It's not surprising that Phil Jackson took the job with the Knicks, but he better be careful. The Knicks have been a sink-hole for coaches and GMs for a long time. Some pretty credible coaches have not fared well. Dolan, the owner, will still have the last word, and I worry that any man who thought/thinks Isiah Thomas was a brainy GM, could, on a whim, sabotage Phil.
As for personnel, Phil Jackson will sort that out, as he will the coaching situation. I bet he'll bring in a new staff right away, before the draft. As for players: JR Smith and Martin are a knuckle-heads and should be gone. Tim Hardaway Jr.has a great future. Tyson Chandler can still be a shot blocker and presence in the paint. Felton and Prigioni? Lack inspiration, but could stay on as solid backups. The Knicks need a true point guard with imagination and intelligence. Amare Stodemire could be a productive power forward, but he can't seem to get Steve Nash and the pick and roll out of his consciousness and he's constantly injured. Shumpart? Perhaps in the Triangle could blossom. All the rest of the bench should seek employment elsewhere.
That leaves Carmelo????? I don't see how he isn't the best scoring 3 in the business. Whether that's enough for Phil to keep him, who knows. Chicago sure wants him. Carmelo and Chandler for Noah? What a post player in the Triangle Noah would be. I worry that Carmelo is psychically damaged and can not change from a ball-stopper to a ball-mover. Carmelo reminds me of a poor man and his attitude toward food. You got to get as much on your plate as you can. You never know if the bowl of grits will come around the table again.
Anyhow, Phil Jackson will figure it out. The Knicks organization need someone with strong instincts way more than they need an X's and O's guy. Phil's bball instincts are razor-sharp.
Think of it Phil - Museums, Broadway plays, opera, ballet, real deli, and a penthouse overlooking Central Park. What a way to close out a Hall of Fame career.
You taking this challenge,when you certainly don't need any more fame reminds me of Ulysses in his old age exhorting his aged men to go on a last adventure with him.
"How dull it is to pause, to make an end.
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use,
As though to breathe were life."
Good Luck, Phil.
After Meditating by Tom Meschery from Sweat: New and Selected Poems about Sports
For Phil Jackson
I return to your book, Sacred Hoops
and think, perhaps you've discovered
the secret to the modern game,
the centered-self each player can achieve
with right-breathing, as if the soul
were a tight muscle in need of stretching.
Team mantras, spiritual championships
If only I'd known
I didn't have to throw that elbow
at LaRusso or stalk Chet Walker
or take a swing at Wilt,
while my breathless teammates
feared for my life.
All I had to do was breathe
my way out of anger.
Lungs instead of fists.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Bracketology
I'm watching a bunch of college tournament games, trying to get some idea of my Big Dance picks, not that I have any hope of doing better than previous years. But it's a fun week of basketball, made a bit more interesting if you have a buck or two riding on the outcome.
While watching some of these elite teams, it occurred to me that Jerry West might have gotten it wrong. Recently Jerry said he wasn't impressed with this year's NBA first round draft picks. He's right in that there are no franchise players coming out this year, ready to make an instant impact. But, in my opinion, there are a number of potential franchise players. Last years group of NBA rookies, aside from Olidepo and Carter-Williams, were pretty ho-hum. This year's groups have a tremendous up-side. While last years groups could be compared to bottle of ordinary red table wine, good enough to drink, but nothing you'd serve at an important dinner party, this years group is like a early Cabernet Sauvignon from a vintage year, the problem being they need to age before consumption. Still, stick a couple of these bottles away in a wine cellar for awhile and Viola.
From my recent collection just out from Black Rock Press, a poem about making your Big Dance picks
Bracketology by Tom Meschery
First, lay out the brackets neatly in font of you
so there should be no wrinkles that would inhibit
a clear vision of each team, as there are many teams
that are unworthy and exist only to confuse you.
Start drinking coffee. Have more than one pencil
because the choices are numerous and the day is long,
and outside the world is going on without your. Be sure
the pencils are sharpened to a fine point.
Beware of the first round of thirty-two teams that once
would have played in the NIT. One of those teams will surprise
you and ruin a bracket. At that moment you will consider
suicide.
Do not drink alcohol
It is wise to listen to the experts, but eschew the ones
with loud voices. Remember da Vinci, "Nothing strengthens
authority so much as silence."
Do not believe in the teams closest to your heart;
they will betray you. You will not go wrong if you start
with the highest seeded teams, but understand the theme
of Greek tragedy that we suffer most when the mighty fall.
When you get to the Sweet Sixteen, do not be deceived
by its adolescent name. There is nothing sweet about defense
and rebounding; therein lies the secret to winning,but some
will be seduced by offense. Do not follow their lead.
It is wise to rise from your desk and exercise before picking
the Elite Eight. You might consider a gift for your wife
as she is even now preparing for your absence and is weeping.
Resharpen your pencils. Continue to avoid alcohol.
With eight teams left your confusion is mighty. At this point,
it would be worthwhile checking with the secretaries
in your office who have probably already picked the winners
according to the teams' name and colors. Never repeat this in
public as you will be called a misogynist. But neither should you
ignore their advice for intuition often out-performs logic.
When you get down to the Final Four, consider prayer. God
loves basketball, but be aware that the Devil is in the details.
Once you make your picks, do not go back and change any
as it will insure the ones you changed were the correct choices.
Turn in your brackets boldly..Begin drinking alcohol.
While watching some of these elite teams, it occurred to me that Jerry West might have gotten it wrong. Recently Jerry said he wasn't impressed with this year's NBA first round draft picks. He's right in that there are no franchise players coming out this year, ready to make an instant impact. But, in my opinion, there are a number of potential franchise players. Last years group of NBA rookies, aside from Olidepo and Carter-Williams, were pretty ho-hum. This year's groups have a tremendous up-side. While last years groups could be compared to bottle of ordinary red table wine, good enough to drink, but nothing you'd serve at an important dinner party, this years group is like a early Cabernet Sauvignon from a vintage year, the problem being they need to age before consumption. Still, stick a couple of these bottles away in a wine cellar for awhile and Viola.
From my recent collection just out from Black Rock Press, a poem about making your Big Dance picks
Bracketology by Tom Meschery
First, lay out the brackets neatly in font of you
so there should be no wrinkles that would inhibit
a clear vision of each team, as there are many teams
that are unworthy and exist only to confuse you.
Start drinking coffee. Have more than one pencil
because the choices are numerous and the day is long,
and outside the world is going on without your. Be sure
the pencils are sharpened to a fine point.
Beware of the first round of thirty-two teams that once
would have played in the NIT. One of those teams will surprise
you and ruin a bracket. At that moment you will consider
suicide.
Do not drink alcohol
It is wise to listen to the experts, but eschew the ones
with loud voices. Remember da Vinci, "Nothing strengthens
authority so much as silence."
Do not believe in the teams closest to your heart;
they will betray you. You will not go wrong if you start
with the highest seeded teams, but understand the theme
of Greek tragedy that we suffer most when the mighty fall.
When you get to the Sweet Sixteen, do not be deceived
by its adolescent name. There is nothing sweet about defense
and rebounding; therein lies the secret to winning,but some
will be seduced by offense. Do not follow their lead.
It is wise to rise from your desk and exercise before picking
the Elite Eight. You might consider a gift for your wife
as she is even now preparing for your absence and is weeping.
Resharpen your pencils. Continue to avoid alcohol.
With eight teams left your confusion is mighty. At this point,
it would be worthwhile checking with the secretaries
in your office who have probably already picked the winners
according to the teams' name and colors. Never repeat this in
public as you will be called a misogynist. But neither should you
ignore their advice for intuition often out-performs logic.
When you get down to the Final Four, consider prayer. God
loves basketball, but be aware that the Devil is in the details.
Once you make your picks, do not go back and change any
as it will insure the ones you changed were the correct choices.
Turn in your brackets boldly..Begin drinking alcohol.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
What NBA Players Need is a Little Honesty
What NBA players need is a coach who'll tell it like it is, someone like my wife, for example. Here's what she'd say to some of these overpaid children:
Dwight, you've been living on your jumping ability since you were ten years old. It's time for you to become a real center. Learn to pass, learn more than one post move, get your footwork together, and learn to shoot freethrows. No, no, don't tell me you're trying. Just do it!
DeMarcus, baby, has anybody told you you're a baby? No, probably not. Okay, I'll admit you look like you're giving it a little effort this season, but it is not nearly enough if you're going to be the All-Star you claim you are. Lose that silly scowl, lose ten more pounds, learn how to block shots - players drive the paint against the Kings at will. Give up yelling at the refs; they could give a shit and love nothing better than to slap you with technicals. Stop pretending you're a guard and give the ball up on the break. And learn some more post moves.
Faried, I get it. Everybody gets it. You're the Manimal. Now get some skills. A simply 18 foot jumper would be nice. How about learning to shoot off the bounce?
To the entire Detroit Piston team: Guys, look around the locker room. There's a whole lot of talent here. But you're a bunch of wussies. You play no D, you don't pass the ball, you don't give a crap about your teammates. Drummund,lets start with you, you need to buckle down and learn the game. You won't be given a pass very much longer because you're young. Jennings, you have tons of talent, but you can't guard my grandmother, and you think shot first, not pass. Smith, first, start playing Defense, don't just look like you're playing D. And, for heaven's sake, study the game a little and stop relying on natural talent. Get a mid-range game.
Mr. Irving and Mr. Waiters, the two of you simply don't play any defense. Oh, Kyrie, you look shocked. Waiters, you don't look as shocked. I guess you already know you were never taught to play D in college having played only Zone. So you run around with your arm raised and call that defense. Ask Carmelo how long it took him from Syracuse to now to learn how to guard somebody, and he's still not that good at it.
Carmelo. There's no denying you are one of the great scorers of all time and possess one of the greatest jump shots of all time, but what is missing in your game? Great All-Stars make players around them better. You don't. Why is that? Could it be that you are the quintessential ball stopper? It's not a team game when all the other players are standing around watching you.
DeAndre Jordan, first and foremost you have to learn to shoot a free-throw. Isn't it embarrassing that your coach has to take you out of a game when it's crunch time because the other team will intentionally foul you?
You say you're trying? Aw, poor baby. Trying doesn't cut. Check out your teammate, Blake Griffin, he's substantially improved both freethrows and jumpers.
Mike Dunleavy, you're another guy who couldn't guard my grandmother. How is it a someone with your long arms and speed can't defend? Your father did.
Ricky Rubio, guess they never played defense in Spain, huh. Better learn soon or you won't get the big bucks when free agency comes around. By the way, you're the only European star I've seen who can't shoot the ball from any distance.
Tyson Chandler, you've never learned to shoot, not even a simply jumper from the freethrow line or a little jump hook. How is that? All these years and has nobody told you that all you're good for is the occasional dunk?
Jason Thompson, sweetheart, have you ever committed a foul you haven't shaken your head over in disbelief? How about when you push a player in back going for a rebound? It's pretty obvious.
Jimmer, Jimmer, Jimmer, you could use some footwork, some muscle. You're learning to get your shots, but the man you're guarding can still get by you any time he wants. I don't see a mean streak in you. Better get one pronto.
Andrew Bogut, you need to hire your fellow Aussie and Olympian, Matthew Dellavadova to teach you how to shoot freethrows. The basket is ten feet high and fifteen feet away. The height and distance never changes. Are you listening? NEVER CHANGES.
Well, that's what my wife would tell these professional athletes. I'm convinced that some of these athletes haven't figured out what the word professional means.
I read this morning that the Kings have another power forward. I assume they're working with a plan in mind. as much as I love Reggie Evans's rebounding, hustle, and defense, he's a "Hack a Shaq" candidate. Come on folks, can't any of the dozens of assistant coaches that proliferate on teams these days teach their players to shoot freethrows?
Go Warriors! Has the cheering stopped yet? What a stroke to get Steve Blake. This scrappy point guard is just what the doctor ordered to spell Steph Curry. Blake has been a positive force on every team he's played. He defends with intensity and skill, he looks to set up his shooters, and he doesn't back away from making shots himself. His energy is infectious. At 33 years old, he still has 3 maybe 4 solid years ahead of him.
Has anyone been noticing that Patty Mills of Saint Mary's College, my Alma mater, has found a home with the San Antonio Spurs? Patty may very well inherit the starting point guard position after Tony Parker calls it a career. Go Patty!
And, the Galloping Gaels have another player in the NBA, Matthew Dellavadova, who is proving he too can play at the next level.
First Love by Carl Linder
Before sixteen
I was fast
enough to fake
my shadow out
and I could read
every crack and ripple
in that catch of asphalt.
I owned
the slanted rim
knew
the dead spot in the backboard.
Always the ball
came back.
Every day I loved
to sharpen
my shooting eye,
waiting
for the touch.
Set shot, jump shot,
layup, hook -
after a while
I could feel
the ball hunger -
ing to clear
the lip of the rim,
the two of us
falling through.
Dwight, you've been living on your jumping ability since you were ten years old. It's time for you to become a real center. Learn to pass, learn more than one post move, get your footwork together, and learn to shoot freethrows. No, no, don't tell me you're trying. Just do it!
DeMarcus, baby, has anybody told you you're a baby? No, probably not. Okay, I'll admit you look like you're giving it a little effort this season, but it is not nearly enough if you're going to be the All-Star you claim you are. Lose that silly scowl, lose ten more pounds, learn how to block shots - players drive the paint against the Kings at will. Give up yelling at the refs; they could give a shit and love nothing better than to slap you with technicals. Stop pretending you're a guard and give the ball up on the break. And learn some more post moves.
Faried, I get it. Everybody gets it. You're the Manimal. Now get some skills. A simply 18 foot jumper would be nice. How about learning to shoot off the bounce?
To the entire Detroit Piston team: Guys, look around the locker room. There's a whole lot of talent here. But you're a bunch of wussies. You play no D, you don't pass the ball, you don't give a crap about your teammates. Drummund,lets start with you, you need to buckle down and learn the game. You won't be given a pass very much longer because you're young. Jennings, you have tons of talent, but you can't guard my grandmother, and you think shot first, not pass. Smith, first, start playing Defense, don't just look like you're playing D. And, for heaven's sake, study the game a little and stop relying on natural talent. Get a mid-range game.
Mr. Irving and Mr. Waiters, the two of you simply don't play any defense. Oh, Kyrie, you look shocked. Waiters, you don't look as shocked. I guess you already know you were never taught to play D in college having played only Zone. So you run around with your arm raised and call that defense. Ask Carmelo how long it took him from Syracuse to now to learn how to guard somebody, and he's still not that good at it.
Carmelo. There's no denying you are one of the great scorers of all time and possess one of the greatest jump shots of all time, but what is missing in your game? Great All-Stars make players around them better. You don't. Why is that? Could it be that you are the quintessential ball stopper? It's not a team game when all the other players are standing around watching you.
DeAndre Jordan, first and foremost you have to learn to shoot a free-throw. Isn't it embarrassing that your coach has to take you out of a game when it's crunch time because the other team will intentionally foul you?
You say you're trying? Aw, poor baby. Trying doesn't cut. Check out your teammate, Blake Griffin, he's substantially improved both freethrows and jumpers.
Mike Dunleavy, you're another guy who couldn't guard my grandmother. How is it a someone with your long arms and speed can't defend? Your father did.
Ricky Rubio, guess they never played defense in Spain, huh. Better learn soon or you won't get the big bucks when free agency comes around. By the way, you're the only European star I've seen who can't shoot the ball from any distance.
Tyson Chandler, you've never learned to shoot, not even a simply jumper from the freethrow line or a little jump hook. How is that? All these years and has nobody told you that all you're good for is the occasional dunk?
Jason Thompson, sweetheart, have you ever committed a foul you haven't shaken your head over in disbelief? How about when you push a player in back going for a rebound? It's pretty obvious.
Jimmer, Jimmer, Jimmer, you could use some footwork, some muscle. You're learning to get your shots, but the man you're guarding can still get by you any time he wants. I don't see a mean streak in you. Better get one pronto.
Andrew Bogut, you need to hire your fellow Aussie and Olympian, Matthew Dellavadova to teach you how to shoot freethrows. The basket is ten feet high and fifteen feet away. The height and distance never changes. Are you listening? NEVER CHANGES.
Well, that's what my wife would tell these professional athletes. I'm convinced that some of these athletes haven't figured out what the word professional means.
I read this morning that the Kings have another power forward. I assume they're working with a plan in mind. as much as I love Reggie Evans's rebounding, hustle, and defense, he's a "Hack a Shaq" candidate. Come on folks, can't any of the dozens of assistant coaches that proliferate on teams these days teach their players to shoot freethrows?
Go Warriors! Has the cheering stopped yet? What a stroke to get Steve Blake. This scrappy point guard is just what the doctor ordered to spell Steph Curry. Blake has been a positive force on every team he's played. He defends with intensity and skill, he looks to set up his shooters, and he doesn't back away from making shots himself. His energy is infectious. At 33 years old, he still has 3 maybe 4 solid years ahead of him.
Has anyone been noticing that Patty Mills of Saint Mary's College, my Alma mater, has found a home with the San Antonio Spurs? Patty may very well inherit the starting point guard position after Tony Parker calls it a career. Go Patty!
And, the Galloping Gaels have another player in the NBA, Matthew Dellavadova, who is proving he too can play at the next level.
First Love by Carl Linder
Before sixteen
I was fast
enough to fake
my shadow out
and I could read
every crack and ripple
in that catch of asphalt.
I owned
the slanted rim
knew
the dead spot in the backboard.
Always the ball
came back.
Every day I loved
to sharpen
my shooting eye,
waiting
for the touch.
Set shot, jump shot,
layup, hook -
after a while
I could feel
the ball hunger -
ing to clear
the lip of the rim,
the two of us
falling through.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Winter Olympics and et
Let's get one thing straight, there is not a single athlete that plays our so-called major sports that can hold a candle to Olympic quality snowboarders and figure skaters (I'm not talking about the dancers, although they are awesome athletes) for a combination of athleticism, coordination, and grace. It's time our sports pages stop giving preferential treatment to the Big Four: Basketball, Football, Baseball, and Hockey. Skaters and skiers should not be relegated to the back pages of sports unless it's Winter Olympics time.
Okay, so the Cleveland Cavs owners fired Christ Grant, its General Manager. That's only half the solution. They needed to bite the bullet and fire Coach Mike Brown. Why, oh why is Brown considered such a great coach. When was that myth started and who perpetuated it? Did he ever use LeBron James properly during James years with the Cavs? Where was his vaunted defense then, or later with the Lakers, or these days with the sorry-ass Cavaliers? Check his games out. Do you see an ounce of Defense being played?
Alabama wins the sweepstakes for the best college football players. LSU comes in second. I noticed that the Oregon Ducks did not pick up one of the top 50 players in the country. I live in Sacramento, which produces some terrific football college prospects. In the past, Oregon usually got letter of intents from some of our best players. Not this year. When Chip Kelly left for the pros, did that signal the demise of Duck football?
Ralph Kiner died. He was one of my favorite baseball players as a kid when I was still trying to decide between being a baseball pitcher and a basketball player. I don't think any player since Kiner has hit the ball as high and as far.
For me, when a great athlete dies, it's not the same as grandma or grandpa or even great humanitarians or world leaders going into the beyond. I remember when Wilt Chamberlain died, I couldn't believe that his body betrayed him that much. Sure, Kiner was 91, but there is something strange in my thinking that says athletes should live forever. Perhaps, such silliness is only wishful thinking of yours truly, hoping for the fountain of youth.
I'm still not counting the Spurs out of the Finals in the West if they can get healthy by the last month of the season. My reasons have to do with my lack of faith in the Clippers and Trailblazers. Clippers can't seem to find a consistent rotation and the Trailblazers still do not have a strong bench. As for the Warriors, read on.
The Warriors' chances for a Western Division Championship depend entirely on health and injuries. When all their players are injury free, they are a tough and efficient team. But if only one player goes down, the team becomes less efficient. It's sort of like a stew. If you leave out one ingredient, the stew is still pretty good, but is not the same high quality. Leave out two ingredients and the stew is inedible. Of course, the Warriors last night proved my analogy wrong, beating the Bulls with Bogart and Lee. But I'm sticking to my guns. The Warriors need all four tires on the car and a couple of good spares to get past the first round of the playoffs.
A skating poem in honor of the start of the Sochi Winter Olympic
Skating by Phillip Dacey
Skating on the surface of my life,
I saw myself below the ice,
another me, I was moving fast
above him, he was moving slow,
though he kept up.
there must have been
some warp of being twisting
us together so, two different speeds
head to head, of feet to feet, or,
better, shoulder to shoulder, brothers,
that's the way it felt, but separated
by a death, an ice, a long wall
laid down upon the world to lock us
into rooms. Knock,knock. Are you
there? He was, and waving, though
it was a distant wave, an outer-space
wave, as if he were umbilicated
and drifting off between the stars. The stars
skated on that ice, too, and went so fast
they seemed not to move at all. Perhaps
he was the one sped swerveless home,
an arrow, while I dream-skated,
my two blades, for all their dazzle,
leaving the ice unchanged, and the top was
bottom and bottom top, but who could say?
I only knew I wanted to break through.
I wanted the ice to melt to let
us sink together, two lovers in a bed,
or crack, a warning sign missed, while
the stars swam around us like fish
lit up from within by something
we could never name, nor wished to,
lest the light fade. But the ice held,
because it was wiser than I was,
because two is more than twice one,
because the air and water made a pact
to disagree while I skated on
the surface of a life I thought was mine.
Okay, so the Cleveland Cavs owners fired Christ Grant, its General Manager. That's only half the solution. They needed to bite the bullet and fire Coach Mike Brown. Why, oh why is Brown considered such a great coach. When was that myth started and who perpetuated it? Did he ever use LeBron James properly during James years with the Cavs? Where was his vaunted defense then, or later with the Lakers, or these days with the sorry-ass Cavaliers? Check his games out. Do you see an ounce of Defense being played?
Alabama wins the sweepstakes for the best college football players. LSU comes in second. I noticed that the Oregon Ducks did not pick up one of the top 50 players in the country. I live in Sacramento, which produces some terrific football college prospects. In the past, Oregon usually got letter of intents from some of our best players. Not this year. When Chip Kelly left for the pros, did that signal the demise of Duck football?
Ralph Kiner died. He was one of my favorite baseball players as a kid when I was still trying to decide between being a baseball pitcher and a basketball player. I don't think any player since Kiner has hit the ball as high and as far.
For me, when a great athlete dies, it's not the same as grandma or grandpa or even great humanitarians or world leaders going into the beyond. I remember when Wilt Chamberlain died, I couldn't believe that his body betrayed him that much. Sure, Kiner was 91, but there is something strange in my thinking that says athletes should live forever. Perhaps, such silliness is only wishful thinking of yours truly, hoping for the fountain of youth.
I'm still not counting the Spurs out of the Finals in the West if they can get healthy by the last month of the season. My reasons have to do with my lack of faith in the Clippers and Trailblazers. Clippers can't seem to find a consistent rotation and the Trailblazers still do not have a strong bench. As for the Warriors, read on.
The Warriors' chances for a Western Division Championship depend entirely on health and injuries. When all their players are injury free, they are a tough and efficient team. But if only one player goes down, the team becomes less efficient. It's sort of like a stew. If you leave out one ingredient, the stew is still pretty good, but is not the same high quality. Leave out two ingredients and the stew is inedible. Of course, the Warriors last night proved my analogy wrong, beating the Bulls with Bogart and Lee. But I'm sticking to my guns. The Warriors need all four tires on the car and a couple of good spares to get past the first round of the playoffs.
A skating poem in honor of the start of the Sochi Winter Olympic
Skating by Phillip Dacey
Skating on the surface of my life,
I saw myself below the ice,
another me, I was moving fast
above him, he was moving slow,
though he kept up.
there must have been
some warp of being twisting
us together so, two different speeds
head to head, of feet to feet, or,
better, shoulder to shoulder, brothers,
that's the way it felt, but separated
by a death, an ice, a long wall
laid down upon the world to lock us
into rooms. Knock,knock. Are you
there? He was, and waving, though
it was a distant wave, an outer-space
wave, as if he were umbilicated
and drifting off between the stars. The stars
skated on that ice, too, and went so fast
they seemed not to move at all. Perhaps
he was the one sped swerveless home,
an arrow, while I dream-skated,
my two blades, for all their dazzle,
leaving the ice unchanged, and the top was
bottom and bottom top, but who could say?
I only knew I wanted to break through.
I wanted the ice to melt to let
us sink together, two lovers in a bed,
or crack, a warning sign missed, while
the stars swam around us like fish
lit up from within by something
we could never name, nor wished to,
lest the light fade. But the ice held,
because it was wiser than I was,
because two is more than twice one,
because the air and water made a pact
to disagree while I skated on
the surface of a life I thought was mine.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Super Sunday
If Irony (the difference between expectation and actuality) rules the world in the name of Justice, the Denver Broncos will defeat the Seattle Seahawks at MetLife Cathedral today. By justice I mean, Payton Manning will prove that his demise as anticipated by the Indianapolis Colts' ownership was premature. Easy going, deliberate, John Fox will out-coach high octane Pete Carroll. Cocky," look-at-me, look-at-me" corner back Richard Sherman will be unable to stop the Broncos' less vocal, more modest receiver corps. Coach Carroll, who left USC one step ahead of NCAA sanctions will not be rewarded with a win. The less publicized running back Knowshon Mareno will out play the "Beast Mode." Finally, the under-rated Bronco Defense will out-defend the supposedly superior Seahawk Defense.
I'm not necessarily against advertising, but does any company in its right mind believe its brand is getting its money's worth at $133,333 dollars a second for Super Bowl TV time? How many more Heinz ketsup, M&Ms, Pepsi, Toyotas, Anheuser Busch (Yuk!) beer will the public purchase to off set the expenditure? Perhaps companies don't really care? In which case they are like people who want to be seen at the right parties, right? It's not about brand, but some exec's ego. Any one read The Emperor's New Clothes? Go Ad agencies for earning big bucks from children's lit.
You gotta be kidding me; a recitation of the Declaration of Independence by former players and firefighters? The New York's policemen should thank their lucky stars they were snubbed for this cockamamie idea.
I'm looking forward to the feature on Vince Lombardi and the tribute to Pat Summerall.
One more "you gotta be kidding me": Terry Bradshaw and Joe Namath strolling down Broadway reminiscing? I'm holding my breath.
Lots of talk recently about eliminating the extra point after a touchdown that over the years has seemed increasingly pointless. It's been suggested that 7 pts be awarded for a touchdown. Okay, I'm fine with that. How about after a touchdown requiring a two point play from ten yards out? How about making field goals more interesting. Award 2 pts within 49 yards and 3 pts beyond 49 yards?
Here's a field goal kicker poem by WilliamMessner
The Kicker's Last Steps
for Jack Driscoll
One point behind, ten seconds left,
I lunge forward
a halo of gnats around my head
I always thought field goal kicking
should be easy,
like pushing a word
from my tongue into the air.
But the goal posts
move backward
ten yards with each step.
Am I alone on this field -
only the yard lines like a ladder I've forgotten
how to climb, the moon's floodlight
like a stiff graduation gown,
the empty avenues
of bleachers?
When night fog clutches my ankles
like the pudgy hands of a linebacker,
I try to think of anything but kicking
(the river beyond the goal post,
the blank scorecards of my parents' faces)
try not to think that in an instant
my toe must dive
deep into leather
as if it's in love with it.
From the sideline my approach must look
almost casual, as though I hardly care -
in the silence of this last step
I hear the wings of three ducks above me
flying toward the creaking ice of the river
I'm not necessarily against advertising, but does any company in its right mind believe its brand is getting its money's worth at $133,333 dollars a second for Super Bowl TV time? How many more Heinz ketsup, M&Ms, Pepsi, Toyotas, Anheuser Busch (Yuk!) beer will the public purchase to off set the expenditure? Perhaps companies don't really care? In which case they are like people who want to be seen at the right parties, right? It's not about brand, but some exec's ego. Any one read The Emperor's New Clothes? Go Ad agencies for earning big bucks from children's lit.
You gotta be kidding me; a recitation of the Declaration of Independence by former players and firefighters? The New York's policemen should thank their lucky stars they were snubbed for this cockamamie idea.
I'm looking forward to the feature on Vince Lombardi and the tribute to Pat Summerall.
One more "you gotta be kidding me": Terry Bradshaw and Joe Namath strolling down Broadway reminiscing? I'm holding my breath.
Lots of talk recently about eliminating the extra point after a touchdown that over the years has seemed increasingly pointless. It's been suggested that 7 pts be awarded for a touchdown. Okay, I'm fine with that. How about after a touchdown requiring a two point play from ten yards out? How about making field goals more interesting. Award 2 pts within 49 yards and 3 pts beyond 49 yards?
Here's a field goal kicker poem by WilliamMessner
The Kicker's Last Steps
for Jack Driscoll
One point behind, ten seconds left,
I lunge forward
a halo of gnats around my head
I always thought field goal kicking
should be easy,
like pushing a word
from my tongue into the air.
But the goal posts
move backward
ten yards with each step.
Am I alone on this field -
only the yard lines like a ladder I've forgotten
how to climb, the moon's floodlight
like a stiff graduation gown,
the empty avenues
of bleachers?
When night fog clutches my ankles
like the pudgy hands of a linebacker,
I try to think of anything but kicking
(the river beyond the goal post,
the blank scorecards of my parents' faces)
try not to think that in an instant
my toe must dive
deep into leather
as if it's in love with it.
From the sideline my approach must look
almost casual, as though I hardly care -
in the silence of this last step
I hear the wings of three ducks above me
flying toward the creaking ice of the river
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