Bleacher Report - Articles by Daniel Muth

In Battle for the Bottom, Lions Beat Browns In a Barn-Burner.

Daniel Muth — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 10:53:35 -0500

They say to not be the worst, you've got to beat the worst.

They say that offense loses games but defense prevents even a sniff of the championship.

They say you've just gotta take it fifty years at a time.

Wait.

They don't say these things?

Well they do in Detroit.

Though sports cliches are generally formatted around the premise of winning, the Detroit Lions may now be a cliche all unto themselves, reframing futility to the point of definition.

But maybe, just maybe, there's another team that's willing to rip that crown away.

In the ultimate NFL toilet bowl pitting the 1-8 Lions versus the 1-8 Browns, it was unclear whether either team had what it took to win, though somewhere in the midst of the madness, an NFL game broke out.

And at least one thing became abundantly clear in what may have been the most enjoyable Lions game I've witnessed in years: Bad defense apparently trumps bad offense.

Brady Quinn threw for three touchdowns in the first quarter even though the Browns had scored a mere 9 points in the combined first quarters of their previous 9 games.

The Browns offensive explosion of 24 early points had the Lions on the ropes and was a testament to my perseverance that I even witnessed the game.

I went to three different sports bars in the Charlottesville, Virginia area that refused to turn on the game, instead opting to double and triple up on games that people were actually watching.

"Dude, they're down 24-3 to the Browns," one bartender said, "Nobody wants to watch that."

This obviously neglected the point that I wanted to watch it, but finally, at my forth stop I found a TV in the back corner, semi-obscured by a low handing joist, that I persuaded the ownership to change to the game.

And during the game, folks quietly trickled over to my little screen to watch the NFL's best competition of the day.

The Lions roared back instead of meowing their defeat, and young Matthew Stafford had a game for the record books, tossing five TD's (an NFL rookie record) for 422 yards against two interceptions.

The Lions had two 100-yard receivers in Calvin Johnson and Kevin Smith, and traded punches with Brady Quinn and the Browns all night.

In a void, and separated from the history of the clubs, one may have wondered if they were watching two perennial Pro-Bowlers going at it.

With 5:44 left in the game, Brady Quinn delivered his forth touchdown strike of the night to take the lead, and when Stafford followed up with an interception on the next drive, it looked like the Lions were all washed up.

But the "comeback cats" were not done yet.

After getting the ball back Stafford sent a Hail Mary toward the end zone with no time left on the clock, getting slammed to the turf and sustaining a serious shoulder injury, but drawing a pass interference call from the Browns.

And thus, with 0:00 time left on the clock, a clearly injured Stafford delivered his final TD of the day on a rookie to rookie connection that ended with Brandon Pettigrew cradling the tying score.

Fittingly, the final nail was delivered by our Hall-of-Fame kicker on a suddenly very meaningful extra point.

Stafford couldn't even lift his arm over his head to celebrate the throw (though he tried).

And I was going nuts.

And much of the bar was going nuts, as slowly a couple other screens had been switched to the game as it heated up, and slowly people realized that the best game of the day was being played by NFL's two worst teams.

"Stafford's a gamer!" more than one drunken enthusiast told me.

"Calvin's a beast!" a couple others retorted.

"The Lions are on the right track!" many people agreed.

And though it's nice to revel in this victory, and I tend to agree with the first two assessments, I can only hope about the third.

What is clear, is this was a very big win for the Lions.

First, as our own Keith Shelton pointed out a couple weeks ago , the Lions simply cannot afford another number one pick, and this win over the Browns may have given them a little breathing room in that regard.

The Lions may now find themselves with a pick someone's actually willing to trade for, or at very least, one that will cost tens of millions of dollars less.

That's good for the cap in a year that may be the last to see uncapped rookie contracts.

And damn, Matthew Stafford is a gamer and I've got a lot of respect for the way he hobbled back onto the field for the winning play.

And damn, Calvin Johnson is a beast and hopefully the Lions have learned to put the ball in his hands as many times as they can.

And damn, Pettigrew is turning into a legitimate second option.

And damn, the Lions defense is still awful, but at least got the ball back to their young QB to give him a chance.

So there are some things to take away from this game, but it's best to keep some sort of perspective in the midst of the jubilation.

The Lions may not be the worst team in the league, just barely, but they've also still got quite a mountain to climb if they ever want to take in the view from the top.

But here's hoping their barn-burner over the Browns is just a taste of things to come.

Michigan State-Gonzaga: In Prelude to Big Dance, Spartans Beat Zags in Thriller

Daniel Muth — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 09:29:41 -0500

Though it's early in the NCAA men's basketball season and many things can happen between now and March, tonight's matchup between Michigan State and Gonzaga had all the feeling of a Sweet 16 game.

The play was perhaps sloppy at times, but the intensity was high from the start, with players hitting the floor for loose balls, banging down low, and challenging on the perimeter.

The last time these teams met was in an epic confrontation in the 2005 Maui Invitational that went to triple overtime, with Adam Morrison and the Zags prevailing in an unforgettable early season battle.

So coming into this one, I really had the feeling this was a trap game for MSU.

They are ranked uncomfortably high given the injuries sustained at several key positions, and Gonzaga (though somehow unranked) has got to be considered an elite program at this point.

This is just the type of game that the Spartans tend to lose early in the season, even when they go on to have impressive runs later on.

It turned out that Gonzaga is even better than I thought. They are really good—I mean top 10 good—and I have no doubts that they'll be ranked at least that high by the end of the season.

At various times the Zags had their 7'5" center Will Foster on the floor to complement their other seven-footer Robert Sacre, who may have the best-looking jump hook that I've seen from a man his size in quite some time.

They can get up and down the floor too.

Add to this long athletic guards in Matt Bouldin and Steven Gray, a spark plug point guard in Demetri Goodson, and the multitalented Elias Harris, and they'll have a hard time finding anyone in the West Coast Conference that will be able to match up with them.

Michigan State, the No. 2-ranked team in the nation, had trouble matching up with them all night.

This is one of the reasons that I think this was a particularly impressive win for the Spartans. They didn't match up well up front, had a hard time reaching the defensive glass in the first half, and for much of the game were throwing the ball away and looking rather tentative on the offensive end.

Gonzaga came steaming out of the gates, building up a 13-point lead largely because of their superior play inside led by Sacre, who had 17 points in the game. The Spartans, on the other hand, looked lost in their offensive sets, turning the ball over a Tom Izzo-hair-tearing 20 times to accompany early foul trouble.

From a Spartan standpoint the first half wasn't pretty, but amazingly, even though they were badly outplayed, the Spartans made a late run before intermission to cut the lead to five. Their scrappy defense never let up, and even though they made their share of mistakes, it was enough to keep them in the game.

The second half was a classic and somewhat of a role reversal.

It was the Spartans who started out hot and the Zags who committed some early and pointless fouls. This ended up being a large factor in the game, as it kept Sacre on the bench, and his low-post game was the one thing that the Sparty D had no answer for.

And Izzo had his team crashing the boards.

State ended the game with a 43-30 rebounding advantage even though they were giving up significant height at all positions on the floor. Draymond Green pulled down 10 boards, and Durrell Summers led all players with 11 boards from his guard position.

In the end it was Spartyball that won it for them.

Some great late-game coaching by Izzo got the offense clicking, and a suffocating D made things tough on Gonzaga. Kalin Lucas turned up the heat and ended with 19 points, while Summers added 21 to complete his monster double-double.

But all that said, the Zags never backed down.

They played at a high level through the end, and given the number of young players on their team, I find it pretty impressive the way they walked into East Lansing and gave the Spartans all they could handle.

They'll be a legitimate contender by the end of the year, if they aren't already one now, and will have plenty of chances to prove it during their brutal preseason that includes the likes of Wake Forest, Duke, the Maui invitational, Washington State, Oklahoma, and Davidson among others.

By the time they start West Coast Conference play, they should be rolling.

I also can't help but be impressed with the Spartans, as they didn't play particularly well, still have major injuries to contend with, and still clawed out the win.

And somehow it felt inevitable.

We learned a lot about both teams tonight.

We learned that the Zags are for real, and we learned that State can beat a team like that playing shorthanded and sloppy.

Later in the year that will certainly catch up with them, and I guarantee that if they meet Gonzaga come March on a neutral court, tonight's effort would not be enough.

But State has lots of room to grow too, and I can't wait to see how the year unfolds, as this game already has provided a tourney-style atmosphere that had me on the edge of my seat.

College basketball is back!

In the end it was a prelude to the Dance, as both these teams will be boogieing come March Madness time, and it just may be that they find themselves partnered again.

Between then and now, I recommend that the Spartans learn a new step or two.

Before I'm Dead: My Bucket List and the Detroit Lions

Daniel Muth — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 12:34:58 -0500

Before I'm dead, there are a number of things that I'd like to witness in my life, and most of them seem fairly attainable since I'm not greedy and have never asked for too much.

But there's one that I'm not so sure about.

There's one that is obscured by a persistent black cloud of such opaqueness that even the strongest sunlight might not have the power to burn it away.

There was a shooting star that tried once, and he was the brightest of all time, though even his magnificence could not usher in a wind powerful enough to completely clear the air of the heavy loathsome thing.

It was enough to catch a glimpse of what might lie beyond, shimmering faintly, but the effects were shortly lived, scuttled and burned, eventually adding mass to that which was massive.

And it's weight becomes greater with every passing year.

Now, I'm a relatively young man, with no obvious health concerns, but the thing of which I speak has such inertia that I know it will take nearly the remainder of my time on this earth, if not more, to see it turned around.

With this in mind I'm starting a bucket list and it starts with this: Before I'm dead, I want the Detroit Lions to win an NFL title.

Yes...and cats and dogs living to together, and Armageddon, and the cow jumped over the moon.

And before you tell me that this is not the time to be pondering these dilemmas, because the Lions are a young team with a new management and a new coach, I think it appropriate to remind all the Honolulu blue faithful that this might be exactly the time to start thinking about it if you've pushed into your thirties and beyond.

If I remain moderately vital, I probably have a good 40 years left in the tank.

Is that enough?

My god, I think I hear those seconds ticking away, just as surely as I see them thrown away with every interception, penalty, and ridiculous personnel decision.

Before I'm dead, I want to see competence in Detroit.

Before I'm dead, I'd like see the Lions respected as champions rather than dismissed as a laughingstock.

Before I'm dead I'd like the season of the game I love the most to be a joy, rather than a 16-week journey through heartache and hell.

Before I die, I'd like to see the meek inherit the earth.

But I fear that I'm asking too much.

I fear that the Lions are as far away from respectability as they've even been, with the cupboards barren of talent, a young QB eating up a ton of cap space while peppering the field with interceptions, and the team inevitably ruddered toward another cap-disastrous top three pick.

I fear that the Lions are absolutely no better than they were last year when they re-wrote the record books with their abysmal play, a trend that they seem all too happy to continue this year and beyond.

The Lions already broke the record for continuous road losses earlier in the decade over a three year stretch (2001-2003) when they failed to win one road game. That streak ended mercifully at 24 games, but seems to be well within reach of the team again as they currently stand at 15 games and seem unlikely to change their ways with remaining road games at Minnesota, at Cincinnati, at Baltimore, and at San Francisco.

Unbelievably, the Lions have a chance to break this record twice in the same decade, which of course would be another unbelievable record.

And it wouldn't be a record they were "breaking" so much as inventing.

The Lions have major talent deficiencies at most all positions on the field (O line, D line, RB, WR, CB, FS, etc.) and have unanswered question marks at the rest, including the new coaching staff and front office.

And we know all we need to know about the ownership of course, which may be the most telling prognosticator about the immediate future of this team. Every screw and cog has been scrapped and changed over the years other than this one and the team is still malfunctioning badly.

Makes for a pretty easy diagnosis.

But all this admitted, I still don't feel completely silly speaking my dream aloud.

Even though I'm certain that the Lions have many years to go in order to "right the ship," and even though I'm certain that there will be widespread regime change before it happens, I maintain a stubborn allegiance to my convictions.

And I take solace in the fact that the trial hasn't beaten me yet.

Because when Pandora opened her box of evils, setting sickness, wickedness, and the Detroit Lions into the world of men she also unwittingly discovered man's greatest virtue.

Hope.

And faced with a immovable object shrouded in midst that eats a piece of my heart with every fumbled handoff and missed tackle, I too dare to hope.

I hope that one day the Detroit Lions will win an NFL title.

And I hope that the good Lord has the kindness to send it before I'm dead.

I may be too young to be writing a bucket list, but then again, we're talking about the Detroit Lions here.

Michigan State Loss Over Iowa Blamed Squarely on Coaching

Daniel Muth — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 00:10:20 -0400

The first thing I want to do after Michigan State's disappointing last-second loss to Iowa is to give some due credit to the Hawkeyes for their incredible defensive effort.

That was the best play by a front defensive four that I've seen all season, and the inability of the Michigan State offensive line to even lay a hand on them for most of the game was truly remarkable.

Adrian Clayborn looked like Lawrence Taylor out there, and Sparty's O-line was running scared all night.

Iowa's defense is very, very good.

Their offense? Not so much.

That's what makes the decision by Mark Dantonio to sell out his defense and concede three quarters of the field in the final seconds of the game absolute blasphemy.

I've chosen not to harp on the terrible personal foul call by the refs that directly led to Iowa's second-to-last field goal producing drive, because even after that absolute pile of a call, State's defense picked itself up and held the Hawkeyes out of the end zone...again.

Was it a momentum killer and possibly a game changing call? Yes, but that's not what lost the Spartans the game.

The game was lost by their coach.

Sure their receivers would do well to catch the ball every now and then when it hits them in the hands on third and long, and sure their O-line has to be asking about the license plate of the truck that continued to roll over them all night, but for the most part State matched Iowa's defensive play (and then some) and played moderately better on offense.

The stats will tell you that the game was as tight as they come, with both teams converting only five of their third downs and State holding the total yardage edge with Iowa holding the time of possession lead.

But 70 of Iowa's 276 yards came on the last drive, when Mark Dantonio decided to vote no confidence in a defense that had absolutely dominated play for the entire game.

Even though the Hawkeyes had struggled to move the ball all night, and had not managed to crack the Spartans tough man-to-man coverage, Dantonio went to the prevent with just less than two minutes left in the game, officially conceding three quarters of the field to a team that looked offensively challenged at the best of times.

With the damage then done, and his defense free to attack again, the team came up with big play after big play in the red zone, until a defensive holding call gave the Hawkeyes a fresh set of downs from the seven yard line to win the game.

The holding call was the right call, even though the play had absolutely no shot at a completion with or without it, and unfortunately was one of a couple familiar "Sparty errors" that came up big in the game.

Whether it was jumping off sides to give away a free first down on a crucial drive or dropping passes in the bread basket, there is little doubt in my mind that the biggest mistake was by the coach when he took the game out of their hands.

The game they had already won.

The game their defence had dominated.

The game that by all rights should have been theirs.

For all the talk about how Mark Dantonio has led to some sort of renaissance in East Lansing, the results look painfully similar to me.

Terrible last second losses to Central Michigan, Notre Dame, Iowa, and their best attempt to spit one up versus Michigan.

In each of those contests State was the better team on the field for much of the game and in each of those contests State went into conservation mode when they thought they had the game in the bag.

Good programs win games, while losers just try to hang on.

And at this point you can't blame it on the kids.

They played their hearts out tonight versus a very good Iowa team.

And when the game was in hand, and the blood and sweat had been spent, their coach coughed up a hairball.

Concede your own seven yard line?

I don't care how good your defense is, if you keep letting folks gun at the end zone from that distance only bad things can happen.

Mark Dantonio owes his team, and more specifically his defense, an apology.

And for the rest of us it may be time to start wondering about an explanation as well.

Yes, this team is young and will only continue to improve, but for God's sake have a little faith in them man.

Under Dantonio's watch, the Spartans continue to lose to marquee opponents under the bright lights, and that's not what we brought him in here for.

So, while the guy we could have had is now lighting it up with Dantonio's old team the Cincinnati Bearcats, I think a fair question to ask is what exactly do we have?

And where do we go from here?

Oh, to be a Sparty fan, perpetually asking these questions...

Go Green.

Go White.

Oklahoma's Sam Bradford Shows Us Why High Picks Should Take the Money

Daniel Muth — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 11:06:31 -0400

I will say that I have a lot of respect for guys like Oklahoma QB Sam Bradford and Florida's TimTebow for caring about collegiate competition, their teammates, and their respective school communities enough to stay in school and chase national titles.

It shows that money is not the only thing that motivates them, and it shows a competitive spirit that is truly admirable.

Unfortunately, it also shows the naivete of youth and the belief of immortality so particularly prevalent in young athletic men.

I say this from experience, having once been one myself, and though I was never in the situation that Sam Bradford was in last year, I can honestly say at that point in my life, I would have seriously considered doing the same thing.

The money will come, I would have thought.

These guys need me here, I would have thought.

I owe it to the loyal fans who pin so much of their hope on this team.

These sentiments are rooted in a type of honor, but the problem is that we come to find out later in life that most of these people wouldn't have done the same thing for us.

We find out that the love of the fan is strictly conditional , encapsulated within the bounds of a win-loss percentage and a national title shot. We find out that these people who elevate us, will just as surely tear us down and forget about us should our lives take an unfortunate turn.

We find out that honor is not ubiquitous in this world, and we become fastidiously selective about who we bestow it upon.

When Tim Tebow lay motionless on the turf after a monster hit that sent his head ricocheting off the knee of a teammate, my initial reaction was to hope he was alright.

The reaction of the media was to posit what this might do to the Gators national title hopes.

The reaction of the Florida fan was to fervently argue (on these boards and elsewhere) that Tebow should play in the LSU game come hell or high water.

Some said that the only people that were truly concerned about Tebow's health were his immediate family and the rest of us were just out to deny UF another title shot.

Well, Tim played, and fortunately seems to be alright, though we really can't know because the effects of serious head injuries often take years to develop.

What the incident did show however, is that many of the people Tebow felt compelled to suit up for simply weren't worth it.

Sure they'll love you forever if you don't cross them, but if you sit out a game with a legitimate health concern and cost them a title shot, you best be prepared to handle the fallout.

And the situation now with Sam Bradford has the makings of a Greek tragedy.

Bradford, the defending Heisman trophy winner who turned down the chance at being the number one overall pick, so he could come back and lead the Sooners to glory, is now in a state of limbo.

He turned down $41 million guaranteed dollars from the Detroit Lions, as most analysts thought him more NFL ready than eventual pick Matthew Stafford, and lifelong security for his family and other close loved ones.

Security for the people who really care about him vs. a title for the folks that only care about the jersey on his back.

Unfortunately, fate often throws a cruel wrench into the gears of the honorable.

Early in the season vs. BYU, Bradford was sacked hard and seriously sprained his shoulder.

His throwing shoulder .

He was out for three games and was sorely missed by his club.

He returned in sharp form vs. Baylor, but was once again slammed to the turf on his injured shoulder during the game yesterday against No. 2 Texas and was forced off the field.

And though it's still early and we're not sure about the extent of this injury, you can be sure that NFL scouts are taking full stock of the situation in Norman.

Questions about Bradford's durability are arising, questions about the health of his throwing shoulder, questions concerning whether he'll ever be the same if he has to go under the knife.

And though there are truly some fans that feel badly for Bradford and will remember all the great things he did for the University of Oklahoma, there are many more who will remember what could have been, or simply not remember at all ten years down the line.

Ten years down the line, of course, Bradford will still be around.

And it may be that he rebounds well and has a solid NFL career, or it may be that he does great things outside of football and uses his experience to help others, and it may be that he one day looks back and sees the trials of this season as something he had to go through to achieve what he did in life.

But there's also a lot of truth in the simply overstated phrase that's been handed down through time.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

And when you're talking about 41 million birds, I think the statement is even more apt.

Bad things happen in this world and doors of opportunity often only open once.

So as an older wiser and perhaps more cynical man, I think it's clear that a high draft pick has to take the money.

It may sound crass, but them's the times we live in.

Meow Mix: On the Road to Find Out with the Detroit Lions

Daniel Muth — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 10:51:02 -0400

So on and on I go, the seconds tick the time out
There's so much left to know, and I'm on the road to find out

I doubt that Cat Stevens was considering the plight of the Detroit Lions when he penned his famous song about searching through life, but it seems to be a fairly appropriate summation of the state of a Lions fan.

Wondering if one win means anything, wondering if the front office is for real, and wondering what we'll see from the Cats this week against the Bears.

Granted, wondering generally means that a glimmer of hope is on the horizon, which is quite a bit better than despair, but at this point in the game I can't be quite sure if it's a fool's hope or not.

During my tenure as a Lions fan, most hopes have turned out as such, which is why our fanbase is probably more cautious than any other in the NFL.

Once burned twice shy right?

A thousand times burned, makes you down right jittery.

Or maybe that's the morning coffee.

Either way, now that I've come down a bit from the big win versus the Redskins, it's probably a good time to evaluate the team and think about some of the things we can build on as we head out on the road.

Well in the end I'll know, but on the way I wonder
Through descending snow, and through the frost and thunder

Hailing from the wintry state of Michigan aside, the Lions fanbase has been treated to more frost and thunder than any other, and sometimes I wonder if the glorious Barry Sanders wasn't just a celestial lollypop given to us by the almighty so he could yank it away.

But they also say that the storm is fiercest just before the break, and we found out last week that there are a number of things the Lions have going for them.

1) The defense is improving.

Opening up against New Orleans was probably not a fair evaluation of a Defense still looking to find its identity. The Saints have hung points on everyone so far, and seem poised for a monster offensive season.

The D looked much better against the Vikings, holding them to 265 net yards while having to deal with a litany of turnovers handed to them by a struggling offense.

And last week versus Washington, they were impressive in many aspects of the game.

The Linebacking core looked as good as they've been in a long time, and this will have a trickle down effect on everyone else. Larry Foote had a monster game against Washington, and I can't emphasize enough how stability in the middle (something we've been missing since Spielman) can help everyone else.

Louis Delmas (my favorite pick of the entire 2009 draft) has played well throughout the season and came up strong again last week, leading the secondary in tackles (third on the team) and showing the consistent ability to deliver the big hit from his safety position.

This makes the middle of the defensive backfield (backers through safties) a tough place for opposing teams to make a living and should force opposing QB's to make more difficult throws.

Though we probably can't count on our D-line to get much pressure on the opposing quarterback, they have been fairly stout against the run in the last couple games.

Having a good backing core helps, but if the big men in front can hold up their end of the bargain in the running game, then the Lions should be able to manufacture some pressure with various blitzes and stunts.

The D pressured Campbell a number of times last week.

2) The offense is still a work in progress, but is showing signs.

No team is going to win many games when it's quarterback is throwing interceptions in the red zone. So give Stafford some credit. Instead of forcing the ball into triple coverage last week, he managed the team a good deal better, resulting in field goals that eventually won the game.

Granted, when we put some good drives together, we'd rather come away with touchdowns, but I think the first stage in the maturation of a young QB is to learn how not to lose the game.

By not turning the ball over and instead turning it over to his hall-of-fame placekicker, Stafford took a big step.

His next step is to learn how to throw a fade pattern to his ultimate weapon Calvin Johnson.

With Johnson's vertical advantage over every DB in the NFL, a great low-risk high-reward pass in the red zone is the fade, putting some air under the ball such that only his receiver can come down with it.

When given the chance during the Skins game, Stafford threw bullets that didn't even have a chance. Again, better than handing it over to the other team as he did in the first two games, but a throw he's going to have to learn to make if he wants to continue to improve.

Add a suddenly vital running game into the mix, and it well might be that our young quarterback has a few weapons at his disposal, and his offensive line has at least been mediocre in the early going if not great.

We'll learn much more about this unit tomorrow against the Bears.

But sometimes you have to moan when nothing seems to suit you
But nevertheless you know you're locked towards the future

The immediate future for this team is tomorrow.

The Bears are a team that is still looking to find itself too.

After a disappointing opening day loss to the Packers, during which their much ballyhooed off-season acquisition Jay Cutler threw more interceptions than Matthew Stafford, the Bears have responded strongly, defeating the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Seattle Seahawks.

Both those wins were close, however, and both were against teams who like the Detroit Lions are now 1-2.

So while many have called for the Lions to continue to improve against the Bears, a sentiment I agree with, I would also argue that the best improvement they could make would be to walk away with a "W" on the road.

The road.

It's been a frightening place for the Lions over the last decade or so and represents the next test for Detroit in their search for legitimacy.

So on and on I go, the seconds tick the time out
There's so much left to know, and I'm on the road to find out

Go Lions.

Meow Mix: Zero, One, Infinity and the Detroit Lions

Daniel Muth — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 20:21:15 -0400

Guillaume de L'Hospital, the great 17th century French Mathematician, wrote the first book of differential calculus and is largely credited with the invention of "L'Hospital's rule" an expression that allows for the solving of limits of indeterminate form.

What does this have to do with the Detroit Lions?

Well the numbers of "indeterminate form" that L'Hospital was considering, involved fractions in which zero and infinity were either divided by themselves or each other.

For example, how can you rate the improvement of a team that won zero games last season?

We can't rightly say that the Lions are twice as good as they were last year, for example, because twice as good as zero is still zero.

This is where our old friend L'Hospital comes into play.

In the same sense that zero is the complete absence of anything (in this case wins) infinity represents the other end of that spectrum, a number of largeness beyond reckoning.

It would therefore take a number of this size to transform zero into any real integer such as one, the number posted by the Lions with their first win in nearly two calendar years Sunday afternoon vs. the Washington Redskins.

We can now say that the Lions are therefore infinitely better than they were last year, and thus can lay claim to the title, "most improved NFL team of all time."

Only a team that has spent a winless season can even fathom this type of turnaround.

A team that won a single game in a given year and then 16 the next, would only be 16 times better (from a record standpoint) and thus couldn't even come close to the infinite improvement of the Lions.

In a game that wasn't exactly the prettiest ever played, the Lions somehow held on and experienced the phenomenon that mathematicians, religious scholars, and general ponderers have considered for millennia.

The creation of something from nothing.

Early in the game, the Lions looked sharp with rookie Matthew Stafford hooking up with Bryant Johnson for a touchdown strike that capped off an impressive 99-yard drive.

This was set up by a goal line stand turned in by a ramped up defense that played remarkably well throughout the entire game.

When the field was segmented vertically, with clear throwing lanes, Stafford was accurate and threw darts, showing the strong arm that made him the No. 1 pick.

He still struggled however when the field set up horizontally and required him to put some air under the ball or drop it in between zones.

Nonetheless, the kid clearly looked the best we've seen so far, and with 21-of-36 passing for 241 yards one TD and zero interceptions, I'd say that he might be on his way to some good things for the Lions.

Add a solid rushing effort from Kevin Smith, who broke 100 yards before injuring his shoulder in the second half, and inspired play by the aforementioned defense, and the Lions looked like a team headed in the right direction.

Granted, the Redskins looked absolutely terrible, such that no matter how many times the Lions tried to lose the game the Skins gave it right back to them, but at this point, a win's a win and Lions fans everywhere should be rejoicing.

Just too bad that not many of them actually went to the game.

In front of the smallest crowd to witness a Lions game in 20 years, the team battled, put pressure on Jason Campbell, bottled up Clinton Portis, and made some timely plays in the secondary.

And though the Lions have a long way to go, as this was a game they probably should've won by a good bit more, I've got nothing but smiles to offer any of you.

The Lions win!

I'll say that again because it felt so good.

The Lions win!

It seems like anything is possible.

Super Bowl, Baby!

Er...maybe not.

Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. Great minds like L'Hospital were only considering the conundrum of infinity, whereas Lions fans have been considering an even more bewildering enigma for far too long.

But here's what I know.

From zero came one.

And if it took infinity to get there, then another one, two, or ten can't be that far behind.

Can they?

The NFL Cap Is Socialism.

Daniel Muth — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 16:13:14 -0400

In the latest ESPN poll on the matter, 80% of nearly 12,000 people polled thought that the NFL is better off under a capped system because it maintains competitive balance.

This overwhelming trend of sentiment held up in every single state no matter the general political sentiment. For example, in generally left leaning Massachusetts, 71% of the respondents thought the NFL cap was a good idea, whereas in generally right leaning South Carolina, 77% thought the cap should remain in place.

Unbelievably, stringently conservative Wyoming saw 95% of the voters in favor of the cap, though I'm prone to admit this result may be flawed as only 22 people in this state responded to the poll.

In no state did less than 70% percent of people come out in favor of the cap.

Why is this so interesting?

Well because at it's root, the NFL cap is socialism, a share the wealth philosophy designed to even out the monetary distribution in the NFL and secure a competitive balance.

It's a system that punishes large market teams and wealthy owners whose revenues could support more lavish spending, and accommodates small market teams of modest means, ensuring them a chance at the playoffs if they spend the league minimum, which is also required by the collective bargaining agreement.

You see, contrary to popular belief, socialism is not a political arrangement, it is an economic one, whereby intervention (either governmental or organizational) is used to ensure a more equal access to resources.

In this case, a cap on spending prevents the same scenarios that capitalism generally creates: a rich get richer world where large market teams tend to dominate, and the little guys tend to atrophy.

There is little doubt that in an uncapped system, the earning power of the NFL's best athlete's would increase drastically, though there is also little doubt that the average NFL player would feel the squeeze, as there would then be less money to go around and small market teams would no longer be required to spend the league minimum which is also essential to the "competitive balance" desired by the league.

And I find the result of these polls so interesting because "socialism" has become such an oft-accused and misused word in our temperamental political climate that I'm not so sure that most people even know what it means.

There is no doubt that the NFL cap is socialism. Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones said as much in comments he made about revenue sharing last week.

It just seems ironic that so many should be for it in the National Football League, when not being directly applied to them, when so many are against it from a governmental perspective, even though in theory it promises the same "competitive balance" just on a more far-reaching scale.

And it's not that I'm necessarily promoting socialism over capitalism here or vice versa, as I'm a moderate that feels there's a time and place for both, but rather find this unprecedented support of socialism in the NFL to be a rather curious trend.

This is a blog article at heart, so I'm interested in hearing some of the community takes.

Let the mayhem commence, but let's try to keep it civil.

Blurring the Lines: The Strange Case Of Caster Semenya

Daniel Muth — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 16:51:44 -0400

Depending on whose statistics you quote and what characteristics you apply, the commonality of "intersex" individuals ranges quite a bit. But in a widely quoted and recognized book on the subject, Anne Fausto-Sterling reported that approximately 1.7 percent of children are born with some form of this condition.

And since there are approximately 6.8 billion people on Earth, we can estimate that roughly 115 million individuals on the planet could be classified under the same category as Caster Semenya, the embattled South African runner whose sexuality has been questioned in the wake of her impressive 800-meter win at the World Championships in Berlin in August.

For those that have a hard time visualizing this number, it is more than one-third of the population of the entire United States—a lot of people.

So what's really strange about the case of Semenya is that it really isn't strange at all. What's strange is that we've so whole-heartedly ignored this section of the population, leaving them to suffer the daily indignities of not fitting into a system that doesn't even recognize their existence.

I've never seen an intersex sign on a bathroom door and I've never really bothered to consider if there should even be one. So I can imagine how these individuals might view themselves and how ridiculed and ignored they must feel.

There is no significant movement for intersex rights. There is no affirmative action aimed at helping intersex minorities along the way.

Because we pretend that they don't exist, intersex individuals often hide in broad daylight, at school, at work and in sport, even at the World Championships. They portray a role that we're more comfortable with and avoid the humiliation of becoming true carnival acts.

In all likelihood, Semenya didn't even know that she was intersex. Though well muscled, the outward manifestation of her physiology is female. But it is now being reported that she may also be in possession of testicles that simply never descended.

How would she know that?

She was raised as a girl in a remote part of South Africa, where medical examinations are neither as frequent or thorough.

And though I'm sure her life was filled with the suffering of a woman not thought to be attractive, there seems to be no deceit involved in her athletic competition.

I imagine she found it to be a refuge from a world that can be all too cruel.

A world that has now reappeared in the wake of her greatest triumph. A world that seems poised to call her a cheat. A world that isn't sure that there is any place for her and would rather she crawled back under a rock in South Africa.

A world that, at the very least, wants her to know she's a freak.

The problem is that although her outspoken detractors may be crude and vile in their application of her shunning, there are uncomfortable and not easily-solved problems that she presents.

The first of these regards why we even distinguish between men's and women's athletics at all. The basic premise is that women can't compete with men at the highest levels and therefore should be allowed their own category.

This ignores the many shades of gray.

There is not a sharp line that designates one from the other. Most world class female athletes do have more masculine bodies than the average woman, do have higher testosterone levels than the average woman and do exploit those advantages to become champions.

The same could be said of men.

Shaquille O'Neal is clearly a man, but not like one I've ever met. His high levels of human growth hormone, testosterone and other natural steroids have made him a giant.

While he would be labeled a cheat if he was caught artificially injecting HGH, O'Neal's hyperactive pituitary gland seems to be within the realm of fairness.

How is this so different than Semenya?

At her very essence she is a person with female physiology, but with naturally occurring increases in testosterone production. And if she isn't allowed to compete, what are we to tell the 115 million individuals just like her when they want to compete in athletics?

That there's no place for them here?

Just as we seem to have denied them a place in society?

Already humiliated, Semenya has drawn back into seclusion. She has been allowed to keep her medals but not without a building uproar that other medals be awarded to the "true" winners of that race in Germany.

Those "true" females with the more masculine bodies and elevated testosterone levels.

I can only hope the Semenya doesn't allow this to crush her.

I hope she shows up for her next race and forces us to recognize her, consider her and, come what may, see her for the person she is, rather than the oddity we'd rather ignore.

Because if not, the world will forget all about Semenya or think of her as a cheat, settling back into its comfortable ignorance.

That's human nature.

And if you consider the annals of history, unfortunately, there's nothing strange about that.

Boise State's Hout Deserved to Get Punched in the Face.

Daniel Muth — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 14:32:25 -0400

Let me be clear about the punch thrown by Oregon's LeGarrette Blount in the aftermath of the Ducks humiliating defeat at the hands of Boise State: It has no place in collegiate athletics and his year-long suspension is severe, but justified.

But let's talk about the other guy, the guy that instigated all this. The guy who thought that he'd fire some inappropriate and insulting trash talk at a guy who had to be pretty disappointed at the result of the game.

It may be true that Blount's actions were those of a sore loser, but Hout in some ways was even worse. They were the actions of a poor winner, whose victory on the field was somehow not enough without a chance to humiliate a player on the other side.

The game was over.

So while the entire country seems to agree that Blount's punch was somewhat of a cheap shot (a sentiment I agree with), I would also contend that charging and bumping into an opposing player whom you've just defeated on the field of play is also a cheap shot. The kind that, outside the bounds of a football stadium, would be something that might get you punched in the face.

Don't let your mouth write a check that your ass can't cash.

Isn't that how the saying goes?

Hout charged Blount as a charlatan, talking garbage that he thought he could get away with, like the little brother who talks trash because he knows his older brother will keep him from getting his ass kicked.

What did he say?

Well the reports are all over the map, some quite shocking, others mere cheap shots, but I'm not sure (as a reader points out below) that the exact substance really matters. It was clearly disrespectful to say the least.

And you know what? You go out of your way to come over and insult me after I just lost a very disappointing game?

Guess what? My initial reaction is going to be to want to punch you in the face.

In the aftermath, Oregon made a clear statement that it doesn't condone the type of sportsmanship displayed by its star running back. Coach Chip Kelly immediately suspended Blount for the entire season, his senior season. This was a season that was special not just because of the opportunity to finish up a collegiate career on a good team, but because Blount is an NFL prospect.

His punch has cost him dearly: his college career and possibly a lot of money and a professional future.

In this measure, I think the suspension is a little extreme because it costs him so much. Half a year would be more appropriate, but let's give Oregon some credit for drawing a clear line in the sand.

On the other side, the man responsible for this entire encounter is not being suspended at all. Nothing.

The coward who slandered a man while he was down because he thought he could get away with it, was in fact, correct. He did get away with it.

At Boise State, apparently anything goes.

Already notorious for its unsavory fans, who were also heard screaming the F-word at Blount as well as threatening him with folding chairs, the inaction of the Boise State football program in regard to Hout borders on approval.

I'm invoking the man rules here. I'll be first to tell you that in everyday society we can't have people randomly punching people, but any athlete knows that on the playground, Hout gets punched in the face and probably a little bit more. Then he sucks it up, deals with it, and hopefully learns a lesson.

What lesson is he learning here? What lesson is Boise State (a supposed academic institution) teaching him?

Hout deserved to get punched in the face. If Boise State is incapable of policing its own players and fans, then vigilante justice is the only justice in town.

You'd think a school in the wild wild West could deal with that.

A Michigan State Fan Feeling Sorry For Rich Rodriguez

Daniel Muth — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 13:52:01 -0400

Growing up I didn't like the University of Michigan for a number of reasons, many of them stemming from the simple situational condition of being a Michigan State fan.

My family were Sparty people after-all, my Grandfather a dean of the education school, and I was brain-washed early and irrevocably to think in shades of green rather than maze and blue.

On crisp fall Saturdays I might head to a game with my grandparents and enjoy the cross generational thrill of rooting for the team, watching my usually mild mannered grandfather get fired up and blunder the occasional "damn" or "crap" (big time swear words for him), only to be reprimanded by a sharp "Bob!" by my ever vigilant grandmother.

And needless to say, the University of Michigan beat up on us quite a bit. Across all sports, Michigan often succeeded while State (though occasionally rising up) seemed mired in mediocrity. These were times before Tom Izzo established a reliable brand of excellence that had not been seen at MSU since the 1950's.

Playing second fidle to anyone, particularly to the young and vainglorious, fuels envy which is generally the precursor to outright dislike.

Michigan's fans were often elitist as well, trumpeting their schools success as if it was there own, even though most had no ties to UM other than their bandwagoning lust for self-esteem. And I found nothing more pathetic than the Michigan fan who presumed to lecture me (an A student) on Michigan's excellent Academic reputation. The innuendo was of course that State was garbage (hardly true) and I took it as an assault on Gramps, who worked at MSU selflessly for many years, and who was eventually inducted into the State of Michigan's educator hall of fame.

So yeah, I don't like Michigan. So much so that when choosing a pompous reputable state school for my own graduate career, I went to the University of Virginia, because I couldn't fathom the hypocrisy of teaching at Michigan.

But Grampa Bob also taught me the difference between right and wrong, and he also taught me that fandom (though powerful at times) is often another guise by the mob to invoke the ugliness that the mob often demands: the impulse to bully, the indignant self-righteous hypocrisy, and the faceless anonymity of doing another a bad turn.

The things so repugnantly perpetuated by the media in these voyeuristic times.

And so as I sit here watching anonymous cowards make statements about the credibility of Michigan football practices, I'm filled with a heat that evaporates any water on the brain acquired during a lifetime of rooting against Michigan.

Grandpa Bob cared little for fandom that strayed into immorality, or petulance, or ill-will. And so the spirit of my Grandfather demands that I now leap to the defense of Rich Rodriguez, even while many Michigan fans would prefer to pile on.

I feel sorry for Rich Rodriguez.

First of all, I've never been a fan of the notion " anonymous accusers," this shield used by the media to justify reporting a story without the bother of having a source's credibility scrutinized. If you've got it in your head to ruin somebody, and potentially the University of Michigan's entire football program, then you should at least have the cajones to do it in the open, rather than sniping from the bushes wielding the media as your gun.

Like the NRA that'll tell you that "guns don't kill people, people kill people," the media likes to report anonymous unsubstantiated stories under the guise of "just reporting the news." Both these arguments neglect the relative ease with which their preferred weapon allows a homicide to occur. Guns make it easy for crazy people to kill people, and anonymous stories make it easy to kill a man's reputation without the messy need for substantiation.

It is no secret that Rich Rod is not loved by the Michigan fanbase, after a disastrous inaugural season which saw many athletes defect the program, and it is no secret that there is plenty of speculation as to how long he'll last at the school anyway. Pundits don't predict great things from this years squad which if true, means Rodriguez will be on a very hot seat by year's end with or without these trivial allegations.

The NCAA of course is predictibly looking in to the matter, pretending to be concerned about the players it so obviously exploits, provoking many coaches and players (present and past) to question the motivation here.

Anyone that knows anything about big-time college football knows that every single program in some way is violating the time restrictions "imposed" by the NCAA.

Every one, without exception.

Those "voluntary" off-season workouts and film sessions?

Guess what, they aren't voluntary, if you don't attend them you won't play. Period.

Beyond that you'll definitely hear about it from your teammates and coaches if you aren't showing up.

During the season playing on the team is like a full-time job, particularly if you're on the road, what with practice, film study, workouts, and much more of these "voluntary" exercises that aren't voluntary.

“Twenty hours is a very, very small portion of what you do, especially if you’re a quarterback at a high-profile school,” said ex-UM quarterback Chad Henne who didn't play under Rodriguez. “Twenty hours isn’t enough for you. You have to be in there by yourself, studying film, no coaches around, and doing it on your own. That’s where the leadership comes in and that’s where, if you want to get better and play better, you have to do it on your own.”

So these allogations of impropriety really sound pretty ridiculous when coming from the mouths of disgruntled ex-players and being investigated by the NCAA, the organization so responsible for enriching themselves based on the obvious and wide-ranging infractions of its time restrictions.

Add to this now the case of Rich Rod being cast as a villain as the backer of a real estate deal that went belly up, even though he was the victim of fraud in that circumstance, his lack of success as the head of the UM football program and his messy divorce from West Virginia, and it equals trying times for the Wolverines head football coach.

So let's be reasonable here and get off the guys back.

Personally, I don't care if he coaches the UM football team into the ground, but that doesn't mean I want the NCAA (an organization I despise even more than UM) to come in and club them for some trumped up charges about time violation.

The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, and if anything it's made me sympathize with the embattled coach.

Football's a game that usually involves a lot of piling on, but when the whistle blows and enough is enough, then it's time to get off.

The Devil Wears Armani: How Kentucky Is Selling Its Soul for Wins

Daniel Muth — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 15:33:23 -0400

In art and literature, the Devil is often outwardly portrayed as a hideous beast with horns and goat-legs and flame-red skin.

Some renditions of the Devil show him more like Nosferatu, drawn and gaunt, with a twisted face and coal-black eyes.

Often the beast wears tattered robes or nothing at all to help portray a lack of civility that somehow departs from the humane.

Always, the creature is meant to look frightening.

In real-life however, the devil never shows up looking so obvious. In a time of gigantic Ponzi schemes, wider system-level Wall Street fraud, ambulance chasers, and corrupt politicians, the devil is more likely to be wearing a suit and tie, maybe handsome with slicked back hair and an easy cocksure manner.

And the Devil will promise you things.

He might promise you an unrealistic return on your investments. He might promise to fight for the people and then line his pockets with campaign contributions. He might promise an easy solution to a complicated problem, or he might promise a hungering fanbase a return to national supremacy.

The problem with making deals with the Devil, of course, is that in the end, there is often a hefty payment that must be extracted, the type of payment that the Memphis men's basketball team seems poised to pay now.

And it also must be recognized that the devil only succeeds against the vainglorious, the lazy, the desperate, and the slovenly.

It is human weakness that he so cleverly exploits, whispering his fragrant prose about getting something for nothing: fortune, fame, and championships.

He promises the quick and the easy, while the terms of the deal are coded in the fine print to be discovered after it's too late.

And so when I read the Governor of Kentucky thinks John Calipari is an "upstanding guy," and that the President of the University of Kentucky feels that the quagmire left behind by Calipari at both Memphis and UMass is "not a University of Kentucky issue," and that the Wildcat faithful are mostly behind this dude despite full knowledge of his nefarious past, one can only assume that they've already signed their name on that dotted line.

The dotted line. The one from which there is no return.

An "upstanding guy," Mr. Governor?

It is no coincidence that Calipari finally decided to jump ship to Kentucky on the eve of major NCAA sanctions accusing Memphis star Derrick Rose of having another person take his SAT exam for him.

"Not a University of Kentucky issue," Mr. President?

Last time I checked, this guy was the head coach of your basketball team, and it is no coincidence that Calipari has now become the first coach in NCAA history to have the illustrious distinction of having not one, but two Final Four teams wiped from the books due to NCAA violations.

In their lust for wins and a return of their once glorious basketball program, it would appear that the Kentucky fanbase has been seduced by the Devil's guile.

They don't think they have, of course. They never do.

But it's not too late, Kentucky fans...not yet.

It's time for you to demand a short exit for the smooth talker with the slicked-back hair who promises something for nothing.

It's time for you to make a statement that your beloved school's integrity doesn't have a win/loss price tag on it.

If not, then you're committing the unpardonable sin of entering into this contract with your eyes wide open. There is no naivete that can be claimed when it comes to Calipari, and there will be no sympathy when his price is extracted.

This is America and the Devil wears Armani.

So do the right thing and save your soul.

When Gods Descend: Usain Bolt Races to Olympus and Beyond

Daniel Muth — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 18:50:37 -0400

Once long ago, when the need was just, the Greek God Hermes loaned his winged sandals to Perseus so he could slay the wicked Medusa.

This was not the only time the messenger of the Gods meddled in human affairs, and because of his deserved reputation as a trickster, his motives were never entirely certain.

But whether for good or evil, there is little doubt that the wing-footed son of Zeus is once again dabbling with history.

How do I know?

Because Usain Bolt is wearing those damn sandals, and it may well be that track and field will never be the same.

I believe the above photo is all the evidence I need, as it's clear that he's running, but he's certainly not touching the ground.

Beyond this there is a building epic, trumpeting the heroic ascent of a speedster from Jamaica, detailing his virtuoso performance in Beijing, and his recent assault upon the Gods themselves at the World Championships in Berlin.

Usain Bolt demolished his own world records in both the 100-meter and the 200-meter sprints, posting otherworldly times of 9.58 and 19.19, respectively, clipping .11 seconds off his own marks.

In the 200-meter, second-place finisher Alonso Edward finished in a time of 19.81, which places Bolt a long way from the rest of the world he seems to effortlessly rise above.

If this was basketball, and say Kobe Bryant just scored a ton of points against the Knicks, we'd get a cacophony of boisterous arguments that he was the best player in the world. Some might say he was the best ever.

This would last until LeBron James embarrassed the Knicks in equal fashion a couple days later, flashing his versatility in potent contrast to Kobe's firepower.

The argument now explodes into a tidal wave of innuendo, opinion, and fantasy.

But in the sport of Gods, the sprints, older than civilization itself, it is with unequivocal certainty that we can state that Bolt is the fastest man ever to grace the face of the planet.

From infancy, we begin to race. Against our peers on the playgrounds, in gym class, down the street, or around the house in a game of bloody murder.

The fastest of us continue to race until we find someone faster, who finds someone faster, who finds someone faster, until you arrive at the World Championships facing the fastest men alive.

It has been this way throughout history.

And though we live in a time that has spawned larger, stronger, faster athletes than ever before, one has now emerged that seems poised to run all the way to Mount Olympus, and perhaps beyond.

Bolt is still young by sprinting standards. At 23, he has a lot of time to push his times impossibly low, challenging a generation of athletes the way that Bob Beamon did with his epic leap in the 1968 Mexico City Olympics.

Yes, the old trickster Hermes is meddling in world matters once again, and though one can't be sure what Herculean task he has in mind for Usain Bolt, the scale can only be described as heavenly.

Champions win.

Losers fade.

And when Gods descend,

heroes are made.

How The Philadelphia Eagles Stole The Show By Signing Michael Vick.

Daniel Muth — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 21:56:19 -0400

In the annals of football lore there is a story about a player who came from nothing, achieved everything, then threw it all away.

Well there's a number actually (perhaps more than I care to admit) but I've got a particular one on my mind tonight. One that keeps on irritating the spot right between the shoulders, the spot that can't be easily reconciled and causes me to squirm.

It's the Michael Vick spot, and as hard as I try to reach it, my lack of flexibility keeps me from finally succeeding.

I guess it's time to limber up.

So I twist and I turn and I waffle back and forth like an epileptic hula dancer and the diatribe runs something like this:

The Eagles should absolutely not have signed Michael Vick. The last thing you need to interject into a team on the rise is a guy who allowed himself to bankroll an operation that killed dogs.

The last thing you need to interject into a solid roster is a guy who is bound to cause a media circus. The Eagles are familiar with their system, they're breaking in some promising rookies, and riding a good off-season. Why on God's green earth would you sign a walking side-show into the mix?

The last thing you need to interject into a roster trying to reestablish itself is a baggage laden quarterback when you've already got that spot more or less locked down. You've got the marathon man, Donovan McNabb, who looks to be healthy and dangerous, you've got an heir-apparent in Kevin Kolb, and a capable veteran in A.J. Feeley who can help manage things if/when McNabb goes down. How would adding Michael Vick do anything but add controversy into an already accounted-for quarterback situation?

And it's not like Michael Vick was some sort of angel before all this dogfighting stuff went down. Has this fiasco somehow fundamentally changed him or does he remain a risk to embarrass the team?

This line of arguement is all rooted in emotion. There is little football involved, as it deals mostly with how Vick and the subsequent media typhoon, will upset the delicate balance that is team football in the NFL.

Egos are egos afterall, and they seem to be ever more inflated the higher up the professional sports ladder you climb. This is a fear argument based on the chance that the addition of Vick could somehow disturb what is already good.

As such it leaves me unsatisfied and a long way aways from scratching that itch. So with my other hand I try a different technique:

What better team to really scoop up Vick. There is absolutely NO quarterback controversy here, so we know that however Vick is used, it will be for his remarkable athletic skills rather than his abilities as a quarterback.

The Eagles can now add the most feared version of the Wildcat in the league, which may not be implemented a lot during a game, but can come up with key plays at key times in tight games. Hell throw Vick back on kick returns from time to time, spread him out as a wideout, even just hand him the ball on occasion.

Such are Vick's skills that any time you can get him the ball in open space, he can make things happen for you.

What better team to handle the media circus that will follow him? Donovan Mcnabb has lived a lifetime in front of the microphone, dealing with the continual doubting of the Philidelphia fans, to the infantile outbursts of T.O. If there's one thing that guy can handle, it's a little controversy.

Coach Andy Reid is an old wiley vet at this point, has no trouble laying down the law, and has no trouble pushing on the media when they push at his team. A veteran core with a veteran coach, is the perfect place for Michael Vick.

What better time to have Vick on your team? You can bet he will be giving 110% to prove himself, he's still under house arrest so he can't go out partying, he just saw three years of hell that I'm sure he'd rather not repeat.

Vick is playing for his NFL life here, meaning he's going to be giving his all, and staying out of trouble. The media hubbub will die down quickly if there's nothing to talk about. It will rise up again quickly if he starts making some plays, but that's the type of attention that the Eagles will gladly take.

What better idea than to sign him for two years rather than just one? This was a great move because it gives Vick some trade value if he flashes some promise this year. Vick isn't just going to be riding the sidelines in Philly and you can bet that he'll be getting plenty of reps in various situations: Late in games at QB, on reverses, on pitch and passes, on all sorts of trick plays.

If he succeeds, he suddenly becomes a hot commodity which means that the Eagles will either be able to keep him on the cheap for another season, or demand good value for him on the trade market.

Either way they are essentially adding players while preserving their cap space. And teams that weren't willing to sign Vick today, will be more than willing after someone else had the cajones to do it first.

What a great move!

Ahhhhhhh, that's the spot.

The itch is gone.

It makes so much sense now.

I'll come out right now and say that every other team that didn't try to sign Mike Vick did it out of cowardice. They bought the fear argument and neglected the football argument. They shrank like sniveling wimps away from the media and failed to embrace the glorious upside that is Michael Vick.

The guy killed dogs.

That's bad.

But he also more than paid the price for that crime.

And really it's the Eagles who should be pictured on America's most wanted tonight, because they just committed grand larceny.

They stole the show.

And I have no doubts that this bit of thievery is going to pay very large dividends.

Meow Mix: My Matthew Stafford Pipe Dream

Daniel Muth — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 10:26:02 -0400

OK, I know I said that drafting Matthew Stafford would be asinine.

I'll stand by that because it's not the numbers play, and neglects some gaping holes, particularly up front on both sides of the ball.

Great teams are generally forged inside out.

But after it was a done deal he instantly became our next best hope, meaning that I'd take a bullet for the kid if he has any shot at reversing what has been a dismal string of quarterback woes throughout the recent (and not so recent) tenure of the Detroit Lions.

And let's face it, when you have names like Eric Hipple, Joe Ferguson, Chuck Long, Todd Hans, Rusty Hilger, Bob Gagliano, Rodney Peete, Andre Ware, Erik Kramer, Scott Michell, Dave Krieg, Don Majkowski, Frank Reich, Charlie Batch, Gus Frerotte, Stoney Case, Ty Detmer, Mike McMahon, Joey Harrington, Dan Orlovsky, Jon Kitna, Josh McCown, and J.T. O'Sullivan on the roster, your outcome is probably predetermined.

Omitting the current roster, these are the names that have led the Detroit Lions since 1985, and I just didn't have the stomach to keep going back, as the picture remained just as terrible.

You get the picture.

So as queasy as I was that we might be courting another Joey "Don't Call Me Joe" Harrington, I've got to say that I've been rather impressed with Stafford in his limited time with the team, and the reports out of training camp are ubiquitously glowing.

They say he can make all the throws and that his arm strength is as advertised.

They say he can put the ball into tight spaces and make the correct reads.

They say he's mobile and can throw on the run.

They say his mechanics are flawless.

They say that he's distinguishing himself as the front runner for the starting job this season.

They say all this and then are quick to say that they would rather stay tight-lipped until they actually see him in action.

Tight lipped?

The reports from camp have the kid nearly walking on water, and you're telling me he's even better?

God I hope so.

I hope he's a hall-of-famer with a long and distinguished career with the Detroit Lions.

Beyond that I hope for even more.

I hope that talent translates into wins, and I hope the front office doesn't simply sit on those wins and do nothing else to improve the team.

And I hope for a Divisional title, a playoff win, a conference championship, and...dare I say it?

No, I best not. Slow down there, tiger. There's still a lot of work to do and a mountain to climb.

Because right now all this amounts to my Matthew Stafford pipe-dream, and though there's nothing wrong with dreaming, it's about time for us Lions fans to step out of our dreams and into the NFL.

We've been absent for so long that Rip Van Winkle himself would be astounded by the length of our slumber, and we're still looking for that wake up call.

Is it Matthew Stafford?

Only time will tell.

Meow Mix: And Still They Came

Daniel Muth — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 10:45:31 -0400

The rain came down from the puffy grey heavens dusting the dirty concrete until it glimmered something like silver. And though the skies enveloped the sun such that it was impossible to tell the time of day, for the faithful that stood in line to catch a glimpse at the revamped Detroit Lions there was nothing but true Honolulu blue in their hearts.

And still they came.

They came despite the proclamations of a loud and growing contingent of spoiled NFL fans who feel that the futility of the Detroit Lions no longer merits a Thanksgiving day game, oblivious to the fact that the Lions haven't been given a Monday night game since 2001, oblivious to the fact that without the Lions there would be no Turkey-day games at all, oblivious to the fact that the Detroit faithful deserve what they invented.

Or more sinister, in full knowledge of these things, yet uncaring.

And still they came.

They came despite the trashings of the Detroit fanbase by professional and amateur writers alike, for booing at the team as if they wouldn't boo 0-16, for screaming "FIRE Millen!" as if they wouldn't have yelled the loudest, for organizing marches and dinners and websites to try to force the hand of a distant and uncaring owner.

They failed to notice that we were still there, still hoping, and still caring. Would they have cared after all these years?

And still they came.

They came despite the fact that the Lions are rebuilding again, just as they're rebuilding every year, just as they were rebuilding through the entire Barry Sanders era, just as they've been rebuilding since the day Bobby Layne left town in a fit of ire.

"The Lions won't win for 50 years!" He decreed, filled with the Farve-like bitterness of an athlete betrayed by his team, and for once God listened, unleashing his biblical plagues upon the Detroit Lions.

And still they came.

They came in the full knowledge that the Lions still have a lot of work to do; that their offensive line is not up to snuff, that their defensive line put on the worst display in the history of the league last season, that our promising rookies always seem to get injured, paralyzed, killed, or bust.

Those that stood in line in the Michigan rain were there with their eyes wide open not shut.

They came despite the disparity of the economic turmoil around them, they came despite the temptations of a world that tells them to root for winners not losers, they came despite the swirling gale of defeat, the dearth of success, and the knowledge that the team still has the full hill to climb if it ever wants to stand on top.

They came to see a practice.

We talkin' bout practice Allen Iverson?

Yeah, practice.

They cheered for every good play, let out nervous groans when the play went badly, and got almost boisterous on occasion, when their first round pick Matthew Stafford zipped a particularly impressive pass down field.

They shook hands with each other, draped arms around their sons and daughters, and smiled genuine smiles at one another, reminiscing about the teams past and surmising about its future.

And one can't help but feel that something magical happened that day in the Michigan rain, amidst the stack of nature and economy and history and woe.

Hope has returned to the land of the destitute.

And still they came...15,000 strong.

Meow Mix: High Times in Detroit. The Charles Rogers Story.

Daniel Muth — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 12:29:57 -0400

If I may paraphrase the late great Brad Nowell of Sublime:

He smokes two joints in the morning,

He smokes two joints at night,

He smokes two joints in the afternoon,

It makes him feel alright.

He smokes two joints in times of peace,

And two in times of war,

He smokes two joints before he smokes two joints,

And then he smokes some more.

If ever there was a testament to the lunacy of rookie signing bonuses you need look no further than the THC-stained case of Charles Rogers, the incandescent Michigan State wide receiver who disappeared in a puff of smoke after signing with the Detroit Lions.

Initially, the selection of Rogers seemed to pay dividends for the team.

In the first five games of his rookie career, he accumulated 22 catches for 243 yards and three touchdowns.

If he had continued this type of production, he might have put together a truly impressive rookie campaign with nearly 70 receptions for 800 yards and 10 TD's.

By any account, that would have justified his selection.

As seems typical with the Detroit Lions, however, it was not to be.

While practicing a speed drill with Lions DB Dre Bly, Rogers broke his collarbone and was out for the rest of the season.

On the third play of the following season, he broke his collarbone again.

And with this final injury, things rapidly spiraled downhill for Rogers.

Before going any further, I think it's worth noting that as a Michigan State fan, watching Rogers' 2002 Biletnikoff Award-winning season was a pure joy.

A prodigious combination of size, speed, athleticism, and hands, Rogers dominated in the rugged Big Ten, flashing his 4.28 speed, 6'3" 220-pound frame, and flypaper touch.

He set school records for all-time touchdown receptions (27), and in the interest of brevity, set every single-season school receiving record, including a 270-yard outburst versus Fresno State (most yards in a game).

I've watched most of today's great NFL receivers in college from Randy Moss to Larry Fitzgerald, and I can honestly say that Rogers 2002 college season stacks up with any of them.

On the surface, he seemed to be a can't-miss prospect, but then again, you need to scratch the surface a little on a player that you're about to hand $14.5 million to, and it seems that the Lions did very little digging.

Rogers had failed drug tests each year during his tenure at Michigan State, though somehow this was something the Lions failed to notice.

Rogers was also disciplined on more than one occasion for violation of team rules.

And though I'll be the first to admit that smoking a little pot once in awhile probably isn't an indication of professional failure (if you look at the polls conducted by the league, a large percentage of players admit to having used pot at one time or another), it's the multiple times getting caught that should have indicated a chronic problem (pun intended).

This brings us to Rogers' recent interview on Outside the Lines where he admits to have been smoking pot every day during his Lions tenure, in conjunction with a daily dependence on various hardcore prescription medications that would leave one to wonder how he was functioning at all.

I guess the answer is that he wasn't.

When he came back from his second injury, Rogers was promptly suspended four games for his third violation of the NFL's substance abuse policy and somehow was not the athletic specimen he had once been.

His trademark speed was gone consumed in a smoky haze, his ability to run routes was questionable given that he had a hard time remembering the plays, and his hands weren't nearly as pure, given that his depth perception was probably beyond reckoning.

Well yeah, he was high.

All the time.

And though being High All the Time may be all right for the 50 Cents of the world, it's a pretty good start if you're bent on absolutely ruining your NFL career.

After being cut by Rod Marinelli, Rogers was unable to latch on with any other NFL team, though one gets the indication that he wasn't really trying too hard.

Why should he have to?

He's still wealthy and in possession of millions of ill-gotten NFL gains; he gets to smoke pot every day, and he doesn't have to answer to anyone.

Sounds like a drug addict's dream.

Because in all honesty, if he got his act together, he could still play in the league. His body hasn't taken much punishment over the years (though his brain may have) and you just don't go from running a 4.28 to a 4.8 (his latest time in a failed attempt to join the Kansas City Chiefs).

This lapse in ability is a sure indication that he is still perpetually "blowing" (his own words describing his pot smoking).

If it's any consolation to Lions fans, it's partly because of the Rogers fiasco that NFL teams now look into the "character" of their draft picks so rigorously, particularly when selecting in the first round.

I know, I know, it isn't.

And in the portion of the interview that he gave to ESPN, one got the distinct impression that he was either on something, or rendered nearly incoherent from his years of drug abuse.

Yeah, he's still blowing all right.

Just like he blew for the Lions.

And just like he'll continue to blow, secure in the wealth and knowledge that his high times in Detroit need never end.

Meow Mix: How My Detroit Lions Mug Changed My Life

Daniel Muth — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 17:30:12 -0400

I am not what you might call an early riser.

You might not even call me a late riser because left to my own devices, I'll sleep past noon.

This after going to bed at around 10:00 pm.

I'm a marathon sleeper and suffer greatly when I don't get a good 10 hours solid, and really only start to feel like myself after I've had twelve. Back in the day, I'd indulge myself and put in a good 24, this before I had anything resembling responsibility.

In fact, it may be true that for many years I avoided responsibility at all costs in terror that I might not be able to sleep as much as I'd like.

Obviously, this had it's repercussions.

These days, I have to get up in the morning and it's something that I've never gotten used to, no matter how many years it has been going on.

My body has never adjusted, my mind has always retaliated, and it generally takes me at least a good hour to go from awake to actually coherent.

I have to set my alarm well before I can expect to do anything, let alone get in a car.

I've found that coffee helps the situation, and I've found that with a really strong cup or two (we're talking mud black personally ground stuff here), I can cut that response time to maybe a half hour, even though it does little to stem the nausea and dizziness that occur every time I wake up early.

But not so long ago I received a gift from my mother that made everything marginally better.

Though I've always been a heavily geared Detroit Lions fan (from jerseys to hats, to pens, to sweats, to T-shirts, to coats, to socks, to whatever else), I've never had a Lions mug.

This was the gift that measurably changed my life.

Every morning now when I wake up, I have a cup of coffee in my Honolulu blue wide-rimmed Lions mug, featuring the old school profile of the Detroit Lion in attack position.

And for some reason, every morning, this makes me smile.

I guess the difference between the gear you wear and the tool you use is that the gear you wear is really designed for other people to see.

When I wear my Lions hat, I know I'm wearing it, but I don't see it and therefore forget that it's even on my head shortly after I've put it on.

The Lions mug, on the other hand, is always there looking at me every morning, coaxing me through what amounts to my daily hell.

Sure you could say that it would be an omnipresent reminder of the team's futility, but that's not how fandom works with me. I may complain from time to time, but really I'm more proud to be a Lions fan than any of the other Detroit teams I root for, and it's that pride that makes me smile every morning when I take a sip of my wake-up elixir.

It's the Detroit Lions mug I see through blurry eyes, half still dreaming about a Super Bowl victory.

It's the Detroit Lions mug I see when I'm cursing the world for not stepping to the ticks of my internal clock.

It's the Detroit Lions mug I see when I finally become cognizant of the golden sun peaking up behind the shroud of darkness, and it's the Detroit Lions mug that feeds me my morning sustenance, like a baby's bottle nursing me into the conscious world.

Am I losing my mind?

Have the years of perpetual losing finally cracked what was left of my marginal sanity?

Does the emergence of the Lions mug as a pivotal part of my daily routine speak more about my fandom or my pathos?

*Shrug*

At this point I don't really care, and for those of you out there that loathe getting up in the morning like me, I would highly recommend the Lions mug.

It'll make your life better, too.

Meow Mix: On the Need to Believe in the Detroit Lions

Daniel Muth — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 17:00:42 -0400

They say that the football is a religion unto itself in the United States.

If you've ever been to a big-time SEC game or tailgated with the Cheeseheads, or gone rabid in the Dawg Pound, you could posit that the fervor displayed might arguably validate this point.

If you've ever stumbled onto an Ohio State–Michigan game you might see some of the same ugliness incurred in the Gaza Strip, with hatred born of neighbors who worship differing mascots.

Only religion can provoke such unreasonable discord, as surely as it can elicit such camaraderie among the myriad of individuals that join the same fraternity.

Black, white, red, yellow, or brown, we all hold hands under our respective banners.

The introspective among us might then ask what exactly religion is, as it often defies logic, fact, or evidence to the contrary. Religion, you see, is all about faith.

In some camps that faith is perpetually tested.

In the same way that I have an unwavering respect for the handful of Jews who have settled in Iran (talk about chutzpah), I tend to gravitate towards those fans who show an unwavering faith in their team despite the futility of the situation around them. Lions fandom does that to you.

In some camps, faith is rarely tested.

Just as it's easy to be a Christian in America, it's easy to be a Steelers fan too.

Just as it's easy to be a Red Wings fan (guilty as charged) it's easy to celebrate Hanukkah in Jerusalem.

The problem with religion made easy is that it tends to lose many of the positive qualities upon which it was founded, and often gets replaced with the very opposite.

Humility becomes vanity, thankfulness becomes greed, vigilance becomes complacency, and we becomes me. We lose perspective on the fragile beauty of the thing itself (be it life or sport), and instead prefer to glut ourselves on the riches they provide.

But every time I find myself caught up in a whirlwind of self-adulation, it is my Detroit Lions that draw me back to my better nature.

It is the Detroit Lions that have taught me the true nature of belief, and in essence, the meaning of faith. This unwavering love that expects nothing in return is my personal trial of Job, and through all the boils and festering lesions, I would like to think that I've acquitted myself admirably.

This by no means makes me Biblical. At times I've admitted disappointment, at times I've wallowed in my own gloom, and at times I've rejoiced in another's misfortune. I'm only human after all.

Yet through it all I'm still here, still hopeful, and still finding reasons to think that the Lions might have a decent season ahead of them.

Though I was in part critical of this year's draft class, I'm starting to suspect that the front office may indeed have a plan.

The pickups of Larry Foote and Julian Peterson surely will upgrade the backer core, while the acquisition of Louis Delmas and Anthony Henry will surely improve a fairly deep secondary.

And somehow the appearance of Matthew Stafford 50 years after the infamous curse of Bobby Layne has me consulting my astrologer to see if the planets are indeed aligned.

I'm starting to believe that a change of preacher might really liven up the schemes and I'm starting to believe that eight years of ineptitude under the vision of a false prophet might finally have the Lions on the path to truth and righteousness.

Yep, I'm starting to believe.

It happens to me every year about this time, and despite the 0-16 record last season and the 50 years in the wilderness, my faith continues to carry me through.

I need to believe in the Detroit Lions.

And for those of you worshiping at the cup of glory let me tell you something...you do too.

Hey Racing Fans! Start Following the Tour De France.

Daniel Muth — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 12:23:57 -0400

It was Einstein that first introduced us to the theory of relativity.

Simply put, If I'm traveling 100 mph and you're traveling 100 mph right beside me, then relative to each other, we're more or less standing still.

This is really the enigma of racing such that no matter the speeds involved, relative to the rest of the field, there is very little difference in acceleration or velocity, and it's really the intricacies of strategy that often make all the difference.

For some reason, of course, we insist on calling the winner "the fastest," even though much of the time we should probably call them the "shrewdest" or the most skilled.

So why am I telling you all this? As ardent racing fans I'm sure you're all familiar with these things.

What I'm trying to impart to you, is that for all the reasons you like watching NASCAR or F1, you might also enjoy following the Tour de France.

Granted, the speeds involved are considerably less, but when you consider it is the difference in speed, not the velocity itself that really defines the dramatics of any particular race, then I would argue that the Tour provides more diversity than any single auto racing event, and employs many of the same tactics.

Are you into sprint cars? Well the Tour offers up the time trials (or T.T's) whereby the rider's tear down a shortened course, offering up speeds that dizzy the mind when considering the engines.

Are you into team racing? Well the Tour offers some of the most intriguing teamwork and interteam rivalries, at times working together to control the pace, and at times shooting off on their own to claim their share of the glory.

The emerging rivalry between Lance Armstrong and Alberto Cantador within team Astana is fascinating stuff.

Are you into wrecks? Well the Tour offers up some first rate crashes, generally with very real injuries. These guys can exceed sixty miles an hour on the downhills and have nothing but Lycra to protect them. The tour has accounted for nearly ten deaths, as the mountain rides particularly offer little compassion for riders that plunge off the road.

These guys draft, and bump, and wreck, and play head games with one another.

Are you into long distance events? Well the Tour can traverse up to 2500 miles, with riders covering hundreds of miles a day, sometimes battling the hills, sometimes on the flats, sometimes winding through the city, sometimes charging down the straight-aways.

Besides these similarities, this particular Tour is shaping up as a gripper, with iron-man Lance Armstrong coming back from a four-year hiatus and putting on an unbelievable display considering his age, his layoff, and the broken collarbone he suffered just months ago.

There are any number of contenders this year, but don't count out the gritty Texan.

Are you into the equipment? Well, these guys are riding on space age polymers, pushing incredible gears, and can even have their pit crews come to them, often with mechanics hanging out the windows of cars to provide some in-race adjustments.

So come on, gear-heads unite!

Watch a bit of the Tour de France on Versus.

It's all about relativity afterall (Einstein says so), and I think you'll really enjoy some of the racing.

The King? LeBron James steals footage from Jordan Crawford.

Daniel Muth — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 21:16:17 -0400

There is nothing more un-American than the concept of the King.

The title, after all, is granted to one of noble lineage, who by no merit of his own, is granted the right to dominate the lives of his subjects—often claiming their property, accomplishments and money as his own, if only to further a vainglorious attitude of entitlement.

The founding fathers found this concept so repugnant that they forged a nation in direct opposition to the King.

The French followed suit, sending the King's head rolling down the street.

The Brit's preserved the King, but relegated him to obscurity.

After year's of dormancy it seems that America, the very nation that sent the King into oblivion, has spawned another.

LeBron James is "the King."

Although, I've always thought this was simply a misguided nickname speaking more to entitlement rather than greatness, it seems that Mr. James is finally starting to believe the hype.

You see, James got dunked on this week and threw a royal tantrum.

During a session at LeBron's Nike-sponsored skills camp, "the King" got posterized by Xavier's Jordan Crawford via a vicious two-handed slam that got a charge out of all who witnessed it.

Apparently, though, Nike doesn't think we should all be "witness" to this.

Shortly afterward, James was seen talking to Nike officials who promptly confiscated all footage of the event, even though the media had been invited to film without restriction.

And though questions abound about the legality of this course of action, as the first amendment was generally crafted to avoid the suppression of information imposed by the King, it's more the action itself that speaks so poorly of the Cleveland forward.

Does LeBron actually think he's the King?

Does he think that he can so easily snatch the glory from a young kid who could've used the publicity and a little dap?

Would it be so humiliating?

I mean, damn. What's next? Stealing candy from babies?

LeBron, it's time for you to realize that you're just a basketball player. Sure, you may be the best around, but this by no means entitles you to erase the accomplishments of another simply to avoid a minor embarrassment.

This also furthers a rather disturbing trend between "the King" and the media. From leaving his teammates to take the heat for a playoff exit to outright censorship, one wonders if NBA players should now be schooled in democracy classes before entering the league.

Mostly, I feel a bit sorry for Crawford, who even if he never makes it in the NBA, would've been able to show his grandkids the day he dunked on "the King."

In this sense, LeBron has robbed the kid—of his moment and his history.

You're not the King LeBron, you're a thief. So do the right thing and give the kid his footage back.

America has never had much of a taste for Kings, believing that greatness was solely a product of deed rather than title.

The Miracle Man: Lance Armstrong Nearly Nabs the Yellow Jersey

Daniel Muth — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 12:51:11 -0400

Much too often these days we tend to use other worldly superlatives to explain the things we see in the crucible of sport: the “miracle catch,” the “miracle hit,” the “miracle shot.”

In essence, these things we witness are often a combination of skill and luck, often times more of the latter, as with the “immaculate reception,” or “the catch,” the product of a bouncing ball, an out-of-position defense, and a fortuitous recipient who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Only the truly great make us redefine our own jargon.

We don’t call a Tiger Woods clinching 18th hole putt a “miracle shot” because we know that God didn’t have to intervene. We know that it was the man himself exerting his own will upon the moment.

This is greatness, this is the promise of humanity extended to its full potential, and in many ways this is more exhilarating than any lucky catch, pitch or kick, because of its inevitable nature.

And it is in this manner that I find myself in complete awe of Lance Armstrong... once again.

How many “miracles” does this man have packed into his 155-pound frame?

For any other mortal man, just surviving cancer that had spread to his brain and lungs would be characterized as a miracle.

For any mortal athlete, to come back and win the Tour de France would be another unbelievable miracle.

For any mortal elite athlete, to then win the Tour a record seven consecutive years is beyond any endowment of miracles that any man rightly deserves.

But Lance Armstrong keeps on churning them out.

Four years removed from his last stand on the podium and logging in at a geriatric 38 years of age, the gritty Texan apparently walked across the Atlantic Ocean mere months removed from a broken collar bone which left questions about his ability to compete at the elite level necessary for Tour contention.

Beyond this, there was much speculation that it is Alberto Contador, not Armstrong, who was the true leader of Team Astana, and many viewed Armstrong’s unwillingness to cede his place at the front as the selfish antics of a prima donna past his prime.

In answer to this Armstrong was quoted as saying, “I’ve won the Tour seven times. I think I deserve some respect.”

Well Lance, how about a little awe? Respect seems to be a rather insubstantial word to describe what you’re doing right now.

Coming into the fourth stage of the Tour in third place overall riding 40 seconds off the lead, Armstrong and his very astute Team Astana, put on an incredible showing of speed, effectively taking all that time back.

Though Armstrong had thought that such a comeback would be “impossible,” the ride nearly had the seven-time winner wearing the yellow jersey once again, something that even the most ardent believers would admit to be a long shot.

Though he’s not technically wearing the jersey, as mere tenths of a second separate him from the race leader Fabian Cancellara, he now sits zero seconds off the lead as partial seconds are only used to determine jersey possession, not overall time.

Armstrong is once more riding on the lead of the Tour de France.

And though it’s still awfully early in the show, and though the race sets up nicely for Cancellara in the next couple of stages, and though it may very well be that age and injury and layoff may one day catch up with Armstrong, who am I to not believe in the Miracle Man?

He’s shown me an other worldly ability to do things that were not thought possible.

And then do them again.

And if you believe in the power of premonition then here’s a sign you might want to put some stock in.

When his name was announced at the beginning of Monday’s race, Armstrong was met not by mocking “doper” signs, or a smattering of boos, but to thunderous cheers and applause. Yes, it seems that the French are finally behind Lance Armstrong.

Talk about a miracle.

Just Win, Baby: Getting the United States Interested in Soccer

Daniel Muth — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 18:55:37 -0400

Let me start out this article by stating the fact that I am not what you might call a hard-core soccer (futbol) fan.

Where I come from, soccer was the wussy game you played in the interim before you were eligible for tackle-football leagues because it was perceived as a "safe" sport for young kids to play.

You weren't going to break your neck playing soccer.

You weren't going to rupture your spleen or irrevocably damage your shoulders.

Soccer, in essence, was thought of as the training wheels to true sport—something you could play competitively without the risk of serious bodily harm.

Soccer was not a real sport. It was merely the diaper you wore before you became fully toilet-trained.

Now, I'm not here to argue that this ideology is correct, merely to state that perception often tangibly reflects reality when it comes to recruitment and fan interest.

That this game is also called the "beautiful game," full of Fabio's and Ronaldo's and metrosexual innuendo, has also hindered its acceptance in a country that firmly thinks it is full of cowboys, steelworkers, and pioneers, even though demographics clearly indicate that most of us have never partaken in any of these "manly" endeavors.

So growing up, I played soccer until I was 10 and then joined pee-wee football, and Lord knows I loved that game.

This makes me uniquely qualified to talk about soccer.

How? Because I've never followed it, generally dismissed it, and though I always knew that it would eventually acquire its place in the pantheon of (North) American sport, thought that it would take a display of competence that I wasn't likely to see.

You see, the irony of United States fandom is that even though we fancy ourselves as blue collar Joe's, we are absolute elitists when it comes to sport.

Not winning the gold medal with amateurs? Then it's time to put together a Dream Team, even though it goes against everything the Olympics stand for.

Not a recognized sport in most other nations around the world? Then we'll call our titles "World Titles" anyway, to make us think that only America could produce such a forum of imposing athletes.

As our games became more international, we began to see how silly this was, with the Dominicans dominating baseball and the Europeans catching up in basketball, but since we still fielded teams that won, our interest and pride remained intact.

You see, winning is what sells in America.

When I heard that David Beckham was coming to America to resurrect soccer in the United States, I laughed. And I laughed some more. And then I let out an unadulterated guffaw. How could this possibly work?

Sports fans are a different kind of hero-worshiper, not interested in how super-dreamy a player is, not interested in whether or not he's married to a washed-up questionable pop icon, and not interested in whether he was once a great player.

We worship greatness on the field, and there was no mistaking the fact that the MLS was an inferior product anyway, so even if Beckham had dominated the scene, he would've been doing so in an inferior league full of inferior players.

The United States sports fan has no taste for this type of farce.

We are interested only in being the best.

In the same way that many fans of basketball summarily dismiss the WNBA, even though these women could whoop up in any pickup game against most men on the street, we know that what we are watching is a grade below excellence. That the players happen to be women becomes merely a carnival act.

Are they the best? No? Then why do I care?

This brings me to the FIFA Confederations Cup and the unlikely emergence of the United States as a contender.

You see, I went to the bar today to watch a soccer match. Let me say that again. I, someone who has never watched soccer, went out of my way to head to the bar to watch a game that my local cable company would not provide.

Why?

Well, there are a number of reasons.

First, though I'm not a hardcore fan of the sport, I do recognise it as perhaps the only true world-wide competition. Running is the other.

In my journeys, I've played soccer with a coconut among the bare-footed children of Africa, hit a raggedy ball around in the slums of Quito, and got in a random pickup game in the parks of Paris.

I may not follow the game, but I know it and have certainly seen it around the globe.

Second, like all American sports fans, I'm an elitist and have generally dismissed games that we haven't performed well in, from ping pong to cross-country skiing.

But somehow the landscape of American soccer now seems irrevocably changed.

Granted, we didn't win.

Granted, Brazil played circles around us in the second half and was denied a goal that was clearly in the net before being deflected out.

But damn it, we competed. We beat Spain and Egypt and nearly spoiled the mighty Brazilians.

And let me tell you folks, this is what it takes to get the United States interested in soccer. I know because it's got me by the collar for the moment.

The true test will be whether the U.S. team can make a legitimate run in the World Cup and whether they can consistently play well and show great effort, unlike in the early games of the Confederations Cup.

Winning sells in America.

And if the Confederations Cup is even a shadow of things to come, then maybe, just maybe, soccer has finally arrived in the home of the brave.

Roger Goodell Lays Down the Law: Donte Stallworth Suspended Indefinitely

Daniel Muth — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 18:43:05 -0400

The State of Florida only saw fit to jail Cleveland Browns receiver Donte Stallworth 30 days for a DUI crash that lead to the death of a 57 year old Miami man.

This prompted many authors, myself among them, to write about the failings of the American justice system, and many supposed that based on this inherent corruption, Donte Stallworth would be suiting up for the Cleveland Browns at some point during the season.

If we couldn’t expect justice in the court room, the supposed bastion of reason, then what chance was there to find it in an elitist club like the NFL?

Today Roger Goodell answered that question loud and clear.

In a message to Stallworth, Goodell noted that the wide receiver has done, "irreparable harm to the victim and his family, your club, fellow players and the NFL.” He then dropped the gavel with a finality that should have been taken care of in the courtroom.

“Indefinite suspension.”

Goodell also went on the say that, “In due course, we will contact your representatives to schedule a meeting with you, after which I will make a final determination on discipline.”

And though the word “indefinite” obviously carries no set time within its boundaries, the implication is that Stallworth will not be playing in the NFL this season, and possibly will not be playing for quite some time.

Reporting for ESPN, Chris Mortensen surmised that Stallworth may be forced to sit for the entirety of his Cleveland Browns contract (two years) or possibly longer.

During this period, Stallworth will not see a dime of his pay.

By comparison, Goodell’s predecessor Paul Tagliabue suspended Leonard Little eight games for a DUI manslaughter case in 1998, and there was some question as to whether Goodell would stick with precedent or strive to set his own.

Clearly he is more interested in the latter.

And though I’ve not always been a fan of the way Goodell has approached the league in terms of his heavy-handed and sometimes arbitrary style, I’ve got to say that I think he got it right this time.

Say what you will about him, he’s big on responsibility, something that had been lacking for years prior to his ascension to the commissioner’s post.

Responsibility not related to steroids that is, but let’s save that debate for another time.

And though this is something I’ve been calling for, it’s hard to feel at all vindicated right now because this entire incident has left me feeling a little sad.

Sad for the Reyes family even though they’ve become the beneficiaries of a small fortune.

Sad for the little guy, because this case has proven how easily the wealthy can buy their way out of trouble.

And yes, sad for even Donte Stallworth, because I think in essence he’s a decent guy who made a terrible mistake.

But in this life Donte, men must pay for those mistakes and hopefully by laying down the law, the Commissioner is doing his best to make sure you can’t simply get away Scot-free.

Well done Commish. You’ve temporarily returned some sanity to this topsy turvy world.

Donte' Stallworth vs. Michael Vick: It's Better to Kill People Than Dogs

Daniel Muth — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 14:39:35 -0400

Daniel Espinoza was 17 when he was involved in a DUI accident that claimed the life of two people in Palm Beach County, Fla.

Despite his lack of prior trouble, a strong family background, and the fact that he was a minor, he received a 24-year sentence for vehicular manslaughter. He will be over 40-years-old when he is released.

Angela Harper, who experienced the personal hell of losing her own son in a crash related to alcohol consumption (blood alcohol content of 0.11 percent), was sentenced to nine years in prison after being charged and convicted of vehicular manslaughter in Jacksonville, Fla.

Natalie Rodriques was sentenced to 15 years in prison for a DUI manslaughter in Tampa after killing a 16-year-old boy while driving with a blood alcohol content of 0.13 percent.

Donte' Stallworth, the Cleveland Browns wide receiver, plowed into 59-year-old Mario Reyes while operating his vehicle with a blood alcohol level of 0.126 percent in Miami and has now been sentenced to 30 days in jail.

Wait...what!?

DUI manslaughter is a second-degree felony in the state of Florida and carries a sentence of five to 15 years in jail, with the average for a single death being in the 10-year minimum range.

Not only is Stallworth’s sentence unheard of, it’s got to be a bitter pill to swallow for all the “average Joes” like Espinoza, who will be cooling his heels for a quarter-century for a mistake he made as a minor.

Stallworth could afford a driver, and he shouldn’t have even been close to the road in his condition.

What Stallworth can also afford is an “undisclosed settlement” to Reyes' family in exchange for forfeiting their right to a civil suit and apparent prosecutorial leniency.

The national outcry has been nonexistent. Stallworth is still not “indefinitely suspended” by the NFL and, in all likelihood, may end up suiting up for games this year.

In comparison to the Stallworth sentence, Michael Vick received 23 months in jail for dogfighting charges leveled against him. This exceeded both the prosecutor's recommendation of 12-18 months and the sentences received by his co-defendants Purnell Peace and Quanis Phillips, who were charged with the exact same crime.

It is also worth noting that dogfighting cases are seldom even sentenced in the United States (dogs are considered property), and in the absence of an agent actually witnessing a dog fight, the circumstances of a kennel can be readily explained.

Dead dogs in the backyard? Well, dogs die, plain and simple.

You’d probably find the same scenario at any greyhound racing facility that you encountered. By quirks in the law, that behavior is perfectly legal.

Enter PETA and a media frenzy with a national outcry, and you get a harsher than standard sentence and an “example made” of a bad egg who murdered dogs without compassion.

The point of this article is not to argue sentencing laws in the United States (though clearly there needs to be some consistency), and it is not to exaggerate the seriousness of one crime while diminishing the seriousness of another.

It’s merely to find some sort of perspective in the midst of the craziness that seems to be incurrent in our legal system and society.

We expect the mob to be fickle, and we expect the media to pander to the mob, but we expect the legal system to operate in a more reasonable fashion, apart from the whims, outrage, and indifference of a populace that is more and more ready to pass judgment without the need or want of the facts.

Was it Vick’s blood lust we were punishing, or our own we were satiating? Is it Stallworth’s crime, or his victim that we’re indifferent to? Or are we just so used to buying what the media’s selling (or not selling) that we take it with a glass of water every night without question?

In the end, Vick found himself in a rough position for a rich man to be in. There were no families of his deceased dogs that he could buy off, and he didn’t have enough money to buy off the legions of dog lovers who called for his demise (though if he did, I bet they would’ve taken it).

There were no questions of racism that could be raised because, unlike O.J. Simpson, no one wants you to get off when you kill a dog. But if you stab a white woman, well, that’s a different story.

Old tensions rise up and muddy the issue.

There were no stories he could spin about playing around with a gun that blew away his driver because, unlike Jayson Williams, his buddies all turned against him.

And so Stallworth will be walking as a free man less than a couple months after he took the life of another.

Another human, that is.

And when the day comes when I make my million dollars and find myself in a homicidal mood, you can bet I won’t be touching a dog, or a dolphin, or a horse. No, you can bet I’ll have the good sense to kill a human...

...and then eat a pig, a cow, or a chicken for dinner.

The Agony of Defeat: Our Strange Investment in Fandom

Daniel Muth — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 12:00:23 -0400

I gotta tell you I’m pretty bummed out today.

It was my birthday yesterday and I had a good time with friends, but I woke up today feeling a little achy, a little dull, a little empty. The Red Wings lost the Cup, and I’m feeling a little low.

This makes me contemplative and got me to wondering about how invested we can become with our sports teams, such that a guy like me, who doesn’t really get down about anything, can be so affected by the outcome of a hockey game that is essentially meaningless to the bottom line of his life.

The sports media, of course, has taken the opportunity to dump on Detroit some more, reminding us how we have the highest unemployment rate in the nation, how the population is precipitously declining as people migrate away to find work, how this will inevitably shrink the economy more, how the Lions suck, how the Pistons struggled in their Chaunceyless season, and finally how the Red Wings came up short in what was described as an “emotional stimulus package.”

There seems to be a strange national delight in the demise of Detroit, with little concern for the very real and very good people on the ground that are struggling to improve their lives, a sentiment I find as repugnant as all the reality shows that seem to exploit the embarrassment and misfortune of others.

This one just happens to exist on a more colossal scale.

But acknowledging all this is not why I’m a little blue today. As much as everyone else wants to make this about everything wrong with Detroit, I’m a little blue today because my team lost Game Seven of the Stanley Cup Finals.

It’s that simple. Detroit fans are fans like any other, emotionally invested in their team beyond the realities of the world around them and completely apart from them.

We didn’t root for the Wings as an “emotional stimulus” package to feel good about ourselves. We didn’t root for the Wings to escape “the hellhole” the nation consistently would like to paint Detroit as. We didn’t root for the Wings because of corrupt unions, disenfranchised executives, government bailouts, or economic turmoil.

We root for the Wings because they’re our team. Enough said. That’s how fandom works.

Why it works this way is a curiosity to me. As an introspective person who is usually quite reasonable in his everyday life, there is no reason for my love of Detroit sports. Fandom just is and, like all affairs of the heart, achieves sparkling highs and dramatic lows.

And so, yeah, I’m a little bummed. But I’m proud of our guys, too.

I’m proud because they played hard, played good hockey, and refused to make excuses for themselves, even though they were clearly banged up and slowed by injuries. No excuses. That’s the reality of sports and injuries are as much a part of it as anything. It’s precisely that grind that makes the Cup so difficult to capture.

I’m proud because they cared. Pavel Datsyuk said, “My body doesn’t feel anything right now. I feel empty. It’s too late to talk about injuries.”

A classic response to an inane media that undoubtedly wanted him to say “we would’ve won if we were healthy” so they could stoke the fires of controversy, so someone could write a “Datsyuk’s a jerk,” article, so someone could write a “Datsyuk’s right,” article, so someone could spout more superfluous opinion as fact.

Datsyuk, a guy with Cups already on his resume, instead said he felt “empty.” Kind of like I feel. You telling me he didn’t want it? Yep, I’m proud our guys give a damn.

If you listen to the news wires, they’ll tell you there’s nothing to be proud about in Detroit today, but they’re dead wrong.

Sure we’re a little bummed, but damn proud, and here’s a promise that we’ll be back.

Chasing Michael Jordan: Who's the NBA's Best Player? Who Cares

Daniel Muth — Sun, 31 May 2009 12:22:49 -0400

I’m a little nervous as I write this article because it seems like someone’s watching.

It seems like a shift of movement and glimmering light twirls in the corner of my perception, only to disappear when I turn to face it.

It’s beautiful, but it still haunts me, something magnificent stuck on infinite replay (Jordan over Ehlo, Jordan over Ehlo, Jordan over Ehlo, Jordan over Ehlo) until it’s all I see, until it’s something I come to dread, until I wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

There’s a ghost in the room, and it’s ruining professional basketball.

Michael Jordan, and the resultant media and administrative hoopla that surround him, has changed the NBA game for the worse, minimizing great team play, and finding value only in the squad that fields the most explosive scorer, the most complete player, the dude with all the endorsement deals, and to hell with the team that actually wins the title.

Though it can be argued much of this started back when Magic and Bird where locked in their epic duals throughout the 1980s, it was always the Celtics and the Lakers back then. There was talk of McHale and Worthy, Kareem and the Chief, Ainge and Cooper, Scott and D.J.

Hell, even Kurt Rambis got his due.

The Detroit Pistons squad that held the reigns briefly before his Airness took over was widely reviled, though respected as a great team nonetheless, and even casual fans of the game can recall Bill Laimbeer, Isiah Thomas, Joe Dumars, Dennis Rodman, and a host of other colorful characters that made that team so good (the “microwave,” the “walrus”, the “spider”).

Bench players had nicknames back then! What’s more, they got media coverage and fan appreciation and their just due for the team’s success.

All that changed when Michael took over. Though by no fault of his own, and mostly due to the emergence of the mass marketing campaigns of a fledgling shoe company poised to transform the sporting world, we became obsessed with “superstars.”

We became hostile to the notion that any team composed without one, was worthy of a title and we therefore ignored them when they won.

For years, the best team in basketball was led by “the best player ever” and history has largely forgotten what a great player Scottie Pippen was (possibly the most unappreciated player in the annuls of the game), Dennis Rodman is still remembered as a Piston, Horace Grant, Bill Cartwright, and John Paxton are not even in most people’s vocabulary.

Remember how unilaterally derided Pippen was for not winning titles without Jordan? Guess what, Jordan couldn’t have won them without Pippen, and it was widely considered in his prime that Scottie was among the five best players in the league. I think that’s a pretty just assessment.

Somehow we stopped being fans of teams and started being fans of players. Somehow, we shoveled down the advertising campaigns, the NBA slogans, started to believe that team was spelled solely with an “I,” and started to forgive the premaddonna’s their outbursts, caring only about their performance on the court.

Somehow nicknames were no longer colorful, but rather vain attempts at proclaiming the supernatural: “the King,” “the Truth,” “the Answer.”

It is not surprising then that when the Spurs won four titles nobody cared. When the Pistons rose up and quelled the mighty Lakers, most people begrudged them their title and presumption at unseating the dynasty.

It wasn’t surprising at all, given that the league had spent absolutely no resources promoting some of its other teams and players, and that endorsement deals were limited to the player of the moment.

And so we come to the present, and if you believe the hype, there’s only two players worth a damn in the entire NBA. You’ve got LeBron, and you’ve got Kobe. You’ve got puppets and vitamin water and shoes, and shoe-wearing puppets hawking Vitamin Water.

And God oh mighty, one of them ain’t in the title game, defeated by a better team rising up to deny the King his birthright. Sounds uniquely American doesn’t it? Not anymore.

The Magic are going to give the Lakers fits too, as they present multiple matchup problems rather than just one, and may very well win it all. Will anyone care if they do?

Or will we continue to chase Michael Jordan around the room, sick of the hype, but unable to look away.

Confessions Of a Sheepish Red Wings Fan

Daniel Muth — Mon, 25 May 2009 20:05:22 -0400

Hello, my name is Daniel and I’m a Red Wings fan.

I am also a fan of the Detroit Tigers, Lions, and Pistons and am therefore definitely not the guy that roots for the Wings because they’re so good—in fact, their success makes me a little uncomfortable.

You see, I’m accustomed to rooting for the underdog. I’m used to hating the Yankees and Patriots, while hoping that one day our undermanned guys will rise up and humble these indomitable forces with their legions of undeserving fans.

I’m accustomed to scheming about what we could do better, the free-agents we should be picking up, and the best ways to somehow euthanize Matt Millen. Thankfully, this last concern is no longer an issue.

What’s more, I relish being a fan under these terms. What kind of person are you really if your fandom extends beyond any semblance of loyalty, including only those teams that consistently win?

So when I was talking to a guy at the bar the other day and he said, “Yeah, I like the Steelers, Yankees, Lakers, and the Red Wings,” I about puked my beer all over his bandwagon britches.

“What!?!?!” I managed to stagger, my face turning redder than a Wings home jersey.

And though all fans that casually root for the team of the moment bother me immensely, it was the inclusion of the Red Wings in his idiotic statement that really struck home.

My God I’m a fan of an evil empire.

Never was this more apparent then it was this year, with the Wings pilfering Marian Hossa from the Penguins, and more recently by dispatching the Blackhawks in Game Four of the Western Conference Finals 6-1, without the services of either Pavel Datsyuk or Nikolas Lidstrom.

How incredibly deep is this team? How is it that year-in and year-out the front office keeps making the right moves, with just the right mix of experience and youth? How is it that players will take considerably less money for a chance to play for a winner? How is it that this team is in Detroit of all places?

Everywhere I go I can find a contingent of Red Wings fans in any bar in the country come hockey season, yet never seem to run into them when I’m the only one braving a Lions jersey halfway through a winless nightmare. Who are these Red Wings fans and where do they come from? Any feedback below would be much appreciated.

I guess it’s that I’ve never had to really defend my fandom before. I’ve never had to even think about clarifying my love for the Lions, because simply by admitting my devotion you can pretty much slot me into the “hardcore” department.

I’ve never had to defend my Pistons fandom, because even when they won, they were a unilaterally hated team, begrudged for their physical team play in a league of “superstars.”

They never drew a particularly large national audience.

I’ve never had to somehow justify my interest in the Tigers, even when Magnum P.I. made them temporarily sexy, because they were so horrible for decades that even those who jumped on the train back in 1984 began to bleed away long ago.

So I’ll admit it. Though I wear my Lions, Tigers, and Pistons gear with unadulterated pride, sometimes I feel a bit sheepish stepping into an out-of-state tavern wearing the Red Wings gear.

I’m a fan of an evil empire and that’s hard to live down.

But when push comes to shove, I’ve got to admit it’s nice to win. When push comes to shove, I’ll welcome the Lions' bandwagoners the day they start to arrive because it’ll mean that the team is actually good. When push comes to shove, I’m a fan dammit, and I love my Red Wings as fiercely as any of my teams.

Go Wings!

Here’s hoping you close out the Conference finals in five and sweep for the Stanley. Here’s hoping you keep Hossa and land Ovechkin in the offseason. Here’s hoping the throng of fair-weather fans grows beyond measure.

Being a fan means hoping that your team wins…and that includes all that goes with it.

I may be more comfortable riding the dark horse, but I intend to ride this thoroughbred to the end.

A Daly Reminder: Paying Tribute to the Detroit Pistons' Greatest Coach

Daniel Muth — Sat, 09 May 2009 13:13:20 -0400

As peppered as we are in this day and age with the obituaries of famous actors, politicians, or athletes, it’s easy to become rather detached from this parade of endless death.

It’s a march we’re all on, after all, and to consider it too deeply is an uncomfortable reminder of our own place line, whether we be leading the band or still marching near the back.

It’s the conundrum of time and a question that mankind’s greatest philosophers, poets, and deep-thinkers have all wrestled with until they too vanished, leaving nary a word about their destination or a forwarding address.

For those of us left behind, however, there is still the permanence of the lives touched, the world bettered, the exuberance of a perfect gloriously-framed moment.

And for those of us who followed the life and career of Chuck Daly, we will carry a bevy of these moments, as real and tangible as they ever where, even with the departure of the great architect himself.

But I still miss Chuck Daly.

There I've said it. I have never met the man, or exchanged a letter or a phone call, but somehow his passing has effected me this day in a way that so many others have not.

Maybe it’s because his glory years with the Pistons represented my own maturation as a fan, culminating in back to back titles that I could fully appreciate.

Though I was alive for the Detroit Tigers 1984 World Series win which was officially my first taste at the cup of glory, I was but a boy, excited because my family was excited, but not truly understanding the rarity of the moment. Chuck Daly taught me the rewards of fandom.

Maybe it’s because Chuck always purported himself with such class and dignity. From a small Michigan town that valued humility over pomp, action over word, and guts before glory, I always admired Coach Daly for his quiet intellect, his burning intensity, and his willingness to take risks without being risky.

Chuck Daly embodied many of the qualities coveted by hard-working Middle America.

Maybe it’s because he won. I’ll admit that.

Being enough of a fan to realize how precious the titles that come through Motown can be, Daly worked his way into my own needs and desires, delivering not one, but two titles for the Detroit Pistons, compiling wins and playoff victories, and gifting a new brand of basketball that would completely change how the professional game was played. Chuck Daly was an innovator.

Maybe it’s because he was so widely respected. I can’t remember anyone, even those who derided the Piston’s physical style of play, that had a bad thing to say about Daly.

Generally, words like “genius,” or “class-act,” were used, and I remember how proud I was when it was our guy that was chosen to lead the Dream Team into battle, when it was our guy that brought home the gold, proving to the world that American basketball was still the standard. Chuck Daly was a leader.

Maybe it’s because he seemed to represent a bygone era when a coach was more than the guy that simply called the plays, but the guy who taught us how to be better people, who imparted life lessons, who genuinely cared about the players.

Isiah Thomas used the words “mentor” and “father figure” in his released statement about Daly. How many players would say the same thing about their coach in today’s NBA? Chuck Daly was real, and concerned, and committed.

Maybe it’s all these things and more because I feel like I’ve lost a member of my family today. I had genuine love for the man and it saddens me that I’ll never hear his professorial breakdown of a game, or hear another update about his life after basketball.

Like all the greats before him, Chuck Daly has made the journey beyond our vision. But like them too, he has left a great body of work behind, framed in trophies and champagne yes, but forged in integrity, respect, good-will, and love.

Goodbye Chuck.

May I be as worthy as you when my time comes, and may I take up the parade leader's baton unafraid.

Home Improvement? A Detroit Lions Draft Day Story

Daniel Muth — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 11:57:51 -0400

It’s 8:30 and I’m still in bed, wrestling with the opposing forces of my insatiable need for extra sleep, and the list of home improvement tasks that must be done before we get the house ready to sell. And I’m getting just old enough now that the latter starts to win.

That’s how life gets somehow. As a younger more impetuous lad, I would’ve slept another two hours, but now the need for money and the tinge of anxiety surrounding it get me moving.

Money and fear. Is this what life is all about?

I jackhammer the rim of crust that seals my heavy eyes together, and willfully roll out of bed, groaning with the pains of an ex-athlete past his prime, who’s been squatting in the rafters while drywalling the ceiling the day before.

I slide on my flip flops because the house is in disarray.

Bits of ceiling and wall and nail and screw litter the floor, and electrical wiring juts out of various holes that disappear into crevices that have not been seen in half a century. The new tile on the kitchen floor is covered with marks and debris, and I fear that I may now need to repair what I’ve already done.

But as the asbestos floats lazily in the air, outlined in holy magnificence by the rays of sun streaming through the new skylight, it seems for a moment that maybe things aren’t quite as desperate as they seem.

You see, both the Detroit Lions and I are rebuilding the house.

And both of us are taking our damn sweet time.

In my case, I started working on this thing over a year ago when I ripped up the kitchen floor, promising my wife a quick tile job that would update the feel and look of the space and add value for an eventual sale. I said it would all be done in two weeks.

In the case of the Lions, they’ve been struggling for over a decade, since the franchise curb appeal took a turn towards the ghetto with the exit of franchise foundation Barry Sanders.

And as I learned in my own project, things tend to collapse when you remove a weight-bearing wall.

Two houses: both torn apart, both dear to my heart, both a half century past their prime.

I’m already in a foul mood because the Lions have announced that they’ll be starting their project by updating their kitchen, too. And I know from experience that this is a mistake.

Though it’s the highest profile room in the house, if the walls (electrical, structure, roof, etc.) need fixing, it’s best to do these things first.

If not, you get a nice finished space all beat to hell while the other projects are still forthcoming.

But I’m done ranting about that. Though the kitchen in my house will need a little repair, in the end, it’ll look pretty sweet.

So I’m willing to concede that Matthew Stafford many actually pan out for the Lions, though fans who think they’ll see dividends from the kid immediately are putting way too much faith in the value of one room in the midst of a ramshackle.

Like me, the Lions now have one hell of an overpriced kitchen for a house with holes in the floor. But unlike me, they still haven’t realized that those holes need to be filled if anyone’s ever going to walk through the front door.

And I know it’s scary to start knocking down walls in an old home, because you never know exactly what you’re going to find. But when the left wall is sagging, you can bet the joist is cracked and needs to be replaced. Sorry Backus, it’s true.

And if the roof is leaking like a sieve, then you best get on that before water damage sinks any chance at a sale. Yes, defense wins games, there's no doubt about that.

So I can only hope that the Lions get to that next year, as they followed up their kitchen with a breakfast nook and left the structural damage in tact. I can only hope that by the time the whole house comes together that the tile work isn’t already outdated.

But for now, both the Lions and I will continue to rebuild our homes ass-backwards, with our heads in the sand, hoping the roof holds out just a little longer and hoping that by the time we get to THAT project, our shining kitchen is still intact.