Is Alabama's Nick Saban Cowboys Material?

The Dallas Cowboys are suffering through the most disappointing season in NFL history. The team won’t make the play-offs and their franchise quarterback is on the shelf, most likely for the entire season. Cowboys Owner Jerry Jones frustration will grow into more and more inglorious embarrassment in the days leading up to the Superbowl because he and his beautiful stadium/museum/corporate events facility/billboard are hosting Suprbowl XLV.

And yeah, Jones’ head coach is losing control and respect like the democrats lost seats in the U. S. House of Representatives.

Unfortunately for Alabama fans, head coach Nick Saban will be mentioned for the Cowboys job from now until Wade Phillips’ successor is named. Even worse, Saban in Texas makes sense for a lot of reasons.
Saban is already on the radar in Big D, and Dallas’ pain is temporary. Jerry Jones has three rings and will get more. The questions are simply “How much will it cost him?” and “When?” For a job like this, there can only be so many swimmers in the candidate pool. How many men on earth could really fill out a application for this job? Consider the short list of available, worthy pro candidates, Bill Cowher, John Gruden and the NFL list of available coaches starts getting watered down pretty quickly from here. Now consider the best coaches in colleges with experience as an NFL assistant and head coach. What’s the first name to pop into your mind? If you say Iowa’s Kirk Ferentz, stop reading this and put yourself in time-out.

Saban will never be Bear Bryant. Never, not in the hearts of the Alabama faithful. We all know this. The most beloved and respected man in Alabama is six feet under. You can’t compete with that. Hell, Saban can’t be the most adored coach in Tuscaloosa, why shouldn’t he head to the big city.

Speaking of the big city, spend a minute thinking about opportunities for the coach’s wife kids and grandkids in Tuscaloosa versus Dallas. No contest. And despite how generous Alabama has been paying Saban, here is no salary cap for head coaches in the NFL. With the head coaching position, a contract offer from Jones would be un-capped.

There is also a logical connection between Dallas and Alabama. The Bear was an Arkansas native. Jerry Jones was a captain on the lone Arkansas national champion team in 1960. Of course, now Arkansas plays in the SEC west, and Jones now gets the displeasure of watching the Crimson Tide beat his Razorbacks annually. Hiring Nick Saban could actually improve the records of Jerra’s two favorite teams. (If Jones were crazy enough to try to lure Arkansas’ Bobby Petrino back into the league that could hurt his two favorite teams).

Personality wise there is a fit, also. Wade Phillips is laid-back, a true player’s coach. The problem is the players aren’t playing well. When most coaching changes are made the organized, detail oriented task master replaces the jolly guy with his feet up on the desk.

Saban has unfinished business in the NFL. When he left LSU for the Miami Dolphins in 2005, he had not won a college national championship. Now he has, but he has not won a Superbowl. Alpha-males and short guys love challenges. Back in the recesses of his brain Saban has to ask himself, “Could I?”

There are plenty of reasons why Nick Saban may not want the Cowboys job, and plenty of reasons why jerry Jones may not want him. But if you think the phone lines are not and will not be connecting Dallas and Tuscaloosa, then you probably don’t have much respect for Auburn's Cam Newton either.

Ten Things That Will Keep a Youth League Coach up at Night

Coaching kids is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get. That said, following are ten events (for better or worse) that will make a coach do more than just shake his head.

 

1. A boy’s first hit in a baseball game. We’re not talking t-ball, baseball.

2. Girls with long hair showing up to soccer practice without a ponytail, braids etc.

3. Even worse, the dreaded “Sillybandz."

4. Kids running cross country on trails …in “Crocs.”

5. Having six assistant coaches for a five and six year old baseball team and one assistant coach for a seven and eight year old softball team.

6. Watching a girl throw like a boy.

7. Telling a player to run to second base while the second baseman is waiting with the baseball. That’s a helpless feeling. What’s more helpless? When it is your kid.

8. Getting called “Dude” by a seven year old.

9. Watching the first spiral or made free throw.

 10. Winning a game that you never thought was possible.
 To repeat my favorite line from The Untouchables: “Somethings we laugh because there funny, Somethings we laugh because there true.

Hypothetically Speaking

Here’s a hypothetical scenario for you.


Let’s just say that you, your kids and your spouse (unless you happen to be Susan Sarandon) hop in the SUV and head on over to the Grandpa’s house weekly for Sunday breakfast/ brunch. Let’s also say that there is a guy hanging out there that the kids call “Uncle.” The kids like this guy, the Uncle character. Uncle never criticizes the kids and is quick to make a funny joke if you happen to get on to your kids a little bit. Uncle is also inclined to let your kids have a little more than their fair share of bacon, from time to time. It’s an easy way to buy some loyalty


As parents, you clearly see what is happening routinely but generally ignore the situation … then comes that fateful day. While you are truly oblivious to goings-on, the Uncle gives the bacon on your plate to one of the kids. The kid, not being mature enough to really make his own decision and not wanting to look un-cool in front of the Uncle, happily enjoys the bacon.


Hypothetically, let’s say this is how you choose to be the heavy and handle the situation. You ignore the Uncle character, put the boy in “time-out” for half an hour and make him take money out of his piggy bank and buy you a pound of bacon. (Yes, it is a little ironic twist that the bacon money comes out of piggy bank).


In the real world you and significant other probably wouldn’t handle this situation that way. Unless, the two of you act in a manner similar to the NCAA’s football Lords of Discipline. This, however, is exactly, not hypothetically, how the college athletic policymakers are handling this fall’s agent-gate and specifically, the strange case of the University of Georgia’s consensus pre-season All-American wide receiver, A. J. Green.


Green sold a Liberty Bowl jersey from last year’s bowl game to a pro football agent or one of his associates. The NCAA is not pressuring the agent. Instead, the brain trust is making Green donate his proceeds to a charity and sit four games … four games. (On a side note: all this is for a Liberty Bowl jersey. Georgia fans must be cringing every time they hear that). This severe punishment is clearly a case of the parent not taking the proper action to solve the problem. The guys in suits penalize the kid and fail to confront the instigator. The NCAA is clearly making Green pay far more retribution than he received benefit, way more. They do not have the fortitude to address an uncomfortable situation, so they end up going way overboard in the wrong direction.


Unfortunately, these types of scenarios do happen, and happen quite often. Why? Because college football is so profitable for the NCAA and is the minor leagues of the NFL. Remember, high school football players can not advance to the NFL after just one year out of high school like the NBA. For football, the rule is three years. Coincidentally, Green is in his third fall away from high school. He is projected to be a top-ten pick in 2011 NFL Draft.


This is the type of thing that makes you hope for the advancement of super conferences and a possible secession of football from the NCAA umbrella. It could happen. After all, the south is no stranger to the word secession.

Oh, and son, “You better never, ever take bacon off my plate, or you will pay.”

Ten Observations/ Predictions from the Sports World

Please read the following observations/ predictions from the world of sports. You’re welcome for the clarity.

The Indianapolis Colts are 0-3 in the NFL pre-season. This gives them four wins versus 21 losses dating back to 2005. This proves the pre-season records mean nothing because the Colts have averaged 13 wins over the same regular seasons. Oh, and they won a Super Bowl.

Nick Saban will eventually leave the University of Alabama for another coaching job.

The NFL is the king of sports, and college football rules the south, but high school football is the best value for the Everyfan.

No American male will advance to the semis-finals of the 2010 U. S Open.

Pitcher Andy Petite is the key to the New York Yankees post-season and Roger Clemens federal indictment for his role in the performance enhancing drug saga.

The World Basketball Championships are currently under way in Turkey. You may not have known this, or even cared. This lack of story proves that the “Lebron James Decision” was good for the NBA in the vein of “any publicity is good publicity.”

Major League Baseball is on a roll right now. Clemens’ issues with telling the truth and letting guys inject drugs into his backside, has a fantastic reality television feel that is attractive to mainstream viewers and readers. Also, there are great story lines emerging as the play-offs approach. Small market and small budget teams like San Diego and Tampa Bay are leading their divisions. And lastly, The Yankees are still relevant.

Golf’s Ryder Cup is the premier all-star contest in professional sports. Tiger Woods is the world’s best golfer. Still, he has been fighting to make the U. S. Ryder Cup team. (He will make it). Golfers are the only athletes care so much about these exhibitions. That’s why we should be interested.

The NFL will go to an eighteen team schedule next season. Rosters will expand. Teams will carry four quarterbacks. Some teams will take this opportunity to “carry” an unconventional or “Wildcat” quarterback.

Every guy driving a Smart Car has a beard? It’s true. This may not be related all that closely to sports, but it is true. Think about it.

Slingshots and Salaries

We all know football season is right around the corner because Brett Farve has decided to changed his “I am retired, or I might be retired” Facebook status and lace up his cleats. As a country, we anxiously await the start of the football season, but take a look at what is going on the fields of what used to be America’s pastime, baseball.


For the first time in recent memory, every division in Major League Baseball has close races between the top two teams. Most years there are a couple of good division races and the wild card races to keep fans interested. Not this year. The 2010 season is playing out like a series of David versus Goliath duels from coast to coast. And, David, with his dollar store slingshot, is beating up on ole Goliath.

Every division leader in MLB has a smaller payroll than the second place team. (The payroll numbers used for this article are from the AP and are pre-trade deadline. Historically, every team in a pennant race will increase their budgets when making trades in July and August). In the National League West, the Padres lead the Giants (hence the appropriate Goliath reference). This is despite the MLB’s second smallest payroll. The Padres are paying their players only slightly more than one third of the Giants combined salaries of at least $97,828,833. Same in the AL East, the Yankees are spending $206,333,389 + on their major league roster. This is the most in the majors. Yet, they trail the Rays (ae least $71,923,471) in the standings by virtue of the results of their head-to-head match-ups.

The list goes on, the Braves are spending the 15th most money but lead the Phillies, fourth in payroll by a couple games. The Rangers just left bankruptcy court room last week but lead the Los Angeles Angels in the AL West. The Reds are leading the Cardinals, and the small market Twins are ahead of the White Sox. This is not saying that parity has arrived in big league cities … it hasn’t. The penurious Pirates, Athletics, Diamondbacks are getting what they pay for in relative terms, not many wins. Some things just don’t change or at least change quickly.

Oddly enough great pennant races are shaping up in the one sport without a salary cap. Remember, the NFL’s “uncapped year” is a Haley’s Comet type situation. Don’t count on seeing it again in your lifetime. So, forgive me for saying this. Don’t get out the pompoms just yet. Buy more peanuts and more Cracker Jack. It’s time to take another look at baseball and cheer for the little guy.

Ten Reasons Why Americans Love Football:

1. We are the best at football.  No other country comes close to us.  We own football like we own proceesed lunch meat, Disney World, neck tattoos and Beyonce.
 
2. It’s violent. Who ever  watched “The Sopranos” or any Arnold Schwarzenegger movie for the acting.

3. Little kids look funny playing football.  Kids play tackle football in full pads at five and six years old. Have you seen a live 3 ½ foot bobble head try to run sixty yards with 21 other bobble heads in hot pursuit? That’s funny.
 
4. It's appointment television. Our commitment is manageable. You know when (and where) to find games on your television.  Games are either in prime time or on the weekend. If you want to be a casual fan, it's easy.  You don’t have to keep up with football everyday through 80 plus, or even 160 plus games like other sports.


5. It’s appointment gambling and for some, it’s a manageable vice … if you want it to be. And yes, fantasy football is also a form of gambling.  Then, again so is paying taxes via buying lottery tickets.

6. The players look like superheroes. Do you really want to see C. C. Sabathia or Shaquille O’Neal without a shirt? Adrian Petersen is a walking anatomy lesson. And even the fat guys on the offensive line look cool when they put on twenty-something pounds of space age kevlar, impact resisting body armor.

7. Football players are Americans, and they speak English.  The athletes and coaches are predominately Americans. This is not so true in baseball, hockey and lately basketball with the globalization of the NBA. We don't need a translator for football. (Although sometimes, subtitles would be nice).

8. Kickers. They really don’t fit in with everybody else. They are lees than pint-size, and they don’t practice with the team.  These hummels only play for a few seconds every game, yet their success is critical to the outcome of every close game. We either jeer them like the nerdy kid with one entire hand up his nose, or we celebrate them like the guy (not Al Gore) who created the interweb.

9. The Super Bowl. You can lose yourself, and your interest and your girlfriend in the legnthy baseball or basketball play-offs.  It doesn't make sense to come off a the beach sunburnt and browse sixty channells to find a second round NBA play-off gamre.  Then, there is the soccer.  Even if  soccer were  a very minor part of the American sports fan’s consciousness, we still could not tolerate the vuvuzelas and the World Cup every year. Finally, golf and NASCAR are not even clearly sports to the guy making dents in his couch every weekend, and the PGA and Cup play-offs are about as manufactured yet inconsistent as a fast food value menu.

10. Ask any coming of age high school boy, and he will tell you … cheerleaders.

 

Did I leave something off the list? Post a comment and let me know.  Also, please check out my SEC football posts at:
Sean Conway on 2010 University of Tennessee Football
Sean Conway on 2010 University of South Carolina Football

Because Real Men Don't Send e-vites to College Football Websites

As noted here very recently, I am now writing columns on college football in addition to this site.  Currently, I am contributing to www.chuckoliver.net  The posting will be more than once a week each on the University of Tennessee and University of South Carolina programs.  These posts will not update the latest injury to a freshman  linebacker, the recritment of a high school sophmore, or likely predict a undefeated seasons for either program.  They will provide researched opinions in a readable, unbiased and most importantly, from a slightly off-beat perspective. The link to the Univeristy of Tennessee Volunteers is: Sean Conway's 2010 Columns on Tennessee Volunteer Football.  The link to the South Carolina Gamecocks is: Sean Conway's 2010 Columns on South Carolina Gamecock Football. 

There will also be other contributors on each page. If you take a look, you may read an article by another contributor before you actually scroll down to my latest.  I have wriiten two columns on each program already.  Please also take a look at the entire site to read news and columns on your favorite SEC, ACC or C-USA team.

Thanks, and I would love to hear/read what you think. 


Sean

Notes From a Delinquent Writer

Notes If you are a member of the few, the (hopefully) proud, followers of this site: I’m sorry. Hopefully, I can reward your loyalty with some … thing. Here are some observations from the summer of 2010, as defined by the Cobb County (GA) School Calendar.

The Lebron Thing

Lebron James did the right thing for his “brand” when he held his press conference announcing his exodus from Cleveland on ESPN. He went to a pre-packaged All-Star team in the Miami Heat and made his “decision” a prime time spectacle. Lebron will win championships in Miami. People will forget the ESPN special. We will remember the highlights and the ad campaigns to come. Accountants and salespeople at Nike and the NBA were ecstatic. The “LBJ Decision ’10” drew a bigger audience than the prime-time NBA and NFL drafts. The show received higher rating s than any NBA play-off game before the finals. That’s good pub and good business. Like it or not, the The King is selling more and more shoes for Nike across the globe.

Not since “Must-See-TV,” has Thursday night programming garnered so much attention. Yes, the mainstream media crapped on it. Why? Because it was staged. The media was virtually ignored and certainly devalued, ESPN decided to chase ratings, credibility be damned. By the way, Jim Gray was the perfect moderator/ table setter for the one hour special. With a guy of Gray’s stature, ESPN and Lebron’s handlers did not even need to buy heavy duty the puppet strings. Just like with the Tiger Woods mea culpa months ago, the mainstream media was unnecessary and practically uninvited. Talking heads and beat writers were virtually ignored. They got their feelings hurt and cried like a kid that just lost his play date. Lebron James (the person) may have taken a little hit incredibility, but the Lebron James brand did not. His sponsors, the NBA and ESPN quietly loved it. Do you think Nike execs would have said, “Lebron, you really shouldn’t have brought so much attention to basketball in the middle of summer?”

The Kid Baseball Thing

Some six year olds can play baseball all summer anywhere, anytime. Parents should not encourage every six year old to play baseball anywhere, anytime.

The Kid Baseball Thing and Just Plain Good Baseball

If your team makes three errors in an inning it will hurt the ballclub. It doesn’t matter if the boys are six going on seven or twenty-six going on twenty-seven.

The Ozzie Guillen Thing

Ozzie Guillen is a lot like Charles Barkley. Some of the stuff those two say is dead-on. Often, they say what needs to be said. Other times, their musings are misguided at best. Should Charles Barkley have really talked about running for governor before he was a registered voter? On Ozzie’s latest rant, yes, Latin baseball players are treated differently than the Asian players. What Guillen chooses to forget is that the Latin players will do anything (including fake their age) to become a part of the baseball fraternity and escape the economics of Central America.

Some of these kids do learn to play baseball with yesterday’s tree limbs as bats and make-shift baseballs. These Latin players are almost always teenagers are more than happy to be paid to train on immaculate fields, receive state of the art coaching, buffet meals and live in air conditioned dormitories for the opportunity to play minor league baseball in the U. S. These players are not ready to play at the Major league level without the training and tutoring provided by MLB clubs.

Then there are the Cuban ballplayers which Ozzie chooses to forget. The Cubans are also Latin ballplayers. They are treated very similarly to the Asians because they are generally not available and desirable to the Major League teams until they are in their twenties and polished ballplayers. (Why spend money on someone too young, too raw, or too scared to defect a communist country). I have advanced well past my twenties (chronologically) and still would have second thoughts about defecting out of any foreign country. So, once the Cubans escape the Castro thing, they are more equipped to have their Miami-based agents (sweeping generalization) get them their money.

Finally, this blog will continue with more frequent, but equally, sanguine posts. Thank you very much for reading and commenting. The updates this fall will most likely be more digestible (shorter) moving forward. In the next days or week, there will be news about my new assignments writing about the religion of the south, SEC football.

One-Sided

The American side (that means team in soccer) just defeated Algiers (it’s a country) in the World Cup. This year it happens to be the World Cup of soccer (not Quidditch). Usually I derive great pleasure in bashing soccer partially because bashing soccer happens to be ridiculously easy. Today, the creating the barbs is not nearly as much fun.. The only electronic jabs from me will be limited, insightful and necessary. For example, doesn’t the American coach, Bob Bradley, look like the miniature love child of Cal Ripken Jr. and Ed Harris?

The novice soccer fan can learn a lot and truly appreciate the Yanks thrilling 1-0 victory thanks to Landon Donovan’s goal. With the win the Americans won their group and advance to the Knockout-Stage of the tournament.

Soccer at the highest level can be exciting. The game may not necessarily be exhilarating if it is a played between 8 year old girls at the “Y” on Saturdays. (I know because believe it or not, I gladly help coach 8 year old girls at the “Y” on Saturdays). But, when your country, assuming you are not a “global citizen,” wins in the final moments of any competition, it is a very excellent event.

These guys are fantastic athletes. Personally, I think they look like gymnasts without the upper body muscles. Sorry. Seriously, the foot-eye coordination of these guys is amazing. Add in that these guys are in perpetual motion, and it is remarkable they can control and power the ball so skillfully. That said soccer fan, I actually watched the second half while running six miles on a treadmill, and those guys are not sprinting for the entire time. Nonetheless, these guys are ridiculously fit and athletic.

Clearly, it is not baseball or football in this regard, but good decisions have to be made quickly and often by the coaches and players. I was surprised and very interested to really watch how the goalkeepers influence setting up the offensive “runs” with their kicks and throws. American keeper (goalie) Tim Howard really helped the Yanks start the pressure on several runs.

Foreign analysts are pretty cool. These guys convey passion without Chris Berman-like shtick. They are also willing to criticize and then, move forward. Luckily, soccer’s movement doesn’t lend it self to dwelling on minutia for extended periods of time.

On somewhat of a side note, guess who really won the game … Barak Obama. Seriously, he needed this more than our country did. Maybe that guy can stay out of the oil disaster and insubordinate general headlines for a day. And, isn’t karma a bitch? The last minute U. S. victory catipulted the U. S. over the English “side” to take Group C. Take that BP. It’s just more proof that God loves us more.

On somewhat of a side note part two, do you know why Bill Clinton was at the match? He heard that they were giving away free vuvuzelas. Sorry, could help it.

That is about as nice as I can be. Here are some unabashed observations from an unabashed American.

The flopping is a problem; thankfully the Americans weren’t as good at flopping as the sometimes untouched Algerians.

Even I can not pretend to be so arrogant as to claim to know how hard their job is, but the referees really miss a lot of the correct calls. Much like over the weekend, the referees wrongly redacted a goal from the Americans.


The lack of scoring really is a problem. While it was clear the American were the better team today, they needed “extra time” or “injury time” to score the game’s only goal. Had the U. S. not scored today, they would not have been one of the top two teams in their four team group. They would have gone undefeated in three games but still not advanced. That may be soccer, but it is truly stupid.

Today’s victory does teach America a few things. Soccer can be exciting. It is more fun to win than it is to lose … or draw. (That means tie in soccer). Some Americans do love the soccer, and thankfully, we are pretty good at the game.

The World Cupa

In an effort to prepare sports fans for the World Cup (it’s a soccer tournament), here is everything you need to know.
People that drink foreign beers with names you can’t pronounce call it the World Cupa or the Worlda Cupa.

It is a soccer tournament, where men, usually very small but agile men, constantly nearly run into each other. Then, one guy flops on the ground as if bludgeoned by several invisible billy clubs simultaneously. Finally, said “victim” writhes on the ground like a grounded goldfish on a heated griddle. It looks a lot like Kobe Bryant trying to get a foul call he doesn’t deserve.


It is not being played in the U.S, somewhere else.


The Americans are in the tournament.


The Americans will not win the tournament.


Unlike football, basketball and hockey, the games don’t end when the clock hits 00:00. Injury time is added to the clock. (This is to account for delays created by the flopping goldfish on the pitch). A pitch is what those people call a soccer field. Only, the referees know when the game really ends. Apparently, soccer is the sport that technology forgot.


Soccer is Ultimate Frisbee all growed up. You could even say it one of the best Active Lifestyle Activities.

ESPN will inform you of whatever else you need to know about the “Worlda Cupa” on one of their many “platforms.” In case you haven’t noticed, the sports media uber-giant is expanding its soccer content. It is painfully obvious because they often interrupt the “Top Nine Plays in Sports” to add a soccer “highlight” on SportsCenter.

Pele retired from Worlda Cupa play a few years ago.


My soccer playing daughter will ask her coach to sit on the couch and watch a match. Her coach will gladly put down what he is doing, grab a Budweiser and enthusiastically cheer for the Yanks.


Sports fans: please leave a comment on what dire circumstance could force you to watch an entire “match.” Soccer fans: don’t even bother.

The Most Interesting Man in the World

The Most Interesting Man in the World owns a 200 plus foot yacht … And, he has no idea where it is.

 When The Most Interesting Man in the World jet skis, rock music plays in the background and camera crews film his flips, twists and 360s.

When The Most Interesting Man in the World imported “eight models” into a French ski resort called Courchevel and was arrested … The French police later apologized.

 The Most Interesting Man in the World allegedly staged his own $10 million island wedding … just to win a bet. Even if there was no wedding, The Most interesting Man in the World threw one helluva party.

 The Most Interesting Man in the World receives Special Forces automatic weapons like you receive mail orders from J. Crew.

 When not jet skiing, The Most Interesting Man in the World can dunk a basketball and likes to kick-box.

  The Most Interesting Man in the World has a blog … but does not know how to type and doesn’t own a PC. He does not even own a cell phone.

 The Most Interesting Man in the World “dines” with Jay-Z in Manhattan’s 40-40 club.

  The Most Interesting Man in the World is an owner of one of the world’s largest gold mining companies.

  The Most Interesting Man in the World says things like, “I think women make the same mistake with me all the time. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." And, "I've never lost my cool. Even in love affairs. If you have Plan B and Plan C, you are all the time relaxed."

The Most Interesting Man in the World is Russian uber-magnate Mikhail Prokhorov. Last week he bought the 80 % of the NBA’s New Jersey (soon to be Brooklyn) Nets.  Prokhorov is one of the two most successful Pioneers in Russia’s transition into capitalism and the free market. His estimated wealth is between $13-18 million. How did he get his start? He created a business selling stone washed jeans. How great is that? He helped usher capitalism and stone washed jeans into the former U.S.S.R. Through various successes, “loans,” “auctions” and seemingly nefarious power deals, he has accumulated ridiculous wealth well in advance of his 45 th birthday. On his rise to ridiculous wealth Prokhorov said, "I do not want to reveal all my secrets.''

The current NBA storyline in the NBA is obviously the play-offs. This summer, the buzz will surround the Lebron James Sweepstakes. In the very near future, the NBA has the unlimited potential for global intrigue in complete with a Russian accent and hopefully plenty of "How does one say..." and "In my country..."

All of the above appears to be true. His bio is confirmed by sources other than Wikipedia, and his jet ski video and 60 Minutes interview are on YouTube. Now, a foreigner from a formerly communist block world power owns a sports property in the world’s greatest sports and media market. He goes to discotheques where he chews gum and dances awkwardly with Tiger Woods type “models.” The NBA season sometimes so long that pre-season practically starts before the previous year’s conference finals adjourn. But, thanks to a Russian with Ivan Drago’s height, hair and mettle, the NBA will live up to the old Madison Ave slogan. It’s going to be Fan-tastic.

Dear Baseball Parents

Dear Parents,


As our season winds down, we should all appreciate the improvement in the team. All of the ballplayers, from the first-timers to the grizzled six year old veterans, have improved tremendously. If we look at the wrong time, we may have seen an easy or routine ground ball going right under the shortstops legs. We may have noticed some swings that still need a little “refinement,” and that’s okay.


It’s time to appreciate the boys for the athletes they are today, and the athletes they are becoming. They are works in progress, and it’s an upward trend. As much as we may hope or daydream, there is little chance that any of our little Brian McCanns will ever make a living playing ball. Judging from the conversations I overheard, we are more likely raising rocket scientists, or at least science fiction authors. When the coaches would yell, “Baseball ready,” sometimes the team looked ready, like the ’27 Yankees. Sometimes, the team was scanning the horizon for a possible Deathstar or Millennium Falcon. Let’s keep both memories. If any of our boys don’t go into the aerospace industry, horticulture is a safe bet.

As a coach and dad, I will keep every memory. I will remember proudly the swings that were once tomahawk chops, the dashes down the first base line that were like a sailor wandering back to the ship, the dives for balls way out of reach, and the pop-ups that were caught later in the season, rather than ignored just a couple months ago.

Sometimes a coach can’t see all the camaraderie these boys building, but it could always be heard. It will probably be August (and the start of another baseball season) before the coaches stop hearing the echoes of “Come on baby, Burn it up” from the dugout.

Up and down the line-up, there is improvement in every boy. It’s obvious in the way they ran and played, in the way they became listeners, and in the way they became friends.

Congratulations parents and thanks for sharing.

Nike's Hole In One

Last week Phil Knight and his team of geniuses at Nike hit a hole in one with their controversial new Tiger Woods commercial. The ad was released just a day before Tiger’s return to competitive golf at The Masters. It features the voice of the (the subterranean) Earl Woods admonishing his son, Tiger. Everyone in the pop culture world, not just the sports world, was discussing the effect of the somber father rebuking his son for getting caught with his “hands” in the metaphorical cookie jar.

Warm fuzzzies be damned, the ad was brilliant. It dominated conversation on the eve and throughout all of Masters Week. Immediately the media focus shifted away from Tiger’s transgressions, as well as his return to competitive golf, and onto the advertisement itself. The subsequent discussions became an unbuyable amount of Nike publicity and chatter on TV, radio, internet, around the water cooler and at Starbucks. In fact the commercial and Tiger’s excellent performance, literal and hopefully not figurative, in Augusta has essentially shut the door on the revelations that stemmed from the “Thanksgiving Night Massacre.” Of course, that door is neither hermitically sealed nor dead-bolted, but it is at least temporarily closed.

In a conversation while watching the final round of the Masters, a friend complained to me, “Nike should not have done that. They should not have taken Earl Woods’ voice from some secret vault and made Tiger look so bad.” (The recorded quotes are actually from a recording of Earl speaking to/about Tiger’s mother, Tilda, in 2004). My friend was not taking an unreasonable position. Nor is the position of “Thank God, Nike put the cheater in his place,” unreasonable. So why did Nike “Just Do It?” Because Nike could. Because Tiger Woods, while inseparable from Nike Golf, is no longer the “boss” of Nike Golf.

Even with his admitted confessions, a vulnerable Tiger is hard to fathom. Nike Golf and Tiger enjoyed a meteoric, symbiotic rise in the sports world. He became the company’s pitchman when he was just 20 years old, way back in 1996, before Nike was really in the golf business. Essentially, Tiger Woods built Nike Golf.

Quickly, as each entity rose to prominence, the brands Nike Golf and Tiger Woods became co-dependent and inseparable. It is impossible to visualize the golfer without the swoosh and the swoosh without the golfer. Just take a look at Tiger on the course. Unlike other players on the PGA Tour, he does not bedazzle his wardrobe like the front quarter panel of a NASCAR vehicle. When you see Phil Mickelson, he has KPMG, Callaway and Barclays all over his “quarter panels.” The only logos on Tiger are simply Nike, be it the famous swoosh or his private label TW trademark. During tournament coverage, he has never been swathed with a Gatorade lightning bolt, or a Buick crest. Furthermore, Tiger’s equipment is also predominately Nike. While other players may play a Titleist ball with Callaway clubs, Woods hits a Nike ball with Nike clubs while wearing a Nike glove, a Nike shirt, a Nike hat, a Nike belt...

The relationship has been mutually and ridiculously profitable. Despite a slumping economy for luxury goods like golf equipment, Nike’s golf sales are over $680 million annually and maintain a huge slice of the golf equipment and apparel pie. For his endorsements and influence, Nike pays Tiger upwards of $20 million a year. If under any circumstance, Tiger left Nike and became a front man for Callaway or Ping, Nike would have to recreate the entire brand. To reposition (hip Madison Avenue terminology), would take a lot more than a few kitschy thirty second spots during the John Deere Classic.

More than the golf icon’s carnal relationships changed in the aftermath of the Thanksgiving Night Massacre. (In review, Tiger’s grill allegedly stopped a Nike Golf club swung by his wife Elin, and moments later, a palm tree and/or fire hydrant stopped the grill of the Woods’ family Escalade). It was at exactly that instant that Phil Knight and his Nike geniuses started to become the boss of the relationship again, and Tiger became the submissive employee. (And, if you read and believe some of Tiger’s mistresses leaked texts, Tiger being submissive is really ironic). Capturing the moment, Nike flexed its muscle (figurative again) and quickly produced the spot that completed the fall from, “Tiger, you da man,” to Tiger demeaned.

And, what will the ad do for sales? Whether consumers want a commercial that positions Tiger 2.0 in an even less appealing light, or consumers believe that Nike is being distasteful and manipulative, the ad is already serving its purpose: get the brand name in conversation and subsequently boost sales. Meanwhile, Nike Golf and Tiger Woods remain indivisible. No matter whose side you take, you are supporting Tiger Woods or Nike Golf. Therefore, you are supporting one in the same.

In golf, it’s all about execution, and Nike’s execution was brilliant. Like it or despise it, a golf fan’s appropriate response to the commercial is to offer up an understated golf-clap and say, “Nice shot.”

Carded ... Again

First of all, they should have never been described as “baseball trading cards.” They were, and always will be, baseball cards. For a youngster, baseball cards were the greatest. There has probably never been anything more useful and more fun on the planet. A young boy could do anything with those cards: connect to his favorite team, learn baseball history and trivia, invent games for starters. Personally, I attribute my excellent alphabetizing skills to spending hours organizing and reorganizing my baseball cards. Some baseball cards made a boy smile or even laugh. And some cards, when washed with your favorite jeans or stolen by a “friend,” brought a boy to tears. Nothing on earth can summon emotion like a few minutes revisiting your baseball card vault, usually a reclaimed, crudely decorated shoebox.

Going through that shoebox takes me back three decades, and nothing says late seventies like the smell and sight of baseball card gum. The gum was pink like other bubble gum, but flat, thin and rigid like a miniature diving board. The newness of the package of baseball cards could be calculated by inspecting the gum. It was a boy’s version of carbon dating, only more precise. If the gum was still a little soft, the cards were hot off the press. If the gum was brittle, the cards had been sitting in a storeroom for months. All card collectors fondly keep the scent of the gum mixed with the cardboard in their memory. If they ever make Old Spice with that fragrance, I would buy it.

The funny thing about the gum is that back then you complained about it. The gum was a lot like the kid nobody liked at the neighborhood pool. When he was the only kid at the pool you were glad he was there, but otherwise he was an outsider. Likewise, if you had a piece of sour apple bubble gum in your mouth, that flat gum with the mysterious white powder coating probably got put in the sock drawer or thrown away. However, if you hadn’t had a piece of gum in a couple days, that flat, brittle gum wasn’t so bad after all.One of the greatest baseball cards ever is the Topps brand Oscar Gamble “Traded” card from 1976. That thing was legendary on the shag carpeted floors of living rooms and bedrooms across America. Oscar Gamble was a quality journeyman outfielder in the American League, but this didn’t make his card famous. He was famous for his picture on the card. When a kid saw the card, he immediately discovered two things. His silhouette matched that of the most famous clown of the era, Bozo. Gamble had the most magnificent, voluminous afro ever photographed. His baseball cap precariously held the top of the ‘fro temporarily at bay. In our neighborhood, well before the invention of political correctness and to young to be prejudiced, we called Gamble, “Black Bozo.” As a kid began to really study the card, another discovery unfolded. The bluish and blackish colors were phony-looking. The trademark New York Yankee logo and pinstripes were actually painted on Oscar, by some artist. Since he was traded, Topps had to use a picture of him in his old Cleveland Indians uniform. What a revelation for a kid! When I figured all this out, I felt like I had discovered something big and important, like Mom discovering Fresca.

In the late seventies, even kids knew the American economy was weak. How could you not know? Walter Cronkite reminded you every time you walked through the living room between 7 o’clock and 7:30. Pictures of the people in California waiting in long lines for gasoline kept popping up behind him in the corner or the TV screen. Maybe watching CBS Evening News, and maybe in an effort to rationalize and modernize things; my brother suggested we throw out all of our old cards. Something about saving space for new cards. Sometimes younger brothers can think for themselves. Did I ask why we weren’t throwing away old Hot Wheels? No. This was one of those times the younger brother couldn’t think for himself. I don’t know how many cards were rationalized, probably not many because I was only six, but it still makes me wonder if I carelessly threw away a Hank Aaron or George Brett. Damn it.

Kids and parents weren’t limited to buying the Topps cards at the 7-11 or Majik Market. You could also find baseball cards in areas of the grocery store. Kellogg’s had “3-D” cards in some cereal boxes, probably Frosted Flakes. These cards were a little smaller than the regular size and had some late seventies not-quite-three-dimensional quality to them. The Frosted Flake boxes at our house always produced the Kansa City Royals pitcher, Steve Busby. I never figured out how some guy named Steve Busby always ended up on the kitchen table with half a box of cereal every summer Sunday morning. Hostess or some other snack cake company also had their own version of baseball cards. These were the pits. First, they printed the card on the back of the boxes. No surprise, no anticipation. All you could do is yell at your mom for not selecting the right box while she was at the store. Why couldn’t she find the box with the Jim Rice card? Second, somehow the card had to be removed from the box. This meant a seven year old would try to cut out the cards perfectly. The outcome would have been better, safer and less frustrating, if I had just handed the crappy, rounded-edge scissors to Ray Charles. These cards, ultimately an insignificant speck in the Topps dominated world of baseball cards, were worse than the pits, way worse.

Baseball cards began to lose their innocence when the guys in the corner offices at Topps started marketing complete sets of cards. Who knows when Topp’s started doing this, it seemed like it may have been at exactly the same time I saw a copy of “Baseball Digest” (This was not in the barbershop. Males in our house didn’t go to the barber unless they could pay for a haircut. Until you could mow a lawn, Mom mowed your with the clippers). As you leafed through the tiny pages of “Baseball Digest,” you figured out that the Spoiled Rich Kid could buy the entire yearly set of every possible card at once. This meant that the Spoiled Rich Kid would not have to suffer through duplicates and triplicates of guys like Darrell Chaney and Mike Lum. Instead, the Spoiled Rich Kid was guaranteed a Reggie Jackson, Johnny Bench, Catfish Hunter, Dale Murphy, etcetera without all the hassle. One year for my birthday, my dad got me a subscription to “Baseball Digest” for my birthday. I loved to read that little magazine, but the baseball card ads always reminded me of the faceless, but evil, Spoiled Rich Kid.

Luckily, there was a suitable alternative to complete sets of baseball cards: the multi-packs. Suddenly you, or more likely your mom, could buy something like nine packs of cards at once. No matter how poor a child’s math skills, he could easily explain to Mom that it much more was more economical to purchase cards that way. (I guess these cards even taught me economics). Multi-packs were like a mini-Christmas. You got nine presents, not just one. When you started unwrapping the cellophane and smelling the gum and cardboard mixed together, anticipation was high. I just knew I was about to get a Johnny Bench or Reggie Jackson in the multi-pack. Duplicates and triplicates were frequent but much less annoying. Heck, you didn’t complain at Christmas, when one of your gifts you unwrapped was always a couple pairs of socks.

The marketing geniuses did more than just cater to bourgeois card collector who probably got his hair cut by a real barber. These guys messed up the beautiful, simplistic pastime. They began competing with each other and flooded the market with products. In the good old days, I could grab a pack of Topps cards by the gas register at the gas station, the ball field concession stand or at a K-mart. All of the sudden, I had to navigate an aisle with Topps, Donruss, Fleer and Upper Deck, not to mention football, basketball and hockey cards. Sometimes the aisle grew to include Star Wars and Battlestar Gallactica cards. Collecting baseball cards was getting complicated. Sooner or later, a buyer ventured outside the genre. This was always a disaster. The football cards were confusing because there were so many nameless, faceless linemen, back-ups and back-up faceless linemen. And, Star Wars was a movie after all. It was the world’s greatest movie to a seventies kid, but it was a movie. Now, you’ve wasted your baseball card money on the other crappy cards. The cards may have been labeled Return of the Jedi, but they were actually the return of the pits.

No matter how hard the card companies efforted, they could not compete with puberty. Baseball cards don’t captivate the teenager. Young boys liked to look at the pictures of smiling, fit men. Teenage boys are more interested in pictures of smiling, fit females. Like someone had flipped the switch on the Atari, it was “Game Over.”

More than a few years later, I’m back in the card aisle, again. The card aisle is now in the Target, across street from the old K-Mart. There are still Star Wars cards, but I’m told they are now called Clone Wars, or Star Wars/Clone Wars or something. I can also choose Sponge Bob cards or Jonas Brothers cards. The full-sets for the Spoiled Rich Kid are in the aisle too. Then, the baseball card area pulls me over with its own tractor beam. On the bottom of the shelf, on the right, sits a few plastic cubes holding 200 cards each, even more than the old multi-packs! I pick one up. Dale Murphy, our hometown hero, flashes his boyish, naive grin up at me. Inside the cube is a mix of “surplus cards.” Some of them are new and some must be at least twenty years old. This is a cool find, very cool. At the ball field, I give these cards out to the players on my youth baseball team of 4, 5 and 6 year olds. The boys instantly love their first cards. They’re hooked. It doesn’t matter that most of the young boys can’t read the names on the cards, and they certainly can’t recognize the faces. The boys’ fathers remember the names and faces.

Please share your favorite, or least favorite, baseball card memory by posting to a comment.

Back to Basics

To call the game an epic battle would be more than presumptuous. It was after all, just a spring baseball game with two unfamiliar teams playing, not dying to win but simply hoping to improve. Still, the game had all the qualities of an early exhibition that draws baseball lovers and lifers to baseball in March.

The setting for the game was predictable. The field was not suited for the crowds or the pageantry of an opening day. The sun was bright and the sky was cloudless, but not quite warm. The players wore long sleeve undershirts beneath their fresh jerseys, and there were more than a few sweaters and hoodies in the bleachers. Like any other spring game there, were toddlers seeing a baseball game for the first time, and there were snowbirds spending an afternoon outdoors before finding an early supper. Pretty girls were daring to wear shorts for the first time this year despite the shifty breeze. The clamor of batting practice in nearby cages underscored the sounds from the actual game itself.

All the coaches on each side were as nervous as a first timer in a middle school play. Were they ready for even this modest stage? Had they done enough to prepare their teams? Would they flub their line-ups?

Baseball may have long lost the title of “America’s Pastime” to football or reality television or “internet research,” but spring baseball still quarries the sports fan’s unlimited mines of romance and optimism.

The game featured two of the league’s brightest stars. It would be the first game action for each player this spring. These two guys were friends, having been teammates two seasons ago. At that time, they were simply emerging contributors, players still creating their game while making great plays occasionally rather than often. This is the season they will undoubtedly be hitting their prime. They have become the type of player that draws a little more buzz from the crowd when they step up to the plate.

Befitting his star status, one player arrived in a Jaguar. As is the custom nowadays, the stars made pleasantries before the game and reconnected after a long off-season. Once the game began, their performances did not disappoint. Swinging on the third pitch across the plate, the first star homered to left center field. The second star ripped a triple in his first at bat in the bottom half of the inning. Later, they would each make stellar defensive plays, including an unassisted double play off of a hard liner seemingly destined for extra bases. When the game ended, both players would be just one at bat away from possibly “hitting for the cycle.” But, true to the nature of these spring exhibitions, neither player had a fourth at bat because the teams had made a gentlemen’s agreement before the game to spread the at bats around the line-ups.

The game was as it should have been, a showcase for all the players, not just the superstars. It was also an opportunity to witness improvements all along the rosters and expose areas to be marked for improvement. On the dim side, the base running at times was more laughable than laudable. First and third base coaches were ignored with regularity. On the other hand, future stars showed glimpses of their potential and proved that the relentless repetitions of drills in practices were paying dividends. One highlight was a thrilling relay from the left fielder to the shortstop on to home plate. The tag was applied perfectly for an ESPN highlight-reel out. On this play the cogs were in place, the machine was operating perfectly.

This spring baseball game was not a classic, and you didn’t need to see box score, and the home run doesn’t count, but baseball had returned. This was a good thing. The fans cheered for their favorites once again. They left the park pleased and optimistic. There was definitely hope on both sides for a winning season. The coaches learned more from this game than they could have hoped. And the players, they wondered and wandered around after the game. What was their real concern? Being four, five and six year old boys, they just wanted their snack.

The Oscar Gamble Effect

It would seem that a any athletically inclined, creative type could dream up thousands of relatable sports topics in seconds. A writer should be able to easily fill the new Yankee Stadium with ideas. If there isn't, there should be a phrase in cliche cyberspace that goes something like, “There is always room in the world for one more good sportswriter?” Unfortunately, some days, some of us don't think so good, and the idea train is stuck in Des Moines.

This is when it is time to take the blunt end of the shovel to the blunt end of the brain and dig.

After failing to glean any great topics from the midweek events in between the Super Bowl and baseball’s opening day, also known as the basketball and hockey regular seasons, I had to work a little harder than usual (not much harder mind you) to create questions that only I would be brave, funny and genius enough to answer. The result, “What is the funniest thing I have seen in sports?”

The answer then became so obvious, it’s embarrassing. The funniest thing in sports is Oscar Gamble’s seventies afro on his baseball card. This quickly reminded me that I needed to buy baseball cards for the 4, 5 and 6 year olds that come to me like grasshoppers to the sansei for enlightenment three times a week. Then finally, a topic worthy of the memory of a writer and his laptop materialized: baseball cards.

Like the Tonight Show: More to Come:

The Tiger Situation

After the winter of media hibernation, Tiger Woods apologized for his rampant infidelity last week. Hacks, of the writing and of the golf variety, now get their turn to play judge, palm reader, and preacher. No one, it seems, is afraid to speak out when it comes to Tiger and his indiscretions. Already, there have been and will continue to be some pretty interesting takes on sports’ most famous apology.

Here’s one great viewpoint formed well ahead of Tiger’s press conference. This opinion began taking shape in feeble minds when Tiger’s harem seemed more like Charlie’s Angels than the Dirty Dozens. “Why is Tiger even apologizing? He is just doing what every man wishes he could do. He’s just talking because he wants to get more cheese from those sponsors.” This is great guy to have on your side, unless you’re building a rocket ship or trying to find a cure for cancer.

Some members of the media also began forming their opinions well before Tiger finally spoke. They complained, “If he doesn’t take any questions how can it be real apology?” This is like one of my jilted daughters saying about the other, “I don’t want her apology because she won’t mean it.” There may be some truth to these statements, but that’s not how anyone tries to raise their kids. The media guy who says this is also the one who complains that athletes make too much money. He also likes to take his son to autograph shows wearing an authentic replica player’s jersey.

Somewhere in the middle of this, someone interviews a celebrity for his/her opinion of the “Tiger Woods Situation.” This is of course not be confused with Jersey Shore’s The Situation. (Unfortunately, Because we create and come to adore our celebrities way too easily, The Situation is now officially qualified to comment on the Tiger Woods Situation). Celebrity plus microphone has never been a reliable recipe for brilliance, reason and/or morals. Again, See Jersey Shore. When the celebrity opinion rears appears on screen, it’s time to change the channel quickly. Very rarely is this actually insightful. Usually it’s like watching model trains run into each other. While the scene may entertain us briefly, you’re not really learning anything new and could have gone through the rest of your day without seeing it.

Other media members took this stance. “He bared his soul. He was vulnerable. I felt sorry for him.” It is amazing how “this guy” morphs himself into some licensed psychoanalyst and ordained pastor instantly just because he has an audience. This is the guy that also becomes a political hack every three and half years and tells us what is wrong with our country and which way we need to vote.

Of course, none of these positions matter. They are ridiculously predictable and tiresome to read, hear or see. I found myself thinking about much more important things over the weekend. Can we ever make it to church on time? Who should hit clean-up on our four, five and six year old youth baseball team? Why are their no bases on a baseball practice field? Can the U. S. hockey team really win a gold medal in Vancouver? What channel is MSNBC? Why did it take me 25 years to appreciate hot and sour soup?

Fact is, Tiger made his apology. Now comes the heavy lifting. He is just now lacing up his Nikes, his marathon course to decency t is about to start. And although it may not be fun for a hack like me to admit, this cliche is the best analysis: actions do speak louder than words. Good luck, Tiger.

Open Position

If you happen to be running a Fortune 500 company, do yourself a favor. Don’t hire PGA golf pro Ernie Els as your Vice-President of Marketing and Brand Awareness. Send his resume to your competition.

On Thursday, Els blasted the easiest target and punch-line of the 2000s, Tiger Woods. From the site of the current Accenture Match Play Championship outside of Tuscon, Els told Golfweek, "It's selfish. You can write that. I feel sorry for the sponsor. Mondays are a good day to make statements, not Friday. This takes a lot away from the golf tournament.” Incidentally, Tiger Woods was a pitchman for Accenture before he got caught in all of his “night-putting.” Accenture was among the first sponsors to drop him.

It probably wasn’t orchestrated as such, but Woods is doing his former sponsor a favor. The PGA tour version 2010 hasn’t really started in the minds of the common fan. Last week was the annual “Bill Murray I’m Still Relevant and Ray Romano I wish I Were Relevant Pro-Am at Pebble Beach.” Playing three courses over four day with amateurs by the ocean is like a typical weekend at Myrtle Beach. Fans don’t begin to follow the tour until the Master’s is around the corner. (Pun intended). By holding his press conference at 11:00 Eastern, Tiger is providing an amazing lead-in for GolfChannel’s tournament coverage. Suddenly, people are discussing the Accenture Match Play. Hello Ernie, they are pumping the name like never before. Hell, if you asked a conversational fan before yesterday, they would associate Buick as a Woods sponsor before they would Accenture. (Buick dropped Tiger in the spring of ’09).

Like it or not, Tiger is actually working some good spin. It’s simple, the media is upset because Tiger has once again proved to be the Untouchable. He has become the Holy Grail of sports and pop culture. Choosing a Friday to make his first visual mea culpa was genius. Many in the media, even the bottom feeding bloggers, still earn the majority of their living before the weekend. The media consumer spends much less time ducking their boss and doing “internet research” on Saturdays and Sundays than the rest of the week.

The setting for Tiger’s statement is also brilliant. He will speak from TPC Sawgrass, the home links of the PGA. This association gives Tiger a powerful if unofficial support group. PGA Commissioner Tim Finchem can not let his cash cow be grilled by the media.

Although this production will be scripted like a James Cameron vehicle, it really doesn’t matter much. Other athletes have prepped us for this moment. The general public doesn’t require full disclosure. If you were furious and vocally upset in November and December, you will be after the press conference. A blind follower of the Tiger pack will remain so. Everyone wants Tiger to field questions, no doubt about it but that doesn’t mean he is foolish enough to do it. Tiger just wants to get up and down (couldn’t resist) this morning, he is not trying to hit the improbable hole in one (sorry). Today the real audience is the mainstream. It is for those of us that have a short term memory, are easily influenced and love to watch the best of the best. Today, Tiger will start to take America back. His performance on the course and will determine the success of his comeback.

Sorry, Ernie. Sorry, golf world. Like it or not, many have learned before you. It’s just easier to take Tiger lying down.

N. O. Love

The New Orleans Saints Super Bowl XLIV win is undoubtedly a feel great story. New Orleans is a city with chins up and glasses raised, proudly recovering and revitalizing in the wake of the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. It’s a proud city colored with bright characters and often caricatures. Congratulations to the most hospitable borough in the South.

That doesn’t mean everyone is smiling. A certain group of NFL fans aren’t just dealing with the usual post-Super Bowl chemical induced hangover. For fans of the Atlanta Falcons, the Saints most familiar NFL adversary, the hangover is figurative as well. Consider the depressed, joyless existence of Atlanta Falcon fans post Super Bowl XLIV.

While the New Orleans Saints fan happily celebrate one more parade on the Mardi Gras schedule, the Atlanta fan is the jealous, jilted stepsister. Before Sunday, the two cities and franchises shared so much in common; most notably they shared unmatched ineptitude in the NFL as if it was in their professional football DNA. The Saints fans wore grocery bags on their heads in shame. The Falcons bagged head coach Marion Campbell after winning only two of eleven games in the seventies. Then they brought him back for three more years of futility in the eighties.

Both cities are expansion franchises from the late sixties. They entered the NFL one year apart. Both teams were whipping boys of the geographically challenged NFC West for years. If you see a Joe Montana or Steve Young to Jerry Rice highlight, you will see a Saint or a helpless Falcon defensive back. Since the league’s realignment, these two rivals play in the NFC South. Masses of fans road trip by planes, trains and automobiles in an annual drunken crusade in vain attempts to validate each other’s insignificance.

And unlike some “can ESPN make it happen rivalry,” these teams are actually rivals. From the mid- sixties to real-time, the teams have traded wins while they sharing frivolous seasons. All-time the Falcons have a record of 282 wins, 399 losses and 6 ties. The Saints are 280-384-5. No two opponents could be so equal in their inefficiency. (The Falcons lead the all-time series with 44 wins to the Saints 37).

The parallels continue away from the field. New Orleans has Bourbon St, and Atlanta has Peachtree St.

These two cities are the most visited in the south. (With no apology to Miami, even if Miami wants to be part of the south: it is not, can not and will not ever be in the south).

New Orleans has Popeye’s chicken. Atlanta has "The Big Chicken."

New Orleans weather is the precursor of Atlanta weather. If you want to know what the weather will be like in Atlanta tomorrow, check out what it’s like in New Orleans today. Oddly, both teams play in domed stadiums despite having mild southern climates.

Both franchises fan base is linked to an SEC school with rich football heritage. Baton Rouge and Athens are both about an hour away from New Orleans and Atlanta respectively. If you cheer for LSU or Georgia on Saturday, you cheer (usually a little less passionate and a lot more hung-over) for Saints or Falcons on Sunday.

Atlanta’s most famous mayor (also former UN Ambassador) Andrew Young, and most-famous writer-actor-director, Tyler Perry, are natives of The Big Easy.

The “alternative life-stylers” never have trouble meeting new people in either city.

Both teams’ most famous coaches, Mike Ditka of the Saints and Dan Reeves of the Falcons, did their best work in other NFL cities only to be cast away and sent to the south.

The teams have even shared some of their most beloved players. Kicker Morten Anderson has scored the most points in Saints and Falcons history. Quarterback Bobby Hebert was the hometown boy made good in Louisiana until he came to be loved in Atlanta for ending the Chris Miller era. He may be more recognized as a Saint, but Hebert made his only Pro Bowl as a Falcon. Hebert has done sports talk radio in both cities and his son was a prep star in metro Atlanta before accepting a scholarship to …LSU.

New Orleans gave the world Lil’ Wayne, and Atlanta gave the world Ludacris.

In many ways the cities and their fans were more alike than different. Separation wasn’t necessary because the comparisons were so similar. Then, Sunday happened. Now, it’s game-on for a “super” Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but it’s still game-over in Atlanta. New Orleans will keep celebrating with Abita beer, Atlanta will mourn with Sweetwater.

A Wedge Between Them

This week the golf world finally took its eyes off Tiger Woods. Specifically, the PGA players, executives and media took their Ping Eye 2 wedges off Tiger.

In the off season certain wedges with specific grooves said to generate excessive spin, and therefore superior control, were banned by the PGA in events. This exercise is proving to be an obvious but less than foresightful attempt to slow down the technological advances on equipment. The vision is to reward a player’s skill, not celebrate space-aged product innovation. Unsuccessful attempts to “Tiger-proof” golf courses from booming drives over the last decade have made this step necessary in the eyes of golf’s governing body. Some might say it’s like choosing plastic surgery because the diet didn’t work, or visca versa. Unfortunately, one wedge was grandfathered via an oversight, the Ping Eye 2 wedge. Ironically, the club was designed and crafted before April 1, 1990. April Fool’s Day, can you hear Alanis Morrisette in the background?

This new rule caused only a ripple of comments from critics while the PGA was starting the season in the middle of the Pacific in January. Thanks to the appearance of a Ping Eye 2 in the bag of the world’s second best golfer: Phil Mickelson at Torrey Pines last week in San Diego, the rule has suddenly become cause celeb. Lefty, who Alanis Morrisette may or may not know is actually right-handed off the course, became the perfect target for a freshman member of the tour’s Player Advisory Council, Scott McCarron. McCarron a tour player since 1995, is proving a less lovable but equally laughable imitation of Mayberry’s Deputy Barney Fife. He told the San Francisco Chronicle last Friday (before missing the cut at Torrey Pines), "It's cheating, and I'm appalled Phil has put it in play."

Hold on to your putter, big boy. It’s not cheating. Golfers, and not just Mickelson, are using a club that is legal. To quote Zach Galifianakis’ character in The Hangover, “It’s not illegal. It's frowned upon, like masturbating on an airplane.” Sidebar- The Hangover 2 is in the works. This week McCarron apparently realized that Mickelson is the current Alpha male on tour and not merely a newly appointed hall monitor. (A hall monitor that has not played in more than two majors in a year since 2003). McCarron swiftly apologized. Satisfied that he made his point regarding the tour’s less than due diligence regarding the process of outlawing equipment, Mickelson pulled the Ping wedge out of his bag this week.

Speaking of putters, McCarron has employing a belly putter since 1992. The belly putter is not only the second most controversial club on tour, it is the club Ted Knight would be using if he were to be alive and filmmakers were making Caddyshack 4.

So what did we learn this week? First, that the PGA underestimated the creativity and gamesmanship of their professional athletes. The Ping Eye 2 is not illegal. Of course some guys want to take any advantage to be competitive and win. Secondly, the tour remains a collection of independent contractors free to do as they please as long as they perform. They will do mostly as they please. Remember just last year, pleas from sponsors did nothing significant to increase the star player’s participation in lesser known events. Third, there are more skirmishes down the fairway as golf’s governing bodies across the globe try to manage inevitable equipment advances. Ping, and their competitors like Nike and Callaway, pay big money to players and for research and development in order to get their products into the hands of weekend hackers everywhere. Lastly we learned, whether anyone likes it or not, Phil Mickelson is the new, albeit interim, sheriff in town.

All-Star Games ... Really

Professional Sports All-Star games are now officially watered-down crap. First, Major League Baseball did an excellent job of de-valuing their game with 2002’s infamous tie. And now, despite various tweaks (such as the NFL moving the setting of the Pro Bowl) from all the leagues, the games keep setting new standards of insignificance. It’s mainly because the casts of these productions are not real stars. Instead of thinking Bart Starr, think David Garrard. Injuries, lame dropouts from the real stars, fan balloting and, in the case of the NFL, the scheduling of the game before the Super Bowl, have watered down the rosters. (Seven Indianapolis Colts and seven New Oreleans Saints players will not playing creating space for fourteen replacements).

This year the NBA and NFL have taken their celebrity scrimmages to new lows. Just look at the rosters. Eastern Conference starting guard Allen Iverson wasn’t good enough to play for the Memphis (Memphis?) Grizzlies in November. In January he is an All-Star for the Philadelphia 76ers.

Staying in Tennessee, the Tennessee Titans Vince Young and Kyle Vanden Bosh have both been added to the AFC Pro Bowl roster. Here are Young’s stats for ‘09: a pedestrian 82.9 passer rating and paltry 1,879 passing yards. What about his rushing totals you ask. Unfortunately, his rushing totals do not make up for his lack of passing acumen: 281 yards and two touchdowns. It is true that Young did not see significant playing time in the first four weeks of the season. However, even if he had played the full season, he would have projections look like this: 2,400 yards passing, and about 350 yards rushing.

The most surprising player on any roster of the games “superstars” is Titans defensive end Kyle Vanden Bosch. Twenty-seven defensive ends had more tackles the Vanden Bosch’s 44. Sixty-six, yes, sixty-six defensive ends had more than his 3 sacks. Those are not the stats of a filet mignon type of player, more like a Subway BMT Combo type of player.

Of these three examples, Iverson is actually the most deserving. When he takes the court with all of his body art, it’s because of his body of work. And, there is nothing wrong with that. It is unfortunate and painfully clear that the soon-to-be-Hall-of-Famer is just not an All-Star performer anymore, and one would imagine an All-Star game to be about the best of the best players.

As a kid the All-Star games were appointment TV, now it may be time to abandon the sunken ship. There has never been drama in these games and the romance is spent, replaced by charades. Because of the money and marketing generated, the respective leagues deem them necessary. But as of now, the leagues must get creative and re-invent them … really.