Bleacher Report - Articles by John McClory

Tragedy Brings About Turbulent Times for Angels

John McClory — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 02:42:00 -0400

In a previous article I remarked that it had been a quiet couple months on the L.A. sports scene.

But this isn't what I wanted. This isn't what anyone wanted.

You know the news by now: Angels pitcher and up-and-comer Nick Adenhart was killed early Thursday in a hit-and-run accident.

Sometimes the proper adjectives don't exist to truly describe a devastating situation, and this is one of those moments.

Disheartening, deplorable and depressing.

Sure, all of the above apply.

Adenhart's bright future was just underway. His season debut featured six scoreless innings against the rival Oakland A's.

Similarly, the Angels were just beginning their season with some new faces in the crowd.

Adenhart was one of them.

So what now? Where do Adenhart's family and friends go from here? What does the organization he represented do next?

Recovering from a tragic occurrence isn't like a collision at homeplate—you don't just get up and dust yourself off.

It's not that simple. It never is.

Couple this with the recent death of an Angels fan on opening day and you're left with a muddled pile of tragedy.

Brian Powers, of Buena Park, died the day before Adenhart in a post-game brawl at Angel Stadium.

Powers was struck from behind, fell and hit his head on a concrete slab.

Both Adenhart and Powers are dead too young, and both men were taken senselessly by assailants who may never be able to explain their reckless actions.

This is the world we live in, and these are two extreme doses of reality.

In this tragic mess, let's not forget the two others that accompanied Adenhart. Henry Nigel Pearson and Courtney Frances Stewart were both pronounced dead at the scene.

It's easy to focus on the recognizable name that Angels fans are so used to seeing. Unfortunately, there were other victims of this malicious act that won't get around-the-clock news coverage.

This is how the 2009 season begins for the Angels and their fans. And this is a time to ask, Why do bad things happen to good people?

Both men now have loved ones that will never be the same and will never forget.

Disheartening, deplorable and depressing.

Thursday's game was postponed for obvious reasons. The Angels season will resume Friday against the Boston Red Sox.

Friday's game won't be a game as much as a memorial. And a memorial is a constant search for words.

The words never come.

John is the L.A. Sports Examiner. His work can be found here.

USC's Pete Carroll: Heart of a Champion on the Field, Heart of Gold off

John McClory — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 21:37:00 -0500

Those who toss and turn at night, worrying about whether or not USC football coach Pete Carroll is making ends meet can fret no longer.

According to recent reports, Carroll is the highest-paid private university employee in the country, raking in about $4.4 million a year. The number came from the 2006-2007 fiscal year, and was initially reported by the Chronicle of Higher Education.

Fanhouse.com reporter Michael David Smith claims that $4.4 million is actually lower than some estimates he has seen, and that additional compensation and endorsements might not have been included.

The dilemma regarding the coin Carroll is pulling in is that college presidents' salaries are dwarfed in comparison. Come to think of it, a majority of salaries in any line of work are far more modest.

With the current economic climate wreaking havoc, Carroll's earnings are probably a hard realization for anyone to wrap their mind around. Even catching a glimpse of the seven figures probably leads to a lot of head-shaking and scoffing. He's just a college football coach, right?

Let's consider what Carroll does for USC before casting final judgment on the guy.

First off, the talent and winning habits that Carroll provides fills seats and makes the university the center of attention in the L.A. and national sports markets. Oh, and the fact that USC is routinely in the hunt for a national championship seems to help the appeal, too. There is money to be made for the good of the university when you consider this.

Secondly, been on Carroll's official website lately? The man isn't shy in the community and seems to be on a mission of giving back. The site details his latest venture, A Better L.A., described as "a non-profit organization committed to transforming the city of Los Angeles." Certainly Carroll is known for his mind-molding on the USC campus, but is far more invaluable for his work in the at-risk neighborhoods around the campus.

That said, it's nearly impossible to quantify just how much Carroll puts out, as opposed to takes in. A number doesn't exist to measure the impact the coach has on and off campus.

When you look at Carroll's resume in its entirety, suddenly his earnings don't look so inflated—but, yeah, it's still a decent chunk of change.

John is the L.A. Sports examiner for Examiner.com. His archive can be found here.

Shaq and Kobe: All-Star Game 'Bromance' is Questionable

John McClory — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 00:52:00 -0500

For Shaq and Kobe, Sunday's NBA All-Star Game should have been like a high school reunion.

You can almost see the two awkwardly huddled around a punch bowl, hands in their pockets and making minimal eye contact.

Kobe: So, you're looking... fit.

Shaq: Yeah, thanks. Well, I've packed on a few pounds since you last saw me, but yeah...

Kobe: How's the family?

Shaq: Good. Doing good.

(Awkward silence for about five seconds)

Shaq: How's Phil?

Kobe: He's good. You know, same old Phil.

(Awkward laughter)

You get the idea. But somehow their Phoenix reunion was the exact opposite in every way.

The two were seen almost canoodling on the court in pre-game warm-ups. Shaq seemed to be whispering sweet-nothings into Kobe's ear on the West All-Star bench. And Kobe proceeded to bust up laughing in a way that didn't seem all that genuine.

So nobody is confused by this charade? No question about the duo’s rockier than rocky past?

The exchange of cheap shots via the media. The childish "my team, not yours" battle. The fact their coach wrote a not-so-flattering tell-all about the events.

All swept under the rug? Just like that? What changed?

I suppose Shaq has something to gain by making nice. The Phoenix Suns are on the brink of being disassembled. Some have speculated that Shaq painting Kobe and Phil in a positive light is his way of positioning himself for a potential return to the Lakers. The future holds the key to that answer.

But what's Kobe's angle? Let's see: His personality has gone through a bit of a makeover since Shaq departed. He's certainly more likeable to some, but others still find him to be full of, well, you know. Oh, and everyone is pretty darn sure he wants to win a championship without Shaq.

So, it seems Shaq wants to repair their marriage, while Kobe is likely citing "irreconcilable differences." Sure, Kobe seemed to be playing along when the cameras were on, but, come on, are we that gullible?

Like I said, what changed?

Naturally, the media loves Shaq and Kobe's newfound fondness for each other. L.A. Times columnist Mark Heisler wrote a piece detailing the duo's giggling post-game quotes. ESPN.com columnist J.A. Adande referred to Shaq and Kobe as "great entertainment."

The Shaq-Kobe storyline is maybe the most talked about in NBA history, and the media is eating it up.

Sunday's All-Star game started with Shaq-Kobe chatter and ended with the two being named co-MVPs. Anyone find that a little, um, ironic? Sorry, not even a Hollywood screenwriter could make that ending believable.

According to Adande, Shaq won the media voting 5-4. Kobe received two points for winning the fan vote and Shaq received one for finishing second.

But strong cases could have been made for hometown star (for now) Amar'e Stoudemire and point guard Chris Paul. Stoudemire had 19 points and 6 rebounds, and Paul approached triple-double territory with 14 points, 14 assists, and 7 rebounds.

Don't get me wrong, Kobe was deserving, but Shaq seemed to be thrust into sharing MVP honors with him.

Even more far-fetched was Shaq's claim that the feud was a "marketing" ploy. O'Neal claimed that he and Kobe would have won three or four more championships if they had stayed together. So the logical choice was marketing over championships? Ridiculous and laughable.

Looking into the crystal ball, if Shaq and Kobe can reunite in purple and gold and make it work, then L.A. fans have to be all for it. That, however, is a big “if,” and probably too far down the road to get excited about. Shaq hinted at Sunday's game possibly being his last in All-Star attire, and one has to wonder about his longevity in NBA attire.

Assuming Shaq is prepping for a return to L.A., fans have to be absolutely certain that all fences are mended with Kobe. Nobody wants to see a repeat of the circus that left a dark cloud over the city. The co-MVP All-Stars must prove their dedication to winning as a team, without the elementary attitudes getting in the way.

Sunday's All-Star Game bromance was no indication that Shaq and Kobe are ready to let the past be the past.

The Madden Curse Lives, Claims Brett Favre as Latest Victim

John McClory — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 15:22:00 -0500

Curses aren't real. Never have been, never will be.

When Boston Red Sox fans celebrated their 2004 World Series victory, it marked the end of eighty-six years of torture. The "curse" was "broken," after all. The Curse of the Bambino was the sole cause of their shortcomings. The ghost of Babe Ruth realized he had been a pain the neck long enough and decided to move on with his afterlife.

Sounds pretty absurd, doesn't it? That's because it is.

When fans or media members bring up the possibility of a curse holding their beloved team back, that's when you know their reasoning, logic and answers are bone dry.

Surely it can't be management's fault.

Our losing has nothing to do with our total lack of chemistry.

Handing out a plethora of bad contracts that will leave our team in financial peril for years to come isn't the reason for our failures.

Sound familar?

Player X, who your team traded a century ago, must be the reason you can't win The Big One. Clearly it has nothing to do with any form of incompetency.

The bottom line: Curses are the biggest joke in sports and nothing is more laughable.

But assuming someone, or something, is cursed is also tons of fun and entertainment.

The Madden Curse is the most notable and entertaining of the on-going "curses."

To understand the Madden Curse, one has to be familiar with the current announcer and former coach's video game, Madden NFL football.

In short, the basis for the "curse" is that the NFL talent who graces the cover of John Madden's popular video game, will be doomed from then on, whether it be by serious injury, significant drop in numbers or unfortunate circumstances.

Prior to 1999, only John Madden's mugshot appeared on the cover of the game. Since then, every annual installment features one of the league's top players.

The following is a list of players who have appeared on the cover of Madden and the "curse-like" events or ailments that mysteriously followed:

2000 cover - Barry Sanders: On the verge of breaking Walter Payton's NFL rushing record, Sanders made jaws drop when he announced his retirement—without reason—only a few days before training camp began.

2001 cover - Eddie George: Coming off a recent Super Bowl appearance, George endured the worst statistical season of his career, failing to break 1000 yards rushing for the first time and missing out on the playoffs.

2002 cover - Daunte Culpepper: Culpepper's interceptions grew, his touchdowns dropped and his health began to decline steadily. The Vikings recorded one of their worst seasons in over a decade.

2003 cover - Marshall Faulk: More of the same in Faulk's case—decline in stats. the following seasons and severe injuries, which caused him to miss the 2006 season in its entirety. Faulk officially retired in 2007 but had been gradually fading away since the 2003 season.

2004 cover - Michael Vick: No explanation needed here. Dude's in jail. Enough said.

2005 cover - Ray Lewis: The only cover-man to somewhat defy the odds, Lewis remained in decent health and only saw a minuscule drop in tackles and forced turnovers.

2006 cover - Donovan McNabb: Like George, McNabb was coming off a recent Super Bowl appearance and career-year. However, he suffered a hernia to start the season and was unable to perform up to his abilities as a result. McNabb opted for season-ending surgery to correct the hernia. The Eagles went 5-11.

2007 cover - Shaun Alexander: The trend continued. Alexander previously had a career-year and MVP-caliber season, only to find himself sidelined by a foot injury and currently not on an NFL roster.

2008 cover - Vince Young: Young is maybe the saddest case thus far after enjoying an illustrious college career at Texas. Then rumors of possible retirement began to swirl around after his rookie season, he hasn't lived up to anyone's expectations and may be in a state of emotional turmoil as a result.

This brings us to the 2009 cover featuring the will-he-or-won't-he-retire headache that is Brett Favre.

The "curse" of John Madden and his video game cover kiss of death, certainly made a significant dent in Favre's recently completed season, and possibly his career in some ways.

Favre's touchdowns matched his interceptions (22 each) and his new team, the New York Jets, missed the playoffs after they were all but declared AFC East Champs to start the season.

Additionally, Favre endured frequent shoulder trouble as the Jets lost four of their last five games to finish the season. He threw nine interceptions in those five games, which is extreme even for Favre.

Oddly enough, the Madden 2009 cover depicts Favre in a Green Bay Packers get-up. The significance of it is unclear, but it could potentially be spun into some sort of Madden Curse irony web. After all, the Pack did underachieve and finish 6-10.

Hmmm.

So, is the Madden Curse the real deal? Um, no, probably not.

Is it intriguing to go back in time and review all the talent that is believed to be a victim of Madden's video game cover? Oh my, yes.

In their heart of hearts, fans don't generally believe in the Madden Curse, at least not entirely. Although, San Diego Charger fans might strongly disagree with that statement judging by their Save L.T. campaign from last year's cover.

But that was just for good measure, right?

Curses aren't real, but for the sake of sanity, maybe John Madden should revert back to his old ways and grace the cover of his own game from now on.

Memo to Tiger Woods' Caddy: Quiet, Please!

John McClory — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 17:20:00 -0500

In this time of economic crisis, financial arrogance is often frowned upon. Nobody wants to hear the sob story of the hedge fund guru who can no longer afford daily massages and pampering. Or the Beverly Hills housewife who cuts back on her assets by making the heart-breaking decision to sell one of her four residences.

Up is down, left is right, and—in the immortal words of Jerry Seinfeld—hamburgers are eating people in the current economic climate.

But when the going gets tough, the bone-headed tend to speak up.

Before Tiger Woods signed his scorecard and stashed his clubs after suffering a knee-injury-heard-'round-the-world in his U.S. Open victory, you may have subconsciously noticed the middle-aged man entrusted with polishing Woods' clubs and providing the occasional "trouble's on the right" warning.

His name is Steve Williams and the New Zealander is the caddy assigned to the Best in the World. Williams began caddying at the age of six and was squeezing in 36 holes on the weekend by age 10.

Williams' father introduced him to Australian golfer Peter Thomson who entrusted the caddy with his bag in the 1976 New Zealand Open.

Upon making his way to the U.S., Williams served as right-hand-man to names such as Greg Norman and Raymond Floyd before filling the vacant caddy position at Team Woods in 1999.

Of course, the million-dollar question is, "How much does this guy make for schlepping around a bag of golf clubs?" And the answer may be, well, a million-dollar answer.

Researching Williams' salary earnings results in a barrage of misinformation and conflicting sources. But from what can be deciphered, Stevie—Woods' nickname for him, not mine—is pulling in roughly a million bones a year.

According to Bob Harig of the St. Petersburg Times, "Caddies are typically paid a weekly salary to cover expenses and then receive a percentage of earnings. The standard is five percent, with a bonus of 10 percent for a victory."

OK, so after a few Tiger victories and a speaking engagement or two, Williams is easily in the seven-figure range.

So the only lingering question remaining is: Why, in the name of all that is holy, did Williams feel the need to bash Woods-rival Phil Mickelson over the weekend?

During an event in New Zealand, Williams said, "I wouldn't call Mickelson a great player, 'cause I hate the [expletive]," according to The Guardian newspaper.

But the world-class caddy wasn't finished with his unprovoked assault on the fan-favorite Mickelson.

He told the New Zealand Star Times, "I don't particularly like the guy. He pays me no respect at all and hence I don't pay him any respect. It's no secret we don't get along either."

To put the finishing touches on the public lashing, Williams shared a story about a Mickelson heckler at the U.S. Open.

Allegedly, the anti-Phil spectator sarcastically complimented him on his, um, growing chest region, except not in those exact words. Mickelson vehemently denied the story and called it an "absolute fabrication."

Sorry, but are caddies allowed to have egos? Who's the real money-maker here, Woods or Williams?

Naturally, once the cheap-shot comments were filed under "controversial" by the media talking heads, Williams began to backpedal like a true instigator (For a similar example see: Owens, Terrell).

The now infamous caddy said he didn't expect the comments to reach the public.

Really? What planet is this guy living on?

Put it this way: What controversial comments don't reach the media these days? There is 24-hour and 365-day surveillance on Tiger and everyone in his life. Nothing falls through the cracks, especially at a public speaking engagement.

Woods was forced to speak up and clear the air by issuing a statement on Monday. "I was disappointed to read the comments attributed to Steve Williams about Phil Mickelson, a player that I respect," he said. "It was inappropriate. The matter has been discussed and dealt with."

The matter has been discussed and dealt with? That is what elementary school principals say when a kid gets sent to their office for excessive talking. Sounds like Woods gave his employee a stern talkin'-to.

Sure, we can give Williams the benefit of the doubt—he misspoke and immediately regretted it. It's possible.

But if you're making a hefty amount for trailing Tiger—and dispensing advice like "Hit a five-iron. No, wait! Hit a six"—then everybody wants you to modestly perform your job and not say a peep. And when the sport of golf—and sports in general—are nearing a state of economic turmoil, Stevie better be seen and not heard while strolling along Easy Street.

Maybe this smack-talk will end up being a blessing in disguise when Woods makes his triumphant return. Storylines never hurt anyone, after all. Maybe this is what the PGA needs to kick-start fan interest.

Heck, maybe Williams' comments are just what the doctor ordered to bolster golf's tournament events.

But if Williams is going to target his employer's opponents one-by-one with his foolish statements, then management might be "restructuring" in the near future.

There is no room for classlessness at Tiger Inc. The line of interested candidates will be longer than a Woods tee-shot and the interview process will be rigorous.

And whoever abides by the following requirements will nab the job:

1. Do your job.

2. Shut up.

Charles Barkley Balking: The NBA Legend's Unusually Entertaining Golf Game

John McClory — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 06:48:06 -0400

Charles Barkley is making a strong case for being the most entertaining athlete of all time.

He's given the sports world on-the-court, off-the-court antics, mixed with an electric chemistry alongside the NBA on TNT team, topped off with the occasional chuckle provided by those "Fave 5" commercials.

Sir Charles has spawned the ultimate sports ego—superior athletic prowess (well, 50 lbs. ago), combined with a rare ability to connect with the public long after his prime.

Oh, and supposedly the NBA legend has a political campaign in the works, despite past media controversy and gambling debts that make John Daly look cheap.

But unlike most athletes, who maintain the ability to translate their skills from sport to sport (Dallas Cowboy's quarterback Tony Romo is a two-handicapper, for instance), Barkley is a Freddy Krueger nightmare on the links.

This is relevant because Barkley was recently hacking it up and (hopefully, but not likely) avoiding disaster at the 19th annual American Century Golf Championship at Lake Tahoe, Nevada.

Articulating Barkley's swing to someone who hasn't visually experienced it before is nearly impossible. The inexplicable three-second hesitation at the top of his takeaway gives the gallery just enough time to shake their heads in disgust—or laugh hysterically—before Barkley's Titleist presumably zips into a heavily-wooded area.

You know that horribly repetitive dream where you're running from some entity and no matter how furiously you sprint it does no good?

That's Barkley's swing. The bizarre pause at the top mocks him—and golfers everywhere—as if to say, "There's nothing you can do, Charles. I always win."

This piece was originally intended to examine the mental aspect of the game, until it became apparent that the entire article could revolve around Barkley's golf course woes.

The same woes he currently experiences are shared by golfers all over the world. The difference is that most of those golfers aren't world-class athletes and are accustomed to much lower expectations from their peers.

Listen to the crowd's brief reaction in the above link. It's beyond embarrassing and way past humiliating to generate a response like that with one swing of a five-iron.

Do these cruel spectators think Barkley is doing it on purpose? He's an entertaining dude who frequently basks in the spotlight—so this is all for show, right?

Barkley suffers from a form of the yips, most commonly found in golfers who have played for more than 25 years. Nearly half of all serious golfers have suffered from the yips at one point or another, whether it be putting- or driving-related. An invisible detonator is planted inside the brain and proceeds to unleash its fury on the first tee or putting green, for instance.

It's mental, not physical.

Barkley has no problem stepping back from the ball and taking a few practice swings with a fluid motion. He's even shown he can hit wedge shots on the driving range with complete ease. But when tee-time rolls around, it's as if Barkley has a violent brain aneurysm, and that picture-perfect swing is forever lost in time.

Is it just good, old-fashioned nerves getting the best of Chuck? Maybe. But that doesn't begin to explain his brutally awkward backswing, which has been known to cause severe twitching amongst fellow athlete linksmen. "I've never seen a guy hit so many bad shots," said Barkley friend and needler Michael Jordan in a New York Times piece.

Tiger Woods and the late Payne Stewart have tried to lend a helping hand towards Barkley's anguish, all to no avail. Both PGA Tour legends were perplexed, and unable to repair what once was a solid golf game. Tiger goes so far as to perform a dead-on imitation of the swing from hell.

The ironic twist in all this is that Barkley used to boast a spotless golf game, with a poetry-in-motion swing to go with it. He used to be amongst the MJs and Romos when it came to tackling the links, approximately somewhere in the four to five-handicap range, although most golfers tend to lie about that stuff.

But it all went haywire when he decided a brushup lesson was in order.

Cue Jaws music and bloodcurdling scream.

The instructor (who should consider now a good time to run and hide) advised Barkley to pause at the top of his back-swing in order to develop balance and rhythm. Apparently the wisdom sunk in, because the habit has been unbreakable since.

Mark it down as the most detrimental advice ever given just shy of "Hey Adam, take a bite of this forbidden apple," and, "Hey Britney, you should totally marry that K-Fed guy with no bank account or prospects."

With no hope or relief in sight, Barkley continues to be a good sport about his unexplained mental blockage, although he temporarily retired his golf equipment in 2006. Still, he frequently jokes with those who mock his visually frustrating game and unorthodox swing.

Shockingly, the American Century Golf Championship's first round standings featured Denver Broncos quarterback Jay Cutler in dead last, not the presumed Barkley. The following conclusions can be drawn from this news:

1.) Barkley's game is coming around and there's light at the end of the tunnel.

and

2.) Cutler must be really, really bad and should stick to the gridiron.

But in the end, isn't Barkley's game just another form of entertainment for his mass audience?

Fans love Sir Charles in nearly every hat he wears—whether he's the Round Mound of Rebound, complete with 12,546 career boards, the ferocious beast tossing hecklers through plate glass windows, or the jaw-dropping political loud-mouth.

There's always been a human aspect to his game and lifestyle—a meat and potatoes, PB & J-type guy. We eat it up and love every minute of it.

The human element comes like a punch in the face upon studying the five seconds of torture he calls a golf swing.

Take it back...

Wait for it...

Okay, now follow through...

Fore!

Now that's entertainment.

My First (Paid) Sports Gig: A Memoir

John McClory — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 23:14:00 -0400

Post-college life is anticlimactic, that's for sure. How cruel is it that college life is comprised of complete freedom, total relaxation, and just as much—or as little—responsibility as you had in elementary school?

Here's why this is such a cruel twist of fate:

The "real world," as it's so commonly referred to by condescending older folk, is the exact opposite of everything you knew during your college years.

So, the idea as I understand it, is to fill the void in any way possible. Rather, don't just fill the void, but make sure the void overflows like a neglected bathtub at full pressure.

Specifically, follow "that adult's" advice.

You know, the one that looms over you and maps out your future piece by piece. (Note: I only say adult because age twenty-three feels nothing close to official adulthood, even though it legally is and then some). No, not the adult that spews the "real world" comment in your face, forget him/her. I'm talking about the one that gives you the "do what you love" advice.

See, they're onto something. Although the advice is vague and possibly easier said than done, it makes perfect sense.

"Do what you love."

So, essentially, I shouldn't do what I don't love? Gotcha.

I've always had a deep interest in the sports world. Hell, I had a deep interest in it before the notion of morphing it into a job became a possibility. Basically, I had spent a significant portion of my life living and breathing sports and now—post-college—I wasn't going to place something sports-related in my "Jobs I Might Thoroughly Enjoy" file?

The opportunity arose when a friend of mine notified me of a possible opening in the Orange County area where I reside. Put simply, he works for the parent company (I think) of the company that opened in my neck of the woods, if that makes sense.

My friend said that one of the things his company does is cover local soccer games of all levels. The company branched out to O.C. to do the same, and that's where I would come in. So, he provided me with the email of the editor, and I was on my way to possibly do some freelance journalism.

(Admittedly, soccer is not my sport of choice. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy it to an extent, but I can think of at least three or four sports I would prefer to cover instead. My entire encyclopedia of soccer knowledge consists of a few English Premier League games and last year's World Cup. Oh, and I caught a couple of those Euro '08 games as well. Spain won, right? But gotta start somewhere, as they say.)

Anyway, I shoot the editor an email, complete with just the right amount of schmoozing, and sit and wait.

About a month later, I was still waiting. By this time, I was assuming that receiving a response was a long shot and perhaps there wasn't a need at the moment.

Just when I had lost hope and began to move on to other things (nothing), I received an email. It had been so long since I inquired about the position that the email address appeared unfamiliar and a tad suspicious. Was this another rip-off offer from the good people at the Dell headquarters in India?

Upon putting two and two together, I promptly answered and I was given the general rundown of freelancing and hired on the spot. After a few meaningless pages of paperwork that seemed longer than the Declaration of Independence, I received my first official assignment.

The assignment entailed covering a semi-pro women's match, West Coast FC vs. San Diego WFC. The match would take place at a local high school and the editor provided me with some key information.

From what I can recall, the two most important pieces of info were:

1.) I will not be required to pay for parking since I'm with the "press." As far as I know, I was the only "press" there, but I'm not complaining. Thanks for the free parking, monopoly man.

2.) I am to speak with West Coast FC's coach, whose name now escapes me. I think it was Coach McElroy, or something like that. Anyway, find McElroy and maybe get a few postgame quotes for my soon-to-be award-winning article.

Being my first day on the job and all, I arrived about a half-hour early. I awkwardly explained to the parking attendant that I was with the press. This likely would've been a problem with anyone else, but luckily the attendant didn't seem to be up to date on the English language.

So, I parked for free in the end and only managed to confuse one person.

As I strolled down to the field from the lot, I noticed a small crowd was already gathered. A girl's soccer game was in progress and I became paranoid that the game already began without a key member of the press. Was I going to have to inject some good, old-fashioned B.S. into my first article?

Nope, false alarm.

I had stumbled across a high school game at the end of the second half. This was a high school, after all. Plus, I was ridiculously early.

In case you're wondering, I came equipped with the usual sports journalist paraphernalia: pen, notepad, camera (big bonus if I snap a decent picture), and an unusually long attention span.

I decided to leave my tape recorder behind and jot down postgame quotes by hand. Of course, I anticipated difficulty reading the notes when it came time to write, but I was prepared to squint and appear illiterate.

The pregame festivities consisted of a pre-recorded national anthem with no words (the scent of patriotism was in the air) and the starting lineups, delivered by an announcer who made Stephen Hawking sound eloquent.

The game was soon underway and the bleachers had filled in nicely. It soon became apparent that I was inadvertently sitting amongst the San Diego cheering section.

Referring to these people as the "cheering section" is a lofty compliment, considering the only words they spoke were to the kid who repeatedly offered them candy for a dollar, to which they declined several times (come on, one friggin' dollar for some peanut M&M's! Keep the kid off the streets!).

By the way, parents always seem to be hesitant to bring their young children to something that might be long and boring. Well, not the family sitting behind me. They schlepped their entire offspring with them, and it became apparent that I had chosen the worst possible seating section.

The gist is that one of these snotty adolescent, no-good kids wanted to go do something more fun elsewhere, and the Mother of the Year wasn't having it. So, the harsh words flew back and forth and presumably ended with a silent car ride home.

Isn't this how the relationships between Lohan and Spears and their mothers got started? Just shut the hell up, both of you. Stop the bickering before mother goes gold digging and daughter decides snorting coke off a toilet seat in a sleazy Hollywood nightclub might be a fun option.

To make matters worse, I unknowingly picked the creepiest guy to sit next to. Like, Hannibal Lecter creepy. At first I thought he was with a local publication, until I regrettably asked. Turns out he wasn't, and he just enjoyed taking pictures of the players. Did I mention each team had about a dozen good-looking girls?

And that's not even the creepiest part. He knew everything—repeat, everything—about both teams and individual players. Upon discovering this, I decided keeping my distance might be to my advantage. I've seen way too much Dateline NBC to trust this guy.

The game itself, on the other hand, featured some exceptional athletes. San Diego's best player (last name was Zhang I think) was the captain of the Chinese national team supposedly. I have to say, she was one of these girls who appeared a little on the, um, man-ish side, and she imposed her will for the most part.

Remember Danny Almonte from the Little League World Series a few years back? That was Zhang. I felt obligated to request some identification and perform a thorough background check after the game.

Something wasn't adding up with this girl. She had some crazy skills and stood out like a sore thumb. I don't think she spoke a word of English, and, at times, she appeared disgusted with the play of her teammates, as if they weren't up to her level. She made the Williams sisters look dainty in comparison.

Regardless, West Coast FC blanked Team Zhang, 2-0 in the end. It had come time for my first journalism interview and I had to make sure this McElroy character didn't skip out without me snatching a few quotes.

It would've helped a great deal if I knew what the mysterious McElroy looked like in the first place. Even worse, I didn't know if I was looking for a man or woman. Should I aimlessly shout the name McElroy at the top of my lungs and hope someone answers?

Eventually I worked up the nerve to approach one of West Coast's coaches, who looked and acted like a head coach would. She had just finished giving her squad a pep talk and was all smiles after the win. This had to be McElroy because there was clearly no other coach in sight. Now would be my window of opportunity.

"Hi, Coach McElroy?"

Upon the name McElroy hitting her eardrum, her smile was wiped away from her face.

"Who? McElroy?"

"Yeah, are you Coach McElroy? Head Coach?"

"Umm, no. There's no McElroy here. Maybe that's a coach for the other team."

Off to a great start. Turned out this woman was the goalkeeper coach and McElroy was completely non-existent. Boy, am I glad my editor made a point of instructing me to talk to the imaginary Coach McElroy. Thanks a bunch.

The slightly insulted goalkeeper coach was kind enough to give me a few quotes on the game and also provided her real name, which was helpful. I got some info and additional quotes from San Diego's coach and that was that.

The final article was chopped down to size and posted on the company's website. They felt my paparazzi skills were decent enough and made use of my Sports-Illustrated worthy, action shot (it sucked).

I was promptly told by my editor, via email, that the final draft was, "VERY short" and to stretch it out in the future.

Sure thing. I felt like answering with, "And if you could get your friggin' names right in the future, you'd be doing me a favor," but I held back in order to keep my job.

Suddenly, the post-college life seems welcoming, as I found something that I could grow to love. The first outing was rough around the edges, but I guess that's the "real world," right? Can't say for sure if I'll still have this gig in a month or two. Certainly, if anyone mentioned in this memoir reads it I might not.

Working—and making a comfortable living—in sports is not easy, and I don't think I expected it to be. Turning a beloved hobby, like writing about sports, into a paid job is pretty ideal, and the opportunities are out there.

My first sports journalism experience could be the start of something great or the end of something that was never meant to be. But hey, at least I got free parking out of it.

Barry Bonds to The Boston Red Sox? Just Stop

John McClory — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 15:15:32 -0400

Boston Globe columnist Eric Wilbur wrote a recent blog piece tossing around the idea of controversial slugger Barry Bonds shippin' up to Boston.

Wilbur didn't delve into specifics concerning the imaginary deal and, really, why bother?

Forget salaries and negotiation procedures. They just aren't worth mentioning. The long laundry list of red flags involving Barry Bonds is enough to squash the banter before it becomes a national debate.

This silly talk started when Red Sox DH, David Ortiz, was placed on the shelf for an unspecified amount of time with a wrist injury. Of course, who else is capable of replacing Papi's numbers than the human asterisk, Barry Bonds?

Now that you know the origins of the debate, it's time to tell you what you already know and are probably thinking. Upon reading Wilbur's rant, you get the impression that he is taking the Fox News approach to Bonds donning a Sox uni. Fair and balanced, that's Wilbur.

Fine.

I wouldn't expect Wilbur to take a one-sided approach seeing as how he's employed by a prestigious publication. He's merely setting up a debate for his readers, possibly for entertainment purposes.

But the fact this is even a topic of discussion makes it sound like the Boston media is living in a pre-2004 world. Sure, if you're a fan of the Sox you gotta love the idea of a healthy Papi thriving in the heart of the order, but there's enough offense without Ortiz to start a quadruple A team.

The bottom line is Ortiz's wrist pops, he's likely out for a significant amount of time, and, suddenly, its "code red" on the East Coast as if everyone else in between is a total slouch.

Ridiculous.

As for Bonds, it simply isn't worth the time, effort, and overall risk. You can point to the baggage, attitude, and out of control media circus, but we're also talking about a guy who's old, banged up, and mentally and physically drained.

We're talking about a 40-plus-year-old who's already missed spring training and a couple months of the season. What's to like about this situation? Think there's more to Bonds not being signed than we previously thought? Hmm.

The red flags don't stop there.

Barry hates and despises Boston for completely irrational and ignorant reasons. He said Boston is "racist," remember? Even if he had an ounce of credibility, I'd still question that statement.

How ironic would it be for Boston to be the only city to suddenly accept the man who stereotyped it not that long ago?

Wilbur posed the question, "If the call comes, does Theo Epstein answer it?"

The short answer is most definitely, "No!" The alternative is Theo ripping the phone cord out of the socket, throwing it against the wall and getting into the fetal position under his desk.

Maybe the Bonds to the Sox deal happens at some point. I mean, it's not impossible and stranger things have happened. Then again, maybe it's pointless hype that's already reached "impossible, no way, never happening" status.

But just imagine the headlines for a moment. "Sox Make Deal With Devil", complete with a huge picture of Bonds and his giant cranium. As if there aren't enough people who loathe Boston sports and their winning ways.

An acquisition of that magnitude may not lead to more wins, but it would certainly lead to more hatred and insults. It'd be a national embarrassment and the icing on the Boston cream pie.

So, just stop. Stop pretending the guy who we all deemed a cancer actually matters now. Stop thinking his numbers and percentages will be beneficial when you consider everything that won't be.

And stop giving him control over the headlines.

When we give Barry Lamar Bonds the spotlight, we leave all that's right with the sport in the dark.

Little League Follies: This Week's Sign of the Apocalypse

John McClory — Thu, 22 May 2008 22:22:28 -0400

Each week Sports Illustrated features its "Sign of the Apocalypse", which typically involves some type of outlandish happening in the realm of sports—a bizarre superstition or incredible feat, for instance.

The general idea is that someone has gone too far, hence the impending apocalypse.

The May 26th issue did not disappoint. In fact, the latest issue ousted each "Sign of the Apocalypse" before it and raised the bar or, perhaps, lowered it. Either way, It's safe to say the Antichrist is knocking at our door.

In Freetown, Massachusetts, a seven year-old boy was benched at a Little League baseball game because—get this—his mother was a no-show at the concession stand.

The boy's mother, Jodi Hooper, said she failed to fulfill her duties because she couldn't get time off from work.

Sounds like a reasonable excuse, right? Right?

Well, not for the head of the Freetown Youth Athletic Association, Dave Brouillette. He stated that concession stand revenues are necessary to fund the league's programs and, well, rules are rules.

Parents are required to show up for their concession stand assignment or risk the suspension of their children. Brouillette said that he was unable to see his own son play because he had to cover the shift for Hooper.

It seems parents have found a new way to shatter their children's Little League dreams with their own discrepancies. At least this one didn't come to blows like so many before it. Perhaps it takes time to evolve from verbal confrontations to physical beatings, which are a YouTube staple.

Of course, all this is pretty surprising, but is it shocking?

Let's see: a dash of thick-headed parental figures, mixed with a money-driven society and an ultra-competitive and ever-serious sports climate.

Nope, not shocking at all. Quite standard, in fact.

Of course, there has to be a slight scapegoat to bring to the forefront of a suddenly brash sports society.

ESPN personalities, such Woody Paige and Jay Mariotti, raise their voices to new decibels and all but slash each other's throats as they incoherently debate a spring training baseball game between the Orioles and Royals, as well as other sports-related topics that carry no relevance whatsoever.

Not enough proof that the pizazz has been snatched from the modern sporting world? Okay, fine.

Author Buzz Bissinger recently appeared opposite Deadspin.com Editor Will Leitch on an episode of HBO's Costas Now. The topic was contemporary sports media, and Bissinger lit into Leitch almost to the point of cardiac arrest.

Bissinger went on a 20-minute tirade conveying his objection to blog profanity by utilizing a series of f-bombs.

Maybe the last two tangents were a bit of a stretch in relation to a kid getting unfairly snubbed at a Little League game. But it certainly fits right in with the growing seriousness of our sports culture.

Does it really matter who's to blame? I hate to sound like a walking, talking public service announcement, but aren't the children the losers in this mess? Wasn't little Jimmy Hooper (or whatever his name is) the one who got cheated out of—what could've been—a memorable experience?

And what did he gain?

Absolutely nothing, except a piss-poor example of petty, money-grubbing "adult" problems, which he somehow paid for in the end.

I understand that in order for Little Leaguers to participate there has to be no shortage of funds, but how about directing the punishment toward someone over the age of seven? Impose a harsh fine or send out a nasty letter.

Heck, slap Jodi Hooper's hand till it turns bright red.

Or how about getting really crazy and coming up with new means of revenue? Obviously, some creative soul came up with the ingenious concession stand idea. Maybe they're brimming with more methods of piling up the dough.

The Freetown Youth Athletic Association is in need of some serious rule changes. Let me be the first to propose a rule in which the kids don't get the shaft as a result of an empty concession stand.

It'd be nice to get through an issue of SI—or any sports publication—without stumbling across something pertaining to an over-the-edge sports incident.

Maybe the heart-warming, good-natured, yet entertaining stories are the rarest of all nowadays.

But if you discover one buried deep beneath the disheartening and discouraging, consider it a sign of the apocalypse.

Patriots Saga: Getting to Know the Spygate All-Stars

John McClory — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 05:14:48 -0500

Just when the public thought Spygate was put to rest, the media dug up the corpse and dished out thirty lashes.

Coincidentally—or perhaps intentionally—the agonizing tale caught a second wind on the doorstep of Super Bowl XLII.

For those who had better things to do and missed the Spygate sideshow entirely, let's review a brief timeline complete with a who's who.

I now present...the 2007-2008 Spygate All-Stars!

Eric Mangini

Don't let the fact that he's gained fifty pounds since his stint as a Patriots assistant fool you, the "Man-genius" can still blow the whistle with the best of 'em.

And by, "blow the whistle," I mean rat out the man who let young Eric ride his coattails since his days at Wesleyan University.

Ah, the sweet smell of back-stabbing is prevalent in the NFL.

During week 1 of the 07-08 season, Mangini accused Belichick and co. of filming the Jets defensive signals during the game, a direct violation of league rules.

The Spygate-outing ended in a 38-14 blowout in favor of New England.

Wow, just imagine if the Patriots had adhered to the NFL code of ethics—the final score might've been a narrow 35-14 victory.

It's clear that both coaches trashed their work relationship—and friendship—once Mangini traded Super Bowl rings for onion rings.

But what about their frat buddy days at Wesleyan? Did Belichick pants Mangini? Did he spill a wine cooler on his v-neck sweater vest?

If Spygate has a deeper history than Watergate, then isn't it reasonable to assume that Mangini was in on the ruse under Belichick's command? Roger Goodell has no legit reason to question coaches not named Belichick? Is the commish afraid the "Man-genius" will outfox him faster than Jack Bauer?

An intriguing aspect of the controversy was vastly overlooked.

In a January 2007 playoff game, the Jets were accused of doing some spying of their own. Allegedly, they were caught illegally filming by a Patriots security employee and were asked to leave. The Jets organization later denied the accusations and claimed the Patriots had given them permission to do so. Belichick denied permission was given.

(Raven's coach, Brian Billick, also accused Mangini of illegal tactics. Hmmm.)

If the lowly Jets were under the same microscope as the mighty Patriots, would more attention be given to this story?

You gotta wonder.

The accusations made against the Jets were, afterall, only accusations. But isn't that what Spygate is all about—accusations, allegations, and assumptions?

Without these three ingredients, what would ESPN's Gregg Easterbrook write about?

Bill Belichick

The thorn in the NFL's side, ladies and gentlemen!

Who would've thought the man behind such dead-pan quotes as, "We're gonna take it one game at a time," and, "Tom's a great player," could be capable of orchestrating one of the biggest scandals in NFL history.

Of course, to his credit, we honestly don't know how much weight Spygate truly carries. But it has the potential to blow the roof off the joint, especially when you're dealing with a media that documented the growth of Barry Bond's cranium.

Belichick, of course, was on the receiving end of Mangini's wrath in week 1. Watching them reluctantly shake hands at the end of a Jets-Pats game is like watching a newly split couple cross paths in a public place—they think about going in for the hug and ultimately decide a handshake is somehow less awkward.

NFL Commissioner, Roger Goodell, dealt out a $500,000 fine to the coach—the largest ever—and the organization was fined an amount of $250,000. Additionally, the Patriots were forced to forfeit their upcoming draft pick.

Ouch.

In the mean time, the media has shifted their focus to Belichick's "early exit" in the last second of Super Bowl XLII. Numerous questions still loom about him, but it's reassuring to know the media has their priorities straight.

Is Belichick's so-called arrogance and pigskin I.Q. just a shield to cover up blatant cheating? Are we missing the big picture and ignoring other NFL cheating issues? Is the media's microscope so intently fixed on him that the accusations are vastly blown out of proportion?

Most importantly, what's keeping the Patriots organization from marketing his hoodies? They are sitting on a retail gold mine.

"Beli-cheat's" lack of cooperation with the media has officially come back to haunt him—the silent treatment in post-game press conferences, the shoving of hovering cameramen, and the plethora of unuseable quotes such as, "We played good."

As Spygate details begin to unfold, the annual Mangini and Belichick family BBQ will become increasingly more uncomfortable.

Roger Goodell

Every commissioner has their "welcome-to-the-league" moment.

Apparently, Goodell decided to get his kick to the groin out of the way early.

Now, however, it's likely that Goodell was more than familiar with NFL coaches gaining a "competitive advantage" in games.

Sound familiar, Bud Selig?

Goodell was crowned NFL commish in August of 2006, taking over for the retired Paul Tagliabue. He was chosen over four finalists for the position after singing an enchanting version of "When a Man Loves a Woman," by Michael Bolton. Simon Cowell referred to the performance as "absolutely memorable."

The commish was called out early in 2008 for imposing a limited punishment on the New England Patriots cheating scandal.

Limited? Really? The largest fine ever given to a coach, plus an additional team fine and loss of a draft pick isn't sufficient?

What did the critics want? A stripping of Super Bowl titles based on limited evidence and witnesses with questionable credibility? How about forcing Belichick to thoroughly answer redundant post-game questions at gunpoint?

Goodell may be caught between a rock and a hard place. His apparent destruction of the Patriots illegal tapes leaves him in hot water with the critics.

It's crucial for Goodell to do the exact opposite of his counterparts in order to avoid dragging the NFL through the mud. Stern—who has been a model commish up until last year—endured a brutal corruption scandal of his own. Although, in his defense, Stern's hands were likely tied.

Selig, on the other hand, staggered blindly through his stint as commish, ignoring all signs of obvious juicing.

A boiling cup of coffee has been thrown in Goodell's lap and now he must wash away the stains.

Arlen Specter

Easily the nerdiest person to be associated with the sport of football since Corey Haim in the movie, Lucas.

Specter took a page out of George Mitchell's book and decided politics and sports somehow mix. Perhaps his perpetual investigation of the Kennedy Assassination grew tiring.

Goodell received a letter from Specter concerning the destruction of the Spygate tapes. The explanation he received was that the tapes contained nothing earth-shattering and were no longer needed.

Oops, Goodell pulled an Enron.

But get this: Comcast has an ongoing battle with the NFL over fees related to the NFL network. Specter has received a hefty amount of campaign contributions from Comcast and those affiliated.

In most schools of thought that's called a "conflict of interest."

And how ironic that Specter is a devoted supporter of the Philadelphia Eagles. I was going to refer to him as a, "diehard Eagles fan," but somehow I can't picture him polishing off a six-pack, rounding up his fellow senators to chest paint E-A-G-L-E-S, and heckling Donovan McNabb for four quarters.

Nevertheless, it's not far fetched to assume that Specter is still licking his wounds from Super Bowl XXXIX and T.O.'s leftover poison.

Hey, why not kill two birds with one stone, right? Spit some old-fashioned revenge at the Patriots and show false concern for a game he never played.

A true politician, indeed.

Matt Walsh

The most recent addition to the Spygate All-Stars, Walsh is a former Video Assistant for the New England Patriots.

Walsh—who was fired by the Patriots in 2002—recently stated he has groundbreaking information regarding the Patriot's alleged violations.

On February 2, 2008, a day before Super Bowl XLII, an "unnamed source" informed the Boston Herald that the Patriots videotaped the St. Louis Rams walkthrough before Super Bowl XXXVI.

Upon putting two and two together, the assumption can be made that Walsh is, in fact, the "unnamed source." Either that, or the other video assistant who worked for the Pats during 2001 suddenly felt compelled to shed some light on the situation.

Like Specter, Walsh's timing is impeccable. The Patriots seem to be in the business of burning bridges, yet this is the first person to come forward with potential information? No other disgruntled employees, players, or ex-coaches are intent on settling a score with the cutthroat organization?

As the media began to investigate Walsh's background, it became apparent that he lied about being a member of his college golf team.

So, let's recap: Walsh claims he has the power to fully expose the biggest cheating scandal in NFL history, yet he spins a yarn about his history on the links.

How do you say, "No credibility" in Belichickian?

At this point, Walsh's statements seem a tad skewed but not all the pieces to the puzzle fit quite yet. It's entirely possible that Walsh can serve as the missing link to the Spygate circus.

Or maybe he's just really pissed the Patriots organization didn't provide him with a "Farewell" fruit basket.

Witness History, Witness Super Bowl XLII

John McClory — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 02:55:14 -0500

Jay Mohr, comedian and foxsports.com columnist, wrote a perplexing piece concerning Super Bowl XLII.

The gist was that the game "stinks" unless your team is included in the action.

Now, it should be noted that Mohr is a crosstown rival Jets fan, and a staunch supporter of the pinstripes. To say that he's a tad bitter wouldn't be going out on a limb. In this case, I don't expect him to pick the lesser of two evils, but I'm borderline offended that he's neglecting the game for history's sake.

You know the Nike commerical starring Lebron James that claims we are all "witness" to him? Although the ad comes across as arrogant, I find myself agreeing somewhat. Whether James far surpasses Jordan, or fades into oblivion like Bobby Fischer, we are witnessing something great.

Similarly, Super Bowl XLII is history in the making.

Sunday's game comes equipped with intriguing subplots—Spygate, Brady's ankle, Eli's emergence, Strahan's quest for a ring, etc. But it doesn't stop there.

The twist to this year’s Super Bowl is, win or lose, the Patriots are the game's pivotal component.

Like it or not, the Giants need the Patriots just like Bird needs Magic and the cast of Seinfeld needs each other.

The ‘07-‘08 Pats toured the United States single-handedly bringing relevance to all sorts of teams. Why else would all eyes (outside of Baltimore maybe) be glued to a typical Monday night game in which the defensively minded Ravens almost derailed a perfect season? Why else would the '72 Fins—namely Mercury Morris—emerge from obscurity to torture fans with a taunting "Hatriot" rap on SportsCenter?

The Patriots' quest for the unthinkable season gave the opposition reason to bask in the bright lights of the NFL.

And so this game does not pertain only to East Coasters, but to anyone appreciating sports history.

Granted, the Giants staged a tour of their own throughout the playoffs, and credit is overdue. But they don't carry the same weight that the Patriots do.

More to the point, the Giants need the Patriots’ undefeated record that comes in addition to the actual team.

Of course, the argument could be made that the Patriots need the Giants as well. They need an underdog with less bark and more bite, they need a team that’s defied the odds, and they need a David to compliment their Goliath.

Average and diehard football fans alike should be honored to experience a piece of sports history. Forgive me for getting all touchy feely, but our generation has the chance to witness something our grandkids and, possibly, their grandkids will never see.

Whether the end result is a 19-0 record or 18-1, both teams will have played a vital role in the history books.

You can point to the dangling asterisk nonsense next to the record and claim it's tainted. But, in the end, any publicity is good publicity and every dominant team ever to exist has a kink in the armor.

Why do you think the media devotes constant surveillance to the likes of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens? The answer is simple: their historical combination of dominance and controversy are nearly untouchable and may not be seen again.

Heck, Britney Spears falls into the same category. She was the reigning Pop Queen and now she struggles to dress herself in the morning, yet she's perpetually shadowed by the crazed paparazzi. The only thing keeping her from an appearance on Celebrity Rehab is the fact she maintains the perfect storm of dominance and controversy.

So, the Jay Mohrs of the world, unable to rise above their own teams’ failures, can boycott Sunday's game and pretend it never happened. A game will be played and history will be made with or without them—the Pats will attempt to make it and the G-men will attempt to halt it.

Either way, we all are witness.

Championship Review and Super Bowl Preview

John McClory — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 01:48:50 -0500

The Pats and G-Men prevail and prepare for Super Bowl XLII. With two weeks until the big game, let's review some random AFC/NFC Championship postgame thoughts and Super Bowl matchups.

AFC Championship—San Diego vs. New England

Probably the sloppiest game in NFL history. If there was such thing as the WNFL (Women's National Football League) it would resemble Sunday's game.

The Patriots found a new method of winning and it looks like this: Brady throws 3 INT's, Moss is limited to 1 reception for 18 yards, and Belichick apparently forgets the playbook on the team bus.

And the result? Patriots 21 Nate Kaeding 12. Makes sense to me.

As for the Bolts, Phillip Rivers made a surprise guest appearance after a week of "doubtful" talk (rumor has it he went under the knife a week before the game) and TomDanian LaLinson (I'm citing copyright infringement on the LT nickname) finishes with 2 carries for 5 yards and decided to pout under his helmet for the remaining time.

Is it just me or have the Chargers been doing an inordinate amount of talking and not much walking? First, Rivers yaps at harmless Indy fans. Then, Igor Olshansky (who?) calls out the Pats for no particular reason. Finally, news just broke that Kevin Hardwick (who?) referred to Richard Seymour as the "dirtiest blankety blank" this side of the Mississippi.

Please, just admit that you hate the Patriots with a passion and are tired of them winning. You're not alone.

I'll be the first to admit this Chargers team has probably the best young talent the NFL has seen. But don't give me a pile of crap and tell me it's chocolate cake. In other words, don't mistake youth and passion for flat-out immaturity. Tomlinson should give last year's "classless" speech, except apply it to this year's Charger's team.

And just so you don't think I'm completely bias, Rodney Harrison should put a cork in it, too. He's too old to be hitting late and jawing at the sideline. He's going to give himself a heart attack. Belichick must feel like an ashamed father when he's around Rodney.

Imagine both of them carpooling home after a game. Belichick is irate after another 15 yard penalty courtesy of Harrison. "Well, you've really done it this time, Rodney! Do you realize I'm the head coach of a professional team, dammit?!? I drive a Dodge Stratus!"

Anyway, my friend, Sean, brought up an interesting point after the game -- where was Tomlinson's team spirit? Look, I understand he's injured and frustrated and bummed that he couldn't give his usual 110%, but is a little applause too much to ask? How about lending advice to Turner and Sproles who were attempting to shoulder the load on the ground? Hell, how about removing your helmet for a split second and pretending to give a rip? Your team was in the hunt from beginning to end and, mentally, you were elsewhere.

No excuse.

That being said, I'm not entirely convinced that Tomlinson was even under that helmet. Is it possible that Norv Turner pulled a sleight of hand and secretly sent him to the locker room in the 1st quarter? I kept expecting Tomlinson to emerge from a cloud of smoke in the remaining minutes, complete with pyrotechnics and a lightning bolt cape.

NFC Championship—New York vs. Green Bay

Was this supposed to happen? Did Favre's final run at immortality reach an abrupt end?

He's human. Imagine that.

Favre showing a glimpse of his former self at the beginning of the season sparked a 17 week dialogue of, "Does he have one more in him?"

The uncomfortable answer is, "No."

Favre had an ungodly amount of mileage and was running on empty. For some reason today's football fan maintains the belief that Favre somehow transcends the game -- that when he shows signs of dominance he's unstoppable. He's "The Ironman," he has to win, right?

Favre will retire (you gotta assume) as one of the best and most respected athletes of all time. The NFC Championshp slip-up doesn't take away from his legacy and, even without a solid 2007 season, he still has shoe-in Hall of Fame numbers and a breathtaking salt and pepper beard that would make George Clooney jealous.

Meanwhile, the unbreakable New York Giants defy the odds and win on the road for the third straight week. If ESPN did a poll in week 1 asking which Manning is more likely to reach the Super Bowl, the results would've read: Peyton 95% Archie 4% Eli 1%.

The G-men sealed the deal in OT, 23-20, with a Lawrence Tynes winning field goal, which eventually led to every announcer and analyst exclaiming the, "Third Tynes A Charm" phrase -- brilliant!

By the way, I miss Jeremy Shockey in an odd way. You gotta love a guy who can dominate in the red-zone during the day and pose as a WWE wrestler at night. Is there any doubt that he could impersonate Triple H at parties? Put their pictures side by side and tell me they couldn't be a tag-team.

At the same time, the name Kevin Boss tends to grow on you. Columnists will have a field day if he somehow catches the winning touchdown. Imagine all the "Who's the Boss?" and "Oh, so Boss!" headlines. Kevin Boss is a catchy WWE name come to think of it. For the record, I think all tight ends are capable of being wrestlers.

It's appropriate that the Giants earned a trip to Arizona. They gave the Pats a nail-biter and near loss in week 16. And, once again, the Giants are the dangerous underdogs.

Super Bowl XLII—New York vs. New England

First of all, can we all agree to rid ourselves of the numerical burden that is the Super Bowl? I had to inconveniently Google "Giants vs. Patriots" to find the random assortment of Roman numerals that were awkwardly thrown together. This poppycock has to stop before Super Bowl XXXLLVVIII.

Anyway, this east coast battle (sorry west coast fans, hit the beach) should be quite a showdown. Like I said, these two already gave us fond memories a few weeks ago, and it shouldn't be any different this time around.

It should be noted that both teams match-up extremely well. Let's review...

Manning vs. Brady

Edge: Brady
Reason: As strong as Eli's appeared in the playoffs, you can't go against Tom in big game's. Granted, he was a near no-show in the AFC Championship, but the worst is likely behind him. The Brady to Moss combo won't be contained for a third straight week.

Burress vs. Moss

Edge: Burress
Reason: Believe me, this is a slight edge, only because Burress has been more resilient than Moss in the previous weeks. Plus, Brady possesses more passing targets than Eli and doesn't hesitate to spread the ball around. Moss is definitely more of a distraction for the D on the field (and off).

Jacobs vs. Maroney

Edge: Maroney
Reason: He single-handedly carried the Pat's offense against San Diego and was strong versus the Jags as well. Speaking of strong, Jacobs is a beast and could run all over the Pat's senior citizen linebackers, but they tend to put the clamps on in the 4th quarter.

Bradshaw, Toomer, Smith, and Boss vs. Faulk, Welker, Gaffney, and Watson

Edge: Patriots
Reason: Faulk is a sensational passing back, Welker's presence is invaluable and can sub for lack of a running game (if necessary), Gaffney is the go-to-guy on any other team, and Watson is a big red zone target.

The Defense

Edge: Giants
Reason: The Pats "bend but don't break" defense bends too much in the first half, although they pull through when it counts. Nonetheless, New York's front four can be overpowering and flat-out scary. There's a reason Brady joked about "sitting Osi and Strahan" before week 16's game.

The O-line

Edge: Patriots
Reason: Put simply, they give Brady an ample amount of time to pitch and tent and camp in the backfield. Oh, and they resemble a group of bearded Vikings that would make the, uh, Vikings envious.

Special Teams

Edge: Draw
Reason: Probably too close to call. On one hand you got the Giant's speedy returner (Hixon), who returned a kick versus the Pats in week 16. On the other hand you got the Pats ability to make crucial plays, such as Kelly Washington's endzone flip in Sunday's game.

Coughlin vs. Belichick

Edge: Belichick
Reason: Come on, Bill Belichick in the Super Bowl? An easy choice. Kudos to Coughlin, though. There was a time when Giant's fans were iffy on whether he was the right fit. For the first time in awhile he's managed to stand on the sideline without looking totally constipated.

Final Score

Giants 24, Patriots 28

NFL Playoffs: The Final Four

John McClory — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 20:34:04 -0500

And then there were four...

Giants

This team has to falter eventually, right? Right?

How many more upsets do these guys have in the tank? If you had told me the Giants would upset the Bucs in Tampa Bay, then squeak out a win versus "America's (former?) team," all with Tom Coughlin and Eli Manning at the helm, I probably would've passed out.

Speaking of Elisha, he's doing his best impression of 2007's Peyton Manning. He finally has the chance to shove it in the face of his critics. To take a page out of Booomer Esiason's CBS playbook, Eli Manning is this years Peyton Manning (Uh-oh Dan Marino's glaring at me).

But forget the Giants for a moment, the real story was T.O.'s tear-filled post-game press conference. Let's break this down, I can't resist...

1) Should Dr. Phil set aside some time for this guy? Forget Britney Spears, you could argue T.O. has been the bigger headcase over the years. He's the Andy Kaufman of the NFL -- he's mysterious and often bizarre in, and out, of the spotlight. No one really understands him, yet we crave more. When he inevitably fakes his own death ten years from now, I won't be the least bit shocked.

2) His off-the-field antics are all over the page. He bashed his former quarterbacks, played mind games with Eagles management and the entire city of Philly, called out a retired wide receiver and a pop singer, had a suicide attempt/accidental overdose incident -- and that's just a brief synopsis. On the field he has the potential to lead the league in drops and TD's. Figure that one out.

3) Even Adam Morrison, Mark Cuban, and the "Leave Britney Alone" YouTube guy/girl must've thought T.O.'s emotional post-game breakdown was a tad excessive. I'm sorry, you can't have it both ways, Owens. Throwing everyone under the bus, then all but confessing your undying love for Tony Romo and defending his Mexican getaway, is a bit much for fans and the media to absorb. Seriously, someone diagnose this guy with a disorder so we can give him a free pass for once.

Packers

Is there anyone who doesn't want to see Brett Favre in the Super Bowl?

Fans and media, alike, are already playing out imaginary scenarios in their mind of how Favre will execute his final drive to win the Super Bowl. Admit it, you've done it.

Nonetheless, the Giants will have their hands full yet again. The passing game has been relentless, the defense is as tough as they come, and the running game appears to be revived.

Some athletes simply refuse to let their team lose. Michael Jordan possesed this gift and Favre definitely has a hint of it as well. It's a gift that can't be thoroughly explained, but it has something to do with willing your team to victory time and again.

Picture it: the Pack execute a narrow, yet impressive, win over the Giants at Lambeau. The post-game interviews feature an ecstatic Favre gushing about his team's 4th quarter heroics. Erin Andrews, or one of the sideline gal's (isn't there a dozen or so?), ask the obvious question of how he pulled it off. Favre stares blankly into space with his mouth wide open for a moment, then stammers, "I...I don't know..." Sure enough, when the Bolts or Pats view the game tape they're also at a loss for words of how the Pack were victorious.

That's the 2007-08 Packers in a nutshell. They (especially Favre) improv better than any team in the NFC and execute several head-scratching plays per game.

The Giants must get to Favre early and often. Oh, and that Ryan Grant fellow seems to be a potential threat now.

(By the way, if Strahan gets to Favre in this game will that qualify as the oldest DE sacking the oldest QB in NFL playoff history? Or how about NFL history? Find me the answer and claim your prize.)

Chargers

The Bolts added an anti-climatic ending to the former Super Bowl champs season.

The talking heads love to give the Pats credit for "winning in a variety of ways," but Norv and co. seem to win in ways no one thought possible.

That's right, boys and girls, Norv Turner is defying his borderline morbid career under the headset. The Chargers appear to have enough depth on the sideline to form another NFL franchise. Finally, they look strong on paper and on the field.

TomDanian LaLinson (I'm boycotting the L.T. nickname and citing copywrite infringement) is hurting but it might take a vicious act of violence to keep him out versus New England. In fact, all the offensive playmakers are torn to shreds after their trip to the RCA Dome. Gates is doing his best impression of Shaq O'Neal with a toe injury and Rivers is, well, too busy jawing at Indy fans to worry about his tweaked knee.

So wait, the Jay Cutler incident wasn't a fluke or misunderstanding? Funny how winning can pull you out of your shell and mold you into a world-class trash-talker. The fans initial reaction, I'm sure, was anger, but on the long car ride home they were asking, "Wait, who was that guy?"

All QB's in the playoffs who completed more than 280 passes during the regular season, please step forward...

Whoa, not so fast, Phillip.

Okay, I'll take it easy on the young buck. After all, he has made tremendous strides over the last few games. Just needs to let his game do the talking.

Anyway, the Chargers have nothing to lose at this point. They've already lost playmakers and some fans confidence (Admit it, you were chanting "Marty" by week 5). If they lose we all acknowledge that they were too injury plagued and Norv isn't the right man for the job. If they win we gush about their heart and praise their effort as if we never had a shadow of a doubt.

Teams with every red flag in the book are the most dangerous kind, though.

Patriots

Everyone has been playing the "This is the Week" game since week 10.

Fans expect the worst at all times. Sure, the Pats are human but that doesn't mean they have to lose. What's so far fetched about this team going 19-0? Have you watched their highlight reel of games? Do you realize just how focused they are? Have you considered the fact that they're infuriated by the asterisk, Spygate, trash-talk that's been looming since week 1 (despite what they say in press conferences)?

At this point, it's not just about winning a football game, it's about sticking it to the rest of the league, too. Sure, Brady and Belichick appear calm and in control on camera, but I can assure you they are talking up a storm in the locker room.

Would it be surprising to discover they have a "hit-list" of sorts posted on the locker room bulletin board? Like Chad Johnson, they go right down the list and cross off each opponent one-by-one.

And you just know they are watching SportsCenter and waiting for their opponent to open their mouth and give them some extra incentive for the upcoming game.

It's all been said before: the coaching, leadership, passing, running, and defense are all a cut above. Well, the defense has been questionable, but stands tough when push comes to shove.

The Pats have everything to lose, but play like nothings on the line. But like Tedy Bruschi said, "I acknowledge that every week, we can be beat by any team."'

Predictions

Giants 24, Packers 31

Chargers 21, Patriots 27

Roger Clemens Fallout: Much Ado About Nothing

John McClory — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 04:15:25 -0500

I used shake my finger at steroid abusers and accuse them of corrupting American sports.

After all, that's what the model fan does these days.

You know how it goes: Athlete A does everything by the book, Athlete B tests positive for 'roids—so the public embraces A and berates B.

But what does it all mean?

Excuse me if the following rant is convoluted and somewhat vague. How ironic that the Great Steroid Debate of the 21st Century is typically convoluted and vague. And how interesting that it usually ends as cloudy as it began.

Because it's all much ado about nothing.

A hefty number of viewers turned into 60 Minutes last Sunday, including yours truly. The 'Roid Rocket sat down with 104-year-old Mike Wallace to engage in a little chitchat.

Even Roger must've raised an eyebrow at the softballs he was being dealt.

Surprise, surprise—Wallace (a staunch fan of the Pinstripes) balked when he could've fired a few heaters. Roger set 'em up, and Wallace, well, aged before our very eyes.

But it warrants mentioning that the 60 Minutes sideshow achieved exactly what it set out to achieve: It entertained the hell out of America.

Move over Barry, there's a new sheriff in town...and he may or may not have injected his bum-bum.

Riveting cinema, indeed.

The Steroid Era has provided future grandparents with a plethora of grandchild-leg-bouncing material.

Grandpa: "Johnny, when I was your age, athletes used Performance Enhancing Drugs."

Johnny: "Performance Enhancing? Oh, like Cialis?"

Grandpa: (long pause) "Yeah, pretty much."

Hopefully by then, we can all toss our heads back and chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

Is America collectively losing sleep over the war of words between Clemens and Brian McNamee?

Let's hope not.

But it is damn entertaining to watch both men aimlessly point fingers. McNamee and Clemens are acting like a couple of beer-guzzling college kids.

Picture them sitting in their dorm room watching reruns of Entourage when, suddenly, one rips a boisterous fart. Before they can cackle loudly, the hottie across the hall bursts into the room and asks to borrow some laundry detergent—and before she finishes her sentence, her nose begins to twitch at the foul aroma.

McNamee and Clemens—both deer in the headlights—plead their innocence vehemently and point fingers.

That's what this charade is all about—who can place the most convincing blame. In the end, fans we still be asking the same questions: Who did what and when?

Entertaining?

Yes.

Important to the social fabric of America?

Get serious.

We've been led to believe it's a life or death situation, though. After all, Washington D.C. All-Star, George Mitchell, is in charge of CSI Cooperstown and fully submerged in the shenanigans.

Good thing there isn't a war in the Middle East, or we'd really be in trouble.

Phew!

Make no mistake, we have a right to know who's bending and breaking the rules. I'll admit, the Mitchell Report was a fascinating read—okay, only the part that named names.

But don't tell me you were legitimately offended that Glenallen Hill (gasp) and David Bell (gasp) were former juicers.

PED's were—and probably still are—common in most sports. Obviously, baseball was hit the hardest, but illegal use in football is likely more rampant.

To think all those late hits and locker room meltdowns may have been standard 'roid rage...

Excuse me while I shed a tear.

Veteran golfer Gary Player recently stated that nearly a dozen (to the best of his knowledge) golfers are making use of illegal substances. I want to be outraged that these substances have found their way to the PGA tour, but I can't muster the energy to care.

I mean, should I be shocked? What qualifies as surprising in this day in age?

The best part is, if there ends up being a PED outbreak in golf, another round of finger-pointing will inevitably ensue. And, as always, it will go absolutely nowhere.

Won't that be more fun than a barrel of needles?

The steroid debate has lost all meaning. We can't conclusively state that it has greatly affected our sports rooting lives. Let's lose this feeling of imaginary betrayal that we all have when Joe Schmo tests positive. If the use of PED's really hit us where it hurt, we would've boycotted sports well over a decade ago.

Like I said, it's much ado about nothing.

I Love the 80s: Celtics, Pistons, Lakers Renew Rivalries

John McClory — Sun, 06 Jan 2008 04:38:37 -0500

Every so often, some loon tries to pawn off the 80s as a revolutionary decade.

Wait, so the tie-dye shirts, constant Corey Feldman cameos, and Journey jingles were somehow cool?

No. They were horribly lame. (Journey sucks, admit it.)

Seriously, nothing exciting in the history of the world took place in the 80s. The 80s were the 60s and 70s', um, "special" half-brother.

But at least NBA fans had something to pass the time in between episodes of Webster and Small Wonder.

The 80s bore witness to Bird, McHale, Magic, Worthy, Isiah, and Laimbeer, among others—competitors who brought out the best, and worst, in each other.

Think back to the cheap-shot elbows, all-out brawls, and trash-talk that took place—it was electrifying. When any combination of the Celtics, Lakers, and Pistons met, you knew there would be blood spilled.

You don't see that sort of full-blown hatred in the NBA today. It's no longer about sticking it to your opponent. Instead, it's about playing for a better contract, tanking the second half of the season, and demanding management give you a new team for Christmas.

Combine that me-first M.O. with the Tim Donaghy scandal and you get a lackluster game—at least in comparison to what once was. Sure, it's fun to watch LeBron James jump through the roof every night, but I'd gladly trade that for some smashmouth rivalries.

Well, sometimes wishes do come true.

Watching the Celtics battle the Pistons and Lakers during the last few weeks has brought me back. The faces have changed, but the competitive spirit is still there.

Who's more passionate about winning than KG and Kobe? Who's more likely to stage a tirade during a Game Seven than Rasheed Wallace?

I can see it now: The Celts and Pistons jawing and scrapping in Eastern Conference Finals. Chauncey Billups flashes through the lane and draws a semi-dirty foul from Ray Allen. The refs toot their whistles a few times and split up the two teams before the scene gets ugly. Next thing you know, KG brushes past 'Sheed and makes a crack about his bald spot, and...

Fight!

The last pieces of the puzzle were KG and Allen in Boston. Once the Celts distanced themselves from the WNBA, the rivalries became inevitable.

(Okay, cheap shot. But I still have a green hangover from the last decade or so.)

The Celtics finally toppled the Pistons in Motown on Saturday, thanks to some key bench play. Glen "Big Baby" Davis played a vital role down the stretch.

That's another blast from the past. One of the many elements that made these rivalries superior were matchups between guys like Dennis Johnson and Michael Cooper. It wasn't always about the big names—it was the lesser lights too.

(Remember Bird's steal in Game Five of the Conference Finals versus Detroit? Brilliant play and classic Larry. But not nearly enough credit is given to Dennis Johnson for darting back down the court and finishing at the rim. That's why Big Baby's performance was crucial—the role players make a playoff team a championship team.)

And how refreshing was it to watch a classic East-versus-West tussle? Of course, I'm referring to the Celtics and Lakers—Lamar Odom's sideline tackle, KG's bloody gash, and the rowdy Hollywood crowd.

The only thing missing was a coked-out Jack Nicholson screaming audible obscenities on the sideline.

Oh wait, some things never change.

The bottom line? The NBA is back. The pieces are in place and the rivalries are renewed. Fans from East to West can kick up their feet and fondly relive the league's best decade—the 80s.

Journey soundtrack not included.

Duke Basketball: The Fearless Taylor King

John McClory — Thu, 27 Dec 2007 17:30:00 -0500

Each college basketball season brings a fresh batch of young talent.

The 2007-2008 season is once again the Year of the Freshmen, with Derrick Rose, Eric Gordon, Kevin Love, and Michael Beasley headlining the bunch.

All four appear to be NBA-ready, and are thriving with their respective teams.

Rose stands out on a stacked Memphis squad, Gordon boasts freakish shooting numbers, Love is reminiscent of just about any old-school big man, and Beasley is making a case for Player of the Year.

(Oh, and three out of the four already have their own websites.)

Each recruit was labeled a can't-miss prospect and—surprise!—they didn't miss.

But sometimes it's easier to meet the hype when none exists in the first place. Often a few freshmen come out of nowhere to make strong impressions.

The ACC—which claims top-notch recruits and the fiercest rivalries—has an under-the-radar star in the making. Coach Mike Krzyzewski seems to know how to pick 'em, and he's struck gold yet again.

Meet Taylor King—a 6'6" pure shooting southpaw and McDonald's All-American from Southern California.

Now, I'm not here to take a stance on the Carolina-Duke rivalry, because I'm not affiliated with either school. However, I do think certain individuals are worth talking about, especially when they aren't receiving enough attention.

The glaring difference between King and the names mentioned above is that they were expected to be great, while King is catching Duke's opponents off guard...and typically gets lost in the talented mix of his own team.

Kyle Singler was—and probably still is—thought to be Duke's top freshman. But King has recently shot up the list of must-see TV. He is currently averaging 10.6 PPG in 14.3 minutes, with a .500 field goal percentage and .458 three point percentage.

Best of all, King is anything but shy. He fires at will.

In his first game as a Dookie, King lit up the scoreboard with five three's and 20 points. Since then, King has posted big games versus Eastern Kentucky (six three's for 27 points) and Michigan (three three's for 18 points).

The kid is fearless.

I had the privilege of watching King dominate at Mater Dei High School in Santa Ana, California (where he average 26.7 PPG and 10.9 RPG). I distinctly recall a game in which he won the opening tip, called for the ball, and—wasting no time—chucked up an NBA-range three.

King is not a LeBron James man-child, but he's overpowering in his own way. Even at Mater Dei he had a certain swagger about him.

The way he carried himself seemed to make a statement to every spectator. In short, he had the "it" factor—whatever "it" is.

UCLA knows everything there is to know about King. He is, after all, the one that got away. King committed to the Pac-10 powerhouse before suiting up for a single game at Mater Dei. In the end, though, he claimed Duke was a better fit—and, really, who's to argue?

Even at a university where fundamentals are prized, King displays his wild and erratic side freely. He's exactly what the NCAA—and Durham—need.

And when March rolls around, he could very well become a tourney hero.

But don't paint King with just one brush. Just because he has a tendency to shoot the trey doesn't mean he can't do much more.

"I'd rather call him a player off the bench," says Coach K. "If he becomes a shooter off the bench, then he'll never become a player."

King's full game has yet to be unveiled, but time is on his side. As the upperclassmen shuffle out of Duke's spotlight, King will step in.

So far, he's looked like a bigger, stronger J.J. Redick—curling off picks and finding ways to get open. His short-range game is well-polished, and his long-range work is devastating.

Some might even call it fearless.