FanNation

When Real Life gets in the Way

Sports are an escape, but sometimes real life gets in the way of the escape.  For the hardcore fans out there, you know what this means, missing out on crucial sports news and discussion.  It’s enough to make a fans head spin.

Waiting for a meeting to begin is always a strange time.  Some rooms sit in silence, worried about the boss entering.  Others make inane chatter about things like “Ooh Donuts!” or “Is everyone here?”  Still others start into the meeting before the meeting even begins, not wanting to lose precious time to hear themselves sound important.  But this particular meeting, well, this particular meeting talked about football.

The weekend held promise of the Seahawks travelling to Chicago to take on the 13-3 Bears.  Everyone in the room was convinced that the Hawks would beat the Bears, that they were weak, and that despite the Hawks struggles that season, it was a year removed from the Super Bowl.  Some how, some way, my voice did not join in the football chorus, that is until a head turned towards me…

“Wait, Josh, you’re a Bears fan aren’t you?”

The room went quiet, and all eyes turned toward me.  A simple yes would of brought several ragging remarks from the group.  A quick “Hell yeah, and we’re going to kick your ass” would of brought jeering, and if the Bears should happen to lose, well…a fan’s worst nightmare.  An answer of “No” or “sort of” is out of the question for any fan, you never forsake your team.  After running through my options, my lips curled into a smile, and…

What came out of my mouth was not just a simple “Yes”, or a boasting cry, it was a detailed explanation of why the Bears would win, and an explanation of how the Hawks COULD win.  Seeing how the expert analysis before that had been of the “Alexander is just so good”, the conclusion of my rant was met with shocked silence.  And then another head turned towards me…

“Well, I guess you’ll be happy no matter who wins.”

At the moment, there was no other response except “No, I’m a Bears fan.”

It wasn’t until recently that the logic used even started to register.  A casual sports fan can just enjoy the game for what it is, an entertaining contest between two professional teams.  They see no problem with changing their allegiance with each move.  If they reside in Chicago, they’re a Bears fan.  When they move to Denver, it’s “Go Broncos!”  When they get transferred to Dallas, they cheer on the Cowboys.

The life of the casual fan is an easy, care-free world.   Sports aren’t a matter of us vs. them, it’s a thrilling TV program, or a reason to sit in the stands and have a beer.  No matter who wins, or loses, the game can be fun.  And no reason to stay till the end, there is traffic to beat, and a bed to get to.

For us hardcore, lifelong, obsessed fans, sports is not something to pass the time, it’s a full time job.  With every loss, our ego takes another blow.  Every spare moment of the day is spent searching for more information about the team.  The players, coaches, front office and training staff are all referred to on a first name basis.  And hearing another fan bad mouth your team sends you into a frenzy.  Your life is sports.

Many a non-fan has been heard to say “Why does it matter if that guy catches the ball?”

Why does it matter?  Because I’ve devoted a large portion of my time to reading every single piece of text written about that player.  I’ve listened to every word uttered about him on the radio, tv or around the water cooler.  I’ve watched hundreds of hours of highlights, game footage, and live games to know everything I can about that player.  So when he catches that ball, a part of me is out there catching it as well.

That same non-fan would say “So you do all that just so you can cheer?”

Hardcore fans don’t cheer, we root.  Cheering is something you do at a little league game.  When you invest the time an effort into a team, it’s not cheering, it’s rooting.  The pay off for you isn’t that you get to clap after a catch…it’s that scream of pure joy…that jump out of your seat enthusiasm…that rush of adrenaline…and that feeling of accomplishment for doing nothing more than seeing your team make the catch.

That is the life of a hardcore fan.  We live every moment waiting, hoping, reading, talking, researching, praying, so that when that big moment comes, it’s not just some guy out there catching a ball…we’re out there catching the ball, and feeling the joy of victory.

Being a hardcore fan is not a hobby, or an extracurricular activity.  It’s a job.  It’s your life.  But the problem with life is, “real” life always gets in the way.

How is one to focus on the important things like “Who are the Dolphins going to pick?” When you have to worry which school Henry is going to goto next year?  Why is it that you can’t concentrate on whether the Cardinals or the Tigers are the bigger surprise, when your wife has just announced a surprise of her own?  Where can you turn when you’re trying to debate who has the nicest home park, and there is the question of where you’re going to live in a couple month rattling around in your head?

And that’s the curse…when you devote so much of your time and energy to sports, and then real life gets in the way it’s one of the most disorienting feelings.  Kicking back, and reading the NFL draft preview doesn’t have the same effect…and you see no reason to spend every hour staring at internet trying to glean every morsel of information…because you know it won’t do you any good right now….your mind is elsewhere.

That’s where my mind has been the last couple weeks.  The NFL draft is a forgotten event right now, and baseball season is a faint noise in the background.  Real life is the sport of choice for me right now…

I hope this game finishes up soon, so I can get back to the stuff that matters…

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Starting next week, I’m hoping to start a new format for my blogs.  That is if real life cooperates.  My goal is to write a daily blog, shorter than my Thursday blogs…I’m going to be playing around with the exact format of these blogs…so any feedback would be great.  The goal is to do a longer Thursday post still…but not sure if I’ll be able to pull that off next week or not….frickin’ real life.

The Magic of Hope

Spring is officially here, and nothing announces that like Opening Day in the Major Leagues.  Everything is new, everyone has a chance, and there is a long road to travel ahead of us.  But right now, let’s enjoy all the hope, and revel in the magic of opening day.

From birth till the age of 18, there was one place I called home: the Chicago Suburbs.  While I was away at college, Chicago was still the place I called home.  The area and its teams became a large part of who I was.  When you grow up in a place, there is common language and thought process that is very comforting.  Growing up, when you talked football it was about the Bears.  Jordan wasn’t just some superstar, he was OUR superstar.  When the conversation turned to baseball, the first question was always “Sox or Cubs?”  And when you ordered a hot dog, you never had to say “No Ketchup”.

Part of this common language, for my family, was that “Opening Day” meant “Holiday”.  The day of the White Sox home opener, meant no school, no work, no chores…just a trip to Comiskey to see our boys play.  My first real outing as a baby?  Opening day.  Yeah, I was the baby being held by the woman that stood up around the 7^th inning and screamed “F**k You UMP!”  Which shouldn’t surprise anyone that has gone to a sporting event with yours truly.

But foul language aside, opening day has always been something special.  From my first outing as a baby, until around Junior High, opening day was a hallowed tradition.  Besides providing some of my very first baseball memories, those opening days also taught me to be a fan.  The lessons learned have lasted a lifetime, even if the tradition has fallen by the wayside many years ago.  Being a baseball fan means…

Cheering even though you can see your breath.

Clapping even though your hands are numb.

Staying until the final out regardless of the score, traffic or weather.

Bringing your glove, unless you’re over the age of 12.

Waiting until the 5^th inning to move into those empty seats in the front row.

Hoping against all odds that this is the season that delivers us from misery.

That last lesson is one that every fan takes to heart at the start of the season.  Opening day provides a clean slate, and that clean slate gives us hope.  Anything is possible when that first pitch is thrown out…anything.

As many of you know, last July my wife, daughter and I moved from Seattle to Connecticut.  Quite a long haul.  We came out to Connecticut about a month in advance of the actual move, to scout out a house to rent.  After several failed attempts, we found a great place.  It is nearly double the size of our house in Seattle for about the same monthly cost.  It has a big kitchen, a great deck, and a view that is gorgeous.  We left so excited about moving into the house. 

We spent the next month just chatting away about all the great things about the house…how the there is so much more space…the kitchen is going to be so great to work in…the view, wow, the view…and a master bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub!!  I think everyone we knew got sick of hearing about it.  I even had a thought of, “When we’re ready to buy a house, I hope the landlords will sell us this one because I can’t imagine finding something more perfect.”  Ah, hope…

Then we moved in.  At first, everything was great.  Around each corner was something new and exciting.  Every problem was a quirk.  Every blemish was just chalked up to character.  And hey, no matter what…we still had the view.

There is a lot of space…but you know what a lot of space means?  Super high heating bills, especially when you’re talking oil heat...but there is that view.

The kitchen is very big…but it’s laid out as if the previous owners were designing a kitchen for people that don’t cook….but there is that view.

The deck is huge…but it was built with paper clips, and touching the railing wrong makes a spindle fall…but there is that view.

There are so many outlets and lights…but all the electrical work was done by drunk monkeys to the point that many lights have 3 switches, and all 3 switches have to be in the each position for the light to work…but hey…the view.

We have a living room and a family room…but the living room has one of the ugliest fireplaces you’ve ever seen, and the family room doesn’t seem to have any insulation…yeah, I heard you, the view.

There are two and a half bathrooms…but the upstairs bathrooms take an act of god to flush…what?  Oh, yeah, the view.

But there is a Jacuzzi tub…and it’s one of the things that needs 3 switches to be in perfect harmony and there is rarely enough hot water to fill it…okay, got it, the view.

Finally, there is that view…but when you look out the window a little closer…really the view is of a major street, trees and a far off shopping mall.  Better than a brick wall?  Yeah, but it can’t make up for everything.

And that brings us to opening day.  Every fan is in the “The view is just gorgeous” phase.  The trades, the free agents, the rookies, the new coaches, new ideas, new parks….they all offer to solve all that ailed the team last year.  It’s a time you can rationalize anything.  Right now, every team has a shot at playing in the World Series.  Every fan has reason to hope that his team will be the one standing at the end.

Why?  Well, we haven’t checked the wiring yet…haven’t noticed the cracks in the foundation…and all that space we loved in the offseason?  Well, it’s terrible on team chemistry.

And that’s where as fans, it can be hard.  We talk smack about our teams, and we highlight the positives when we explain why we’ll be the champs…but when we’re alone in the big new house…we start to wonder if that smell from the garage is natural.  Everyone has those doubts…when you really look at your team…even the favorites…there are some things that scare you to death.  Things we don’t talk about with others…things that keep us up at night.

“Do the Tigers have anyone in the bullpen?  Not just warm bodies, but people that can pitch?”

“The Red Sox starters can hold it together, right?  Dice K is going to be better, and Beckett is going to be lights out again, right?”

“Man, lot of old guys out there, but we’re the Angels, we can hold it together, right?”

“Is Joe Borowski more Mariano Rivera?  Or Bobby Thigpen?  Please say Rivera….please?”

“Hey, so what if the Cubs rotation isn’t that deep, the Brewers don’t have any pitching either.  That should be enough to get us the division, right?”

“So the slogan for the season is Johan Santana and a cloud of smoke…but Santana is good enough to carry us, right?”

“Hey, the Padres don’t have any offense, but neither do the Diamondbacks…but we can just shut everyone out…right?”

“Joe Torre will get us through the season unharmed, right?  He brought a good trainer with him, right?”

As you lie awake at night, pondering those questions…remember, those questions are the price of hope.  All that hope opening day brings?  The bad wiring is the unspoken cost.  In the end, every opening day, gives us a chance to find special place with our team.

Just as with every new house, we hope to find a home.

When I hear the word home, Chicago is one of the words that pop into my head.  The last year that I lived there full time?  1994.  But it will always be a part of my definition of home…just as Comiskey Park will always be part of my definition of the White Sox.  Being away from a place you call home, and a team you call your own, changes how you are a fan.

When you’re a couple thousand miles away from your favorite teams, even with all the magic of the internet, it’s still a very different thing to be a fan.  Growing up in Chicago, I ate, slept and breathed the Bears, Sox and Bulls.  They were everywhere.  Being a fan came really easy, turn on the radio, open the paper; flip on the TV…my teams were right there.  Suddenly, after settling in Seattle, someone else’s teams were showing up everywhere.  And I had to search out the info I wanted…being a fan became harder.

What’s even harder, my daughter has never had that sense of home that I did.  She’s not even 3, and she’s already called 2 places on either side of the country home.  On top of that, I’ve passed on my love for the Bears and White Sox to her, and so she’s never known the love of a hometown team.  A large part of me wonders how different her definition of home will be. 

She won’t have the memories of tuning in the local broadcast of the White Sox game in the backyard…or walking down the street on a Sunday and seeing everyone in Bears gear…or getting to skip school every opening day and going with her dad to see the Sox play.  How will that effect her definition of home?

We’ll just have to see, because for her, it’s still Opening Day.

Do you still trust me?

The NCAA tournament is into the round of 16.  The NFL draft is a month away.  Opening day is here for the MLB.  The NBA is, well, the NBA.  Yep, that’s all the major ones.  With all this going on, there isn’t just one thought that fills the brain.  And that means there are many small thoughts…trust me on this.

What a great week.  The tournament started up, and after a boring first day, got plenty of excitement over the weekend.  The live blog was a great success, thanks to all of you.  And Easter was a blast…egg hunt in the morning, chocolate all day, and basketball and dinner in the afternoon.  Hope everyone else had a good weekend, whether it was Easter, spring break or just watching the tournament.  Fun can be found in many forms…trust me on this.

This one goes out to Shaun Alexander…if your employer hires 2 new guys that do your exact job, and you know they don’t have the head count to keep you all…and you make 4 times as much as all your co-workers…the phrase “the writing is on the wall” should really take on new meaning for you, trust me on this.

For the ladies out there, if you’re in a bar, and a dude walks up to you, and unfurls the pickup line “I invented the phrase ‘chickens in reverse’” or “Kiss the Wombat”, first move is to pour your drink on him.  Next empty that can of mace in his eyes, finally run until you need a satellite image to see the bar you were in.  Trust me on this.

Davidson enters the tourney on a 22 game win streak and they only get a 10 seed.  Despite the lower seed, they beat Gonzaga, and then pull a huge upset on Georgetown, running the streak to 24.  The tournament committee’s biggest mistake wasn’t leaving Arizona State out; it was giving Davidson this low of seed, trust me on this.

“I didn’t know what it did, so I pushed it” is possibly the most dangerous phrase in the English language, trust me on this.

Okay, paper and pencils at the ready, time for a little math problem.  You are in a room with 2 buddies.  The Sweet 16 games are about to start.  On the table are 3 shot glasses, and a 750ml bottle of Jack Daniels.  One of your buddies says, “Let’s do a shot every time Stephen Curry scores”.  Will you have enough booze?  Answer: No, and if you live through the second half, it will be a miracle, trust me on this.

Every once in a while, Hollywood gets something right…since it appears that they NEED to remake every single old TV show into a movie, Steve Carell is a perfect fit for Maxwell Smart, trust me on this.

Here’s a little advice for one Brandon Marshall.  If you slip on a McDonalds wrapper in your living room, causing you to put your arm through a TV, and resulting in a 4 month recovery period…tell people you were drunk and got in a fight with your girlfriend, it will be a lot less embarrassing, trust me on this.

Juggling hard-boiled Easter eggs is a great way to entertain the kids.  Just make sure all the eggs are ACTUALLY hard-boiled…trust me on this.

All you Mavericks fans out there…if you’re hoping that Dirk going down will spur the team to a Rockets like run…the saying goes, “You can hope in one hand and crap in the other, see which one fills up first.”  I’ll put $10 on the crap-hand, trust me on this.

Glanced over at the magical “iGoogle Weather” and freaked out because according to the picture, Friday’s forecast is for waterfalls!!!  Holy nuts…that doesn’t sound good at all.  Stock up on supplies, buy a slicker, we’ve got waterfalls people!!!  After frantically calling my wife to check if we had waterfall insurance, it turns out there is no waterfalls in the forecast.  The image is ice on a tree, trust me on this.

Somewhere in Chi-town, that’s “Chicago” for the uninformed, my buddy Dan is staring at the headline “Favre still hasn’t filed retirement paperwork” and is dancing around like a little girl, screaming “I told you so!”…trust me on this.

If your 3-year-old daughter can sing the whole first verse to “All-star” by Smashmouth, you can conclude the following.  1. She’s watching too much Shrek and 2. You need to kick you brother in the jimmy for teaching it to her…trust me on this.

Even if you hate the Yankees, there is no disputing that Yankee Stadium is an icon of baseball.  The fact that this is the last season of baseball in those hallowed ground is heartbreaking enough, but now the new stadium will carry the name “Steinbrenner Field”?  Nope, no it won't...the magic of sports headlines today...glancing at a headline you think the world has ended, and then you read a little deeper, and some lame spring training field is being renamed, trust me on this.

When you yell out, “Hey, where’s my 2005 Chicago White Sox highlight DVD?” and your daughter answers with “I put it away for you Daddy”…it’s in the Shrek DVD case, trust me on this.

When Memphis loses…yes, I meant to say “when”…the game will take a record 6 hours and 13 minutes to complete.  This will of course be due to the other team’s strategy of fouling them on EVERY possession.  Quite simply, a dead rat could shoot free throws better, trust me on this.

It might be passé, but if you ever have the chance to play a good round of Mad-Libs, make sure to work in the following words: Gangrene….Zima….wombat.  Doesn’t matter what order, or what the topic is, those words are comedy gold, trust me on this.

In the spirit of Latrell Sprewell, Alex Rodrigez explained his change of agents (getting rid of the money hungry Scott Boras) with “I put my family ahead of the money”.  Choosing your family AND a 10 year, $275 million contract is a hard choice.  You sir are a saint, a god among men, an example for us all!  Alex, Latrell just called, he wanted to offer your family a free ride on his yacht during your troubled times, trust me on this.

This just in, Cedric Benson might be replaced as the Bears starting running back!  In other news, our reports have confirmed that, yes; bears do crap in the woods.  Benson “probably” being replaced isn’t news, trust me on this.

You find yourself working in a Little Caesar’s pizza.  A customer comes in and orders a pizza with “Everything on it, but no meat”.  If your reaction is anything BUT, “Okay, so Onions, Peppers, Olives, Sausage, Pepperoni, Ham, mushrooms…” well, you haven’t worked there long enough, trust me on this.

Well, Pacman Jones explained his strange and self destructive behavior with the quote, "Man, I'm at the end of the cliff, and if I slip off, I fall off".  Pacman, let me explain something to you…come closer…okay…too close.  Not “stripper close”…there you go.  Pacman, first, explaining away the last several years of your life is going to take more than a 3 hour interview with Michael Irvin.  And yes, if you “Slip off” you by definition would “fall off” a cliff.  You can’t “slip off a cliff” without “falling off”, trust me on this.

Speaking of Pacman…so we now have Pacman Jones and Atari Bigby…starting for your 2009 Green Bay Packers….Collecovision Johnson!  We’ve only scratched the surface of the video game names, trust me on this.

The NFL is thinking of moving the start time of the Season opener earlier to avoid clashing with the Republican National Convention.  Nothing against Republicans, but seriously is there a choice?  Watching a bunch of speeches and a forgone conclusion nomination or the start of the NFL season?  The convention should consider rescheduling, they don’t want to risk alienating the football vote, trust me on this.

You’re an NFL GM, your assistant tells you “Mel Kiper Jr is on the phone for you with some draft advice”, and you don’t break into uncontrollable laughter, fire yourself, don’t hesitate, fire yourself, trust me on this.

Over the weekend, my daughter and I settled in to watch basketball together.  Got all comfy on the couch, the game was on…and my daughter said, “Okay, now let’s watch football”.  After explaining to her that it’s not football season, its basketball season, she said “why can’t we watch football?”  If there was ever a doubt in my mind, I now have hard proof she’s mine, trust me on this.

You’re the Coach of a Division I team.  The NCAA informs you that your team has been made a #4 seed in the tournament.  You’re ecstatic…you break out the champagne…you’re hugging all the players…the AD is calling ever booster he knows and rubbing it in their face…and then the NCAA says, “And you play your opening games in Tampa”.  There isn’t a quicker way to quiet that room, trust me on this.

If you’re looking for a new catch phrase to throw around the office, start reading spam…at least the subject lines.  No where else on Earth will you learn the phrase “Trouser Mouse”, trust me on this.

In Seattle it looks like the Sonics are leaving town…well not the Sonics…just the players, coaches, staff, balls, and the NBA.  The name and history of the Sonics will stay in Seattle.  Well, that solves the problem…the Key Arena will definitely sell out next year to watch a bunch of empty uniforms lie on the court, and ogle the only championship trophy in Seattle history.  Hey Stern, the blood is all over you on this one…trust me on this.

When it comes to getting a child ready for school in the morning, once they hit the stage of “I can do it myself”, what that really means is that from there on out they’ll be leaving the house in some “interesting” outfits, trust me on this.

There are 2 types of #1 overall QBs…the Golden Boy, ala Peyton Manning, Carson Palmer and Eli Manning…the guys we knew would be on top all season long.  And the Out-of-nowhere QB, ala Alex Smith, David Carr, and JaMarcus Russell.  Take a memo to the Miami Dolphins, Matt Ryan is in the 2^nd group, trust me on this.

For me, a bad action movie is a great way to relax.  There is something about huge plot holes, unbelievable explosions, terrible one-liners, and predictable finishes that comfort me.  If you share this love, then check out Sahara on cable, trust me on this.

Chris Webber is finally hanging them up.  He’ll be remembered for the Fab Five, the infamous time out, lifting the Kings out of obscurity, and playing until his vertical and mobility was worse than mine.  Here’s a little advice for all you other NBA players, if I can jump higher and run faster than you, follow Chris out the door, trust me on this.

In my last “Trust me” post, Yao Ming was put on notice with “the Rockets aren’t going to be the same without you, trust me on this.”  Well…um…yeah…that’s it, just remember…never trust me if I’m drunk, trust me on this.

If your child insists on you making her Ernie doll talk, using the “Ernie has laryngitis” excuse doesn’t work.  In toddler land, band-aids cure laryngitis, trust me on this.

So Jose Canseco is writing another “tell all” book.  First, does anyone care?  Second, who in their right mind will ever be friends with this guy again?  “Um, Jose, why are you looking through all my tax docs?  And what’s with the handy-cam?”  Jose, friends don’t write tell all books about each other, trust me on this.

When ordering something online…if one place has the item with free shipping, and you find the item on another site for $10 less, but shipping is $15…if the thought crosses your mind that maybe you can find it for $10 cheaper AND free shipping…just buy from the first place, because it’s not worth an hour of your life to save $10, trust me on this.

An NFL team had to forfeit a draft pick for cheating.  Yep, old news…but get this…it wasn’t the Patriots!  What?  No one wants to hear about a bad team that cheated?  So the Niners tampering with Briggs doesn’t even rate a headline?  Wow, it’s good to be terrible and cheat, trust me on this.

You’re in a karaoke bar…you’re too drunk for “Ring of Fire” and not quite drunk enough to whip out “Tiny Dancer”…go for “Livin’ La Vida Loca”, trust me on this.

After seeing the teams play a few games, the Final Four looks like this…UNC, UCLA, Texas and…Davidson.  Yeah, it’s a pipe dream, but dreaming is a good thing, trust me on this.

And another edition of “trust me on this” is in the books.  Before anyone gets up in arms about what you have read here today, this blog has never been about telling the future.  Nah, that limits what can be said and done.  If you want a clear picture of the future, buy a time machine…or build one…whatever…here you’ll just have to settle for the future telling power of Guinness, trust me on this.

NCAA Tournament: Live Blog!

The two greatest days in sports starts today.  Is there anything more exciting than watching David knock off Goliath?  Or watching as nearly every game comes down to the final few minutes?  Is there anything more fun than watching game after game, until you go into a basketball coma?  Nah, there really isn’t.  So sit back, enjoy and bring on the games!

In college, the first two days of the tournament were a holiday.  My buddy Scottie and I would take off work, skip class and just hold up in our apartment with as many friends as we could gather.  The day would start with Bloody Mary’s for the early games, beer for most of the day, and finish off with shots and lunch boxes.  We’d have 2 TVs going, and friends would come and go.  The only rules?  Watch the game, and no matter when you got there you had to fill in a bracket…and it was a shot for every loss.

Many late arrivers were forced to pick a bracket on arrival, and make up for missed shots.  You’d think, “hey, no worries, the games were already played”.  Um, yeah…the record was a girl that arrived late, picked a bracket and then had to do 9 shots to catch up with everyone.  Not a good start to the day.

Those days are over.  My daughter just can’t handle shots, and my wife hates Bloody Marys.  Plus, there’s the whole thing of having to work.  Damn it life, cut me some slack!  It’s the tournament!!

Before the games start, let’s touch on 2 points…

First, what’s with all the expert analysis putting all or most of the #1 seeds into the Final Four?  On the CBS Bracket show, Clark Kellog’s expert opinion was that the Final Four would consist of all 4 #1.  Um, yeah, Clark…listen…that’s just flat out stupid.  Since the bracket expanded to 64 teams in 1985, there has never been a season where all 4 #1 seeds advanced to the Final Four.  And yet, almost every bracket that an “expert” has put out there has at least 3 #1 seeds in it.  You know what that means?  Get ready for some fun!

When all conventional wisdom points to the boring happening, that’s when all hell breaks loose.  So with all the experts predicting a “boring” outcome, get ready for some epic upsets.  And remember, there has only been 1 season (1993) when 3 #1 seeds, and a #2 seed made the final four.  So don’t listen to the experts, and just have fun picking some games!

The second issue to hit on is the sudden call for expansion of the tournament.  Bobby Knight and crew were just going on and on at length about how the tourney should expand.  They kept citing the absence of Arizona State from the tourney as a reason to expand…to 128 teams!  Okay, let’s get a couple things straight here…

Bubble teams can gripe all they want, but the fact of the matter is, they weren’t going to win the tourney.  The lowest seed to win it all was an 8 seed…and a bubble team that misses the tourney is not going to be higher seeded than that.  So in the end we’re griping and complaining about a team that would be out of the tournament in the first or second round.

There are 64 teams that get the chance to play for the championship.  It’s a perfect number.  There is no reason to expand, since we get a true champion.  All expanding does is line the pockets of the media and the NCAA, and the game doesn’t gain anything, and the tourney loses some mystic.  Yes, the tourney has expanded several times, and these same arguments has been made each time…but look around, there are a little over 300 programs that are eligible for the tourney.  If 128 are allowed in, that’s moving close to 50% of the teams out there.  That sort of mentality is exactly what has ruined the NBA and NHL playoffs.  More is not always better.

Leave the tournament as it is, and let’s play some fricking basketball!!

------------ Waiting for Tip-off Thoughts -----------

Here's one of the reasons I miss the West Coast.  Roll out of bed and the tournament is on.  A 12:20pm ET start time makes for a 9:20am PT start time.  Being able to wake up to the tourney is a great thing.  Man, I miss Seattle right now...

Next order of business.  Why is it that CBS always insists on showing the #1 seed games?  In the first round, there is nothing more boring than the top seed beating the snot out of the 16 seed.  Yes, if you live in North Carolina, you probably should see your Tar Heels, but for the rest of us?  Please, spare us.  We really don't want to see it.

If the miracle starts to develop, and the #16 seed is hanging tough...by all means, switch over.  But come on, watching a little under manned school getting bludgeoned to death by the All Mighty Big Money U is not fun.

Getting back to my first point about the difference between watching the games on the East vs. West Coast...thanks to the beauty of FanNation, we have fans from all time zones on here...so here's a couple thoughts to mull over and share your thoughts on...

The best part of watching the games in your region of the country?

The best food to eat while watching the games?

Finally, the thing I hate most about network coverage of the game?

Is it tip-off yet?

How about now?

------------ Still waiting for Tip-off Thoughts -----------

While we wait for the games to kickoff...er...tip-off...let's cover a few points that have already been addressed in the comments...

There is only 1 lower seed that is favored in the first round.  Excluding 8-9 seeds...as that isn't really a lower seed.  That would be Davidson.  They are a 10 seed favored over the 7 seeded Gonzaga Bulldogs.

As mentioned above, the experts seems to be very heavy on the #1 seeds.  Many are picking 3 and even 4 to advance.  And while it's already been covered that all 4 #1 seeds have NEVER made it to the Final Four...the real question is which #1 losees first?  The consensus here is Memphis.

Along the Memphis lines...the last team to enter the tourney with only 1 loss, and win it all?  North Carolina State in 1974.  Since then 7 have tried, and all have failed.

In my bracket, filled out according to my nutty rules....I have two, yes 2, #2 seeds losing in the first round.  The two seeds have lost 4 total first round games in the history of the tournament...and I have them losing 2 in this one tourney.  Not liking the odds...but if it works out...man, will I look like a genius!

Okay, can these games start now?  I can't eat another brat....

------------ Tip-off Thoughts -----------

Looks like we get to watch the Xavier-Georgia here.  And Georgia looks like they are already out of gas.

In the office we are doing the following for our office challenge pool...

Randomly pick 1 team in each region.

If you're team wins AND covers the spread, you move on.

If they lose, but the other team failed to cover the spread, you take over that team.

Winner is last man standing.

My teams?  San Diego, Temple, Portland St. and Mt. St. Mary's!!  Woohoo!!

------------ First halfThoughts -----------

Some early observations....

Neither Temple or MSU are shooting well.  They've been horribly missing the mark...clanking off the side of the rim, and, well...basically looking like me playing hoops.  Which is not good.  Slow, white, can't jump and can't shoot is no way to go through life...

One of the things about basketball for me, you can miss the whole first half...even most of the second, and still enjoy the hell out of the game.  That last 5 minutes of a tournament game are some of the most exciting moments in basketball.  And the thing is, unless the score is like completely out of control (Portland St fans, I'm talking to you) there is always a chance for a comback or at least a nail biting close.  That's what I love about the tourney...every game comes down to that last few seconds.

So far, looks like we have 2 great games brewing...the never say die Bulldogs of Georgia and the Temple Owls look like they have upset on their minds.  Meanwhile...the #1 seed is beating the snot out of a little school that is just happy to be here.  Don't like to say I told you so....but....

I told you so.

------------ More First halfThoughts -----------

Is there anything worse than a food commercial when you're really hungry?  It doesn't even matter if it's something you wouldn't normally eat, if it is on the screen looking all delicious, and you're starving...man, all you want is that.  Yes, I'm starving, and I just saw a Taco Bell commercial.  I never crave Taco Bell...but now I have this urge to head for the border.  Of course, the problem is, that the nearest Taco Bell is like a 45 minutes drive away from here...

That brings me to an idea...and yes, sorry, this isn't on topic with the tourney, but hey, life goes on...if advertisers could tell when a person is hungry, and then be able to show you the ad for their product, wouldn't take be worth a ton of money?  Trust me, this day is coming at some point...

Back to the tourney...

It's too early in these games to get totally excited or bummed...but MSU finally decided to actually start playing.  The game was tied, I look away...and then...bam...MSU is up by 10.

But there is always the great equalizer in College basketball...the Three.

------------ First Games, 2nd half Thoughts -----------

Georgia in the lead...and then suddenly, without warning...Xavier drains a couple of 3s, and suddenly the Musketeers are out in front again.  That's the beauty of the three point shot in college basketball, it changes the game so quickly.

Ouch, poor Portland State, just getting beat up by the Jayhawks.  But hey guys, look at the bright side, at least you got in the game.  Arizona State is playing in the NIT wishing they could be you.

The biggest spread in the first round?  UCLA by 32.

The Simple Beauty of the Groundball

The ides of March are upon us and with them the promise of spring.  After a long cold winter in the Northeast, the faint glimpses of warmth and rebirth are exciting to the senses.  If spring is in the air, it can mean only one thing, baseball.  Grab your bat, glove and ball, let’s play some ball!

Way back on February 2^nd, the groundhog let us know that we were destined for 6 more weeks of winter…well those 6 weeks are almost up, so that means it’s time for spring.  Early last week, it didn’t look very promising, what with a foot of snow falling here in the Northeast.  The mind was filled with the thought “If you can’t trust a large rodent these days, what good is left in this world?”

As the week progressed, the power of the groundhog took control of the weather, and temperatures started to rise…the rains came and helped remove the snow from the ground…and for a day or 2, there were sunny skies, temps in the 50s…and the faintest hint of spring in the air.  And that was all it took…

After a long cold winter, that first hint of spring…whether it’s the sight of the first bud on a tree…the sound of rushing water in a creek…feeling the warm sun on your skin…the taste of the first Cadbury egg…or the first whiff of the sweet smell of spring.  When the first sign of spring hits you, the winter is forgotten. (Last year at this time, the subject was the line drive)

Smells are the strongest trigger for my memory.  Catch a whiff of freshly mowed grass…and suddenly I’m 14 years old, mowing the lawn in 90 degree heat.  Smell a turkey cooking…and instantly I’m 12 years old in my grandma’s kitchen at Thanksgiving.  The scent of a fire…and I’m surrounded by my family in a campsite, looking up at the stars.  But that first hint of spring…a scent I can’t even really describe…that always makes me think of only one thing…

Baseball.

Last week when I caught that whiff, the first thing I did was throw all my softball gear into the trunk of my car.  Winter is putting up a last fight…there was cold rain all weekend, followed by some freezing temperatures…but it doesn’t matter, baseball and spring are in my brain now. 

When my nose caught a whiff of spring, it wasn’t just a general idea of baseball…it never is…that simple smell transported me to the age of 11.  Running out into the back yard, a few patches of snow still on the ground…glove in hand…shouting back at my dad to hurry up.  That first toss of the ball, and the returning first catch of the ball…the impact stinging the hand due to the cold.  It was a time in my life when I had no doubt what I was going to be when I grew up…the starting Shortstop for the Chicago White Sox.

All the research had already been done.  The great Luke Appling and his .388 team record average.  Luis Aparicio and his glove was the stuff of legend in my head.  And a new face had just arrived on the scene, rookie of the year, Ozzie Guillen.  While Appling’s hitting amazed me, Aparicio and Guillen held my imagination, there is nothing a beautiful in baseball as a great defensive play.  The home run is awe inspiring, a pitcher blowing a fastball by a hitter is breath taking, but watching a shortstop go deep into the hole, snag the ball, turn and fire the ball to first?  There isn’t a painting in the Louvre that can match that for beauty.

These types of plays can be seen every day in the game of baseball…Orlando Cabrera, Scott Rolen, Placido Polanco, Derek Lee, Ichiro Suzuki, Grady Sizemore, Carlos Beltran, Russell Martin and Greg Maddux make the great defensive play routine.  But one of the biggest crimes of the steroid era is that the low scoring pitching duel has been trivialized.  There are few things in this world that hold my attention as completely as a well played 1-0 baseball game.

The steroid era has taught us that offense if king.   The more the ball flew out, the more excited we were supposed to get.  But is there anything more boring than a 14-2 game?  Even 12-7 isn’t a fun game to watch.  When the ball is flying out of the park, any mistake can be erased with one swing.  That very fact causes a game to be played in a sloppier manner.  And that sloppy play is one of the biggest crimes of the steroid era.

Two of the great things about baseball…

1.  You’re never out of a game; any comeback is possible because there is no clock.

2.  And when a game is tight, every single movement is important.

The steroid era has put the emphasis on the Home Run and the Strikeout.  While these things feed reason number 1, they completely ignore number 2.  In fact it goes even further…even in a 0-0 game, everyone is waiting for a home run to decide the game…and because of that, we miss what is truly exciting about baseball.

As a 0-0 game moves later and later in innings, every play takes on more and more importance.  A simple ground ball that is beat out for a hit…taking a wrong step for a fly ball, the catch is made, but the throw is slow to come…a throw arriving mere inches to the wrong side of a base…misjudging a pop foul and allowing a potential out to fall harmlessly to the ground.  Every one of these plays can be forgotten in a slugfest…erased by another mammoth blow…but find yourself in a pitching duel and the true beauty of baseball is revealed.

Watching a pitching duel or seeing a perfect defensive play is one thing, but being involved in one makes you truly appreciate the pressure that Derek Jeter, Joe Crede, David Eckstien, or Criag Biggio is under every play.  Can you make the plays they make?  No.  There is a reason they are in the Majors and you’re not.  But the importance of each play is the same at every level.  It’s not the World Series, just a beer league game…

You lob the ball back to the pitcher, as you look over at the runner at 3^rd.  It’s the last half of the last inning, in a 1-0 game.  Your hand raises above your head with 2 fingers extended…”2 away!”  Your shout is acknowledged by the Left Fielder.

Your feet carry you back to the familiar spot worn in the dirt, a collection of cleat marks that distinguish your preferred starting point.  A small rock peeks out of the dirt on your right, a nudge with your cleat unearths it, and you stoop over to pick it up.  A quick flick of the wrist later, and the rock is flying over the foul line in left, lessening the chance of a bad hop.

All eyes on the field focus on the batter approaching the plate.  He digs into the batters box, and stares ahead at the pitcher.  You start to settle into your crouch.  Feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, glove just below the knees…then something catches you eye.

The batter closes his stance, moving his front foot closer to the plate…”he’s going the other way” flashes through your mind…you take a few steps toward second, and peek over to the other fielders…they’ve seen it too.  Your eyes stay focused on the batter, as you sink back into your crouch.  As your knees flex, you bend and work your glove...it offers no real edge in fielding the ball, but it feels right.

The pitcher starts his motion; you rock to the balls of your feet.  You glove and free-hand twitch in anticipation.  All eyes follow the ball as it leaves the pitchers hand, but you focus on the batter.  You see his eyes flash as he sees the pitch coming.  He rocks back and he coils his weight in prep for unloading on the ball.  The ball closes in on its target and the batter’s hands start into action…his front foot strides forward…and then you catch your second clue…

His stride is towards you, the ball is on the inside, and he has opened his swing to hit it.  The mind starts to become aware of this clue as the bat makes contact with the ball.  A burst of dirt sprays forth as the ball hits the ground.  Before you know where the ball is, your feet have already sent you in motion.  They pivot on the balls, and the cleats dig in, as your legs propel you forward toward the on coming ball.

Every instinct in your body is now carrying you…there is not a single clear though when you’re chasing down a ball…it’s all instinct.  Every groundball you’ve ever chased…from the first to the one you tacked down to start the inning…is running through your mind right now.  All those balls your dad used to hit you in the backyard…every ball that hit off an rotting apple in your backyard…all those balls hit to you by your little league coach….every time a coach yelled at you to stay in front of the ball…all those nights that you kept at it until there was no light left in the sky…it all runs through your head as you race toward that ball.

On its 3^rd hop, the ball is closing in on you…your left foot strides across your body to close the final gap, and your glove…already low to the ground…moves into position for the ball.  The runner at 3^rd is on his way home, but your focus narrows on the ball.  The ball makes one more dive for freedom, taking a nasty short hop right near your feet.  But the glove is too fast, it stabs downward, and the ball is enveloped in the pocket.

Before the glove even closes, your eyes draw focus on first base.  Your right foot plants hard, and your left foot pivots opening your body up for the throw.  The glove continues to pull the ball up across the body…the throwing hand starts moving in for the kill.  As your right foot flexes to transfer all your momentum into the throw, your feet pivot towards first.

Your eyes catch the batter coming into view, the first basemen isn’t to the base yet.  No time to wait, you draw a bead on where the glove will be.  Fingers wrap around the ball in the glove and pull the ball back up towards your ear.  The glove arm peels away from the ball, lending more momentum to the throw.

As the ball reaches the height of its travels, the first basemen plants his foot and turns towards you and starts to raise his glove.  The momentum coiled in your back leg starts to unload into the throw.  The arm flings forward, and the ball starts a new journey.

Reaching out towards the first basemen’s waiting glove, the ball is released.  Hand and arm continue forward in a follow through, and the eyes follow the flight of the ball.  With the ball in flight, that split second seems to take years.

The runner at third is steps from the plate, if the ball to first arrives late, the game is tied.  Everyone on the field and in the stands inhales, except the first basemen whose complete focus is on the ball hurling towards him.  He strides out with his front foot and glove to meet the ball…coaxing a fraction of extra time from the play.

Dust is kicked up near the bag as the runner approaches, and in one last stretch the glove closes around the ball.  A beat later a second foot lands on the base, but it’s too late.

“You’re OUUUUUUTTTTT!!” screams the ump, as his thumb flies up into the air.

Beyond the base, the runner collapses to the ground…as you leap into the air pumping a fist.  The ball still squeezed in this glove, the first basemen runs toward you.  The great inhale that happened during the ball’s flight is released.  Cheers from one side, cries of agony from the other.  Another close game ends the only way it can, in victory and defeat.

If you’ve been there…if you’ve made some similar play…whether it’s in a softball game…tee ball…wiffle ball…little league…high school ball…then you know what I’m talking about.  That moment when the final out of a hard fought game is made, all the tension from the previous innings is released…and the sky is a little bluer, the grass is a little greener, and spring has finally arrived.

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