How to Talk Sports, the Coach Bacon Way
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In America, you’re “behind the eight ball,” if you will, if you can’t “Talk Sports." Jay McInerny once wrote that sports fans constitute the largest fraternity in America, and not knowing how to talk about them will put you on the outside of every airport and elevator conversation you encounter.
Now, normally, that’s a wonderful thing – but on the rare occasion you actually need to make small talk in such situations, Coach Bacon is here to cut through the clichés so you can bull with the best of them.
First, you’ve got to see through the silly semantics. They love to talk about the “respective captains from each team,” which means “the captains from each team,” because “respective” adds nothing to that clause. And, of course, the “ensuing kickoff,” which means “next.”
So far, so good. Now you’ve got to master the pseudo-psychological phrases, like this old chestnut: “Check out the character of this man, in the face of all this adversity.” That usually means the guy’s playing when he should be in the hospital, and what you’re looking at is not character but a compound fracture. Or when they gush: "Would you look at that concentration!" No, they can’t see concentration, either. All they're saying is the receiver is watching the ball – I mean, really watching it -- which, after all, is his job.
Announcers also like to use pseudo-scientific phrases, to make the simplest of actions sound like quantum physics. So, when you hear some color man say, "Note Nagurski's 'low center of gravity' as he totes the pigskin." All he means is: "Nagurski is holding the football, and his knees are bent." Not that complicated.
Then they start saying things like, “The ball was clearly in the cylinder,” or “It definitely broke the plane,” which mean, respectively: The basketball’s directly above the basket, and the football has crossed the goal line. Keep your slide rule in your holster, folks. You won’t need it here.
Sometimes sportscasters are simply awed by commonplace events. For example, sportscasters like to say-- with tear-jerking admiration-- that "This guy comes to play everyday." Which -- I guess -- means that he consistently wears the correct attire at the correct location at the correct time. In other words, he’s doing what a Wal-Mart greeter does every day of the week. Which is not a lot to ask, it would seem, of a high school drop-out making a million bucks to play a spirited game of catch.
Here's another popular expression, especially among coaches. "We're just gonna take 'em one game at a time." What the coaches are forgetting here is that you're not allowed to play two games simultaneously. Imagine a coach saying: "Well, we figure we'll take on both the Blackhawks and the Bruins this Saturday, playing alternate periods, and we’re gonna keep it up the entire season. That way we’ll be done by March, and take April off to rest up for the playoffs.”
Now that you understand the basics of balderdash, it's time to master a couple catch phrases that you can use on your friends and family. These are the gems of gibberish, the Hall of Famers of hot air, the all-stars of asinine assessments. To wit, they are: "Mistakes really hurt," and it’s corollary, "Turnovers'll kill ya.”
These phrases are so powerful, you often hear sportscasters say things like, "Well, you know Howard, whoever makes the fewest turnovers is gonna win this game." No, Howard, whoever scores the most points is going to win that game, and every other game - except golf, of course, where the player with the most ridiculous outfit takes top prize. If all else fails, just blurt out, every ten minutes: "Oh, man! You gotta be kidding me!"
If your friends like sports, they’ll think you’re some sort of super genius.
Sports talk can be confusing, so don't get frustrated if you don't learn it over night. Just remember: you've got to take ‘em one game at a time, and come to play every day. Oh yeah, and turnover’s’ll kill ya.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
The Olympics' Real Winners and Losers
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WINNER: Vancouver
Great city, great people, great Olympics. Well done, my Canadian friends.
LOSER: Vancouver
In the opening ceremonies, the flame apparatus failed to rise, launching a thousand Viagra jokes. But the real joke was the speed skating oval, where the Canadians failed to manufacture decent ice. That’s like Jamaicans failing to manufacture decent sand. What’s up with that?
WINNER: Olympic Hockey
With the best players in the world, and six nations with an equal chance of grabbing the gold, the Olympics gave us hockey at its very best. The US-Canada overtime final, with NO TV time-outs, made for an unforgettable finish – some say the best ever.
LOSER: NHL Hockey
Only the NHL can take this singular moment and blow it. NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman said the NHL might skip the next Olympics. Now you know why he’s considered the dumbest commissioner in all of sports. He did it the old-fashioned way. He earned it.
WINNER: The Medal Count
The U.S. set a record for most Winter Olympic medals ever, with 37, and the Canadians set a record for most golds, with 14 -- redeeming themselves for being the only host nation to win no golds, twice, in Montreal and Calgary. Kudos, North America.
LOSER: The Medal Count
It took 20 Canadian men seven games of skating, passing and shooting to earn a single gold medal in hockey. Meanwhile, Norwegian cross-country skier Marit Bjorgen had only to repeat the same basic motion in the sprint, the 10K, the 15K, the 30K, and the relay, to get five medals. Is cross-country skiing really five times harder than ice hockey? What’s up with that? I say all distance sports should be reduced to a short run, a long run, and a relay—that’s it. And hockey should count 20. There. That’d do it.
WINNER: Curling
Watching curling proved oddly compelling, like gazing at a lava lamp. And it gives all of us hope that – yeah, sure, I could be a world class athlete. Look at that slob! He’s on the Olympic team?! Oh, yeah. I could do that.
LOSER: Curling
I’m sorry, it’s still just shuffle board on ice. And spare me your emails. My grandfather was a proud member of his New Brunswick curling team, but he didn’t expect to get a medal for it. He preferred beer, anyway.
WINNER: Ryan Miller
The former Michigan State star let in the overtime goal against Canada, but he was still the best player – by far – in the tournament, and rightly won the Most Valuable Player trophy.
LOSER: Mikka Kiprusoff
The Finnish goalie said he’d only join his national team if they named him the starter. He got what he asked for – then went out and let in four goals on seven shots against the U.S. He sucked at 400 pounds-per-square inch. Then he didn’t even wait for his coach to pull him, before skulking back to the bench. I have just two words for you, sir: Loo Zer.
WINNER: Ann Arbor
With seven players from the US National Development Team on the Olympic hockey roster, and two pairs of ice dancers all training at Ann Arbor’s Ice Cube, A-Squared was downright Olympian.
LOSER: The Biathlon
Making someone ski several miles, then stop to shoot at targets for no apparent reason, makes as much sense as making swimmers finish four laps, then get out and bowl three frames.
So I say, let’s spice it up a little. Each time the biathletes miss their marks, they should have to ski behind the targets before they’re allowed to shoot again. That would increase the stakes, and focus the mind.
Too much for you? Okay, how about giving them all paint ball pellets to fire at their fellow competitors as they traipse through the woods? That way, no lead would be safe, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over, and the leader would be forced to ski in a zig-zag pattern down the stretch while the trailers try to pick him off from behind.
Or we could just kill this silly sport altogether.
WINNER: NBC
NBC gave us fewer taped fillers, and more live action.
LOSER: NBC
Still too much fireplace, and not enough first place. Oh, give me the CBC!
WINNERS: Us
Yes, the Olympics are over-hyped and over-packaged, but they’re still the best thing on TV. We see it all – the bratty skiers, the bodacious boarders and the inspiring skaters, like Joannie Rochette, who took to the ice just two days after her mother died of a heart attack – and delivered the single best short program of her life.
That is reality TV. And that’s why I can’t wait for 2012.
Note to loyal listeners
Hello Loyal Readers,
Thanks once again for reading, for writing, and for spreading theword. Thanks to you, we will break 33,000 subscribers this week.
As the site's gotten bigger, I realize it's probably time to add a bit of -- gasp! -- professionalism to comment section. So, like most respectable publications, I will seek to keep the comment section completely open to all civil contributors -- whether you like the latest piece or not -- without excising letters. All you have to do isbe willing to sign your name, as you do for the New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, Sports Illustrated, ESPN Magazine and the rest --a good idea I should have put in place from the start.
As one of my on-line outlets says, You keep it civil, we'll keep it open.
Great thanks -- and keep 'em comin'!
-John
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
Miracle on Ice Architect Herb Brooks: A Personal Thank You
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The surprising United States Olympic men’s hockey team will play Finland today in the semi-finals, inspiring some to compare them to the last U.S. men’s team to win the gold 30 years ago, Lake Placid’s “Miracle on Ice.” Sorry, even if the U.S. wins it all, it will not qualify as a miracle. We are not likely to see anything quite like it again. And there will never be another coach like Herb Brooks.
I will never forget the impact the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team had on our country – or the impact the coach, Herb Brooks, had on me.
On December 13, 1979, my best friend was heading home from hockey practice up north, when he was killed in a car accident. I found out the next morning, seconds before my high school hockey teammates and I walked out onto the basketball court for our first pep rally. What started out as one of the happiest days of my life, had suddenly become the saddest.
I didn’t come out of it for months. But when the 1980 Olympic hockey tournament started, I watched every second of every game – I was transfixed by this team and their coach -- and that’s what brought me back.
Fifteen years later, as a sports reporter for The Detroit News, I decided to write a story about Mike Ramsey and Slava Fetisov, who were bitter rivals in Lake Placid Games, before becoming great friends playing together with the Red Wings. To round out the piece I knew I had to call Herb Brooks, who was famously impatient with sports writers.
When I reached Brooks at his home in Minnesota, he spent the first ten minutes chewing out my entire profession, from our lack of credentials to our lack of accountability, before he answered any of my questions. I stayed calm throughout, but after I hung up the phone, I looked down, and saw that my hands were shaking.
When the story came out, I sent Brooks a copy, then nervously called him a week later to get his response. I talked to his wife, Patti – a warm and generous soul -- who told me, “Well, he didn’t throw it against the wall, like he usually does. So that’s a good sign.”
A year later, I called Brooks for a story on Russian hockey, and when that one came out, he asked if they could reprint it in a hockey magazine in Minnesota. After that, we talked every few months, and we would occasionally meet up in rinks from Ann Arbor to Nagano.
Our relationship deepened in 2000, when I took over my old high school hockey team, which had not won a game in a year-and-a-half. Making matters tougher, I was the worst player in school history. (I am not bragging. These are facts.)
But I had the best group of assistants in the state, plus a secret weapon: a world-class mentor in Herb Brooks. I stole from him shamelessly – and it worked.
In our second year, we got to the regional finals – but we had to face our Soviet Union, Trenton high school, which has won twelve state titles. Three weeks before the regional finals, they had smoked us, 10-1.
I knew we were better than that, but I also knew we needed a boost. So, the day before the game, I called Herb Brooks. He said, "Johnny, just tell 'em this: Above all, you have to believe. If you don’t, you don’t have a chance. But if you do, anything is possible.”
I passed on Herb’s words to our players, who had heard me talk about Brooks many times. Our guys played like they were on fire, without any fear whatsoever, but we fell short, 3-2. Still, their fans gave our players a standing ovation. Back in the locker room, I told them, “We might have lost, but you did something more important: You dared to believe you could do it.”
The next year, Herb and I started working on his autobiography. But three months later, Herb died in a car accident.
The next season, my last in coaching, we traveled to Trenton and we beat them in their building, 4-3.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
Our National Anthem is Not Our Nation's Best Tribute
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The modern Olympics started in 1896, but it took 28 more years before the winners would hear their national anthem during the medal ceremony.
The Vancouver Games will conduct 86 medal ceremonies, during which any of the 82 countries present could be serenaded with their national anthem. But not all are created equal -- including ours.
You probably knew the melody for our national anthem, the Star Spangled Banner, came from a popular British drinking song, and that Francis Scott Key added the words during the War of 1812. But you might not have known the Star Spangled Banner didn’t become our national anthem until more than a century later, in 1931. And we didn’t start playing the song before ball games until World War II.
The Star Spangled Banner may be two centuries old, but its status as our national anthem is relatively new – and, I think, not beyond reconsideration.
True, the song can be strong and moving. But who can forget Carl Lewis’s version, which sounded like a feral cat in serious pain, or actress Roseanne Barr’s rendition – which put the “f” back in “professionalism”?
In their defense, the Star Spangled Banner is notoriously difficult to sing – or even remember. Raise your hand if you really know what a “rampart” is? That’s what I thought. Thank you.
That’s just another reason why I think we should consider adopting a different national anthem, like “America, the Beautiful.” In 1895, a Wellesley College professor, fed up with the greed of the Robber Barons – sound familiar? -- took a train to Colorado, and was reminded along the way what a great country this truly is. When her poem was coupled with Samuel Ward’s melody, a classic was born.
For my money, Ray Charles’ version is the best. When I hear him sing, “America, America, God done shed his grace on thee. And crown thy good, with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea,” there aren’t too many things I wouldn’t be willing to do for my country.
Just a few years after “America, the Beautiful” came out, Irving Berlin composed “God Bless America” to inspire victory in World War One. Twenty years later, he revised it to respond to the Nazis’ rise to power.
From the opening, “God Bless America, Land that I love.,” to the close, “My home sweet home,” Berlin doesn’t give you much to quibble about.
If Ray Charles stamped “America, the Beautiful,” as his own, surely “God Bless America” belongs to Kate Smith. But in the aftermath of Viet Nam, the patriotic standard’s popularity was slipping -- until the Philadelphia Flyers hockey team started playing it before crucial contests. They’ve won some 80-percent of those games – and all three when Kate Smith arrived to sing it in person. Her first appearance, on May 19, 1974, preceded the Flyers’ 1-0 victory over Boston, for the Flyers’ first Stanley Cup. Many credited Smith for lifting the crowd and the team to new heights. Even the famously tough Philly fans could not boo Kate Smith.
When the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team pulled off the greatest upset in sports history, the players spontaneously broke into a chorus – not of “The Star Spangled Banner,” but “God Bless America.”
They couldn’t sing it quite like Kate Smith, but they understood what they were singing, they understood why, and they meant every word. I think they were on to something.
Please Show Us The Athletes Competing, Instead Of The Announcers Talking
February 12, 2010 Download | Duration: 00:00:00
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Twelve years ago I covered the Winter Olympics in Nagano. It was exhausting – and exhilarating.
Every day, right in front of me, I got to savor the skill and the speed of the skiers and the snowboarders, the hockey players and the figure skaters. But what I remember most is the energy generated by the athletes and the audience, who seemed to feed off each other. I didn’t get to merely see it. I got to feel it – an experience shared with thousands of people from around the world, right as it happened.
So that’s why I was stunned when I called my friends back home, breathless about the drama stirring all around me, only to learn they had no idea what I was talking about. They weren’t impressed by the Nagano Olympics, or the coverage of it – take your pick. And that’s when I realized the Olympics I was experiencing had nothing to do with the one they were watching – or not watching at all. (Nagano had the lowest ratings in 30 years.)
Now I realize TV can’t compete with being there, especially 12 time zones away. But it can come a lot closer than it usually does. American networks spend so much money on the Olympics -- 2.3 billion dollars for the rights alone this year – they feel compelled to protect their investment with too many safe, soft feature stories filmed months before the Games even begin.
Yes, I’m talking about those ubiquitous “Up Close and Personal” segments, about the cross-country skier from Eveleth, Minnesota, who became world class fast while being chased by dogs on his after-school paper route. And that’d be a fine story – if it didn’t keep us from watching the former paper boy competing in “The Actual Olympics” segments.
The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation does much better, with much less. Or they did, until they lost the Canadian rights to CTV. And that’s a crying shame, because the CBC consistently showed you the most interesting athletes, even if they weren’t Americans, and they showed them competing, live.
Why does that matter? Because sports is one of the few things on TV nobody knows how it’s going to turn out. You just can’t get you a preview of tonight’s game. So when we see a classic competition unfolding before our very eyes, we become participants in that event. We share it with family, friends, even strangers – or tell them, Awww, man! Ya missed it! And we remember it forever.
I’ll never forget watching the ’76 Winter Olympics on a school night with my brother and my dad. We saw skier after skier cut the leading time, until the last skier, world champion Franz Klammer, came flying over the hill in his skin-tight yellow suit in a reckless attempt to claim his title – and he did it. We jumped and cheered as if we were there – and we were, in our living room, sharing it with millions of people around the world.
The list is long. Think of Tonya and Nancy, right down to Tonya’s broken skate lace. Or speed skater Dan Jansen’s repeated heartbreaks before winning the gold. Or the Miracle on Ice medal ceremony, when captain Mike Eruzione spontaneously called his teammates up to the medal stand with him, and they all managed to fit, just barely – a scene no one who saw it can ever forget.
If you witnessed those events, when they happened, you’re probably nodding right now. It’s something we share, because, “We were there.”
And that’s why I wish NBC would be kind enough to get the heck out of the way, and let us watch the athletes, not the announcers, do what they’ve been preparing to do for years.
Only that way can we have a few more memories.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
Amid Super Bowl Silliness, A Couple Stories Worth Telling
February 5, 2010 Download | Duration: 00:03:22
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It’s hard to think of too many endeavors that receive more overblown attention than do sports. And within sports, nothing’s more overblown than the Super Bowl.
This time around, we’re getting endless stories about President Obama picking the New Orleans Saints – because… that matters? – a preview of the ads scheduled to run during the game, and several hundred articles analyzing the recuperation of Dwight Freeney’s sprained right ankle, and how that might affect national security. Or some such.
But in the midst of this morass are two stories worth telling.
The first is Kurt Warner. After graduating from Northern Iowa in 1994, not one NFL team drafted him. In other words, the NFL determined there were at least 222 players better than Kurt Warner that year alone.
Warner was tempted to pack it in. Instead, he started packing groceries in Cedar Falls, Iowa, while living in his girlfriend’s parents’ basement, serving as a graduate assistant coach for his alma mater, and working out in the hopes of getting another chance. He had to settle for the Iowa Barnstormers, a team that played in the doomed Arena Football League. But, what should have been a dead end, proved to be a launch pad.
Arena Football’s funny rules required Warner to speed up his decision-making and his delivery – skills you need to succeed in the NFL. Three years later, one of the NFL’s worst teams, the St. Louis Rams, hired him as a backup. The next season, incredibly, the Rams won their first Superbowl, and Kurt Warner won the league’s MVP – his first of three.
Last week, Warner retired with a pile of records, a pile of money, and a well-earned reputation for playing his best in the biggest games. He said he didn’t want to be known for being a clutch player, but a hard worker. He’ll have to settle for both.
Warner left the stage with quiet dignity – two qualities not often associated with NFL players – just as a younger quarterback was taking his place.
Drew Brees was one of the most celebrated high school quarterbacks in Texas, a state that celebrates high school quarterbacks more than it does Supreme Court justices. But Brees blew off the hometown Texas Longhorns to head north to Purdue, where he set just about every school record for passing. He took the Boilermakers to their first Rose Bowl in over three decades, and was named not just an Academic All-American, but the Academic All-American of the Year.
But in the NFL, Brees struggled his first three seasons. Soon after he finally found his rhythm, he also found a new city to play in: New Orleans, which had been ravished by Hurricane Katrina the year before. The Saints’ home, the Superdome, had become the very symbol of the disaster, and the owners were considering moving the team for good.
Enter Drew Brees, who not only led the historically pathetic Saints to the playoffs, he spent his money and his time creating his own foundation, which restores schools, parks and playgrounds, in a city desperate for all three. A recent Sports Illustrated cover story said Brees was “as adored and appreciated as any [athlete] in an American city today.”
It’s hard to argue with that, and even harder to root against Drew Brees.
So, if you missed Kurt Warner, enjoy Drew Brees while you can. Players like this don’t come along very often.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
How Berenson and Beilein Put Values Before Victories
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The Michigan basketball team recently lost to Michigan State by one point, all but ending the Wolverines’ chances to return to the NCAA tournament. The Michigan hockey team faces Michigan State this weekend, and they need a sweep to improve their fading chances of getting back to the tournament themselves.
For Michigan fans, this is the Winter of Their Discontent. Provided, that is, only wins and losses count. But the head coaches of both teams did notch a couple moral victories last week. Yes, they’ve lost some battles this season, but they’re still winning the war.
On Thursday, the general manager of the NHL’s Los Angeles Kings, Dean Lombardi, had some sharp words about legendary Michigan hockey coach Red Berenson and his program. Lombardi – no relation to the great Vince Lombardi in any way, shape or form, as you’ll see -- said, “Red Berenson doesn’t coach. It’s ‘Do what you want.’ Michigan is the worst.”
Now, Berenson doesn’t need me or anybody else to defend him or his record – but I can’t resist.
Forget, for a moment, Berenson’s two NCAA titles, 18 league titles and record 19-straight NCAA tournament appearances, not to mention the 20 All-Americans he’s produced.
The crux of Lombardi’s claim that Michigan doesn’t develop players can be refuted simply by looking at guys like Mike Stone, a walk-on who rose to become the team’s Most Valuable Player, on a team loaded with future NHLers; Mike Knuble, who arrived a lightly regarded freshmen from East Kentwood, Michigan, and left an All-American, a U.S. Olympian and now a 12-year NHL veteran, who skates on a line with the best player in the game, Alexander Ovechkin ; and John Madden, who wasn’t even drafted as a freshman – which is rare at Michigan -- before he came to Ann Arbor, and is now in his 11th year in the NHL, where he's served as a captain, and has won two Stanley Cups. For the record, that’s two more than Lombardi has won in over two decades as an employee of three NHL teams.
It was such a stupid comment, Berenson did not bother to dignify it with a response. As they say in politics, if your critic is busy firing bullets into his own foot, don’t grab the gun.
But when the player who inspired Lombardi’s remarks, Jack Johnson – a former Michigan star who now plays for Lombardi’s L.A. Kings – heard about them, he told his coach he wasn’t getting dressed for their home game that night until Lombardi came down to apologize to him in person. Lombardi did just that, 15 minutes before warm up, and Johnson got dressed.
You’ve got to admire Johnson’s conviction. He’s a great player, but Lombardi can send him any time he wants to any team he wants, including the minors. Johnson’s courageous stand, with little to gain and a lot to lose, tells you something about the kind of players Michigan’s coaching staff develops.
At the same time this was playing out, Michigan basketball star Manny Harris mistakenly thought one of his teammates had taken a cheap shot at him during practice. Harris started a fight. When head coach John Beilein tried to break it up, Harris only made things worse. Beilein decided to leave Harris at home when the team traveled to play a crucial game the next day against 13th-ranked Purdue. With their star player out, Michigan lost by ten.
Harris apologized to his coach, his teammates and the fans. He returned Tuesday night to play a great game against fifth-ranked Michigan State, but the Wolverines fell just short. Michigan lost – but Harris grew up.
I’m just old-fashioned enough to believe that still matters.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
Why Pond Hockey Beats Indoor Hockey
January 22, 2010
Hello Loyal Readers,
Thanks for reading, listening (for those of you who prefer the audio version below) and writing in with your comments.
For you Michigan types, you might be interested in my column for Michigan Today, which I write every month, on the Wolverines’ Top Ten Moments of the Decade. http://michigantoday.umich.
And again, thank you!
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WHY POND HOCKEY BEATS INDOOR HOCKEY
“I think we have too many AAA, Showcase and elite camps for the kids today, and as a result, we are creating a bunch of robots. We need to make it fun for the kids and let them learn to love the game the way we did.”
-Herb Brooks, coach of the 1980 U.S. Olympic Hockey Team
Pond Hockey: A Documentary Film
Just over half a million kids play organized hockey in the United States, as I did – but trust me, they’re missing out.
We’re deep in the dead of winter. And for most of us, there’s not a lot to do, and not much to look forward to for the next couple months. But if you’re a hockey player – scratch that, if you’re a pond hockey player -- this is the best time of year.
When I was growing up – not that long ago – we’d come home from school, slip our skates onto our sticks and throw the stick over our shoulders like hobos carrying their knapsacks, then trudge through the apple orchard behind our neighborhood to a pond in the middle of the woods. We’d lace ‘em up and play until it was too dark to see, then put our boots back on and head home for dinner.
On weekends, we;d spend all day down there. Friends of mine who lived near Burns Park and Thurston Pond would come home, eat dinner with their skates on, then go back to the ice for more.
We got more ice time in a single day on those ponds than we got in weeks of indoor practices and games. And it was more fun, too. No try-outs, no scoreboards, no whistles, no drills, no lines, no benches, no coaches, no refs – in fact, no adults at all – and no nets. Just a pair of boots at each end.
I don’t recall once coming back from the pond upset that we’d lost. That’s because we played about a dozen games a day, and whenever one team lost too many, we’d just change teams. I also can’t recall much about the hundreds of indoor practices I endured as a kid, but I can remember those long, happy days on the pond like they were yesterday.
But when you drive by those very same ponds today, you won’t see any kids. They’re all packed in vans, being dragged to some tournament two hours away. And when they get back, they’ll be inside playing video games.
So when my old high school teammate, Pete Read, put together his third annual Michigan Pond Hockey Classic at Whitmore Lake last weekend – one of the nation’s biggest – it was no surprise that almost all of the 500-some players were over thirty.
Read laid out 15 rinks, separated only by snow banks. We played four-on-four, with no goalies or fancy nets – just a flat box of two-by-sixes. Everyone got dressed in one big tent, and sat on hay bales. A hockey locker room is one of the few places on earth where the smell can be improved by fresh hay. The guys getting reading to play could see their breath, while the guys coming back in could watch the steam coming off their pads as they stuffed them back into their bags.
My team, consisting of a bunch of former high school teammates, got our butts kicked in the first two games by margins like 21-14 – football scores. In our last two games, however, we staged heroic rallies to lose by a little less.
But we had a blast all weekend. Until our last game, that is, when the volunteer score keeper – god bless ‘im – decided to play full-time ref, and rule on every out of bounds play and every goal. Before we realized what we were doing, we started sniping and hacking at each other, and the once friendly match quickly devolved into – well, a little league hockey game. Once we told the would-be ref we could handle the game ourselves, we got back to playing pond hockey – and that’s what we love.
One of my friends brought his son along, but he couldn’t play with us because his travel team had a game later that day.
Poor kid doesn’t know what he’s missing.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
McGwire's Confession Risks Nothing, Gains Nothing
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On Monday, former home run hitter Mark McGwire talked to sports broadcaster Bob Costas in an attempt to restore his good name.
He had a lot of restoring to do.
McGwire was one of those super-sized sluggers who were knocking out home runs at a record rate in the nineties. And, like his peers – Barry Bonds and Sammy Sosa – McGwire was widely rumored to be taking steroids.
In fact, the FBI gave the commissioner of baseball a list of 70 players they discovered were taking steroids, including McGwire -- two decades ago. The commissioner, of course, promptly did absolutely nothing, because he was too hooked on the home runs that were saving baseball from itself after he had canceled the 1994 World Series.
And the hits just kept on coming. In 1998, McGwire broke one of the game’s most revered records when he shattered Roger Maris’s old mark of 61 home runs in a season by smashing 70. He was a national hero.
But the gig was up five years ago when McGwire’s former teammate, Jose Canseco, published a tell-all book in which he named names – including McGwire. You know you’re in a cesspool when the only guy telling the truth, Canseco, is a convicted felon.
Canseco’s book led to a Congressional hearing the same year. When it was McGwire’s turn to testify, he famously said, “I am not here to talk about the past.” Unfortunately, “the past” is usually what Congressional hearings are all about.
It was a public relations disaster. When the Hall of Fame voters turned their ballots in the next year, less than 25-percent voted for McGwire. A player needs three times that to get in. He’s not done any better since – and now he’s going to help coach the St. Louis Cardinals. He wants a clean slate.
Thus, Monday’s “Hail Mary” interview, in which McGwire said, “It was a mistake.” No, picking the wrong restaurant for dinner is a mistake. Injecting yourself with illegal steroids for fame and fortune is a deal with the devil.
He also said, “I regret I played in the steroids era.” That’s like Bernie Madoff saying, “I regret I was an investor during the Ponzi Scheme era.” Sorry, it doesn’t cut it.
But then, even more absurdly, McGwire said, with a straight face, that he didn’t take steroids to hit more home runs – no! -- but for “health purposes.” In other words, we should ignore the fact that his season-high home run total skyrocketed from 49 to 70 – or that he played with the faith of 300 million people, to update The Great Gatsby’s take on the Black Sox scandal.
It seems to me a real confession is marked by sincerity, not self-interest. Its value is directly related to how much the confessor risks by making it.
In McGwire’s case, he fudged so much that it’s hard to call it a confession at all, and he was risking absolutely nothing. Everybody already knew he took steroids, and his chance to be brave about it came and went years ago. We knew he was a fraud as a player. On Monday we learned he’s also a fraud as a person, as well. McGwire’s just trying to scam us -- again.
If we can apply Kubler-Ross’s stages of grief to McGwire’s mess, we can see he’s gone from stage one, denial, to stage three, bargaining – but he’s still a long way from the final stage, honest acceptance.
And he is just as far from the front doors of Cooperstown.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
Former Third-Stringer Named Leader of Michigan's Athletic Department
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On Tuesday, the University of Michigan announced Domino’s Pizza CEO David Brandon would succeed Bill Martin as the athletic director. It marked a personal high point of a great career – one you wouldn’t have predicted when Brandon played for Michigan as a third-string defensive back.
14 years ago, I wrote a big feature on Bo Schembechler for the Detroit News. Bo liked the story and, out of nowhere, gave me his papers. When I tried to interest him in writing a book, he told me to ask him later – much later, it turned out. About nine years later. So, in the summer of 2000, I started without him.
The first person I sought out was Dave Brandon, who was in his second year as the CEO of Domino’s Pizza. He probably didn’t know me from Adam, but he gave me an hour of his time anyway. And he didn’t spend it gushing about his greatest day, either, but confessing his worst one.
Brandon had been an All-State quarterback at South Lyon High School, and Schembechler offered him a full ride to come to Michigan in 1970.
Problem was, Michigan already had three quarterbacks who would play that position – Tom Slade, Larry Cipa and Dennis Franklin -- so Brandon switched to defensive back. But that only made his situation worse, because the Wolverines were stocked with four future All-Americans at that spot. Brandon could have been the fifth-best defensive back in the country and not gotten any playing time on that team – they were that good. So, after a couple years of hard work, he was still languishing on the depth chart, and getting frustrated.
At a Monday practice in the middle of the 1972 season, Brandon’s junior year, Schembechler decided to work with the guys who hadn’t played that Saturday by making up a scrimmage they called the Toilet Bowl. Well, Brandon apparently responded with something less than complete enthusiasm. He just muttered a few words under his breath, across the field from the old general, but somehow Schembechler was in his face in about eight nanoseconds. Creating the illusion that his eyes and ears were everywhere was part of his genius.
“Brandon! I hear you’d rather not partake in our little scrimmage,” he barked. “Well, I can solve your problem, son. You’re going straight into that locker room, and cleaning your locker out. You’re done playing football for the University of Michigan.”
Brandon sat in his empty stall, dazed and despondent, wondering what he would tell his father, who loved Bo, his teammates, his girlfriend, and, one day, years from then, his kids.
Needless to say, Brandon didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next morning, he put on a dress shirt and went straight to Bo’s office, scared, nervous, and worn out. He apologized – as Bo knew he would -- and Bo took him back. But he never heard Dave Brandon complain about any scrimmages after that.
Fast forward to 1989, the first reunion for all of Bo’s players. Brandon is already an All-American businessman by now, and a millionaire – but that incident still bothered him. Brandon figured it was time to confess his sins, so he told his teammates at his table about it – and everybody started laughing.
Brandon was stunned. What are you guys laughing about? I’m spilling my guts! One by one, they confessed, at one time or another Bo had kicked all of them off the team.
Brandon had a good laugh, too -- but the lesson stayed with him: Don’t take what you’ve been given for granted, or you’ll lose it.
And that’s one reason why the guy who’d been kicked off the team is now not only responsible for Michigan’s football team, but for all Michigan’s teams.
Copyright © 2010, Michigan Radio
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/johnubacon
