How much longer will we see this?

The tragedy of the once-highest paid NFL player (scroll to #14) continues …

The AP reports that gunfire disrupted the wee hours of Mike Vick’s 30th birthday party last week. No, the onetime dogfighting ‘heavyweight’ did not pull the trigger nor receive the bullet; however, the fiasco occurred just outside the Virginia Beach nightclub hosting the soiree, and police identified the wounded man as a co-defendant in Vick’s dogfighting case.

Shucks.

CBS adds that, according to Vick’s attorney, #7 wasn’t present at the nightclub when the bullets started flying. Plus, Vick and his brother Marcus apparently hadn’t even invited the victim, who had “crashed the party” and insulted its hosts.

Worst punishment in the history of party fouls?

The NFL is still investigating the incident. But it appears that the maligned QB is again swimming in hot water after his reinstatement from NFL commish Roger Goodell.

Is this simply a case of Vick being snake-bit, or ought we incite the classic dictate of “fool me once … ” ?

Unfortunately for Vick, I’d guess Goodell suffers from a busted “Give-a-Damn.” When he decided to reinstate Vick last July, Goodell also made explicit certain unbreakable conditions — such as, don’t f@^& with me or the League.

“Whether you succeed is entirely in your hands,” Goodell wrote in the reinstatement letter. “Needless to say, your margin for error is extremely limited.”

The decision was unpopular at the time and surely receive more scrutiny as more details emerge and media attention intensifies.

Whether Vick’s fault or not, ol’ Rog may not like the spotlight shining on his League … and exile the former Atlanta messiah and his shadow of controversy. The actual answer to the question may not matter in the end.

Million-dollar smile. Impeccable sense of style. Unshakable penchant for absolutely decimating a clubhouse. What's not to like, potential suitors? Oh, right ... Image via Wikipedia

From today’s Chicago Sun-Times:

Don’t blame the Cubs if they look around the Puget Sound area for some more booty as they arrive in Seattle to face the Mariners barely six months after pulling off what looks like the half-season trade of the century in baseball — getting probable All-Star pitcher Carlos Silva (8-2) and a sizable bag of cash from the M’s for malcontent outfielder Milton Bradley (.215 and two weeks off in May to get his head examined).

That’s actually the second time a Bradley trade has produced a gem. In 2005, the Los Angeles Dodgers landed OF Andre Ethier from the Oakland Athletics. At the time, Ethier was a relatively unknown minor leaguer years away from starring at Chavez Ravine … and offering some all-star dining advice.

This season, the 2009 Silver Slugger was threatening to take home the triple crown — leading the National League in batting average (.392), home runs (11) and RBI (38) — before breaking his pinkie on May 14. Still, the right fielder is projected to bat .318, hit 33 homers and collect 120 RBI this season. Ethier will surely figure in All-Star Games to come — much like the Cubs’ Silva, apparently.

If I’m Seattle’s GM, I’m jumping at any offer for Bradley in hopes of an all-league return. If proposals are not forthcoming (as one must expect), I’m desperately suggesting that Bradley’s difficulties are distant memories and accepting literally anything. Shit, I bet Seattle could persuade the Sandlot kids to deal Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez for Bradley, season tickets and a prospect to be named later.

Granted, this plan isn’t certain. Of five Bradley deals, only two have netted Milton’s former employer a doozy. Yet two-out-of five still makes a success rate of .400 — or nearly double poor Milton’s current batting average.

We all know where Los Angeles guard Ron Artest hails from; now, this Laker fan wishes he could control where the Hennessy connoisseur is headed.

Namely, right beside coach Phil Jackson’s space-age captain’s chair, that homeless guy with the mustache, and whichever L.A. skank sits courtside for Game 6:

Smack-dab on the Purple-and-Gold bench.

With a season in hindsight, the Artest-Trevor Ariza swap at small forward smells like a well-intentioned failure. What youth and athleticism that Ariza possesses was replaced by the Tru Warier’s (yup, that’s the “correct” spelling) mystifying shot selection and general lack of sanity.

Nominally, Artest is out there to defend the opposition’s best weapon. However, Boston guard Paul Pierce — a perimeter player whose size and quickness ought to agree with Artest’s physique and skill-set — has been anything been shut down. Pierce paced Boston in scoring in both Games 4 & 5 — not coincidentally, both losses for the Lakers. In Game 5, Pierce shot 12-21 from the floor en route to 27 points with zero turnovers; in Game 4, he went 7-12 and attempted seven free throws for 19 points.

Yet Artest’s offense has been even more offensive (zing!). For the series, he is shooting a paltry 30% from the field and 47% from the charity stripe, averaging a shade under eight points per his 35 minutes of play. Damn, when did L.A. sign Ice Cube?

My solution? Insert Sasha Vujacic into the starting line-up. Nope, I’m not crazy; yep, I am as shocked that I typed this. But Sasha may be the key for Game 6:

1. The Slovenian heartthrob can space the floor with his 3-point shooting, thus making everyone else’s job easier. Forward Pau Gasol and center Andrew Bynum will have more room to operate against the smothering Celtics defense, and Kobe Bryant will have a (more) reliable passing option when the inevitable Boston triple-team arrives.
2. The Slovenian Bulldog can play irritating defense on either Pierce or fellow Boston guard Ray Allen. His 6-7 frame makes the latter match-up logica conceivable; his willingness to fight through screens seems like a match made for heave doable for the latter. Anyway, Vujacic can’t do much worse than Artest, right?
3. NBA Finals virgin Artest may actually relax if he comes off the bench. He always seem to play better alongside fellow Queensian (or is it Queenese or Queensite?) Lamar Odom, and the shift in minutes would feature Artest more frequently beside the Lakers sixth-man.

Sorry, Ron, it’s nothing personal. And at least you have Nas pulling for you.

University of Skirting Culpability

“As I read the decision by the NCAA … I read between the lines and there was nothing but a lot of envy. They wish they all were Trojans.”

via Mike Garrett doesn’t back down – latimes.com

Facing some of the hardest reprisals in years — including a two-year bowl ban, four years of probation, 14 vacated football games and 30 football scholarships — one would assume that the University of Southern California would express some, you know, contrition.

Yet you’d be only partly correct.

Prior to last season, the men’s basketball team acted proactively by self-imposing penalties — a ban from postseason play, forfeiture of wins from 2007-08 and elimination of two scholarships and 20 recruiting days — and admitting guilt before the NCAA intervened.

Said coach Kevin O’Neill, “We’re moving ahead in a positive manner. I really admire how our players handled the situation this last year.”

But as suggested by the above complaint bitchfest refusal to admit wrong comment from USC athletic director Mike Garrett, not every Trojan is mature enough to accept their medicine.

USC senior vice president Todd Dickey, while acknowledging the infractions, complained that “the penalties imposed are too severe.”

USC President Steven B. Sample called several sanctions “excessive,” but at least admitted “perfect we will never be.” Um, duh?

But at least those exceed this: Garrett, according to the aforementioned Times piece, “felt invigorated by this stuff” and actually opined, “With the penalty we got today I know we’re bigger than life.”

What arrogance. What audacity. What a poor example: Hey kids, when The Man catches you, just deny everything while counter-intuitively praising yourself!

The NCAA report, while spelling out the penalties, noted that “the general campus environment surrounding the violations troubled the committee.”

With leaders such as Garrett, who supposedly work to develop the bodies and minds of their student-athletes, it’s no wonder investigators are worried.

Mandela > U.S. -vs- England. Sorry, ESPN.

Unless you live in an Amish community  — which, if affirmative, kudos to reading this blog — the media blitz has probably informed you that the world’s premier single-sport event kicks off tomorrow.

But in the States, this World Cup will be many folks’ first extended exposure to futbol that doesn’t feature seven-year-old pigtailed girls, over-caffeinated/midlife-crisis afflicted coaches, and (alas!) a hearty reservoir of Capri-Sun.

For those virgins, listen up: ESPN/ABC, the primary U.S. home of English-language World Cup telecasts, is spreading some drivel that simply ain’t true. Here’s correction to two fallacies I’ve witnessed in just the last 24 hours:

Nope, Brazil Won’t Be Playing the Prettiest Brand of Football

Sorry, ESPN, but that tired cliche of Brazilian (soccer) beauty  is dead. This year’s side is built on organization, power and superior defense.

Hell, they left the aged but flashy Ronaldhino back home. Does that sound like a team concerned with style points?

Nope, U.S. -vs- England is NOT the “Most Anticipated Match”

I laughed out loud when ESPN/ABC basketball announcer Mike Breen repeatedly advertised (certainly according to an ESPN-approved script) that Saturday’s group match would be “the most anticipated.” That’s without any qualifiers, like ‘here in America’ or ‘for those still bitter about Benedict Arnold.’ And I’ve heard the sentiment expressed elsewhere on the empire’s media (but not, unfortunately, on linkable online video).

Maybe for U.S. soccer, and most English fans, but not-so-much for everyone else. England is the eighth best soccer country in the world according to FIFA’s rankings, while the Yanks are 14th. Not bad, but we Yanks are a bit on the scrappy/overachieving (read: sorta boring) side. We have a decent goaltender and some talented attacking midfielders, but our forwards lack the flair of elite strikers.

Elsewhere in the group stages, we have #1 Brazil -vs- #3 Portugal (another post-colonial rivalry) on June 25; #6 Germany -vs- #15 Serbia on June 18; uber-combustible (from a soccer sense — see Maradona, Diego ) #7 Argentina -vs- uber-combustible (from a literal sense — see meltdown, economic) #13 Greece; and any match involving the ultimate wild card, uber-secretive North Korea.  Plus, Nelson Mandela figures to swing by the opening match tomorrow.

If you’re from Sweden, which of these matches would you rather see?

– — –

The danger, people, is looking stupid to the rest of the world. As soccer figures to rise in domestic popularity, let’s make sure we become indoctrinated the right way. And ensure some way to burn all those damn vuvuzelas.

Well, at least Dustin Byfuglien (right) hit Pronger (left) within the bounds of, say, decency. --Image by Getty Images North America via @daylife

On the potential eve of the biggest Chicago hockey party in decades — forty-nine years since the last Blackhawks championship, mes amis — I’m actually feeling slightly disappointed. Embarrassed, really.

The source of this buzzkill? Of all places, the self-proclaimed world’s greatest newspaper, the Chicago Tribune. Inside yesterday’s sports section, this beacon of journalistic excellence gifted a poster of Philadelphia Flyers defender Chris Pronger wearing a woman’s skirt, dubbing him “Chrissy Pronger.”

Seriously.

Granted, “Chrissy” had recently enraged some hockey fans by stealing game-pucks after Games 1 & 2 and violating the time-honored protocol of Lord Stanley. And, as the hometown sportspage, the Trib would (and ought) engage in a bit of friendly rivalry-mongering. It’s part of the harmless (and fun) partisanship that sports encourages.

But this was bush-league. It was sexist. It was out-of-line. And frankly, it was stupid.

Take it from Angela Ruggiero, a three-time Olympic gold medalist — and yes, a woman:

I’d like to see that editor out on skates. I’ll take them [Tribune writers and editors] one-on-one on the ice any day. They obviously have never seen women’s hockey and are living in the dark ages …

Some people are still ignorant. Our sport doesn’t get a lot of exposure, so you have to see us play in the world championships or the Olympics to see what the highest caliber of women’s hockey is.

Obviously, it’s offensive. It’s disappointing more than anything. I grew up playing with boys, trained with NHL players.

For his part, today Pronger refused to bite, preferring to focus “about playing the game” instead.

I’m surprised editors and staffers allowed this juvenile stunt to run. Surely, they had to suspect a few folks might take offense — like, uh, women athletes? Or simply realize that namecalling and dressing a man in a skirt hasn’t actually been funny since the third grade?

And sorry, this soap-box tirade isn’t a case of political correctness-gone-awry. I’d be apt to condone the poster if it had displayed an ounce of creativity or wit.

So excuse me if I greet Chicago’s success with a dose of apathy. For as exciting as this (potential) historical moment is for the city, it’s a tad disillusioning that a grizzled hockey thug just displayed more class than our town’s premier newspaper.

For paradigms, these old-schoolers cite rough-and-tumble teams such as the Dumars-Thomas-Laimbeer era Detroit Pistons. With ABC-ESPN drooling over its Lakers-Celtics match-up, current broadcasts air the iconic McHale clothesline every hour.

But those days are past. Games 1 & 2 of this year’s Finals have been called tighter than Kobe Bryant’s thermal tee/monstrosity.

NBA officials immediately established the strict tone of Game 1. Referee/attention whore Joey Crawford, to the dismay of ABC commentators Mike Breen and Jeff Van Gundy (listen to the clip below), assessed double technicals to Ron Artest and Paul Pierce just 27 seconds into the series.

Hell, looks relatively innocuous to me, but Crawford acts so cautiously (or so intent on capturing eyeballs), you’d think Artest had a handgun in his shorts. Though, to be fair, one never knows with Ron-Ron.

After that episode, defenders have been handcuffed while the parade of ticky-tack whistles have interrupted the fluidity of games. The NBA’s premier event is being soiled by:

• Foul trouble. In Game 2, the Lakers’ Kobe Bryant (five fouls), Ron Artest (six), Lamar Odom (five, including a run of three fouls in as many minutes) and Andrew Bynum (five) had to play hesitantly the entire evening. All of Boston’s post players — Kevin Garnett (five), Kendrick Perkins (four), Rasheed Wallace (four), and ‘Big Baby” Davis (four) — similarly looked cautious when contesting shots. Such stringent officiating hurts the quality of play and manacles the players’ amazing athleticism.
• Too many trips to the charity stripe. There were 67 total free throws in Game 1; ditto for Game 2. That’s 134 free throws over 96 minutes. Excessive stoppages lead to a herky-jerky play that’s slow, boring and tedious. Not to mention, it affords commentator/cliche-machine Mark Jackson more time to rattle off his nonsense.

Ironically, Artest may be culpable for the neutering of NBA games. The league has been deathly afraid of any conflict since the infamous Pacers-Pistons fight a few years ago. Plus, tired of low-scoring San Antonio/Detroit championships earlier this millennium, the stringent officiating is an attempted boon for offense — and, following that, television ratings.

But we’re a long way from the Bird-Magic rivalry and the halcyon Jordan era, both in terms of TV Neilsens and the hardwood product. For the latter, look no further than the spate of whistle-blowing.

So until referees cease dictating playoff games, all pundits must retire the “playoff” appellation, n’est-ce pas? And unfortunately for the NBA and its fans, the Association’s greatest spectacle will suffer until that day.

From the Publisher’s Weekly review:

… choice can also mislead and burden us: advertising manipulates us through the illusion of choice; a surfeit of choices can paralyze decision making; and some choices, like the decision to withdraw life support from a loved one, are so terrible that we are happier if we delegate them to others.

I thought about Iyengar’s argument while watching sports at a buddy’s last Sunday. Nominally there to watch the Lakers -vs- Thunder playoff game, his itchy clicker finger flip-flopped between the hoops game on ABC, the Real Madrid -vs- Valencia match on ESPN2, and an episode of Discovery Channel’s excellent Life (which offers another discussion-worthy formula: Oprah Winfrey + Lions Devouring Ostrich = Arresting Television).

We couldn’t decide which game/Winfreyism to savor. And that’s been media life the past couple seasons — 1,831 (or so) ESPNs, a litany of FOX Sports channels, league-specific stations such as MLB TV and the NFL Network, plus interweb broadcasts (legal or *ahem* otherwise) to digest.

I’d argue we’re none better for it. Last Sunday, I missed Madrid’s first goal and a Thunder comeback. That evening, we debated the Blackhawks’ NHL playoff game or a Spurs -vs- Mavericks doozy.

There’s an argument that multiple-flatscreen mancaves may resolve this over-coverage dilemma. But I argue, at least from personal experience, that our experience of fandom has declined on a divergent rate from our increasing access to sporting events.

To wit, the most sporting fun I’ve had lately: Uninterruptedly watching Masters Sunday for seven hours at a sports-bar. I locked into Mickelson’s dramatics, keyed onto Westwood’s decline, counted the number of Tiger expletives … each I’d of missed if the waitress had switched back-and-forth with, say, the Cincinnati Reds game that afternoon.

Triple-headers and parallel broadcasts give fans more options. But I’m just a tad nostalgic for the pre-ESPN5 days of solo baseball action — and remembering all nine innings afterward.

Feel me twice, shame on me ... Image by Getty Images via Daylife

By now you’ve heard John Wall, DeMarcus Cousins and two other freshmen (plus one junior) are ditching Kentucky for the NBA’s greener (figuratively and literally) pastures.

And Kentucky Coach John Calipari is kinda sorta maybe pissed:

I don’t agree with the rule now. I think that, one, kids should be able to go directly to the League if that’s what they choose to do. And if they go to college, they should stay two years or maybe three. The way it is right now it’s really hard…

True that. First Derrick Rose ditches Coach Cal after one year after Memphis*, then Wall and Cousins can’t make it past 12 months in Lexington.

So what can a college coach do? Reignite the recruiting fireworks — Kentucky now claims the top recruit of 2010 AND 2011, along with Turkish ex-professional Enes Kanter and highly-touted swingman Stacey Poole.

That’s three likely freshman contributors next year, plus one for 2011, and Calipari still has a few more months to sign more elites. MSNBC supposes Kentucky might finish with “the biggest two-year recruiting haul in hoops history.”

So congrats, Kentucky. You’re riding the momentum of a fantastic recruiting streak, undoubtedly helped by the signees (who often persuade other high school stars to join them in their ivory towers).

But let’s step back — does this actually guarantee victories? Coach Cal’s recruiting hauls from last year netted the SEC Crown (barely), but their collegiate careers never lasted past the Elite Eight. Should we suppose another freshman-heavy squad (which 2010-2011 certainly smells like) should go any further?

Frankly, no. Check out the starters of 2010’s title game: four seniors, three juniors, three sophomores and ZERO FRESHMEN. Zilch. Nada.

Coach Cal may have won the battle today, but as King Pyrrhus learned, he likely lost the overall war. Kentucky has the headlines today, but its perpetuation of this one-and-done trend (an admitted assumption, albeit a damned likely one) means Duke, Gonzaga, or another experienced school will get the pub in early April**.

In summation: Coach Cal may bitch, but the dude hasn’t learned. Granted, it’s tough to reject McDonald’s All-Americans, but a reanalysis of Wildcat recruiting might be in order. Could too much success during the Asculum of recruiting season undercut the overall fortunes of the Pyrrhic War/March Madness?

Ask the Bruins and Tigers and Trojans. And Ol’ King Pyrrhus.

* Of course, Calipari did leave Memphis under the, ahem, not best of terms as well …

And what online reportage have I missed? T-Woods came thundering back at Augusta (and inspired a million or so blog comments), but I still hear college hoops talk despite being  two weeks into April. Like the sword of Damocles, it sure feels like a 96-team March Madness is inevitable. And many experts are stumbling over themselves defending the purity of the (billion-dollar grossing) NCAA.

But let’s take it easy. Thirty-one extra teams won’t transform our favorite excuse to gamble into a Marriage Ref-esque flop. The men’s basketball tourney will go on, just as strong — and the tournament has experienced expansions before. No need to phone Bruce Willis … yet.

I’ve heard three major beefs vis-a-vis the money-making scheme. And because I find the traditionalists’ reasoning flawed (and because they don’t have a chance to defend themselves) I’ll delve into a little bit of truth-telling. It’s time to get real.

Feel free to comment below.

Beef the First: Expansion Will Water the Tournament Down.

Ten years ago, I would have bought this. But today? Not after choking down the mediocre shit-stew that was the 2009-2010 season.

Duke wasn’t bad, admittedly, but the Blue Devils didn’t exactly top the ‘71 Bruins or the ‘82 Tar Heels to win this year’s crown. The no-show of the other “top” seeds underlines a lack of greatness at the top, not an overall rise of parity from the bottom.

Oh, and arguably the most talented team? Done and done now – Kentucky Coach John Calipari will return only three minute-earners, meaning his next to-be-vacated victories will be awfully tough to come by. Or, best case scenario, Calipari lands another world-beating freshmen class that congeals into an inexperienced and imperfect squad come postseason play. Repeat this one-and-done pattern across the country.

The point? The dynasties are gone, as are truly outstanding teams. We’re stuck with solid ballclubs (the Dukes, the Kansases) playing overdog to overachieving schools (the Butlers, the Gonzagas); we’re drinking Coors Light tournies rather than Guinness Draft exhibitions.  

Next.

Beef the Second: Expansion Will Make the Regular Season and Conference Tourneys Even More Irrelevant.

To quote the ever-exasperating Lee Corso, “Not So Fast My Friend!”

As Coach K suggests, the tournament committee could award the top seeds to conference champs. Thus,

The regular season would mean something. There would still be bubble teams and all that, but we would reward those teams accordingly. And I would still like the conference tournament champions. They make a lot of money and celebrate each conference. I think it’s a way of each conference celebrating their conference, which is a good thing.

With first-round byes at stake, the top dogs of the NCAA won’t dawg the season’s final pre-March weeks. In fact, they’d actually gain importance.

Next.

Beef the Third: Expansion Will Complicate the Class-Going of Student-Athletes.

Ha. Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha, Ha-Ha-Ha.