In Bruce Jenkin's column today, he quotes Donnie Nelson of the Dallas Mavericks, son of Don Nelson, ex coach of the Warriors that he (Donnie) would take Sarunas Marciulionis, ex Warrior guard, in a fight against anyone in the HISTORY of the NBA. Please recognize that I capped the word history. I am now going to list all the players in the HISTORY of the NBA from my era 1961-71 (I can't speak for other eras)who could beat the _ _ _ _ outta Marciulionis. For the purpose of this blog, in order to speed up the process, I will refer to Marciulionis from now on as M. My list will not be in any chronological order, but as the various baddest dudes come to mind. I welcome any past or present players to input the baddest dudes of their eras.
Meschery's List
Al Attles: would be able to hit M five times before M could get off one punch. Outcome: M down for the count.
Richie Guerin: Ex marine Drill Sargent and credited with one of the longest fights in the history of the Garden.
Andy Johnson: Not sure anybody survived a fight with Andy. Kierkegaard wrote the book Fear and Trembling based on Andy.
Wilt Chamberlain: Wilt lifts M off the ground, breaks his spine, and throws M's body into the stands. I saw Wilt knock out Clyde Lovellete (Clyde was 7ft and 285 lbs) with a punch that traveled barely six inches.
Gus Johnson: Remember him? He was the first to dunk and break a backboard. No question he'd break M just as easily. Body type? Think Dwight Howard.
Jim Luscatoff: The Celtic enforcer, crazy Russian street fighter.
Bill Bridges and Zelmo Beatty: Both of the St. Louis Hawks, and both would find M easy pickings.
John Brisker: A truly crazy dude. Wound up being a body guard for Idi Amin before Brisker disappeared in the jungle. Rumor has it he's still there living off the land.
Casey Jones: A lovely man, quiet and self effacing, but no one tangled with him.
Wayne Embry: Imagine a tank crossed with a hippo. Imagine M in an Embry bear-hug.
Reggie Harding: Probably wouldn't be a fair fight. Reggie was said to be carrying at all times.
Jerry Sloan & Norm Van Lear: M was bigger, but no way meaner than these junk-yard dogs.
Marvin "Bad News" Barnes: Another street fighter. Check out the nickname.
Larry Costello: Another nice guy, but Marine Corps background persuaded most folks to stay clear of him.
Dave Cowens: Might be a toss up with M, but I'd bet on Cowens.
Johnny Green: Anther guy who'd land punches 5 to one. M's on the floor again.
Tom Hoover: Not a household NBA name, but you didn't want to mess with him.
Willis Reed: If I was M, I'd think twice.
Wendall Ladner: Rest his soul, died in an airplane crash. Cajun wild man and not to be messed with.
Earl Lloyd: Ask anybody who played against him what the outcome would be if you fought him.
Dave Debusschere: I'll throw his name in even though I never saw him fight, but Dave grew up in his old man's bar. I have a feeling he learned a few things there.
Whew! I'm getting tired. I can probably list at least 10 more obvious bad dudes, but lunch awaits. As for other eras, here are a few names that come to mind: Ron Artest, Daryl Dawkins, Rick Mahorn, Karl Malone, Mose Malone, Maurice Lucas.
Instead of my usual poem, here is an excerpt about toughness from a memoir I'm writing.
Toughness, in my day, was decided for you as a youngster on the playground courts against neighborhood legends that drove you to the metal fence or left you hurting on the asphalt. You got up, dusted yourself off, and continued playing or you left and didn't come back again. Any damn fool could fight, but sometimes you need to be that fool, to gain respect, but mostly you won respect by never giving up, always coming back for more, until one day you became the guy schooling the younger players.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Hiring Mark Jackson
You got to hand it to Joe Lacob. By hiring Mark Jackson, a terrific NBA player, but a man who hasn't coached basketball on any level, he certainly put his imprimatur on the 2011/12 Golden State Warrior team. It's his baby now. Had this hire been a last minute three point shot that won a game, Lacob could have run down the court, bent over, cradling (as the image suggests) very large cajones in his arms, no doubt drawing a substantial fine from the NBA office.
I watched Mark Jackson's introduction this afternoon on television. Jackson certainly doesn't lack confidence. I can see what attracted the Warriors to him. But as important as confidence is, in my opinion, it's only as good as one's ability to coach. I found that out in 1971 when I retired from playing and was hired by the Carolina Cougars of the ABA to be their head coach. Like Jackson, I had no experience other than my own ten years of playing under a couple of extremely fine coaches: Alex Hannum and Bill Sharman. I felt I had learned a great deal from them and that knowledge would hold me in good sted.
As a coach, I failed badly. That doesn't mean that there hasn't been inexperienced coaches who have been successful, and that Jackson won't be. I truly hope he will. Every Warrior fan is wishing nothing but the best for him. But evoking the names of great coaches he played under, does not substitute for coaching experience. If Jackson had been an assistant to some of those coaches, that would be something much more substantial upon which to base an opinion. And being a TV color commentator provides little in the way of coaching experience. In fact it can be detrimental as it is far easier to critique from the outside than it is from inside the locker room. Jackson said he will surround himself with quality experienced assistants and that is wise. But the bottom line is that this will be a Mark Jackson team, not a Mark Jackson assistants' team.
I was happy to see Jerry West sitting in the front row during the television presentation. To hear that he was involved in the hire is a good omen.
I'm not sure if I'd been Jackson, I'd have predicted a playoff team for next year, but that's the confidence thing that Jackson possesses in abundance speaking. Jackson must know, as everybody in the Bay Area already knows, that there will be personnel changes and additions before the Warriors have any chance of making the playoffs.
There was only one question about his future players. A reporter asked about Monta Ellis. Jackson's affirmation of the young star (I look forward to coaching this fine young man) contradicted rumors in the news this morning that the Warriors were considering trading Monta. That struck me as odd. And what about Bierdrens? What about other key players. If these reporters had been from Jackson's home state of New York, Mark wouldn't have gotten off quite so easy. Instead our kinder and gentler news men and women wound up throwing out softballs aplenty, that Mark kept hitting out of the park with his confidence bat.
I would have preferred less personality and more substance. "More matter and less art," Queen Gertrude says to Polonius in the play Hamlet. But the second Mark opened his mouth today, he set the ground rules by which he is going to be judged. Confidence and Leadership. Clearly now Mark Jackson must walk his talk.
As for my take on the hire? I'm an X's and O's guy.
Mark Jackson played with the Knicks and Patrick Ewing. So here are both referenced in a lovely little poem that has really very little to do with basketball and everything to do with it.
We Still Have Basketball, Sara by Lisa Olstein
That one long year we moved
in and out of each other's rooms
on the pick and roll, preferring a running game
to the slow-down of half-court. If I said
your tendency was to choke in the clutch,
you might say mine was to look for fresh legs
down the stretch. Coming up against
the trading deadline and playoff divisions,
we broke down over technical fouls,
illegal defense violations. Now, whenever
the Knicks have a big game, I know where you are
and if they're playing the Celtics, you know
where I am too, and Sara, when I heard
about Ewing's broken wrist, I was sorry
I ever gloated over his bad knees.
I watched Mark Jackson's introduction this afternoon on television. Jackson certainly doesn't lack confidence. I can see what attracted the Warriors to him. But as important as confidence is, in my opinion, it's only as good as one's ability to coach. I found that out in 1971 when I retired from playing and was hired by the Carolina Cougars of the ABA to be their head coach. Like Jackson, I had no experience other than my own ten years of playing under a couple of extremely fine coaches: Alex Hannum and Bill Sharman. I felt I had learned a great deal from them and that knowledge would hold me in good sted.
As a coach, I failed badly. That doesn't mean that there hasn't been inexperienced coaches who have been successful, and that Jackson won't be. I truly hope he will. Every Warrior fan is wishing nothing but the best for him. But evoking the names of great coaches he played under, does not substitute for coaching experience. If Jackson had been an assistant to some of those coaches, that would be something much more substantial upon which to base an opinion. And being a TV color commentator provides little in the way of coaching experience. In fact it can be detrimental as it is far easier to critique from the outside than it is from inside the locker room. Jackson said he will surround himself with quality experienced assistants and that is wise. But the bottom line is that this will be a Mark Jackson team, not a Mark Jackson assistants' team.
I was happy to see Jerry West sitting in the front row during the television presentation. To hear that he was involved in the hire is a good omen.
I'm not sure if I'd been Jackson, I'd have predicted a playoff team for next year, but that's the confidence thing that Jackson possesses in abundance speaking. Jackson must know, as everybody in the Bay Area already knows, that there will be personnel changes and additions before the Warriors have any chance of making the playoffs.
There was only one question about his future players. A reporter asked about Monta Ellis. Jackson's affirmation of the young star (I look forward to coaching this fine young man) contradicted rumors in the news this morning that the Warriors were considering trading Monta. That struck me as odd. And what about Bierdrens? What about other key players. If these reporters had been from Jackson's home state of New York, Mark wouldn't have gotten off quite so easy. Instead our kinder and gentler news men and women wound up throwing out softballs aplenty, that Mark kept hitting out of the park with his confidence bat.
I would have preferred less personality and more substance. "More matter and less art," Queen Gertrude says to Polonius in the play Hamlet. But the second Mark opened his mouth today, he set the ground rules by which he is going to be judged. Confidence and Leadership. Clearly now Mark Jackson must walk his talk.
As for my take on the hire? I'm an X's and O's guy.
Mark Jackson played with the Knicks and Patrick Ewing. So here are both referenced in a lovely little poem that has really very little to do with basketball and everything to do with it.
We Still Have Basketball, Sara by Lisa Olstein
That one long year we moved
in and out of each other's rooms
on the pick and roll, preferring a running game
to the slow-down of half-court. If I said
your tendency was to choke in the clutch,
you might say mine was to look for fresh legs
down the stretch. Coming up against
the trading deadline and playoff divisions,
we broke down over technical fouls,
illegal defense violations. Now, whenever
the Knicks have a big game, I know where you are
and if they're playing the Celtics, you know
where I am too, and Sara, when I heard
about Ewing's broken wrist, I was sorry
I ever gloated over his bad knees.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
NBA Salaries
Go on line and check out some of the NBA's outlandish salaries. I did recently and sat in front of the screen scrolling down the list of players and salaries and shaking my head. It's awfully hard feeling sorry for the NBA owners as they prepare to ask for concessions from the players' union when teams continue to pay some of these stiffs, and I mean stiffs, salaries that don't in any way reflect their talent, not even their potential. When a guy like Mareese Speights receives (I hesitate to use the word earns) $1,773,960.00 - not Yen - a million more than JuJuan Blair and Taj Gibson, something is definitely wrong. Do you know that Kwame Brown is still getting $1,352,255 per year. That's an embarrassment. Kostas Koufas is making $1,298,642 per annum. Craig Brakins who is playing in the D League is being paid $1, 306,920. Ouch! I've never heard of Trevor Booker and he's pulling down a cool $1,204, 560. Double Ouch! And the great Solomon Jones is stealing $1,500,000. Do you know that LeBron James is not even in the top ten salaries? While Rashard Lewis and Michael Redd are paid more than LeBron. LeBron could take both of them on at the same time and beat them in a game of twenty-one.
Trust me that there are a lot more examples and more egregious ones I could have used. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. Draft picking dumb has been going on for a long time. The Warriors in my era, I recall, selected a few stinkers. No need to name them. They're hopefully all retired government employees by now.
I don't really begrudge the players. They have the right to earn whatever the market will bear. But I sure wonder who in the world selects these players. General managers, coaches, and scouts put their heads together, and what? Come up with some of these losers? OK, I slapped my wrist. It was unkind to call them losers. How about non-starters? There is a D League for players and coaches, I wonder if there shouldn't be a D League for general managers and scouts? Who in the hell are these guys that spend their owners money so freely? Or is it the owners who want to freely spend money?
One of my top ten sports poems is about softball.
Missoula Softball Tournament by Richard Hugo
This summer, most friends out of town
and no wind playing flash and dazzle
in the cottonwoods, music of the Clark Fork stale,
I've gone back to the old ways of defeat,
the softball field, familiar dust and thud,
pitcher winging drops and rises, and wives,
the beautiful wives in the stands, basic, used,
screeching runners home, infants unattended
in the dirt. A long triple sails into right center.
Two men on. Shouts from dugout: go, Ron, go.
Life is better run from. Distance to the fences,
both foul lines and dead center, is displayed.
I try to steal the tricky manager's signs.
Is hit-and-run the pulling of the ear?
The ump gives pitchers too much low inside.
Injustice? Fraud? Ancient problems focus
in the heat. Bad hop on routine grounder.
Close play missed by the team you want to win.
Players from the first game, high on beer,
ride players in the field. Their laughter
falls short of the wall. Under lights, the moths
are momentary stars, and wives, the beautiful wives
in the stands now take the interest they once feigned,
oh, long ago, their marriage just begun, years
of helping husbands feel important just begun,
the scrimping, the anger brought home evenings
from degrading jobs. This poem goes out to them.
Is steal-of-home the touching of the heart?
Last Pitch. A soft fly. A can of corn
the players say. Routine, like mornings,
like the week. They shake hands on the mound.
Nice grab on that shot to left. Good game. Good game.
Dust rotates in their headlight beams.
The wives, the beautiful wives are with their men.
Trust me that there are a lot more examples and more egregious ones I could have used. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. Draft picking dumb has been going on for a long time. The Warriors in my era, I recall, selected a few stinkers. No need to name them. They're hopefully all retired government employees by now.
I don't really begrudge the players. They have the right to earn whatever the market will bear. But I sure wonder who in the world selects these players. General managers, coaches, and scouts put their heads together, and what? Come up with some of these losers? OK, I slapped my wrist. It was unkind to call them losers. How about non-starters? There is a D League for players and coaches, I wonder if there shouldn't be a D League for general managers and scouts? Who in the hell are these guys that spend their owners money so freely? Or is it the owners who want to freely spend money?
One of my top ten sports poems is about softball.
Missoula Softball Tournament by Richard Hugo
This summer, most friends out of town
and no wind playing flash and dazzle
in the cottonwoods, music of the Clark Fork stale,
I've gone back to the old ways of defeat,
the softball field, familiar dust and thud,
pitcher winging drops and rises, and wives,
the beautiful wives in the stands, basic, used,
screeching runners home, infants unattended
in the dirt. A long triple sails into right center.
Two men on. Shouts from dugout: go, Ron, go.
Life is better run from. Distance to the fences,
both foul lines and dead center, is displayed.
I try to steal the tricky manager's signs.
Is hit-and-run the pulling of the ear?
The ump gives pitchers too much low inside.
Injustice? Fraud? Ancient problems focus
in the heat. Bad hop on routine grounder.
Close play missed by the team you want to win.
Players from the first game, high on beer,
ride players in the field. Their laughter
falls short of the wall. Under lights, the moths
are momentary stars, and wives, the beautiful wives
in the stands now take the interest they once feigned,
oh, long ago, their marriage just begun, years
of helping husbands feel important just begun,
the scrimping, the anger brought home evenings
from degrading jobs. This poem goes out to them.
Is steal-of-home the touching of the heart?
Last Pitch. A soft fly. A can of corn
the players say. Routine, like mornings,
like the week. They shake hands on the mound.
Nice grab on that shot to left. Good game. Good game.
Dust rotates in their headlight beams.
The wives, the beautiful wives are with their men.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Messi
After watching Lionel Messi of Barcelona play this afternoon against Manchester United and score two goals I could become a born again soccer fan. As an I-need-to-see-more-scoring American sports fan that sounds close to unpatriotic. But what a sight the little fellow was weaving through his Man U opponents, the ball seemingly clinging to his feet unwilling to part with him until he order it to go and then with such speed and accuracy into the net. A long time ago I saw the great Pele play and marveled. I never thought I'd see a soccer player that talented again. In between Pele and Messi, surely there have been a number of fantastic players, but since I'm not a consistent observer of the game, I am only partially aware of them.
If Messi hasn't converted me, he has made me more of a fan of the world game than I have been. I know when Barcelona is playing I will be tuned in. Does this make a convert? Not quite yet. I still believe soccer needs to figure out a way for teams to score. A couple of goals more per game I don't think is asking for too much.
Soccer doesn't really need the United States to be hooked on soccer, but if it ever does, watch out NFL.
Wimbley Field in London where Champions Finals was held holds 80,000 fans and it was filled to capacity.
In poetry there is something that's called a "found" poem, writing that is not meant to be a poem but comes close to poetry. Here is some inspired comments by Ray Hudson a British soccer commentator as he watched Lionel Messi.
"Neither With Net nor Trident"
The genius, the genius of
Football
In our modern-day life
Utterly
Unpredictable
He doesn't know
What he's going to do
So how the hell
Do the defenders
You cannot contain him
With a net
Or a trident
He's got pace
He's got pace
He's got vision
Technique!
And he's got
Finishing power
His cup
Runneth over...
Magnificent Messi
Wild man
He doth bestride the Earth
Like a Colossus.
Is there one American sports' commentator on radio and television who comes close to such eloquence, such passion? Can you imagine Marv Albert watching LeBron James and quoting from Julius Caesar?
If Messi hasn't converted me, he has made me more of a fan of the world game than I have been. I know when Barcelona is playing I will be tuned in. Does this make a convert? Not quite yet. I still believe soccer needs to figure out a way for teams to score. A couple of goals more per game I don't think is asking for too much.
Soccer doesn't really need the United States to be hooked on soccer, but if it ever does, watch out NFL.
Wimbley Field in London where Champions Finals was held holds 80,000 fans and it was filled to capacity.
In poetry there is something that's called a "found" poem, writing that is not meant to be a poem but comes close to poetry. Here is some inspired comments by Ray Hudson a British soccer commentator as he watched Lionel Messi.
"Neither With Net nor Trident"
The genius, the genius of
Football
In our modern-day life
Utterly
Unpredictable
He doesn't know
What he's going to do
So how the hell
Do the defenders
You cannot contain him
With a net
Or a trident
He's got pace
He's got pace
He's got vision
Technique!
And he's got
Finishing power
His cup
Runneth over...
Magnificent Messi
Wild man
He doth bestride the Earth
Like a Colossus.
Is there one American sports' commentator on radio and television who comes close to such eloquence, such passion? Can you imagine Marv Albert watching LeBron James and quoting from Julius Caesar?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Open Forum: On Lance Armstrong, Chronicle Wed. May 25, 2011
Dave Zirin argues that trying to identify athletes who gain an advantage through doping is a waste of the government's money and time. Given the state of our economy, not to mention myriads of far more serious criminal activities left unattended to, such an argument might sound logical. Wouldn't they be better dealt with, he asks, by their own sports' federations?
The answer might be yes, if indeed those sports federations had ever been serious about stopping doping. Prior to the government coming on the scene, those so called self governing federations took little notice of the drugs in their sports. Without the government stepping in, one could legitimately ask would any of the All -Star cheaters, such as Bonds, Clemens, McGwire, etc, been sanctioned? I doubt it. More than likely today, they would all be receiving their accolades, playing in celebrity golf tournaments, and writing their Hall of Fame induction speeches.
If you agree with me, that leaves only the government to act as an independent entity with enough clout to expose said cheaters - all cheaters, including the iconic Lance Armstrong if indeed it is proven he used blood boosters, blood transfusion, and testosterone shots, to gain an advantage over his opponents who, by the way, might very well have been doping themselves.
Frankly, I don't give a damn how much money Lance Armstrong raised for Cancer. I'm an athlete and I have cancer. Like Bob Lypsyte and other cancer survivors, I am grateful for Armstrong's effort to raise money for cancer research. It's the least he could have done after the medical profession saved his life and his career. Now, the best that he can do is tell the truth and take his consequences. Redemption without confession is meaningless.
Cheaters should be banned from their sports for life. It is the best way to discourage future cheaters and preserve the integrity of sports. All their awards should be returned. Their names should be struck from any record book. And, if they lied to the grand jury, they should, like any citizen, go to jail. Period, bottom line, end of tawdry story.
Was there anything better than riding your bike when you were a youngster, bending over those handlebars, pumping like crazy, wind in your hair? Here's a haiku about a riding a bike in a city.
My Bike
The wind behind me
Water bottle is my friend
Watch that taxi door
The answer might be yes, if indeed those sports federations had ever been serious about stopping doping. Prior to the government coming on the scene, those so called self governing federations took little notice of the drugs in their sports. Without the government stepping in, one could legitimately ask would any of the All -Star cheaters, such as Bonds, Clemens, McGwire, etc, been sanctioned? I doubt it. More than likely today, they would all be receiving their accolades, playing in celebrity golf tournaments, and writing their Hall of Fame induction speeches.
If you agree with me, that leaves only the government to act as an independent entity with enough clout to expose said cheaters - all cheaters, including the iconic Lance Armstrong if indeed it is proven he used blood boosters, blood transfusion, and testosterone shots, to gain an advantage over his opponents who, by the way, might very well have been doping themselves.
Frankly, I don't give a damn how much money Lance Armstrong raised for Cancer. I'm an athlete and I have cancer. Like Bob Lypsyte and other cancer survivors, I am grateful for Armstrong's effort to raise money for cancer research. It's the least he could have done after the medical profession saved his life and his career. Now, the best that he can do is tell the truth and take his consequences. Redemption without confession is meaningless.
Cheaters should be banned from their sports for life. It is the best way to discourage future cheaters and preserve the integrity of sports. All their awards should be returned. Their names should be struck from any record book. And, if they lied to the grand jury, they should, like any citizen, go to jail. Period, bottom line, end of tawdry story.
Was there anything better than riding your bike when you were a youngster, bending over those handlebars, pumping like crazy, wind in your hair? Here's a haiku about a riding a bike in a city.
My Bike
The wind behind me
Water bottle is my friend
Watch that taxi door
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