Posts Tagged ‘LIVE KULTURE REPORT’

OCCUPY COLLEGE FOOTBALL

If you are reading this somewhere in the heartland of America or the deep south or in a state without a professional sports team or a Division I college town…apologies in advance. I am not vested in breaking your spirit. As of November 7, 2011, I always answered the question, “are you a college football fan?” in the affirmative. Sure I like college football. The bands, the colors, the rivalries, the tradition; I’m what you might call “your average American sports enthusiast,” so of course, I love football in general.

Admittedly, I’m not from Tuscaloosa or Lincoln or Ann Arbor or South Bend or Knoxville. I live in Los Angeles. I was raised in the Northeast. My alma mater has no football program (to speak of) and I grew up without the passion and pageantry of college football. Still, for the past twenty-five years, I have at least casually, and sometimes intently, followed the rankings, the Heisman races, the conference rivalries and even, gulp, the Bowl Championship Series. But after Monday’s developments, I think it might be time to reassess my fanhood and affix an astrix to my affirmative answer.

Last month, Atlantic Magazine featured an opus of an article written by Taylor Branch entitled, “The Shame of College Sports.” It’s a meticulously crafted, devastatingly poignant, historical summation about the rise of the National Collegiate Athletic Association. The evil genius behind the NCAA, is that it is perceived (by your average sports enthusiast) to be some anonymous, nonpartisan, non-profit, governing body of college athletics, when in fact its operational functionality much more closely resembles the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries. A major difference between the oil cartel and the collegiate athletic association is that OPEC suppresses laborer wages, fixes prices and manipulates markets, whereas the NCAA doesn’t need to pay for its labor at all. While I’m not comparing the commodity of fossil fuel to college sports, we might think about our oil consumption differently if every gas station had a shiny OPEC sticker slapped on its sign post. But best believe that every jersey, hat, t-shirt, sweatshirt, snuggie, video game, ticket stub, television broadcast etc. is officially licensed by the NCAA, meaning: the lion’s share of revenue (in the billions) from our discretionary spending goes directly to that for-profit governing body and the “student-athlete” who is the true engine of their entire economy is compensated only with a scholarship from the University. I’ll refrain from making this yet another dissertation of why college athletes should be paid. That much is obvious. And my focus here is not about the NCAA but much more specifically the abject cesspool that is college football.

Just when you thought the scandal season was dying down, this endless circus of sordid plots and seedy characters offers up yet another log for the fire. Early Monday morning, Pennsylvania state prosecutors arrested former-Penn State defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky for raping at least 8 underage boys over a period of 15 years. While this is not inherently a football story (Sandusky retired in 1999), legitimate scrutiny has shifted to Nittany Lion’s head coach, Joe Paterno, who has been a demi-God in college football for nearly half a century. While scandal after bloody scandal rocked the landscape — from illegal pay-for-play deals; to bribing and gifting in the form of tattoos and strippers; to the insipid booster and donor influence on recruitment; to money-hungry agents hovering on campuses like vultures; to coaches, athletic directors and school presidents that look the other way — we have celebrated JoePa for running a “clean program” since 1966. Let’s no longer be naive. There’s no such thing as a “clean program” in college football. The system itself is inherently corrupt and immoral, so let’s curb our shock when corrupt and immoral news continues to break. Sure, as far as football goes, there have been almost no allegations of “misconduct” at Penn State in Paterno’s long reign and by those standards he has run a clean program, except for one minor detail: His close friend and consigliere, the defensive coordinator at “Line Backer U” was quietly known as a pederast. Joe knew, for years, and chose to keep it within the hallowed halls of  “Camelot,” because when you live in the bubble and your very existence is defined by it, nothing is more sacred than football and protecting the pedagogues that preach it. The broader question remains: Why, as a Nation, do we cherish this sport? Why is it so sacrosanct in our culture? Why do we support it, so unwaveringly and in such astronomical numbers, with our attention, our fanaticism, our wallets?

Recently, I had the privilege of going to the Rose Bowl for a UCLA v. Cal game. Sometimes you need to insert yourself into the fray in order to fully understand the appeal of the fray. Oh, I get it. While neither team was ranked in the Top 25, and the game had no ultimate consequences beyond the painted grass stage and cheering crowds, the atmosphere was no less incredible. The expansive tailgating ranged from sophisticated to simple. There were horseshoe courts and impromptu long-tosses; beer kegs draped in Bruins blankets and an aromatic potpourri of grilled meat and hot kettle corn. For a few moments, on that sun-soaked Saturday, I exhaled, appreciating the simplicity of college football’s grand tradition. I was brought back to reality shortly after I settled in my seat. Ten miles southwest of Pasadena, just off the 110 freeway, USC v. Standford was set to kickoff at the Coliseum. It was a gorgeous late afternoon, perfect Pac-10 (or is it Pac-12, or Pac-16?) football weather. Someone in the crowd made the mistake of asserting how USC doesn’t deserve to win because they “broke the rules.” (USC was stripped of their 2005 National Championship and forfeited 20 scholarships and two years of Bowl eligibility due to “improper benefits” given to all-American runningback, Reggie Bush.) So, I took it upon myself to insert my opinion into the fray. I prefaced my argument by stating how I despised USC football almost as much as its fans. (This went over well in the UCLA student section.) Then I posed a simple question: What does, say, a current USC defensive back, who presumably committed to the program before sanctions were imposed, have to do with Reggie Bush or Pete Carroll? Nothing. He was likely in junior high when the “recruiting violations” took place. And, I’m speculating here, in his recruitment process, the University of Southern California turned on its massive, well-funded charm offensive, draping itself in pomp ‘n’ circumstance and past achievements in the hopes of luring the NFL-caliber defensive back into the Crimson ‘n Gold. Months later, said DB learns that he will not get to showcase his talents in a Bowl game nor will he get the opportunity to play for a National Championship because of the “transgressions” of former Trojans, who were ironically part of the sales pitch and perhaps one of the reasons he chose the school in the first place. Furthermore, if he wanted to transfer to a program that offers him these inalienable rights as a superlative college athlete, he’ll need to sit out a year and compromise his eligibility. (Yet if USC found a better TV deal with the Big East, they would hop conferences instantly, and with impunity, geography and academics be damned.) Meanwhile, he can take comfort knowing that Reggie Bush voluntarily returned his Heisman trophy to the Downtown Athletic Club and is now well on his way to earning nine-figures in pro contracts and endorsement deals. Pete Carroll, the man who oversaw the program during the scandal, jumped ship just as storm clouds were brewing in early 2010, using his impressive resume at USC as leverage. Despite failing twice as a professional head coach with the Patriots and Jets, Carroll was rewarded with a five-year, $33,000,000 contract from the Seattle Seahawks. Certainly speculation of Carroll’s timing entered into the discussion, but the general theme was that it was “time for a new challenge” and that he “maintained an open and honest relationship with the NCAA.” Cough, cough… Just as I put the exclamation on the point, practice squad wide-out Jerry Rice Jr. caught his first pass as a collegiate athlete and the crowd went wild. I added an anecdote about how the only reason Rice Jr. got to put on a Bruins jersey that Saturday was because of the multitude of player suspensions due to undisclosed violations of team policy. By then, no one seemed to care.

What baffles me about NCAA football is how it is NOT, by any measurement, a regional sport. It has broad-based appeal across all key demographics. College football enjoys immense popularity despite having almost an entirely irrelevant regular season, no playoff system whatsoever and completely inconsequential Bowl games, with the exception of the BCS Championship game, which is a match-up determined by a computer equation, and where the outcome may or may not crown a champion or co-champion, which may or may not be disputed by hundreds of factors that are, at that point, inconsequential and irrelevant. The whole system is a chaotic, cash-flushed catastrophe but as long as sponsors, advertisers and consumers keep flocking to it year after year, not a damn thing will change. It’s bullet proof. Not a single scandal nor a systemwide scar will soil its reputation or cause national audiences to turn away. And my guess is that this Saturday’s Penn State v. Nebraska game will get a bigger rating than usual, particularly if 84 year-old JoePa is still coaching from the press box.

If you are a student or happen to live in Tuscaloosa or Lincoln or Ann Arbor or South Bend or Knoxville, or you are an alum scattered elsewhere, I applaud you as a fan of your school. I imagine you clad yourself in officially licensed NCAA merchandise and you enjoy watching your team play. Each game has meaning to you even if the consequences have been skewed, stripped or systematically gutted. I mentioned at the outset that I am not vested in breaking your spirit. That is not entirely true. It is high time for every college football fan to mix in a little perspective with your passion. Although the NCAA is an insidious cartel, consider this: Between the two “revenue sports,” college basketball has many of the same inherent problems and scandals, but there is no comparison between each product. College basketball has a sensible ranking system, a reasonable regular season, conference tournaments that lead directly into “March Madness,” which is a month-long, nationwide, 66-team, single elimination extravaganza that is arguably the greatest spectacle in American sports. Whereas, college football begins each season with 126 schools competing and no less than 120 of them are instantly and unequivocally eliminated from that elusive BSC title game in January simply because of their conference, their schedule, their national appeal or some NCAA imposed sanction. Bowl games are a joke. More than half of every Division 1-A school can be “bowl eligible.” A 6-win season is good enough! And why not? A Bowl game, on average, becomes an eight-figure windfall, split amongst the Universities, their conferences and the NCAA. Who cares if 99% of all bowl games are meaningless? They are corporate sponsored exhibition matches at neutral sites in front of packed houses. The traditional BCS games (Rose, Sugar, Fiesta, Cotton &  Championship) are strategically rolled out in TV time slots, as to maximize the ad revenue and Nielsen ratings. This means, the ten elite teams selected for these games (by computers and NCAA committees, I might add) will have anywhere from 4-6 weeks off. For example, if LSU runs the table this season, wins the SEC outright and plays for a National championship, its last game is on November 25th. The next time we will see LSU play football is January 9, 2012.

I know it is sacrilege to speak ill of American football, but let’s put tradition aside for a moment and acknowledge the whole sport is a deeply contaminated mess and will continue to be as long as its popularity goes unchecked.

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The Err Apparent

Assuming you were privy to my tattered thread of Lebron diatribes, dating back to April of 2010, let me not belabor any previous points. Another season is in the books, so let’s mark the chapter and turn the page.

As an infrequent commentator, I will try to avoid plunging cannonball-style on the Lebron detractor pig pile. I give credit to his supporters, especially those with rational basketball arguments as opposed to contrarian proclivities. It certainly took more guts to defend him this season and root for him as simply the best player in the game who was unfairly and relentlessly maligned for his choices last July. Throughout the Eastern Conference playoffs, he gave you a bouquet of moments that vindicated your loyalty. And if you are still in his corner this morning, more credit to you. I imagine it will be a lonely place this summer. Those of us who have rooted against Lebron and the Miami Thrice are still celebrating. Ultimately, Dallas may not have been the better team but there seems to be this sense, almost a liberating relief, that the right team won the series. And the right superstar, Dirk Nowitzki not Lebron James, finally has his first ring. Generally, Jungian psychosis and sports are best kept like church and state but I keep coming back to this question: Does it take a certain quality of character to win an NBA championship?

Let’s take a moment and celebrate the Playoffs. Arguably, no other prime-time event presents such a jambalaya of high drama, superlative performance, compelling narrative, vigorous discussion, glaring spotlights and grand stages. The game on the hardwood, in proximity to the fans in the stands, is the most intimate and visceral of all team sports. With only five actors per side, performing in a contained environment, without helmets or hats, pads or bulky uniforms to shield them from the scrutiny of failure, everyone on the court is visible and vulnerable at all times. While basketball is a game best played with five-man synchronicity, the fourth quarter is the great equalizer for the individual. It is in these twelve-minutes of gametime where heroes rise and fall, and our lasting memory of a player and his performance is forever formed, fairly or unfairly. He has become synonymous to a closer in baseball, alone on that dirt bump, all eyes on him. When a great pitcher is on, hitters are powerless. Great pitching always beats great hitting. When a great scorer has the ball late in the fourth quarter, similarly isolated on that island, the defender is powerless. Great offense always beats great defense. Sometimes, the great scorer is double and triple-teamed and must quickly revert back to five-man synchronicity, where the open teammate, not necessarily the next best player, has the opportunity to knock down a clutch shot and become a brief hero or avoid becoming a goat. We have seen this scene play out countless times, in virtually every close game, particularly in the playoffs, where the outcome hangs in the balance, where the fate of the team, the crowd, the city is uncertain. We hold our collective breath as one man, controlling that orange orb, works his way towards the looming basket, suffocated by a defender, as precious seconds evaporate. Figuratively, this is where the luminaries make their money. It is not merely that they always want the ball in these moments, they need the ball; they demand the ball with fiery selfishness and an utter disregard for everything, literally everything, except for winning. And they do it over and over again. A truly clutch performer is someone who not only thrives in that moment, but can continuously elevate his level of play. As fans, we are captivated by the theater, enthralled by that extraordinarily rare human being who is blessed with both superhuman ability and unmatched mental tenacity, and some might argue, a certain quality of character. No doubt, it takes great teams and great seasons to put great players repeatedly in this position, but once we cultivate a cognitive recognition, we are conditioned to expect greatness, time after time, year after year. Only a handful of players in NBA history have been vaulted into this immortal class but our memories grow short, and most of us have a soft spot for nostalgia. Whether consciously or subconsciously, we all want to watch that next basketball deity, even if we root hard for his failure, and we all want to debate his anointment as the second coming…

Through his seven years in Cleveland, we saw flashes of immortality from Lebron James. Most notably, Game 6 against the Pistons in 2007 and Game 3 against the Magic in 2009. But he never had enough help. He was always a great player on a not-so-great team and that 5-man synchronicity was never quite enough to repeatedly put him in those mortality-defying situations. So he took his talents to South Beach… Let’s move beyond “The Decision.” Let’s ignore that ridiculous, pyrotechnic-infused victory celebration/welcome party. Let’s overlook Miami as Wade-County. Let’s forget Dwyane Wade has already won a Championship in 2006 as the alpha dog. Let’s pretend the city is not dispassionate about basketball and its fans are not front-running by nature. Lebron made a business decision. Overnight, he went from universally lauded hometown hero to despicable deserter but, as evidenced in jersey sales, his bright star did not lose any of its luster. And neither did the League. Revenue was up. Ratings were up. Attendance was up. Interest was through the roof. (Not a good time for a lockout Commissioner Stern!) More so than ever, the NBA is a vehicle driven by stars and brands. It thrives from dynasty not parity. (Since 1980, 5 franchises (Celtics, Lakers, Bulls, Spurs, Pistons) have won 27 out of the 32 championships.) It’s fueled by compelling narratives, and love it or hate it, Lebron in Miami is just that.

If you’ve followed the bouncing ball, these NBA playoffs were chock-full of storylines. We saw unlikely stars and small market cities thriving deep into the May. We reignited the classic “all-time great” debate, enjoyed a bittersweet a Shaq retirement press-conference (congrats to you Big AARP!) and witnessed a blogosphere a-buzz with peppery commentary (for and against) the increasingly polarizing superstar/media speedbag, Lebron James (including premature “blasphemy” from Scottie Pippen and a historical perspective from Kareem Abdul Jabbar.) Now that Dirk has reached the top of the mountain, it can be argued the formula for winning has been adjusted. Certainly, no great player ever wins a championship alone; and sometimes that great player is not the “closer” but more often than not, particularly in dynastic runs, that great player needs the combination of a decent supporting cast and at least one all-star caliber consigliere, who is comfortable deferring in crunch time. Dirk won without a reliable consigliare. Throughout this fantastic 2010-11 NBA season, the most compelling narrative was, who would be consigliere on the Miami Heat in crunch time, James or Wade? Or, could two alpha dogs co-exist, playing essentially the same position, share the 4th quarter, alternate deferments, and, in that special moment, elevate their game? After three rounds, the answer was unequivocally yes. But, the playoffs are a four-round affair.

What intrigued me the most about Mavs v. Heat was not the physical matchups. It was not ball-movement or defensive rotations, home court advantage in the 2-3-2, supporting casts, coaching, superstar showdowns, the ‘06 rematch or even the alpha dog/consigliere dynamic. It was the psychological matchups. I was most fascinated by what we can learn about the Miami Heat beyond what we already know about their ability to play at a high level in May and June. Clearly, this team is poised for a dynastic run. Physically, they have more than enough primary components. I will argue, they should have won the series based on the tangibles on the court. Lebron James is the best player in world. Put him on any team, literally any team in the NBA, and he is worth at least 57 regular season wins. He’s also the best defensive player in the world. At 6′8″ 270lbs, he can guard all five positions. When he is determined, he can get to the basket at will, and when he is in a shooting rhythm, whether beyond the perimeter or in the mid-range, he is flat-out unguardable. Dwyane Wade is perhaps the second best player in the world, and an elite backcourt defender. Bosh is limited, but efficient, and when adequately confident and motivated, he is an formidable third option. Still, what we learned about the Heat is that they can be cooled down. They throw punches in flurries. They are young, athletic and talented and when running downhill, they are virtually impossible to stop. But, they don’t like to get hit. When the Mavericks dug in, and refused to be steamrolled by momentum, the Heat had no answer. They collapsed in the 4th quarter. In three of their four losses, they had leads of at least 4 points with less than five minutes to play. They couldn’t close. Neither Wade (who has a ring and plays with zero pressure) nor James was the alpha dog or consigliere. It was a disorganized free-for-all and James looked like he would have rather been poolside at his impenetrable South Florida mansion.

This leads me back to the question: Does it take a certain quality of character to win an NBA championship? Let me say this on the record: I do not think Lebron is a “bad guy.” By most accounts, he has handled himself well. And despite a glaring lack of rings, he has, overall, lived up to the incredible hype and expectations. He is however, misguided. His has been mishandled, mismanaged and misled. He is overly coddled and improperly mentored. He has the look and vernacular of someone disconnected to reality. He never accepts blame. He never acknowledges mistakes. His absorption of losses are general and impersonal. He denies being affected by criticism. (His eyes would suggest otherwise.) His startling lack of introspection has done a disservice to his game. He is often petulant, indignant and immature. (Starting today, THIS MESSAGE should be hammered into his head. It should be his ringtone, his alarm-clock wake up music, his soundtrack while at the gym.) He is absolutely blessed with superhuman ability but, at times, exhibits the mental tenacity of a spoiled child. This, more than anything, is why the Heat failed. And this is why his detractors feel vindicated. It is far too soon to write any final proclamations about James and the Miami Heat. He is, after all, 26 years old. Presumably, he will learn enough about failure to overcome it… or their talent will eventually overwhelm and steamroll a less tenacious team and Lebron will get his rings. Still, we have a decent sample (8 seasons) to begin writing his legacy. He will undoubtedly go down as one of the all-time greats. But I have seen enough. He is not the second coming. He is not the Air apparent. He is not the Chosen One. Kobe Bryant has 5 rings and that “killer instinct.” Forget Michael Jordan. Kobe Bryant is still in another class. To paraphrase Lloyd Bentsen in the 1988 Vice Presidential debate, “I have seen Kobe Bryant, I have watched him win and you Sir are no Kobe Bryant.”

It is difficult to quantify character, but I believe it does take a certain quality to win an NBA championship, and as of now, Lebron James does not have it.

Stay tuned…

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MANY BEING MANNY

Manny Ramirez recently received his second suspension from Major League Baseball for using performance enhancing drugs. It was his third positive test, spanning eight years. The latest offense carried a 100-game ban without pay, (his last was a 50-game sentence when he played for the Los Angeles Dodgers in 2009.) This time, Manny opted for retirement.

The phrase “Manny Being Manny” was coined in Boston, and quickly became nomenclature for his exasperating goofball antics. He gained a reputation for flagrant lapses in noggin usage. We have seen the highlight reel of him bumbling and tumbling around, slightly overweight, matted dreads bouncing, baggy uniform flopping, tattered helmet or field hat teetering like a loose bottle top. If he wasn’t one of the greatest right hand hitters to ever play the game, he probably wouldn’t have lasted very long in the big leagues. Therein lies the rub.

Now, anyone stupid enough to test positive for PEDs in this climate doesn’t deserve much defense. Manny tested positive twice, less than two years apart. Off-the-charts stupidity. Nevertheless, I’m going to step up to the plate, kick up some lime chalk and dig in, because it is high time to take a few swings at baseball, steroids and the Hall of Fame.

Before Jose Canseco, the original poster boy and lead prosecutor of the “steroid era,” broke out the gas can and blow torch, the only real legitimate Hall of Fame debate surrounded the notoriously disgraced hustler, Pete Rose. It is no secret that baseball writers and Hall of Fame voters are a snooty bunch. Never has there been a first-ballot unanimous selection; not Babe Ruth, not Hank Aaron, not Willie Mays, not Mickey Mantle. By the standards applied, and given the subjective nature of the vote, Pete Rose has zero chance. He committed the cardinal sin. He bet on baseball. He placed wagers on games, sometimes from the dugout, as a player, as a manager and as a player/manager (whatever happened to those?) The punishment was severe. He received a lifetime ban, preventing him from ever participating in anything baseball related, paid or unpaid. Over the years, enthusiasts and purists have argued fervently for and against Rose. Certainly without his unforgivable infraction, “Charlie Hustle” is easily a first ballot Hall of Famer. Everyone admired his fiery passion for the game. He might have even cracked that elusive 90% of the vote, a rare honor reserved only for the purest and most statistically astounding ballplayers.

This segues into my next point: Statistics. Since baseball is (or was) our national pastime, the majesty and history is upheld within its recordbooks and throughout the hallowed halls of Cooperstown, the Vatican of sports shrines. More so than basketball, football and hockey, baseball records are sacred. The average fan probably could not come within 10,000 points of guessing Michael Jordan’s career scoring total (he finished with 32,292 points). Quick, how many career touchdown passes did Joe Montana throw? (273) How many career goals did Wayne Gretzky score? (894) None of these numbers have been immortalized or are even connected to the player that was immortalized by his sport. Contrast that with Hank Aaron’s 755, Cy Young’s 511, Joe DiMaggio’s 56, Roger Maris’ 61, Cal Ripken’s 2,632. Baseball statistics have become more than just a virtuous reflection of the game and its most prolific players; they are a science, a complex mathematical discipline (Sabermetrics), a formula for revenue projections and wins and losses. For well over a century, Hall of Fame voters used bottom-line statistics as the primary means of evaluating the merits of induction. Generally, if a player crossed a magic milestone like 3,000 hits, 500 home runs, 300 wins or 3,000 strike-outs, he would have a path to Cooperstown. Occasionally, on-field accomplishments were balanced by any statistical anomalies of the era and whether a player was dominant on his own team and throughout his career. Sometimes, “compilers” (players who compile statistics over extended careers) would slip through and spark tepid debates amongst aficionados. (Bill Mazeroski, Bert Blyleven.)  But when Pete Rose was denied his induction for “compromising the integrity of the game,” Hall of Fame voters introduced an element of criteria that had not previously existed: morality.

This brings me back to Man-Ram. Much like Rose, Manny has no shot at the Hall of Fame. The illegally obtained, strategically leaked New York Times list of 2003, included positive PED tests for several players like Ramirez, David Ortiz, Alex Rodriguez and Sammy Sosa. That would have been enough to indite him as a “cheater” but throw in two failed drug tests in this highly-sensitive environment and Manny’s name is mud. (And as we all know, there’s no joy in Mudville.) But anybody watching the games over the last 20 years knows that Manny Ramirez is a easily, without question, a first-ballot Hall of Famer. As is Barry Bonds, Mark McGuire, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa, Mike Piazza and Pudge Rodriguez. Since Manny’s retirement on April 10th, sportswriters and TV pundits have weighed in on the Manny Ramirez/Hall of Fame debate. Unanimously, the opinion from the “professional expert” is that he is not a Hall of Fame player. On two separate occasions, the point has been raised that his chances may have improved had he not “quit on his teams.” This moral grandstanding has gone too far. Even if he did dog it for the Red Sox prior to his trade to the Dodgers, even if he did let down the Dodgers organization and the fans with a 50-game suspension, even if he did leave Evan Longoria unprotected in the middle of the Rays line-up having prematurely retired, Manny’s career speaks for itself. He is a two-time World Series Champion, a World Series MVP and arguably, the most important player in Boston Red Sox history, the player that changed the trajectory of the franchise and was an integral part of “reversing the curse.”

By and large, and throughout his career, he was beloved by teammates and fans alike. His impact on the game was enormously positive. (The Dodgers continued to promote “MANNYWOOD” while he was suspended.) This lackadaisical clown was a meticulous hitter, a ferocious slugger with a surgeons eye and extraordinary plate discipline. He finished his career with 555 home runs, a .312 life-time batting average, over 2,500 hits, over .400 OBP and over 1800 RBIs.

Now, here is the broader debate: Steroids. I have always argued that baseball is the most difficult sport to play. Hitting and pitching on a major league level requires such extraordinary skill and hand-eye coordination. Superlative athleticism is not even a prerequisite and having it only helps so much. Each pitch is a chess match, a psychological battle between the man on the mound and the batter at the dish. The difference between a great pitch and a pitch that gets clobbered exists within the tiniest of margins. The time in which it takes to pick up the spin on a cutter or slider or fastball moving at 92mph+, predict where the ball will be when you swing, connect the barrel of the bat squarely onto that hissing white blur, occurs at virtual light-speed and requires almost super-human vision and timing. Baseball is full of such intricacies. Historians love to wax on about the olden days when ballplayers were so underpaid they needed second jobs in the off-season. (Hank Aaron strengthened his forearms delivering large blocks of ice from an ice truck.) Or how Babe Ruth bulked up with his pregame ritual of hot dogs and beer. This is to say that, until the late 80’s, players did not artificially enhance their ability to play the game. Fair, but it is also common knowledge that many players (new and old) have always taken the occasional illegal amphetamine with their coffee, in order to keep up the with rigors of a long season. Where do we draw the line? Steroids clearly has an affect on a players ability. And from what we have learned and seen, it affects far more than just strength, power, quickness, and the ability to rapidly recover from an injury. Depending on the type of PED, the frequency of usage and the dosage, it can improve everything from timing and vision to psychological confidence. Any player that used any type of performance enhancing drug, was gaining an artificial advantage, and perhaps “compromising the integrity of the sport.” But that’s the problem. We are just now coming out of a two-decade era when steroid usage was rampant throughout the sport. How do we possibly quantify who was doing what? For every Jason Giambi and Jose Canseco, there was a Jeremy Giambi and Ozzie Canseco. For every Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens, there was a Marvin Bernard and Ron Villone. Convicted steroid user Manny Ramirez absolutely owned admitted steroid user Andy Pettitte, so who had the artificial advantage in that match-up? How do we measure how many home runs all-time home run leader Barry Bonds hit off pitchers that were “juicing” in a similar fashion. No way to know. The official/unofficial steroids list of Major League Baseball includes 129 players who have either been implicated or have failed at least one drug test. (47 made the 2007 Mitchell Report, 27 have been suspended, 39 have been implicated by trainers or other evidence and 16 have confessed.) Of that list, only a small percentage of the names were superstars or even perennial All-Stars. The vast majority of the names barely kept afloat in the big leagues. This tells me two things: First, that list is probably a fraction of the thousands of players that used PEDs at least once over two-decades. Second, if you were already a gifted, superstar-caliber baseball player, your ability to excel beyond the players of your era is relative to how many players were trying to gain the same artificial advantage. This we will never know. What we do know is that Major League Baseball, its owners, the MLBPA, its sponsors and advertisers and benefactors had no problem with the game as it ballooned in popularity in the late 90’s due to the incredible influx in offense, particularly home runs. And to further the point, I cannot recall a single baseball writer or Hall of Fame voter loudly and forcefully sounding the bugle, blowing the proverbial whistle when players suddenly looked like The Incredible Hulk and their bats were the second coming of Roy Hobbs’ lightening stick. We all buried our head in the sand and enjoyed the show.

But now it is reckoning day. The most prolific players of this important era are retiring. How do we recognize them? How do we appropriately usher them into their proper place, even if they are convicted or suspected of “cheating?” Can anyone legitimately claim that Manny Ramirez was a below-average player without steroids? Consider this: Within six years both Ken Griffey, Jr. and Jim Thome will be eligible for a Hall of Fame ballot. Both players will finish with over 600 career home runs. Neither player is on that “129″ list nor have they been implicated or connected with steroid usage. But how do we know for sure? The method of identifying PED culprits is arbitrary, subjective, regional and wholly unscientific. (Roger Clemens never failed a drug test.) It is reprehensible that the baseball Hall of Fame has become the pearly gates of morality. Tyrus Raymond Cobb was a devoted, unapologetic racist, who sharpened his cleats and speared opposing infielders when he slid. He also was arrested for choking his wife and beating his son. He was arguably the best player of the “dead ball era,” which lasted over 20 years. In 1909, he led all of baseball with 9 home runs and never hit more than 12 in a season. But Ty Cobb was a Hall of Famer and is a Hall of Famer and has his own commemorative section at Cooperstown.

So please, either close the doors to everyone who played the game between 1988 and 2008, acknowledge the hypocrisy of Cobb and Rose, Byleven and Bonds, put an astrix* on the entire 20 year period or just go back to the business of evaluating players, statistics and the anomalies of the era… Because for Godsake, Manny Ramirez is a Hall of Famer.

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Yankee Fan Confessional Part 1

Before I get back to baseball, I gotta touch on something from the NBA that has me — cough, cough— heated. As the Largest Professor aptly puts it, “I put on the hate cape to get up my hate rate.” Off we go…

It was the most widely followed off-season free-agency event in the history of sports. Lebron James took his talents to South Beach and the Miami Thrice instantly became basketball’s dynasty-to-be. Some speculated that they could win 70+ games in their first season and challenge to become one of the greatest teams of all-time. As expected, ESPN lubed-up for its blockbusting coverage. To welcome King Wade and the transplants, the Heat front office hosted a glorified pep rally inside the arena, packed with pyrotechnics, a catwalk and plenty of hater pornography.

Yet if we strip all of the emotion and opinion away from “the decision”, we are still left with one basic criticism that only the tepid folk of South Florida can prove to be overblown: The NBA’s biggest star (whose very identity was connected with  “hometown hero”) deserted rabid, passionate fans in Cleveland, spurned rabid, passionate fans in New York and Chicago and chose Miami, a city with a flaky fanbase and no real tradition of basketball. (If that statement seems steeped in partisan opinion, I challenge Heat fans to serve me my words.) So far, through 6 home games, the American Airlines arena has been, shall we say, a peaceful place to take in some professional basketball. At best, they are at 75% capacity. Anybody watching Heat home games on TV can see the light smattering of patrons in the stands. Miami Thrice? Three Kings? Dynasty-to-be? It looks a Marlins crowd was moved indoors. And Lebron, a self-proclaimed basketball historian, would do himself a solid by keeping his Twitter trap shut about the home crowd. It’s bad enough Cleveland is still selling out The Q and the Cavs have nearly an identical record, but to read Lebron’s over-the-top chatter about how “we have the greatest fans” is just asinine. He can’t really be that clueless. While I’m certainly not calling for a Evan Longoria/David Price Tampa Twitter-tantrum, the least he can do is just play basketball and keep retweeting Rick Ross lyrics. And don’t get me started on that ridiculous Nike ad…

Okay, I’ll check the hate-cape on the coat rack. Now to the Bronx Bombers…

Let me start by saying, as a life-long, emotionally-invested Yankee fan, I have both great reverence and a natural distaste for Red Sox Nation. The rivalry between the two teams, the cities and their fans represent sports and theater at its best, and often its most obnoxious. The common knock on the Yankee fan is that he (not gender specific) acts arrogant and entitled. This is accurate but certainly not without precedent. Any fan of any team that has grown accustom to winning is often branded as such, and championship traditions usually cart along a disproportionate cluster of front-running cling-ons. For nearly a century, the Red Sox fan was seen as irrationally loyal, immeasurably bitter and deeply cynical. Perhaps because until 2004, “the hammer and nail was never a rivalry.” Now, make no mistake, a new winning tradition (which started with the Patriots and continued on with the Red Sox and Celtics), has infused Chowderheads with a special blend of arrogance and entitlement, not to mention their own front-running cling-ons who never experienced bitter and cynical. Be that as it may, Red Sox Nation is the most cohesively coordinated and passionately dedicated group of fans in all of sports. Don’t believe me? Go to any Red Sox road game and listen to the juxtaposition in crowd noise, count the Pedroia jerseys and “Green Monstah” tee shirts.

On the field, the Red Sox players have embodied the identity of the home crowd… sometimes literally, with thick necks and scraggly goatees. It’s fascinating. More importantly, they have created a lovable winning tradition, where fans live-and-die with every pitch. Watching a tight game in late innings, it’s almost as if you can feel the inhale-exhale of Red Sox Nation, whether they be at Fenway Park or streaming the game over a laptop in Montana. In each of the Red Sox championship runs in 2004 and 2007, Boston came back from 3-0 and 3-1 deficits in the ALCS, respectively. These situations test the merit of a team, its core players and, to a lesser extent, its fans. In each case, Red Sox and its Nation rose to the occasion and battled best with its back against the wall. (I give Boston fans a pass on leaving early in game 3 of the 2004 ALCS, when they were bludgeoned by the Yankees at Fenway 19-8 and fell behind 0-3 in the series. Given the outcome of 2003, Aaron “Bleepin” Boone, Grady Little, the expectations of 2004, the history, the sheer disgust… only the self-deprecating stayed until the end. And congrats to you. That will always be your RSN badge of honor.) What the Red Sox have proven since “reversing the curse” is that they are never out of a game or a series, and neither are their fans.

This brings me back to the Yankees. During games 3 and 4 of the 2010 ALCS against the Rangers, we witnessed a premature mass exodus on two consecutive nights. The Yankee middle relief got pounded and fans checked out early, as if they a) wanted to beat traffic, b) were too disgusted to stay, c) believed the Yankees had no wherewithal to stage a comeback. There is no suitable excuse. It is inexcusable, unforgivable and almost unfathomable at Fenway. If it is a thin line that separates the arrogant and entitled from the passionate and loyal, Yankee fans are slipping dangerously close to the former. I’ll save the reasoning and debunking for next time, but for now, if Yankee fans are objective about themselves, they will reflect about the crowds at the old Yankee Stadium in 1996 and throughout their dynastic run, culminating with those three games against Arizona in 2001, with the embers of the World Trades Center still smoldering just miles away. “Aura and mystic” used to be part of the homefield advantage in the Bronx. Pan out to 2010, where scores of empty seats and a dull chorus of boos frame the picture as pitching coach (now former pitching coach) Dave Eiland ambles to the mound to Yank another shellshocked reliever. Yankee fans need to regroup because at present, the dispassionate front-running cling-ons are beginning to define us.

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Celebrating the Fall Classic

Hello sports fans, hip-hop junkies and sneaker heads! It’s been awhile. What’s good?

When last we spoke, I was spewing fumes over the Lebron free-agency debacle. Needless to say, I’ve had some time to cool off. It’s late October. The NBA season is back in effect, the Heat are winless and the Knicks are still technically in the playoff picture. All is quiet out here on the western front, which gives me the perfect opportunity to brush a few things off my shoulders.

Although this hasn’t been a forum to discuss baseball, since the Fall Classic begins tonight in San Francisco, I’d like to devote a few words to our National Pastime.

Odds are, if you’re reading this, you’re probably not a baseball fan. The overnight television ratings of this year’s Postseason have reignited a discussion about its precipitous decline in popularity. Such fodder is then gobbled up by the sportsradio echo chamber, the blogosphere and backpage columnists. It’s indisputable that the game is not as closely followed as it was 20 years ago. And sadly, even for the casual sports fan, the World Series is no longer appointment television. But let’s clarify a few things. First, it has nothing to do with the “Steroid Era.” If anything, the proliferation of steroids helped baseball stay competitive on a national stage. (Chicks dug the long ball.) Second, the lack of instant replay is an “inside baseball” debate, and the implementation of better technology and more precise umpiring, will not move the needle.

Clearly, Major League Baseball has tremendous marketing hurdles as it has struggled to penetrate new medias and capture a younger audience. The sport is short on buzz-worthy stars and water cooler events. The regular season is too long, economic inequalities are too prevalent, the amateur draft is too inconsequential, and its overall appeal is too regional. Still, unlike soccer, baseball is an American tradition, often passed on through generations. To its credit (and also perhaps its detriment), the game has essentially stayed the same for well-over a century… subtle, strategic, methodical. By rule, it’s the only team sport where home field is truly an advantage and pressure mounts organically, without the imposition of a time clock. Unlike the NFL and the NBA, the game of baseball has not benefited from the rise of hyper-athleticism. It remains a sport where speed and elite physical abilities only take you so far. Consequently, as tastes change, populations shift and attention spans shorten, baseball is slowly losing its grip on Americana. Almost every nationally televised sporting event, from UFC to NASCAR to Golf, trounces Major League Baseball in total viewers. The sport simply does not resonate the way it used to. Any ad man will to you that young males 18-35 drive ratings and for baseball, the connection with this key demographic is fading…

Throughout the 21st Century, particularly in 70’s, 80’s and 90’s, virtually all blue-blooded American males between the ages of 9-12, had some type of summer experience playing organized baseball. From the mountains to the prairie to the oceans white with foam– future jocks, preps, burnouts and nerds congregated in uniform on the Little League field. And even if your baseball career ended at age 10, watching the World Series was an annual tradition most young males could connect with throughout high school and beyond.

Times have changed. Baseball’s cross-section of prepubescent personalities arguably began unraveling in 1997, when ESPN televised the first X-Games. After extreme sports were legitimized, and audiences ballooned, the preteen boy who was less inclined to gravitate towards baseball, simply did not. (Baseball’s logistical problems in urban areas, compared with basketball, are well-documented.) When I played Little League in the late 1980’s, my team had a healthy mix of skateboarders, punk rockers, awkward brainiacs and natural athletes. Ten years later, the town had built a skate park just beyond the centerfield fence, and the separation of new America and old Americana was visible to anyone who happened to stroll by on a summer evening. To further the point, spectators hanging out at the skate park routinely outnumbered the small crowds of people sitting on metal bleachers for a baseball game.

This year, the Fall Classic pairs two improbable, middle-market teams. Neither city (greater Dallas metro nor San Francisco) has ever celebrated a World Series champion. We are often told that nationally followed teams like the Yankees, Red Sox, Dodgers and Cubs give baseball its broadest audience on its grandest stage. We are also told that the middle-American, casual sports fan is tired of watching the teams with the highest payrolls play late into October. As an avid baseball fan, I am curious to see who will be watching this year…

I have one more baseball rant to brush off my shoulders and I’m taking at Yankee fans. Duck and cover.

Stay tuned…

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THE EGO HAS LANDED

Before I begin, allow me to first wipe the egg off my forehead and finish eatin’ this crow sammich. It taste like sh*t and goes terrible with my hangover. The big winner from Thursday’s spectacular debacle (other than Riles, that slippery prick) is none other than Kobe Bean Bryant. Apologies to the Black Mamba Nation (can you feel me wincing?) You got the throne all to yourself #24. Hands down, you are the best baller of this era.

As of 9:27pm eastern time on July 8th, Lebron James officially relinquished any claim to such conversation. Let me clarify: He is not a once-in-a-generation athlete. That party is over. He remains an incredible talent, a back-to-back MVP, a stat monster with tremendous game, but legacies are defined by undefinable grit and the unyielding determination to be better than everyone. Many, including myself, always believed Lebron had “it.” But really, he only entertained “it.” He’s Scottie Pippen with better numbers. It is time for “The Chosen One” tattoo, along with the “330″ area code branding to be painted over on his epidermal canvas. Neither are applicable.

Since he was 16, WE created “The King”, coddled him and deemed him the “second coming” and he, along with his people, bought more stock in that story than anyone and sold it back to us at a premium. It was a genius ploy until it finally crashed and burned in a train wreck reality-TV finale hosted by Jim Gray and ESPN.

This 10-day charade was preordained, written and produced by three NBA bosom buddies (who would later call themselves “Miami Thrice”), ghost-directed by Pat Riley and acted out on a grand stage for our amusement. When the curtain dropped on July 1st, the performances were spectacular. There were Twitter feeds coinciding with photo ops and well-placed media leaks; and, of course, the dummy team meetings, featuring desperate GM’s thinking they had a shot at “landing one of the big three.” Who knows how long Bosh, Wade and James have dreamed (conspired? colluded?) about playing together. Was it 2006 when they all signed four-year extensions, anticipating this moment? Was it 2008 during the Beijing games? Was it at the aforementioned “summit” on June 28th?

According to their script, Chris Bosh found out Lebron James would be his teammate the same time I did?!? These were @chrisbosh actual Tweets from Thursday night.

8:54pm -”I’m suited up and ready! Bout to watch ESPN. This is sports history we’re watching tonight!”

9:17pm – “I thought they said the first 10 minutes! Lol”

9:30pm -”Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Really? You had no idea?

It seems so obvious now. James never wanted any part of New York City and that potential legacy. He wasn’t ever going to LA to challenge Kobe head-on. It was never an option to step into Jordan’s house and compete for his own statue outside the United Center. This, more than any other reason, was why he ditched #23 (see my post from April). This whole time we’ve been paying Bruce Wayne, waiting for Batman and low-and-behold, underneath the “King” facade, he emerges as Robin. The headline reads:

“Second Coming Prefers Second Fiddle”

Watch him literally shed his Cleveland armor, almost with relief, as he exited the court for the final time as a Cavalier. The symbolism is striking. He knew. All along he knew he would never put himself in a position where he would have to lead a franchise to multiple championships, while concurrently enduring the burden of not doing so. To his credit, Kobe has done both, and he played second fiddle to Shaq when he was less mature. Maybe it all happened too soon for Lebron. Sixteen is awfully young to embrace greatness and travel in its path alone for almost a decade, while the harsh spotlight beamed down and we scrutinized every move. Maybe we created a legacy simply too grandiose for the freakishly talented man-child from Akron to fulfill.

By now, it’s obvious, Dwyane Wade is the real king-maker. He called the shots while playing his part. He has a ring, a mentor in Riley, the keys to the city and a county renamed “Miami-Wade”. It’s his team, LBJ and CB4 are just along for the ride… and that’s exactly how Mr. James wanted it.

Stay tuned…

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MORE THAN A SHAME

During a visit to New York in 2004, my father, a much wiser man than I, sat with me and watched an episode of ENTOURAGE. Back then, the HBO show was snappier and fresh, the banter was witty and snarky and all the players seemed like they were genuinely having fun with their characters. My father didn’t care much for it and his critique was succinct. “Where are the adults?” he asked. Unlike his son, Senior Mcfly is not at all enamoured by glitz and machismo Hollywood escapist fantasy. His point, however, stuck with me. Over the years, I have remained an ENTOURAGE fan in spite of stale plotlines and a discernible lack of maturity. Such parallels can be drawn to the Lebron James free agency boondoggle.

As of now, I remain a Lebron fan but check in with me later…he has me teetering on the precipice, and worse, I am beginning to wonder whether my two-year masturbatory daydream of “the King” resurrecting basketball in New York City culminating with a championship at The World’s Most Famous Arena, has clouded my judgment of the man and his potential legacy. Even if he comes to New York, it will feel somewhat cold and hallow at this point. Here is a brief breakdown of the weeks events:

This whole thing kick-started with “the summit” in Miami between Wade, Bosh and James on June 28th. Fittingly, because of NBA rules, the meeting never “technically” took place. Yet since everyone knew about it, Steven A. Smith eagerly reported with BREAKING NEWS “his sources tell him” Lebon will join Bosh, Wade and Riley in Miami!

Prior to July 1st, every blowhard from Mcfly to Scoop Jackson tried to out-scoop and unpack Lebron’s maneuvers. It’s quite possible Steven A.’s “sources” were right all along and this whole charade was just to put neon blinking lights over the LBJ banner. But, James & Camp certainly went through the motions, summoning the brigades to the foot of his throne in Cleveland for the proverbial feeding of succulent grapes. It was quite a display watching ESPN’s Shelly Smith stand outside and report on July 2nd how Pat Riley (with Championship jewelry in-tow) “seemed agitated as he paced the lobby of the IMG building” waiting for the Clippers to finish their presentation. Never have we ever witnessed such theater in the wide world of sports. And James, presumably tight-lipped and jovial, sat through each pony show with his poker face in full tilt.

Simultaneously, Bosh and Wade each held similar meetings in Chicago, as if to head fake the Windy City, and then go to dinner for a photo op, with Bosh flippantly Tweeting about how “it feels like someone is missing…” Golf clap.

By July 3rd, Dirk, Joe Johnson, Rudy Gay and Paul Pierce were off the board. And by the 4th it was inevitable Amar’e was going to New York. (Sidenote: Amar’e is a the most talented player NYK has had since Alan Houston in his prime. The downside, he’s a delicate defender, a light rebounder and a big recipient of Steve Nash’s all-world pick ‘n’ roll. The upside, he could have gotten similar money from at least three other teams (with better rosters) but he wanted to play at the Garden. Knicks fans need to show the man some love for at least buying into the vision of “Knicks are back!” He also gave them legitimate bait to dangle before His Majesty.)

By the 5th, Amar’e was a Knick. Speculation around Wade and Bosh grew to a crescendo and by Tuesday night, it was leaked (some say by Lebron’s camp) that both were leaning towards Miami. It was also reported all day Tuesday that Lebron had recruited Bosh to come to Cleveland, but as we have seen, James doesn’t roll up his sleeves or dirty his hands, so such efforts were done quietly or by proxy. Not exactly a hard sell from the self-proclaimed “King of Ohio.” In fact, when asked about playing for the Cavs, Bosh said, ‘I wasn’t sure if LeBron was coming back [to Cleveland] and I just wanted to leave that decision up to him.”
Okay, Chris. We know you’ve been stuck in NBA Siberia for the last seven years (apologies to you Wall $treet, Toronto is a lovely city) and South Beach is a nice place to floss your $100 million, so I suppose you get a pass. Tuesday’s events continued with KingJames (at the behest of Chris Paul) joining Twitter, giving his 250,000 instant followers a window into absolutely nothing. Then, Tuesday night, Lebron announced plans to announce his plans via “The Decision” an hour-long circle jerk of a special airing on (where else) ESPN. Groan!

By Wednesday morning, Bosh and Wade proclaimed “Miami!” and the LBJ rumors swirled like a tornado in its media wreckage. Unsourced reports gushed from everywhere. Meanwhile, Ray Allen and Carlos Boozer were signed and, essentially, all of the pieces fell into place…except for one.

NO RING

This brings me to my larger point. Let’s go back a year. The Cavs were upset by the Orlando Magic in the Eastern Conference Finals. Despite a legendary moment from Lebron in game 2, the series lasted 6 games and Cleveland was thoroughly outplayed. When it was over, Lebron ducked into the tunnel in a huff, sparing any sportsmanship or congratulatory gestures to his Team USA friend, Dwight Howard. Some criticized him for this, many defended his display of pride and distaste for losing, but for me, it didn’t sit right. Bottom line, James has two sons and this sends the wrong message. Fast forward to May of this year. The Cavs had arguably the most talented team in his tenure and as Boston put the clamp down, Lebron checked out early, as if he had a more pressing engagement with free agency. Most Cavs fans felt like this was it, he had already packed his bags, and few felt he owed the city anything. Still, in defeat, his comments were troubling. “I spoil a lot of people with my play…” he said after a game 5 drubbing. “When you have a bad game here or there, you’ve had three bad games in a seven-year career, then it’s easy to point that out.” When I heard this, I cringed. This got me thinking, who in his inner-circle is exposing him to the raw realities of failure, who is coaching him on checking the hubris when appropriate? He has insulated himself exclusively by people who not only keep him insulated but prop up his arrogance. This is all he knows. It is only recently that the curtain has blown back just far enough for us to catch a peak of life on the other side.

I have long been a member of the Lebron James fanclub. Overall, I think he’s a good dude. I’ve marveled by the way he has handled himself throughout his career, given his age, the hype, the pressure, the expectations. I’ve admired how he surrounded himself by his boys from Akron, who, throughout their early twenties, remained focused on nurturing a superstar and cultivating a global brand. Every magazine from Business Week to Fortune to TIME has waxed-on for years about the savvy of LBJ, Maverick Carter, Randy Mims, Richard Paul and the LRMR conglomerate. But here we are, right on the cusp of the biggest moment in the history of free agency, and somehow, within a 10-day period, Team Lebron has manged to gut its fan base and set fire to its brand, all while calculating the opposite result. I think of my father. “Where are the adults?”

Remember the Michael Jordan Nike commercial “Failure“? Re-watch it and think of Lebron. I cannot recall an instance in his career, on or off the court, where he has learned from his own shortcomings. This is where the value of adult-experience is noticeably void. The “yes men” surrounding him are all twenty-five year old millionaires, living off his fame and fortune, sewing his successes, building his brand, and stroking his ego. Problem is, all of his people seem to be tone deaf and have grossly miscalculated public perception. Flying from Cleveland to the York suburbs for a contrived one-hour spectacle destined to rip out the hearts out of Cavs and/or Knicks fans is inexcusable and unforgivable. And if the verdict is “The Heat,”  it will be a low moment for the NBA. If he was going to Miami all along, why not make the announcement alongside his teammates rather than upstage them with a 60-minute special? I cannot think a city more fitting for a glitzy, XBOX-style dream team. “The Miami Heat, brought to you by EA Sports, if it’s in the game, it’s in the game.” And I cannot think of a sports city more dispassionate and unworthy of a dynasty. Just picture DJ Khaled sitting courtside, high-fiveing Lebron screaming “wi da bessssssst, who? weee nukkka!” It’s utterly nauseating. I can’t take this. I’m tuning out until 6:00pm pacific. Until then…

Stay tuned…

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MIDNIGHT IN A PERFECT WORLD

June 30, 2010: Twas the night before Christmas in the NBA…

What we are about to witness (wink wink) is potentially the grandest game of musical chairs in the history of sport and business. Tonight at midnight eastern/9pm pacific, we will a usher in a defining period in the free agency era. It’s Curt Flood’s 1969 vision on steroids and angel dust. Buckle up.

Assuming you’ve followed the bouncing ball, you know that we here at the Califonia Sole Report have focused much of our topical energy on Lebron James. He is a worthy subject. I stand by what I have said about the man and I will continue to unpack my sentiments in this pontification. He is a once-in-a-generation athlete. However, the “once-in-a-generation” handle is not something you can just attribute to anyone with great stats and a long highlight reel. These are mortals that transcend their sport and ascend into immortality, a la Babe Ruth, Micky Mantle, Wayne Gretzky, Michael Jordan, Jim Brown, Joe Montana et al. Sure, we accept varying degrees of immortality, and sometimes multiple monuments exist in the same era (Magic, Larry, Charles) but overall, most objective sports fans agree that “once in a generation” is just that. As much as I cringe, it is fair to say Kobe Bryant is now flirting with the esteemed attribution. Unfortunately for Kobe, since he is such a salty, calculating personality, bereft of both charisma and Q-scores, it is difficult to claim his accomplishments on the court have transcended the beyond City of Angels. Okay, but back to the lecture at hand…

King James has all of the tangibles and intangibles for meta-level ascension. Since High School, he has been called “The Chosen One“. Still, as of today, his flight has been delayed. What we are hearing from the various camps reporting on this free-agency boondoggle is that Lebron is uber-intrigued by the possibility of playing alongside Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh, his buddies from Team USA. Wade has (reportedly) lobbied hard (with the blessing of Pat Riley the Don) to bring all three superstars to South Beach. Anybody who has studied Lebron over the years or has watched the seminal documentary “More Than A Game,” understands his passion and commitment to TEAM. An only child born to a single mother, the camaraderie he fosters with his brothers-in-arms on the hardwood is akin to family ties. This is, perhaps, an aspect of his NBA career that in the seven years in Cleveland, never manifested in the way he had hoped. With Bosh and Wade, arguably two of his closest friends, he can re-create the type of family he had at St. Vincent/St.Mary while competing for NBA championships. I get this appeal. I just don’t support it. Not for his caliber of superstar.

If Lebron is truly a once-in-a-generation athlete, this maneuver (despite each player agreeing to less money under the cap) is too collusive and convenient. Legends TRANSCEND. If James goes to Miami to play on an All-Star team, he will compromise his legacy. Ditto for Chicago, which will always be, obviously, Michael’s mecca. Furthermore, Miami is a football town, as Florida is a football state. The Heat fan-base is a smattering of loyalists and local ban-wagoners that show up in cream-colored gabardines and bedazzled D&G tee shirts, waiving white rags at playoff games. The city has no rich tradition of basketball and, they won a Championship just a few years ago, which was a great accomplishment for Wade and Shaq and Riley but for the rest of us NBA fans… a low-rated shoulder shrug. I also get Lebron’s urge to win now. To paraphrase Yoda, “much work to do he has…” and rebuilding a franchise without the guarantee of camaraderie or organizational eminence  may be ultimately unappealing. But, Lebron seems too passive in this process thus far. He has hinted (on Larry King) Cleveland has an edge. Really? How? D-Wade has been active, if not vocal. Meetings have taken place in Miami. Lebron has been deafeningly silent as his organization cleaned house. He hasn’t lobbied anyone to come to Cleveland. All reports indicate that James has immense affinity for the community where he grew up and would still love to bring the city a Championship, but that rhetoric does not match his behavior. (Let’s throw the “tampering” argument out the window, because we all know the back-channel moves are ongoing and leaky.) And if it’s just about winning a title quickly, why doesn’t he use his clout to have Mitch Kupchak orchestrate a deal that would send LBJ to the Lakers? There has got to be some hunger in him for a challenge. And as previously stated, only two-teams provide Lebron with the type of legacy lift he needs for that immortal ascension. NEW YORK and CLEVELAND.

Not Miami. Not Chicago. Not New Jersey.

It is increasingly impossible for Mcfly to strip away the objectivity. I have been a miserable Knicks fan for a decade and, since Lebron has turned down every opportunity for signing an extension with the Cavs, the Knicks have been on a Lebron-or-bust mission for the past three years, desperately clearing cap room to attract LBJ and another max-deal player. They have compromised multiple seasons and draft picks. They have no existing pieces. They have been a wretched franchise and still, Knicks fans almost unanimously supported the objective. Now, early indications are that the Knicks are totally out of the Lebron sweepstakes, and so they have started floating ludicrous, unsourced reports stating they don’t want Lebron. It’s infuriating. On the eve of the biggest moment in the history of the franchise, why are they posturing and spin-doctoring?!?

Joe Johnson and Amar’e ain’t gonna do it folks. And, with due respect, they are barely a consolation prize if James, Wade and Bosh are playing on the same team in the same division. Good luck getting through them in the Playoffs. Adding Lebron is also addition by subtraction (they won’t have to get through his team in the playoffs) and the Knicks need to fight like their franchise depends on it. And will SOMEBODY (other than Mcfly) please make a more compelling case to King James that legends do legendary things and transcend! “Concrete Jungle where dreams are made of…” etc. etc.

This is where Lebron needs to hold up his end of the bargain. Wherever he chooses, it will be the biggest free-agency signing in the history of sports. Tomorrow’s movements could, in all likelihood, define the free-agency/salary cap era.

Will he lift off and become the Chosen One, that once-in-a-generation athlete? Or will he SETTLE for great stats and a long highlight reel, playing a role, sharing the ball (and spotlight) with his superstar friends, maybe even winning a few titles? The fork in the road is finally upon us. A legacy hangs in the balance. Will it be midnight in a perfect world for Knicks fans?

Stay tuned…

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LeBron-a-thon 2010

So much has happened in the LeBron-a-thon debate I don’t even know where to begin. Let me start by saying that anybody claiming to know anything about LeBron’s intentions as of July 1 are bullsh*ttin’. Speaking of Bull, James definitely ain’t going to Chicago! And you can take that to the bank (just don’t cash the check until mid-August.) It’s more than likely that Lebron himself doesn’t know which way he’s leaning. Still, it’s fun to pontificate the possibilities. I’ve had my working theories in place for roughly eighteen months and as an avid Knicks fan/pontificater, I will center my focus around why His Majesty SHOULD come to the NYKs. In fact, Jadakiss does some bidding for me on that new, semi-flammable LBJ-sack-snuggling track “I am The Man.” To me, there are two primary factors which give the Knicks an edge over every other team:
1) Legacy 2) Business
Ol’ Jada breaks out the PowerPoint and touches on both: “Come to the city where the ball drops on New Year/ you win one chip it’s like you won two here/ you love playing in the Garden, you run through there/ just picture LeBron in the orange and blue gear.”
And, “no more mister nice guy/ billboards life size/ jersey sales through the roof, sneaker sales likewise…” These are actually salient points. First, the legacy:

Lebron is acutely aware of who he is and how important his brand is to game of basketball, both locally and internationally. The 2010-11 season will be his 8th and he will be 26 in December. His only sniff at a title was in 2007, when the Spurs mercifully broke out the swifters and dustpans. (But don’t forget, Jordan did not put on his first ring until 1991, when he was 27.) A student of the game, Lebron understands his legacy cannot be Barkley/Malone-esque. He needs to win ChampionshipS (as in more than one), otherwise his career– given his potential and hype– will be a colossal underachievement, and his Hall of Fame induction will feel hallow (especially for him.) But if he does win ringS, they should not be Duncan-esque either. (Tim Duncan is the greatest power forward of all-time, but his four-Championships, much like his legacy, are forgettable unless you happen to be from central Texas.) When King James wins a title, he must shake the basketball world to its core… and then do it again…and again. Just fifty-four weeks ago, the Kobe vs. Lebron debate was actually compelling. Kobe hadn’t won a ring without Shaq and Cleveland looked poised to challenge for multiple titles. Now, Kobe has a ring on each finger of his shooting hand and has indisputably solidified himself inside the Top-10 All-Time (not to mention, next season he will be gunning for his second 3-Peat). Lebron would be the first to admit, he has significant work to do…

Of all of the teams that have cap room for a max-deal, the Knickerbockers are the only franchise that provides him with an opportunity to rattle the earth by bringing the city its first title since 1973. To aficionados, New York City is a basketball mecca. We can go on about the rich tradition of street ball in Rucker Park, the playgrounds at West 4th, the Globetrotters, the origins of hip-hop and cross-sections of urban fashion and sneaker culture; the close-but-no-cigar era of Patrick Ewing and the embarrassing demise of the franchise over the last decade. (The mere mentioning of Scott Layden or Isiah Thomas to any blue-blooded Knicks fan still creates a gag reflex.) But considering the sheer volume and magnified magnitude of the Big Apple, no city is more ravenous for championship level basketball. And, unlike baseball, football and hockey, there is no division of allegiances when it comes to the Knicks. The Yankee fan, the Met fan, the Jet fan, the Giant fan, the Ranger fan and Islander fan ALL pack the Garden and route passionately for the Orange and Blue. For Lebron, whose career thus far is long on dazzling highlights but short on immortal moments, winning in New York will give him that deity status that would efficiently fortify his legacy. Moreover, he will run New York in a way Derek Jeter, Mark Messier and Eli Manning (or even Donald Trump, Jay-Z and Mayor Bloomberg) could only imagine.

Before I get into the Business, it is important to note that Lebron will NOT come to New York to single-handedly resurrect a franchise with a D-League roster. Failure in New York would decimate what little legacy he built. Despite having the most money to spend, the Knicks clearly have the worst talent make-up (and no first round pick in next week’s draft.) This is where (Knicks GM) Donnie Walsh can earn his stripes. Through the power of presentation, he will need to lure another marquee star (Chris Bosh, Amar’e Stoudemire, Dwyane Wade) to come to NYC; he must re-sign David Lee and persuade one, if not two, mid-level exception role players (Jerry Stackhouse, Tracy McGrady, Channing Frye) that the New York Knicks offer the best opportunity to maximize their value and/or win a championship. This is a very delicate balance given salary cap restrictions and the finicky demands of free-agents. And if the Knicks put all of their eggs in the Lebron basket and come up empty, they could be in for another decade of misery.

It is well-established that Lebron James has set his sights on becoming the first billionaire athlete. (He lunches with Warren Buffet and presumably takes notes.) Now, I am not claiming that New York City is only place to capitalize on his profound stardom; it just happens to be the BEST place, for obvious reasons. Even in a global economy, where his star can shine plenty bright from Cleveland, it would be difficult to replicate the precipitous pop in Lebron stock should he sign with the Knicks. Cablevision (CVC-NYSE), the publicly traded media company that recently spun off Madison Square Garden, Inc. (MSG-NYSE), which owns a controlling stake in all of MSG’s properties (including the Knicks), would likely see an explosion in its stock price based on TV revenues, ad sales, box office and full-throttle merchandising. I won’t even get into the potential for endorsements deals and blockbusting playoff games at the Garden. Michael K. Ozanian, the national editor of Forbes Magazine, speculated that Lebron will opt for New York because he can purchase MSG stock personally (although the Knicks cannot compensate him with stock options) and then directly benefit financially from his involvement with the company, thus creating a unparalleled mechanism for the accumulation of wealth in the business of sports. While this theory has been debunked by bloggers, it is still worth a look.

Any way you slice it, Lebron would (at least initially) maximize his intrinsic value as a Knick and, as a legacy conscious, basketball historian with billionaire aspirations, this is not bad place to be. In the end, the decision will be up to Lebron. While I have equally in-depth theories on why he SHOULD NOT sign with any team other than the New York or Cleveland, I will float the possibility that at the end of all this, Lebron may just be a small-town kid at heart and despite the opportunities of the Big Apple, the bright lights and 24-hour scrutiny, the pressures and expectations are as unappealing (no pun intended) as they would be rewarding. However, my sense is that he is ready to make this leap. Beyond his jovial demeanor (and despite what we saw most recently against Boston), there is a passion and intensity that will match-up well in New York City or, as Jada puts it, “you don’t have to thank me, nah just bank me/ and your favorite baseball team is the Yankees/ frankly, I know you debatin’/I just want to let you know you got NYC waitin’, patient…”

Stay tuned…

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HIP-HOP IS DEAD (AND NAS KILLED IT?)

Okay, first, the header above is as misleading as it is eye-catching. Don’t get it twisted. McFly is a big Nasir Jones supporter. “Illmatic” is my all-time favorite record. It’s a damn masterpiece. Furthermore, hip-hop is like acidophilus, live cultures with millions of organisms, which by definition, is the opposite of dead and impossible to kill. This has nothing to do with his recent collab with Damien Marley or his infamously titled record from 2006. I’ll get to the theory momentarily but before I do, y’all need to get on that new Reflection Eternal “Revolutions Per Minute.” It’s a bonafied classic…

Admittedly, over the last decade, I’ve been more of a mixtape junkie. I’ve found it hard to get into full-length albums the way I used to in the 80’s and 90’s. For now, let’s call it consumer “attention deficit disorder,” which in a broader sense, seems to be a collective phenomenon for the new millennium. As technological innovations continue to colonize our lifestyle, our stimuli have become so “customizable” we have shortened our attention spans in exchange for a more synthesized program of entertainment. Playlists, mixtapes, filesharing, blogs (gulp), YouTube clips etc. have replaced the old paradigm of buying an LP, a cassette tape or CD, pressing play and digesting each track slowly and intently. To that end, rap has become almost entirely a mixtape medium. Count the number of producers that make up any new studio album from Jay-Z to Jeezy. The formula seems to be: find a hot producer, buy a beat, lay down lyrics, drop a mixtape, hit Hot 97 and Power 106; Funk Flex and Felli Fel will hype the sh*t out of it by screaming “brand new” and “sizzling hot”… and then…on to the next. Unfortunately, hype-men and tastemakers run the game. Forget digesting a whole album, radio deejays barely make it to the second verse of a track. And why bother? As long as the hook is catchy, listening to lyricism is inconsequential. Even young rappers understand their reign on top is short like leprechauns (plus, it’s a recession and we can barely afford to pay attention.) But to paraphrase Rhymefest, “a hot record is temporary because hot cools off, but a dope record is forever…” Think about all the dope records from the Golden Era: Wu-Tang, Gangstarr, Tribe, Black Moon, The Roots, Dr. Dre, Outkast, Common, The Fugees, Eric B & Rakim, De La Soul, Pete Rock & CL… you can go on and on and on… These were albums conceived through musical collaboration between the lyricists and beatmakers. And, in virtually every instance, the classics were produced by a single beatmason: RZA, Premier, Prince Paul, No ID, Wyclef…you get the point. Now, I know what you’re thinking. What about Nas, Jay-Z, Biggie?!? They are the best of the best. Their studio albums are classics and they all use multiple producers. I gotta big up my homie Trends on this one. (Check out his website www.djtrends.com and his incomparable podcast, One Drop Radio, available on iTunes.) As we pontificate such things, it is his theory that Nas’ “Illmatic” altered the course of hip-hop as we know it. Or, if you’re pessimistic, “Nas killed Hip-Hop.” (But this was no pre-meditated murder and it barely qualifies as involuntary manslaughter.)

Arguably, what made “Illmatic” so dope and innovative was its diversity of production. Nas was hip- hop’s first golden boy and “Illmatic’s” cache before it dropped was that every producer from Primo to Pete Rock couldn’t wait to collaborate with the 19-year old phenom from Queensbridge. Its release in 1994 marked the first time an album featured an all-star team of producers. A young Puff Daddy took notice while developing his own phenom and then “Ready to Die” was another multi-producer classic. By the time “Reasonable Doubt” dropped in 1996, the rap game had changed. Over the next ten years, the industry trended away from the single-producer album and this opened the door for every Tom, Dick and Harry with an MPC. Young Jeezy’s first studio album “Let’s Get It: Thug Motivation 101″ (2006) was 19 tracks with 12 different producer credits. Even Jay-Z’s “The Blueprint 3″ featured 9 producers. Gone are the days where the rapper(s) and the deejay/producer sit around and create their sound together. It is as if we can’t afford the time. That is until the return of Reflection Eternal…

“Revolutions Per Minute” is timelessly dope and entirely produced and conceived by Talib Kweli and DJ Hi-Tek. Next, it is hi-time to recognize Hi-Tek as one of hip hop’s all-time great producers. Dig up his beats and listen (or re-listen) to the way he mixes multiple samples with original percussion. He is some kind of wonderful. And lyrically, Talib Kweli has a subterranean mentality with an uber-conscious mind. The album is packed with relevant activism without the disgruntled “backpacker” preachiness. So just this once, lengthen your attention spans, kick back, press play and digest the record slowly and intently. Trust me, it is chock-full of acidophilus.

Stay tuned…

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