Is it possible that Steve Lavin is actually a good coach? The former UCLA 'golden boy,' whose uneven tenure ended in 2003 after just one losing season in seven (but no NCAA titles for the Westwood faithful ) seemed a prime candidate for the 'He who can't coach can analyze' lifetime achievement award. At least until he signed on with a mediocre, senior laden St. John's team and made them the darlings of the basketball world. Fran Fraschilla, himself a former golden boy of the St. Johns basketball program, can breathe a sigh of relief knowing his position as 'the coach who couldn't' is safe for the time being.
After Saturday's win at #19 Villanova, Lavin's bunch have stormed the upper echelon of the Big East conference, reside at #15 in the country and control their own Big East Tournament destiny. St. John's season, full of last second miracles and home-court hosannas, is a study in pluck and more than a little luck.
Entering the season the Johnnies were expected to be a middle of the pack team at best. In fact the arrival of their new coach amid much media coverage overshadowed whether the brand of basketball they played would actually be any good. In their previous campaign they had been 17-16 and 13th in the Big East and their best player, Dwight Hardy, hardly seemed like a possible Big East player of the year.
Fast forward to February 10 when the Red Storm beat then #9 Uconn, saving an exciting but disappointing season from the mediocrity this program has seemed to accept ever since Lou Carnesecca left. They then reeled off five more consecutive wins, including Hardy's last-second heroics against #4 Pitt and Saturday's shockingly easy win at 'Nova, to vault into the polls.
Sandwiched in between those two gems were a 'revenge' win at Cincinnati and an easy win against terrible DePaul in a potential 'trap' game, proving this team means business. The program is ranked for the first time in over ten years and seems intent on keeping it that way. Wins this week over hapless Seton Hall and USF would guarantee a double-bye in the Big East Tournament. Look for that to happen. Easily.
Make no mistake about it- this team is primed for the Big Time on the Big Stage, which also, at least for the conference tourney, happens to be their home court. The Big East this year is a tough, tough league. Nine of its teams have spent time in the Top 25 this season and it is not beyond the realm of possibility that, in an expanded tournament and down year for some of the other power conferences, the league will send nine or even ten teams to the Big Dance.
In an amazing display of 'power parity' there are six Big East teams ranked between #11 and #19. St. John's has as good a chance as any of them and better than most to come out of the conference tourney on top, flying high and riding a double digit win streak. They have beaten everybody they've played in the Big East except #12 Syracuse and #11 Louisville, including #8 Notre Dame and the aforementioned Panthers. They have beaten West Virginia, Cincinnati and Marquette, three teams hovering on the cusp of that tournament bubble. And lest anyone forget, in late January they handily beat a Duke team that was ranked #1 at one point this season.
From a group that lost consecutive games to St. Bonnie's and Fordham, of all schools, and had a losing record in the Big East as late as January 30, St. John's has become the giant-killing, fire-breathing Monster of Manhattan. There's a perfect storm rising and it's about to wash over Madison Square Garden.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Displaced persons continue to pursue NFL
The NFL can't wait for March Madness to begin.
In the story that just won't go away, there are now two separate groups of fans suing the league for supposed mistreatment during the Superbowl. This mistreatment? Being forced to watch the Superbowl from standing room only seats or in various stadium sports bars (with free food and drink) because their $800 seats were not completed in time for the game.
Now it's understandable that people might be upset because they weren't able to sit in the seats they paid for. But it's not like those people were turned away from the game. On the contrary, the NFL went out of it's way to fix the experience for these fans. They were even allowed on the field immediately after the game ended. Who wouldn't want to be part of that scene? I would have traded my regular seats for a chance to still watch the game with free snacks and drinks and then mingle with players and celebs on the field - what sports fan wouldn't love that chance?
So, sometimes things happen. Not even bad things, like earthquakes or murder at the Superbowl, just inconvenient things that made a once-in-a-lifetime experience a bit more memorable. None of these fans came away from the game traumatized by what happened to them. All of these fans came away with a story to tell for the rest of their lives.
Yet the real problems began when the NFL decided to "make it right" for these fans by offering them $2400 for each $800 seat they purchased. Apparently three times face value isn't enough of a payoff for some people. Especially people who still got to see the game. There were other fans who missed almost the entire first half because they were waiting in line and they only got face value refunds for their seats. Why aren't they protesting their terrible circumstance?
Perhaps because those fans didn't leave their brains in North Texas and have at least a vague understanding that sometimes life just happens.
The seat-less sufferers however, weren't buying the 'insulting' offer the NFL made. They weren't buying the next offer either; $2400 for each seat plus tickets to next year's Superbowl plus airfare and hotel accommodations. Some of them claim the offer is unfair because they can't be guaranteed their team will be in the game next year. Well? What the hell are you waiting for NFL? Get it done. Make sure these poor people, who have already seen their team in the Superbowl, get another chance.
Oh, wait. The NFL did that, offering tickets to any future Superbowl plus at least $5000 cash money (more, if you can prove expenses) for these poor, huddled masses.
The best part of this whole story is how these fans have identified themselves. Displaced persons? Really? Who exactly are we talking about here: Haitian boat people? Katrina refugees? The Jewish Diaspora? If Superbowl fans without a seat are displaced persons then I'm suing my local library every time there isn't a chair in the Adult Reading Room.
Where does something like this stop? This isn't even the fault of the lawyers for once. This is just pure, naked, All-American greed on the part of these fans. They do not come across as sympathetic victims; they come across as spoiled children. They are behaving as if they are somehow owed reparations, as if they were Soviet Russia demanding justice from Germany at the end of World War Two. They are behaving as if they have been terribly wronged and the NFL needs to be dragged before an international war crimes tribunal to make their pain 'mean something.'
Who are these people? Is this what we are, as a society?
You went to the Superbowl. You had a good time leading up to the game (and if you didn't, that's not the NFL's fault). You had a perhaps slightly uncomfortable, ultimately memorable time at the game. And you either broke even or made a profit on the experience. Oh, right, you also got free tickets, flights and rooms to the next Superbowl of your choice. Please, please don't clog up the courts with your ridiculous lawsuits. Go home, sit down, shut up and enjoy your hush-money; March Madness is just around the corner.
In the story that just won't go away, there are now two separate groups of fans suing the league for supposed mistreatment during the Superbowl. This mistreatment? Being forced to watch the Superbowl from standing room only seats or in various stadium sports bars (with free food and drink) because their $800 seats were not completed in time for the game.
Now it's understandable that people might be upset because they weren't able to sit in the seats they paid for. But it's not like those people were turned away from the game. On the contrary, the NFL went out of it's way to fix the experience for these fans. They were even allowed on the field immediately after the game ended. Who wouldn't want to be part of that scene? I would have traded my regular seats for a chance to still watch the game with free snacks and drinks and then mingle with players and celebs on the field - what sports fan wouldn't love that chance?
So, sometimes things happen. Not even bad things, like earthquakes or murder at the Superbowl, just inconvenient things that made a once-in-a-lifetime experience a bit more memorable. None of these fans came away from the game traumatized by what happened to them. All of these fans came away with a story to tell for the rest of their lives.
Yet the real problems began when the NFL decided to "make it right" for these fans by offering them $2400 for each $800 seat they purchased. Apparently three times face value isn't enough of a payoff for some people. Especially people who still got to see the game. There were other fans who missed almost the entire first half because they were waiting in line and they only got face value refunds for their seats. Why aren't they protesting their terrible circumstance?
Perhaps because those fans didn't leave their brains in North Texas and have at least a vague understanding that sometimes life just happens.
The seat-less sufferers however, weren't buying the 'insulting' offer the NFL made. They weren't buying the next offer either; $2400 for each seat plus tickets to next year's Superbowl plus airfare and hotel accommodations. Some of them claim the offer is unfair because they can't be guaranteed their team will be in the game next year. Well? What the hell are you waiting for NFL? Get it done. Make sure these poor people, who have already seen their team in the Superbowl, get another chance.
Oh, wait. The NFL did that, offering tickets to any future Superbowl plus at least $5000 cash money (more, if you can prove expenses) for these poor, huddled masses.
The best part of this whole story is how these fans have identified themselves. Displaced persons? Really? Who exactly are we talking about here: Haitian boat people? Katrina refugees? The Jewish Diaspora? If Superbowl fans without a seat are displaced persons then I'm suing my local library every time there isn't a chair in the Adult Reading Room.
Where does something like this stop? This isn't even the fault of the lawyers for once. This is just pure, naked, All-American greed on the part of these fans. They do not come across as sympathetic victims; they come across as spoiled children. They are behaving as if they are somehow owed reparations, as if they were Soviet Russia demanding justice from Germany at the end of World War Two. They are behaving as if they have been terribly wronged and the NFL needs to be dragged before an international war crimes tribunal to make their pain 'mean something.'
Who are these people? Is this what we are, as a society?
You went to the Superbowl. You had a good time leading up to the game (and if you didn't, that's not the NFL's fault). You had a perhaps slightly uncomfortable, ultimately memorable time at the game. And you either broke even or made a profit on the experience. Oh, right, you also got free tickets, flights and rooms to the next Superbowl of your choice. Please, please don't clog up the courts with your ridiculous lawsuits. Go home, sit down, shut up and enjoy your hush-money; March Madness is just around the corner.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Clash of the Methuselahs
I'll admit I'm not much of a fan of the NBA these days. I stopped watching most regular season games around the time I realized it wasn't really that important to me whether Tim Duncan could win without David Robinson (apparently he can). Not to mention the simple fact that any NBA game worth watching is only worth watching for the last five minutes or so. Or that it seems pretty much every team gets into the playoffs, just like the good 'ol NHL. Of course hockey's playoffs are better but I will admit even the interminable NBA playoffs are good TV. I just don't have the patience to watch what I think of as "bad" basketball for the six-month regular season
And that's OK. If I start feeling nostalgic for "my" NBA I can always pop in a DVD of the 80's Celtics, Lakers or Pistons; the 90's Bulls, Rockets or Knicks (I still feel bad for Pat Ewing and Sir Charles) or the Ought's Spurs. ESPN Classic sometimes shows some pretty darn good games too.
I'll leave the NBA and its current cast of Dwight Howard, Derrick Rose, Kevin Durant, Melo and The King to those who want to follow them.
So imagine my pleasant surprise last night when I stumbled across TNT's Dallas Mavericks/ Phoenix Suns match-up. It was like being transported to a magical arena where players play for as long as they want and the ravages of time (not to mention injuries) seemed not to matter. Now I know there are plenty of players who hang around the NBA way past their prime but to have so many assembled in one place and still playing like they were in their prime (well, maybe not Grant Hill so much but I'm just happy he can still walk) seemed to me nothing short of miraculous.
Some of the Methuselahs on the court last night would have made Brett Favre proud (if Favre could be proud of anything these days). Jason Kidd is practically my age and I went to Greg Kite's basketball camp as a teenager. I thought Kidd was still a Net. Hell, I thought the Nets retired his number. Actually what I really thought was that poor Kevin Johnson was probably wondering how the young guy who carried his bags was still in the league. Jason Kidd played against Michael (in Michael's first time around), Hakeem, Barkley and The Mailman. Most of Kidd's younger teammates only know Barkley as a bad gambler but worse golfer. Or would except they're all pretty old themselves.
It only seems like Kidd's a rookie compared to Grant Hill; they're actually pretty close in age. Most NBA followers will tell you Hill lost a lot off his game due to injuries. Yeah, he sprained his back helping Naismith hang the peach baskets. Seriously, though, Grant Hill played at Duke only a few years after Danny Ferry, who himself played only a few years after Dick Groat.
Steve Nash and his hair have been around almost as long. Nash is Canadian so he looks and acts younger than he really is, a by-product of stress-free socialized medicine while he was growing up but he's actually been in the league so long that ESPN voted him the Ninth Best Point Guard of All Time, an award that came with a lifetime supply of Icy Hot, presented to him by fellow octogenarian Shaq. He's been in the league for so long that ESPN felt the need to put him on an all-time list while he's still playing which probably says more about the network than Nash himself.
Poor Vince Carter and Dirk Nowitzki. They're almost too young for this conversation. Almost. I remember when Vince was a dunking machine but I'm not sure he does anymore. Back when he was a Toronto Raptor Vince was diagnosed with "Jumper's Knee" which is a nice way of saying "You're getting too old for all that dunking." Dirk is still young enough to be considered in his prime despite all his injuries but old enough to be considered damaged goods despite still being in his prime. Dirk's actually playing at a near-MVP level right now, pretty impressive for a guy who just a month ago seemed ready to head to the local Denny's to fill out his AARP application.
The Mavericks, at least, apparently felt that Dirk and Jason needed some old friends to help them out; Peja Stojakovic, Jason Terry, Deshawn Stevenson (DeShawn Stevenson!) and Brian Cardinal (Brian Cardinal!!) all have ten or more years in the league. Tyson Chandler only has nine years in the league; it just seems longer because he entered the draft straight out of middle school and then decided to play for every team in the league at least once.
I certainly don't mean to demean these guys or their accomplishments. This is more about my own perceptions of the passage of time as viewed through the sporting filter. I guess those who watch the present are occasionally doomed to see the past, in all it's receding hairline, knee-braced glory. Carry on old-timers- I'll be rooting for you all the way. To the trainer's table, most likely, but still rooting for those who would continue to sprint and leap ahead of that final two-minute warning.
And that's OK. If I start feeling nostalgic for "my" NBA I can always pop in a DVD of the 80's Celtics, Lakers or Pistons; the 90's Bulls, Rockets or Knicks (I still feel bad for Pat Ewing and Sir Charles) or the Ought's Spurs. ESPN Classic sometimes shows some pretty darn good games too.
I'll leave the NBA and its current cast of Dwight Howard, Derrick Rose, Kevin Durant, Melo and The King to those who want to follow them.
So imagine my pleasant surprise last night when I stumbled across TNT's Dallas Mavericks/ Phoenix Suns match-up. It was like being transported to a magical arena where players play for as long as they want and the ravages of time (not to mention injuries) seemed not to matter. Now I know there are plenty of players who hang around the NBA way past their prime but to have so many assembled in one place and still playing like they were in their prime (well, maybe not Grant Hill so much but I'm just happy he can still walk) seemed to me nothing short of miraculous.
Some of the Methuselahs on the court last night would have made Brett Favre proud (if Favre could be proud of anything these days). Jason Kidd is practically my age and I went to Greg Kite's basketball camp as a teenager. I thought Kidd was still a Net. Hell, I thought the Nets retired his number. Actually what I really thought was that poor Kevin Johnson was probably wondering how the young guy who carried his bags was still in the league. Jason Kidd played against Michael (in Michael's first time around), Hakeem, Barkley and The Mailman. Most of Kidd's younger teammates only know Barkley as a bad gambler but worse golfer. Or would except they're all pretty old themselves.
It only seems like Kidd's a rookie compared to Grant Hill; they're actually pretty close in age. Most NBA followers will tell you Hill lost a lot off his game due to injuries. Yeah, he sprained his back helping Naismith hang the peach baskets. Seriously, though, Grant Hill played at Duke only a few years after Danny Ferry, who himself played only a few years after Dick Groat.
Steve Nash and his hair have been around almost as long. Nash is Canadian so he looks and acts younger than he really is, a by-product of stress-free socialized medicine while he was growing up but he's actually been in the league so long that ESPN voted him the Ninth Best Point Guard of All Time, an award that came with a lifetime supply of Icy Hot, presented to him by fellow octogenarian Shaq. He's been in the league for so long that ESPN felt the need to put him on an all-time list while he's still playing which probably says more about the network than Nash himself.
Poor Vince Carter and Dirk Nowitzki. They're almost too young for this conversation. Almost. I remember when Vince was a dunking machine but I'm not sure he does anymore. Back when he was a Toronto Raptor Vince was diagnosed with "Jumper's Knee" which is a nice way of saying "You're getting too old for all that dunking." Dirk is still young enough to be considered in his prime despite all his injuries but old enough to be considered damaged goods despite still being in his prime. Dirk's actually playing at a near-MVP level right now, pretty impressive for a guy who just a month ago seemed ready to head to the local Denny's to fill out his AARP application.
The Mavericks, at least, apparently felt that Dirk and Jason needed some old friends to help them out; Peja Stojakovic, Jason Terry, Deshawn Stevenson (DeShawn Stevenson!) and Brian Cardinal (Brian Cardinal!!) all have ten or more years in the league. Tyson Chandler only has nine years in the league; it just seems longer because he entered the draft straight out of middle school and then decided to play for every team in the league at least once.
I certainly don't mean to demean these guys or their accomplishments. This is more about my own perceptions of the passage of time as viewed through the sporting filter. I guess those who watch the present are occasionally doomed to see the past, in all it's receding hairline, knee-braced glory. Carry on old-timers- I'll be rooting for you all the way. To the trainer's table, most likely, but still rooting for those who would continue to sprint and leap ahead of that final two-minute warning.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Proofreading Blunders: Poor Bill Bryson
I don't claim to be perfect when it comes to matters of proofreading and editing. I don't think anybody does or can any more, even the venerable Times. Just Google am or pm (or AM or PM) someday to see how many varieties of common usage appear acceptable. Language is an ever-morphing conceit and yesterday's consensus might be tomorrow's red flag. I still think, however, there's a place in this world for the Grammar Police (Thank you, Lynne Truss). I just live in a bit of trepidation that they might set their sights on me.
I'll admit as well that I don't hold everyone to the same standards; I wouldn't expect the local Baptist church bulletin to be edited with the same zeal as The Encyclopedia Brittanica. That's why Seeing Further, a recent "history" of The Royal Society edited by the inimitable Bill Bryson is so frustrating.
This is serious subject matter, encompassing as it does the birth of the scientific method and the enlightened advancement of human thought. And Bryson, for all his witticisms and gentle chicanery in previous books, is a serious student of both science and the English language, as evinced by his previous books A Short History of Nearly Everything and Mother Tongue and Made In America, both of which trace the evolution of our language.
So it's quite a shock to catch some of the appalling mistakes printed in this otherwise fascinating book. To use only one abject example here, in Margaret Atwood's essay on Swiftian influence upon the "mad scientist" genre, there is a discussion of the concurrent smallpox epidemics that broke out in London and Boston in 1721. Cotton Mather, of all people, worked in concert with Dr. Zabdiel Boylston, to arrest the epidemic through inoculation. Apparently Dr. Boylston knew a little bit more about human physiology than he let on because according to the proofreaders and editors of Seeing Further the good doctor visited the Royal Society in 1826 to read a paper on his findings, more than one hundred years after the epidemic. It would seem Dr. Boylston had quite a good memory as well.
Perhaps we shouldn't really pick on Bill Bryson and his assistants; grammatical and spelling errors occur all the time, right? But honestly, what about content and context? There's just no good reason why such a glaring factual error should have made it into print, especially in such a book as this.
This is the kind of thing that drives this gentle reader absolutely over the edge precisely because it should have been caught. And it's the kind of thing that will be commented upon, here, every time it happens. And, yes, nowadays it's considered acceptable to start a sentence with a conjunction. Mostly.
I'll admit as well that I don't hold everyone to the same standards; I wouldn't expect the local Baptist church bulletin to be edited with the same zeal as The Encyclopedia Brittanica. That's why Seeing Further, a recent "history" of The Royal Society edited by the inimitable Bill Bryson is so frustrating.
This is serious subject matter, encompassing as it does the birth of the scientific method and the enlightened advancement of human thought. And Bryson, for all his witticisms and gentle chicanery in previous books, is a serious student of both science and the English language, as evinced by his previous books A Short History of Nearly Everything and Mother Tongue and Made In America, both of which trace the evolution of our language.
So it's quite a shock to catch some of the appalling mistakes printed in this otherwise fascinating book. To use only one abject example here, in Margaret Atwood's essay on Swiftian influence upon the "mad scientist" genre, there is a discussion of the concurrent smallpox epidemics that broke out in London and Boston in 1721. Cotton Mather, of all people, worked in concert with Dr. Zabdiel Boylston, to arrest the epidemic through inoculation. Apparently Dr. Boylston knew a little bit more about human physiology than he let on because according to the proofreaders and editors of Seeing Further the good doctor visited the Royal Society in 1826 to read a paper on his findings, more than one hundred years after the epidemic. It would seem Dr. Boylston had quite a good memory as well.
Perhaps we shouldn't really pick on Bill Bryson and his assistants; grammatical and spelling errors occur all the time, right? But honestly, what about content and context? There's just no good reason why such a glaring factual error should have made it into print, especially in such a book as this.
This is the kind of thing that drives this gentle reader absolutely over the edge precisely because it should have been caught. And it's the kind of thing that will be commented upon, here, every time it happens. And, yes, nowadays it's considered acceptable to start a sentence with a conjunction. Mostly.
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