We all know how this worked the last time.
Helio Castroneves danced. He flashed that dazzling smile. He won the hearts of America.
The minds, however ...
Well, whatever traction IndyCar hoped to gain from Castroneves' winning Dancing With The Stars in 2007 dissipated quickly, because, for reasons that have been enumerated ad nauseum in this space, the best auto racing series in America vacates America's mind as soon as the checkers wave at Indianapolis on the last Sunday in May. After that ... crickets.
This is a shame, frankly. More than a shame.
Here's what's even more of one: While IndyCar will be going down the DWTS road again, I don't know if it will raise the series' profile any more, or any more lastingly, than Castroneves did.
For sure, they've got the right guy. James Hinchcliffe will be dancing the nights away this time, and no better public face for IndyCar exists. He's handsome, he's witty, he's disarmingly charming. And no one in IndyCar owns social media better; his Twitter feed, @Hinchtown, is so popular he's become almost as well-known as the Mayor of @Hinchtown as he has one of IndyCar's brightest stars.
If only he could get more eyeballs on the product. If only anyone could.
Even NASCAR, the 800-pound Magilla Gorilla of American motorsports, is down about 400 pounds these days. Which means IndyCar, which has lived in NASCAR's shadow for at least two decades now, makes an even lighter impact on the American sporting landscape. And again, that's a shame, because the quality of the racing in IndyCar right now puts Magilla in the shade.
Four or five of the greatest Indy 500s in history have happened in the last 10 years, for starters. And the final 10 laps in Texas last Saturday night were perhaps the best 10 laps of racing on American soil in recent memory.
Unfortunately, hardly anyone was watching. Many more people will be watching DWTS, presumably.
Here's hoping Hinch can wow 'em the way Helio did. And can make it stick this time.
The product deserves it.
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
And in other news ...
We'll leave the Colin Kaepernick affair where it is this day, pretty much talked/written about/internet-trolled to death. There are other matters to address, important matters, matters of great portent and consequence, at least if you're the guy operating this Blob.
And, no, I'm not talking about Joey Bosa finally signing with the Chargers.
Good for him. Good for the Chargers. Now was that so hard?
And does it matter much in the grand scheme of things when you've come to the realization that your baseball team is not going to make the playoffs?
That would be the Pittsburgh Pirates, who won 98 games last year but have struggled to escape the great beige land of .500 this year. Last night they lost to the Cubs again (of course), the only consolation being that it took the Lovables 13 innings to do it this time. That drops the Pirates to 67-62, 15 1/2 games behind the Cubs in the NL Central and 1 1/2 behind the Cardinals for the last playoff spot.
That doesn't sound like much, with a month to play. But I have absolutely zero confidence my Bucs will catch the Cardinals. One, they're the Cardinals, which means stuff just seems to naturally (and annoyingly) go right for them. Two, the opposite has been true all summer for the Pirates.
So, there you go. I give up.
Of course, if the Pirates do catch 'em ...
Well. It will all be due to my clever plan of abject surrender. Just so ya know.
And, no, I'm not talking about Joey Bosa finally signing with the Chargers.
Good for him. Good for the Chargers. Now was that so hard?
And does it matter much in the grand scheme of things when you've come to the realization that your baseball team is not going to make the playoffs?
That would be the Pittsburgh Pirates, who won 98 games last year but have struggled to escape the great beige land of .500 this year. Last night they lost to the Cubs again (of course), the only consolation being that it took the Lovables 13 innings to do it this time. That drops the Pirates to 67-62, 15 1/2 games behind the Cubs in the NL Central and 1 1/2 behind the Cardinals for the last playoff spot.
That doesn't sound like much, with a month to play. But I have absolutely zero confidence my Bucs will catch the Cardinals. One, they're the Cardinals, which means stuff just seems to naturally (and annoyingly) go right for them. Two, the opposite has been true all summer for the Pirates.
So, there you go. I give up.
Of course, if the Pirates do catch 'em ...
Well. It will all be due to my clever plan of abject surrender. Just so ya know.
Monday, August 29, 2016
That Kaepernick thing, Part Deux
He's catching heat now, and not just the heat generated by all those outraged fans burning Colin Kaepernick jerseys. A former teammate has called him out. Super-patriots -- some of them supporters of a presidential candidate who's trashed America worse than Colin Kaepernick ever will -- have demanded the NFL cut him, or fine him, or suspend him until he stands to Honor America, as the mantra goes.
Here's the thing about that, and it's why you should respect the man even if you don't respect what he's doing: He knew this would happen.
He knew, by refusing to stand for the National Anthem, there would be a firestorm of outrage, because outrage is what we do best in America these days. Outrage is easy, after all. It doesn't require thought, only reaction.
And so Kaepernick has been tried and convicted of hating America, even though, if you listened to what he had to say in a sitdown interview over the weekend, it's clear he doesn't. He hates the injustices he sees that diminish America, not America itself. He wants to do something about those injustices -- even if, admittedly, he's not entirely coherent about what that is or how to go about it. And he wants to do that not because he hates America, but because he wants it to live up to its ideals.
You can say America already does that, but you can only do that if you live in an underground vault somewhere with your eyes and ears tightly closed. You can say there are better ways to protest the injustices Kaepernick sees, but protest is supposed to provoke a reaction -- and, by refusing to stand for the National Anthem, he's certainly done that.
I mean, we're all talking about him now, right? We're all listening to what he has to say, even if we're not really hearing it. Right?
So Kaepernick's achieving what he wanted to achieve, at least partially. And he's not, as he said in the interview, doing it to call attention to himself.
"This stand wasn't for me," he said. "This stand wasn't because I feel like I'm being put down in any kind of way. This is because I'm seeing things happen to people that don't have a voice, people that don't have a platform to talk and have their voices heard, and affect change."
You can disagree with him about that, and about whether or not standing for the National Anthem really affects change. You can call him naïve and stupid and any number of other names, some which only serve to make his point for him. But what you can't call him is a coward or that he's doing this for his own aggrandizement.
After all, he'd been not standing for the anthem for awhile without uttering a public word. He didn't seek attention, but waited until the attention found him. And now it has. And it's what he knew it would be. And yet he's going to continue to do what he's doing, even if fans keep burning his jerseys and calling him names and demanding the NFL make him stand for the anthem like a Good American -- which, frankly, would disrespect what that anthem stands for far worse.
He's going to continue. Even though, right now, he's doing it alone.
That takes guts. That takes commitment. No matter what you think of what he's saying or how he's saying it (or whether you accept the truth of it), the truth of that is undeniable.
For almost four decades as a sportswriter in Indiana, I stood at attention for the National Anthem. I even sung it once at a baseball game. I didn't do this because I thought America was perfect; I did it to honor what it could and should be, not what it too often is. That was my choice.
And this is Colin Kaepernick's.
I can't say I agree with it. I can't say I don't think it will, in the end, be counterproductive. But I respect the hell out of the obvious conviction behind it. I respect the hell out of his willingness to stand the gaff in pursuit of an ideal.
And isn't that what the rest of us honor when the National Anthem hits the air, and we all stand? Isn't it?
Here's the thing about that, and it's why you should respect the man even if you don't respect what he's doing: He knew this would happen.
He knew, by refusing to stand for the National Anthem, there would be a firestorm of outrage, because outrage is what we do best in America these days. Outrage is easy, after all. It doesn't require thought, only reaction.
And so Kaepernick has been tried and convicted of hating America, even though, if you listened to what he had to say in a sitdown interview over the weekend, it's clear he doesn't. He hates the injustices he sees that diminish America, not America itself. He wants to do something about those injustices -- even if, admittedly, he's not entirely coherent about what that is or how to go about it. And he wants to do that not because he hates America, but because he wants it to live up to its ideals.
You can say America already does that, but you can only do that if you live in an underground vault somewhere with your eyes and ears tightly closed. You can say there are better ways to protest the injustices Kaepernick sees, but protest is supposed to provoke a reaction -- and, by refusing to stand for the National Anthem, he's certainly done that.
I mean, we're all talking about him now, right? We're all listening to what he has to say, even if we're not really hearing it. Right?
So Kaepernick's achieving what he wanted to achieve, at least partially. And he's not, as he said in the interview, doing it to call attention to himself.
"This stand wasn't for me," he said. "This stand wasn't because I feel like I'm being put down in any kind of way. This is because I'm seeing things happen to people that don't have a voice, people that don't have a platform to talk and have their voices heard, and affect change."
You can disagree with him about that, and about whether or not standing for the National Anthem really affects change. You can call him naïve and stupid and any number of other names, some which only serve to make his point for him. But what you can't call him is a coward or that he's doing this for his own aggrandizement.
After all, he'd been not standing for the anthem for awhile without uttering a public word. He didn't seek attention, but waited until the attention found him. And now it has. And it's what he knew it would be. And yet he's going to continue to do what he's doing, even if fans keep burning his jerseys and calling him names and demanding the NFL make him stand for the anthem like a Good American -- which, frankly, would disrespect what that anthem stands for far worse.
He's going to continue. Even though, right now, he's doing it alone.
That takes guts. That takes commitment. No matter what you think of what he's saying or how he's saying it (or whether you accept the truth of it), the truth of that is undeniable.
For almost four decades as a sportswriter in Indiana, I stood at attention for the National Anthem. I even sung it once at a baseball game. I didn't do this because I thought America was perfect; I did it to honor what it could and should be, not what it too often is. That was my choice.
And this is Colin Kaepernick's.
I can't say I agree with it. I can't say I don't think it will, in the end, be counterproductive. But I respect the hell out of the obvious conviction behind it. I respect the hell out of his willingness to stand the gaff in pursuit of an ideal.
And isn't that what the rest of us honor when the National Anthem hits the air, and we all stand? Isn't it?
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Panic room
And now, for your reading pleasure, the Blob presents "Is The Sky Falling Or Not: A Discussion," a topic of great relevance right now to certain people in Indianapolis who paint their faces blue and spend their Sunday afternoons in Lucas Oil Stadium.
Let's present our panel.
Over here, you have the contingent that insists the sky is indeed falling, even though the season has yet to begin and we are five months from its end. This contingent, after three exhibitions in which the Indianapolis Colts did not look like a mighty host, has retreated to its panic room. From there, it's periodically sending out messages that do not exactly sound like Churchill's we-shall-fight-on-the-landing-grounds speech.
"Andrew's going to get killed again!" is one example.
"We have no running game!" is another.
"Our entire defense is hurt, even the guys who aren't that good!" is yet another.
And then, of course, there's this, rising up in the wake of the Colts' exhibition loss to the Eagles last night:
"Jack Mewhort could be done for the season!"
At which point the non-panic room contingent is compelled to point out that Mewhort is one of the offensive linemen who almost got Andrew (as in, "Andrew Luck") killed last year, and so how bad is this news, really?
Look. I get that the Colts O-line, which couldn't block a stiff breeze last year, is still a leading proponent of the Open Door Policy, and even the relentlessly upbeat Chuck Pagano admitted as much last night. He as much as copped to yanking Luck at halftime so, you know, he wouldn't get killed out there.
I also get that everyone on the defensive side really is hurt, including cornerback Darius Butler, who left with an ankle injury last night. I get that there's no running game because the O-line can't open any holes, and even if it did, who would run through them? The Horsies' best mail-carrier is still Frank Gore, and he's even older than he was last year -- when he was, I don't know, 56 or something.
So, no, things aren't looking up. But, again, it's August. The stores haven't even started putting up their Christmas decorations. The Game Show Host is still weeks away from his final election-day meltdown. The year 2017 still seems impossibly distant.
In other words: It's way, way too early to retire to the panic room.
Such a bizarre place, the Land of Goodell. Every year NFL fans talk about how meaningless and stupid the preseason is, and then they freak out when their teams look bad in the preseason. Well, which is it? Meaningless and stupid, or a grim omen of heartache to come?
The Blob votes the former, which is why it advocates getting rid of the preseason altogether. What's its value besides fattening teams' PUP lists? Are the Dallas Cowboys going to be better prepared now that Tony Romo is out for two months with an injury he incurred in a preseason game? Will the Colts be more ready without Butler and all those other defensive guys they've lost?
Hey, if the colleges can start their season cold, so can the pros, who have frankly been training longer. Preseason is just another way for the NFL to squeeze a few more dimes from the rubes. And the NFL already has enough dimes.
Plus, it really is meaningless and stupid. The last time the Colts went to the Super Bowl, in 2009, they were 1-3 in the preseason and lost to the Lions, who went 2-14 that year. The year they beat the Bears in the Super Bowl, 2006, they went 1-3 in the preseason and lost to two teams (Rams and Bengals) who failed to make the playoffs.
The Colts went 12-4 that year. They were 14-2 in 2009.
In other words: Relax, people. And for God's sake, open the panic room door.
There's a big beautiful world out here. Really.
Let's present our panel.
Over here, you have the contingent that insists the sky is indeed falling, even though the season has yet to begin and we are five months from its end. This contingent, after three exhibitions in which the Indianapolis Colts did not look like a mighty host, has retreated to its panic room. From there, it's periodically sending out messages that do not exactly sound like Churchill's we-shall-fight-on-the-landing-grounds speech.
"Andrew's going to get killed again!" is one example.
"We have no running game!" is another.
"Our entire defense is hurt, even the guys who aren't that good!" is yet another.
And then, of course, there's this, rising up in the wake of the Colts' exhibition loss to the Eagles last night:
"Jack Mewhort could be done for the season!"
At which point the non-panic room contingent is compelled to point out that Mewhort is one of the offensive linemen who almost got Andrew (as in, "Andrew Luck") killed last year, and so how bad is this news, really?
Look. I get that the Colts O-line, which couldn't block a stiff breeze last year, is still a leading proponent of the Open Door Policy, and even the relentlessly upbeat Chuck Pagano admitted as much last night. He as much as copped to yanking Luck at halftime so, you know, he wouldn't get killed out there.
I also get that everyone on the defensive side really is hurt, including cornerback Darius Butler, who left with an ankle injury last night. I get that there's no running game because the O-line can't open any holes, and even if it did, who would run through them? The Horsies' best mail-carrier is still Frank Gore, and he's even older than he was last year -- when he was, I don't know, 56 or something.
So, no, things aren't looking up. But, again, it's August. The stores haven't even started putting up their Christmas decorations. The Game Show Host is still weeks away from his final election-day meltdown. The year 2017 still seems impossibly distant.
In other words: It's way, way too early to retire to the panic room.
Such a bizarre place, the Land of Goodell. Every year NFL fans talk about how meaningless and stupid the preseason is, and then they freak out when their teams look bad in the preseason. Well, which is it? Meaningless and stupid, or a grim omen of heartache to come?
The Blob votes the former, which is why it advocates getting rid of the preseason altogether. What's its value besides fattening teams' PUP lists? Are the Dallas Cowboys going to be better prepared now that Tony Romo is out for two months with an injury he incurred in a preseason game? Will the Colts be more ready without Butler and all those other defensive guys they've lost?
Hey, if the colleges can start their season cold, so can the pros, who have frankly been training longer. Preseason is just another way for the NFL to squeeze a few more dimes from the rubes. And the NFL already has enough dimes.
Plus, it really is meaningless and stupid. The last time the Colts went to the Super Bowl, in 2009, they were 1-3 in the preseason and lost to the Lions, who went 2-14 that year. The year they beat the Bears in the Super Bowl, 2006, they went 1-3 in the preseason and lost to two teams (Rams and Bengals) who failed to make the playoffs.
The Colts went 12-4 that year. They were 14-2 in 2009.
In other words: Relax, people. And for God's sake, open the panic room door.
There's a big beautiful world out here. Really.
That Kaepernick thing
So Colin Kaepernick is refusing to stand for the National Anthem as a protest against injustices being done to people of color in this country, and all the Blob has to say about that is what should already be self-evident:
1. It's a free country. That's what we honor when we stand for the National Anthem.
2. As such, Kaepernick is free to stand, not stand, whatever.
3. As also such, people are free to criticize him for that.
4. Undoubtedly, some of the people who are criticizing him for not honoring America are the same people who, in November, will vote for a guy whose entire campaign is built around the notion that America is a craphole.
Which the Blob finds highly amusing.
1. It's a free country. That's what we honor when we stand for the National Anthem.
2. As such, Kaepernick is free to stand, not stand, whatever.
3. As also such, people are free to criticize him for that.
4. Undoubtedly, some of the people who are criticizing him for not honoring America are the same people who, in November, will vote for a guy whose entire campaign is built around the notion that America is a craphole.
Which the Blob finds highly amusing.
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Going back to high school
You forget the allure of it, until you go back. Friday nights in America are where football goes to loosen its tie, its home place, somewhere it can kick off the shoes and yank out the shirttail and pop open a cold one while Bachelors of Bachelorettes fulfill the roles for which God made them -- namely, to provide mindless background chatter for those times when even TV is too much work.
Friday nights in America are where football goes to just be football, in other words.
I hadn't covered a high school football game in almost two years, having (mostly) given all that up when I retired as a daily sportswriter after 38 years. The last game I'd covered was in November 2014, a playoff game out in Indiana farm country, where the wind blows unimpeded over the tableland out of eternity itself. It was 21 degrees at game time that night, and the eternal wind felt like a fistful of razor blades. You could stand on the sideline and watch the field turn white as it went from turf to permafrost.
Last night was different.
Last night was warm and humid and there was specklish rain coming out of a flat industrial sky, and when I got out of the car, Friday night in America took me in like long-lost kin. How quickly it all came back: The long (and for me, precarious) climb to the pressbox; the soft breeze coming through the window, smelling of grass and wet earth; the band doing its band-thing.
And the game, of course, was still the game. Running backs surfing through shoals of bad intent. Footballs launched across the darkening sky toward calamity or glory, spiraling tightly sometimes and sometimes wobbling like a satellite in a decaying orbit. Fans filling the stands and spilling out along the fences, all those former players leaning over with their forearms on their knees or planted on the fence rails, critiquing the young 'uns.
The home team, Carroll High, lost this one, and it was over early. Across the way was Snider High School, a perennial state power and the defending 5A state champs. Implacable as a Roman legion, they went up and down the field like lawnmowers, scored on five of six possessions in the first half, led 34-0 at the break on the way to 41-7.
At the end both teams spilled onto the field before the final seconds ran off, formed their lines, shook hands. The Snider kids whooped and shook their helmets and went tearing off to salute their fans. The head coach, a trim, genial man, talked to the media about his two running backs and his new quarterback and his defense. Up in the stands, small boys leaned hard over the railing, imploring a running back named "Money" to autograph ... well, money.
You could see present and future in that tableau, current Friday gods and future ones. The small boys leaning over the railing hero-worshipping Money would someday be Money, and there would be other small imploring boys. And one day those small boys would be the ones being implored.
On and on and on. The unspooling of football ancestry, going on without end.
It's what sustains and makes Friday night football the purest strain of the game, that unspooling. Beyond it, the game becomes just another 9-to-5 slog, a corporate monolith enclosed and diminished by corporate protocols that somehow become more important than the simple, sublime act of the game itself.
Last night, for instance, the college football season opened in Australia. Cal vs. Hawaii. Corporate college football's version of the relentlessly corporate NFL playing a handful of games in London each year. And so the former becomes just another version of the latter, with only a thin veneer of tradition and other appealing trappings to distinguish itself.
Not like my Friday night, or all the hundreds that preceded it. Not like Friday nights in America at all, home place of our American game.
Friday nights in America are where football goes to just be football, in other words.
I hadn't covered a high school football game in almost two years, having (mostly) given all that up when I retired as a daily sportswriter after 38 years. The last game I'd covered was in November 2014, a playoff game out in Indiana farm country, where the wind blows unimpeded over the tableland out of eternity itself. It was 21 degrees at game time that night, and the eternal wind felt like a fistful of razor blades. You could stand on the sideline and watch the field turn white as it went from turf to permafrost.
Last night was different.
Last night was warm and humid and there was specklish rain coming out of a flat industrial sky, and when I got out of the car, Friday night in America took me in like long-lost kin. How quickly it all came back: The long (and for me, precarious) climb to the pressbox; the soft breeze coming through the window, smelling of grass and wet earth; the band doing its band-thing.
And the game, of course, was still the game. Running backs surfing through shoals of bad intent. Footballs launched across the darkening sky toward calamity or glory, spiraling tightly sometimes and sometimes wobbling like a satellite in a decaying orbit. Fans filling the stands and spilling out along the fences, all those former players leaning over with their forearms on their knees or planted on the fence rails, critiquing the young 'uns.
The home team, Carroll High, lost this one, and it was over early. Across the way was Snider High School, a perennial state power and the defending 5A state champs. Implacable as a Roman legion, they went up and down the field like lawnmowers, scored on five of six possessions in the first half, led 34-0 at the break on the way to 41-7.
At the end both teams spilled onto the field before the final seconds ran off, formed their lines, shook hands. The Snider kids whooped and shook their helmets and went tearing off to salute their fans. The head coach, a trim, genial man, talked to the media about his two running backs and his new quarterback and his defense. Up in the stands, small boys leaned hard over the railing, imploring a running back named "Money" to autograph ... well, money.
You could see present and future in that tableau, current Friday gods and future ones. The small boys leaning over the railing hero-worshipping Money would someday be Money, and there would be other small imploring boys. And one day those small boys would be the ones being implored.
On and on and on. The unspooling of football ancestry, going on without end.
It's what sustains and makes Friday night football the purest strain of the game, that unspooling. Beyond it, the game becomes just another 9-to-5 slog, a corporate monolith enclosed and diminished by corporate protocols that somehow become more important than the simple, sublime act of the game itself.
Last night, for instance, the college football season opened in Australia. Cal vs. Hawaii. Corporate college football's version of the relentlessly corporate NFL playing a handful of games in London each year. And so the former becomes just another version of the latter, with only a thin veneer of tradition and other appealing trappings to distinguish itself.
Not like my Friday night, or all the hundreds that preceded it. Not like Friday nights in America at all, home place of our American game.
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Fun at the old corporate shill park
And here I thought the Yum! Center was dumb.
Now comes word that U.S. Cellular Field, which used to be Comiskey Park on the south side of Chicago, has doubled down on shameless corporate shilling. It's the Cell no more; now it's Guaranteed Rate Field.
Excuse me, but ... Guaranteed Rate Field??
Yes, that certainly evokes warm summer days taking in the National Pastime in a haven of exquisite greenness. Minoso, Konerko, Sale and Duane From Accounting. Balls, strikes, dingers and Press 9 Or Stay On The Line For The Next Available Sales Representative.
You'd be hard-pressed to come up with a less romantic (or more nakedly corporate) name for so gauzily romantic an American venue as a ballpark. At least the Yum! Center in Louisville, while unrelievedly stupid, is about fried chicken. But Guaranteed Rate Field?
What are fans supposed to call it? The Rate? The Griff? The Duane?
I can't wait until someone names a ballpark Everything Must Go Field. Or Sub-Prime Lending Field. Or Investment Banker's Life Of Luxury Field.
Look! Robin Ventura's signaling the bullpen for his financial planner!
Something like that.
Or how about this, speaking of names?
Being the incorrigible subversive I am, I think the fans should go retro on whoever Guaranteed Rate is. I think they should return to the days of yesteryear, when men were men, women were women and ballparks were named for greedy skinflint owners instead of greedy skinflint mega-corporations.
I think White Sox fans should start calling the place "Comiskey" again.
Now comes word that U.S. Cellular Field, which used to be Comiskey Park on the south side of Chicago, has doubled down on shameless corporate shilling. It's the Cell no more; now it's Guaranteed Rate Field.
Excuse me, but ... Guaranteed Rate Field??
Yes, that certainly evokes warm summer days taking in the National Pastime in a haven of exquisite greenness. Minoso, Konerko, Sale and Duane From Accounting. Balls, strikes, dingers and Press 9 Or Stay On The Line For The Next Available Sales Representative.
You'd be hard-pressed to come up with a less romantic (or more nakedly corporate) name for so gauzily romantic an American venue as a ballpark. At least the Yum! Center in Louisville, while unrelievedly stupid, is about fried chicken. But Guaranteed Rate Field?
What are fans supposed to call it? The Rate? The Griff? The Duane?
I can't wait until someone names a ballpark Everything Must Go Field. Or Sub-Prime Lending Field. Or Investment Banker's Life Of Luxury Field.
Look! Robin Ventura's signaling the bullpen for his financial planner!
Something like that.
Or how about this, speaking of names?
Being the incorrigible subversive I am, I think the fans should go retro on whoever Guaranteed Rate is. I think they should return to the days of yesteryear, when men were men, women were women and ballparks were named for greedy skinflint owners instead of greedy skinflint mega-corporations.
I think White Sox fans should start calling the place "Comiskey" again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)