Outside the Aviary: "We Got It For Cheap"

Since LA and Orlando both make me angry, I'm gonna fast forward seven games to the offseason.

The idea that '09 is a weak class of NBA free agents is a ridiculous understatement. There is more chance for failure amongst the championship-caliber teams than there is success. Think about it: the Lakers are banking on Odom and Ariza, the Cavs ditto with Anderson Varejao if he opts out (sorry kids, I don't think that highly of him other than a scrapper), and the Celtics ditto Glen Davis (how long 'til he becomes the Varejao he is destined to be?) as their high priorities speaks to how much the GMs think about this class. That said, there are some "we got it for cheap volume '09" players worth pursuing this summer. Here goes.

Raja Bell. He can still defend for a contender, can hit open (read: OPEN) threes despite his 3% tanking a bit this year in Phoenix/Charlotte. He can rock a midlevel exception, maybe not even the whole thing. He's hungry from his recent fall from grace in Phoenix and can replace the tenacity a contender may have lost since he's entered the twilight of his career. I love him in Boston, Cleveland (Mo Williams being absent would not have mattered as much in the playoffs-- Raja would have made a huge difference, I bet), Atlanta. The Knicks aren't contenders, but he would go back to D'Antoni, I'd bet.

Kyle Korver (if he opts out). If you are defense heavy, maybe you need that dude to come in and just hit shots. Or, maybe, you just need those shots. Hard to imagine him in Boston or Cleveland with those coaches. Or LA with them having wasted money on "The Machine." Or Denver, seeing as how they have to give the ball to JR Smith one out of every three touches in clutch situations (my thoughts on JR soon to come). Still, a midway contender could really use a court-spreading spot-up guy right? I love him in San Antonio, Cleveland (despite the defense first attitude), and like him in Phoenix now that they are running again (a sleeper for next year since they wasted the first half of the season on the most subjective and thoughtless coach in the NBA). If Kerr were smart, he'd try to make amends.

Birdman. Oh man, Mike Brown and Doc Rivers. They have to think they can make a run at this guy. He's got a past and is too emotional at times, yes. But you don't think LeBron or Garnett can keep him in check like Chauncey kinda did? Man oh man. Sign him, please. Either of you. Cleveland-- Anderson Varejao has held out and is now going to opt out. Of a contract. Worth money. More than enough money. 6.4 million dollars worth of money. FUCK HIM. Birdman is everything he is plus some actual offense. You sign him and a real spot-shooter (sorry, Boobie. 2006 was so long ago and you been figured out). Do it. Boston, this is your chance to have the cheap asshole that will take you to the top again. He's Mikki Moore, only the exact opposite. He's the new, white, tattooed PJ Brown. Denver needs to operate on a "right now" policy, I'd say. I'd love him in Boston, love/hate him in Cleveland and watch a lot more Denver games in Denver. Also, shouldn't Philly make a short run? He and Brand splitting some time don't sound so bad, right?

Mike Bibby. More than Jason Kidd, the emergence of Bibby after his trade last year has been surprising. Not that I thought he was cooked, I just never saw a four-seed or second round appearance coming from him. A team with a jittery young PG could use him. Or a group of shitty ones. And he might come cheaper than expected in the no money era. This will kill me to say it, but wouldn't LA be unbeatable right now with a decent-to-good point guard? Ugh. Seriously. Kidd still bears himself as too good and expensive, so go with the real option: Bibby in '09. Love him with the Lakers*.

*kills self.

Brandon Bass. He's good. Seriously, I love watching him. He's worth it. Undersized forwards are the new undersized shooting guards. I mean Chuck Hayes played center this year. Center. Chuck Hayes. Do it. You might not be disappointed, people. Miami, you like how Beasley liked to do nothing with his "size"? How about a guy who knows how to use his? Love him over Glen in Boston (not gonna happen), Denver (Phony's gonna kill me on that one) and, most of all, Miami.

Von Wafer. He's got the unsung quality you want in a swingman. He can shoot, drive and his name his alternately cool/gay. Isn't that all you need to make a small difference on a team? Plus, we gotta forgive him sometime, right?


Love him in Philly, Golden State (I know, not a contender... I just love them, OK?), Phoenix.

Ricky Davis. (Just kidding.)

Dahntay Jones. It is decision time in Denver. I love him right where he is. Leave him be. Except, well, there are so many defense-hungry contenders who just watched him play the toughest guy on the court for long stretches... uh-oh, Denver. Personally, I think he flops everywhere else. Stay, Dahntay. Stay. Love him in Denver, he'd survive in Boston or Cleveland. Neither of them can afford to give away that much offense, though.

Jamal Crawford. He's not elite, but he can come in and get hot for a struggling club. For all the players on this list, can you see any of them coming in and hitting big shots without a pick or without being the third- or fourth-best player on a court? He is that player. He still thinks he's a leader, but put him with another alpha-male and see what happens. Yeah, he's sporadic, but if he knows his role early, he can score in bunches. I like him in Denver (Phony just shit himself and vowed to kill me twice). Otherwise, he'll go to a points-hungry non-contender (i.e. stay in Golden State). He may not be as cheap as the other guys on this list, though.

Luther Head. Who? I know. But I like his game in the right system in limited time. Plus he is really cheap right now. Let's see if he can thrive during second-unit time on a good team, you know? I like him spelling the guards in Philly, Atlanta (they need bench players everywhere), Utah, Phoenix (he can run and he has to play better defense than Nash. His 3% will increase too, says I), San Antonio, and I'm cool with him in Miami more than I am Chris Quinn.

Matt Barnes. God, let him end up on a contender. He's so underrated since he's been on running teams for so long. Barnes can make a huge difference on a second squad. Throw the game plan out the window when the second unit is on the floor, you know? Run 'em. Think in Boston: new PG, House (if he re-signs), Powe, Barnes and Davis. Sometimes Pierce/Ray for leadership. Wrecking crew, three-pointers and some slashing. Now, Cleveland: LBJ sits and you got Delonte, Barnes, Varejao (if he opts out/re-signs), and some shooters. That crew can score, right? And he is fearless. Denver could use him. He seems like the perfect "asshole" in LA's schemes. Gets after every ball. Emotional to nearly a fault. Cheaper than Ariza and willing to sign short term. I like him nearly everywhere: Boston, Cleveland, LA, Orlando, San Antonio (f'reals), Philly, Atlanta, Phoenix again, Miami. I bet he'd thrive in NYC, god forbid.

Jacques Vaughan. He can shoot a little, he's quick as hell, played for a contender and gores after every play like it's his last chance to prove himself. He's tiny, quick and worth the diminutive risk. I like him, still, in San Antonio. I like him in Boston. I really do. Also, as a backup in Dallas or Philly where he has the potential to step in for longer stretches and Houston with Aaron Brooks and his situation.

Trevor Ariza. Can they sign Ariza and Lamar Odom? Odds are, yes. They will both be Lakers again. Still, defensive minded teams? Think of San Antonio with Pop's system or on the Jazz under Sloan. Think of backcourts with Ariza and Rondo, CP3 and Ariza, LeBron and Ariza. Kinda nasty. So much fear in a ballhandler's eyes. I love him in Boston, LA, San Antonio, Atlanta (though he would jack up too many threes), Phoenix, Denver... just about anywhere unless he falls apart after signing a decent-sized contract.

It's more of an interesting offseason than I thought, I guess. There's value to be had, for certain.

Outside the Aviary: "What Burns Never Returns."

In watching the Celtics last year and the Magic (thus far) this year-- have they proven that underrated talent rises when they are put to the impossible task of beating the best player in the world? Sure, D-How was nice in the OT, but this was Rafer and Rashard like it was Posey and Pierce. No one expects Cleveland to lose, but this team keep finding ways to beat them, like the Celts last year. Is this a weakness of LeBron? Is it a team weakness? Is Orlando the latest "hot team" to take down a giant at the perfect time? Is Cleveland, as a sports city, doomed?

No.

The Cleveland Cavaliers lost three games doing exactly what they should be doing defensively: leaving Rafer Alston alone, hoping to stop the rest of the team. Alston is the sole player on the floor at any given time with a glaring weakness: he'll take any shot despite being a less-than-average shooter. The Cavs lost while relying on LeBron down the stretch. He played an amazing number of minutes and peppered mistakes with incredible shots. The Cavs lost while fouling Dwight Howard in crunch-time. You have to do that and they did. Dwight hit free throws. No one would have expected that.

The Cavs lost because their big men were insufficient, their threes weren't going down, and they made mistakes. Since the breakup of Shaq and Kobe and the deterioration of the Spurs, the NBA now has the most fallible sets of championship contenders in the league's history. Think about the list: an old Celtics team, a Magic team that lives and dies by the three, the Lakers who have a myriad of problems with role players, point guards and big men who aren't getting the chance to assert themselves against smaller lineups. The Cavaliers went into the season as the favorites for the one or two seed. Beyond that their fallibility had to be lurking somewhere, right? Just not against teams who were as disjointed as Atlanta and Detroit.

I don't think that many people were counting on the Eastern Conference Finals being a cakewalk until Kevin Garnett went down. However, Garnett going down benefited Orlando way more than Cleveland. When Dwight Howard saw Garnett go down, his eyes were transfixed on insane double-doubles. There is no pother big an capable of stopping him in the East. Conversely, the Cavs big men had no reason to celebrate the absence of Garnett. Ilgauskas is a jumpshooter, Wallace is a defender/hacker and Varejao is a scrapper. None of them are accomplished scorers which leaves the interior defense hungry to bang LeBron around and keep him from going hard to the basket. They won some and they lost some and Orlando will live with that. Possibly long enough to get to the finals.

All this while Rafer Alston plays above his own body and Mo Williams is playing with the lowest confidence level he can possibly have. He is passing up open shots, letting Delonte and Lebron run the point more than ever and missing his open looks more often that I have ever seen. Delonte is his own problem and the Pavlovic-Sczerbiak connection has done absolutely nothing thus far. The problem of production continues to rear its ugly head. If the guards stretch the defense, the Cavs have a chance. If they do not, the Cavs are doomed.

So, that leaves LeBron. LeBron has done it all imperfectly, then perfectly and again, last night, imperfectly. Like a bedbug looking for a blood meal, he searches for ways to bump into the lane and create with no space and little help. The picks aren't helping, the passes aren't getting to made shots and the plays aren't effective. Yet, they have been a shot away all three losses. Not to be lost in the din of Orlando's triumph is James' imperfect brilliance.

How did we not see this team's fallibility before? The problem doesn't lie in the players, it lies in their design. This is a team of strange pieces, and for the second year in a row, this team looks poised to falter with the greatest player in nearly any sport. Mo Williams was brought on to take the pressure off of the team-- not even off of LeBron but the team itself. He was the piece with enough smarts to control the Cavs destiny outside of LeBron. The shooting percentage, the moves and the fluidity to give them a viable second option has been neutralized.

And so too have the Cleveland Cavaliers. As LeBron forces instead of flows, the team does the same. LeBron is not the problem. Cleveland is not the problem. The defense is not the problem. Mike Brown isn't even the problem. The problem is a team that looks to a leader and expects him to deliver. He can and will, but not every time. No, at some point he has to be helped, like we all do. And this still doesn't seem to be the team to do it. Problem is, so few of saw this coming and we should have.

Outside the Aviary: Your Cheatin' Heart

Every week, I enter (and lose) a gambling pool at my office on pro football. Every week, I highlight the Patriots to win on the NY Post Gambling lines, and they win. Every week, I see a little asterisk beside the Patriots name indicating a "caught cheating" at the bottom of the page. This snarky reminder is an absolutely typical New York City dick move.

Not that I am complaining about it-- I mean their paper, their choice. But let's be honest, guys. Let's call on the dogs for everything. Here's the proposal: each time you print something about the Yankee teams of 1996-2001, place a star beside that too.

I was watching a Yankee classic the other day: Andy Pettite* vs. Kevin Brown* and that's when the Mitchell Report results hit home. Those two teams were tainted because the pitching-- which John Sterling and Michael (fucking) Kaye said was the anchor of a Yankee team that hit like shit through that entire 1998 playoff run--is the reason the playoffs are so vibrant and alive. Every pitch was important, every breath was held on the delivery. It's like that every year.

Calling Clemens* or Pettite* or even F.P. Santangelo* a cheater or a liar is pointless. So, then, is calling this Patriots team the same thing-- and in such a ridiculous manner as the Post does. If we're gonna call great championship teams out for doing whatever they can to win, let's do that-- let's do exactly that-- and get it right this time. From 1996-2001, those Yankee teams* were among the best in history and the bane of my existence. Everyone on their roster, from Chuck Knoblauch* to the younger versions of Mike Lowell and Joe Borowski have to suffer for this in a way. As do we all.


*-caught cheating

Outside the Aviary: "It's In Our Nature"

After something as terrible as the Sean Taylor fiasco, I usually try to stay away from televised sports for at least a week due to the inanity of discussion. Championship Curling could be on, and the announcers would find a way to talk about the tragedy. Apparently, as if on cue, Dick Vitale mentioned it in the same breath as how great the Barber family is in the NFL during a Duke basketball game. Why do I need to know that Dicky V thinks this is a terrible occurrence? Why are people so intent on getting their thoughts on the matter out?

I violated my rule last night, however, to watch the most important game of the young basketball season. I started the night by drinking heavily-- a favorite pastime of mine-- and talking up the NBA with a good buddy of mine. Then, I took some preparation shots. Little did I know that I was about to watch the rout of the century. I needed release, I needed therapy. I needed to shout happily for a couple of hours. I got all that and more. I laughed joyously at the miserable dredges of offense the Knickerbockers trotted out. I watched the "Big 3" cheering on their teammates while they were up by 47 points. By the end, I realized that this was the best game I have watched. It was as if the Celtics felt my crestfallen cries and walloped one of my least favorite franchises to quell my ill-temper.

As untrue as that last statement surely is, I do feel better as a fan and ultimately as a person. Watching a systematic dismantling like that-- even Scalabrine got 3 points in this one-- brings out the worst kind of person in me. It's the only time I will ever gloat. Usually, this is the time to tell the couple next to you that Isiah will get fired, Marbury will be gone soon or some such other positive idea. Instead, I was yelling, "This is the single worst showing I have ever seen in the NBA." Instead, I was yelling, "Oh shit, Scalabrine. AND... THE... FOUL." Instead, I laughed egregiously-- uproariously-- bellied up to the bar, the wind now whipping furiously onto my once-sagging sails.

I'll admit it-- I wanted a 50-point win-- and was upset when Nate Robinson hit a circus shot to save the Knicks from ther worst offensive output ever. I will not, however, admit, that
I was wrong for doing so. The nature of a fan in recovery is to look for the positive. Last night's game was nothing but positive, and the picture above this article proves it. I may have been in my worst mode, but it was at the best time. Such is the nature of sport-- and the nature of a fan in need. Thank you, Boston Celtics. Thank you.

(EDIT: Two great things about that line score: Mardy Collins being a DNP-Coach's Decision-- is that the only decision he made all night?-- and the fact that Nate Robinson's buzzer beater meant he was the only Knickerbocker in double figures. Wow.)

Outside the Aviary: "Transmit Failure"

We're staring at another World Series Championship. It's a fantastic sentence, to say the least, for a a fan of baseball. I'll spare you the lines of camaraderie and list of heroes. I'll spare you the "tumultuous season" speeches and self-aggrandizing "I'm a Sox fan in New York" horseshit. Instead, I have a question-- or at least one is coming.

When I played middle school basketball, my father coached the team. His entire life was basketball-- I played probably four to five hours a day-- alone or in groups-- with his watchful eye popping in and out of my view. I was cultivated for my growth spurt, like any coach's son-- by being strictly fundamentals and no flash. When 7th grade came around, I was a hobbledehoy with discernible skills, yet I was ridiculed for making the team due to my father being the coach. I was harassed in hallways, booed in pep rallies and even maligned by other teachers before leaving for away games. I was a bench player. I scored maybe-- maybe-- 12 points all season.

Still, as my team prepared to take the conference championship, I felt like I earned the celebration. I was front and center in the locker room with my teammates (who mostly hated me, by the way). I talked as loud and proud in the school as anyone else after the loudspeaker confirmed what I already knew: we were champions. I knew I earned it.

There was one kid that joined on about two-thirds through the season. He was less skilled than me, a little taller but with no ball-handling ability, a set of skimpy legs that could not perform the necessary footwork. In short, he was put on the team out of pity after he had transferred from out of town. He never played much-- even in garbage time-- and when he did, he was essentially horrendous. We'd feed him the ball in times he couldn't fail, but he found a way.

So, then, what of the Red Sox championship? If they close out, amidst the champagne sprays and leaping crowds of athletes, there will be one awkward jump and yell: that of Eric Gagne. When a team wins a championship despite its distractions and in spite of a player unable to perform, where does that player fit into the lavish party that is the post World Series lovefest? I mean, as a bench player (like myself or an Alex Cora) I can see the involvement. But as a man that singlehandedly blew so many games in tenable situations, earned his boos from the crowd, became the bane of Sox fans worldwide and never derailed his own failures, where does Eric Gagne fit in? Will the players acknowledge him-- a newcomer who stepped in and failed when it mattered in the regular season, the postseason (other than garbage time) and even when trying to explain his failures?

Even worse, if the Sox close out with another blowout, does he hold the ball in the ninth inning? Does he close out the second World Series title in 89 years? Is that the face I want to see in highlights on ESPN, DVD sets of the season, interviews with players years down the line? Gagne, awaiting the captain, Jason Varitek, his glove tossed asunder, with a shit-eating grin on his face as though he earned his keep on a team built to win a World Series? Eric fucking Gagne? I know Francona would do it. He's got a soft-spot in his wonderful heart for headcases (Coco, Manny) and embattled players (Pedroia in May, Drew all season long) and in each instance these guys have paid him back in spades. Eric Gagne has done nothing of the sort.

If he's holding the ball for the last pitch, if he is the first face I see as the Red Sox celebrate a World championship, so help me, the season will be a little less sweet.

I remember the locker room, the kids laughing and throwing things at one another in joyous celebration. Then I remember this one kid smiling and talking to me saying, "We did it, man. We did it." I remember me saying, "yeah we did," but not meaning it. What I meant was, "We did it-- not you." If the Red Sox season ends with a Gagne pitch, so be it, but you know at least some of the players will look him right in the eye and mean none of what they say.

Outside the Aviary: "No More Bad Town"

I live in a baseball town. In many ways, this is a dream situation. Even Yankee talk, to me, is better than constant blathering about College Basketball when the season is so far away (North Carolina-- guilty as charged). My coworkers, friends and all the customers I see every day have a new fire in their eyes, a renewed vigor that I seem to forget until the first week of October starts. Sure, some it is bloodlust for the failure of my team, but it is all in good spirit. That is, unless you're these kinds of assholes.

I've almost been in fights over sports. Hell, I've been in a fight over a beer from a fridge. But never-- even when it involves assbirds in Brosius jerseys in 2007 yelling about how A-Rod is going to make Reggie Jackson disappear in the record books-- NEVER have I considered beating the shit out of another man (with help) due to sports affiliations. In 2003, a man (in North Carolina, no less) traveled the length of a bar to inform my friend Miles and I that we enjoyed homosexual anal and oral sex after Aaron Boone's home run in the ALCS. He actually, red-faced and wielding his beer like an axe, screamed "Better luck next time, assholes." We had no idea he was even there. He was picking a fight. Still, I didn't take the bait.

Duane Somers, 32, of Huntingdon, Pa., and Edward McConaughey, 42, of Orbisonia, Pa, are the exact reason I can't watch sports in bars as often as I want to. They are the reason I refuse to talk shit, even when my team is triumphant. They are the reason I stopped wearing my Sox cap to work every day-- the inclination for wanting to get into a shouting match with someone who thought Derek Jeter was the best defender to ever play the game was too strong. The art of loving sports is a tough one. There are those that devour their teams and those devoured by them. It's a shame Carlos Ortez got devoured as well.

It brings up a philosophical quandary. I think the reason I haven't posted for this site and have talked about sports less and less with my friends stems to the fact that I hate the people that like sports to this insane level more than ever before. The debates, the sniping, the constant criticism of something I have no control over, the lumping of me-- a person that talks less shit than Pirates fans-- in with Massholes and maniacs who didn't know who Jacoby Ellsbury was until two weeks ago. It is as pointless to debate the merits of Jeter's defense and A-Rod's offense as it is to figure out the meanderings of Manny's mind. I could care less.

This is not to say I don't cheer. Nor is it to say I wasn't at a bar last night celebrating one of the most dominating pitching performances of my lifetime (Cowperwood Theory in motion). I was not, however, screaming in Yankee or Angel fans' faces. I wasn't running through the streets proclaiming anything in particular. I was just watching the game. That's all. Nothing crazy. I especially didn't feel the need to beat the hell out of someone because they didn't wear the same hat as me. The people yelling the loudest are driving me away from one of the things I was most in love with and best at disseminating (see also: my general apathy toward college football and its rabid fan base).

Say what you will about multimillionaires and free-agency "ruining the game." I'm happy for a few more social disconnects at this point. I really am. That just puts me one step closer to enjoying sports without the fear of assholes and hospitals. That just makes one less asshole willing to pick a fight with me over a retarded groupthink mentality. Maybe--hopefully-- it will allow one less Carlos Ortez incident. I mean, c'mon, all he wanted to do was watch the game and go home.

Outside the Aviary: "Against All Odds"

Tonight, I watched something I didn't think I would see. I watched a kid younger than me beat a fantastic offensive team in their own home while the Red Sox lead the division. He garnered comparisons to Chris Young (from Orel Hershiser, no less) by getting out of jams and making the right pitches. He let the defense work when he couldn't strike his man out. He snuck in his offspeed stuff after using his fastball to get ahead early. He didn't let his walks beat him. Jon Lester went to work.

At times, I would say that Lester looked like he could contribute for the rest of this season. This is astounding seeing as how he struggled before a prolonged DL stint last season and lost his command at critical times throughout his young career. The Indians weren't often fooled by his pitches, yet they never hit the important ones. The Grady Sizemore home run aside, Lester gave them chances for walks and cut fastball singles, but never the chance to hurt him terribly. This is the pitcher I saw last season, before his injury. It's the guy that seemed calm in the face of whatever confronted him-- whether it be a bases loaded situation or AAA options being mentioned when he couldn't get out of the fifth inning.

Or cancer.

I remember reading that Jon Lester was diagnosed with cancer and thinking... damn, that kid had a shot. I'm not gonna say his courage or anything other than the luck of finding the disease early had anything to do with his comeback. I'm not a doctor. Nor do I care to offer my opinion on how or why Jon Lester came to be a fantastic feel-good story amongst the Vick/Donaghy/Bonds face-off amongst the talking heads in sports. All I know is, eleven months ago, the Red Sox were all but out a pitcher. I mean, even AIDS cowers in a corner when Cancer enters the room. Yet, Lester made his pitches tonight, answered his post-game questions and now he waits for his next start to see if he or Kason Gabbard will be the fifth starter when Curt Schilling is ready to pitch again.

In fact, I get the feeling that tonight had nothing to do with courage. I think Lester came out and threw the ball. He listened to his catcher, trusted the lead his offense gave him and did what came naturally. It was the same thing he did with his doctors and family a few months ago, the same thing he did with his coaches and teammates in the minors and the same thing he'll do when Theo Epstein and Terry Francona decide if he is ready to contribute every fifth day come August 6th-- Schilling's scheduled return. The courage part is hard. Tonight was easy. Tonight, Jon Lester got to have some fun and beat a playoff-ready team.

Tonight, Jon Lester beat the Cleveland Indians. That seems easy, compared to amateur oddsmakers (like myself) who wrote him off eleven months ago. Courage takes on many forms when a 22-year-old kid takes the mound for the first time in the majors. Or battles cancer. Tonight was neither of those things. All Jon Lester did was go to work tonight. And win. That had to feel right, though it looked wrong. I couldn't believe what I saw. Neither could his parents.

All along, however, Jon Lester looked like he was doing something normal. He was doing his job.

Outside the Aviary: The Rise and Fall of Lavar Arrington

Lavar Arrington's motorcycle accident is the punctuation at the end of his career. A man once worth millions and lauded as one of the premier linebackers in the NFL became a mirage-- a wild card from play-to-play for all the wrong reasons. With the Washington Redskins, his erratic style translated well for years. His occasional missed assignment or overrun play were worth the sacks and general excitement when he made a big hit. Then as the quotient of bad plays increased, the injuries mounted and the affability faded, the Redskins fans didn't bat an eyelash when he asked to be released. Certainly, this was a long fall for the face of the franchise a few years earlier.

Signed by the New York "football" Giants, their fans learned quickly that he was not a force anymore. His interviews were the most entertaining aspect of his New York days-- leaning on crutches or lambasting coaches for his declining importance in the defense-- the idea that he was ever really great was hard to believe.

He was great though. He was the face of a defense. He was a disrupting force that coaches had to scheme around constantly. If he was easily fooled from time to time, he made up for it. I remember watching him and thinking he could be, if Marvin Lewis stayed on, the best linebacker in the NFC--maybe the NFL-- for years to come. Of course, this was the hope of every Washington fan. It was not a smart move to invest so much in him-- so much of my affection for the past few Redskins' teams was based on the hope that Arrington would anchor a Lewis-esque defense once again.

When Gregg Williams marched the cover-two into town, Arrington was all but finished in most people's eyes. I still held out hope that he could contribute. When he came back from injury in his last year in Washington, I watched and waited for his impact. He recorded two or three great games-- coming off the bench in a Joe Gibbs/Wlliams' inspired ploy to see of they could get anything from him before casting him off to free-agency. When he was released, I wasn't surprised, but I was sad to see him go nonetheless.

I always wondered if he ever got used to the idea that he wasn't the best player on the field after he started to decline. Each play was a fifty-fifty chance instead of a big play possibility. After the foul-ups and missed tackles, I wondered if he didn't get up and decide that mistakes were just a part of the game. Conjecture, rather than confusion, seemed to rule his style. He believed that he was bigger than a scheme, better than the other team and more important than the play itself. All the while, it was impossible to cheer against him, yet futile to cheer for him.

I had a modicum of hope when he went to the Giants. I wanted him to succeed while the rest of the team failed (NFC East rivals, you know), but the spark and the desire were marred by injury, freelancing style mistakes and a sense that he started to understand that he had to become a role player. The Giants released him in the offseason this year, and I thought sure he would find a new system to inhabit-- even if a backup. I searched around as recently as a few weeks ago to see if he had been picked up-- maybe a Cincinnati (with all their arrests) or maybe an injury made him valuable enough. He was a former All-Pro and a great teammate (or so I heard, anyway), he was worth a gamble, right? Alas, he was still a free-agent when I searched and he is still a free-agent after his accident.

Like many, I saw the rumors of a one-year contract with the Redskins in April. I was happy to see the interest. Arrington, as a back-up, would have a nice moment walking back out in Redskins' colors. Still, there would be that lingering possibility of him re-emrging as a quality linebacker-- the fan-favorite with a perfectly placed mean streak. However assanine it may have been, I had hope. That ended today, as if it was not already dead, with his accident.

I'm glad to see he's safe, but part of me wants to ignore this story and remember the day I was a lot younger and more excitable about the kid from Penn State about to come and destroy the NFC East. Part of me wants to believe he is only now getting to the point that he doesn't have the wheels or the will to be amongst the great linebackers in the league. As of today, I have to stop ignoring that part of me and come to the realization trhat one of my favorite players is not only (all-but) retired, but lucky to be alive. Godspeed, Lavar. It's a shame you won't be around anymore, but a relief to see you survived. On a smaller scale, I felt the same way when you went to the Giants, and I was hoping to feel the same way again this year. The rise and fall of a superstar is a weird thing to watch.

Outside the Aviary: "A Half Life in Two Movements"

The movement of Josh Beckett from disappointing headcase (Media's take) to All-Star caliber pitcher (actuality all along) is in motion. The reasoning has been well-documented-- his penchant for hotheadedness was a force behind his fastball and it's failure-- but psychology had only one part in Beckett's sudden rise. Alongside coaching changes and an understanding of his surroundings, Beckett's 7-0 record has more to do with function than it does mindset.

The function of a pitcher is no longer to be the star of a baseball game. Since the advent of sporting television and the highlight, the throngs of sports fans have lauded their attention on offensive output: the home run, RBI, etc. The mindset of a team, however is split in half. Nowadays, the Ted Lilly's can demand top-dollar while the Alex Gonzales' (more important due to everyday play) are scrounging for tips from teams needing to plug holes. Beckett's superiority was dormant (labeled "potential")-- especially since his domination of the 2001 playoffs. Yet, the Red Sox said that they got a proven young winner, not a prospect.

That Beckett has proven them right in a young season is not surprising. As many times as being lauded for his "stuff," he has been criticized for being bullish. His penchant for fastballs in frustrating counts was noted on practically every blog and media site in the world of Red Sox baseball. However, this bullishness is exactly why he has relied on pithing off-speed this year. He's proving that he can out-pitch anyone that has traded his pigheaded idea of being the brand-name fireballer to being a Cy Young candidate. You could see it late last year. The frustration of trying to show everyone up who was complaining about his fastball has now turned to shutting everyone up about his value over two prospects.

Why the bullishness? It's simple: Bonds' need to be the best wound up getting him the spotlight for steroids and record chases, Clemens' need keeps him continually coming back, Schilling's need makes him baseball's player-politician. Those who will not stray from the spotlight find ways to bring it to them. Beckett realized that being a jerk in a jerk town just leads to frustration (Pedro learned this as well and though Schilling refuses to learn, that's what a politician does, right?). Beckett learned that simply being the best pitcher in a major market will garner you the attention you desire. Pitchers may not be the most watched superstars, but they are the most coveted.

I call it the Cowperwood Corollary. Dreiser's trilogy of a rich man shows a character motivated not only by avarice, but the attention it garners. Cowperwood wants to be rich and powerful, but refuses to be a politician to do it. Beckett wants to be considered the ace of a staff predicated on people vying to be the ace. It's a position that since the Pedro-Schill years that has become impossible to care about unless you are a fan of the Sox. Wells, Pedro, Schill, Beckett, and Daisuke all vied (or continue to vie) for the glorious position of being lauded as the best since Clemens in the early 90's. Attention and adoration, to be sure, are motivating factors before athletic dominance.

His 7-0 start is a simple case of function over form. To be considered the best, you have to be the best. To do that, you have to fool the best hitting and most overpaid division in the league. Fastballs weren't cutting it, so Beckett changed form. To gain attention as a pitcher, you either have to be a prima donna (Pedro, Clemens) or a loudmouth (Wells, Schilling) to try and outshine the sluggers (Bonds, Ortiz--albeit in opposite sides of the spectrum, so to speak) and be the bulldog at the forefront of the pack.

You also, more than anything else, have to sacrifice to win and be noticed. Schilling was willing to sacrifice his credibility in certain circles be a mouthpiece, Bonds was willing to sacrifice his name for famous records, Pedro was willing to kill his shoulder for wins. All Beckett needed to do was refine his talent. I don't know if he is now fully realized as far as potential is concerned, but at least the struggle has shifted. The need for recognition is going to become quelled, as long as the wins keep coming. If not, the next form will come. The fans are satisfied with wins, but will Beckett be as much? If the Cowperwood Corollary is right, then no. I hope I'm am wrong, of course. All-star caliber is something worth watching, but not at the expense of feigned star power-- just ask anyone following the news of Clemens, Schilling or Bonds as of late.

Outside the Aviary: "F-F-F-Foolin'..."

A report from Yankees stadium on Sunday (and another Red Sox victory).

I love fooling Yankee fans. Nothing beats doing it over the course of a Red Sox series either. It's like the dieting commercials you see on TV-- you can eat anything you want and still lose weight! It's simple-- wear anything you want without Red Sox paraphernalia on it and cheer as loud as you want for them! It's a guaranteed good time.

On Sunday, a particularly timid and tame group of Yankee fans filed into the section in which I sat. The combination of terrible pitching and losing record was beginning to grate on them-- you could tell. The kids in front of us were bored off of their asses by the fourth-- dumping peanut shells and stabbing holes in the plater's program faces with a pencil. The fans were yelling more at Mets and Rangers fans than they were at blatant Red Sox fans walking in and out of their seats. They were like a lame duck Presidential speech or a long-winded National Anthem rendition. It was as if the fans were ready for April to end rather than looking forward to the game's conclusion.

And with good reason, I suppose. Their Yankees, as has been well documented, are miring themselves in yet another slow start. This April, however, is different for one solitary reason: suspicion. When the Mets were ready to overtake the Braves last year, there was an attitude of, "Well, their due, but I can't pick against the front runners." People knew that the right amount of pitching mismatches and lineup adjustments had been made. The Braves were rife for domination, but the "hump" is never easily overtaken.

The stadium was never abuzz-- even in the ninth when Giambi came through with a double, even when Doug Mientkiewicz hit a three run job, and even when Alex Rodriguez came up in critical situations (welcome back Little Momma!). With last year's darling of the staff pitching, the fans were listless, yet unable to boo. They were in a conundrum-- there is no one to blame (injuries being the main reason) and no one to love. No heroes, no goats.

I know their pain. Last year's end of season came at the hands of a healthy Yankee squad versus a patched-together pitching dynamic including detritus from all over (Kyle Snyder?! Starting?!). The leftovers still remaining from last year were a past of the unraveling that could have happened in two innings: Tavarez unraveled in the third (wlks and a HR) and Timlin pitched a shaky eighth: (Jeter's HR and the tying run reaching the on-deck circle). The fact that the series is 5-1 thus far rests on the shoulders of new pitchers on both sides. Last year's domination has no carryover with Diasuke Matsuzaka or Jeff Karstens; Jose Vizcaino or Hideki Okijama. I understand the injuries, and stared from the stands at a team bereft of answers.

That's the biggest fool job on the Yankees this year. The trades of Randy Johnson and Gary Sheffield may have strockpiled arms, but it doesn't plug holes. The Craig Hansens and Manny DelCarmens of the world are always on the cusp of ready. The Julian Tavarez guys are always in between good stretches. The Sean ("Robin Wright") Henns are always struggling to strike out the superstars of the league. All of this on top of inefficiency an d injury. It's the "smart" plan. It's the "hope" plan. When the clutch comes calling, do you want to watch Sheffield hack at a high hard one, or do you want Melky Cabrera or a 65% Damon or a struggling Abreu? I know these questions well.

The doubts are planted, and the Stadium is full of them. Most of all, there is a lifelessness right now. Of course, when I go in May, June and onward, the attitude will change. I'm sure the standings will change. But, more importantly, will the suspicion? The general rumblings are unsure-- as shaky as a Chase Wright fastball over the heart of the plate. The fans are occupied and languid for now. Will they come alive? Right now, apparently, not enough to worry about two guys in regular clothes celebrating right in front of them as Manny rounded the bases or as Alex Cora slid into third safely. Apparently, not enough to stick around while Giambi stood on second with his tenth multi-hit game or as Papelbon stood ready to deliver. Apparently not enough to hide their sneaking suspicions.

All this, and no one even noticed the shit-eating grin on my face. They were fooled, I suppose.

Outside the Aviary: "They Can Run."

What exactly happened here? Xavier had the “best team in the nation” on the ropes-- a multi-possession lead, the ball, timeouts left to stop momentum if needed, and confidence in their main guard, Drew Lavender. They were playing a near-perfect game. Greg Oden was in foul trouble, they made adjustments ot neutralize Mike Conley Jr. and their shot selection was pretty incredible. Then Coach Sean Miller blew it.

The coach knew he had the game won. You could see it in his face. He was smiling with his players, pumping his fist and keeping them calm. He overthought (like most coaches tend to). He went to well for the play that killed them—the play that kills them all. Hold the ball. Change the pace. Run the clock. Limit possessions. On consecutive possessions Xavier ran the clock and settled for terrible jump shots (one of which Drew Lavender double clutched from just inside the three-point line) when points were there for the taking. Most offenses start around the 25 second mark, and Xavier began their set around 13. Ohio State had to do absolutely NO work to guard them. All they had to do was rest and await their turn with the ball. We all know what happened next.

What most people don’t seem to understand—coaches and announcers especially—is the rhythm of basketball. Xavier is fantastic when they run at a mid-tempo pace. I’ve seen it. They can run or play with normal pacing. Sean Miller seems like the type that doesn’t mind innovation and ad libbing, either. You could tell when Xavier broke the structure of their offense that Miller was happy with the results more than half the time. They were a team with the build and chemistry to upset Ohio State. So, instead of continuing to work for good shots and continuing the pace and spacing that was beating Ohio State, they completely switched their mindset.

When coaches call this offense, it does three things: plays into the psychology of the players on the court, takes the ball away from the players that control the ball and it changes the pacing. You can see whether a team will panic in big situations by studying run reactions. Whether your team is putting together runs or emphatically scraping for every point in a back and forth contest, there are times when you know if the two teams on the floor can handle pressure. At the end of the game, Sean Miller essentially said to his team: we cannot handle the pressure. Ohio State responded and Xavier didn’t. Part of the reason was the change in tempo—from Xavier being in control of the game to admitting they were not capable of stopping Ohio State and playing keep away. That plays into the psyche of a club used to winning. As soon as I get the ball I am going to score is different from as soon as I get the ball I HAVE to score. If Xavier continues to run their offense, they score at least once in their held ball possessions or, at the very least, they keep the pressure on Ohio State to think they HAVE to score. Playing keep away makes a good scorer want the ball more thus playing into their hands.

The exact opposite is true for the players holding the ball. They have done enough right to earn a multi-possession lead and their reward is to stand around and overthink the defense. What was working is now out of the question. Have you ever watched—I mean really WATCHED a team that is standing toward the end of a game? The point guard dribbles and watches motion that isn’t happening yet. Overthinking. The coach is doing the same thing. Coaches can’t think of what will go wrong. They can only consider beating the other team—running their set well enough to produce a good shot. Now, though, the players and the coach are just thinking. The rhythm of the game is undulating through their minds, but it is as dead as it can be on the court itself. Announcers think this is smart basketball and mature decision making from that young man or even a veteran coach making a veteran decision or other such nonsense. Meanwhile, the defense’s workload is shrinking. Opposing players are standing and waiting. Resting—considering how they will beat their man or where they will be open after the inevitable penetration.

After these held ball possessions, consider how little the men have actually touched the ball in a meaningful way. Most teams start their offense around the twelve-fifteen second mark on the shot clock on a slow down set. This allows the point guard to distribute a far less number of meaningful dribbles and passes than on a normal possession. While it is important not to take a quick shot, it is still important to get a quality shot. Most of these possessions end with one of three things: a hurried long ball, a failed try for penetration or a decent, if not good, shot. Running a 13 second shot clock is setting the offense up for a two-thirds failure rate and keeping the ball out of the team’s hands (remember, the same team that has gotten you a lead to begin with) when they are most ready to bury their opponent.

Sean Miller, in effect, ruined his team’s killer instinct by overthinking a simple process. Run the offense. Take good shots. Keep doing what you did and the lead will stay. If it doesn’t, it is not because you didn’t limit possessions. It’s not because you took terrible shots at the shot clock’s buzzer. It’s not because the tempo wasn’t in your favor. It’s because their players responded to the pressure you put on them. That’s it. It's such a simple rule for such a simple game: don't stop winning the game. Slowing down the game like this is basically like running the Prevent Defense. The only thing it prevents is winning.

I was pacing. I was moving more than the Xavier offense and I was saying—run the ball down their throats (and I'm not even a Xavier fan). Go inside. Oden was out. There was no shot blocker, no reason to fear them. Ohio State was defeated. Sean Miller and his announcing buddies made a classic mistake. They lost all their momentum at the worst possible time. These decisions make me wonder, who the hell is in college here? Is it the coach, the announcers, or the players? The latter are told to listen when the two previous have a lot more to learn. Meanwhile, the Xavier players have the rest of their lives to think about losing this game rather than all week to bask in the victory and prepare to play again. Good thinking, Coach.

(By the way, my dad would kill me if I didn't say this: I can see Herb Sendek really wore off on Sean Miller.)

SWEET 16 PREDICTIONS:
USC over UNC (If there is a God).
G'Town over Vandy (If there is a chance for my bracket).
OSU over Tennessee (If the "winning a close game you should have lost" corollary is true).
Texas A&M over Memphis (If the Law can prevail... sorry).
UCLA over Pitt (If the Pac-10 is all that good).
So Ill over Kansas (If the world were completely insane).
Oregon over UNLV (If the world makes any sense).
Florida over Butler (If I can stand to watch it).

Random Basketball Thoughts and a preview of the NCAA Tournament

Photo courtesy Chricket Go Queek Queek.


ACC Tourney thoughts:

Honestly, NC State was two plays away from winning their first ACC title in two decades. The UNC-NCSU game was a fantastic one from most all standpoints. I didn’t feel cheated like in Sendek’s first year, I was proud to watch an underdog fight with a purpose and see the best team in the conference finally face a real challenge (Brendan Wright actually sweats! I saw it!). Moreover, the entire tournament was fantastic game after fantastic game (excluding UNC games before today). All of this taken into account, the first five minutes of the Big Ten and Big 12 tourneys exuded more crowd energy than I saw in the last four ACC games combined.

I don’t know if it was Tampa, DisnEySPN’s noise-cancellation, or the fact that a couple of the higher seeds were displaced early, but I was cheering louder in my den than all the non-allegiance fans could muster in the stadium. This was the ultimate underdog story—especially if you followed these two teams or the ACC at all this year. So much was at stake—a #1 seed, a tourney birth, two schools who hadn’t won this title in too long—and you could almost HEAR fans checking their watches and wondering if they could get back to their hotel to squeeze in a tee time before their flight out at 8. I don’t get it. I also don’t know how to fix it. I just found this strange. I mean, I know it’s not Harvard-Yale for the upper middle class (UNC-Duke), but this was a big (and CLOSE) game in front of a listless crowd. I hate that

One more thing: I hope I never have to use or hear the phrase “played well enough to get into the NIT" ever again. I have the feeling I will next year, though. Who knows? I'm pretty despondent about the whole thing, so this is basically a cop-out portion of the article. NC State has nothing to be ashamed of, and I know that. Such is life. I stand by my former idea: Tyler Hansbrough eats corn a lot and has no idea who his father is. He loves the taste of diaper-dandy Brendan Wright. LOVES that shit. Bitter.

NCAA Tourney thoughts:

This is my favorite sporting event.

My final four, you ask?:
Georgetown, Kansas, Florida, and Ohio State. Playing it safe this year after last years debacle where I was 3/4 off the mark. I got Georgetown winning it all. I love that modified Princeton Offense with this group. They run a perfect curl, know their cuts/timing and can pound you inside if they need to. As someone who watched Herb Sendek coach this offense, I can tell John Thompson III knows it's flaws and isn't stubborn enough to let his kids play from behind in it all day.

I'm pumped OUT about watching this thing, people. Let's fucking ROLL. Here are my surprises:

12 beats 5: Arkansas over USC and Illinois over VA Tech
It's between the ACC and the PAC-10 for the detritus league that fucks up in the first two rounds with early exists. I'm voting for the Pac-10. I've half-written a couple of articles on how I think this is actually a weak conference, but I realized it's just gut feelings. I've been wrong before, to be sure, but I just don't feel all that confident in their mid-tier teams.

However, the ACC didn't show me much with all the upsets and uninspired play by some of the "powerhouses." Losing close games to Miami and NC State (HA!) doesn't say much for the power of the conference.

11 beats 6: Winthrop over Notre Dame AND George Washington over Vanderbilt
The latter is definitely a hunch, but the former is legit. I think Winthrop will beat Notre Dame by double digits and coasts over Miami (OH). They are not my sleeper for the sweet sixteen however. I got more thicks up my sleeves, friends. Never you worry.

Sweet sixteen sleeper: Creighton over Nevada/Memphis.
I got nothing but love for 22 game winning streaks, but they end. They really do end. And this one might end earlier than a 2 seed would suggest.

HUGE upset bid that actually happens: Miami (OH) over Oregon.
See above Pac-10 hunch, and I already gave this one away.

3 HUGE upset bids that come uncomfortably close to happening: Maryland escapes Davidson AND Wisconsin narrowly escapes Texas A&M C.C AND Pitt survives Wright State.
I watched the latter upset hound play and they were one of those determined teams like Vermont the last few years. I was addicted to them, and I honestly believe they will challenge Wisconsin. Davidson is a pesky team. I was hoping (aloud to some friends actually) that they would get Duke and throttle them. They may have to settle for a near miss against Maryland, though. I just don't think Pitt is all that fantastic. I do think they will beat Duke in the second round.

Not so shocking shockers: Texas over UNC in the sweet sixteen. No Duke in the sweet sixteen.
Fuck you, Richard Vitale. Fuck you very much. The door to your retirement is wide fucking open, old man. I'll even hold it open and hand you your AARP card on the way out. There are other teams in this league. Approximately 300 of them. [Also, I have Villanova(9), Michigan State (9) and Georgia Tech (10) pulling mild upsets then losing in the second round. I actually think Michigan State can make a run at UNC but they can't beat them.]
The same mistake I always make: Southern Illinois in the sweet sixteen.
I can;t pull against them. Love the players. Love the style. Love that they are called SO ILL. I even bought a shirt. Hell yeah. SO ILL, SON. THAT'S WHASSUP.

NIT Champion: NC State.
Wishful thinking. Florida State and Syracuse are surely ready to play, ahem.

Your NCAA Champion: Georgetown.
I know I covered this, but I think they have something-- that old school swagger that I feared as a kid is still lurking around. Hearing Ewing and Thompson in the same vicinity still strikes that same fear. I don't know why. It just does.

My Full Bracket: HERE. I don't know if that will work, but if it doesn't, what do you care? That's what I got. Feel free to run your thoughts at me and call me an idiot in our always lacking comments department.

Outside the Aviary: "To Find Me Gone"

As a Red Sox fan, one of many things that kill me about Yankees fans is their pride in keeping players too long and letting them retire when they are ready (rather than let go of dead weight). I've heard about all the times the Sox have lost out on guys who still played some good seasons-- most notable Jonathan Damon and Roger Clemens. While it is debatable that either of these players were really pushed out the door (Clemens maybe, Damon definitely not), I am not going to discuss that. Instead, I'm here to praise (ahem) the Yanks for letting go of a good player that is well past his prime.

Anyone that doesn't work at the New York Post will tell you it was time to let go of Bernie Williams. While it's true that he was effective against left handers last season, his demeanor and general aptitude were astute failings for the first time in years. I wasn't afraid of him in any game-- postseason or otherwise-- for the past 2 1/2 years. There was no swagger. He reminded me of Jake Taylor-- a teacher with no discernible skill set left to offer a team in need of a numbers man, only you know, nonfictional (so there was no happy ending last year).

All this aside, I am happier, even, to see a team with a glorious past letting go of someone even at the behest of their fans. The Yankees treated Bernie like gold-- keeping him higher in the lineup than he deserved for a short while last season, letting him start amidst injury when they could have traded for someone better or played youngsters, and extending an invitation to Spring Training this year though they could have scoffed him and had their goodbyes and tears already. Just like the Packers have handed a pass to Brett Farve, the Sox will do with Curt Schilling, and the Redskins did with Mark Brunell the Yanks will not do with Bernie any longer.

Sweeping Bernie out is not a disaster situation. This is not a company man who makes little money and cannot do anything else. This is not a factory worker who has spent decades in the industry. This is a aging millionaire baseball player trying to compete with kids who are better than he is. This is a man that has been given everything with little left but stubbornness in his arsenal.

I can't for the life of me imagine one scenario where Bernie fits better than Melky Cabrera in this lineup, nor can I imagine one where Bernie doesn't see this. Bernie doesn't strike me as someone who is naive or much of a dullard. Leaving may sting after all these years, but it cannot shock or wound. If there is gas left in the tank, so be it. There are several teams that need some help and a proven quick-fix warrior that can teach the kids in a weak league. OK, I'll stop beating around the bush. Go to the National League, Bernie. Play in Florida with the kids if they will have you. See what the rest of the country has to offer. Shout at holler at Tampa Bay-- the place where good baseball players go to die. Someone will take you on, and if you play well enough, they will release or trade you for little to no value so you have a shot at another winner.

I just don't see what leg you have to stand on in the Bronx. What do the Yankees owe you? Nothing. In fact, if Yanks are smart, they'll rescind their minor league offer sheet. They will say, "We gave Bernie his chance to make the team, but we have to move on." They've all but done it already. Bernie, don't accept the offer. Move on and then move out. (Pros: You won't have to hear "Disco Inferno" or "YMCA" again, right?) You've done it all, but now it's all done. For once, I'm with the Yanks.

Outside the Aviary: "Welcome Back, Welcome Back, Welcome Baaaaaaack."

I’ve watched a ton of football in my short life, and I can say, without a doubt, that the closest thing I’ve seen to team suicide is hiring Norv Turner on as head coach. In his seasons with Washington, I never saw a more frustrating coaching style (until his eventual predecessor Steve Spurrier, the anti-Schottenheimer). Between penalties, clock management and horrific personnel decisions, I spent three years trying to forget the eighties championship teams. I tried to erase the overall concept of the Washington Redskins having an historical significance in my life. It was not until the 8-8 ball club that succeeded him that I could stand to watch my team every week.

Of course, this delighted me when he got a job with the Oakland Raiders. Finally, another team could witness the putrid display of coaching and lack of discipline that stymied my Redskins into believing in Spurrier. The same results came in—the same announcers lauded the decision to bring him in, the same pundits attacked his penalty-ridden joke of a team and the same hope was given to a coach who stood no chance of pulling them out of their quagmire.

Now Dallas stands on the brink of a decision. It can hire some newfangled coach with no experience or an older guy with tons of NFL team ruining savvy. Honestly, I think I’ll probably cry with joy the day Dallas (alongside number 81) adds Turner to their programs. He won’t even get to hire his own offensive coordinator—the job of restoring Romo’s psyche falls on Jason Garrett. Once again, an owner with a control problem is going after a pawn to fill a hole in a disappointing few seasons. Turner has been very ready and willing to be that pawn.

My prediction? Thought you’d never ask. Turner will get the job. I’m pretty sure he has the personality of a snake charmer in interviews, but when you need someone to stand around on the sidelines until you groom a successor, he’s the guy. In his third week, I’m sure the receiving corps will be standing around a pig’s head on a stick screaming KILL THE BEAST! CUT HIS THROAT! SPILL HIS BLOOD! I can only hope they don’t. I want to see three years of Norv in Big D. It’s just enough rebuilding time for the ‘Skins to take over a weak NFC EAST—one that by then Eli Manning will be murdered by the NY Post and the Eagles will have finally foisted a new folding chair of a quarterback due to McNabb's next injury.

Just let Norv come and I will welcome him back to the NFC East. Hell, I’ll even have some respect for Cowboys fans. We can yell NORV! together as the penalty yards and losses pile up like the shit storm of “What’s wrong in big D?” ESPN stories. Just let that roseate face brighten my Sundays. Oh merciful God, please let Chris Mortensen be right. Please let the Cowboys destroy themselves. It’s all I ask for Michael Irvin to speak so well of NORV! It’s all I ask to hear Tom Jackson hint at a problem with discipline. It’s all I ask for insiders and Sporting News columns on how the players are unhappy. It's all I ask for Terrell Owens, Jerry Jones and Norv Turner to join forces. I want this. Football needs this. Just let it happen.

Postscript: please feel free to use Google image search on NORV! It's pretty great. Other than the 3 smiles you get and the old pic of him pre-coaching, it's pretty much the same thing over and over: grimaces and stonefaced staring. Yes. If this thing doesn't happen, just consider my next post to be a list of things I'll do to see NORV! in a Dallas windbreaker. It will be a promising list-- believe you me.

Outside the Aviary: "Tyler Hansbrough is a Corn-Eating Bastard"

Note: the real title of this post follows with the borrowing song lyrics and it is Outside The Aviary: "Lookin' for a Leader..." C'mon, though. Hansbrough is a goofy bastard. On with the post.

On Saturday, I watched something I didn’t think could happen for another 2 years. Sidney Lowe defeated the vaunted North Carolina Tar Heels. Roy Williams, though stockpiled with double the amount of weapons had no answer for a team tired of being considered a third wheel. North Carolina sports has room for two teams in its conservative heart—three once the Panthers find a capable quarterback.

NC State’s tenure as a force in college basketball ran out as Les Robinson depleted their stature with terrible shooters and awkward looking big men. He was the answer to scandalous times—NC State’s version of Bush as a family man. Robinson was likable and State knew they wouldn’t have to worry about point shaving, academic failures or recruiting violations for awhile. They had teams with heart you loved to root for, but you knew they had no chance. It was like watching John Cryer in Pretty in Pink. EVERYTHING had to go perfectly for them to win. I remember hearing about them losing to Florida Atlantic (giving the Owls their first Division I victory in basketball). I remember Jeremy Hyatt, CC Harrison, and the flattest three point shot in history—Mr. Ishua Benjamin. They were all great guys—Harrison actually ended up being a pretty fantastic guard—but they were guided by a man who was unable to win.

Then State saw the arrival of Herb Sendek. Sendek was the manifestation of Robinson’s teams in one man. He was Ducky. He was the man behind Hodge, Melvin, Evtimov and a separate cavalcade of “not quite prime time” big men that all left early for some reason or another (not being used to their potential). However the failures of Sendek’s career are measured by alumni and rabid fans, he was more successful than anyone could have hoped. There’s the danger though—he gave State fans hope. That proved to be his undoing. Since State’s third wheel mentality is fueled by those who know the history of Wolfpack coaches—the big three being the forefront in Everett Case (the father of the ACC), Norm Sloan, and Jimmy Valvano. Sendek’s real failure was making NC State visible. They were never going to transcend the slow offense and inability to win on tobacco road. Sendek won but wasn’t a winner. His body language proved it. He constantly looked like a kid with full sleeve tattoos and a leather jacket was escorting his daughter through his country club—he wanted things to go well, but he had no power to actually make it happen. The constant red faced, tie-loosening routine had no panache (it doesn’t pay to say “we get no respect” in sports unless your players take that into their own hands).

The difference between Sidney Lowe’s approach—in his young collegiate coaching career—and the two men before him is not just that he beat Carolina. It’s not his immediate ties to State or recruiting class hype. It’s not even the amount of confidence he’s instilling into players that were not his own picks. It’s the absolutism of his attitude. It won’t be enough to beat Carolina in Raleigh. It won’t be enough to finish in the NIT with a team picked to finish dead last in the ACC. It will only be enough WHEN NC State is as respected as their counterpart. It’s a mix of pride, stubbornness and swagger. He’s never yelling at referees or screaming at his players. He’s watching them fail and letting them learn. He’s got a young squad with potential to be very good in the coming years. Wins like today are going to go a long way toward proving that—no to the basketball world, but the players themselves.

Instead of going after calls, he’s making adjustments. Instead of benching Grant and company after mistakes, he’s teaching men how to get out of situations. Instead of playing to be ahead, he’s showing kids how to win despite being behind. All of this came to fruition yesterday during two critical time periods—just before halftime when Carolina stormed back to tie the game, and in the second half after a thunderous dunk by Tyler Hansbrough. The lead was cut to one possession or tied a few times, actually, and every time I looked over to the side Sidney Lowe used his “Slow Down and run the offense” face. Engin Atsur responded brilliantly (the MVP of yesterday’s win), as did the big men and Courtney Fells (who is beginning to remind me of a more freakishly athletic Rodney Monroe during his hot streaks). This is not a tournament bound team, by any means. However, the fact that they won two straight against ranked opponents with their leader back from injury shows me they want to be. They believe they can be. That is more than I expected from a first time coach and a slew of kids playing against the “will” of North Carolina.

As the students rushed the court yesterday, I was reminded of when I was growing up. I knew UNC-NC State was going to be vehement and bloody. I knew, as well, that Dean Smith was patrolling the sidelines and that the best athletes went to UNC and Duke. While that is still true, I wonder if it will remain that way for long. Of the times Duke and UNC have owned the ACC (most of the time), the balance of the league will shift with recruits that want to beat the best to be the best. Maryland was a classic case of this. Walt Williams was a beast with little support, but he started a trickle down effect that ended up with Maryland winning a national championship in 2002. The classic two guard set-up with a dominant big man (Steve Blake, Juan Dixon and Lonny Baxter) was essential. Can’t the same be said for Paul Hewitt’s Final Four club (Jarrett Jack, BJ Elder and Chris Bosh—preceded by Travis Best)? If Wake Forest had won their triple overtime game with West Virginia in 2004’s NCAA Tourney, we could be talking about another final four club (Chris Paul, Justin Gray and Erik Williams—preceded by Tim Duncan). If State can match a true point guard (God bless Atsur for taking this challenge) with Fells’ ice cold jumper, then McCauley and Brandon Costner can run the game from the low block as well as the guards from the top of the key. In a best case scenario, the Wolfpack can be a threat sooner rather than later. Wishful thinking, I know, but if Sendek and Hodge brought them into prominence, is it possible that Lowe and (insert recruit here) take them to the next level?

Yesterday was a prototypical next-level win. Even the announcers knew State didn’t win despite themselves; they won because they played the perfect game against a team as young as they were. They played a patient, ball control offense (turnovers be damned) and a stifling interior defense (Hansbrough’s 24 points be damned). What State discovered against Carolina was that the best defense is a mixture of intimidation (State out rebounded UNC in the double digit range—would this have happened had Hansbrough not been pushed around and fouled early?) and rebounding. The best defense is to have the ball. Sloppy at it seemed it was a decisive win for a school that has not been viewed seriously in quite a while. While we have to wait to see what Sidney Lowe does with his own players before judgment, I’m more excited to see a coach patrolling the sidelines since the late 80’s. He gives State the intimidation they have sorely missed. That might be enough for me right there. For the first time in over a decade, the sidelines are even. The rivalries are getting there too.

Outside the Aviary: "After the Laughter, Comes the Tears."

Anyone else see Dikembe Mutombo during the State of the Union? Since when do large scale Republican leaders allow black people anywhere near them?






Oh... wait.


(Tommy Jeff doesn't care how much money's in yr grill, 'cause his grill is on the money.)




It was pretty bizarre to see Mutombo enjoying such high company, and being referenced as the American dream in the same breath as failing health care and a global war on terror. It doesn't so much speak for the power of sports as it does the power of distraction.

Case in point, I watched the Saints-Bears game in a bar full of Saints fans. More often than you would believe, I had people telling me how good it would be for New Orleans if the Saints won the Super Bowl. At one point, I had to ask:

'Who would it help, really?"
"Well, you know-- the people."
"How? Help them forget, you mean?"
"No, I mean, it would lift their spirits."
"Oh, yeah. Cool. Call me when it lifts their fucking houses."

I know. I know. This is a bleak world view, and my negativity is in full view of the tens of people who read this blog. You have to admit, though, that the Super Bowl would not have improved funding, increased housing or helped displaced citizens (read: refugees) still unable to get to their original homelands. A win for the Saints would've been a lot of fun, but other than the heightened self-awareness of some anchormen and some feel-good stories about millionaires tossing money on a disaster, how can anyone convince me that sports helps heal wounds?

OK. Having said that, I'm not dismissing the power of escape. Fleeting moments of happiness are a wonderful escape from the drudgery of disaster. And sure, the area could use a break. The Bears win, however, has NO bearing on the healing process overall. When the Red Sox won the world series, my Grandfather (born July 1919, deceased July 2004) was not raised from the dead. He was not magically lifted from my mind as a burden. Nor was he forgotten. The only thing I could do was know that he would've liked to see his team win a World Series. New Orleans would have enjoyed themselves, the city would have felt alive, but Bush's speech tonight would have still needed a mention of their city's reconstruction efforts.

As Chicago celebrated, all I could think of was the 2001 World Series. Baseball fans worldwide were hoping for the Yankees to win, "to ease the burden of the September 11th attacks." When Arizona won, I felt no pity for the players or the denizens of NYC (even now as one of them). I feel no remorse for cheering for the Diamondbacks then, nor putting five bucks on the Bears now. Sports are not the great healer. A Saints Super Bowl victory (like a Yanks World Series win) would've been the equivalent of a "Get Well Soon" card to a terminally ill patient. In my mind, the reopening of the Superdome was a better "feel good" story.

In a way, The Saints loss is a better vehicle to Katrina's calamity. If not as cleansing, at least the city can regain focus. The city can look away from the idyllic millionaire heroes and toward it's own displaced families. Hope is sometimes dangerous in it's ability to destroy realism. Realistically, there is no way for me to believe that the Saints have any bearing on New Orleans other than an excuse to get away from a problem. The same importance was placed tonight on Mr. Mutombo-- forget about the shabbiness of Bush's argument for privatization, debt mongering and failed missions and listen to this fantastic story of triumph. Though it is not as glamorous as victory, regret, failure and remembering are the better ways to combat catastrophe.

Dikembe is a great story. Drew Brees would've been a fantastic distraction. However, the Saints aren't heroes. I don't think they would be in victory either.