Bleacher Report - Articles by Andrew Nuschler

Tiger Woods Crashes Into a Tree and Now He's Stuck In One

Andrew Nuschler — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:35:47 -0500

Hey, did you hear Tiger Woods crashed his Escalade over the holiday weekend?

Any shred of doubt as to who the most influential professional athlete on Planet Earth is should be gone. The best golfer on the globe demands so much attention that the attention is a story.

Whoa.

It's gotten to the point that even non-fans are being pushed into his orbit (nature never sucks).

I've yet to watch a round of golf in which I wasn't participating. Furthermore, I don't particularly care about Woods and never have since my college days when his former pledge brothers told me enough genuine stories about the dude to confirm the only thing that rivals his prodigious talent is his equally monumental ego.

A boring spectator sport being dominated by an astoundingly self-centered, petulant adult-brat? Thanks, but no thanks.

This gated-community fiasco is a whole different cup o' tea, though. It's a legitimate news story partially because of what Tiger Woods represents and partially because of his arrogant attempt at deception.

The minute Eldrick's official statement was released and digested, Woods himself ensured that this story would have legs for miles and miles.

You can't call the rumors flying around the traditional media/blogosphere "unfounded," malicious," and "irresponsible." You can't say, "[m]y family and I deserve some privacy no matter how intrusive some people can be."

You can't try to shift the crosshairs onto the clamoring horde.

Not when you're a married father of two linked to some club-hopping hussy who appears to have more boobs than brains. Not when the official story explaining an accident in the wee hours of Thanksgiving involves a semi-conscious, 200-pound body being dragged out of a crashed luxury utility vehicle by a 110-pound ex-supermodel. Not when she allegedly knocked out TWO windows to do it.

I mean, has Elin Nordegren suffered brain trauma in her past?

What made her so crazed she would run around the large vehicle smashing out windows with a golf club? Did she think the car was going to explode? Why would she have this sense of extreme urgency over an accident so mild the airbags didn't deploy?

This is not a reasonable narrative.

The firestorm could've been avoided by a simple "no comment" initially—after all, it's not a criminal matter so nobody was ever entitled to an explanation. At that point, it was a private matter deserving of respect.

Contrary to what some commentators think, Tiger Woods isn't pulling some special trick by refusing to speak with the police. Nobody—not you, not me, not Joe Six-Pack—must answer to the police while in his/her own home absent a warrant supported by probable cause or some exception to the requirement.

That's the Fourth Amendment, baby, and it applies no matter how much money you have nor how big your home is. Until the police choose to create one by making it a formal investigation, there is simply no imperative on anyone to fess up.

Consequently, Woods still has no legal obligation to speak on the matter.

But the first attempt to avoid all embarrassment changed the situation and made it exponentially worse. Now, Tiger has joined the fray and seems to be using a bit of the ol' "the best defense is a good offense" approach.

In so doing, he's let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.

It's one thing to be a worldly talent, pimping shiny baubles on every airwave. To be that guy and get your tail caught in the wringer. Sadly, the general public has seen this enough for the charade to have become tedious.

Lying to the masses and then haughtily handing out judgment when your tall-tales aren't swallowed is another thing altogether.

The people always have an appetite to see that kind of hypocrisy punished.

Which means, whether Tiger Woods likes it or not, he's got some 'splaining to do. Sooner or later.

And the longer he waits, the harder it gets.

**www.pva.org**

Albert Pujols and MLB Must Eventually Face the Barry Bonds Problem

Andrew Nuschler — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 15:22:18 -0500

Whenever performance-enhancing drugs rear their head, you often see the phrase "innocent until proven guilty" thrown around the discussion. It's a fine idea and one that deserves respect, but there's a significant snag to borrowing legal phrases for generic debate—it sounds very authoritative and conclusive, but the reality is much messier.

There are very few universals in law. Like many legal rules, the aforementioned presumption of innocence is defined by its context.

The criminal presumption must be overwhelmed beyond a reasonable doubt (even this is not a universal truth) while its civil counterpart is far weaker—often a preponderance of the evidence will suffice i.e. if the trier of fact is 51 percent convinced, you're screwed.

The difference exists primarily because the penalties for a criminal conviction are usually far more draconian than those imposed for civil liability.

Consequently, you can argue the presumption of innocence barring responsible public discourse—where the harm from a false "conviction" is relatively minor—almost doesn't exist so long as there is a reasonable basis for having the conversation.

Put another way—the presumption of innocence in the court of responsible public debate is overwhelmed upon a showing of any reasonable grounds for doubt.

This is a problem for Major League Baseball.

Whether the powers-that-be like it or not, the rampant use of PEDs in their sport—specifically, human growth hormone (HGH)—is reason enough to have the conversation until all that can be done to eliminate their use IS done.

Although MLB has taken commendable steps to begin closing the loopholes in the steroid policy, it goes without saying that at least one yawning gap remains. Remember, HGH is not a conventional anabolic steroid in that (as far as I can tell) only blood tests can detect clever use.

Take the story of Tim Montgomery and Marion Jones —in particular, notice how both athletes never failed a drug test yet admitted to juicing. Mind you, both individuals had to submit to Olympic anti-doping cops.

Olympic protocol on the matter has historically been so far ahead of the Bigs that I wouldn't be surprised to learn the 2000 Olympic standard is still more effective than what the Show employs today.

Regardless, the point is that Montgomery and Jones were juicing like crazy and never came up hot despite participating in a sport known to keep a close eye on such things.

The consensus is we have a substance that achieves all the illicit effects of your normal anabolic steroid, but can't be detected under the best of circumstances without an examination that Major League Baseball currently doesn't administer.

Against a backdrop littered with all manner of PED users—sluggers, Punch-and-Judy artists, long-relievers, closers, set-up men, starters, stars, bench-warmers, etc.—the need for an ongoing PED discussion is irrefutable.

Sadly, there is enough undeniably factual evidence in the record to doubt any ballplayer.

As George W. Bush so famously said , "Fool me once, shame on....shame on you...If you fool me, you can't get fooled again."

Which brings me to Albert Pujols and the Barry Bonds Problem.

The Barry Bonds Problem is the awkward reality with which anyone who dominates during the Steroid Era must live—the more success you experience, the closer your orbit gets to the PED black hole.

If you place the beginning of the era around 1996—giving the alleged steroid culture of the late-1980s Oakland Athletics' clubhouse about a decade to filter out into the rest of baseball—then a very stark trend develops in baseball's most intimidating forces as reflected by MVP winners from both leagues:

1996 —Ken Caminiti, San Diego Padres in the NL; Juan Gonzalez, Texas Rangers in the AL

1997 —Larry Walker, Colorado Rockies in the NL; Ken Griffey, Jr., Seattle Mariners in the AL

1998 —Sammy Sosa, Chicago Cubs in the NL; Juan Gonzalez, Texas Rangers in the AL

1999 —Chipper Jones, Atlanta Braves in the NL; Ivan Rodriguez, Texas Rangers in the AL

2000 —Jeff Kent, San Francisco Giants in the NL; Jason Giambi, Oakland Athletics in the AL

2001 —Barry Bonds, San Francisco Giants in the NL; Ichiro Suzuki, Seattle Mariners in the AL

2002 —Barry Bonds, San Francisco Giants in the NL; Miguel Tejada, Oakland Athletics in the AL

2003 —Barry Bonds, San Francisco Giants in the NL; Alex Rodriguez, Texas Rangers in the AL

2004 —Barry Bonds, San Francisco Giants in the NL; Vladimir Guerrero, Anaheim Angels in the AL

2005 —Albert Pujols, St. Louis Cardinals in the NL; Alex Rodriguez, New York Yankees in the AL

2006 —Ryan Howard, Philadelphia Phillies in the NL; Justin Morneau, Minnesota Twins in the AL

2007 —Jimmy Rollins, Philadelphia Phillies in the NL; Alex Rodriguez, New York Yankees in the AL

2008 —Albert Pujols, St. Louis Cardinals in the NL; Dustin Pedroia, Boston Red Sox in the AL

2009 —Albert Pujols, St. Louis Cardinals in the NL; Joe Mauer, Minnesota Twins in the AL

By my count, that makes 14 years and 28 chances to crown a winner.

Exactly half the time, the award has gone to a player heavily implicated in the PED controversy. Look at the guys who've taken home the hardware multiple times—Barry Bonds, Juan Gonzalez, Alex Rodriguez, and Albert Pujols.

Hmm...

Even worse, Pujols' body of work is looking more and more like that of the most notorious PED offender as per MLB's tacit endorsement—Barry Lamar Bonds.

Pujols utterly dominated the National League field in 2009—only the Milwaukee Brewers' Prince Fielder came within 100 points of Pujols' slugging percentage and Fielder struck out over twice as many times to get there. This exceptional bat control without any appreciable loss of power is what separates Pujols and it's exactly what made Bonds so devastating at the height of his chemically enhanced brilliance.

Toss in that Pujols is gigantic and, by many accounts, kind of a d*ck. You'll recall Bonds answered to both of these descriptions.

If Prince Albert continues to rack up MVP trophies in similar fashion—with the same air of inevitability that surrounded Bonds' triumphs—the already uncomfortable parallels between the two will demand national scrutiny.

If they don't already.

Does any of this mean Albert Pujols is juicing? Absolutely, 100 percent NO. Is this even enough circumstantial evidence to accuse him of taking HGH? Absolutely, 100 percent NO.

Whether the crazies think so or not, I am NOT accusing Albert Pujols of taking PEDs.

Baseball continually abandons reason and logic to deliver once-unbelievable results so it is equally possible that a clean athlete could recreate the feats of a tainted all-time great.

What I AM saying is that we must raise and address BOTH possibilities as long as MLB refuses to foreclose all avenues around its banned-substance policy.

Otherwise, all this boom and bluster about taking the performance-enhancing drug problem seriously is simply nonsense. From Major League Baseball and the media.

Otherwise, this is the 1998 Home Run Chase or Bonds' 2000-2004 run all over again—everyone turning a blind-eye to the issue because it's convenient.

If Major League Baseball doesn't like the climate of suspicion, too bad.

The players, coaches, owners, and executives only have themselves to blame.

**www.pva.org**

Casting My Vote For the Baseball Writers' Association of America in 2009

Andrew Nuschler — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 14:20:51 -0500

In the convoluted spheres of American democracy, the voters rarely deserve praise.

With so much misdirection, so much double-speak, and so many battling special interests, true merit almost never enters the equation that determines the eventual winner and it's generally an afterthought when it manages to sneak into the fray. If the right man or woman ends up on top, coincidence is usually to blame.

Consequently, the Baseball Writers' Association of America should stand up and take a bow after its stellar performance handing out Major League Baseball's regular season awards. Especially the men and women who actually cast the ballots.

When the participating bloc dubs the St. Louis Cardinals' Albert Pujols the National League's Most Valuable Player later today, the voting members of the BBWAA will complete a perfect trip through what is generally a precarious minefield.

Although there were a fair share of gimmes in the American League as well as the Senior Circuit, there were a couple possible stumbling blocks that the writers negotiated almost flawlessly—luckily for them, the noxious odor emanating from the Gold Gloves and Silver Sluggers can't be traced to the BBWAA.

To recap, here are the winners the reps did choose:

Managers of the Year—Mike Scioscia, Anaheim Angels in the AL; Jim Tracy, Colorado Rockies in the NL

Rookies of the Year—Andrew Bailey, Oakland Athletics in the AL; Chris Coghlan, Florida Marlins in the NL

Cy Young Awards—Zack Greinke, Kansas City Royals in the AL; Tim Lincecum, San Francisco Giants in the NL

Most Valuable Players—Joe Mauer, Minnesota Twins in the AL; Albert Pujols, St. Louis Cardinals in the NL

As I said, there were several softballs in the group.

The managers were easy choices because of the way Scioscia navigated the tragic loss of Nick Adenhart and the turnaround Tracy orchestrated in Colorado. Coghlan was equally obvious, as his final month opened a considerable gap between him and the field as represented by the Philadelphia Phillies' J.A. Happ. Similarly, the unparalleled brilliance of Pujols should net him the hardware walking away.

Conversely, the AL Rookie of the Year race was wide open with the Texas Rangers' Elvis Andrus, the Detroit Tigers' Rick Porcello, and several others drawing well-deserved attention.

While you can make very strong arguments for several other newbies in the Junior Circuit, you certainly can't claim Bailey's 83 innings-pitched, 26 saves, 1.84 earned run average, 0.88 WHIP, 91 strikeouts, .167 opponents' average, and .474 opponents' on-base-plus-slugging percentage were unworthy of the recognition.

However, the two Cy Youngs and Mauer weren't as obvious as some would have you believe. Yet the BBWAA members, with the right to do so, sifted through the murky statistical waters and fished out the correct names.

AL MVP—Joe Mauer, Minnesota Twins

Sure, the dude was a statistical monster from the catcher's position. The awesome production from what is usually a void in the modern game gets the Twinkie major bonus points, as does his stellar defense—whether or not Mauer should have won the Gold Glove at backstop, that he did win it shows his skills behind the dish are nice.

Nevertheless, there were a couple pinstriped spoilers lurking in the depths.

The New York Yankees always command an embarrassing wealth of media adulation and both Mark Teixeira as well as Derek Jeter cobbled together outstanding years. Thus, there was the very real danger that details such as both enjoying each other's support or enjoying that of Alex Rodriguez, Johnny Damon, Hideki Matsui, Jorge Posada, Nick Swisher, Robinson Cano, CC Sabathia, A.J. Burnett, Mariano Rivera, etc. would be reduced to minor footnotes while filling in the ballot.

Not to mention the Detroit Tigers' Miguel Cabrera, who had an equally ridiculous year with the splinter. Numbers like Cabrera's might've allowed some to overlook his horrendously selfish disappearing act from that last crucial series to decide the AL Central—one writer unwisely did just that.

In the end, though, sanity ruled the day.

Cy Young—Zack Greinke, Kansas City Royals; Tim Lincecum, San Francisco Giants

Greinke was the cleaner of the two decisions since he obliterated his competitors, if you leave wins out of the picture. Lincecum was a far tougher call because, while he led his closest chasers (both Cardinals, Chris Carpenter and Adam Wainwright), in most of the traditional metrics and virtually all of the advanced ones, he also suffered from a deficiency in wins; not to mention slight deficits in earned run average and WHIP to Carpenter.

Notwithstanding their slight imperfections, the voters again saw the forest through the trees. They sloughed off any antiquated reluctance to ignore meager win totals and instead embraced the new version of baseball.

The one that saw only three starters who threw over 100 innings make it out of the seventh inning during an average outing—the Toronto Blue Jays' Roy Halladay, the Seattle Mariners' Felix Hernandez, and Lincecum. The one where the bullpen handles the last three innings of a game under normal circumstances. The one that understands that wins and losses no longer accurately reflect an individual pitcher's prowess, except in extreme circumstances (like when a stud can win games for a putrid team a la Greinke).

Granted, the highest total of first place votes went to Wano, who led the Senior Circuit in the hallowed win. Oh well.

Lincecum still won, which means his season was held in higher regard when the dust settled.

Ultimately, the representatives of the Baseball Writers' Association of America used this year's awards to announce the collective is shaking off the cobwebs and adopting a more progressive approach to analyzing the game—one that appreciates all its facets and looks beneath the surface of traditional bias.

For that above all else, the group should be applauded, because turning back years of convention is easier said than done.

And the voters look like they're trying.

Bravo.

**www.pva.org**

Manning's Legend Enhanced By Focus on Numbers as Fantasy Becomes Reality

Andrew Nuschler — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 14:22:03 -0500

Whenever you pump the brakes on the adoration showered upon a great player, the torch-wielding mob comes a-runnin'. Instead of axes and pitchforks, they're armed with t-shirts featuring said player's smiling mug and zealous advocacy for his or her prestige.

Who can really blame them?

I've been known to dust off the metaphoric shovel and grab a Tim Lincecum jersey when anyone tries to diminish the Freak's ironic stature in Major League Baseball—as has been said before, "fan" is short for "fanatic."

However, I'm really not trying to imply Peyton Manning isn't excellent.

The Indianapolis Colts' quarterback is quite possibly the best regular season signal-caller the National Football League has ever seen. His ability at the position rates, without question, amongst the finest to ever take a snap. Given a more ideal set of circumstances, the dude might have been the best QB the League has ever seen, period.

At 33-years-old, Peyton Manning still has plenty of time to yank that title away from Joe Montana, or whoever you think has it.

But...

You make your career out of what is and was, not what could have been or might eventually be.

The fact of the matter is, absent a professional sports' culture that's becoming increasingly infatuated with statistics and individual achievement, the elder Manning wouldn't be placed on the mantle alongside a three-time Super Bowl winner like the New England Patriots' Tom Brady or a four-timer like Joe Cool based on his body of work to date.

Understand—I'm not arguing this is right/wrong, better/worse, or attaching any other judgment to it (although it's quite obvious where my personal feelings on the matter lie).

For the sake of this discussion, I'm simply saying it's the truth.

Football has always been considered the ultimate team game where the W is unequivocally paramount. Quarterbacks have always received the lion's share of the spotlight so their grades have always reflected this premium more so than other positions.

While a championship helps any player's reputation, the studs behind center haven't been able to enter the pantheon of all-time greatness without a Super Bowl ring. Additionally, it's been tough to improve your position once inside without adding to your jewelry case.

Why?

I'm not an expert, but I'd argue it's because football features no individual achievements now that Barry Sanders is a distant memory.

Successful series require a harmony of moving parts more numerous and intricate than an outsider like me can possibly identify, much less appreciate. The reality of even the outstanding "individual" effort is inevitably a concerted effort involving no less than five or six men.

Someone with a deeper knowledge of the game could probably formulate a very persuasive case for an offense-defense-special-teams synergy as well. You know, field position, time of possession, scoring, and how it affects defensive play-calling, and so forth.

Since quarterbacks serve as rough proxies for the team, most pigskin observers consider their individual statistics like touchdowns, passing yards, and quarterback rating only slightly more dispositive about the individual than the win or loss (within reason).

Or at least they did.

Although the fundamental, coordinated nature of football hasn't changed, the perception is slowly slipping.

With the onset of fantasy sports, the infatuation with the individual is elbowing its way into the conversation. Think about it—how many times have you been watching a game and rooting for Player X on one team, Player Y on another, and with total disregard to the ultimate outcome?

I'm not even a huge fantasy guy and I know that happens to me on a weekly basis. In fact, I've even rooted for one of my fantasy squad while he's playing against the Niners. Admittedly, it's with the caveat that it doesn't actually hurt the fellas.

Suddenly, a good day from a quarterback turns into 350 yards, three touchdowns, and one pick. Who cares whether the team wins or loses—you don't get points for that. Usually a good fantasy day coincides with a winning effort, but not always and you quickly learn to stop seeing a difference.

Not only that—the fantasy season ends along with the regular season. Obviously, the entire football world perks up when the playoffs start so it'd be foolish to claim the fantasy games have eroded the significance of the second season.

Of course, it'd be equally foolish to claim the interest in the regular season hasn't been ratcheted up by the popularity of the fantasy games. Interest in one can gain without taking a bite out of its counterpart.

Which brings me back to Peyton Manning—both phenomena seem tailored to his resume.

Everyone knows he's setting NFL regular season records on a weekly basis, and he'll continue to do so until his career ends. We know about the Most Valuable Player awards and the rest of the glittering individual accolades. We know if someone asks you who's leading the NFL in a quarterbacking statistic; the Colt is a pretty safe bet.

We know all this for good reason—Peyton Manning deserves every single ounce of respect and attention he gets for those very substantial feats.

Yet Manning, himself, will probably tell you that's not what the real game is about.

I'm confident he'd tell you that because he must've already learned the lesson well—do you think he'd trade some of his college laurels for one win against the blood-rival Florida Gators? Maybe a National Championship?

And that brings into play a couple other truths about Peyton Manning.

We also know he's 7-8 in the playoffs and we've all watched him become a shadow of his regular season self in those contests. I could tally off some shockingly condemning numbers, but that'd be strange having devoted so many previous inches to attacking the true significance of such numbers.

Luckily, I don't need them—the eye test is conclusive.

Instead of precise and decisive lasers, Playoff Peyton is far more prone to some grade-A Gumby shoulders and unbelievable bouts of gloom on the sidelines—unbelievable in that no leader of any group should EVER look the way Peyton Manning does when things get bumpy.

There just isn't the same resolve.

It's like one of the game's greatest minds over thinks the situation. The higher stakes seem to create a moment of doubt—maybe an extra split-second to clear the target of any exotic turnover monsters that might've been saved for the postseason. It's not that he's horrible—for whatever reason, something is just off and the results reflect the snag.

Yet Peyton Manning's legend grows with every regular season yard he piles onto his obscene career total, with every extra touchdown he puts in his trophy case. Somehow, a guy with one ring—courtesy of arguably the most underwhelming performance by a QB on his way to football's biggest prize ever—and a sub-.500 playoff record gets mentioned in the same breath with the NFL's biggest winners.

The undeniable evidence shows this is quarterback who dominates the regular season on an annual basis, then becomes either a poor, average, or better-than-average snap-taker when the heat is on.

Whichever adjective you choose, the fact is Peyton Manning regresses when his team needs him most—asked to do what he has been doing all season, he has routinely failed. You can make any number of excuses—ranging from legitimate to absurd—but they're all irrelevant because you can make similar excuses for any of the all-time greats.

Maybe even for any quarterback at all.

If you want to start making allowances for every imperfection in a quarterback's supporting cast, you must do that for every quarterback in the discussion and the entire thing deteriorates into a meaningless morass of hypothetical.

Nobody has the perfect situation—gotta play 'em as they lay.

Heretofore, these blatant truths would keep anyone out of the most rarefied air. Even a statistical monster like Peyton Manning. For better or worse, that seems to be changing.

What a brave new world...

**www.pva.org**

Mark Mangino's Attackers Are as Soft as His Midsection

Andrew Nuschler — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 15:01:55 -0500

I'm a little confused. No, I'm a lot confused.

One minute, these high-octane athletes are gladiators, soldiers, or any manner of rugged testaments to perseverance in the face of physical duress incapable of being understood by mere mortals.

The next, they're complaining of hurt feelings and unforgivable (imperceptible) assaults on their egos.

Of course, I'm referring to the ongoing absurdity that's befallen the University of Kansas football program and its rotund head coach, Mark Mangino.

Former players are apparently materializing out of the ether with complaints about Mangino in the wake of senior linebacker Arist Wright's formal complaint against the portly papa bear of the team. According to Wright, Mangino yelled and poked him in the chest during a team walk-through/practice.

Consequently, the University has launched an investigation into the coach's methods.

In the developing game of he-said, he-said, Mangino claims it's nothing more than bitter players coming forward to get their shot at the cameras at an opportune time. The argument is that nobody was saying a peep when the Jayhawks were cruising along as the toast of college football's early season. But once the honeymoon ended and the squad dropped five straight games, those with axes to grind found an audience of sympathetic ears.

In Mangino's world, it amounts to rats jumping off a sinking ship.

For the record, it's tough to respect a molder of young athletes that is as obscenely obese as the Jayhawk head coach. Seriously, how hypocritical does an individual have to be to demand physical excellence from his charges while looking very much like a tethered blimp with a headset?

Really, coach? You think I'm a bum for blowing that deep post? How about you give me one—ONE—sit-up? How about a push-up? How about just describing your toes without the aid of a mirror?

(Note: I have absolutely nothing against the overweight; it's the hypocrisy that bothers me.)

In other words, I have no love for the man. Nevertheless, Mangino's take rings true to me.

All of the players voicing discontent are done with football and most never amounted to much under Mangino—Raymond Brown, Dexton Fields, Marcus Herford, Wright, and some dude who transferred away from Kansas almost immediately. That's not to say these guys were total chumps, just that their careers probably didn't measure (or aren't measuring, in Wright's case) up to their expectations.

And we all know which side usually wins in a battle of "Is This Disappointment My Fault or Someone Else's?"

Coincidentally, the guys reserving comment or defending the coach are (for the most part) the ones who are still playing football and/or tasted more than a sip of glory under Mangino—Russell Brorsen, Todd Reesing, and Tennessee Titan Mike Rivera.

Obviously, though, the attack of unreasonable bias can be made on these three as easily as it can be made against those throwing stones at Mark Mangino. After all, it is no less common for those who've benefited from an association to defend it blindly.

For the tie-breaker, I return to my opening confusion.

Athletes are perceived as modern warriors because of the physical beating we all watch them endure, but also because of the savage world they inhabit for so many months of the year. Anyone who's spent time in a locker room or at a practice knows that otherwise outrageous behavior passes for normalcy—it's even considered necessary at times.

Verbal, emotional, and physical abuse don't mean the same thing in this specialized environment as they do in everyday life. Sports are barbaric in many facets.

Shoot, my HIGH SCHOOL baseball coach used to break clipboards over our heads when we weren't expecting it if we screwed up royally. In retrospect, it was pretty amazing, since he'd never fail to have the element of surprise despite the fact that we should've been on our guards.

My high school basketball coach announced to a van loaded with the entire varsity squad that one of our teammates was the biggest "p****" he'd ever seen in his life.

The kid was 16 years old.

When I was a 15-year-old sophomore on the varsity squad, we traveled into San Francisco to play one of the best teams in the city. I got dunked on by a 6'8" monster who happened to be black.

That coach's response?

I must be scared of black people, which he announced to the entire team. No mention that the dude had six inches on me, about 50 pounds, and I was trying to recover for a teammate's blown assignment.

Oh well. If you can't deal with the heat of being singled out on occasion, then play better or get the hell out of the game.

That's not to say it's impossible to cross the boundary of decency in the athletic arena. If Mangino used the non-fatal shooting of a player's sibling or the alcoholism of a player's father insensitively, he should be reprimanded (read: slap on the wrist), because there's got to be a limit somewhere.

Haphazardly using such intimately personal pressure points is probably a good place for said limit.

But poking a college linebacker in the chest? Grabbing another guy by the arm? Yelling and screaming? Embarrassing players in front of the team? Give me a break.

In sports, as in life, sometimes you'll take criticism and sometimes it will be unfairly harsh. Survival depends on the ability to shed it like water off a duck's back.

From the outside, it seems like Mark Mangino is a walking opportunity to learn this invaluable lesson. It's not pleasant and it might not be the best way to teach it, but those who learned the skill seem to have been well-served by it and have moved on in life.

Those who don't seem to be complaining from their couches. Still stuck in the past, patiently waiting for a convenient chance to exact revenge.

**www.pva.org**

Tim Lincecum Again Living the High Life, Wins Another Cy Young

Andrew Nuschler — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 15:21:17 -0500

For the second consecutive year, San Francisco Giants ace Tim Lincecum has been named the National League Cy Young Award winner following one of the closest races ever.

Phew...

When I was asked in advance to write an affirmative reaction piece to the announcement, I knew it was going to be a tall order if someone other than the Freak took home the hardware.

Not only is the Franchise the best player on my favorite team, but he clearly deserved to repeat as the recipient of the Senior Circuit's highest pitching honor. Furthermore, I've been saying that since the last month of the season, and I looked at the race up, down, and sideways.

Finally, true conviction in Tiny Tim's merit set in when fellow Bleacher Report writer PJ Ross pointed out that no pitcher has ever won a Cy Young in either league while throwing fewer than 200 innings during a non-strike-shortened season.

The 2009 Major League Baseball campaign saw no strike—no stoppages of any kind—yet Lincecum's stiffest competition (St. Louis Cardinals ace Chris Carpenter) failed to hit the 200 innings pitched barrier.

Needless to say, given the likelihood of a photo finish, that little nugget sealed the deal in my eyes.

Nevertheless, both Carpenter and the Redbirds' other ace, Adam Wainwright, had strong arguments for the award, so the matter was in substantial doubt.

In many other years, Wano's final line would've taken the trophy—win/loss record is a seriously flawed reflection of a pitcher's true filthiness, but an NL-leading 19 wins is still nothing at which to sneeze. Nor are his 233 innings pitched (also led the NL), 212 strikeouts, 2.63 earned run average, and 1.21 WHIP.

A lot of Wainwright supporters are righteously pissed at the moment, and who can blame them? Their guy had a good argument—as evidenced by the fact that he received the most first place votes of anyone.

Sadly, Tim Lincecum had a better argument.

Likewise, Carpenter had a phenomenal year while coming back from Tommy John surgery—something that earns him bonus points out the wazoo.

The crafty veteran pitches to contact, so his whiff total and rates can't match those belonging to his running mate and el Gigante. However, the 2005 NL Cy Young made up for those "deficiencies" with a stellar mark of 17-4 while leading the NL with a 2.24 earned run average and a 1.01 WHIP (second to Arizona Diamondback Dan Haren).

Additionally, neither Lincecum nor Wainwright can hope to match the control of the trio's elder statesman.

Ultimately, though, the defending and still reigning champ had Carp edged out, too. Lincecum had a small but obvious winning margin, so it would've taken every iota of restraint to pen a flattering piece had the voters blown it.

Thankfully, they did not.

For the second straight year, the voters wisely overlooked Lincecum's deficit in wins and instead focused on his overall dominance. In the process, the fireballer replaced this year's American League winner (Kansas City Royal Zack Greinke) as the player with the fewest wins ever to yank down a Cy Young.

The dominating right-hander blew the field away in punch-outs with 261 (23 more than his closest rival, Atlanta Brave Javier Vazquez), posted a microscopic 2.48 earned run average and 1.05 WHIP, led both Wainwright and Carpenter in opponents' batting average and slugging percentage, and did it all while being the unquestioned leader of the Giant staff that absolutely carried the organization to contention in 2009.

When you place all three bodies of work next to each other, the excellence is almost blinding. But adjusting for the glare, you can see Lincecum's shines just a little brighter.

All this in his second full year tossing to Big Leaguers.

That's right, folks—Tim Lincecum has pitched two full years in the Show, and he's been named the best pitcher in his league twice.

After making 24 starts in 2007, the franchise broke out in 2008 and won his first Cy Young while throwing in front of one of the worst teams in all of baseball. As an encore, one of the game's most electric arms went out and grabbed another Cy Young—this time while hurling in front of one of the worst offenses in the game.

Kinda makes you wonder what Tim Lincecum will do for a third act.

One thing's for sure: The Bay Area can't wait to see.

Apparently, neither can the rest of baseball.

**www.pva.org**

Reign Him In: LeBron James' Ego Threatening to Ruin a Wonderful Thing

Andrew Nuschler — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 15:29:05 -0500

Uh-oh.

Like many around the globe, I've been fascinated by the premature legend of LeBron James and even more stunned by his ongoing realization of it. The kid was anointed the Next Big Thing when he was, what, a sophomore in high school?

Possibly a junior?

That means King James was a prince at the age of 14 or 15 and was bequeathed the keys to the throne room about the same time he got the keys to an automobile. That's a considerable burden of potential and expectation to carry around at such a young age, but James has—to this point—delivered at every step of his maturation.

However, we might be seeing the openings of a few cracks in his flawless public persona.

First, there was the ugly-yet-understandable episode after the Orlando Magic sent James' Cleveland Cavaliers home for the summer from the 2009 Eastern Conference Finals. That night, we were all witnesses to LeBron's insolent display of poor sportsmanship.

The Chosen One stalked off the court, refusing to shake the victor's hand.

Ultimately, the scene could be dismissed as a momentary blip on the radar of a feverish competitor and born winner. You must learn to lose with dignity just as you must learn to win with it and it's entirely understandable that a beast like LeBron James would learn the latter well-before the former.

Then came the posterizing of James at his own camp and subsequent confiscation of its evidence. Initial reports were that Nike order seizure of the tape, but eventually rumors surfaced that it was King James, himself, who lay down the kibosh.

Strike two on the intolerable ego front—what professional basketball player hasn't been dunked on at some point? For that matter, what college player hasn't?

Furthermore, it was a freakin' summer camp! Only someone who fancies himself really special would feel the need to spasm into damage control over something so trivial. Dear me...

Now there's this over-before-it-started crusade to get Michael Jordan's No. 23 retired across the National Basketball Association a la Jackie Robinson's No. 42 in Major League Baseball.

If you want to read a genuine Sherman-through-the-South assault on James' stunt, check this outstanding work by FOX Sports' Kevin Hench. I'm not sure I agree with all of Hench's observations, but he raises more than a couple scathing points (like the bit about retiring MJ's number while switching to Bill Russell's No. 6).

Regardless, I don't think you need to go to such extrapolations to see trouble brewing in LeBron James' world.

From his own lips: "I feel like no NBA player should wear 23. I'm starting a petition, and I've got to get everyone in the NBA to sign it. Now, if I'm not going to wear No. 23 , then nobody else should be able to wear it." [Emphasis added]

Whoa, whoa, whoa—is the NBA supposed to retire Michael Jordan's number because of how great the man who wore the jersey was? Or because of how great the guy suggesting its retirement is?

Is this about His Airness or His Heirness?

Perhaps it was a simple slip of the tongue by a still-maturing 24-year-old youngster. Maybe it was an awkward, but innocuous manifestation of James' necessarily strong self-confidence. Maybe it was merely poor execution of a noble tribute.

Or maybe it was strike three.

Given the last six months or so as well as the regal aura that's always permeated LeBron James' immediate vicinity, I'd say there's reason to worry. The man's always had a healthy opinion of himself—no doubt about it. But this could be something different.

The Association's premiere young talent may be developing its most insufferable ego.

And nobody wants to see that.

**www.pva.org**

In South Bend, the Sky Has Fallen on Notre Dame's Golden Dome

Andrew Nuschler — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 13:31:22 -0500

When the 2009 college football schedule made its debut last winter, there were two very distinct camps of Notre Dame observers.

One group was rejoicing because the Fighting Irish were improving, going to a bowl game in paradise (which the Irish would win in impressive fashion over a home-standing and good Hawaii squad), and the slate looked soft. Only a date with the USC Trojans was truly daunting and that came in South Bend.

Unwisely sincere visions of 11-1 or 10-2 shimmered on the sunny horizon.

Contrarily, the other group huddled under an ominous black cloud. Even more troubling, the dour-faced horde wasn't composed exclusively of Notre Dame haters. There were many intelligent, reasonable (if cynical) Golden Domers who looked at the 2009 array and saw trouble. Big trouble.

Sadly for Notre Dame and its supporters, that trouble has arrived. And then some.

The soft schedule has reared up and taken a bite out of Charlie Weis' program—first it was the Michigan Wolverines.

The loss didn't look too bad in the weeks that followed as the Wolverines grabbed two more victories, including the Big Ten opener against the Indiana Hoosiers. Then the Winged Helmets took a highly-ranked Michigan State Spartan team to overtime before losing.

The bloom is off the rose, however, as Michigan has only heard The Victors once since dropping that game to Spartie. The team has lost five of six and the exception was a cupcake over the Delaware State Hornets.

Consequently, the loss to Michigan is beginning to stick out on Notre Dame's resume.

Even so, all was quiet on the Fighting Irish front until last weekend.

Weis and company rolled out a series of nice wins—they took out that same Spartan side that beat Michigan, a game Purdue Boilermaker team on the road, the Washington Huskies and Boston College Eagles at home, and the Washington State Cougars in San Antonio for some odd reason.

Nevertheless, the brightest reason for hope might have been the only loss in that winning jag. In the midst of all those victories, USC came to South Bend and left with a hard-fought, well-earned win. The Irish walked away with heads high and the respect of a lot of doubters.

Of course, the Navy Midshipmen came sailing into Indiana and blew all those warm, fuzzy feelings to smithereens.

We can heap all the praise we want on the service academy and we should—those kids came in and used an excellent game plan to put a whooping on Notre Dame in its own house. Still, the reality is the loss is unconscionable under the Golden Dome.

A program that fancies itself one of the big boys can't be losing to Navy.

Certainly not twice in three years. At home.

The disaster against the Midshipmen was the third blemish on a season that had many faithful expecting at least a 10-2 finish with a juicy bowl game reward. If the sky didn't crash that day, it certainly has now.

On Saturday, the Irish went into Pittsburgh and ultimately came up short against one of the better teams in the nation. No shame in dropping a game to the eighth-ranked squad in the country (No. 9 in the latest BCS) on its own field, but that's loss No. 4 for Charlie Weis and his program.

What about those two games left?

Looming this weekend is a confrontation with a Connecticut Huskie team that went bomb-for-bomb with the undefeated and fifth-ranked Cincinnati Bearcats, only to lose 57-45. Although the game is at home, the matchup can't be considered great news for a defensive unit that's already struggling.

The Fighting Irish end the regular season with a trip to Palo Alto, Calif. to take on the lurking Stanford Cardinal. You might've heard my guys blitzed those Men of Troy 55-21 in Los Angeles?

Again, that'll be a stiff challenge for Notre Dame.

Splitting the two games would be an accomplishment. It would also turn those 11-1, 10-2, or even 9-3 dreams into a 7-5 nightmare. Shoot, if Charlie-in-Charge can urge his youngsters to a sweep of the pair, the season will still be an 8-4 thud with two head-shaking losses.

Needless to say, whiffing on the duo and skidding to 6-6 would be...worse.

In all this ugliness, the ugliest element is the one that can't be avoided.

Given Notre Dame's history of impatience with mediocrity, Charlie Weis should get his walking papers at the conclusion of the year. Look at his record against those of his predecessors (since Lou Holtz and ignoring the temporary placeholders):

Bob Davie—35-25 for a winning percentage of .583 in five seasons.

Tyrone Willingham—21-15 for a winning percentage of .583 in three seasons.

Charlie Weis—35-25 for a winning percentage of .583 in five seasons.

Complicating matters, Weis' tenure has been marred by the sort of extenuating circumstances that finally landed Davie and Willingham on the chopping block.

The Irish has seen its share of lopsided losses under Weis—reputedly one of the primary reasons Willingham caught the axe—and neither of the guys who came before him ever lost nine games in one year.

Neither lost six consecutive home games. Neither dropped a contest to Navy.

In fact, no Fighting Irish coach had lost to Navy since 1963—a string of 43 consecutive games. Now, Weis has lost twice since 2007—a string of three games.

Against that backdrop, it should be impossible to keep Charlie Weis. Except he's already been retained; he's under a recklessly lucrative contract until 2015.

Everywhere you look, it's bad-news-getting-worse for Notre Dame.

And that means it's time to find shelter in South Bend because the real carnage is about to start.

**www.pva.org**

Stanford Cardinal Puts 55 on the USC Trojans, Totally Blows Its Cover

Andrew Nuschler — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 14:37:17 -0500

Given my extreme-bordering-on-unhealthy devotion to the San Francisco Giants, some might be surprised to learn there are many athletic teams whose exploits I take far more personally than those of the Orange and Black. Yep, there's a reason I don't write very often about the Stanford Cardinal.

When things are going well for one of my Alma mater's squads, like many alumni, I embrace it with an intimate connection that doesn't exist with los Gigantes.

Let's face it—you can become as true a fan as possible of any professional franchise. Locals might argue they have a stronger, purer synergy with their teams than remote fans, but that's becoming more and more fatuous in the Information Age. Furthermore, anyone who pays the price of sweat and tears earns the right to wear the label "true fan."

Contrarily, you can't just choose to be an alumnus or alumna of a school.

You've got to earn your way in (for the most part), go to class (or at least pass them), become part of the student body, and then graduate. At a school like Stanford, there's an extra little perk because the Farm actually forces the integration of student-athletes with the rest of the population.

In my freshman dorm, I lived across the hall from one of the baseball team's two aces—he got drafted by the Colorado Rockies although his career never panned out.

The original literal twin towers—Jason and Jarron Collins—lived one and two floors down, respectively. Mark Madsen (accidentally) almost killed my date on several occasions while showing the same reckless exuberance on a dance floor as he shows on the basketball court.

All are in the National Basketball Association.

I had class with Riall Johnson, a defensive end on the football team that went to the Rose Bowl. He played in the National Football League for a while and now plies his trade in the Canadian Football League.

I'm not mentioning these guys to drop names—aside from the baseball player, I wasn't friends with any of them and never even spoke to Johnson. Instead, I'm trying to show the university incorporated even the blue-chippers into the average, daily student life.

One result of the policy was a different feel to the athletic program than seems to exist at a lot of schools. Rather than giving off the aura of an exclusive club for the glitterati, the collective felt more like a high school version i.e. friendship and familiarity erased the disconnect created by the imminent potential for millions of dollars and pseudo-celebrity.

The student-athletes weren't uniquely different, just different in the same way an engineering major was different from an English major.

Regardless of whether other or most schools take Stanford's approach, alumni share a deeper commonality with their schools' teams than an average fan or one of a professional franchise because there is that shared context.

That's not to say alumni are better fans, but I do think those alumni devoted to the programs feel the wins and losses differently, more viscerally.

Maybe it's arrogant, but I really do feel like I have contributed and continue to contribute to Stanford's success in all facets because I was once a student there. I made the sacrifices it asked of me and this is part of my reward.

If Stanford wins, the alumni win.

On the other hand, if Stanford loses, the alumni lose.

Which brings me back to my original point—if things are going well, I don't want to jinx the development by calling attention to it because the injury gets magnified.

Luckily, when you hang 55 points on the USC Trojans, the situation calls attention to itself and I can go along for the ride. When you etch your name into the Men of Troy record books next to the line that says, "Most Points Ever Surrendered to:" the mighty Cardinal's trumpet will drown out mine.

Most Stanford fans thought this game had some sort of potential to be a blow-out.

We just didn't think we'd be on the enjoyable end, not with the game being played in Southern California and the Cardinal coming off a thrashing of the Oregon Ducks (who dropped a not-too-stale beating on USC). We certainly didn't think it would be the Cardinal trying to run up the score, going for a two-point conversion despite a 48-21 lead.

Incidentally, let's have no illusions about this—Jim Harbaugh was most certainly trying to rub Pete Carroll's nose in it with that move. You can believe with equal certainty that, had the opposition been Northern Arizona or Temple, Harbaugh would've called off the dogs much earlier than he did.

The two-point try and final score were part of a personally tailored message to Goliath that said, "payback's a bitch."

As was every one of Toby Gerhart's punishing 178 yards and three touchdowns. I don't know what the qualifications are for the Heisman Trophy, but the Stanford running back has to be climbing the ladder of front-running candidates.

If he manages to shock the college football world by taking home the hardware, he'll owe some very large dinners to his offensive linemen. The so-called Tunnel Diggers Union should be getting some nice concessions in its next collective bargaining agreement because those monsters up front are doing work. Good work.

Red-shirt freshman quarterback Andrew Luck is having an excellent campaign due to the protection afforded by the big uglies and Gerhart owes many of his yards to the same group.

Still, the most important variable in the entire equation is Harbaugh.

The new resolve and sincerity to the mission at hand starts with the head coach, then trickles down. You could see proof of it in the way each and every Stanford player finished each and every play with 100 percent effort. Whether it was the vapors of a big gain or the last couple inches of a two-yard lean forward, quit only set in after the whistle.

That was the difference and it's a direct reflection of Jim Harbaugh's pervasive personality.

Stanford will never—NEVER—have the sheer athleticism to compete with the likes of USC. But, on Saturday it proved that the team has more than enough discipline, determination, toughness, and intelligence to execute precisely.

Added to those ingredients, this football team has enough raw talent to beat anyone .

But they're no longer a sneaky little secret—a double-nickel on USC will have everyone taking notice of the Stanford Cardinal.

And that means the real tests may be yet to come.

**www.pva.org**

MLB Regular Season Awards: Chrome Bats and Pyrite Gloves Gotta Go

Andrew Nuschler — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 15:24:11 -0500

For those distracted by football and basketball, Major League Baseball is in the process of recognizing its outstanding players from the 2009 season. The biggies are still in the pipe, but those generally go to the right individual. At the very least, the final voting shows an appropriate depth of consideration and analysis even if the you don't agree with it.

Ultimately, a good faith effort is all anyone can reasonably demand during an entirely subjective exercise.

On the other hand, both the American League and National League Gold Gloves prove a disturbing absence of that similarly sincere effort to tab the right winner. Some of the gloves dipped in gold were so obvious it was impossible to blunder away their trophy. However, the really telling selections were Derek Jeter and Jimmy Rollins as the respective Gold Glovers from shortstop—the voters made the most egregious errors at arguably the most important defensive spot (catcher is the only other spot in the conversation).

Now, the Sliver Sluggers (given to the best offensive player at each position) have been revealed in both leagues and we're seeing an abandonment of common sense and due diligence once again.

For example, take the Senior Circuit's representative at third base, the Washington Nationals' Ryan Zimmerman. While Zimmerman was unequivocally the best selection for the hot corner's Gold Glove, the Silver Slugger he got is a blatant example of the negligence plaguing both awards.

Compare the year accumulated by the Nats' third baseman with that put together by the San Francisco Giants' Pablo Sandoval:

Player	AB	R	2B	3B	HR	RBI	BB	SO	BA	OBP	SLG	OPS
Zimmerman	610	110	37	3	33	106	72	119	0.292	0.364	0.525	0.888
Sandoval	572	79	44	5	25	90	52	83	0.330	0.387	0.556	0.943

Put Zimmerman's huge lead in runs-scored and the smaller-yet-substantial one in runs batted in to the side for a second because I'll get to them.

Without those two categories, Sandoval becomes the leader in everything except homeruns, at-bats, and walks. Furthermore, most of the leads are significant—seven extra doubles, two extra triples, 36 fewer whiffs, 38 points of batting average, 23 points of on-base percentage, 31 points of slugging percentage, and 55 points of on-base-plus-slugging percentage (although that's double-counting).

Based on that picture, the Little Panda's leads in OBP and slugging percentage mean he did a better job of getting on base and hitting for power. In other words, Zimmerman might have a lead in walks (20) and bombs (8) based on the raw numbers, but Sandoval actually had the better season as far as the skills—of which those categories are partial embodiments—are concerned.

But what about those runs scored and batted in? Surely an advantage of 31 in the former and 16 in the latter decide the matter in Ryan Zimmerman's favor, right?

Wrong.

Runs-scored and runs batted in are more functions of the team around you since the only way you can score yourself is via the round-tripper. If the National had a huge lead in homers, then the margins in runs and RBI would be relevant. Of course, Zimmerman only leads the Giant by eight and that accounts for half the RBI, but less than a third of the runs-scored (the more persuasive argument for Zimmerman). Consequently, it's tough to argue the huge lead in runs-scored and substantial one in RBI are accurate reflections of the individual prowess.

Especially given the disparity in offensive strength at work.

The Washington Nationals were horrendous in 2009, but not because of their bats. The squad's splinters ranked firmly in the middle of the NL pack. Conversely, the offensive impotence of los Gigantes has been well-established—ranking dead last or near the bottom across the board.

When you really look at the situation, it appears Ryan Zimmerman was named the best offensive third baseman in the National League because he had a stronger supporting cast.

The impression becomes indelible when you factor in one more thing—performance with ducks on the pond (i.e. runners on, not necessarily in scoring position):

Player	AB	R	2B	3B	HR	RBI	BB	SO	AVG	OBP	SLG	OPS
Sandoval	258	67	17	2	13	78	27	34	0.357	0.416	0.589	1.005
Zimmerman	313	93	15	2	16	89	35	58	0.268	0.337	0.482	0.819

Yep, I'd say advantages of almost 100 points in average and almost 200 points in OPS with runners on indicates it was simply a lack of opportunity that kept Pablo Sandoval from approaching Ryan Zimmerman's totals in runs and runs batted in.

Nothing else.

Nor was this terribly difficult to parse out for someone who pays close attention to Major League Baseball. So why did it get overlooked?

Not only that, this is only one of 18 such awards handed out. I'm sure there were other, equally egregious injustices handed out with silver plating.

My parents always told me that a job worth doing is a job worth doing right. The logical corollary is that if a job isn't done right, then it's not worth doing.

And that means Gold Gloves and Silver Sluggers should've gone the way of the dodo many moons ago.

**www.pva.org**

Vampires, Ventriloquists, and NL Gold Gloves: What the %$@! Is Going On?

Andrew Nuschler — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 16:24:49 -0500

There are lots of worldly occurrences that make absolutely no sense to me. For instance, popular American culture is apparently obsessed with vampires at the moment.

Vampires? Really? Who signed off on this?

My faith in a benevolent Higher Power has me convinced there's a bunch of television executives somewhere laughing themselves silly at the gag. The phenomenon has to be a perverse bet between suits a la the Duke Brothers in Trading Places—"I'll bet you a dollar we can get the masses to go crazy about anything if we throw enough production behind it."

Or what about a ventriloquist-comedian getting his own show? What's next, a mime?

(Quick aside—he might actually be funny as I've never seen his stand-up, but that's low hanging fruit. I mean, a ventriloquist? C'mon...)

The sports world is rife with offerings of its own. Mid-November sees an annual rite of "what the hell is going on here?" passage in Major League Baseball—the awarding of Gold Gloves to the game's so-called best fielders at each position.

The American League went first and, to be fair, the real carnage is in the Junior Circuit. Fellow Bleacher Report writer PJ Ross does an excellent job of describing precisely how badly the voters jammed up the works—if you want to stew over a real con-job, check that disaster out.

The N ational League voices that count did a better job, but even the Senior Circuit whiffed on several pretty easy calls.

Of course, they also nailed some of the spots—the St. Louis Cardinals' Yadier Molina was a no-brainer at catcher. The only reasonable alternatives based on innings-played and defensive prowess would be another Flying Molina Brother (Bengie of the San Francisco Giants) or the Los Angeles Dodgers' Russell Martin, but Yadier's got both beaten rather easily when you add in the eyeball test.

Furthermore, reputation is a key ingredient to backstop defense because perception can change the opposition's running game. Yadier Molina's an intimidating name if you make a living off fleet feet.

Likewise, the San Diego Padres' Adrian Gonzalez and the Washington Nationals' Ryan Zimmerman were outstanding choices. They weren't the only worthy candidates—first base could've rightfully gone to the Chicago Cubs' Derek Lee or the Redbirds' Albert Pujols, and the New York Mets' David Wright is stellar at the hot corner. Still, die-hard Giants fans get a yearly eyeful of Gonzalez' mitt and it's quite a sight.

The same is true of Zimmerman (absent the familiarity since he's on the other coast), who makes some of the most ridiculous degree-of-difficulty plays the diamond has ever seen.

In the outfield, it's tough to argue with the Bums' Matt Kemp. It pains me to say so, but the kid can go and get it. He's got a pretty good arm and covers an impressive amount of real estate given his size—the dude's a tank in center field, but he motors like a coupe.

The Houston Astros' Michael Bourn seems a fine choice as well—although I'd have no problem putting an argument together for the Nats' Nyjer Morgan or the Pittsburgh Pirates' Andrew McCutchen given a larger body of work. Maybe next year fellas.

Handing the hardware to the Cards' Adam Wainwright just feels bizarre because I've never read or heard anyone mention his glove. Contrarily, I've seen the Giants' Tim Lincecum make exceptionally athletic plays from the bump and I've heard the Cincinnati Reds' Bronson Arroyo lauded for his leather.

In the end, though, I've got to defer because I haven't observed anything that argues against Wano—he didn't make any errors, he made the most put-outs, his range factor was amongst the best, and he threw the most innings. That's a strong case against nothing but a funny feeling.

Cue the ominous music because the rest isn't so pretty.

The other winners aren't exactly undeserving. Instead, they're significantly flawed and suspiciously conservative choices.

The problem is that defensive ability is really something that needs to be seen with the naked eye to gauge accurately. A defender's value hasn't yet been reduced to the box score with any firm credibility.

New metrics are emerging and some are even beginning to catch the mainstream's eye. Ultimate zone rating (UZR) seems to be getting play and for good reason—as explained (A and B), it seems like an appropriately sophisticated and extensive model of a complex system. However, even it is plagued by considerable frailties (e.g. small sample sizes for a model with so many confounding variables, omitted variables, etc.) such that it can only be thought of as an additional data point rather than a probative final stop.

Consequently, determining the best gloveman at a position is the ultimate in subjective assessment—mixing first-hand observation with tradition stats like fielding percentage and innings-played, then sprinkling in a hint of the novel sabermetrics like range factor and UZR.

Nevertheless, the remaining honorees range from shaky to criminal compared to an also-ran.

In the outfield, nobody registered more put-outs than the Milwaukee Brewers' Mike Cameron, his UZR was much higher than that of Philly's Shane Victorino, and the Brewer had a superior range factor. The Flyin' Hawaiian made only one error to Cameron's four, but defensive errors can be a function of range i.e. a player who covers more territory will expose himself to more error potential—he will make more plays and more difficult plays.

Watching both men patrol the big green is a treat, but Cameron is the more dazzling of the two while sharing Victorino's blue-collar, do-or-die mentality. Of course, Victorino went home with his second consecutive award and Cameron gets a pat on the butt.

Oops.

At second base, the Bums' Orlando Hudson had the advantages of being flashier and a mantle already boasting Gold Gloves. Unfortunately, neither counter the notion that the Phils' Chase Utley was better in 2009.

The Phillies' keystone had an embarrassingly superior UZR (O-Dawg's was actually negative), a lead in range factor, made more put-outs, played more innings, had more assists, and turned more double plays. In Hudson's corner, you had four fewer errors for a whopping .003 lead in fielding percentage and history—tremendous.

Again, the eyeball test operates in both slicksters' favor—Giants die-hards saw a lot of the Dodger in 2009 and the Phils were a fixture under the national spotlight so most should be familiar with Utley's efforts. Both are fantastic; Chase Utley was better.

So naturally Hudson's mantle has a new Gold Glove on it.

Which brings me to the biggest travesty in the set—Philadelphia's Jimmy Rollins over the Colorado Rockies' Troy Tulowitzki.

Forget all the numbers because they're close enough to do so. Forget them because the eyeball test is the only bad rider you need for this particular contest.

Troy Tulowitzki is quite possibly the best shortstop in the show, as in both leagues. The Texas Rangers' Elvis Andrus might warp by him in 2010, but not yet.

The guy is a wizard-monster in the hole—there might be better pure defenders, but nobody combines his elegant glovework with a truly horrifying cannon (unless you happen to root for the Rox). It's not easy to distinguish yourself based on arm strength from short when you toil in the same division as LA's Rafael Furcal.

Tulo's done it. Without too much problem.

There's a reason Colorado's season ebbs and flows with Troy Tulowitzki, and the reason isn't exclusively related to his bat. With this gem in place, the rest of the Rockie defense clicks into place and becomes a formidable asset.

Rollins is nice, no doubt about it. He's just not nice enough, not any more. Maybe the voters will catch on eventually, but we'll have to wait 'til next year to find out because Jimmy got the gold in 2009.

When all is said and done, hitting pay dirt on six-outta-nine winners ain't too shabby for National League voters. Judging from the American League reception, things could've been a lot worse.

But never fear, if vampire fads and comic dummies prove anything, it's that more insanity is always right around the corner.

Just wait 'til next year...

**www.pva.org**

Oakland Raider Coach Tom Cable Is Innocent Because We Don't Know If He's Guilty

Andrew Nuschler — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 12:24:41 -0500

Last Wednesday, the president of the National Organization for Women, Terry O'Neill, emailed the USA Today and announced that Oakland Raider Head Coach Tom Cable should be suspended . For those unfamiliar with the story, Cable stands accused of physically abusing at least two former partners. Somehow, a third seems to have crept into O'Neill's mix although I haven't heard any specifics as to that alleged victim.

There are several disturbing elements to O'Neill's plea for punishment before the facts of the situation are known.

Let me first say I have no tolerance for any sort of foul play with women. I have two siblings—both sisters, one older and one younger—as well as two nieces under the age of 10. My mom carried a heavy burden raising us kids because my dad had to travel a lot when we were growing up. I love them all dearly and have tremendous respect for women.

Outside of abusing children, mistreating a female is one of the easiest ways to light my relatively inflammable fuse.

I am, in no way, defending Tom Cable.

IF he is guilty of battering these women.

That's the most troubling aspect to O'Neill's argument—"The Oakland Raiders, properly, say they are undergoing a 'serious evaluation' of these recent allegations. At the very least [Cable] should be suspended during this process."

Those were her exact words.

Forget due process and other elemental aspects of American jurisprudence, Tom Cable should be treated as guilty until proven innocent. O'Neill's stated rationale for this shift in inalienable rights is another bit of astounding lunacy:

"As a survivor of domestic violence, I know that women do not make such accusations lightly."

Again, I don't mean to trivialize what is a very serious offense and I am sincerely sorry for the abuse Ms. O'Neill suffered. But her logic is criminal and would be so if applied.

The severity of the accusation didn't stop Kobe Bryant's accuser from claiming rape when the facts ultimately indicated otherwise.

The severity of the accusation didn't stop another lovely lady from targeting Ben Roethlisberger for the same charge (which also appears to be false).

Furthermore, these are just two stories that made the sufficiently large print—I'm sure there are many examples of lesser athletes being charged with lesser fantastic crimes that never see the light of the front page.

The argument that the weight of the accusation carries a presumption of veracity no longer flies in modern society. Sad but true.

The last issue I'll take with O'Neill's email is the timing—if you read the entire link, you'll see NOW contacted the paper before it contacted the Raiders or the National Football League.

Considering the ill-conceived argument, the irrational goal, and the circumstances of the missive, it seems very much like a publicity stunt rather than an earnest request.

I ask you, is that treating the issue with appropriate respect?

Should something as hideous as domestic violence be used as an excuse to grab the soap box? What damage has Ms. O'Neill done to her cause if Cable is eventually exonerated?

In that case, doesn't the president of NOW look a bit like a blind zealot? Hunting for the limelight a la Jesse Jackson, Rush Limbaugh, Al Sharpton, etc. even if it means persecuting an innocent person?

It's important to note the Raider coach openly admits to striking one of the women.

He defends the action by pointing out it was 20 years ago, he struck with an open hand, and it was immediately following a disclosure of infidelity. Additionally, he's been recently accused of cold-clocking an assistant and breaking his jaw (an allegation that seems very much true).

I mention the episodes because they show both that there is merit to Ms. O'Neill's concern and why her request should be ignored (as it seems to have been).

Tom Cable may very well be innocent—a revelation of infidelity is theoretically one of the few mitigating circumstances for all crimes, even murder.

That's not to say it's an excuse for domestic violence, but the extenuating element certainly gives reason for pause before extrapolating from the incident to a general habit of violence against women.

As does the gender and vocation of the assistant coach—these are two grown men and football coaches, not heads of state. In other words, the loss of emotional control is nowhere close to that presumed necessary for the allegations made by the women.

Nevertheless, those are two violent episodes and one involves a woman so there's plenty of reason to take the accusations seriously.

And "seriously" means attended by all the inconveniences thrust upon society by that insignificant little rag, the United States Constitution.

If Tom Cable is guilty of physically abusing any of these women, then burn him at the stake.

But Ms. O'Neill would be wise to wait for proof before striking the match.

**www.pva.org**

Oregon's Blount In, Oklahoma State's Bryant Out: Makes Perfect Sense in the NCAA

Andrew Nuschler — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 23:15:08 -0500

In a story that's likely to gain momentum as the college football season winds down, LeGarrette Blount has been reinstated by both the Oregon Ducks and Pac-10 Conference. Blount, as most fans need no reminding, is the gentleman who sucker-punched some trash-talking clown from Boise State after the Broncos rocked the Ducks' world in the season opener.

In fairness to said clown, Blount drew first trash-talking blood.

The reinstatement can be (and is being) received in a variety of ways.

Some will argue that the kid has paid a serious penalty and Oregon did right by waiting until after its big tete-a-tetes with conference rivals USC and Stanford. Others will counter (as the FOX writer did) that it shows where the school's real priorities lie, especially in the wake of yet another upset loss. This time, the Ducks got ambushed by the mighty, mighty Cardinal—there's only a hint of sarcasm in there as Stanford is having a great year and it's my alma mater.

Regardless, the isolated turn of events isn't what disturbs me about the decision.

In truth, I think there's merit to both sides of the argument, but I think concentrating on LeGarrette Blount is missing the forest for the trees. When the youngster puts cleat to turf in his return, it will leave yet another indelible stain on the NCAA governing body.

Because Dez Bryant will not get that chance.

The Oklahoma State Cowboy wide receiver has been suspended for the year because he lied to NCAA investigators about a visit he made to Deion Sanders' house. According to one more kid caught in the wrong kind of limelight, he did nothing outside the voluminous NCAA rule book while under Neon Deion's double-edged wing—Bryant says he simply panicked and lied in the heat of the moment.

Similar to the Blount situation, I don't know who is right between the two sides. I don't know if Bryant lied because he was making improper flirtations with the NFL or if he really did just crack under a pseudo-interrogation. Both seem entirely plausible given Sanders' rickety credibility and the unilateral investment made in these athletes' development.

As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter.

Now that Bryant's appeal has been denied and Blount will take snaps again in 2009, what the Cowboy really did is beside the point.

At worse, Bryant was guilty of getting a jump start on his professional career, so let's go with that. Yes, meeting with agents or whatever is against the rules. But I'm sure that same rule book uses some very firm and admirable language in describing the NCAA's commitment to the STUDENT-athlete.

Take a look at those graduation rates for some of the biggest football and basketball programs—you know, the ones that also happen to generate the toweringest of dollar-bill mountains by astounding coincidence. Now tell me again how seriously the powers-that-be consider a breach of those rules.

And does the book not mention anything about cold-clocking an opponent for the entire civilized world to see? Then going bonkers after the punch lands, ultimately needing to be restrained by teammates?

Live and in high-definition.

Furthermore, what if Bryant is being honest? What if all he did was lie to the investigators about an innocuous trip? To my knowledge, there haven't been any specific allegations of error beyond the deceit.

Hmmm....

Lie to holy NCAA investigators and get bounced for an entire year. On the other hand, commit assault and battery (were it not on a football field), sit a spell, cross your t's, dot your i's, and all will be forgiven.

Anyone else see a problem with that policy?

To me, it looks like Bryant's offense possibly threatened the NCAA's stranglehold on its student-athletes and the cash that comes with it, while Blount's definitely threatened the physical safety of a fellow competitor.

For those even remotely familiar with NCAA policy and execution, it's not surprising the organization landed on one with both feet and seems to be nodding along as the other returns. This is, after all, an organization that shelters under a tax-free umbrella because of its dedication to the academic maturation of its athletes while turning a blind eye as many of its biggest revenue producers miserably fail in that mission.

Nevertheless, the disparity is disgusting.

One last time for the cheap seats—I don't pretend to know whether LeGarrette Blount's reinstatement is right. Nor do I know if Dez Bryant's year-long suspension is wrong.

But put the two cases side-by-side, and one thing is painfully obvious.

The NCAA suits have yet another reason to be ashamed of themselves.

**www.pva.org**

Fedor Emelianenko Shows His Subjects The Full Arsenal Against Brett Rogers

Andrew Nuschler — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 13:41:33 -0500

In many respects, the Fedor Emelianenko on display Saturday night at Strikeforce/M-1 Global's inaugural event was every bit the vintage Last Emperor. By that, I don't mean it was one of the Russian's best fights or most convincing victories.

Understand, as impressive as Brett Rogers looked for the round plus, the Grim still can't be considered one of Emelianenko's most sincere challengers.

The 6'5", 265-pound monster with genuine striking skills simply doesn't have the experience, resume, or well-rounded skill-set to be put on Fedor's mantel alongside warriors like Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira, Mirko Filipovic, Mark Coleman, and their ilk.

Yet.

Consequently, it wasn't "vintage" Fedor as far as the caliber of opponent was concerned.

However, the action itself was very much reminiscent of the Russian Experiment's most glorious of glory days. For that, Brett Rogers deserves a ton of credit.

The native of Chicago used his superior size—the American had about 30 pounds and over five inches on his adversary, since apparently Emelianenko is shrinking (from 6' to 5'11")—to put Fedor in a couple bad spots.

Even more impressively, the Grim looked to be beating the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world to the punch.

At first.

Unfortunately, Fedor Emelianenko often starts slowly against particularly dangerous opponents and uses his calm to his advantage—much like fellow terror Anderson Silva.

The Last Emperor never panics and never presses, using his stoicism to coldly assess the situation and adapt as appropriate.

That's what you saw with the finishing blow.

Rogers was coming in to fire that same jab that bloodied and possibly broke Emelianenko's nose in the opening exchange of the first round.

Sadly for the Grim, Fedor had other ideas—subtly setting up as if he would repeat the same left-jab, right-hook from the opening exchange (effectively duping Rogers), but instead loading up and firing the straight right that ended the contest.

In between, the audience witnessed the complete majesty of the Last Emperor unfold.

You saw the tremendous power in and unorthodox approach to his striking. You saw his uncanny ability to be accurate with those seemingly wild bombs.

You saw his unflagging will as he kept stalking through an increasingly gory visage (my man cuts like tissue paper).

Most importantly, you saw his apparently inexhaustible gas tank and his frenetic precision.

Not to belabor the point, but Brett Rogers is substantially bigger than Fedor Emelianenko. Furthermore, the younger American spent a good deal of the roughly seven minutes imposing his girth on the older Russian—whether in the clinch against the cage or from on top while in Fedor's guard.

Toss in the jab that opened the champ up, the brief orgy of ground-and-pound that progressed the carnage, and you have a final picture of a fight that should've been thoroughly fatiguing to the smaller gladiator.

Except it wasn't—Fedor just kept coming like he always does.

Which brings me to the frenetic precision.

This was on display perfectly after the Last Emperor wobbled Rogers with a big left paw about two minutes into the first.

Most fighters in that scenario, when they have an opponent rocked and a full energy tank, rush in with abandon and waste a ton of energy attempting to haphazardly finish the issue. There's a flurry of activity that really doesn't amount to much.

Not with Fedor.

The cold-blooded killer rushes in with the same ferocity, but there doesn't seem to be much wasted movement. You saw him land a few more strikes to the disconcerted Grim while making technically sound takedown attempts.

Once on the ground, Emelianenko peppered his prone opponent with shots while maintaining position, eventually transitioning into a kimura.

When that failed and put Fedor in a bad spot—with Rogers pounding from above and splattering his face—there was still no desperation.

Despite the size and power raining fists from above, Emelianenko merely bided his time until he caught one of those big arms for a chance at an armbar and escaped trouble.

Mind you, this all happened in about 60 seconds.

From there, Brett Rogers was on fumes and it was just a matter of time. When you're locked in a cage and exhausted, the LAST person you want to be staring at is Fedor Emelianenko.

Of course, one last entry needed to be made for a complete exhibition of what makes Fedor so special. It came during the post-fight interview with Gus Johnson—the astounding quiet and humility of the man.

No nauseating self-aggrandizement, no tedious bombast—only thanks and respect.

And that's why the Last Emperor is a force worthy of adulation.

Long may he reign.

**www.pva.org**

Fedor Emelianenko: Russian Experiment Enters New Phase Against Rogers

Andrew Nuschler — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 20:26:40 -0500

Once upon a time, being a faithful worshiper at the church of Fedor Emelianenko was easy. In the heyday of PRIDE Fighting Championships (circa 2004-05), the man absolutely dominated the heavyweight division. The 33-year-old sambo expert won the belt from Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira in thorough fashion after just two PRIDE fights and that was that.

The hardware never left his formidable waist from until the organization imploded.

Back then, battering Minotauro was no simple thing. Neither was the thrashing the Last Emperor put on Mirko Filipovic. Fedor calls his legendary clash with Cro Cop his hardest fight ever, which I'm sure is wonderful consolation to a Croatian fighter who's never been the same since the unanimous decision went to the Russian.

That "when is this %$&! over" look that we've seen with disturbing frequency since Filipovic arrived in the UFC wasn't always there. You can see it's debut against Fedor—not that anyone can blame Cro Cop after the display he put on in defeat.

Warriors in their prime like Mark Coleman, Mark Hunt, and Kevin Randleman were no match for Emelianenko.

Sadly, that was about four years ago and a funny thing happened on the way to the Kremlin.

The UFC exploded in popularity and the sport of mixed martial arts along with it. However, the burgeoning love affair with the masses passed through a filter controlled by Dana White and company. Millions of new fans became familiar with his darling and little else in the world of MMA.

Consequently, Fedor Emelianenko's reputation and domination began to collect dust.

Regardless of who is to blame for the Last Emperor's throne sitting outside the UFC, there is no disputing that his absence has allowed the skeptics and haters to gather momentum. Although it doesn't have a monopoly, the UFC most certainly has cornered the market on premium mixed martial artistry. Thus, the best pound-for-pound fighter on the planet is very much vulnerable to criticism.

His fight slate—once a who's who of the global heavyweight circuit—has become a stable of novelty acts and overmatched ex-bad asses.

Which is why Brett Rogers could mark the dawning of a new day for Fedor Emelianenko.

The Grim has given every impression of being a legitimate fighter. The hombre is LARGE—6'5" and around 265 pounds—and seems to know what to do with his mountainous mass.

Of course, the size differential is nothing new for Emelianenko. At 6'0" and 235 pounds, he's normally the smaller of the two gladiators and it hasn't seemed to matter much to date. Nevertheless, you could argue he's never faced the combination of size, speed, and agility that Rogers may possess.

I say 'may' because the Grim has been done no favors. He's being tossed to the lions without really proving himself against any probative talent. Yes, he's undefeated in 10 contests, but I've only heard of two of his opponents and neither are too impressive.

A fading Andrei Arlovski is his shiniest pelt along with a knockout of (ugh) James Thompson. Hey, if the Colossus showed up to collect on a debt I owed, I'd soil myself. Unfortunately, every single heavyweight in MMA worth a damn seems to be infinitely tougher than I and they've proved it using Thompson's cranium.

So there's really no meaningful sample size by which to accurately judge the Grim. To his credit, the 28-year-old has looked really good against mediocre (at best) competition. That's better than looking average.

And this is a guy on the upside of his career, not the back nine.

Will Brett Rogers have enough to give Fedor Emelianenko his first sincere test since Hunt back in 2006? I have no idea.

But he genuinely seems to have that potential.

At this point in the Last Emperor's reign, it'll have to do.

**www.pva.org**

Lincecum Cited for Possession: Hitters Aren't the Only Thing He Smokes

Andrew Nuschler — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:24:24 -0500

If you're under 35 or have spent ANY time on the West Coast, the news that Tim Lincecum was pulled over and arrested on misdemeanor charges for marijuana possession isn't exactly surprising. Note that it was possession and NOT driving under the influence, which would be a different tune.

Anyway, it's the offseason, the Freak is relaxing, and he's a product of the Pacific Northwest.

Here's a little secret—weed is really popular on the West Coast.

If you drive through Los Angeles, the only thing you'll see more often than a palm tree is an advertisement for medical marijuana. Hollywood has become overwhelmingly pot-friendly. The City of San Francisco has decriminalized possession of small amounts. That haze over Humboldt County ain't smog.

You actually risk a contact high simply driving through Oregon. Washington, too, if not for all that rain.

The Franchise was born in 1984 outside of Seattle and grew up in the same suburb. He attended the University of Washington before being drafted by the San Francisco Giants. Once in the Gents' system, he threw his Minor League innings in Oregon, San Jose, and Fresno. In other words, his entire life except for vacations and road trips has been spent inside the Pot Brownie Belt.

Furthermore, the horde of athletes caught for or otherwise acknowledging a Mary Jane indulgence is only growing bigger and stronger.

There are world-record holders, Olympic gold medalists, Super Bowl winners, Pro Bowlers, All-Stars from Major League Baseball, the same from the National Basketball Association, Hall-of-Famers, and so on.

Michael Phelps, Mark Stepnoski, Randy Moss, Ricky Williams, LeBron James, Carmelo Anthony, Rasheed Wallace, Allen Iverson, Charles Oakley, Kareem Abdul-Jabar, Bill Walton, and the hits keep comin'.

Seriously, Google "marijuana pro athletes."

Not only is the sheer volume of names astounding, the phenomenon has grown to the point where theories are sprouting up that it's actually beneficial , especially in football where the movement has found proxies in Stepnoski and Williams (yes, that's a link to Forbes ). The former tepidly advocates for its use as an alternative pain killer and the latter as a superior treatment for his emotional disorder.

Take particular notice of the heavy representation by sports requiring far more aerobic endurance than professional baseball.

Way back in D.A.R.E., we were told the two primary deleterious consequences of marijuana use were damage to lungs and cognitive functions.

Well, I'd never dispute the idea that inhaling smoke is harmful to lung tissue, but just how harmful and at what levels seem up for debate given the increasing number of dabblers whose substantial livelihood is directly tied to respiratory efficiency.

As for the effects on the brain?

Again, no argument from me—as a fellow product of the West Coast, I know my share of stoners and the stupids are no joke.

However, nobody ever said you needed to be a rocket scientist to play these games. Shoot, when I played, my tendency to over-analyze and get locked in my own head was one of my main weaknesses. Maybe intelligence ain't all it's cracked up to be if you get paid for your physical prowess, who knows?

Remember, Tiny Tim's niche in life is to throw a little ball passed a muscled-up freak of nature with a wooden club for our amusement. He's not solving the economic crisis or the health care crisis or the war in Afghanistan or balancing the doomed State budgets...dear GOD, that's a full plate for America.

But I digress.

I'm trying to say that Tim Lincecum's judgment isn't a matter of national import. He's a supremely gifted athlete, not a father in absentia or any other kind of role model for our children.

If you've been snowed by the soft-focus nostalgia pieces MLB was using to sell the sport, my condolences. Nonetheless, it's no shameful revelation that Lincecum's cherubic dimples and juvenile enthusiasm for the game are merely window dressing for a flawed human with vices like the rest of us.

It never could've been any other way.

Don't get me wrong—I'm not suggesting America's youth should find their nearest neighborhood dealer nor that ganja is a trivial thing. As with any ingestible substance on this planet—like alcohol, tobacco, or even water—abuse of marijuana is a serious and dangerous thing. It's a horrible idea for any youngster to pick up a pipe.

As it is a horrible idea for that youngster to pick up a can of beer or cigarette. Yet nobody throws a fit if Pro Athlete A or Celebrity B rocks a brew or a fag. That's my point.

Tim Lincecum is a 25-year-old adult, a grown man, and marijuana is not heroin.

So let's all act accordingly.

**www.pva.org**

Philadelphia Phillies: World Series Shows Why Chase Utley Is Underappreciated

Andrew Nuschler — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 13:56:23 -0500

If the Philadelphia Phillies had forced a Game Seven of the 2009 World Series, Chase Utley would have had a genuine chance at the Series' Most Valuable Player award. Regardless of whether the Phils' won a second set of rings, Utley's monstrous display probably would've garnered him the honor if nobody from the New York Yankees had an outstanding finish.

As we all saw on Wednesday, Hideki Matsui lived up to even the craziest billings of Godzilla-hype and Philadelphia gave up the ghost in six games. Consequently, the Yanks wore yet another crown, Matsui took home well-deserved MVP honors, and Utley's six games will be remembered as cute footnotes.

What two players share the record for most home runs in a single World Series?

Reggie Jackson and Chase Utley.

Who are the only two left-handed hitters to hit two home runs in a single World Series game off left-handed pitching?

Babe Ruth and Chase Utley.

As cool as those nuggets are, it's a shame they're all that will endure from such a fantastic performance.

With all due respect to Hideki Matsui, who had several good games and one spectacular one, the Phillies' second baseman was the best player in the World Series. That's not to say he was the most valuable—he wasn't. His team didn't win and a player on the victorious side made a good push for the hardware.

One last time—Godzilla was the right choice for World Series MVP.

However, look at what Utley did at the plate in six games: 21 at-bats, seven runs-scored, one double, five homeruns, eight runs batted in, one stolen base, four walks, five strikeouts, a .286 batting average, and a 1.448 on-base-plus-slugging percentage.

The OPS looks like something generated by a blue-chip prospect in high school as do the five taters in six games. Other than Matsui, nobody hung with Chase offensively and the first-ever Japanese MVP was merely a designated hitter for three contests while being reduced to a pinch-hitter in the other three.

The pride of the Phillies played six full games and contributed with his leather in addition to his splinter.

Yet, it all came in a losing effort—if the Phils win, everyone is singing Utley's praises for the next week. Shoot, even if the Phightins had come a little closer and the Bronx Bombers had remained a bit more vanilla, his name would echo into the offseason.

But it won't.

That's the way it's been with the 30-year-old perennial All-Star as he's risen to the rank of superstar in Major League Baseball. Which is why, as strange as it is to hear about an admitted-superstar, Utley is underrated.

Chances are, if you don't reside in the City of Brotherly Love or pledge allegiance to its sports teams, you aren't aware that Chase Utley has arguably been the best player not named Albert Pujols in the National League since 2005.

Consider his yearly averages, including the year that saw him take over full-time at the keystone ('05):

G	AB	R	2B	3B	HR	RBI	SB	BB	SO	BA	OBP	SLG	OPS
151	582	111	39	5	29	101	15	67	109	0.301	0.388	0.535	0.922

Those are incredible numbers before you toss in the fact he plays a premium defensive position and provides thump from the middle of the diamond, something historically rare in the Bigs. Still, they are just numbers.

If you go beneath the stats, you'll find that the 2009 postseason is not the first time Chase Utley has delivered on an expansive, well-illuminated platform.

In 2005, he took over regular duty for Placido Polanco and simply disappeared in a cloud of dust—he finished 13th in NL MVP voting that year. In 2006, he led the Senior Circuit in runs-scored, made his first All-Star appearance, finished seventh in MVP voting, and began to establish himself as a force with which to be reckoned.

Only to be overshadowed by team-mate Ryan Howard's MVP season.

In 2007, despite missing significant time due to an injury suffered on one of Utley's NL-leading 25 hit-by-pitches, Mr. Reliable tallied another superb campaign. He registered an All-Star appearance, an eighth-place finish in the MVP voting, and was upstage by yet another team-mate's MVP season (this time it was Jimmy Rollins).

Finally, on the way to the 2008 World Series, Chase Utley found another gear.

He put together arguably the best year of his glittering career to date, participated in the now-tedious All-Star game, finished 14th in MVP voting, and propelled his team into the Fall Classic by putting together a dominating NL Championship Series against the Los Angeles Dodger.

Of course, the virtually untouchable postseason twirled by Cole Hamels stole all the headlines and absorbed all the spotlight.

Now, 2009 is just one more entry—Utley's scintillating season has been but the backdrop for blustery stories about Cliff Lee's domination or Rollins' verbosity or Howard's prodigious clout. His scorching Classic will be railroaded in favor of the Yankees' 27th championship and Philadelphia's ultimately doomed effort to repeat.

Obviously, there's an element of poor timing at work that's keeping the Southern California native in the shadows a bit. There's something else, too.

If you want to know what, look no further than the telling coverage of this World Series, where so much lip service was paid to guys like Rollins and Pedro Martinez and the other really snazzy interviews. Never have I heard and read so much praise and hype heaped on guys because of their tendency to give a good sound byte.

In the face of a .217 average and 6.30 ERA.

Contrarily, Utley posts terrific numbers while playing the game as if he were the dean of the old school.

He gives max effort day-in and day-out without contributing much to the circus sideshow that revolves around professional athletics in America (and other countries if rumors are true). He just shows up, does his job better than 99 percent of his contemporaries, respectfully answers questions, and then repeats.

For this, his play gets overlooked—the dude had to hit FIVE HOME RUNS IN SIX GAMES to get a word in edgewise. In the World Series.

Chase Utley is a total failure in one aspect—the man is not a self-promoter.

And that only means there's more to appreciate.

**www.pva.org**

Michael Crabtree's First Start Stops the Bleeding In More Ways Than One

Andrew Nuschler — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 13:49:25 -0500

Many in the national media and almost everyone around San Francisco have been openly critical of rookie wide receiver Michael Crabtree's decision to hold-out for more money. Although I never grappled with the issue directly, I'm definitely and firmly in that group.

The story is old news by now—the kid was arguably the best collegiate wide receiver, got hurt, slid in the draft, the San Francisco 49ers grabbed him at No. 10, Crabtree and an armada of advisers decided he should be paid like a top seven or eight pick, and all manner of insanity followed.

There were allegations that 22-year-old was being led astray by his agent, Eugene Parker, for the glorification of Parker's reputation. There was the ever-helpful Deion Sanders popping off from his podium on the NFL Network about the youngster's financial security. There was a different one of Crabtree's agents boasting the exact same thing.

The New York Jets even nosed their way into the mix when San Francisco filed tampering charges against the East Coast club.

Mercifully, it all came to an end when the wideout inked his belated contract with the Niners. Ultimately, he got $1 million more in guaranteed money ($17 million vs. $16 million). There were also any number of additional mysterious incentives, but the value of those is so unpredictable that they're virtually beside the point.

Regardless, Michael Crabtree was officially a San Francisco 49er!

By the Bay, you could hear the crickets chirping.

No trumpets blaring, no red carpets being rolled out for the savior, and certainly no fan-base drooling with anticipation of seeing their new toy. The squad was a Brett Favre, desperation heave away from being 4-0 and sitting atop its division. The Niners had already taken out the defending National Football Conference champion and division rival Arizona Cardinals on the road in addition to both of their other division opponents.

The faithful had better things to focus on than a self-entitled, self-centered prima donna who'd finally relented to gracing the City with his presence on the football field.

Then, the guys got smashed by the Atlanta Falcons and the team headed into its bye week with too many emergency lights flashing for anyone to give much thought to Crabtree. A 45-10 mauling by a good-not-great adversary tends to do that.

With all hands on deck to right the Niner ship, the rookie's first start—against the Houston Texans coming out of the bye—didn't play out to a whole lot of hype or fanfare. Followers heard plenty about how many snaps Crabtree would take and that he'd be challenged to prove his opinion of himself immediately, but that was mostly local noise directly from Mike Singletary's mouth. In other words, the national radar blip was small.

Consequently, there haven't been too many demands for those in the media who fed at the Crabtree holdout trough to make amends. Well, let me be one of the first to fall on my sword (although it's infinitely charitable to call me part of "the media").

In Week Seven against the Texans, the burner caught five of six looks for 56 yards and participated in 48 of 54 offensive snaps. That's no small accomplishment in your first National Football League action (as far as I can tell). What's more, the live-and-in-color version was even more impressive than the box score because not all of the catches were easy.

Several times, Crabtree yanked in the back-end of the ball and secured tough offerings. He routinely snatched the pigskin with just his hand, which seems to be the way guys who don't drop the thing do it.

Most importantly, the speedster gave the 49ers another threat with his athleticism and ability to draw coverage. Placed alongside Frank Gore and a developing game-changer in Vernon Davis, the dynamic receiver probably deserves a good amount of credit for the dramatically different Alex Smith we saw against Houston.

It might not be a momentary aligning of the planets, either.

Alex Smith's talent has never been the problem—it was always a matter of his confidence and the talent around him. Neither were very good, but an improvement in the latter can quickly raise the former.

It'll be a tough to tell with a Week Eight assignment against the juggernaut Indianapolis Colts, but we've already seen signs of a change.

Which means Michael Crabtree gets his just desserts.

The decision to holdout was and will always be an exercise in stupidity and counterproductive greed, but the kid can play. At least between the sidelines, Michael Crabtree's arrogance and swagger looks to be plenty justified. It was only a single game, but he looked special.

And 'special' heals all wounds.

**www.pva.org**

San Francisco Treat: Freddy Sanchez Proves It Isn't All About the Money

Andrew Nuschler — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 13:53:50 -0400

Although it's making headlines, Freddy Sanchez' new two-year contract with the San Francisco Giants doesn't really qualify as news. Most close observers of the team expected the second baseman to ink a deal in the wake of his disappointing stretch with the club.

When I wrote the longtime Pittsburgh Pirate would re-up with San Francisco, it was no revolutionary proclamation. In fact, you could argue I was flying the Captain Obvious flag. The organization simply gave up too much for an almost negligible return on the investment.

It's been said elsewhere and I'll echo it here—the Giants' brass parted with a potential gem.

Tim Alderson, the right-handed starting pitcher used to pry Sanchez away from the Buccos, could make that deal one of Brian Sabean's all-time blunders depending on how he develops. Based on what the faithful were told as the kid was tearing through the farm system, he may have the kind of talent that just shouldn't be traded. He's hit a bit of a rough patch in his learning curve, but the youngster's not even 21 yet.

In other words, there was basically ZERO chance the San Francisco Giants' management team could let Freddy Sanchez go given the totality of circumstances. Nevertheless, the deal is still fascinating .

One thing is an absolute, ironclad lock—Freddy Sanchez is good people. Really good people.

Forget those grumblings about being "open" to a return and the rest of the jazz. Who knows what it meant, but Sanchez was clearly far more than "open" to donning the Giant uniform for another year or two.

You can take the man at his own words or you can read between the lines of the contract.

The former National League batting champion secured a two-year deal worth a total of $12 million. If I've got this right, that means he signed a two-year deal worth about 50 percent more than the $8.1 million option los Gigantes held on him for 2010. Not only that, he did it quickly—the World Series isn't even over yet and there hasn't been much offseason movement, period.

Think about that.

It would've been a miserable thing to do to a franchise that just leveraged a significant piece of its future to get you, especially after tanking on it during a playoff drive, but Sanchez and his agent could've presumably held out for a larger contract.

Professional athletes pay handsomely for (some) intelligent people to focus on contract leverage and it didn't take a genius to figure out San Francisco needed to retain its key 2009 trade deadline acquisition. With that comforting tidbit tucked away, the player/agent could've forced the price tag higher all the while knowing if they pushed too high, the worst-case scenario was another year by the Bay at $8.1 mil.

Followed by an unrestrained foray into the 2011 free agent market.

By swapping the two-year extension for the one-year option, Sanchez is indicating one of two things.

Either Freddy Sanchez doesn't think he can get more than a one-year deal worth $3.9 million on the 2011 market, or he's more concerned about clearing his name in a Giant uniform than he is about maximizing his compensation.

Obviously, I'm going with the latter and not purely for a refreshing change-of-pace.

The renewed Giant second baseman won't turn 32 until the end of December and isn't a power or speed guy anyway. He makes his living playing slick defense at second and spraying the ball for average, both attributes that tend to age well. With his resume and tenure in Major League Baseball against his age and profile, $6 million per year has to be considered a value-purchase, if not cheap, for a healthy All-Star.

Certainly a confident professional athlete and his adviser must think so, even if they didn't let it stop the ink.

To me, that says Freddy Sanchez is more about pride and loyalty than his is about the money.

Considering his talents, that seems to be very good for the San Francisco Giants.

**www.pva.org**

A World Series In New York: The National Media's Dream Come True...Again

Andrew Nuschler — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 13:40:03 -0400

To some degree, I sympathize with New York Yankee fans. Granted, my tears are largely of the crocodile variety because I readily acknowledge they bring a lot of the exploitation on themselves.

Few fan bases are so quick to turn on their players when performance dips.

Arguably, only Philadelphia can compete with the Big Apple's American League representative in terms of a propensity to boo anyone and everyone after a string of bad days. There are exceptions to every rule, but I doubt even fixtures of excellence like Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera have been spared the rod in their worst moments.

Consequently, the national media's tendency to overreact to everything Bronx Bomber can be justified by parties interested in doing so by pointing out it's merely a reflection of the rabid following's current mindset. The constant needling of the team when it's not humming along on all cylinders is partially on the pinstripe faithful.

Of course, raking the club over the coals also generates a lot of scratch, which is ample motivation for the treatment in itself especially in these trying economic times. Hence, my tepid sympathy for the average Joes and Josephines who are head over heels for the Yanks.

No group should be made an emotional pincushion in the name of the almighty dollar.

For example, FOX Sports' Jon Paul Morosi wrote the Yankees had reached a "crisis point" after their Game One loss to the Philadelphia Phillies in the World Series.

Really?

New York, which had the best record in Major League Baseball by six full games and has been marauding through the postseason up until the Fall Classic, faced a "crisis" after a single loss in the first game of a seven-game baseball war?

A franchise with current or former All-Stars at every position, a Cy Young winner, one of the better playoff pitchers in recent memory, possibly the best closer of all-time, and a payroll that dwarfs all but the highest spenders in the Show needed to hit the panic button because they were in an 0-1 hole and history says that's bad?

Good lord.

Hey, like most of America, I'm rooting for the Phillies to win. Hard. I sincerely hope the Yankees eventually do face a crisis (in the baseball sense). Nevertheless, if going down 0-1 is a catastrophe, what will Mr. Morosi write if they go down one game to three?

If a loss in Game One is a "crisis," what the hell would facing elimination for the remainder be? Boiling seas? Plagues of locust? Fire and brimstone?

In the wake of the Bombers' Game Two victory, Jon Paul is pimping a new angle—New York's still in trouble because the Phils have the secret to stifling Alex Rodriguez .

The Phightin' Phils can think happy thoughts because A-Rod is off to an abysmal start in his first Classic—hitless in eight at-bats with six strikeouts. That's brutal up, down, and sideways...and only part of the story because of the lineup he inhabits.

Yes, Rodriguez seemed to discover his bright light stroke in the AL Division and Championship Series. Yes, this was a major reason for the increasingly crowded New York Yankee bandwagon. Yes, his total absence would be a significant hurdle to overcome.

But remember, A-Rod is only one guy in a perpetually dangerous order.

The Yankees have little to worry about if Mark Teixeira's game-tying home run off Pedro Martinez heralds a return to form by the Other Free Agent. Big Tex had done essentially zip in the postseason until Thursday so his revival would flip the A-Rod/Teixeira paradigm that's been established in October, but it would make the Bombers no less potent than they've been thus far.

There's also the little matter of Alex Rodriguez being a supremely elite hitter.

Like him or not—and I don't really fall in either camp—the dude can mash. It seems a little unwise to announce anyone's figured him out on the basis of two games considering how torched the Pinstripes' third baseman has been and that one of the hat tricks was authored by Cliff Lee (who's been basically untouchable for everyone).

Regardless, to argue the Phillies have no worries simply because they have home-field advantage and an apparent stranglehold on one of nine perilous splinters belies common sense.

Which is the problem.

I understand Morosi is covering the Series for FOX with a Philly slant while Ken Rosenthal gets the honors for New York. I also understand the umbrella corporation is trying to inject as much drama into the World Series as possible for a variety of reasons and poking the hornet's nest in NYC usually achieves this goal.

But this is the WORLD SERIES.

Am I to believe the New York Yankee fans or Philadelphia Phillie fans or just baseball fans in general need to have smoke blown up their cabooses to get excited about it? I don't know about you, but the first two games have given me the distinct impression this baby is going to be close all the way down to the wire.

With the opening act in mind, look at the set-up—the defending champions against the most-storied franchise in the sport, the Classic tied at one game apiece, two ferocious offenses, two very good arsenals of starting pitching, two rickety bullpens, two of the best road teams in the Bigs, and two insane fan bases.

For all the marbles.

You're telling me we need artificial hype?

If you like baseball, fabricating intrigue is totally unnecessary (and a little insulting)—there's plenty of real intrigue to discuss without pretending one team is staring into the abyss after a single crushing defeat or that one flatlining player will dictate the outcome of the entire affair.

If you don't like baseball, these efforts to sell snakeoil won't matter one bit.

Not even with a New York Yankee label.

**www.pva.org**

Cowboys Beat a Winning Team: Get Ready for the Annual Dallas Deluge

Andrew Nuschler — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 14:04:39 -0400

A bygone birdie told me I should write something about the National Football League since America's Table is on hiatus. I've found it's usually a good idea to listen to such voices.

Plus, the timing is perfect.

In case you haven't heard, the Dallas Cowboys beat the Atlanta Falcons. If that is news to you, this must be your first foray into the datasphere since the games Sunday because—as is usually the case—the big boys were all over it.

Howie Long at FOX Sports proclaimed it Cowboys-team-we-expected">the arrival of the Cowpokes that the so-called experts predicted before the season started. Meanwhile, ESPN's NFL page leads off with a picture of Miles Austin front and center.

Understand, I'm only making observations, no implicit judgments. In truth, there's nothing inherently wrong with the hype.

As far as I can tell, everything Long said was totally appropriate. I'm not enough of a jackass to question the football analysis; Hollywood Howie is in Canton and I've never taken a snap on an organized gridiron.

Advantage—NFL Hall-of-Famer.

However, there weren't any wider proclamations of Super Bowl runs based on a single win or other nonsensical bits of hyperbole that so often follow Dallas like a palpable stench—the FOX studio personality merely pointed to a solid victory over a good team and an upcoming soft spot in the schedule.

Seemed totally reasonable.

With regard to ESPN's adulation of Austin, the dude's scorched the League for 16 catches, 421 yards, and four touchdowns in his past two games. Only a single fumble and the fact that one of his big games came against the Kansas City Chiefs sully the picture.

When a professional wide receiver averages eight grabs, more than 200 yards, and two scores for any period of time, it's probably reason for some coverage. Especially when he hasn't shot anyone, thrown any of his teammates under the bus, played Stepin Fetchit for the television cameras, or demonstrated any of the other tedious traits of several of the most prominent wideouts.

Instead, Miles Austin has been content to simply thrash opposing defenses. Not too bad for an undrafted chump from Monmouth University.

Can you feel the 'but' coming?

Look at the Dallas Cowboys' 2009 resume to date, which boasts a record of 4-2:

Week 1 — a 34-21 win over the 0-7 Buccaneers in Tampa Bay.

Week 2 — a 31-33 loss to the division-rival and 5-2 New York Giants to open the new palace known as Cowboys Stadium.

Week 3 — a 21-7 win over the 2-4 Carolina Panthers for the first W in the new digs, the Panthers have managed wins over Tampa and the abysmal Washington Redskins, Sunday saw them dominated by the mighty Buffalo Bills.

Week 4 — a 10-17 loss to the undefeated and apparently real-deal Broncos in Denver (6-0).

Week 5 — a 26-20 overtime win over the 1-6 Chiefs in Kansas City, their lone win coming against those accommodating Redskins, Sunday saw the Chefs manhandled by the San Diego Chargers.

Week 6 — bye.

Week 7 — the aforementioned 37-21 win over the now 4-2 Falcons in Dallas.

So that's one good win and three lay-ups (one of which turned into a struggle) to go with two respectable L's. Not too much to crow about.

Let's get one more thing on the record. What do the Giants, Philadelphia Eagles, Green Bay Packers, Falcons, Arizona Cardinals, New England Patriots, Cincinnati Bengals, and Pittsburgh Steelers have in common?

It's rhetorical—they all have the same number of losses as the Cowboys with at least the same number of victories (the Giants, Pats, Bungles, and Steelers all have five).

The Football Giants are leading the National Football Conference East, which happens to be Dallas' division, and have dropped two in a row. The Pack has its big date with the Minnesota Vikings at Lambeau Field this week. The Cardinals wrestled the NFC West lead away from the San Francisco 49ers on Sunday by handing the G-Men their second defeat.

Both 'Nati and the Pattycakes are atop their groupings—the American Football Conferences North and East, respectively.

Based on the Cowboys' body of work, it's hard to believe those other squads don't have a more compelling array of wins and losses.

Furthermore, the Broncos, Indianapolis Colts, and New Orleans Saints are all undefeated. The Vikings are 6-1.

Consequently, the obvious question is, as always, what makes the Dallas Cowboys so freakin' special?

There seems to be ample reason to focus on any number of organizations that have more impressive 2009 seasons to date. All seem as relevant, if not more so, to the developing playoff picture and several have much bigger storylines in the works.

As I said, the victory over the Atlanta Falcons was important and possibly even a watershed moment for the 'Pokes.

But the same thing can be said about Arizona's big W in New York. Or the Saints' phenomenal comeback against the Miami Dolphins. Or Cinci's bombing of the Chicago Bears. Or the return of Troy Polamalu spurring Pittsburgh onto triumph... over the previously undefeated Vikings.

Yet it's always the Star that gets top-billing at the first possible moment.

As Howie Long emphasized, the schedule is about to deliver five eminently winnable games to the Dallas Cowboys' doorstep. Which means America better be ready for a whole lotta Cowboy coverage.

The clouds are already forming...

**www.pva.org**

The Beauty of Subjectivity: Machida Still the Champ Even if Shogun Really Won

Andrew Nuschler — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 13:04:08 -0400

If you happen to know a fan of mixed martial arts and want a laugh, approach said fan and remark as to how flawlessly the judges performed their jobs during the Mauricio Rua–Lyoto Machida title bout at UFC 104 on Saturday night. Just make sure you launch the verbal jab from a safe distance.

The reaction will range from tepid anger to explosive outrage manifested by violent gesticulation.

Most of the mild discontent will probably come from Machida fans—the unanimous decision that kept the UFC light heavyweight championship belt around the Dragon's waist was that unpopular.

I'm on the record as developing a non-sexual male crush on the Brazilian champ. However, the log also includes shameful entries revealing the same in tribute to Shogun from his PRIDE Fighting Championships days. So I think I'm entitled to claiming objectivity on this one.

Mauricio Rua appeared to win the first salvo of an epic and looming war.

Barring (Fight Gods forbid) a serious injury to either gladiator, MMA fans could be watching the next classic rivalry in its earliest stages. The two elite Brazilian competitors might be lining themselves up with Royce Gracie vs. Ken Shamrock, the Gracie Family vs. Kazushi Sakuraba, Fedor Emelianenko vs. Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira, Quinton Jackson vs. Wanderlei Silva, Randy Couture vs. Chuck Liddell, Matt Hughes vs. Georges St-Pierre, and any other clashes for the ages I've forgotten.

That fact alone prevents me from getting too bent out of shape over the so-called injustice.

For me, the most telling sign was the apparent surprise and relief on Lyoto Machida's face when his hand was raised. That didn't look like a man who thought he'd successfully defended his title. If the fighter himself doesn't think he won a toss-up, I find it pretty condemning.

Airtight, huh?

In all honesty, you can't tell me anyone else has more persuasive evidence to support this vehement conviction that the younger Brazilian fighter got robbed. Which is further reason to tone down all the rhetoric surrounding the "controversy."

As for the Cumulative Kick Argument—that Rua landed a battering barrage of strikes to Machida's lower body and, to a lesser degree, torso—there is no disputing it. Anyone watching the battle saw Shogun sniping away with powerful, accurate strikes to the Dragon's lower body.

Less frequently, one would slap into Machida's ribs.

Furthermore, although Bleacher Report scribe Darren Wong got it right when he called out Joe Rogan and Mike Goldberg for being absurdly pro-Shogun in their commentary, the duo nailed some observations. For one, the pair appropriately pointed to an absence of the Dragon's signature footwork as proof the lower body work done by Rua was taking its toll.

The karate-based champ certainly didn't show the same light and volatile movement that served him so well on previous occasions.

So the kicks were having the desired effect, but is that really enough reason for a championship title to change hands?

Again, I'm not disputing the blows were landing nor that they were powerful. Machida was clearly showing their ill-effects as the fight wore on. Nonetheless, Rua never turned that advantage into anything other than more of the same. He never seemed to have Lyoto seriously wobbled or in extreme danger—you could argue Shogun never put his adversary in real danger, period.

It seemed like the Dragon was losing the fight, but it never seemed like Lyoto Machida was about to lose the fight. This wasn't Mirko Filipovic rocking Hidehiko Yoshida, eventually registering a technical knockout via leg kicks.

Mauricio Rua, though effective, wasn't even approaching that kind of devastation.

As I understand it, the officials rate the two participants on a variety of things with no explicit system of awarding points—just some ethereal combination of relevant ingredients like aggression, submission attempts, strikes landed, damage done, and so on left to the individual's discretion.

In other words, simply arguing that Shogun landed more strikes with more power while being the aggressor doesn't necessarily equal a decisive victory. Even if that very recipe worked on previous occasion because each fight is unique—warriors come in different sizes with different capacities for punishment and absorption of the same.

Pain is not uniform.

The rules dictating the winner (should it be left to the judges) seem to reflect this tenet, for better or worse.

One last time—I do think Mauricio Rua won the fight, but I can see why he lost.

I can appreciate the logic in demanding more from a challenger than a safe gameplan executed perfectly that put the champion in no immediate danger, but wore him down considerably.

As dumb as that looks in print, it makes sense in the arena.

If you want your championship bouts to be the most heated affairs, you want at least one antagonist hell-bent for leather when he steps into the cage. You don't want both sides tentative so the reasonable solution is to put an obvious onus on one or the other.

We can all agree, it's been placed on the challenger.

That's not entirely fair because it gives a significant advantage to the title-holder.

It allows the king of the hill to adopt a suffocatingly defensive posture and take few risks without genuine threat of defeat via decision. Of course, those are not the virtues of a true champion—chances are a fighter open to such a strategy would never ascend the weight class mountain in the first place. If he did, his stay atop the heap wouldn't be long.

Therefore, the inequity makes good sense for the sport—reward the incumbent while inspiring action and drama.

In a perfectly equitable world, Rua would be the light heavyweight champion today because he seemed to score more points under the traditional interpretation of a subjective scoring system.

In reality, it seems the judges rewarded Machida for entering as the champion, calmly surviving, and doing so without ever flirting with unconsciousness. Oh well.

Life is unfair and, ultimately, that might be exactly the arrangement we want.

**www.pva.org**

What Would Another Untouchable Champion Mean for the UFC?

Andrew Nuschler — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 14:06:49 -0400

A not-unpleasant thought occurred to me when I was writing about UFC 104's main event between Lyoto Machida and Mauricio Rua.

To appreciate just how dominant the Dragon has quietly become, you must take a closer look at his resume.

Once you do that, you realize he's dispatched some of the brighter names in the light heavyweight business—Rashad Evans (knockout), Thiago Silva (KO), Tito Ortiz (unanimous decision), B.J. Penn (UD), Rich Franklin (technical knockout), and Stephan Bonnar (TKO).

If you want to be uncharitable, you can attach certain qualifiers.

Working in reverse—The TKOs of the American Psycho and Ace Franklin were way back in 2003, the Prodigy was fighting at a considerable height/weight disadvantage, and the Huntington Beach Bad Boy was fading when Machida was unable to finish him.

However, if you go that route, you must also attached gold stars to the 31-year-old Brazilian's most recent outings. By brutally stopping both Silva and Sugar Rashad, Machida gave each gladiator his first defeat (in 14 and 15 bouts, respectively).

Regardless of opinions about his track record, Lyoto Machida can present the UFC with a very sticky situation by dispatching Shogun Rua. All the better if he does it resoundingly.

Take a look at what the UFC's title-holding landscape will look like should the Dragon do what so many of us expect him to do:

Heavyweight Champion—Brock Lesnar

Lesnar hasn't lost since Frank Mir submitted a very green mixed martial artist in February of last year. In 20 months, the former professional wrestler has dispatched three adversaries (including Mir in a title unification rematch) and hasn't been so much as bruised in the process.

To contend with Brock's growing menace, the Heavyweight Division can muster Shane Carwin, Junior dos Santos, and Cain Velasquez (plus the possible resurgence of Mir or Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira).

Those are three very promising up-and-comers who will surely present a sincere challenge with a little more seasoning.

The problem, of course, is that Brock Lesnar isn't sitting on the couch popping chocolates. The dude is a physical and athletic freak of nature—one must assume he is improving as well.

Light Heavyweight Champion—Lyoto Machida

The Light Heavyweight Division has seen the most turbulence in recent years, but the Dragon is threatening to calm the situation considerably.

Should the pied piper of karate use his awkward counterattacking style to batter the relentlessly aggressive Rua, he will be the first of the last three champs to defend his title and it could be a sign of things to come.

The weight class is too deep to list all the interesting heirs to Machida's tenuous throne. Instead, suffice it to say the 205-pound pile will be the toughest to stay atop for an extended period of time.

Shogun might just knock him off in several hours, but—if anyone is up for the challenge—the smart money rides with Lyoto Machida.

Middleweight Champion—Anderson Silva

Forget it.

The Spider hasn't lost at any weight class since 2006, he's worn the Middleweight Championship belt since October of that same year, and he's successfully defended the title six times (if you include when Travis Lutter couldn't make weight).

Uh...and then there are the two embarrassingly easy victories at light heavyweight over James Irvin and Forrest Griffin, neither of which made it out of the first round.

Judging from the state of the Middleweight Division , other fighters have noticed that—of the Spider's 11 straight vanquished opponents—only Thales Leites has heard the final bell. Arguably the best pound-for-pound combatant in the world has stopped the other 10 before the end of the third round.

Consequently, anyone who can avoid Anderson Silva's home turf seems to have done exactly that. Only Nate Marquardt and Demian Maia seem to pose any threat whatsoever, except Marquardt's already been TKO'd by Silva in the first round and Maia was just annihilated by Nate.

Welterweight Champion—Georges St. Pierre

Again, forget it.

The Welterweight Division has some more intriguing depth than Anderson Silva's territory, but there still isn't a whole lot that would trouble me if I were GSP.

Mike Swick, Dustin Hazelett, Anthony Johnson, and a few others are dangerous fighters to be sure. Nevertheless, even those three would have to bring their lunch and dinner to take out Rush St. Pierre.

Remember, if not for the hideous upset suffered at the hands of Matt Serra, St. Pierre would be the reigning Welterweight Champ going all the way back to 2006.

That obviously means very little since the loss happened, but it's informative to emphasize how long GSP's been laying waste to the division.

No champion's stranglehold on his weight class is as complete as the Spider's, but Georges St. Pierre is approaching the mark.

Since becoming the undisputed king of the hill in 2008, the French Canadian has defended his belt twice and taken out B.J. Penn in an catch-weight, non-title bout (as was so graciously pointed out by Flyin' Hawaiian, this was very much a title fight so GSP actually has THREE title defenses).

Lightweight Champion—B.J. Penn

One last time, forget it.

The Prodigy might be the most likely to slip up and lost his grip on the title, but only because his focus and commitment to the sport is the most suspect from this group.

And that might not even be true anymore given how he throttled a very polished Kenny Florian the last time out.

Complicating matters, nobody in the Lightweight Division should scare Penn too badly. Nate Diaz looked like the genuine article, but he's tripped up a couple time lately. Gray Maynard has that edge to him and has performed accordingly. Additionally, Efrain Escudero warrants mention.

Yet a focused, mature B.J. Penn might be the most invulnerable fighter of the five current champions. I'm not kidding—the Hawaiian almost has four arms when you account for the dexterity and flexibility in his legs.

Couple that with his ability and willingness to hold his own against fighters much larger than he, and the result is an obstacle atop the smallest division that looks rather immovable.

Step back from that picture.

Absent a relatively jarring upset, four of the five weight classes look settled for at least the next year or two.

The Light Heavyweight belt appears most subject to change, but Lyoto Machida might alter that perception drastically in his next few fights should he defeat Mauricio Rua.

A highly unlikely incursion by Fedor Emelianenko or exodus by Brock Lesnar would shake up the Heavyweight Title as well—don't hold your breath.

So the natural question is: what happens if/when the titles stagnate?

You KNOW Dana White won't put his sexiest gladiators on ice until a truly suitable challenger emerges, which means any candidate showing a glimmer of hope will be rushed along and fed to the lions as soon as possible.

It goes without saying that anything can happen on any night, but chucking neophytes to battle-tested champions only seems to enhance the latter's advantage.

This would further stagnate the situation—the best contenders would be picked off first and their development sidetracked by a likely defeat.

In that eventuality, would the UFC be forced to return to its roots in order to save its future? Would we see super fights again? Open weight-class grand prix? Rule changes?

One thing seems certain—the powers-that-be will have to get creative because four belts look to be under lock and key already. Worse, Lyoto Machida could finally give the Light Heavyweight belt a permanent home.

And that would make five.

**www.pva.org**

Lyoto Machida Not Getting Much Love: It's Never Wise to Wake a Sleeping Dragon

Andrew Nuschler — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 00:24:54 -0400

One phenomenon I will never understand in sports journalism is the strange need for large swaths of its foremost practitioners to force-feed particular stories down the masses' throats. Even more bizarre is the frequency with which these angles make zero common sense.

In Major League Baseball, the national media decided the Los Angeles Dodgers' bullpen would be the deciding factor before the SoCal squad faced the Philadelphia Phillies in the National League Championship Series. That proved...wrong.

Very wrong.

Currently, the same outlets are trying to convince the baseball world the New York Yankees should be pressing , despite having two games at home while needing only a single win to christen the New Yankee Stadium with an American League pennant.

Not to mention the large shadow of CC Sabathia looming on the horizon.

I point this out because the world of mixed martial arts must cope with the same blight now that FOX Sports , ESPN , and the other big boys have taken an official shine to the revenue stream.

Witness the coverage of the potentially epic clash between challenger Mauricio Rua and Light Heavyweight Champion Lyoto Machida at UFC 104.

Admittedly, neither network throws its back into supporting Shogun as vigorously as both were (or are) pimping the Bums' 'pen or the Bombers' sudden pressure-cooker. The print of the ESPN link actual picks the Dragon to win via technical knockout notwithstanding the video clip's lustful discussion of Rua.

Nevertheless, both come at the fight from a challenger-heavy perspective—hyping Shogun Rua's glory days with PRIDE Fighting Championship along with his most recent pummeling of Chuck Liddell. They justifiably emphasize the 27-year-old Brazilian's relentlessly aggressive style and vicious athleticism—two things on full display when he dismantled Quinton Jackson four years ago.

What they don't mention is that Machida's style couldn't be a starker contrast next to Rampage's "chin down and step forward" approach if it were the 31-year-old Brazilian's intention to make it so.

In other words, Rua's most impressive win—unless you prefer the TKO over an Iceman in a state of total meltdown or either of a pair of Alistair Overeem stoppages—is almost irrelevant given Rampage's obsession with toe-to-toe banging and the Dragon's opposing obsession with elusiveness.

How about some objectivity?

Machida is the undefeated, first-time defending champion.

He's fresh off his most impressive victory to date—a thorough whomping of then-Light Heavyweight Champion Rashad Evans—and has recorded consecutive Knockout of the Night honors. The previous stunning KO came against then-undefeated Thiago Silva at UFC 94.

Most importantly, his slippery karate-based amalgamation of fighting expertise has proven as devastating as Anderson Silva's surgical strikes, Fedor Emelianenko's merciless stoicism, Georges St. Pierre's attention to detail, B.J. Penn's chimpanzee-like dexterity with all limbs, and Brock Lesnar's sheer strength.

Saturday night's title defense will arguably be the toughest battle of the older Brazilian's ongoing career. It's no lie to say Shogun Rua poses a very sincere, extremely dangerous threat to the Dragon's brief reign atop the UFC's deepest weight class.

But Machida has been up to the task against Evans, Thiago Silva, Tito Ortiz, Penn, Rich Franklin, and Stephan Bonnar (one of the men starring into ESPN's cameras in the clip). None of the above qualifies as Earth-shattering, but that's still an impressive list of the vanquished.

So why all the love for Mauricio Rua?

Because the suits know he represents what the casual fight fan LOVES—a guy who comes out in a flurry of fists, elbows, kicks, and knees. Furthermore, the man is an athletic marvel; there is certainly no doubt about that. Even coming off two major knee surgeries, this is an extraordinarily large hombre who moves with fluid ease belying his true size.

The violence is effortless and profound when accurate (can you tell I'm a fan?). Shogun's star potential has always been even higher than his fight potential.

However, Mauricio Rua cannot be the favorite. Much as I'd love to see him win and realize both terrifying sets of promise.

As Sherdog's Jake Rossen observed, whoever eventually beats the Dragon will have to be as much devoted to an as-yet-undiscovered game plan as to his bloodlust—Machida's apparently insolvable counterattacking style demands a slavish adherence to strategy as much as it does the ability to inflict damage.

Strategy, ladies and gentlemen, has never been Shogun's strongest suit.

Unless the scheme calls for semi-reckless abandon, then it's probably his weakest asset (if you can call it an asset).

In all athletic fora—baseball stadiums as much as MMA arenas—anything can happen. The Dodger bullpen might've been the key to an NL pennant (it wasn't), the Yankees might succumb to the mounting pressure (they won't), and Shogun Rua might take the belt from the Dragon (by far the most probable, but I wouldn't bet on it).

The unpredictability is part of what makes sports so magnetic.

So we might very well see a new Light Heavyweight Champion crowned—as I've said, Mauricio Rua is very dangerous.

But so is Lyoto Machida.

And the more the pundits ignore him in favor of his opponent, the more dangerous he gets.

**www.pva.org**

What Will Manny Ramirez's October Shower Bring in April?

Andrew Nuschler — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:08:00 -0400

Much has been made of Manny Ramirez' location during the National League Championship Series Game Four rally that essentially killed the Los Angeles Dodgers' 2009 season. The Bums' year didn't officially end until Brad Lidge pulled the curtain on Game Five, but—if any baseball game were ever a formality—the clincher qualified in the wake of the devastation wrought on Monday night.

Given all that rode on Jonathan Broxton preserving the win that evaporated with Jimmy Rollins' scalding line drive, one would think Man-Ram could've troubled himself to stick around in the dugout.

Instead, the enigmatic slugger was lathering up in the shower.

I'd love to blow this out of proportion—make a mountain from a molehill, tempest in a teacup, all that good stuff. In truth, however, the episode doesn't really announce any new, profound insight into Ramirez.

After the performance during his last days with the Boston Red Sox, it's tough to argue against the notion that the future Hall-of-Famer takes the diamond with an abnormally selfish focus. Toss in his general indifference to the finer points of fielding as well as base-running (invaluable contributions to overall team success), and the impression of a egotistic prima donna solidifies.

Not even volunteering the information of his bathing habits reveals anything we didn't already know about Manny Ramirez—he's not particularly troubled by his team's eventual fate once his participation has ended.

Nor does the Dreaded One appear worried about his reputation in that regard. I say again, this wasn't a story that had to be sussed out—Manny offered it up of his own accord.

Good grief.

There's honest and there's plain dumb. Pulling this verbal Plaxico Burress lands far closer to the latter's end of the spectrum.

That's about it, though—the shower doesn't mean Ramirez quit on his team.

He'd already been removed so it's difficult for a player to quit when he's already unavailable for duty. Additionally, plenty of players return to the clubhouse rather than stick around to watch the final innings in front of the cameras.

I'm not sure how many do so in the playoffs, but I'm sure some do. The Dodger left fielder can't be the ONLY guy.

Like it or not, the modern professional baseball player seems inured to the idea of the biggest stars operating the biggest egos. Baseball has always been a team game composed of individual performances and Major League Baseball seems to have taken this idea to an extreme. So, if it doesn't bother the players, how big of a deal can the premature attention to hygiene really be?

Nevertheless, if I suffered the indignity of being a Dodger fan, I would have one worrisome little question floating around: does Manny Ramirez even like baseball anymore?

When you do most anything for too long, it becomes mundane and unappealing. I'd like to think there's a category of exceptions that includes "getting paid millions of dollars to play baseball," but perhaps not.

Now reconsider the shower.

The dude had one of the best seats in the house for a decisive postseason game. The Championship Series draw even casual fans of the beautiful game to their television sets. Only the World Series draws a more expansive crowd of newbies.

Furthermore, this specific NLCS rematch had a ton of juice to it and Game Four was the pivotal game. The Bums absolutely NEEDED to win and had bounced back from an immediate deficit only to see a two-run lead start to wobble.

There was a bull in a baseball uniform—6'5" and intimately familiar with 300 pounds—snorting 100-MPH smoke at one of the best lineups in the Show for all the marbles. With the slimmest of margins for error.

What fan of the game would turn down a chance to watch their team from the visitor's dugout? What fan of the game would vacate that seat and ignore the game altogether?

Maybe a really, really nervous or superstitious one—who buys that Manny couldn't withstand the tension or was taking a lucky soap? Not me.

In light of the new contract Ramirez signed this winter/spring, ambivalence in Mannywood could end the increasingly sour honeymoon and turn everything all shades of ugly. The deal included a lucrative option under Manny's control.

Scott Boras clients' are notorious for always triggering options and Man-Ram's never boasted embarrassing reserves of common sense so nothing is set in stone. Yet you have to figure these two can see the bold writing in large relief on the wall.

The economy is starting to scrape itself together, but there's been no miracle rebound. Even worse for the duo's negotiating strength, Manny faceplanted into the steroid muck, limped to the finish line after returning from suspension, and didn't do enough in the postseason to create a resuscitating buzz.

Then there's the shower—one final reminder of Manny Ramirez' indifference before the offseason officially started.

That's gotta mean Manny Ramirez will be a Los Angeles Dodger in 2010, whether or not either side wants to see it.

And those situations rarely end well...

**www.pva.org**

Giants' Offseason Sitting In Hitter's Count Despite Loss Of Batting Coach

Andrew Nuschler — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 15:41:20 -0400

Sooner or later, I'll get around to writing my thoughts on the San Francisco Giants' 2009 season. Right now though, there's still some unfinished business i.e. the Los Angeles Dodgers. As long as their season lives on, the final flourishes haven't been brushed on the Gents' season.

That's not to say I define the San Francisco vis-a-vis the Bums, but—as any die-hard fan of los Gigantes must acknowledge—if the Dodgers were to win the World Series, the Orange and Black year takes on a grayer hue.

Heading into the postseason, there was a real risk of seeing that hideously beautiful blue infect the Fall Classic. Granted, with the New York Yankees blasting their way though the American League draw, the chances of the Bums winning were never high. Nevertheless, anything can happen in a seven-game Series so merely seeing LA there would've been too close for comfort.

Thankfully, the Philadelphia Phillies are a couple shovels of dirt away from officially burying the Bums so it doesn't look like I'll have to confront that spectacle. Yet, until the fat lady's belting out those last notes, I don't want to jinx anything so I'll hold off on eulogizing San Francisco's 2009.

Instead, there's already plenty to talk about as the ship moves toward 2010.

First the bad news—management decided to cut bait on hitting instructor Carney Lansford .

At first blush, this seems like a reasonable and intelligent move for a franchise that boasted one of the worst offenses in Major League Baseball. No need to go into the specific rankings; suffice it to say the Giants ranked in the bottom three of the National League in basically everything.

"Bottom of the National League" might as well mean "bottom of baseball" given the designated hitter bloating AL offensive metrics so opening up the field doesn't help the fellas. Nope, the boys produced with the bats as if they were toothpicks.

Anyone who blames Carney Lansford for the anemic output wasn't paying attention.

Tell me a batting coach that could've gotten MORE out of a lineup featuring Bengie Molina as the clean-up hitter, essentially a rookie as its best hitter in the No. 3 spot (Pablo Sandoval), and then...well...almost nothing.

Juan Uribe? Nate Schierholtz? Aaron Rowand? Eugenio Velez? Travis Ishikawa? Edgar Renteria?

These were the best options after Big Money and Little Panda—Ryan Garko did nothing after coming over via trade, Freddy Sanchez came over for a ride on San Francisco's shelf, Randy Winn fell off a cliff, and Freddy Lewis' glove kept him from figuring prominently.

The organization took a Ferrari engine and dropped it in a 30-year-old, rusted-out El Camino only to blame the mechanic when it broke down at the finish line.

If you wanna get downright technical about it, the offense actually over achieved given that "arsenal" of splinters. I'm serious—there were several (very) brief stretches when the hitters carried the usually dominant pitching.

To fire the guy who squeezed a glassful of water out of the rocks he was given doesn't make any sense to me. I would've liked to see what Lansford could've done with another year to work with the improving young hitters (Emmanuel Burriss, Ishikawa, Sandoval, Velez, Lewis, Schierholtz, etc.) as I would've like to see what the former AL batting champion could've done with the greener prospects like Buster Posey.

Unless this is a precursor to bringing in special hitting consultant Will Clark for permanent duty (pure speculation), I hate the move. Of course, I will quickly become its loudest proponent should the Thrill grace the club with his presence and acumen.

Fortunately, this is the lone swing-and-a-miss of the offseason thus far by the Bay.

San Francisco ownership saw fit to extend both Brian Sabean and Bruce Bochy for their fine work. Not only did both men get extensions and the explicit votes of confidence, Bill Neukom and company wisely didn't go overboard—issuing two years worth of leash to Sabes and Boch, alike.

For more extensive discussion of the extensions, you can check out the Roundtable discussion on the contracts.

In short, the team's surprising success in 2009 demanded Sabean be rewarded for shrewdly assembling a talented group capable of taking large developmental strides earlier than expected. Meanwhile, Bochy demanded recognition for nurturing that talent and guiding it along on its development.

Both sets of hands were instrumental in San Francisco's meteoric rise back to respectability after several years firmly entrenched in the Major League cellar.

Most importantly in Bochy's case, this is a franchise light on leadership.

Tim Lincecum is the Gents' best player, but it's tough for a starting pitcher to assume the mantel of leadership. He's only on the field every fifth day and he almost needs to mentally check-out in the day or two following his start in order to recover psychologically as well as physically.

Molina is the heart-and-soul of the squad, but who knows if he'll be around in 2010 and, even if he is, Big Money isn't quite good enough to have everyone's unconditional ear.

Sandoval is nearing the caliber of player that requires obeisance based on performance in addition to sheer personality, but he's not there yet.

That means the manager's voice must be as sound as any when it comes to leading the troops and Bruce Bochy has that kind of credibility in spades.

By guaranteeing that Boch and Brian Sabean will be in the fold for at least the next couple years, the San Francisco Giants made two wise decisions. Jettisoning Carney Lansford seems to fall on the other end of the spectrum, but there's plenty of time to rectify the error with a promising new coach.

By my count, that's two major wins against one minor loss.

And that's a pretty good count for something big...

**www.pva.org**

Deja Vu All Over Again: Could The Yankees Be Going On Another Run?

Andrew Nuschler — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 13:15:07 -0400

Most fans of Major League Baseball can remember the Fall of 1996.

Back then, the New York Yankees were a far more lovable bunch (unless you were a Boston Red Sox fan). There was no clubhouse glittering with All-Star after All-Star, no recent history of dominance.

New York did represent the American League also-rans as the 1995 Wild Card, but they floundered away a 2-0 lead in the Division Series to the Mariners. The Yanks proceeded to drop the next three games in Seattle and saw their season end on that memorable, game-winning slide from Ken Griffey, Jr.

Subsequently, the face of the franchise—Don Mattingly—retired and left behind a rag-tag collection of unlikely heroes in 1996.

The roster featured a prominent rookie in Derek Jeter, a couple second-year studs in Andy Pettitte and Mariano Rivera, a budding superstar in Bernie Williams, some bona fides like Paul O'Neill and David Cone, and the balance was filled in with fading stars (Wade Boggs, Darryl Strawberry, Tim Raines, Cecil Fielder, etc.) as well as some spare parts.

There weren't too many known quantities or objectionable pieces playing major roles. Other than George Steinbrenner, of course, but even he was pretty easy to stomach given the organization's humbling stretch.

Even the Jeffrey Maier Incident, which would make many baseball fans vomit up vital organs if it happened today, was a fun little side story unless you happened to root for the Baltimore Orioles (or, again, the Red Sox).

When the Bronx Bombers and their unheralded shortstop won the World Series by beating the defending champion Atlanta Braves, I was actually happy because of a buddy who'd recently moved to Northern California from one of the boroughs. We watched the clincher at his house and everything.

Then the Yankees were good again in 1997.

Not repeat-good—they didn't even win the American League East pennant. But the Bombers did finish second to the Orioles and their record had enough shine to it to take the Wild Card. For a third consecutive year, the Yankees had made the postseason.

Then the Pinstripes won the World Series again in 1998, this time sweeping away the San Diego Padres. Then again in 1999—another sweep, this one of the Braves. Then again in 2000—the cross-town Mets managed to take a game so the Yankees had to settle for a 4-1 tally.

By the time the 2001 Arizona Diamondbacks drove the first nail into the dynasty's coffin, the New York Yankees had gone from a pleasant renaissance story to a tedious abomination that provoked impassioned animosity from coast to coast.

Well, don't look now...

Given their recent run of comparative futility, the Yankees aren't as easy to dislike as they were during that spectacular run of championships. Next to the Boston Red Sox' dual championships and new-found ownership of the rivalry, New York was as close to being an underdog as the economics of modern baseball allow in 2009.

Notwithstanding the acquisitions of CC Sabathia, Mark Teixeira, and A.J. Burnett, many were skeptical of whether baseball's most storied franchise could make all the expensive pieces fit. Granted, everyone knew they would be good—I didn't say they were an underdog—but how good was a real question.

We're beginning to get the answer and it's "very, very good."

So good that, should the Bronx Bombers win the 2009 World Series (something that's beginning to look inevitable), MLB fans might have to worry about 2010 and beyond.

Rivera is almost 40, but he's been this good for this long with only one pitch. It shouldn't be too surprising if the Sandman's common-sense-defying career had several more years in it.

Jorge Posada is 38 and that's getting rather old for a catcher. Luckily, 23-year-old Francisco Cervelli hasn't been terrible in his audition this year and two of New York's top prospects are backstops—Jesus Montero and Austin Romine.

Pettitte is 37 and might be done. However, his role has been diminished by the influx of talent so his loss could be absorbed with minimal trouble.

Johnny Damon is almost 36. There are already replacements in house.

Jeter is 35, but enjoying one of the best seasons of his phenomenal resume.

Alex Rodriguez is 34 and has, all of a sudden, become a devastating bat in crunch time.

A-Rod's regular season acumen was never in question; until this year, he's been the Peyton Manning of the Show—a holy terror for 162 games and then below-average once the games became most important. That all seems to have changed, which is really bad news considering the lineup around him.

Burnett is 32.

Teixeira is 29 and one of the best players in the Bigs. Sabathia is also 29 and also amongst the best at his position. Chien-Ming Wang is another 29-year-old and, despite his lost season this year, figures to recapture the form that made him one of the AL's top hurlers when healthy.

Nick Swisher is a month shy of 29. Phil Coke is 27. Robinson Cano will turn 27 in a few days. Brett Gardner is 26. Melky Cabrera is 25. Playoff-revelation David Robertson is 24 as is Joba Chamberlain. Phil Hughes is 23.

And there are always those deep, deep pockets.

The New Yankee Stadium and the various networks ensure the Bombers will continue to boast a license to print money. Let's have no illusions about this—even the years that see profound Yankee success will almost certainly see a profound Yankee free agent acquisition.

Why not?

If you can afford to rape the natural resources of smaller market teams to get stronger, why let success slow the machine? If you can win the World Series without Joe Mauer, why not go for another ring with him? Nobody else is expected to be satisfied with a single-helping of riches so why should the Yankees be any different?

They aren't and they won't be.

So what happens if the confidence level—already pretty high on an annual basis—gets ratcheted up a notch by a World Series ring? What happens when the pressure eases as it does after having reached the mountain top?

The internal talent reservoirs look to be pretty stocked at the Major League level. Every team ebbs and flows from season to season so there will be change. But with the buffer provided by even wealthier cash reserves, the New York Yankees are always in a position to mend holes and improve on paper.

Sprinkle in a little extra confidence, reduce the glare on those overhead lights using a World Series victory, and all that talent should be brought to bear even more fluidly.

Which means, 13 years later, the rise of the Yankees could be happening all over again.

**www.pva.org**

Irish Shows Plenty Of Fight Against USC—Bad News For The Skeptics

Andrew Nuschler — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 00:03:51 -0400

During my year and change on Bleacher Report, I'm sure I've demonstrated some tendencies that anyone watching closely would be able to enumerate quickly and persuasively.

For example, I don't like the Dallas Cowboys, I don't like the Los Angeles Lakers, and I hate the Los Angeles Dodgers. When discussing these franchises, I try to keep it objective, but I'd be lying if I told you I always succeeded.

Badly.

Of course, there's a double-edge to the sword with which I attack my favorite victims because I can't, in good conscience, ignore them when they impress. Since I don't waste time rooting against bad teams, I'm often in the position of having to heap praise upon organizations on which I'd rather be dumping six feet of dirt.

Which brings me to the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football program. My distaste for the Golden Domers is a matter of public record, so I won't rehash it here.

Instead, I'll give them a sincere round of applause for their performance against the USC Trojans on Saturday. I expected them to get smoked, even in South Bend, yet they gave the University of Southern California everything it wanted.

If not for a couple bad breaks—some of which were the self-inflicted variety—the Fightin' Irish might have sent the game into overtime rather than have time expire only four yards from the tying tally. Once in OT, who knows what ghosts could've reared up on the hallowed turf?

So, as far as rough losses go, this close-but-no-cigar is right up there. Still, Charlie Weis and his flock should be extremely proud if disappointed.

The Irish student-athletes were obviously overwhelmed by the depth of talent boasted by the Men of Troy. I don't mean that as a slight to Notre Dame—I believe most programs are so disadvantaged when taking on USC. The pride of SoCal is simply amongst the elite of the elite in college football.

If you're not the Florida Gators, Alabama Crimson Tide, Oklahoma Sooners, Texas Longhorns, or a handful of other variables from season to season, a victory over USC is going to be a pretty monumental upset.

You could see the Trojans' virtually unfair reservoirs of athletic ability in all facets on the field.

It was evident on defense.

The USC attack made Jimmy Clausen earn every one of his 260 yards through the air as well as his two touchdowns (he had another rushing). The freaks up front planted the Irish quarterback five times despite deploying only a four-man rush for most of the contest.

Nor could the Notre Dame running game exploit the strategy—moving the ball only 82 yards on 31 carries. In fairness, the Domers were dealing with a sizable deficit most of the scrap and were enjoying the aforementioned results of Clausen's arm.

USC's superior depth was also evident on offense.

Clausen proved once and for all that he's the real McCoy behind center, bouncing back from a start that would've rattled many youngsters to have a nice game. Even so, freshman QB Matt Barkley hung right with him—360 yards, two scores, an interception, and a yard-per-completion average more than double his counterpart's.

Likewise, Golden Tate continued to acquaint himself with the rest of the country. The junior wide receiver caught eight balls for 117 yards and both of Clausen's touchdowns. Additionally, senior Robby Parris chipped in a nice effort—nine passes for 92 yards.

Unfortunately, the Men of Troy had emphatic answers for Irish dynamic duo.

Anthony McCoy trumpeted a wake-up call for those National Football League scouts still sleeping on the senior tight end, catching five passes for 153 yards and looking like an agile wideout in the process...at 6'5", 250 pounds.

Damian Williams played the Parris to McCoy's Tate—joining the party for four catches, 108 yards, and both of Barkley's scores.

The retort didn't stop there.

Barkley completed tosses to nine receivers compared to only six for Clausen. Meanwhile, the Trojan running game managed 121 yards on 33 carries—not spectacular, but substantially more effective than Notre Dame's version.

USC's talent advantage could even be seen on special teams.

The Trojan punter launched a 59-yard punt off a botched snap at one point. Why in the name of all that's holy would the team have a gifted punter? I don't imagine punting figures too heavily in the preseason plans, but that's what makes programs like USC (for whom I have no love as a Stanford alum) what they are—extraordinary.

They get one of the best for every position because they can. Whether you approve of their methods or not.

Nevertheless, the Fighting Irish took some of the Trojans' best shots, tasted canvas several times, and kept picking itself off the mat.

Aided by the interception and a disturbing number of incredibly stupid personal fouls, Notre Dame fought all the way back from a late deficit with 13 unanswered points in the fourth quarter and put every USC fan's heart in his or her throat with the final drive. Twice.

I'm sure several remote controls will need to be replaced after that last second was put back on the South Bend scoreboard. One last hurrah to finish the comeback.

Alas, Clausen and company needed 20 unanswered points and the last seven proved too tall an order. Consequently, the squad suffered its second loss of the season.

That's the bad news.

The good news is that, if the Notre Dame Fighting Irish keeps playing like it did against USC, Charlie Weis and his kids are going to make a lot of people look very foolish by the time bowl season is over.

Myself included.

**www.pva.org**

The Dodgers Vs. the Phillies in the NLCS: Fuss Over Bullpens Is Bull****

Andrew Nuschler — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 15:31:18 -0400

I wouldn't want to be a Los Angeles Dodger fan for a variety of reasons, mainly because I've lived in San Francisco or its suburbs for most of the last 22 years. As such, I'm a die-hard fan of the Giants and I loathe the Bums.

At this particular moment, however, I wouldn't want to follow the beautiful Dodger blue for one, specific reason: the national media is setting them up for a fall. They're being sacrificed at the altar of commerce and wishful thinking is taking the place of objective analysis to do the job.

Or maybe a bunch of Dodger fans have managed to force themselves into jobs as writers for FOX Sports and ESPN.

Either way, LA has become the darling of the national media and the Philadelphia Phillies must be a little peeved at the moment, but I'll get to that in a second. First, let's state the obvious.

Only a fool can deny the most lucrative World Series matchup would pit the Dodgers against the New York Yankees.

The markets are basically a wash since Philadelphia makes up in passion what it lacks in relative size and the Angels have somehow managed to convince the rest of the baseball world that Anaheim is really Los Angeles. Nevertheless, executive mouths must be drooling with particular anticipation over the specter of New York versus the only Major League Baseball team actually in LA.

Even I can see the allure in watching Joe Torre lead his suddenly chic California club back to the Big Apple for a showdown against the Bombers.

Nor would that be the only juicy sideshow—you'd have Manny Ramirez reprising his role as a Yankee Killer in a new uniform in addition to a nostalgic focus on the Bums' Brooklyn roots and the revival of a one-time borough rivalry.

I understand why the networks and their mouthpieces would be rooting for los Doyers to take care of business against the Phils. I don't even blame them for it; such is the nature of the beast.

But...

Do NOT try to sell me on picking the Dodgers to beat the Phillies by virtue of cold, hard baseball analysis. At least not after the stuff I've been reading.

Understand, I'm not saying Philly will emerge victorious and LA will lose.

The team from SoCal is playing some of the best baseball I've seen from them all year, the bullpen is undeniably humming along, and the starting pitching has answered the bell better than anyone outside of Chavez Ravine could've imagined.

Meanwhile, the Phightin's have experienced a couple bumps in the road.

Nah, the Bums have definitely looked like the better team thus far in the playoffs. That makes them the popular and convenient favorite at the moment, given the circumstances.

Don't believe Los Angeles is the media favorite?

Just read between the lines from ESPN's Eric Neel.

Perhaps you'd prefer FOX Sports' Jon Paul Morosi singing the praises of Torre, the Dodgers, and the tantalizing confrontation with New York. How about his colleague Dayn Perry, who says the starting pitching actually FAVORS the Dodgers? If a different FOX voice is more to your liking, try Mark Kriegel trotting out the party line about the 'pen and improved youth.

I don't say it too often, but thank the Maker for Ken Rosenthal and a sprinkling of restraint.

Again, I am NOT saying the Los Angeles Dodgers will lose the NLCS. I'm clearly rooting for that to happen and I think it will happen, but I have no crystal ball.

What I AM saying is that there is zero reason to buy the almost universal lines of tripe supporting the groundswell behind the Bums.

The movement, as far as I can tell, is based on two principles—that the firemen in the 'pen and the extra year of experience on young talent give the Dodgers an insurmountable edge. Depending on who you ask, you'll also hear Torre's managerial savvy mentioned.

Mainly, though, it's about the glittering array of arms available to the Bums in relief of their starters. Got that? The reason for all the faith in LA is the bullpen.

My apartment building has a rickety old elevator to service five floors. It lurches and protests on the way up to the top, it's even broken down on occasion, but nothing catastrophic has ever happened because of it (to my knowledge).

Of course, that doesn't stop me from holding my breath every time I get in it.

A Major League bullpen is precisely like that elevator. No matter how well it's performed in the past—and the Dodger bullpen has been INCREDIBLE—the collective is always one bad day away from being a fatal liability.

The Phillies' embattled closer, Brad Lidge, is a perfect microcosm for professional relief corps in general.

The dude was virtually unhittable for the Houston Astros and on his way to being one of the nastiest door-slammers in the business. Then, Albert Pujols crushed a devastating bomb off him in the 2005 playoffs and it took two years plus a change of scenery for Lidge to totally recompose himself.

Like flipping a switch, the closer became filthy again and was perfect for Philadelphia on the way to the 2008 ring. Then he flipped again and was suddenly abysmal in 2009—putting together arguably the worst season for a key reliever in the history of the game.

Until Brad Lidge saved two of the three wins in the NL Division Series against the Colorado Rockies—one of the hottest teams in baseball with a stout offense and a penchant for comebacks.

There is no doubt that Lidge is an extreme example, but not as extreme as he seems. Jonathan Papelbon and Joe Nathan—two of the three most calm-inspiring closers in the game—burst into flame without warning during the Division Series this year.

The comparative strength of the bullpens certainly favors the Dodgers and by a very wide margin, but it's the most volatile element in the game. Hitting, defense, and starting pitching can all cool off and reverse course, but they don't usually abandon you like bullpens routinely do.

Now, we're all supposed to hop aboard a bandwagon in the postseason because of one? An over-worked group? Against the defending World Series champions? Against a team powered by blood-thirsty and/or clutch hitters like Chase Utley, Ryan Howard, Jimmy Rollins, Raul Ibanez, Jayson Werth, and Shane Victorino (if you don't think he deserves mention, see: Sabathia, CC)?

I don't think so.

Not without due respect paid to the developments on Philadelphia's side.

Cole Hamels has been struggling in 2009, but he's dominated the Bums over his career—4 GS, 30 IP, 2-0, 1.50 ERA, 0.83 WHIP, 26 K, 3 BB (2 intentional), 1 CG, 1 SHO, .208 BAA, and .531 OPSA. Those are just his regular-season numbers against the organization.

In the playoffs against the Dodgers last year, the lefty went 2-0 in two starts covering 14 innings. He whiffed 13 batters and suffered only 16 baserunners (11 hits, five walks) with three crossing the plate. Those ratios work out to a 1.93 ERA and a 1.14 WHIP against basically the same lineup.

Oh, and his wife just had their first child.

Think that dose of perspective might help settle him down? I'd say it's pretty reasonable to argue having wife and son home, safe, and healthy will do wonders to smooth out the rough edges in Hamels' recent performances.

What about the confidence and experience garnered by the Phillies from last year's successful trip to the World Series?

Yes, Andre Ethier, Matt Kemp, James Loney, Clayton Kershaw, Chad Billingsley, Russell Martin, and the rest of the young studs hailing from Dodger Stadium should theoretically benefit from another layer of experience.

So should the Phillies since theirs is more extensive.

We've already seen the experience manifested as confidence manifested as resilience in the rally against the Rockies during the clinching Division Series game. It's been on display for the Dodgers, too—I'm arguing BOTH should be acknowledged.

Finally, the gents from Philly should benefit from the scintillating Cliff Lee—another stifling southpaw to make things anxious for Ethier, the Dodgers' best splinter in '09. The 2008 American League Cy Young has been doing his best to supplant Hamels as the Phils' most dominant postseason starter.

Ultimately, the Philadelphia Phillies are the defending World Series Champions.

They return basically the same team that dispatched the Los Angeles Dodgers last year—minus Pat Burrell, but plus Ibanez and Lee. They have two Most Valuable Players, a Cy Young winner, a World Series/NLCS MVP, and arguably the best second baseman in Major League Baseball.

In other words, there is a lot to like from the view out Philadelphia's window.

Yet most in the national media seem to be ignoring them in favor of Joe Torre, the promise of intriguing story lines, and a mighty bullpen. Yikes.

And don't think a proud, classy bunch like the Phillies haven't noticed.

Which could mean bad news for Dodger fans.

What a tragedy...

**www.pva.org**

Rush Limbaugh's Bid to Buy the St. Louis Rams Already Successful

Andrew Nuschler — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 16:45:58 -0400

“If anything here offends, I beg your pardon, I come in peace, I depart in gratitude.”—Garrison Keillor

This is the last time I'm gonna use Rush Limbaugh's name. From here on out, I'm using unflattering euphemisms because publicity is the only thing the Bloated One wants. I apologize if the phrases bother anyone, but it's all I can think of to somewhat defuse my own issues with feeding the beast.

If all the Shock Jock wants is to get his face and name in large relief, then writing about him using neither has to be some sort of moral victory, right?

Given the volume of attention the stunt has already generated, I'm not sure it matters anyway. Regardless, I couldn't resist the urge to weigh-in with so many varied reactions being thrown around and several groups gearing up to milk this baby for all it's worth.

Make no mistake—any irritation coming from the Al Sharptons and Jesse Jacksons is feigned.

They couldn't be happier about the ridiculous rumors swirling around the St. Louis Rams. They're perfect foils to the White Whale because the trio differs only in their political ideology—all are publicity whores who know precisely how to get it.

Divide and conquer—their interests in progress and reconciliation (if they ever truly existed) have long-since disappeared behind the mounds and mounds of cash.

Jason Whitlock covers the phenomenon a bit, but it's not his best work.

The Kansas City Star columnist is my favorite professional writer in the game, I'd put him up there with people like Thomas Friedman (in an admittedly more trivial pond) so I don't criticize him often. However, the FOX Sports contributor rambles a bit and gets too caught up in the racial element.

Given the Former Pill Popper's affinity for racially divisive commentary, I can't blame Whitlock. Nevertheless, that just muddies the water and it's unnecessary because you don't have to go that far into subjective territory.

It might be a fair criticism, but it detracts from the main argument because beliefs regarding racism differ widely and most are passionately/blindly defended. Racism becomes the focus rather than the original argument.

Whether or not the Hypocritical Hippo is racist (clips like this and this would argue for), he is outrageously divisive and volatile. Agree with him or disagree, it belies the possession of a single brain cell to argue the guy doesn't thrive off tossing a live grenade into a crowded political room.

Controversy is his closest (and possibly only unpaid) bedfellow.

In short, he embodies the element against which Roger Goodell has waged a personal vendetta should it reside within the NFL's walls. The Commissioner has made it spectacularly clear that he wants the public talking exclusively about FOOTBALL when the NFL gets mentioned, not what happens away from the field.

Why would he now invite the circus to town? He certainly would not.

As for those of you arguing the merits of a free market, it's a productive exercise despite being totally irrelevant.

The NFL is a private enterprise that distributes a product via the free market. As I understand it, the rules of free trade apply to representations of its games and players, not who can actually participate internally.

As such, it can pick and choose who enters the League—both owners and athletes—so long as it doesn't use constitutionally prohibited grounds.

Fortunately, there are no parts of the Constitution or subsequent legislation that establish braying jackasses as a protected class, only their right to bray.

Even in the free market, the right to sell is superior to the right to buy until an offer has been made and accepted.

Due to the mechanics of property rights, you can't show up and demand a binding contract to purchase my property unless I make it clear that anyone who does so will be honored. Merely placing the property on the market doesn't transfer any legal right to the random buyer under normal circumstances.

Neither the NFL nor the 21st century deals in unilateral contracts anymore, so even if the St. Louis Rams were part of the free market, the Donkey couldn't force a sale until his offer to purchase had been accepted.

From any angle, there is no chance of any such sale unless the NFL wants it i.e. there is ZERO chance of this happening.

The Voice of Unreason has to know this—he is many things, but plain dumb isn't one of them. Even if he were dumb, his wealth and profile demand advisers who would be able to tell him all of the above.

Furthermore, why would a guy with so much disdain for the Black Community want to write million-dollar checks to a bunch of "Bloods and Crips?" Some expensive attempt at irony?

Nope, this is all about interjecting himself into the media bonanza represented by the NFL. By any means necessary.

And it's working—even as his bid fails.

Like I said, the dude knows what he's doing.

**www.pva.org**