He’s Back!

Please make it go away!!! – Terrell Owens. Why do I have to hear his name every day? Usually I don’t mind athletes drawing attention to themselves, but I can’t take this guy. At least with Ocho Cinco and Deion Sanders there was a bit of humor involved, but T.O. just seems like a spoiled brat. If he were on my favorite team, I’d throw up on my wife. And to make sure I am not part of the problem, I will not say or type his name for a year, starting………….now.

This week in sports you know nothing about - The Handball Bundesliga (HBL) is the top German professional handball league. The HBL website is in German, but after running the latest article through Babel Fish, I learned, “On today’s Tuesday and on tomorrow’s Wednesday the eight meetings of the Achtelfinals stand in the competition of this year around the DHB cup on the program. It comes equivalent twice to the duel of two Erstligisten. May the match between the SG Flensburg Handewitt and the Rhine Neckar lion, which are already today delivered as preferred play hand ball federal league are valid for this round as Topspiel”

This week at Auburn - Auburn hired Gene Chizik this week. Most fans are not very excited. Auburn interviewed Turner Gill, but did not give him the job, which apparently makes Auburn racist, unlike Tennessee, who did not interview a minority when they hired Lane Kiffen. Many Auburn fans remember Chizik fondly from his days as the Tiger’s defensive coordinator, and many admired Gill for his work at Buffalo and for being an outspoken Christian, but most thought Auburn would hire someone better than either of them.

Sports highlight that never gets old – Because I have caught the golf bug early we’ll go with Jack in ‘86

I have nothing. Nothing to do. Nothing to care about. Nothing.

Auburn was bad this year, very bad, and I have no bowl game to look forward to. Sure there is a coaching search and recruiting, but those just seem to depress me more after a bad season. The Tigers are playing basketball, but they aren’t very good either, and when it comes to hoops, I am as fair weather as they get.

I want to play golf. I brought my clubs in last night and cleaned them. They look great, but I have no time to use them. The sun has set by the time I get off work, and weekends this time of year are reserved for shopping and decorating and parties and other things besides golf.

Sure there’s pro sports, but if I’m being honest with you, and I have no reason not to be, then I’d tell you missing every NBA, MLB, NHL and NFL game from now till Kingdom Come would not upset me. I do enjoy watching golf, but they aren’t playing now, and even if they were, Tiger is still rehabbing his knee.

I tried to pick a soccer team to follow. After reading Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch I became fascinated by the madness of it all. I keep up with Celtic FC, but living an ocean away makes it hard to really get in to it. I have watched a few games at work on a pirated feed from some Arab network. Did you know the Arabic word for goal is قصد

But January will be here soon, and my weekends will be spent playing cold golf. Then the grass will start to grow, and flowers will bloom, and Tiger will return to the Masters. And before long I’ll be back in Jordan-Hare Stadium, cheering on my Tigers with their new coach. But for now, I’m kind of bored.

I have a Steeler fan in the house. A fourth-grade Steeler fan who was raised to bleed Eagles’ green.

I’m past beating myself up, wondering if I should have painted the nursery midnight green and silver, or if I should have dropped $50 on an Eagles’ one-sie that he would have worn for three months and stained with burped Gerber prunes. I could have done those things but that wouldn’t have guaranteed his sanctification as an Eagles’ fan.

Adam and Eve had the perfect parent and they rebelled. I’m doing the best I can. but blame must be projected elsewhere and I’m tempted to bite that ancient apple toss the woman that God gave me under the Madden tour bus.

Amy’s been introducing odd maternal values into the arena of football fandom and I don’t like it. She’s informed me that I may not by my youngest son an Eagles’ t-shirt (“May not?” Really?”). She’s concerned that our Steeler fan will be alone in his fandom and feel a lack of closeness with me and my oldest Eagle-fan. If I were to enlist the youngest son, the middle child would totally be isolated and somehow emotionally scarred.

I’ve taken some of Amy’s input to heart. I’ve bought my prodigal a Steelers cap and last night made the pilgrimage to Heinz stadium to watch the meaningless fourth preseason game with Prodigal and two of his equally misguided schoolmates. I’m right at the edge of being an enabler.

But her declaration that my youngest son is to be tabula rosa is intolerable. Erie, PA is a town split between Bills, Steelers, and Cleveland fans. To think that my youngest will somehow become an Eagles fan without mentoring is laughable. It’s like hoping for an altar call at a Richard Dawkins book signing.

Furthermore, the injection of the maternal value of a “balanced family” reeks of social engineering. What if… what IF the youngest becomes an Eagles’ fan? Do we shun him from the family to preserve some artificial ideal of what our family should look like? I’m married to a Social Darwinist, I am.

No, that’s obviously not what the football gods intended. Fandom is instinctual. Wolves don’t discuss whether or not they will raise their cubs to be wolves or not. They just raise wolves. And darnitall, in this house, we’re raising Eagles fans. My prodigal? He can join the pack or be a lone wolf. I’ll love him either way as long as he doesn’t ask me to change the channel to watch his game. That’s just how it is. I’m putting my foot down.

As soon as I find the courage to inform my wife.

Last night a good friend of mine, David, and I went to Heinz Field to see the Pittsburgh/ Eagles matchup. There’s nothing like wearing your team’s colors in the other team’s stadium to make you feel a little exposed. Gratefully, the crowd’s intensity was much lower during this preseason game. In past years, concerned Steeler fans tried to get me accessorize by making wear their leftover beer and plastic bottles. Last night was much less intense.

Impressions on the game:

• Pittsburgh’s 1st round pick, Mendelhal, looks like the real deal. He broke his longest runs against the BIrd’s 2nd team D. But that’s what he’s supposed to do.
• The Eagles’ DeSean Jackson looks electric. He’s undersized but lightning fast. Not much happened in terms of special teams. But it looks like the blocking in front of him is still suspect.
• Primanti Bros. sandwiches: They are a heart attack on plate. A large sandwich stuffed with coleslaw, french fries, and capicolla. I abandoned my strict diet for an evening an indulged. I’m going to have to run a little farther… ok a lot father today. But it you’re going to blow your diet, that’s the way to do it.
• I bought my middle son a Steeler’s cap. It’s hurts to have a prodigal in the house. But I’m learning that you have to express your unconditional love.

It’s Brandon Roy’s birthday today, celebrated joyously by the folks over at OregonLive.com’s Blazer Blog. They’ve got this awesome video of Brandon devastating the Lakers.

So the Blazers return one of the league’s most promising teams. They also add Jerryd Bayless, who was MVP of the summer league. And Rudy Fernandez, who was the best player in Europe last season.

Oh, and the Sky Father himself.

Kevin Pritchard, when not pritchslapping the rest of the NBA, keeps reminding Blazer fans this crazy experiment in bringing in good quality character guys and turning them into champions will take a while.

But looking at this roster, if these guys even live up to half of what they can do this year, I think this team could win an NBA Championship. Like, now.

Alright, I’ll get my head out of the clouds.

I was born and raised in Southeastern New England, and as such, I’ve been a die-hard Red Sox fan as long as I can remember. Up until a few years ago, this was a tragic-yet-noble badge I wore with pride. But with 2 World Series trophies in the past 4 years, it’s something I’ve taken off my sleeve and put in my pocket. There’s so many Red Sox fans out there these days, I don’t mind keeping my fandom to myself as much as possible.

This doesn’t mean I didn’t spend time brainwashing my family, of course. I’m proud to say that my wife (who’s lived in PA all her life) and both my children are all serious Red Sox fans now as well. I like to think that being a Sox fan is in your blood – a genetic gift I passed on to my children at conception – but no matter how they became infected, they are now. And that’s a good thing.

I’d been to Fenway a handful of times growing up. I was there on Opening Day in 1988 when new reliever Lee Smith gave up a game winning homer to the Detroit Tigers. My first trip as an adult was in 2004 when I took my wife for the first time. Erica loved the experience, and was excited to go again this year as we had decided it was time for Parker to see his first game at Fenway. Kylie opted to stay home because she finds 3-hour baseball games a bit boring, and she had a better offer from her grandma to help bake her own birthday cake (but she still loves the Sox).

We purchased tickets for July 11th a few months ago, and as luck would have it, this happened to be the same night that Red Sox Foundation Volunteers were being honored during the pre-game ceremonies. My brother Josh had volunteered for the Foundation during the first half of the season (my bro Jordan helped out also), and as a reward, he was allowed to take a guest up to the seats over the Green Monstah during batting practice. Since his family was in from out of town, they let us all go up there.

From left to right that’s me, Parker, and my two brothers Jordan and Josh. Yes, there is only a small railing keeping people from falling onto the field. Yes, in that picture my left hand is holding Parker very tightly. Between the tiny railing and the home runs balls being pelted our way, it wasn’t the time to relax and soak everything in. In fact, my wife Erica and my sister Karyn were scared the entire time. It was pretty awesome being up there though.

The only ball that came near us was a blast off of Youkilis’ bat. It sailed a few feet over Josh’s head, caromed off the cement stairs, and flew back down onto the field. Here we are begging relievers Javy Lopez and Manny DelCarmen to throw the ball back to up to us. They did not.

The aforementioned sister Karyn on the left and wife Erica on the right hanging out on Yawkey Way before the game. As you can see, it’s a sea of Red Sox paraphernalia out there. You can also see a beer sign in the background, but what you can’t see is how much a 12-oz cup of beer will cost you. Want to know? How about $7.50. I’ll stick to swallowing my own spit, thank you very much.

Here’s the picture of the boys on Yawkey Way. Parker is all smiles after a couple of $7.50 beers. (i kid, of course)

Our seats were in the centerfield bleachers, where Parker followed along surprisingly well with the action. His eyes lit up when we walked up the runway and were so close to the field. That was cool to watch. He loved seeing Papelbon, Manny, and Big Papi in person (even though Papi didn’t play.) He also loved watching the wave go around.

He did not love seeing Clay Buchholz throw 29 pitches in the first inning. He also did not love the call that Tim Eddings made at 1B when he called Julio Lugo out on a ground ball.

I mean, look at this. Might the worst out/safe call I’ve EVER seen. We were hollering from the bleachers for a while after that one.

In the end we had a great night. The Sox lost 7-3, but we made a bunch of memories we’ll always have. It was so cool to be able to take my son to Fenway Park just like my dad did with me.

And that’s one more reason to love sports, for the special moments like this that it gives us.

What about y’all? Do you remember your first trip out to a game with your parents? Planning a special memory with your kids someday? Love to hear about it.

…and by “we,” I mean me, my lovely wife, and former Oakland ace Rich Harden.

Back in January, I entered a storytelling contest held by a design & marketing company in Chicago. I wrote about my granddad and his experiences in World War 2, then got everyone I knew (and, in turn, everyone they knew) to vote for my story.

I won the contest. (Click that link to read the story, if you’re interested. It’s not sports-related, but it is Jason-related. Not sure why I just wrote that.)

The grand prize was a weekend trip to Chicago to watch the Cubs play. This, of course, was why I entered the contest, and it just so happens that the trip is this weekend. I’m watching the Cubs play the Giants Friday at Wrigley and — even better — get to see Rich Harden make his Cubs debut on Saturday afternoon. Should be wild. Welcome to Chicago, Rich. Stay healthy. Hope the risk is worth the potential reward.

I’ll update upon return.

I don’t do baseball. Sorry, co-writers and readers. I’m aware that Madonna use some mind-trick to convince A-Rod that it’s 1985. Other than that, I’ve got nothing. The NBA Finals are done (and somehow I didn’t find time to watch three minutes of the series. Life moves too fast). Some where in the universe, Arena Football is in their playoffs. Tiger did the impossible, and Wimbledon is in the bag.
So for me, it’s a long, dark night until the NFL kicks off. I’m one of those fans who celebrate that the NFL creates so many off-season milestones. The Draft, Free Agency, Mini-camps. Heck, I’m tickled that Favre is toying with hearts in Green Bay. It gives ESPN radio jocks some NFL fodder and takes the talk away from the MLB.

So I’m hanging in there. Waiting. Maybe this year I’ll even have more dignity than to watch a pre-season game from wall-to-wall.

The things I hate most in sports are as follows:

1. Flopping – It’s one of the biggest reasons soccer hasn’t been successful in the US and the only reason to dislike the team-oriented, small-market-based San Antonio Spurs. I like my athletes to be graceful, strong and tough. Two out of three isn’t enough.

2. Horrible commissioners – This has to be the worst time for league heads ever in history. Roger Goodell is turning the NFL into a courts system. Gary Bettman took the NHL from a top four sport into a game you can only see on Versus. David Stern has wielded power like a mafia don, and Bud Selig is just a complete, out-of-touch moron.

3. Bandwagon Jumping

Through my sports-watching career, I’ve avoided the bandwagon. Only one of my favorite teams, the Green Bay Packers, won a championship in my lifetime. The Portland Trail Blazers have come close; the Oregon Ducks ended one season 2nd in the football rankings and were ushered from the 2007 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament by the Florida Gators and some overzealous refs; and the Chicago Cubs have always been the Chicago Cubs.

Until this year, that is. The Cubs are currently standing at the top of the National League. They have pitching, bats and the role-players necessary to end the curse. Many sportswriters have picked them to win it all.

And, as DJ Gallo points out, the fairweather fans are jumping on the bandwagon like it’s headed for gold out Californee way.

The worst thing is, I’m one of them.

I’ve loved the Cubs since I started loving baseball, back in the mid-80’s when the Cubs had a roster stacked with lovable stars: Ryne Sandberg, the jheri-curled Andre Dawson, a young Greg Maddux, Mark Grace and my favorite, Shawon Dunston. I’ll post a picture of Shawon any chance I get.

I loved the Cubs primarily because WGN, the Chicago-based, nationally-syndicated station which also brought a litany of mediocre sitcom reruns. Since Portland doesn’t have a team, and Portlanders are slow to cheer for anything out of Seattle, and the TNT-based Braves were boring, I followed the Cubbies.

The Cubs appeal to the common fan because of tradition. They have that great ballpark: the ivy-strewn brick wall at Wrigley sparks memories of a bygone era. Their nickname is ridiculously throwback, like the Knickerbockers and Maple Leafs. They wear classic uniforms and the iconic blue and red “C”.

But, nostalgia aside, I know I’m the worst of the Cubs fans. I might glance at the standings every once in a while, and catch a playoff game if they happen to make it that far. Since I stopped amassing baseball cards, I followed them religiously only once, and that didn’t turn out too well.

So, if the Cubs push deep into the playoffs, I’ll become the thing I hate most in sports.

To keep it real, I won’t be wearing my old dusty Cubs proback. And I’m hoping I won’t write a gushing blog entry when Lou Piniella finally lifts that weird-looking championship trophy over his rage-addled head. Now, if Shawon Dunston was still around, maybe brought on as an arm-strength coach or something, then maybe I’d be warranted.

In turn, I hope you won’t be jumping on my Blazers bandwagon next spring, when Sky Father and The Natural start slicing through the vaunted Celtics defense. I mean, you can buy the merchandise and cheer them on…just don’t start wearing Blazer throwback jerseys and bragging about how you “boycotted the Jail Blazer years”. It’s going to happen, you hear?

(This blog entry also appears at the Burnside Writers Blog.)