How To Fix The NFL

The NFL is considering changing some rules in order to prevent "devastating hits" on its players. I believe this was exacerbated by the terrible injury suffered by Rutgers football player Eric LeGrand on Saturday. LeGrand suffered a spinal cord injury and is currently paralyzed from the neck down. I have some thoughts on all this.

First, in the interest of complete disclosure, I'm a football coach in Texas where football is king. Having "admitted" this, my views might surprise you. I have no problem with punishing a player who launches himself at another player and leads with his head. This is dangerous and borderline criminal behavior. I feel there are some other things that are not getting a lot of attention that could, and should, be done if protecting players is truly a priority to the league.

First, coaches need to actually teach and insist on proper tackling techniques. We teach our kids to ALWAYS "see what you hit." This keeps the tackler from ducking his head and leading with the crown of his helmet. This protects both tackler and ball carrier. This, seemingly, is not emphasized by the NFL coaches. Besides making the league safer it would improve tackling in the league, which is currently absolutely pitiful. The terrible injury suffered by Eric LeGrand came as a direct result of his lowering his head and hitting the ball carrier with the crown of his helmet. Some players are going to be injured even when they use proper technique to make a tackle; however, I strongly feel that if LeGrand had kept his eyes up and was seeing who he was about to hit he would not have suffered a catastrophic injury.

Second, in regard to preventing concussions and head injuries, coaches and trainers need to actually fit the helmets on these players properly. A football helmet is not made to be comfortable. It is meant to be a protective device. I have never seen so many helmets flying off players as I have the last two years. It is ridiculous. In 15 years of coaching I have never had a players helmet fly off his head. NEVER. I realize the NFL players are bigger and faster and this needs to be factored into the equation but the fact is these player's helmets are bouncing around on their heads and far too loose-fitting. This is dangerous as an ill-fitting helmet is almost like not wearing one at all.

Third, and this deals with protecting quarterbacks specifically, get rid of the rule against intentional grounding. This would allow a QB to be proactive and protect himself. If the QB throws the ball away he has already surrendered a down. That is penalty enough as those downs are incredibly valuable. This would take the onus off of the officials to make some sort of judgment call as to whether the hit was too hard, high, low, or late.

I really feel that many of the issues football is dealing with now could be alleviated by paying attention to these three areas. Fines and suspensions are not going to do it.

Turning Back the Clock at Turnberry

This past weekend I was riveted to my television, even more than usual, as this year's British Open unfolded. For the second year in a row there would be no Tiger sightings on the weekend. Last year, you will recall, Woods stayed home as he was recuperating from major knee surgery. This year he simply stunk it up on Saturday and failed to make the cut. The executives over at ABC/ESPN would have been dropping Titleists in their shorts had it not been for Tom Watson. Watson, you see, at 59 years old, was THE story and saved the ratings and the tournament by making an historic run at the British Open title.

Watson may be the best links golfer of all time. Coming into this year's tournament he had already won 5 British Open titles along with 3 Senior British Open championships. The guy knows how to play these seaside courses. Watson shot an opening round 65 and led after each of the first three rounds. Watson was a bit shaky on Sunday but needed only to par the final hole to win the championship. However, it was not to be. Watson's second shot trickled over the green and he was unable to get up and down for par. The bogey put Watson into a four-hole playoff with Stewart Cink. The air seemed to have left Watson's sails by this time and Cink easily defeated him in the playoff.

Watson's success, as a 59 year-old man, in this year's British Open, led to some interesting discussion. Many feel the fact that a man nearly ready for social security can still play golf at the highest level somehow diminishes golf as a sport. His success, after Greg Norman's unlikely run at the same title last year as a 50+ year-old has made the British Open laughable, in their opinion. How could it truly be golf at its highest level if an old man can compete with the best young players in the world? Could a 59 year-old come back and play in the NBA? No. The NFL? No. Major League Baseball? Of course not. It all goes to show, in their minds, that golf is not a real sport.

I could not disagree more. In fact, I think the fact that Tom Watson could have, indeed should have, won illustrates that golf is a great game and sport. Maybe the best of them all. Golf is as much mental as physical. Tom Watson not only outplayed the younger guys, he out thought them too. He had a plan and executed it to perfection for 71 holes. It shows that on most courses you don't have to be able to hit the ball 350 yards off the tee to complete. Hit it in the fairway, be able to hit a variety of approach shots, avoid the big mistake, and putt well and you have a chance. Tiger has a great mind and laser-like intensity. However, when he can't overpower a golf course with his length off the tee he struggles. It is why he avoids tournaments like the Byron Nelson and the Colonial. These tournaments are played on courses that demand accuracy. They don't play to his strengths so he avoids them. I feel like that there are a lot more of us out there who hit the ball 250-275 yards off the tee than hit the ball 350 yards like Tiger. That is what made it so interesting and so much fun to root for Tom Watson this weekend.

All of us who play the game recreationally can learn a lot from Watson. If we stay in decent shape and think our way around a course we can play this game well for a long time. That is what makes the game of golf so great.

A Blast From The Past

I unearthed some old photos of my high school basketball days and thought I would post them here for laughs. It is a nostalgic look back at a time when shorts were short, socks were high, and hair was big. I am #44 in all the photos.

By the way, the giant guy in the bottom photo is Tito Horford. Tito played in the NBA for a couple of years before playing several more seasons overseas. Tito is best known, however, as the father of Al Horford. Al Horford won two national championships at Florida and is now playing for the Atlanta Hawks.

Goodbye to the Quiet Man

I lost a basketball game today. No, not the team I coach. Neither was it a recreation or church league team with which I was playing. Nope, it was a one on one game. No lousy teammates to blame and no inept officials. Depressingly, there is simply no one to blame but myself. What is the big deal you may be asking? I lost to an 8th grader. Granted, he is a very gifted 8th grader but he is an 8th grader nonetheless. To understand why I’m so upset you will have to travel back with me quite a few years.

Competitive basketball has been part of my life since I was in 3rd grade. I started playing for a YMCA team and never looked back. I wasn’t particularly good that first year. I was tall and thin (ok, skinny and weak) and wasn’t exactly a scoring machine. My feet were big and didn’t seem to be proportional to the rest of my toothpick body. Try to imagine Shelley Duvall in clown shoes loping down the court and you get the general idea as to my appearance. I got better though. In 4th grade I made the Little Dribbler’s All-Star Team. I still didn’t score a lot but I had started to get some fundamentals like boxing out and using the backboard down. Our little All-Star team traveled to Livingston, Texas for a tournament one weekend. We played two games and, to be honest, I don’t remember if we won one of them or not. I do remember getting a nice hand from the crowd when I was taken out of the contest late in the fourth quarter of our second game. I hadn’t scored much but had played pretty well defensively and grabbed quite a few rebounds. I remember thinking it was pretty cool that those folks were clapping for me.

My first two years in junior high I played behind a big fat guy named Joey. He wasn’t very good but was tall and strong. I remember thinking I should be playing in front of that tub of goo. My coach didn’t see it that way, however. My game was sound and my skills probably were better than Joey’s. However, I was not an aggressive player and didn’t have a lot of confidence in myself. So, I lived the life of a second stringer for the mighty Bullpups my 7th and 8th grade year. Something changed my freshman year. I matured a good bit physically but it was more than that. Suddenly, I began to understand the game. I could anticipate when someone was going to break open or where a rebound was likely to carom after it hit the rim. The game slowed down for me. Big fat Joey would never play in front of me again.

As a sophomore I led our J.V. team in scoring and really started to come into my own as a player. Things only got better my junior year as I started for the varsity of my 5A high school. I will never forget my first varsity game. We played Bridge City at home. I scored 19 points and played really well. The next day this tall drink of water named Dana stopped me in the parking lot on my way into school. She asked, “Are you number 44?" I nodded. She smiled a big smile and said, “You’re really good.” She winked at me, spun around, and sashayed her pretty little self into the building. It was then I began to suspect that this basketball thing might have some fringe benefits I had not yet considered. My high school career turned out to be a very good one. We weren’t very good but I led our team in scoring, rebounding, free-throw percentage, and, unfortunately, technical fouls each year. I made All-District twice and got some attention from the local papers. One local reporter even gave me a nickname. He called me the "Quiet Man". He wrote that I didn't woof and trash talk like so many other players but, instead, just went about the business of playing hard quietly. It wasn't the best nickname but it was mine. I really had a lot of fun playing in high school.

I did manage to play a little in college but was hampered by injuries. I had never really been hurt before but once I injured my right knee in a pick up game during the summer between my senior year in high school and my freshman year of college I was never the same. Something always hurt and I just couldn’t stay healthy. I finally hung it up and worked as a student assistant for two years. Once out of school, I began coaching.

I’ve coached for years now and from time to time I will play a pick up game with one of the kids. They have always seemed to enjoy it and many is the time I would play 7-8 games in a row against kids who were lined up to take their best shot. Never in all my years of doing this had I lost to one of them. Not once. Then today it finally happened. As I’ve mentioned already, this young man is extremely gifted. He is a full inch taller than I am (I’m 6’3”) and probably twenty-five pounds lighter. He is quick as a cat and destined to be better than I ever even thought about being. Still, he is only an 8th grader. I had a chance to win but this time my last shot, launched from a base of two very heavy legs, came up short. He rebounded and scored for the win. It was a battle and he was breathing just as hard as I was when it was over but he had won. I had lost.

I know in the grand scheme of things it isn’t a big deal. It was just a pick-up game of one on one. He probably won’t even remember this day a couple of years from now. Yet, as I think about how he was mobbed by his teammates, who had stayed after practice to watch us play, and the huge grin he had on his face, I wonder if I’m wrong about that. Please don't misunderstand me. I’m quite proud of the young man. He’s a great kid. Despite how all this may sound, I’m really not in some sort of huge funk. However, something did change today for me. Some sort of milestone in my life was reached. I’ve got a feeling my days as the best player on the floor whenever I play a pick-up game are over. It was inevitable, I suppose. As of today, I’m no longer a good player but, instead, a good player for my age. I’m now in good condition for a 42 year old instead of just being in good condition. I now come with a caveat. Will that young man remember today? Maybe. Will I? Yes, I will remember.

My best…

The House That Ruth Built

This weekend will mark the end of something special. Sunday, the New York Yankees will host the Baltimore Orioles in what will be the final game ever played in “The House That Ruth Built”. After the ballgame this Sunday, the lights will dim for the last time and the sun will set on an iconic sports cathedral.

Yankee Stadium was completed in 1923 and was something of a wonder. It was the first triple decked stadium in the country. The extra seats were necessary to accommodate the throngs that clamored to the park to see Babe Ruth hit. Fittingly, Mr. Ruth connected on that April 23 opening day to become the first player to homer in this soon to be historic venue. On hand that day were baseball commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, New York Governor Al Smith, and thousands of fans decked out in topcoats and fedoras. Baseball history was made that day and would continue to be made over the next eight decades.

Yankee stadium hosted many major sporting events over the years. Joe Louis knocked out Max Schmeling here in 1938. Alan Ameche scored in overtime to lead the Baltimore Colts to an NFL championship over the New York Giants in 1958, in what many call the greatest football game ever, at Yankee Stadium. Chuck Bednarik of the Philadelphia Eagles nearly killed Frank Gifford there, knocking him out cold, in 1960. Ken Norton and Muhammad Ali battled there in 1976. Pele helped popularize soccer in 1977 when he came to play for the Cosmos, who called Yankee Stadium home.

However, it is the success of the Yankees and their many great players that have truly made Yankee Stadium unique among stadiums. This is where Ruth hit his 60th home run in 1927, Roger Maris his 61st in 1961, and Alex Rodriguez his 500th in 2007. This is where the legendary Mickey Mantle came within a foot of being the only player to hit a fair ball completely out of the stadium when his monster home run off of Kansas City’s Bill Fischer hit the right field façade, 110 feet above field level, in 1963. It was here, at Yankee Stadium, that Reggie Jackson hit three home runs on three consecutive Los Angeles Dodger pitches in the 1977 World Series. Don Larsen pitched a perfect game in Game 5 of the 1956 World Series against the Brooklyn Dodgers from the Yankee Stadium mound. Perhaps, the two most famous and bitter-sweet moments were Lou Gehrig’s “luckiest man on the face of the earth” speech in 1939 and Babe Ruth’s farewell address eight years later.

To think of the greats that called Yankee Stadium home is to take a trip down the Yankee wing of the baseball hall of fame. Tony Lazzeri, Joe DiMaggio, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Mickey Mantle, Lou Gehrig, Babe Ruth, Reggie Jackson, Catfish Hunter, Goose Gossage, Dave Winfield, and Wade Boggs come to mind along with personal favorites Thurman Munson, Ron Guidry, Don Mattingly, Bernie Williams, Graig Nettles, and Dave Righetti. Future hall of famers like Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera, Roger Clemens, and Alex Rodriguez have graced the playing field in recent years. Twenty-six world championships were won in Yankee Stadium's eight decades of life.

It is true that the old Yankee Stadium has been gone for many years. The place has been extensively remodeled twice over the years. Yet despite changes in appearance, you could sit in the stands and look upon the very spot where Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, or Mickey Mantle stood. It was something special to gaze upon Monument Park and relive the memories of great Yankees players and managers past. True baseball royalty called this place home. Going to a game at Minute Maid Park or Bank One Park just isn’t the same sort of experience.

I was fortunate enough to get to see a game at Yankee Stadium a couple of years ago. To see a game there had been on my “to do before I die” list since I was a kid. I saw a great inter-league game between the Yankees and San Diego Padres. It was a very well played pitcher’s duel the Yankees won 3-2. The winning run was manufactured in classic fashion. Derek Jeter singled, stole second, was sacrificed to third, and driven home via a sacrifice fly. Ironically, no home runs were hit that afternoon. It didn’t matter. It was a glorious day for me. I grinned like an idiot the entire day. I did see, however, that Yankee Stadium was dying. Concrete was crumbling, some seats were in bad shape, and the concourses smelled bad. While I’m sad that Yankee Stadium will be gone soon, I saw that a new stadium was badly needed.

It is true that “The House That Ruth Built” will soon be gone but the franchise that Ruth led to relevancy will remain. It is sad that this year’s team will miss the playoffs. Yankee Stadium will not go out with a bang but with a whimper. It deserves better. Life doesn’t always serve up a fairy tale ending, however. Not even for twenty -six time world champions. Hopefully, the ghosts of Yankee Stadium are only in hibernation and not truly dead. Maybe, just maybe, they will find their way across 161st street to the new Yankee Stadium. I hope so.

My best…

Goodbye to The Bear

Don Haskins died last week. His passing did receive some media attention but not much. It received so little attention, in fact, that I did not find out about his passing until today. It is true that it has been 42 years since Haskins changed this country forever. That is a long time to be sure but for his death to receive only a 30 second blurb on the evening news is a travesty. What’s that? Who was Don Haskins? If you don’t know don’t feel too bad. You are far from alone. Allow me to enlighten you, if only a bit. Don (The Bear) Haskins was, depending on who you ask, a grumpy S.O.B., a compassionate soul who helped those less fortunate and stayed true to those who were loyal to him, a champion for civil rights, an exploiter of black athletes, or, simply, one of the greatest basketball coaches of all time.

Don Haskins grew up in Enid, Oklahoma in the 1940s. He was a basketball junkie. A gym rat who loved the game. He loved the game so much, in fact, that he shot baskets on one end of his high school gym while his senior prom was being held on the other end. Haskins loved the game so much that he became one of the best players in the state of Oklahoma and was invited to play for the legendary Henry Iba at Oklahoma A&M (now Oklahoma State). He loved the game so much that he played almost daily on a public court in Government Springs Park against a young black man named Herman Carr. It was here, playing against Carr, something he was not supposed to be doing, that the groundwork for Haskin’s philosophy on race was laid down. Being called one of the best players in the state and getting a college scholarship seemed a bit hollow once Haskins realized there was a guy right across town who might be better than he was who would never get the opportunity to play college ball. Haskins once said, “I remember thinking how unfair it was that this guy couldn’t play. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any equality back then.” That would be the closest thing to a social commentary you would ever get out of The Bear. His actions, however, spoke volumes.

Haskins arrived in El Paso to coach the Texas Western (now UTEP) Miners and stayed 38 years. He won a lot of games, 719 to be exact. It is one game, however, for which he is most remembered. That game was the 1966 NCAA championship game where Haskin’s Miners took on the mighty Kentucky Wildcats and their legendary coach, Adolph Rupp. Haskins and the Miners beat Rupp and the Wildcats that night 72-65 in a huge upset. What was most notable, however, was not the final score but the lineup Haskins put on the floor that night. Haskins started five black players against the all white Kentucky team. His top two reserves were also black. This was the first time an all black starting lineup appeared in an NCAA game. He wasn’t trying to make any kind of statement. “I just wanted to win the game, “ he said.

The aftermath of that championship game was very hard on Haskins. He received more than 40,000 pieces of hate mail and over a dozen death threats including one particularly disturbing one the following year while the Miners were in Dallas to play SMU. The letter simply promised, “I’m gonna shoot your nigger-loving ass.” This particular threat was taken so seriously that Haskins and school officials notified the FBI. As the miners gathered up before the game one of the players kept running around the huddle. Haskins asked him what he was doing and the player replied simply, “A moving target is harder to hit.” So it went for Haskins for years after the 1966 national championship.

Don Haskins opened the door for black athletes. Opportunities and scholarships became much more available to these kids after Texas Western’s historic victory. He, intentionally or not, blew through a roadblock and opened up a path that has led to some of the racial diversity you see in collegiate athletics today. Would this have happened eventually without Haskins all black starting five? No doubt, yes. Eventually, some coach would have screwed up his courage and done the same thing. The fact is, however, that Don Haskins was the one who did it first. For that he deserves our respect.

So, now you know who Don (The Bear) Haskins was and what he was all about. If you want to know more you can watch the 2006 movie based on that 1966 championship season called “Glory Road”. It is a pretty good movie and is faithful to how that season played out. The Bear, however, was probably embarrassed by the attention. After all, he “Just wanted to win the game.” Rest well, Coach.

My best…

Whiffle Ball Wars

As a P.E. teacher/coach, one of the activities I most look forward to during the school year is the annual whiffle ball unit. My enthusiasm stems partially from a life long love of the game of baseball. However, the main reason I love the whiffle ball unit is that it takes me back to the summers of my youth when my two brothers, our friend Erik, and I would wage many a whiffle ball war in our front yard. I played organized baseball as a kid, of course. I went from Pee Wee League, to Little League, to Babe Ruth League ball. While I was successful and enjoyed my time in these leagues, I don’t think I ever enjoyed the game more than when the four of us got together and battled with that plastic bat and ball in the yard.

We didn’t start out playing whiffle ball. We had played ball using real bats and a tennis ball in a vacant lot down the block from our house. It was really a great set up until some greedy contractor had the nerve to build a house on that lot. I still remember the morning we walked down to play and saw that foundation work had begun. This is still a sensitive topic in my family. Whenever it is mentioned, if you look closely at my brother Greg, you can see tears welling up in his eyes. Poor Erik wore black for weeks he was so upset. It is rumored that he toyed with a voodoo doll that looked a lot like the contractor responsible but to no avail. Each of us still makes it a point to spit in that yard whenever we are in the old neighborhood.

Fortunately, we discovered whiffle ball. A whiffle ball is a baseball sized plastic ball that has a lot of holes in it. It looks just like those practice golf balls only bigger. The great thing about it is it won’t fly too far making it ideal for smaller areas like a gym or our front yard. We couldn’t really play true baseball as there were only two people per team but we adapted our rules and came up with a true hybrid game. Balls that were fair and hit the ground were ruled singles, balls that landed fair and rolled across the driveway were doubles, balls that landed fair and then rolled into the street and along the curb were triples, and balls that cleared the driveway on the fly were homers. Any ball caught in the air was an out. A batter could also be put out by tagging him with the ball, or hitting him with a thrown ball, before he reached base. We enjoyed this violent aspect of the game immensely. We also had to employ the ever popular “ghost runner” quite a bit.

My brother Steve was the best pitcher. He didn’t throw hard but could make that whiffle ball dance and dart like you couldn’t believe. He would not only strike you out but embarrass you as well. I remember once taking a mighty swing at what must have been a screwball. It looked like a strike until it broke sharply into my body. You haven’t been humiliated until you strike out swinging at a ball that ends up hitting you in the crotch. That, my friends, is pain on several different levels.

We took these games very seriously. We would keep stats and standings and the losers would endure a lot of trash talking. We even wore those plastic MLB batting helmet replicas. It was probably cute for a while but it got a little embarrassing as we entered late junior high and early high school. We would keep a sharp eye out for anyone coming down the street that we knew (especially girls). If we saw anyone coming we would “take a break” and get out of sight until the interlopers passed. Despite the potential for social catastrophe that was always present when we donned the plastic helmets and went to battle with the plastic ball and bat we kept it up until I (the oldest) was a junior in high school. Were we nerds? A thousand times yes. Would I love to go back just one more time to get another crack at Steve’s breaking ball? A thousand times yes, again.

I came across two of my old plastic batting helmets in the attic a couple of weeks ago. I will admit to you that I tried them on. I didn’t have a mirror up there but I knew I looked good. For just a moment I was back with the guys waiting for that one fat pitch that I could deposit over the driveway for a homerun. Then my wife called to me from the garage below. I quickly removed the helmet before she saw me wearing it. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed, I just, like in the old days, needed to “take a break”.

My best…

Here Wie Go Again

The star-crossed career of Michelle Wie has taken another bizarre turn this week. The 18 year old has accepted a sponsor’s exemption to play in the Legends Reno-Tahoe Open, a men’s PGA event, this week. What’s the big deal, you say? Wie has, after all, played in men’s events before. What makes this a bit different is that she is skipping an LPGA major in order to play with the guys this time around.

The Women’s British Open will be played this week and it seems some of the ladies on the LPGA don’t appreciate Wie’s blowing off one of their four biggest events of the year in order to play with the boys. Annika Sorenstam, an 11 time major champion and winner of 73 LPGA events, said that if Wie couldn’t qualify for this weeks’ ladies event she didn’t have any business playing against the guys. David Leadbetter coached Wie for years and said that she has a lot more to lose than gain by playing against the men at this stage in her career and faults her parents for steering her in the wrong direction.

The gents on the PGA tour seem ambivalent about Wie’s participation in this weeks’ event. David Duval said Wie’s attempts to play with the men, “has never bothered me in the least.” Though he did add, “I’m not sure the PGA Tour is the place to gain confidence. You can get your head beat in pretty quick out there.” Scott McCarron added, “I think it is great. It’s creating a lot of buzz for the tournament.”

McCarron’s comments actually get right to the heart of why Wie has been invited to play this week. The Legends Reno-Tahoe Open is, to be blunt, a second tier PGA event. The top 50 players in the world will all be playing in the World Golf Championships in Ohio this week. The highest ranked player participating this week is Ben Crane at #87 in the world. This is not a great recipe for high television ratings. The solution? Invite the one time phenom Wie. This creates instant buzz and controversy, generates interest, and might, just might, get some viewers to check out a tournament they would not care about otherwise. This is a move that has very little down side for the tournament sponsors. It is true that Wie’s attempts to play with the men have lost their novelty. However, it just may work one more time as the second tier field gives Wie her best shot at actually making a PGA cut. If not, it certainly won’t hurt the ratings.

Wie, herself, seems unconcerned with the criticism. She said, “All I’m thinking about is trying to play good golf.” I guess that is fair enough. However, I feel Wie needs to first establish herself on the LPGA tour before trying to mix it up with the boys. She has, or at least had, the potential to be one of the great women golfers of our time. Hopefully, she will realize this and get back to competing against the ladies. Otherwise, Wie could find herself playing the part of the Washington Generals to the PGA men’s Globetrotters on a regular basis. I would hate to think someone as gifted as Wie would squander her talents as a mere novelty act. Hopefully, somebody in the Wie family will visit the Wizard and get a brain. Otherwise, Michelle Wie may forever be remembered for what might have been.

The Ballad of "Baggy"

Coaching middle school boys is…well, very different than coaching high school boys. My main duties as a middle school coach are to teach solid fundamentals and do all I can to keep as many boys as possible in the program. I’m expected to send as many players as I can up to the high school football team. The theory is that the more kids they have to pick from, the more good athletes they will be able to find. It makes sense if you think about it and it is good for me as it lessens the pressure to win every game on the middle school level. The drawback is that I’m expected to keep pretty much everybody. It is true that some kids who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time in middle school will blossom into good athletes in high school. However, I’ve found that 99.9% of the time a middle school spaz will grow into a high school spaz. This is the true story of one of those kids I had to endure knowing full well he would never play a down in high school.

“Baggy”, the nickname his fellow students bestowed upon him, was actually kind of a cute kid. He was very short and pudgy. He wore round glasses with black frames that made him look like a cross between an owl and Harry Potter (Sort of a mini Larry King). The lenses were very thick. The kid had the eyesight of a mole. He was a very poor athlete and, possibly, the slowest kid I’ve ever coached. I could have timed his forty yard dash with a sundial. The other kids picked on “Baggy” unmercifully. They were terrible to him. I don’t think a day went by that somebody didn’t pull “Baggy’s” underwear up to his neck. I really felt bad for him and tried to protect him as best I could. Then a funny thing happened. I realized that “Baggy” was a horrible little kid. He was rude, obnoxious, crude, and a general dill weed. The other kids didn’t pick on him because he was some little helpless nerd. They were just retaliating for some terrible thing “Baggy” had said to them.

As the season went on I still had to protect “Baggy”. This kid could not keep his mouth shut and all my other players wanted to kill him. I was often tempted to put “Baggy” into some sort of practice drill where he would get what was coming to him, but I didn’t. I’d like to say it was my superior morality that prevented me from doing this but it was more my fear of lawyers. Anyway, the season progressed and I managed to keep “Baggy” alive. I even managed to get him into each game for a play or two.

Our second to last game was against a team from across town. I hated away games that year because I had to sit next to “Baggy”. I had to do this to protect him from the horde in the back of the bus that wanted to do him much bodily harm. I REALLY did not enjoy his company on these bus rides. Well, we arrived and the game began. Needless to say, “Baggy” did not play early in games when the outcome was still in doubt. He typically played one play a game toward the end of the fourth quarter once it was clear which way the game would go. This game was different, however, as we were a lot better than our opponents and got out to a big lead in the first half. So, I put “Baggy” in at cornerback for the last play of the second quarter (CB is a good place to hide a bad athlete in middle school as most teams don’t throw often). The opposing coach took one look at him and called a sweep to his side of the field. Their running back was a big guy and took dead aim at “Baggy” in the flat. Now the poor kid was terrified and completely frozen in his tracks. Their running back could have easily gone around him. However, he lowered his shoulder and collided head on with “Baggy”. At the point of contact their seemed to be some kind of explosion. Small colorful objects flew in all directions. I really thought “Baggy” had blown up and his innards were being propelled all over the field. As “Baggy” lay on the field like a slug, I saw he was, in fact, completely intact. However, Smarties, Sweettarts, and Butterfingers surrounded his limp body. It seems “Baggy” tended to get hungry during games and had stuffed candy in his uniform pants to snack on while waiting for his one play. The referee never even blew the whistle to end the play. He just stood over the prostrate body of “Baggy” and softly said, “Unbelievable.”

The quality of football might not be as good in middle school as it is in high school. Nor do we play in huge beautiful stadiums. But I do know one thing. You will never see a fourth string cornerback blow up like a piñata on a Friday night in Texas. That sort of fun is reserved for Tuesday afternoons only.

My best…

The Two Sides of Sports

I suppose, since I’m a coach, it goes without saying that I’m a big sports fan. That doesn’t mean that I don’t see the negative side of sports. I see the overzealous parents who drive their kids too hard, the way top athletes are spoiled and never held accountable for their poor behavior, and the ugly business side of sports that cause teams to dump fan favorites, inspire labor disputes, and lead to all the contract holdouts and demands of greedy players. However, when all is as it should be, sport reveals character like nothing else I know. You find out who is truly tough, who has the most guts, and who can rise above adversity to perform at their highest level. This weekend I got to see both sides of the sports coin. On the negative side, Brett Favre has decided to hold the Green Bay Packers hostage for about the third year in a row. On the positive side, I saw what had to be one of the greatest tennis matches in history as Rafael Nadal defeated Roger Federer in the men’s final at Wimbledon.

Favre, who retired six weeks after finishing up his 17th season last year, has decided he wants to play football again. This really doesn’t sound so bad on the surface as he is truly one of the all time greats to play the quarterback position. The problem is that Favre has pulled this routine several years in a row now and it is getting old. Favre has placed his team in a bad position. The Packers have three choices: allow Favre to return (and start), trade him, or release him. The Packers silence on all this speaks volumes. They really want him to stay retired. General Manager Ted Thompson and Head Coach Mike McCarthy have worked hard with Favre’s long time back up Aaron Rodgers getting him ready for the season. Rodgers has waited patiently for years for his shot and now, again, Favre has jerked the rug out from under him. The Packers really can’t trade or release Favre. Thompson and McCarthy don’t want to be known as the guys who ran, arguably, the greatest Packer ever out of town. Neither can they afford the backlash they would get if Favre were to lead another team to the playoffs while Rodgers struggled. I think Brett Favre should play football as long as he wants to and is able. I just think he needs to quit his flip- flop act so his team knows how to plan for the future. John Madden often says, “The great thing about Favre is that he is like a big kid out there.” That may be so, but kids tend to be selfish and self absorbed. They fail to see how their actions affect others. At some point all kids need to grow up and act like adults. That time is here for Brett Favre.

Meanwhile, over in jolly old England, Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer staged a Wimbledon final for the ages. I’m not really a huge tennis fan. To be honest, Wimbledon is about the only tournament I pay much attention to at all. However, you did not have to be John McEnroe to recognize the greatness displayed on Centre Court this past Sunday. Nadal, the up and coming French Open champ, was taking on Roger Federer, winner of five consecutive Wimbledon titles. There have been whispers this year about Federer slipping a notch. Nadal only upped the ante at the French where he humiliated Federer in straight sets. By the time this 4 hour 48 minute marathon was over, you realized that Federer hasn’t lost a thing. Instead, Nadal has just come on like a freight train. Federer showed the heart of a champion after losing the first two sets and fending off two match points in a fourth set tie- breaker. Nadal showed his mettle by regrouping after losing what seemed to be a commanding lead to win the deciding fifth set 9-7. Gone is Federer’s 65 match winning streak on grass and hopes of becoming the first man since the 1880’s to win six Wimbledon titles in a row. Instead, Nadal as ascended to the Wimbledon throne and wrested the title of best in the world from Federer (whether the rankings reflect it yet or not). However, if it were ever possible for two opponents to come out looking like winners, this was it. Rarely have I witnessed the guts, mental toughness, athleticism, and sheer will to win that I saw Sunday from these two men. It got right to the heart of why, despite the bad in sports, I remain a fan. It is the kind of thing that made me want to get into coaching all those years ago. I hope some of my athletes watched this match. I don’t coach tennis but the intangibles on display on the grass court of Wimbledon transcend any individual sporting discipline. What I hope my kids saw was what it takes to be a winner. A big thank you goes out to Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal for the reminder of just how good sport can be. They gave their best so I will leave you with mine.

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Johnny Miller and the PC Police

Well folks, the PC Police have struck again. NBC golf analyst Johnny Miller is catching flak for his comments about Rocco Mediate during last weeks U.S. Open. If you recall, Rocco was battling some guy named Eldrick in what turned out to be a classic playoff for the Open title.

Before we get into that, you should know a bit about Johnny Miller. Before he was an announcer he was a pretty darned good golfer. Miller won 25 PGA Tour titles during his time as a player. These 25 titles include the 1973 U.S. Open and the 1976 British Open, two of the coveted major titles you hear so much about. He was called the “Desert Fox” because many of his titles came out West. It has been rumored that the image on the PGA Tour logo is Johnny Miller (Tour officials, it should be noted, deny this).

Once his career as a player came to a close he became the main golf analyst for NBC. Miller is one of the few analysts that add a bit of entertainment value to their analysis. There are some other colorful golf announcers, Gary McCord is probably the best known, who actually try to have fun while working the sport but Miller stands out for different reasons. Some others, again McCord would be the poster boy, use humor to liven up their call (McCord was famously banned from Augusta National Golf Club, home of the Masters Tournament, for saying, and I’m paraphrasing here, that the greens were so slick they looked like they had had a bikini wax.). Miller basically just tells it like it is. He has never been shy about calling out players for bad shots, poor choices, and/or flat out choking. I’ve always appreciated this aspect of Miller because he simply says what all we weekend warriors watching on TV are thinking.

So, this brings us back to last week’s U.S. Open. Rocco vs. Tiger. Everyman vs. Robogolfer. A guy who is built like your Dad vs. one of the fittest guys on the planet (certainly on the PGA Tour). Then something great happened. Rocco, the ultimate underdog, didn’t blink. He gave Tiger the fight of his life. During the playoff, Miller remarked, “Rocco looks like the guy who cleans Tiger’s pool” and later, “Guys named Rocco don’t get their name on the trophy.” Now, I was watching the telecast and didn’t think a thing in the world about it. It never crossed my mind that any offense would be taken. You see, I got it. Miller was not making an ethnic joke. He was just accentuating how amazing it was that this guy, who looks like your neighbor, was standing toe to toe with the great Tiger Woods. It was an everyman joke not an Italian joke. Predictably, however, some didn't see it that way and got upset. The National Association of Italian Americans issued a statement saying, “We are certain that NBC and Mr. Miller meant no harm and was simply having fun at the expense of Italian Americans. Nevertheless, this type of humor is problematic as it reinforces a demeaning and damaging stereotype about an entire ethnic group.” To this I simply say, GIVE ME A BREAK! Even Mediate himself was not bothered by Miller’s comments saying, “It doesn’t bother me at all.” If it doesn’t bother Rocco should it bother anybody else?

Folks, we have simply become a bunch of oversensitive pansies in this country. It is time to get a sense of humor and relax a bit. Johnny Miller issued an apology yesterday for his comments. I was disappointed he did so. He simply had nothing to apologize for, in my opinion. Had Miller said something along the lines of Rocco slipping a horse head in Tiger’s bag, missing a shot because of lasagna grease on his fingers, or that Tiger should be careful because Tony Soprano was caddying then I could see where an apology might be in order. Johnny Miller’s comments simply didn’t warrant such an overblown reaction.

By the way, my editor says I must issue an apology to “oversensitive pansies” stating that I meant no offense. I think not…

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Golf : The Devil's Game

As a teacher and coach I am currently enjoying the best time of the school year....summer. No offense is intended to any of my students or athletes but there is something very appealing about hanging around on the couch watching ESPN waiting for the mailman to deliver my paycheck. If only I could figure out a way for that to happen twelve months of the year (sigh).

Anyway, the summer really gives me the opportunity to do some of the things I love to do. One of those things is golf. First, let's define golf. Webster's defines golf as "the perfect combination of exercise and swearing". Actually, I saw that on a T-shirt but it is the definition I like the best.

Now that we've defined golf we can get to the heart of the matter. It is simply the cruelest game ever to spring forth from the mind of man. No matter who you are you can never master the game. Even Tiger Woods hits a shot from time to time that makes all of us weekend hackers smile and snicker under our breath. Did you happen to watch the U.S. Open this last week? I think Tiger actually took out a housewife with a wayward drive on the 18th hole on Sunday (she should have been paying closer attention). The difference between Tiger and myself, other than millions of dollars, is that he has the ability to hit a great recovery shot after a stinker. I, on the other hand, tend to follow a stinker with another stinker. That second stinker is usually followed by a shot off a tree, spectator, or squirrel. That wayward shot then usually careens into whatever body of water happens to be within a three mile radius. If there is water in the county I can manage to hit a golf ball into it.

The cruelest aspect of the game of golf is how it teases you. It seems so simple. Nobody tries to tackle you, the ball isn't being thrown at you at 90 miles per hour, and nobody is chasing you or yelling at you. The ball just lays there, sometimes even teed up perfectly, and taunts you because it knows you can't hit it straight. You can almost hear the dimpled little rascal giggling at address. "You want me to fly where? Ha! Fat chance!". The good part of this whole deal is that I get to see some very scenic parts of the course that good golfers never get to see. I've become quite the expert on the different kinds of small mammals, reptiles, brush, and trees that flourish just off the fairway. It is actually quite peaceful out there. The quiet is broken only by the soft weeping of those of us who can't find our way back to the short grass of the fairway.

Despite all of this I will continue to golf. I can't stop. Somewhere, deep inside, I think that if I just practice a bit more I might still be able to make the Senior Tour. My wife says that my new meds will help with these delusions. I hope not.

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