Balls, Pucks & Cups

No Need to Watch the NFL Playoffs – There’ll Be No Surprises

Fri, 6 Jan 2012 15:06:06 -0600

These are not — I repeat, NOT — NFL playoff predictions. They are inevitabilities. If you read this article then watch the games, you’ll think you’re watching ESPN Classic.
Spoiler alert, bro.
We’ll ring in Millard Fillmore’s 212th birthday with an afternoon treat of Cincinnati at Houston. This is by far the most underwhelming playoff matchup of any sport, ever, and that’s saying something since I went to elementary school with Bengals tackle Andrew Whitworth. (Note: This will be the only gratuitous name-drop I’ll poop this month. I’ll leave gratuitous name-dropping to this magazine’s publisher. He can drop a name like a champ.)
Count on the Bengals winning this one easily. Why? Because when tens of thousands of Yats evacuated to Houston over six years ago, they took every imaginable football curse with them, turning the Texans into, basically, your dead, alcoholic great-uncle’s Saints. (He really shouldn’t have driven that night — he got what he asked for).
After you and your stepfather nearly come to blows during an argument over whether President Fillmore was right to support the Compromise of 1850 (the old man was right, by the way — Fillmore had his head up his ass), you will have already missed Ndamukong Suh’s ejection in the first quarter for intentionally punching Saints center Brian de la Puente in los testìculos. Saints win big over the Lions; Brees sits the entire second half.
On Wild Card Sunday, sleep in. When you wake up, just watch the inevitable Elvis movie marathon on AMC. (Don’t you dare lie to me and say that you’ve actually seen Pot Luck.) You’ve seen Matt Ryan be almost good enough too many times this year already, and you need rest. Giants beat the Falcons.
Then it’s off to Denver for an afternoon game between the Broncos and Steelers. There will be no surprises here. In the first 57 minutes of the game, Tim Tebow will throw 2-for-19 for 3 passing yards, no touchdowns, and one interception. In the final three minutes, Tebow will go 12-for-11 (he’ll find a way) for 167 passing yards and two touchdowns. A two-point conversion with 0:00 on the clock clinches the 15-14 win for the Broncos.
Tebow coverage will continue to be 10% Tebow coverage and 90% Tebow haters tweeting that they’re sick of all the Tebow coverage.
The Divisional round will bring twice as many surprises as the Wild Card round. That’s because 2×0=0.
New Orleans opens the weekend up at San Francisco on Saturday, January 14. The Saints usually have trouble on grass, and this will be no different, but thanks to the NFL rules committee having come through in the clutch in the offseason, the 49ers will get flagged for five personal foul penalties in the second half, and the Saints win in a controversial game. (Even though it’s predictable, you may want to watch this one simply to see FOX try to bleep out all the instances of the crowd chanting “Bullsh—t” in unison.)
Cincinnati visits New England on Saturday night. It would be a lie for me to say that it wasn’t physically impossible for New England to not fail to lose this game.
You’ll get home from church Sunday, January 15, just in time to see Denver win in Baltimore. Here’s why, and it’s obvious: The Ravens, who were known as the Cleveland Browns the last time I wrote for this rag, have a defense that prides itself on holding opponents way below their passing average. The problem is that there is no such thing as “way below their passing average” when it comes to the Broncos. Against Denver, Baltimore’s defense is, therefore, nothing special. Broncos win, 6-3.
Green Bay will beat New York in the late game Sunday, of course, but you may want to tune in for a few minutes early in the fourth quarter, by which time Tom Coughlin’s once-again-frozen face will have begun to emit a wave of infrared that won’t be visible by modern telescopes for at least half a light-year.
Now we’re in late January, and it’s the AFC Championship Game. God didn’t like football enough to give Tebow the win over New England the first time, and God doesn’t change His mind very often. Pats win.
That brings us to the NFC Championship Game: New Orleans at Green Bay. The media will tell you that the Packers will be heavily favored, in part because they’re at home in the cold weather with which they are so familiar.
But here’s what those blowhards won’t tell you: Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers went to school at Berkeley, which makes him a hippie from the mildest climate in the United States. Saints quarterback Drew Brees went to Purdue and cut his teeth on icicles during his four seasons in West Lafayette.
So while Rodgers shows up late to the game after spending too much time at an Occupy Holmgren Way Rally, Brees will carve up the Green Bay secondary and the Frozen Tundra like a 2012 Polaris Adventure Switchback. (Note: this will be my last snowmobile reference this month.) Saints win.
Super Bowl XLVI will go exactly as expected. Saints punter Thomas Morstead will miss the flight to Indianapolis, but he shan’t be needed. Each Brees pass will be a kaiser blade slicing through the stalks of wheat in New England’s secondary. Each Tom Brady pass will also be a kaiser blade, but slightly duller than Brees’ kaiser blade.
Also, cutting through stalks of wheat is way easier than cutting through a field of sugar cane.
During halftime, we’ll all wonder why Madonna is doing the halftime show and not Lady Gaga and quip to ourselves, “This is like sleeping with Jessica Lange when Brooklyn Decker is outside your room begging for it.”
The Saints will score a touchdown each time on offense; the Patriots, all but twice. Final score: New Orleans 77, New England 63.
There. Now get some rest and catch up on Breaking Bad.

The Second Mile, Jerry Sandusky, and the Firing of Joe Pa

Fri, 2 Dec 2011 21:52:05 -0600

Yeah, yeah … another female sportswriter. Sorry about that, sexist, Marxist pigs.
The biggest news out of the college football world is not Auburn paying players (allegedly, but come on …); it’s much more sordid than that — maybe the biggest scandal in college football history.
The men in my family, namely my dad and grandfather, turned me on to college football at a very early age. I am so old that I was raised to hate Nebraska. I still miss Keith Jackson. But the coach I always loved was Joe Paterno, whom I counted as my third grandfather. And Penn State was my second-favorite team.
But back to Jerry Sandusky, whom even Chris Hansen would be shocked by. (“So … why did you bring condoms and vodka to a girl doing laundry, anyway?” And why is the girl always doing laundry? Sorry, I watch too much To Catch a Predator.)
Sandusky coached defense for Penn State for 32 years. In 1977, he started The Second Mile, a charity for at-risk youth (read: mostly African American kids).
Paterno finally decided in 1999 that he would die on the sideline or in the booth, and Sandusky retired after that season upon learning the head coaching position would not go to him as promised.
In 2002, Central Mountain High School athletic director Steven Turchetta was happy to enlist Sandusky as a volunteer with the football team he coached until recently. However, Turchetta noticed something abnormal about Sandusky’s behavior with students.
One particular kid, a freshman boy, would be pulled out of class on a regular basis by Sandusky, supposedly to “meet” (that’s what I call it, too) with him privately — no pun intended, as this is no funny matter. The boy had known Sandusky since he was about 11, through The Second Mile, and his mother became concerned several years later when the teen asked his mother in 2009 what “sex weirdos” were. She promptly notified the school. The principal called the child in, and the boy confessed that Sandusky had been sexually assaulting him.
After the mother was informed, the local child protective services got involved and began an investigation. Sandusky was then barred from the high school. Turchetta, when asked under oath about Sandusky’s conduct, was no holds barred.
An elementary school wrestling coach and donor to The Second Mile, whose father was an usher at Penn State games, also witnessed Sandusky’s conduct with students. The witness, Joe Miller, gave his account of what he’d seen: Sandusky lying on the floor with the teen in question, face to face, in physical contact.
Miller and Turchetta unknowingly set in motion the revelation of the scandal at Penn State: after all, Sandusky no longer coached there.
There are those who say: “2009? Why is this coming out NOW?” Honestly, investigations of this sort take time, and the investigation showed that Sandusky was allegedly diddling with boys as young as 7.
On November 4, Pennsylvania Attorney General Linda Kelly and State Police Commissioner Frank Noonan filed the 23-page grand jury report on the alleged depravity of Sandusky who, like most predators, built trust in these vulnerable, impoverished kids. The report details Sandusky’s alleged abuse of eight boys between 1994 and 2009.
So why fire Joe Pa? Most of the alleged abuses occurred either at Penn State functions or in its football facilities. Ultimately, that is his responsibility, no matter how many kids he helped or mentored.
Penn State Athletic Director Tim Curley was charged with perjury — for protecting an alleged predator, which is nearly as bad as being a pedophile himself.
The university’s financial and business coordinator, Gary Schultz, resigned, and both he and Curley were charged with failure to report child abuse.
Penn State President Graham Spanier was fired; he, too, may face indictment.
Paterno, and this is just my opinion, won’t make it much longer. He’s already stricken with cancer, and as a man known for his stringent morals, he must feel immense guilt. So the winningest coach in major college football now has a sad asterisk by his name.
It’s not as though the Nittany Lions haven’t had serious offenses in the past few years: at least 35 players faced university discipline or criminal charges between 2003 and 2009. But on Joe Pa: maybe sometimes we build someone to be a demigod, when he is just a fallible human.
I’m not even going to comment on the kids who camped on his lawn. Maybe at LSU we’d do the same. But, oh well, now we know where Saban’s headed, eh?

This Is My Last BPC

Fri, 4 Nov 2011 15:33:52 -0500

Red Shtick readers, I’m saying goodbye. It’s been an awesome three years. But I’ve realized that the best way to write sports for Baton Rouge is not to be in Pennsylvania writing sports for Pittsburgh.
Conflicts of interest cause problems for many people in sports. Remember Michael Jordan trying baseball? Ochocinco trying soccer? Jordan Jefferson trying mixed martial arts? Tyrann Mathieu, Tharold Simon, and Spencer Ware trying to smoke incense from the counter of a Circle K? Don’t forget how thin Tiger Woods had spread himself.
I, myself, am not getting high or having sordid affairs with golf fans. Instead, I have achieved the goal I set four years ago: to make my living as a writer of sports and other light subjects.
Four years ago, I was writing state permits for waste-disposal units. In that situation, you can either kill yourself or change your career.
Although I started writing this column in November 2008, I continued to write it after I moved to Pittsburgh in August 2010. The move was something I did not for work, but for the opportunity to crash at my parents’ house while finishing my master’s thesis. LSU’s Manship School of Mass Communication required months to be spent on this, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to maintain my rent and bills during thesis time.
Nonetheless, I graduated in December. And adding a mass communication master’s to my B.S. in chemistry kept the right door from being shut.
I now work full time for Sports Town, a comprehensive blog website for high school sports all over Pittsburgh. The site is managed by the company I work for (Tri-State Sports & News), but it’s powered by the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette newspaper.
For me, it’s demanding being a part of a daily media outlet, but I love it. Tomorrow, I’m covering the state’s District 7 cross country championship meet at Cooper’s Lake near Slippery Rock University. I get to use photos and videos to make it fun, and I even thought of a theme: Occupy Slippery Rock: A Protest Against Sitting Around Complaining. Fabulous, no? And that’s my job!
Like any job, there are parts of mine that are not fabulous. One of them is the fact that I “manage” content as well as produce it. This means waking up in the middle of every night to ensure that all of the Post-Gazette’s 1 a.m. high school stories are reformatted and reposted to Sports Town before 7 a.m. It’s a reason I really should be asleep right now.
But the difference is that I’m not writing waste permits, working with flesh-eating chemicals, or doing any of the jobs I was qualified for before I got my master’s. For a while there, I even worked as a waitress serving drinks at the Gold Club. The people there were great, but I now get to use my creativity on audiences who just tune in for the sports…
Red Shtick Magazine has given me the greatest page space a writer could ask for, but my current job/location makes me not the greatest writer for that page space. South Louisiana needs someone who sits in the I-10 traffic, who sees the latest local election ads, and who takes hilarious photos of tailgates. Friends, Tiger fans, Louisianians — that person can no longer be me.
Red Shtick was awesome long before I was a part of it, and it will be after this month. The magazine is like football — it evolves. What was once a sexy read option is now an I-formation, two-back set. The magazine’s engineered the ideal staff of contributors to hit harder and be funnier than ever before. They are a product of Red Shtick Labs, an imaginary research institution that would probably look a lot like an old Far Side cartoon if it were real. But I digress.
The point is that my leaving the magazine is not bad news; it’s always just been good news for me that I’ve been a part of it.
Baton Rouge, I leave you now with a couple of sports-related thoughts. The first is that Baton Rouge is one of the best sports cities in America, so you should demand the best from all of your local sports writers. The other thought comes from my brother, a former long-stick defenseman for an intramural college lacrosse team. He says that although he no longer plays any lacrosse, the stick comes in handy if there are bats in the house.
Thanks for reading, Baton Rouge…

Which “Rivalries” Are Real

Fri, 2 Sep 2011 14:27:08 -0500

As football season begins, Baton Rouge gets highlights of the (literally) Fightin’ Tigers1, and Pittsburgh gets video of the Steelers. Here in western PA, I recently saw something about the “storied rivalry between the Ravens and the Steelers.”
Is anyone aware that the Ravens franchise has only been around since 1996? The only way that your family can have generations of Ravens fans is if you are a dog. The Pittsburgh/Baltimore “rivalry” is nothing more than an attempt to sell T-shirts like these:
I’m not sure who the hand belongs to.

A real rivalry comes from the competitors, not the fans or media. The competition in a rivalry is intensified by athletes’ mutual respect, not by the kidnapping of mascots.
To make rivalries abundantly clear, I will detail some examples. I have already outlined them carefully on a paper bag that says: LAZY GATOR, Murrell’s Inlet, Myrtle Beach. (I have never been to Myrtle Beach).

Peyton Manning and neck surgery: Not a rivalry. It’s more “the classic struggle of a man who doesn’t want his head to fall off.”

Boston Celtics and New York Knicks: Celtics captain Paul Pierce said it best. Last December, the Celtics and Knicks were both on winning streaks when they were scheduled to play each other. All too quickly, reporters used the word “rivalry” when they asked Pierce about the matchup.
“Hey, if [a rivalry is] what y’all want it to be,” Pierce told ESPNBoston.com. “If it’ll sell more tickets and get more viewers, then I guess so.” Pierce continued, “[The media makes] up the rivalries, we don’t.”
Pierce knew how absurd it was for the media to be the ones making the rivalries. We’re not the ones playing the games.

Duke Blue Devils and UNC Tarheels (basketball): This is a real rivalry. It stems from the respect between winning coaches eight miles apart. Note that they don’t like each other; Roy Williams has gotten pretty fired up when Mike Kryshev — er, … Kzyzxzch — er, … KPMG — er, … Coach K has said things about how UNC reports injuries. But Williams still respects Coach K.
This past winter, Williams told the Charlotte Observer: “No one can have more respect for what Mike has done than I do.” Likewise, Coach K has fired the guy he hired to spit in Williams’ drinks.
Seriously, the point is that the two wouldn’t hate each other so much if they both didn’t win so much. Respect between coaches that intensifies competition signals rivalry.

LSU and Alabama (football): I’m going to get a lot of nitpickers on this one, but this is NOT a real rivalry. In recent years, the hype stems from the Saban-haters: all those who still feel jilted since Saban’s return to college football didn’t bring him back to Death Valley.
Do Saban and Miles respect each other? I’m sure they do. But there is nothing unusual enough about it to make this a rivalry. The same thing goes for the players.
College football programs have immense respect for anyone who plays on their own level. Their desire to beat opponents is in no way affected by the amount of toilet paper in their trees on game day. (Their desire to beat drunk fans may be affected, however.)

Ben Hartz and Zach Sufrin: This IS a real rivalry. Don’t nod like you know what I’m talking about; you’ve never heard of these guys. I am borrowing an example from work2, because it is really good.
This past spring, Hartz and Sufrin were both pitchers for the Shady Side Academy Indians baseball team. They grew up together in an area called Squirrel Hill, so they were always in pitching competition with each other. As high school students on the same team, their mutual desire to be the No. 1 pitcher took the Indians to the end of April undefeated. So, not only is this a real rivalry, it has a pretty cool effect.

Pitt and WVU (basketball): This is NOT a rivalry so much as hatred on a jihad level.

I hope these examples have cleared things up regarding rivalries. This way, whenever someone says “You need to come over and watch the big rivalry game between the Saints and Falcons,” enjoy it. But don’t spend your money on a rude T-shirt. Such a game should be good, but it’s really because the Saints would want to beat the snot out of any team on their schedule that day.
Remember, if you really need to, you can bite your thumb at Atlanta for free.

1 Someone needs to tell Jordan Jefferson, Chris Davenport, Joshua Johns, and Jarvis Landry not to take the lyrics of “Hey, Fightin’ Tigers” literally.
2 I work for a Pittsburgh Post-Gazette website called Sports Town. To do this, I write articles and manage site content in a program called “Joomla!” which sounds like a Dutch soft drink laced with methamphetamines.

Soccer Teaches Us That Brazilians Have Smaller Heads Than We Do

Fri, 5 Aug 2011 14:20:38 -0500

My brother went to Brazil on business and bought me this Vitória jersey. The neck hole has an inner circumference of 15¾”. I think in metric that’s about 33 grams.
Vitória Jersey

My own massive cranium is 22½”. When I tried on the jersey, I tugged and pulled and crashed into a desk fan and knocked it over onto one of the dogs’ beds. This woke up GG (my husky mix), who jumped straight up and ran into my shins before cowering in a corner. Nonetheless, I persevered and stretched the tiny Brazilian neck hole over my head. Strangely, the rest of the jersey fits like a normal T-shirt.
I zoomed in on the photo because I enjoy the Vitória club sponsor on the sleeves. Habib’s is a Brazilian fast-food chain specializing in Middle Eastern food. It also specializes in logos you couldn’t use in the United States.
I’m learning about all the equipment you need to play international soccer. This year’s World Cup taught us about drama and heartbreak, but also about cute headbands.
Christof Koepsel, Getty Images Europe
Superstar forward/all-American girl Abby Wambach

I now know that these headbands are necessary to hold your hair down and help you get the jersey over your head.
What else do you need to play international sports this summer? LSU’s own Jane Trepp and Michael Phelps know. You need a POOL.
Clive Rose, Getty Images
“I’m so high I see a bunny.”

I have just learned how much I hate pools. My parents have an in-ground swimming pool, and I’m taking care of it while they’re out of town. Part of the job involves Gunter, the robot they use to clean the pool.
Gunter’s name comes from the fact that he was made by a German company and he looks like a discothèque. I like to imagine Gunter singing as he works. In my head, it goes something like this: Gunter
“I AM ZE CLEANING WO-BOT, LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!”
He is very loud.
The bad thing about pools is the skimmer, or the flow-through chamber that traps random debris after it falls in the pool. I hate the skimmer because you have to empty the basket, or “slimy pit of death.” You open the chamber and lift out the basket, only to find all the nastiest leaves, dead bugs, ex-toads, and worse. It’s like something a kid would tote around in a Steinbeck novel.
Trepp and Phelps spent the last couple of weeks of July competing in the FINA World Championships in Shanghai. I doubt they had to empty the skimmer basket, though.
In “News I Can’t Take Anymore,” the NFL lockout ended in late July. I’m glad it is over, because without the NFL, there are a lot of jokes I can’t make.
I think that all returning NFL players and owners should have to wear small-head jerseys and clean skimmer baskets, though.

Why Terrelle Pryor Will Be an NFL Success

Fri, 1 Jul 2011 15:48:28 -0500

He’s got a rep for trouble now. That’s the magic ingredient.
Seriously, Pryor’s investigation is what pro teams translate to public interest. As NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell alludes to the latest collective bargaining agreement, the teams who were hurting before are still hurting. Buffalo, Houston, San Francisco, Arizona — which will be the team to make a deal for a tarnished star? That strategy certainly worked to get attention in Philadelphia.
There’s no comparison between what Michael Vick did and what Terrelle Pryor’s been accused of. But it’s the existence of a sensation that counts.
Look at Cam Newton. It’s another situation where the guy could have taken all the illegal money people said he did, or not. The Carolina Panthers want a star football player, not a Boy Scout. Maybe the good people of Charlotte would rather buy tickets to see a rebel who throws laptops out of windows, anyway. (Especially if the laptop flew 60 yards and landed safely in a neighborhood tree.)
What happens to the Boy Scouts, anyway? Anyone remember Charles Scott? Of course you do — we ALL love him. But it’s only been a year since he got drafted, and he’s already on his third team: the New York Giants practice squad. Scott carries no game stats (or jersey number, for that matter). When you Google Scott’s name, the first thing that comes up is a beauty salon chain.
It all makes me wonder: Would Scott be worth more to a pro team if he’d been caught egging a liquor store?
Even Plaxico Burress is getting talked up. According to a report from USA Today, Ben Roethlisberger would love to have Burress back in Pittsburgh. Really? To catch the ball, Pittsburgh’s got Mike Wallace and Antonio Brown! Or, if young talent isn’t enough for you, you could even mention Hines “Dances With Stars” Ward.
I’ll bet you ten bucks that Roethlisberger only talked up P. Burress because he shot himself and served time in prison. All Wallace and Brown ever did was catch (footballs, not bullets). Why can’t quiet integrity sell tickets the way unforgivable mistakes do?
I probably shouldn’t complain too much; it’s not as if Burress already has some cushy deal. But isn’t Roethlisberger himself an example of tension over cleanliness?
When Roethlisberger faced a second set of accusations for sexual assault, some Pittsburghers talked about trading him for a first-round pick. “Bring on the Bradford era!” they said.
I do think Roethlisberger’s abilities were what kept him here. But can we rule out the TV ratings? Maybe Roethlisberger and Rashard Mendenhall should get their own talk show.
We can add on. Which guy do you remember more about: Blaine Gabbert or Ryan Mallett? Did you say Mallett, the one who got arrested for public intoxication? I’ll admit I did. Go again: Santonio Holmes or Steve Breaston? Ron Artest or Jason Kidd? Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana?
Look, I defended Pryor. When he first got in trouble last December for selling memorabilia, I said, “The NCAA rule is dumb.” Why is it that I can sell something of value but Pryor can’t? I called Pryor “the nice kid from Jeannette,” where I now sit at home as I write this. Perhaps now I’m defending Pryor a different way.
We may never know if there were cars or money given to Ohio State players, but we’ll always know Pryor as the football star who left NCAA territory, ending his role in the investigation. It’s almost as if Pryor said, “Woe is me, look what I’ve brought on my team. Don’t worry. I won’t be any trouble anymore. I’ll just go ahead and join the NFL.” Isn’t that where Division I college football players want to go to begin with?
Did Pryor pick a perfect notoriety level on which to see his way out of college football? The answer may be yes, especially since the supplemental draft was designed in part for players who had issues develop that affected their college eligibility. It’s like the NFL is saying, “We just didn’t want to miss out on the guys who turned out to be trouble.”
In conclusion for Pryor, there will be no Canadian Football League or arena football. He will go to NFL and be famous forevermore, while guys like Charles Scott get on the practice squad. In the words of the immortal Green Day, “Nice guys finish last.”
I’ve got to go egg the mayor’s house now.

How a Guy in a Skirt Helps Me Cope With Ray Lewis

Fri, 3 Jun 2011 12:50:14 -0500

What’s more interesting than the twists and turns of the NFL lockout? Sports.
At the beginning of this year, I started my own western-Pennsylvania sports blog. My goal was to give Pennsylvanians something new, such as “beer in grocery stores” or “sunlight.” (Incidentally, I read that Pittsburgh gets 56 sunny days per year, whereas Seattle gets only 53. In your face, Seattle!)
In the course of making something new for my home, I made a discovery for myself. I learned how to tolerate the Rashard Mendenhalls and Ray Lewises of the world. Why? Because guys like these become dead to you when you no longer look to them for sports satisfaction.
Let me tell you what I mean. On April 13, the Pittsburgh Penguins began their short-lived 2011 playoff season. So the whole city took off work early and bought bulk meats for the occasion.
Later, when the Pens caught the Lightning like they were wearing foil hats, the whole city bitched about the power play. They reiterated the Sidney Crosby “conspiracy” and went to work mad.
I also love the Penguins, so I understand. But since I started covering local sports, some things have changed. On the night of the Penguins’ first playoff game, I was out watching high school lacrosse. And I was exactly where I wanted to be.
There wasn’t a single word about Sidney Crosby’s concussion or Matt Cooke’s latest dumb suspension. The lacrosse game was just a lacrosse game, without any installed plotlines stemming from pro-athlete personalities and the repetitive coverage thereof.
Mt. Lebanon High School’s Bijan Firouzan runs to the sideline to get open.

Try what I’m talking about for yourself. Pick a high school or college (nonrevenue) sporting event and go to it. You don’t have announcers chewing up the game for you or videos telling you what to think. Instead, you’ve got the action the media doesn’t know about.
Recently, I watched a packed grandstand at a baseball game get to know each other because the scoreboard wasn’t working. Everyone was crazy over the game, because no one wanted to be the idiot with the wrong score.
Also, at Greensburg Salem High School in Greensburg, PA, I learned that there was no boys lacrosse team as soon as I saw this guy:
Nick Defrancesco plays on Greensburg Salem High School’s girls lacrosse team. Greensburg Salem has no boys lacrosse team.

If I had let the tunnel vision of ESPN overtake me, I never would have witnessed such great things.
I’m not saying that you should give up ESPN. If I’m near a TV, I’ll always have it on. But I am saying you should try getting off the sofa before watching sports. Otherwise, you might miss face plants like this: http://youtu.be/zcYOSoKoMUk
Yes, it is entertaining when Serena Williams stupidly uses Twitter to make her stalker problems worse or when Rashard Mendenhall mistakes himself for Socrates. But these people already have more money than Yellow Trucking and they don’t need your attention. They’ll only use the ad revenue to buy a Cadillac filled with truffles.
The bottom line is that you should stay with TV sports to know what’s going on. But to really enjoy sports, try going to a game where the media hasn’t wedged itself between you and the action. Bring a mitt to protect your face, not to catch a souvenir. Risk getting hit in the head with a few basketballs or volleyballs. It’s happened to me lots of times and I’m OK, right %%&@@@@@@@@
So go forth. Find drama and heartbreak right in your hometown. Then see how you feel about the TV. Say you go to a high school baseball playoff game and watch an undefeated team go down to a 10-seed. After that, will you still feel like you’re enjoying sports when you watch Ray Lewis say that we’ll all be replacing NFL football with violent crime?
This summer, use the lockout as a reason to get out.

Xavier’s Warren Does Basketball, Country Music, and Impressions

Fri, 6 May 2011 09:56:54 -0500

Christina Warren is a 5-foot-9 senior forward/guard for the Xavier University of Louisiana Gold Nuggets.
The Gold Nuggets are a Gulf Coast Athletic Conference team. This year, they went to the NAIA Division I Women’s Basketball National Championship in Jackson, TN. The Nuggets made it to the second round, where they lost to the Oklahoma City Stars 67-51. (Between ’99 and ’03, the Nuggets lost to the Stars by totals of 30, 30, and 38 points.)
Photo by Irving Johnson III, Xavier University
Christina Warren is friends with us until we step onto the court…

Last month, Warren was named to the All-Louisiana Collegiate Women’s Basketball team, so I climbed a tall tree and interviewed her.
“You’re originally from Rancho Cucamonga, CA,” I said. “What was it like to make the switch to New Orleans? What kinds of ‘shocks’ did you experience, both in basketball and in everyday life?”
“In basketball, it was just a different style of play. It’s more aggressive,” said Warren.
New Orleans gave its own set of shocks, as usual. Warren mentioned the weather and the culture. “There’s a lot more culture than we have in California — a big change for me,” she said.
Moving on. “You made 41 3-pointers this season, so you’re like the world’s fastest sniper,” I said. “What is it about the Nuggets’ play or coaching that helped you to become such a successful shooter?”
Photo by Irving Johnson III, Xavier University
LSU Shreveport has not yet learned to fly like Christina Warren.

Warren cited hard work. “In the summer, we just worked a lot on my shooting using the shooting machine.” She also said that the Nuggets’ plays helped her get open with screens and helped her create open threes.
“What’s the shooting machine?” I asked. I was picturing a giant robot of Kevin Garnett that you have to play against in practice.
Warren set me straight. “It’s a machine where you shoot and there’s a net that gets rebounds.” So, no robot. I made a note.
“Let’s jump to your recent trip to Jackson, TN. Your team held its own in a physical match against Oklahoma City. How did your style of play have to change that day in order to match what the Stars were doing?”
“They matched us really good — it was like playing against yourself!” Warren said. “We just had to play harder.”
“On a related note,” I said, “what’s the craziest thing an opponent has ever done to mess with your game?”
Warren didn’t seem too shaken. “They probably just talked a lot in the game,” she said. “They will just try to say you’re not going to score.”
“Your schedules take you on road trips all over the South — to college towns in Tennessee, Arkansas, Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi. What kinds of things happen when you and the Nuggets get on the road?”
“We just always have fun,” Warren said. “We’re always listening to music on the bus, having a good time, and we’re dancing. Coach Bo (Browder) likes some country music, so we listen to everything, basically.”
Photo by Irving Johnson III, Xavier University
Christina Warren, Coach Bo Browder, and the Gold Nuggets after winning the 2010 Gulf Coast Athletic Conference tournament.

Sounds like a good time. “Who inspires you, in basketball?” I asked.
“Probably my little sister,” said Warren. “I know it’s weird because she’s younger, but she’s a lot taller and bigger than I am and she plays basketball. So, she inspires me.”
“Who repulses you, in general?” I asked.
“Probably just whoever we’re playing against at the time!” Warren said.
“Do you have any private trash talk that you do in your head, then?” I asked.
“Just that no one’s our friend at game time,” said Warren. Simple enough.
“What’s your favorite Xavier basketball memory?” I asked.
“Last year, when we won our conference championship in our own gym,” said Warren. “We celebrated and cut the nets down and everything!”
Photo by Irving Johnson III, Xavier University
Christina Warren is neither running with the scissors nor walking under the ladder.

“What’s the rest of the team like?” I asked. “What kinds of fun or hilarious things do you do together, either on or off of the court?”
“We have lots of different personalities!” Warren said. “We all just goofed around a lot and talked about each other. Like, we kinda impersonate our coach all the time. We all have his voice down.”
To Coach Bo Browder, if you’re reading: I’m sure this is the sincerest form of flattery.
On to injuries. “I once bruised my tailbone at a rugby practice because I fell backward when a teammate shoved the ball at my nose,” I said. “What’s the stupidest injury you’ve seen in basketball?”
“I’ve seen players run into the bleachers to get a ball — no one touched them or anything,” said Warren. Thankfully, this was only at a practice. Zero grandmothers were harmed in the making of this article.
“You’re a senior,” I said. “What are your plans for the future?”
Warren has a lot. “I plan on going to grad school,” she said. “I’m thinking about trying to play overseas,” she added. As for grad school, Warren is considering studying forensic psychology.
Hey — she can already deconstruct the court. Why not add “in court”?
For more information about Christina Warren and the Xavier University Gold Nuggets, check out http://www.xula.edu/athletics/wb/.

Drew Brees Wants Your Money and Other Sports Tweets

Fri, 1 Apr 2011 12:12:45 -0500

This month, I set up a Twitter account so I could show you what’s going on with the biggest names in sports. Here’s the feed; I reversed the order so the oldest posts are first.

Sports Coverage Sucks Like C-SPAN

Fri, 4 Mar 2011 18:38:11 -0600

Lately, following sports is like watching C-SPAN. The analysis is boring and gross; why must the media talk about Carmelo Anthony like he’s in charge of hurricane season this year?
Worst of all, there are so many transactions. I’m afraid to watch SportsCenter without an attorney present.
For example, I already brought up Carmelo Anthony. Reporters have been cheesing themselves for months over the Syracuse ex-Nugget — Melo-drama, they call it.
How many people even know what position he plays? Hell, I had to look it up. He’s a small forward. But, for people who just want their sports news to flow with action and scores, he’s a small nightmare. Here’s why:
Anthony’s move to the Knicks is already being called The Carmelo Anthony Deal. Like The New Deal or the Geneva Convention. In Carmelo’s deal, the Nuggets pick up four Knicks and a 2014 draft pick who probably isn’t born yet. Likewise, New York also gets four additional Denver players. At McDonald’s, they call this a 4-piece Nuggets.
But why not involve the Minnesota Timberwolves for salary cap reasons? After all, isn’t sports coverage with legal stuff more fun? Two Knicks will go to Minnesota in exchange for a cheaper Wolf. The Carmelo Anthony Deal has more begats than a revival meeting.
I don’t fault the NBA for this. I know it’s their trade deadline. I do fault the networks, though, for their painstaking analysis and conjecture. I’ve had sports channels on my TV for the past hour, and I haven’t seen a single highlight. The fake seriousness reeks like a quorum call.
We can add to this by mentioning Albert Pujols. Pujols, the Machine, the pride of St. Louis, the bane of TVs during his contract extension deadline. After a $300 million debate with overcaffeinated reporters hanging out in front of important-looking buildings, we learned the unthinkable: Albert Pujols may leave the Cardinals. Next year. Rock my world, why don’t you…
This leads in nicely to the NFL labor talks. How many breaking reports were there on February 10 that the meeting between the NFL and the NFLPA had been cancelled? People tuned in, too. There are fantasy owners preparing for a lockout the way you put plywood on your windows.
Isn’t this the very quorum call I was talking about? If I could draw, there would be a cartoon here of a fan section above Congress. Guys with beer guts and big foam fingers would be sweating over Proposition 114159a, a 1 mill tax increase for parking lot maintenance.
Vulgar taunts would ensue between those in favor and those against, and each side would wear different-colored paint. The only guy not yelling would be the one with the rainbow wig and the sign that says John 3:16.
Somewhere below, men with water glasses are quietly talking. Do you see how absurd sports news is?
One last transaction has been given way too much detail. It is the breeding of superfilly Rachel Alexandra to Curlin, who is either a horse or a Russian ballet instructor. Either way, I don’t need to know about it.
Tell me when she has her foal, or tell me the story that she’s a great mom. But don’t give me the mental visual of Rachel’s “deal,” especially when we don’t even know if there’s any result. After all, what if Rachel’s baby wears glasses and just wants to be a scientist?
My final thoughts on all of this go back to a commercial that aired during the great Major League Baseball strike of the ’94-’95 season. In the ad, the man with the ball-speed gun clocks a bird, wind, and other ambient objects. The screen fades to black and says exactly what’s on my mind now:
“Play ball. Please.”
It’ll beat the crap out of whatever it is we’re watching…