In the 111 years this blaring museum piece has sprawled across the west side of Indianapolis, there has never been a lap quite like it. And not just because it was February, not May, and a cold gray sky was weeping some sort of wintry mix, alchemizing the Indianapolis Motor Speedway's ancient 2.5 miles of asphalt into something halfway between wet and frozen.
Two black SUVs led the way. Two more brought up the rear. And in between, carrying the mortal remains of a man with a ringing name, the black hearse.
Turning one last stately lap, moving no faster than a caisson. Giving John Andretti one final ride.
There may be a more elegant and appropriate way for a racer to shuffle off the skin of this world. But if there is, no one has yet found it.
John Andretti -- son of Aldo, nephew of Mario, cousin of Michael and Jeff -- was hardly the brightest star in the Andretti constellation, but he was a racer's racer for all that. He ran 393 Cup races across 17 years, including 11 starts in the Brickyard 400. And he ran another 83 races in IndyCar, including 12 starts in the Indianapolis 500.
And so, when he died last week at 56 after a long, wearing battle with cancer, where else to take his leave but at the corner of 16th Street and Georgetown Road?
Would that we all earn such a bow, when it's our time.
Friday, February 7, 2020
Thursday, February 6, 2020
Meanwhile, in Mackey ...
That one scene in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." Maybe that's the only way you explain this now.
You know the scene: Richard Dreyfuss is sitting in his truck at a railroad crossing and all of a sudden he's bathed in harsh white light and his truck dies, pffft, like that. He grinds the starter, but the thing is deader than roadkill. The glovebox pops open, and the contents start flying around the truck. The crossing sign starts swaying wildly back and forth.
Then the light disappears and it all stops. And Dreyfuss' truck magically starts running like a watch again.
It is, of course, all the work of a UFO.
Mackey Arena, well, kind of looks like a UFO.
So, there you go. Your official explanation for another inexplicable night for the basketball Purdues.
They're 13-10 and exactly what that record implies, which is good enough to win some nights and bad enough to lose on an almost equal number of nights. And here comes 17th-ranked Iowa, which has won six of its last seven games including an 18-point shellacking of then-No. 9 Maryland and a seven-point win over No. 20 Illinois, which itself had reeled off seven straight wins.
So what happens?
Purdue 104, Iowa 68 happens.
The Hawkeyes are humming right along, and then, like Richard Dreyfuss and the UFO, the lights blaze on and the truck dies and stuff starts flying around. They go 23-of-54 and 6-of-25 from the 3-point line while Purdue shoots 63 percent (41-of-65) and a ridiculous 56 percent from beyond the arc (19-of-34), and the Boilermakers tenderize them like Swiss steak. The 36-point win is the worst beatdown the Purdues have ever administered to a ranked team in Mackey, and it's the third such beatdown they've administered this season to a ranked team.
Virginia, then ranked fifth, limped away a 29-point loser in December. And Michigan State, then No. 8 in the polls, took a 29-point shot to its, um, self-esteem in January.
Now this. Now 104 points from a team that, not all that long ago, was managing just 37 in a loss to Illinois.
Of course, that was at Illinois. In Mackey, last night, the Purdues passed 37 points sometime shortly after the national anthem, or so it seemed. By halftime they had 61.
Sixty-one. At halftime.
That's exactly how many points they scored in the entire game in their last outing, a wheezing 61-58 W last Saturday at Northwestern, the worst team in the Big Ten.
Now it's on to the big in-state wrestling match with Indiana, which no one can figure out, either. The Hoosiers looked to have found their identity after solid wins over Ohio State, Nebraska and Michigan State, but then they gagged away a six-point lead in the last 68 seconds against Maryland and got dusted on the road by Penn State and those same Buckeyes. Now they get Purdue, their enigma-in-arms.
Not in Mackey, though. In Assembly Hall. So you know what that means.
Indiana, which has built more houses from the 3-point line this season than a dozen bricklayers, will hit every one they put up. Purdue will miss every one it puts up, and score 37 points again. And the Hoosiers will win going away.
Or not, you know. Or not.
You know the scene: Richard Dreyfuss is sitting in his truck at a railroad crossing and all of a sudden he's bathed in harsh white light and his truck dies, pffft, like that. He grinds the starter, but the thing is deader than roadkill. The glovebox pops open, and the contents start flying around the truck. The crossing sign starts swaying wildly back and forth.
Then the light disappears and it all stops. And Dreyfuss' truck magically starts running like a watch again.
It is, of course, all the work of a UFO.
Mackey Arena, well, kind of looks like a UFO.
So, there you go. Your official explanation for another inexplicable night for the basketball Purdues.
They're 13-10 and exactly what that record implies, which is good enough to win some nights and bad enough to lose on an almost equal number of nights. And here comes 17th-ranked Iowa, which has won six of its last seven games including an 18-point shellacking of then-No. 9 Maryland and a seven-point win over No. 20 Illinois, which itself had reeled off seven straight wins.
So what happens?
Purdue 104, Iowa 68 happens.
The Hawkeyes are humming right along, and then, like Richard Dreyfuss and the UFO, the lights blaze on and the truck dies and stuff starts flying around. They go 23-of-54 and 6-of-25 from the 3-point line while Purdue shoots 63 percent (41-of-65) and a ridiculous 56 percent from beyond the arc (19-of-34), and the Boilermakers tenderize them like Swiss steak. The 36-point win is the worst beatdown the Purdues have ever administered to a ranked team in Mackey, and it's the third such beatdown they've administered this season to a ranked team.
Virginia, then ranked fifth, limped away a 29-point loser in December. And Michigan State, then No. 8 in the polls, took a 29-point shot to its, um, self-esteem in January.
Now this. Now 104 points from a team that, not all that long ago, was managing just 37 in a loss to Illinois.
Of course, that was at Illinois. In Mackey, last night, the Purdues passed 37 points sometime shortly after the national anthem, or so it seemed. By halftime they had 61.
Sixty-one. At halftime.
That's exactly how many points they scored in the entire game in their last outing, a wheezing 61-58 W last Saturday at Northwestern, the worst team in the Big Ten.
Now it's on to the big in-state wrestling match with Indiana, which no one can figure out, either. The Hoosiers looked to have found their identity after solid wins over Ohio State, Nebraska and Michigan State, but then they gagged away a six-point lead in the last 68 seconds against Maryland and got dusted on the road by Penn State and those same Buckeyes. Now they get Purdue, their enigma-in-arms.
Not in Mackey, though. In Assembly Hall. So you know what that means.
Indiana, which has built more houses from the 3-point line this season than a dozen bricklayers, will hit every one they put up. Purdue will miss every one it puts up, and score 37 points again. And the Hoosiers will win going away.
Or not, you know. Or not.
Wednesday, February 5, 2020
Implausible deniability
OK, you doubters, you skeptics, you snicker-behind-your-hand-ers. I've got something to say to y'all.
I believe Mark Dantonio.
I believe his abrupt decision to step down as Michigan State's football coach after 13 seasons has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that, one day before his announcement, his former recruiting coordinator filed an update to an ongoing lawsuit claiming Dantonio and his staff committed a whole pile of recruiting violations while the recruiting coordinator was there.
I believe those allegations had, in Dantonio's words, "zero" impact on his deciding to leave his job, even if it was a really weird time to do so and leaves Michigan State having to chase prospective coaches who are already busy preparing for spring ball.
I believe, as Dantonio also said, there's "no relevance whatsoever" to the possibility the lawsuit could lead to sanctions against his program, and that he really is retiring to spend more time with his wife and kids, not to dodge the big hammer the NCAA seems poised to swing if the allegations prove true.
I believe, as Michigan State does, that there's absolutely nothing to those allegations, which include arranging for jobs for recruits and insisting on signing sketchy prospects who later were accused of sexual assault and various other crimes.
I believe Dantonio when he says all of this, vis-a-vis the timing of his announcement, was entirely coincidental, and shame on you for thinking otherwise. Because WIFE AND KIDS, DAMMIT. Weren't you listening?
'Cause if you weren't listening you're prolly just a bunch of haters who also think Our Only Available Impeached President is a lying crook, even though it ain't lying if enough people believe it and you're not a crook if you can get away with it. And even if he is a lying crook ... have you seen that stock market?
Yes, sir. I believe Mark Dantonio.
Now try to tell me there's not a giant invisible bird that flaps its wings to make the wind blow, and not a fat man in a red suit who comes down my chimney with 100-inch plasma TVs every Dec. 24, and not alien corpses in Area 51 that look like tiny Joe Bidens.
As if.
I believe Mark Dantonio.
I believe his abrupt decision to step down as Michigan State's football coach after 13 seasons has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that, one day before his announcement, his former recruiting coordinator filed an update to an ongoing lawsuit claiming Dantonio and his staff committed a whole pile of recruiting violations while the recruiting coordinator was there.
I believe those allegations had, in Dantonio's words, "zero" impact on his deciding to leave his job, even if it was a really weird time to do so and leaves Michigan State having to chase prospective coaches who are already busy preparing for spring ball.
I believe, as Dantonio also said, there's "no relevance whatsoever" to the possibility the lawsuit could lead to sanctions against his program, and that he really is retiring to spend more time with his wife and kids, not to dodge the big hammer the NCAA seems poised to swing if the allegations prove true.
I believe, as Michigan State does, that there's absolutely nothing to those allegations, which include arranging for jobs for recruits and insisting on signing sketchy prospects who later were accused of sexual assault and various other crimes.
I believe Dantonio when he says all of this, vis-a-vis the timing of his announcement, was entirely coincidental, and shame on you for thinking otherwise. Because WIFE AND KIDS, DAMMIT. Weren't you listening?
'Cause if you weren't listening you're prolly just a bunch of haters who also think Our Only Available Impeached President is a lying crook, even though it ain't lying if enough people believe it and you're not a crook if you can get away with it. And even if he is a lying crook ... have you seen that stock market?
Yes, sir. I believe Mark Dantonio.
Now try to tell me there's not a giant invisible bird that flaps its wings to make the wind blow, and not a fat man in a red suit who comes down my chimney with 100-inch plasma TVs every Dec. 24, and not alien corpses in Area 51 that look like tiny Joe Bidens.
As if.
Tuesday, February 4, 2020
And now ... Other Football!
So now that Patrick Mahomes is off to Disney World and half of America has been scandalized at the spectacle of two scantily-clad women shaking their booties like, I don't know, practically every NFL cheerleader ever, football is finally over and we can all look forward to ... more football.
It's the Return of the XFL, people!
Coming to you this weekend just like the original XFL came to you, and also the fabled Alliance of American Football (AAF) -- which was the XFL with different letters, and whose lifespan failed to exceed that of the Iowa caucuses, speaking of total clusters.
This XFL will be different than First XFL and Other XFL, we're told, because it will feature some radical rule changes that will promote faster, more continuous action. It could achieve this simply by playing with a running clock, but no one wants that much continuous action. Let soccer keep that for itself.
The XFL is also pushing other differences between it and First XFL and Other XFL, in that it promises to give fans real football players people have really heard of. This does not mean the XFL has outbid the Patriots for Tom Brady or the Saints for Drew Brees, understand. According to Jordan Heck of The Sporting News, who's compiled a list of XFL players here, it means the XFL has successfully outbid every team in the NFL for the services of, um, Brogan Roback.
Whose name might not leap immediately to mind when considering accomplished pro quarterbacks, on account of he isn't one. But apparently he played a big role in "Hard Knocks" one year, so there you go.
Seriously. That's Brogan Roback's selling point.
Elsewhere, per Heck, you'll thrill to the exploits of Josh Johnson, a distinguished member of 13 NFL rosters. Also Matt McGloin, another esteemed NFL castoff. Also Connor Cook, Cardale Jones and Aaron Murray, who last made headlines at Michigan State, Ohio State and Georgia, respectively.
Michigan State, Ohio State and Georgia are not new NFL franchises Roger Goodell wants to put in London or Istanbul or someplace. They're college teams.
Now, I suppose the XFL might therefore get some Spartan, Buckeye and Bulldog alums to tune in the XFL. Or maybe some Navy tars to tune in to see Keenan Reynolds, a former Navy quarterback who once finished fifth -- fifth! -- in the Heisman voting. Or maybe some Steelers fans to tune in to see wideouts Sammie Coates and Eli Rogers, former Steelers receivers.
"Hey, I remember when we cut those guys," Steeler Fan will remember fondly.
Look. I hope the XFL is more successful than the AAF, or even the Iowa caucuses. But no matter how much you gimmick it up, it will still be minor league football, populated by minor league players. There's simply no getting around it.
Only one startup professional football league has successfully competed with the NFL, and that of course is the old AFL. It happened because the NFL only had 13 teams then. This meant that the pool of available talent was far deeper, and so was the pool of available owners with NFL-deep pockets.
Consequently, the AFL owners were able to outbid the NFL for top draft picks. The early AFL had a whole pile of players who would otherwise have been standouts in the NFL -- players such as LSU Heisman Trophy winner Billy Cannon, the marquee name in the AFL's inaugural season, when the new league stunned the NFL by signing 75 percent of its first-round picks.
Then along came Sonny Werblin of the Jets, who money-whipped the brightest star in the 1965 draft, Joe Namath, away from the NFL. The NFL agreed to a merger a year later.
None of that could possibly happen today, which is why the XFL can only hope to succeed to a certain degree. If it succeeds enough to hang around for three or four years, that will constitute victory. By then, after all, the Iowa caucuses might actually be over.
With Brogan Roback declared the winner. Why not.
It's the Return of the XFL, people!
Coming to you this weekend just like the original XFL came to you, and also the fabled Alliance of American Football (AAF) -- which was the XFL with different letters, and whose lifespan failed to exceed that of the Iowa caucuses, speaking of total clusters.
This XFL will be different than First XFL and Other XFL, we're told, because it will feature some radical rule changes that will promote faster, more continuous action. It could achieve this simply by playing with a running clock, but no one wants that much continuous action. Let soccer keep that for itself.
The XFL is also pushing other differences between it and First XFL and Other XFL, in that it promises to give fans real football players people have really heard of. This does not mean the XFL has outbid the Patriots for Tom Brady or the Saints for Drew Brees, understand. According to Jordan Heck of The Sporting News, who's compiled a list of XFL players here, it means the XFL has successfully outbid every team in the NFL for the services of, um, Brogan Roback.
Whose name might not leap immediately to mind when considering accomplished pro quarterbacks, on account of he isn't one. But apparently he played a big role in "Hard Knocks" one year, so there you go.
Seriously. That's Brogan Roback's selling point.
Elsewhere, per Heck, you'll thrill to the exploits of Josh Johnson, a distinguished member of 13 NFL rosters. Also Matt McGloin, another esteemed NFL castoff. Also Connor Cook, Cardale Jones and Aaron Murray, who last made headlines at Michigan State, Ohio State and Georgia, respectively.
Michigan State, Ohio State and Georgia are not new NFL franchises Roger Goodell wants to put in London or Istanbul or someplace. They're college teams.
Now, I suppose the XFL might therefore get some Spartan, Buckeye and Bulldog alums to tune in the XFL. Or maybe some Navy tars to tune in to see Keenan Reynolds, a former Navy quarterback who once finished fifth -- fifth! -- in the Heisman voting. Or maybe some Steelers fans to tune in to see wideouts Sammie Coates and Eli Rogers, former Steelers receivers.
"Hey, I remember when we cut those guys," Steeler Fan will remember fondly.
Look. I hope the XFL is more successful than the AAF, or even the Iowa caucuses. But no matter how much you gimmick it up, it will still be minor league football, populated by minor league players. There's simply no getting around it.
Only one startup professional football league has successfully competed with the NFL, and that of course is the old AFL. It happened because the NFL only had 13 teams then. This meant that the pool of available talent was far deeper, and so was the pool of available owners with NFL-deep pockets.
Consequently, the AFL owners were able to outbid the NFL for top draft picks. The early AFL had a whole pile of players who would otherwise have been standouts in the NFL -- players such as LSU Heisman Trophy winner Billy Cannon, the marquee name in the AFL's inaugural season, when the new league stunned the NFL by signing 75 percent of its first-round picks.
Then along came Sonny Werblin of the Jets, who money-whipped the brightest star in the 1965 draft, Joe Namath, away from the NFL. The NFL agreed to a merger a year later.
None of that could possibly happen today, which is why the XFL can only hope to succeed to a certain degree. If it succeeds enough to hang around for three or four years, that will constitute victory. By then, after all, the Iowa caucuses might actually be over.
With Brogan Roback declared the winner. Why not.
Monday, February 3, 2020
That Super thingy, observationed
Here's to all of 'em, first of all. All of that great host in the great state of Kansas or Missouri or Belarus or wherever the hell Kansas City is.
(An entirely gratuitous shot at our Geographer in Chief, Donald J. Magellan Trump, who initially congratulated everyone in the great state of Kansas for the Kansas City Chiefs' epic comeback win in the Big Roman Numeral. A fifth-grader would have known K.C. is in Missouri, but then the G-in-C isn't up to fifth grade yet, developmentally. Next year when you're a fourth grader maybe, Donny!)
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. Here's to all of 'em.
Here's to Patrick Mahomes and Andy Reid and Travis Kelce and maybe Curley Culp, too, for all I know. Here's to all those Chiefs who looked up with nine minutes to play, saw they were down 10 to the 49ers, and said "No problem."
Here's to 21 points in the last half of the last quarter, and to the only running back to rush for 100 yards Sunday (Damien Williams), and to Mahomes again for figuring out a way on a day when he wasn't sharp and missed receivers and threw two interceptions for the first time since, I don't know, maybe the '60s.
Here's to the Chiefs Kingdom, God love 'em, and to the three Chiefs fans who took an out-of-town sportswriter to dinner with them epochs ago. God love them, too, wherever they are, and I hope they took today off. They deserve it, and probably need it.
And with that, a few observations on the day ...
* Anyone with a working knowledge of Super Bowl history knows it's defense that ultimately most leaves its imprint on these deals, either because it shuts down the opposition or utterly fails to. That was true in LIV, too.
For three quarters and a half, it was the 49ers defense that dictated terms, harrying Mahomes into uncharacteristic mistakes and nullifying the Chiefs' speed. Then it was the Chiefs' defense that took over; while Mahomes was leading the Chiefs to those 21 points in the last six minutes, the Chiefs' D shut out the 49ers in the fourth quarter and, when the Niners needed one score to put it away, forced a five-and-out, a three-and-out, a turnover on downs and an interception on San Francisco's last four possessions.
* Remember all that talk last week about Jimmy Garoppolo only throwing eight passes in the NFC title game, and if the Niners had to throw to win the game they might be in trouble?
Well ... the talk was kinda right, in the end.
Garoppolo's numbers Sunday: 20-of-31, 219 yards, one touchdown and two interceptions. And a 40.6 QBR.
* Three observations about the entertainment portion of the evening:'
1. Demi Lovato stuck the anthem. But she still ain't Gaga.
2. The choreographers won halftime.
3. That Google ad, that Jason Momoa ad and Sam Elliott and his dancing 'stache won the Commercial Bowl. (Also, kudos to my friends Steve Penhollow and Jaclyn Garver, whose local car ad also aired during the game. The bright lights are callin', baby!)
And with that ... one final word on LIV from my Super Bowl decorations, Lil' Mahomes and Lil' Nick Bosa:
(An entirely gratuitous shot at our Geographer in Chief, Donald J. Magellan Trump, who initially congratulated everyone in the great state of Kansas for the Kansas City Chiefs' epic comeback win in the Big Roman Numeral. A fifth-grader would have known K.C. is in Missouri, but then the G-in-C isn't up to fifth grade yet, developmentally. Next year when you're a fourth grader maybe, Donny!)
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. Here's to all of 'em.
Here's to Patrick Mahomes and Andy Reid and Travis Kelce and maybe Curley Culp, too, for all I know. Here's to all those Chiefs who looked up with nine minutes to play, saw they were down 10 to the 49ers, and said "No problem."
Here's to 21 points in the last half of the last quarter, and to the only running back to rush for 100 yards Sunday (Damien Williams), and to Mahomes again for figuring out a way on a day when he wasn't sharp and missed receivers and threw two interceptions for the first time since, I don't know, maybe the '60s.
Here's to the Chiefs Kingdom, God love 'em, and to the three Chiefs fans who took an out-of-town sportswriter to dinner with them epochs ago. God love them, too, wherever they are, and I hope they took today off. They deserve it, and probably need it.
And with that, a few observations on the day ...
* Anyone with a working knowledge of Super Bowl history knows it's defense that ultimately most leaves its imprint on these deals, either because it shuts down the opposition or utterly fails to. That was true in LIV, too.
For three quarters and a half, it was the 49ers defense that dictated terms, harrying Mahomes into uncharacteristic mistakes and nullifying the Chiefs' speed. Then it was the Chiefs' defense that took over; while Mahomes was leading the Chiefs to those 21 points in the last six minutes, the Chiefs' D shut out the 49ers in the fourth quarter and, when the Niners needed one score to put it away, forced a five-and-out, a three-and-out, a turnover on downs and an interception on San Francisco's last four possessions.
* Remember all that talk last week about Jimmy Garoppolo only throwing eight passes in the NFC title game, and if the Niners had to throw to win the game they might be in trouble?
Well ... the talk was kinda right, in the end.
Garoppolo's numbers Sunday: 20-of-31, 219 yards, one touchdown and two interceptions. And a 40.6 QBR.
* Three observations about the entertainment portion of the evening:'
1. Demi Lovato stuck the anthem. But she still ain't Gaga.
2. The choreographers won halftime.
3. That Google ad, that Jason Momoa ad and Sam Elliott and his dancing 'stache won the Commercial Bowl. (Also, kudos to my friends Steve Penhollow and Jaclyn Garver, whose local car ad also aired during the game. The bright lights are callin', baby!)
And with that ... one final word on LIV from my Super Bowl decorations, Lil' Mahomes and Lil' Nick Bosa:
Sunday, February 2, 2020
That other football ... thing
Today is Big Game Sunday, which is what folks who are not paying the NFL goo-gobs of money to promote its Big Game are compelled to call it, because the NFL is so outlandishly greedy all you can do is laugh at it, and maybe poke it with a stick.
(Here's my poke: How hilarious is it that the term "Super Bowl," which the money-grubbing NFL will sue your pants off for using if it doesn't get to wet its beak, was actually a corporate ripoff itself? Lamar Hunt, owner of the Kansas City Chiefs, named it that after the Super Ball, a toy manufactured by Wham-O. So maybe Wham-O should sue the pants off the NFL every time it uses the term "Super Bowl.")
But I digress.
("You do that a lot," you're saying.)
No, what I'm really up to here on Big Game Sunday is to look in on another professional football entity, or quasi-entity, or, you know, complete and utter scam. That would, of course, be the National Gridiron League, supposedly scheduled to begin play in May after being originally scheduled to begin play (supposedly) last May.
The NGL is of local interest because there are supposedly two Indiana teams, both named "Indiana," one in Fort Wayne and one in Evansville. The Fort Wayne entry is named the Blue Bombers. No one knows if the Blue Bombers actually exist, but that's OK. You can buy tickets anyway!
At any rate, the league's sole owner, Joe McClendon, promised when he pulled the plug on the inaugural season last May that the real inaugural season would launch (really!) this May. The run-up would begin with voluntary mini-camp--
I'm sorry? What's that?
Oh.
OK, so, according to the Evansville Courier & Press, it seems the run-up will not begin with voluntary mini-camps. Last weekend McClendon abruptly canceled them, without explanation. In the process, supposedly contracted players who were promised hotel accommodations and food were left hanging. Some of the Evansville players had come from as far away as Florida.
One of them, KeAaris Ardley, was quoted as saying "nobody has heard from Joe since." The Courier & Press hasn't heard from him, either, having left messages at the league "offices" in Atlanta and having tried to leave messages on the cellphone listed for him. Turns out it's been deactivated.
Translation: Joe's in the wind.
Further translation: Having been around for four previous incarnations of minor league indoor football in Fort Wayne, this does not surprise the Blob at all.
Wonder if Joe and Jeremy Golden know each other?
(Here's my poke: How hilarious is it that the term "Super Bowl," which the money-grubbing NFL will sue your pants off for using if it doesn't get to wet its beak, was actually a corporate ripoff itself? Lamar Hunt, owner of the Kansas City Chiefs, named it that after the Super Ball, a toy manufactured by Wham-O. So maybe Wham-O should sue the pants off the NFL every time it uses the term "Super Bowl.")
But I digress.
("You do that a lot," you're saying.)
No, what I'm really up to here on Big Game Sunday is to look in on another professional football entity, or quasi-entity, or, you know, complete and utter scam. That would, of course, be the National Gridiron League, supposedly scheduled to begin play in May after being originally scheduled to begin play (supposedly) last May.
The NGL is of local interest because there are supposedly two Indiana teams, both named "Indiana," one in Fort Wayne and one in Evansville. The Fort Wayne entry is named the Blue Bombers. No one knows if the Blue Bombers actually exist, but that's OK. You can buy tickets anyway!
At any rate, the league's sole owner, Joe McClendon, promised when he pulled the plug on the inaugural season last May that the real inaugural season would launch (really!) this May. The run-up would begin with voluntary mini-camp--
I'm sorry? What's that?
Oh.
OK, so, according to the Evansville Courier & Press, it seems the run-up will not begin with voluntary mini-camps. Last weekend McClendon abruptly canceled them, without explanation. In the process, supposedly contracted players who were promised hotel accommodations and food were left hanging. Some of the Evansville players had come from as far away as Florida.
One of them, KeAaris Ardley, was quoted as saying "nobody has heard from Joe since." The Courier & Press hasn't heard from him, either, having left messages at the league "offices" in Atlanta and having tried to leave messages on the cellphone listed for him. Turns out it's been deactivated.
Translation: Joe's in the wind.
Further translation: Having been around for four previous incarnations of minor league indoor football in Fort Wayne, this does not surprise the Blob at all.
Wonder if Joe and Jeremy Golden know each other?
Saturday, February 1, 2020
Prognostificationation, or something
Everyone asks. It's what people do when you're a former sportswriter who ran off at the mouth for a bunch of years like he knew what he was talking about, which led to the unfortunate consequence that some folks think you actually do know what you're talking about.
And so, the question: "What's gonna happen in the Super Bowl?"
At which point I resist the urge to go Full Wiseass and say there will probably be some blocking and tackling involved, and some throwin' and catchin', and maybe some kickin' and ball-luggin'. Touchdowns might happen. Field goals could make an appearance. An overly officious zebra will enter from stage left to throw a flag at some imaginary infraction, because, hey, the Chiefs and 49ers ain't the only show out here, folks.
And then, the halftime show! Starring Georg Frederick Sebastian Ludwig Mozart or some similar star from yesteryear.
But I digress.
What's gonna happen in the Super Bowl?
Like I know.
I've been going over and over it in my head, plowed through all the percentages and spread sheets and charts and graphs, even read what Chris Berman thinks, God help me. And I'm still in coin flip country.
Only thing I keep coming back to is this: The Chiefs have Patrick Mahomes, and the 49ers do not.
And, yes, I know the 49ers have that scary running game and that even scarier defense, with the best defensive front in football. I know they made Aaron Rodgers and the Packers work to get to 20 points in the NFC title game. And I know, historically, dominant defenses tend to, well, dominate in the Big Roman Numeral.
And yet ... the Chiefs have Patrick Mahomes, and the 49ers do not.
I went back and did some research, and what I found is that quarterbacks with Mahomes' skill set do not come along very often, if ever. And when they do, they tend to look a lot like Russell Wilson of the Seahawks or Kyler Murray of the Cardinals or Lamar Jackson of the Ravens.
Wilson passed for 465 yards and three touchdowns in two meetings with the 49ers this year, one a 27-21 win. Murray passed for 391 yards and five scores in two meetings. And Lamar threw for 105, ran for 101 and accounted for two touchdowns for the Ravens in a 20-17 win.
I don't know if this means the 49ers will have trouble slowing down Mahomes. But everyone else has, so it's hard to think the Niners will be anymore than intermittently successful in doing so, scary D or not.
And so (deep breath, slow exhale): Chiefs 34, Niners 31.
Bookmark for future ridicule.
And so, the question: "What's gonna happen in the Super Bowl?"
At which point I resist the urge to go Full Wiseass and say there will probably be some blocking and tackling involved, and some throwin' and catchin', and maybe some kickin' and ball-luggin'. Touchdowns might happen. Field goals could make an appearance. An overly officious zebra will enter from stage left to throw a flag at some imaginary infraction, because, hey, the Chiefs and 49ers ain't the only show out here, folks.
And then, the halftime show! Starring Georg Frederick Sebastian Ludwig Mozart or some similar star from yesteryear.
But I digress.
What's gonna happen in the Super Bowl?
Like I know.
I've been going over and over it in my head, plowed through all the percentages and spread sheets and charts and graphs, even read what Chris Berman thinks, God help me. And I'm still in coin flip country.
Only thing I keep coming back to is this: The Chiefs have Patrick Mahomes, and the 49ers do not.
And, yes, I know the 49ers have that scary running game and that even scarier defense, with the best defensive front in football. I know they made Aaron Rodgers and the Packers work to get to 20 points in the NFC title game. And I know, historically, dominant defenses tend to, well, dominate in the Big Roman Numeral.
And yet ... the Chiefs have Patrick Mahomes, and the 49ers do not.
I went back and did some research, and what I found is that quarterbacks with Mahomes' skill set do not come along very often, if ever. And when they do, they tend to look a lot like Russell Wilson of the Seahawks or Kyler Murray of the Cardinals or Lamar Jackson of the Ravens.
Wilson passed for 465 yards and three touchdowns in two meetings with the 49ers this year, one a 27-21 win. Murray passed for 391 yards and five scores in two meetings. And Lamar threw for 105, ran for 101 and accounted for two touchdowns for the Ravens in a 20-17 win.
I don't know if this means the 49ers will have trouble slowing down Mahomes. But everyone else has, so it's hard to think the Niners will be anymore than intermittently successful in doing so, scary D or not.
And so (deep breath, slow exhale): Chiefs 34, Niners 31.
Bookmark for future ridicule.
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