Bleacher Report - Articles by Mike Jones

Put a Sox in It: Why the David Ortiz Scandal Is Actually Good for Baseball

Mike Jones — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 22:18:46 -0400

Like most of the readers and writers on this site, I am not a sports journalist by trade. I am a special education teacher. I like writing, but I am by no means a professional (as my articles ably demonstrate).

One of the best pieces of advice my teaching mentors gave me was this: Don’t avoid telling the child that they have a learning disability. Many well-intentioned parents make the mistake of skirting around the issue, believing that if they don’t tell the child, the child won’t think anything of their struggles and power through their problems.

In fact, children usually understand that they have a disability long before the official diagnosis.

They know something is up when see their friends read and analyze full paragraphs of information, and although they dedicate their entire mental focus on the same passage, the words get lost in translation. The trick is to not label it an unbeatable problem, but one that can be overcome with extra practice or different strategies that work with their strengths. And they all have strengths.

When David Ortiz was allegedly linked to the infamous 2003 test that ferreted out Alex Rodriguez and other high-profile stars, the reactions came swiftly.

Hypocrite. A symbol of these particular times. T he worst news ever given in the history of mankind. Some true, others steeped in hyperbole.

But the Ortiz story is a good thing for us.

Over the coming hours, days, and weeks, we’re going to get a flurry of self-righteous indignation from the sportswriting world. How Ortiz cheated the game, the two World Series-winning teams, his family, the United States of America, 10-year old Billy from Worcester whose been spitting in his hands and rubbing them together before his at-bats like his hero.

They will find juicy quotes from fans and enemies alike, talking about how their whole world has collapsed around them, or conversely, how they “always knew” that Big Papi used.

But who are we kidding?

Like the parents of a child with special needs, baseball writers have a skewed sense of their obligation to those they promise to serve. Not the New York Times writer who uncovered the story, but the reactionary prognosticators who take it upon themselves to be guardians of the sport’s impeccable moral code.

They’ll bemoan the news and try to remember when men weren’t using women’s fertility drugs to mask steroids or when a player’s head size didn’t grow 10 sizes in eight months.

They’ll call Ortiz a slew of names for cheating everyone and maybe even try to offer a few players (Derek Jeter, Albert Pujols, Joe Mauer) who are above suspicion and crown them the new standard-bearers of a sport dating back to that magical period known as “a simpler time.”

The problem is just that: There never was a simpler time.

Whether you’re talking about amphetamines (which Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays allegedly used), a higher pitcher’s mound, the pre-1947 segregated league, the deadball era, or the Black Sox era of gambling-affected play, baseball has never been a uniformly-ruled sport. Hell, if we wanted to take it back to its roots, the hitter would tell the pitcher where to place the ball tailored to their favorable spot to hit.

The problem isn’t (just) steroids. The problem is us.

If Americans crave any two things, it is excess and simplicity. Baseball is considered our nation’s “pastime” because we have this childish notion that the sport fulfills these two needs without serious consequence. This is probably why baseball writers, more than the writers of any other sport, feel particularly stung and vehement when it comes to steroids.

Like a guy who pre-drank too much at his place and missed the main party, they feel slighted that the game’s biggest stars cheated under their very noses.

Mind you that the 2003 list was a direct result of the writers trying to find known users after the Mark McGwire-Sammy Sosa-Barry Bonds-Jason Giambi controversies made the subject too big to ignore. And they still missed on A-Rod, Manny Ramirez, Roger Clemens, and Big Papi for five years!

Like news reporters who championed the Iraq War only to find out that there weren’t WMDs and financial analysts who didn’t predict the enormity of the current recession, their embarrassment spurred a 180-degree turnaround.

However, to be so systematically bamboozled resulted in an institutional over-adjustment in how they cover the sport. Now they’re so hypersensitive about the issue that they become outraged when a player isn’t publicly booed when he comes clean.

But why should they be the only ones to shoulder the blame? They were only feeding our need for simplicity. It took 62 home runs to bring us back from the strike-scarred sport. Why 62? Because it was bigger than 61. That’s all we needed—a larger number to remind us that while our taxes, our careers, and our personal relationships are complex, there are still simple numbers out there to take solace in.

That’s all baseball is: 56, 714, .406, 511. We don’t want complexity. We don’t want to know that Ty Cobb beat up a black woman who was trying to defend her husband. We don’t want to know that Ted Williams cheated on his wife and was (by most accounts) an ill-tempered father and not the bastion of pure good that Bob Costas and company want us to believe. We don’t want to know that the big, smiling lummox who helped end an 86-year-old curse probably used performance-enhancing drugs.

We don’t want to know those things because that would make them complex. It would defy absolutes. It would...make them human beings.

If I were to ask you to define your life in one word, you probably couldn’t. You have too many aspects of you or moments in your life to sum up in a few letters.

You love your family, but I’m guessing you’ve had some knockdown, drag-out screaming matches. You love hanging out with your friends, but there are times you just want to get away from everyone. You love a particular dish or drink, but it might have caught your stomach the wrong way one time and you ended up on the toilet for hours.

We are complex people, and sports (like everything else) is a complex matter. Perhaps we as fans, writers, “experts,” and non-athletes should grow up and recognize something in Ortiz that we’ve known all along: There’s no such thing as perfect, and to pretend so is more damaging than the sin itself.

The tritest cliché that will be used over and over again is this question: What do I tell my kid?

It’s true in special education as it is in life. You tell them the truth. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Tell them about the homers and the mood swings and the loss of (ahem) abilities over time. Tell them the highs and lows. Tell them the consequences, not of suspensions or jail time or boos, but of the knowledge that you have to look at yourself in the mirror every day for your actions.

And no amount of money or fame can cover up the mistakes you know are true.

The Sad Saga of Jeremy Jeffress

Mike Jones — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 12:55:55 -0400

One of the more common conversations among sports fans, writers, and athletes is asking the "what ifs" of a player.

What if Ted Williams hadn't lost five years to military service in the prime of his career? Could he have topped 600 homers, or topped .406?

What if Mickey Mantle didn't drink his liver into oblivion? Could he have surpassed Roger Maris in 1961, or passed the Babe's hallowed 714 mark before the consistently healthy Hank Aaron?

What if Doc Gooden hadn't thrown away his career to booze and cocaine? Could he have surpassed Roger Clemens, Greg Maddux, or Randy Johnson as the greatest pitcher of this generation?

Sadly, the "what if" question is being asked of Jeremy Jeffress before his major league career has even started. Jeffress failed his third drug test in June, and will serve a 100-game suspension. According to his agent, he will re-enter rehab (his first stint came after his 50-game suspension in 2007) to deal with his ongoing problem with marijuana.

To say that Jeffress is talented is an understatement. He was the organization's "Minor League Pitcher of the Year" last year. He can hit 102 mph on the radar gun. He has a cutter and curve which earned him comparisons to Gallardo. Clearly there's a reason he was a first-round pick three years ago.

However, as the class of 2006's Evan Longoria, Tim Lincecum, and Joba Chamberlain have thrived in the big leagues, Jeffress struggled in AA before being sent to Brevard County. The book on him has always been that he's very raw, but it's tough to get the needed reps if you're not allowed near the mound for 150 games in the minors.

Now, you might say that a) weed isn't tested in the majors (as Geovanny Soto aptly proved), b) it's not exactly HGH or "The Clear", and c) plenty of major leaguers have done recreational drugs and succeeded.

But Jeffress' struggles to control his need for weed in the low minors is a clear red flag that he is not at all capable of handling the bigger pressures and perks of the majors right now.

That is not to say he will never make it to Milwaukee. Josh Hamilton failed drug tests three times in the minors before turning his life around, and thriving with the Rangers. But Jeffress' next failed test will be his last—a lifetime ban is the next elevated consequence.

And if Jeffress is banned, then we as Brewers fans should shake our heads. Not in anger or indignation, but sadness. Take the signing bonus and talent away (like the weed is currently doing), and you have a kid who can't get his act together, and uses a substance to escape his problems.

And all he would have left is that lingering question that everyone has if they cannot reach their potential.

What if?

Should The Milwaukee Brewers Trade Mat Gamel?

Mike Jones — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 15:24:13 -0400

The Onion headline reads: "Orioles' Top Prospect Wins World Series In First Major League At Bat". It's a good laugh for baseball fans because of the outgrown expectations for the abysmal franchise's latest "savior."

Catcher Matt Wieters already has a Chuck Norris-type website dedicated to his prowess, despite hitting only .229 since being called up on May 30. Wieters could still end up winning Rookie-of-the-year, AL MVPs, Gold Gloves and the title of "Greatest Human Being Who Ever Played Ever" when it's all said and done. But as of now, the hype surrounding him overshadows his current value to his team.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a perennial contender, like the Yankees or the Red Sox or a basement-dwelling franchise like the Pirates or the Nationals, every team has a few prospects that they deem as future all-stars and hall-of-famers. Sometimes, they pan out immediately, like Ryan Braun or Evan Longoria.

Others take years to realize, like Zack Grienke or Rickie Weeks during his frustratingly-short season. But many come up and never meet the hype surrounding them or are so one-dimensional in their abilities, that their impact on the team’s fortunes is minimal at best.

Yet we are still sucked into believing that this one player will make the team better with his bat. Such

Although Mat Gamel has only been up with the Brewers for a month, perhaps we’ve seen enough of him to know how he’ll project as a pro: that he’ll bring power to the lineup, but will be a defensive liability outside of first base.

And while that’s acceptable for certain teams desperate for power in their lineup, Milwaukee is one of the exceptions in the NL. They rank fifth in the NL for total runs and are third (only behind Philadelphia and Colorado) in homers.

However, if there was anything that CC Sabathia taught us, it’s the fact that when bats are silent, pitching will win out the day. And when it comes to pitching and defense, the Crew’s ERA of 4.12 and fielding percentage of .985 are not terrible, but they’re not going to help Milwaukee separate from Chicago and St. Louis either.

A lack of pitching depth (see Julio, Jorge) combined with a mediocre defense will lead to a tumultuous summer and fall for the Brewers unless they do something to rely on more than their bats.

Which leads me to this question: are we too beholden to Mat Gamel’s potential as opposed to the reality of what Gamel brings to this season’s team? Like Matt LaPorta last year, Gamel is a potentially excellent hitter with below-average defensive skills (as evidenced by the last game between the Brewers and Rockies.

While many teams value the bat over the glove, the Brewers aren’t hungry for another bat, even if Bill Hall can’t hit anybody with a right arm. They need gloves and arms for the race.

Typically, an NL team puts their defensive liabilities at first base or right field. Which brings me to my second suggestion: Why not pay Prince Fielder his money?

Perhaps Doug Melvin didn’t appreciate how Fielder complained about his salary last year, but Fielder is a perfect offensive foil for Braun and has steadily improved his defense, currently on pace to have the lowest amount of errors since his first full season in 2006.

True, it’ll cost Mark Attanasio a pretty penny, but Fielder is proven to be a leader, both on the field and in the clubhouse (just ask Manny Parra). And he’s only getting better. Gamel might seem more manageable payroll-wise, but maintaining continuity with Braun and Fielder would go a long way in establishing the team’s offensive identity for years to come.

Trading Corey Hart is also a possibility, but while Hart’s bat has been up and down, no one denies his defensive prowess.

Now the idea for trading Gamel doesn’t ring true for every prospect. Alcides Escobar and Taylor Green have the potential to solidify the left side of the infield by 2010. But while both are excellent hitters like Gamel, they both seem to be solid defensive replacements (or in Green’s case, an upgrade).

Gamel’s bat could entice teams in need of a DH or 3B (think of our current series opponent, the Chicago White Sox or the Minnesota Twins), and provide the Brewers with an arm or glove desperately needed for the playoff push in a couple months).

It’s easy to blame the Brewers’ woes on silent bats. But bats during a 162-game season ebb and flow like the tides. The trick is to have the arms to back them up. I’m not giving up on Gamel, I just don’t think the team has to be held hostage by his potential when they are deficient in other areas.

Still Dealing With Favre Dearest

Mike Jones — Wed, 06 May 2009 19:57:20 -0400

My parents are divorced. One has full custody of me, though I hate his rules and can't understand why he won't talk to me as much as I would like. But, he still makes my lunch and annoys me about my homework. He'll pick me up from school and sign off on my report cards.

I don't always like him, hell, sometimes I loathe him and slam my door in anger (like when I need a new gadget or at least one that works). But when I re-open that door, he'll always be there.

The other parent, although I know she loves me, is crazy. After the divorce, she changed her entire outfit and insisted that she was 19 instead of 39. When I do visit her at my court-appointed time, my crazy parent ignores me or insists on giving me money to go away while she has "other friends" come over (like that one dude from New York, who she ended up ruining).

In fact, she keeps on asking about my dad. She asks if he's happy about the divorce, if he's seeing anybody else, and if so, asking me if I love the newer one more than them. I know it's out of a deep insecurity, so I constantly assure her that the new one will ever replace her in my heart, no matter how crazy she acts.

But now, I'm hearing a rumor that she's thinking about dating the one kid in school I can't stand.

The rich kid who throws lavish parties on the family boat, only to crash the boat into a police dock. The rich kid who acts like they've earned everything they get, but we all know they haven't earned a thing.

The kid who brags about being accepted by an Ivy League school, but still can't distinguish the difference between "there," "their" and "they're."

The kid who uses outdated terms like "kick ass" to describe their too-tight Ed Hardy t-shirts which only show off their gut even more.

The kid with the sycophantic friends they bought, who try to pick fights with my friends and I in class. Who call me dumb when I actually have better grades and make fun of my house when they live in a mcmansion that won't last past next year.

My crazy, jealous, insecure, ego mom wants to shack up with THAT kid?

And you know what? I don't know who I pity more: My mom or the brat. The kid is obviously insecure and thinks dating a past-their-prime cougar will up their popularity in school.

My crazy mom thinks this will finally satisfy her need for revenge against the boring, somewhat maddening, but stable ex-husband by shacking up with a youthful moron—because they'll see each other twice (once for my birthday and once for graduation), and those two days will be worth an entire year of misery.

I even worry about some of my friends, who think my mom is the better parent because they always got pizza and ice cream from the her, while dad insisted on fruits and vegetables.

But junk food will only make you so strong, and eventually, the boring vegetables will help you in the long run.

In the end, I'll always love both of my parents. Because I can't deny that both loved each other for 17 years, and they stuck with each other as long as they could (even though mom kept talking about leaving dad for the last five years before the split).

Years from now, this won't matter as much as it does now. But today, if you ask me, I'll stick with the boring rules enforcer over the crazy one—because he's doing his best to stay with me.

Maybe he didn't have as much of a choice, but it's nice to know someone will always be there, doing their best while the other prioritizes their own gratification and fleeting chance at revenge over those they claim to adore.

Will Jeff Suppan Kill the Milwaukee Brewers' Season?

Mike Jones — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 12:14:58 -0400

By all accounts, Jeff Suppan is a good guy.

He's considered a veteran, calming clubhouse presence for young pitchers like Yovani Gallardo and Manny Parra, a positive character in the community (due to his strong Catholic faith), and during his struggles last year, a stand-up guy when it came to taking responsibility for his struggles down the stretch, especially during last year's deciding playoff game versus the Phillies.

But he's going to destroy the Brewers this year.

It's not as simple as the fact that since last August:

- he hasn't won a game

- he's given up 12 homers and 20 walks

- his E.R.A. is over 10

It's that he's only pitched 32 innings in his eight starts, or four innings per start. On average, Jeff Suppan hasn't been around by the fifth inning.

To put this in perspective, take a look at the World Series teams from last year. Here are the innings, starts, and innings-per-start of the Phillies' and the Rays' top three starters.

PHI

Hamels: 227 innings, 33 starts, 6.88 in/start

Moyer: 196 innings, 33 starts, 5.94 in/start

Myers: 190 innings, 30 starts, 6.33 in/start

Shields: 215 innings, 33 starts, 6.51 in/start

Sonnanstine: 193 innings, 32 starts, 6.03 in/start

Garza: 184 innings, 30 starts, 6.13 in/start

Looking at the Brewers' top three last year:

Sabathia: 130 innings, 17 starts, 7.65 in/start

Sheets: 198 innings, 31 starts, 6.39 in/start

Bush: 185 innings, 29 starts, 6.36 in start

Jeff Suppan last year: 177 innings, 31 starts, 5.71 in/start. Which isn't as alarming except when you look at his innings/start in his last four years with St. Louis and Milwaukee—6.06 in 2004 and 2005, 6.13 in 2006 and 6.06 (with MIL) in 2007.

When GM Doug Melvin signed Suppan, it wasn't because they were looking for an ace. His job was to eat innings and stay uninjured, something their regular Ace (Sheets) couldn't do.

"Jeff's experience and durability should have a positive influence on our entire pitching staff," said Melvin when he signed Suppan. But how positive can your starter be when he can't make it to the fifth inning?

When a starter, any starter, can't make it to the fifth, it becomes an albatross around the neck of every player on the team. Braun, Fielder and co. are coming into games knowing five runs might not cut it on Suppan's days. Middle-inning relievers have to come in earlier and pitch more when Suppan pitches, meaning starters (especially Gallardo and Parra) are pressured to pitch deeper in May and June because manager Ken Macha needs to rest his middle relievers sometime.

Dave Bush and Braden Looper can make it into the 6th and 7th, but they're worn down by then. For Parra (who hit a wall last year) and Gallardo (who could hit it if Macha doesn't monitor his innings), Suppan's inability to pitch deep could hinder them in August and September when an ace needs to pitch on shorter rest (see Sabathia).

Everyone knows the Brewers can score runs, but so can the Cubs, Cardinals, and a dozen other teams in the NL. What separates the playoff teams from the pretenders is pitching (especially, starting pitching). Sabathia separated the Brewers from the rest of the NL wild card contenders last year. Supposedly, Melvin is looking at Jake Peavy, who could do the same. But if that deal cannot be done, Jeff Suppan could be the direct and indirect reason for the Brewers' 2009 season ending before September begins.

What Do Steroids Say About Us?

Mike Jones — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 13:39:18 -0500

When I was 10, I found out my dad and Kirby Puckett shared the same barber.

This was odd for a couple of reasons: 1) He was making $3 million a year in 1992, one of the highest salaries in professional sports of that time. And 2) the barbershop was in one of the roughest neighborhoods in North Minneapolis.

It sometimes surprised me that even my dad wanted to go there, as we lived in the suburbs—but, then again, try finding a barber that can cut black hair in the suburbs of St. Paul.

This was nearly two years after the Twins won the World Series, when Kirby won the heart of every baseball fan in America outside of Atlanta. I did my shy walk towards him as he was talking about the possibility of a new contract (which he would get) and asked him to sign a piece of paper that my dad had given me.

"You doing well in school?," he asked.

"Yes, sir," I muttered, too afraid to even look at him directly in the eye out of fear that I would melt in his presence, like Raiders of the Lost Ark.

He laughed and signed my little scrap of paper. I shuffled off and tried not to stare at him as he was cracking jokes and shooting the breeze with the barbershop.

A decade later, reading Frank DeFord's scathing examination into the life of Puckett made me wince. Not because I had held Kirby Puckett in such high esteem, but that I, like many fans, had looked past his numerous transgressions in favor of remembering Game Six of the World Series, the acrobatic catches which defied his body size and the laws of physics and that free-swinging style which powered the Twins' lineup for over a decade.

Now I could have said DeFord wanted to stir up some drama to sell copies of SI. But he isn't some hack trying to make a name for himself, nor is he one to embellish the facts for the sake of moral clarity.

His piece was not only an indictment of Puckett, but a judgement on Minnesota and its fans for overlooking Puckett's problems for the sake of deification. After reading, I couldn't help but acknowledge my own duplicity, not in the crimes, but the culture which allowed such crimes to persist.

I thought about this when I listened, watched and read numerous scribes, fans and players discuss Alex Rodriguez's admission of taking performance enhancing drugs from 2001-3. This isn't a defense or prosecution of the player.

If A-Rod gets nothing more than a smattering of boos or if he loses his MVP award from 2003, has the 156 HR he accumulated stricken from his career statistics and is banned from Major League Baseball and Cooperstown, I could say either punishment is appropriate.

What bothered me, though, was the following sanctimonious questions that writers, fans and former players had, “Is nothing sacred? What do we tell the kids?”

Here’s a suggestion: People make mistakes. That’s what makes them people.

Hall-of-Fame personality Dick Vitale said A-Rod and MLB let him and his large checkbook down. And while Vitale’s suggestions for consequences are legitimate and good-hearted, one has to ask, “What do you mean he broke your heart?” Dick Vitale is one of the largest spokespeople for the V Foundation in honor of his close friend, Jim Valvano.

Is Valvano’s legendary bravery when fighting cancer any cheaper because none of his players graduated from NC State or he was forced to resign because of recruiting violations? I would imagine Vitale and others would say, of course not. And they would be right. Jim Valvano was a human being who made mistakes.

Baseball, like all sports, has a long history of sugary memories which cover bitter truths. Baseball was supposed to die after the Black Sox Scandal of 1919, but was saved by Babe Ruth.

That would be the same Ruth who got drunk sometimes at the games(during Prohibition) and cheated on his wife so many times, he caught an assortment of venereal diseases.

The supposed golden era of baseball from the '40s to the '60s had amphetamines in every locker room. Granted, they weren’t illegal, but neither was “The Clear” when BALCO supposedly distributed it to Bonds, Sheffield and Giambi.

And what about the fans’? Despite knowing that steroids has tainted the game since the late 90’s, attendance has risen to record levels in that time.

Do we honestly care about steroids? Or do we say we do to make ourselves feel holier than players out of a jealousy over their paychecks and lifestyle and not because we truly care for the purity of the sport? Whenever someone wants to point out a character flaw of an athlete, their salary inevitably comes up.

Isn’t THAT a poor example for our children, that the responsibilities of your position are dependent upon your salary? If you make $10 million, you shouldn’t cheat, run a red light, do or say anything that I don’t agree with.

Whether you make $7.15 million or $7.15 an hour, your value as a human being ideally neither rises nor falls. And you are easily as prone to character flaws and errors in judgment no matter your salary or lot in life.

The assumption of being a perfect person based on economic status or ability is not only illogical, but more a far more damaging lesson for children than steroids or complaining about a contract or throwing a temper tantrum on the field of play.

People want to look at Rodriguez and speak with frustration that they have to let their kids in on the secret that people, even great athletes are flawed. But shouldn’t this period be the best teachable moment for children? That sports, like entertainment, work, religion and family are human endeavors.

And human endeavors are naturally mistake-laden because human beings make mistakes (lots of them). But that shouldn’t it shouldn’t prevent life from moving forward and pursuing improvement of yourself and those around you.

Steroids don’t do that—if anything, those years of Rodriguez were futile because his stats did nothing for the Rangers or his legacy.

Only hard work and a positive mental attitude can help one succeed.

Looking back, I’m still glad that Kirby Puckett played so well during the World Series, and that I got his autograph two years later. Because that memory is connected to being with my father, who taught me more things about striving towards being a good person and professional on a $30K salary than Kirby Puckett, Michael Jordan or Brett Favre ever did.

And when I think about Kirby, I think about how NOT to act. And when I think about my father (who has his flaws, albeit, less severe than Puckett’s), I think about how to act. And both lessons are valuable to children. It’s never just about the wins, but the losses as well.

On Heels of Recession, the Case for an Annual College Football Mercy Bowl

Mike Jones — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 05:10:35 -0500

Sports writers and commentators have been trying to make the point that 2008 was one of the greatest years in modern sports history.

Whether it was Michael Phelps' record eight gold medals, David Tyree's improbable catch to eventually shatter the Patriots' run for perfection or the marathon Federer-Nadal final at Wimbledon, the sports just seemed to be a little more dramatic, a little more historic and a little more magnificent than years past.

However, this notion doesn't seem to be much comfort to Americans as they are losing their jobs, their homes and their faith in a society built on the idealistic notion that fairness and justice will always overcome greed and derision.

What's beautiful about our sports culture as that it has the unique ability to redeem our faith in what's good about this country. Whether that's the "Miracle on Ice," Jesse Owens' triumph under Hitler's glare, or the simple joy of watching a baseball game as a tattered flag pulled from the wreckage of a fallen set of towers hovers over both home and opponent, always reminding us that while we compete, we are always one.

I thought about this as I was watching my beloved Wisconsin Badgers get their lunch handed to them by a superior Florida State Seminoles team in the Champs Sports Bowl. Watching the debacle on the couch, I figured I'd browse the web or get on this website to vent my frustration.

Instead, I came across this beautiful story by the AP's Ben Walker. It's the long-forgotten story about the 1960 Cal-Poly football team's tragic plane crash which killed 22 people, including 16 players, a manager, and a booster.

The next year, Fresno State and Bowling Green (the team that had just beat Cal-Poly before the crash) played what was called the "Mercy Bowl," a charity game where all proceeds benefited the victims' families. The game, through ticket sales and private donations, raised $278,000. It was a beautiful gesture of sportsmanship and charity...

...one that would only be repeated once in 1971, when three Cal-Fullerton coaches and a pilot met a similar tragedy.

According to Walker, of the 34 bowl games currently in Division I, not one is a 100 percent charity game. Granted, universities, conferences, and the host cities should benefit from the bowl games. Bowl games help fund academic and athletic scholarships, better facilities and aids local businesses and charities with the out-of-town patronage.

But, by and large, non-BCS bowl games are considered more exhibition than competition nowadays, thanks to the growing dichotomy of importance between the BCS games and the rest.

So wouldn't it be excellent to have a bowl game where two teams from places hit by tragedy, whether natural (like a hurricane) or man-made (take your pick) could play for a cause greater than mere rankings or booster pride? Sadly, there's never a shortage of tragedy, even in college football towns.

Virginia Tech, Northern Illinois, and Arizona have all recently felt the pain of campus classroom shootings. LSU, Miami, Tulane, and the other gulf coast schools are still in a region reeling from Katrina and other hurricanes over the years.

Some schools operate in manufacturing towns where unemployment (and subsequently, poverty and crime) continues to rise at a rapid rate. Food pantries, the Salvation Army and Goodwill Industries are all reporting a rise in families in need this year.

A permanent Mercy Bowl could be a prime-time event, just before Christmas, where instead of scrolling other scores, they could scroll a phone number or website where viewers can make donations.

The lowest rated bowl game last year was the Texas Bowl, with a .3 Nielsen rating. That's 343,000 households. If one-third of those households donated five bucks, that would be over half a million dollars right there, not including ticket sales and other charity events to be held during the weekly run up to the game.

Maybe a Mercy Bowl would be a temporary salve to a community's woes. Maybe it won't solve every problem confronting them, whether it's physical, economic or mental. But it would exemplify our best selves and what sports can truly offer.

For sports is a reminder to all of us that we are redeemable creatures capable of not only astounding feats of athleticism or strategic skill in the midst of competition, but we also capable of exhibiting an exemplary character that transcends the love of our teams and conferences.

Five Things the Green Bay Packers Can Do for a Better 2009

Mike Jones — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 15:58:57 -0500

The Green Bay Packers’ season is, for all intents and purposes, over. To say 2008 was a roller coaster would be inappropriate. You can stop a rollercoaster ride if you scream loud and long enough. This was like a cruise with a hopeful bon voyage (Brett Favre’s “retirement”), followed up by choppy waters (Ted Thompson’s off-season of free-agent inaction and an inconclusive draft), followed-up by clear skies (Aaron Rodgers’ transition during mini-camp), then a hurricane (Brett Favre’s un-retirement and the subsequent soap opera), then clear skies (the opening wins against Minnesota and Detroit), then choppy waters (weeks 3 thru 7) and then an all-out pirate attack (the rest of the season). Now, as the Packers try to be the only team to NOT lose to the Lions next week, the ship is merely trying it’s best to find the nearest dock without crashing the rudderless vessel. The last few weeks of talk radio, blogs and other outlets of fan discontent have seen the calls to remove Ted Thompson, Mark Murphy, Mike McCarthy, Bob Sanders or the entire 53-man roster. What isn’t being talked about, however, is what the Packers need to do next year to improve upon this year’s disappointments. Firing people might be cathartic, but slash-and-burn approaches should be left to truly dysfunctional franchises (like the Dolphins and Falcons of last year and the Lions and Chiefs of this year). The Packers were bad, but they were not and are not unfixable. Here are some suggestions from an unqualified boob on what the Packers could do to reclaim the magic of 2007…

Begin Slideshow

Is a Salary Cap Inevitable for Major League Baseball?

Mike Jones — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 02:19:29 -0500

The two gentlemen celebrating are Miguel Cabrera and Magglio Ordoñez. Last year, they made a combined $27 million. That's 23 percent of the Detroit Tigers' payroll. Granted, it's only 10 percent of the New York Yankees', but then again it would be 77 percent of the Florida Marlins', and were you to photoshop Gary Sheffield and Carlos Guillen into the photo, their salaries would have exceeded the A.L. champion Tampa Bay Rays combined payroll with $2 million to spare (or to put in Tampa terms, four times that of Evan Longoria's salary).

When the Tigers traded for Cabrera (and Dontrelle Willis), the general consensus was that of a common mantra in baseball: It takes money to make money. While the Billy Beanes of the world can have books heralding their genius, what matters is winning in the Fall. So while the Florida and Tampa Bay's are feel-good stories for the writers to peddle in October, the odds are that the perpetual competitive franchises are the ones with nine-figure payrolls.

Florida might win every once in a while, but they'll only have one swing every four years, while their N.L. East counterparts, the Mets, would have three or so. And you don't need to be a sabermetrician to like three for four over one for four.

The cries of imbalance and unfairness were met with two arguments. One, the revenue-sharing plan redistributes a ridiculous amount of wealth to everyone, provided the fans keep attending in record droves as they had been since Big Mac and Swingin' Sammy (and their "friends") made the home run a beautiful thing after the 1994 strike.

Second, the rich teams were held in check by a luxury tax which would heavily penalize those who overspend. This is a quaint idea, to allow baseball franchises police their own spending. And as long as revenues rose, no one paid much heed to the imbalance outside of the Milwaukees and Oaklands of the MLB.

However, the environment which tolerated the Cabrera trade happened before everyone's grandmother and five-year old daughter understood the terms "credit default swaps," "mortgage-backed securities" and "Ponzi schemes." In the new economic environment that baseball faces, it's not just a simple matter of everyone taking a hit, from theSteinbrenners to the Pohlads.

Minnesota, even before the economic crisis, had a low payroll, so telling GM Bud Smith that the payroll would have to be low isn't a come-to-Jesus moment in Minneapolis.

The problem resides for the teams which have invested the high-eight and nine-figure payrolls in cities that simply can't sustain it. Tigers owner Mike Illitch now has to convince a city in the midst of a manufacturing-industry meltdown to pony up the cash to watch Cabrera and Ordoñez play on a regular basis.

St. Louis, one of the royal cities of baseball, is still a manufacturing-based city hard-hit by a stagnant economy. Can they sustain a team around Pujols?

Some teams would be relatively safe if ticket sales drastically dropped like Mike Singletary's pants in a pep-talk. But a majority of teams don't have a YES or NESN network for advertising revenue streams. The Brewers (in another manufacturing city) just lost Mercedes Benz as a sponsor.

The Yankees or Red Sox can take the hit, but for the Brewers, that might affect their ability to give Prince Fielder or J.J. Hardy a competitive deal.

The problem isn't that the Yankees would simply buy every free agent (as they have thus far). It's that these mid-level teams, regardless of competitiveness during the season, can't afford their Jake Peavys or Prince Fielders. And since the rich teams don't exactly need to cut payroll as drastically as the struggling teams, they can leverage that into one-sided trades with fewer prospects.

It's already happening. The Yankees and Brewers are at a stalemate over a trade swapping Mike Cameron for Melky Cabrera and Kei Igawa. Cameron was a valuable veteran presence, both in center field and in the clubhouse. However, his $10 million salary is too high for Milwaukee to justify.

But the Yankees (according to Jon Heyman) want the Brewers to eat Cameron's salary before the trade goes through—a ridiculous request considering his salary is the primary reason for the trade in the first place. However, the Yankees are less desperate for Cameron's services than the Brewers are to rid of his salary.

If this trend continues, with rich teams taking on players without eating up most of the salary and not sacrificing the prospects which would make a small-market team competitive in a couple years, the $235 million disparity between the rich and poor will only increase.

The other major sports have salary caps, so as the economic crisis might reduce their luxury boxes or employees, the talent on the field would relatively be just as stable as it was two years ago as every team is beholden to a uniform level. The same cannot be said for baseball.

Commissioner Bud Selig's argument against a salary cap is that the market will always adjust, either through the soft limits on spending helping everyone's bottom line or that the draft and trades will always mean teams will have talent even if the money isn't there.

That same argument holds little water in this economy. Either the "haves" will play the market to drive the "have nots" into contraction (just ask the Minnesota Twins about the reality of that situation) or a salary cap would be an inevitable solution to keep some certain franchises competitive in poor times.

The players, in during the 2002 CBA session, argued against the cap, saying it would give more money to the owners while limiting the players' bargaining leverage. An owner retorted in the Wall Street Journal:

"Perhaps 12 of 30 Major League teams have any possibility of reaching postseason play, and fewer still have a realistic hope of winning a pennant. Unless baseball changes the way it does business, it risks seeing its fans drift away, tired of their teams' futility."

That owner was John Moores of the San Diego Padres. That would be the same John Moores currently trying to trade or sell half of his team in the wake of a costly divorce with his wife. Owners can't predict the entire future, but even they can see the writing on the wall.

College Football: It's Not Just Racism, It's Cronyism

Mike Jones — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 10:05:05 -0500

The fallacy of racism, sexism or any "ism" where you discriminate because someone looks or thinks a certain way, is that it always comes back to bite you in the behind.

The last ones to catch up are usually put in such a horrible position, that their prejudices have no rationality at all, so they have to give them up.

The Washington Redskins' racist owner, George Marshall, learned this the hard way when his all-white team was single-handedly pummeled by the Cleveland Browns'...more specifically, Jim Brown.

Shirley Povich, the Washington Post legend, quipped, "Jim Brown, born ineligible to play for the Redskins, integrated their end zone three times yesterday."

In the SEC, look no further than its greatest coach, Paul "Bear" Bryant, who was not allowed to recruit blacks until USC running back Sam Cunningham demonstrated the need for integration by running for 150 yards and three scores in a 42-21 romp over the Crimson Tide in 1970.

Sooner or later, holding a group back means you're holding yourself back.

One would think that anyone watching Bryant lose that day would clearly understand that skill is skill, no matter the color the person employing it.

The recent hires of Gene Chizik and other head coaches over more qualified candidates like Buffalo's HC Turner Gill and Florida's DC Charlie Strong is not a clear indicator of the type of racism that Bryant had to work under or Marshall championed.

Today's bigotry is a diluted kind, where you make up all sorts of arguments to NOT hire someone. You talk about their one year as an assistant at your school (like Nebraska did when they chose Bo Pelini over Gill who had over a decade of NU recruiting experience to go with his alumni credentials). Or you talk about how important it is to have an alum run the program (see Syracuse and Notre Dame).

But you never state the obvious: it's tough to justify a minority coach to a predominantly-white alumni booster group. Just as it was tough to give them basic civil rights in the 50's and 60's or recruit them in the 60's and 70's, seeing minorities in positions of power makes certain alumni uneasy.

Now let's be clear, it's not a conscious, KKK-type of discrimination. It's one where you spent your entire life raised, taught and led by people who more or less, look just like you. You work only with people who look like you, you date people who look just like the people your friends/family date, etc.

So when someone who doesn't look like you comes up and says they can work with you or lead you, it's slightly understandable to be uncomfortable with such a choice.

This isn't to say that every black HC is a genius. I'm from Minnesota and I know Dennis Green wasn't a genius.

But Tony Dungy was. And it took a long time for NFL teams to take him seriously despite his smothering defensive schemes. Only when Tampa Bay felt like they couldn't go any lower, did they reach out to Dungy instead of recycling the Sam Wyches of the NFL.

The problem is that the task of conducting a merit-based search for a high profile HC job is far more difficult in college than the NFL. Fans might hate your choice and they might go away, but that just affects the ownership's revenue streams.

College presidents and AD's fear that the loss of $$$ will cripple their other teams' revenue streams or their college endowments.

So they will always go for the safe, least risky choice over the potentially best one. Remember, this is a sport that doesn't believe in a playoff system.

And it's not just a recent phenomenon or just limited to blacks. Norm Chow was the architect behind BYU's brilliant offense which account for one national championship and a Heisman QB.

He went on to turn USC's offense into one of the most dangerous offenses in the history of the sport. Yet, his assistants (Steve Sarkasian and Lane Kiffin) have had more head coaching opportunities than Chow.

Sooner or later, a minority will become a great HC. I mean a USC/Florida/Oklahoma sort where you dominate your conference in recruiting and playing and every blue-chipper wants to play for you.

It might not be Gill, Strong, or one of the current minority HC's, but one will come. And he'll make every school which passed him by look foolish, not because they went with someone else, but because his skill as a coach was so blatant, that there could have been no other reason to pass on him except save for " uncomfortableness."

The irony of the Auburn choice was that Gill was widely supported by the fanbase, who felt like they needed an offensive coach to turn around a program which hasn't produced any offense despite being the alma mater of Jason Campbell, Ronnie Brown, Cadillac Williams and others.

It wasn't even like he has never been a HC. Hell, he took one of the worst programs in CFB and turned it into a bowl team which beat an undefeated Ball State for a MAC crown (kind of like Nick Saban and Urban Meyer).

Imagine what he could do with greater resources. A clear majority of alumni and fans believed Turner Gill would have been the right choice.

Instead, Auburn made the white one. Live by your shortcomings. Die by them too.