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: 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: "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.

AL East Preview

We here at the Pretzel Factory are proud to present an absolutely absurd look into our idea of what will happen this year in Major League baseball team by team. They are broken down by division and in the order of predicted finish for your enjoyment. Enjoy your preview of the American League East, friends!

Boston Red Sox: I don't really think this team can win this division or make the playoffs in my heart of hearts, but I can't pick the Yankees. So, there it is. The Red Sox will win the East because I want them to. At the all-star break, with a two game deficit, Curt Schilling will change the name of his blog "Muting Michael Kay" after Kay says that the Yankees would be better off signing a younger pitcher in the off-season. This will prompt Kay to challenge Schill to a wrestle off. Little does Schill know, Kay is dirty. Mariano Rivera will sneak into the ring and hit Schill with a chair and Kay will scream "SEE YA!" before pinning Schill to win. Manny Ramirez will decide that this injustice must be avenged and will set a second-half RBI record propelled by an 11 RBI night against the Yanks eliminating them from playoff contention. Big Papi will laugh from the dugout heartily while carting Schill around with a wheelchair that is internet ready. Wins: 100. Playoffs: WS. Also, I'm a Red Sox fan. Thought you should know.

NY Yankees: Aside from the Michael Kay distraction, the Yankees will face their largest A-Rod distraction ever when the fans and media decide to start preening and petting him no matter what his role is in the clutch. He will become so enamored of himself that he will grow his hair into a lustrous main and refer to himself as SUPERHORSE. SUPERHORSE will hit for average, power and gallop around the basepaths with the reckless abandon of a young Enos Slaughter. Derek Jeter, jealous of SUPERHORSE's preening and newfound media-love, will refer to A-Rod as "Little Momma" during an ESPN Sunday Conversation in which he was shitcanned drunk. This will prompt both players to actively dive into the stands after EVERY foul ball causing irreparable facial structure damage to both men. Because of this, Hideki Matsui will declare himself (very humbly) to be the most handsome man on the team. Meanwhile, the team will suffer it's worst winning percentage in a long time: well above .500. Wins: 90. Playoffs: probably, but I'm not granting that honor on anything NEAR Giambi.

Toronto Blue Jays: Wait, there's a team in CANADA? What the hell is that about? I mean, COME ON. BJ Ryan plays In CANADA? Who's in charge here? Let's get these guys a real stadium in a real AMERICAN city for Christ's sake. Has Detroit got a ballclub right now? What about Anaheim? Don't worry, fellas. We'll take care of this right quick like. Doc Halladay don't pitch for no pansy-ass CANADIAN team for pussy nor money. One quick note: is there anything scarier than the bird Toronto designed to be the mascot? Holy living FUCK. That thing will kill us all. Seriously, did the guy who did makeup for The Crow make this? Wins: 87. Playoffs: Nah.

Baltimore Orioles: It all comes crashing down on opening day, doesn't it? Kevin Millar will make the papers for the first time in June when he hits a walk off dying quail to raise his average to .234. He will use the interview to rail against Peter Angelos' irresponsible running of the team. When he disappears, no one will mind or even notice. A clone of Nick Markakis will take his place and Angelos will name him Kevin Millar 2: Millar Time. A big hit, the clone will lead the league in smiles until he realizes the team is having yet another losing season mired toward the bottom of the East. Millar 2 will march into Angelos' office screaming CRUSH KILL DESTROY before realizing that he cannot destroy his master. The two will be married in August. What a nice little story. Wins: 71. Playoffs: Get the fuck outta here.

Tampa Bay Devil Rays: They got these big chewy pretzels here blaughtkdnguthgl. OK, in all seriousness, this team will start with the worst record in history until they sign Brewer, Horford and Noah and win 15 in a row to end the season. Still, it's no reason to go caring about a team that has a perennial spot on the spoiler list that Gammons does on Baseball Tonight every year. Wins: 59. Playoffs: We doin' it big. My Devil Rays know what I'm talking about.

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: "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.