Bleacher Report - Articles by Dave Metrick

NFL Playoffs: What the Hell Just Happened?

Dave Metrick — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 01:19:21 -0500

Sundays are supposed to be peaceful, restful times where hard-working folks take respite from their otherwise frantic week. It doesn’t always work out that way. This past Sunday was a particularly rough one for me.

After watching my beloved defending champion New York Giants excel during the regular season, they sucker-punched me in the stomach.

The G-Men followed up their monumental upset of the New England Patriots in the Super Bowl last February and their 12-4 regular season (good for the No. 1 seed in the NFC) with a home loss to their division rivals, the Philadelphia Eagles.

On the bright side, my two year-old son was thoroughly entertained as he watched his father yell at the television like a lunatic. He even joined in from time to time unaware of the pain the men in the blue uniforms were causing Daddy.

One of the noteworthy things about the game, besides Eli Manning throwing the ball to guys with green helmets, was the fact that the Eagles were the sixth seed in the NFC and left for dead about a month ago. And yet, here they were...winning...convincingly.

Carolina fans know what I’m talking about. Their second-seeded Panthers got spanked at home (where they were 8-0 during the regular season) by the Arizona Cardinals—a team considered D.O.A at the start of the playoffs.

Did I mention the sixth seeded Baltimore Ravens slipped past the top seeded Tennessee Titans and are playing in the AFC Championship game?

So what the hell is going on? Why are the NFL playoffs suddenly turning into March Madness?

I’m no hockey connoisseur, but when I experimented with the NHL in the mid-'90s I noticed something peculiar about their postseason: an alarming amount of highly-seeded teams made early round exits.

What I learned was that a hockey team was only good as their goalie. And if a netminder has it going on in late spring, his team can hop on his back and ride him all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals.

Now it appears every major sport is following that trend and turning their respective playoffs into an absolute crapshoot. In addition to the NFL—who’s had a five seed and a six seed win two of the last three Super Bowls—wild-card teams have wreaked havoc on the MLB Playoffs.

This past Fall Classic saw the two dominate teams in the regular season (L.A. Angels & Chicago Cubs) unceremoniously bounced from the playoffs in the first round. Wild Card teams also managed to win three World Series in a row from 2002-2004.

If something doesn’t change soon, regular seasons will become as meaningless as a marriage proposal on The Bachelor.

There is one island in this storm of parity...the NBA. In David Stern’s league, the top-seeded teams still take care of business. Every once in a while, there’s a shocker (like Golden State beating No. 1 seed Dallas a couple years ago), but for the most part, the dominant teams during the regular season are the ones winning conference crowns and playing in the Finals.

Unfortunately, the NBA playoffs take somewhere around a year and half to complete, so by the time the Finals roll around, the casual fan is begging for a quick, merciful end.

Perhaps I shouldn’t complain too loudly about this era of parity. After all, it allowed my Giants to hoist the Lombardi Trophy a year ago. And I suppose sports fans should get used to it because there’s no sign this trend will be going away anytime soon.

But if the Detroit Lions make a Super Bowl run in my lifetime, my head might explode. I just hope my son isn’t there to laugh at me when it inevitably happens.

David Metrick is a freelance writer who regularly contributes to Sports Northwest magazine. He also writes a blog - You Know What I've Been Thinking About Lately?

NBA Thoughts: Hopeless In Seattle

Dave Metrick — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 09:07:24 -0400

Anticipation. Excitement. Hope.

These are just a few words that describe the feelings and emotions of sports fans as the dawn of a new season approaches. For the dearly devoted, the beginning of a new season is the start of a new day. It's a chance for our favorite franchises to wipe the slate clean and look toward a bright and shining future.

Even if our team is a talent-less bunch of overpaid, prima donnas, we can still enjoy the early days of a fresh campaign by deluding ourselves into believing a magical string of events (a new coach, trades, unexpected player development, etc.) will change the course of our woebegone ball club and finally make them a winner.

It's this kind of unbridled hope and enthusiasm that has New York Knicks fans all aflutter as they look forward to a future that doesn’t involve Isiah Thomas running the front office.

However, the mood is a little more somber in the Pacific Northwest. As the 2008-2009 NBA season tips-off, there is no anticipation in the city of Seattle. There is no excitement. And there certainly is no hope.

There is sadness. There is anger. There is despair.

Because Seattle is a city filled with Supersonic fans for whom the beginning of this NBA season is an obscene reminder that the last four months were not a horrible dream, but a unfortunate reality. Their beloved team of 41 seasons, the only major league sports franchise in the region to win a championship, is now gone; stolen in one of the all-time muggings, the likes of which only Cleveland and Baltimore football fans can truly and painfully understand.

The time to place blame has passed. And there's no shortage of scoundrels to pin this travesty on. Instead, as Oklahoma City opens its doors to professional basketball and looks forward to watching Kevin Durant's bright future unfold, it's time to remember.

Time to remember a franchise that once was. Time to remember the fans that were left behind. And time to remember that this is now the nature of professional sports (particularly in David Stern's NBA) and this kind of injustice will most certainly happen again.

For the NBA fans in Charlotte, New Orleans, Memphis, and Sacramento, enjoy the anticipation, excitement and hope while they last. Something tells me one of these cities will soon know Seattle's pain.

Dear Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels…You Sold Out Your City

Dave Metrick — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 08:11:15 -0400

Dear Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels…

I’m not from Seattle. I moved to the area less than two years ago. Great weather you guys have up here by the way. Rain is awesome.

While I certainly don’t know everything about the Emerald City and what makes it tick, there’s one thing I do know: There’s no chance I’ll ever vote for Greg Nickels.

And I’d be willing to bet everything I had that I’m not alone in that sentiment. The citizens of this fine metropolis will remember what you’ve done and what the rest of the politicians—city and state—have done. Collectively, you’ve shown an incredible lack of leadership and chutzpah as it related to keeping the Seattle Supersonics in town.

I’m not even a Sonics fan. But I am an NBA fan and I appreciated the history this franchise had in this city. In 1996, I cheered for the guys in green when they battled the dynastic Chicago Bulls—I suppose I was technically cheering against the Bulls, but still.

I loved watching Gary Payton pass, shoot, and sneer. I loved watching Shawn Kemp dunk as those below took cover. And I loved watching Xavier McDaniel’s cameo in the movie Singles. Priceless.

Or so I thought. But apparently 41 years of memories and history can be bought.

I’m not a politician or a businessman or an economist. Yet despite those shortcomings, I know that you, Mr. Mayor, and the rest of the city council got worked over pretty good in the deal that sent the Sonics packing.

The agreement you struck with Clay Bennett’s ownership group was so harebrained and ridiculous that I’m tempted to contact your office to see if you’d have any interest in purchasing some oceanfront property in Yakima.

On the day U.S. District Judge Marsha Pechman was scheduled to issue her ruling in the federal lawsuit you guys filed to hold the Sonics to the remaining two years of their Key Arena lease, you caved and allowed the franchise to pack up and leave.

You sold the hearts and soul of the city and its fans to a liar from Oklahoma for a mere $45 million—or what amounts to the next two years of Kobe Bryant’s salary. I won’t even get into the other $30 million that’s part of the deal because that’s money you’ll never see.

Did you secure another team for the city of Seattle? No. And isn’t that really what this was all about? Keeping NBA basketball in Seattle? Apparently not.

At your press conference you speculated, “We'll never know, but we're confident the judge would have ruled in our favor," Nickels said.

If we’re to believe that—and really, why should we believe anyone associated with this Supersonics debacle at this point—then why not wait to hear her ruling? Wouldn’t winning the ruling give you more leverage? More of a bargaining chip with which to secure in writing the return of the NBA to Western Washington?

And even if you lost the ruling, the threat of an appeal would've put you in no worse a situation than you were in.

To say with a straight face that this was a good deal for Seattle is at best extreme naiveté, and at worse a flat-out, boldfaced lie. I’m not an idiot—and I don’t think the people of Seattle are either.

Now that NBA basketball has gone, the odds of it returning are minuscule.

Seattle’s path back to NBA relevance is through the state legislature, and if there’s one thing I have learned from my limited time in the Pacific Northwest, it’s that the Washington state legislature likes to fund projects—especially sports-related ones—about as much as Amy Winehouse likes quiet nights at home.

Mr. Nickels, I hope you’re at peace with your capitulation, because the press conference you held at City Hall at 5 p.m. on Wednesday, July 2nd is and will be your legacy. You are always and forever going to be known as the mayor who not only allowed Seattle’s only major championship team to pack up and leave, but the man who set the price.

$45 million.

Good luck with your next election. Something tells me you’re going to need it.

Disappointedly,

Dave Metrick

Chicago Bulls: Desperately Seeking a Better GM

Dave Metrick — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 19:06:41 -0400

As a sports fan, I’ve spent countless hours lamenting the mistakes GMs and other front office personnel make, seemingly on a daily basis.

While I understand actually being a GM is harder than it looks, I’d love nothing more than one year in the front office of a lackluster franchise in the hope of turning things around. And if I had to choose the professional sports franchise I’d like to run starting tomorrow, it would be the Chicago Bulls.

Why the Bulls?

They’re an NBA team

I may write like a know-it-all, but even I admit I wouldn’t even know what to do in an NFL or MLB front office. Basketball is the sport I’m most familiar with. Basketball is a sport whose wayward franchises—when not faced with Knick-like cap problems—can be turned around quickly.

And basketball is the sport that seems to have the most boneheaded GMs. Really, would I do any worse than Isiah Thomas? Probably not.

John Paxson stinks

If organizations win championships, like former Bulls GM Jerry Kraus famously claimed, then it’s a wonder that this franchise ever won anything. With all due respect to current Executive VP John Paxson, he’s not getting the job done.

Now, for all I know his equally inept owner Jerry Reinsdorf is the one calling the shots and making the once-mighty Bulls the least relevant team in the Windy City. But as long as Paxson keeps cashing his paychecks, he's part of the problem.

One word: Upside

The Bulls are a team that’s right there. At least, they were. After a nice playoff run last year, many predicted them to seriously contend in the East. This sentiment was amplified when rumors had Chicago potentially acquiring Kevin Garnett, Pau Gasol, or Kobe Bryant.

Of course, none of these deals got done, and the team regressed in a big way.

However, these Baby Bulls still have a lot of good, young pieces that can be developed or traded. They have a reasonable cap situation—and oh, by the way, it doesn’t hurt that they have the number-one pick in Thursday’s draft.

What would I do as the Bulls GM?

Apologize for the last 10 years

I’d apologize for the Bulls breaking up their dynasty and not keeping Jordan in the organization. When you have a superstar of that magnitude who is that beloved by the fans, you keep him around. Period.

You offer him an ownership stake. You do whatever it takes to keep him coming to games, signing autographs, and reminding everyone that this franchise was great once.

In addition, I’d apologize for drafting Marcus Fizer and hiring Tim Floyd. I’d apologize for trading Elton Brand and drafting Eddy Curry. I’d apologize for signing Ben Wallace. I’d apologize for dealing Tyson Chandler, the younger, less expensive version of Ben Wallace, to Charlotte. I’d apologize for trading LaMarcus Aldridge for Tyrus Thomas.

And last but not least, I’d apologize for not signing Mike D’Antoni, a mistake that may take years for this franchise to get over.

Speaking of which…

Replace Vinny Del Negro ASAP

Okay, I probably couldn’t do it as quickly as I'd like. After all he did just sign a contract less than a month ago. But I’d definitely tell him in no uncertain terms that we’re building a winner. And the moment he loses this team, he’s gone—even if it’s mid-season.

I’d also start text messaging Avery Johnson on a regular basis. Just to get the ball rolling.

Draft Derrick Rose

This is, of course, the easiest decision in the world. It’s so easy I don’t even feel the need to explain it.

Make trades

Part of Paxson’s legacy will be the fact that he didn’t move on potential deals—in part because he seems to have a delusional sense of Luol Deng’s value.

I’d try to move some of the aforementioned “young pieces”—including Kirk Hinrich and his contract—in the hopes of landing a frontcourt scorer. Preferably, one who is (or could be) an exciting, honest to goodness, puts asses in seats superstar.

A while back, I went into great detail on this website about a scenario where the Bulls could bring Carmelo Anthony to town. Since the Nuggets insist ‘Melo is staying put, I’d be on the phone to every other franchise that had a disgruntled, under-appreciated player on their roster.

Sign role-playing free agents

Championship contenders need valuable role players. Has anyone else noticed that James Posey has won two rings in three years? He’s the prototypical glue guy that hits the open thres and plays hard-nosed defense. I’d take him over Thabo Sefolosha every day of the week. Did I mention Mr. Posey’s currently an unrestricted free agent?

Perhaps being the Chicago Bulls GM is a bad idea. In reality, there’s a good chance I’d spend my entire tenure with the team trying to fully understand the luxury tax. I’d probably also find myself thirty pounds heavier, since my Second City diet would consist largely of deep dish pizza, bratwurst and deep-dish bratwurst pizza.

However, I could promise Bulls fans this much—I would shake things up. I would make deals. In short, I would actually try. And if there’s one thing Bulls fans and other NBA fans would probably like to see from their GMs, it’s a little effort.

Or perhaps that’s too much to ask.

Instant Replay in MLB? Hell Yes!

Dave Metrick — Mon, 26 May 2008 16:47:59 -0400

Baseball purists are an interesting bunch. If it were up to them, we wouldn’t have the technological advancements we enjoy today. Instead of automobiles and computers, we’d be using horsedrawn carriages and an abacus. Instead of modern medical treatments, we’d have bloodletting and leeches.

At least that’s they way these Purists come across. Because whenever someone dares to suggest using technology to enhance the sport of baseball, they shout it down as if we’re suggesting their daughters audition to be contestants for the next Flavor of Love.

In the past, these people have screamed from the rooftops that such evils as the wild card and interleague play would irreparably damage baseball and destroy its very soul. Instead, the wild-card system has made October more unpredictable and exciting, and interleague play has been a fan favorite.

Now the Purists are at it again. This time the cause du jour is the lingering assumption that MLB will soon be bringing in some version of instant replay to review home-run calls.

God forbid.

The other three major sports—okay, two major sports and hockey—have all instituted reasonable and successful replay systems. Why is it baseball is always behind the curve?

The Purists have plenty of arguments, but I find most of them to be ridiculous and not particularly well thought-out.

It’ll undermine the umpire’s authority.

Really? I haven’t noticed the authority of the officials in the other aforementioned sports’ leagues undermined. As far as I can tell, referees in those sports have as much clout as they’ve ever had, and when they blow their whistles, the games still stop.

I’m sure some officials would even argue they like replay because it allows them to get the call right. And really, shouldn’t that be their highest priority? “Authority” should come a distant second to getting it right.

The umpires and their union should be embracing this potential change. What’s not for them to like about having one more umpire working a game from the booth? That’s one more fat, old guy who can collect a paycheck.

And it would be the easiest paycheck ever collected. The replay umpire could basically take a nap or surf the internet for porn until the time came for him to look at a TV set and make what is usually an easy decision. If the umpires don’t want that job, I’ll gladly take it.

It’ll add too much time to the games.

Really? How many times would a disputed home run even come up in a game? Maybe once? Twice at the most?

And if the Purist is really so interested in keeping the games shorter, why haven’t they come out in favor of cutting back on the amount of commercials that are shown? Or limiting the amount of time it takes a pitcher to throw the ball? Or limiting the amount of time a batter is allowed to step out of the box and indulge in a maddening routine of swinging, spitting, and adjusting himself?

I don’t think I’m in the minority when I say I’d gladly give five more minutes in order for the umpires to get the correct call.

If we let them review home runs, eventually they’ll want to review everything including balls and strikes.

Really? Do the Purists actually believe this crap? That’s like assuming that the NBA’s officials using replay to check buzzer-beaters will eventually lead to refs reviewing traveling violations and hand-checking. It wouldn’t make any sense to review those things, and it’s simply never going to happen.

I suppose their next argument will be that reviewing home runs might eventually lead to a decline in the moral fabric of American life and, eventually, to the End of Days.

Baseball Purists will always be around, and they’ll always find something to complain about. It’s the price the rest of us pay for watching a sport that’s been played for over a century.

I’m sure decades ago there were Purists arguing against night games and batting helmets. Those seemed to work out well for everyone involved. And there’s every reason to think that a limited replay system could work out too.

But what do I know? I regularly use a microwave to cook my meals—which to the Purists probably means that, like baseball, my soul will burn eternally for embracing the devil’s technological wizardry.

Dear Chicago Bulls…Time to Get 'Melo

Dave Metrick — Thu, 22 May 2008 04:01:47 -0400

Dear Chicago Bulls…

Boy, did you get lucky.

The odds of you winning the NBA Draft Lottery were only, what, 1.7 percent? And yet, thanks to a few fortunate bounces by those unpredictable ping-pong balls, your franchise obtained the number one pick, and the right to choose between Memphis point guard Derrick Rose and high-scoring Kansas State forward Michael Beasley.

For your front office and your fans, this development was as welcome as a warm brat on a cold day in the parking lot of Soldier Field.

A year ago, you didn’t look like a franchise that needed luck to succeed. After a nice playoff run, you were a team on the rise in the Eastern Conference and it was widely assumed you’d use your plethora of young talent to acquire Kevin Garnett or Pau Gasol.

And when Kobe Bryant became disgruntled in La-La Land, you were the team at the top of his wish list.

Certainly, bringing in any one of those players would make Chicago the favorite in the lackluster East. Of course, none of that came to fruition. Garnett went to the Celtics, Gasol went to the Lakers, and Kobe became less disgruntled and the MVP.

The Bulls struggled all season, finally finishing with a woeful 33-49 record. Ben Wallace continued to collect his paycheck while wearing a ski mask, and you were unable to extend the contracts of your prized possessions Luol Deng and Ben Gordon.

And a few weeks ago when you had a chance to sign Mike D’Antoni—a head coach who allegedly wanted the job—you couldn’t close the deal.

But now, things are looking up. Now you can use that number one pick to obtain your star of the future.

But why stop there? Why not make one more move to further solidify that future? Why not make a move that has nothing to do with luck and good fortune, but everything to do with front office smarts and chutzpah?

Why not trade for Carmelo Anthony?

It’s no secret Denver is shopping their perennial all-star and scoring machine. There have been stories circulating all week about ongoing talks between the Nuggets and the New Jersey Nets. And what the Nets are offering is laughable. The Bulls could easily top that.

You guys could package Kirk Hinrich with Luol Deng (after signing him to an extension, of course), maybe a Thabo Sefolosha, throw in some future draft picks, agree to take on a dead weight contract to make the salaries match-up and suddenly you’re relevant again.

Making this deal also clears room for Chicago native Derrick Rose to become your undisputed point guard and, oh by the way, it’d give you one of the top-15 players in the NBA.

You know, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.

Not only does Melo fill up the box score, he also gives you a go-to guy, something the Bulls have lacked since the departure of that guy, Michael something-or-other.

He also gives you a marketable superstar who will put butts in seats and jerseys on shoulders. Re-sign Gordon and Duhon, bring in a veteran big man, and all of the sudden, you’re also one of the deeper teams east of the Mississippi.

So what are you waiting for? Pick up the phone. Call the Denver Nuggets. Make them an offer. Bring Melo to the Windy City.

Or don’t. Because NOT making the big move worked out so well for you last year.

Onward and Upward,

Dave

The 2008 NFL Draft Drinking Game

Dave Metrick — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 18:43:33 -0400

We’re less than a week away from the NFL Draft and you can almost taste the excitement. Front offices are spending every waking moment breaking down prospects, Mel Kiper’s carefully combing each hair into place, and Chris Berman is hard at work putting together awkwardly-phrased nicknames that no one else will ever use.

The NFL Draft can be long and tedious and yet, as football fans, we’re drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

But how can we help ourselves? We’re fans. And as fans, we need to know every detail about every player our team is considering drafting. And when our team finally picks an unknown linebacker from Middle Southern Tennessee State, we’re going to need one of ESPN’s 23 draft analysts to breakdown his 40 time and discuss his upside.

Fortunately, there’s a way to make two days of bad jokes and combine highlights a little more enjoyable…

The 2008 NFL Draft Drinking Game

The Rules

-Every time you hear the phrases “on the clock,” “war room” or “character issues”… drink!

-Every time Chris Berman unveils a ridiculous nickname…drink!

-Every time a Chris Berman nickname references a song that’s over 20 years old…drink twice!

-Every time an ESPN analyst confuses Jake and Chris Long…drink!

-Every time Emmitt Smith uses a word that isn’t actually a word…drink!

-Every time someone you’re watching with wonders aloud whether or not Mel Kiper’s hair is real…drink!

-Every time you hear the word “spygate”…drink!

-Every time Jets or Eagles fans boo a pick…drink!

-Every time ESPN shows footage of Jets or Eagles fans booing picks from previous drafts…drink twice!

-If Jets or Eagles fans boo each other…do a shot!

-Every time Chris Mortensen “breaks” a story…drink!

-Every time the analysts point out that Eli Manning won the Super Bowl last year in a tone that indicates they’re having a hard time coming to terms with that fact…drink!

-Every time they show an undrafted player sitting awkwardly in the green room, waiting to hear his name called…drink!

-If the player has a family member or girlfriend by his side consoling him…drink twice!

-If you’re not sure whether or not the consoling party is a family member or a girlfriend…do a shot!

-If an analyst talks about the potential of Bengals WR Chad Johnson getting traded…drink!

-If Chad Johnson actually gets traded…drink twice!

-If your favorite team traded for Chad Johnson…do a shot!

*NOTE: The “Chad Johnson” rules can also be applied to Brian Urlacher, Jeremy Shockey or Pacman Jones.

-Every time someone mentions that Tom Brady was drafted in the sixth round…drink!

-Every time you see a commercial starring Peyton Manning…drink!

-Every time you see a commercial starring Peyton and Eli Manning…drink twice!

-Every time you see a commercial starring the whole Manning family in it…do a shot!

Bottoms up NFL fans! And you're welcome.

Roger Clemens Fallout: The Rocket's To-Do List

Dave Metrick — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 09:34:57 -0500

Roger Clemens is a very busy man. And like most of us, he keeps on top of his daily activities by creating a “to-do” list. Here's a look...

Rocket's To-Do's

-Pull my wife Debbie aside and rub her washboard abs. Very nice. Thanks, HGH!

-Text my buddy Andy Pettitte. Wish him good luck this season. Then thank him for providing the damaging deposition that allowed certain members of the Congressional committee to rip me a new one last week.

-Put flaming bag of poop on Henry Waxman’s doorstep.

-Invite Mike Wallace and TV crew over to watch me work out. That way America can watch 60 Minutes and see that I’m “doing it the right way.” Be sure to have ambulance standing by for the 89-year-old Mr. Wallace. Just in case.

-Start lobbying Hall of Fame voters in an attempt to convince them they should still induct me into their beloved shrine. Explain to them that all of that “Hall of Fame doesn’t matter to me” talk was just…you know, talk. Hopefully, they’ll be as easy to B.S. as members of Congress.

-Start betting on baseball games. Why not? It can’t ruin my reputation any more than it already has been.

-Talk to Bush Administration officials regarding what a guy needs to do in order to get a Presidential pardon for perjury. Scooter Libby got one and he doesn’t even have a Cy Young award.

-Email Brian Cashman. Let him know that if the Yankees find themselves in need of starting pitching, I’m available. And I can be back in pinstripes for the low, low price of $28 million.

-Contact Mark McGwire. Ask him how a famous, record-setting athlete can go about falling off the face of the earth. It’s something I may be interested in doing in the near future. You know, if the Yanks don’t need me.

-Find out how I can get in touch with Mark McGwire. No one seems to know where he is. Does Mark even live in this country anymore? He’s like a ninja or something.

-Call Brian McNamee (make sure to press “record” button on tape player). Express my frustration with him for telling the truth about everyone else he named in the Mitchell Report, except me. Those guys were clearly guilty, but I’m not. Also, if he has anything else lying around with my DNA on it, I’d like to get it back.

-Look myself in the mirror. Recite mantra over and over again: “I did it the right way. I did it the right way.” Because I’m Roger-freakin’-Clemens and “my way” is always the “right way.” And if I say I didn’t take steroids and HGH than that should be good enough. No matter how many times I contradicted myself under oath.

“I did it the right way.”

By saying those words over and over again, I’ll continue to convince myself that I did do it the right way. And hopefully if I say it enough times, everyone else will be convinced, too.

Shaquille O'Neal: The Big Mistake

Dave Metrick — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 17:20:12 -0500

At some point on Wednesday afternoon, Phoenix Suns fans heard the news.

It must've spread through the Valley of the Sun like a rampant STD: Shawn Marion and Marcus Banks were being sent to the Miami Heat for Shaquille O’Neal. And I’m sure when the Suns faithful heard about the Daddy’s imminent arrival, they all threw up in their mouths a little bit.

You know, just enough to feel their esophagi burn.

Steve Kerr held a press conference, said some things, and explained the move...

But I didn’t hear anything that convinced me that this was a good idea for a team that aspires to play in the NBA Finals. If I learn later that some crazed fan had a room full of hostages and demanded the Suns pull the trigger on this deal; then all is forgiven.

But short of that, anyone who occupies a desk in the Suns’ front office should be run out of town for being a part of something so blatantly absurd.

The Phoenix Suns did not get better on Wednesday afternoon. They did not improve the chances of making the finals. They didn’t even get the better end of the players’ contracts.

What they did was admit to everyone that despite their place at the top of the Western Conference, they didn’t believe in the team they had, the offense they were running, or their chances at post-season greatness.

So they got older. And heavier. And slower.

They acquired an over-the-hill center with a bad hip. No word yet on whether or not Grandpa Shaq is going to need to get that thing replaced in the off-season. But if he does, I hear titanium is the way to go.

The Big Hip is not going to fit into the Suns run-and-gun style of play. And he’s not going to get up and down the floor. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

What he can do it clog the lane and make it much more difficult for two-time MVP Steve Nash to drive and dish and run the offense that the rest of the team was built around. And what's he going to do when he doesn't get enough touches to satisfy his Shaq-sized ego?

The Big Immobile is not going to provide a defensive presence and he’s not going to rebound. Not as well as they need him to anyway. How can he? He’s immobile.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’ll get in people’s way. But those people are athletic enough to go around him. And come playoff time, will Shaq significantly slow down Yao Ming, Tim Duncan, or even Andrew Bynum? It’s highly unlikely.

The Big Doormat is not going to be the cagey, old veteran who leads the Suns. Shaq only leads when his leadership is unquestioned and his authority absolute. He needs it to be “his” team. Just ask Penny and Kobe.

And this isn’t his team. It’s clearly Nash’s team and that’s the way it’s going to stay.

Without question, O’Neal’s a shoo-in, first-ballot Hall-of-Famer and one of the greatest centers to ever play the game. But his days are numbered. Superman can no longer leap tall centers in a single bound. Time is his kryptonite and it’s already devastated this superhero.

Over the years, Shaquille O’Neal has given himself hundreds of nicknames that start with the word “big.” But unfortunately, when it’s all said and done, the fans in Phoenix may grant him one more:

The Big Mistake.

Dear Super Bowl Ticket Scalpers…Let's Make a Deal

Dave Metrick — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 18:22:19 -0500

Dear Super Bowl Ticket Scalpers,

The Super Bowl is right around the corner and my favorite team, the New York Giants, are less than two weeks away from pulling off one of the greatest upsets of all-time.

And I want to be there. No, I have to be there.

But all the tickets I’m seeing listed online are more expensive than Michael Strahan’s divorce. Okay, nothing’s that expensive, but you get the idea.

I know I should’ve been planning for this. I should’ve been tucking away money all season just in case this happened. But let’s be honest: not even Giants fans could’ve imagined Eli Manning leading Big Blue to the Super Bowl.

But shocking things happen every day. I mean, who could’ve predicted Kevin Federline would be a more responsible parent than Britney?

If there’s one thing I know about ticket scalpers it’s that you guys are amongst the most reasonable and kind-hearted people on the planet. Sure, you get a bad rap for buying up tickets and making it impossible for real fans to get their hands on them. But as far as I’m concerned, you provide an important service and deserve to be well compensated.

And I, for one, have no problem paying a five hundred percent mark up to gain entry to a sporting event or concert.

In fact, I’d be more than willing to pay the ten grand necessary to get a decent seat at the big game. I just don’t have that kind of money…ever. And my credit cards are in worse shape than the Miami Dolphins.

But there certainly isn’t any reason we couldn’t barter for the tickets, right? So let’s make a deal.

First, let me begin the negotiations by stating as clearly as I can that sexual favors are unequivocally off the table.

Then again, it is the Super Bowl…

No, they’re definitely off the table. I just watched “Midnight Cowboy,” and I don’t want to end up with that Jon Voight in the movie theater look on my face.

Unfortunately, I don’t have much to offer in the way of personal property. I don’t own a house and I drive a ’96 Honda Civic. Most of my furniture is from Ikea, and most of my clothes were bought at Old Navy.

But I would gladly give you all I owned in exchange for Super Bowl tickets. Is that something you might be interested in?

I know. Not much of an offer. I do have two perfectly functioning kidneys though, and from what I understand I can get by with one. You could scalp one of my kidneys on the black market for at least ten thousand dollars, right?

Is a slightly used kidney something you might be interested in?

Okay, I didn’t want it to have to come to this, but you drive a hard bargain. For Super Bowl tickets, I’d be willing to give up my first-born son.

Now, don’t get the wrong impression: I love my son dearly. But the Giants don’t make the Super Bowl every year, and my wife and I can always make a new kid.

My son is thirteen months old, healthy, well behaved, and quite adorable. He’s had all of his shots—and while it’s a little too soon to start filling out the Harvard application, he appears to be very bright.

We’re also getting the impression he’s left-handed. So on top of getting a beautiful baby boy with above average intelligence, you’d also potentially be getting a future middle reliever who could command a seven figure salary from a major league franchise without really being all that good.

Of course, a child of this caliber is worth nothing less than lower level seats (not in the end zone) and a parking pass.

Is my first-born son something you might be interested in?

Look, desperate times call for desperate measures. I need Super Bowl tickets. And you’re going to give them to me. So just name your price.

Do you want the kid or do you want the kidney?

Think it over and let me know.

Respectfully Yours,

Dave

Dear Tiki Barber...It's Me, Your Buddy Eli Manning

Dave Metrick — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 02:49:07 -0500

Dear Tiki,

How are things going? It’s me, your buddy Eli.

It’s been a while since we talked face to face. Sure, we exchanged some barbed comments through the media back in August, but I thought it would be nice to get in touch.

Still working at NBC? I hope that’s going well. I haven’t seen you on the tube because I’ve been really busy with the season and I pretty much only watch Seinfeld reruns these days. Except when I’m in Green Bay.

Things are good here. I just bought some new suits, which look very sharp. I tried sushi for the first time and, as I expected, it just wasn’t for me. It’s not so much the taste that bothers me, but the texture. Kind of slimy.

Oh yeah, and I don’t know if you heard, but your former Giant teammates and I ARE GOING TO THE F**KING SUPER BOWL!

Seriously, we have t-shirts and everything. And guess who’s not getting a t-shirt?

You.

You know why?

Because you’re a whiney little punk who didn’t like Tom Coughlin or his tough practices, so you retired.

I bet another reason you retired was because you didn’t think I could lead this team to the promised land. In fact, if I remember correctly, you totally bagged on my leadership ability during halftime of a preseason game in August and said it was “comical.”

Well, who’s laughing now, Tiki?

While you sit at home thinking up ideas for your next children’s book, I’ll be heading to Phoenix. I’m going to stay at a sweet-ass hotel. It'll probably have an indoor pool and a hot tub.

And all the newspapers and magazines and TV shows are going to be interviewing me. You know why? Because I’m playing in the Super Bowl! Is anyone going to interview you? Probably not. You know why? Because you’re not playing in the Super Bowl!

And if we somehow manage to beat the undefeated Patriots juggernaut and win the Super Bowl, I might even get the opportunity to do as many commercials as my brother Peyton. How’s that for awesome?

But even if we don’t win, it’s cool. Because now everyone knows that I am a good quarterback and that I can lead the Giants. So when next season starts, I won’t have to listen to pinheads like you question my ability.

Anyway, my best to your lovely family.

Your buddy,

Elisha Nelson Manning

Dear Terrell Owens...Cry Us a River

Dave Metrick — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 18:19:13 -0500

Dear Terrell Owens,

It’s been said there’s no crying in baseball. And based on the physical and mental toughness it takes to play football, I assumed crying was prohibited on the gridiron too.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Because after your Dallas Cowboys lost a home playoff game this past Sunday to the underdog New York Giants, you decided to go all Dick Vermeil at your press conference.

You tearfully explained to the world how “unfair” it would be for the media to “point the finger” at quarterback Tony Romo or “talk about the vacation” he took South of the Border with his gal pal, Jessica Simpson.

“That’s my teammate,” you said before pausing to sniffle dramatically. “That’s my quarterback.”

That’s when I knew something had gone horrifically wrong.

You’re T.O. You don’t come to the defense of your quarterbacks; you throw them under the bus. That’s your thing.

Don’t you remember when you implied in an interview with Playboy that Jeff Garcia was gay?

I believe your exact words were, “If it looks like a rat, and smells like a rat, by golly it is a rat.”

And what about Donovan McNabb? While you were out with a fractured fibula, he led the Eagles to Super Bowl XXXIX. You returned for the big game, played well, and thanked McNabb for a great season by insinuating that the loss was on him.

I believe your exact words were, “I wasn't the guy who got tired in the Super Bowl.”

You can’t actually expect me to believe those tears were really for your quarterback. There has to be something else at play here.

Perhaps your crying jag was less about Mr. Romo and more about the Cowboys’ woeful underachievement in the playoffs. With 11 Pro Bowlers and the No. 1 seed in the NFC, America's Team was the odds-on favorite to win the conference and march into the Super Bowl. But your offense, a certified juggernaut during the regular season, only managed 17 points against an injury-riddled Giant secondary that, truth be told, wasn’t so good when it was healthy.

Instead of glory and immortality, you guys got bubkes.

Somehow, I think that hurts you more than the inevitable media pounding Romo is going to take this offseason.

I'll probably never know what really made you cry, T.O. But what I do know is that somewhere down the road, when times are tough in Big D and the Cowboys’ offense is struggling to get you the rock, the guy who once famously said, “I love me some me” will be all too eager to throw his quarterback under the bus.

Because that's what he does best.

I’ll definitely have my popcorn ready for that one.

Warmest regards,

Dave

Dear Alex Rodriguez...Don't Blame Derek Jeter

Dave Metrick — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:56:03 -0400

Dear A-Rod,

Don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.

As a sports fan, and, more importantly, as a Yankee fan, that's my message to you. It's time for you to go. Bringing you to New York seemed like a good idea at the time, but I think it's pretty clear you've worn out your welcome. Everyone knows it. I think you even know it.

You just can't bring yourself to admit it.

Look, Alex, you're a great player and a great ambassador for the game of baseball. You don't get yourself into trouble off the field (unless you qualify sunbathing in Central Park as trouble), and you're one of the few power hitters in the modern era who hasn't been linked to performance enhancing drugs.

Your only problem is that you can't keep your mouth shut.

Now, don't get me wrong. You're not Terrell Owens or anything. But the more you talk, the more trouble you get yourself into.

Let's look back at the last couple months. In February, you felt the need to comment on your deteriorating relationship with Derek Jeter. You told reporters that you and Derek weren't as close as you used to be. Gee, that's really surprising. I mean, in a 2001 Esquire interview you only threw your then-good-friend Jeter under the bus by denigrating his leadership and talent level.

I believe the quotes were something like "Jeter's been blessed with great talent around him" and "he's never had to lead."

Is it any wonder you guys aren't boys anymore?

Then there's the issue of your future as a Yankee. You've said over and over again that you want to finish your career in pinstripes. If that's the case, why haven't you exercised the clause in your contract that would keep you in New York until 2010? I believe your excuse had something to do with wanting to keep your options open.

But why would you want options if you don't want to leave the Bronx?

And as if all of this wasn't enough verbal diarrhea for one Spring Training, you went on a New York radio show this week and basically said the fans were going to decide your fate.

On WFAN's Mike and the Mad Dog Show, you explained, "Either New York is going to kick me out of New York this year, say 'I've had enough of this guy, get him the hell out of here,' and we have an option. Or New York is going to say, 'Hey, we won a world championship, you had a big year, you were a part of it, and we want you back.'"

Let's be honest here Alex: If the fans had the power to kick you off the team, you probably would've been gone last summer. Actually, I think New Yorkers like Isiah Thomas more than they like you. I'm not saying it's fair, but it is what it is.

Look, I know this is going to be tough news to take, but the truth is, A-Rod, that like it or not your Yankee future is up to you. You have the power to exercise your option. And you have the power to veto any possible trades. So, as a Yankee fan I'm begging you:

Be a man, make a decision, and then never speak of it again.

If you want to stay, pick up your option and continue to collect $27 million a year. If you want to leave, tell Brian Cashman to trade you to the Cubs so you can be reunited with your father figure, Lou Pinella.

(The same father figure you didn't mind leaving behind when you accepted that giant contract with the Rangers, incidentally.)

Whichever course you choose, stand up and take responsibility for it. Don't blame it on the fans, don't blame it on the media, and don't blame in on Derek Jeter.

Blame it on yourself.

Last time I checked, after all, it was still your life.

Like most Yankee fans, I'm eagerly awaiting your decision.

Sincerely,

Dave Metrick