The Blob holds no brief for Carly Fiorina, the hapless CEO and champion job-destroyer who the other day became Ted Cruz' desperate Hail Carly. But I'm with her on one thing:
Mike Tyson is no paragon of manliness.
"Sorry, I don't consider a convicted rapist a tough guy," said Fiorina, Cruz' hilariously premature running mate.
The Game Show Host does, however, and so there was Donald J. Trump, the circus act who would be king, bloviating about Mike Tyson and what a great thing it was that Tyson was endorsing him. Because, by golly, he likes it when he gets endorsed by "the tough ones."
That he said it in Indiana, where Tyson raped Desiree Washington and did time for it, would be considered a major gaffe for anyone but the Game Show Host. After all, he'd already stood up for the rapist back in '92, when he said Tyson got "railroaded," and that what happened was Washington's fault because she went to his room. But as always, he's saved by his bewitched followers, who regard these sorts of pronouncements as evidence that the Game Show Host isn't afraid to tell it like it is.
The man apparently can't say anything ridiculous enough at this point to give the rubes even a moment's pause. And that includes this latest, which is as perfectly in character for the Game Show Host as every other ridiculous thing he's said.
Here's the deal: Touting a convicted rapist as a tough guy is no great leap of logic for Trump, a proud misogynist who plays at being a tough guy himself. As with most of his now familiar act, it's a con, a part the Game Show Host plays as smoothly as he plays someone worthy of serious consideration for the highest office in the land. Because, like Tyson, the Game Show Host is no tough guy.
Witness what happened no long ago, when Donny went swaggering over to Scotland to transform a lot of bucolic Scottish countryside into some obscene golf resort. He wound up in a legal wrangle with the Scottish government over a proposed windfarm, lost in court, and eventually went slinking back to the U.S. with his tail between his legs, just another supposed tough guy exposed as a swaggering blowhard.
In that, he shares a curious kinship with Tyson, another phony "tough one." He was presented by an enchanted media as a fearsome engine of destruction back when he was knocking over assorted tomato cans, most of whom took one look at Iron Mike and started searching for a soft place to land. That was before an unremarkable journeyman named Buster Douglas discovered a remarkable thing: If you actually fought back, Iron Mike wasn't so tough. In fact, he was kinda ... soft.
And so down went Tyson, and then off he went to prison after luring Washington, a Sunday School teacher and honor student, to his hotel room. And then down he went again when he found himself in the ring with Evander Holyfield, a genuine tough guy.
Now?
Now here he is endorsing the Game Show Host, another "tough guy" whose toughness begins and ends with his mouth.
Synergy is a wonderful thing.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Friday, April 29, 2016
Cost ineffective?
The last year I was in college my alma mater's football team won its first Mid-American Conference title.
The year was 1976 and Ball State had a nifty little quarterback named Art Yaroch, and a stud running back named Earl Taylor, and a fireplug of a fullback named George Jenkins. The defense, which crushed people that year, had guys named Maurice Harvey and Ken Kremer and Rush Brown, all of whom went on to play in the NFL. They beat everyone that year but Western Michigan, which smoked them because the Broncos had a running back named Jerome Persell the Cardinals simply couldn't tackle.
So, I love MAC football. Let's get that out there right off.
I also understand that it's not 1976 anymore, which is why I'm not alarmed, or even surprised, that faculty and students at MAC school Eastern Michigan are calling for the Eagles to leave the MAC and head for the Horizon League, and ditch Division I football altogether. Division II, or even Division III, would be preferable.
I agree. In fact, I'm tempted to agree it's the way to go for any school in comparable circumstances.
That's because football has become outrageously costly at the D-I level, and if it also generates outrageous revenue, it does so only at the highest levels of the sport. For schools on the MAC level, it's rapidly becoming financially unsustainable. Or to be more blunt: It's hurting the very university community it's supposed to be serving.
The call to drop out of D-I football at Eastern Michigan, for instance, springs from the fact that EMU students are now paying $917 in fees annually to support athletics, part of a $27 million subsidy the university provides to fund the school's $34 million athletic budget. And this is not an anomaly.
At Ball State, for instance, students now pay $610.66 per year in hidden athletic fees, according to a report in the Muncie Star Press. This works out to $11.6 million in subsidies -- up from $6.9 million in 2005.
A good chunk of that, of course, goes to prop up football, far and away the most costly sport for any D-I university. The issue for schools on the MAC level is the football investment doesn't come close to delivering an appropriate return; your Ball States and Eastern Michigans aren't going to the cash-rich BCS bowl games, if they're going to bowl games at all. The game, as they say, simply isn't worth the candle at the MAC level -- especially for students who are already burdened too often with crippling (and skyrocketing) student debt.
So what's the solution?
Right now the only solution is to do what the faculty and students at Eastern Michigan are suggesting: Drop down to D-II or even D-III. But the Blob sees something else coming down the wind: An eventual split between the Power Five football conferences and everyone else in D-I.
The Power Fives would be allowed to function as what they already are in everything but name: A corporate industry governed by rules appropriate to any corporate industry. Everyone else -- i.e., the MAC schools and others like it -- would be held to the same standards that govern athletics in the NCAA's lesser divisions.
In other words, they would be institutions of higher learning for whom athletics are truly just a component of the academic mission, and not businesses wholly separate from that mission. Scholarships and other financial aid would be available to athletes in the same way they're available to non-athletes. Football and basketball and everything else would carry no more weight within the university structure than programs in music and the arts.
And, yes, if that sounds like a deliberate devaluing of athletics, it can also be seen as a simple restoring of balance. The students would still come to the games. The athletes would still derive all the benefits college athletics provide in abundance. And the burden placed on everyone to continue running a losing financial game would be dramatically lessened.
“Culturally and geographically, EMU football will simply never succeed from an attendance and financial standpoint,” faculty member Howard Bunsis argued to EMU’s Board of Regents, according to the Detroit Free Press. “It is a losing proposition – always has been, and always will be. We hardly raise any money for football, and our attendance is the lowest in the country. Some of you believe that we are close to succeeding, if we just throw more money at the situation. This proposition is insane."
Exactly.
The year was 1976 and Ball State had a nifty little quarterback named Art Yaroch, and a stud running back named Earl Taylor, and a fireplug of a fullback named George Jenkins. The defense, which crushed people that year, had guys named Maurice Harvey and Ken Kremer and Rush Brown, all of whom went on to play in the NFL. They beat everyone that year but Western Michigan, which smoked them because the Broncos had a running back named Jerome Persell the Cardinals simply couldn't tackle.
So, I love MAC football. Let's get that out there right off.
I also understand that it's not 1976 anymore, which is why I'm not alarmed, or even surprised, that faculty and students at MAC school Eastern Michigan are calling for the Eagles to leave the MAC and head for the Horizon League, and ditch Division I football altogether. Division II, or even Division III, would be preferable.
I agree. In fact, I'm tempted to agree it's the way to go for any school in comparable circumstances.
That's because football has become outrageously costly at the D-I level, and if it also generates outrageous revenue, it does so only at the highest levels of the sport. For schools on the MAC level, it's rapidly becoming financially unsustainable. Or to be more blunt: It's hurting the very university community it's supposed to be serving.
The call to drop out of D-I football at Eastern Michigan, for instance, springs from the fact that EMU students are now paying $917 in fees annually to support athletics, part of a $27 million subsidy the university provides to fund the school's $34 million athletic budget. And this is not an anomaly.
At Ball State, for instance, students now pay $610.66 per year in hidden athletic fees, according to a report in the Muncie Star Press. This works out to $11.6 million in subsidies -- up from $6.9 million in 2005.
A good chunk of that, of course, goes to prop up football, far and away the most costly sport for any D-I university. The issue for schools on the MAC level is the football investment doesn't come close to delivering an appropriate return; your Ball States and Eastern Michigans aren't going to the cash-rich BCS bowl games, if they're going to bowl games at all. The game, as they say, simply isn't worth the candle at the MAC level -- especially for students who are already burdened too often with crippling (and skyrocketing) student debt.
So what's the solution?
Right now the only solution is to do what the faculty and students at Eastern Michigan are suggesting: Drop down to D-II or even D-III. But the Blob sees something else coming down the wind: An eventual split between the Power Five football conferences and everyone else in D-I.
The Power Fives would be allowed to function as what they already are in everything but name: A corporate industry governed by rules appropriate to any corporate industry. Everyone else -- i.e., the MAC schools and others like it -- would be held to the same standards that govern athletics in the NCAA's lesser divisions.
In other words, they would be institutions of higher learning for whom athletics are truly just a component of the academic mission, and not businesses wholly separate from that mission. Scholarships and other financial aid would be available to athletes in the same way they're available to non-athletes. Football and basketball and everything else would carry no more weight within the university structure than programs in music and the arts.
And, yes, if that sounds like a deliberate devaluing of athletics, it can also be seen as a simple restoring of balance. The students would still come to the games. The athletes would still derive all the benefits college athletics provide in abundance. And the burden placed on everyone to continue running a losing financial game would be dramatically lessened.
“Culturally and geographically, EMU football will simply never succeed from an attendance and financial standpoint,” faculty member Howard Bunsis argued to EMU’s Board of Regents, according to the Detroit Free Press. “It is a losing proposition – always has been, and always will be. We hardly raise any money for football, and our attendance is the lowest in the country. Some of you believe that we are close to succeeding, if we just throw more money at the situation. This proposition is insane."
Exactly.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Analysis paralysis
The NFL Draft is upon us ("Quick! Close the window!"), and this morning I am thinking about quarterbacks.
Not just any quarterbacks, mind you. One specific quarterback.
This quarterback is a trifle undersized (6-foot-2, 212 pounds), and he doesn't have that howitzer you like to see, and he thinks the Wonderlic is an ice cream cone with sprinkles. His 40 speed is average. He may or may not be able to put the ball in those tight windows (See again: No howitzer) the way a quarterback in today's NFL has to. And he didn't wow anyone on his pro day, on account of the NFL scouts all got lost on the way to the tiny Division III school in Illinois where he played his college ball.
The name of that school is Augustana College.
The name of the quarterback who played there is Ken Anderson.
Who still holds Cincinnati Bengals career records for completions, passing yards and touchdowns. Whose 2,200 rushing yards and 20 rushing touchdowns as a quarterback are also club records. Who, when he retired, held NFL records for consecutive pass completions (20), completion percentage for a game (90.9), completion percentage for a season (70.6) and Super Bowl records for completion percentage (73.5) and completions (25).
Of those records, the one for completion percentage for a season stood for 27 years.
And yet ... if he came along today, the draft gurus would see nothing but problems with Ken Anderson. Seriously, Augustana College? Only 6-2 and 212? Who's this kid think he's, well, kidding?
"Doesn't fit the profile of the prototypical NFL quarterback," Mel Kiper Jr. would say, dismissively.
"Maybe a practice squad player. Maybe," he'd add.
And Todd McShay, the other half of ESPN's draftnik Gold Dust Twins?
"If he were a tree, what kind of tree would he be? Why, the kid didn't even answer that question!" McShay would cry, aghast at such a horrific breach of draft etiquette.
After which he'd say something along the lines of "Well, maybe the Montreal Alouettes could use him," while Mel nodded sagely from beneath his El Capitan hair and then moved on to his 237th mock draft, which has the Lions picking a circus acrobat in the fifth round.
This is the problem with the NFL Draft: It's analysis to the point of paralysis, and also to the point of absurdity. And it's all for nothing. Mel and Todd and the rest can talk until they're blue in the face (and will), and in the end, no one knows whether a specific player is going to wind up on the road to Canton or the road to selling insurance. Not even the teams for whom draft picks -- especially first round draft picks -- represent a major investment really know.
Despite the combine. Despite the Wonderlics. Despite the 40 times, and the shuttle times, and the pro days, and all those weird questions they ask in the interview process, some of which reveal a lot more about the people asking the questions than the people answering them.
In a sport that is itself an industry, draft analysis has become an industry itself -- and yet, at bottom, it's still just a lot of flip-a-coin guesswork. No matter what depths teams are willing to plumb to predict the future, it's still the future. Which means it's always going to be essentially unreadable, no matter how many times a guy runs the 40 or answers questions about his tree preferences.
This is not to say you can't occasionally see trouble coming; witness the entirely predictable demise of Johnny Manziel. But who saw such a swift unraveling for Ryan Leaf? Who saw Jamarcus Russell not just fail to live up to expectations, but completely wash out of the league? And on the other side of the ledger, who saw Tom Brady coming? Or Jeff Saturday, an undrafted free agent who went on to play in six Pro Bowls? Or, for that matter, Ken Anderson, a third-round pick who wound up with Hall of Fame credentials despite starting out at tiny Augustana?
And yet, teams will continue to try to see the un-seeable and un-knowable, because they are all deathly afraid of making the big mistake. It's why players sink like a stone at the first hint of an unpaid parking ticket. Get caught acting like a normal college student? Wind up on a police blotter at some point? Do something, anything, that teams believe makes you a character risk?
See you in the third round. Or fourth. Or fifth.
It's a game for either madmen or neurotics, or both, and tomorrow it begins again. The Rams have the first pick. The Eagles have the second. They both like the same two guys: A pair of quarterbacks, one from Cal (Jared Goff) and one from North Dakota State (Carson Wentz).
The Mels and Todds love both of them. They say they have all the tools: Size, arm, athleticism, work ethic, smarts. They say either one could go No. 1. They say the only upside Goff has is he played big-time college ball while Wentz did not.
Kinda like, you know, Ken Anderson from Augustana College.
Let the guesswork begin. Or continue, as the case may be.
Not just any quarterbacks, mind you. One specific quarterback.
This quarterback is a trifle undersized (6-foot-2, 212 pounds), and he doesn't have that howitzer you like to see, and he thinks the Wonderlic is an ice cream cone with sprinkles. His 40 speed is average. He may or may not be able to put the ball in those tight windows (See again: No howitzer) the way a quarterback in today's NFL has to. And he didn't wow anyone on his pro day, on account of the NFL scouts all got lost on the way to the tiny Division III school in Illinois where he played his college ball.
The name of that school is Augustana College.
The name of the quarterback who played there is Ken Anderson.
Who still holds Cincinnati Bengals career records for completions, passing yards and touchdowns. Whose 2,200 rushing yards and 20 rushing touchdowns as a quarterback are also club records. Who, when he retired, held NFL records for consecutive pass completions (20), completion percentage for a game (90.9), completion percentage for a season (70.6) and Super Bowl records for completion percentage (73.5) and completions (25).
Of those records, the one for completion percentage for a season stood for 27 years.
And yet ... if he came along today, the draft gurus would see nothing but problems with Ken Anderson. Seriously, Augustana College? Only 6-2 and 212? Who's this kid think he's, well, kidding?
"Doesn't fit the profile of the prototypical NFL quarterback," Mel Kiper Jr. would say, dismissively.
"Maybe a practice squad player. Maybe," he'd add.
And Todd McShay, the other half of ESPN's draftnik Gold Dust Twins?
"If he were a tree, what kind of tree would he be? Why, the kid didn't even answer that question!" McShay would cry, aghast at such a horrific breach of draft etiquette.
After which he'd say something along the lines of "Well, maybe the Montreal Alouettes could use him," while Mel nodded sagely from beneath his El Capitan hair and then moved on to his 237th mock draft, which has the Lions picking a circus acrobat in the fifth round.
This is the problem with the NFL Draft: It's analysis to the point of paralysis, and also to the point of absurdity. And it's all for nothing. Mel and Todd and the rest can talk until they're blue in the face (and will), and in the end, no one knows whether a specific player is going to wind up on the road to Canton or the road to selling insurance. Not even the teams for whom draft picks -- especially first round draft picks -- represent a major investment really know.
Despite the combine. Despite the Wonderlics. Despite the 40 times, and the shuttle times, and the pro days, and all those weird questions they ask in the interview process, some of which reveal a lot more about the people asking the questions than the people answering them.
In a sport that is itself an industry, draft analysis has become an industry itself -- and yet, at bottom, it's still just a lot of flip-a-coin guesswork. No matter what depths teams are willing to plumb to predict the future, it's still the future. Which means it's always going to be essentially unreadable, no matter how many times a guy runs the 40 or answers questions about his tree preferences.
This is not to say you can't occasionally see trouble coming; witness the entirely predictable demise of Johnny Manziel. But who saw such a swift unraveling for Ryan Leaf? Who saw Jamarcus Russell not just fail to live up to expectations, but completely wash out of the league? And on the other side of the ledger, who saw Tom Brady coming? Or Jeff Saturday, an undrafted free agent who went on to play in six Pro Bowls? Or, for that matter, Ken Anderson, a third-round pick who wound up with Hall of Fame credentials despite starting out at tiny Augustana?
And yet, teams will continue to try to see the un-seeable and un-knowable, because they are all deathly afraid of making the big mistake. It's why players sink like a stone at the first hint of an unpaid parking ticket. Get caught acting like a normal college student? Wind up on a police blotter at some point? Do something, anything, that teams believe makes you a character risk?
See you in the third round. Or fourth. Or fifth.
It's a game for either madmen or neurotics, or both, and tomorrow it begins again. The Rams have the first pick. The Eagles have the second. They both like the same two guys: A pair of quarterbacks, one from Cal (Jared Goff) and one from North Dakota State (Carson Wentz).
The Mels and Todds love both of them. They say they have all the tools: Size, arm, athleticism, work ethic, smarts. They say either one could go No. 1. They say the only upside Goff has is he played big-time college ball while Wentz did not.
Kinda like, you know, Ken Anderson from Augustana College.
Let the guesswork begin. Or continue, as the case may be.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Birds of a feather
The Game Show Host and the General.
Like that isn't a sitcom waiting to happen.
In one corner you've got an egotistical blowhard who wants to be President of the United States (and who has actually conned folks into taking him seriously). In the other corner, another egotistical blowhard who was once the greatest basketball coach in history, and now is just a sad case who clings to grudges the way a drowning man clings to a life preserver.
Hijinks ensue, or something.
If nothing else it will be great theater down in Indianapolis tomorrow, when the Game Show Host (Donald "I'm Great, Just Ask Me" Trump) brings the General (Bob Knight) onstage to gin up the rubes. In that crowd, the General will probably still get a raucous welcome. But it might be the only place left he can get that.
That's because the Game Show Host is making the faulty assumption most outsiders make about Indiana, which is that we all regard Coach Knight with unabashed adoration. The truth is far more complicated. And it's especially complicated now that Coach has alienated even his staunchest backers with his latest series of stunts.
First, he snubbed Indiana's celebration of his greatest team, the undefeated 1976 national champion Hoosiers, not even bothering respond to the invitation. Then, as if that didn't get the message across, he rubbed Hoosier Nation's nose in it by pointedly turning up at a Purdue function with his old adversary Gene Keady.
That bit of gracelessness was the last straw for many of Coach's acolytes, who rightly saw it not as payback to IU but as a kick in the jewels to them.
Now he's back as that rarest of things: A sidekick who's smarter than the main attraction. You almost hope the Game Show Host decides to take it a step further and tab Coach as his running mate, or maybe his secretary of state. Why not? A basketball coach as secretary of state would fit right in with the Game Show Host's over-arching philosophy that amateurs know best. And the more amateurish, the better.
If nothing else ... think of the script possibilities.
(Fade in. Oval Office. Morning.)
PRESIDENT TRUMP: Bob, I want you to go to Syria and straighten those people out.
SECRETARY OF STATE KNIGHT: Which people?
TRUMP: You know. Those Syria people. Sell 'em the art of the deal.
KNIGHT: Um ... what?
TRUMP: You know. The deal. Tell 'em we'll build a wall around their country and make 'em pay for it if they don't do what we say.
KNIGHT (a tinge of red beginning to color his face): OK, but, uh, who do I tell that to? The terrorists who run the government, or the other terrorists who are trying to overthrow the government, or the other terrorists who are fighting the terrorists trying to overthrow the government?
TRUMP: Ah, you know. The ones we sold weapons to.
KNIGHT (slowly, as you would to a child): Um, you sold weapons to all of 'em.
TRUMP: I did?
KNIGHT (completely losing it now): YES, (BLEEP) IT! (BLEEP), ARE REALLY YOU THIS STUPID? I SWEAR TO (BLEEP), YOU MAKE TED VALENTINE LOOK LIKE A (BLEEPING) NUCLEAR PHYSICIST!
(Smacks Trump in the back of the head).
TRUMP: Hey! Watch the hair!
I think we could be onto something here.
Like that isn't a sitcom waiting to happen.
In one corner you've got an egotistical blowhard who wants to be President of the United States (and who has actually conned folks into taking him seriously). In the other corner, another egotistical blowhard who was once the greatest basketball coach in history, and now is just a sad case who clings to grudges the way a drowning man clings to a life preserver.
Hijinks ensue, or something.
If nothing else it will be great theater down in Indianapolis tomorrow, when the Game Show Host (Donald "I'm Great, Just Ask Me" Trump) brings the General (Bob Knight) onstage to gin up the rubes. In that crowd, the General will probably still get a raucous welcome. But it might be the only place left he can get that.
That's because the Game Show Host is making the faulty assumption most outsiders make about Indiana, which is that we all regard Coach Knight with unabashed adoration. The truth is far more complicated. And it's especially complicated now that Coach has alienated even his staunchest backers with his latest series of stunts.
First, he snubbed Indiana's celebration of his greatest team, the undefeated 1976 national champion Hoosiers, not even bothering respond to the invitation. Then, as if that didn't get the message across, he rubbed Hoosier Nation's nose in it by pointedly turning up at a Purdue function with his old adversary Gene Keady.
That bit of gracelessness was the last straw for many of Coach's acolytes, who rightly saw it not as payback to IU but as a kick in the jewels to them.
Now he's back as that rarest of things: A sidekick who's smarter than the main attraction. You almost hope the Game Show Host decides to take it a step further and tab Coach as his running mate, or maybe his secretary of state. Why not? A basketball coach as secretary of state would fit right in with the Game Show Host's over-arching philosophy that amateurs know best. And the more amateurish, the better.
If nothing else ... think of the script possibilities.
(Fade in. Oval Office. Morning.)
PRESIDENT TRUMP: Bob, I want you to go to Syria and straighten those people out.
SECRETARY OF STATE KNIGHT: Which people?
TRUMP: You know. Those Syria people. Sell 'em the art of the deal.
KNIGHT: Um ... what?
TRUMP: You know. The deal. Tell 'em we'll build a wall around their country and make 'em pay for it if they don't do what we say.
KNIGHT (a tinge of red beginning to color his face): OK, but, uh, who do I tell that to? The terrorists who run the government, or the other terrorists who are trying to overthrow the government, or the other terrorists who are fighting the terrorists trying to overthrow the government?
TRUMP: Ah, you know. The ones we sold weapons to.
KNIGHT (slowly, as you would to a child): Um, you sold weapons to all of 'em.
TRUMP: I did?
KNIGHT (completely losing it now): YES, (BLEEP) IT! (BLEEP), ARE REALLY YOU THIS STUPID? I SWEAR TO (BLEEP), YOU MAKE TED VALENTINE LOOK LIKE A (BLEEPING) NUCLEAR PHYSICIST!
(Smacks Trump in the back of the head).
TRUMP: Hey! Watch the hair!
I think we could be onto something here.
Jimmy's world
So here's what I want to know today, as Tom Brady gets smacked down by the courts and all of New England curses a world where you can't cheat anymore and then go hide out behind a judge's robes:
What's Jimmy Garoppolo doing?
My guess is celebrating -- quietly, of course, lest he disrupt the Patriots' fabled mind-meld. Maybe a discreet fist pump. Maybe the ghost of a smile. Maybe an earnest "You can count on me, boss" to the Boss, Bill Belichick, while his inner party animal lights a stogie, takes a slug from a magnum of champagne and capers about amid a shower of twinkly confetti.
Jimmy Garoppolo, see, is Tom Brady's backup out there in New England, and, with the appeals court re-instating Brady's four-game sitdown, he wouldn't be human if he didn't see this as history trying to repeat itself. Remember Drew Bledsoe? Remember the injury that elevated his own barely known backup -- a sixth-round pick and former Michigan backup named Tom Brady -- to Next Man Up status?
How'd that work out?
And sure, no one thinks Garoppolo is the next Tom Brady. But what if he comes in and, you know, plays really, really well? What if the Patriots go 4-0 with him under center? How interesting is it going to get when Brady -- who is, after all, pushing 40 years old -- discovers Garoppolo really is capable of producing audible footsteps?
Take it from Drew Bledsoe: This is not an organization over-served with sentiment. And so what happens if Garoppolo plays well, and Brady comes back, and, you know, doesn't play well?
Of course, that's not likely to happen. The Blob would even go so far as to say it won't happen. But the part of us that's a sucker for a good Irwin Allen disaster movie can't help envisioning it. Because who doesn't love a good Irwin Allen disaster movie?
This one's a long way from final production, because even though logic would dictate otherwise, the principals in Deflategate aren't likely to let this go. Brady has gone too far down the road to surrender now, and if he doesn't quit the NFL can't either. Too much blood has been spilled, or least too much ink on legal briefs. And so don't be surprised if Brady, for whom money is never a problem, takes this all the way to the Supreme Court.
Most legal analysts think that would be a fool's errand, because legal precedent is strong that federal judges are loathe to reverse an arbitrator's ruling. And at this point, it's not about whether Brady did or did not have a hand in monkeying with those footballs -- although if you still believe he didn't, you also believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. And it's also not about whether or not Roger Goodell's ruling was fair.
No, sir. The only relevant issue here is whether or not Goodell had the authority to administer that ruling. And he does. The collective bargaining agreement gave him that authority.
Meanwhile, Jimmy Garoppolo waits in the wings, his moment about to come 'round at last.
Paging Irwin Allen. Paging Irwin Allen.
What's Jimmy Garoppolo doing?
My guess is celebrating -- quietly, of course, lest he disrupt the Patriots' fabled mind-meld. Maybe a discreet fist pump. Maybe the ghost of a smile. Maybe an earnest "You can count on me, boss" to the Boss, Bill Belichick, while his inner party animal lights a stogie, takes a slug from a magnum of champagne and capers about amid a shower of twinkly confetti.
Jimmy Garoppolo, see, is Tom Brady's backup out there in New England, and, with the appeals court re-instating Brady's four-game sitdown, he wouldn't be human if he didn't see this as history trying to repeat itself. Remember Drew Bledsoe? Remember the injury that elevated his own barely known backup -- a sixth-round pick and former Michigan backup named Tom Brady -- to Next Man Up status?
How'd that work out?
And sure, no one thinks Garoppolo is the next Tom Brady. But what if he comes in and, you know, plays really, really well? What if the Patriots go 4-0 with him under center? How interesting is it going to get when Brady -- who is, after all, pushing 40 years old -- discovers Garoppolo really is capable of producing audible footsteps?
Take it from Drew Bledsoe: This is not an organization over-served with sentiment. And so what happens if Garoppolo plays well, and Brady comes back, and, you know, doesn't play well?
Of course, that's not likely to happen. The Blob would even go so far as to say it won't happen. But the part of us that's a sucker for a good Irwin Allen disaster movie can't help envisioning it. Because who doesn't love a good Irwin Allen disaster movie?
This one's a long way from final production, because even though logic would dictate otherwise, the principals in Deflategate aren't likely to let this go. Brady has gone too far down the road to surrender now, and if he doesn't quit the NFL can't either. Too much blood has been spilled, or least too much ink on legal briefs. And so don't be surprised if Brady, for whom money is never a problem, takes this all the way to the Supreme Court.
Most legal analysts think that would be a fool's errand, because legal precedent is strong that federal judges are loathe to reverse an arbitrator's ruling. And at this point, it's not about whether Brady did or did not have a hand in monkeying with those footballs -- although if you still believe he didn't, you also believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. And it's also not about whether or not Roger Goodell's ruling was fair.
No, sir. The only relevant issue here is whether or not Goodell had the authority to administer that ruling. And he does. The collective bargaining agreement gave him that authority.
Meanwhile, Jimmy Garoppolo waits in the wings, his moment about to come 'round at last.
Paging Irwin Allen. Paging Irwin Allen.
Monday, April 25, 2016
Engine troubles
I don't know who's going to win the Indianapolis 500 next month (although I have an educated guess or two percolating). But I can pretty fairly say what's he going to have at his back.
That would be a Chevrolet engine.
With Simon Pagenaud's dramatic win in Alabama yesterday, Chevies have won every one of the four IndyCar races contested so far, and their dominance has become an outright embarrassment for theoretical rival Honda. Not only has the Bowtie won all four races, it's sat on the pole for all four. Three times, including yesterday, Chevies have swept the top four finishing positions. And at the season opener in St. Pete, they finished 1-2-4.
At Phoenix, seven of the first eight finishers were Chevies. At Long Beach, it was six of the first seven. On and on.
It's not like this is a first, although revisionists would have you think so. Echoes of what's going on right now extend back to 1994, when Roger Penske unveiled a Mercedes power plant that was so superior to everything else people were putting out there that Penske entries won 12 of the 16 races, finished 1-2-3 in the points and had five 1-2-3 finishes.
Which was great if you were Roger Penske. But a snoozefest if you were an IndyCar fan.
Twenty-two years later it's looking like more of the same, and it's hard to fathom why. After playing catchup with Chevy all last season, Honda had an entire offseason to tweak its package. Yet the imbalance so far this season has been as stark as it was last season. Chevy's package, miles ahead last season, remains miles ahead.
That's good for Chevy. And, as in '94, not good for the sport in general, particularly with the landmark race of all landmark races -- the 100th 500 -- a month away.
The 500: Where last year, Chevies finished 1-2-3-4, and took nine of the top 11 positions.
Yikes.
That would be a Chevrolet engine.
With Simon Pagenaud's dramatic win in Alabama yesterday, Chevies have won every one of the four IndyCar races contested so far, and their dominance has become an outright embarrassment for theoretical rival Honda. Not only has the Bowtie won all four races, it's sat on the pole for all four. Three times, including yesterday, Chevies have swept the top four finishing positions. And at the season opener in St. Pete, they finished 1-2-4.
At Phoenix, seven of the first eight finishers were Chevies. At Long Beach, it was six of the first seven. On and on.
It's not like this is a first, although revisionists would have you think so. Echoes of what's going on right now extend back to 1994, when Roger Penske unveiled a Mercedes power plant that was so superior to everything else people were putting out there that Penske entries won 12 of the 16 races, finished 1-2-3 in the points and had five 1-2-3 finishes.
Which was great if you were Roger Penske. But a snoozefest if you were an IndyCar fan.
Twenty-two years later it's looking like more of the same, and it's hard to fathom why. After playing catchup with Chevy all last season, Honda had an entire offseason to tweak its package. Yet the imbalance so far this season has been as stark as it was last season. Chevy's package, miles ahead last season, remains miles ahead.
That's good for Chevy. And, as in '94, not good for the sport in general, particularly with the landmark race of all landmark races -- the 100th 500 -- a month away.
The 500: Where last year, Chevies finished 1-2-3-4, and took nine of the top 11 positions.
Yikes.
Hurtin' for certain
I'm no orthopedic surgeon. ("What?! I'm shocked, shocked!" you're saying). So all I can contribute to the chatter about Steph Curry going down with a knee injury yesterday is the fall looked really, really awkward, worse-than-just-an-owie awkward, and if that means it really is worse than just an owie, the NBA playoffs just took a serious hit.
Be honest: Isn't half the reason you're watching is to see if the Warriors can close the deal on an historic season?
And if Curry's injury turns out to be more than just a sprain, doesn't that blow a hole in their chances to do that?
I mean, not just a hole-hole. A Sea of Tranquility-sized hole.
So if Curry's injury knocks him out (and no one with a soul, or who loves basketball played elegantly, is hoping that's the case), what are we watching from here on out? How far the Warriors can go without him? Another Spurs-Cavaliers NBA Finals? LeBron 'n' them vs. The Big Fundamental 'n' them, one more time?
Look, I get that some portion of America will still be glued to their big screens if that's what we get, because A) the Spurs, like the Warriors, play the game correctly, and therefore are fun to watch for hoops PhDs, and B) this could be LeBron's best shot at bringing that promised title home to Cleveland.
But, again, be honest: Unless you live in the Mistake by the Lake (or just loooove the Spurs to death), won't something go out of the playoffs for you if Curry can't continue? Won't the more casual fans shrug and turn away as soon as the Warriors go down?
(And, sure, OK, maybe they still muddle through. But can anyone realistically see them getting to the Finals again without Curry? The guess here is they get farther than most people think they will, but not far enough. And not far enough is all that really matters here.)
Like it or not the NBA is Steph Curry's world now, and so without him ... what? The NBA is a player-driven league, and right now he is the player. Imagine the NBA playoffs in the '90s had Michael Jordan gone down. Imagine, in the '80s, if Bird and Magic both went on the shelf in the playoffs. That's kind of where we are right now. And it's why Steph Curry's knee just became the most important body part in America.
Love pro buckets?
Best light a candle for Sir Bombs Away, then. Because you know who's lighting a few right now?
NBA commish Adam Silver. Bet the homestead on it.
Be honest: Isn't half the reason you're watching is to see if the Warriors can close the deal on an historic season?
And if Curry's injury turns out to be more than just a sprain, doesn't that blow a hole in their chances to do that?
I mean, not just a hole-hole. A Sea of Tranquility-sized hole.
So if Curry's injury knocks him out (and no one with a soul, or who loves basketball played elegantly, is hoping that's the case), what are we watching from here on out? How far the Warriors can go without him? Another Spurs-Cavaliers NBA Finals? LeBron 'n' them vs. The Big Fundamental 'n' them, one more time?
Look, I get that some portion of America will still be glued to their big screens if that's what we get, because A) the Spurs, like the Warriors, play the game correctly, and therefore are fun to watch for hoops PhDs, and B) this could be LeBron's best shot at bringing that promised title home to Cleveland.
But, again, be honest: Unless you live in the Mistake by the Lake (or just loooove the Spurs to death), won't something go out of the playoffs for you if Curry can't continue? Won't the more casual fans shrug and turn away as soon as the Warriors go down?
(And, sure, OK, maybe they still muddle through. But can anyone realistically see them getting to the Finals again without Curry? The guess here is they get farther than most people think they will, but not far enough. And not far enough is all that really matters here.)
Like it or not the NBA is Steph Curry's world now, and so without him ... what? The NBA is a player-driven league, and right now he is the player. Imagine the NBA playoffs in the '90s had Michael Jordan gone down. Imagine, in the '80s, if Bird and Magic both went on the shelf in the playoffs. That's kind of where we are right now. And it's why Steph Curry's knee just became the most important body part in America.
Love pro buckets?
Best light a candle for Sir Bombs Away, then. Because you know who's lighting a few right now?
NBA commish Adam Silver. Bet the homestead on it.
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