Bleacher Report - Articles by Shaun McGann

Sports Press Avenges Public Outrage Over The Allegedly, Formerly Beloved A-Rod

Shaun McGann — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 20:59:30 -0500

So Alex Rodriguez admitted to using “performance enhancing substances” this week, apparently letting down millions and millions of his fans, not just in New York, Texas and Seattle but all over the world.

But fear not: the New York sports media has ordained themselves avengers of this hoax pulled on the sports fans of the world. Yes, the sports writers of the New York tabloids—I mean papers—this week cast a dark shadow over the city as they rode their high horses straight towards A-Rod’s black heart to drive a stake through it and score a victory for the purity of the game.

In a way Joe Torre already loaded the gun for them a few weeks back by throwing the term “A-Fraud” into the public consciousness—of course the New York Post decided to take an extra classy step and up the ante to “A-Hole” as their headline.

Writers around the area have painted A-Rod as the destroyer of all the things everyone has ever loved about the game and then conjured up images of fathers and sons throwing a ball around in the back yard, and warned against kids in Little League being so influenced by his bad example that they might start roaming the playgrounds trading their lunch money for a briefcase full of HGH.

They talk about how they feel let down, that A-Rod was the hope to catch and pass Barry Bonds and make sure that his “fraudulent” record was not at the top of the list.

And then they bring up names like Hank Aaron and Roger Maris and how their records should be reinstated—how the books should be wiped clean.

Now, some of these points may be valid, but to listen to writers—most of them grown adults—make savage, emotional pleas for A-Rod’s head is a little silly.

It’s kind of hard not to believe that a few champagne corks didn’t pop in editorial meetings when this story broke over the weekend.

Traditionally February is a bleak month for sports, and the prospect of sucking out of Michael Phelps’ magic bong or plucking more controversial passages from Joe Torre’s book probably seemed like a grim reality to most writers until this pot of gold fell into their laps.

Make no mistake—A-Rod can hit another 500 home runs, win a fist-full of rings, and take a drug test before and after every game for the next 9 years and he will still have a giant bull’s-eye on his back because of this.

Because ultimately the real fraud here is the sports media. So everyone who has covered baseball in the last 10 or 15 years isn’t shocked or disappointed by the fall of such stars such as Bonds, Mark McGuire, or even A-Rod?

In all that time no one who had played the game and juiced, sans Ken Caminiti and Jose Canseco, was willing to talk with a writer and name names? There wasn’t enough evidence around McGuire and Sosa, even with McGuire admitting to using Andro, to maybe dig a little deeper?

We were left to “tell all” books by supposed insiders.

If these writers were really interested in preserving records, and saving the sanctity of the game they would have pushed the issue when it should have been pushed.

Maybe they were afraid of not receiving exclusive interviews, or getting denied clubhouse access which would threaten their livelihood and that is fine, but then don’t turn around and wonder how this could have went on for so long.

Maybe they, like the fans whose honor they are so quick to defend, were just in awe of the home runs being blasted out of the parks.

The other wrinkle to this story is that A-Rod has never really been a beloved player has he?

Maybe, maybe, in Seattle, but after that he has essentially been a hired gun going to the highest bidder and rightfully ending up with the Yankees. *(that is coming from a Yankees fan).

But he’s never been beloved in New York. In the middle of every controversy since he’s been a Yankee? Yes.

Making his own controversies/distractions whether it is his friendship with Derek Jeter, his wife wearing a profane shirt, hanging out with strippers in Toronto, having some kind of bizarre relationship with Madonna? Check.

Not to mention all of his struggles in the postseason or the dreaded “runners in scoring position” at-bats where, if he fails, he gets booed like a member of the Red Sox.

No, A-Rod’s never really been role model material, and many of these same writers have been quick to point that out so maybe it’s time to dial down the outrage a little.

The fans will let A-Rod know how they feel about him, and one would think it won’t be any different than it ever has been: If he’s hitting they’ll cheer—if not, they won’t.

It’s almost insulting to the intelligence to prey on warm and fuzzy feelings of childhood and putting athletes on a pedestal. Most people realize that professional sports are a business, and that perhaps a multi-millionaire jock is not the best example of a role model for children.

This stretch of baseball has not affected fan attendance—in the end people watch baseball, and sports, to see incredible things, not to absorb the morality of the people doing it.

Or writing about it.

Pennington Strikes Back: the Jets and Pats are Dead

Shaun McGann — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 14:43:34 -0500

I have always liked Chad Pennington. Honest. That is not hindsight from a humbled Jets fan who just watched Pennington spend the last three and a half months pulling himself off the scrap heap to ride back into the Meadowlands to run a dagger through the Jets season, and maybe Brett Favre's career. No sir. I always appreciated what Chad did with his time in Green, and was quietly rooting for the scrappy, underdog Dolphins throughout the season.

Truth be told though, I never thought there would be a scenario that would play out so perfectly that Chad could extract his revenge. To be fair this was not all on the Dolphins side either, when the Jets were crowned the toast of the AFC for that strange week or two in November it never really felt like it would play itself out like that. These were after all the Jets, and weird things happen.

After the Tennessee win, I figured that Miami might at least have an opportunity to drop the Jets either out of the playoffs or, best case, maybe drop them a seed. It would have been hard to see them coming in with the AFC East title in their sights.

But the Jets were bloodied before the game even started, after getting bounced around by sub-par teams, Favre sounded like a man who could not wait to get back to Mississippi and start working on his second retirement speech. The score was close, but the game never really was because the Dolphins played like they were on a mission, and after the Ravens eliminated any chance for the Jets to play beyond Sunday, I found myself again quietly pulling for Chad to get the job done.

And he did. He did something he never could do in New York, he kept the Patriots out of the Playoffs. Yes, a Patriots team without Tom Brady, and surely there will be hell to pay in the AFC East next year, but this is how the table was set.

When it got ugly, and I could not bear to watch poor ol' Brett throw another pick, I flipped over to the Eagles flogging the Cowboys. Things could always be worse I suppose. After the game, Pennington, classy as always, refused to admit it was a "revenge game" and claimed he was more interested in winning the AFC East.

It was a dramatic final week of the season with some teams eeking out a spot in the tournament, and others being denied in spite of great season, but it is hard to really think of a better story, even if you are a Jets fan, than Chad Pennington smiling through the tunnel of the Meadowlands with a much happier trip to Miami ahead of him this time.

SmackDown in Bridgeport or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love The Hecklers

Shaun McGann — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 15:13:28 -0500

Shaun Horgan does not believe that professional wrestling is a spectator sport. In fact, the mere act of watching an event with him often becomes a sport of its own.

Hogan’s usually the loudest person in the section, if not the arena, and has a deep knowledge of wrestling history. He loves to trumpet old-school references anytime there’s a quiet moment during a match, especially if one of the wrestlers has been around or assumed a slew of different identities.

Hardcore Holly, for instance, would hear “Sparky Plugg."; Goldust would hear “Hey Dustin, hey Dustin”; and Tony Atlas, on this night was serenaded with “Samba Simba” and “Tony, you still eating fried baloney?”

I’m told Mr. Atlas made an appearance on MTV several years back when he was down on his luck in the gym league circuit and said he ate baloney every meal.

But attending this week's ECW/Smackdown taping seemed like it might be a little different. For starters, the ride into Bridgeport, Connecticut, from northern New Jersey, is not a fun one during rush hour. After a brief run of dark highway, we quickly found ourselves immersed in a sea of brake lights that showed no sign of easing up.

In the backseat, Vessie started making quick calculations as to our estimated time of arrival and he frantically tapped his GPS looking for alternative routes. The device answered in a steely Bristish accent, telling us that Route 15 ran parallel to I-95 and might be a quicker option to get to the Arena at Harbor Yard.

After a quick pee break in front of WWE Headquarters, we took this route, only to find that half of Connecticut was already wise to the Route 15 shortcut.

We finally arrived in the muddy parking lot around 7:15, quick to sneak in a few shots of Bacardi and Jack Daniels in order to get a leg up on the high arena beer prices. Inside, our seats took us about 25 rows behind newly crowned Slammy Winners Matt Stryker and Todd Grisham.

We took a moment to settle in. Vessie was off to the surprisingly reasonably priced beer stand, and Horgan was already off down the aisle to the front of the barricade where Finlay and Hornswaggle were battling Mark Henry and Tony Atlas. It didn’t take long for Horgan to get comfortable.

“Hey Tony Atlas, hey Tony Atlas, where did you get those tights? Where did you get those tights?” he yelled, as some heads started to peer away from the action and onto our row.

My attention from this was temporarily diverted as I noticed the old man in the row in front of me, blazing eyes, sternly cursing at what I was assuming was one of his kids. “Stop it. I want you to stop it right now,” the man shouted.

There was a giant slam in the ring, and before I knew it, Mark Henry was holding his hands up in victory—and ECW was over. Vessie returned with beers, and Horgan sat back and surveyed the setting, proud of his ticket score. I sat back for a moment myself and took a sip off my Guinness.

“What the hell are you doing to my back? What, are you pulling some kind of funny business?” the ill-tempered old man in front of us said, shooting his eyes at Vessie.

“No, I think you’re coat fell off the back of the chair. I was just putting it back,” Vessie calmly explained.

“You trying to take my wallet or something?” the man shot back.

“Am I trying to take your wallet?”

Horgan and I were watching this unfold. This weird old bat was obviously upset with the racket that someone like Horgan immediately injected into the evening.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re doing. It feels like your knees are in my back and the next thing I know you’re holding up my jacket,”

“I’m not taking you’re wallet. I was just picking your jacket up off the ground. I figured that was better than leaving it on the ground.”

“You’re accusing him of stealing your wallet?” I asked.

“Well, how the hell should I know. You guys come in hear and are yelling,” the man said.

“No, I was yelling. They weren’t saying anything. Why don’t you just calm down,” Horgan said, cutting him off.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” the man fired back.

“Yes, it does. You’re accusing my friend of stealing your jacket or your wallet. Just calm down and turn around.”

“I’m not going to calm down. We’re talking about it here. Now I apologize to you,” he said, looking at Vessie. “But you should just mind your business and maybe keep your voice down.”

“Yeah, you really are loud. You shouldn’t be yelling like that,” the woman (his wife) sitting next to him said, swinging around while chewing gum with efficiency of a Long Island waitress.

“I’m not going to…” Horgan paused for a minute as if to collect his thoughts. “I’m not going to be quiet. This is wrestling, man. This isn’t the Ice Capades, this is a wrestling event. Part of the fun is being loud.”

The couple mumbled a “whatever,” which Horgan returned. Then he called the guy “Stone Cold,” which for some reason re-triggered his anger.

“What did you call me?”

“Stone Cold,” Horgan answered, as if surprised this upset him.

The man looked for a minute and then returned his attention the ring as the Smackdown pyro hit. It was a weird scene to watch, but there was no encore of tension. Horgan went right along with rushing the barricade, working in the obligatory Kamala and Strike Force references, and even getting a reluctant hand slap out of J.R.

After about $40 was spent on imported beer we upgraded to the third row, which was abandoned for the Dark Main Event, where the Undertaker fought the Big Show in a steel cage that looked like it was going to clumsily fall over at any second.

And even with the blaring chants Horgan blasted towards the Undertaker of "Michelle McCool", I concluded that it had been a fun time in Bridgeport, Connecticut—even if my ears were ringing.

CC Rider: The New York Yankees Harpoon Sabathia, But for How Long?

Shaun McGann — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 15:47:38 -0500

So it looks like the Yankees have finally reeled in CC Sabathia. Brian Cashman is said to have flown out West to either get the deal done or start looking elsewhere. The Yankees went two years and $61 million more than the Brewers had reportedly offered.

They also outbid themselves by one year and $21 million from their original offer. All of this depends of course if what ESPN and every other sports news outlet is flashing across the screen every 10 minutes is true.

Sabathia might have a change of heart on that long flight over to the Bronx, turn around, and hold out for the Dodgers to make him an offer.

There aren't too many instances you will read about someone taking almost four weeks to decide whether they want to sign a contract for $140 million and probably even less where that party will demand an additional $20 million.

But that is the climate that baseball has created to keep itself in the headlines during the long offseason. And that is what makes the Yankees the "Evil Empire" to so many, because they are in the unique position to make such offers.

But the real question here to me is why was the seventh year necessary if the opt-out clause is in the contract?

Perhaps it was to insure that should his market value decline by the time he is allowed to opt out, that he will have that extra year $23 million. The speculation seems to be that the opt-out is really in place if Sabathia starts California dreaming and decides he has to bolt the Bronx, in which case what's the difference if the contract is for six years or seven?

Contracts aside, it'll be interesting to see how he fairs in a town it seems like he didn't really want to play in. As long as he wins the fans will be on his side, but should he struggle, the memory of him leaving that contract on the table for so long won't be forgotten.

In the meantime, the Yankees still have a lot of work to do, having the richest pitcher in baseball front your rotation does not guarantee the playoffs, just ask the Mets.

Where's My October Withdrawl?

Shaun McGann — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 16:41:32 -0400

I'm a Yankee fan, which I realize comes with its own magnet for certain animosities, grudges, jealousies, and what have you, but I can't shake it; they're just my team. My parents used to take me to games when I was a kid, and I remember sitting though long summer nights, watching WPIX, with Mattingly, Winfield, Henderson, and Pags playing their hearts out, only to come up short through that rotten run of the '80s and early '90s. And then, of course, the mid-'90s glory days hit, and the Yankees were again the hot commodity and a staple in October.

I have fond memories of cool October nights listening to the Yankees inch their way to another ring, and I remember just as clearly some of the heart-breakers: the 1997 ALCS, Game Seven of the 2001 World Series, and of course, that dreaded 2004 ALCS against the hated Red Sox.

But the Yankees aren't in the playoffs this year, and the only real story they've been attached to this October has been that Joe Torre, after being run out of town for too many postseason failures, made it to the League Championship Series with his new team. They also have the misfortune of being in the same division as the two teams who just got done slugging it out in the ALCS.

It's quiet now in the Bronx, the wrecking ball is waiting to swing itself at that old baseball cathedral, where just a month ago YES reporters and former players and coaches, not named Torre or Clemens, were getting weepy-eyed as the Yankees' brass sprawled out a public funeral for their beloved home. So they say goodbye as they get ready to move into their new corporate headquarters next door.

There's something a little more sinister about the way the Yankees have been conducting business lately. Maybe it started with low-balling Joe to move him out and make way for the Girardi era, or maybe it's the way they were willing to rip down the "most famous ballpark in the world," just so they can hike the prices up next door.

Maybe it's way that you know they are going to unload the bank for as many big free agents they think can get them back to October next year.

And maybe this is why I'm not missing the Yankees in the postseason this year.

Now I know this might sound like heresy, and maybe it seems like I'm secretly sporting a Red Sox jersey, but it's the truth. For a fan, the playoffs bring their own unique anxieties. I won't miss, for instance, hearing Joe Buck's voice get low and dramatic as Fox flashes a statistic across the screen in a critical game situation.

I won't miss A-Rod being a magnet to crucial runners in scoring position situations.

And I won't miss teams like the Angels or Indians or the newly-dangerous Rays making the Yankees look slow and old, like a "pitiful giant," to borrow a line from Richard Nixon. Or watch the Red Sox make them look nervous and incompetent.

And of course, I won't miss any end of the world, doomsday prophecies thrown down from Mount Steinbrenner when things start looking bleak, with phrases like "big changes" and "different direction" sprinkled in.

So I don't miss any of that, for now. The Rays are going to the World Series and may be the team to beat for a long time. The Red Sox aren't going anywhere either, and the Blue Jays loom as well, just a big bat away from clawing their way into contention.

So maybe it's better the Yankees had a long winter this year. Maybe it's time for them to figure out who they are: a team full of superstars and talented players who are going to play in sporadic bursts of brilliance, or a team that is going to be able to grind it out with these young, hungry teams who are anxious to take them down.

But for right now, it's October, and it's quiet in the Bronx, and I don't really mind.

C'mon HHH...Again? Really?

Shaun McGann — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 02:49:52 -0400

In the interest of full disclosure let me start by copping to a few quick things: 1. These days I'm more of a casual wrestling fan, I will watch RAW every once in a while, sometimes ECW, and if I'm home I may throw on Smackdown on a Friday night, but by no means do I feel like the world is ending should I miss any of these shows.

2. All of the PPV's I've seen in the last few years have been courtesy of the great Shaun Horgan, my personal bottomless pit of wrestling information.

3. I am probably a mark for Chris Jericho and the Undertaker, I'm not real crazy about Cena, but he has his moments, I think Batista is kind of boring, and I'm slowly becoming a fan of Randy Orton. Other than that I may lean towards rooting for either of the Hardys, Edge, and for some strange reason, MVP. The rest of the rosters I tend to go on a match by match basis.

Having said all that there is the notable exception of Triple H (who for brevity's sake will be HHH from here on in). I used to root for HHH in the late '90s after he inherited DX from Shawn Michaels and it appeared that he would never beat the Rock for the title. He was kind of an underdog who cut funny promos.

And occasionally he still does cut a funny promo, but then he gets into his serious, wrinkled brow growl letting throwing around words like "respect" and talking about "the business" and he kind of loses me.

However, I still find him entertaining for the most part, and I'm certainly not one of those people who rant on about how he is in Vince's ear and making sure the belt stays around his waist, keeping the young guys down etc. All of which may be true, but I usually don't care.

But sitting there, in Shaun Horgan's living room on Sunday night, swatting away his dog who was nibbling at my pizza, and creeping out his young daughter as I yelled at the television, I finally may have turned on HHH.

Why in the name of Terry Bollea would you have what was probably your best match of the last year with Jeff Hardy, absorb TWO of his finishers, and then no-sell him with a lame roll up? Does he need the belt that bad? Poor ol' Jeff Hardy gets the push he's deserved for years, narrowly avoids screwing it up a few weeks earlier, puts on a great match, hits both finishers and then has to count lights without even getting hit with a move.

Perhaps if we take a poll, on WWE.com, and just have everyone admit that HHH is the best champ ever, they can finally make him drop the belt. I understand they wanted to start a feud with Kozloff, the ol' USA vs. Russia angle, but then why not do that before Hardy?

Of course this is all leading up to HHH vs. Edge, but you have to think that a Hardy vs. Edge match with the two of them as main-eventers and the title involved has to be on the WWE's radar for the near future.

Jeff's unfortunate fate really had a two pronged effect for me in the PPV overall: it made forget about the lame Batista/JBL match, the fact that the camera mysteriously switched to an obstructed shot when Rey jumped into Kane's chair shot, and the awkwardness of Cody Rhodes getting tripped up by the crowd and slamming on the brakes of what could have been an interesting segment.

On the other hand it started a long rant between me and Mr. Horgan that resulted in me not paying attention to the ladder match, my main motivation for watching in the first place.

Thankfully, I regrouped and watched Jericho and Michaels throw everything at each other while HHH teased what will probably be an incredibly exciting feud with Kozloff. I probably won't feel too bad if I miss Smackdown again this week.