The Drum Beat Strengthens

Hello All,

A couple of things to talk about, but first there is this: we are 8 days from the opening of fall camp. And yes, I am spending half of my time watching ‘Canes highlight reels.

A figure who played a key role in a lot of those highlight reels has been in the news this week (SEGUE ALERT! SEGUE ALERT!). Allow me to take a moment to give you my thoughts on Butch Davis’ firing at UNC:

YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For those (I am sure thousands upon thousands) of you who don’t understand my hatred of Butch Davis and how I could possibly be so excited about the firing of a coach at a non-rival school who once upon a time recruited the greatest team in the history of college football for my alma mater, let me explain.

Davis, who was understandably a hot name after the 2000 season, said in the locker room after the 2001 Sugar Bowl victory over the Gators (suck one) that to leave for the NFL now would make him a “Deadbeat Dad”. Fast forward a couple of weeks. We are now one week from National Signing Day and Butch Davis is holding a press conference to announce that he has accepted the head coaching job with the Cleveland Browns.

Smart business decision? Absolutely. Would I have made the same one? Probably.

Here is the problem: HE F*CKING LIED TO MY FACE.

Allow me to give you an analogy.

You’ve been dating a girl since high school. You’ve gone through your awkward stage together, and now she has turned into a beautiful girl on the verge of greatness. However, something else comes along (a move to Europe that would offer far more money but make a relationship untenable, let’s say). You have a talk, and while regrettable and sad, the relationship ends. Everyone is ok with it.

Now, take that same girl, but let’s say she’s been ducking your calls for a while now. You ask her if everything is ok. She says it is great and she loves you. A week later you catch her in bed with some other dude. You are wrecked. You start listening to Matchbox 20 and Incubus. A lot. You are drinking whiskey out of your coffee mug at work. Your workouts are hollow because all you can see is a pathetic little boy staring back at you in the gym mirror. You blame yourself and actually buy it when she calls and says that she has Chlamydia and you HAVE to be the one who gave it to her. It is the equivalent of a person going Hiroshima on your psyche.

(This just got weird, didn't it?)

Butch Davis leaving Miami was the latter. So I am glad Karma came for him. I am glad his artificially enhanced program is going to come down a notch or two. I am glad that UNC finally manned up and did something they should have done a while ago. The only thing that would make me happier?

If the news was delivered to Butch while he was in bed with kidney stones.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled blog post.

My buddies and I were talking one time about how awesome a reality show made up solely of the uniting illegitimate children of professional athletes like Shawn Kemp, Travis Henry and Antonio Cromartie would be (really I was doing the talking and they were shaking their heads in complete disbelief). I’m not sure whether the show would turn into The Illegitimate Justice League as all the characters united to fight crime or The Illegitimate Bad Girls Club (no explanation necessary), but I do know for a fact it would be fun as hell to watch.

(Think of the plotlines!! The Parents’ Television Council would go nuts!!!)

For that reason, the 2008 Miami Hurricanes running back corps is perhaps my favorite of all time, as it featured 5 running backs, 4 of which had one or more child (not mentioning names), and only one of whom was married.


It also featured Damien Berry (who was changing positions from safety) and a precocious Graig Cooper, two rocks of this position group, who have now moved on to greener pastures. (SEGUE ALERT! SEGUE ALERT!)

Last season saw the crescendo of Berry and Coop as ‘Canes, one going out with a bang (Berry, who lead the team in rushing and was arguably under-used) and one with a whimper (Cooper, who clearly was at no better than 80% after knee surgery and probably should have redshirted). The ‘Canes also lose Pat Hill, a reliable road grader at fullback whose contribution will probably be masked by more multiple tight end sets this season, and Storm Johnson (sorry Julie Rose) , who flashed promise in the USF game with a 70+ yard touchdown run but transferred after managing to clash with both Randy Shannon AND Al Golden. Possibly because he smokes A LOT of pot and has a dad that rivals Ornette Howard. Just sayin’.

(By the way, there is a real possibility that 15 years from now Damien Berry will be concluding his NFL career and The U will feature 5 players sprung from his loins. I am very excited.)

SIDENOTE: Not sure if my friend Russo will ever talk to me again now that Cooper is gone. We might have a whole bunch of eras ending all at once here. It’s a weird time to be Stein on the Sidelines.

Returning are the always reliable Mike James (underrated) and the brilliant Lamar Miller (great but I am starting to fear that he might be overhyped), among others.

Sadly, the particularly fertile group of 2008 has all moved on now, but the specter of their virility will linger for years to come. I can only hope and pray that this year’s squad steps up to the plate to replace the heart and…ahem…production that has been lost.

RB

Mike James, Jr.

James is the sort of “Ol Reliable” that every team needs. He will consistently account for positive plays, can catch the ball out of the backfield, can block well enough to play fullback, and has the juice to break off the occasional 40 yard burst. He also plays his ass off and is the type of guy you put on a poster for your program.

Ceiling: Leads the team in rushing and plays a huge role in a new ball control offense.
Floor: Really doesn’t have one…This gimmick is already getting old isn’t it?

Lamar Miller, So.

Faster than greased lightning and showed it last year. Is easily the most exciting player on the roster since Devin Hester and will be the most important player on the offense not names “Whoever the hell ends up playing quarterback”. To listen to fans talk he is Willis McGahee with Jim Brown and Walter Payton mixed in. We will see if that works out…first, he needs to stay healthy.

Ceiling: Tecmo Bowl Bo Jackson
Floor: Tecmo Bowl Mark Higgs (yes, I am a scarred Dolphins fan)

Darion Hall, So.

Hall has the potential to be very effective as a thick back that can also break the long run, but he has not yet gotten a carry that counts for anything and is therefore unproven.

Ceiling: James Jackson said he was the best back in the state his senior year of high school…that would be nice.
Floor: Falters when called upon.

Maurice Hagens, So.

Hagens is a beast who is going to become a tailback after the fullback position was essentially eliminated by the new scheme. Look for him to be used as a hammer who can punch holes in a tired defense and close near the goal line, something which was lacking last season.

Ceiling: James Stewart
Floor: Jerrell Mabry (This is fairly recent; who could forget the great fullback-that-should-have-been-a-defensive-tackle-and-kind-of-looked-like-Ice Cube?)

Kevin Grooms, Fr.

Grooms is the jet brought in for this recruiting class that really doesn’t have a position yet, but he figures to get some change-of-pace carries. He will always be a threat to go the distance and looks like a tough little cookie. Maybe he will be used as Devin Hester was supposed to be used.

Ceiling: Albert Bentley (Google it)
Floor: Redshirt

Always guard the inbound passer.

The Church of Coach Taylor

“Give all of us gathered here tonight the strength to remember that life is so very fragile. We are all vulnerable, and we will all, at some point in our lives... fall. We will all fall. We must carry this in our hearts... that what we have is special. That it can be taken from us, and when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls. We will now all be tested. It is these times, it is this pain, that allows us to look inside ourselves.” – Coach Eric Taylor


On Friday night, the lights went out in Dillon one last time (I should work for NBC). And true to the words of Coach Taylor that ended the pilot episode of Friday Night Lights, this pain allows us to look inside.

Friday Night Lights is the best network show I have ever watched. It is also my favorite. There is a distinction between the two to be made, as Chuck Klosterman and others have discussed lately around the internet.

I own the first three seasons of Miami Vice on DVD. I was literally obsessed with LOST, to the point that my friend Josh and I used to talk for an hour on the phone every night following an episode during the final season (I’m a nerd, sue me).

The Lights was better than both.

Miami Vice really only had a couple of seasons throwing a 98 mph fastball before it jumped the shark. It was revolutionary, but faded quickly. It was Dwight Gooden. When it ended, you can almost imagine that die hard viewers had either already stopped caring or were happy it was being mercy-killed.

LOST was fantastic and kept me glued to the screen, but as the finale approached I looked forward to it. I wanted to know what happened.

With this show, I dreaded the finale. Of course I was anxious to see what happened; however, this angst was not enthusiasm in disguise. It was the realization that with every minute of the finale that went by, I was one minute closer to never having a new episode of this show to watch. Ever. And that really sucked.

When The Lights (as it is known around Casa de Bro and the Stein Family household) debuted, I quickly fell in love with Coach Taylor and his wife Tammie.

Coach Taylor, much like my own father, represented a lot of what I thought true men were supposed to be about. An emphasis was placed on brevity. Family and loved ones always come first. The strong silences, the brutal honesty, the self deprecation and the aura of complete and total respect at all times are the trademarks that his character, my favorite in the history of television, have indelibly left behind.

It took me a little while but I fell in love with Tim Riggins, the alcoholic, troubled fullback who was a total prick at times but at the end the type of kid you wanted in your corner. We also watched as Taylor Kitsch, the actor who portrayed him, evolved in to an absolute force of nature.

I fell in love with Smash Williams, the flamboyant star running back who was in many ways the heart and soul of the bunch.

I fell in love with Matt Saracen, the gritty, overachieving quarterback who dated the coach’s daughter.

I fell in love with Minka Kelly. Not her character, Lyla Garrity, so much as the actress. Let’s be real, she wasn’t on the show for her acting chops. But at least she has given me another reason to hate Derek Jeter now (while at the same time giving me yet another reason to respect the hell out of Derek Jeter).

As the show grew on I fell for a new cast of characters: Becky Sproles, Jess Merriweather, Luke Cafferty and of course Vince Howard.

We watched Buddy Garrity evolve from a semi-sleazy self-interested hanger-on to a lovable rebel caught up in a grass roots movement…and maybe back again.

We watched Coach continue to be Coach and Mrs. Coach continue to be Mrs. Coach; the true bedrock of this show was the dynamic between the two which was not always smooth but was always solid. Such was their chemistry that we routinely wondered whether the on-screen romance had spilled off-screen. We were not the only ones.

However, more important than the individual characters was the story that was told.

This was small town Texas…and more importantly, small town America… to a T. The fact that the show could seem so outlandish and still ring true is a testament to both the actors and the writers and a reflection of how out of whack the “reality” of most television shows has become.

“Really, an entire episode about a ‘slam page’?”

“Really, an entire radio station devoted to covering a high school football team?”

“Really, they’re going to fire the coach and create an entirely new football team just to clear the way for a freshman quarterback with a cannon for an arm?”

These all seemed impossibly contrived, and for someone from LA or New York they probably are.

But this is a world I lived in. I lived in Texas. I lived in Wisconsin. I lived in Georgia. I lived in Florida. These are by and large rural states that are obsessed with football.

In small towns, this shit really happens. High school sports take on importance that you would never think. There ARE boosters and there ARE tiger parents who all have their own agenda. There ARE radio stations that debate the on-field and off-field merits of 15 year old kids.

(The whole “conspriring to kill the attempted rapist” plot line, however, WAS more than a little contrived and the reason why Season 2 is something I’d rather hadn’t happened.)

There ARE teen pregnancies. There ARE abortions. There ARE lynch mobs that form in the Bible Belt when one of these two happens.

In real life, dancing at a strip club is oftentimes just another job for women who couldn’t go to college and happen to have the body for it. It is perfectly conceivable for the women that do it to leave the strip club and be normal people.

Perhaps that was the real strength of this show. By breaking away from stereotypes and showing the duality of man, this show actually seemed MORE contrived. Its immense realism made it in the eyes of many unrealistic. Think about that.

Strippers aren’t supposed to be good people, they are supposed to be bimbos and floosies and trailer trash.

The tough guy coach is not supposed to be the softy dad with his high school babe of an older daughter and the new baby who actually looks like an alien. He is not supposed to admit when his wife is “kicking his ass” in an argument.

The tough kid from the ‘hood who grew up without his imprisoned father is not supposed to admit weakness.

This is not the world that is, at least according to conventional television standards.

But in real life, there is always a flip side. That is what this show did best: it highlighted ambiguity.

The Lights finally got its long overdue Emmy nomination for Best Drama this week. It is fitting that it happens as the show goes off the air; this was a show that for whatever reason never did as well as it should have. After two seasons, NBC had to work out a deal with DirecTV to move the show to The 101 in order to avoid cancellation. Money is never the friend of critically acclaimed but little watched programming.

It essentially became the only reverse-repurpose situation that I know of, where it aired first on a non-broadcast (in this case satellite) channel before airing on a broadcast network later in the year.

Indeed, this was a theme: The Lights never got the respect it deserved. As an avid viewer, I resent the fact that NBC did such a shitty job of positioning the show, both in its marketing schemes and on its schedule. I resent that more people didn’t watch just ONE episode, because one was all it took to get you.

And yet, similar to a hipster, I am glad to be part of the group that knew about this show that no one else seemed to. It felt small town and intimate. Maybe it is better that it never took off like LOST did and avoided all the pressure and stunts that come along with huge exposure. Maybe I am happy that I got five good seasons (well, 4 good seasons) out of my beloved show and then got to see it retire on top, like Jordan hitting the jumper against Utah or Jay Z leaving after The Black Album (ignore the fact that both unretired). Maybe all the people that didn’t watch can go screw themselves.

This is they type of show that is destined to become a cult classic, much like The Wire. In its DVD life, it will gain popularity. The same people who were too busy watching bullshit like Glee when it actually needed the viewers will talk to me years from now about how great this show was. And much like hipsters feel when one of their groups (like Foster the People or Florence and the Machine) hit it big, I will have a knowing smirk on my face, a look that says I was there before anyone else. “Now you finally get it.”

By any conventional standard for television, this show failed. It never posted even decent ratings. It has been nominated a few times but never won anything at the Emmys.

Despite that, it was around for 5 seasons in the day and age of shows getting cancelled after two episodes.

It is the only show I remember that my entire family watched and enjoyed together, including my mom.

(I guess Wipeout! also qualifies but when it is cancelled I will not be eulogizing it)

It was supposedly a show about football, but as anyone who has watched it can tell you, football always took a backseat to the stories that were being told. It was just like the book that inspired it all: a town, a team and a dream. This show was more than a show. It was church, and Coach Taylor was the pastor.

My roommate and I watched the finale together on Friday night. We bought a six pack of Lonestar and a six pack of Shiner Bock (clearly the superior choice, for the record; there’s a reason it is the National Beer of Texas) and wore our boots and then went silent as the end unfolded in front of us.

And when it was done, we didn’t look at each other for a while.

The room had gotten a little dusty for both of us, and to look away from the screen would not only betray a weakness that Coach Taylor would never have, but also serve to acknowledge that our favorite show was now gone forever.

Instead we drank our beer in silence until finally I picked up the remote and turned the tube off.

I got up and poured us each a shot of Jack.

It was obvious what the toast would be.

“Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose”.

Amen.

The Readiness Is All

Hello All,

Decided to throw a little curveball today... And by throw a curveball I mean post something that is so ridiculous that it makes me trying to come up with quips about the University of Miami’s backfield roster and posting it on a blog that roughly a dozen people read seem logical.

And yet, I digress.

Last week, I was reading an article about the fall of Roger Federer at Wimbledon. Brian Phillips made a reference involving Hamlet and a footnote including several other famous protagonists of Shakespearean tragedies.

And that got me thinking about Shakespeare and sports at large.

And since it was the Thursday before a long holiday weekend and I was playing pickup basketball later in the day, it got me thinking which two characters I would want to complete a team for 3 on 3.

And then I figured I would entertain myself by asking others in my office who they would take.

And then I started thinking who would win in a Sweet 16 Bracket of Shakespeare.

And then on Friday night at a bar, I asked someone else.

And then all weekend I thought about it.

And here we are.

I have constructed a bracket, fairly randomly, and pretty much at my own discretion after I listened to the picks of others. I have assigned each a seed 1-4, and assigned them in to regions. There are famous characters not on here. There are some seemingly random ones which I included.

I also have chosen to ignore the potential that, in the world of Shakespeare, any one of these characters might actually kill each other if they, I don’t know, breathed on each other wrong.

I think I have a pretty good knowledge of Shakespeare, but by no means am I an expert. There are surely good characters I am not including.

I’d actually love to hear some opinions on how I effed this up.

Having said all that (couched? Hedged?), here is how I see this little shindig playing out:

Region 1

1- MacBeth
2- Laertes
3- Brutus
4- Cassio/Cassius (Play-In Winner)

MacBeth, as far as I am concerned is the number one seed in the tournament. Two words sum him up best: Fucking Bloodbath.

Laertes gets points for killing Hamlet, an all time annoying character.

Brutus is essentially a good dude whose tragic flaws are honor and patriotism…guys like that have a spot in the tournament. Plus “Et tu Brutus” is an all time inscription for your tombstone. And Gus Johnson has earned the right to scream it as we send the game into the first commercial break following a made three pointer.

Cassio and Cassius are two names that are too similar and always confused me, although they are completely different characters. I only want one of them in my tournament, but both deserve a shot.

Region 2

1- Othello
2- MacDuff
3- Claudius
4- Romeo/Cleopatra (Play- In Winner)

Othello is a one seed for the obvious reasons: assumed to be athletic (racist?), highly decorated general, etc. 90% of the people I asked about this would have made him the number one pick. The Number 2 overall seed will have to do.

MacDuff is MacBeth’s foil and a sneaky 2 seed.

Claudius is kind of a prick, what with the whole fratricide matter, but he had the smarts to have Laertes do it for him. Know what that tells me? “Knows how to get the ball in the hands of his playmakers”.

Romeo is in here because he is only slightly smarter than Cleopatra, who I consider to be the role model for the typical stupid girl who doesn’t know what she wants. Really Romeo, not gonna check to make sure she’s actually dead before you swallow the poison? Really? Moron. I want neither of them in this tournament but I feel like the female readers (both of them) would be outraged (OUTRAGED!) if neither appeared.

Region 3

1- King Lear
2- Mercutio
3- Lady MacBeth
4- Hippolyta

King Lear is a number one seed because, well, he is more famous than the guy who is the 2 here….

…Mercutio. Total badass, started strong but lost himself a little down the stretch. Still, a threat to catch fire and just murder everyone. Not literally. Well, maybe a little. Second most popular number one pick in my mock drafts, as well.

Lady MacBeth is the ultimate nagging wife and deserves a spot in this tournament for no other reason than the fact that she is the most powerful character in probably the 3rd best Shakespeare play.

Hippolyta is the Queen of the Amazons and the daughter of Ares. She has a magic girdle. A fucking MAGIC GIRDLE.

Yes, this is the group of death.

Region 4

1- Hamlet
2- Marc Antony
3- Iago
4- Puck

This is the crazy bracket. 1-4, anyone could take it on any given day. Hamlet stealing a one seed is like when St. Joseph’s dominates a terrible Atlantic 10 behind Jameer Nelson and Delonte West and before we know it they are 32-1 and in the Sweet 16.

Marc Antony is a 2 because he steamrolled his way through the regular season in chase of the one thing he wants more than anything else…although not always rationally.

Iago is my sleeper pick for the whole tournament. He is the definition of everything that is evil. He is a user of people. If I had to think of a real life equivalent, I’d make a basketball version of Ivan Drago. Wait, you mean making up a player based on a fake boxer is not a “real life equivalent”? Oops. Anyway, no one wants the guy to win but deep down they know it’s coming.

(Unless he is playing the Heat, in which case everyone in this country would find it within themselves to root for him if he is a German guy with blonde hair and blue eyes. Not that I am bitter. And yet, I digress.)

Puck is literally an elf. Keep an eye on him though. J.J. Barea just won an NBA Title. Fact. J.J. Barea is doinking Miss Universe. Fact.

Round 1

Macbeth vs. Cassius

Cassio is a gentleman who rises to rank of general…mostly because he is a gentleman. He’s like the genius offensive coordinator who becomes a system coach that gets by on gimmicks. Uh uh. Not working in this tournament.

This sets up the interesting matchup between MacBeth, who is a merciless killer but able to be manipulated (see: Macbeth, The Lady), and Cassius, who persuaded Brutus, a good man, TO KILL THE CAESAR. Kind of.

Anyway, MacBeth probably comes out a little stiff as Cassius starts with the trash talk early on and gets him thinking. We’ll even say Cassius might be winning at the half. However, in the locker room MacBeth realizes that Cassius can’t withhold sex from him and comes out angry. Heads roll. Not literally.

Laertes vs. Brutus

Two pawns match up in the first round. I give the slight edge to Brutus, who seems more able, as he at least survived after the murder of Caesar for long enough to raise an army and a little hell. Close until the end, but Brutus wins when Laertes hurts himself in the middle of an intentional foul (NERDY JOKE!) in the final five minutes.

Othello vs. Cleopatra

Romeo loses the first round after misreading the scoreboard at the end (NERDY JOKE!), thinking he was down 3 instead of tied, which leads to a bad, quick shot, an easy rebound for Cleo and a breakaway layup to end the game.

Othello hates the very idea of Cleopatra’s infidelity and runs her off the court. Not even close.

MacDuff vs. Claudius

Without his pawn, Claudius is doomed. MacDuff makes quick work of him early and then sends a scare into MacBeth, who is nervously watching the game to scout his potential future competition, by walking off the court. Literally, just walking. (NERDY JOKE!)

Hamlet vs. Puck

The first major upset of the tournament!! The trickster (as literally every description I have read of the character labels him) uses a wide assortment of floaters in the lane, pesky defense and a few lucky bounces to take out the 1 seed. In the clutch, Hamlet can’t keep it together. As Brian Phillips described:

He was indecisive. He was slow to act. He looked like he'd rather be in a grove
somewhere getting depressed about epistemology than knifing the motherfucker who X'd his dad.

Marc Antony vs. Iago

Iago plays the whole game with a handkerchief hanging out the back of his shorts that looks like the fabric of a dress Cleopatra wore once. Antony is in control at one point, but he lets Iago get in his head and does something stupid (NERDY JOKE!).

King Lear vs. Hippolyta

Lear’s craziness would undo most foes, but Hippolyta’s Godly bloodlines keep her calm. The fact that she is probably 7 feet tall (ya know…QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS) doesn’t hurt either. Hippolyta in the upset!

King Lear is later found dead at sea on board a catamaran. If you get that reference, you really are a true basketball fan.

Mercutio vs. Lady MacBeth

Mercutio didn’t come here to mess around. He is sick of everyone’s crap and is making no bones about it. The Lady never had a shot. Besides, I want “Perfect Wingman” to beat “Murderous, Overbearing Wife” every single time. And this is my bracket, damn it!

Round 2

MacBeth vs. Brutus

MacBeth is now on edge after MacDuff’s victory, which strangely works in his favor. He is the rare player that gets better as he gets angrier…he is the closest thing to Jordan we have in this tournament.

Othello vs. MacDuff

Honestly, this is a bit of a coin flip. I can’t think of anything to base this off other than Othello’s overwhelming physical gifts (racist?) and battlefield training. Othello is a close one.

Iago vs. Puck

Puck keeps his hot streak going and takes it right into Iago’s chest from the jump. Iago is a finesse guy, preferring to operate in the background and hang back while things go to hell around him. His mental games don’t work on the elf, who knows how to handle himself after a lifetime of short jokes, and Iago’s lack of athleticism is exposed.

Mercutio vs. Hippolyta

This is the best game of the tournament to this point, going to three overtimes as the two battle back and forth. Mercutio is a force of nature, but Hippolyta was made for the physical play of this tournament. This is JJ Reddick vs. Tyler Hansbrough: the flamboyant scorer vs. the Meat-N-Potatoes banger.

After this game, everyone realizes that these were both 1 seeds and that next year there should be re-seeding after the first round. In the end, it is too late to save Mercutio, who plays every minute so hard that he is barely able to stay upright by the end.

Final Four

MacBeth vs. Puck

This is where things get interesting. Puck surely has won the hearts and minds of the people. MacBeth comes out strong, but looks up at halftime and is only up 4. MacBeth spends halftime brooding and tries to impose his sheer will on Puck as the second half commences… but Puck keeps pace. Down the stretch, Puck is able to get to the hole at will as MacBeth’s paranoia raises with his temper and he begins to take bad chances. Puck keeps him off balance and pulls away as MacBeth fold within himself at the buzzer. DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?!

Puck’s fans stay around for the next game in hopes of watching a second 4 over 1 upset in one evening.

Othello vs. Hippolyta

The two best physical specimens in the tourney, Othello is up 12 with three minutes left when he gets cocky. Think LeBron and Crew having a parade before the season…or Othello throwing a party because a storm destroyed the enemy army at Cyprus (NERDY JOKE!).

Does it ever work out? No.

And it doesn’t here either. The crowd goes wild as two 4 seeds advance to the final!

Finals

Puck vs. Hippolyta

This is the classic Dwight Howard vs. Chris Paul argument.

(We’ve all had it, right? Right? RIGHT?!)

Both have magical capability, which cancels each other out. In the end, this turns into the type of boring clash of styles that throws both teams off their rhythm and puts an emphasis on defense and sheer endurance. After two straight epic games, Hippolyta is gassed late in the game, and Puck takes advantage, going on a Kemba Walker-like 6/7 run in the final twelve minutes to seal the game and with it the title.

David takes down Goliath.

Gus Johnson hyperventilates.

Puck scores a date with Marissa Miller.

A record number of births are seen exactly nine months later.

Hippolyta does more for Women’s Equality than Billie Jean King could ever dream.

No more time is wasted by Stein on the Sidelines creating an imaginary basektball tournament of imaginary literary figures from half a century ago.

All is right.

Always guard the inbound passer.

Pain Heals, Chicks Dig Scars, Glory Lasts Forever

Hello All,

Every summer, I write up a preview of what to expect from the roster the next season. This is my fourth year doing it. Which means the fourth year in a row I will be giving a ceiling and floor for the Northwestern Crew. Weird.

WARNING: There are a lot of parenthetical asides here…not really sure how this happened but it did. I’m like the Larry King of the ‘Canes world. I can’t figure out if I should be proud of it or not.

QB

Last season started with Jacory as a fringe Heisman Candidate and ended with me being thoroughly convinced that the skinny true freshman who was supposed to redshirt and be a career backup was the best option for the team. Combined, the ‘Canes QBs lead the nation in interceptions thrown, which, it turns out, means you lose a lot of games. The battle is ongoing for who will start. Smart money is on Jacory to win the job, but both have a lot of work to do.

Jacory Harris, Sr.

One final season - this time, it’s for keeps.

(Sorry, I was just trying to figure out what the tag line would be if they made “Transformers 4” about Jacory’s senior year)

I can remember two other times coming into a QB’s senior year just having no clue what I was going to get:

Brock Berlin, 2004

I always thought he was ill-served by Dan Werner, who insisted on keeping him under center. In the middle of the season he was benched, which ignited a small race war in the community as folks debated the “merits” of Berlin and his backup, the immortal Derrick Crudup.

(I think that list looked something like this: Brock Berlin- awesome out of shotgun, which we only run when we are losing in the final 5 minutes, and is white; Derrick Crudup- can run really fast, but unfortunately isn’t so great with the “forward pass”, and is a black guy)

Berlin eventually ended up having an All-ACC type of year (which really speaks to the strength of the ACC more than anything else) and is the answer to the question “When was the last time the Miami Hurricanes had a solid, consistent starting quarterback?” If Jacory has that season this year I will be a very happy man.

Kyle Wright, 2007

I made so many excuses for this guy it wasn’t even funny. I thought he could be Carson Palmer (talented “bust” for 3.5 seasons who finally gets it halfway through his senior year and steals a Heisman trophy) if his o-line would block (sacked 9 times in his first career start), his receivers would catch (Lance Leggett? Ryan Moore? Aikeem Jolla?), he would have the same offensive coordinator for consecutive years (he had 4 in 5 years), he would stop falling asleep behind me in Econ (not that we all didn't, the teacher really sucked- damn it, another excuse)…etc.

I still think some of those excuses have merit.

Bottom line, however, is this: the guy got spooked during his first year as a starter, when he was sacked roughly 749 times, and never recovered from the Happy Feet. Like Footsteps Falco in The Replacements. Except he never got to play as a replacement player, do the Electric Slide in jail as a bonding experience with this teammates, take the city on a feel-good run to the playoffs, improve relations with the deaf or slay the hot cheerleader. I think he is selling pharmaceuticals in the Bay Area. Sigh…

Anyway, back to Jacory.

If you give me “First 6 games Sophomore Year” Jacory Harris, I am happier than my brother when the girl doesn't throw her drink in his face.

If you give me “I Am So Beaten Up From Being Sacked and Playing Hurt / Pissed Off At My Receivers For Dropping Passes That I am Just Going To Go Into a Weirder Place Than Mike Tyson After He Bit Off Evander Holyfield’s Ear and Start Throwing Bad Interceptions That Would Make Brett Favre Blush and Just Go To the Sideline and Stare Straight Ahead” Jacory Harris then…ya know what, just keep him.

Ceiling: Plays with swag, gets the ball to his guys in the right places, does not LEAD THE NATION IN INTERCEPTIONS.
Floor: Have you watched his last, I don’t know, 15 STARTS!?!?!?!?!? THAT is his floor.

Stephen Morris, Sophomore

Very raw (cliché alert!) but has a strong arm, can move around and played with heart. Was the only kid on offense that seemed to be pissed off during the Notre Dame game, and that left a mark on me (not literally). He played with swag (cliché alert!) and lead two memorable late game comebacks, one in a game he really had no shot at (Virginia…thank you Spencer Whipple) and one which he won (Maryland).

(Wow, I can’t believe I just said that we had “memorable comebacks” against Virginia and Maryland. One of which was a futile comeback…meaning we didn’t even win the effing game and it sticks out to me as a highlight of the season. Excuse me for a second while I take a run through morning traffic.)

If everything is equal, I say start him this season and begin moving the transition forward.

Ceiling: Willie Beamen after he throws up
Floor: Willie Beamen before he throws up

Spencer Whipple, ??

Does anyone know how many years this kid has left? Anyone?!?!?!?!

I’m too lazy to look it up because I just assume he is gone after this year anyway. He’s on his third college…somewhere along the line he had to have accrued enough credits to be on major number 7 by now. And hey, maybe he can one day become an offensive coordinator like his dad and call for a strict diet of downfield passing plays even though his quarterbacks clearly operate best out of a run-heavy, play action offense. Not that I’m bitter.

Anyway, if he is playing than the following probably has happened:

Scenario 1: Jacory and Morris were in a tandem bicycling accident (watch out!).

Scenario 2: Jacory slept in because he was up late watching Spongebob and Morris got hurt (hey now!).

Scenario 3: Jacory and Morris BOTH get hurt. At halftime Golden snags the chick that throws the football into the net at halftime during the Maroone halftime contest and SHE gets hurt. Golden tries to sneak Gino Torretta back onto the field from the press box and HE gets hurt. Then, and only then, Golden looks down the bench to Whipple and says “just…go…whatever” as he breathes an exhausted sigh of disbelief.

(In this third scenario, Golden then goes home and calls a hit man while he updates his resume for the Penn State opening)

Ceiling: Looks fantastic in a backwards hat holding the clipboard and signaling in play calls, making Jake Byrne proud.
Floor: Gets on the field and looks like Stein on the Sidelines-too small, too slow, about to soil himself.

Ladies and gentlemen, YOUR Miami Hurricanes quarterbacks!

Also, my next post will be my 100th since I left college. If anyone of my 7 readers has anything they want me to write about in it I would love suggestions. Or I could just post the same non-sense as usual. Either way.

Happy Father's Day

Hello All,

My brother called me the other day with the following message:

“Hey man I am on the can with a real shy s*** right now, talk me through it. Dad didn’t pick up.”

My natural reaction, before hanging up, was to ask why I was the second choice to dad.

“I always call dad when I’m on the crapper. It’s our designated talk time. I like it because he helps me kill some time and he likes it because that means we talk like three times a day.”

I said "does he know this?"

To which my brother replied "would that ever not be the first thing I announced when on the phone with anyone?"

And then I hung up.

This is my family.

My brother and I are lucky enough to be able to say that our dad is our friend. Our mother has her own relationship with us, and it is equally great (I know, I know, if this were a Twitter feed it would be “white person problems” or something like that). But since it is Father’s Day coming up, that is what I am writing about.

I was a quirky kid.

Some might call it OCD. Whatever it was (is?), it manifested itself in sports.

Exhibit A: my dad bought a case of Budweiser and it came with a small brochure previewing the 1994 football season. It had the full schedule for every pro and college team, as well as their colors, head coach, mascot, etc. I memorized the entire thing in about a week. I could tell you who Dartmouth was playing in Week 6 and who Louisiana- Lafayette’s head coach was. I was 7.

Exhibit B: I at one point had roughly 56419845132198451 baseball cards. My dad told me one time that he kept his rubber banded by team when he was a kid. So I decided I would do the same. However, I did not sort them by the team they were on in the picture…I sorted them by actual, current roster. Every morning I woke up and scanned the transactions for every major league and minor league team before retreating upstairs to make the changes necessary to my shoe box. And they were in batting order. It went past fun and turned into labor fairly quickly.

Exhibit C: I was given a set of pencils as a gift once, one for every NFL team. Did I do what normal kids do and use them at school? Nope. Instead, I kept them together as a set and every Tuesday would rearrange them so that teams that were playing each other that weekend were lined up.

Some people might have their kid go see a shrink or join the Boy Scouts. Not my dad. He LOVED it. He would ask me for random statistics at odd times. He started calling me “The Book”. He indulged me, and by doing so, created a monster.

My dad taught me a lot over the years.

He taught me what it meant to be a ‘Cane and is the reason some of my first memories are of watching early 90’s college football games.

On the flip side, he also taught me to root for the Orioles and the Dolphins. Thank God I had my mother to teach me that we root for Duke in basketball.

He taught me that there was a time when pitchers intimidated hitters. He taught me to throw the high and inside fastball if some kid showed you up…and then laughed his ass off when I beaned the only girl in Little League after her teammate stared me down.

He played countless hours of Little Tikes basketball with us, which I am sure was not good on the big man’s surgically repaired knee.

He spent long summer nights hitting us endless games of pepper in the backyard; in the fall we switched to driveway basketball, where I learned that the arm extended scoop shot is literally impossible to block.

He taught me about the Baltimore Chop and the “Air Gait” goal and Unitas to Berry and “Wide Right”.

(that link never gets old)

He sat with me for Warren Fucking Morris and Willis McGahee's knee.

We went to his last game at the Orange Bowl together, a thoroughly unimpressive victory over FIU (which he will admit only at gunpoint is his Alma Mater).

He taught us to love beer (even though I think that was more a genetic thing) and love Buffett and The Stones and love to grill a mean steak.

(Smirnoff on the rocks hasn't quite caught on, partly because my brother and I haven't really started to hate the whiskey hangover yet and mostly because Smirnoff tastes like lighter fluid)

Sure, there is plenty off the sports field he taught us. But sports were the once constant for my family as we moved in and out of state after state after state.

In addition to the moving, every summer our family piled into the car and took a long road trip. One year it was across Canada. Another it was to California. Another it was a Midwest Swing through Minneapolis, St. Louis, Kansas City and Chicago.

During those car trips, my dad would reach a point every day when he grew sick of me asking if he thought Craig Biggio was a Hall of Famer or not or “Who would you name the starter if you could have any quarterback from any season in ‘Canes history?”

(The answers, of course, are “no” and 2001 Ken Dorsey, narrowly edging ’87 Steve Walsh and ’84 Bernie Kosar…’07 Kirby Freeman is not on the list)

(Also, my brother was usually listening to "New York Groove" on repeat and was not contributing)

(Felt like I would put in another parenthetical paragraph...why the hell not?)

He would throw his hands up after a couple of hours and say that these were arguments with no end and no right answer. The conversation would die down, because I knew not to push the man having to stop the car every 30 miles so my mother could use the ladies’ room.

And then the next day we would wake up, get back in the car and start driving again. And after a couple of hours, I would start up again, this time subbing in Fred McGriff (absolutely and resoundingly "yes") and whether or not Ed Reed was the greatest ‘Cane of all time (Top 3, with Michael Irvin and Alonzo Highsmith).

And sure enough, the conversation would start up all over again.

As much as he had created a monster, it was his monster. And he knew better than to stifle it.

Happy Father’s Day dad.

Another Open Letter

Dear Coach Morris,

My cell phone had a rough weekend.

This weekend saw the end of yet another 'Canes baseball season.

And for the third straight season, the 'Canes fell short of Omaha.

Mostly, my phone should be mad at me. Ever since I moved out here to LA every chance I get to see a Canes baseball game takes on extra importance. So I get a little more riled up than I usually might. It is almost like football. I only get 12 football games a year, and therefore one poor performance stings like a million hornets. Now I get even fewer baseball games, and the same feeling has taken over. And therefore I throw my phone often. It is always close at hand and during these games of late has been the bearer of much bad news. Most of the time it hits the couch. Most of the time.

And I am truly surprised it is still working after this weekend.

There is something to be said for a program which reaches the postseason for a 39th consecutive season and considers the year to be a total waste. Everyone is familiar with the story of Jim Morris' job interview, when he asked to use the men's room only to find it being propped open with a Super Regional championship trophy.

The expectation at Miami is not just to make the postseason, but to do damage once you get there. Regional victories are not supposed to be "ifs". Super Regional victories are expected. It is only a trip to Omaha that validates a season. And sometimes, even making it there isn't enough. Perhaps the two most talented teams in the history of this elite program, 1996 and 2008, don't even qualify for the debate of "best ever" because they didn't win a championship.

It is a lot to live up to.

And perhaps you said it best yourself, coach, about this year's team: they "embarassed themselves".

It is one thing to lose games. It is completely different to lose in the fashion we did.

Walked batters. Errors upon errors. Bad at-bats.

No fire.

The 'Canes baseball teams I grew accustomed to, starting really with that 1996 team and last seen in 2008, were fundamentally sound and played the game hard.

They had a hell of a lot of talent, no doubt.

But it says something that maybe the least talented teams (on paper) we ever had was my favorite of them all: the 2001 National Champions. No first round picks. No Golden Spikes candidates. Just a roster full of ballplayers that got after it EVERY SINGLE GAME.

This is the third year in a row where the team has seemingly come apart at the seams when pressure was applied.

Two years ago it was in the Gainesville Regional. Last year it was in the Gainesville Super Regional (and was one of the great meltdowns we have ever seen, fueled by multiple erros in the final frame to blow the game). This year it was in yet another Gainesville Regional (another late inning collapse, this time the result of an error on a routine ground ball, a balk and a wild pitch...and then a complete and total slaughter).

Three years. Three eliminations at the hands of the Gators.

Before the Regional Final commenced, I was buoyant. These were the 'Canes I knew. They dropped a close one the night before and had to wake up early for a fesity Jacksonville club. The bats came alive late in the game and snuffed the life out of the Dolphins. 45 minutes later was a chance at revenge against the Gators to set up a winner-take-all monday night matchup.

The 'Canes I knew would have come out hot. They would not have given two squirts of piss about all the talent on the Gators squad.

Instead the 'Canes responed with a leadoff single, a walk, and a three run homer.

And just like that the route was on and the season was over.

I hate to say it, but it reminded me of our football team.

And I am sick of it.

Coach Morris, you are a sacred cow, barring something ridiculous. But it is time to clean out your assistant coaches, most specifically Joe Mercandante.

J.D. Arteaga at least put together a good staff this year, a staff with enough returning talent to be one of the nation's best next season...assuming he doesn't chase off/hurt the talent. Which he usually does. Sadly, this Hurricane great's body of work at large has been mediocre at best.

Worse is Mercandante, however. I have never seen more bad swings and a bigger lack of situational hitting. And it falls on him just as much as the players.

Winning means coaches and players on the same page. This season, there was either a disconnect between the two or they were on the same page and that page just happened to be the worst one ever printed. Neither is acceptable.

Much as the football program needed fresh blood, so does the baseball program.

For those saying it is impossible to win at a private school anymore, I say 'bullshit'. I point to the 2008 team, only 3 years ago, which some labeled the most talented team in college baseball history. And then I point to Rice, Stanford, and Vanderbilt. All private. All winners.

It is impossible to win when you can not develop pitchers or play defense. Add that to an anemic offense and a group of upperclassmen who just didn't seem to care and you have the recipe for disaster.

And at Miami, that means more than a year in between trips to Omaha.

So this is my plea to Coach Morris. I know you are loyal. I know you have forgotten more about this sport than I can ever hope to learn. But changes are needed.

Baseball never gets the hype I feel it deserves at a school known for football; however, there are a lot of us who care. 39 straight tournament appearances is a nice feather in the cap. But it has been 10 years since a title. It is time for another. And what we have seen lately just ain't gonna hack it.

You once autographed a baseball for me that says "Always be your best". Simple words. I keep that baseball on my desk and look at it every day when I wake up.

This program has not been its best for a number of years now. Whether it is bad coaching or spoiled kids or limits placed by the NCAA or just bad luck, I do not know. But something has to change. The team owes it to you to be better. They owe you the decency of taking that advice.

They owe my cell phone.

And they owe it to us diehards.

A Standard of Excellence

Hello All,

I am warning right now, this is a rant. I think it is fairly well constructed, but it is a rant.

*Begin rant*

When Al Golden was hired as the new head coach and caretaker of Miami football in December, his mission was simple: return Miami to the glories past while maintaining the sterling off-field success enjoyed by the previous regime.

Now, I think we all know where this is going given the recent allegations against reserve defensive tackle Jeffrey Brown. And you are correct...but before we get there, a disclaimer. That is probably the incorrect choice of words, because no disclaimer can mitigate even the admitted actions of Brown, much less the alleged ones. But there is a scene that needs to be set.

First of all, anytime a new MFWIC comes in to town there is bound to be friction.

Golden could have acquired the Harvard football roster and probably had some players have run-ins with authorities, whether it be Residence Halls staff or Miami PD.

Randy Shannon was like a father figure to a lot of the kids on this team. Whether or not you liked the man, that is indisputable. His deaprture left a vacuum for a lot of these kids, and it is almost impossible to ask Golden to fill it right away; that leaves at least a few of these kids drifting, in a sense.

He did not recruit these players and he is probably seen by more than a few as the guy coming in to "fix them".

I can tell you that there is an automatic sense of rebellion when you are 18-22 years old and someone gets in your face and tells you what you are doing is not good enough.

Second of all, I am a firm believer that kids need to police themselves. Al Golden can not keep an eye on every kid 24 hours a day. He is a coach, not a baby sitter. And to hold him, or any coach for that matter, acocuntable for the actions of these kids is slightly ridiculous.

Keeping that in mind, let us move forward.

Since Golden took over, there have been two players charged with felonies.

The first was Ramon Buchannon being charged with violently resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. The police report sounded fishy to me, knowing Miami cops, and all in all it seemed like a college kid doing something dumb and letting it get out of hand. Getting drunk in the Grove and resisting the order to leave is something I have personally seen happen a lot of times. The charge got plead down and Buchannon reinstated to the team after being placed in an early diversion program. Here is the thing that stuck with me from that police report though:

“I’m a U.M. football player and I don’t give a f— what you do. I’ll get out of it. F— the police.”

Keep that in mind, more in a bit.

And then the Brown incident.

This is far more concerning. If you don't want to click on that hyperlink, here are the bare bones of the charges:

• Brown is sitting in room when drunk girl knocks on door and asks to use bathroom.



• Brown walks her back to her room, then returns to his.



• Time passes and Brown goes to the room he left her at to check on her well being



• Brown climbs in to her bed, removes her underwear and has sex with her as she repeatedly tells him to stop



• Brown tells his roommate to get rid of his underwear



• Brown initially tells police there was no sex involved, and then changes his story to say they did have sex when pressed

This, ladies and gentlemen, is bad however you slice it. I am the first one to say that you are innocent until proven guilty. I look at the Duke Lacrosse case from a few years back and shudder about how these things can turn in to witch hunts.

Having said that...

Think about what happens when an incident such as this is alleged at UiF or FSU. We, as Miami fans, do not stop and ask the "what if he didn't do it?" question.

We, after all, are Miami. We are better than that. Despite all the stereotypes, we are a cut above the rest, among the elite football programs both on and off the field. That is the goal and it is the way it should be.

Golden was right to kick this kid off them team, and he did so immediately. Putting yourself in this position is unacceptable and will not be tolerated under this regime.

Hoever, what scares me more than the incidents themselves is the fan reaction. Here is a sampling of some of the stuff I have read:

"Awesome, we're back to Thug U!"

"Bad guys off the field win football games."

"Good."

"Well, if he wasn't a two star she probably would have wanted to have sex (I am rephrasing) with him."

Etc.

Aside from the obvious immorality of these statements, there is a thread of thought occurring here that needs to be fleshed out immediately. And yes, I know that this is probably .1% of the fanbase that feels this way. However, the fact that anyone MIGHT think this way is troublesome to me.

Recently, we have been caught up in a wave of nostalgia for the 80's and the team that became known as Thug U (somewhat inappropriately, I might add).


What we really want is a return of the swagger that was pronounced on the way into the stadium and then backed up on the field.

That was fueled by kids who worked hard on their own, took complete ownership of the program and fought like dogs for every inch. Hell yeah we want that back.

They also had a knack for getting into trouble off the field, some petty, some not.

The problem we are having as a fanbase right now is recalling one of the most basic lessons of any education: correlation is nto causation.

Ice cream sales go up in summer. So do drownings. Does ice cream cause people to drown then?

It is a silly premise. Now let's apply it to those lionized teams of the 80's.

They did bad things off the field (at times) because they were admittedly stupid.

They dominated on the field because they worked their asses off and channeled a lot of anger into football, including anger at being labeled as Thugs in the first place. Period.

To think that off-field trouble breeds on-field success is absolutely incorrect. To think that by winning games they exonerate(d) themselves for off the field wrongdoing is ridiculous. I fear that may be the message that Mr. Buchannon ran with during his drunken encounter with the police. I fear that may have lead Mr. Brown down a bad path.

No, Ramon, you won't get out of it just because you play for The U.

If accountability on the field must be improved (and it surely must), then accountability off the field can not slip.

As an alumni, I am angry that the school I love has been tarnished by this incident. As a fan, I don't see any way for our team to get better if we have players suspended and sitting on the sideline in shorts. As both, I pray that these are isolate incidents and not part of an attitude that is running rampant on this squad.

Isolated or not is a bad day all around, and for anyone to say otherwise is ignorant.

I think the team will wake up once Golden starts leaning on them in the fall. They will learn quickly that he is all business. And frankly, he better beat this lesson in hard. Because this type of behavior is unacceptable.

Already, Al has a chance to prove that he is Golden and not a Tin Man like his counterparts at other southern schools have proven to be.

In life, you find yourself in trouble when you lower your standards. We should expect excellence from these kids off the field AND on the field. I will take a million Ken Dorseys and Ed Reeds before I take another Willie Williams.

There are no excuses for behavior more in line with Williams then Reed. Not your coach getting fired. Not you feeling abandoned. Not a sense of frustration with a new boss. Not the fact that you play for The U. NO EXCUSES. Mess it up once and you sit. After all, we have all done something dumb, like get caught smoking pot or drinking underage or not wanting to leave the bar. Mess it up twice though and you're gone. And if you put yourself in position to get charged with rape AND THEN LIE TO POLICE, we have no place for you, period. If you don't like that, tough. Transfer. I know a school in the panhandle that loves to harbor repeat offenders.

*End rant*

I feel a little better now.

Always guard the inbound passer.