$20 million, divided by 162, comes out to $123,456.79.
I just thought you might want to know what the Red Sox paid for the privilege of watching Manny Ramirez sit during the most important game of the season.
(Bonus: throw in the Seattle game, and it's $246,913.58.)
In baseball world, that's actually not a very large amount of money as an absolute figure. But it is a number, and it's finally something that you can pin on Manny Ramirez. Sure, he's a terrible clubhouse presence and many of his teammates don't seem to like him, but it's hard to tell just how much, if at all, this detracts from the team's ability to win baseball games. Sure, his defense is terrible, but defensive liabilities are hard to put a number on, and they are surely outweighed by an .884 OPS and a .304 EqA. When Manny's being Manny, it's hard to put a concrete cost on it, and even if you could, that cost wouldn't even put a dent in his offensive production.
Last night (although it should be noted this isn't the first time Manny has sat out a game) changed all that. The gaudy stats weren't there; they were sitting on the bench while Coco Crisp and his .261 EqA took their place. And this time, there was a cost. A 1-0 loss, and $123,456.79. It's the 79 cents that really get to you.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Yanked Around
This is what you get.
Last night's event in the Bronx was a game for the ages that by no means disappointed, but the buildup to it was bloated with false significance and overhype, colored by the interminable "End of Yankee Stadium" storyline. Those running "Great Moments in Yankee Stadium History" segments on SportsCenter are supposed to fill me with nostalgia, I suppose they do, but they also make me angry. SportsCenter may treat the demise of Yankee Stadium as inevitable, but it's not. It's being destroyed and replaced for basically no reason--a plan from a bygone era when the Yankees were strapped for cash. Now that they're the richest franchise in the world, there's no reason not to be content with the stadium they've got and the history that comes with it--but, of course, they're the Yankees, so they're not. When most of us are unhappy with the way things are going, we don't destroy one of the greatest living baseball cathedrals. I'm just saying, we restrain ourselves.
So, fine. The Yankees are destroying their history. They own it, I guess, so it's up to them. But I don't appreciate the hypocrisy of tearing down their past and then asking us to mourn its passing with them. New Yorkers have a tendency to assume that everyone loves New York as much as they do, but they may actually be right when it comes to Yankee Stadium, and it isn't right that they're taking it from us.
So, as an extension of the Yankee Stadium Destruction Neverending Nostalgia Tour, we got the hype surrounding the Last All-Star Game at Yankee Stadium, which was also misguided. Does it really matter if this is the last All-Star Game that Yankee Stadium ever hosts? Does anyone even remember what happened in the last All-Star Game that Yankee Stadium hosted? All-Star Games have given us some nice moments over the years, but in the end, they're just a fun midsummer spectacle. Why, in the last year of Yankee Stadium, have we suddenly decided that they are an integral part of the American cultural consciousness? For God's sake, just a few years ago we let it end in a tie. If the Steinbrenners suddenly decided to tear down the White House,* we wouldn't obsess over the fact that it was about to host its last Easter Egg Hunt on the lawn. We'd have more important memories to dwell on.
(A subplot to this subplot was the ridiculous"will Mariano Rivera start the All-Star Game???" debate. He was never going to, he shouldn't have, he didn't want to, no one really wanted him to, and no one really even wondered if he would until the media brought it up. This story was entirely media-created--I never heard any player or manager discuss it except in response to reporters' questions--except even the media thought it was a bad idea. Literally the entire story consisted of media members agreeing that their own idea was terrible. Great way to fill air time.)
All these elements combined to make the buildup to a perfectly ordinary All-Star Game feel like the buildup to Game 7 of the World Series. Of course, the All-Star Game did not end up being ordinary at all, but that was due entirely to J.D. Drew and Josh Hamilton, and not to Yankee Stadium. But that's the beauty of it. This should have been just another All-Star Game, but the Yankees and the media decided that it would be The All-Star Game to End All All-Star Games. And now that they've done that, the Yankees have to accept the fact that the MVP of the Yankee Stadium Sendoff and Weep-athon monstrosity was a player from Boston. That's what you get.
*This is by no means out of the question.
Last night's event in the Bronx was a game for the ages that by no means disappointed, but the buildup to it was bloated with false significance and overhype, colored by the interminable "End of Yankee Stadium" storyline. Those running "Great Moments in Yankee Stadium History" segments on SportsCenter are supposed to fill me with nostalgia, I suppose they do, but they also make me angry. SportsCenter may treat the demise of Yankee Stadium as inevitable, but it's not. It's being destroyed and replaced for basically no reason--a plan from a bygone era when the Yankees were strapped for cash. Now that they're the richest franchise in the world, there's no reason not to be content with the stadium they've got and the history that comes with it--but, of course, they're the Yankees, so they're not. When most of us are unhappy with the way things are going, we don't destroy one of the greatest living baseball cathedrals. I'm just saying, we restrain ourselves.
So, fine. The Yankees are destroying their history. They own it, I guess, so it's up to them. But I don't appreciate the hypocrisy of tearing down their past and then asking us to mourn its passing with them. New Yorkers have a tendency to assume that everyone loves New York as much as they do, but they may actually be right when it comes to Yankee Stadium, and it isn't right that they're taking it from us.
So, as an extension of the Yankee Stadium Destruction Neverending Nostalgia Tour, we got the hype surrounding the Last All-Star Game at Yankee Stadium, which was also misguided. Does it really matter if this is the last All-Star Game that Yankee Stadium ever hosts? Does anyone even remember what happened in the last All-Star Game that Yankee Stadium hosted? All-Star Games have given us some nice moments over the years, but in the end, they're just a fun midsummer spectacle. Why, in the last year of Yankee Stadium, have we suddenly decided that they are an integral part of the American cultural consciousness? For God's sake, just a few years ago we let it end in a tie. If the Steinbrenners suddenly decided to tear down the White House,* we wouldn't obsess over the fact that it was about to host its last Easter Egg Hunt on the lawn. We'd have more important memories to dwell on.
(A subplot to this subplot was the ridiculous"will Mariano Rivera start the All-Star Game???" debate. He was never going to, he shouldn't have, he didn't want to, no one really wanted him to, and no one really even wondered if he would until the media brought it up. This story was entirely media-created--I never heard any player or manager discuss it except in response to reporters' questions--except even the media thought it was a bad idea. Literally the entire story consisted of media members agreeing that their own idea was terrible. Great way to fill air time.)
All these elements combined to make the buildup to a perfectly ordinary All-Star Game feel like the buildup to Game 7 of the World Series. Of course, the All-Star Game did not end up being ordinary at all, but that was due entirely to J.D. Drew and Josh Hamilton, and not to Yankee Stadium. But that's the beauty of it. This should have been just another All-Star Game, but the Yankees and the media decided that it would be The All-Star Game to End All All-Star Games. And now that they've done that, the Yankees have to accept the fact that the MVP of the Yankee Stadium Sendoff and Weep-athon monstrosity was a player from Boston. That's what you get.
*This is by no means out of the question.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
An Open Letter To New York Yankees Fans
Hey guys,
How's it going? I caught that Darrell Rasner game the other day; that kid could be pretty decent in a few years. And hey, you guys got the All-Star Game this year. Pretty cool stuff.
Anyway, I'm writing to you today to make you an offer. I just purchased all seven games of the 2004 ALCS on DVD--not the highlights, but the complete games, every pitch, unedited, etc. But here's the thing--as much as I will enjoy watching games 4, 5, 6, and 7 over and over for the rest of my natural-born life, I don't really have any interest in games 1, 2, and 3--the ones that you guys won. Four years and a couple of championships have put those losses in perspective a little bit, but I still don't really have any desire to see them again--honestly, I don't see myself ever opening those particular discs.
And that's why I am presenting you with this unique, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. For 3/7 of the price of the entire DVD set, you can now buy Games 1, 2, and 3 of the 2004 ALCS, unopened and in mint condition, and relive the three glorious Yankee victories from the 2004 league championship series! Better yet--through a small stretch of the imagination, you can pretend that the ALCS was actually a best-of-five series and ended after Game 3, making the Yankees the winners! Experience every thrilling moment as much-maligned Yankees star Alex Rodriguez finally gets that postseason monkey off his back! Watch as your favorite team vanquishes its greatest rival en route to another world championship, narrowly but successfuly avoiding a precipitous slide into a decade of mediocrity, overspending, and irrelevance!
This is your opportunity to change history, Yankee fans--I'll be waiting by the phone. And in the meantime, I hope for your guys' sake it turns out that Johnny Damon's injury isn't too bad.
How's it going? I caught that Darrell Rasner game the other day; that kid could be pretty decent in a few years. And hey, you guys got the All-Star Game this year. Pretty cool stuff.
Anyway, I'm writing to you today to make you an offer. I just purchased all seven games of the 2004 ALCS on DVD--not the highlights, but the complete games, every pitch, unedited, etc. But here's the thing--as much as I will enjoy watching games 4, 5, 6, and 7 over and over for the rest of my natural-born life, I don't really have any interest in games 1, 2, and 3--the ones that you guys won. Four years and a couple of championships have put those losses in perspective a little bit, but I still don't really have any desire to see them again--honestly, I don't see myself ever opening those particular discs.
And that's why I am presenting you with this unique, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. For 3/7 of the price of the entire DVD set, you can now buy Games 1, 2, and 3 of the 2004 ALCS, unopened and in mint condition, and relive the three glorious Yankee victories from the 2004 league championship series! Better yet--through a small stretch of the imagination, you can pretend that the ALCS was actually a best-of-five series and ended after Game 3, making the Yankees the winners! Experience every thrilling moment as much-maligned Yankees star Alex Rodriguez finally gets that postseason monkey off his back! Watch as your favorite team vanquishes its greatest rival en route to another world championship, narrowly but successfuly avoiding a precipitous slide into a decade of mediocrity, overspending, and irrelevance!
This is your opportunity to change history, Yankee fans--I'll be waiting by the phone. And in the meantime, I hope for your guys' sake it turns out that Johnny Damon's injury isn't too bad.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Mustache Love
As it often does, Jason Giambi's fabulous 70's-era porn mustache has gotten me thinking. As a Red Sox fan, a baseball fan, and a human being, I hate Jason Giambi. As a Red Sox fan, I hate him because he's a Yankee. As a baseball fan, I hate him because he's the kind of big, slow, lumbering, three-run homer-hitting Moneyball-proving juggernaut that wins tons of baseball games but is almost no fun to watch. And as a human being, I hate him because he cheated. Jason Giambi used steroids (no normal human could grow that mustache), and even though some of the players I love probably did too, it's different when someone's either admitted it (as Giambi has) or been caught red-handed. Jason Giambi, I would argue, is more objectively hateable than most major-league baseball players.
A problem occurs when I try to apply the same formula to another objectively hateable player: one Manuel Aristides (!) Ramirez. As a baseball fan, it's hard to like Manny, who doesn't seem to try very hard when it comes to baserunning, fielding, or holding in his urine until the game is over. As a human being, it's hard to root for a guy who shoved his semielderly traveling secretary for no good reason. But what do you do, as a Red Sox fan, when such a loathsome character hits a home run to help your team win?
The answer, I think, is that you're allowed to root for a despicable player as part of a team, as long as you don't root for him as an individual. It's a nuanced distinction that can be especially tough to swallow because it allows you to perform certain actions for some reasons but not for others. For example, as a Red Sox fan, I can root for Manny Ramirez to do well, but only because it will help my team, and not because of a specific desire to see him do well. For most players, you end up rooting for both--I want to see the Red Sox do well, and I also want to see the Jon Lesters or Jacoby Ellsburys of the world do well because I like them/their style of play. For players like Manny, you have to separate the two--you have to turn rooting for Manny into rooting for the Red Sox.
This line of thinking ultimately brings me back to Jason Giambi and his Fabulous 70's-era Porn Mustache™. Because they have every right to want to see their team win, Yankees fans have every right to root for Jason Giambi to succeed. Same with Giants fans and Barry Bonds, Patriots fans and Rodney Harrison, etc. However, many Yankee fans have taken to wearing replica 'staches of their own to Yankee Stadium, and that seemingly insignificant gesture makes a world of difference. It can be difficult, as a fan, to navigate a sports world in which it sometimes seem that few athletes make good role models. But in trying to make sense of it all, there is one rule that seems relatively clear: you can root for the Yankees, but you can't root for the 'stache.
A problem occurs when I try to apply the same formula to another objectively hateable player: one Manuel Aristides (!) Ramirez. As a baseball fan, it's hard to like Manny, who doesn't seem to try very hard when it comes to baserunning, fielding, or holding in his urine until the game is over. As a human being, it's hard to root for a guy who shoved his semielderly traveling secretary for no good reason. But what do you do, as a Red Sox fan, when such a loathsome character hits a home run to help your team win?
The answer, I think, is that you're allowed to root for a despicable player as part of a team, as long as you don't root for him as an individual. It's a nuanced distinction that can be especially tough to swallow because it allows you to perform certain actions for some reasons but not for others. For example, as a Red Sox fan, I can root for Manny Ramirez to do well, but only because it will help my team, and not because of a specific desire to see him do well. For most players, you end up rooting for both--I want to see the Red Sox do well, and I also want to see the Jon Lesters or Jacoby Ellsburys of the world do well because I like them/their style of play. For players like Manny, you have to separate the two--you have to turn rooting for Manny into rooting for the Red Sox.
This line of thinking ultimately brings me back to Jason Giambi and his Fabulous 70's-era Porn Mustache™. Because they have every right to want to see their team win, Yankees fans have every right to root for Jason Giambi to succeed. Same with Giants fans and Barry Bonds, Patriots fans and Rodney Harrison, etc. However, many Yankee fans have taken to wearing replica 'staches of their own to Yankee Stadium, and that seemingly insignificant gesture makes a world of difference. It can be difficult, as a fan, to navigate a sports world in which it sometimes seem that few athletes make good role models. But in trying to make sense of it all, there is one rule that seems relatively clear: you can root for the Yankees, but you can't root for the 'stache.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Anything's Possible
There's certainly a lot to talk about, in the wake of the Celtics' return to glory and Kobe Bryant's depantsing on national television. And soon, I may write something else on the series that completely changed the course of no fewer than seven NBA careers (Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen, Paul Pierce, Doc Rivers, Rajon Rondo, Kobe Bryant, Phil Jackson), and possibly an eighth (Lamar Odom).
But for now, let's focus on the moment that, for me, produced more lasting memories than any of the on-court action: Kevin Garnett's hilarious and poignant postgame interview with Michele Tafoya. There's already a breakdown out there, but just because Slate already did it doesn't mean they did it well. On we go:
0:00-0:10: Tafoya asks Garnett how adding "NBA champion" to his resume sounds. Garnett keeps his hands on his hat and his head down the entire time Tafoya is talking, and every few seconds he looks off to the side. It's possible he has no idea that Tafoya is there. It's possible that he has no idea that he is on a basketball court.
0:11-0:19: After Tafoya finishes, Garnett stares blankly at the floor for a full six seconds before beginning his answer with a heavy-sounding "Man, I...I'm so hyped right now." Normally one of the more intelligent and articulate athletes you'll find, Garnett is so dumbstruck by the moment that he is completely incapable of forming thoughts. Also of note is the fact that, at first, it sounds like he says "I'm so high right now," which, at the moment, would not appear to be all that far from the truth.
0:19-0:27: Garnett concludes his "answer" by muttering "anything's possible," before tilting his head back and repeating it as a primal battle cry that stretches for four complete seconds. It seems possible to view this as a funny moment, and in the context of a rather ridiculous interview, that's not entirely unreasonable. But given the long, mostly sad story of Garnett's career, and the rarity with which modern athletes show any real emotion, I submit to you that this was nothing less than the most moving moment of the entire Celtics season, and one of the all-time great emotional moments in sports. Garnett sways and almost collapses from the sheer effort of his emotional release.
0:28:-0:46: Garnett breaks down in tears, turning away from Tefoya. As Slate points out, this isn't one of those single tears that sometimes fall down athletes' cheeks at the thrill of victory, which is acceptable within the Code of Manhood to which all athletes religiously, sometimes overcompensatingly adhere. This is what would be, in any other context, a pathetic display: Garnett's voice is almost comically high-pitched and he is babbling uncontrollably. Slate views this display as less touching than normal athlete man-tears ("these are not the poignant tears of joy shed by Michael Jordan upon winning his first Larry O'Brien Trophy"), and maybe it is. But it is worth noting that the fact that he looks so helpless in front of millions of viewers means that Kevin Garnett has completely, 100% lost control over his emotions, and that is something that athletes rarely do in interviews. It makes him seem more human, somehow. Garnett points to the sky before being hugged extensively by some random Brian Scalabrine impersonator.
0:47-1:16 Garnett apologizes to an understanding Tafoya, and thanks a variety of people for his success, including his mother, before he seems to get stuck on the phrase "top of the world," which he yells twice directly into the camera.
1:17-1:39: Regrouping, Tefoya asks what "top of the world" feels like. In the actual funniest moment of the interview, Garnett suddenly, for the first time, seems to realize that he is in an interview. His automatic responses kick in, and he throws out the first interview cliche he can think of: praising the teammates. The result is a completely non-sequitorial "Ray Allen had a great game," which says very little about how "top of the world" feels. The moment probably reveals more than Garnett meant to about how athletes normally view these interviews--once he realizes he is being interviewed, out come the meaningless platitudes. Garnett ends this portion of the interview by stating that he is "certified."
1:40-1:42: "Michelle, you look good tonight, girl"--a different type of interview cliche, honed to perfection by Doc Rivers during these same playoffs. Normally it's vaguely sleazy, but here, Garnett's heart just isn't in it--he's just trying to get through the interview by searching desperately through his adrenaline-addled brain for what athletes usually say, just like "[Teammate X] had a great game."
1:43-2:22: To close out the interview, Garnett gives a relatively coherent and straightforward answer to a question about Celtic pride. A somewhat anticlimatic finish, but it comes on the heels of quite an entertaining show. Maybe it was funny, or maybe it was poignant (or both), but one thing is clear--no one cares about winning more than Kevin Garnett.
But for now, let's focus on the moment that, for me, produced more lasting memories than any of the on-court action: Kevin Garnett's hilarious and poignant postgame interview with Michele Tafoya. There's already a breakdown out there, but just because Slate already did it doesn't mean they did it well. On we go:
0:00-0:10: Tafoya asks Garnett how adding "NBA champion" to his resume sounds. Garnett keeps his hands on his hat and his head down the entire time Tafoya is talking, and every few seconds he looks off to the side. It's possible he has no idea that Tafoya is there. It's possible that he has no idea that he is on a basketball court.
0:11-0:19: After Tafoya finishes, Garnett stares blankly at the floor for a full six seconds before beginning his answer with a heavy-sounding "Man, I...I'm so hyped right now." Normally one of the more intelligent and articulate athletes you'll find, Garnett is so dumbstruck by the moment that he is completely incapable of forming thoughts. Also of note is the fact that, at first, it sounds like he says "I'm so high right now," which, at the moment, would not appear to be all that far from the truth.
0:19-0:27: Garnett concludes his "answer" by muttering "anything's possible," before tilting his head back and repeating it as a primal battle cry that stretches for four complete seconds. It seems possible to view this as a funny moment, and in the context of a rather ridiculous interview, that's not entirely unreasonable. But given the long, mostly sad story of Garnett's career, and the rarity with which modern athletes show any real emotion, I submit to you that this was nothing less than the most moving moment of the entire Celtics season, and one of the all-time great emotional moments in sports. Garnett sways and almost collapses from the sheer effort of his emotional release.
0:28:-0:46: Garnett breaks down in tears, turning away from Tefoya. As Slate points out, this isn't one of those single tears that sometimes fall down athletes' cheeks at the thrill of victory, which is acceptable within the Code of Manhood to which all athletes religiously, sometimes overcompensatingly adhere. This is what would be, in any other context, a pathetic display: Garnett's voice is almost comically high-pitched and he is babbling uncontrollably. Slate views this display as less touching than normal athlete man-tears ("these are not the poignant tears of joy shed by Michael Jordan upon winning his first Larry O'Brien Trophy"), and maybe it is. But it is worth noting that the fact that he looks so helpless in front of millions of viewers means that Kevin Garnett has completely, 100% lost control over his emotions, and that is something that athletes rarely do in interviews. It makes him seem more human, somehow. Garnett points to the sky before being hugged extensively by some random Brian Scalabrine impersonator.
0:47-1:16 Garnett apologizes to an understanding Tafoya, and thanks a variety of people for his success, including his mother, before he seems to get stuck on the phrase "top of the world," which he yells twice directly into the camera.
1:17-1:39: Regrouping, Tefoya asks what "top of the world" feels like. In the actual funniest moment of the interview, Garnett suddenly, for the first time, seems to realize that he is in an interview. His automatic responses kick in, and he throws out the first interview cliche he can think of: praising the teammates. The result is a completely non-sequitorial "Ray Allen had a great game," which says very little about how "top of the world" feels. The moment probably reveals more than Garnett meant to about how athletes normally view these interviews--once he realizes he is being interviewed, out come the meaningless platitudes. Garnett ends this portion of the interview by stating that he is "certified."
1:40-1:42: "Michelle, you look good tonight, girl"--a different type of interview cliche, honed to perfection by Doc Rivers during these same playoffs. Normally it's vaguely sleazy, but here, Garnett's heart just isn't in it--he's just trying to get through the interview by searching desperately through his adrenaline-addled brain for what athletes usually say, just like "[Teammate X] had a great game."
1:43-2:22: To close out the interview, Garnett gives a relatively coherent and straightforward answer to a question about Celtic pride. A somewhat anticlimatic finish, but it comes on the heels of quite an entertaining show. Maybe it was funny, or maybe it was poignant (or both), but one thing is clear--no one cares about winning more than Kevin Garnett.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Whistle Blowers
Is the NBA fixed?
How about a better question: does it even matter?
Whether or not the NBA is rigged has been the subject of a great deal of debate, amplified by Tom Donaghy's self-serving allegation that the Kings deserved to beat the Lakers in 2002. On Sportscenter at this very moment, they are questioning whether Donaghy is a legitimate whistle-blower, or is simply tossing out the idea of a conspiracy in order to serve his own ends.
Sure, I'd like to know the answer to these questions. It is undoubtedly important for us to know whether it's simply bad officiating, refs acting on their own (for gambling purposes etc.), or a concerted effort from the NBA to affect the outcome of its playoffs. I would certainly be interested in hooking Donaghy and David Stern up to a polygraph. But
Let's assume, in an extremely magnanimous gift to David Stern, that it is just bad officiating. At the very least that's what it is (it seems that no one who saw that Kings-Lakers game could believe otherwise), but let's start there, in the least troubling of the three scenarios. This bad officiating, if that's what it was, was seriously terrible officiating. Ralph Nader wrote in to complain. The Lakers were on pace to shoot over 100 free throws a game at the rate fouls were being called. It's not an exaggeration to state that this may have been the worst-called game in American sports history.
And that's why it doesn't really matter if what Donaghy says is true. If, at best, the NBA has the worst officiating in history, then the league is already in crisis mode. Finding out that it was all part of a massive conspiracy would certainly hurt, but most of the damage is already done. There's little point in examining the worst-case scenario when even the best-case scenario necessitates massive changes. Regardless of what Donaghy says, the NBA has to be fixed. So it kind of matters if he's telling the truth, but not really.
How about a better question: does it even matter?
Whether or not the NBA is rigged has been the subject of a great deal of debate, amplified by Tom Donaghy's self-serving allegation that the Kings deserved to beat the Lakers in 2002. On Sportscenter at this very moment, they are questioning whether Donaghy is a legitimate whistle-blower, or is simply tossing out the idea of a conspiracy in order to serve his own ends.
Sure, I'd like to know the answer to these questions. It is undoubtedly important for us to know whether it's simply bad officiating, refs acting on their own (for gambling purposes etc.), or a concerted effort from the NBA to affect the outcome of its playoffs. I would certainly be interested in hooking Donaghy and David Stern up to a polygraph. But
Let's assume, in an extremely magnanimous gift to David Stern, that it is just bad officiating. At the very least that's what it is (it seems that no one who saw that Kings-Lakers game could believe otherwise), but let's start there, in the least troubling of the three scenarios. This bad officiating, if that's what it was, was seriously terrible officiating. Ralph Nader wrote in to complain. The Lakers were on pace to shoot over 100 free throws a game at the rate fouls were being called. It's not an exaggeration to state that this may have been the worst-called game in American sports history.
And that's why it doesn't really matter if what Donaghy says is true. If, at best, the NBA has the worst officiating in history, then the league is already in crisis mode. Finding out that it was all part of a massive conspiracy would certainly hurt, but most of the damage is already done. There's little point in examining the worst-case scenario when even the best-case scenario necessitates massive changes. Regardless of what Donaghy says, the NBA has to be fixed. So it kind of matters if he's telling the truth, but not really.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Spirited Away
In high school, I worked at a summer camp-type locale called Summerbridge, where every day, one of the sixth- and seventh-grade attendees would receive an award. This award, called the Spirit Stick, went to a student who demonstrated exceptional program spirit and displayed a generally positive and constructive attitude.
Believe it or not, this meaningless summer camp award has a lot to do with Kobe Bryant. You see, at a meeting at the end of every day, the Summerbridge staff would determine who would win the Spirit Stick the next day, and it was often a highly contentious process. Frequently, one of the teachers would decide to nominate one of the program's worst discipline problems because they'd had, for them, a relatively good day, in that they didn't hit any of the other students. Sometimes, students who had made a legitimate case to win the award, through genuine friendliness and good deeds, would lose out to a student who had done absolutely nothing, and who had simply refrained from misbehaving for a day.
That student who won the award so undeservingly is the sixth-grade summer camp version of Kobe Bryant. Kobe used to be, in short, a discipline problem. He called out his teammates and threw them under the bus. He inspired his coach to write a book about how much he hated his star player. He might have raped somebody. While his incredible skills made him the kind of guy you'd want on your team, he was not the kind of guy you'd want on your team.
Then Kobe changed. He curtailed his petulant behavior and stopped giving the media bratty quotes and trade demands. He started passing the ball to his teammates. He continued to cheat on his wife, but at least stopped committing borderline sexual assault. He was not a model citizen any more than Derek Fisher was (actually, much less than Derek Fisher was). But at least he'd stopped hitting his classmates.
This would all be well and good, except we've given Kobe the Spirit Stick for it. Of course, there's no actual award for being a great teammate, but there is no shortage of media stories on Kobe's rebirth. And that's fine in theory, since he has been reborn--I'm just sick of reading articles fawning over the fact that Kobe now sometimes passes to teammates rather than taking all the shots himself. Not ball-hogging, the absence of a basketball crime, has become praiseworthy in its own right. We might as well credit him for every defensive set in which he doesn't commit a foul, or every postgame press conference in which he doesn't insult Sasha Vujacic.
Personally, I find Kobe Bryant to be one of the more hateable athletes out there, but I suppose I can see how someone could legitimately disagree. What I can't comprehend is why we seem so intent on praising him. His talent is as elite as it has always been, but as a team leader, he's finally (and maybe not even permanently) risen to somewhere in the neighborhood of average. And for that, I refuse to give him a Spirit Stick.
Believe it or not, this meaningless summer camp award has a lot to do with Kobe Bryant. You see, at a meeting at the end of every day, the Summerbridge staff would determine who would win the Spirit Stick the next day, and it was often a highly contentious process. Frequently, one of the teachers would decide to nominate one of the program's worst discipline problems because they'd had, for them, a relatively good day, in that they didn't hit any of the other students. Sometimes, students who had made a legitimate case to win the award, through genuine friendliness and good deeds, would lose out to a student who had done absolutely nothing, and who had simply refrained from misbehaving for a day.
That student who won the award so undeservingly is the sixth-grade summer camp version of Kobe Bryant. Kobe used to be, in short, a discipline problem. He called out his teammates and threw them under the bus. He inspired his coach to write a book about how much he hated his star player. He might have raped somebody. While his incredible skills made him the kind of guy you'd want on your team, he was not the kind of guy you'd want on your team.
Then Kobe changed. He curtailed his petulant behavior and stopped giving the media bratty quotes and trade demands. He started passing the ball to his teammates. He continued to cheat on his wife, but at least stopped committing borderline sexual assault. He was not a model citizen any more than Derek Fisher was (actually, much less than Derek Fisher was). But at least he'd stopped hitting his classmates.
This would all be well and good, except we've given Kobe the Spirit Stick for it. Of course, there's no actual award for being a great teammate, but there is no shortage of media stories on Kobe's rebirth. And that's fine in theory, since he has been reborn--I'm just sick of reading articles fawning over the fact that Kobe now sometimes passes to teammates rather than taking all the shots himself. Not ball-hogging, the absence of a basketball crime, has become praiseworthy in its own right. We might as well credit him for every defensive set in which he doesn't commit a foul, or every postgame press conference in which he doesn't insult Sasha Vujacic.
Personally, I find Kobe Bryant to be one of the more hateable athletes out there, but I suppose I can see how someone could legitimately disagree. What I can't comprehend is why we seem so intent on praising him. His talent is as elite as it has always been, but as a team leader, he's finally (and maybe not even permanently) risen to somewhere in the neighborhood of average. And for that, I refuse to give him a Spirit Stick.
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