Two All-Stars doesn't make a team. This is the hard lesson the Miami Heat is learning. Bosh went down with an injury, and guess what, the coaching staff is struggling to figure out how to fill the void. It should have been obvious to them from the get-go. A team means five starters who matter, not two starters and three players who don't matter, a bench that has no collective umph because they too know they don't matter. All offense goes through D Wade and James. They remaining trio and the bench are players of last resort. When the Heat added Battier and a healthy Miller, I felt at the time, they had added enough pieces to take them to the Eastern finals and perhaps win it, even with a healthy Chicago Bulls. But the Heat coaching screwed up big-time. The didn't create A TEAM. Miller, Battier, Haslam, and Jones have been relegated to after-thoughts. No championship for the Heat. The Indiana Pacers, A TEAM, will beat them. Then another TEAM, the Boston Celtics will beat the Pacers, but many kudos to the Pacers; they play bball they way it should be played, unselfishly.
In the West the best TEAM, the San Antonio Spurs, will play the Celtics for the NBA Championship.
One of the great TEAMS to win the NBA Championship was the New York Knicks of Willis Reed fame. I wrote this poem for one of the penultimate team players, Bill Bradley
Bill Bradley by Tom Meschery
The sameness of your jumpshot
was your secret. I know
that now. Age has taught me
how repetition wears a person down.
Newspapers wrote about your habits
shooting hundreds of shots
from exactly the same place
on the court, top of the key,
free-throw line extended until
you knew those spots by heart.
I had a coach who called it
muscle memory: what you must do
to be great. Today, that dedication
wears me out.I"d rather think
of Dick Barnett, your teammate,
who never kicked back the same
crazy jumper twice, and one time
from half court, the moment
the ball left his hand, turned
to one of those recorders of the game,
keeper of the clock and said,
"Baby, we are in oo-ver-time."
Friday, May 18, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
NBA Playoffs
Is anyone concerned about how many no call blocks and strips there are during a game? Are players that talented these days that they can slap the ball cleanly out of an opponent's hands without whacking the wrist? (I understand hand is part of the ball, but the wrist isn't, nor the forearm.) Ah, well, it is the playoffs. Still, these no calls bother me the most when a player struggles mightily to grab an offensive rebound (not an easy thing to do) then goes up and an opponent slaps the ball (quesionable) the wrist (very likely) and forearm (also likely) while body slamming him to the floor. Offensive rebounders unite! You're losing points on the line. Do you know that one offensive rebound could be valued at six points, even as high as 8? If you ask me, I'll tell you.
What I love about the San Antonio Spurs is their dedication to teamwork on both ends of the court. I don't know if the Spurs will win the championship, but there chances the way they're playing looks good. Miami should win the East, and OKC and the Spurs should play off for the West.
My pick for NBA Champs is the San Antonio Spurs.
Isn't it great St. Mary's College fans that Patty Mills has found a home in San Antonio? The Galloping Gael Aussie has loads of talent and being mentored by Tony Parker will be a plus.
Was anybody puzzled during the NFL draft, that many of the college players were sporting huge diamond studded wrist watches. Unless those were zircons, were talking big money. Amateurs? Not really. The NCAA better figure out a better definition for college athletes.
Nothing to do with sports, but was anybody troubled by Charlie Sheen's ex getting $55,000 per month to raise her children? What does it cost the rich - that includes professional athletes - to raise their children?
Really scary message printed in the inside of football helmets; we're talking about the manufacturers of helmets warning us not to play the game because it's too dangerous.
Why is this college basketball draft being described as a good year? I can't see a franchise player (ie: a starter who makes a difference) in the whole bunch.
Will Tyreke Evans ever learn to shoot a consistent jump shot?
Will Steph Curry ever have an injury free year?
How about this trade? Jeremy Lin for Steve Nash. (Nash lives off season in the Big Apple) Suns get youth, the Knicks get a shot at a championship.
How is it that Shaq can have an EdD and still use double negatives when he speaks?
How to Play Night Baseball by Jnathan Holden
A pasture is best, freshly
mown so that by the time a grounder's
plowed through all that chewed, spit-out
grass to reach you, the ball
will be bruised with green kisses. Start
in the evening.Come
with a bad sunburn and smelling of chlorine,
water still crackling in your ears.
Play until the ball is khaki -
the girls' bare arms in the bleachers are pale,
and heat lightning jumps in the west. Play
until you can only see pop-ups,
and routine grounders get lost in
the sweet grass for extra bases.
What I love about the San Antonio Spurs is their dedication to teamwork on both ends of the court. I don't know if the Spurs will win the championship, but there chances the way they're playing looks good. Miami should win the East, and OKC and the Spurs should play off for the West.
My pick for NBA Champs is the San Antonio Spurs.
Isn't it great St. Mary's College fans that Patty Mills has found a home in San Antonio? The Galloping Gael Aussie has loads of talent and being mentored by Tony Parker will be a plus.
Was anybody puzzled during the NFL draft, that many of the college players were sporting huge diamond studded wrist watches. Unless those were zircons, were talking big money. Amateurs? Not really. The NCAA better figure out a better definition for college athletes.
Nothing to do with sports, but was anybody troubled by Charlie Sheen's ex getting $55,000 per month to raise her children? What does it cost the rich - that includes professional athletes - to raise their children?
Really scary message printed in the inside of football helmets; we're talking about the manufacturers of helmets warning us not to play the game because it's too dangerous.
Why is this college basketball draft being described as a good year? I can't see a franchise player (ie: a starter who makes a difference) in the whole bunch.
Will Tyreke Evans ever learn to shoot a consistent jump shot?
Will Steph Curry ever have an injury free year?
How about this trade? Jeremy Lin for Steve Nash. (Nash lives off season in the Big Apple) Suns get youth, the Knicks get a shot at a championship.
How is it that Shaq can have an EdD and still use double negatives when he speaks?
How to Play Night Baseball by Jnathan Holden
A pasture is best, freshly
mown so that by the time a grounder's
plowed through all that chewed, spit-out
grass to reach you, the ball
will be bruised with green kisses. Start
in the evening.Come
with a bad sunburn and smelling of chlorine,
water still crackling in your ears.
Play until the ball is khaki -
the girls' bare arms in the bleachers are pale,
and heat lightning jumps in the west. Play
until you can only see pop-ups,
and routine grounders get lost in
the sweet grass for extra bases.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Congrats to Shaq
This morning's sporting page carried a short announcement that Shaquille O'Neil has received an EdD doctorate in education, a 54 credit hours degree specifically in the area of Organizational Learning and Leadership. Shaq completed his undergraduate degree at LSU and later earned an MBA. Right on! As an NBA player who devoted his post basketball life to education, I applaud Shaq's interest in higher learning. I remember somewhere hearing that Shaq is also an honorary sheriff, and was considering going into law enforcement. Although his 7 foot body and huge bulk might have helped to lower the crime rate in Florida, I'm delighted Shaq chose to go forward in education.
However, I was sorry to read that the big man is not going to use that advanced degree and his expertise to improve the lives of our young people, that is, to actually go into the field of education and join teachers and administrators in the trenches. These days young people need models desperately, and well educated professional athletes are a group of men and women who could provide such models. Can you imagine the impact Shaq would have if he taught in a high school where there were lots of at-risk type students? Imagine O'Neil walking down the halls towering over the students, all of them looking up at him, probably smiling, laughing, and joking with him. Consider what a leg up he would have dispensing advice to students who need to hear sound advice. Shaq and any other retired pro athlete would have to take monumental pay cuts, but certainly guys like Shaq don't need more money. It's time for the great stars to give back to the communities that nurtured and idolized them. It's time for them to get into the hands-on business of helping youth. Having foundations are worthy efforts, but not enough.
When I was a teen in San Francisco my buddies and I used to play a lot of pool. I've always believed playing pool helped me with depth perception, which in turn helped me shooting baskets. But I might have been rationalizing because I enjoyed hanging out in pool halls, leaning on cue sticks, acting tough, and occasionaly sneaking a cigarette and a slug of beer with adults who didn't care that I was underage.
Here's a poem for Pool and my short life in pool halls.
Pool is a Godless Sport by James Haug
I like the articulate crack
the cue ball makes
on impact, how it drops
what it's after and backspins back,
the chalk skids
on its bald surface, blue
and hard as water
or your eyes, keen straight
down the line of the poolstick,
how the clogged air of lies
and smoke clears as you circle
the table, the next shot
plump on the rail, a duck.
You're on a roll, playing
collisions of intent and dumb luck.
We don't talk as I gather
a new game in the rack;
no one's put down quarters.
We could shoot hours here.
The bartender yawns and looks on,
pinball bangs a free ball.
We play off the angles, combinations,
the felt before each break
fresh as a promise,
and let the rolling goemetry
plot our next move.
However, I was sorry to read that the big man is not going to use that advanced degree and his expertise to improve the lives of our young people, that is, to actually go into the field of education and join teachers and administrators in the trenches. These days young people need models desperately, and well educated professional athletes are a group of men and women who could provide such models. Can you imagine the impact Shaq would have if he taught in a high school where there were lots of at-risk type students? Imagine O'Neil walking down the halls towering over the students, all of them looking up at him, probably smiling, laughing, and joking with him. Consider what a leg up he would have dispensing advice to students who need to hear sound advice. Shaq and any other retired pro athlete would have to take monumental pay cuts, but certainly guys like Shaq don't need more money. It's time for the great stars to give back to the communities that nurtured and idolized them. It's time for them to get into the hands-on business of helping youth. Having foundations are worthy efforts, but not enough.
When I was a teen in San Francisco my buddies and I used to play a lot of pool. I've always believed playing pool helped me with depth perception, which in turn helped me shooting baskets. But I might have been rationalizing because I enjoyed hanging out in pool halls, leaning on cue sticks, acting tough, and occasionaly sneaking a cigarette and a slug of beer with adults who didn't care that I was underage.
Here's a poem for Pool and my short life in pool halls.
Pool is a Godless Sport by James Haug
I like the articulate crack
the cue ball makes
on impact, how it drops
what it's after and backspins back,
the chalk skids
on its bald surface, blue
and hard as water
or your eyes, keen straight
down the line of the poolstick,
how the clogged air of lies
and smoke clears as you circle
the table, the next shot
plump on the rail, a duck.
You're on a roll, playing
collisions of intent and dumb luck.
We don't talk as I gather
a new game in the rack;
no one's put down quarters.
We could shoot hours here.
The bartender yawns and looks on,
pinball bangs a free ball.
We play off the angles, combinations,
the felt before each break
fresh as a promise,
and let the rolling goemetry
plot our next move.
Friday, April 27, 2012
On Metta Non Peace and etc
As a player who threw his share of elbows and wound up in a number of fights in my ten year NBA career, the most interesting and futile being the one I against Wilt Chamberlain, I was, none-the-less, sickened by Ron Artest's (Let's no longer call him Peace) vicious elbow to the head of James Hardin, a blow that seemed entirely random and unnecessary.
However, as much as I found such brutality repulsive, I found myself, as I watched ad infinatum replays of the incident, becoming more and more offended by the passivity of the Oklahoma Thunder players immediately following the attack.
Okay, Meschery, take a deep breath and stop pretending it's the Sixites, a time in the NBA in which players would have flown to the defense of their fallen teammate, unlike the Thunder who merely stood around, glaring and exhaling a lot of hot air.
Perhaps today's players are a different breed. Perhaps this is a different league, a kinder gentler one. Perhaps back in our day, we didn't have that much to lose financially that it didn't matter if we swung a punch or two to defend a fallen teammate, or perhaps the League understood the need for a player or players acting in self-defense, or perhaps we lived by a different code of honor?
I know in my heart that if anyone had hit me the way Artest brutally and intentionally hit Harden, our Warrior bench would have cleared to come to my defense, but by then it would have been too late because Al Attles would have torn the dude's head off. After such dust cleared, I'm not sure what action the League back then would have taken. Probably not much. That's the way it was; we took care of our own.
As I am writing this, I am already apologizing to mothers and fathers of future athletes. There is so much violence in the world, that it is difficult to justify it in sports. And I know it is difficult to pick and chose which act of violence needs retribution, but all one has to do is look at replays of the Artest elbow, the way it was maliciously aimed and the frightening look on Artest's face to know that the players on the Thunder needed to do more. It seems that the "more" I'm suggesting, the Old Testament Eye for an Eye solution, is impossible in today's game, but it would sure have been satisfying to teach that bully a lesson.
Harden claims he is feeling fine. Perhaps, perhaps not. We will see once the playoffs begin. And I hope he doesn't take another blow to the head which could happen inadvertently as basketball is, indeed, a contact sport.
The commissioner of the NBA wagged a Stern finger and suspended Artest for seven games. Only seven games for an act that could have ended Hardin's career? I do not believe a longer suspension will solve Artest's brand of misdirected explosive violence, but suspending him from the playoffs might limit the damage he could inflict on other unsuspecting players. The playoffs are a pumped up time, a dangerous time to test Artest's ability to control himself.
I do not believe this is a kinder and gentler time in history nor is it, in my opinion, a kinder and gentler time in sports.
Let's not forget Andrew Bynum's cowardly attack on little JJ Barea and the recent headhunting scandal going on in the NFL. So as I write about violence, I offer this terrifying poem by the great American poet James Wright
Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio
In the Shreve High Football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home,
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.
However, as much as I found such brutality repulsive, I found myself, as I watched ad infinatum replays of the incident, becoming more and more offended by the passivity of the Oklahoma Thunder players immediately following the attack.
Okay, Meschery, take a deep breath and stop pretending it's the Sixites, a time in the NBA in which players would have flown to the defense of their fallen teammate, unlike the Thunder who merely stood around, glaring and exhaling a lot of hot air.
Perhaps today's players are a different breed. Perhaps this is a different league, a kinder gentler one. Perhaps back in our day, we didn't have that much to lose financially that it didn't matter if we swung a punch or two to defend a fallen teammate, or perhaps the League understood the need for a player or players acting in self-defense, or perhaps we lived by a different code of honor?
I know in my heart that if anyone had hit me the way Artest brutally and intentionally hit Harden, our Warrior bench would have cleared to come to my defense, but by then it would have been too late because Al Attles would have torn the dude's head off. After such dust cleared, I'm not sure what action the League back then would have taken. Probably not much. That's the way it was; we took care of our own.
As I am writing this, I am already apologizing to mothers and fathers of future athletes. There is so much violence in the world, that it is difficult to justify it in sports. And I know it is difficult to pick and chose which act of violence needs retribution, but all one has to do is look at replays of the Artest elbow, the way it was maliciously aimed and the frightening look on Artest's face to know that the players on the Thunder needed to do more. It seems that the "more" I'm suggesting, the Old Testament Eye for an Eye solution, is impossible in today's game, but it would sure have been satisfying to teach that bully a lesson.
Harden claims he is feeling fine. Perhaps, perhaps not. We will see once the playoffs begin. And I hope he doesn't take another blow to the head which could happen inadvertently as basketball is, indeed, a contact sport.
The commissioner of the NBA wagged a Stern finger and suspended Artest for seven games. Only seven games for an act that could have ended Hardin's career? I do not believe a longer suspension will solve Artest's brand of misdirected explosive violence, but suspending him from the playoffs might limit the damage he could inflict on other unsuspecting players. The playoffs are a pumped up time, a dangerous time to test Artest's ability to control himself.
I do not believe this is a kinder and gentler time in history nor is it, in my opinion, a kinder and gentler time in sports.
Let's not forget Andrew Bynum's cowardly attack on little JJ Barea and the recent headhunting scandal going on in the NFL. So as I write about violence, I offer this terrifying poem by the great American poet James Wright
Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio
In the Shreve High Football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home,
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The Sacramento Kings' Crisis
Now that my beloved Warriors are in the hands of financially stable, energetic, and committed owners, Joe Lacob and Peter Guber, I turn my attention to the desperate condition of the Sacramento Kings, the team that represents the city in which I live. Financially stable, energetic, and committed are not adjectives that can be used to describe the Kings' owners, the Maloof brothers. I can think of more appropriate adjectives. Slimy comes to mind. And devious. How about manipulative?
Harsh? I don't believe so. Here's why. It seems clear to me and increasingly clear to the Sacramento public, as it must to all the parties concerned regarding the recently crafted agreement to build a new arena, that the Maloofs never intended to honor their handshake deal with the City of Sacramento, the NBA, and AIG.
Why, then, did the Maloof brothers return to Sacramento and declare there were no deal breakers? The terms were all spelled out in black and white. Do they have a reading problem? Why did they stand in the center court of Power Balance arena with their hands raised, tears in their eyes, and proclaim victory? Do they have an honesty problem? Why on that same Power Balance court did they hug Mayor Kevin Johnson knowing full well that they had no intention of paying $3.6 million dollars in predevelopment costs, (and other costs) that their handshake deal called for?
The answer is simple. They are belly-crawling around for a better deal, and in the Maloof swamp its okay to mislead as long as it benefits the Maloof family. I can not prove it, nor can anyone else, but I am convinced the brothers planned this manipulation from the get-go. They are gambling (They are gamblers, are they not?) that with so much time, energy, and reputation committed to the arena project, the NBA, the City, and AIG will cave in to their demands. I suspect that the Maloofs feel they are in control. Worse comes to worse, they can sell the team, and from what I've read there seems to be a number of takers, especially now that Sacramento and the NBA are committed to a new arena.
(New arena = new ownership interest = higher profits from sale of team for the Maloofs; No new arena = no new ownership interest = financial trouble for the Maloofs. GET IT?)
Even if they don't sell the team - and I'm convinced this is what their plan is - if their bluff works they will wind up with their team in a better financial position and a new arena at a lower cost to them. And they can continue to sit courtside and play big time NBA owners.
We're talking manipulation at the highest level. We're talking about David Stern of the NBA and Mayor Kevin Johnson like laundry being hung out to dry.
My only hope is that David Stern turns his well-documented fury on the Maloofs, in which case the City of Sacramento might have a chance of retaining their beloved Kings and building a new arena in which to watch them. And Kevin Johnson might be more than a one term mayor.
Although I'm not a great baseball fan, I am a fan of baseball poems. Here's one oldie but goodie:
Hits and Runs by Carl Sandburg
I remember the Chillicothe ballplayers grappling the Rock
Island ball players in a sixteen-inning game ended by
darkness.
And the shoulders of the Chillicothe players were a red smoke
against the sundown and the shoulders of the Rock
island players were a yellow smoke against the sun-
down.
And the umpire's voice was hoarse calling balls and strikes
and outs, and the umpire's throat fought in the
dust for a song.
Harsh? I don't believe so. Here's why. It seems clear to me and increasingly clear to the Sacramento public, as it must to all the parties concerned regarding the recently crafted agreement to build a new arena, that the Maloofs never intended to honor their handshake deal with the City of Sacramento, the NBA, and AIG.
Why, then, did the Maloof brothers return to Sacramento and declare there were no deal breakers? The terms were all spelled out in black and white. Do they have a reading problem? Why did they stand in the center court of Power Balance arena with their hands raised, tears in their eyes, and proclaim victory? Do they have an honesty problem? Why on that same Power Balance court did they hug Mayor Kevin Johnson knowing full well that they had no intention of paying $3.6 million dollars in predevelopment costs, (and other costs) that their handshake deal called for?
The answer is simple. They are belly-crawling around for a better deal, and in the Maloof swamp its okay to mislead as long as it benefits the Maloof family. I can not prove it, nor can anyone else, but I am convinced the brothers planned this manipulation from the get-go. They are gambling (They are gamblers, are they not?) that with so much time, energy, and reputation committed to the arena project, the NBA, the City, and AIG will cave in to their demands. I suspect that the Maloofs feel they are in control. Worse comes to worse, they can sell the team, and from what I've read there seems to be a number of takers, especially now that Sacramento and the NBA are committed to a new arena.
(New arena = new ownership interest = higher profits from sale of team for the Maloofs; No new arena = no new ownership interest = financial trouble for the Maloofs. GET IT?)
Even if they don't sell the team - and I'm convinced this is what their plan is - if their bluff works they will wind up with their team in a better financial position and a new arena at a lower cost to them. And they can continue to sit courtside and play big time NBA owners.
We're talking manipulation at the highest level. We're talking about David Stern of the NBA and Mayor Kevin Johnson like laundry being hung out to dry.
My only hope is that David Stern turns his well-documented fury on the Maloofs, in which case the City of Sacramento might have a chance of retaining their beloved Kings and building a new arena in which to watch them. And Kevin Johnson might be more than a one term mayor.
Although I'm not a great baseball fan, I am a fan of baseball poems. Here's one oldie but goodie:
Hits and Runs by Carl Sandburg
I remember the Chillicothe ballplayers grappling the Rock
Island ball players in a sixteen-inning game ended by
darkness.
And the shoulders of the Chillicothe players were a red smoke
against the sundown and the shoulders of the Rock
island players were a yellow smoke against the sun-
down.
And the umpire's voice was hoarse calling balls and strikes
and outs, and the umpire's throat fought in the
dust for a song.
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