"The Song Remains the Same"
by Led Zeppelin
I had a dream. Crazy dream.
Anything I wanted to know, any place I needed to go.
I don't do drugs, and I don't remember my dreams. So why do I keep pinching myself?! Probably because every conventional bone in my body tells me this can't be real. The Kansas City Royals - the same franchise that hadn't been to the postseason in 29 years (more than the days of my walking this earth)...the Kansas City Royals - the same franchise that lost 100 or more games in four out of five seasons in the early 2000's...the Kansas City Royals - who had been mired in a losing culture so thick and disorienting it was hard to separate the garden-variety shit from the bull kind...those Kansas City Royals have taken the 2014 playoffs by...storm is too mainstream...hurricane? ...tornado is perhaps more regionally appropriate? ...by the big red spot on Jupiter, since it all just seems so otherworldly?
Quite literally nothing about this makes any sense. A winning pedigree isn't the only thing the Royals are lacking. The 2014 Royals seemingly possess a number of deficiencies that would make them overwhelming underdogs against the rest of the playoff field. They don't have the lineup, yet they've scored more runs than any other team in the playoffs. They have a manager who's a lightning rod of questionable moves, yet his witch's brew has proved quite unsavory for his opposition. They don't hit homeruns, yet they are hitting homeruns. What in the actual eff is going on?!
All the while, the Royals continue to steal bases, bunt guys over, and play elite defense. These are the Royals we have all come to know and love but who are going through a bit of an identity crisis. Should we hit homeruns, or should we play small-ball? Or should we just do both? It's the best kind of crisis.
Coinciding with the power surge and playoff success, we've witnessed a spike in Royals charisma as well. Everyone seems to be falling in love with the excitement and energy that this team displays in the dugout and on the field. Even Alex Gordon - the lone stoic (and a hell of a stoic at that!) - found himself swinging a triumphant arm through the air when he found himself at third base after having cleared the bases on a broken bat blooper to right in Game 1 of the ALCS. These are the Royals after receiving a Vitamin B shot (a steroid analogy seemed distasteful). These are the Royals while dawning The Mask. It's beautiful and terrible to behold.
It's not just the way the Royals have been winning; it's how they've been winning. First of all, let's just remind ourselves that this 2014 Royals team - without any kind of postseason experience whatsoever - is undefeated through half of the games needed to win it all. That alone deserves a pause, followed by a what the eff. Though this team is prone to the hot streak, this is not your run-of-the-mill regular season streak, where your competition is peppered with losing teams. A postseason streak seems exponentially more difficult to sustain. Against the likes of the A's, Angels, and O's, you're not supposed to do this.
In reflecting upon the ride, let's return to the Wild Card game, which had enough what the eff cache to it to fill an entire playoff run. Down 7-3 in the bottom of the eighth with Jon Lester on the mound - the same Jon Lester who has not only historically owned the playoffs but also the Royals - the Royals were mathematically given a 3% chance of victory over the A's. Their record this 2014 postseason shouldn't be 6-0. It should be 0-1, as they had no business winning that game. But they fought back in the eighth and scored three runs, though Salvador Perez failed to capitalize on sacrificing the runner on third with one out to tie the game. They scored another in the ninth, though they subsequently failed to score in the next two innings after getting the leadoff man on base. After so many missed opportunities, only to see Oakland score in the twelfth, it would not have been shameful to lose heart...especially after Lorenzo Cain grounded out to start the bottom of the twelfth, and the Royals had only seen one extra base hit to that point in the game. But the unpredictable kept happening. Eric Hosmer hit a triple. Holy crap. Cristian Colon singled in Hosmer on a weak ball hit to Luke Donaldson that couldn't have been bunted any better. Holy crap! Colon, certainly not one of the Royals' speedier base runners, then proceeded to steal second on a pitch-out that was muffed by Oakland's catcher. HOLY CRAP! But then, buzzkill: up comes Salvador Perez, who to that point in the game had looked about as poor at the plate that one can possibly conceive of a professional baseball player looking. Knowing what we now know, of course this would happen: he reached out towards the same low-and-away slider that he had looked so poorly swinging at all game and managed to pull it down the line, inches away from Luke Donaldson's outstretched glove. HOLY SHIT! - a phrase that could not be more apropos, as the twelfth inning alone constituted the type of play that can only be described as an amalgamation of junk and divine providence.
That was just the Wild Card game and the first of four extra-inning playoff victories the Royals would win en-route to beginning this postseason 6-0. Just let that sentence sink in for a moment, as it is nothing short of ludicrous. The Royals have already become the only postseason team to win four games in extras. If I were a sports fiction novelist, I couldn't conceive of a story more magical or compelling than this. This is Rocky type shit. The song I've been hearing from TBS's post game commentators has remained the same the past several days. Pedro Martinez and Gary Sheffield - seasoned veterans and stars who have spent most of their lives around the game of baseball - have only been able to reflect upon this postseason run by the Royals with such insight as: I've never seen anything like this before. This has been a crazy dream indeed.
Hear my song. People won't you listen now? Sing along.
You don't know what you're missing now.
Any little song that you know,
Everything that's small has to grow.
And it has to grow!
Amid this magical run, the Royals have endeared themselves to the nation and become America's darling. All the compelling story lines are present: the agonizing playoff drought, the small-market team, the unprecedented playoff success. The Royals are the best underdog story in a generation and a half, and we all know how America loves a good underdog.
In addition to the numerous headliners that make this team a fun story, they're also a peculiarly fascinating and enjoyable team to watch. Kansas City plays a rather unconventional brand of baseball that has been lost in the haze of the steroid and moneyball eras of the sport. The Royals play small ball, which for non-baseball aficionados, is the phrase given to the style/strategy of play involving the manufacturing of runs via stolen bases, bunting, and timely hitting. It's called small ball because you have to execute so many small maneuvers in order to get that damn run across the plate. Needless to say, it's the more onerous path.
Modern baseball strategists and sabermetricians prickle at the mere mention of "small ball" because they have statistically proven that it's an inferior strategy. But what such "experts" might not understand is that small ball might indeed be the wiser alternative for a club that lacks the components with which to play to the homerun and extra base hit. Kansas City does not have a huge market; therefore they can't afford the payroll to sign the superstars of the game who generally possess the skills needed (power) to play towards the long ball. Remember that in the Wild Card game, the Royals only put together two extra-base hits in twelve innings. Neither of those were homeruns, and the second, a triple by Eric Hosmer, came in the twelfth. In hindsight, it would have been folly to leave all the runners they had on base stranded, waiting idly for a big hit to come. Instead of waiting, they made scoring opportunities come to them by stealing seven(!) bases - five of which came around to score. Without a small ball approach, the Royals would have scored about half of the runs they did and lost the game. They also lack a cozy ball park such as Baltimore's Camden Yards; therefore it's quite hard to even hit homeruns in cavernous Kauffman Stadium.
With such circumstances as these, it behooves an organization to value other, more unconventional traits in ball players, such as speed and defensive prowess. In other words, if the baseball gods give you lemons, make lemonade. General manager Dayton Moore and the Royals have made blended margaritas - and tasty ones at that. And while homeruns are perhaps the most exciting thing in baseball, there is a different kind of excitement we find with the speed and audacious base running that the Royals bring to the table. We as fans are on pins and needles seemingly every time a runner in blue gets on base. The rest of the nation is finally coming to understand why baseball in Kansas City has been so much fun to watch all season long. It's something that fans haven't truly experienced in many years, and it's refreshing.
The resurrection of small ball isn't the only trend the Royals have bucked this season. Yes, they're a particularly exciting team to watch, but they're also an excitable bunch. Baseball, above all the other sports, is known for the way in which its players carry themselves in a noble, reserved fashion. Within the confines of the fraternity, it's rather frowned upon to show raw emotion on the field. The Royals, however, are very emotional - once again with exception to Alex Gordon, who exhibits about as much emotion as someone in a catatonic state.
It all began when Dayton Moore traded for starting pitcher James Shields several years ago. He not only had acquired a much-needed ace of Kansas City's staff, but he also had instantaneously filled the vacancy of a vocal team leader. Ergo, with the ever-increasing success Kansas City has seen during Shields' short tenure with the team, it can be argued that James Shields single-handedly changed the losing culture of Kansas City's clubhouse. That is perhaps another blog in and of itself, but for the purpose of the point being made, James Shields wears his emotions on his sleeve. Shields doesn't shy away from the emotion with which he feels during the game; he instead harnesses it and uses it to his advantage. It has set precedent for some of the Royals' younger players such as Eric Hosmer and Mike Moustakas, also emotional players, to wear their emotions as well. Currently, the whole team seems to reflect the sentiment of the city it represents, in understanding the sheer gravitas of the situation. Every run scored and every run saved is of utmost significance to a city that has pined for postseason baseball for thirty years, and in such moments the Royals dugout embodies in perfect unison the excitement and joy that transpires in every Kansas City home. The spirit with which the Royals play baseball resembles the beauty of the game when we played it as kids, before money and fame adulterated it. They've rediscovered that spark and enthusiasm that only comes when you play the game for something bigger than yourself.
The Royals' spirit is contagious. Their song, which started small, has grown and continues to grow. And unless you're from St. Louis, Maryland, or Northern California, I invite you to join the many of us who are now singing along.
California sunlight, sweet Calcutta rain,
Honolulu Starbright - the song remains the same.
From the sun and heat of Southern California, to the chilly rain in Baltimore...night and day games alike, the song remains the same for the Royals. They've played the small market moneyball gold standard in Billy Beane's A's. They've played (and swept) the big market Angels, whose lineup features some of the best players in the world. They've now gone two games head to head with what is considered one of the game's top managers in Buck Showalter. The song, however, remains the same.
Sing out Hare Hare, dance the Hoochie Koo.
City lights are oh so bright, as we go sliding...sliding...sliding through.
This last stanza is going to be fun. Thank you, Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. Little did you know you were portending the 2014 Royals...
The Royals are singing out Hare Hare on the basepaths, which I will remind you is a quick rabbit. If you don't know what the Hoochie Koo is, just watch the aftermath of Jarrod Dyson's theft of third base in the ninth inning of the Wild Card game. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-YdFiUES8o In front of sellout postseason crowds, the city lights have become oh so bright. And is there any question as to what sliding, sliding, sliding through means?? If you prefer not to follow along with my literal translation, allow the trippy lyrics to reflect just how gnarly and fantastic this journey has been.
This 2014 playoffs is more than a dream for Kansas City. It's an elixir. It's a healing balm that has been rubbed into wounds and scars of the past twenty nine years. These last several weeks have changed the posture of a city from crippled to upright. If you could bottle up the equalizing force of karma from the past twenty nine years and unleash it on one postseason, it would probably look something like what we're seeing.
With each exciting and dramatic victory that ensues, the song remains the same for these unlikely Fall Classic heroes. But in the grand scheme of Kansas City Royals baseball, this song is so beautifully different. Keep dreaming, Kansas City. No city deserves it more. May we be singing for another six games...
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Saturday, August 16, 2014
The Case for Kansas City
As an audacious Royals fan, you are first and foremost an apologetic. And over the last thirty years, it's taken a more talented rhetorician to convince someone of the viability of a winning Royals ball club than the existence of a loving God in a hurting world. In fact, many Royals fans have perhaps abandoned their religious beliefs due to the pain they've endured for the past one and a half generations. Why God, have you forsaken Kansas City??
God has not forsaken Kansas City, Royals fans. We've just been roaming the desert. God has been gracious enough, in fact, to lift the veil a full decade before He did the Israelites. There has been manna given us throughout this period of wandering - Johnny Damon, Carlos Beltran, and Zack Greinke, but it's always been fleeting nourishment before we saw our champions depart. And besides, the pride a fan can muster off one player's accomplishments hardly compares with the prevailing joy that ushers in with the success of the team. That's why this season feels so different.
Successful teams are usually propelled by star power in some respect. Detroit has Miggy. Seattle has Felix. Pittsburgh has McCutchen. The Los Angeles teams claim Kershaw, Puig, Kemp, Trout, and Pujols to name a few. I'd be willing to say that every team with viable hopes of actually making the playoffs can point to at least one major league star on the roster. But not the Royals; they are the anomaly. Sure there is James Shields, who you could argue is a bonafide number one starter. But I'd contend he is not a star. He wasn't even the best pitcher on his old Tampa Bay team, which had Cy-Young winner David Price. There's Greg Holland, one of the best kept dominant closer secrets in Major League Baseball, but he's not a star either. For who as a reliever can be called a star in the aftermath of the careers of Mariano Rivera and Trevor Hoffman? We have Salvador Perez, a burgeoning young catcher with childlike charisma, adroit understanding of managing pitchers far beyond his years, a cannon for an arm, and a decent amount of pop at the plate, but he's not a star...yet. No, the 2014 Kansas City Royals are a team comprised of contributors. Despite this, they have managed to swim upstream to this point in the season and lead their division by one and a half games.
So how is this happening? We know full well the Royals don't win games by out-slugging their opposition. With only 488 runs scored this season, Kansas City ranks dead last in their division. Every other team has scored 500 or more. It's not a newsflash: the Kansas City Royals win games with phenomenal pitching. Their starting rotation has been reliably stingy all year, and their 7th, 8th, and 9th inning relievers are the envy of the league. If the Royals take a lead into the 7th, it's nearly a foregone conclusion that they will win. The magic arbitrary number is four, as in four runs. If the Royals can put four runs on the board, they tend to win. If they put seven on the board like they did several days ago against Oakland, you may as well go to the bookies. The Royals' phenomenal pitching is common knowledge. What I'd like to discuss is the lineup and how this seemingly poor offense has managed to provide enough runs for the team to be sitting at 13 games over .500 through mid-August.
As most could imagine, a lot has gone right for Kansas City this season, most of which has to do with pitching. But let me remind everyone that a lot has not exactly gone according to plan. A glaring hole in this Kansas City offense is a lack of power from those who were supposed to provide it. Billy Butler, who hit 29 dingers just two seasons ago, has just 7 to this point. Mike Moustakas and Eric Hosmer, who were supposed to be the young players who evolved into offensive anchors, have hit just 14 and 6 homeruns so far. So in a combined 360 games played - well over two full seasons, the supposed source of Kansas City's power has hit a cumulative 27 homeruns. What's worse, the ineptitude of these players as it concerns getting that damn little white ball over the wall doesn't even account for Billy Butler's liability on the basepaths, Hosmer's horrific plate discipline, and Moustakas' struggles to stay above the Mendoza line. Taking that into account, it's damn near miraculous that the Royals have won and won often.
But while the Royals' lineup may not collectively possess as much vim as Yoenis Cespedes has in his bat alone, they do have other more subtle benefits to their offensive game. First and foremost, the Royals generally speaking have speed. 108 stolen bases trails only the Los Angeles Dodgers, who have 111 (Dee Gordon claiming half of those...seriously). The Royals' 79% success rate is actually considerably better than the Dodgers and one of the best in the league. Unlike the Dodgers, the Royals enjoy many base thieves. Of their 108, Jarrod Dyson has 27, Alcides Escobar has 24, Lorenzo Cain 18, and Nori Aoki 13.
Besides the hard evidence of speed translating into stolen bases, there is much more that speed goes towards impacting the game of baseball that we can't exactly measure, prompting the umbrella phrase coined by Kansas City's own Jarrod Dyson, That's what speed do. Speed provides a mental edge in baseball. About half of Ned Yost's lineup is a viable threat to steal, which can't be very comforting to opposing pitchers. Speed provides flexibility. If Yost wants a runner in scoring position, he can be confident in simply taking it. Speed provides efficacy. The Royals run the base paths well. Alcides Escobar went from first to home on a single by Billy Butler with two outs in the seventh inning of Thursday's game against Oakland. Not too many players can do that. You see, speed is not a particularly valued commodity on teams like Oakland and Boston, which value the almighty homerun. If that's what you're waiting for, then by all means load up the bases with fatties and wait for the longball (Billy Butler to Oakland?). But for a team such as the Royals, which wins the low-scoring 1-run and 2-run games largely by manufacturing runs, speed is invaluable, just as pitching is, just as an impermeable bullpen is. Speed do a lot for Kansas City.
The Royals' hitters aren't particularly intimidating when isolating each of them by themselves. The highest batting average on the team is Lorenzo Cain at .299, which is not overwhelmingly impressive. But the Royals bat .263 as a team, which ranks 3rd overall in the majors. In fact, the only everyday player whose average is under even .257 is Moustakas, and he is a major outlier at .203. The Royals don't generally speaking get their big innings off of homeruns. They get them from streaming together hit after hit after hit. It's how they generated a five-run seventh off of Oakland two days ago, and it's how they generated their 5-run fourth off Nolasco and the Twins yesterday. Everyone in this lineup can hit. Hell, they scored all five runs before Nolasco was even able to record one out, and it's only because of Jarrod Dyson and Nori Aoki's inability to sacrifice Alcides Escobar at third that they didn't score 6 runs that inning. In fact, inability to convert all four of the Royals' sacrifice opportunities is the reason they only scored 6 and not 10 in the game. But the reason why the Royals did break open an enormous 5-run inning is solely because everyone can contribute - and they did. The Royals can hit, and they can run.
In the end, the Royals' style of play is rare in today's game. They pitch, play great defense, and rely on timely hitting and speed to generate just enough runs before handing the game over to superb bullpen arms that shut, no slam the door. You might call it throwback, old-school baseball. You might call it an antiquated and outdated philosophy. But it's working. And though it's the difficult way to win, as opposed to hitting three jacks every day - kind of like a football team choosing to go after the unstoppable defense rather than the star quarterback - like football, it's a formula that works. And perhaps like football, it's ultimately the better way to go because the Royals aren't relying on any one player to hoist the team on their back and lead them to glory. They lost Luke Hochevar, and Wade Davis stepped in (and proved better). They lost Hosmer, and Billy Butler stepped in and began to hit like Billy Butler (and the Royals have been better, much better). They lost Jeff Francoeur, and...well, anyone was pretty much better than him.
The point is that the Royals are a good team in the truest sense of what the word is supposed to signify. Sometimes the better team is not the one with the best players. Instead, it's the one with a whole bunch of role players who consistently do what's required of them. That is, after all, what brings out the best in a team. When they look around at each other after a victory, with no room for selfish pride because everyone contributed, they think we did this. I hope that they can exchange those glances and have those thoughts well on into October. I can dream.
Amendment: As an audacious Royals fan, you are first and foremost a dreamer. And for those who aren't dreaming with me right now, I feel sorry for you. Because this is fun. I rest my case.
God has not forsaken Kansas City, Royals fans. We've just been roaming the desert. God has been gracious enough, in fact, to lift the veil a full decade before He did the Israelites. There has been manna given us throughout this period of wandering - Johnny Damon, Carlos Beltran, and Zack Greinke, but it's always been fleeting nourishment before we saw our champions depart. And besides, the pride a fan can muster off one player's accomplishments hardly compares with the prevailing joy that ushers in with the success of the team. That's why this season feels so different.
Successful teams are usually propelled by star power in some respect. Detroit has Miggy. Seattle has Felix. Pittsburgh has McCutchen. The Los Angeles teams claim Kershaw, Puig, Kemp, Trout, and Pujols to name a few. I'd be willing to say that every team with viable hopes of actually making the playoffs can point to at least one major league star on the roster. But not the Royals; they are the anomaly. Sure there is James Shields, who you could argue is a bonafide number one starter. But I'd contend he is not a star. He wasn't even the best pitcher on his old Tampa Bay team, which had Cy-Young winner David Price. There's Greg Holland, one of the best kept dominant closer secrets in Major League Baseball, but he's not a star either. For who as a reliever can be called a star in the aftermath of the careers of Mariano Rivera and Trevor Hoffman? We have Salvador Perez, a burgeoning young catcher with childlike charisma, adroit understanding of managing pitchers far beyond his years, a cannon for an arm, and a decent amount of pop at the plate, but he's not a star...yet. No, the 2014 Kansas City Royals are a team comprised of contributors. Despite this, they have managed to swim upstream to this point in the season and lead their division by one and a half games.
So how is this happening? We know full well the Royals don't win games by out-slugging their opposition. With only 488 runs scored this season, Kansas City ranks dead last in their division. Every other team has scored 500 or more. It's not a newsflash: the Kansas City Royals win games with phenomenal pitching. Their starting rotation has been reliably stingy all year, and their 7th, 8th, and 9th inning relievers are the envy of the league. If the Royals take a lead into the 7th, it's nearly a foregone conclusion that they will win. The magic arbitrary number is four, as in four runs. If the Royals can put four runs on the board, they tend to win. If they put seven on the board like they did several days ago against Oakland, you may as well go to the bookies. The Royals' phenomenal pitching is common knowledge. What I'd like to discuss is the lineup and how this seemingly poor offense has managed to provide enough runs for the team to be sitting at 13 games over .500 through mid-August.
As most could imagine, a lot has gone right for Kansas City this season, most of which has to do with pitching. But let me remind everyone that a lot has not exactly gone according to plan. A glaring hole in this Kansas City offense is a lack of power from those who were supposed to provide it. Billy Butler, who hit 29 dingers just two seasons ago, has just 7 to this point. Mike Moustakas and Eric Hosmer, who were supposed to be the young players who evolved into offensive anchors, have hit just 14 and 6 homeruns so far. So in a combined 360 games played - well over two full seasons, the supposed source of Kansas City's power has hit a cumulative 27 homeruns. What's worse, the ineptitude of these players as it concerns getting that damn little white ball over the wall doesn't even account for Billy Butler's liability on the basepaths, Hosmer's horrific plate discipline, and Moustakas' struggles to stay above the Mendoza line. Taking that into account, it's damn near miraculous that the Royals have won and won often.
But while the Royals' lineup may not collectively possess as much vim as Yoenis Cespedes has in his bat alone, they do have other more subtle benefits to their offensive game. First and foremost, the Royals generally speaking have speed. 108 stolen bases trails only the Los Angeles Dodgers, who have 111 (Dee Gordon claiming half of those...seriously). The Royals' 79% success rate is actually considerably better than the Dodgers and one of the best in the league. Unlike the Dodgers, the Royals enjoy many base thieves. Of their 108, Jarrod Dyson has 27, Alcides Escobar has 24, Lorenzo Cain 18, and Nori Aoki 13.
Besides the hard evidence of speed translating into stolen bases, there is much more that speed goes towards impacting the game of baseball that we can't exactly measure, prompting the umbrella phrase coined by Kansas City's own Jarrod Dyson, That's what speed do. Speed provides a mental edge in baseball. About half of Ned Yost's lineup is a viable threat to steal, which can't be very comforting to opposing pitchers. Speed provides flexibility. If Yost wants a runner in scoring position, he can be confident in simply taking it. Speed provides efficacy. The Royals run the base paths well. Alcides Escobar went from first to home on a single by Billy Butler with two outs in the seventh inning of Thursday's game against Oakland. Not too many players can do that. You see, speed is not a particularly valued commodity on teams like Oakland and Boston, which value the almighty homerun. If that's what you're waiting for, then by all means load up the bases with fatties and wait for the longball (Billy Butler to Oakland?). But for a team such as the Royals, which wins the low-scoring 1-run and 2-run games largely by manufacturing runs, speed is invaluable, just as pitching is, just as an impermeable bullpen is. Speed do a lot for Kansas City.
The Royals' hitters aren't particularly intimidating when isolating each of them by themselves. The highest batting average on the team is Lorenzo Cain at .299, which is not overwhelmingly impressive. But the Royals bat .263 as a team, which ranks 3rd overall in the majors. In fact, the only everyday player whose average is under even .257 is Moustakas, and he is a major outlier at .203. The Royals don't generally speaking get their big innings off of homeruns. They get them from streaming together hit after hit after hit. It's how they generated a five-run seventh off of Oakland two days ago, and it's how they generated their 5-run fourth off Nolasco and the Twins yesterday. Everyone in this lineup can hit. Hell, they scored all five runs before Nolasco was even able to record one out, and it's only because of Jarrod Dyson and Nori Aoki's inability to sacrifice Alcides Escobar at third that they didn't score 6 runs that inning. In fact, inability to convert all four of the Royals' sacrifice opportunities is the reason they only scored 6 and not 10 in the game. But the reason why the Royals did break open an enormous 5-run inning is solely because everyone can contribute - and they did. The Royals can hit, and they can run.
In the end, the Royals' style of play is rare in today's game. They pitch, play great defense, and rely on timely hitting and speed to generate just enough runs before handing the game over to superb bullpen arms that shut, no slam the door. You might call it throwback, old-school baseball. You might call it an antiquated and outdated philosophy. But it's working. And though it's the difficult way to win, as opposed to hitting three jacks every day - kind of like a football team choosing to go after the unstoppable defense rather than the star quarterback - like football, it's a formula that works. And perhaps like football, it's ultimately the better way to go because the Royals aren't relying on any one player to hoist the team on their back and lead them to glory. They lost Luke Hochevar, and Wade Davis stepped in (and proved better). They lost Hosmer, and Billy Butler stepped in and began to hit like Billy Butler (and the Royals have been better, much better). They lost Jeff Francoeur, and...well, anyone was pretty much better than him.
The point is that the Royals are a good team in the truest sense of what the word is supposed to signify. Sometimes the better team is not the one with the best players. Instead, it's the one with a whole bunch of role players who consistently do what's required of them. That is, after all, what brings out the best in a team. When they look around at each other after a victory, with no room for selfish pride because everyone contributed, they think we did this. I hope that they can exchange those glances and have those thoughts well on into October. I can dream.
Amendment: As an audacious Royals fan, you are first and foremost a dreamer. And for those who aren't dreaming with me right now, I feel sorry for you. Because this is fun. I rest my case.
Friday, February 28, 2014
From Russia, With Love
It’s been several days, and I have been forced to notice a small, ring-shaped hole in my life. I am personally reminded at every Olympics how the games for me resemble a relationship in an incubator. For two weeks it’s nearly complete immersion. First comes the opening ceremony - I meet the country hosting the games and its many competitors. We get acquainted. There’s a spark. We’re both excited about the possibilities. Then, the games begin. They sweep you off your feet (especially when the United States takes the very first gold). We get more and more serious as the days ensue. Dates are implied. Every night, eight o’clock. Sometimes we’re up all night to get lucky. Sometimes things seem that they could not be any better; other times, we fight, and despite my verbal abuse, the Olympics always gets her way. Drama mounts towards the end, as the medal count seesaws. We ask each other to put everything we have into this, knowing the relationship’s terminal state. Then, when the closing ceremony comes, we regretfully say our goodbyes, and we prepare to grieve what we knew could not last (though she said she’d be back in a couple years…).
This year, in seeking catharsis, I wanted to compile a list of some of the memories. Just as in any relationship, there are many good ones, a few bad, and some that we remain ambivalent towards. But in the end, it serves us in our grief to create a space of loving memory for the lost in being able to appreciate the time we had together. I hope these memories can assist you with your own grieving process.
Failure
Let’s start with the bad. Sometimes, initially after the breakup, it is helpful to be able to sit with a good friend and vent about all the things that make your ex a terrible person. Let’s take a look at some of the failures of the 2014 Winter Olympics.
Sochi
Sochi in and of itself was a bit of a failure, as the infrastructure didn’t quite come together in the end. Reports of open-concept public restrooms, pee-colored water, and disastrously long waiting periods in the lines of the vendors were just a few of the criticisms that made yuppy Westerners cringe.
Insignia Fail
Four rings instead of five...the firing squad could be heard echoing off the mountains that night.
Bob Costas/Matt Lauer
 |
| Costas is lucky Rick was not in Sochi. |
Initially it was just a humorous puffy left eye that was trending on Twitter. A few days later, the NBC medical staff was forced to conduct a full-body examination, checking for any bite marks or large chunks of skin and muscle that had been ripped off, in case Costas was in fact making the slow transition to undead. Costas bravely persisted with several evenings of self-deprecating reporting, but he eventually was forced to pass the reigns to Matt Lauer. Lauer may be a kind and winsome face, but there’s a reason why he is on The Today Show and not covering high-profile sporting events. Zombie Bob Costas was suddenly missed.
Shaun White and Company
 |
| Unhand Flying Tomato, hipster Shaun White! |
Many countries have their shtick. In the Winter Olympics, Russia has figure skating; Canada has hockey; Switzerland and Austria have downhill skiing; the Netherlands has speed skating; the Scandinavian countries have cross country skiing; Germany has luge; and the United States has snowboarding halfpipe. Since its inception at the Nagano games in 1998, the United States had taken eight of the twelve medals in the halfpipe, including three of the four golds and a sweep of the event in Salt Lake City in 2002. But this year at Sochi, Americans failed to make the podium. Three made it to the finals, but none, including favorite Shaun White, medaled.
Hockey
In the 2010 Vancouver games, the men’s gold medal game ended with an epic overtime goal by Sidney Crosby, putting Canada over the United States 3-2. The women suffered a similar fate, losing to Canada 2-0 in the finals. Both losses for the Americans left our nation largely in want. This year’s Olympics seemed poised for both US teams to claim their revenge. The men’s team was dominant in the games leading up to the semis, while the Canadian men in comparison seemed a bit lethargic. But when it came time to play, it was clear that the Canucks were just...better. With a suffocating defensive effort, one goal was all the Canadians needed to steamroll the American team in a shutout. Demoralized, our men would go on to lay an egg against Finland, being shutout again in a 5-0 loss. Even more gut-wrenching than the men’s tournament disappointment was the way in which our women’s team lost. Up 2-0 against the Canadians with less than four minutes in the gold medal game, Canada would go on to unleash a scoring barrage against the Americans - two goals within two and a half minutes and the winning score in sudden-death overtime. It was nothing less than shocking…like a swift kick to the groin. Canada...my neighbor to the north...I asked for your tunic, and instead you took mine and the shirt off my back.
 |
| Revenge - a dish best not served? |
National Anthem
I saw way too many Americans stumbling through the words to the Star Spangled Banner. This wicked and perverse generation! Why do we not know the words to our own national anthem, played or sung nearly ubiquitously before any large event? Better still, why are our athletes going into the Olympics not thinking ahead to the moment when they may be standing on the highest podium, listening to their country’s anthem being played? You’d think at the very least they’d cram for it after winning an event. Still, if you don’t know the words, there remains a simple solution: don’t sing. As a viable alternative, close your eyes and act as if you are going through an intense spiritual moment. It may look even more reverent than if you were singing.
Ambivalence
I had mixed feelings towards these things…
Ice Dancing
Charlie White and Meryl Davis won ice dancing gold! Whoo!! ...what is this sport?? Admittedly, I’m not big on dancing. You will probably never see Swedish people in this event. Moving our limbs in perfect harmony with music was never our strong suit, and because people sucked at it, they declared it a sin. I tried to watch this event, and I must admit I just don’t really understand how any of these couples distinguish themselves from the others. They all do the exact same routines, and to an untrained eye such as myself, they all appear as if they don’t screw up. Figure skating at least has a prevailing technical element to it. The jumps are extremely difficult, and it’s clear when something goes awry there. With ice dancing, I find myself scrutinizing the synchronicity of the dancers’ twizzles. ...twizzles. There also seems to be absolutely no element of surprise or chance of upset in this event, making it incredibly non-compelling. Charlie White and Meryl Davis were the frontrunners coming in, with Canada not too far behind, and everyone else light years in back of them. And low and behold, that’s exactly how it played out. It’s women’s NCAA basketball all over again. It seems like reputation drives the results of ice dancing more than any other Olympic event. I have no clue as to why our ice dancers were better than the rest of the field. Was it White’s flowing blond locks?
 |
| I mean...I guess. |
US Women’s Figure Skaters
Gracie Gold…
...and Ashley Wagner.
Scandal
I want to highlight two scandals of the 2014 Winter Olympics, both involving Russia and South Korea. Coincidence? Read on and decide for yourself.
Viktor Ahn
...or is it Ahn Hyun-soo? With four more medals in Sochi, Ahn has become the highest decorated short-track skater (objectively the best Olympic event, summer or winter) in Olympic history. American Apolo Ohno is the only other competitor to reach eight medals, but there is no question Ahn represents the gold standard of the sport. Ohno won his eight - two gold, two silver, and four bronze - over the course of three Olympics (2002, 2006, and 2010). Viktor Ahn has won eight - six gold and two bronze - in only two Olympics (2006 and 2014). Ahn missed the Vancouver games due to injury.
 |
| Huh? |
So what is so scandalous about that? Ahn competed for South Korea in the Torino games as Ahn Hyun-soo, but he competed for Russia in Sochi as Viktor Ahn. Apparently he had a falling out with his country and team in between those eight years (possibly having to do with not being able to compete in Torino). After training in Russia and gaining citizenship as a Russian, Ahn decided to compete for Russia and proceeded to win four medals (three gold) for the home nation in 2014. Was this simply an example of spiteful defection, or is there corruption looming behind all of this?
Yuna Kim
You will scarcely find anything but gold on Yuna Kim’s career figure skating resume. If you wikipedia her, you will find fifteen golds, six silvers, and two bronze. In the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, Kim shattered Olympic records and won gold by an obscene margin of twenty-three points. Though her technical program was not as difficult in Sochi, Kim still skated beautifully, seemingly to perfection. Despite this, Kim lost the gold in favor of Russian skater Adelina Sotnikova. Sotnikova’s routine did include a more difficult program than Kim’s, but she stumbled on one of her jumps in the free skate, and by all accounts her artistry does not hold a candle next to the sublime interpretation that Yuna brings to her skating.
What makes matters truly shady in this is that figure skating, a sport that has historically been maligned in being rife with corruption, still seems to have woven into its system an inordinate potential for judges to doctor the books. Within the rules of figure skating, judges are chosen from a pool of thirteen countries, with eight judges only working either the short program or the free skate. In Sochi, judges from the USA, Great Britain, Sweden, and South Korea who had worked the short program were replaced by other judges, notably a Ukrainian (formerly of the Soviet Union) who had been kicked out of judging for a year from trying to fix the ice dancing competition in Nagano, and a Russian judge who is married to the Russian federation president. This doesn’t stink...it reeks of bias. On top of all of this, the judges’ scores are to remain anonymous, conveniently doing away with any kind of accountability for the way these judges individually decide the skaters’ fates. How figure skating continues to operate under this kind of blatant neglect for sense is as mystifying as it is shameful.
 |
| Yuna Kim deserved better |
To review, both of these scandals witnessed the pirating of gold medals from the future host country of the Winter Olympics, South Korea, in favor of the current host, Russia. I’m not one for conspiracy theories; this may be complete coincidence. But even I have to admit this looks like a big eff you! from the Ruskis.
Glory
But much of the 2014 Winter Olympics was indeed glorious. This is how I will choose to preserve the memory of these games…
Sochi
Despite Sochi’s inadequacies, which I can blame the Russian government for, the Sochi landscape was breathtaking, of which I can credit God. Picturesque does not seem to do justice to much of what I saw. To a Swedish American prodigal residing in Southern California, seeing a camera pan across miles of snow-crested conifers that decorate a majestic mountainous landscape has a pied piper effect in calling one Home.
Skiing Slopestyle
In the event’s Olympic debut, Americans Joss Christensen, Gus Kenworthy, and Nicholas Goepper swept the podium, setting a standard for perhaps a new Olympic event which America can try to distinguish itself in.
Security
You’d have to be an exceptionally stupid terrorist to terrorize Russia, especially after the ringleader of the ring fiasco was made an example of. Still, no explosion is a huge cause for celebration. Kudos to Russian security! *I find it prudent to note here that no one was actually murdered for a failure in the rings display...to my knowledge...
Closing Ceremony (Olympic Spirit)
The Closing Ceremony on Sunday night was nothing short of spectacular. The overwhelming beauty of Russian culture was highlighted in its art, garb, music, and dance (ballet). Russian culture is incredibly unique in the themes that it shouts. A people who have toiled one of the harshest landscapes in the world, endured the political regimes of the czars, Stalin, and Gorbachev, thwarted the invasion efforts of two of the world’s most powerful dictators (Napoleon and Hitler), and who put up with communism for the better part of the 1900s have managed to seamlessly weave both agony and hope into the comprehensiveness of their culture. It is a culture that contains nearly tangible expressions of yearning so powerful that it can only originate somewhere very deep within the souls of those who create it.
Chris Collinsworth said at the close of the ceremony that with every Olympics, the world shrinks just a little bit in size. These windows into the people of our world represent the true beauty found in the Olympics. There are elements that far transcend the mere act of athletes from around the world coming together to compete against each other. That is only the alibi. The Olympic games are an excuse for countries of the world to gather together, be in awe of, and celebrate one another. We didn’t have to be in Sochi for that to occur. The Olympics are a reminder that every person in the world has a story to tell that reaches back long before their birth, and for that story to be shared and listened to is an incredible blessing.
So as that giant fluffy bear cried a single tear while extinguishing the Olympic flame, many of us felt the emotion of the moment well up inside of us as well. It was more than just nostalgia for remembering the journey of the two-week relationship we had just invested in. It was a tear shed because we’re all better people for having experienced it together. It was a tear shed because it only comes around once every two years. If you could put the tear into a pensieve, you would find that the sum of those memories is greater than its parts, and that beautiful product of sentiment is too great for the body not to respond in unison with the spirit.
Thank you, Sochi. Thank you, Russia. Thank you, world. It’s been a beautiful two weeks; indeed, an oddly beautiful harem.
Viva Rio!
Saturday, January 25, 2014
False Grit
It's more of a finesse game (now), it's more small ball, which personally I don't really care much for. I like kind of smash-mouth, old-school basketball because that's what I grew up watching. Some of the flagrant fouls that I see nowadays just makes me nauseous. You can't touch a guy without it being a flagrant foul. Back then, guys put their hands on you...you didn't want to go all the way to the basket because you'd get knocked (flat)...Kids might be a little too sensitive for that nowadays.
Think of some of the most iconic moments in American sports history: with both legs injured in the previous series and battling a stomach virus, Kirk Gibson hits a walk-off homerun off legendary closer Dennis Eckersley in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series. In Game 5 of the 1997 NBA Finals between Chicago and Utah, Michael Jordan scores 38, grabs 7 rebounds, and assists 5 while also battling a stomach bug ("The Flu Game"). Immediately following the conclusion of the game, Jordan would collapse into Scottie Pippen's arms from pure exhaustion. In the 2009 NFC Championship Game, Brett Favre, at age 40, after already having surpassed the NFL record for most consecutive starts at one position (291), could be seen repeatedly limping back out onto the field after having been battered by the New Orleans Saints defense. Favre would go on to eventually lose the game on an ill-advised throw that was picked off, but the image of the Old Warrior will forever be burned into our memories.
We love this stuff because, among other things, we see a little bit of Pilgrim in these moments - good old American grit. There's something noble about someone putting their body on the line for the greater good of the group. There's also something badass about it. The American value of toughness has permeated sports in an indelible way, and athletes don't necessarily need to play hurt in order to exhibit it. We love the brand of sports that is contact heavy and defiant in the face of danger. We love the baseball player who runs full speed at the catcher in order to jar the ball out of the mitt, a la Pete Rose (Charlie Hustle). We love the basketball player who ferociously throws their weight around the paint in order to get the rebound, a la Charles Barkley. We love the quarterback who's willing to dive head first into the endzone rather than slide two yards short of it, a la John Elway. We love the football players who play in Green Bay, in minus-twenty conditions without any extra layers on, as they flip the bird to Old Man Winter. We admire this style of play. It reeks of American ruggedness.
On May 25, 2011 Scott Cousins of the Florida Marlins rounded third base in the twelfth inning of the game in an attempt to provide his team with the go-ahead run. There was just one problem - Buster Posey. San Francisco's budding star catcher was in Cousins' way with the ball in his possession. Cousins proceeded to do what every runner in that situation has been taught to do since the inception of the game of baseball - accelerate to ramming speed and collide with the catcher, in hopes to jar the ball loose. If the catcher does not hold on to the ball, the run will score. Cousins was successful. He threw his entire body with reckless abandon into the future NL MVP, causing Posey to drop the ball. The play was terrible and beautiful all at once. Cousins' momentum caused Posey to tumble backwards awkwardly, cringing in the horrible pain that comes from a fractured fibula and torn ligaments in one's ankle. The play was legal and clean, according to the rules. Cousins scored the winning run in the Marlins' 7-6 victory. Posey was out for the remainder of the season.
Dammit, soccer. You've ruined everything. You've taken beautiful, passionate, physical competition and turned it into a burlesque show. Soccer players have made famous the art of flopping, which is the noble strategy of upon receiving contact (or sometimes no contact), falling to the ground, wincing and/or grimacing, perhaps writhing and/or yelling...in hopes of convincing the referee that the other player did something to be penalized for. This is all that is wrong with the world wrapped up into one sports gesture. It is dishonest, craven, weak, embarrassing, diabolical, bathed in sin...seeing it makes me want to kick the person who is flopping between the legs, in the empty area where the balls should be found. And it happens all the time. I understand that soccer is a contact sport. They have headers, which are the equivalent of baseball's play-at-the-plate. But soccer could be so much better! Unlike baseball, where players are essentially designated to paths unhindered by human bodies, soccer is a lassaiz-faire kind of field, where physicality could run amok. Here's my own personal suggestion to soccer that will never happen: if soccer allowed for more physicality (refs don't blow the whistle nearly as much), and if the goals were made wider and higher, maybe a meter by a meter (I was going to say three feet by three feet, but then I remembered that Americans don't give a crap) there would be more scoring and more physical play. Soccer would be such a badass game. As is, it kind of sucks. I could maybe deal with the multitude of 1-0 games inherently found in soccer IF the flopping did not exist to the degree that it does. But it does exist, and it's just unwatchable. Every time that I see a grown man flail, fall to the ground, and proceed to writhe and cry, I throw up in my mouth a little bit. Not only do you have to endure this drivel for the entirety of the scene, but you have to see that same person get up a minute later and run around as if nothing was ever wrong. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Nothing was ever wrong. I wish that American soccer was noticeably different - a more physical style perhaps than its world counterpart. But it's not really. American soccer players take their cues from the best, and that means looking to people like Cristiano Ronaldo. Ergo, flop city. Soccer, I will watch you once every four years, because the World Cup is pretty cool, but that's all I can take before I become a serial killer.
It is September 16, 2010, and the Yankees are playing the Rays. With one out in the seventh inning, Rays' reliever Chad Qualls throws a pitch inside to Derek Jeter. Jeter retracts his body, but the ball appears to hit him in the elbow, as Jeter drops his bat and squirms a bit, holding his elbow and making hurt noises. The umpire tells Jeter to take first base, however Rays' manager Joe Maddon proceeds to run out of the dugout, calling bullshit. The ruling was sustained. Maddon would be ejected for arguing, and Jeter did indeed take first base. After footage clearly showed that the ball only hit Jeter's bat (which is by rule a foul ball, to be recorded as a strike, rather than a free base), Jeter admitted to having deceived the umpire through his acting. In the locker room, he said to reporters, He told me to go to first base. I'm not going to tell him I'm not going to first, you know? Yeah, we know, Derek. We also know that the Broadway act preceding the umpire telling you to go to first was entirely illegitimate and unnecessary. This sparked controversy in the world of baseball, prompting the question to fans - should this kind of play be part of the game? Umpire ruling does indeed constitute an inherent aspect of subjectivity to the game, and if they can be tricked, why wouldn't you try to pull it off for a competitive edge? Well this brings up the age-old debate of 'do the ends justify the means'? Many admire Jeter for his competitive play and willingness to do everything and anything to win. Many others consider his behavior disgraceful to the sport - that implicit in the game is the notion to play it honestly, with respect and integrity. You know where I stand on this. So I ask you, what's the difference between what Derek Jeter did and soccer flopping? If you came up with 'absolutely nothing' as an answer, then you've made an astute observation.
A new trend is sweeping our nation's schools. It's called "LeBron-ing". Remember the concept of "Tebow-ing", whereas you act out the iconic pose of Tim Tebow kneeling in prayer, in order to make fun of him? "LeBron-ing" is the same concept, only rather than kneeling in prayer, you jump away and throw up your hands after slightly grazing one of your peers (in hopes of getting the call!). Kids...you gotta love em! Out of the mouths of babes! Clearly meant to be funny, "LeBron-ing" recognizes the laughable amount that James embellishes contact between he and other players, in order that they be called for fouls and he be sent to the line for free throws. Of course LeBron isn't the only player doing this in the NBA. He's simply the face of the NBA, so if he does this sort of thing, it acts as precedent for everyone else, which is scary. Now let us remind ourselves that LeBron James is 6'8", 250 pounds of pure muscle. It would take a Sherman tank to cause him to stumble. Flopping is becoming incredibly prevalent in basketball - an epidemic of sorts. Perhaps this is more of what Kobe alluded to when he described the game as "finesse". Not only are refs calling fouls, but players are clamoring for them.
September 19, 2011. The St. Louis Rams offense has driven the ball downfield on the New York Giants and find themselves inside the 10 yardline, employing the quick, no-huddle offense. The Giants' defensive unit, urgent to mobilize into its goal line formation, out of the blue witnesses two of its players drop to the turf with inexplicable injuries. Deon Grant and Jacquian Williams could not have been more obviously acting, but there was absolutely nothing the refs could do about it. Having seen "injured" players, they were forced to stop the game, allowing the Giants to take all the time they needed in getting their defense set. This might be what you would call cheating, however as there is no way to prove the farcical nature of these "injuries", referees are handcuffed in having to stop game play.
-Kobe Bryant
The Pilgrims arrived in America in 1620. To be specific, they arrived in November...in Massachusetts. I like to imagine the moment when the 121 passengers on the Mayflower finally laid eyes upon the land they were about to settle...
121 passengers, in unified elation
WHOOOOO!!! WOOOHOOOOO!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
snow begins to fall
.......................*one passenger, in a flinty solo* whooo ...................
They could have gone anywhere on the eastern seaboard, and they chose Massachusetts...in winter. I mean, I know Florida is a ways down there, but it tends to remain nice year-round. In any case, 50% of the passengers had died by the end of that first winter, either from disease, starvation, or freezing one's ass off. But they planted a settlement, and they raised bountiful harvests with the help of Squanto, and thus, American grit was born.
Here are some buzz words when reflecting upon romanticized American history: rugged, tough, cowboy, Alamo, frontier, bootstraps, Oregon Trail... I mean, simply by playing that game, we all understood what it truly meant to be a settler. You can sum it up with this axiom: ford the river. Why? Because eff that ess, that's why! Never mind the ramifications that this may mean we're careless or stupid. If prudence was what we were going for then we'd take the ferry every time. Well screw that. The river is ten feet deep? Aint too deep for this wagon. Let's ford this beeatch! I may lose both my oxen, half my supplies, my wife, one of my two kids, and develop a raging case of dysentery, but I got the stones to do it. That's what's important here. And everyone understood that. You'd look over at your buddy next to you, who was busy shooting his forty-ninth buffalo, and you'd motion to your own screen and say, dude, it's ten feet deep. As your mouse cursor slowly scrolled over to the "ford" button, your buddy pursed his lips and nodded in approval. In all actuality, this experience would go down much like my conjured image of the settlers laying eyes upon Plymouth Harbor...
your oxen begin to pull your wagon into the river
Whoooo! Woooohoooo!! WHOOOOO!!!
your wagon breaks apart, and you lose everything
...whoo.......
Sure, you might have sucked at the game, but you were awesome at being a bonafide American.
Over the course of our young history, this country has branded itself as "American tough", and it has been imbued in all that we do, even the sports we play.
Think of some of the most iconic moments in American sports history: with both legs injured in the previous series and battling a stomach virus, Kirk Gibson hits a walk-off homerun off legendary closer Dennis Eckersley in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series. In Game 5 of the 1997 NBA Finals between Chicago and Utah, Michael Jordan scores 38, grabs 7 rebounds, and assists 5 while also battling a stomach bug ("The Flu Game"). Immediately following the conclusion of the game, Jordan would collapse into Scottie Pippen's arms from pure exhaustion. In the 2009 NFC Championship Game, Brett Favre, at age 40, after already having surpassed the NFL record for most consecutive starts at one position (291), could be seen repeatedly limping back out onto the field after having been battered by the New Orleans Saints defense. Favre would go on to eventually lose the game on an ill-advised throw that was picked off, but the image of the Old Warrior will forever be burned into our memories.
There is something magical about these mind-over-matter moments, when sheer will power, in an act of defiance over the body's limitations, projects one to do things they should not be capable of doing. Two mornings before Game 5, as Jordan lay in a fetal position, sweating profusely, with hardly the strength to sit up, he was told by team doctors that there was no way he would be able to play. Not only did he play, but he played like Jordan - like someone who is not of this world.
We love this stuff because, among other things, we see a little bit of Pilgrim in these moments - good old American grit. There's something noble about someone putting their body on the line for the greater good of the group. There's also something badass about it. The American value of toughness has permeated sports in an indelible way, and athletes don't necessarily need to play hurt in order to exhibit it. We love the brand of sports that is contact heavy and defiant in the face of danger. We love the baseball player who runs full speed at the catcher in order to jar the ball out of the mitt, a la Pete Rose (Charlie Hustle). We love the basketball player who ferociously throws their weight around the paint in order to get the rebound, a la Charles Barkley. We love the quarterback who's willing to dive head first into the endzone rather than slide two yards short of it, a la John Elway. We love the football players who play in Green Bay, in minus-twenty conditions without any extra layers on, as they flip the bird to Old Man Winter. We admire this style of play. It reeks of American ruggedness.
The culture, however, seems to be changing, to my chagrin. We seem to be getting softer with every generation. Even the official rules of our sports are being amended in order to cater to the finesse style ("finesse" being a euphemism used in order to make soft play sound cool). I'm with Kobe. It's a bit nauseating to see the direction we're headed. I blame soccer (I'll explain this later).
So this blog is dedicated to the uncovering of the truth - that we are a nation in a precarious spot concerning our sports culture. The identity of American grit as found in sports is in jeopardy, and we are well on our way to endorsing and embodying competition that some would call finesse and what others call nauseating. The following is the empirical proof:
Rules
The rules, as they say, are the rules. They represent the marrow of the sport. When a rule is made, it changes the way the sport is played, thereby changing a bit of the sport's personality. Many of the newest rules being adopted in our sports are done so with intention to preserve the health of the players. Whether this is done with altruistic (protect a player from harm) or capitalistic (prevent a star from being sidelined) motives, the fact remains that many of these new rules are paving the way for a lighter style of play.
Exhibit A: Baseball - Running into the Catcher
On May 25, 2011 Scott Cousins of the Florida Marlins rounded third base in the twelfth inning of the game in an attempt to provide his team with the go-ahead run. There was just one problem - Buster Posey. San Francisco's budding star catcher was in Cousins' way with the ball in his possession. Cousins proceeded to do what every runner in that situation has been taught to do since the inception of the game of baseball - accelerate to ramming speed and collide with the catcher, in hopes to jar the ball loose. If the catcher does not hold on to the ball, the run will score. Cousins was successful. He threw his entire body with reckless abandon into the future NL MVP, causing Posey to drop the ball. The play was terrible and beautiful all at once. Cousins' momentum caused Posey to tumble backwards awkwardly, cringing in the horrible pain that comes from a fractured fibula and torn ligaments in one's ankle. The play was legal and clean, according to the rules. Cousins scored the winning run in the Marlins' 7-6 victory. Posey was out for the remainder of the season.
Baseball has always been on the fringe of being considered a "contact sport". With the exception of plays at the plate, such as the case with Cousins and Posey, and the occasional being hit by a pitch and sliding into the second baseman to break up a double-play, baseball is devoid of bodily contact. One could play the entire course of a game and not feel any more contact than a pat on the butt by the first base coach or a high five from a teammate. Colliding into the catcher is nearly all baseball has to hang its hat on.
Yet following Posey's season-ending injury, Major League Baseball has seriously discussed initiative for mitigating, if not doing away entirely with collisions at the plate. This could come as early as this upcoming season. Regardless of when it will come, the ruling seems imminent, and baseball will lose one of the only aspects of the game keeping it a legitimate contact sport. Taps
Exhibit B: Basketball - Hands on the Defender
Beginning this season, referees in college basketball are to enforce more stringent prohibitions on defensive use of hands. The new rules call for refs to give out fouls when the defender carries out these actions to an offensive player with the ball:
- Keeps a hand or forearm on the opponent
- Putting two hands on an opponent
- Continually jabbing an opponent by extending an arm or placing a hand or forearm on the opponent
- Using an arm to impede the progress of a defender
Translation: no touching! These regulations have been put into effect in order to increase scoring and freedom of movement, but some coaches, such as Kansas head coach Bill Self, are not very optimistic about the effect the rule changes will have on the game. Self responded by saying, The best way to increase scoring and make the game better is to create situations to get more shots. More free throws doesn't make the game better. One thing is certain: the new rules will not only discourage stingy, physical defensive play, but they will also contribute to a higher number of players fouling out. Perhaps this will engender the exact result that college basketball wants. If players accrue fouls early and often, they will be forced to avoid making stout defensive plays later on in the game. Wide open lanes and no defense...sounds like compelling basketball to me.
Exhibit C: Football - Illegal Hits to Defenseless Players
In the course of the past three to five years, the NFL has tightened its grip upon defensive players concerning where and when they can make hits. Increasing fear of trauma to the head and the ramifications of concussions has led the NFL to ban helmet-to-helmet hits, or really anything above the shoulders. This has undoubtedly aided offenses, as such hits are penalized to the tune of 15 yards and a first down (and an eventual fine on the player who made the hit).
Rewind to November 17 of this past year. The San Francisco 49ers were visiting the impossibly-difficult-to-beat-at-home New Orleans Saints. With less than four minutes to go in the fourth quarter and the Saints down a field goal, Drew Brees had driven the Saints into the red zone putting San Francisco in dire straits. In a heroic display of athleticism, linebacker Ahmad Brooks rushed the quarterback, wrapped around the right side blocker, blind-siding Brees, who was looking left. Having cut too far downfield to square up on Brees, Brooks had to thrust his arm out in order to catch the short quarterback, and did so, right where the shoulder meets the neck. The ball came loose, and San Francisco recovered it. It was a laudable play from Brooks, who had given his offense the ball with the chance to run the clock out for the
win. But a yellow flag had been thrown. It turns out that referees had deemed the hit too close to Brees' head. The fact that Brees is relatively small, and the way he appeared to have been knocked like a rag doll, probably had something to do with how terrible the play appeared as well. "Roughing the quarterback" was called on Brooks, the 15-yard penalty was assessed, and New Orleans was given a first down. They would go on to convert two field goals and win the game 23-20. Jim Harbaugh, coach of the 49ers, was livid. He asserted that Brooks had made an incredibly adept football play - the only play that he could've made on Brees. Brees had a different perspective. After the game, he reflected, All I remember is just getting clothes-lined in the chin, and as I'm on the ground, I'm saying, "That's gotta be a flag". Following the game, ex-linebacker and now commentator Ray Lewis shared in Harbaugh's disappointment. Lewis insisted that with the flag being thrown on that play, the NFL is prohibiting Brooks from making the only possible play he can make on Brees. When commenting on Brees' remarks, Lewis said, I'm really disappointed in Drew Brees. To say that you got hit hard, knocked to the ground, and that's the reason you knew a flag had to have been called...is pathetic. This is football. Guys get hit. Drew Brees needs to toughen up. Lewis would go on to defend his fellow linebacker by offering to pay for half of his fine, following through on that promise.
Flopping
Dammit, soccer. You've ruined everything. You've taken beautiful, passionate, physical competition and turned it into a burlesque show. Soccer players have made famous the art of flopping, which is the noble strategy of upon receiving contact (or sometimes no contact), falling to the ground, wincing and/or grimacing, perhaps writhing and/or yelling...in hopes of convincing the referee that the other player did something to be penalized for. This is all that is wrong with the world wrapped up into one sports gesture. It is dishonest, craven, weak, embarrassing, diabolical, bathed in sin...seeing it makes me want to kick the person who is flopping between the legs, in the empty area where the balls should be found. And it happens all the time. I understand that soccer is a contact sport. They have headers, which are the equivalent of baseball's play-at-the-plate. But soccer could be so much better! Unlike baseball, where players are essentially designated to paths unhindered by human bodies, soccer is a lassaiz-faire kind of field, where physicality could run amok. Here's my own personal suggestion to soccer that will never happen: if soccer allowed for more physicality (refs don't blow the whistle nearly as much), and if the goals were made wider and higher, maybe a meter by a meter (I was going to say three feet by three feet, but then I remembered that Americans don't give a crap) there would be more scoring and more physical play. Soccer would be such a badass game. As is, it kind of sucks. I could maybe deal with the multitude of 1-0 games inherently found in soccer IF the flopping did not exist to the degree that it does. But it does exist, and it's just unwatchable. Every time that I see a grown man flail, fall to the ground, and proceed to writhe and cry, I throw up in my mouth a little bit. Not only do you have to endure this drivel for the entirety of the scene, but you have to see that same person get up a minute later and run around as if nothing was ever wrong. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Nothing was ever wrong. I wish that American soccer was noticeably different - a more physical style perhaps than its world counterpart. But it's not really. American soccer players take their cues from the best, and that means looking to people like Cristiano Ronaldo. Ergo, flop city. Soccer, I will watch you once every four years, because the World Cup is pretty cool, but that's all I can take before I become a serial killer.
I wish that flopping would have been contained within the sphere of soccer and shunned as a silly practice elsewhere, but it has spread to every sport. Behold the empirical evidence:
Exhibit A: Baseball - Derek Jeter and the Phantom Bean
It is September 16, 2010, and the Yankees are playing the Rays. With one out in the seventh inning, Rays' reliever Chad Qualls throws a pitch inside to Derek Jeter. Jeter retracts his body, but the ball appears to hit him in the elbow, as Jeter drops his bat and squirms a bit, holding his elbow and making hurt noises. The umpire tells Jeter to take first base, however Rays' manager Joe Maddon proceeds to run out of the dugout, calling bullshit. The ruling was sustained. Maddon would be ejected for arguing, and Jeter did indeed take first base. After footage clearly showed that the ball only hit Jeter's bat (which is by rule a foul ball, to be recorded as a strike, rather than a free base), Jeter admitted to having deceived the umpire through his acting. In the locker room, he said to reporters, He told me to go to first base. I'm not going to tell him I'm not going to first, you know? Yeah, we know, Derek. We also know that the Broadway act preceding the umpire telling you to go to first was entirely illegitimate and unnecessary. This sparked controversy in the world of baseball, prompting the question to fans - should this kind of play be part of the game? Umpire ruling does indeed constitute an inherent aspect of subjectivity to the game, and if they can be tricked, why wouldn't you try to pull it off for a competitive edge? Well this brings up the age-old debate of 'do the ends justify the means'? Many admire Jeter for his competitive play and willingness to do everything and anything to win. Many others consider his behavior disgraceful to the sport - that implicit in the game is the notion to play it honestly, with respect and integrity. You know where I stand on this. So I ask you, what's the difference between what Derek Jeter did and soccer flopping? If you came up with 'absolutely nothing' as an answer, then you've made an astute observation.
Exhibit B: Basketball - "Lebron-ing"
A new trend is sweeping our nation's schools. It's called "LeBron-ing". Remember the concept of "Tebow-ing", whereas you act out the iconic pose of Tim Tebow kneeling in prayer, in order to make fun of him? "LeBron-ing" is the same concept, only rather than kneeling in prayer, you jump away and throw up your hands after slightly grazing one of your peers (in hopes of getting the call!). Kids...you gotta love em! Out of the mouths of babes! Clearly meant to be funny, "LeBron-ing" recognizes the laughable amount that James embellishes contact between he and other players, in order that they be called for fouls and he be sent to the line for free throws. Of course LeBron isn't the only player doing this in the NBA. He's simply the face of the NBA, so if he does this sort of thing, it acts as precedent for everyone else, which is scary. Now let us remind ourselves that LeBron James is 6'8", 250 pounds of pure muscle. It would take a Sherman tank to cause him to stumble. Flopping is becoming incredibly prevalent in basketball - an epidemic of sorts. Perhaps this is more of what Kobe alluded to when he described the game as "finesse". Not only are refs calling fouls, but players are clamoring for them.
Exhibit C: Football - "Injuries" Used to Stop Clock
PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME THAT FLOPPING HAS ENTERED FOOTBALL, THE PARAGON OF SPORTS TOUGHNESS! ...Yes, I am sad to say that flopping is alive and well in football too.
September 19, 2011. The St. Louis Rams offense has driven the ball downfield on the New York Giants and find themselves inside the 10 yardline, employing the quick, no-huddle offense. The Giants' defensive unit, urgent to mobilize into its goal line formation, out of the blue witnesses two of its players drop to the turf with inexplicable injuries. Deon Grant and Jacquian Williams could not have been more obviously acting, but there was absolutely nothing the refs could do about it. Having seen "injured" players, they were forced to stop the game, allowing the Giants to take all the time they needed in getting their defense set. This might be what you would call cheating, however as there is no way to prove the farcical nature of these "injuries", referees are handcuffed in having to stop game play.
Less than two weeks ago, 49er linebacker Ahmad Brooks (yes, again) jumped offsides up and over Carolina's offensive line, clearing everyone. Carolina's quarterback Cam Newton, however, fell over as if he had just received a light haduken from Ryu. I'm not sure if Newton was trying to get a personal foul tacked on to Brooks' offsides or not, but the acting attempt was nothing short of pathetic.
Come on, football. You're better than that.
Final Thought
Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure plenty of these new rule changes are for the best. After all, I'm all for the protection of defenseless players. I can't help, however, but stop and ponder how some of these changes are affecting the lifeblood of the games. We may have gained player protection and higher scoring, finesse-style games, but have we stopped to ask ourselves what we've lost? Professional athletes may be considering more mindfully how to bend the rules, wielding great (sometimes terrible) acting along with the repertoire of skills they display on the field, giving new meaning to a "great performance". Our teams may be given a desirable call as a result of one of our players flopping, but at what cost has it been acquired in possibly tarnishing the integrity of the game?
I'll close by addressing this final point. Some children's soccer leagues are no longer keeping score, in hopes of preserving the fragile psyches of America's youth, by saving them from the trauma of losing (Dammit soccer!). Because that's a valuable lesson in life...there are no hardships and everyone winds up even-Steven. I guess that's one way to fix flopping. You won't even have a reason to do it if you can't win.
If only the Plymouth Pilgrims could see us now, what would they say? What wisdom would they impart unto us? They'd probably just shake their heads, muttering, Bitches. Then they'd go ford some rivers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)