Posts from the ‘Strictly Ballgame’ Category

In March, Guards Wear the Slipper

Teams that win national championships are talented, well-coached, deep, resilient … and exceptionally lucky somewhere along the way.

Alas, no would-be champion navigates the madness of March without the aid of a rabbit’s foot stashed somewhere precious.

What this tournament has taught us is that it’s folly to try and predict bounces of the ball.  Once the games begin, Cinderellas will rise.  Favorites will fall.   The only sure thing is that one of the top five or so teams in the nation will be left standing.  Other than that, anything goes.

There is, however, one factor that can transcend the Dance, and that’s guard play (which is to say, shooting).

Shooting is the essence of basketball.  It’s neither an art nor a science, yet there are elements of each within it.  And as much as any statistician will fight the notion, shooters are prone to hot and cold streaks that follow no logical pattern.  Anyone who has ever toed a basketball court is aware of the phenomenon that is shooting: Sometimes, inexplicably, the cylinder seems to expand and you suddenly can’t miss.

Nine times out of ten, when you hear news of a mammoth upset or Cinderella run, there is a shooting guard who caught fire behind the story.

So if you’re looking for a lower seed capable of a deep run in the tournament, it’s wise to start your search with the shooters.

With that said, pay attention to these teams and the gunners who are capable of carrying them far.

Team:  Boston College (22-11, No. 7 in Midwest)

Gunner: Tyrese Rice (G, Sr.)

Explanation: Rice is one of the more peculiar players on one of the more peculiar teams in the land.  After a junior campaign in which he averaged 21 points per game, many thought he would be among the nation’s scoring leaders this season.  Instead, he has mainly deferred to some of the younger talent around him, putting up almost a hundred fewer shots and averaging nearly four fewer points (17.1).  He has been dominant in big spots though, as evidenced by the combined 46 points he dropped in wins over North Carolina and Duke.  Rice is one of a handful of guards in the country who can spot up from anywhere and get to the bucket at will.  If he finds the zone, all bets are off for any team in his path.

Team: Texas (22-11, No. 7 in East)

Gunner: A.J. Abrams (G, Sr.)

Explanation: The Longhorns fizzled down the stretch, losing three of their last six, mainly because Abrams went cold.  The senior averaged 16.3 points and was a 38.9 percent 3-point shooter for the season.  Yet he made just 11 of 33 attempts from long range and scored only 11.5 points per game down the stretch.  If he can regain the form that saw him torch UCLA and Villanova in consecutive games early in the season, Texas could run through Duke in the second round and possibly find itself challenging Pittsburgh for a trip to the Final Four.  Abrams is that explosive.

Team: Temple (22-11, No. 11 in South)

Gunner: Dionte Christmas (G, Sr.)

Explanation: If you haven’t heard of him by now, you probably don’t watch Sportscenter too often.  The Owls, led by a man whose name is conducive to clichés, blitzed the Atlantic-10 tournament last week to earn an automatic bid to the Dance.  Eyes started opening in the semifinal game, when “Christmas came early” for Temple against perennial conference power Xavier.  The senior guard dropped 20 on the Musketeers before following that with a 29-point encore in the championship vs. Duquesne.  He hit a combined 10 threes in those contests.  Now the Owls find themselves matched up against Arizona State.  If Christmas goes off again, Syracuse (Temple’s likely second-round opponent) may have to up the threat level from “Orange” to red.

Team: Marquette (24-9, No. 6 in West)

Gunner(s): Jerel McNeal (G, Sr.) and Wesley Matthews (G, Sr.)

Explanation: The Golden Eagles were drastically altered when point guard Dominic James broke his foot against Connecticut on Feb. 25.  Including that game, Marquette dropped five of six to end the season.  In all five of those losses they battled, but fell to nationally-ranked Big East foes.  The good news is backup point guard Maurice Acker was able to get some significant playing time against big-time opponents.  If he can take care of the ball in the tournament, that will enable McNeal (19.7 ppg, .402 3-point shooter) and Matthews (18.4 ppg, .377 3-point shooter) to do what they do best: light up the scoreboard from outside and keep the pressure on the opposition.  The two have a combined eight years of experience.  Even without James, they are capable of shooting their way to the Sweet 16.

UConn-‘Cuse: Just Wow

I remember being at the semifinals of the 2003 Big East Championship.  Sitting about 20 rows back of where the baseline meets the sideline at Madison Square Garden, I watched Connecticut and Syracuse go at it.

Carmelo Anthony had been the story of the year but on that March night it was Ben Gordon who put the Huskies on his back to take down ‘Cuse and its freshman titan.  After the teams exchanged postgame handshakes — Anthony with Gordon and Emeka Okafor among others, pantheon coaches Jim Boeheim and Jim Calhoun with one another — I tracked Anthony as he exited the court and walked toward the tunnel.

I inched closer to floor level, getting to within shouting distance of him.  Intending to give him a piece of my mind (it’s a habit I have), I suddenly had no words (a rarity).  He had this steely and resolute look in his eyes, yet at the same time seemed to be fighting back a grin.  The contradiction froze me. 

The look, which could have been construed as a defiant acceptance of defeat, I interpreted differently.  It was almost as if he knew something nobody else did, and the moment of clarity just happened to come after a tournament loss in the world’s most famous arena.  To me he looked like a kid who knew the stage was about to be his, and to hell with anyone who dared stand in his way.

Can I be positive about this?  Of course not.  But I will say I left MSG that night knowing which team I’d have going the distance once the brackets were announced.  I left the Garden with the sneaking suspicion that I had witnessed some history wrapped in an otherwise ho-hum 80-67 final.

Three and a half weeks later I had won my first (and only) March Madness pool and was about to pen the first (of a few) “Respect Carmelo” columns for my school newspaper.

So why am I writing about that contest now?  Why give two hoots about some game that happened six years ago when the same teams just ran six overtimes less than 24 hours ago??  SIX!!!!!!  That’s three full halves PLUS two overtimes!!!

I’ll tell you why: Because it’s special to feel like you’re a part of history.  I witnessed one of the greatest college players lose for the final time, and am pretty sure I pegged the moment when he decided as much.  That moment still resonates.

I wasn’t even at MSG Thursday night but can say unequivocally that Connecticut-Syracuse on March 12, 2009 was a game I’ll be talking about when I’m an old-timer.  I may not have been as privileged as the 19,375 inside the Garden, but I still feel like I was a part of history.

This one was so epic you didn’t even have to be there, you just had to see it with your own eyes.

Had to see Eric Devendorf’s miracle three with 1.1 seconds left in regulation, a shot that would have Deven-dwarfed every buzzer-beater since Christian Laettner’s had there been 1.2 seconds remaining instead.

Had to see 7-foot-3 Hasheem Thabeet — disregarding the fact that his cranium is situated somewhere in the stratosphere — dive earthward for a loose ball to secure a possession in overtime.

Had to see UConn jump out to leads in each of the first FIVE extra sessions, only to watch Syracuse claw back and tie the game — but never take the lead — every time.

Had to see Paul Harris miss not one but two layups in the closing seconds of the fourth overtime that would have won the game for the Orange.

Had to see Jonny Flynn put a tad too much english on a reverse layup just moments before Harris.

Had to see, one by one, star players foul out and give way to walk-ons and benchwarmers.

Had to see those same walk-ons and benchwarmers make HUGE plays in the biggest moments of their lives.

Had to see all the drives, jays, blocks, acrobatic saves, bodies flying, near-daggers, rugby scrums for loose balls, volleyball battles for boards, clutch free throws, diabolic bounces off the tin, jumping jacks, and-ones…

Had to see Sean McDonough, Jay Bilas and Bill Raftery lose a few marbles.

Had to see the fans — who were as exhausted as the players — yelp like dogs with muted barks once it was all over.

Had to see Boeheim — no sucker for hyperbole — proclaim he had “never been prouder of any team”.

Had to see………hell you just HAD to see it.

If you’ve been reading this column up until now and feel like the last half has been one convoluted, impossible-to-follow run-on, that’s good because that’s exactly what I intended it to be.  I essentially just cut and pasted my notes into the piece.

Truth is, I can’t do justice to what transpired in midtown Manhattan Thursday night.  You gotta see it for yourself.

So check out ESPN Classic when you have a moment. Chances are they’re heading into overtime right now…

Defining “Dynasty”

With the Pittsburgh Steelers having just captured their second Super Bowl in four years and sixth overall, it seems like a good time to tackle one of the most subjective and contested concepts in sport, “the dynasty”.

How does one define a sports dynasty? Who has rightly deserved the title of dynasty throughout sports history? What does “dynasty” actually mean?

The last question is the easiest to answer. The origin of the word is from the Greek dunasteia, meaning “lordship”.  According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a dynasty is defined as:

1) a succession of rulers of the same line of descent.

2) a powerful group or family that maintains its position for a considerable time.

Not too much help there, although it’s evident why the notion of a sports dynasty is so debated.  There just isn’t a tangible or relevant definition of the term.  It has been up to the professional leagues, teams, writers and fans to determine what has constituted a dynasty over the years.

When exactly the term entered the vernacular is difficult to pinpoint, but two of the original teams to garner the designation — the Boston Celtics of the late 50s and 60s and the UCLA Bruins of the 60s and early 70s — still come the closest to fulfilling the second definition of the word, “a powerful group or family that maintains its position for a considerable time.”

Red Auerbach’s Celtics won 11 of 13 NBA titles from 1957 to 1969, including eight straight.  John Wooden’s Bruins took down 10 of 12 NCAA championships from 1964 to 1975, highlighted by a run of seven in a row.  Those teams — particularly the Celtics — were dynastic in the truest sense of the word, in that they were sports families headed by powerful patriarchs that held their standing over an extended period of time.

Mergers, expansion and free agency have drastically altered the landscape of professional sports since the old school UCLA and Celtics dynasties.  Understanding that, let’s dissect the dynasties of the (semi) modern era. We’ll use the mid-1970s as a jumping off point, considering the ABA-NBA merger took place in 1976, MLB introduced mainstay franchises such as the Mariners and Blue Jays in 1977, and the Super Bowl era was well under way.

In my opinion, there are two parameters that must be met if a team wants to enter the dynasty debate.

1) the team must win back-to-back to titles.

2) the team must win or have won another title within a few years of the successive championships.

In the three major sports there are a handful of squads that have gone back-to-back over the last 40 years, but that was it.  They didn’t win another one before or after the consecutive titles within a reasonable amount of time.  Among these teams are the New York Yankees (’77 and ’78), Detroit Pistons (’89 and ’90), Toronto Blue Jays (’92 and ’93), Houston Rockets (’94 and ’95), and Denver Broncos (’98 and ’99).

It’s an admirable accomplishment to go back-to-back, but there’s an aspect of sustained excellence inherent to the idea of a sports dynasty that those teams didn’t have.  Two in a row without another can still fall in “flash in the pan” territory.  At least in the context of this argument.

As for the teams that are in the running, let’s um, run through them…

The Pittsburgh Steelers of the 70s — the original “Steel Curtain” — set the the standard for Super Bowl dominance.  Led by Terry Bradshaw, Lynn Swann and “Mean Joe” Greene, Pittsburgh won four out of six titles between 1975 and 1980, a mark that is still yet to be met.  Dynasty.

In the 80s, the San Francisco 49ers gave a solid encore performance to the Steel Curtain.  Behind the innovative and groundbreaking West coast offense instituted by Bill Walsh, Joe Montana and Jerry Rice’s 49ers snagged four Super Bowls in a nine-year span (1982-1990).  Included in that run was a back-to-back in ’89 and ’90, which solidified the Niner dynasty.

No other NFL franchise has won four titles in one era, but the Dallas Cowboys (’92, ’93 and ’95) and New England Patriots (’01, ’03 and ’04) have each gone three out of four.  Given the parity that started to take shape in the mid-90s and the establishment of a salary cap in 1994, it could be argued that the Cowboys and Patriots were actually the two most dominant teams in league history.  We’ll keep that on the back burner for now.

Jumping to MLB — which saw 14 different champions between 1975 and 1995 — the only dynasty of the last 35 years is undisputed: the New York Yankees of the late 90s.  With great pitching and a young superstar named Derek Jeter, the Yankees won four out of five World Series between 1996 and 2000.  That seven different teams have won titles in the eight years since New York’s run only underscores how remarkable it was.

Finally to the NBA, which has been the most conducive to dynasties throughout the time period in question.  Let’s begin with the present, and a peculiar team that has heard the term thrown around in reference to it on more than one occasion.  That would be the San Antonio Spurs.

Since Tim Duncan’s sophomore campaign in 1998, the Spurs have won four of the 10 NBA titles to be contested.  They’ve won three of the last six, but all in odd years (’03, ’05 and ’07).

Duncan will probably go down as the greatest power forward of all time, but his lumbering style and passive attitude are generally cited as the chief reasons why the Spurs have yet to repeat as champs.  The guy has simply never exhibited the fire and drive needed to go after it, year after year.  It takes a cold-blooded leader to repeat, and Duncan — while many things — is not that.  Spurs proponents would argue that a miracle three by Derek Fisher in 2004 and Dirk Nowitzki’s historic three-point play in 2006 are the only things standing between San Antonio and five straight titles.  And they would have a point, except there’s no room for “coulda, woulda, shoulda” when talking dynasty.

I’ll argue that San Antonio’s three titles combined with those plays merit them the moniker of “team of the decade”, but a dynasty?  No.

This is where it gets interesting, because at the beginning of the decade we saw a bona fide dynasty in the Shaq/Kobe Lakers.  Three straight crowns starting with the 1999-00 season.  A loss in the 2004 Finals to the chippy Detroit Pistons — with the additions of Gary Payton and Karl Malone no less — cost the Lakers their shot at being the team of the decade.  That is unless they grab another one in ’09…

Now let’s trek back to the 80s, a magnificent era that featured what I must deem a “co-dynasty”.  Magic’s Lakers and Bird’s Celtics won eight of nine NBA titles beginning with the 1979-80 season.  While LA had the upper hand (winning five rings to Boston’s three and two of the three head-to-head showdowns), there’s no doubt that Magic isn’t Magic without Bird and vice versa.  Same goes for their teams.  The iconic franchises fed off one another, spawned a fervent bicoastal fan base and permanently embedded the sport in American culture.  For that reason the 80s Celtics are the only team to warrant the dynasty tag despite a failure to repeat (they won three of six from ’81 to ’86 and appeared in five Finals during that span).

If we’re talking dynasties and iconic players, the argument begins and ends with one man.  Michael Jordan.  The greatest, most prolific champion of the modern era.  His Bulls three-peated from ’91 to ’93, and again from ’96 to ’98.

He took a break (for reasons still not completely determined) and played baseball for a year and half in between, and his team became mortal without him.  After a truncated return in ’95 and a second straight loss in the Eastern Conference playoffs for the Bulls, MJ made it clear that the glory days were again on the horizon, and he lived up to his word.  When it was over Jordan had essentially gone six-for-six in his prime, a surreal stretch of individual dominance in what was historically believed to be a team game.

The dynasty debate is one of the great ongoing discussions in sport.  While it will continue to live on — in locker rooms, through the media, around the dinner table — the 90s Bulls are the greatest dynasty in recent American sports history.

Any beef?

Olympic Points

National pride is a sensation that — for most of us — rarely manifests itself in a profound way. As Americans, the concept of nationalism is more or less implicit. We’re intrinsically proud to be American (with caveats) but rarely wake up with a burning desire to be closer to Uncle Sam.

It’s for this reason that you don’t commonly observe reverent citizens gathered around American flags in the streets of US cities or see 50,000 people breaking down in tears before sporting events when the Star Spangled Banner is performed.

Indeed, the two most tangible representations of American nationalism — the flag and the national anthem — are so omnipresent that more often than not they evoke a sense of formality rather than one of visceral emotion. In my lifetime there have only been two recurring instances where I’ve felt an instinctive and deep-seated connection to my flag and national anthem.

First is when I’m traveling abroad. Exploring the culture and examining the history of foreign lands has always piqued my interest. It’s also summoned my frequently dormant patriotism.

(Case in point: A vacation I was on in Normandy, France. A friend of mine owns a seaside house on Omaha Beach, site of the American invasion into German-occupied France during World War II. Situated a mere half-mile or so from my friend’s property is the Normandy American Cemetery, a magnificent and powerful memorial that contains the remains of the thousands of American military that perished in the D-Day battle. On a balmy June morning a few years back, I led 15 excited French kids up the hill that adjoins to the Cimetiere Americain while belting out the Star Spangled Banner. It was a goofy and endearing sequence that was also one of most prideful moments I’ve ever had as an American. Chances are it shall remain such.)

The only other happening that can arouse my inner patriotism is the Olympics. I enjoy the clash of countries and cultures through the competition of sport. Frequently I will casually tune into some coverage knowing it’s only a matter of time before I’m totally swept up: as a sports fan, as a journalist, as an American.

This happened on Sunday night, or day three of the 2008 Beijing Games. Work had precluded me from watching any of the Opening Ceremonies or early events, so I was already psyched to get my first dose of the summer games since Athens.

Political and idealogical implications of these Olympics notwithstanding, Michael Phelps’ quest for Olympic immortality (eight gold medals) has been top news thus far. He took home his first gold in the 400 meter individual medley, which preceded what was said to be his toughest event, the 4 x 100m freestyle relay. It was purported to be his sole “long shot” because he would need to rely on three other guys to have a chance.

I don’t know a whole lot about the event, but I do know that the Americans owned it from 1964 through 1996. They relinquished their stranglehold on gold in the 2000 Sydney Games at the hands of the host Aussies before slipping to bronze medal status in Athens four years ago.

Leading up to Beijing, gold in the men’s relay became synonymous with the French. They were the presumptive favorites. Quite presumptive in fact. The French anchor and world-record holder in the 100m freestyle, Alain Bernard, took it up a notch, saying, “The Americans? We’re going to smash them. That’s what we came here for.”

And so French — again — became synonymous with tactless arrogance.

Since I’ve spent so much time in France, love the language and may very well reside there one day, I’ve always had the back of the French when unknowing folks take unfounded shots at them. Which only serves to underscore the wave of patriotism and French antipathy I suddenly harbored upon seeing those comments.

Wait, you’re talkin about my boys? Faux real?! I stewed. Oh it’s on now Frenchy!

As the race began — with Phelps swimming the lead-off leg — I was locked in. Sure enough, the Americans fell behind during the middle legs. By the time the American anchor, Jason Lezak, hit the water, he was more than a half-second behind the world-record holding Bernard (which I’m pretty sure is a hell of a lot).

He made up no eau in the first 50 meters and needed a miraculous push in the home stretch to have any shot at thwarting the brash Frenchman. With a little more than 30 meters to go he started to make his move. The crowd felt it. At 20 meters he had gained more ground, at 10 slightly more.

With one final dominating stroke, Lezak pulled into the end wall a fraction of a second ahead of Bernard — eight-hundredths of a second to be exact. It was so close that Phelps and the rest of the team — along with the announcers — had to look at the official scoreboard to affirm their rapturous delight.

What followed was a state of euphoria experienced communally by the improbable gold medalists, the delirious announcers, the awestruck crowd and every proud American following it all half a world away.

Phelps struck a muscle pose that could grace the cover of any fitness magazine. The broadcaster’s voice cracked. I jumped up and nearly hit the ceiling.

The quest for unprecedented gold continued.

And to think, ten minutes before that piece of history I was mindlessly channel surfing my way through an otherwise mundane Sunday night.

That’s the glory of the Olympics.