meta name=”robots” content=”index, follow” Meschery's Musings of Sports, Literature, and Life Meschery's Musings on Sports, Literature and Life: 2012-11-04

What my musings are all about...

Blogging might well be the 21st century's form of journaling. As a writing teacher, I have always advised my students to keep a daily journal as a way of organizing their thoughts for future writing projects, a discipline I have unfortunately never consistently practiced myself. By blogging, I might finally be able to follow my own good advice.

The difference between journaling and blogging is that the blogger opens his or her writing to the public, something journal- writers are usually reluctant to do. I am not so reticent.

The trick for me will be to avoid cluttering the internet with more blather, something none of us need more of. If I stick to subjects I know: sports and literature, I believe I can avoid that pitfall. I can't promise that I'll not stray from time to time to comment on ancillary subjects, but I will make every attempt to be interesting and perhaps even insightful.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Cheap Shots and etc

I suppose it comes down to this: Did Thomas Robinson elbow Jonas Jerebko after the play was over or did he elbow him in the heat of the moment? If it was the later, the kid can't be accused of being a cheap shot artist - like Ron Artest or Andrew Bynum and, lest it escapes notice, Rick Mahorn, ex of the Bad Boy Pistons who never threw an elbow he didn't like. "I just used my wide body to clear people out," Mahorn whined  in the newspaper this morning. Give me a break! He and Bill Lambier were as dirty a duo as there ever was in the NBA, and believe me, I know dirty. I cleared a few people out with elbows when I played the NBA, (never cheap shots, always in the heat of the moment) but nonetheless elbows that could very well have hurt the person on the receiving end. The NBA has every right to curb cheap shots, but ex-players should be careful not to shoot their mouths without first looking in the mirror of their own game. They could discover a goodly amount of hypocrisy there.

Back in my day, teams policed cheap shot artists on their own without league assistance. If Robinson had played back then, my guess is that sometime during the game (had he not been ejected, and most players were not for throwing elbows) young Mr. Robinson would have found himself on the receiving end of an elbow or found himself on his ass after a well placed pick. Ah, for the good old days when playerws like Wayne Embry were around to straighten things out.

"I'm a good kid," Robinson says, and I believe him. I really like his game. He's tough and quick, and energetic, and will, in my opinion, become a strong 3/4 type forward in the NBA. And have a successful career. Thomas Robinson, if you read this blog, you've got a fan in this old Warrior. Keep it up. That doesn't mean elbows, but it doesn't mean not elbows either. Stay tough, and don't give an inch. AND learn to shoot a jump shot.

Speaking of jump shots, will somebody please, please teach Tyreke Evans to shoot one. What is it with that silly kick-back, slingshot he's trying to pass off as a jumper? If I was coaching against the Kings, I'd play off Tyreke and clog the passing lanes. Let him shoot. I doubt he could make 20% even if he was wide open. However, if he could consistently hit from twenty feet or so, wow! And double wow! With Tyreke's speed and facility to get into the paint and finish, no one could stop him. Tyreke's form is wrong in three major ways. I'm not going to say what they are. But they are so noticiable, that I'm shocked that the King's coaches have not spotted the problems and corrected them.

Sorry to see that Andrew Bogut is down for a week or so. Better that and more conditioning, however, than for him to go on the floor not physically ready.

I watched the Thunder vs Bull last night. What an entertaining game. I'm impressed with both teams. How can you not love Jochim Noah? The Bulls will be fabulous once Rose returns, but will go through a down time as they adjust to his return, as teams always do once a star comes back into the rotation.

As for the Thunder. Has anyone noticed how far Thabeet has developed as a player? Remember, this kid is still very young and seven-foot-four. Once the Thunder coaches integrate Lamb into the line-up a little (this kids has a huge up-side) and Maynard get more comfortable in the rotation, and if the Tanganyikan continues to improve, (Perkins, Ibaka, Thabeet clogging up the paint) I wonder, could the Thunder beat the Heat? Hummmm? I'm leaning in that direction.

I'm not much for hypocrisy in life, which means in sports, as in Rick Mahorn, etc types. Here's a poem that sort of fits my mood.

The Boxer's Face  by Lucilius  Translated by Humbert Wolfe

Olympicus, don't look into a mirror
lest, like Narcissus, you drown yourself - in terror.


Thursday, November 8, 2012

Coach Pagano and Other Subjects

It's very cool that the Indianapolis Colt's players are shaving their heads to honor their coach, Chuck Pagano's battle against Leukemia. As someone who has survived a similar blood cancer, I appreciate what Coach Pagano is going through and understand what a boost it must give him knowing what his players are doing. If this was all that made news about Coach Pagano's cancer, I'd stop yakking with a hearty hurrah and good luck from all of us cancer survivors but, I must say, I cringed when I saw the recent half time show of Coach Pagano tearfully addressing his players.

Not that he shouldn't have done it, I cringed because he allowed that personal time between him and his team to be televised. I don't know what motivated him to do that. Was he responsible for letting the cameras into the locker room or was this a tasteless decision by management to gain some kind of perverse sympathy for its team? I watched both fascinated and horrified as an intimate moment between coach and players turned into soap opera. Cancer is not a locker-room pep-talk. Give it one for the Gipper and all that kind of nonsense. Cancer is not theater.

Athletes    by Walker Gibson

The groggy fighter on his knees
Sways up at nine, postpones the count;
The jockey, forty-to-one shot, sees
Them all go by, yet whips his mount;
The losing pitcher, arm gone lame,
Still drops that last one in, a strike -
So you and I play a stubborn game,
Disaster prodding us alike.
So you and I, ignoring odds,
Tug caps, clutch ropes, and flail our whips,
Make sacrifices to the gods,
Breed children and build battleships,
Though ours is not an athlete's doom,
Nor death like any locker-room.