Maybe it had to do something with Bill Parcells being back in Giants Stadium, but the way the Giants played Sunday, one would think he was still at the helm of Big Blue. In a 17-10 slugfest against the Cowboys, the Giants looked so 1986 that one had to wonder if Leonard Marshall wasn’t wearing Kendrick Clancy’s number 70 jersey or if Carl Banks wasn’t Antonio Pierce’s stunt double. All that was missing was a punt return cameo by Phil McConkey to cap the afternoon.
Like the days of yesteryear, the defense stepped up where the Giants offense let down. For those longing for old school defensive play, they got everything and a bag of chips. On the flip side, the Giants molluskine movement of the ball made their receiving corps look like clones of Ernest Grey. In many ways it’s hard to believe the Giants were the highest scoring team in September; even drawing juxtapositions to the Air Coryell Chargers for about fifteen minutes.
For Manning it wasn’t a great game. In fact it was a bad game, with one interception that cost them a chance to score and another that all but handed Dallas a touchdown on a silver platter. Sure he’s had great quarters; great fourth quarters, but you’d have to go back to October before Manning has had a completely solid game. As for Sunday’s performance, well, he had good pass protection, with greatly improved left line play by Luke Petitgout (only one false start) and Dave Diehl. Running wise, Tiki Barber 30-115 did his share to keep the pressure off his young QB, however Manning still connected with his receivers like satellite TV in a thunderstorm.
It was also a game of missed opportunities for individuals to step up in a big game. For a few seasons, several Giant players have hung around but have only been used sparingly. Wide receiver Tim Carter has been among them. No doubt he’s got great speed, but Carter has been injury prone and thus never in position to become the “go-to” receiver. He had his shot Sunday, where the entire tone of the game could have shifted had he not dropped a 54-yard bomb while covered by a gimpy Aaron Glenn. He doesn’t get that many chances, plays like that help to explain why.
Defensively, cornerback Frank Walker had his chance to shine in the opening series as the Giants played nickel and dime formations all day long. Flagged first for a stupid pass interference penalty that sustained the drive, Walker got an even more stupid personal foul penalty a few plays later. Welcome to the doghouse express.
Then there’s Jay Feely, making a Namath-esque promise that he’ll hit every kick. He made one low-pressure field goal with the wind to his back. But the one that would have iced the game with a two-possession lead Feely botched; ricocheting the ball off the right upright from just 33 yards out. Not since Ali Haji-Sheik has a Giant place kicker risen and fallen so fast. He’ll soon be going down the road Feely bad if he doesn’t return to form.
Just as some opportunities were missed, others grabbed the reigns. Jim Finn, the Giants underutilized receiving fullback, made a critical drive-sustaining run late in the game. And since Ivy League players are all the rage with the performance of the Rams’ QB Ryan Fitzpatrick from Harvard, perhaps some noise should be made for Jim Finn who went the University of Pennsylvania. Not sure why he’s not used more in screen options, or in third down situations like that of Parcellian niche player Tony Galbreath, but the Giants did make a priority of re-signing him during the off-season. Would like to see more from Mr. Finn.
Justin Tuck, a defensive star waiting in the wings (who also looks a lot like Carl Banks) got his first career sack. A special teams standout throughout the season, Justin Tuck is filling nicely in the interior line play for the injured William Joseph. One play that really looked great was when the Giants stacked their “book ends”, Osi Umenyiora and Michael Strahan, on the left side which gave Tuck a clean lane to Drew Bledsoe from the right. This kid has been on my watch all season.
What really seemed interesting about this game was the indifference the crowd showed for the offense and the passion they showed for the defense. When Feely missed that second field goal, for sure a cascade of boos would fall upon him. But no, that’s not what happened, instead there was a sense that indeed, the Giants defense will not fail. Soooo 1986. A few months ago, Big Blue was tagged as “not your father’s New York Giants”. Well, if this game is any indication, I think Daddy has done much to repossess his old team. After all, New Yorkers hate change even more than they hate the Dallas Cowboys.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
OH PLEASE, NOT APPLEBEE'S
“Oh that is such bull$*&t,” I said after seeing a television commercial for Applebee’s during Sunday football. The spot went something like this. It’s closing time at Applebee’s, while the TV news reports their high school football team losing a real heartbreaker. The staff pouts their heads. You can see it, this one really hurt. Man if there were ever a place where these boys could find a dose of encouragement; an “attaboy” about keeping their chins up, it was here at Applebee’s. Oh, but wait, Applebee’s is closing up for the night, and…oh no…of all things, the team bus just pulled up! Jeez, not now, not in this deep state of gridiron malaise. A few players hop off the bus, where seeing the dark Applebee’s sinks their morale even further. But wait, there’s hope. The kid wiping the bar says, “I can stay for a while,” as if ready to lay sandbags behind a swelling levee. The rest of gang decides they can stay too! And who were we to assume this is just another corporate restaurant chain? Finally the manager, all swell and avuncular, opens the door and says, “Come on in boys, I bet you’re hungry.” Applebee’s to the rescue…THE END.
As I wiped the oozing contrivances from my television set, I wondered if this ad was focus grouped anywhere besides Mayberry. I mean, I’ve eaten at Applebee’s before, and they’re generally a friendly bunch, even without pinning bonhomie on their suspenders. However, to position themselves as a late night support group is preposterous. You’d have thought Walter Cronkite just delivered some somber news from Dallas the way this ad began. Clearly these ads are a preemptive strike to avoid being an accomplice in the continuous raping of Main Street. The message: Applebee’s obviously cares about the towns whose outskirts they reside in, unlike, say, the big bad Wal-Mart across the highway. And yet, other than Manhattan, one would be hard pressed to find this “local” eatery anywhere besides spitting distance from the Interstate. So much for “Eatin’ Good in the Neighborhood” as their slogan suggests.
I called a number of Applebee’s stores around the country, just to see what kind of neighborhood presence they really had. According to Applebee’s website, 75 percent of their stores are individually franchised; so there’s your grassroots connection, I guess. Their stores are also supposed to have a “neighborhood message board” posting community affairs. So what’s on that board at the Applebee’s in Chantilly, Virginia? “Let me check,” Kelly, the cheerful assistant manager, said. After a moment of pleasant hold music, she comes back on, “There’s nothing up there,” she said. “But seriously, if you have something, by all means let us know.” Great. When asked the same question in Aurora, Colorado, I got the menu specials, where an extra push was put on the shrimp scampi. I rephrased the question, where I was then told they participated in some fundraising with a regional hospital. OK, but was this fundraising effort initiated by this particular Applebee’s? “It’s done as part of the Mountain Division,” she said. Nice, but not exactly a direct link to the community.
I then called the Applebee’s in Mesquite, Texas near Dallas. Of all the stores contacted, this location seemed to have the greatest community involvement. Andy, one of the managers, told me “We have fundraisers with the drill teams and cheerleaders at Horn High School all the time.” Happy to hear this, I asked where he was in case I’m passing through Dallas, “On the service road next to I-635, between Home Depot and Kohls.” For some reason, I’m betting this isn’t a spot where kids play stickball in the street.
Car washes are also a popular fundraising event at Applebee’s. Anthony, in Edison, New Jersey said “We did…umm…one in late August, I think.” He wasn’t sure about doing anything with the local schools, but said laughingly, “we do hang up a few team pictures.” When talking to Danny, a five year veteran with the chain in Tucson, about the TV commercial being aired, he chuckled, “Well, I don’t know if I can convince everyone to stay if a bus pulls up after we’re closed. But we do whatever we can to accommodate everyone.” Danny’s Applebee’s is located next to two other restaurants indigenous to Arizona, Red Lobster and Boston Market.
Lastly I spoke to David, the manager of the La Habra, California Applebee’s near Anaheim. “We do lots with the Boys and Girls Clubs. In December we’re doing a breakfast with Santa where all employee’s volunteer.” They do fundraisers with the police and fire departments as well. Then he added that these fundraisers were largely “a corporate thing.” “A corporate thing,” a ha, my skepticism was confirmed.
I’m sure Applebee’s also claims cleanliness and being pest free. However, with claiming a connection to their “neighborhood”, I will always smell a rat.
As I wiped the oozing contrivances from my television set, I wondered if this ad was focus grouped anywhere besides Mayberry. I mean, I’ve eaten at Applebee’s before, and they’re generally a friendly bunch, even without pinning bonhomie on their suspenders. However, to position themselves as a late night support group is preposterous. You’d have thought Walter Cronkite just delivered some somber news from Dallas the way this ad began. Clearly these ads are a preemptive strike to avoid being an accomplice in the continuous raping of Main Street. The message: Applebee’s obviously cares about the towns whose outskirts they reside in, unlike, say, the big bad Wal-Mart across the highway. And yet, other than Manhattan, one would be hard pressed to find this “local” eatery anywhere besides spitting distance from the Interstate. So much for “Eatin’ Good in the Neighborhood” as their slogan suggests.
I called a number of Applebee’s stores around the country, just to see what kind of neighborhood presence they really had. According to Applebee’s website, 75 percent of their stores are individually franchised; so there’s your grassroots connection, I guess. Their stores are also supposed to have a “neighborhood message board” posting community affairs. So what’s on that board at the Applebee’s in Chantilly, Virginia? “Let me check,” Kelly, the cheerful assistant manager, said. After a moment of pleasant hold music, she comes back on, “There’s nothing up there,” she said. “But seriously, if you have something, by all means let us know.” Great. When asked the same question in Aurora, Colorado, I got the menu specials, where an extra push was put on the shrimp scampi. I rephrased the question, where I was then told they participated in some fundraising with a regional hospital. OK, but was this fundraising effort initiated by this particular Applebee’s? “It’s done as part of the Mountain Division,” she said. Nice, but not exactly a direct link to the community.
I then called the Applebee’s in Mesquite, Texas near Dallas. Of all the stores contacted, this location seemed to have the greatest community involvement. Andy, one of the managers, told me “We have fundraisers with the drill teams and cheerleaders at Horn High School all the time.” Happy to hear this, I asked where he was in case I’m passing through Dallas, “On the service road next to I-635, between Home Depot and Kohls.” For some reason, I’m betting this isn’t a spot where kids play stickball in the street.
Car washes are also a popular fundraising event at Applebee’s. Anthony, in Edison, New Jersey said “We did…umm…one in late August, I think.” He wasn’t sure about doing anything with the local schools, but said laughingly, “we do hang up a few team pictures.” When talking to Danny, a five year veteran with the chain in Tucson, about the TV commercial being aired, he chuckled, “Well, I don’t know if I can convince everyone to stay if a bus pulls up after we’re closed. But we do whatever we can to accommodate everyone.” Danny’s Applebee’s is located next to two other restaurants indigenous to Arizona, Red Lobster and Boston Market.
Lastly I spoke to David, the manager of the La Habra, California Applebee’s near Anaheim. “We do lots with the Boys and Girls Clubs. In December we’re doing a breakfast with Santa where all employee’s volunteer.” They do fundraisers with the police and fire departments as well. Then he added that these fundraisers were largely “a corporate thing.” “A corporate thing,” a ha, my skepticism was confirmed.
I’m sure Applebee’s also claims cleanliness and being pest free. However, with claiming a connection to their “neighborhood”, I will always smell a rat.
Monday, October 03, 2005
RAMS TAKE GIANT BATTERING
Would the person who predicted the New York Giants to be the NFL’s highest scoring team please stand up? Hello…is there anyone in the room fitting that description? Anyone? Anyone?
Yet it’s true, in the first four games the New York-Ball-Control-Chew-Up-The-Clock-Run-It-Up-The-Middle-Football-Giants have amassed 136 points, averaging 34 points per game. Perhaps some of Don Coryell’s old magic traveled back with the Giants from San Diego last week. Something, after all, had to come out of that disgraceful loss. The Giants responded in a 44-24 home dismantling of St. Louis, even playing a little defense to boot.
Starting right away the Giants fired out of the block, scoring on their first five possessions. And while the NFL focused on their game in Mexico, the Giants focused theirs around Plaxico. Plaxico Burress that is, who shined brightly after being shunned in Tom Coughlin’s doghouse the week before with ten receptions for 204 yards and two TD’s. “He’s becoming our Go-To guy,” Giants’ Center Shaun O’Hara said of Burress. “You throw the ball up in the air, and he’s bigger and stronger than most corners, and he’s gonna come down with that ball nine times out of ten.”
Manning, who in a losing effort last week, jettisoned much of his greenness remained in top form; completing 19 of 35, for 296 yards with four touchdowns and no interceptions. In all, the Giants generated 456 total yards without committing any turnovers.
The big thing about this game, however, was Tom Coughlin making strides to connect with his players. It’s been well documented about the “distance” that Coughlin has with his team. If “Gentleman” Jim Fassel was the sweet smelling rose, Coughlin is the prickly cactus whose spines can cause pain for weeks, even months at a time. Last week in San Diego, Coughlin usurped the spirit of the team with two critical decisions. The first was the opening drive where they went for the chip shot field goal instead of the touchdown on fourth and inches. The second, was again, going for the field goal with 15 seconds remaining in the first half instead of taking a shot or two in the end zone. The players were hungry and determined, but Coughlin played the part of the controlling, overprotective parent; which is always a prescription for failure. So Sunday, against St. Louis, Coughlin went for it on fourth and goal in the first quarter. Even more so, they passed on that play, rather than predictably pound it through on the ground. The ball, which blooped in the air from Manning’s arm like a mortar shell, landed acrobatically in Amani Toomer’s hands. It was Toomer’s first touchdown grab since December 28, 2003. “I just felt like that was the call, it came from the gut,” Coughlin said. “In that situation, I felt like we were there, we had driven the ball and I felt like we needed to come away with a touchdown there and Eli and Amani made a heck of a play.” It was also an apology and admission of poor conservative judgement from the week before. The Giants embraced the move with a 17-7 first quarter lead. All seemed well, the fence between team and coach was mended. Some scribes are even calling this new offense, “Air Coughlin.” That call, as the season progresses, will later be linked to the Giants’ continued success in 2005. It’s the play that will signify Coughlin and the team finally being in synch.
PLAYER TO WATCH AS THE SEASON MOVES AHEAD: Justin Tuck
On the ensuing kickoff after the Manning to Toomer touchdown play, Justin Tuck continued to set the tone with a crushing tackle. Nothing fancy, just charging hard downfield, but when he made contact, it really made a statement that said: “that door’s stayin’ closed.” He’s feisty and hungry, and has something to prove after being passed over by other teams until the Giants snatched him in the third round of the 2005 draft. Expect to see more of him as the aging Michael Strahan needs more time to catch his breath. He, like Brandon Jacobs, should give the Giants’ underrated scouting department some additional cred.
IF YOU CAN’T COVER ‘EM AT LEAST MAKE ‘EM PAY, was the message the Giants’ linebackers and secondary sent to the Rams. St. Louis couldn’t run, but they still could pass (Mark Bulger, 40-62, 442 yards, 2 TD, 3 INT). Though unlike last week in San Diego where the Giants were a bunch of arm-tackling sissies, Giant defenders made the Rams pay for their yards. Gibril Wilson snapped his sophomore slump Sunday with a brutal stick that forced one of five St. Louis turnovers. He may not be able to cover, but he does hit hard, sort of a 2005 version of Terry Kinard; and thus easier to forgive. Curtis Deloatch made us forget more about Will Peterson than Will Peterson. Shaun Williams, dinged up old mule that he is, did all he could to thank the Giants’ front office for keeping him on the roster. Nice job by linebackers Antonio Pierce and, another player in Coughlin’s doghouse for shoddy play last week, Reggie Torbor, with an interception apiece. Maybe the Giants will be one of those defenses that helps opposing players achieve their incentive clauses without giving up too many points. Not the ideal situation, but a workable one provided that the Giants’ offense continues to click. If they have to give up yards, at least do it with a mean streak. They did that Sunday against St. Louis.
BEING A LITTLE NIT-PICKY HERE BUT…Kareem McKenzie, the Giants right tackle who commanded a left tackle salary, got called for a holding penalty for the second week in a row. Last year, while with the Jets, McKenzie didn’t get called for holding the entire season. That’s not to say McKenzie hasn’t been an outstanding addition to the line, quite the contrary (as look what’s happened to the Jets’ O-line since he left), but still, the holding penalties have been noted.
The Giants have a bye next week before traveling to Dallas to face the Cowboys on October 16th. Historically, bye weeks have affected the Giants momentum like Strychnine. This year, however, the extra week to look at game film and build off their improvements should be welcome instead of as a sign for the genie to go back in the bottle. The Giants also have to show they can win outside of the 201 area code. Who better than the hated Dallas Cowboys for the Giants to make such a point?
EIGHT OTHER POINTS FROM OCTAVIO:
1) In case you’re wondering what team is ranked 31st out of 32 teams in offensive production, it’s the Baltimore Ravens, who employ Jim Fassel as their offensive coordinator. Their average points per game is 10. The Houston Texans are 32nd.
2) The Washington Redskins aren’t really 3-0 are they?
3) Tough break for the Detroit Lions in that replay. Still though, the game probably should not have gotten to the point where the outcome hinged on one play. This team is way overdue in terms of getting its act together. Would it be belaboring the obvious that Joey Harrington isn’t going to cut it?
4) The Minnesota Vikings are simply awful. Remember when Ronald Reagan told Gorbechev to tear down the Berlin Wall? Well message to new Vikings owner, Zygi Wilf: TEAR DOWN THIS DOME (which is named after Hubert Humphrey). The Vikings have never been the same after moving indoors. Make teams play in the frigid Minnesota air when they come to see you. Make only passionate fans endure the elements. Glad to hear it’s happening. Let Bud Grant cut the ribbon when the new stadium opens.
5) What happened to Buffalo? Last year’s late season darling almost had Mike Malarkey as a coach of the year candidate. Now they’re 1-3. Maybe they should go back to the throwback uniforms they wore in the first two games. Those looked good.
6) OK, kind of showing the effete side of football writing here, but I CAN’T STAND the Jets wearing green pants while on the road. For God’s sake, just wear white.
7) What media conspiracy is going on that’s afraid to say that Kansas City Chief’s defensive coordinator, Gunther Cunningham, is the most overrated, overly romanced, ineffective defensive coordinator of the last 20 years. And what’s up with those yellow glasses he wears, is he going pheasant hunting after the game? If I were a Chiefs fan, I’d load my Winchester with more than birdshot. Yellow glasses = pink slip.
8) When the Seahawks traveled to play the Skins yesterday, the score read: Seattle Washington. Well, at least I thought that was interesting.
Yet it’s true, in the first four games the New York-Ball-Control-Chew-Up-The-Clock-Run-It-Up-The-Middle-Football-Giants have amassed 136 points, averaging 34 points per game. Perhaps some of Don Coryell’s old magic traveled back with the Giants from San Diego last week. Something, after all, had to come out of that disgraceful loss. The Giants responded in a 44-24 home dismantling of St. Louis, even playing a little defense to boot.
Starting right away the Giants fired out of the block, scoring on their first five possessions. And while the NFL focused on their game in Mexico, the Giants focused theirs around Plaxico. Plaxico Burress that is, who shined brightly after being shunned in Tom Coughlin’s doghouse the week before with ten receptions for 204 yards and two TD’s. “He’s becoming our Go-To guy,” Giants’ Center Shaun O’Hara said of Burress. “You throw the ball up in the air, and he’s bigger and stronger than most corners, and he’s gonna come down with that ball nine times out of ten.”
Manning, who in a losing effort last week, jettisoned much of his greenness remained in top form; completing 19 of 35, for 296 yards with four touchdowns and no interceptions. In all, the Giants generated 456 total yards without committing any turnovers.
The big thing about this game, however, was Tom Coughlin making strides to connect with his players. It’s been well documented about the “distance” that Coughlin has with his team. If “Gentleman” Jim Fassel was the sweet smelling rose, Coughlin is the prickly cactus whose spines can cause pain for weeks, even months at a time. Last week in San Diego, Coughlin usurped the spirit of the team with two critical decisions. The first was the opening drive where they went for the chip shot field goal instead of the touchdown on fourth and inches. The second, was again, going for the field goal with 15 seconds remaining in the first half instead of taking a shot or two in the end zone. The players were hungry and determined, but Coughlin played the part of the controlling, overprotective parent; which is always a prescription for failure. So Sunday, against St. Louis, Coughlin went for it on fourth and goal in the first quarter. Even more so, they passed on that play, rather than predictably pound it through on the ground. The ball, which blooped in the air from Manning’s arm like a mortar shell, landed acrobatically in Amani Toomer’s hands. It was Toomer’s first touchdown grab since December 28, 2003. “I just felt like that was the call, it came from the gut,” Coughlin said. “In that situation, I felt like we were there, we had driven the ball and I felt like we needed to come away with a touchdown there and Eli and Amani made a heck of a play.” It was also an apology and admission of poor conservative judgement from the week before. The Giants embraced the move with a 17-7 first quarter lead. All seemed well, the fence between team and coach was mended. Some scribes are even calling this new offense, “Air Coughlin.” That call, as the season progresses, will later be linked to the Giants’ continued success in 2005. It’s the play that will signify Coughlin and the team finally being in synch.
PLAYER TO WATCH AS THE SEASON MOVES AHEAD: Justin Tuck
On the ensuing kickoff after the Manning to Toomer touchdown play, Justin Tuck continued to set the tone with a crushing tackle. Nothing fancy, just charging hard downfield, but when he made contact, it really made a statement that said: “that door’s stayin’ closed.” He’s feisty and hungry, and has something to prove after being passed over by other teams until the Giants snatched him in the third round of the 2005 draft. Expect to see more of him as the aging Michael Strahan needs more time to catch his breath. He, like Brandon Jacobs, should give the Giants’ underrated scouting department some additional cred.
IF YOU CAN’T COVER ‘EM AT LEAST MAKE ‘EM PAY, was the message the Giants’ linebackers and secondary sent to the Rams. St. Louis couldn’t run, but they still could pass (Mark Bulger, 40-62, 442 yards, 2 TD, 3 INT). Though unlike last week in San Diego where the Giants were a bunch of arm-tackling sissies, Giant defenders made the Rams pay for their yards. Gibril Wilson snapped his sophomore slump Sunday with a brutal stick that forced one of five St. Louis turnovers. He may not be able to cover, but he does hit hard, sort of a 2005 version of Terry Kinard; and thus easier to forgive. Curtis Deloatch made us forget more about Will Peterson than Will Peterson. Shaun Williams, dinged up old mule that he is, did all he could to thank the Giants’ front office for keeping him on the roster. Nice job by linebackers Antonio Pierce and, another player in Coughlin’s doghouse for shoddy play last week, Reggie Torbor, with an interception apiece. Maybe the Giants will be one of those defenses that helps opposing players achieve their incentive clauses without giving up too many points. Not the ideal situation, but a workable one provided that the Giants’ offense continues to click. If they have to give up yards, at least do it with a mean streak. They did that Sunday against St. Louis.
BEING A LITTLE NIT-PICKY HERE BUT…Kareem McKenzie, the Giants right tackle who commanded a left tackle salary, got called for a holding penalty for the second week in a row. Last year, while with the Jets, McKenzie didn’t get called for holding the entire season. That’s not to say McKenzie hasn’t been an outstanding addition to the line, quite the contrary (as look what’s happened to the Jets’ O-line since he left), but still, the holding penalties have been noted.
The Giants have a bye next week before traveling to Dallas to face the Cowboys on October 16th. Historically, bye weeks have affected the Giants momentum like Strychnine. This year, however, the extra week to look at game film and build off their improvements should be welcome instead of as a sign for the genie to go back in the bottle. The Giants also have to show they can win outside of the 201 area code. Who better than the hated Dallas Cowboys for the Giants to make such a point?
EIGHT OTHER POINTS FROM OCTAVIO:
1) In case you’re wondering what team is ranked 31st out of 32 teams in offensive production, it’s the Baltimore Ravens, who employ Jim Fassel as their offensive coordinator. Their average points per game is 10. The Houston Texans are 32nd.
2) The Washington Redskins aren’t really 3-0 are they?
3) Tough break for the Detroit Lions in that replay. Still though, the game probably should not have gotten to the point where the outcome hinged on one play. This team is way overdue in terms of getting its act together. Would it be belaboring the obvious that Joey Harrington isn’t going to cut it?
4) The Minnesota Vikings are simply awful. Remember when Ronald Reagan told Gorbechev to tear down the Berlin Wall? Well message to new Vikings owner, Zygi Wilf: TEAR DOWN THIS DOME (which is named after Hubert Humphrey). The Vikings have never been the same after moving indoors. Make teams play in the frigid Minnesota air when they come to see you. Make only passionate fans endure the elements. Glad to hear it’s happening. Let Bud Grant cut the ribbon when the new stadium opens.
5) What happened to Buffalo? Last year’s late season darling almost had Mike Malarkey as a coach of the year candidate. Now they’re 1-3. Maybe they should go back to the throwback uniforms they wore in the first two games. Those looked good.
6) OK, kind of showing the effete side of football writing here, but I CAN’T STAND the Jets wearing green pants while on the road. For God’s sake, just wear white.
7) What media conspiracy is going on that’s afraid to say that Kansas City Chief’s defensive coordinator, Gunther Cunningham, is the most overrated, overly romanced, ineffective defensive coordinator of the last 20 years. And what’s up with those yellow glasses he wears, is he going pheasant hunting after the game? If I were a Chiefs fan, I’d load my Winchester with more than birdshot. Yellow glasses = pink slip.
8) When the Seahawks traveled to play the Skins yesterday, the score read: Seattle Washington. Well, at least I thought that was interesting.
Monday, September 26, 2005
JINTS JOLTED BY BOLTS
For the first two weeks of the season the Giants scored a lot of points, in Sunday’s 45-23 road loss to San Diego, the Giants gave them back. For a team that showed balance in just about every area against the Cardinals and Saints, it appeared that only the Giants’ offense made the cross-country flight while the defense remained stuck in Newark.
Eli Manning heard it loud and often in a raucous Qualcomm Stadium, a venue not really known for its “hostility” unless they’re feeling the pain of a jilted lover. Manning, as it was incessantly publicized in the previous week, spurned the Chargers after being taken by them in the first round of the 2004 draft. Now he was going to hear about it, and did. Of course that was the “official” story anyway. Somehow it was forgotten that San Diego’s front office bled the Giants for a king’s ransom in order to put Manning in the Meadowlands. The Chargers drafted Manning for his leverage, not his arm, yet somehow this was spun wholly as the kid’s decision. Kudos goes to the Chargers’ PR department with assisting in this win.
In the opening drive, Manning remained unfazed as the boos and jeers rained down from the crowd. The Giants moved the ball with precision in an 11-play drive for 75 yards before getting thwarted near the Chargers’ goal line. On second and goal, Tiki Barber was stopped for no gain. The first crack of the game was about to show as Brandon Jacobs, we all thought, was surely going to convert a third-and-one if not score a touchdown on the next play. He didn’t, thus unleashing the ghosts of short-yardage past that were all too reminiscent of another running back who also wore number 27. Rather than go for it on fourth and inches, the Giants went for the easy field goal, resorting back to Fasselism with just three deflating points. “We’d all like to get a touchdown, but on the road you have to take the points when you have an opportunity,” Coach Tom Coughlin said. “I’ll stand by the call.”
As the first half progressed, the Giants got their offensive rhythm going, with Manning not only showing poise and patience but some mobility too. Known, albeit sometimes euphemistically, for his “pocket presence”, Manning demonstrated his ability to see the open field beyond the lanes of his offensive line. In some ways he had no choice, the Giants running game was stalled throughout the game, but it spoke volumes of Manning’s comfort and maturity; going from last week’s budding stem to this week’s burgeoning blossom.
In what’s likely a vignette for years to come, Eli Manning showed the fire that his trademark nonchalantness often keeps hidden, as the Giants showed the comeback moxie of a bygone era. At one time down 21-3, the Giants had closed the gap to 21-17 with one final possession to close the opening half. With time ticking the Giants had gotten into field goal range with 15 seconds remaining. Plenty of time for at least one shot in the end zone, maybe even two, but again they opted to kick the field goal on first down. Word was the Giants were having difficulty sending in plays. So rather squander the opportunity to score, the Giants took the easy three trailing only 21-20 at the half. An admirable comeback no doubt, but alas, the Giants were moving the ball with touchdown in their eyes. It again seemed that settling for the field goal had a deflating effect, even to the extent of feeling undermined by Coach Coughlin’s prudence. Ironically, it was the defense that proved this true.
When not discussing Eli Manning’s place of employ, the other back-story regarding the San Diego game was stopping LaDainian Tomlinson. Hardly a back-story, it was rather a full frontal assault steeped with shoddy tackling as if Giant defenders were afraid of conducting a skin rash from Tomlinson’s uniform. Tomlinson rushed for 192 of San Diego’s 485 yards of total offense. It was the most yardage given up by the Giants since November 13th, 1988. Unlike the previous two games, the Giants were unable to control the line of scrimmage, failing to ever get quickly to Drew Brees and having no sacks. Pass defense still remains an alarming concern. The Giants are simply not getting to the ball; holding their arms up like a prop in a carnival game while their footwork looked worse than a tango mixer in Fort Lee. “I was disappointed with everything defensively,” said coach Tom Coughlin. “We didn’t stop them. We didn’t stop anything. They ran the ball when they wanted to and they passed the ball when they wanted to.”
Next week the Giants host the erratic St. Louis Rams; a team that has historically given the Giants trouble dating back to when they played in Los Angeles. Again, it will be against a team with a high powered passing threat that will undoubtedly look to exploit the Giants inept secondary.
The Giants fought as much as they wilted. This wasn’t a gracious loss, but there was at least some gold found in the offensive pan. It was balance that won their first two games. Hopefully the long flight back from San Diego will help regain their equilibrium.
Eli Manning heard it loud and often in a raucous Qualcomm Stadium, a venue not really known for its “hostility” unless they’re feeling the pain of a jilted lover. Manning, as it was incessantly publicized in the previous week, spurned the Chargers after being taken by them in the first round of the 2004 draft. Now he was going to hear about it, and did. Of course that was the “official” story anyway. Somehow it was forgotten that San Diego’s front office bled the Giants for a king’s ransom in order to put Manning in the Meadowlands. The Chargers drafted Manning for his leverage, not his arm, yet somehow this was spun wholly as the kid’s decision. Kudos goes to the Chargers’ PR department with assisting in this win.
In the opening drive, Manning remained unfazed as the boos and jeers rained down from the crowd. The Giants moved the ball with precision in an 11-play drive for 75 yards before getting thwarted near the Chargers’ goal line. On second and goal, Tiki Barber was stopped for no gain. The first crack of the game was about to show as Brandon Jacobs, we all thought, was surely going to convert a third-and-one if not score a touchdown on the next play. He didn’t, thus unleashing the ghosts of short-yardage past that were all too reminiscent of another running back who also wore number 27. Rather than go for it on fourth and inches, the Giants went for the easy field goal, resorting back to Fasselism with just three deflating points. “We’d all like to get a touchdown, but on the road you have to take the points when you have an opportunity,” Coach Tom Coughlin said. “I’ll stand by the call.”
As the first half progressed, the Giants got their offensive rhythm going, with Manning not only showing poise and patience but some mobility too. Known, albeit sometimes euphemistically, for his “pocket presence”, Manning demonstrated his ability to see the open field beyond the lanes of his offensive line. In some ways he had no choice, the Giants running game was stalled throughout the game, but it spoke volumes of Manning’s comfort and maturity; going from last week’s budding stem to this week’s burgeoning blossom.
In what’s likely a vignette for years to come, Eli Manning showed the fire that his trademark nonchalantness often keeps hidden, as the Giants showed the comeback moxie of a bygone era. At one time down 21-3, the Giants had closed the gap to 21-17 with one final possession to close the opening half. With time ticking the Giants had gotten into field goal range with 15 seconds remaining. Plenty of time for at least one shot in the end zone, maybe even two, but again they opted to kick the field goal on first down. Word was the Giants were having difficulty sending in plays. So rather squander the opportunity to score, the Giants took the easy three trailing only 21-20 at the half. An admirable comeback no doubt, but alas, the Giants were moving the ball with touchdown in their eyes. It again seemed that settling for the field goal had a deflating effect, even to the extent of feeling undermined by Coach Coughlin’s prudence. Ironically, it was the defense that proved this true.
When not discussing Eli Manning’s place of employ, the other back-story regarding the San Diego game was stopping LaDainian Tomlinson. Hardly a back-story, it was rather a full frontal assault steeped with shoddy tackling as if Giant defenders were afraid of conducting a skin rash from Tomlinson’s uniform. Tomlinson rushed for 192 of San Diego’s 485 yards of total offense. It was the most yardage given up by the Giants since November 13th, 1988. Unlike the previous two games, the Giants were unable to control the line of scrimmage, failing to ever get quickly to Drew Brees and having no sacks. Pass defense still remains an alarming concern. The Giants are simply not getting to the ball; holding their arms up like a prop in a carnival game while their footwork looked worse than a tango mixer in Fort Lee. “I was disappointed with everything defensively,” said coach Tom Coughlin. “We didn’t stop them. We didn’t stop anything. They ran the ball when they wanted to and they passed the ball when they wanted to.”
Next week the Giants host the erratic St. Louis Rams; a team that has historically given the Giants trouble dating back to when they played in Los Angeles. Again, it will be against a team with a high powered passing threat that will undoubtedly look to exploit the Giants inept secondary.
The Giants fought as much as they wilted. This wasn’t a gracious loss, but there was at least some gold found in the offensive pan. It was balance that won their first two games. Hopefully the long flight back from San Diego will help regain their equilibrium.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
GIANTS PLAY THEIR CARDS RIGHT
You’d have to go a long, long way to recall the Giants showcasing their arsenal with such completeness as they did Sunday at the Meadowlands against Arizona. While it’s a far cry from a perfect game, Big Blue finally looked like a dam that can both hold water and generate some electricity. Time will tell if this new trend of scoring points, converting short yardage situations and fewer penalties is here to stay. But if Sunday’s 42-19 drubbing is any indication of things to come, then much of the sports punditry should get ready to eat crow (or Cardinal).
Let’s get the quarterback business out of the way. No, Eli Manning (10/23, 2 TD, 2 INT, 175 yards) didn’t have a Hall of Frame performance, but nor did play poorly. Just think of him as that humble bus driver who got you across town safely and without incident. Sometimes a workmanlike performance is all that’s necessary; especially when your surrounding cast is playing, and even more importantly, believing in what the team is doing. “That performance is not OK by me…I got to play better,” Manning said. Easy kid, you’re still green.
At first, the opening half looked like a microcosm of the 2004 season, if not much of the Jim Fassel era. The Giants took command of the opening drive. Running here, running there, a pass, a zig, a zag and poof…Manning to Shockey for a clean touchdown strike. But as the half progressed, the ghosts of yesteryear swirled within the balmy winds of the Meadowlands. Manning threw two picks, of which one was returned for a touchdown by Karlos Dansby, and, as we’ve seen so many times before, when the game throws out a sneeze, the Giants catch a cold; going into halftime trailing 13-7. Excerpts from Chicken Soup for the Soul were likely not incorporated into Coach Coughlin’s halftime speech.
The second half however, thankfully, did not look like a microcosm of last season. And with not one, but two touchdowns coming off of special teams, it was anything but a reminder of the misbegotten Jim Fassel era.
There’s so much to like about this game, but there’s always a player or two that falls under the radar. Besides Eli Manning, one of the greatest beneficiaries of the signing of Kareem McKenzie is Dave Diehl. If there was any adhesive on the Band-Aid that held the Giants’ offensive line together in 2004, it was Dave Diehl. A left guard by nature, Diehl stepped up last season by playing right tackle; receiving quiet recognition as the one bright spot in the Giants porous line play. This year he’s back in his is sweet spot, leading the freight train with aggressive downfield blocking as well as making quick, agile pulls to the opposite side. Just watch the number of running plays shooting through Diehl’s gaps. Luke Petitigout looked good too.
The Giants’ pursuit on the defensive side of the ball looked crisp and mean, with standout penetration from William Joseph chasing Kurt Warner like a famished grizzly after Timothy Treadwell. They didn’t just hit, but they hit and wrapped; finishing the tackle and doing it often with a swarm of blue jerseys. A team’s heart and discipline can be measured in how they tackle. Antonio Pierce can sum up the Giant’s inspired play when he said, “Today was probably the best team effort you are going to get for opening day.”
For Big Blue, the key is playing every game like it’s opening day.
Let’s get the quarterback business out of the way. No, Eli Manning (10/23, 2 TD, 2 INT, 175 yards) didn’t have a Hall of Frame performance, but nor did play poorly. Just think of him as that humble bus driver who got you across town safely and without incident. Sometimes a workmanlike performance is all that’s necessary; especially when your surrounding cast is playing, and even more importantly, believing in what the team is doing. “That performance is not OK by me…I got to play better,” Manning said. Easy kid, you’re still green.
At first, the opening half looked like a microcosm of the 2004 season, if not much of the Jim Fassel era. The Giants took command of the opening drive. Running here, running there, a pass, a zig, a zag and poof…Manning to Shockey for a clean touchdown strike. But as the half progressed, the ghosts of yesteryear swirled within the balmy winds of the Meadowlands. Manning threw two picks, of which one was returned for a touchdown by Karlos Dansby, and, as we’ve seen so many times before, when the game throws out a sneeze, the Giants catch a cold; going into halftime trailing 13-7. Excerpts from Chicken Soup for the Soul were likely not incorporated into Coach Coughlin’s halftime speech.
The second half however, thankfully, did not look like a microcosm of last season. And with not one, but two touchdowns coming off of special teams, it was anything but a reminder of the misbegotten Jim Fassel era.
There’s so much to like about this game, but there’s always a player or two that falls under the radar. Besides Eli Manning, one of the greatest beneficiaries of the signing of Kareem McKenzie is Dave Diehl. If there was any adhesive on the Band-Aid that held the Giants’ offensive line together in 2004, it was Dave Diehl. A left guard by nature, Diehl stepped up last season by playing right tackle; receiving quiet recognition as the one bright spot in the Giants porous line play. This year he’s back in his is sweet spot, leading the freight train with aggressive downfield blocking as well as making quick, agile pulls to the opposite side. Just watch the number of running plays shooting through Diehl’s gaps. Luke Petitigout looked good too.
The Giants’ pursuit on the defensive side of the ball looked crisp and mean, with standout penetration from William Joseph chasing Kurt Warner like a famished grizzly after Timothy Treadwell. They didn’t just hit, but they hit and wrapped; finishing the tackle and doing it often with a swarm of blue jerseys. A team’s heart and discipline can be measured in how they tackle. Antonio Pierce can sum up the Giant’s inspired play when he said, “Today was probably the best team effort you are going to get for opening day.”
For Big Blue, the key is playing every game like it’s opening day.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Five More Early Summer Thoughts
1) Has anyone noticed that the “Beach Reading” displays in most bookstores are really just the books you were forced to read in high school? I expect to see something airy and vapid and get “Moby Dick” and “My Antonia” instead. I don’t think I’ll be reading “A Tale of Two Cities” on the beach this summer, but don’t let me stop you. If you’re among the ones who read the Cliff Notes and feel you’ve cheated yourself, just about any Barnes & Noble will help to assuage that guilt. For me, despite being among the Cliff Noters, I still remember what happens to Pip, Captain Ahab, et al, and thus will go the more contemporary route. My guess is we’ve been through enough hard knocks to “get” life without reliving what transpired on the Pequod…especially in the summer. Maybe I’ll finally break down and read the “Da Vinci Code”, or the latest from Masha Hamilton.
2) Seems the biggest news of the NBA Finals was that nobody watched them. Oh, but there was the draft too.
3) For those of you who get thirsty walking around New York City, worry no more, Big Gulps are here. For the first time in my life I saw a 7-Eleven in Manhattan on the NE corner of 23rd and Park. At first I thought it was a sick joke, like, who knows, maybe it was a vintage clothing store with a convenience store motif. They do that kind of stuff in New York; like making shoe stores feel like subway cars and so forth. But no, this 7-Eleven is for real. It hasn’t opened yet, but God willing it should soon. Nothing better than a Slurpie during the dog days of summer. And you thought life was getting worse...
4) I think I’m conflicted about all these chains moving into New York. I talk about this a lot, so here I go again. Union Square Park, the main epicenter of all things Left, has this “Farmers Market” there all the time. For us Urbanites this is supposedly a good thing; a vast array of stands with “organic” products from little upstate towns. There are flowers and vegetables and cupcakes and syrup and all those wonderful things you’d buy next to a cornfield along a country road. After walking past this Farmers Market dozens of times without giving it much attention, I finally broke down when my insatiable sweet tooth steered me towards one of the bakery stands. I purchased a bigger-than-average, but not huge, cookie that was admittedly overpriced. I thought what the heck, splurge a little, it’s going to be yummy coming from the Farmers Market. Well, unfortunately, calling the cookie sub-par would be generous. It was extremely bland and crumbled in my hand like a dead leaf; hardly an auspicious way to get introduced to the Farmers Market. Nevertheless I went again because I wanted to like this Farmers Market the way a Star Wars fan wants to like Jar Jar. This time I was thirsty, and figured some cold cider would hit the spot. So I go to a different stand and, again, get an admittedly overpriced cup of cider that’s slightly bigger than what’s affixed to your standard office water cooler. It took only two gulps to finish and so I asked in a half- joking, half-serious tone if there were free refills. She says no, somewhat scoffingly, of which I get the most searing “what a dork” look since trying to boogie to “Rock Lobster”. Strike two.
So, earlier this week, I had bunch of loose change in my pocket. I had a craving for those Jamaican meat patties at Golden Krust. It’s a tasty, cheap snack, and very filling. But what drives me nuts is that, for the nine-millionth time in my life, something that costs $2.85 on the menu ends up being $3.08 with sales tax, and I NEVER have that @#&*#$! eight cents when it comes in handy. Dig? Anyway, with the 92 cents that’s destined to get lost in my shorts, I figured I just spend it on a little afternoon dessert at, once again, the Farmers Market. I got a mini gingerbread man (the fluffy, spongy kind) for 75 cents. Once again, it was admittedly overpriced; considering its volume and density were about the same as two and a half marshmallows...but what the hell. Much to my dismay, my mini gingerbread man had the flavor of an unsalted rice cake…and…dare I say it…was as dry as the Mojave Desert. For me that dryness is a real showstopper. Strike three for the Farmers Market.
Meanwhile, as previously mentioned, the Invasion of the Chains has dangerously encroached the main epicenter of all things Left. Just south of Union Square Park, a Whole Foods Supermarket made Fourteenth Street home a few months ago. I like Whole Foods, at least the one in Time Warner Center off Columbus Circle, but I assume the one on Fourteenth is pretty much the same. It’s perhaps the only supermarket in the world that’s also a tourist destination. I kid you not, I’ve seen clusters of people gawk at the porterhouse steaks like it was the Mona Lisa. The place is massive, where the ushered checkout process feels like going through customs at JFK. And, yes, once more the place is also admittedly overpriced, though if you know where to look some bargains can be found. The key difference is quality. I don’t shop there for groceries, but I’ve had a few meals from the variety of self-serve food bars and it’s been A+ every time (meats succulent and juicy, sauces tangy and balanced, breads moist and textured…good stuff). However, with Whole Foods being the Neiman Marcus of supermarket chains, the downtowness of Union Square has gotten chafed. If the Farmers Market is the yin of Union Square, Whole Foods is the yang. But at the risk of committing blasphemy, I must be fair and say that Whole Foods kicks the bejesus out of the Farmers Market. I already sense lightning ready to strike me. In fact, dark clouds are forming as I write this. Early rumblings of thunder make their warning sign, and I’m in search of some rubber-soled shoes. But the truth will always set one free. Whole Foods begrudgingly wins, chalk one down for the Chains. Time for a good long cry.
5) Was celebrating my mom’s birthday this weekend and took her and my girlfriend out to dinner at a place called Luigi’s in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. Anyone familiar with the Denver area will see where I’m going with this. Luigi’s is a fine place, real down-home and local, sans much of the inflicted quaintness found elsewhere. Huge, rich, delicious portions with friendly service from waitresses who call you “Hon” and “Dear.” Just about everything is great, but Luigi’s is especially known for their pizza. I had their pizza special Saturday night: barbecued chicken with bacon, onions and barbecue sauce (and my cholesterol level has jumped to???). It’s hard to describe, but the pizza has this special flavor that I’ve had only once before. I pondered the déjà vu my taste buds were experiencing and…eureka…it hit me…Beau Jo’s pizza in Idaho Springs, Colorado!!! They didn’t have the honey for the crust, but if you’ve been to Beau Jo’s you know what I’m talking about. We have great pizza here in New York, but it’s not as ubiquitous as Big Apple propaganda would like to suggest. Beau Jo’s is some of the finest pizza on the planet. Same goes with Luigi’s. Make the effort whenever you’re in those areas.
2) Seems the biggest news of the NBA Finals was that nobody watched them. Oh, but there was the draft too.
3) For those of you who get thirsty walking around New York City, worry no more, Big Gulps are here. For the first time in my life I saw a 7-Eleven in Manhattan on the NE corner of 23rd and Park. At first I thought it was a sick joke, like, who knows, maybe it was a vintage clothing store with a convenience store motif. They do that kind of stuff in New York; like making shoe stores feel like subway cars and so forth. But no, this 7-Eleven is for real. It hasn’t opened yet, but God willing it should soon. Nothing better than a Slurpie during the dog days of summer. And you thought life was getting worse...
4) I think I’m conflicted about all these chains moving into New York. I talk about this a lot, so here I go again. Union Square Park, the main epicenter of all things Left, has this “Farmers Market” there all the time. For us Urbanites this is supposedly a good thing; a vast array of stands with “organic” products from little upstate towns. There are flowers and vegetables and cupcakes and syrup and all those wonderful things you’d buy next to a cornfield along a country road. After walking past this Farmers Market dozens of times without giving it much attention, I finally broke down when my insatiable sweet tooth steered me towards one of the bakery stands. I purchased a bigger-than-average, but not huge, cookie that was admittedly overpriced. I thought what the heck, splurge a little, it’s going to be yummy coming from the Farmers Market. Well, unfortunately, calling the cookie sub-par would be generous. It was extremely bland and crumbled in my hand like a dead leaf; hardly an auspicious way to get introduced to the Farmers Market. Nevertheless I went again because I wanted to like this Farmers Market the way a Star Wars fan wants to like Jar Jar. This time I was thirsty, and figured some cold cider would hit the spot. So I go to a different stand and, again, get an admittedly overpriced cup of cider that’s slightly bigger than what’s affixed to your standard office water cooler. It took only two gulps to finish and so I asked in a half- joking, half-serious tone if there were free refills. She says no, somewhat scoffingly, of which I get the most searing “what a dork” look since trying to boogie to “Rock Lobster”. Strike two.
So, earlier this week, I had bunch of loose change in my pocket. I had a craving for those Jamaican meat patties at Golden Krust. It’s a tasty, cheap snack, and very filling. But what drives me nuts is that, for the nine-millionth time in my life, something that costs $2.85 on the menu ends up being $3.08 with sales tax, and I NEVER have that @#&*#$! eight cents when it comes in handy. Dig? Anyway, with the 92 cents that’s destined to get lost in my shorts, I figured I just spend it on a little afternoon dessert at, once again, the Farmers Market. I got a mini gingerbread man (the fluffy, spongy kind) for 75 cents. Once again, it was admittedly overpriced; considering its volume and density were about the same as two and a half marshmallows...but what the hell. Much to my dismay, my mini gingerbread man had the flavor of an unsalted rice cake…and…dare I say it…was as dry as the Mojave Desert. For me that dryness is a real showstopper. Strike three for the Farmers Market.
Meanwhile, as previously mentioned, the Invasion of the Chains has dangerously encroached the main epicenter of all things Left. Just south of Union Square Park, a Whole Foods Supermarket made Fourteenth Street home a few months ago. I like Whole Foods, at least the one in Time Warner Center off Columbus Circle, but I assume the one on Fourteenth is pretty much the same. It’s perhaps the only supermarket in the world that’s also a tourist destination. I kid you not, I’ve seen clusters of people gawk at the porterhouse steaks like it was the Mona Lisa. The place is massive, where the ushered checkout process feels like going through customs at JFK. And, yes, once more the place is also admittedly overpriced, though if you know where to look some bargains can be found. The key difference is quality. I don’t shop there for groceries, but I’ve had a few meals from the variety of self-serve food bars and it’s been A+ every time (meats succulent and juicy, sauces tangy and balanced, breads moist and textured…good stuff). However, with Whole Foods being the Neiman Marcus of supermarket chains, the downtowness of Union Square has gotten chafed. If the Farmers Market is the yin of Union Square, Whole Foods is the yang. But at the risk of committing blasphemy, I must be fair and say that Whole Foods kicks the bejesus out of the Farmers Market. I already sense lightning ready to strike me. In fact, dark clouds are forming as I write this. Early rumblings of thunder make their warning sign, and I’m in search of some rubber-soled shoes. But the truth will always set one free. Whole Foods begrudgingly wins, chalk one down for the Chains. Time for a good long cry.
5) Was celebrating my mom’s birthday this weekend and took her and my girlfriend out to dinner at a place called Luigi’s in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. Anyone familiar with the Denver area will see where I’m going with this. Luigi’s is a fine place, real down-home and local, sans much of the inflicted quaintness found elsewhere. Huge, rich, delicious portions with friendly service from waitresses who call you “Hon” and “Dear.” Just about everything is great, but Luigi’s is especially known for their pizza. I had their pizza special Saturday night: barbecued chicken with bacon, onions and barbecue sauce (and my cholesterol level has jumped to???). It’s hard to describe, but the pizza has this special flavor that I’ve had only once before. I pondered the déjà vu my taste buds were experiencing and…eureka…it hit me…Beau Jo’s pizza in Idaho Springs, Colorado!!! They didn’t have the honey for the crust, but if you’ve been to Beau Jo’s you know what I’m talking about. We have great pizza here in New York, but it’s not as ubiquitous as Big Apple propaganda would like to suggest. Beau Jo’s is some of the finest pizza on the planet. Same goes with Luigi’s. Make the effort whenever you’re in those areas.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Some Early Summer Thoughts
1) I think I know why I’ve always regarded Spin Magazine as ersatz Rolling Stone. I’m having a very hard time with their declaring Radiohead’s “OK Computer” the best album of the last 20 years. I’ll admit it; I own this album because I connect some memories to the song “Karma Police”. Can’t say those memories come from the best period of my life, nor am I crazy about the album, but “Karma Police” does have some personal significance. I guess it’s a “bold” move on Spin’s part to praise a band that everyone loves to hate; as if they’re seeing the meaning through what many feel is a calculated and synthetic sound. Won’t matter, to me Radiohead will always remain as organic as Diet Mountain Dew.
2) I guess I’m not terribly surprised that “Cinderella Man” is dogging at the box office with a cumulative $43.9 million recorded thus far. Granted it’s competing with some heavyweights (no pun intended) like the new Batman and Star Wars movies, but I think the American public has had just one too many of these schmaltzy, nostalgic flicks pandering to Oscar’s agenda.
3) I think the harder the NBA tries to promote the league internationally, the more it’s disclosing just how disinterested people are about it at home. There’s a lot of subtext to what’s meant about “the implications of the Ron Artest incident;” stuff that nobody really wants to come out and say. But with ratings way down and nobody watching the NBA finals, some very tough questions need to be addressed about how the NBA will, if ever, deliver the type of TV audiences advertisers want.
4) I think Michelin, the French tire manufacturer, is a convenient scapegoat to the Formula One fiasco earlier this week in Indianapolis. I mean, when in doubt blame the French…right? Putting F1 on an oval track in the American Midwest is about as backwards-assed as hosting the Daytona 500 at the Nürburgring. Bad idea all the way around. Everyone just chalk this down as an expensive lesson learned and move on.
5) Seems that the most notable thing to come out of Wimbledon so far is Serena Williams smashing her racket. Well, at least that’s the New York Post’s standpoint. At least she won.
6) What is it with tornadoes always hitting trailer parks and helicopters always falling into the East River?
7) Was on the 11:07 Tuesday from Grand Central going to South Norwalk, Connecticut. Message to Jane from Rowayton: sorry that you made the early morning trip to Manhattan only to then discover that your meeting was canceled, but life’s full of these nuisances, so please get over it. I doubt your friends are overly concerned about this, and I can promise that your fellow passengers on Metro North aren’t concerned either. So next time, if you feel so compelled to use your cell phone for the entire 59 minute train ride, do it quietly, or in the doorway, or just read the newspaper. I don’t get a sense that life has dealt you that bad of a hand …thanks Jane.
8) Was also on the 11:07 Saturday from Grand Central going to Fairfield, Connecticut. Very crowded train for some reason. Couple of twenty-something’s, a guy and a girl, plow their bicycles down the busy isle while unapologetically grazing other passengers with their bikes. They find two coveted seats and stash their bikes in two other coveted seats before an elderly couple politely asks if they could move their bikes and sit down. The twenty-something’s give some flack about this, and a moment later the conductor comes to make order of this escalating matter. Voices get raised, and the conductor quickly decides to haul the bikes out to the platform and kick the twenty-something’s off the train. Way to go Mr. Conductor. The male twenty-something cowardly yells “F.U.” while the conductor has his back turned and storms off. Message to you two twenty-something’s: get over your f***ing sense of entitlement and show some courtesy. If you’re in shape enough to ride a bike, you’re in shape enough to stand with it in the doorway area. Better yet, since you have a bike, just ride the damn thing to wherever you have to go. There was nobody siding with you on that train. NOBODY!
9) Does anyone know how Quiznos, once the epitome of also-ran sandwich chains, found in Denver’s most forgotten strip malls, has planted itself in some of the most plum locations in all of New York City? Good God, they're smack-dab in the middle of St. Mark’s Place in the East Village. I mean, have their sandwiches gotten that much better? I thought for sure they’d be stuck among the lowest echelons of the fast food world; forever in the company of Chi-Chi’s, Arthur Treachers and Orange Julius. Shows what I know, but I’m still loyal to my boys at A&F Deli.
10) I think I’m having a hard time admitting how entertaining the Village People were the other night outside of Lincoln Center.
2) I guess I’m not terribly surprised that “Cinderella Man” is dogging at the box office with a cumulative $43.9 million recorded thus far. Granted it’s competing with some heavyweights (no pun intended) like the new Batman and Star Wars movies, but I think the American public has had just one too many of these schmaltzy, nostalgic flicks pandering to Oscar’s agenda.
3) I think the harder the NBA tries to promote the league internationally, the more it’s disclosing just how disinterested people are about it at home. There’s a lot of subtext to what’s meant about “the implications of the Ron Artest incident;” stuff that nobody really wants to come out and say. But with ratings way down and nobody watching the NBA finals, some very tough questions need to be addressed about how the NBA will, if ever, deliver the type of TV audiences advertisers want.
4) I think Michelin, the French tire manufacturer, is a convenient scapegoat to the Formula One fiasco earlier this week in Indianapolis. I mean, when in doubt blame the French…right? Putting F1 on an oval track in the American Midwest is about as backwards-assed as hosting the Daytona 500 at the Nürburgring. Bad idea all the way around. Everyone just chalk this down as an expensive lesson learned and move on.
5) Seems that the most notable thing to come out of Wimbledon so far is Serena Williams smashing her racket. Well, at least that’s the New York Post’s standpoint. At least she won.
6) What is it with tornadoes always hitting trailer parks and helicopters always falling into the East River?
7) Was on the 11:07 Tuesday from Grand Central going to South Norwalk, Connecticut. Message to Jane from Rowayton: sorry that you made the early morning trip to Manhattan only to then discover that your meeting was canceled, but life’s full of these nuisances, so please get over it. I doubt your friends are overly concerned about this, and I can promise that your fellow passengers on Metro North aren’t concerned either. So next time, if you feel so compelled to use your cell phone for the entire 59 minute train ride, do it quietly, or in the doorway, or just read the newspaper. I don’t get a sense that life has dealt you that bad of a hand …thanks Jane.
8) Was also on the 11:07 Saturday from Grand Central going to Fairfield, Connecticut. Very crowded train for some reason. Couple of twenty-something’s, a guy and a girl, plow their bicycles down the busy isle while unapologetically grazing other passengers with their bikes. They find two coveted seats and stash their bikes in two other coveted seats before an elderly couple politely asks if they could move their bikes and sit down. The twenty-something’s give some flack about this, and a moment later the conductor comes to make order of this escalating matter. Voices get raised, and the conductor quickly decides to haul the bikes out to the platform and kick the twenty-something’s off the train. Way to go Mr. Conductor. The male twenty-something cowardly yells “F.U.” while the conductor has his back turned and storms off. Message to you two twenty-something’s: get over your f***ing sense of entitlement and show some courtesy. If you’re in shape enough to ride a bike, you’re in shape enough to stand with it in the doorway area. Better yet, since you have a bike, just ride the damn thing to wherever you have to go. There was nobody siding with you on that train. NOBODY!
9) Does anyone know how Quiznos, once the epitome of also-ran sandwich chains, found in Denver’s most forgotten strip malls, has planted itself in some of the most plum locations in all of New York City? Good God, they're smack-dab in the middle of St. Mark’s Place in the East Village. I mean, have their sandwiches gotten that much better? I thought for sure they’d be stuck among the lowest echelons of the fast food world; forever in the company of Chi-Chi’s, Arthur Treachers and Orange Julius. Shows what I know, but I’m still loyal to my boys at A&F Deli.
10) I think I’m having a hard time admitting how entertaining the Village People were the other night outside of Lincoln Center.
Monday, June 20, 2005
WIMBLEDOOM
I don’t know, it could be me; growing up on the East Coast where Anglophilia came with the same conditioning as eating your peas, but Wimbledon was once a really big deal. Nowadays, it sneaks in and out like yet another Peter, Paul & Mary revival. The tournament is underway, lots of foreign players with polysyllabic names grunting their shots down the line. There are some Americans too, but most of them come from Florida and have no edge. Who these people are is anyone’s guess. The revolving door spins so fast that fans can’t even thrust their nationalism in time before the next teenage flavor of the month takes over: She’s from where, Doc, Lithuania? No, Latvia…I think. The only player that currently sticks out is Maria Sharapova. Don’t ask me about her game. I don’t know if she’s even right or left handed, I just know that she happened to win Wimbledon last year…and, oh yeah,…that’s she’s hot. Admit it, she may be good, but she’s not the sport’s poster girl because of her forehand volley.
Tennis, God, if there were ever a sport where bravado was king and decorum a curse it’s tennis. Where petulance reigns endorsements thirty years past one’s prime. I mean, who wouldn’t buy shaving cream from Ille Nastase? I blame the demise of tennis on the Swedes, with Bjorn Borg being Public Enemy Number One. Yes, I know, I’m sounding like a gringo-jingo. One of those ugly Americans that performs an expletive filled tirade because he can’t wear shorts into the Sistine Chapel. The one’s who eat McDonalds after a morning promenade along the banks of the Seine. But I’m right on this one. Tennis ruled when crass, ornery Americans dominated the sport. It wasn’t about playing a tenacious baseline game or storming the net. It was about bawdy swagger.
I blame the Swedes because they were the anti-Connors and anti-McEnroe; the kids who put apples on the teacher’s desk. The ones who sat in the front row and wouldn’t let you copy their geometry proofs when you were in a jam. They were what Herman’s Hermits were to the Rolling Stones. Matts Wilander and Stephan Edberg were simply sissies. But it was Borg’s mild mannered ways that anesthetized tennis to Orwellian levels; playing like a cat on carpet with his small wooden rackets…allegedly raising the bar with his passive on-court demeanor. As a result the sport slit its throat by debunking the shenanigans of Connors and McEnroe; unknowingly killing the golden goose of attitude that put Wimbledon on par with the Super Bowl. In its wake we got syborgs like Ivan Lendl, Boris Becker and Pete Sampras driving the ball with stolid blitzkrieg might. Our interest waned.
These days Wimbledon is just a nice little tennis tournament, dying with the WASPs on rainy Edgartown mornings instead of enticing a new generation’s worth of interest. Wimbledon, Wimbledoom…pass me a taco Bucky.
Tennis, God, if there were ever a sport where bravado was king and decorum a curse it’s tennis. Where petulance reigns endorsements thirty years past one’s prime. I mean, who wouldn’t buy shaving cream from Ille Nastase? I blame the demise of tennis on the Swedes, with Bjorn Borg being Public Enemy Number One. Yes, I know, I’m sounding like a gringo-jingo. One of those ugly Americans that performs an expletive filled tirade because he can’t wear shorts into the Sistine Chapel. The one’s who eat McDonalds after a morning promenade along the banks of the Seine. But I’m right on this one. Tennis ruled when crass, ornery Americans dominated the sport. It wasn’t about playing a tenacious baseline game or storming the net. It was about bawdy swagger.
I blame the Swedes because they were the anti-Connors and anti-McEnroe; the kids who put apples on the teacher’s desk. The ones who sat in the front row and wouldn’t let you copy their geometry proofs when you were in a jam. They were what Herman’s Hermits were to the Rolling Stones. Matts Wilander and Stephan Edberg were simply sissies. But it was Borg’s mild mannered ways that anesthetized tennis to Orwellian levels; playing like a cat on carpet with his small wooden rackets…allegedly raising the bar with his passive on-court demeanor. As a result the sport slit its throat by debunking the shenanigans of Connors and McEnroe; unknowingly killing the golden goose of attitude that put Wimbledon on par with the Super Bowl. In its wake we got syborgs like Ivan Lendl, Boris Becker and Pete Sampras driving the ball with stolid blitzkrieg might. Our interest waned.
These days Wimbledon is just a nice little tennis tournament, dying with the WASPs on rainy Edgartown mornings instead of enticing a new generation’s worth of interest. Wimbledon, Wimbledoom…pass me a taco Bucky.
Monday, June 13, 2005
OLD HAT
I can’t hold it in anymore. Just can’t. I don’t like to use this site to bash other writers; one’s that get paid to do this sort of thing. But alas, I can’t take it any more. The voices in my head, the tossing and turning at night, the pent up need to exorcise these emotions is just too overpowering. So here we go: I love Sports Illustrated, but I can’t stand Frank Deford.
I know this is somewhat sacrilegious to those who hail from the old school. It’s along the lines of assassinating the integrity of Walter Cronkite or panning the latest schmaltzfest by Ron Howard, but so be it. Longevity and awards hardly make one sacrosanct, in fact, if anything, it demonstrates adherence to established journalistic norms rather than challenge the system. And Deford, who writes with the provinciality of a tweed-laden English professor, couldn’t be more of a “yes man.” A token wonk to give sports rags some Ivy League cred.
One story by Deford that really struck a chord (no I’m not trying to write in verse…thank you) was called “Heap Big Hypocrisy”. The piece was a recycled rant about the continued defilement of the American Indian thanks to nicknames like the Redskins. To be fair, there is some legitimacy to this argument. Even I, who at times can be “sensitivitally challenged”, will agree that logos like that of the Cleveland Indians are pretty disrespectful. But that’s not the point. The point is forging ahead after 15 years of self-censored speech. The thing with offensive team nicknames is old; rehashing the days when political correctness reached its zenith in the early 1990s. Some organizations, sadly, did cave under the pressure. The Portland Oregonian, for example, enacted a policy that abolished the use of “offensive” nicknames in its stories. When writing about, say, the Atlanta Braves, the paper would simply refer to them as “the baseball team from Atlanta”. St. Johns University, formerly known as the Redmen, became the Red Storm.
Deford goes on to say, “Now, at last, the NCAA has begun a review of the situation, with an eye toward considering whether it indeed might possess the authority to force member schools to change their dubious nicknames.”
Dubious nicknames? Where do you draw the line? Lets throw famous brand names like Indian Motorcycles, Cherokee Clothing and Red Man Tobacco into the mix as well.
Maybe the Boston Celtics should modify their “cartoonish” logo in order to stay PC among the Irish. How about the Minnesota Vikings? Someone in the Twin Cities must find them offensive; besmirching the folklore of the area’s Scandinavian heritage. Is the fleur-de-lis on the side of the New Orleans Saints helmet a sign of French disrespect? Perhaps the Saints should change their name altogether. After all, the Church could hardly be thrilled about a team called The Saints paying grown men to knock the crap out of other human beings. The Chicago Bulls anyone? PETA members get your placards out. How dare a nickname suggest bovine zeal when it’s really about killing cattle in the old stockyards. It’s offensive and sneaky, not to mention glorifying an industry synonymous with worker exploitation. Awful.
Where does it end?
Houston Rockets? Could be construed with exacerbating the Cold War; a war that put America trillions of dollars in debt. Pacifists and fiscal conservatives should unite until a more suitable nickname is found.
Pittsburgh Steelers? Anyone know how harmful the steel industry was to the environment? Why haven’t the PIRGs led a siege onto Heinz Field? A name change is clearly in order.
San Antonio Spurs? Naming a franchise after an implement used to impale horses is vile; even for Texas.
Kansas City Royals? Lots of fine, red-blooded Americans died to keep our country liberated from monarchy oppression. And to have a team called the Royals in our heartland isn’t just offensive, it’s contemptuous.
New York Knickerbockers? The name refers to New York’s blueblood upper crust; a ruling society that thumbed their nose at the working class. It’s an outrage to have a name promoting class envy like this. Amazing we haven’t seen race riots outside of Madison Square Garden…at least not yet.
Ridiculous? That’s the point.
Deford also says, “sport nicknames may seem like a small, even foolish, thing, but their visibility helps keep Indians trapped in history, cartoon figures frozen on the warpath." I agree, it is a small, even foolish thing, however for years these small foolish things have grown into monumental warts on our society; leaving self-inflicted gag orders to keep things innocuous and vanilla. Political correctness has already made American sports that much more banal. Names like the Jacksonville Jaguars and Washington Wizards (formerly the Washington Bullets) reflect the focus-group-friendly world that Deford craves. Enough with taking the safe route.
Maybe teams should just abandon competition all together. Just email each other’s game plan and call it a draw. That way no one gets hurt, or worse…offended.
OTHER NOTES:
A few thoughts about, well, things going on. Granted I’m sort of “borrowing” Peter King’s “Ten Things I Think I Think” from his outstanding Monday Morning Quarterback column. But Peter King is open about what he borrows too. So what goes around, comes around.
1) I think New York City’s soul was saved thanks to the West Side Stadium getting nixed by the state legislature. New York City has been the last frontier for America’s corporate chains, but thanks to stratospheric rents, only the chains can afford to move in here now. There are already two Home Depots in Manhattan. TWO! And with the Disneyfication of Times Square well entrenched, a West Side stadium would provide a hugely fertile swath of asphalt for the likes of Ruby Tuesday and all its clones. For the first time in my life, something significant happened in Albany. Lou Reed should write a bad song about it.
2) I also think it’s a blessing in disguise that New York will likely not get the 2012 Olympics. We don’t need the prestige and we don’t need seven years of jackhammers, traffic, and every official on the planet telling us how to make the city “safe”. Big Brother has already found a home in our fair city, and he’s not very welcome. In terms of making money, the city is better off selling lemonade on the street than hosting the Olympics. Get over it New York, we have nothing to prove to the world. Work on Ground Zero instead.
3) Saw Pedro Martinez pitch live for the first time on June 2. It was an unseasonably chilly night for early June, but for five bucks we put up with the discomfort (yes there actually are some bargains in New York). Was too far up in the right field upper deck to gauge Pedro’s stuff, but his charisma belted us like fresh menthol pellets placed in a steam bath. He’s got the “it” factor, that’s for sure. He’s been a fantastic acquisition for the Mets. I’m on the Pedro bandwagon.
4) I agree with the consensus that Eli Manning will have a big season with the Giants. I also think that Chris Snee will again show how the Giants have historically drafted better in the second round than in the first.
5) Saw the movie “Lords of Dogtown” despite being ten years north of the film’s target age. Damn good flick. Sort of where “Friday Night Lights” meets “Boogie Nights” on skateboards. This movie should make anyone feel deprived of not growing up in 1970s southern California. Heath Ledger borrows a little from Sean Penn’s Jeff Spicoli and a little from Val Kilmer’s Jim Morrison. Nevertheless, he plays a very likeable and memorable character. Check it out, even if your MTV was the one that showed videos.
6) I think “Hustle and Flow” will be the summer’s surprise movie hit both critically and at the box office.
7) Anyone see the Tony Awards recently? How about the French Open? Anyone? Anyone?
8) I think the Texas Rangers will get really hot in the latter half of the season.
9) I think the Mets are on the right track, but won’t be a playoff team in 2005.
10) I’ve always thought Starbucks coffee sucks.
I know this is somewhat sacrilegious to those who hail from the old school. It’s along the lines of assassinating the integrity of Walter Cronkite or panning the latest schmaltzfest by Ron Howard, but so be it. Longevity and awards hardly make one sacrosanct, in fact, if anything, it demonstrates adherence to established journalistic norms rather than challenge the system. And Deford, who writes with the provinciality of a tweed-laden English professor, couldn’t be more of a “yes man.” A token wonk to give sports rags some Ivy League cred.
One story by Deford that really struck a chord (no I’m not trying to write in verse…thank you) was called “Heap Big Hypocrisy”. The piece was a recycled rant about the continued defilement of the American Indian thanks to nicknames like the Redskins. To be fair, there is some legitimacy to this argument. Even I, who at times can be “sensitivitally challenged”, will agree that logos like that of the Cleveland Indians are pretty disrespectful. But that’s not the point. The point is forging ahead after 15 years of self-censored speech. The thing with offensive team nicknames is old; rehashing the days when political correctness reached its zenith in the early 1990s. Some organizations, sadly, did cave under the pressure. The Portland Oregonian, for example, enacted a policy that abolished the use of “offensive” nicknames in its stories. When writing about, say, the Atlanta Braves, the paper would simply refer to them as “the baseball team from Atlanta”. St. Johns University, formerly known as the Redmen, became the Red Storm.
Deford goes on to say, “Now, at last, the NCAA has begun a review of the situation, with an eye toward considering whether it indeed might possess the authority to force member schools to change their dubious nicknames.”
Dubious nicknames? Where do you draw the line? Lets throw famous brand names like Indian Motorcycles, Cherokee Clothing and Red Man Tobacco into the mix as well.
Maybe the Boston Celtics should modify their “cartoonish” logo in order to stay PC among the Irish. How about the Minnesota Vikings? Someone in the Twin Cities must find them offensive; besmirching the folklore of the area’s Scandinavian heritage. Is the fleur-de-lis on the side of the New Orleans Saints helmet a sign of French disrespect? Perhaps the Saints should change their name altogether. After all, the Church could hardly be thrilled about a team called The Saints paying grown men to knock the crap out of other human beings. The Chicago Bulls anyone? PETA members get your placards out. How dare a nickname suggest bovine zeal when it’s really about killing cattle in the old stockyards. It’s offensive and sneaky, not to mention glorifying an industry synonymous with worker exploitation. Awful.
Where does it end?
Houston Rockets? Could be construed with exacerbating the Cold War; a war that put America trillions of dollars in debt. Pacifists and fiscal conservatives should unite until a more suitable nickname is found.
Pittsburgh Steelers? Anyone know how harmful the steel industry was to the environment? Why haven’t the PIRGs led a siege onto Heinz Field? A name change is clearly in order.
San Antonio Spurs? Naming a franchise after an implement used to impale horses is vile; even for Texas.
Kansas City Royals? Lots of fine, red-blooded Americans died to keep our country liberated from monarchy oppression. And to have a team called the Royals in our heartland isn’t just offensive, it’s contemptuous.
New York Knickerbockers? The name refers to New York’s blueblood upper crust; a ruling society that thumbed their nose at the working class. It’s an outrage to have a name promoting class envy like this. Amazing we haven’t seen race riots outside of Madison Square Garden…at least not yet.
Ridiculous? That’s the point.
Deford also says, “sport nicknames may seem like a small, even foolish, thing, but their visibility helps keep Indians trapped in history, cartoon figures frozen on the warpath." I agree, it is a small, even foolish thing, however for years these small foolish things have grown into monumental warts on our society; leaving self-inflicted gag orders to keep things innocuous and vanilla. Political correctness has already made American sports that much more banal. Names like the Jacksonville Jaguars and Washington Wizards (formerly the Washington Bullets) reflect the focus-group-friendly world that Deford craves. Enough with taking the safe route.
Maybe teams should just abandon competition all together. Just email each other’s game plan and call it a draw. That way no one gets hurt, or worse…offended.
OTHER NOTES:
A few thoughts about, well, things going on. Granted I’m sort of “borrowing” Peter King’s “Ten Things I Think I Think” from his outstanding Monday Morning Quarterback column. But Peter King is open about what he borrows too. So what goes around, comes around.
1) I think New York City’s soul was saved thanks to the West Side Stadium getting nixed by the state legislature. New York City has been the last frontier for America’s corporate chains, but thanks to stratospheric rents, only the chains can afford to move in here now. There are already two Home Depots in Manhattan. TWO! And with the Disneyfication of Times Square well entrenched, a West Side stadium would provide a hugely fertile swath of asphalt for the likes of Ruby Tuesday and all its clones. For the first time in my life, something significant happened in Albany. Lou Reed should write a bad song about it.
2) I also think it’s a blessing in disguise that New York will likely not get the 2012 Olympics. We don’t need the prestige and we don’t need seven years of jackhammers, traffic, and every official on the planet telling us how to make the city “safe”. Big Brother has already found a home in our fair city, and he’s not very welcome. In terms of making money, the city is better off selling lemonade on the street than hosting the Olympics. Get over it New York, we have nothing to prove to the world. Work on Ground Zero instead.
3) Saw Pedro Martinez pitch live for the first time on June 2. It was an unseasonably chilly night for early June, but for five bucks we put up with the discomfort (yes there actually are some bargains in New York). Was too far up in the right field upper deck to gauge Pedro’s stuff, but his charisma belted us like fresh menthol pellets placed in a steam bath. He’s got the “it” factor, that’s for sure. He’s been a fantastic acquisition for the Mets. I’m on the Pedro bandwagon.
4) I agree with the consensus that Eli Manning will have a big season with the Giants. I also think that Chris Snee will again show how the Giants have historically drafted better in the second round than in the first.
5) Saw the movie “Lords of Dogtown” despite being ten years north of the film’s target age. Damn good flick. Sort of where “Friday Night Lights” meets “Boogie Nights” on skateboards. This movie should make anyone feel deprived of not growing up in 1970s southern California. Heath Ledger borrows a little from Sean Penn’s Jeff Spicoli and a little from Val Kilmer’s Jim Morrison. Nevertheless, he plays a very likeable and memorable character. Check it out, even if your MTV was the one that showed videos.
6) I think “Hustle and Flow” will be the summer’s surprise movie hit both critically and at the box office.
7) Anyone see the Tony Awards recently? How about the French Open? Anyone? Anyone?
8) I think the Texas Rangers will get really hot in the latter half of the season.
9) I think the Mets are on the right track, but won’t be a playoff team in 2005.
10) I’ve always thought Starbucks coffee sucks.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
NO WAY L.A.
If Peter King is writing about why he thinks the Minnesota Vikings are a Super Bowl contender, then the well for football news must be pretty dry. The Vikes have had a good off-season, especially with all the bumps involved with their ownership change, but I have just two words as to why Minnesota will continue to sputter: Mike Tice.
Another NFL topic with the shelf life of canned beats is putting a team in Los Angeles. The stakes seem high for NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue to have a team in LA. After all, it is the second largest television market, and despite legions of Angelenos “escaping” to less frenetic locales, LA is still a growing metropolis. In addition, it looks silly, even embarrassing, for the NFL not to have a team in a market that has two franchises in each of the remaining three major sports. But for a city that’s notoriously fickle about, well…everything, LA seems more fertile for a Capezio revival than pro-football.
Though the Rams and Raiders are what first comes to mind, the Chargers, too, had their inaugural season in LA in 1960. And while you may not have drank Lowenbrau since the USFL, LA had a team there as well called the Express, where Steve Young began his pro career. With the exodus of both the Rams and Raiders in 1995, LA has had four teams leave or go bust in just a 35-year time span.
For years some of the more obvious reasons for pro-football flailing in LA have been mentioned. The weather of course is a big one, as catching rays on the beach is preferred to catching rays in the decrepit LA Coliseum. Another is the town’s transient nature, where football deprived transplants generate ratings, but swear allegiance to their hometown teams. But what’s sorely misunderstood by the NFL is that teams comprised of hefty, thick-necked men are far less appreciated in a town that’s enamoured with professional beauty more than anywhere else in the world. Los Angeles sells people like Proctor & Gamble sells shampoo, and thus the city is conditioned to see, hear and connect with stars in mass consumption; hence its love affair with the Lakers. Hard to do with guys covered in helmets and pads. You can’t serve steak to a town feeding on sizzle. The NFL thinks it can.
The NFL has tried to ratchet up its sex appeal for several years now. Players such as Michael Vick have been placed on a national pedestal for us all to “ooh” and “ahh” about. But despite the NFL’s efforts to create an A-list of players, football will always remain a team-oriented sport. Los Angeles, however, still remains an anomaly in this regard, where they’re used to seeing an individual’s sparkle turn bombs into blockbusters. This ingrained culture trickles to sports as well, which is why the NFL conflicts with the ways of LA. Anyone remember the Kings before Wayne Gretzky? After?
If not already, the NFL can surely find a billionaire or two to pay for a new team. A new stadium shouldn’t blemish the sprawl too much, but God forbid they have to “settle” for a guy like Peyton Manning. Nothing fancy, just a guy with a golden arm, but unfortunately lacks the charisma to even endorse tires. Would La-La Land give him the nod, or is he dining at Red Lobster in Garden Grove?
Julia Roberts and Magic Johnson will always shine in the klieg lights better than armored giants banging the hell out of each other. What works in Green Bay doesn’t work in LA. Rule number one in Tinseltown is never be desperate. The NFL is starting to look that way. Perhaps Paul Tagliabue should take heed to one of Hollywood’s greatest lines… “A man has to know his limitations.”
Another NFL topic with the shelf life of canned beats is putting a team in Los Angeles. The stakes seem high for NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue to have a team in LA. After all, it is the second largest television market, and despite legions of Angelenos “escaping” to less frenetic locales, LA is still a growing metropolis. In addition, it looks silly, even embarrassing, for the NFL not to have a team in a market that has two franchises in each of the remaining three major sports. But for a city that’s notoriously fickle about, well…everything, LA seems more fertile for a Capezio revival than pro-football.
Though the Rams and Raiders are what first comes to mind, the Chargers, too, had their inaugural season in LA in 1960. And while you may not have drank Lowenbrau since the USFL, LA had a team there as well called the Express, where Steve Young began his pro career. With the exodus of both the Rams and Raiders in 1995, LA has had four teams leave or go bust in just a 35-year time span.
For years some of the more obvious reasons for pro-football flailing in LA have been mentioned. The weather of course is a big one, as catching rays on the beach is preferred to catching rays in the decrepit LA Coliseum. Another is the town’s transient nature, where football deprived transplants generate ratings, but swear allegiance to their hometown teams. But what’s sorely misunderstood by the NFL is that teams comprised of hefty, thick-necked men are far less appreciated in a town that’s enamoured with professional beauty more than anywhere else in the world. Los Angeles sells people like Proctor & Gamble sells shampoo, and thus the city is conditioned to see, hear and connect with stars in mass consumption; hence its love affair with the Lakers. Hard to do with guys covered in helmets and pads. You can’t serve steak to a town feeding on sizzle. The NFL thinks it can.
The NFL has tried to ratchet up its sex appeal for several years now. Players such as Michael Vick have been placed on a national pedestal for us all to “ooh” and “ahh” about. But despite the NFL’s efforts to create an A-list of players, football will always remain a team-oriented sport. Los Angeles, however, still remains an anomaly in this regard, where they’re used to seeing an individual’s sparkle turn bombs into blockbusters. This ingrained culture trickles to sports as well, which is why the NFL conflicts with the ways of LA. Anyone remember the Kings before Wayne Gretzky? After?
If not already, the NFL can surely find a billionaire or two to pay for a new team. A new stadium shouldn’t blemish the sprawl too much, but God forbid they have to “settle” for a guy like Peyton Manning. Nothing fancy, just a guy with a golden arm, but unfortunately lacks the charisma to even endorse tires. Would La-La Land give him the nod, or is he dining at Red Lobster in Garden Grove?
Julia Roberts and Magic Johnson will always shine in the klieg lights better than armored giants banging the hell out of each other. What works in Green Bay doesn’t work in LA. Rule number one in Tinseltown is never be desperate. The NFL is starting to look that way. Perhaps Paul Tagliabue should take heed to one of Hollywood’s greatest lines… “A man has to know his limitations.”
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
ROYAL FEAST
Greetings all, I know it’s been some time since Octavio’s last posting, but, well, even us bloggers can get in a rut. Sometimes a trip out of town helps clear the mind. Not just out of town, but somewhere a little different. I get a weekend jaunt out of New York just enough to not require mood stabilizers, but alas, the right medicine was a destination well beyond the reach of Metro North.
Hello Kansas.
My girlfriend and I were recently in Lawrence, Kansas for a few days seeing my brother. He moved there six months ago and we New Yorkers were actually able to zero on a commitmentless weekend and nail a decent airfare at the same time. Nice town, really nice…sort of a mini Austin where it’s OK to vote Democrat even though the surrounding red-state sea keeps Kerry-Edwards bumper stickers to the size of a Ritz Cracker. I heard there was some Bob Dole Center for This and That, but we had more pressing matters like browsing through a vintage clothing store on the main drag. For what it’s worth, I did contribute to the local economy and bought a shirt for ten bucks. OK Bob?
Saturday we took a day trip to Kansas City of which we capped off the evening at Kauffman Stadium. We had a few hours to kill beforehand. Besides a gas stop or two, my past Kansas City experiences didn’t venture much beyond I-70. All I thought about was eating. Kansas City, as most of you probably know, is known for barbecue the way, say, Philly is known for cheesesteak (or scrapple if you’re real local), and I damn near drowned on my own saliva in the anticipation of sinking my teeth into some ribs. Notice that I use the word “barbecue” in the noun form in the previous sentence. For us Yankees, barbecue is strictly a verb as in: “We’re barbecuing tonight, come on over and bring that white Belgian beer you got in New Canaan…and bring the new Norah Jones CD too.” Anyway, I did a little homework on KC barbecue joints. I was reticent about whatever Citysearch rated because I just can’t trust what transients from San Francisco say about KC barbecue. Arthur Bryant’s was listed across the board as the de facto source of the Kansas City barbecue experience, but I didn’t buy it. Figured it was just an established name well past its prime; like waiting for 45 minutes to eat at a diner on the lone fact that it’s been there since 1952. Your eggs are runny, and the service is scant and bitchy, but cognitive dissonance still says it’s better than IHOP since it survived Wal-Mart’s raping of the town fifteen years earlier. Nope, I didn’t bite on Bryant’s. But after digging a little deeper on some of those barbecue “aficionado” sites, you know, where people haul grills the size of camping trailers behind their trucks, the place consistently listed as “real” KC barbecue was a joint called LC’s. And so we went.
If you hadn’t been there before, or mapped the place out like we did, you might mistake LC’s as a place to buy carpet or floor tile. There are a few parking spots, but you just stick the car wherever you can, or on the adjacent street called Sni A Bar Road; right before the tracks. Walking in is a throwback to 1973. You kind of expect to see an El Camino or Maverick parked outside, and probably do if you hang around long enough. It’s hot and smoky, and there may be some fans blowing, but that just accelerates the barbecue smoke clinging to your clothes. You embrace the odor, maybe even try to stand closer to the grill so your clothes hold the smell for longer; like having some kind of aromatic street cred or something. Asthmatics be warned, just wait outside or make sure your pocket lung-pump thing is full and working as the smoke can get thick. Ordering is simple, like a supermarket deli, tell ‘em what you want and wait for your number to be called. Customers outnumber the available tables by about a 2:1 ratio, at least when we were there. Nobody is in a hurry, including those who run the joint, but you don’t complain ‘cause you figure that LC’s has earned the right to do things on their terms….and they have. LC’s has their own brand of sauce tucked on a little rack next to the self-serve soda fountain. They don’t make a lot of noise ‘bout their sauce because they don’t have to. There are already plenty of poser sauces sold at the airport gift shop. Perhaps the most high-tech thing at LC’s are the oversized plastic napkin dispensers loaded with perforated industrial rolls of napkins. Take as many napkins as you think you’ll ever need, then triple it, and it still won’t be enough. Then eat, eat, eat, and eat.
We took our two full slabs of LC ribs to nearby Swope Park. The ribs were packed in this thin metal box big enough to hold a pair of work boots; size 14. No handles, no shopping bag to put it in, and the thing is hot, slippery and a pain in the ass to carry (like…no pressure about dropping it in the parking lot or anything). My fingertips got slightly singed during the sixty-foot walk to the car, like carrying a hot pan of lasagna without potholders, but like I said, LC’s has earned the right to do things on their terms.
We entered Swope Park, technically. It’s a huge park, sort of like Kansas City’s version of Rock Creek Park in DC, but we somehow wound up on the outer fringe about a hundred yards from a public swimming pool soon to be filled. A police cruiser and a flock of waddling geese were our only other companions in the area. We made a B-line to the lone picnic table in this little oasis and then, two seconds after we sat on the side of the table, the damn thing nearly capsized on top of us (ha…some sick little joke for us out-of-towners perhaps?…NOT funny folks). Apparently, the ground supporting the table had sunk in, heeling us at a 45-degree angle like we’re racing in the America’s Cup. Thankfully, lunch was saved and thus we broke out a blanket and had ribs on the grass. Messy stuff; ribs the size of fire kindling saturated in a bog of LC’s sauce…yeah. There was a bit of a breeze, so we stood up and ate with our backs to the wind so we wouldn’t wear our lunch around for the rest of the day. And those ribs…OH MY GOD…succulent, luscious, taste-buds-in-ecstasy, call-your-friends-and-make-‘em -jealous good…every word in the Thesaurus for delicious times five. Worth fasting for a week good. That’s LC’s baby, 5800 Blue Parkway, Kansas City, MO 64129, 816-923-4484. Make the effort folks, and don’t worry about needing to eat for another day or two. Ten hours after lunch we were still as full as if we ate five minutes before.
Later that night we went to Kauffman Stadium for the inter-league match-up between the Royals and Cardinals. I still have a hard time calling it Kauffman Stadium as it was known as Royal Stadium for so many years. I have to say that I’ve only had a resurgent interest in baseball in the past three or four years. I’m a football guy at heart and thus have only been to a handful of ballparks around country. OK, actually, I’ve only been to four other active ballparks (well five if you really want to count RFK Stadium). And if you’re dying to know as much as I’m dying to list them, I will; they are: Yankee Stadium, Shea Stadium, Camden Yards and PNC Park in Pittsburgh; of which the last two are among the onslaught of new ballparks built over the last fifteen years or so. So with that said, Kauffman Stadium seems kind of ancient despite opening in 1973. It may be dated by today’s standards, but I’ll be hard pressed to find a warmer place to see a game. We had upper deck seats just slightly to the third base side of home plate, but the seats are steeped in a way that you really don’t feel that far away from the action. Yes, I know, just about every ballpark has that same effect, but dang-it, it was still nice. Of course, what makes the place are the fountains behind the outfield and the lush green lawn between the stadium’s edge and I-70. Oh wow, you cynically say, a freeway, that’s just great Octavio…but I like watching the cars and trucks go by the same way I like watching the planes rip in and out of LaGuardia at Shea. Now if you ever see a Royals game on TV (which is unlikely since moribund small market clubs don’t get much national TV exposure) you just see water flow like a shopping mall wishing well. However, between innings when there’s a commercial break, the fountains shoot high in the sky where you can even hear the sound of the water rush. I don’t know if that’s why so many people frequently got up to go to the bathroom, but I’m still guessing it was from the beer (and wow what partiers those visiting folks from St. Louis are). Even better, as night falls, the streams of water are lit in pretty reds and lavenders from underwater lights. Sure, snicker away at my romanticism, but I like the fountains. I like ‘em a lot.
Anyway, for those of you in the camp who don’t like these inter-league match-ups, I say phooey. This game was a blast with fans from both teams poking fun at one-another, but never too seriously. Kind of like those Lite Beer ads from the 1980s where one section yells “Tastes Great” and the other yells “Less Filling.” Though this may have been the only weekend the Royals sell out all season, it was sadly amusing to see the “home” team get outnumbered by a slew of Cards fans making the four hour cross-state exodus. The “sea of red” seemed much more appropriate for Arrowhead Stadium across the lot. Now I’m an East Coast guy by most accounts. I love that edge of Madison Square Garden, the salty jeers raining down from the upper sections of Shea, and the electricity of Yankee Stadium; which at times can feel like a film premier, businessman’s lunch and bar fight rolled into one, but there is something to be said about seeing a game in the Heartland. I know, here we go, another schmaltzy, aw shucks, Norman Rockwell portrait about America’s favorite pastime. But what can I say, sometimes just some good clean fun is all you need. I didn’t have to kick someone out of my seats when I first arrived, nor deal with drunks bringing their turbulence from the ultra cheap seats to my section at the 7th inning. I didn’t have to hear multiple cell phone conversations that had nothing to do with the game and I didn’t have a busload of kids with ADD get up and crawl all over their seats like I’m at a McDonald’s play pen. And the only “f-bomb” I heard was a guy talking about his inebriated state while relieving himself in the men’s room. It was the yin-yang of baseball: energetic but not ornery. And while it may be amusing to hear fans remind Kaz Matsui what we did to his country at the end of World War II during his first At Bat, it’s gets ugly by his third.
I still love my city, but I’m so glad this is a big country. As Frederick Jackson Turner once stated, “as long as there’s a Frontier, there’s a safety valve.”
Hello Kansas.
My girlfriend and I were recently in Lawrence, Kansas for a few days seeing my brother. He moved there six months ago and we New Yorkers were actually able to zero on a commitmentless weekend and nail a decent airfare at the same time. Nice town, really nice…sort of a mini Austin where it’s OK to vote Democrat even though the surrounding red-state sea keeps Kerry-Edwards bumper stickers to the size of a Ritz Cracker. I heard there was some Bob Dole Center for This and That, but we had more pressing matters like browsing through a vintage clothing store on the main drag. For what it’s worth, I did contribute to the local economy and bought a shirt for ten bucks. OK Bob?
Saturday we took a day trip to Kansas City of which we capped off the evening at Kauffman Stadium. We had a few hours to kill beforehand. Besides a gas stop or two, my past Kansas City experiences didn’t venture much beyond I-70. All I thought about was eating. Kansas City, as most of you probably know, is known for barbecue the way, say, Philly is known for cheesesteak (or scrapple if you’re real local), and I damn near drowned on my own saliva in the anticipation of sinking my teeth into some ribs. Notice that I use the word “barbecue” in the noun form in the previous sentence. For us Yankees, barbecue is strictly a verb as in: “We’re barbecuing tonight, come on over and bring that white Belgian beer you got in New Canaan…and bring the new Norah Jones CD too.” Anyway, I did a little homework on KC barbecue joints. I was reticent about whatever Citysearch rated because I just can’t trust what transients from San Francisco say about KC barbecue. Arthur Bryant’s was listed across the board as the de facto source of the Kansas City barbecue experience, but I didn’t buy it. Figured it was just an established name well past its prime; like waiting for 45 minutes to eat at a diner on the lone fact that it’s been there since 1952. Your eggs are runny, and the service is scant and bitchy, but cognitive dissonance still says it’s better than IHOP since it survived Wal-Mart’s raping of the town fifteen years earlier. Nope, I didn’t bite on Bryant’s. But after digging a little deeper on some of those barbecue “aficionado” sites, you know, where people haul grills the size of camping trailers behind their trucks, the place consistently listed as “real” KC barbecue was a joint called LC’s. And so we went.
If you hadn’t been there before, or mapped the place out like we did, you might mistake LC’s as a place to buy carpet or floor tile. There are a few parking spots, but you just stick the car wherever you can, or on the adjacent street called Sni A Bar Road; right before the tracks. Walking in is a throwback to 1973. You kind of expect to see an El Camino or Maverick parked outside, and probably do if you hang around long enough. It’s hot and smoky, and there may be some fans blowing, but that just accelerates the barbecue smoke clinging to your clothes. You embrace the odor, maybe even try to stand closer to the grill so your clothes hold the smell for longer; like having some kind of aromatic street cred or something. Asthmatics be warned, just wait outside or make sure your pocket lung-pump thing is full and working as the smoke can get thick. Ordering is simple, like a supermarket deli, tell ‘em what you want and wait for your number to be called. Customers outnumber the available tables by about a 2:1 ratio, at least when we were there. Nobody is in a hurry, including those who run the joint, but you don’t complain ‘cause you figure that LC’s has earned the right to do things on their terms….and they have. LC’s has their own brand of sauce tucked on a little rack next to the self-serve soda fountain. They don’t make a lot of noise ‘bout their sauce because they don’t have to. There are already plenty of poser sauces sold at the airport gift shop. Perhaps the most high-tech thing at LC’s are the oversized plastic napkin dispensers loaded with perforated industrial rolls of napkins. Take as many napkins as you think you’ll ever need, then triple it, and it still won’t be enough. Then eat, eat, eat, and eat.
We took our two full slabs of LC ribs to nearby Swope Park. The ribs were packed in this thin metal box big enough to hold a pair of work boots; size 14. No handles, no shopping bag to put it in, and the thing is hot, slippery and a pain in the ass to carry (like…no pressure about dropping it in the parking lot or anything). My fingertips got slightly singed during the sixty-foot walk to the car, like carrying a hot pan of lasagna without potholders, but like I said, LC’s has earned the right to do things on their terms.
We entered Swope Park, technically. It’s a huge park, sort of like Kansas City’s version of Rock Creek Park in DC, but we somehow wound up on the outer fringe about a hundred yards from a public swimming pool soon to be filled. A police cruiser and a flock of waddling geese were our only other companions in the area. We made a B-line to the lone picnic table in this little oasis and then, two seconds after we sat on the side of the table, the damn thing nearly capsized on top of us (ha…some sick little joke for us out-of-towners perhaps?…NOT funny folks). Apparently, the ground supporting the table had sunk in, heeling us at a 45-degree angle like we’re racing in the America’s Cup. Thankfully, lunch was saved and thus we broke out a blanket and had ribs on the grass. Messy stuff; ribs the size of fire kindling saturated in a bog of LC’s sauce…yeah. There was a bit of a breeze, so we stood up and ate with our backs to the wind so we wouldn’t wear our lunch around for the rest of the day. And those ribs…OH MY GOD…succulent, luscious, taste-buds-in-ecstasy, call-your-friends-and-make-‘em -jealous good…every word in the Thesaurus for delicious times five. Worth fasting for a week good. That’s LC’s baby, 5800 Blue Parkway, Kansas City, MO 64129, 816-923-4484. Make the effort folks, and don’t worry about needing to eat for another day or two. Ten hours after lunch we were still as full as if we ate five minutes before.
Later that night we went to Kauffman Stadium for the inter-league match-up between the Royals and Cardinals. I still have a hard time calling it Kauffman Stadium as it was known as Royal Stadium for so many years. I have to say that I’ve only had a resurgent interest in baseball in the past three or four years. I’m a football guy at heart and thus have only been to a handful of ballparks around country. OK, actually, I’ve only been to four other active ballparks (well five if you really want to count RFK Stadium). And if you’re dying to know as much as I’m dying to list them, I will; they are: Yankee Stadium, Shea Stadium, Camden Yards and PNC Park in Pittsburgh; of which the last two are among the onslaught of new ballparks built over the last fifteen years or so. So with that said, Kauffman Stadium seems kind of ancient despite opening in 1973. It may be dated by today’s standards, but I’ll be hard pressed to find a warmer place to see a game. We had upper deck seats just slightly to the third base side of home plate, but the seats are steeped in a way that you really don’t feel that far away from the action. Yes, I know, just about every ballpark has that same effect, but dang-it, it was still nice. Of course, what makes the place are the fountains behind the outfield and the lush green lawn between the stadium’s edge and I-70. Oh wow, you cynically say, a freeway, that’s just great Octavio…but I like watching the cars and trucks go by the same way I like watching the planes rip in and out of LaGuardia at Shea. Now if you ever see a Royals game on TV (which is unlikely since moribund small market clubs don’t get much national TV exposure) you just see water flow like a shopping mall wishing well. However, between innings when there’s a commercial break, the fountains shoot high in the sky where you can even hear the sound of the water rush. I don’t know if that’s why so many people frequently got up to go to the bathroom, but I’m still guessing it was from the beer (and wow what partiers those visiting folks from St. Louis are). Even better, as night falls, the streams of water are lit in pretty reds and lavenders from underwater lights. Sure, snicker away at my romanticism, but I like the fountains. I like ‘em a lot.
Anyway, for those of you in the camp who don’t like these inter-league match-ups, I say phooey. This game was a blast with fans from both teams poking fun at one-another, but never too seriously. Kind of like those Lite Beer ads from the 1980s where one section yells “Tastes Great” and the other yells “Less Filling.” Though this may have been the only weekend the Royals sell out all season, it was sadly amusing to see the “home” team get outnumbered by a slew of Cards fans making the four hour cross-state exodus. The “sea of red” seemed much more appropriate for Arrowhead Stadium across the lot. Now I’m an East Coast guy by most accounts. I love that edge of Madison Square Garden, the salty jeers raining down from the upper sections of Shea, and the electricity of Yankee Stadium; which at times can feel like a film premier, businessman’s lunch and bar fight rolled into one, but there is something to be said about seeing a game in the Heartland. I know, here we go, another schmaltzy, aw shucks, Norman Rockwell portrait about America’s favorite pastime. But what can I say, sometimes just some good clean fun is all you need. I didn’t have to kick someone out of my seats when I first arrived, nor deal with drunks bringing their turbulence from the ultra cheap seats to my section at the 7th inning. I didn’t have to hear multiple cell phone conversations that had nothing to do with the game and I didn’t have a busload of kids with ADD get up and crawl all over their seats like I’m at a McDonald’s play pen. And the only “f-bomb” I heard was a guy talking about his inebriated state while relieving himself in the men’s room. It was the yin-yang of baseball: energetic but not ornery. And while it may be amusing to hear fans remind Kaz Matsui what we did to his country at the end of World War II during his first At Bat, it’s gets ugly by his third.
I still love my city, but I’m so glad this is a big country. As Frederick Jackson Turner once stated, “as long as there’s a Frontier, there’s a safety valve.”
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
BACKDRAFT
In recent years the NFL draft has generated the same buzz as a $350 million Powerball jackpot, complete with full pundit analysis that puts the New Hampshire primary to shame. Not to say this is necessarily a bad thing. After all, any coping mechanism to bridge the gap between the Super Bowl and pre-season is fair medicine for the football junkie. But with the glut of expertise boiling down every move, let’s take a closer look at a few who must really respond to their teams’ raised expectations.
Michael Vick, Quarterback, Atlanta Falcons
Michael Vick may play for Atlanta, but many of his strings are pulled on Madison and Park Avenue. Contrary the NFL’s thinly veiled stance about not being a star driven league, they’re as much in the glitz business as American Idol, though thankfully without Ryan Seacrest. Vick has become the league’s face of its “urban” demographic as much as Peyton Manning caters to the NFL’s NASCAR contingent. In the forthcoming season, Atlanta is slated to appear thrice on Monday Night Football and once on Sunday night on ESPN. No doubt the promos will show ad nauseaum Michael Vick shredding the gridiron like a slalom course. But alas, Michael Vick is a quarterback, not a rusher, and the much ballyhooed “West Coast” offense that the Falcons spent all last season implementing will finally require Vick to use his arm and command a pocket presence. Though Vick’s patented elusiveness has mauled defenses in the past, it remains to be seen how long this improvisational style will continue to work. More importantly, it also remains to be seen how long this will be tolerated by coach Jim Mora. As much as Vick stocks the highlight reel with his legs, he’s been subject to quiet criticism regarding his slow study of Atlanta’s new offense and questionable defensive reads; thus giving him little choice but to run. In 2004, Atlanta ranked 30th in the league in total passing, just ahead of Baltimore and Chicago who could have introduced quicksand as a new playing surface. Vick’s go-to guy was Alge Crumpler; a gifted tight-end for sure, but since when did a “West Coast” offense center around the tight-end? That, and while it was a far less sexy back-story, the real truth to Atlanta’s surprising season was not Michael Vick, but their stingy defense that still remains largely unnoticed. With Peerless Price grossly underutilized and wide receiver Roddy White taken in the first round, it’s clear that Atlanta is determined to become the passing threat that Jim Mora has vowed to deliver. For Vick, that means he needs to step up and drop back a lot more than run forward and fall down.
Rex Grossman, Quarterback, Chicago Bears
It’s been twenty years since Chicago won the Super Bowl; and that longing for glory is perhaps why Mike Ditka’s steakhouse is still one of the most popular joints in the Windy City. Since then, Chicago has gone through quarterbacks like night clerks at 7-11. In addition, the Bears’ off-season moves in recent years have burned them worse than the city’s great fire. This year, however, Chicago appears for real about getting their offensive train wreck back on the rails. Only Al Capone could have signed Mushin Muhammad faster; and with running back Cedric Benson and speed receivers Mark Bradley and Airese Currie ready to ink rookie contracts, the Bears are antsy to see what this turnkey approach will bring. The looming if (and it’s a big if) is whether quarterback Rex Grossman is the real deal. Grossman showed promise in the final three games of the 2003 season and carried that same optimism into 2004 before being lost for the season to a knee injury in September. His stats are OK, but his durability remains in question. More importantly, despite Chicago’s effort to boost their offensive arsenal, the gulf between Grossman and his back-ups puts few at ease. No need to belabor the obvious about signing Jeff George in mid-season last year. That said, fourth round quarterback Kyle Orton should close the gap somewhat talent-wise, but it’s hardly enough to assuage concern should Grossman get hurt again. For the Bears to be contenders, Grossman won’t just have play well, but also play after the leaves change color.
Mike Nugent, Drafted Kicker, New York Jets
It’s easy to be a kicker in New York when you’re taken with the Jets’ first pick. Just never miss…ever! Easy enough, right? Lets face it, kickers are best remembered for 1) missing, 2) missing, 3) making a clutch kick in two or more recent Super Bowls and, 4) getting drafted ahead of the next potential Lawrence Taylor like Mike Nugent or Sebastian Janikowski. The rest, forget about it. Even the “productive” kickers who played 14 years with an 85 percent success rate at best fall somewhere in the memory bank between Kato Kaelin and The Macarena. Look at Sebastian Janikowski. The poor guy is still better known for his drunk driving offenses than his kicking, and that’s largely due to the attention he still gets as a first round pick in 2000. Had he been drafted in the sixth round, Janikowski’s DWIs would be back page news, if at all. All Doug Brein did for the Jets in two seasons was make 51 of 61 field goal attempts for a 83.6 percent success rate. Not bad. However, as we all know, he missed those game ending field goals which allowed Pittsburgh to move on to the AFC Championship. A good kicker by most accounts, but you can’t report to mini-camp as your team’s Bill Buckner. Welcome to the NFL kid. Now just don’t miss.
Joey Harrington, Quarterback, Detroit Lions
Somewhat of an obvious pick, but Joey Harrington has been in the Lions doghouse for some time. The Lions were the valedictorians of the 2004 draft and the dunces of ’05 by drafting yet another wide receiver and ignoring their defensive woes. In any case, Detroit’s continuous affinity for receivers further dwindles whatever margin of error Harrington still has. Harrington now has even more toys, though some assembly is required; as both Charles Rogers and Roy Williams have battled injuries during their brief careers. But now with Jeff Garcia brought in as a back-up, Harrington will feel even more heat. Garcia, who knows Detroit’s offense from when he played for coach Steve Mariucci in San Francisco, is the perfect off-the-shelf answer if Harrington should falter. Though durable and talented, Harrington’s slow maturation process has worn thin. Detroit demonstrates more patience that other organizations, but the expiration date is looming for Harrington to find his mojo in Motown.
Michael Vick, Quarterback, Atlanta Falcons
Michael Vick may play for Atlanta, but many of his strings are pulled on Madison and Park Avenue. Contrary the NFL’s thinly veiled stance about not being a star driven league, they’re as much in the glitz business as American Idol, though thankfully without Ryan Seacrest. Vick has become the league’s face of its “urban” demographic as much as Peyton Manning caters to the NFL’s NASCAR contingent. In the forthcoming season, Atlanta is slated to appear thrice on Monday Night Football and once on Sunday night on ESPN. No doubt the promos will show ad nauseaum Michael Vick shredding the gridiron like a slalom course. But alas, Michael Vick is a quarterback, not a rusher, and the much ballyhooed “West Coast” offense that the Falcons spent all last season implementing will finally require Vick to use his arm and command a pocket presence. Though Vick’s patented elusiveness has mauled defenses in the past, it remains to be seen how long this improvisational style will continue to work. More importantly, it also remains to be seen how long this will be tolerated by coach Jim Mora. As much as Vick stocks the highlight reel with his legs, he’s been subject to quiet criticism regarding his slow study of Atlanta’s new offense and questionable defensive reads; thus giving him little choice but to run. In 2004, Atlanta ranked 30th in the league in total passing, just ahead of Baltimore and Chicago who could have introduced quicksand as a new playing surface. Vick’s go-to guy was Alge Crumpler; a gifted tight-end for sure, but since when did a “West Coast” offense center around the tight-end? That, and while it was a far less sexy back-story, the real truth to Atlanta’s surprising season was not Michael Vick, but their stingy defense that still remains largely unnoticed. With Peerless Price grossly underutilized and wide receiver Roddy White taken in the first round, it’s clear that Atlanta is determined to become the passing threat that Jim Mora has vowed to deliver. For Vick, that means he needs to step up and drop back a lot more than run forward and fall down.
Rex Grossman, Quarterback, Chicago Bears
It’s been twenty years since Chicago won the Super Bowl; and that longing for glory is perhaps why Mike Ditka’s steakhouse is still one of the most popular joints in the Windy City. Since then, Chicago has gone through quarterbacks like night clerks at 7-11. In addition, the Bears’ off-season moves in recent years have burned them worse than the city’s great fire. This year, however, Chicago appears for real about getting their offensive train wreck back on the rails. Only Al Capone could have signed Mushin Muhammad faster; and with running back Cedric Benson and speed receivers Mark Bradley and Airese Currie ready to ink rookie contracts, the Bears are antsy to see what this turnkey approach will bring. The looming if (and it’s a big if) is whether quarterback Rex Grossman is the real deal. Grossman showed promise in the final three games of the 2003 season and carried that same optimism into 2004 before being lost for the season to a knee injury in September. His stats are OK, but his durability remains in question. More importantly, despite Chicago’s effort to boost their offensive arsenal, the gulf between Grossman and his back-ups puts few at ease. No need to belabor the obvious about signing Jeff George in mid-season last year. That said, fourth round quarterback Kyle Orton should close the gap somewhat talent-wise, but it’s hardly enough to assuage concern should Grossman get hurt again. For the Bears to be contenders, Grossman won’t just have play well, but also play after the leaves change color.
Mike Nugent, Drafted Kicker, New York Jets
It’s easy to be a kicker in New York when you’re taken with the Jets’ first pick. Just never miss…ever! Easy enough, right? Lets face it, kickers are best remembered for 1) missing, 2) missing, 3) making a clutch kick in two or more recent Super Bowls and, 4) getting drafted ahead of the next potential Lawrence Taylor like Mike Nugent or Sebastian Janikowski. The rest, forget about it. Even the “productive” kickers who played 14 years with an 85 percent success rate at best fall somewhere in the memory bank between Kato Kaelin and The Macarena. Look at Sebastian Janikowski. The poor guy is still better known for his drunk driving offenses than his kicking, and that’s largely due to the attention he still gets as a first round pick in 2000. Had he been drafted in the sixth round, Janikowski’s DWIs would be back page news, if at all. All Doug Brein did for the Jets in two seasons was make 51 of 61 field goal attempts for a 83.6 percent success rate. Not bad. However, as we all know, he missed those game ending field goals which allowed Pittsburgh to move on to the AFC Championship. A good kicker by most accounts, but you can’t report to mini-camp as your team’s Bill Buckner. Welcome to the NFL kid. Now just don’t miss.
Joey Harrington, Quarterback, Detroit Lions
Somewhat of an obvious pick, but Joey Harrington has been in the Lions doghouse for some time. The Lions were the valedictorians of the 2004 draft and the dunces of ’05 by drafting yet another wide receiver and ignoring their defensive woes. In any case, Detroit’s continuous affinity for receivers further dwindles whatever margin of error Harrington still has. Harrington now has even more toys, though some assembly is required; as both Charles Rogers and Roy Williams have battled injuries during their brief careers. But now with Jeff Garcia brought in as a back-up, Harrington will feel even more heat. Garcia, who knows Detroit’s offense from when he played for coach Steve Mariucci in San Francisco, is the perfect off-the-shelf answer if Harrington should falter. Though durable and talented, Harrington’s slow maturation process has worn thin. Detroit demonstrates more patience that other organizations, but the expiration date is looming for Harrington to find his mojo in Motown.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
CARDINALS FLY SOUTH...OF THE BORDER
You can read the telltale signs of when something’s amiss. In Hollywood, a delayed release date generally means they’re sitting on a big budget bomb. In network TV, a new time slot indicates a ratings dog. In sports, playing “home” games in Spanish speaking countries means you’ve got a franchise in deep caca. Buenos Noches Arizona Cardinals!
For first time in NFL history, Mexico City will host a regular season game October 2nd between the “home” team Arizona Cardinals and San Francisco 49ers. Interesting, yes, but even more so it looks like a rescue mission for a team that’s been wilting in the sun since arriving to the desert in 1988.
“Mexico is the country with the most NFL fans outside the United States,” said NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue. “Our fans in Mexico are knowledgeable and passionate and they are ready to take the next step. They have supported our American Bowl games in record numbers and NFL programming has been part of television in Mexico for many decades. The Cardinals and 49ers play in markets with large Hispanic communities, including many people of Mexican decent. This game will generate new excitement both in Mexico and in the Hispanic communities throughout the United States, and it promises to become a milestone in the NFL’s history as a global sport.”
Translation:
I don’t know what else to do at this point. Phoenix has been a burial ground for professional teams. The Diamondbacks are nearly broke despite winning the World Series just four years ago. Bringing hockey to the desert made New Coke look like a stroke of genius, and the Suns only do well thanks to air conditioning. Because nearly everyone that lives in greater Phoenix is from somewhere else, nobody gives a damn about this team. For years the Cardinals have ranked dead last in attendance, and now, with a $450 million stadium that’s due to open next year, we’ve got to put some butts in those seats…and fast dammit! I promised a Super Bowl or two if they built the damn thing, but hey, don’t expect me to hold the bag if the Arizona Sports and Tourism Authority takes a bath in this already arena saturated city. I did mention the stadium will cost $450 million for a team that averages only 38,000 a game didn’t I? Ah, but I saw “Field of Dreams” too, they’ll be fine. I mean, I know those in the area were lukewarm about a new stadium, but at least they found a way to stick most of the bill on tourists passing through. However, since the border between Arizona and Mexico is extremely porous, maybe we can get those who survive the brutal desert crossing to root for the team. After all, if Dallas can be “America’s Team”, well, why can’t the Cardinals be “Latin America’s Team”? We’ll see. I mean, with a new stadium and rising salaries, I don’t know how they’ll be able to afford a $65.00 ticket harvesting lettuce, but in America anything is possible…I think. This team is stuck here for at least a generation and the suggestion box for building any semblance of a fan base is pretty darn light. So I’m calling upon our rich friends from the Third World to rally behind this cause. At this point, St. Louis seemed like a fine place to play. At least the beer was cheep. How come the Dolphins don’t need to play in Havana?
Ay Carumba! Bienvenidos Mexico City!
For first time in NFL history, Mexico City will host a regular season game October 2nd between the “home” team Arizona Cardinals and San Francisco 49ers. Interesting, yes, but even more so it looks like a rescue mission for a team that’s been wilting in the sun since arriving to the desert in 1988.
“Mexico is the country with the most NFL fans outside the United States,” said NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue. “Our fans in Mexico are knowledgeable and passionate and they are ready to take the next step. They have supported our American Bowl games in record numbers and NFL programming has been part of television in Mexico for many decades. The Cardinals and 49ers play in markets with large Hispanic communities, including many people of Mexican decent. This game will generate new excitement both in Mexico and in the Hispanic communities throughout the United States, and it promises to become a milestone in the NFL’s history as a global sport.”
Translation:
I don’t know what else to do at this point. Phoenix has been a burial ground for professional teams. The Diamondbacks are nearly broke despite winning the World Series just four years ago. Bringing hockey to the desert made New Coke look like a stroke of genius, and the Suns only do well thanks to air conditioning. Because nearly everyone that lives in greater Phoenix is from somewhere else, nobody gives a damn about this team. For years the Cardinals have ranked dead last in attendance, and now, with a $450 million stadium that’s due to open next year, we’ve got to put some butts in those seats…and fast dammit! I promised a Super Bowl or two if they built the damn thing, but hey, don’t expect me to hold the bag if the Arizona Sports and Tourism Authority takes a bath in this already arena saturated city. I did mention the stadium will cost $450 million for a team that averages only 38,000 a game didn’t I? Ah, but I saw “Field of Dreams” too, they’ll be fine. I mean, I know those in the area were lukewarm about a new stadium, but at least they found a way to stick most of the bill on tourists passing through. However, since the border between Arizona and Mexico is extremely porous, maybe we can get those who survive the brutal desert crossing to root for the team. After all, if Dallas can be “America’s Team”, well, why can’t the Cardinals be “Latin America’s Team”? We’ll see. I mean, with a new stadium and rising salaries, I don’t know how they’ll be able to afford a $65.00 ticket harvesting lettuce, but in America anything is possible…I think. This team is stuck here for at least a generation and the suggestion box for building any semblance of a fan base is pretty darn light. So I’m calling upon our rich friends from the Third World to rally behind this cause. At this point, St. Louis seemed like a fine place to play. At least the beer was cheep. How come the Dolphins don’t need to play in Havana?
Ay Carumba! Bienvenidos Mexico City!
Saturday, March 19, 2005
NOW PLAYING AT AN ARENA NEAR YOU
Anyone able to remember the uphill battle fought to bring bottled water into the American mainstream can appreciate the evolution of arena football. Successfully bypassing the graveyard where comparable leagues now rest, arena football has risen from a novelty act to national prominence in less than 20 years. “It comes from the credibility of ownership, the caliber of players, the caliber of the game and the depth of the roster,” said Colorado Crush Head Coach, Mike Dailey.
Credibility is what’s caused America’s appetite for the game to rise from a sample tasting to stocking up at Costco. For years, arena football was branded as secondary employment for wash-ups who couldn’t cut it elsewhere. However, those close to the sport are quick to note the important skill sets differentiating quality arena players from those in the NFL.
“It’s much like how the talent of NBA players isn’t utilized the same way in Olympic basketball,” said Chris McCloskey, Senior Vice President of Communications for the Arena Football League (AFL). “These are world class athletes playing iron man football.”
Some skeptics may still roll their eyes after hearing that, but one huge difference in the arena game is that nearly everyone plays both ways. Size wise, AFL lineman are a tad smaller than their NFL counterparts, but not by much, though what enables them to flourish in the arena game is better agility and quickness as opposed to brute force. Because of this, they have to be lighter. “Many NFL players just aren’t conditioned to play our style,” Coach Dailey said.
One interesting case study focusing the different attributes between NFL and AFL quarterbacks is Danny Kanell. Drafted into the NFL in 1996, Kanell played for the New York Giants and Atlanta Falcons before signing with the AFL’s New York Dragons in 2002. A long ball passer by nature, Kanell ranks second in all time passing from his days at Florida State. Though once he arrived in the Arena League, he struggled; posting a mediocre passing rating of 75.3 because he couldn’t adapt to the tighter receiving lanes and condensed field dimensions. In 2003 Kanell returned to the NFL as a back-up for the Denver Broncos. “He had no choice,” says McCloskey. “He couldn’t get another job in the Arena League.” While being “forced’ back into the NFL isn’t considered a career ending move, Kanell’s unceremonious stint in the AFL has reinforced that indeed, some players are just better tailored for the arena game than others; and that the AFL is hardly a sideshow comprised of NFL rejects.
In terms of preparation, arena football is as sophisticated and high tech as other big-time sports. “Eighty percent of the preparation is the same as the NFL or major college,” Dailey said. “It’s identical, but unique to the arena game.” Like the NFL, the Arena League provides an elaborate film exchange where computer generated game scenarios are later inputted. “We scout for formation tendencies, hits-by-hash, special teams, hurry-up offenses…everything. There are lots of ways to prepare,” Dailey added.
Offensively though, the game does have it’s limitations, with rules mandating identical formations consisting of three wide receivers and one set back. At times this style of play can seem redundant; resembling sandlot ball where plays are drawn on the palm of the quarterback’s hand. “You don’t get hit with schemes of two tight ends on one play and five wides on the next,” said Dailey.
The real firepower that’s transformed Arena Football from a mall-browsing alternative to big market behemoth comes from the wave of new ownership, its money, and the clout it buys. The single most significant day in Arena Football history occurred on May 22nd 1998, where an amendment to the NFL’s bylaws allowed NFL owners to invest in other football leagues provided they remained in the same market. Until then, NFL owners were forbidden from doing so because of conflicts of interest. “Once the high-profile owners came in, the AFL had instant credibility,” McCloskey said. Among the heavyweight owners to quickly jump in included, Tom Benson of the New Orleans Saints, Jerry Jones of the Dallas Cowboys, Arthur Blank of the Atlanta Falcons, Bud Adams of the Tennessee Titans, and perhaps the most celebrated triumvirate of owners, John Elway, Pat Bowlen and Stanley Kroenke who own the Colorado Crush. “When you have two billionaires and a multimillionaire who’s also a sports icon, you have credibility,” Dailey said. “They’re extremely committed.”
Not all owners are just football guys either. Eighties rocker Jon Bon Jovi co-owns the Philadelphia Soul, and country singer Tim McGraw is a partial owner of the Nashville Kats; bringing a cross blend of fan bases into a full suite of entertainment.
Such newfound credibility brings an even bigger prize; a national television contract with NBC. Several years prior, NBC opted not to renew its contract with the NFL, citing the exorbitant rights fees made for an unprofitable endeavor. Instead, NBC entered a four-year deal with the Arena League in 2002, where they have sole decision power, or “perpetuity”, to renew or terminate the contract. Thus far it’s proved to be winning arrangement.
“NBC pays no rights fee and splits the ad revenue 50-50 with the league,” McCloskey said, “but what’s really interesting is how NBC has a huge incentive to grow the league by receiving a percentage of the upside.” What this means is when the deal was inked in 2002, each franchise was then valued at $10 million, now, just three years later, franchise values have ballooned upwards of $16 million, so should a franchise get sold for that amount, NBC receives an undisclosed percentage of the $6 million net gain. In essence, NBC gets their programming for free, boosts franchise values via national exposure, and then ultimately receives a cut. Few are complaining. “Considering that these teams were valued at only $400,000 in 1996 it’s hard to find a better return on investment,” McCloskey added.
Since then, another deal packed with similar back-ended incentives was made with the video game maker, EA Sports, who already has long-standing partnerships with most major sports. Already a major AFL sponsor of on-field signage, EA Sports is due to release their first arena football video game in 2006. “You can’t find a better medium than that,” McCloskey said. “I mean, that’s as good as television.”
It sure is. After all it’s kids who play video games, and it’s kids who enjoy the affordable family oriented entertainment arena football provides.
In what could pass for a scout meeting for all of Long Island, packs of youngsters accompany a father or two into Nassau Coliseum. It’s a good crowd, perhaps 15,000 or more. “Make some noise,” shouts the DJ. Most happily oblige. Music from your standard dance compilation pumps up the fans, but not too loud where those in attendance must read lips. Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” comes on; presumably for the parent’s sake…at least a verse anyway. The action erupts from the initial kick-off; where last possession’s scoring drive quickly becomes old news. Touchdown, ensuing kick-off, the receiving team returns it back for another touchdown. Already 27 total points scored in the first half of the first quarter. Sunset orange end zones sporting the New York Dragons logo add warmth to the game’s primal element. The “Fire Dancers” do their thing. A sea of inflatable “thundersticks” clip-clap louder as the game goes on. Fourteen seconds remain in the game and not a soul has left the arena. The Dragons eke out a 53-51 win over the Georgia Force as the opening riff to “Crazytrain” bellows out the loudspeakers. All is well.
Afterwards young enthusiasts line-up by the hundreds for autographs and to meet the players. “We strive to make arena football exiting, affordable, fan-friendly, and most importantly, interactive,” says McCloskey.
So far, so good.
Credibility is what’s caused America’s appetite for the game to rise from a sample tasting to stocking up at Costco. For years, arena football was branded as secondary employment for wash-ups who couldn’t cut it elsewhere. However, those close to the sport are quick to note the important skill sets differentiating quality arena players from those in the NFL.
“It’s much like how the talent of NBA players isn’t utilized the same way in Olympic basketball,” said Chris McCloskey, Senior Vice President of Communications for the Arena Football League (AFL). “These are world class athletes playing iron man football.”
Some skeptics may still roll their eyes after hearing that, but one huge difference in the arena game is that nearly everyone plays both ways. Size wise, AFL lineman are a tad smaller than their NFL counterparts, but not by much, though what enables them to flourish in the arena game is better agility and quickness as opposed to brute force. Because of this, they have to be lighter. “Many NFL players just aren’t conditioned to play our style,” Coach Dailey said.
One interesting case study focusing the different attributes between NFL and AFL quarterbacks is Danny Kanell. Drafted into the NFL in 1996, Kanell played for the New York Giants and Atlanta Falcons before signing with the AFL’s New York Dragons in 2002. A long ball passer by nature, Kanell ranks second in all time passing from his days at Florida State. Though once he arrived in the Arena League, he struggled; posting a mediocre passing rating of 75.3 because he couldn’t adapt to the tighter receiving lanes and condensed field dimensions. In 2003 Kanell returned to the NFL as a back-up for the Denver Broncos. “He had no choice,” says McCloskey. “He couldn’t get another job in the Arena League.” While being “forced’ back into the NFL isn’t considered a career ending move, Kanell’s unceremonious stint in the AFL has reinforced that indeed, some players are just better tailored for the arena game than others; and that the AFL is hardly a sideshow comprised of NFL rejects.
In terms of preparation, arena football is as sophisticated and high tech as other big-time sports. “Eighty percent of the preparation is the same as the NFL or major college,” Dailey said. “It’s identical, but unique to the arena game.” Like the NFL, the Arena League provides an elaborate film exchange where computer generated game scenarios are later inputted. “We scout for formation tendencies, hits-by-hash, special teams, hurry-up offenses…everything. There are lots of ways to prepare,” Dailey added.
Offensively though, the game does have it’s limitations, with rules mandating identical formations consisting of three wide receivers and one set back. At times this style of play can seem redundant; resembling sandlot ball where plays are drawn on the palm of the quarterback’s hand. “You don’t get hit with schemes of two tight ends on one play and five wides on the next,” said Dailey.
The real firepower that’s transformed Arena Football from a mall-browsing alternative to big market behemoth comes from the wave of new ownership, its money, and the clout it buys. The single most significant day in Arena Football history occurred on May 22nd 1998, where an amendment to the NFL’s bylaws allowed NFL owners to invest in other football leagues provided they remained in the same market. Until then, NFL owners were forbidden from doing so because of conflicts of interest. “Once the high-profile owners came in, the AFL had instant credibility,” McCloskey said. Among the heavyweight owners to quickly jump in included, Tom Benson of the New Orleans Saints, Jerry Jones of the Dallas Cowboys, Arthur Blank of the Atlanta Falcons, Bud Adams of the Tennessee Titans, and perhaps the most celebrated triumvirate of owners, John Elway, Pat Bowlen and Stanley Kroenke who own the Colorado Crush. “When you have two billionaires and a multimillionaire who’s also a sports icon, you have credibility,” Dailey said. “They’re extremely committed.”
Not all owners are just football guys either. Eighties rocker Jon Bon Jovi co-owns the Philadelphia Soul, and country singer Tim McGraw is a partial owner of the Nashville Kats; bringing a cross blend of fan bases into a full suite of entertainment.
Such newfound credibility brings an even bigger prize; a national television contract with NBC. Several years prior, NBC opted not to renew its contract with the NFL, citing the exorbitant rights fees made for an unprofitable endeavor. Instead, NBC entered a four-year deal with the Arena League in 2002, where they have sole decision power, or “perpetuity”, to renew or terminate the contract. Thus far it’s proved to be winning arrangement.
“NBC pays no rights fee and splits the ad revenue 50-50 with the league,” McCloskey said, “but what’s really interesting is how NBC has a huge incentive to grow the league by receiving a percentage of the upside.” What this means is when the deal was inked in 2002, each franchise was then valued at $10 million, now, just three years later, franchise values have ballooned upwards of $16 million, so should a franchise get sold for that amount, NBC receives an undisclosed percentage of the $6 million net gain. In essence, NBC gets their programming for free, boosts franchise values via national exposure, and then ultimately receives a cut. Few are complaining. “Considering that these teams were valued at only $400,000 in 1996 it’s hard to find a better return on investment,” McCloskey added.
Since then, another deal packed with similar back-ended incentives was made with the video game maker, EA Sports, who already has long-standing partnerships with most major sports. Already a major AFL sponsor of on-field signage, EA Sports is due to release their first arena football video game in 2006. “You can’t find a better medium than that,” McCloskey said. “I mean, that’s as good as television.”
It sure is. After all it’s kids who play video games, and it’s kids who enjoy the affordable family oriented entertainment arena football provides.
In what could pass for a scout meeting for all of Long Island, packs of youngsters accompany a father or two into Nassau Coliseum. It’s a good crowd, perhaps 15,000 or more. “Make some noise,” shouts the DJ. Most happily oblige. Music from your standard dance compilation pumps up the fans, but not too loud where those in attendance must read lips. Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” comes on; presumably for the parent’s sake…at least a verse anyway. The action erupts from the initial kick-off; where last possession’s scoring drive quickly becomes old news. Touchdown, ensuing kick-off, the receiving team returns it back for another touchdown. Already 27 total points scored in the first half of the first quarter. Sunset orange end zones sporting the New York Dragons logo add warmth to the game’s primal element. The “Fire Dancers” do their thing. A sea of inflatable “thundersticks” clip-clap louder as the game goes on. Fourteen seconds remain in the game and not a soul has left the arena. The Dragons eke out a 53-51 win over the Georgia Force as the opening riff to “Crazytrain” bellows out the loudspeakers. All is well.
Afterwards young enthusiasts line-up by the hundreds for autographs and to meet the players. “We strive to make arena football exiting, affordable, fan-friendly, and most importantly, interactive,” says McCloskey.
So far, so good.
Monday, March 07, 2005
TIME TO FIX THE BLOCKING
Forget about going to Harvard, getting an MBA or becoming a neurosurgeon, if you’re big, mean and seek generational wealth, become an NFL tackle. With the bonanza of NFL free agency but a week old, we’re again seeing the price of offensive tackles soar faster than a duplex in Park Slope. But like real estate, the lingering question is whether these multimillionaires will hold their value, or go bust.
Kareem McKenzie: New York Giants
The latest Jet staple flying from Gang Green, McKenzie was brought in to solidify a Giant offensive line that for two seasons was held by Scotch Tape. Durable and disciplined, the 26-year-old right tackle commanded a left tackle price (7 years $37.75 million with a $12.5 million signing bonus). What remains to be seen is how McKenzie’s signing will impact the Giants’ porous left side; where the real bleeding is. With McKenzie on board, the Giants are content to leave Luke Petitgout, a good but not great lineman, protecting Eli Manning where he’s most vulnerable. For nearly $38 million, one might expect a better insurance policy for their wunderkid to blossom. Then again, it’s still a drastic improvement.
Jonas Jennings: San Francisco 49ers
Like the way Dan Quayle wasn’t confused with John F. Kennedy, Jonas Jennings isn’t confused with Anthony Munoz or Jackie Slater. But thanks to Seattle re-signing Walter Jones, and the Rams franchising Orlando Pace, Jennings, 27, became the top left tackle on the market. For thrifty San Francisco to spend nearly $36 million on Jennings, Cal QB Aaron Rodgers looks likely to be taken with their top draft pick. However with plenty of other holes to fill, the Niners may instead trade down in exchange for more picks. If that’s the case, San Francisco may have better spent their money elsewhere besides protecting short-term quarterback, Tim Rattay.
Chris Samuels: Washington Redskins
In the good-enough-for-government town of Washington, DC, it’s fortunate for Chris Samuels to have Dan “Deep Pockets” Snyder for a boss. For $46.5 million, with a $15.75 million signing bonus, the Skins’ re-signed a 27-year-old left tackle who shines a lot more when his right side counterpart, Jon Jansen, is healthy, than not. Jansen spent last season on injured reserve, and as a result Samuels’ impact, or lack thereof, was hard felt in the Skins’ offensive molasses. Attending just one Pro Bowl in five years, Samuels may be big and rich, but he’s certainly no Hog. Had Joe Jacoby played today, he could have afforded his own island.
Walter Jones: Seattle Seahawks
Walter Jones comes with few dings and scratches for a tackle that’s started in nearly every game for eight years. A perennial hold out during the off-season, it was necessary for Seattle to sign Jones to a fat contract and save the franchise tag for either Matt Hasselbeck or Shaun Alexander. Right now the 31-year-old Jones still has mileage left, but signing him to a seven year deal worth $52.5 million with a $15 million signing bonus is dicey. Seattle is in a hurry to cash in with what they’ve got, and so they’re wildly spending Paul Allen’s money. Such a short-term strategy may pan out. Then again, when it’s time to rebuild, dropping the megabucks to keep Jones could backfire when cap room is needed more than aging linemen.
Kareem McKenzie: New York Giants
The latest Jet staple flying from Gang Green, McKenzie was brought in to solidify a Giant offensive line that for two seasons was held by Scotch Tape. Durable and disciplined, the 26-year-old right tackle commanded a left tackle price (7 years $37.75 million with a $12.5 million signing bonus). What remains to be seen is how McKenzie’s signing will impact the Giants’ porous left side; where the real bleeding is. With McKenzie on board, the Giants are content to leave Luke Petitgout, a good but not great lineman, protecting Eli Manning where he’s most vulnerable. For nearly $38 million, one might expect a better insurance policy for their wunderkid to blossom. Then again, it’s still a drastic improvement.
Jonas Jennings: San Francisco 49ers
Like the way Dan Quayle wasn’t confused with John F. Kennedy, Jonas Jennings isn’t confused with Anthony Munoz or Jackie Slater. But thanks to Seattle re-signing Walter Jones, and the Rams franchising Orlando Pace, Jennings, 27, became the top left tackle on the market. For thrifty San Francisco to spend nearly $36 million on Jennings, Cal QB Aaron Rodgers looks likely to be taken with their top draft pick. However with plenty of other holes to fill, the Niners may instead trade down in exchange for more picks. If that’s the case, San Francisco may have better spent their money elsewhere besides protecting short-term quarterback, Tim Rattay.
Chris Samuels: Washington Redskins
In the good-enough-for-government town of Washington, DC, it’s fortunate for Chris Samuels to have Dan “Deep Pockets” Snyder for a boss. For $46.5 million, with a $15.75 million signing bonus, the Skins’ re-signed a 27-year-old left tackle who shines a lot more when his right side counterpart, Jon Jansen, is healthy, than not. Jansen spent last season on injured reserve, and as a result Samuels’ impact, or lack thereof, was hard felt in the Skins’ offensive molasses. Attending just one Pro Bowl in five years, Samuels may be big and rich, but he’s certainly no Hog. Had Joe Jacoby played today, he could have afforded his own island.
Walter Jones: Seattle Seahawks
Walter Jones comes with few dings and scratches for a tackle that’s started in nearly every game for eight years. A perennial hold out during the off-season, it was necessary for Seattle to sign Jones to a fat contract and save the franchise tag for either Matt Hasselbeck or Shaun Alexander. Right now the 31-year-old Jones still has mileage left, but signing him to a seven year deal worth $52.5 million with a $15 million signing bonus is dicey. Seattle is in a hurry to cash in with what they’ve got, and so they’re wildly spending Paul Allen’s money. Such a short-term strategy may pan out. Then again, when it’s time to rebuild, dropping the megabucks to keep Jones could backfire when cap room is needed more than aging linemen.
Friday, February 25, 2005
VIKINGS TOSS MOSS
Is there better place for Randy Moss to wind up than a city whose contributions include the Hell’s Angels, Black Panthers, Charlie Findlay, Al Davis and his Raiders? Where ornery fans surround “The Black Hole” donning sinisterwear while their Bay Area counterparts sip Napa’s finest vintage outside the gates of Candlestick Park? It’s no surprise to see Randy Moss join an organization that’s drawn castaways and malcontents like a Roach Motel, but the rolling hills of Northern California may not be any greener than the swaths of farmland outside the Twin Cities; at least not right away.
“Randy is thrilled to been joining Oakland,” said Raiders executive Mike Lombardi. “He’s overjoyed. He sees a team with a history of throwing the ball long and a team with a history of going to championship games.”
OK, fine, but if this move was really based on history, Moss should know that his soon to be former team played in four Super Bowls. Evidently Moss didn’t befriend the team archivist (presumably a volunteer with the Vikes thrifty ways) to appreciate the frigid Sundays in that Lego built structure called Metropolitan Stadium. And since 1998, the year Moss entered the league like Mt. Vesuvius, Minnesota has made the post season four times, reaching the NFC Championship twice. True, the Vikings haven’t reached the glory of, say, the Steelers of the 1970s, but nor has Moss endured a career like that of Archie Manning. In those same seven years, Oakland has actually made one less trip to the playoffs than Minnesota, though it did include a 48-21 drubbing by Tampa Bay in Super Bowl XXXVII that spawned their downfall. From Moss’s standpoint, it’s debatable if life with the Raiders will really be much different. Right now Minnesota is in the midst of a possible ownership change with floundering stadium negotiations while Oakland’s internal fiefdoms has them sputtering like rush hour on the 880.
Incredulously, Moss is supposedly enticed by Oakland’s “history for throwing the long ball”. Pardon my snickering, but Daunte Culpepper didn’t lead the NFL last season with 4,717 passing yards, surpassing Oakland’s total team passing by 859 yards, by piloting the dink ‘n dunk express. Granted, Oakland’s re-signing of Jerry Porter will help much to alleviate Moss from getting double-teamed; a luxury he hasn’t enjoyed since Cris Carter left after the 2001 season, however Oakland’s abysmal lack of a running game greatly tightens pass coverage without the play-action threat. Norv Turner’s successful passing schemes while at Dallas, Washington, Miami and San Diego all came with a premier back. Right now, there’s nary a player that even comes close to that in Raider Nation; with Amos Zeroue leading Oakland’s paltry rushing attack with only 425 yards in ‘04. And with the draft pick that Oakland will forgo to acquire Moss, the Raiders will attempt Jim Plunketization on a wholesale priced backfield…and pray that it works.
“He’s (Moss) been frustrated in Minnesota,” Lombardi added, “because the way he’s been used and the mediocrity of the Vikings. He’s looking for a championship team.”
If that’s the case then Moss should keep looking. It’s hard to determine who’s is in greater denial; Moss and his narcissistic belief that he’s been underutilized or Oakland’s faux resurgence going into the 2005 season. With regard to being “used”, I’m sure Red McCombs and Mike Tice may have some reciprocating words. For $75 million, Randy Moss has been as synonymous with petulance as he has production…perhaps even more so. Welcome to Oakland Randy…now Just Win Baby…
“Randy is thrilled to been joining Oakland,” said Raiders executive Mike Lombardi. “He’s overjoyed. He sees a team with a history of throwing the ball long and a team with a history of going to championship games.”
OK, fine, but if this move was really based on history, Moss should know that his soon to be former team played in four Super Bowls. Evidently Moss didn’t befriend the team archivist (presumably a volunteer with the Vikes thrifty ways) to appreciate the frigid Sundays in that Lego built structure called Metropolitan Stadium. And since 1998, the year Moss entered the league like Mt. Vesuvius, Minnesota has made the post season four times, reaching the NFC Championship twice. True, the Vikings haven’t reached the glory of, say, the Steelers of the 1970s, but nor has Moss endured a career like that of Archie Manning. In those same seven years, Oakland has actually made one less trip to the playoffs than Minnesota, though it did include a 48-21 drubbing by Tampa Bay in Super Bowl XXXVII that spawned their downfall. From Moss’s standpoint, it’s debatable if life with the Raiders will really be much different. Right now Minnesota is in the midst of a possible ownership change with floundering stadium negotiations while Oakland’s internal fiefdoms has them sputtering like rush hour on the 880.
Incredulously, Moss is supposedly enticed by Oakland’s “history for throwing the long ball”. Pardon my snickering, but Daunte Culpepper didn’t lead the NFL last season with 4,717 passing yards, surpassing Oakland’s total team passing by 859 yards, by piloting the dink ‘n dunk express. Granted, Oakland’s re-signing of Jerry Porter will help much to alleviate Moss from getting double-teamed; a luxury he hasn’t enjoyed since Cris Carter left after the 2001 season, however Oakland’s abysmal lack of a running game greatly tightens pass coverage without the play-action threat. Norv Turner’s successful passing schemes while at Dallas, Washington, Miami and San Diego all came with a premier back. Right now, there’s nary a player that even comes close to that in Raider Nation; with Amos Zeroue leading Oakland’s paltry rushing attack with only 425 yards in ‘04. And with the draft pick that Oakland will forgo to acquire Moss, the Raiders will attempt Jim Plunketization on a wholesale priced backfield…and pray that it works.
“He’s (Moss) been frustrated in Minnesota,” Lombardi added, “because the way he’s been used and the mediocrity of the Vikings. He’s looking for a championship team.”
If that’s the case then Moss should keep looking. It’s hard to determine who’s is in greater denial; Moss and his narcissistic belief that he’s been underutilized or Oakland’s faux resurgence going into the 2005 season. With regard to being “used”, I’m sure Red McCombs and Mike Tice may have some reciprocating words. For $75 million, Randy Moss has been as synonymous with petulance as he has production…perhaps even more so. Welcome to Oakland Randy…now Just Win Baby…
Thursday, February 17, 2005
KNICKS FINALLY BUCK IT UP
Like a beleaguered salesman, the Knicks have knocked on a lot of doors of late, talked the talk, but in the end have fallen dismally short when it came down to closing the deal. Still reeling from Monday’s heartbreaker to Philly, the Knicks took their hard knocks to heart by thumping the visiting Milwaukee Bucks 108-90 in their season’s most decisive victory to date. So balanced was the Knicks offensive production, with six players reaching double figures, that Stephon Marbury got an early jump on the All-Star break by playing spectator during the entire fourth quarter.
It didn’t start that way however, as for three quarters the Knicks were drumming to the familiar beat of what looked to be yet another last-possession finish. Few faults were found offensively, which at times came with real flare. One standout play came in the third quarter when Stephon Marbury made a Tasmanian Devil-like spin pass to Tim Thomas who finished off with a dazzling off-balance shot. Fun stuff, though Wednesday’s game was less about stacking the highlight reel and more about solid team play.
Stalwart performances came from key bench players, Penny Hardaway and Mike Sweetney, who in the second quarter alone, had a combined 21 points as the Bucks stared in the Knicks’ headlights while they crisply moved the ball all night long. Jamal Crawford led the Knicks’ deadly shooting attack; with 23 points that included a three-pointer after the ball rocketed high off the rim and dropped straight through the net in the third quarter. Indeed a little luck was swirling around the Garden for Coach Herb Williams to enjoy his 47th birthday.
Despite the Knicks’ consistent offensive play, it was their bi-polar swoons on defense between periods that let Milwaukee hang around until the fourth quarter. New York’s most notable defensive lapse came in the second quarter with Milwaukee hitting 67 percent of their shots from the field; helping 36 year old Toni Kucoc find the fountain of youth with 20 points, of which twelve came like he was shooting from Secaucus. Few, if any, answers were found with containing Desmond Mason (20 points) to anything less than a blur. A forgettable night at the free throw line along with Bucks’ top scorer Michael Redd resting his sore finger helped keep the game from slipping away. But at this juncture in the Knicks’ season, they’ll take whatever breaks may come, and by midway through the final period a churned scoring romp gladly ushered in garbage time.
The Knicks have six days to reflect before traveling to Auburn Hills to face the Pistons Tuesday night. For the Knicks, the All-Star break was deemed a welcome opportunity to forget about things. Perhaps they’ll want to rethink that, and choose to remember their widest margin of victory thus far, and how they got it…instead.
It didn’t start that way however, as for three quarters the Knicks were drumming to the familiar beat of what looked to be yet another last-possession finish. Few faults were found offensively, which at times came with real flare. One standout play came in the third quarter when Stephon Marbury made a Tasmanian Devil-like spin pass to Tim Thomas who finished off with a dazzling off-balance shot. Fun stuff, though Wednesday’s game was less about stacking the highlight reel and more about solid team play.
Stalwart performances came from key bench players, Penny Hardaway and Mike Sweetney, who in the second quarter alone, had a combined 21 points as the Bucks stared in the Knicks’ headlights while they crisply moved the ball all night long. Jamal Crawford led the Knicks’ deadly shooting attack; with 23 points that included a three-pointer after the ball rocketed high off the rim and dropped straight through the net in the third quarter. Indeed a little luck was swirling around the Garden for Coach Herb Williams to enjoy his 47th birthday.
Despite the Knicks’ consistent offensive play, it was their bi-polar swoons on defense between periods that let Milwaukee hang around until the fourth quarter. New York’s most notable defensive lapse came in the second quarter with Milwaukee hitting 67 percent of their shots from the field; helping 36 year old Toni Kucoc find the fountain of youth with 20 points, of which twelve came like he was shooting from Secaucus. Few, if any, answers were found with containing Desmond Mason (20 points) to anything less than a blur. A forgettable night at the free throw line along with Bucks’ top scorer Michael Redd resting his sore finger helped keep the game from slipping away. But at this juncture in the Knicks’ season, they’ll take whatever breaks may come, and by midway through the final period a churned scoring romp gladly ushered in garbage time.
The Knicks have six days to reflect before traveling to Auburn Hills to face the Pistons Tuesday night. For the Knicks, the All-Star break was deemed a welcome opportunity to forget about things. Perhaps they’ll want to rethink that, and choose to remember their widest margin of victory thus far, and how they got it…instead.
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