgence, went 1-for-6 and had more turnovers (3) than points (2).
It was the signature stat line on an afternoon when Indiana kicked it away 17 times -- four more turnovers than they'd had in their previous two games together.
And so now the season is done except for a possible NIT bid, and in a way it was the perfect closing act. This entire season, after all, has been one long pulling of the rug out from under the Indiana faithful, and Thursday was the final yank. Hey, look, Hoosier Nation, we're 12-2 ... no, wait, now we're losing eight in a row and 12 of 13 ... no, wait, wait, now we've WON four in a row ... no, wait, wait, wait ...
Buckeyes 79, Hoosiers 75. Fooled ya again, din't we?
Yes, they did. The final ledger is 17-15, and no Dance except (possibly) the Dance of the Also-Rans. This was surely not what anyone expected going in, all this nausea-inducing roller-coastering. And hard telling how it will impact Langford's draft status come June, although the gurus continue to insist he's a solid lottery pick.
The Blob doesn't see it, frankly. But then the Blob isn't a Guru, and doesn't have a Guru's apparent powers of discernment in these matters.
In the meantime, it's back to the drawing board for Miller and his staff. This season is finally, mercifully done, mostly. It's time to start building a better roller coaster.
Ideally, one that's not a roller coaster.
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Playing the market
In Cleveland, the veteran cynic is already trying to figure out how the Browns will screw this up. But every other God-fearin', Bernie Kosar-worshippin' Dawg Pounder is lining up for a No. 13 jersey, because hope springs eternal even in the stoniest of ground.
Yes, that's right, America. The Browns finally proved they were smarter than somebody in the National Football League, even if that somebody was the not-exactly-rocket-scientists New York Giants.
They traded one of the premier talents in the league, Odell Beckham Jr., to the Browns because, essentially, he was a tantrum-throwing diva, apparently unaware that supreme wide receivers in general tend to be tantrum-throwing divas to one degree or another. The Browns were happy to take him, of course, because now they've got Jarvis Landry on one side and Odell on the other, and the best of 2018's rookie crop of quarterbacks, Baker Mayfield, to throw to them.
They've also got breakout workhorse Nick Chubb at running back, and, after he no doubt serves a well-earned suspension, they'll have Kareem Hunt, a standout in Kansas City until he decided to kick a woman while she was lying on the ground. This makes him an exceptionally unsavory, if gifted, addition. It also makes him part of the current zeitgeist in the NFL, where a guy protesting racial injustice finds every door closed, but wife/girlfriend/random women beaters almost always manage to land a second act.
In any case, it's delirium time in Cleveland. And it's time to consider how well the players have learned to navigate market forces.
Beckham, for instance, will get a chunky new deal with a team of rising stars, leaving behind a team of ... well, not rising stars. His counterpart, Antonio Brown, another of those diva receivers, worked the system even better; the Raiders made him the highest-paid wide receiver in football with a three-year deal worth $50 million -- $30 million of which is guaranteed.
It was the payoff of a ruthless and crafty strategy in which Brown used social media to telegraph his disgruntlement with the Steelers, highlighting what he characterized as a broken relationship with quarterback Ben Roethlisberger. The Steelers finally got tired of his act and dealt him -- even though he's a seven-time Pro Bowler, and even though they'd just signed him to a contract extension in 2017. Which means all they got in return was a third-round pick, a fifth-round pick and $21 million in dead money.
Brown, meanwhile, scored an historic raise.
That, boys and girls, is a good old country fleecin'.
And, yes, it's true, Brown's tactics did him no credit. And maybe that will hurt him in the long term; sooner or later, his rep as a certifiable pain in the ass will outweigh his value as a player. But in the short term?
Played the Steelers and the system like a Stradivarius, he did. He figured being a generational talent would trump his being a me-first jackass, even in an NFL that increasingly values "we" over "me" and character over physical ability. It was a calculated risk -- but exactly the sort of hardball the owners used to play in a day when they had all the power and the players had none.
You can debate if that was a better system than what we have now. But you can't debate who won this round.
Players 2, Owners 0.
Yes, that's right, America. The Browns finally proved they were smarter than somebody in the National Football League, even if that somebody was the not-exactly-rocket-scientists New York Giants.
They traded one of the premier talents in the league, Odell Beckham Jr., to the Browns because, essentially, he was a tantrum-throwing diva, apparently unaware that supreme wide receivers in general tend to be tantrum-throwing divas to one degree or another. The Browns were happy to take him, of course, because now they've got Jarvis Landry on one side and Odell on the other, and the best of 2018's rookie crop of quarterbacks, Baker Mayfield, to throw to them.
They've also got breakout workhorse Nick Chubb at running back, and, after he no doubt serves a well-earned suspension, they'll have Kareem Hunt, a standout in Kansas City until he decided to kick a woman while she was lying on the ground. This makes him an exceptionally unsavory, if gifted, addition. It also makes him part of the current zeitgeist in the NFL, where a guy protesting racial injustice finds every door closed, but wife/girlfriend/random women beaters almost always manage to land a second act.
In any case, it's delirium time in Cleveland. And it's time to consider how well the players have learned to navigate market forces.
Beckham, for instance, will get a chunky new deal with a team of rising stars, leaving behind a team of ... well, not rising stars. His counterpart, Antonio Brown, another of those diva receivers, worked the system even better; the Raiders made him the highest-paid wide receiver in football with a three-year deal worth $50 million -- $30 million of which is guaranteed.
It was the payoff of a ruthless and crafty strategy in which Brown used social media to telegraph his disgruntlement with the Steelers, highlighting what he characterized as a broken relationship with quarterback Ben Roethlisberger. The Steelers finally got tired of his act and dealt him -- even though he's a seven-time Pro Bowler, and even though they'd just signed him to a contract extension in 2017. Which means all they got in return was a third-round pick, a fifth-round pick and $21 million in dead money.
Brown, meanwhile, scored an historic raise.
That, boys and girls, is a good old country fleecin'.
And, yes, it's true, Brown's tactics did him no credit. And maybe that will hurt him in the long term; sooner or later, his rep as a certifiable pain in the ass will outweigh his value as a player. But in the short term?
Played the Steelers and the system like a Stradivarius, he did. He figured being a generational talent would trump his being a me-first jackass, even in an NFL that increasingly values "we" over "me" and character over physical ability. It was a calculated risk -- but exactly the sort of hardball the owners used to play in a day when they had all the power and the players had none.
You can debate if that was a better system than what we have now. But you can't debate who won this round.
Players 2, Owners 0.
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
The shock of being un-shocked
The bar for scandals in America is an exceedingly low one these days. Remember that old SNL bit with John Belushi and the little chocolate donuts?
Yeah. Even he could clear it.
This is a consequence, at least in part, of an administration that daily establishes new standards for influence peddling. It's become almost nostalgic now to remember a time when conflict of interest was a thing, and corruption actually was a bad thing. But now?
Well. When corruption is simply the way business gets done in Washington, everything's a scandal. And therefore nothing is.
Which brings us to the latest non-scandal scandal, Rich And Powerful Parents Buying Their Kids' Way Into Elite Universities.
This is in the news because a couple of celebrities have been caught up in it; in a celebrity-obsessed society, nothing revs up a news cycle like famous people getting caught being bad. Seems actors Felicity Huffman and Lori Loughlin got nabbed by the FBI paying a fixer to game their kids' SAT and ACT scores, part of an elaborate scheme that includes coaches allegedly taking chunky bribes to fake-recruit fake athletes in order to land them athletic scholarships.
So far, a legendary water polo coach (USC coach Jovan Vavic, the Nick Saban/Mike Krzyzewski of water polo) and several soccer coaches at prominent national programs have been nicked for allegedly taking money to get imaginary athletes into school on bogus scholarships.
In a word: Well, color me shocked and appalled.
Let's face it: The whole notion of the rich and famous using their wealth and power to get their kiddos into storied academic institutions is as American as fearin' foreigners. Our Only Available President, after all, didn't get into the Wharton School of Business on his massive intellect; ditto his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, getting into Harvard. Somebody's palms likely got greased somewhere to make that happen. It is and always has been the real affirmative action in this country.
Ditto with the coaches who allegedly took money to fabricate athletic recruits.
They are, after all, the products of a system that's built almost entirely on commerce. Collegiate athletics at the top level are as profit-driven as any other corporate entity, an institution that pretends to a higher purpose while keeping one eye glued on the financials. When you have conferences putting together their own TV networks, scheduling mid-week football games and adding members based solely on market penetration -- hello, Big Ten -- it's not about the convenience or welfare of the student-athlete. It's about the cabbage.
And so why should we be shocked that coaches would cut side deals with unscrupulous people to plump up their own bank accounts? They're simply products of the prevailing culture.
You reap what you sow, folks. And Division I athletics have been sowing this crop for a long time.
Yeah. Even he could clear it.
This is a consequence, at least in part, of an administration that daily establishes new standards for influence peddling. It's become almost nostalgic now to remember a time when conflict of interest was a thing, and corruption actually was a bad thing. But now?
Well. When corruption is simply the way business gets done in Washington, everything's a scandal. And therefore nothing is.
Which brings us to the latest non-scandal scandal, Rich And Powerful Parents Buying Their Kids' Way Into Elite Universities.
This is in the news because a couple of celebrities have been caught up in it; in a celebrity-obsessed society, nothing revs up a news cycle like famous people getting caught being bad. Seems actors Felicity Huffman and Lori Loughlin got nabbed by the FBI paying a fixer to game their kids' SAT and ACT scores, part of an elaborate scheme that includes coaches allegedly taking chunky bribes to fake-recruit fake athletes in order to land them athletic scholarships.
So far, a legendary water polo coach (USC coach Jovan Vavic, the Nick Saban/Mike Krzyzewski of water polo) and several soccer coaches at prominent national programs have been nicked for allegedly taking money to get imaginary athletes into school on bogus scholarships.
In a word: Well, color me shocked and appalled.
Let's face it: The whole notion of the rich and famous using their wealth and power to get their kiddos into storied academic institutions is as American as fearin' foreigners. Our Only Available President, after all, didn't get into the Wharton School of Business on his massive intellect; ditto his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, getting into Harvard. Somebody's palms likely got greased somewhere to make that happen. It is and always has been the real affirmative action in this country.
Ditto with the coaches who allegedly took money to fabricate athletic recruits.
They are, after all, the products of a system that's built almost entirely on commerce. Collegiate athletics at the top level are as profit-driven as any other corporate entity, an institution that pretends to a higher purpose while keeping one eye glued on the financials. When you have conferences putting together their own TV networks, scheduling mid-week football games and adding members based solely on market penetration -- hello, Big Ten -- it's not about the convenience or welfare of the student-athlete. It's about the cabbage.
And so why should we be shocked that coaches would cut side deals with unscrupulous people to plump up their own bank accounts? They're simply products of the prevailing culture.
You reap what you sow, folks. And Division I athletics have been sowing this crop for a long time.
Monday, March 11, 2019
A crazy notion whose time has come
OK, so this is insane. The Blob will put that out there right up front.
You remember the Indiana Hoosiers, right?
Lost eight straight games awhile back. Lost 12 out of 13. Looked like they were hell-bent on either the NIT (maybe), or the NFUT (Nothing For Us, Thanks).
That Indiana. Dysfunctional, disorganized, don't-care, couldn't-hit-a-bull-in-the-ass-with-a-bass-fiddle-if-you-kidnapped-their-moms-and-dads. Remember?
Well ...
Well, the Blob watched them take apart Rutgers by 16 on Senior Day in Assembly Hall Sunday. This after they took apart Illinois by 18 on the road a couple of days prior. They've now won four in a row going into the Big Ten tournament this week.
And you know what has suddenly, insanely occurred to the Blob?
That if there's one team no one wants to see opposite them in the bracket right now, it's the dysfunctional, disorganized, don't-care Hoosiers.
I know. Fit me for a straitjacket and book me a padded cell.
Only tell me I'm wrong first.
Look. I don't know what Archie Miller said or did or threatened them with -- probably something stronger than "No soup for you!" -- but whatever he said or did, this does not remotely look like the same team that slapsticked its way through those 12 Ls in 13 games. Part of it no doubt is point guard and glue guy Robert Phinisee's return to form after his concussion. But whatever it is, this looks like the team Miller no doubt envisioned when he put it together last fall; how he's managed to rescue that vision from utter chaos might be one of the most amazing coaching feats of the season.
Because, magically, there is spacing and sharing the ball and intensity at both ends now. There is cohesion and surety and confidence that when someone hoists a shot, it's not going to come down in Martinsville. There is something approaching balance with a team that for a long time was just Let's Give It To Romeo Langford And See What Happens.
Most of the time, for a long time, what happened was Langford would draw three bodies, kick it out to an open shooter and watch the bricks fall.
Now ...
Well. Let's take Sunday, for instance.
Juwan Morgan scored 25 points to lead the Hoosiers, but only needed 13 shots to do it. Langford added 20 on just 12 shots. The Hoosiers turned it over just six times, which means that in two games this week, they kicked it away just 13 times.
There were times earlier in the season when they kicked it away 13 times in a half. So, yeah, they're taking care of the basketball now, too.
Which is why the Blob thinking no one wants a piece of them right now might not be as insane as it sounds. Certainly it's said stuff a lot crazier.
I mean, come on. Consider the source.
You remember the Indiana Hoosiers, right?
Lost eight straight games awhile back. Lost 12 out of 13. Looked like they were hell-bent on either the NIT (maybe), or the NFUT (Nothing For Us, Thanks).
That Indiana. Dysfunctional, disorganized, don't-care, couldn't-hit-a-bull-in-the-ass-with-a-bass-fiddle-if-you-kidnapped-their-moms-and-dads. Remember?
Well ...
Well, the Blob watched them take apart Rutgers by 16 on Senior Day in Assembly Hall Sunday. This after they took apart Illinois by 18 on the road a couple of days prior. They've now won four in a row going into the Big Ten tournament this week.
And you know what has suddenly, insanely occurred to the Blob?
That if there's one team no one wants to see opposite them in the bracket right now, it's the dysfunctional, disorganized, don't-care Hoosiers.
I know. Fit me for a straitjacket and book me a padded cell.
Only tell me I'm wrong first.
Look. I don't know what Archie Miller said or did or threatened them with -- probably something stronger than "No soup for you!" -- but whatever he said or did, this does not remotely look like the same team that slapsticked its way through those 12 Ls in 13 games. Part of it no doubt is point guard and glue guy Robert Phinisee's return to form after his concussion. But whatever it is, this looks like the team Miller no doubt envisioned when he put it together last fall; how he's managed to rescue that vision from utter chaos might be one of the most amazing coaching feats of the season.
Because, magically, there is spacing and sharing the ball and intensity at both ends now. There is cohesion and surety and confidence that when someone hoists a shot, it's not going to come down in Martinsville. There is something approaching balance with a team that for a long time was just Let's Give It To Romeo Langford And See What Happens.
Most of the time, for a long time, what happened was Langford would draw three bodies, kick it out to an open shooter and watch the bricks fall.
Now ...
Well. Let's take Sunday, for instance.
Juwan Morgan scored 25 points to lead the Hoosiers, but only needed 13 shots to do it. Langford added 20 on just 12 shots. The Hoosiers turned it over just six times, which means that in two games this week, they kicked it away just 13 times.
There were times earlier in the season when they kicked it away 13 times in a half. So, yeah, they're taking care of the basketball now, too.
Which is why the Blob thinking no one wants a piece of them right now might not be as insane as it sounds. Certainly it's said stuff a lot crazier.
I mean, come on. Consider the source.
And now, real racing
Today I will go someplace where they have TVs and beer and food that isn't good for me, and ask the bartender to tune in NBC Sports. The IndyCar season kicks off this afternoon down in St. Petersburg, and I don't care if I'm the only one in the joint watching. Their loss, if you ask me.
Of course, you won't. Of course, you're saying "You will be the only one watching, because nobody cares about IndyCar but you."
I acknowledge this. I acknowledge that the only time most people in America think about IndyCar is in May, when what is still the largest single-day sporting event in the world, the Indianapolis 500, goes off on Memorial Day weekend. The rest of the summer, it's pretty much radio silence from most of America.
I don't care. It's the best racing series we have in this country. And I'll still watch it.
The Blob has endlessly and repeatedly dissected why IndyCar has largely vanished off the American sporting map, and so we won't rehash it all here. Suffice it to say some of the vanishing has occurred because sports and entertainment options on TV are practically infinite now in the age of live streaming, and some of it has occurred because IndyCar has been remarkably inept at marketing its product.
That's a shame, because there are engaging personalities and astounding talents out there to market, and IndyCar has barely scratched the surface in marketing them. You saw Helio Castroneves and James Hinchcliffe on "Dancing With the Stars," and that was about the extent of the reach-out to the general viewing public in America. And yet there are Josef Newgarden and Graham Rahal and Simon Pagenaud and Tony Kanaan and Ryan Hunter-Reay and Alexander Rossi and any number of others, and an exciting and engaging new crop of young drivers just now emerging.
One of them, Robert Wickens, was going to be a mega-star until that horrific crash at Pocono last August left him with a severe spinal cord injury. He's at St. Pete today, in a wheelchair. He's made remarkable progress, and he says he won't quit until he's back in the car, but the jury is still deeply out on when or if that will happen. In the meantime, IndyCar is without one more bright light.
And yet, I will still watch. I grew up watching it, grew up going to the Speedway as a kid back in the 1960s and '70s, the golden age of open-wheel racing in America. There's simply nothing like watching a couple of guys running inches apart at 220 mph for lap after lap without running into each other the way they all seem to (much more slowly) in NASCAR. So I'm hooked for life.
Drop the green. Let's do this.
Of course, you won't. Of course, you're saying "You will be the only one watching, because nobody cares about IndyCar but you."
I acknowledge this. I acknowledge that the only time most people in America think about IndyCar is in May, when what is still the largest single-day sporting event in the world, the Indianapolis 500, goes off on Memorial Day weekend. The rest of the summer, it's pretty much radio silence from most of America.
I don't care. It's the best racing series we have in this country. And I'll still watch it.
The Blob has endlessly and repeatedly dissected why IndyCar has largely vanished off the American sporting map, and so we won't rehash it all here. Suffice it to say some of the vanishing has occurred because sports and entertainment options on TV are practically infinite now in the age of live streaming, and some of it has occurred because IndyCar has been remarkably inept at marketing its product.
That's a shame, because there are engaging personalities and astounding talents out there to market, and IndyCar has barely scratched the surface in marketing them. You saw Helio Castroneves and James Hinchcliffe on "Dancing With the Stars," and that was about the extent of the reach-out to the general viewing public in America. And yet there are Josef Newgarden and Graham Rahal and Simon Pagenaud and Tony Kanaan and Ryan Hunter-Reay and Alexander Rossi and any number of others, and an exciting and engaging new crop of young drivers just now emerging.
One of them, Robert Wickens, was going to be a mega-star until that horrific crash at Pocono last August left him with a severe spinal cord injury. He's at St. Pete today, in a wheelchair. He's made remarkable progress, and he says he won't quit until he's back in the car, but the jury is still deeply out on when or if that will happen. In the meantime, IndyCar is without one more bright light.
And yet, I will still watch. I grew up watching it, grew up going to the Speedway as a kid back in the 1960s and '70s, the golden age of open-wheel racing in America. There's simply nothing like watching a couple of guys running inches apart at 220 mph for lap after lap without running into each other the way they all seem to (much more slowly) in NASCAR. So I'm hooked for life.
Drop the green. Let's do this.
Friday, March 8, 2019
A Rushmore passing
There will be no more classic lines, the ones every sportswriter of a certain age has long since committed to memory. The man we all wanted to be, Dan Jenkins, is dead, passing Thursday at the age of 89. Life gave him two-up a side, and then God done Tiger Woods-ed him.
To make a poor attempt at parody.
Every attempt by every one of us to parody Jenkins' style was a poor attempt, because none of us was as clever or quick or the straight-up, balls-out writer he was. His work had both sagebrush and late nights at P.J. Clarke's in it, a seamless melding of Texas frontier smartass and New York urban cool. The alleged sophisticates who read his stuff thought it was crude and sexist and racist, but they always missed the wink and the nudge in the ribs that came with it. Some people just don't get satire, and that's a fact.
And Jenkins worked in satire the way some folks work in clay or oils.
Four or five of his novels are the funniest things I've ever read -- you've likely heard of "Semi-Tough" and "Dead Solid Perfect" -- and not all were about sports, even though Jenkins became Dan Jenkins covering college football and golf for Sports Illustrated. "Baja Oklahoma," for instance, was about a barmaid who hit it big as a country-and-western songwriter. "Fast Copy" was the story of a whip-smart woman who leaves Life magazine to come back to her tiny Texas hometown and edit her father's newspaper. And "You Gotta Play Hurt" was the cripplingly funny chronicle of put-upon columnist Jim Tom Pinch, and the single greatest novel ever written about sportswriting.
A passel of those novels got turned into movies. Some were OK. Some -- notably "Semi-Tough" -- were crimes against nature, utterly missing the point of the books. Sometimes Jenkins went over Hollywood's head, too.
Sports fans, though, loved his stuff. As a sportswriter, he had few equals, and there was no one precisely like him. Some of his ledes alone have become immortal, and sometimes notorious; he got hate mail from Domers for weeks when he cracked that Notre Dame had tied one for the Gipper after the legendary 10-10 tie between the Irish and Michigan State. Yet it's those kind of lines that put him right up there on sportswriting's Mt. Rushmore, and that will live as long as those of us who wanted to be him keep reciting them.
Myself among them. Not a month ago, I repeated a line from "Fast Copy" here on the Blob, prefacing my annual foray into Valentine's Day poetry with the admonition from the newspaper editor in that novel: "Don't write me nothin' that rhymes." And just the other day ...
Well. I was chatting with a buddy who'd just landed an adjunct teaching gig. And a line from T.J. Lambert of "Semi-Tough" fame popped into my head.
Seems T.J., a Giants teammate of "Semi-Tough" protagonist Billy Clyde Puckett, had become the head football coach at TCU, Billy Clyde's (and Dan Jenkins') alma mater. It was, T.J. said, a great teaching opportunity.
"Think about it, Billy Clyde," he said. "I get to mold the minds of our young pissants."
I think of that line every time someone tells me they're going to teach.
That line and others, of course. So many others.
To make a poor attempt at parody.
Every attempt by every one of us to parody Jenkins' style was a poor attempt, because none of us was as clever or quick or the straight-up, balls-out writer he was. His work had both sagebrush and late nights at P.J. Clarke's in it, a seamless melding of Texas frontier smartass and New York urban cool. The alleged sophisticates who read his stuff thought it was crude and sexist and racist, but they always missed the wink and the nudge in the ribs that came with it. Some people just don't get satire, and that's a fact.
And Jenkins worked in satire the way some folks work in clay or oils.
Four or five of his novels are the funniest things I've ever read -- you've likely heard of "Semi-Tough" and "Dead Solid Perfect" -- and not all were about sports, even though Jenkins became Dan Jenkins covering college football and golf for Sports Illustrated. "Baja Oklahoma," for instance, was about a barmaid who hit it big as a country-and-western songwriter. "Fast Copy" was the story of a whip-smart woman who leaves Life magazine to come back to her tiny Texas hometown and edit her father's newspaper. And "You Gotta Play Hurt" was the cripplingly funny chronicle of put-upon columnist Jim Tom Pinch, and the single greatest novel ever written about sportswriting.
A passel of those novels got turned into movies. Some were OK. Some -- notably "Semi-Tough" -- were crimes against nature, utterly missing the point of the books. Sometimes Jenkins went over Hollywood's head, too.
Sports fans, though, loved his stuff. As a sportswriter, he had few equals, and there was no one precisely like him. Some of his ledes alone have become immortal, and sometimes notorious; he got hate mail from Domers for weeks when he cracked that Notre Dame had tied one for the Gipper after the legendary 10-10 tie between the Irish and Michigan State. Yet it's those kind of lines that put him right up there on sportswriting's Mt. Rushmore, and that will live as long as those of us who wanted to be him keep reciting them.
Myself among them. Not a month ago, I repeated a line from "Fast Copy" here on the Blob, prefacing my annual foray into Valentine's Day poetry with the admonition from the newspaper editor in that novel: "Don't write me nothin' that rhymes." And just the other day ...
Well. I was chatting with a buddy who'd just landed an adjunct teaching gig. And a line from T.J. Lambert of "Semi-Tough" fame popped into my head.
Seems T.J., a Giants teammate of "Semi-Tough" protagonist Billy Clyde Puckett, had become the head football coach at TCU, Billy Clyde's (and Dan Jenkins') alma mater. It was, T.J. said, a great teaching opportunity.
"Think about it, Billy Clyde," he said. "I get to mold the minds of our young pissants."
I think of that line every time someone tells me they're going to teach.
That line and others, of course. So many others.
So you're saying there's a chance ...
OK, OK. So, maybe. Possibly. I ... guess.
In other words, your Indiana Hoosiers are Not Dead Yet (to coin a phrase). Not ... quite.
I know, I know. The Blob threw dirt on their grave a couple of weeks ago, confidently proclaiming their NCAA Tournament hopes were as dead as Betamax. For this it apologizes, but only grudgingly, because, listen, did the Hoo-Hoo-Hoosiers look like an NCAA Tournament team then? Did they look like they were doing anything but playing out the string when they went up to Minnesota and got floor-waxed by the 21?
No, they did not.
But then ... stuff happened.
Weirdly, they started to compete again.
They started making ... well, a few shots, anyway.
They squeaked by Wisconsin at home by two. Then they somehow pulled out a one-point victory over Michigan State in a game they led only twice: 2-0 at the beginning, 63-62 at the end.
Then, last night, they went over to Illinois and played their best game since December, trouncing the Illini by 18, putting five players in double figures, turning it over just seven times.
Devonte Green came off the bench to score 11 and didn't make a turnover. Justin Smith, the Human Enigma, scored 15 and didn't make a turnover, either. Romeo Langford scored only 10 points and took only eight shots, which doesn't sound like good news but actually was, because it meant a whole lot of other people contributed and gave Archie Miller the sort of multi-dimensional look he's been hunting for since the first of the year.
(Which proves, hopefully for good, that the man didn't forget how to coach on the drive over from Dayton to Bloomington. Although this being Hoosier Nation, there will likely always be a fresh outburst of bitching and moaning and backbiting every time Indiana stumbles).
In any case ... Indiana suddenly has 17 wins. They've got Rutgers coming in next, an eminently winnable game given the way they've been playing. Then it's on to the Big Ten tournament.
Win a couple of games there, and they'll be at 20 wins. Heck, win just one and they'll be at 19. That will likely be enough to get them in Da Tournament, given that they've been lugging around a couple of RPI-boosting victories from December, just for emergencies like this.
Of course, they still have to beat Rutgers and then win a couple games next week. So we'll see.
Maybe. Possibly. I ... guess.
In other words, your Indiana Hoosiers are Not Dead Yet (to coin a phrase). Not ... quite.
I know, I know. The Blob threw dirt on their grave a couple of weeks ago, confidently proclaiming their NCAA Tournament hopes were as dead as Betamax. For this it apologizes, but only grudgingly, because, listen, did the Hoo-Hoo-Hoosiers look like an NCAA Tournament team then? Did they look like they were doing anything but playing out the string when they went up to Minnesota and got floor-waxed by the 21?
No, they did not.
But then ... stuff happened.
Weirdly, they started to compete again.
They started making ... well, a few shots, anyway.
They squeaked by Wisconsin at home by two. Then they somehow pulled out a one-point victory over Michigan State in a game they led only twice: 2-0 at the beginning, 63-62 at the end.
Then, last night, they went over to Illinois and played their best game since December, trouncing the Illini by 18, putting five players in double figures, turning it over just seven times.
Devonte Green came off the bench to score 11 and didn't make a turnover. Justin Smith, the Human Enigma, scored 15 and didn't make a turnover, either. Romeo Langford scored only 10 points and took only eight shots, which doesn't sound like good news but actually was, because it meant a whole lot of other people contributed and gave Archie Miller the sort of multi-dimensional look he's been hunting for since the first of the year.
(Which proves, hopefully for good, that the man didn't forget how to coach on the drive over from Dayton to Bloomington. Although this being Hoosier Nation, there will likely always be a fresh outburst of bitching and moaning and backbiting every time Indiana stumbles).
In any case ... Indiana suddenly has 17 wins. They've got Rutgers coming in next, an eminently winnable game given the way they've been playing. Then it's on to the Big Ten tournament.
Win a couple of games there, and they'll be at 20 wins. Heck, win just one and they'll be at 19. That will likely be enough to get them in Da Tournament, given that they've been lugging around a couple of RPI-boosting victories from December, just for emergencies like this.
Of course, they still have to beat Rutgers and then win a couple games next week. So we'll see.
Maybe. Possibly. I ... guess.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
How you do it
LeBron James passed Michael Jordan into fourth place on the NBA's all-time scoring list last night, which of course will re-ignite the GOAT debate, and, as dawn follows dark, will no doubt bring the LeBron detractors out of their hidey holes again as well.
(And, yes, the Blob says this knowing it said just the other day that LeBron was a coach killer -- or at least his track record makes it look that way. But generally, the Blob is a favorable-to-LeBron zone, on account of no one who leaves Cleveland comes back to Cleveland, but he did. That will always trump everything else).
Anyway ... the detractors will no doubt seize on how he said passing MJ was as special to him as winning a championship, and say it's more proof he's just a "me" guy. The Blob, however, thinks if there's a way for one icon to eclipse another, LeBron did it about as impeccably as you can.
First of all, the shoes, Money: For the occasion, LeBron donned a pair of Nike LeBron 16s modeled after the Air Jordan III "white cement" shoe, and wrote "Thank you M.J. 23" on the side of them.
Then he was gracious beyond gracious in the postgame.
"For a kid from Akron, Ohio, that needed inspiration and needed some type of positive influence, MJ was that guy for me," James said. "I watched him from afar, wanted to be like MJ, wanted to shoot fadeaways like MJ, wanted to stick my tongue out on dunks like MJ, wanted to wear my sneakers like MJ. I wanted kids to look up to me at some point like MJ and it's just crazy, to be honest. It's beyond crazy."
Of course, the detractors will doubtless seize on that, too, claiming it was all rehearsed and just the consummate politician saying the consummate political thing because he knew the world would be listening.
Sigh.
(And, yes, the Blob says this knowing it said just the other day that LeBron was a coach killer -- or at least his track record makes it look that way. But generally, the Blob is a favorable-to-LeBron zone, on account of no one who leaves Cleveland comes back to Cleveland, but he did. That will always trump everything else).
Anyway ... the detractors will no doubt seize on how he said passing MJ was as special to him as winning a championship, and say it's more proof he's just a "me" guy. The Blob, however, thinks if there's a way for one icon to eclipse another, LeBron did it about as impeccably as you can.
First of all, the shoes, Money: For the occasion, LeBron donned a pair of Nike LeBron 16s modeled after the Air Jordan III "white cement" shoe, and wrote "Thank you M.J. 23" on the side of them.
Then he was gracious beyond gracious in the postgame.
"For a kid from Akron, Ohio, that needed inspiration and needed some type of positive influence, MJ was that guy for me," James said. "I watched him from afar, wanted to be like MJ, wanted to shoot fadeaways like MJ, wanted to stick my tongue out on dunks like MJ, wanted to wear my sneakers like MJ. I wanted kids to look up to me at some point like MJ and it's just crazy, to be honest. It's beyond crazy."
Of course, the detractors will doubtless seize on that, too, claiming it was all rehearsed and just the consummate politician saying the consummate political thing because he knew the world would be listening.
Sigh.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Analysis of a stumble
Or in other words: What do we take away from Minnesota 73, Purdue 69?
Other than, you know, an observation guaranteed to get Purdue fans upset at the Blob, and perhaps revive old favorites like You Hate Purdue, You're Just Another IU Guy and The Only Time You Ever Write About Purdue Is When They Lose.
The observation: Was this the most Purdue thing ever?
Here we've got the Boilermakers all the way up to 11th in the polls ... here they're 22-7 overall and winners of 13 of their last 14 games ... here all they've got to do is beat a middling Minnesota team to lock up a regular season Big Ten title no one expected them to win after graduating four starters ...
And they lose. Of course.
Because how many times, Purdue fan, has your team gotten your hopes up and then dashed them? Be honest, now. A lot, right?
In any case, the hottest team in the Big Ten went up to Minneapolis and tripped over a footstool like Dick Van Dyke. Now the Boilers have to beat Northwestern on the road just to get a piece of the Big Ten title -- albeit a Northwestern team that has lost its last 10 games and is dead last in the conference.
Here's the upside to that, though: Just in time for the postseason, the Boilers got a refresher course in what got them where they are, and what can prevent them from getting further.
What got them where they are is getting multiple people involved. What can prevent them from getting further is what happened last night, when they reverted to a team that leaned too heavily on its one surpassing talent, Carsen Edwards, and not enough on those that have complemented him so well since the first of the year.
Edwards scored 22 points to lead four Boilers in double figures, but he took 31 shots, missing 24 of those. That was almost half of Purdue's 68-shot total.
That was how Purdue lost games in December. And it's how the Boilers lost last night.
Something Matt Painter, who's done the best coaching job of his career this season, will no doubt remind them of. Call it a silver lining.
Other than, you know, an observation guaranteed to get Purdue fans upset at the Blob, and perhaps revive old favorites like You Hate Purdue, You're Just Another IU Guy and The Only Time You Ever Write About Purdue Is When They Lose.
The observation: Was this the most Purdue thing ever?
Here we've got the Boilermakers all the way up to 11th in the polls ... here they're 22-7 overall and winners of 13 of their last 14 games ... here all they've got to do is beat a middling Minnesota team to lock up a regular season Big Ten title no one expected them to win after graduating four starters ...
And they lose. Of course.
Because how many times, Purdue fan, has your team gotten your hopes up and then dashed them? Be honest, now. A lot, right?
In any case, the hottest team in the Big Ten went up to Minneapolis and tripped over a footstool like Dick Van Dyke. Now the Boilers have to beat Northwestern on the road just to get a piece of the Big Ten title -- albeit a Northwestern team that has lost its last 10 games and is dead last in the conference.
Here's the upside to that, though: Just in time for the postseason, the Boilers got a refresher course in what got them where they are, and what can prevent them from getting further.
What got them where they are is getting multiple people involved. What can prevent them from getting further is what happened last night, when they reverted to a team that leaned too heavily on its one surpassing talent, Carsen Edwards, and not enough on those that have complemented him so well since the first of the year.
Edwards scored 22 points to lead four Boilers in double figures, but he took 31 shots, missing 24 of those. That was almost half of Purdue's 68-shot total.
That was how Purdue lost games in December. And it's how the Boilers lost last night.
Something Matt Painter, who's done the best coaching job of his career this season, will no doubt remind them of. Call it a silver lining.
Your Lake Show update
... in which Lakers head coach Luke Walton's, um, head is apparently on the chopping block, prompting Blob-ish speculation as to what Inner Luke is thinking as opposed to Outer Luke.
Outer Luke: "Wow, I'm going to get fired. Bummer."
Inner Luke: "Woo-hoo! I'm free! Not my train wreck anymore, baby!"
Because, really, who would want to be coaching this derailment right now?
Prevailing wisdom back in October was that LeBron would lead the Lakers' talented young core to new heights -- the playoffs certainly, perhaps even further than that. Some especially deluded individuals actually entertained the thought the Lake Show could kinda-sorta challenge the Rockets and Warriors for Western Conference supremacy.
Well, forget that.
Seems the Lakers haven't attained any heights this season, let alone new ones. As of this morning. they sit 11th in the West at 30-34. They've lost seven of their last nine. Four of those losses have come to bottom feeders: The Hawks, the Suns, the Grizzlies, the Pelicans.
There are a number of reasons for this.
First off, LeBron has turned out to be less than an A-list mentor, preferring to focus on his own legacy -- an unfair assessment, perhaps, but certainly the way it looks. And the Lakers' front office remains under-served with brainiacs; its clumsy handling of the Anthony Davis semi-courtship irrevocably poisoned the well by treating the aforementioned talented core as nothing but a handful of bargaining chips.
Consequently that core has checked out, deciding understandably that they owe no loyalty to an organization (LeBron included) which has none for them. And now Walton will likely take the fall for all this, adding to LeBron's growing rep as a coach killer. (See: Mike Brown, Byron Scott, David Blatt).
So, yeah. If I'm Luke Walton, I can't wait for that pink slip to land on my desk.
Outer Luke (upon his dismissal): "This is a sad day. We tried our best but as the organization said, it's time to go in a new direction. I'd like to thank the entire Lakers organization for the opportunity, and I wish them all the luck in the world going forward."
Inner Luke: "Vaya con dios, bitches!"
Or something like that.
Outer Luke: "Wow, I'm going to get fired. Bummer."
Inner Luke: "Woo-hoo! I'm free! Not my train wreck anymore, baby!"
Because, really, who would want to be coaching this derailment right now?
Prevailing wisdom back in October was that LeBron would lead the Lakers' talented young core to new heights -- the playoffs certainly, perhaps even further than that. Some especially deluded individuals actually entertained the thought the Lake Show could kinda-sorta challenge the Rockets and Warriors for Western Conference supremacy.
Well, forget that.
Seems the Lakers haven't attained any heights this season, let alone new ones. As of this morning. they sit 11th in the West at 30-34. They've lost seven of their last nine. Four of those losses have come to bottom feeders: The Hawks, the Suns, the Grizzlies, the Pelicans.
There are a number of reasons for this.
First off, LeBron has turned out to be less than an A-list mentor, preferring to focus on his own legacy -- an unfair assessment, perhaps, but certainly the way it looks. And the Lakers' front office remains under-served with brainiacs; its clumsy handling of the Anthony Davis semi-courtship irrevocably poisoned the well by treating the aforementioned talented core as nothing but a handful of bargaining chips.
Consequently that core has checked out, deciding understandably that they owe no loyalty to an organization (LeBron included) which has none for them. And now Walton will likely take the fall for all this, adding to LeBron's growing rep as a coach killer. (See: Mike Brown, Byron Scott, David Blatt).
So, yeah. If I'm Luke Walton, I can't wait for that pink slip to land on my desk.
Outer Luke (upon his dismissal): "This is a sad day. We tried our best but as the organization said, it's time to go in a new direction. I'd like to thank the entire Lakers organization for the opportunity, and I wish them all the luck in the world going forward."
Inner Luke: "Vaya con dios, bitches!"
Or something like that.
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Keepin' it real ... absurd
All together now: Oh. For God's. Sake.
And now the latest from the NCAA, where the bigger picture is never allowed to get in the way of the picayune, the split hair, the tireless pursuit of the silly and inconsequential.
Today this pursuit takes us to the University of Albany, where lacrosse star Tehoka Nanticoke has been a very bad student-athlete. It seems Tehoka was ruled ineligible by the Nominally Concerned (With) Amateurism Association because he tagged a stringing company on an Instagram post that has since been deleted.
Understand, Tehoka didn't say, "Hey, these guys are great," or, "I endorse this company." He merely tagged it.
Nonetheless, this simply wouldn't do. And so the Nominally Concerned Etc., Etc. decided Tehoka's tag constituted promoting the company, and suspended him for Albany's game against Cornell.
Apparently only the coaches, athletic departments and schools for whom student-athletes provide cheap labor are allowed to commit such heinous crimes against amateurism. God forbid if there was even the appearance one of the laborers was profiting the way the coaches, athletic departments and schools are allowed to profit in the (cough) Strictly Amateur (cough) enterprise that is Division I athletics.
The good thing is, Tehoka's coach, Scott Marr, had his back. Boy, did he ever.
“The NCAA makes a lot of money off of athletes and they pretend to be student-athlete friendly,” Marr told a local radio station. “I don’t see any friendliness with suspending a kid indefinitely for making a mistake ... Big-brother monopoly that we work under doesn’t allow you to do those types of things. No warning. No nothing. Just instant. You’re ineligible until proven innocent, I guess.”
Good for you, Coach. And we'll even excuse the obvious self-interest of your rant.
In the meantime, let's all remember the Nominally Concerned Etc. Etc.'s principled stance against commercial promotion the next time you see a Division I student-athlete trot out there wearing the logo of some apparel company on his uniform.
Not to point out glaring contradictions or anything.
And now the latest from the NCAA, where the bigger picture is never allowed to get in the way of the picayune, the split hair, the tireless pursuit of the silly and inconsequential.
Today this pursuit takes us to the University of Albany, where lacrosse star Tehoka Nanticoke has been a very bad student-athlete. It seems Tehoka was ruled ineligible by the Nominally Concerned (With) Amateurism Association because he tagged a stringing company on an Instagram post that has since been deleted.
Understand, Tehoka didn't say, "Hey, these guys are great," or, "I endorse this company." He merely tagged it.
Nonetheless, this simply wouldn't do. And so the Nominally Concerned Etc., Etc. decided Tehoka's tag constituted promoting the company, and suspended him for Albany's game against Cornell.
Apparently only the coaches, athletic departments and schools for whom student-athletes provide cheap labor are allowed to commit such heinous crimes against amateurism. God forbid if there was even the appearance one of the laborers was profiting the way the coaches, athletic departments and schools are allowed to profit in the (cough) Strictly Amateur (cough) enterprise that is Division I athletics.
The good thing is, Tehoka's coach, Scott Marr, had his back. Boy, did he ever.
“The NCAA makes a lot of money off of athletes and they pretend to be student-athlete friendly,” Marr told a local radio station. “I don’t see any friendliness with suspending a kid indefinitely for making a mistake ... Big-brother monopoly that we work under doesn’t allow you to do those types of things. No warning. No nothing. Just instant. You’re ineligible until proven innocent, I guess.”
Good for you, Coach. And we'll even excuse the obvious self-interest of your rant.
In the meantime, let's all remember the Nominally Concerned Etc. Etc.'s principled stance against commercial promotion the next time you see a Division I student-athlete trot out there wearing the logo of some apparel company on his uniform.
Not to point out glaring contradictions or anything.
Monday, March 4, 2019
Class, dismissed
You can't blame it on the full moon. I checked. There isn't another one for 16 days.
So maybe it's something in the water, like that mind-altering fluoride the John Birch Society used to warn us about all those years ago. Or it's yet another dangerous, fictitious side effect of those evil vaccines, speaking of the latest fit-'em-for-a-straitjacket lunacy.
Whatever. In any case, it was some weekend for college basketball fans behaving badly, and occasionally getting called out for it.
Matt Painter did the calling out at Purdue, telling his student section, the Paint Crew, that was it time to get classy and knock off the "IU sucks!" chant that's been a Mackey Arena staple forever. Just a day later, Maryland coach Mark Turgeon was compelled to get the Terrapins' PA announcer to tell the students to quit serenading Michigan freshman Ignas Brazdeikis with chants of "You're ugly!" as Brazdeikis stood on the free throw line.
And then there was Saturday night in Logan, Utah.
Where Utah State upset No. 12 Nevada, prompting the Utah State fans to rush the floor for some bizarre reason. Apparently at least one Utah State player taunted Nevada's Jordan Caroline with epithets, prompting Caroline to go ballistic in the hallway; apparently, also, Utah State fans blocked the entrance to the visiting locker room and (Nevada alleges) put hands on and shouted obscenities at Nevada's players as they tried to leave the floor.
This prompted an altercation in the hallway that involved Caroline, police officers assigned to crowd control (though not very effectively, obviously) and Nevada head coach Eric Musselman and his staff. All said and done, an ugly scene.
Now, again, I don't know if all this happening on one weekend was mere coincidence, or a reflection of the national zeitgeist at the moment. We're all angry about something these days, it seems. We're all into demonizing everyone we have the slightest disagreement with. And if we're not perpetually outraged, we're outraged that other people are outraged.
It is, as the late renegade journalist Hunter S. Thompson used to put it, bad craziness. And so maybe an attitude adjustment is in order, as Painter and Turgeon suggested.
Look. College basketball has always home to notorious viciousness from its fans; Duke's fan section, the Cameron Crazies, has practically been lionized for the inventiveness and the nastiness of its treatment of opposing players. When Lorenzo Charles of North Carolina State was arrested for stealing pizzas, the Cameron student section showered the court with pizza boxes when he was introduced. When Herman Veal of Maryland was arrested, but never charged, with sexually assaulting a fellow student, the Crazies greeted him with a hail of women's panties. On and on.
This has always been accepted as simply part of the adversity of going on the road in college buckets. The Crazies' antics are actually regarded as almost charming by the Duke-worshipping media.
Maybe that shouldn't be.
Maybe, as Painter said and Turgeon suggested, letting a little class back into the building wouldn't be a bad thing. This is not to say there's anything wrong with getting on the other team, particularly if you're inventive about it.
Not long ago at Purdue, for instance, a member of the Paint Crew held up a sign when IU was in town. On it was a picture of Purdue graduate Neil Armstrong saluting the American flag on the moon. The accompanying caption: "Our Banners Fly Higher Than Yours."
Which, of course, was the perfect rejoinder to IU constantly taunting Purdue by pointing to the Hoosiers' five national championship banners. And a great example of how to get an opponent's goat without, you know, saying one of them actually looks like a goat.
That, folks, is classless and demeans the idiots doing it far more than it demeans the targeted player. It takes no effort and no cleverness. And so when the Cameron Crazies singled out a player for abuse in the past, all it did was make you wonder just how low the admission standards must be at Duke.
Or rushing the floor because you beat, um, the 12th-ranked team in the country?
Yeah. No Rhodes scholars in that crowd, either.
So maybe it's something in the water, like that mind-altering fluoride the John Birch Society used to warn us about all those years ago. Or it's yet another dangerous, fictitious side effect of those evil vaccines, speaking of the latest fit-'em-for-a-straitjacket lunacy.
Whatever. In any case, it was some weekend for college basketball fans behaving badly, and occasionally getting called out for it.
Matt Painter did the calling out at Purdue, telling his student section, the Paint Crew, that was it time to get classy and knock off the "IU sucks!" chant that's been a Mackey Arena staple forever. Just a day later, Maryland coach Mark Turgeon was compelled to get the Terrapins' PA announcer to tell the students to quit serenading Michigan freshman Ignas Brazdeikis with chants of "You're ugly!" as Brazdeikis stood on the free throw line.
And then there was Saturday night in Logan, Utah.
Where Utah State upset No. 12 Nevada, prompting the Utah State fans to rush the floor for some bizarre reason. Apparently at least one Utah State player taunted Nevada's Jordan Caroline with epithets, prompting Caroline to go ballistic in the hallway; apparently, also, Utah State fans blocked the entrance to the visiting locker room and (Nevada alleges) put hands on and shouted obscenities at Nevada's players as they tried to leave the floor.
This prompted an altercation in the hallway that involved Caroline, police officers assigned to crowd control (though not very effectively, obviously) and Nevada head coach Eric Musselman and his staff. All said and done, an ugly scene.
Now, again, I don't know if all this happening on one weekend was mere coincidence, or a reflection of the national zeitgeist at the moment. We're all angry about something these days, it seems. We're all into demonizing everyone we have the slightest disagreement with. And if we're not perpetually outraged, we're outraged that other people are outraged.
It is, as the late renegade journalist Hunter S. Thompson used to put it, bad craziness. And so maybe an attitude adjustment is in order, as Painter and Turgeon suggested.
Look. College basketball has always home to notorious viciousness from its fans; Duke's fan section, the Cameron Crazies, has practically been lionized for the inventiveness and the nastiness of its treatment of opposing players. When Lorenzo Charles of North Carolina State was arrested for stealing pizzas, the Cameron student section showered the court with pizza boxes when he was introduced. When Herman Veal of Maryland was arrested, but never charged, with sexually assaulting a fellow student, the Crazies greeted him with a hail of women's panties. On and on.
This has always been accepted as simply part of the adversity of going on the road in college buckets. The Crazies' antics are actually regarded as almost charming by the Duke-worshipping media.
Maybe that shouldn't be.
Maybe, as Painter said and Turgeon suggested, letting a little class back into the building wouldn't be a bad thing. This is not to say there's anything wrong with getting on the other team, particularly if you're inventive about it.
Not long ago at Purdue, for instance, a member of the Paint Crew held up a sign when IU was in town. On it was a picture of Purdue graduate Neil Armstrong saluting the American flag on the moon. The accompanying caption: "Our Banners Fly Higher Than Yours."
Which, of course, was the perfect rejoinder to IU constantly taunting Purdue by pointing to the Hoosiers' five national championship banners. And a great example of how to get an opponent's goat without, you know, saying one of them actually looks like a goat.
That, folks, is classless and demeans the idiots doing it far more than it demeans the targeted player. It takes no effort and no cleverness. And so when the Cameron Crazies singled out a player for abuse in the past, all it did was make you wonder just how low the admission standards must be at Duke.
Or rushing the floor because you beat, um, the 12th-ranked team in the country?
Yeah. No Rhodes scholars in that crowd, either.
Sunday, March 3, 2019
Teachable moment
Purdue basketball coach Matt Painter's name is turning up on all sorts of Coach of the Year lists these days, and only the most severe case of Boilermaker animus would say that's not right.
Well, that is right. It's all kinds of right.
This is not just because Painter has taken a team that began the season wholly dependent on holdover star Carsen Edwards, and turned it into a smoothly humming machine with multiple working parts functioning in seamless concert. It's also because of what he did yesterday, on Senior Day in Mackey Arena, after the Boilers destroyed Ohio State by 35 to vault to the top of the Big Ten with a 15-3 record, a 22-7 overall record and 13 wins in their last 14 games.
What Painter did was, he decided to coach up not just the players but the student body.
What he did was tell them to retire the "IU sucks" chant that erupts from the student section -- aka, the Paint Crew -- every time the rival Hoosiers visit Mackey. We're better than that, Painter told them. You're better than that. So stop it.
No doubt this was in response to what happened in Bloomington a couple weeks ago, when the IU student section repeatedly serenaded Purdue center Matt Haarms with "F*** you, Haarms." Had Bob Knight still been coach at IU, he'd have grabbed the courtside mic and told them (in his own inimitable way) to knock that s*** off. Archie Miller, alas, did not do that, although he did speak to it in the postgame.
Not so Painter.
Guess that makes him 3-0 vs. IU this season.
Well, that is right. It's all kinds of right.
This is not just because Painter has taken a team that began the season wholly dependent on holdover star Carsen Edwards, and turned it into a smoothly humming machine with multiple working parts functioning in seamless concert. It's also because of what he did yesterday, on Senior Day in Mackey Arena, after the Boilers destroyed Ohio State by 35 to vault to the top of the Big Ten with a 15-3 record, a 22-7 overall record and 13 wins in their last 14 games.
What Painter did was, he decided to coach up not just the players but the student body.
What he did was tell them to retire the "IU sucks" chant that erupts from the student section -- aka, the Paint Crew -- every time the rival Hoosiers visit Mackey. We're better than that, Painter told them. You're better than that. So stop it.
No doubt this was in response to what happened in Bloomington a couple weeks ago, when the IU student section repeatedly serenaded Purdue center Matt Haarms with "F*** you, Haarms." Had Bob Knight still been coach at IU, he'd have grabbed the courtside mic and told them (in his own inimitable way) to knock that s*** off. Archie Miller, alas, did not do that, although he did speak to it in the postgame.
Not so Painter.
Guess that makes him 3-0 vs. IU this season.
Geography fail
So you were feeling pretty good about yourself, if you were Philadelphia Guy. The Eagles' Super Bowl win wasn't that long ago, after all. And then came the news that the biggest fish in the baseball free agency pond had picked ... the Phillies!
Someone -- and not just someone, but Bryce Freakin' Harper -- had actually chosen to come to Philadelphia. And, OK, so maybe it was because he'd signed an absurd 13-year, $330-million deal, but, still. It was enough to make Philly Guy weep tears of joy into his Pat's cheesesteak.
And then ...
And then came Bryce Harper's introductory news conference, when the ex-Washington National slipped up and said this: "We want to bring a title back to D.C."
Um ... what?
Granted it was simply a slip of the tongue, and understandable given that Harper had always been a Nat. But you could almost hear Philly Guy -- a lot of Philly Guys -- doing what Philly Guys tend to do, which is rant and rave and gnash their teeth over even the most innocent of perceived slights.
"Jesus! Thirteen (bleepin') years with this jamoke!" Philly Guy said, probably.
And also: "Thirteen years and he doesn't even know what (bleepin') city he's in!"
And also, of course: "(Bleep) you, Harper! We gotta put up with 13 years of this (bleep)? Go back to D.C., jackass!"
Of course, all this goes away the first time Harper launches one.
And comes back again when he doesn't deliver the title he promised to D.C. Er, Philadelphia.
Someone -- and not just someone, but Bryce Freakin' Harper -- had actually chosen to come to Philadelphia. And, OK, so maybe it was because he'd signed an absurd 13-year, $330-million deal, but, still. It was enough to make Philly Guy weep tears of joy into his Pat's cheesesteak.
And then ...
And then came Bryce Harper's introductory news conference, when the ex-Washington National slipped up and said this: "We want to bring a title back to D.C."
Um ... what?
Granted it was simply a slip of the tongue, and understandable given that Harper had always been a Nat. But you could almost hear Philly Guy -- a lot of Philly Guys -- doing what Philly Guys tend to do, which is rant and rave and gnash their teeth over even the most innocent of perceived slights.
"Jesus! Thirteen (bleepin') years with this jamoke!" Philly Guy said, probably.
And also: "Thirteen years and he doesn't even know what (bleepin') city he's in!"
And also, of course: "(Bleep) you, Harper! We gotta put up with 13 years of this (bleep)? Go back to D.C., jackass!"
Of course, all this goes away the first time Harper launches one.
And comes back again when he doesn't deliver the title he promised to D.C. Er, Philadelphia.
Friday, March 1, 2019
Today in doping
And now the latest from the sleazy underworld of the performically-enhanced, where cartoon muscles and chemical heroics stubbornly survive despite all attempts to eradicate them.
PEDs?
Why, they're still aces high with some folks!
This just in from the World Bridge Federation, via Deadspin: It seems Geir Helgemo, the LeBron James of international bridge, has been dealing from the bottom of the deck. The WBF has suspended him after ... wait for it ... testing positive for two banned substances, including synthetic testosterone.
And you thought he got that good at shuffling through hard work and a healthy plant-based diet.
Yes, that's right, Blobophiles: Now there are even drug cheats in cards. Can 'roided-up Monopoly players be far behind?
PISACATAWAY, N.J. -- Reigning world Monopoly champion Carter Nordstrom II was disqualified today when he tested positive for two different steroids, plus "a hell of a lot of Diet Pepsi."
Dangerously high levels of testosterone were discovered in his system, officials said.
"Plus, man, Carter showed up looking like The Rock," a fellow competitor, Wallace J. Peabody III, said. "Last time we saw him he was 5-9 and a buck twenty. Suddenly he's 6-3 and 250? And he's all buffed up? Somethin' fishy there, man."
Peabody went on to say that Nordstrom also drew suspicion for "pounding on the table so hard all my hotels on St. James Place kept falling on the floor," screaming "(Bleep) jail! NO BLEEPING JAIL CAN HOLD ME!!" and grabbing fellow competitors by the throat and snarling "PAY UP, M***********!" every time someone landed on one his properties.
Or, you know, something like that.
In any case, many of you right now are no doubt asking, "Mr. Blob, why would you need to take synthetic testosterone to be good at cards? And why would the WBF care if its competitors were taking something to boost their man abilities?"
Hell if I know. Maybe there's a hidden element of high-stakes bridge we haven't yet discovered that requires enhanced man abilities.
Maybe, buried deep in the bridge rulebook, there's a clause that reads "In case of ties, games will be decided by arm wrestling." Maybe no-trump bids require a lot more aggression (and perhaps the occasional headlock) than the general public suspects.
In any case, the WBF does have anti-doping rules, for whatever earthly reason. This conjures up the image of card players peeing in cups at the conclusion of every tournament while muttering, "I KNEW I shouldn't have shuffled so fast the cards caught fire."
It also conjures up a possible future news item, when an exciting new player announces he's joining the WBF.
"Deal me in!" Lance Armstrong says.
PEDs?
Why, they're still aces high with some folks!
This just in from the World Bridge Federation, via Deadspin: It seems Geir Helgemo, the LeBron James of international bridge, has been dealing from the bottom of the deck. The WBF has suspended him after ... wait for it ... testing positive for two banned substances, including synthetic testosterone.
And you thought he got that good at shuffling through hard work and a healthy plant-based diet.
Yes, that's right, Blobophiles: Now there are even drug cheats in cards. Can 'roided-up Monopoly players be far behind?
PISACATAWAY, N.J. -- Reigning world Monopoly champion Carter Nordstrom II was disqualified today when he tested positive for two different steroids, plus "a hell of a lot of Diet Pepsi."
Dangerously high levels of testosterone were discovered in his system, officials said.
"Plus, man, Carter showed up looking like The Rock," a fellow competitor, Wallace J. Peabody III, said. "Last time we saw him he was 5-9 and a buck twenty. Suddenly he's 6-3 and 250? And he's all buffed up? Somethin' fishy there, man."
Peabody went on to say that Nordstrom also drew suspicion for "pounding on the table so hard all my hotels on St. James Place kept falling on the floor," screaming "(Bleep) jail! NO BLEEPING JAIL CAN HOLD ME!!" and grabbing fellow competitors by the throat and snarling "PAY UP, M***********!" every time someone landed on one his properties.
Or, you know, something like that.
In any case, many of you right now are no doubt asking, "Mr. Blob, why would you need to take synthetic testosterone to be good at cards? And why would the WBF care if its competitors were taking something to boost their man abilities?"
Hell if I know. Maybe there's a hidden element of high-stakes bridge we haven't yet discovered that requires enhanced man abilities.
Maybe, buried deep in the bridge rulebook, there's a clause that reads "In case of ties, games will be decided by arm wrestling." Maybe no-trump bids require a lot more aggression (and perhaps the occasional headlock) than the general public suspects.
In any case, the WBF does have anti-doping rules, for whatever earthly reason. This conjures up the image of card players peeing in cups at the conclusion of every tournament while muttering, "I KNEW I shouldn't have shuffled so fast the cards caught fire."
It also conjures up a possible future news item, when an exciting new player announces he's joining the WBF.
"Deal me in!" Lance Armstrong says.
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