Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar
You're gonna go far
You're gonna fly high
You're never gonna die
You're gonna make it if you try
They're gonna love you
I'm fairly sure the boys from Pink Floyd weren't thinking of the Boston Celtics when they wrote that, but it seems especially fitting this morning nonetheless. When cigar smoke started drifting towards the rafters of the Boston Garden (yes, it finally deserves the name) last night with about 2 minutes remaining, it was impossible to tell where it came from. Like ESPN.com's Chris Sheriden, I'm content to believe that it was a sign from Red. I'm old enough to remember The Master lighting up those Hoya de Montereys in celebration of previous Celtics championships, and I know that trademark cigar and a smile watched over the incredible dismantling of the hated Lakers to lay claim to Number 17.
68 days. That is how long it has been since the playoffs started, and the Boston Celtics set out to prove that they were more than a massive payroll and a trio of All-Stars with naked fingers. We watched them inexplicably go to 7 games with the vastly over-matched Hawks and Cavs, as they figured out playoff basketball together. We watched them re-learn how to win on the road against the dangerous Pistons, and figure out that you don't have to play all seven games to advance. We watched them come back from a 24 point first half deficit in Los Angeles to make the statement that they were the team to beat, not the "experts' pick" Lakers. And last night, for the first time in 108 games, we saw what the Boston Celtics were truly capable of if they put together a full 48 minutes of their finest play. It was the greatest moment in the last 22 years of Celtics history. It marked, with an exclamation point, the true return of Celtic Pride. It vindicated The Captain, a guy I've always said didn't get the respect he deserved, simply because he was saddled with sub-par teams to play on. It vindicated a guy who has spent too many years in the hinterlands being chided for being exactly the type of player he needed to be to get this team to the promised land. It vindicated one of the greatest pure shooters of all-time, who shed a cold streak in time to make sure the bottom of the net was his in the Finals. It vindicated a kid who constantly heard that he wasn't ready to run the point for a Championship-caliber team. It vindicated a bench that was questioned from the start but proved to not only be one of the best this season, but possibly one of the best ever, a hodge-podge of wet-behind-the-ears youngsters, career 10 minute a game guys, and a couple of guys whose primes came in the last century. And it vindicated a Coach who had absorbed all of the barbs of the last few seasons and took this assortment of characters and crafted them into the epitome of a Team.
In the last decade or so, the Celtics have been lost in the Boston sports landscape, with the rise of the Red Sox and Patriots. But there have always been those of us who bleed Green, who suffered through Len Bias, Bird's back, Reggie Lewis, Tim Duncan, Rick Pitino, 'Toine, Red's passing, and the 2006-2007 season. And then there is the next generation, the ones who never knew what we meant when we spoke of the Glory Days. Number 17 was for all of us.
You may have noticed I haven't mentioned a single name so far, and that's because I think it it is who these Celtics are. They are a team, first and foremost, and no name rises above the one on the front of their jerseys. So let me do it like this:
Gabe Pruitt
Scot Pollard
Brian Scalabrine
Tony Allen
P.J. Brown
Sam Cassell
Glen Davis
Leon Powe
Eddie House
James Posey
Kendrick Perkins
Rajon Rondo
Ray Allen
Kevin Garnett
Paul Pierce
Doc Rivers
There you have it, your 2008 World Champion Boston Celtics. The Boston Celtics dismissed the Los Angeles Lakers to win it all. All is right in the world, The Green Is Back On.
Two final notes. I saw 2 things last night that I've never seen before in a basketball game. First, here was the Gatorade shower Paul Pierce delivered to Doc Rivers. A staple of football championships, you just don't see this in hoops. The second, Brian Scalabrine, on the bench in street clothes, left during the game and returned to the locker room. To put on his uniform. Because after all, this was about the Team. The Boston Celtics. The greatest franchise in NBA history returning to its rightful place. I Love This Game.
.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
The "It's Spring" Edition of Barstool Friday!
Welcome to Barstool Friday!!!!! It seems that I have been remiss this week, since it is baseball season after all, with no posts to speak of. But I have an legitimate excuse, I've been celebrating spring. I had two firsts of the season this week. I went fly fishing for trout, and I made my first pilgrimage to Fenway of the 2008 season. And as such, I'm going to abandon the usual Barstool Friday form, and wax a bit poetic. You don't have to forgive me, but if you aren't willing to, you might as well stop reading now.
As we walked out of Fenway and onto Lansdowne Wednesday night, I had to smile. Sure, the Red Sox were surrendering a game to the hapless Tigers, and sure it was 60 degrees colder than the last time I was at Fenway, but you can't help but think about how lucky we are in Red Sox Nation. And that's where we're also the most misunderstood. Red Sox fans are the most passionate in baseball, and even though we suffered for so many years, we never stopped believing, deep down inside. That has been rewarded, as we all know, but in the process, Sox fans have been elevated from Loveable Losers to Whiney Winners in the eyes of many. The problem is, those people don't know the true Red Sox Nation, they only know what the media shows them. In becoming media darlings, we have also become fodder for public dislike. Success breeds disdain in sports, more often than not. And that is OK, but maybe I can set the record straight, just a bit.
I've often said that a game at Fenway is a lot like a Grateful Dead show. No matter how hard you try to describe it, there is no way to make the person understand it. Like a Grateful Dead show, you can give them a recording, but all they can see is a baseball game and the fact that the Souvenier Shop does great business. No, the only way to get someone to truly understand a Grateful Dead show was to take them there, and the only way to get someone to understand a Sox game at Fenway is to take them there. Sadly, we can't introduce people to the magic that was a Dead show anymore, and the spin-offs are nowhere near the same experience. But anyone can enjoy a game at Fenway, and they'll all be better for it.
It really starts before you get to the ballpark, just like a Grateful Dead show. The closer you get to Fenway, the higher the energy. The more caps, t-shirts. The more random whoops and calls of "Let's Go Sox!" echo in the air. When you went to a Grateful Dead show, you could start to feel the world changing around you, you knew were entering the Land of Deadheads miles before you arrived. Approaching Fenway is the same. Maybe you're taking the T in, maybe your trip starts on the Red Line. You board the train at Alewife, and scattered along the platform are an array of students, business people, families, and of course, a number of people who you recognize. You recognize them even though you've never met them, because this is Boston (ok, Cambridge) and they are Red Sox fans and you just know that they too are going to the game. Just like you always knew who was going to a Dead show wthout ever speaking to them. Davis, Porter, Harvard. The complexion of the train car is changing, it is decidely more red and blue now. Central, Kendall, Charles/MGH. There is almost a buzz now that you can feel. You're heart rate jumps just a tick or two. Your smile broadens. You can definitely tell the people headed to the game now. They are the only people wearing big grins while stuck in the middle of the daily shuffle of those either oblivious to your journey, or just unable to join you on this trip, this time. I liken this to that last stop at the gas station/convenience store on your way to that Dead show, before you head into the lots. Park Street Station. The Common is above you now, you are steps from the State House, and you don't care. You scale one flight of stairs and willingly cram yourself into the first Green Line car you see. On game days, the Green Line is a zoo. Old, small, not too comfortable, but you just don't care. The Green Line is Fenway. They keep improving it a little bit at a time over the years, trying to make your experience there just a little better, but you don't care, because you know you'd be there anyway. Like the parking lot at Giants Stadium before the show, it can be dirty, hot and crowded, but everybody is dirty, hot and crowded, so somehow this shared experience makes it infinitely more tolerable.
You ascend now into Kenmore Square. The place is alive. Normally just a busy section of city, on game day, the area from Kenmore over the bridge to Lansdowne, Yawkey and the Park represents the heart of Red Sox Nation. At a Dead show, this is that are just around and encompassing Shakedown Street. The area that pulses with a colorful throng, all joined in a single-minded anticipation of the event to come. From the moment you step out into the sun shining down on the exit from the Kenmore T stop, you are immersed. It would be sensory overload if not for the fact that the event itself hightens your awareness, allows you to soak it all in. Hawkers peddle their wares, t-shirts and hats, pennants and Wally dolls. The smell of sausage fills the air, like the egg rolls, burritos and kind grilled cheese of the lots. You stroll over the millions fleeing the city on the Mass Pike, you cross over into the Promised Land. Fenway rises majestically in front of you. In due time, you will pass through it's gates ready to feel the magic. In the mean time, you wander, maybe randomly high-fiving an enthusiastic fan, maybe going into BeerWorks for a brew and a bite to eat. Maybe you go down Yawkey Way, every bit Shakedown Street, the central artery of Red Sox Nation. You look up at the brick facade of old Fenway, you see the banners. You see the one that says 2004, a lump grows in your throat. You see the new one, the one that says 2007, it all still seems almost too good to be true. The crowd swells, the anticipation begins to peak. And then it is time.
Entering Fenway Park is something sublime. I've written about it here before, and I'll re-tell it now. You go through the cursory bag inspection, you get your ticket scanned, you descend into the bowels of the old ball park. It is a little different now, with all of the improvements, but that first stretch of concourse under the grandstands still feels a bit like a dungeon. You file along with tens of thousands of others, weaving your way around the beer lines that extend out into the pathways, around the crowds yearning for their obligatory Fenway Frank. You reach that point. There is the sign for your section. The anticipation crests. You ascend. The light is nearly blinding as your eyes struggle to adjust from the darkness of the underbelly. And then there it is, in all of it's glory...Fenway Park. It seems impossibly green. The field is perfect. The Green Monster looms in left. The Fenway Sound fills your ears. It is a singular sound, there is nothing else like it. It is like when you first enter the three-quarter full venue for that Dead show. There is a sound there that is a combination of all that is happening around you, but it is a sound that is unique to the experience. It cannot be duplicated, but it is one of the finest sounds you will ever hear.
You find your seats, and it doesn't matter that they are half a size to small. The comfort is not in the seats, but in the fact that you are on hallowed grounds. This is the Home of the Boston Red Sox, the Home of Red Sox Nation. And if you never were quite sure if you belonged to the Nation before, you know it now. Like when you were in that Dead show, you were enveloped in one giant group hug, you knew you were one of the Deadheads. It's game time, and from the first pitch, unlike in so many other ballparks, virtually everyone in the Park is tied to every moment. The game goes on, sometimes it is one of those performances that reaches the highest peak, where the Team takes itself, and you too, to another place. Sometimes, they just can't get it done, but it is OK, you love these guys anyway and you know they went out there and gave it up for you, even if it just wasn't their night. Sounds a lot like a Dead show, doesn't it? Through the game, you experience all of those bizarre, cult-ish things that make Fenway, well, Fenway. The still-hand operated scoreboard. The between innings cheer that rises when the scoreboard guy comes out with his ladder and changes the board to reveal that the Yankees are losing. The surreal experience of nearly 40,000 people singing along to Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline". And you are immersed in the game, and you are immersed in Fenway Park, and you couldn't imagine anywhere else you'd rather be right at that moment.
Eventually the game will end. You will file out onto Yawkey Way or Lansdowne Street. Maybe you'll stop for a brief moment to take in the statue of the Splendid Splinter, Teddy Ballgame. You might grab one of those famous Fenway sausages, or hit Game On! or the infamous Cask 'n Flagon for a beer. Or maybe you just head back for the trains. But you don't really rush, you're still flying from the Fenway experience. Maybe the Red Sox even just lost, but somehow, it is OK. You just spent the day at Fenway Park. And now, you know how it feels, now you understand. And when someone asks what it was like, you'll say it was great. And then you'll say that there is now way to explain it, really. And you'll say you just have to be there. And you'll smile.
The Yankees come to town tonight. The first Sox-Yankees clash of the season. I can't wait. It's spring.
Enjoy the weekend folks, and as always, have a pint for me.
.
As we walked out of Fenway and onto Lansdowne Wednesday night, I had to smile. Sure, the Red Sox were surrendering a game to the hapless Tigers, and sure it was 60 degrees colder than the last time I was at Fenway, but you can't help but think about how lucky we are in Red Sox Nation. And that's where we're also the most misunderstood. Red Sox fans are the most passionate in baseball, and even though we suffered for so many years, we never stopped believing, deep down inside. That has been rewarded, as we all know, but in the process, Sox fans have been elevated from Loveable Losers to Whiney Winners in the eyes of many. The problem is, those people don't know the true Red Sox Nation, they only know what the media shows them. In becoming media darlings, we have also become fodder for public dislike. Success breeds disdain in sports, more often than not. And that is OK, but maybe I can set the record straight, just a bit.
I've often said that a game at Fenway is a lot like a Grateful Dead show. No matter how hard you try to describe it, there is no way to make the person understand it. Like a Grateful Dead show, you can give them a recording, but all they can see is a baseball game and the fact that the Souvenier Shop does great business. No, the only way to get someone to truly understand a Grateful Dead show was to take them there, and the only way to get someone to understand a Sox game at Fenway is to take them there. Sadly, we can't introduce people to the magic that was a Dead show anymore, and the spin-offs are nowhere near the same experience. But anyone can enjoy a game at Fenway, and they'll all be better for it.
It really starts before you get to the ballpark, just like a Grateful Dead show. The closer you get to Fenway, the higher the energy. The more caps, t-shirts. The more random whoops and calls of "Let's Go Sox!" echo in the air. When you went to a Grateful Dead show, you could start to feel the world changing around you, you knew were entering the Land of Deadheads miles before you arrived. Approaching Fenway is the same. Maybe you're taking the T in, maybe your trip starts on the Red Line. You board the train at Alewife, and scattered along the platform are an array of students, business people, families, and of course, a number of people who you recognize. You recognize them even though you've never met them, because this is Boston (ok, Cambridge) and they are Red Sox fans and you just know that they too are going to the game. Just like you always knew who was going to a Dead show wthout ever speaking to them. Davis, Porter, Harvard. The complexion of the train car is changing, it is decidely more red and blue now. Central, Kendall, Charles/MGH. There is almost a buzz now that you can feel. You're heart rate jumps just a tick or two. Your smile broadens. You can definitely tell the people headed to the game now. They are the only people wearing big grins while stuck in the middle of the daily shuffle of those either oblivious to your journey, or just unable to join you on this trip, this time. I liken this to that last stop at the gas station/convenience store on your way to that Dead show, before you head into the lots. Park Street Station. The Common is above you now, you are steps from the State House, and you don't care. You scale one flight of stairs and willingly cram yourself into the first Green Line car you see. On game days, the Green Line is a zoo. Old, small, not too comfortable, but you just don't care. The Green Line is Fenway. They keep improving it a little bit at a time over the years, trying to make your experience there just a little better, but you don't care, because you know you'd be there anyway. Like the parking lot at Giants Stadium before the show, it can be dirty, hot and crowded, but everybody is dirty, hot and crowded, so somehow this shared experience makes it infinitely more tolerable.
You ascend now into Kenmore Square. The place is alive. Normally just a busy section of city, on game day, the area from Kenmore over the bridge to Lansdowne, Yawkey and the Park represents the heart of Red Sox Nation. At a Dead show, this is that are just around and encompassing Shakedown Street. The area that pulses with a colorful throng, all joined in a single-minded anticipation of the event to come. From the moment you step out into the sun shining down on the exit from the Kenmore T stop, you are immersed. It would be sensory overload if not for the fact that the event itself hightens your awareness, allows you to soak it all in. Hawkers peddle their wares, t-shirts and hats, pennants and Wally dolls. The smell of sausage fills the air, like the egg rolls, burritos and kind grilled cheese of the lots. You stroll over the millions fleeing the city on the Mass Pike, you cross over into the Promised Land. Fenway rises majestically in front of you. In due time, you will pass through it's gates ready to feel the magic. In the mean time, you wander, maybe randomly high-fiving an enthusiastic fan, maybe going into BeerWorks for a brew and a bite to eat. Maybe you go down Yawkey Way, every bit Shakedown Street, the central artery of Red Sox Nation. You look up at the brick facade of old Fenway, you see the banners. You see the one that says 2004, a lump grows in your throat. You see the new one, the one that says 2007, it all still seems almost too good to be true. The crowd swells, the anticipation begins to peak. And then it is time.
Entering Fenway Park is something sublime. I've written about it here before, and I'll re-tell it now. You go through the cursory bag inspection, you get your ticket scanned, you descend into the bowels of the old ball park. It is a little different now, with all of the improvements, but that first stretch of concourse under the grandstands still feels a bit like a dungeon. You file along with tens of thousands of others, weaving your way around the beer lines that extend out into the pathways, around the crowds yearning for their obligatory Fenway Frank. You reach that point. There is the sign for your section. The anticipation crests. You ascend. The light is nearly blinding as your eyes struggle to adjust from the darkness of the underbelly. And then there it is, in all of it's glory...Fenway Park. It seems impossibly green. The field is perfect. The Green Monster looms in left. The Fenway Sound fills your ears. It is a singular sound, there is nothing else like it. It is like when you first enter the three-quarter full venue for that Dead show. There is a sound there that is a combination of all that is happening around you, but it is a sound that is unique to the experience. It cannot be duplicated, but it is one of the finest sounds you will ever hear.
You find your seats, and it doesn't matter that they are half a size to small. The comfort is not in the seats, but in the fact that you are on hallowed grounds. This is the Home of the Boston Red Sox, the Home of Red Sox Nation. And if you never were quite sure if you belonged to the Nation before, you know it now. Like when you were in that Dead show, you were enveloped in one giant group hug, you knew you were one of the Deadheads. It's game time, and from the first pitch, unlike in so many other ballparks, virtually everyone in the Park is tied to every moment. The game goes on, sometimes it is one of those performances that reaches the highest peak, where the Team takes itself, and you too, to another place. Sometimes, they just can't get it done, but it is OK, you love these guys anyway and you know they went out there and gave it up for you, even if it just wasn't their night. Sounds a lot like a Dead show, doesn't it? Through the game, you experience all of those bizarre, cult-ish things that make Fenway, well, Fenway. The still-hand operated scoreboard. The between innings cheer that rises when the scoreboard guy comes out with his ladder and changes the board to reveal that the Yankees are losing. The surreal experience of nearly 40,000 people singing along to Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline". And you are immersed in the game, and you are immersed in Fenway Park, and you couldn't imagine anywhere else you'd rather be right at that moment.
Eventually the game will end. You will file out onto Yawkey Way or Lansdowne Street. Maybe you'll stop for a brief moment to take in the statue of the Splendid Splinter, Teddy Ballgame. You might grab one of those famous Fenway sausages, or hit Game On! or the infamous Cask 'n Flagon for a beer. Or maybe you just head back for the trains. But you don't really rush, you're still flying from the Fenway experience. Maybe the Red Sox even just lost, but somehow, it is OK. You just spent the day at Fenway Park. And now, you know how it feels, now you understand. And when someone asks what it was like, you'll say it was great. And then you'll say that there is now way to explain it, really. And you'll say you just have to be there. And you'll smile.
The Yankees come to town tonight. The first Sox-Yankees clash of the season. I can't wait. It's spring.
Enjoy the weekend folks, and as always, have a pint for me.
.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Another Barstool Friday!!!!
Well, it isn't the happiest of mornings, but I have a lot to say, and it is Barstool Friday after all. Let's roll...
That's it for this week folks. Tonight, I revel for a few hours with my old AEPi brothers from good ol' UMass, down at Rafter's in Amherst. Remember, where ever you hop on a barstool this weekend, it's good to be a Boston sports fan.
.
- Props to the UMass Minutemen. You guys did a hell of a job, better than anyone expected 6 months ago. As I watched last night, I felt like we were champions, no matter the outcome. If only, 10 years ago, someone had said to Luke Bonner, "Luke, you're a 7 foot tall, slow white guy. Learn how to play some post defense and rebound. You're a center not a wingman", we might have had a chance of stopping Ohio State's Big Greek, and the outcome would have been different. But, as a certain coach in Foxboro would say, it is what it is. So congrats UMass, you did something no other Minuteman hoops squad has ever done, you played in April. Now, somebody tie Travis Ford to a chair and lock him in a closet until next basketball season so he can't go anywhere.
- Tonight, it will finally really feel like baseball season to me. After the fuka asahayaku opening day and another 6 AM game 2, a couple of exhibition games in a "park" that had all of the charm of some of the whiffle ball "stadiums" we created as kids, and a late night game I could barely stay awake for the first pitch for (have I mentioned lately that I hate West Coast road swings?), we actually had baseball at a normal hour on Wednesday. And tonight we have a 7 o'clock game! And Tuesday we have Opeing Day At Fenway! And Wednesday we have me at Fenway! Yes, it finally feels like baseball season has arrived. Wake up Red Sox Nation, it's time to Play Ball!
- The Celtics won their 60th game of the season this week. First time since the '86 Championship season they've done that. They have beaten every team in the league. They have achieved the greatest season to season turn-around in NBA history. Now it is time to MAKE history. Now is the time for GREEN 17. I haven't been this excited for the NBA Playoffs since the '80s. I Love This Game.
That's it for this week folks. Tonight, I revel for a few hours with my old AEPi brothers from good ol' UMass, down at Rafter's in Amherst. Remember, where ever you hop on a barstool this weekend, it's good to be a Boston sports fan.
.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Fuka Asahayaku!!!!!!!!!!!!
No, that doesn't mean "Play Ball!" or some such thing. Roughly translated, it means "bad, early in the morning". I was all ready to wax poetic this morning, to relay my experience in watching the Red Sox-A's season opener live from the Tokyo Dome. Yes, despite my well documented opposition to this whole trip, I was none the less fascinated to see how the Japanese audience would greet the Sox, and, of course, returning hero Daisuke Matsuzaka. So, even before the Rising Sun, I awoke, ready to catch the 5 AM pre-game on NESN. I turned on the TV, flipped to NESN, and that's when I realized it was going to be fuka asahayaku. Bad, early in the morning.
You see, I have DirecTV. You know, satellite. And this morning, of all mornings, the satellites that support NESN and ESPN2 decided to go dark. I colorfully weathered this Whiskey Tango Foxtrot moment, hoping that by game time, we'd have images. At 5:50, I broke out the radio. No offense to Joe C and Dale Arnold, but I wanted to see this game on TV.
So there you have it, what could have been a literary masterpiece has been reduced to a short column centered on my disgust with DirecTV, for failing me at the worst possible time. It really was fuka asahayaku today.
Oh, by the way, while Dice-K struggled, it has been a hell of a game, going extra innings with a Manny Ramirez double in the top of the 10th giving the Sox a 6-4 lead. And as I am about to click "submit", a strange play gave the A's a run and a two out, nobody on situation against Papelbon. Then a runner on, potential tying run. Okajima in line to get the win. Now runners on first and second. Joe C: "This has not been easy!" Papelbon, quite literally, hold this game in his hand. Doesn't it make sense that Kurt Suzuki is the guy who's up (even if he is Canadian)? But this is Jonathan Papelbon, and you know what that means.
We're 1-0!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Welcome to the 2008 Boston Red Sox regular season.
.
You see, I have DirecTV. You know, satellite. And this morning, of all mornings, the satellites that support NESN and ESPN2 decided to go dark. I colorfully weathered this Whiskey Tango Foxtrot moment, hoping that by game time, we'd have images. At 5:50, I broke out the radio. No offense to Joe C and Dale Arnold, but I wanted to see this game on TV.
So there you have it, what could have been a literary masterpiece has been reduced to a short column centered on my disgust with DirecTV, for failing me at the worst possible time. It really was fuka asahayaku today.
Oh, by the way, while Dice-K struggled, it has been a hell of a game, going extra innings with a Manny Ramirez double in the top of the 10th giving the Sox a 6-4 lead. And as I am about to click "submit", a strange play gave the A's a run and a two out, nobody on situation against Papelbon. Then a runner on, potential tying run. Okajima in line to get the win. Now runners on first and second. Joe C: "This has not been easy!" Papelbon, quite literally, hold this game in his hand. Doesn't it make sense that Kurt Suzuki is the guy who's up (even if he is Canadian)? But this is Jonathan Papelbon, and you know what that means.
We're 1-0!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Welcome to the 2008 Boston Red Sox regular season.
.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
It's Barstool...Thursday?
Given that I may just not get around to this tomorrow, we're going a day early this week. Lots going on, I'll get right to it!
Well, that's about it for this week. Have a great weekend, and as always, have a few pints for me.
.
- Our Celtics take the floor tonight against the Mavs, looking to sweep their way through Texas. The Celts showed poise in San Antonio on Monday, coming back from 22 down to topple the defending champs. The Celts looked dominant Tuesday as they cruised by the Rockets, squashing Houston's 22 game win-streak in the process. Tonight, look for them to kick Dallas to the curb. Two highlights to look for: the Dirk Nowitzki Face of Disgust and the Mark Cuban "Slowly Dawning On Me That My Team Can't Win Big Games" pout. We then move on to New Orleans before we come back to the Garden. As I pointed out last week, once we return home from this stint, it is a pretty easy row to hoe. With 13 games to go upon the return to Boston, only the home tilts wth Phoenix and the Hornets, and a road game in Washington (who are 34-33) are against teams over .500. By the way, currently the 8 spot inthe East? New Jersey...at 29-39. Yikes.
- Kudos to the Red Sox players for going to bat (pun intended) for the coaches and staff yesterday. We'll ignore the fact that they really didn't want to go to Japan anyway.
- Are you full immersed in the NCAA Tournament yet? There are only two excuses for being here reading this right now that don't involve you sitting in front of the TV with this on your laptop, or toggling back and forth between this and the live stream from CBS Sportsline. One, you're a part of the Red Sox entourage and in Tokyo at the moment, or two, you...actually, there is no 2. You should be watching the greatest weekend of basketball of the year. And for the record, 3 games down, I'm 3-0. Although my mini-upsets picks of Kentucky and Baylor aren't looking so hot right now.
- This will be the first year that I show up to work late because of Opening Day. I'm still struggling with the fact that I won't be enjoying a few beers with the game. Have I mentioned that I'm not in favor of this Japan trip yet?
- Slightly unrelated, but worth mentioning. Had lunch with my buddy Chomper yesterday. And we have a consenus. A beer-battered, deep-fried burger stuffed with jalapenos and cheddar is almost as good as a burger can get. As good as a burger can get is when you add blue cheese dressing on top. So Packard's in Northampton, Mass wins my inaugural Homer Simpson "mmmmm..." Award for Burger of the Century. I like this idea. Stay tuned for future awards.
- Tiger tackles Doral this weekend. So, anybody got a pick for second place?
Well, that's about it for this week. Have a great weekend, and as always, have a few pints for me.
.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
How To Win Your March Madness Bracket Challenge
It's that time of year again, where for a few weeks, NCAA Basketball reigns supreme in the world of sports, providing a helpful bridge to Opening Day and the NBA Playoffs. That's right, it's March Madness!!!! Clinically proven to reduce productivity already, the NCAA ands CBS have gone a step further and you can now watch every game, live, right from your computer! That's right, you can suck up all of your office's bandwidth and not miss a second of action!
I have been participating in various office/bar March Madness pools for over 20 years. In that time, I've been an outright winner at least 6 times, including last year. That's a pretty high percentage in something as random as the NCAA Tournament. With that in mind, and being quite confident that no one actually reads the stuff I put on here (so I don't have to worry about the competition), I'm offering up 10 tips to help you win your March Madness Bracket Challenge. And away we go!
10. Don't Be A Homer!!! Look, I'm the biggest Homer of them all, but if you want to win, you've got let it go. Unless you live on Tobacco Road, face it, most years picking your hometown team to get past the first couple of rounds is bracket suicide. Sport your team colors, root hard for them in every game, but DON'T pick them to go to the Final Four. Trust me here.
9. Live By The 1 Seed, Die By the 1 Seed While we all know that all 4 #1 seeds never make it to the Final Four, they also never lose to a 16. Look, the single most important thing you can do to win your bracket is to get those 4 teams right. If you don't, you're toast. Keep the 1s till the Sweet 16, and your chances of taking it all improve dramatically.
8. The 5 to 12 Slot Here's where you can up your Games Won stats dramatically. It is where the so-called upsets happen. Your 5/12, 6/11, 7/10 and 8/9 match-ups are the biggest crap shoots of the Tourney. These games are where you need to do your homework. Look at the match-ups carefully. Just because one team has a higher seed, doesn't necessarily mean they are the most likely team to win. These are the games where a deadly 3 point shooting team that averages 90 points a game in a weak conference will take out a mediocre team from an elite conference. These are the games where a team that is only in the Tournament due to an unexpected win in their conference tourney giving them an automatic bid falls to a team you've never heard of. They are also the games where a great team's late season skid dropped them to an 11 seed, but their starting point guard is back and they are a much better team when he's on the floor. These games are what seperates the basketball geeks from the people who fill out their brackets based on uniform color or mascot.
7. The Sleeper The Sleeper usually comes from the 8 to 12 Slot. The Sleeper is usually a young team with a budding Superstar. It is a team that has shown flashes of brilliance all season long, as well as occasionally looking like they ought to be playing intramural ball instead. But the budding Superstar comes up big in the Tourney, cementing his Stud Status. He doesn't take the team to the promised land, but they go to the Sweet 16 or Elite 8. Look for the team that has a freshman or sophmore who is going to be high on the NBA draft boards in June, even though he's raw and not quite ready.
6. Don't Put Cinderella On The Dance Card Every few years, some 12 or 14 seed stuns the world and makes an improbable run deep into the Tournament, causing a backlash of poor Bracket choices for years. Here's the thing, remember I said earlier that the most important thing you can do is pick the Final Four, right? Well, Cinderella doesn't make the Final Four. She might look good in that prom gown, but we all know she's going back to mopping floors, and it's happening at about 8:30, not midnight.
5. Defense Wins Championships Things are different when you make it to the Dance. If you've got a team that put up 88 PPG during the regular season, but gave up 85, if you've got them going deep, you're not going to be crowned Champ. Remember, chances are all those high scoring games were against teams that are at home watching on TV right now.
4. Except When It Doesn't There are, of course, exceptions to every rule. Every year, there are few teams that can score at will, inside and out. Those rare teams that aren't defensive stoppers but have a balanced attack that can burn you on the break or eat clock and crush you with 3 point daggers stand a good chance. But do your homework. These teams have to have dominated all season long. They can't have any serious flaws and they have to be painfully consistent. We have one of these teams this year. I'll let you figure out who. I can't give away ALL of my secrets.
3. The 8-Ball The Elite Eight is where things start to get dangerous. It is where the giants fall. This is where you can expect to lose some of those vaunted 1 seeds. Like the 5 to 12 Slot, this is where the hoops geeks need to do their work. Carefully analyze your potential match-ups, looking at the how the strengths of the lower seeds stand up against the weaknesses of the higher seeds. There's a 2, 3, or 4 waiting to pounce now, they've got momentum on their side and will look to exploit holes in Number One's armor. Here is where you seal the deal. Pick right here and you've got the Final Four locked down, and your competition has fallen by the wayside.
2. Go With The Gut(s) So you've narrowed it down to your Final Four predicitions. There is no science now, every one of these teams deserves to be here, and every one could win it all. Now you take everything you know about hoops, and knock out two teams. You're at the National Championship Game. Which team has the Will To Win??? That's what it comes down to, and you've just got to go with your gut and their guts to pick a winner.
1. The Magic Number Finally, you've got to remember to not ignore the tie-breaker. Picking the total points scored is easy. It will be in the 130s. Trust me here. You don't get high scoring games at this point in the tournament, for several reasons, not the least of which is that the teams went from having tons of games in quick succession to having a week off, then an emotionally charged game two days prior. They come out a little cold, a little flat, and eveybody steps up the defensive pressure. Don't pick too high, or too low, you'll be fine, and you'll be the 2008 NCAA March Madness Champion.
There you have it, a sure fire way to put yourself in contention for a year of bragging rights. You can thank me later.
.
I have been participating in various office/bar March Madness pools for over 20 years. In that time, I've been an outright winner at least 6 times, including last year. That's a pretty high percentage in something as random as the NCAA Tournament. With that in mind, and being quite confident that no one actually reads the stuff I put on here (so I don't have to worry about the competition), I'm offering up 10 tips to help you win your March Madness Bracket Challenge. And away we go!
10. Don't Be A Homer!!! Look, I'm the biggest Homer of them all, but if you want to win, you've got let it go. Unless you live on Tobacco Road, face it, most years picking your hometown team to get past the first couple of rounds is bracket suicide. Sport your team colors, root hard for them in every game, but DON'T pick them to go to the Final Four. Trust me here.
9. Live By The 1 Seed, Die By the 1 Seed While we all know that all 4 #1 seeds never make it to the Final Four, they also never lose to a 16. Look, the single most important thing you can do to win your bracket is to get those 4 teams right. If you don't, you're toast. Keep the 1s till the Sweet 16, and your chances of taking it all improve dramatically.
8. The 5 to 12 Slot Here's where you can up your Games Won stats dramatically. It is where the so-called upsets happen. Your 5/12, 6/11, 7/10 and 8/9 match-ups are the biggest crap shoots of the Tourney. These games are where you need to do your homework. Look at the match-ups carefully. Just because one team has a higher seed, doesn't necessarily mean they are the most likely team to win. These are the games where a deadly 3 point shooting team that averages 90 points a game in a weak conference will take out a mediocre team from an elite conference. These are the games where a team that is only in the Tournament due to an unexpected win in their conference tourney giving them an automatic bid falls to a team you've never heard of. They are also the games where a great team's late season skid dropped them to an 11 seed, but their starting point guard is back and they are a much better team when he's on the floor. These games are what seperates the basketball geeks from the people who fill out their brackets based on uniform color or mascot.
7. The Sleeper The Sleeper usually comes from the 8 to 12 Slot. The Sleeper is usually a young team with a budding Superstar. It is a team that has shown flashes of brilliance all season long, as well as occasionally looking like they ought to be playing intramural ball instead. But the budding Superstar comes up big in the Tourney, cementing his Stud Status. He doesn't take the team to the promised land, but they go to the Sweet 16 or Elite 8. Look for the team that has a freshman or sophmore who is going to be high on the NBA draft boards in June, even though he's raw and not quite ready.
6. Don't Put Cinderella On The Dance Card Every few years, some 12 or 14 seed stuns the world and makes an improbable run deep into the Tournament, causing a backlash of poor Bracket choices for years. Here's the thing, remember I said earlier that the most important thing you can do is pick the Final Four, right? Well, Cinderella doesn't make the Final Four. She might look good in that prom gown, but we all know she's going back to mopping floors, and it's happening at about 8:30, not midnight.
5. Defense Wins Championships Things are different when you make it to the Dance. If you've got a team that put up 88 PPG during the regular season, but gave up 85, if you've got them going deep, you're not going to be crowned Champ. Remember, chances are all those high scoring games were against teams that are at home watching on TV right now.
4. Except When It Doesn't There are, of course, exceptions to every rule. Every year, there are few teams that can score at will, inside and out. Those rare teams that aren't defensive stoppers but have a balanced attack that can burn you on the break or eat clock and crush you with 3 point daggers stand a good chance. But do your homework. These teams have to have dominated all season long. They can't have any serious flaws and they have to be painfully consistent. We have one of these teams this year. I'll let you figure out who. I can't give away ALL of my secrets.
3. The 8-Ball The Elite Eight is where things start to get dangerous. It is where the giants fall. This is where you can expect to lose some of those vaunted 1 seeds. Like the 5 to 12 Slot, this is where the hoops geeks need to do their work. Carefully analyze your potential match-ups, looking at the how the strengths of the lower seeds stand up against the weaknesses of the higher seeds. There's a 2, 3, or 4 waiting to pounce now, they've got momentum on their side and will look to exploit holes in Number One's armor. Here is where you seal the deal. Pick right here and you've got the Final Four locked down, and your competition has fallen by the wayside.
2. Go With The Gut(s) So you've narrowed it down to your Final Four predicitions. There is no science now, every one of these teams deserves to be here, and every one could win it all. Now you take everything you know about hoops, and knock out two teams. You're at the National Championship Game. Which team has the Will To Win??? That's what it comes down to, and you've just got to go with your gut and their guts to pick a winner.
1. The Magic Number Finally, you've got to remember to not ignore the tie-breaker. Picking the total points scored is easy. It will be in the 130s. Trust me here. You don't get high scoring games at this point in the tournament, for several reasons, not the least of which is that the teams went from having tons of games in quick succession to having a week off, then an emotionally charged game two days prior. They come out a little cold, a little flat, and eveybody steps up the defensive pressure. Don't pick too high, or too low, you'll be fine, and you'll be the 2008 NCAA March Madness Champion.
There you have it, a sure fire way to put yourself in contention for a year of bragging rights. You can thank me later.
.
Monday, March 17, 2008
He's G-R-R-R-R-R-EAT!!!!!!
It being St. Patrick's Day, the one day that everyone in America somehow is Irish and drinks stout, I had planned on devoting today's column to the Celtics. Right up until about 5:45 yesterday afternoon. That's when I watched Tiger Woods sink a 25-footer for birdie on the 72nd hole to take Bay Hill. To avoid a playoff. To Win. It was a defining moment in a career of defining moments. It was something no one does. It was simply Tiger Being Tiger (sorry Manny).
As any golfer, no matter weekend duffer or the Greatest Player to Ever Play The Game, can tell you, there are shots that define you, shots that you never forget. And the best tend to be the putts that shouldn't go in, but do. Sure, driving the green on a Par 4, setting up my first ever eagle, 10 years ago, was a great moment. But I 2-putt from 8 feet to secure it, and to be fair, it was a 285 yard Par 4 playing about 250. Sure, the 300+ yard drive I hit on the 18th hole of a tournament last year, setting up a birdie and a T-4 finish for my team (gotta love best ball) felt great. But these still aren't the strongest memories I have on the golf course. No, those come on the greens. You know, the old "Drive for Show, Putt for Dough" thing. My defining moment as a golfer? Father's Day 2006, 6th Hole of Beaver Brook Country Club. I sank a 30-footer for birdie, after hitting a pretty sweet approach from about 150. But it is the putt that sticks with you. Hell, it sticks with my buddies JonO and Ed. They still say "hey, remember that putt you sank on Father's Day a few years back? That was great."
And that is the story of Tiger Woods life. The shots, the putts in particular, that make people say "remember when Tiger did that? That was great." And to make this one all that much more poignant (as if it needed help)? It was basically the EXACT SAME PUTT he sank at Bay Hill back in 2001 to beat Lefty on the last hole of the tourney with a birdie, which was also the last time Tiger made birdie on the 72nd hole to win a tourney. See what I mean? These things define you. Tiger is 7 of his last 8 in PGA Tour events (finishing second in the other), and 8 of his last 9 over-all. He hasn't lost a tournament he's entered this season. And remember this: Tiger was 7 strokes back at the end of the day Friday. SEVEN STROKES!
In a career defined by defining moments, we may be watching the Most Defining Moment Of Them All. We may be watching the early steps of the most dominant year in the History of Golf. Earlier this year, we saw Tiger pass this weekend's host, the great Arnold Palmer, on the career PGA Tour victories list. Yesterday, he tied Mr. Ben Hogan for third on the all-time list at 64. At this point, it is no longer hard to imagine that he will catch the Golden Bear at 73...this season!
We are witnessing something that happens rarely in sports, we are witnessing the Greatest Ever. And there is really no argument. Those of us fortunate enough to have watched Jordan, we can say we saw "arguably" the best ever. But there is still an argument. You can make a case for Bird, Magic, Russell, Wilt, a few others. In baseball, you can argue who was the greatest ever, by position even, but you'll never have consensus. Same with football, the Greatest Quarterback of All-Time is a debate that will rage forever. Try another individual sport. Boxing? Go ahead, try to get 10 guys to agree that it was Ali. You might get 7 of 10. Maybe.
In golf, until recently, a solid case could be made that Tiger was "one of", but not "the" best. But since the death of his father, Tiger has been gaining steam. And since Bridgestone last year, he's been like a fully-loaded freight train heading downhill. Only the conducter has the train under full control, everybody else just needs to step out of its way. A few months ago, Tiger said that winning all four majors this year was "within reason". Jack Nicklaus said "I wouldn't put it past him." At this point, I don't think any one would argue with them.
I wonder what will become of Tiger Woods when he closes the records books, with his name at the top of every list. I wonder if he will carry on, playing till his body won't let him any more, like Arnie and Jack. I wonder if 30 years from now, we'll be watching an aging Tiger make his last trip around Amen Corner, or over the bridge at St. Andrew's. I wonder if he'll gracefully move on when he has etched his name firmly atop the world of golf, going out at the top of his game. With Tiger, it's hard to say. But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy every moment, knowing that for what may be the only time in my life, I'm watching The Best Ever.
And yes, I know I didn't mention March Madness. I'm still bitter, leave me alone. We'll tackle that later in the week.
As any golfer, no matter weekend duffer or the Greatest Player to Ever Play The Game, can tell you, there are shots that define you, shots that you never forget. And the best tend to be the putts that shouldn't go in, but do. Sure, driving the green on a Par 4, setting up my first ever eagle, 10 years ago, was a great moment. But I 2-putt from 8 feet to secure it, and to be fair, it was a 285 yard Par 4 playing about 250. Sure, the 300+ yard drive I hit on the 18th hole of a tournament last year, setting up a birdie and a T-4 finish for my team (gotta love best ball) felt great. But these still aren't the strongest memories I have on the golf course. No, those come on the greens. You know, the old "Drive for Show, Putt for Dough" thing. My defining moment as a golfer? Father's Day 2006, 6th Hole of Beaver Brook Country Club. I sank a 30-footer for birdie, after hitting a pretty sweet approach from about 150. But it is the putt that sticks with you. Hell, it sticks with my buddies JonO and Ed. They still say "hey, remember that putt you sank on Father's Day a few years back? That was great."
And that is the story of Tiger Woods life. The shots, the putts in particular, that make people say "remember when Tiger did that? That was great." And to make this one all that much more poignant (as if it needed help)? It was basically the EXACT SAME PUTT he sank at Bay Hill back in 2001 to beat Lefty on the last hole of the tourney with a birdie, which was also the last time Tiger made birdie on the 72nd hole to win a tourney. See what I mean? These things define you. Tiger is 7 of his last 8 in PGA Tour events (finishing second in the other), and 8 of his last 9 over-all. He hasn't lost a tournament he's entered this season. And remember this: Tiger was 7 strokes back at the end of the day Friday. SEVEN STROKES!
In a career defined by defining moments, we may be watching the Most Defining Moment Of Them All. We may be watching the early steps of the most dominant year in the History of Golf. Earlier this year, we saw Tiger pass this weekend's host, the great Arnold Palmer, on the career PGA Tour victories list. Yesterday, he tied Mr. Ben Hogan for third on the all-time list at 64. At this point, it is no longer hard to imagine that he will catch the Golden Bear at 73...this season!
We are witnessing something that happens rarely in sports, we are witnessing the Greatest Ever. And there is really no argument. Those of us fortunate enough to have watched Jordan, we can say we saw "arguably" the best ever. But there is still an argument. You can make a case for Bird, Magic, Russell, Wilt, a few others. In baseball, you can argue who was the greatest ever, by position even, but you'll never have consensus. Same with football, the Greatest Quarterback of All-Time is a debate that will rage forever. Try another individual sport. Boxing? Go ahead, try to get 10 guys to agree that it was Ali. You might get 7 of 10. Maybe.
In golf, until recently, a solid case could be made that Tiger was "one of", but not "the" best. But since the death of his father, Tiger has been gaining steam. And since Bridgestone last year, he's been like a fully-loaded freight train heading downhill. Only the conducter has the train under full control, everybody else just needs to step out of its way. A few months ago, Tiger said that winning all four majors this year was "within reason". Jack Nicklaus said "I wouldn't put it past him." At this point, I don't think any one would argue with them.
I wonder what will become of Tiger Woods when he closes the records books, with his name at the top of every list. I wonder if he will carry on, playing till his body won't let him any more, like Arnie and Jack. I wonder if 30 years from now, we'll be watching an aging Tiger make his last trip around Amen Corner, or over the bridge at St. Andrew's. I wonder if he'll gracefully move on when he has etched his name firmly atop the world of golf, going out at the top of his game. With Tiger, it's hard to say. But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy every moment, knowing that for what may be the only time in my life, I'm watching The Best Ever.
And yes, I know I didn't mention March Madness. I'm still bitter, leave me alone. We'll tackle that later in the week.
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