And now, as an update to the Blob's previous rant about his moldy-cheese stinking Pittsburgh Pirates ...
They're on their way to 162-0, baby!
This after winning their season opener against the Detroit Tigers.
The bad news: It took 13 innings.
The worse news: The final score was 13-10.
The really, really worse news: The bullpen unveiled its new look for 2018.
Sigh.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Playing catchup
Geno Auriemma has no one but himself to blame. Isn't he the one who's always said that if the rest of women's college basketball didn't want his UConn Huskies to keep beating it eleventy-hundred to 12, the rest of women's college basketball needed to elevate its game?
Sort of like, you know, Arike Ogunbowale elevated as the clock died in overtime last night.
That would be Arike Ogunbowale of Notre Dame, UConn's nemesis if it actually has one, and her jumper as time expired rolled neatly off her fingertips and sailed true as true. And when it splashed down, Notre Dame had stunned the unbeaten Huskies, 91-89, in their NCAA semifinal.
It was the second year in a row UConn had been knocked out on a last-second shot two wins shy of yet another title -- Morgan Williams of Mississippi State stuck the dagger last year -- and, unless you're a fan of street-corner bullies, this could not be better news. Every year UConn fails to win is another step toward the women's game becoming healthier and more competitive. And that makes it infinitely more saleable as a commodity than it would be if the women's Final Four remained the Final Foregone Conclusion it has been until recently.
The irony of this, of course, is that it finally puts to rest the argument over whether or not UConn was hurting the women's game. The answer: Yes and no.
Yes, because the Huskies beating everyone eleventy-hundred to 12 and winning a gazillion games and a whole string of national titles in a row is not the sort of scenario that compels audiences to tune in.
No, because by winning all those games and titles and beating everyone eleventy-hundred to 12, UConn has done exactly what Auriemma has been saying: It's made everyone else raise their games. Although the Huskies remain the women's game's pre-eminent power, they're not the only power now. There are more quality programs in women's college buckets now than there's ever been -- Notre Dame excepted, because the Irish have been a quality program ever since Muffet McGraw showed up on the sideline.
So there it is. UConn has, in fact, been good for the women's game.
First by winning all those games.
Now by losing a couple.
Sort of like, you know, Arike Ogunbowale elevated as the clock died in overtime last night.
That would be Arike Ogunbowale of Notre Dame, UConn's nemesis if it actually has one, and her jumper as time expired rolled neatly off her fingertips and sailed true as true. And when it splashed down, Notre Dame had stunned the unbeaten Huskies, 91-89, in their NCAA semifinal.
It was the second year in a row UConn had been knocked out on a last-second shot two wins shy of yet another title -- Morgan Williams of Mississippi State stuck the dagger last year -- and, unless you're a fan of street-corner bullies, this could not be better news. Every year UConn fails to win is another step toward the women's game becoming healthier and more competitive. And that makes it infinitely more saleable as a commodity than it would be if the women's Final Four remained the Final Foregone Conclusion it has been until recently.
The irony of this, of course, is that it finally puts to rest the argument over whether or not UConn was hurting the women's game. The answer: Yes and no.
Yes, because the Huskies beating everyone eleventy-hundred to 12 and winning a gazillion games and a whole string of national titles in a row is not the sort of scenario that compels audiences to tune in.
No, because by winning all those games and titles and beating everyone eleventy-hundred to 12, UConn has done exactly what Auriemma has been saying: It's made everyone else raise their games. Although the Huskies remain the women's game's pre-eminent power, they're not the only power now. There are more quality programs in women's college buckets now than there's ever been -- Notre Dame excepted, because the Irish have been a quality program ever since Muffet McGraw showed up on the sideline.
So there it is. UConn has, in fact, been good for the women's game.
First by winning all those games.
Now by losing a couple.
Thursday, March 29, 2018
Opening rant
Opening Day again in Major League Baseball, when the sun shines warm upon your face, the birds sing sweetly in your ear, and the air is perfumed with the scent of hotdogs and Cracker Jack. Unless, of course, you're anywhere north of Kentucky.
In which case it will be cold, dark and wet, and you'll be wearing a parka and using the hotdogs as hand warmers.
The perfect environment for the Blob's annual Opening Day tradition, Bitching About What's Wrong With Baseball
What's wrong with baseball is the Blob's baseball team, the Pittsburgh Pirates, are going to stink like moldy cheese again.
What's with baseball is the Pirates' owners are miserly, penny-pinching, skinflint-y people whose souls have been sucked out through their nasal cavities, which is why they fire-saled the living hell out of the Pirates over the winter, getting rid of their only decent pitcher, Gerrit Cole, and also Andrew Freaking McCutchen, Pittsburgh icon and living baseball saint.
What's wrong with baseball is they've been replaced by people named Joe Musgrove, Michael Feliz, Josh Smoker, Colin Moran and Corey Dickerson, none of whom springs readily to mind as a baseball superstar, and who might in fact be part of the witness protection program.
What's wrong with baseball is that, as a result, the Pirates are going to be the worst team in the NL Central, worse even than the Reds, who stink like moldy cheese, too.
What's wrong with baseball is the moldy-cheese-stinking Pirates are scheduled to open up today in Detroit against the Tigers, which is contrary to the laws of both God and nature, on account of it's one of those benighted interleague games and the baseball season should not, not, NOT begin with interleague play. NOT.
(The Blob would also add that, while interleague games are fine in theory, baseball has ruined the concept by playing too damn many of them. A significant piece of the cache of the World Series has been lost as a result, because now the Series usually matches two teams who've already played eleventy-hundred times during the season. There's no mystery anymore.)
So that's what's wrong with baseball.
And what's right with baseball?
What's right with baseball is the Tigers are going to be awful themselves, on account of they have pretty much the same collection of minor-leaguers and kids who finished the season with a glorious 6-24 spurt last season.
What's right with baseball is the moldy-cheese-stinking Pirates therefore have a shot at being undefeated after today, which would likely qualify as the highlight of the entire season.
And what's wrong with that?
What's wrong with that is the forecast in Detroit today is for a high of 50 and biblical deluges of rain.
Play ball!
In which case it will be cold, dark and wet, and you'll be wearing a parka and using the hotdogs as hand warmers.
The perfect environment for the Blob's annual Opening Day tradition, Bitching About What's Wrong With Baseball
What's wrong with baseball is the Blob's baseball team, the Pittsburgh Pirates, are going to stink like moldy cheese again.
What's with baseball is the Pirates' owners are miserly, penny-pinching, skinflint-y people whose souls have been sucked out through their nasal cavities, which is why they fire-saled the living hell out of the Pirates over the winter, getting rid of their only decent pitcher, Gerrit Cole, and also Andrew Freaking McCutchen, Pittsburgh icon and living baseball saint.
What's wrong with baseball is they've been replaced by people named Joe Musgrove, Michael Feliz, Josh Smoker, Colin Moran and Corey Dickerson, none of whom springs readily to mind as a baseball superstar, and who might in fact be part of the witness protection program.
What's wrong with baseball is that, as a result, the Pirates are going to be the worst team in the NL Central, worse even than the Reds, who stink like moldy cheese, too.
What's wrong with baseball is the moldy-cheese-stinking Pirates are scheduled to open up today in Detroit against the Tigers, which is contrary to the laws of both God and nature, on account of it's one of those benighted interleague games and the baseball season should not, not, NOT begin with interleague play. NOT.
(The Blob would also add that, while interleague games are fine in theory, baseball has ruined the concept by playing too damn many of them. A significant piece of the cache of the World Series has been lost as a result, because now the Series usually matches two teams who've already played eleventy-hundred times during the season. There's no mystery anymore.)
So that's what's wrong with baseball.
And what's right with baseball?
What's right with baseball is the Tigers are going to be awful themselves, on account of they have pretty much the same collection of minor-leaguers and kids who finished the season with a glorious 6-24 spurt last season.
What's right with baseball is the moldy-cheese-stinking Pirates therefore have a shot at being undefeated after today, which would likely qualify as the highlight of the entire season.
And what's wrong with that?
What's wrong with that is the forecast in Detroit today is for a high of 50 and biblical deluges of rain.
Play ball!
Name that name
And now, in honor of the Final Four, and courtesy of someone who remembers Prince McJunkins, here is Deadspin's annual Name of the Year bracket, always one of Deadspin's great achievements and passed along here by a grateful Blob.
As with most things athletic (or not), 2018's names are bigger, faster and stronger than their back-in-the-day predecessors. With, of course, the notable exception of God Shammgod, member in good standing of the Name Hall of Fame.
Of course, there is a Mosthigh Thankgod on this list. So maybe God Shammgod gets a run here.
There is also, wonderfully, a Zeus de la Paz, a Miracle Crimes, a Jimbo Ghostkeeper and, for fans of Dark Ages history, an Early Charlemagne. Late Charlemagne, presumably, did not make the tournament, on account of being, well, late.
Enjoy.
As with most things athletic (or not), 2018's names are bigger, faster and stronger than their back-in-the-day predecessors. With, of course, the notable exception of God Shammgod, member in good standing of the Name Hall of Fame.
Of course, there is a Mosthigh Thankgod on this list. So maybe God Shammgod gets a run here.
There is also, wonderfully, a Zeus de la Paz, a Miracle Crimes, a Jimbo Ghostkeeper and, for fans of Dark Ages history, an Early Charlemagne. Late Charlemagne, presumably, did not make the tournament, on account of being, well, late.
Enjoy.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Head games
Sometime in the un-glimpsed future, they will find a way to make professional football a sport that doesn't use up its chief resource -- blood-pumping humans -- like disposable tissues. They will make it chess.
No one ever incurred traumatic brain injury moving a rook from queen's level three to queen's level four, after all. Although Bobby Fischer's tragic spiral into mental illness might make you suspect otherwise.
At any rate, until then, the powers-that-be in the National Football League will continue to chase unicorns, because no matter what rule changes it institutes or how unrealistically it expects the game to be played, the physics of it are inexorable. As long as players keep getting bigger and faster and stronger, the amount of foot-pounds of force with which they collide in a collision sport will continue to increase exponentially. As will the injuries inflicted by those collisions.
No rule change can stop that from happening. No rule change ever will.
And so to the Shield's latest attempt to hold back the tide: A new rule that will ban lowering the head to initiate contact. The penalty will be 15 yards and potential ejection, and it will apply to ballcarriers, tacklers and even linemen. Bottom line, contact with the helmet on any part of the body could potentially be penalized if judged to be initiative.
The Blob has been more than vocal about the necessity of protecting the players from head injury. But I honestly do not know how the league expects football to be played without cranial contact.
I'm not a football player, nor ever were, but this rule seems both draconian and unrealistic, if not counterproductive. A ballcarrier in particular, for instance, lowers his head as much to protect himself when he runs inside the tackles or, in short yardage, runs at the goal line. How do you determine if that's why he lowered his head, or if he did it to initiate contact? And if the only way to avoid a potential penalty is to run at the goal line with his head up, how does he do that and still get low enough to protect himself (and gain the necessary leverage)?
Linemen are supposed to keep their heads up, anyway, if they're playing the position correctly, so this might not be as much an issue for them. But if you're a defensive back or linebacker, how you are supposed to be effective in a position that relies so much on split-second instinct if you're having to constantly monitor the position of your head?
And in any event, how do you decide what constitutes lowering the head to initiate contact?
Pro football is a game played these days at blinding speed, and so expect the consequence of this new rule to be more replay stoppages, because the potential for gray area here is immense. Did Player Y's head incline enough on contact for a penalty to be assessed? What if the impact itself caused Player X's head to lower? And what if Player Z initiates contact using textbook tackling form and his helmet still makes contact with Player Y? Is that 15 yards?
Let's go under the hood and check out the replay!
Oh, goody. I can't wait.
But while I do, maybe I'll check out rugby. No one ever bumps his head in that game.
No one ever incurred traumatic brain injury moving a rook from queen's level three to queen's level four, after all. Although Bobby Fischer's tragic spiral into mental illness might make you suspect otherwise.
At any rate, until then, the powers-that-be in the National Football League will continue to chase unicorns, because no matter what rule changes it institutes or how unrealistically it expects the game to be played, the physics of it are inexorable. As long as players keep getting bigger and faster and stronger, the amount of foot-pounds of force with which they collide in a collision sport will continue to increase exponentially. As will the injuries inflicted by those collisions.
No rule change can stop that from happening. No rule change ever will.
And so to the Shield's latest attempt to hold back the tide: A new rule that will ban lowering the head to initiate contact. The penalty will be 15 yards and potential ejection, and it will apply to ballcarriers, tacklers and even linemen. Bottom line, contact with the helmet on any part of the body could potentially be penalized if judged to be initiative.
The Blob has been more than vocal about the necessity of protecting the players from head injury. But I honestly do not know how the league expects football to be played without cranial contact.
I'm not a football player, nor ever were, but this rule seems both draconian and unrealistic, if not counterproductive. A ballcarrier in particular, for instance, lowers his head as much to protect himself when he runs inside the tackles or, in short yardage, runs at the goal line. How do you determine if that's why he lowered his head, or if he did it to initiate contact? And if the only way to avoid a potential penalty is to run at the goal line with his head up, how does he do that and still get low enough to protect himself (and gain the necessary leverage)?
Linemen are supposed to keep their heads up, anyway, if they're playing the position correctly, so this might not be as much an issue for them. But if you're a defensive back or linebacker, how you are supposed to be effective in a position that relies so much on split-second instinct if you're having to constantly monitor the position of your head?
And in any event, how do you decide what constitutes lowering the head to initiate contact?
Pro football is a game played these days at blinding speed, and so expect the consequence of this new rule to be more replay stoppages, because the potential for gray area here is immense. Did Player Y's head incline enough on contact for a penalty to be assessed? What if the impact itself caused Player X's head to lower? And what if Player Z initiates contact using textbook tackling form and his helmet still makes contact with Player Y? Is that 15 yards?
Let's go under the hood and check out the replay!
Oh, goody. I can't wait.
But while I do, maybe I'll check out rugby. No one ever bumps his head in that game.
Tuesday, March 27, 2018
The empire strikes back
And by "empire" we mean "Clint Bowyer's wife."
The NASCAR driver from Emporia, Kansas, and diehard Kansas Jayhawks fan, put everyone in his rearview mirror Monday in winning the Cup race at Martinsville, delayed a day because of -- yes -- snow. But he couldn't get around his wife, Lorra, who, exhibiting excellent blocking strategy, nixed Bowyer's proposal that take off to San Antonio next weekend to watch his Jayhawks in the Final Four.
"No," she said.
Every put-upon spouse in America could relate to her reasoning.
"I had my best friend and their two kids here for a week, seven days, and she enlightened me that that was a lot on her plate," hubby explained.
"Enlightened" him. Yeah. I bet she did.
Here's the thing: Because NASCAR doesn't race on Easter, the Bowyer family is headed for a much-deserved vacation (especially for Lorra, no doubt). So when Bowyer asked if he could go to the Final Four, here's what Lorra no doubt heard:
Hey, babe, I know you had to put up with houseguests for an entire week, and you've been looking forward to a vacation as a result, but what do you say I ditch y'all early to go to the Final Four? That'd be cool, right?
Yeaaah. No wonder she said no.
Although she did say if the Jayhawks reach the championship game next Monday, Clint has permission to go.
"I'm not that mean, lol," she tweeted.
Sounds like ol' Clint's a lucky man.
The NASCAR driver from Emporia, Kansas, and diehard Kansas Jayhawks fan, put everyone in his rearview mirror Monday in winning the Cup race at Martinsville, delayed a day because of -- yes -- snow. But he couldn't get around his wife, Lorra, who, exhibiting excellent blocking strategy, nixed Bowyer's proposal that take off to San Antonio next weekend to watch his Jayhawks in the Final Four.
"No," she said.
Every put-upon spouse in America could relate to her reasoning.
"I had my best friend and their two kids here for a week, seven days, and she enlightened me that that was a lot on her plate," hubby explained.
"Enlightened" him. Yeah. I bet she did.
Here's the thing: Because NASCAR doesn't race on Easter, the Bowyer family is headed for a much-deserved vacation (especially for Lorra, no doubt). So when Bowyer asked if he could go to the Final Four, here's what Lorra no doubt heard:
Hey, babe, I know you had to put up with houseguests for an entire week, and you've been looking forward to a vacation as a result, but what do you say I ditch y'all early to go to the Final Four? That'd be cool, right?
Yeaaah. No wonder she said no.
Although she did say if the Jayhawks reach the championship game next Monday, Clint has permission to go.
"I'm not that mean, lol," she tweeted.
Sounds like ol' Clint's a lucky man.
Your mascot moment for today
And now, because the Blob is a certified Mascot Appreciation Zone, and because Opening Day of the baseball season is in two days ...
Here's a team photo of all the Major League Baseball mascots.
I notice the Cubs mascot, Clark the Bear, is discreetly positioned in the second row.
I assume this is because he doesn't wear pants.
Here's a team photo of all the Major League Baseball mascots.
I notice the Cubs mascot, Clark the Bear, is discreetly positioned in the second row.
I assume this is because he doesn't wear pants.
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