Friday, September 17, 2004
Tragedy Sprouts Its Ugly Head
This world is chalk full of hypocrisy and injustice and there is no greater example of it than the current situation in the professional sandwich-making industry. Do you realize that not a single one of the four major sandwich-making chains offers alfalfa sprouts on their subs? I know, it seems unbelievable, but check it out for yourself. Not Subway, not Togo's, not Quizno's, not even Blimpie. "Sandwich artists" my ass! It's as if the entire sandwich industry has formed a collective Sprout Nazi and is cruelly shouting to the sandwich-loving public, "No sprouts for you!" I feel like Andy Dufresne in "The Shawshank Redemption" when the warden scoffs at evidence of his innocence. "How can you be so obtuse?" If I had the means, I would open my own chain, Alfalfa Farms, and put an end to this senseless embargo on one of the finer ingredients a sandwich has ever known, the alfalfa sprout.
And another thing...if companies can make a fortune selling bottled water, why has no sandwich chain thought to offer a professionally made peanut butter and jelly?
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And another thing...if companies can make a fortune selling bottled water, why has no sandwich chain thought to offer a professionally made peanut butter and jelly?
# posted by j.h.k. @ 1:33 PM 
If We're Not At Rock Bottom Yet, We're Damn Close
I'm not a bitter man. Okay, I am, but not all the time. I don't mean to focus on the negative all the time, but when I see stories like this one, I can't help but sigh and shake my weary head.
Baseball is America's pastime! It's not supposed to be a damn money-making scheme (unless you're an owner)! How have we gone from passing caught balls to the nearest kid, to having court battles over them and spending $25K to buy out an entire section so that nobody else can catch one?! I blame old-fashioned greed and Ebay! I put the over/under at two years before somebody loses their life over a palm-sized sphere of leather and yarn. Is there anything sacred left in this game? Is there a single shred of purity left? "Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio, our nation turns it's lonely eyes to you!"
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Baseball is America's pastime! It's not supposed to be a damn money-making scheme (unless you're an owner)! How have we gone from passing caught balls to the nearest kid, to having court battles over them and spending $25K to buy out an entire section so that nobody else can catch one?! I blame old-fashioned greed and Ebay! I put the over/under at two years before somebody loses their life over a palm-sized sphere of leather and yarn. Is there anything sacred left in this game? Is there a single shred of purity left? "Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio, our nation turns it's lonely eyes to you!"
# posted by j.h.k. @ 1:31 PM
Dear LA Times,
Why is Dear Abby in the Calendar section? I was just thumbing through Thursday's special weekend edition when, snugly nudged between listings for "The Cookout" and "The Princess Diaries 2," I stumbled onto a letter from a woman in Ohio detailing how she and her husband got The Clap from a jacuzzi on their honeymoon. Before I could find what time "Superbabies 2" was playing, I found myself reading about a woman who had put on 40 lbs. and had taken to picking at her face to the point of permanent scarring. Seriously, is the weekend entertainment section the most appropriate place for this? I'm no seasoned newspaper man, but it seems like an odd choice to me.
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# posted by j.h.k. @ 1:18 PM
This Just In!
newsworthy: Of sufficient interest or importance to the public to warrant reporting in the media.
CNNSI.com has published a story detailing an "incident" in a New York nightclub that indirectly involved Denver Nuggets forward Carmelo Anthony. Apparently, Carmelo and his girlfriend, an MTV host named La La Vasquez, were at the club when La La was approached by an ex-boyfriend who spit a drink on her. Carmelo and La La left shortly thereafter. I kid you not, that is the entirety of the events described in the article. No one was injured, there were no damages, and it had nothing to do with Carmelo, yet this story is still the top story in the NBA section of the site? Are you f'in kidding me?! I know it's the offseason, but what's tomorrow's headline gonna read, "LeBron Seen Super-Sizing at Local McDonald's?" What ever happened to the concept of stories being newsworthy? This is a fine example of the needless and ridiculous media scrutiny that professional athletes endure. If there was a news article written every time I had an argument with a girlfriend or ran into one of their ex-boyfriends, I would make more headlines than Michael Jackson hosting "Sesame Street." C'mon people!
I'm feeling feisty today so stay tuned for additional posts.
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CNNSI.com has published a story detailing an "incident" in a New York nightclub that indirectly involved Denver Nuggets forward Carmelo Anthony. Apparently, Carmelo and his girlfriend, an MTV host named La La Vasquez, were at the club when La La was approached by an ex-boyfriend who spit a drink on her. Carmelo and La La left shortly thereafter. I kid you not, that is the entirety of the events described in the article. No one was injured, there were no damages, and it had nothing to do with Carmelo, yet this story is still the top story in the NBA section of the site? Are you f'in kidding me?! I know it's the offseason, but what's tomorrow's headline gonna read, "LeBron Seen Super-Sizing at Local McDonald's?" What ever happened to the concept of stories being newsworthy? This is a fine example of the needless and ridiculous media scrutiny that professional athletes endure. If there was a news article written every time I had an argument with a girlfriend or ran into one of their ex-boyfriends, I would make more headlines than Michael Jackson hosting "Sesame Street." C'mon people!
I'm feeling feisty today so stay tuned for additional posts.
# posted by j.h.k. @ 8:58 AM
Thursday, September 16, 2004
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Coach Class
While Mets manager Art Howe's coaching ability has been called into question lately, the strength of his character has proven to be irrefutable. Mets general manager Jim Duquette made yet another blunder this week when news of his plans to fire Howe at season's end was leaked to the media. Howe refused to be strung along and demanded to be fired immediately if he was to be fired at all. Duquette obliged but gave Howe the option to stay on until the Mets' schedule puts them out of their collective misery for the 2004 campaign. Many men would have left the Mets right then and there. Knowing the team had lost faith in them and would be obligated to pay them their due $4.7 million either way, many a good man would have packed his things and taken a vacation or begun looking for his next job. And who could blame them if they did? Art Howe chose otherwise. With his team out of the playoff race and his job security weaker than that of Oakland's visitor's bullpen, Howe opted to stand by his team and finish the job he was hired to do.
As Howe told the Associated Press, he's "not a quitter."
As a Mets fan, I never liked the hiring of Howe. Obviously, I'm no ballplayer and have no personal knowledge of Howe's abilities. I just didn't see the logic in bringing a "player's coach" (i.e. a pushover) to a team that had issues with players giving each other haircuts during games and smoking the hippy lettuce in their time off. Those circumstances seemed to call for more of a disciplinarian than a new buddy. I don't blame Howe in any way for the Mets' struggles, but it just never seemed to be a good fit. However, his decision to stick this season out knowing he's already been fired was a stroke of rare integrity. Compare Howe's actions with those of NFL star receiver Keyshawn Johnson who decided he didn't want to play in Tampa Bay the following year and let it be known by putting his house up for sale--in the first month of the season. It's one thing to have talent, but another attribute entirely to be a man of principle. I salute Amicable Art and I hope he catches on with a team that will be better suited to his style.
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Speaking of Major League managing, it's time for Angels manager Mike Scioscia to earn his golden halo. After his team's second consecutive loss to last-place Seattle, Angel catcher Bengie Molina told the LA Times "A lot of us are thinking too much" which would explain how the team's on-again-off-again offense sputtered against Mariner starter Ryan Franklin who was 0-11 in his previous fifteen starts. The 2002 Angel team was an underdog, to put it mildly, from the first pitch of the season until the last out of the World Series. They were a team that had nothing to lose and everything to gain. However, with this year's Angel club bearing the fruits of the free agent market, they have been expected by many experts and fans to win the division if not the pennant or the World Series. Living up to these heavenly hopes is proving to be a decidedly more difficult task for the Angels than shocking the baseball world like they did just two years before. If the Angel players are indeed caught in their own heads and are not performing to the best of their abilities because of it, it's time for Coach Sciosh to step up and do something about it. He's saying all the right things in the papers about winning one game at a time and not watching the scoreboard, but his up-and-down team does not appear to be taking it to heart no matter how hard they try. I have every faith that the 2002 American League Manager of the Year will come up with something to get his team mentally prepared for the rising heat of this pennant race. The Angels' final 10 games are against Oakland and Texas and I believe in that stretch Scioscia will summon the postseaon mettle they earned in their title run in and will guide the way to a schedule carried deep into October. However, if the Angels falter and do not make it to this season's after party, I feel more of the blame should fall on Scioscia than on injuries. Don't get me wrong, I am not calling for the firing of the Angels' manager--not by a longshot. Win or lose, I think he's a tremendous coach and I absolutely want him in Anaheim for years to come. However, even a great manager is not successful in every single season. If the Angels continue to lose one-run games to 5th starters on last place teams because they're "thinking too much" and do, in fact, fall short this season, it will mark a failure for Mike Scioscia.
Beyond that, it may spark a broader debate. Is there two distinct breeds of good coaches/managers in sports? Is there one type who's gift is for turning walk-ons into winners and another who's suited to bringing real championships to dream teams? Angel Nation is counting on Scioscia to prove there is a third class of coach that can do both.
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As Howe told the Associated Press, he's "not a quitter."
As a Mets fan, I never liked the hiring of Howe. Obviously, I'm no ballplayer and have no personal knowledge of Howe's abilities. I just didn't see the logic in bringing a "player's coach" (i.e. a pushover) to a team that had issues with players giving each other haircuts during games and smoking the hippy lettuce in their time off. Those circumstances seemed to call for more of a disciplinarian than a new buddy. I don't blame Howe in any way for the Mets' struggles, but it just never seemed to be a good fit. However, his decision to stick this season out knowing he's already been fired was a stroke of rare integrity. Compare Howe's actions with those of NFL star receiver Keyshawn Johnson who decided he didn't want to play in Tampa Bay the following year and let it be known by putting his house up for sale--in the first month of the season. It's one thing to have talent, but another attribute entirely to be a man of principle. I salute Amicable Art and I hope he catches on with a team that will be better suited to his style.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of Major League managing, it's time for Angels manager Mike Scioscia to earn his golden halo. After his team's second consecutive loss to last-place Seattle, Angel catcher Bengie Molina told the LA Times "A lot of us are thinking too much" which would explain how the team's on-again-off-again offense sputtered against Mariner starter Ryan Franklin who was 0-11 in his previous fifteen starts. The 2002 Angel team was an underdog, to put it mildly, from the first pitch of the season until the last out of the World Series. They were a team that had nothing to lose and everything to gain. However, with this year's Angel club bearing the fruits of the free agent market, they have been expected by many experts and fans to win the division if not the pennant or the World Series. Living up to these heavenly hopes is proving to be a decidedly more difficult task for the Angels than shocking the baseball world like they did just two years before. If the Angel players are indeed caught in their own heads and are not performing to the best of their abilities because of it, it's time for Coach Sciosh to step up and do something about it. He's saying all the right things in the papers about winning one game at a time and not watching the scoreboard, but his up-and-down team does not appear to be taking it to heart no matter how hard they try. I have every faith that the 2002 American League Manager of the Year will come up with something to get his team mentally prepared for the rising heat of this pennant race. The Angels' final 10 games are against Oakland and Texas and I believe in that stretch Scioscia will summon the postseaon mettle they earned in their title run in and will guide the way to a schedule carried deep into October. However, if the Angels falter and do not make it to this season's after party, I feel more of the blame should fall on Scioscia than on injuries. Don't get me wrong, I am not calling for the firing of the Angels' manager--not by a longshot. Win or lose, I think he's a tremendous coach and I absolutely want him in Anaheim for years to come. However, even a great manager is not successful in every single season. If the Angels continue to lose one-run games to 5th starters on last place teams because they're "thinking too much" and do, in fact, fall short this season, it will mark a failure for Mike Scioscia.
Beyond that, it may spark a broader debate. Is there two distinct breeds of good coaches/managers in sports? Is there one type who's gift is for turning walk-ons into winners and another who's suited to bringing real championships to dream teams? Angel Nation is counting on Scioscia to prove there is a third class of coach that can do both.
# posted by j.h.k. @ 1:49 PM
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
"Ya Can't Listen to 'Em, Sweetrivah!"
I'd like to apologize to my entire readership for slacking with my daily updates this week. Joe, Keith, and Scott, this one's for you.
Regarding the Oakland Memorial Massacre of Monday night, I wish I could say I was surprised. After the Dodgers infiltrated the stands at Wrigley and the fans invaded the first base line at U.S. Cellular, this seemed about as routine as Milton Bradley arguing balls and strikes.
Obviously, Frank Francisco's Jerry Springer-esque chair toss was an inexcusable and unfortunate turn of events, but I think it's interesting how shocked people seem to be by it. Anyone who's gone to a ballgame has witnessed fans that take pride in getting as close to The Line as they can without crossing it. There is a new breed of fan that creates a game within the game of goading players into 1) acknowledging their barbs and 2) taking shots of their own, be it verbal or physical. Remember George Washington Duke, the Don King-like promoter from "Rocky V"? He'd get in Rocky's face and practically beg for the Italian Stallion to beat him like a side of beef and then bail out with "Touch me and I'll sue." The spirit of George Washington Duke is alive and well, thriving among the so-called fans of America. These people do pre-game research, digging up personal information or anything they can use to get under a player's skin. Then they go to the game and bait an outfielder by referring to his young son by name, screaming that "he sucks worse than his old man." What gives a "fan" the right to do that? Paying for a ticket and six beers gives you the right to personally attack a man's family? I don't think so. All it gives you is the right to drink those six beers and watch a baseball game. Don't throw the First Amendment at me either because if one of these bums marched into 'ol Thomas Jefferson's office and told him his wife was a hooker, he'd get a lot more than a Constitutional Amendment in return.
What if this happened to any of us? What if someone walked into our cubicles and offices, stood six feet from us and viscously heckled us while we worked? If we didn't physically remove them ourselves, we'd surely have security do it for us, right? Imagine if you couldn't. Picture a scenario where you could do nothing about it and were expected to go on about your work as if nothing was going on. You couldn't do it, I couldn't do it, and no one should have to do it, whether they're ballplayers or blacksmiths. Yes, they are paid millions of dollars, but their job is to play a game and provide you with entertainment. Show me a contract where it says "player shall endure repeated tongue-lashings fortnightly" and I'll concede my case.
Am I saying there needs to be language laws at ballparks? Of course not. Am I saying the fans in Oakland deserved getting a chair thrown at them? That's insane, if not criminal. My point is, don't incite a fight and then act like an innocent child when you get one. Fans have every right to cheer and to jeer, to encourage and discourage, but keep it about baseball. Keep it relevant to the game, not because you're required to or because a player might attack you if you don't; do it out of basic fairness and respect.
Of course, the ultimate blame always falls on the players. There is never a justifiable reason for a player to cross that sacred line between Baseball The Product and Baseball The Consumer, not in anger anyway. No matter how personal and cruel the abuse may be, it is only an explanation and never an excuse. There needs to be a mutual respect between fan and player that often times there is not. Fans need to remember that players, while twice their size and of exponentially greater wealth, are as human as they are. Players need to remember that no matter how much a fan might know about them, they don't really know them and are only trying to get them rattled to help their team win. It's the obvious truth and very easy for me to wax on about when the greatest danger to me is a jammed Xerox machine. What can I say, I still have hope.
That being said, here's a funny story of an experience in my life where the player/fan trust was mutually violated. Two years ago, my cohorts and I had seats about ten rows up in the corner of the end zone at the Rose Bowl. As loyal USC Trojan fans, we were there to enjoy another classic battle against crosstown rival UCLA. After suffering the torture of eight straight losses to the powder puff Bruins, we were loving every minute of the resurgent Trojans recent prosperity in this age-old rivalry. At halftime I noticed the mortal enemy known as Cade McNown strolling by on the sidelines. After Cade personally ripped my heart out and put in a doggie bag four years in a row as Bruin quarterback, I felt this was my moment of redemption, with the scoreboard showing USC ahead by several touchdowns. So, I yelled at the top of my lungs, "You suck, McNown!" as he passed by. Brilliant material, I know. Well, pretty boy Cade stops in his tracks and starts walking back towards me. He asks "Who said that?" My buddy Joe, yes that Joe, had not been involved at all up until now. Before I could take responsibility for my gabbing jab, Joe stands up and answers with the voice of a grizzly bear, "I DID!" From that point, the words and gestures flew back and forth with the ferocity of a street fight, highlighted by Joe proclaiming, "You couldn't hold Tim Ratay's jockstrap!" A befuddled Cade threw a bottled water at Joe who caught it and threw it right back at him, splashing Cade in the process. The confrontation fizzled from there, but as we sat and Cade whispered in the ear of the nearby security officer, you could almost hear him saying "Don't you know who I am? I'm Cade McNown. I almost won a national championship here." The security guard fought back a smile as he ignored Cade, probably laughing as we were as the former Big Man on Campus smugly trudged along.
Yeah, ya gotta respect players and they gotta respect you, I tell ya. Like I said, when the chairs started flying in Oakland Monday night, I wasn't the least bit surprised.
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Regarding the Oakland Memorial Massacre of Monday night, I wish I could say I was surprised. After the Dodgers infiltrated the stands at Wrigley and the fans invaded the first base line at U.S. Cellular, this seemed about as routine as Milton Bradley arguing balls and strikes.
Obviously, Frank Francisco's Jerry Springer-esque chair toss was an inexcusable and unfortunate turn of events, but I think it's interesting how shocked people seem to be by it. Anyone who's gone to a ballgame has witnessed fans that take pride in getting as close to The Line as they can without crossing it. There is a new breed of fan that creates a game within the game of goading players into 1) acknowledging their barbs and 2) taking shots of their own, be it verbal or physical. Remember George Washington Duke, the Don King-like promoter from "Rocky V"? He'd get in Rocky's face and practically beg for the Italian Stallion to beat him like a side of beef and then bail out with "Touch me and I'll sue." The spirit of George Washington Duke is alive and well, thriving among the so-called fans of America. These people do pre-game research, digging up personal information or anything they can use to get under a player's skin. Then they go to the game and bait an outfielder by referring to his young son by name, screaming that "he sucks worse than his old man." What gives a "fan" the right to do that? Paying for a ticket and six beers gives you the right to personally attack a man's family? I don't think so. All it gives you is the right to drink those six beers and watch a baseball game. Don't throw the First Amendment at me either because if one of these bums marched into 'ol Thomas Jefferson's office and told him his wife was a hooker, he'd get a lot more than a Constitutional Amendment in return.
What if this happened to any of us? What if someone walked into our cubicles and offices, stood six feet from us and viscously heckled us while we worked? If we didn't physically remove them ourselves, we'd surely have security do it for us, right? Imagine if you couldn't. Picture a scenario where you could do nothing about it and were expected to go on about your work as if nothing was going on. You couldn't do it, I couldn't do it, and no one should have to do it, whether they're ballplayers or blacksmiths. Yes, they are paid millions of dollars, but their job is to play a game and provide you with entertainment. Show me a contract where it says "player shall endure repeated tongue-lashings fortnightly" and I'll concede my case.
Am I saying there needs to be language laws at ballparks? Of course not. Am I saying the fans in Oakland deserved getting a chair thrown at them? That's insane, if not criminal. My point is, don't incite a fight and then act like an innocent child when you get one. Fans have every right to cheer and to jeer, to encourage and discourage, but keep it about baseball. Keep it relevant to the game, not because you're required to or because a player might attack you if you don't; do it out of basic fairness and respect.
Of course, the ultimate blame always falls on the players. There is never a justifiable reason for a player to cross that sacred line between Baseball The Product and Baseball The Consumer, not in anger anyway. No matter how personal and cruel the abuse may be, it is only an explanation and never an excuse. There needs to be a mutual respect between fan and player that often times there is not. Fans need to remember that players, while twice their size and of exponentially greater wealth, are as human as they are. Players need to remember that no matter how much a fan might know about them, they don't really know them and are only trying to get them rattled to help their team win. It's the obvious truth and very easy for me to wax on about when the greatest danger to me is a jammed Xerox machine. What can I say, I still have hope.
That being said, here's a funny story of an experience in my life where the player/fan trust was mutually violated. Two years ago, my cohorts and I had seats about ten rows up in the corner of the end zone at the Rose Bowl. As loyal USC Trojan fans, we were there to enjoy another classic battle against crosstown rival UCLA. After suffering the torture of eight straight losses to the powder puff Bruins, we were loving every minute of the resurgent Trojans recent prosperity in this age-old rivalry. At halftime I noticed the mortal enemy known as Cade McNown strolling by on the sidelines. After Cade personally ripped my heart out and put in a doggie bag four years in a row as Bruin quarterback, I felt this was my moment of redemption, with the scoreboard showing USC ahead by several touchdowns. So, I yelled at the top of my lungs, "You suck, McNown!" as he passed by. Brilliant material, I know. Well, pretty boy Cade stops in his tracks and starts walking back towards me. He asks "Who said that?" My buddy Joe, yes that Joe, had not been involved at all up until now. Before I could take responsibility for my gabbing jab, Joe stands up and answers with the voice of a grizzly bear, "I DID!" From that point, the words and gestures flew back and forth with the ferocity of a street fight, highlighted by Joe proclaiming, "You couldn't hold Tim Ratay's jockstrap!" A befuddled Cade threw a bottled water at Joe who caught it and threw it right back at him, splashing Cade in the process. The confrontation fizzled from there, but as we sat and Cade whispered in the ear of the nearby security officer, you could almost hear him saying "Don't you know who I am? I'm Cade McNown. I almost won a national championship here." The security guard fought back a smile as he ignored Cade, probably laughing as we were as the former Big Man on Campus smugly trudged along.
Yeah, ya gotta respect players and they gotta respect you, I tell ya. Like I said, when the chairs started flying in Oakland Monday night, I wasn't the least bit surprised.
# posted by j.h.k. @ 1:12 PM
Monday, September 13, 2004
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Gather No Moss
Randy Moss could be the epitome of everything I hate about sports today. Allow me to revisit a moment from Sunday's game versus the Cowboys in which Moss nicely summed it all up for me.
Midway through the fourth quarter, Moss made an amazing falling-down catch in the endzone but wasn't able to keep his feet in bounds. The pass was ruled incomplete so there was no touchdown scored, but there was a penalty called on Randy's defender. The normal reaction to such a play would be to jog back to the line and get ready to take another shot at scoring, perhaps applauding the penalty call along the way. What does Randy Moss do though? He gets up and taunts his opponent by mimicking throwing the flag in his face. Then he walks over to a bank of photographers on the corner of the endzone and mugs for the cameras by putting his hands on his waist and proudly tilting his chin toward the sky. He was posing for photographers on an incomplete pass! An incomplete pass! A play that netted him (and his team) zero points! Can you picture a firefighter coming out of a burning building posing for the cameras and saying "I almost saved that kid's life. And didn't I look fine doin' it?" Unfortunately, Randy Moss is one of the most talented receivers in the NFL so he gets away with such shameful shenanigans, but he'll never be off the hook with me. I have no problem with touchdown celebrations. It's an emotional game and there's going to be reactions to complement that. However, there is celebration and then there's downright idiocy. Moss is a consistent example of the latter.
The gifts of world class athleticism are not always wasted on the brash and tactless, however, as evidenced by the behavior of breakout Denver running back Quentin Griffin. In his first NFL start, Griffin amassed 156 yards rushing and scored three touchdowns. He averaged 6.8 yards per carry and was virtually unstoppable all night. Unlike Randy Moss, Griffin's performance actually merited some mugging, but Griffin did nothing of the sort. He got up and, without so much as a chest pound or a smile, ran to the sidelines and let the scoreboard do the talking. After being promoted to starter following the trade that sent Clinton Portis out of the mile-high city, reporters were naturally eager to compare the two running backs' first game statistics. Even though Griffin surpassed the yardage and touchdowns of Portis, a humble and grateful Quentin would not boast or brag.
"Clinton is a very good running back," he said, "I don't think I'm the one to compare myself to him."
No you're not, Quentin, your numbers did it for you.
Randy Moss has played six more NFL seasons than Quentin Griffin, but he could stand to learn a thing or two from the second-year man out of Oklahoma. One about sportsmanship and another about being a man rather than a punk. As the great Jerry Maguire told a quan-seeking Rod Tidwell, "You're a paycheck player. You play with your head. Not your heart."
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Midway through the fourth quarter, Moss made an amazing falling-down catch in the endzone but wasn't able to keep his feet in bounds. The pass was ruled incomplete so there was no touchdown scored, but there was a penalty called on Randy's defender. The normal reaction to such a play would be to jog back to the line and get ready to take another shot at scoring, perhaps applauding the penalty call along the way. What does Randy Moss do though? He gets up and taunts his opponent by mimicking throwing the flag in his face. Then he walks over to a bank of photographers on the corner of the endzone and mugs for the cameras by putting his hands on his waist and proudly tilting his chin toward the sky. He was posing for photographers on an incomplete pass! An incomplete pass! A play that netted him (and his team) zero points! Can you picture a firefighter coming out of a burning building posing for the cameras and saying "I almost saved that kid's life. And didn't I look fine doin' it?" Unfortunately, Randy Moss is one of the most talented receivers in the NFL so he gets away with such shameful shenanigans, but he'll never be off the hook with me. I have no problem with touchdown celebrations. It's an emotional game and there's going to be reactions to complement that. However, there is celebration and then there's downright idiocy. Moss is a consistent example of the latter.
The gifts of world class athleticism are not always wasted on the brash and tactless, however, as evidenced by the behavior of breakout Denver running back Quentin Griffin. In his first NFL start, Griffin amassed 156 yards rushing and scored three touchdowns. He averaged 6.8 yards per carry and was virtually unstoppable all night. Unlike Randy Moss, Griffin's performance actually merited some mugging, but Griffin did nothing of the sort. He got up and, without so much as a chest pound or a smile, ran to the sidelines and let the scoreboard do the talking. After being promoted to starter following the trade that sent Clinton Portis out of the mile-high city, reporters were naturally eager to compare the two running backs' first game statistics. Even though Griffin surpassed the yardage and touchdowns of Portis, a humble and grateful Quentin would not boast or brag.
"Clinton is a very good running back," he said, "I don't think I'm the one to compare myself to him."
No you're not, Quentin, your numbers did it for you.
Randy Moss has played six more NFL seasons than Quentin Griffin, but he could stand to learn a thing or two from the second-year man out of Oklahoma. One about sportsmanship and another about being a man rather than a punk. As the great Jerry Maguire told a quan-seeking Rod Tidwell, "You're a paycheck player. You play with your head. Not your heart."
# posted by j.h.k. @ 6:21 PM
NFL Locks of the Week
One of the most enjoyable aspects of the NFL season is the opportunity for anyone who loves sports (or gambling) to formulate their picks each week as to which teams will prevail. Your chances are pretty good at 50/50, but if you manage to get more picks right than wrong, you can actually come out looking fairly rich in pigskin wisdom. Since I need all the help I can get in that department, I'm gonna take my shot at gridiron prognostication with my Locks of the Week. Take it to the bank, the following events WILL happen this week or my name isn't Trip Fontaine.
1. Browns Are the New Ravens (literally and figuratively)--Ravens running back Jamal Lewis trampled the Browns for more than 500 yards in two games last season and the Browns haven't won a season opener since 1999, but I've got a good feeling about this one. I'll take the Browns by more than two touchdowns and I'll predict they hold Jamal to less than 60 yards rushing. I know, I know...you like me...but I'm crazy.
2. Vikings vs. Big D in the Twin Cities? Oh yah!--I like the team from Minneapolis(and St. Paul) in this one behind--hmmmm--5 touchdowns by Daunte Culpepper. I've got a sneaking suspicion that even at 40 years old, Cowboys quarterback Vinny Testeverde will still throw for a league best 355 yards in the loss. By the way, I'd like to send out a nationwide call to all fantasy owners of Mr. Culpepper and implore you to change each and every one of your team names to "Daunte's Inferno." I'm tempted to trade Joey Galloway AND Mike Anderson for him just so I can do the same.
3. Griffin Gallops Way to Bronco Win--I know Quentin Griffin is 5'7" and I know this is going to be his first NFL start, but, damnit if he can't break the franchise record for yards in an opening game. Ya gotta believe and when it comes to Quentin Griffin, I sure do.
That's it for this week. Those are my locks. Those are outcomes and achievements I promise you will happen. Call your local bookie and bet the farm on it. If I'm wrong, I'll pay you back with interest.
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1. Browns Are the New Ravens (literally and figuratively)--Ravens running back Jamal Lewis trampled the Browns for more than 500 yards in two games last season and the Browns haven't won a season opener since 1999, but I've got a good feeling about this one. I'll take the Browns by more than two touchdowns and I'll predict they hold Jamal to less than 60 yards rushing. I know, I know...you like me...but I'm crazy.
2. Vikings vs. Big D in the Twin Cities? Oh yah!--I like the team from Minneapolis(and St. Paul) in this one behind--hmmmm--5 touchdowns by Daunte Culpepper. I've got a sneaking suspicion that even at 40 years old, Cowboys quarterback Vinny Testeverde will still throw for a league best 355 yards in the loss. By the way, I'd like to send out a nationwide call to all fantasy owners of Mr. Culpepper and implore you to change each and every one of your team names to "Daunte's Inferno." I'm tempted to trade Joey Galloway AND Mike Anderson for him just so I can do the same.
3. Griffin Gallops Way to Bronco Win--I know Quentin Griffin is 5'7" and I know this is going to be his first NFL start, but, damnit if he can't break the franchise record for yards in an opening game. Ya gotta believe and when it comes to Quentin Griffin, I sure do.
That's it for this week. Those are my locks. Those are outcomes and achievements I promise you will happen. Call your local bookie and bet the farm on it. If I'm wrong, I'll pay you back with interest.
# posted by j.h.k. @ 1:37 PM
