Tommy’s Points

Posted on by Tom Heinsohn · 1 Comment

THE EAST NEEDS A BEAST

Just like the last few years, the East looks to be a wide-open gritty scrap-fest that any team can win if they want it enough. Lots of folks are saying the Pistons are going to represent the East once again in the Finals, but I don’t believe that for one second. Anyone with any sort of basketball insight knows that the Pistons aren’t all that good. They’re the perfect example of a team being put together from a bunch of scrap parts that aren’t worth a lot by themselves.

Look at their starting five. Ben Wallace was a no-talent stiff before he started applying himself. Rasheed’s got talent to spare, but he’s a total headcase – look at all those tattoos! And what happened to Sheed’s game? He used to be a force in Portland, a threat from anywhere on the floor (and sometimes off it). Now, it’s like he’s invisible. If the Pistons want to go anywhere, they have to get him off the leash and let him play his game, even if it means he gets T’d up 5 times a night. Ben Wallace scoring more than Rasheed is a disgrace to the game, and it’s only going to hurt the Pistons in the long run.

Chauncey Billups took years (and lots of Celtic green) to develop – it’s a good thing he got out of Boston, because he clearly couldn’t take the pressure of playing in a big city like this for the big bucks. He needed to run to Detroit to hide from all the spotlights and press, tanking it for millions while making Rick Pitino look like a Grade A moron. Not that he’s the only player to do that – Travis Knight, I’m looking right at your flat-footed self, buddy! Watch out! Rip Hamilton brings some of that necessary old school grit & hustle to today’s thugged-out bling-bling, but he’s about as big as LeBron’s left calf. And who the hell is Tayshaun Prince? He’s like a big praying mantis – someone like Shaq or the Mailman or especially WALTAH could break him with one good elbow.

McDyess is a decent body up front (if you don’t mind his lack of game), but after that, you have that headcase Carlos Arroyo as your back-up point – ease up on the hot sauce, Chico! – and that kid Darko making millions of dollars to learn how to speak English! Yeah, who needs Carmelo Anthony when you can get the next Frederic Weis? Anyway, with the Pistons looking so weak, and teams like Miami, Indiana, New Jersey, and Cleveland looking so confused and banged-up – more on them in future TPs, count on it – this conference is wide open, and a young, athletic, gutty team like the Celts can do some damage. If they keep playing like they’ve been, they’re gonna surprise a lot of people. And I don’t just mean winning the East – I mean winning it all! The Tommy Points are there for the taking, fellahs!

GO, WEST, YOUNG MAN!

One of the biggest surprises so far is young Delonte West. Whoever followed Gary Payton in the point was gonna find themselves behind the 8-ball. After Ainge traded for Dan Dickau, it looked like the job was his to lose. When Dickau was schooled by folks like the Bulls’ Kirk Heinrich and Mike James of Toronto, he lost his job to the hometown favorite, and Delonte hasn’t disappointed. You see those blocks he had against big men like Eddy Curry and Ben Wallace? That takes some guts, or cojones, if you’re Spanish. He does WALTAH proud!

His Opening Day line against the new & improved Knicks (14 points, 9 assists, 4 blocks, 3 steals, and 20 Tommy Points) wasn’t a suprise to those of us that had faith in the kid. He’s a scrappy go-getter with great court vision, and he makes the other players around him better. Just look at Paul Pierce’s stats so far – he’s averaging 30 ppg, which would be a career high! If Ricky Davis keeps it up, he’ll have his best season since he was a no-good show-off glass-cleaning stat-loving hot dog back in the pre-King James days of the Cleveland Cavs.

Delonte’s even lit a fire under would-be superstar Mark Blount, getting the big man to run up and down the court to the tune of 14 ppg. I’ve been saying this for years – if he runs, he’ll get rewarded with garbage buckets and lots of bunnies. Thanks for finally listening to me, Mark! If this keeps up, folks won’t be talking about Shaq and Wade or Stephon and EC – they’ll be talking about Blount and West. PUSH THAT BALL, DELO!

CLOSE GAMES ARE GOOD GAMES

After a great Opening Day win, the Celts took it on the chin against two tough teams, the defending Eastern Conference Champion Pistons and the up-and-coming Charlotte Bobcats. The Celts lost both games by a bucket – the Bobcats took the Celts to OT and squeaked out a win, while Rip Hamilton nailed a last-second shot to snatch victory away from the Celts. I didn’t want to say this during the broadcast, but I can say it here – if the Celts still had my man WALTAH on the roster, I have no doubt they would’ve won. WALTAH has the veteran presence and defensive tenacity that a young scrappy bunch like this year’s Celts need to pull out close games.

I know I’m famous for letting the refs hear it when they make a bad call, but I’m not going to say anything here. Sure, maybe a few calls were blown or missed, and those calls probably cost the Celts some wins. But the refs are human, after all, and like any human, they’re bound to make mistakes. Even if they make more mistakes in one quarter of basketball than a Dunkin’ Donuts trainee makes in a full month, folks have to understand that it’s tough to be a basketball ref. You have to have both eyes on the ball at all time. That’s tough to do when you’re 75 or cross-eyed or forgot your glasses or are on the rag. Every ounce of respect I can muster for those folks goes out to them. Keep up the great work!

My love for WALTAH aside (and do not doubt that I STILL LOVE WALTAH!), there’s plenty to be happy about in Boston. The team’s running up and down the court with a renewed sense of purpose, thanks to great personnel moves by Danny Ainge and great coaching by Doc Rivers. Pierce is rising to the occasion, continuing to cement his reputation as the least heralded superstar in the NBA. You can keep your McGradys and Duncans and Bron-Brons – I’ll take the Truth any day of the week, and twice down the stretch. Al Jefferson, after exploding on the scene last year, is looking like a keeper and is ready to be measured for a set of rings. And the Celt bench is the deepest it’s been since the days of Joe Kleine, Sherman Douglas, and Alaa Abdelnaby. There’s lots of ball left to be played, but the way things are looking right now, the Celts will be playing ball well into 2006. It’s only a matter of time before they put it all together. TAKE IT STRONG TO THE HOLE!

Hall of Famer Tom Heinsohn is entering his 25th year announcing Celtics games with play-by-play partner Mike Gorman.

Hard Wood’s Big Ten Preview

Posted on by Mike Lucas · 2 Comments

My feelings about this year’s Big Eleven — oh, sorry, Big Ten — are complex.

As in, inferiority complex.

How many years in a row will this conference have to place teams in the Sweet Sixteen, the Elite Eight, and the Final Four before the rest of the country wakes up to the fact that the Big Ten has mad hoopz skillz?

Probably, more. Years, that is.

Sure, the Tom Izzo / Bruce Arena matchup might not have all the drama of, say, the clash between legendary honchos Joe Paterno and Barry Alvarez. Who will square up Saturday afternoon in an epic clash of the titans. Or at least a clash of the title-chasers.

(By the way: in other news, JoePa plans to start his old grade school buddy Amos Alonzo Stagg at fullback. He’s that old.)

But back to hoops. Wasn’t it just last year that Illinois appeared in the NCAA title game? They were a heartbeat away from being the champions of the whole country. But, to quote my homiez the Black Eye Peas, “Where is the love (for Big Ten basketball)”?

I think what we’re seeing here is a very complex reaction by East Coast sportswriters. A superiority complex, that is.

Maybe they’re afraid of hard-nosed, smashmouth defense. Hey, I would be too if I was a bunch of fancy-pants elitists.

But I’m not. I’m just a man, callin’ ’em like I sees ’em.

And this is how I sees ’em for the 2005-2006 Big Ten hoops season.

1. Wisconsin. No, I’m not being a homer here. Well, maybe just a little. But, like my old buddy Bobby Brown always says, “It’s my prerogative (to blatantly boost the Badgers).” But how can you bet against Bo? No, not Bo Schembechler, who was the big burrito in Ann Arbor for so many years. And no, not Bo Diddley, although this Bo knows some hot riffs and big beats. And definitely not Little Bo Peep, although this Bo has some peeps for real. No, I’m talking about the newest Bo-named genius in Big Thirteen — sorry, Big Ten — coaching: the Bo named Ryan. How can you bet against this hard-nosed, smashmouth guy from the mean streets of Philly, who has taken the Badgers higher than any coach in the illustrious history of Madison? If you’re me, you can’t. (Not that I bet on games. That would be a conflict of interest. I have no conflict. Just interest.) With returning junior Alando Tucker’s smooth finesse, the emergence of 6’11” inside-outsider Brian Butch, Kammron Taylor’s sweet jumper, and the sober court leadership of senior Ray Nixon, these Badgers have what it takes to go all the way in the Big Nineteen — sorry, the Big Ten. And NEVER bet against Bo.

2. Michigan State. The Spartans seem to be everyone’s consensus pick to win the conference this year. All this means is that Tom Izzo is a PR genius of the highest order. (PR stands for Public Relations, by the way, not Puerto Rican. And definitely not Pippen Roo.) Sure, they have three returning starters who averaged points in double figures last year. But it seems high praise for a team that didn’t even win the conference last year. And Bo — no, not Bo Jackson, although our Bo seems to be just as much a master of all trades — certainly seems to have Izzo’s number.

3. Illinois. This aforementioned team sports orange and blue, but Bruce Weber plans to bring home the gold this year. Too bad he won’t have stud guard Deron Williams, who certainly was one of the biggest parts of last year’s aforementioned title-game run. He will have Dee Brown — not the one who famously pumped up his shoes in the Slam Dunk Championship, but a different guy. And James “I Dreamed I Saw St.” Augustine is very good too. (That was my homage to the Swami, ESPN’s Chris Berman, who regularly gifts people with funny nicknames that pun on their first or last names in humorous fashion.) They may have been almost a perfect 10 last year like Bo Derek, another Bo is looking perfect this year. (Although how would the Badger’s coach look in cornrows?)

4. Indiana. Mike Davis will always be in the shadow of Bobby Knight. How long? Until sportswriters stop talking about the General and his reign of terror and error in Bloomington. Until that day, though, Davis might want to wear a sweater. It’s cold in that shadow, isn’t it, Coach Mike? At least he has D.J. Wright and Marco Killingsworth to keep him warm there. But if you’re looking for a new American Idol, look no further than Bo — and no, I’m not talking about Bo Bice.

5. Michigan. So many people are talking about Tommy — Amaker, not Thompson or Bahama or Hilfiger or the classic rock opera by the Who — this year. But not many people are talking about his defense. Daniel Horton, who was up to no good last year, returns from a long suspension last year. He was an outlaw, but he wasn’t Bo Outlaw. And Bo Outlaw is no Bo Ryan.

6. Iowa. Last year Steve Alford won 21 games with this overachieving group of no-names (Brunner to Haluska to Horner isn’t exactly Tinker to Evers to Chance, the classic Cubs infield in days gone by). But it’s unlikely that they will be that bo-dacious this year. See if you can guess why. (Here’s a hint: the most bo-dacious fellow in the Big Three Hundred Thirty-Seven — sorry, Big Ten — is one William F. “Bo” Ryan.

7. Ohio State. More like Bo-hio State.

8. Purdue. More like the Bo-ilermakers.

9. Minnesota. More like the Bo-lden Bo-phers.

10. Northwestern. The Wildcats return last year’s heavy-lifter Vedran Vukusic for Coach Bill Carmody’s squad, but it is intriguing transfer Bernard Cote’, formerly a Kentucky blue-chipper, who will make or break this season. Together with former Duke Blue Devil Michael Thompson, these two will form an intimidating frontcourt — the ‘Cats might surprise some people in the division this year. But it is the backcourt logjam, with Michael Jenkins, Mohamed Hachad, and Evan Seacat, that will ultimately sink this scrappy squad. Carmody’s emphasis on the extra pass will be hard to implement if there is no clear court leader — and none of these guards are exactly T.J. Parker. An interesting but probably disappointing season in Evanston will result.

11. Penn State. If a team falls in the forests of western Pennsylvania, but nobody cares, can we call them the Bo-tany Lions?

Mike Lucas covers the University of Wisconsin for the Capital Times, Madison’s progressive daily newspaper. He also provides color commentary for the Badgers’ men’s basketball team, alongside his longtime partner Matt LePay.

Reign Delay

Posted on by Dan Shaugnessy · 1 Comment

As everyone knows by now, Theo Epstein is gone. But who’s to blame? If you believe the Red Sox, it’s nobody’s fault. Fat chance. If you believe the know-it-alls on talk radio, it’s me, Dan Shaughnessy. As if.

I like to take a more prosaic stance. I blame Theo.

Here’s the thing about prodigal sons: sometimes, when all is said and done, they step out of line. Theo may have been the GM of the Red Sox, but at 31, he wasn’t the boss any more than Tony Danza was. Nobody thought any different, except Theo and his coterie of brainiacs.

So what was Theo thinking, then, when he engineered a botched trade that would have sent Abe Alvarez, Kelly Shoppach, and Adam Stern to Colorado for Larry Bigbie and Ryan Shealy? Didn’t he know any better? That’s like me cutting a deal to trade two office vending machines for an Aeron chair.

Maybe it says something fundamental about youth that Theo thought he could get away with it. After all, at 28 he was given the checkbook. But like those 250,000 twentysomethings who invade our city every year and think they can drunkenly riot all over town, Theo didn’t know his place. And in the end, Theo forgot the golden rule: he who has the gold makes the rules.

So who can blame Larry Lucchino? Lucchino tried his best to trade perennial malcontent Manny Ramirez, his water bottle, his scowl, his lack of hustle, and the $60 million the Sox owed him. He even had a team dumb enough to take him. What happened? Theo said no. Theo was in charge. And Manny kept right on being Manny.

And in the end, it was left up to Lucchino to teach his protege a lesson. Nobody could have expected Theo’s arrogant reaction to a little outside advice. But maybe they should have. That’s the thing about youth. And if the Red Sox are going to become a dynasty any time soon, they’re going to have to do it without their boy wonder. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this whole new way of thinking about baseball was all a bunch of hot air.

Just a little under two years ago, Theo Epstein ate the most important Thanksgiving dinner in Red Sox history – and before dessert, Curt Schilling was a Red Sock. We all know the rest of the story.

As we speak, though, the relationship between Epstein and the Red Sox has grown colder than Shonda Schilling’s 2003 leftovers. Sour grapes? They aren’t the only things that have gone sour. The rolls are stale. The turkey’s dried out. The gravy’s got that weird skin on the top.

But hey, Theo? If you can’t take the heat, get out of the clubhouse.

Boston Globe columnist Dan Shaughnessy is quickly writing a new epilogue to his upcoming “Curse of the Bambino 2006 Annual.”

Hard Wood’s Big East Preview

Posted on by Bud Poliquin · Leave a comment

Don’t mention the 1-7 Orange football team on the Hill. Nobody’s talking about it. As far as Syracuse observers are concerned, the season’s kaput. Only an off week separates them from being ritually slaughtered by Louisville and Notre Dame and a game against a tough South Florida team; a 1-10 finish is not out of the question. Greg Robinson, Pollyanna in sweatpants, is eternally optimistic; looking out at the verdant FieldTurf of the Orange’s new practice facility, he sounds like a Steinbeck Okie…before the dust storms.

But there’s a palpable buzz there, under the bubble. Something big and real is coming. If the 2004-2005 Orange were a local landmark, they would have been Destiny USA…built on the foundation of Billy Edelin (worthless and truculent), Gerry McNamara (sinking fast under the weight of expectations like a steel piling into the soft muck of Onondaga Lake), and Hakim Warrick (ultimately, like the mall’s titular carousel, a pleasant, whirling distraction from the chaos within).

But these Orange? They gleam with promise like the Clinton Square ice rink. The prospect of them playing Villanova at home in March, potentially for all the marbles, is as mouth-watering as a big plate of salt potatoes. You think there’s no urgency in the Dome this season? Tell that to Jim Boeheim, who got ejected for the first time in his 30 years as coach on Tuesday…in an exhibition game…against Saint Rose. And as their football counterparts slink off into ignominy, the near future every bit as dark as the ghoulish visage of Baron Daemon, the 2006 basketball season looks as bright as sunrise over 690.

In order, then, here’s how the new super-sized Big East will shake down:

1. Syracuse. Gerry McNamara has cemented his status as possibly the most popular Orangeman of all time. His senior season might be a victory lap…but for the fact that he has a three-point-shooting foil for the first time in Eric Devendorf, a veteran frontcourt of Darryl Watkins and Terrence Roberts, and significant backcourt depth. Without Warrick, it’ll be an Olympus-sized hill to climb, but this is Gerry’s team. And Gerry ain’t going down without a fight.

2. Connecticut. Thanks to the antics of the Geek Squad, UConn’s out a starting backcourt until December, when Marcus Williams returns from suspension. Losing Williams will hurt, but a second straight year without phenom A.J. Price will hurt more…expect freshmen Craig Austrie and Rob Garrison to log plenty of minutes against the cupcakes; Rudy Gay is the real deal, but can Josh Boone ever become a low-post scoring threat?

3. Villanova. It’ll be hard, minus Curtis Sumpter, for the Wildcats to live up to their lofty preseason ranking, but Jay Wright has the nation’s best backcourt at his disposal. Expect Nova to rain down lake-effect threes on their opponents; center Jason Fraser’s knees might as well be ceramic teacups at this point, so there won’t be too much board-crashing here.

4. Louisville. Had Francisco Garcia not turned pro, they might be the best team in the country. As it stands Taquan Dean is a dark-horse All-American, Milt Palacios is a solid big man, and seven freshmen will fill the bench with more fresh-scrubbed apple cheeks than the Junior Holstein barn at the Center of Progress Building.

5. West Virginia. You’ve been Pittsnogled! That’s what they’ll say in Morgantown when a scraggly-bearded 6’11” beanpole sprouts wings and starts launching long balls from the corner…offensive rebounding is always an issue when your big man’s your best outside shooter, but West Virginia plays tougher and harder than any other team in the Big East.

6. Georgetown. The best frontcourt in the league? Roy Hibbert, Jeff Green, and Brandon Bowman are a serious triple threat, and the Princeton-style offense means that their the Hoyas’ outside shooters will get plenty of looks. With a guy named Jon(athan) Wallace on the team, could the East be in the house again? Oh my God! Danger!

7. Cincinnati. The Big East could have used Bob Huggins, but this reporter won’t miss him at the postgame buffet…senior leadership will take them as far as they can go, but at least stringbean Armein Kirkland won’t be coming back for seconds at the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que.

8. Notre Dame. Irish fans will miss Chris Thomas’ scoring, but everybody else will miss his alarming tendency to unleash 20 off-balance threes in big games. Seniors Chris Quinn (who gets carded buying a carton of milk) and Torin Francis (a complete player in the sense that Doppler the Weather Cat is a local celebrity) will make or break their team’s postseason hopes.

9. Pittsburgh. It’ll be a rebuilding year for the Panthers, who look as one-dimensional as the Dome Hotel after the loss of Chevy Troutman and Chris Taft. Despite that, Carl Krauser is a fierce leader, and a strong cast of recruits should have Pittsburgh back in the mix before you know it. Just not this year.

10. Marquette. Milwaukee’s best? They’re too young to do much damage, much less partake of the local brews, and the loss of Travis Diener leaves a hole in the middle of their lineup bigger than the ones on Hiawatha Boulevard. Steve Novak will shoot the lights out, but a quartet of inexperienced newcomers make the Golden Eagles an unknown quantity.

11. Rutgers. Seems like the Scarlet Knights are always one or two recruits away from contention. Quincy Douby and J.R. Inman will be exciting scorers on the wing, but the lack of a real point guard and little frontcourt depth will make Rutgers as paper-thin as the Saturday sports section. At the Lilliputian RAC, they’ll knock off a couple of stud teams; with the cloud of Aqua Net hanging over the court in that Jersey dive, how could they not?

12. St. John’s. Daryll (Showtime) Hill deserves better than this, but the sins of Abe Keita are visited upon, well, whatever it is that comes after Abe Keita. At least St. John’s didn’t lose anybody of note; as it stands this playground-style team couldn’t knock off the Fowler JV.

13. DePaul. Don’t be fooled by the Blue Demons’ 20-11 record in 2004-2005. New coach Jerry Wainwright will struggle to win without last year’s top three starters and facing a non-conference schedule that includes road games at Dayton, Wake Forest, Old Dominion, and Cal…If North Side fans are disgusted by the quality of the product on the court, they might be well-served to make the short drive to Hot Doug’s, where the quality of the product is never in question.

14. Providence. Minus Ryan Gomes, they might be even worse than last year’s 4-12 team…sometime scofflaw Donnie “Sweet D” McGrath might never become chief of police in this town, but he’s got namesake Dennis DuVal beat in the headband department.

15. Seton Hall. Thar she blows. The Pirates might be hard-pressed to get ten wins out of this motley crew; coach Louis Orr is in hot water, and may very well conscript Rosie Bouie and Marty Headd to give his team some much-needed depth. It’s got to come from somewhere.

16. South Florida. The Baby Bulls won’t just be bad, they might be some of the Big East’s worst-ever. They were a substandard C-USA team to begin with before three starters graduated, another went pro, and another was kicked off the team. Our new friends in the Sunshine State make their Big East debut in the Dome in January; to welcome them to our winter wonderland, let’s all take a deep breath and recite the MONY Tower Weather Star Rhyme:

Green light…weather bright.

Orange on high…overcast sky.

Orange flashing…raindrops splashing.

Flickering white…snow in sight.

See you at the Dome…if the turf’s still in place, I’ll be the one with the paper bag over my head.

Bud Poliquin is a columnist for the Syracuse Post-Standard.

The Top Ten Punks in the N.B.A.

Posted on by Charley Rosen · 4 Comments

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I don’t know if any of you wingdings would ever have the stones to read us over on FOXSports. Probably not. But if you did — and if you could read anything other than the day of the week printed in block letters on the back of your tighty-whities — you’d understand that we don’t pull any punches over there. Sometimes I’m hard on players and coaches, because I think you, the fans, deserve an honest, straight-from-the-hip perspective.

But sometimes, it’s because they’re stupid punks who don’t deserve any better. This article is for the latter crew. Yes, I’m aware that a middle-aged (but still fit, you better believe) white man with a beard calling younger, darker-skinned men “punks” might be construed as somewhat racist. But let’s set the record straight: I’m not. If I was, would I even bother with the NBA? And would I have been a successful CBA coach? Would I have ghost-written a book for Darryl Dawkins? Okay, then, that’s settled. That having been said, I KNOW that “punk” means you are the receiving end of a manjection. That’s precisely why I use that term. You got a problem with that? Punk?

Here are the top ten punks in the NBA today.

1. Kevin Garnett. Say all you want to about this guy, with his athleticism and his versatility and his obvious competitive drive and his being mentioned by “gangsta rappaz” like Common as an example of coolness — he’s still a small fry to me. Here’s a new concept for KG: carrying your team on your back. The great ones don’t need a “supporting cast.” If he was any kind of man, like Michael Jordan, he’d already have hardware. End of story.

2. Allen Iverson. Why do I hate him? Let me count the ways: the attitude; the tattoos; the refusal to practice, ever, under any circumstance; the hair; the fact that he went to Georgetown instead of somewhere in North Carolina; the attitude…everything about this guy bugs me. I’m getting bored of trying to expose the myth of this wee leprechaun. He is a great scorer, I’ll give you that. But is everything all about putting the ball in the basket? Is that how teams win ball games? If AI had half the determination of a Matt Harpring or Manu Ginobili, he’d be a champion in my book. But guess what: he’s filed under “L.” For Loser.

3. Kobe Bryant. I don’t think we need to say anything here. Mamba? More like mambo. Or mumbo-jumbo. How my friend Phil Jackson can stand this deviant fraud, I’ll never know.

4. Tracy McGrady. Ever look at someone and you just KNOW they’re not right in the soul? That’s what it’s like when I think about T-Mac. He can’t play defense to save his life, he’s a disloyal traitor, a bad driver, and his commercials make him look like some kind of bat-angel when instead he’s more of a butterfly-spawn-of-Satan. Maybe it’s the eyes, or his cousinship to #5. I just don’t like him or his game (outside of his shooting, most nights), so he’s on my list.

5. Vince Carter. That’s right, we take on the tough targets around here. I know everyone LOVES Vinsanity, it’s really unfashionable to call him out for anything he does, blah blah, etc. But am I the only one to notice that he dogged it up in Toronto before coming to the Nets? Am I the only one to think that he’s not that great without another complementary player on his side? Plus, if you want to keep sweat out of your eyes, STOP SHAVING YOUR HEAD. Just common sense.

6. Steve Nash. Most Valuable Player? More like Most Vicious Punk. Something about this Canuck sets my teeth on edge. It probably all started back when he questioned the war in Iraq — way to get some freedom of speech at the exact wrong time, pal, hope you can sleep at night knowing your comments got good Americans killed. I think it also has to do with his floppy hair, his lack of any defensive skills other than sneakily jumping out into the passing lanes, and his throwing Mark Cuban under a bus. Let’s see how you do without Amare Stoudamire to have your back, you hoser.

7, 8. Amare Stoudamire, Nene. Real men don’t get season-threatening or -ending knee owies before the season even starts. Pathetic.

9. David Stern. Making grown men dress like grown men isn’t the problem. Making everyone in the league bow and scrape and kiss your ring IS the problem. Stop consulting with the Bush aide about how to win the NASCAR dads back; we don’t need southern “fans” with their tomahawk chops and their moonshine cocktails. Basketball is a northern game ever since Naismith invented it, and it always will be. Loosen the reins before the horse dies.

10. All other basketball writers, pundits, commentators, play-by-play men, and so-called “experts.” You all make me sick. If I read or hear or watch one more puff piece by someone I don’t like about someone I don’t like, I’m gonna tear everyone a new one. Don’t think I can’t. I’m in great shape for my age.

Charley Rosen writes for FOXSports.com. He is the author of twelve books about college and pro basketball, and is a former coach of several different CBA teams.

All the Right Moves

Posted on by Mike Lupica · Leave a comment

What a ride it’s been for Larry Brown from Long Beach. Titles in Carolina and Denver. Titles in Kansas and Detroit. A bronze medal in Athens. 35 years in the business, en route to becoming the oldest coach ever to win a title. And now, at 65, Brown has finally come home to tackle his biggest job of all: turning the Knicks into champions for the first time since he was a rookie ABA coach in 1973.

It’s been a long road.

And once again, nobody knows what to expect of the Knicks. GM Isiah Thomas has once again stripped off the lug nuts and souped up his team’s engine, adding sharpshooter Quentin Richardson and potential All-Star Eddy Curry to a core group of hot rods like Stephon Marbury, Jamal Crawford, and Antonio Davis.

Critics may point out that you can’t tell the new faces apart. Fine. Maybe it’ll sell some scorecards. Maybe having to tell Jerome James apart from Jackie Butler will finally get an apathetic city invested in a team. Can you name the starting five of the Nets? Can anybody, these days?

All of which speaks to a bigger point about the modern NBA. To look at the league, you’d think it moribund, considering the state of the league’s traditional heavyweights: rebuilding in New York, LA, Boston, Chicago, Washington, Philly…the list goes on.

It’s in the NBA’s best interest, frankly, to field a winning team in its major markets. And that means New York. New York is, like it or not, the face of the league – they’ve got the most money, the best stadium, and the most tradition, and they belong on top. When the Knicks are winning, the league is winning. And when the league’s best player languishes in obscurity in Cleveland, something’s wrong. Believe in frozen envelopes if you must, but David Stern apparently has no master plan to make the league’s biggest teams its best teams.

But he should.

Read any NBA preview and you’ll see the Pacers and Spurs as near-unanimous picks to win their respective conferences. You mean…there are newspapers in Indianapolis and San Antonio? Ones people read? Really? If these teams live up to expectations, we’ll be left with nobody watching another anticlimactic snoozer of a Finals. Remember the Lakers, Celtics, Pistons, Bulls, and Knicks? Remember rivalries that captivated their cities, remember outsized personalities on and off the court?

They’re still there.

And when – not if, but when – LeBron James finally becomes a Knick, as he should have been all this time, it’ll be a moot point. Couple the most dynamic player in decades with a living legend like Larry Brown and you might as well start engraving the rings.

Until then, consider the case of the Philadelphia 76ers, Brown’s latest success story. When he took over in 1998, they’d won 31 games, two fewer than last year’s Knicks. Three years later, they were in the Finals.

Sound like a familiar script? Brown is the ultimate fixer. And the Knicks are the ultimate fixer-upper.

Mike Lupica writes for the New York Daily News and is a frequent guest on E$PN’s “Sports Reporters.”

Rumblings and Grumblings: AL MVP

Posted on by Jayson Stark · 2 Comments

This year’s balloting promises to be the most hotly contested MVP race in years. As the calendar turned to September, nothing remotely close to a consensus pick had emerged. MVP discussions raged on throughout the entire year. Fans and journalists were changing their minds faster than Paris Hilton changes her mind about who she marries. But as the saying goes, the real baseball season doesn’t start until September, and that’s when a few notable players finally separated themselves from the pack.

1. David Ortiz. The best season by a Red Sox lefthanded batter since a couple of guys named Williams and Ruth. You already know about the 22 homers in August and September, when the games mattered most. You already know that he slugged .843 in close-and-late situations. You already know that he hit .450 on 3-0 counts. But you might not know that his birthday, Nov 18, very nearly coincides with the announcement of the MVP award. Could this be an especially happy birthday for the Red Sox slugger?

2. Scott Podsednik. Even though this ballot was composed before the playoffs began, the White Sox’s historic championship run only confirms Podsednik’s importance to his team. The 2004 White Sox had a one-dimensional offense and finished nine games back of the first-place Twins. They hit a boatload of homeruns, thanks to a team filled with more slow-footed sluggers than an Oakland A’s spring training workout. Guess how many players on the 2004 White Sox stole more than 18 bases?

One. As in uno. Eins. Echad. Yat. Second baseman Willie Harris stole 19, but his offensive numbers were otherwise so anemic that he was limited to a part-time role in 2005.

Trading for Podsednik not only energized the White Sox lineup, but it practically overhauled the entire offense in his image. And that overhaul is now responsible for bringing World Series glory to Chicago.

3. Shannon Stewart. It was a tough year for the Twins, as they failed to make the playoffs for the first time since 2001. Between Torii Hunter going down for the season in August, and Johan Santana having an off-year, the Twins needed Stewart to step up his game and show the MVP form he had in 2003. He came through by finishing with double digits in home runs for the eighth consecutive year and nearly leading the team in runs scored. He completed his overall game by stealing more bases than he had since 2002 and finishing with a career high in outfield assists.

4. Brian Roberts. Roberts’ breakout season was one of the most inspiring stories in the American League this year. He set career highs in nearly every offensive category, played Gold Glove-caliber defense at second base, and was elected to his first All-Star Game. Before his team faded in the second half, he was looking like a runaway MVP winner. Says one AL GM, “he might be the best player in the league who weighs less than 175 pounds”.

That just about says it all.

5. Travis Hafner. Hafner came into his own as an elite player this year and nearly led a hungry young Indians team into the playoffs in the process. Along the way, he became only the sixth player in the past 20 years to lead the Indians in OPS in back-to-back seasons. The others are probable Hall of Famers Manny Ramirez, Jim Thome, Albert Belle, Carlos Baerga, and Brook Jacoby.

6. Mark Ellis. Says on-again, off-again A’s manager Ken Macha: “Without the contributions of Mark Ellis, we wouldn’t have made a playoff run this year.” Sounds like an MVP candidate to me. Ellis led the scrappy A’s in batting average, OBP, and SLG while playing stellar defense in the field. Seventeen of his 137 hits, including two home runs, came against division rivals Los Angeles, proving that he came through when the team needed him most.

7. Ichiro Suzuki. It was a disastrous year for the Mariners in many respects, but don’t blame their All-Star right fielder for that. Ichiro continued to be the best Japanese import to this country since the Sony Playstation. He laced 200 hits for the fifth straight year (only the sixth player ever to do that) and set a career high in triples while being caught stealing just eight times.

How many hits are 206 hits? That was more than the season totals of notables such as Derek Jeter, Johnny Damon and Albert Pujols. It was also more than surefire Hall of Famers Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa, and Barry Bonds combined. Thanks to 48 extra-base hits (third-most in his career, trailing only his 2001 and 2003 seasons), those 206 hits travelled a combined 29380 feet. That’s 5.56 miles worth of hits.

8. Vladimir Guerrero. It was a troubled year for Vlad. He struggled through injuries and the pressure of trying to live up to last year’s MVP form. Despite dropping 20 points in batting average and 30 points in slugging compared to last year, he still drove in 100 runs for the seventh time in eight years, brought another division title to Los Angeles, and continued to be a major threat at the plate. Commented former Devil Rays pitching coach Chuck Hernandez (newly hired by the Tigers), “Vlad is one of the five best hitters in the league. In Tampa Bay, our pitchers hated having to face him. They hated having to face anybody, really, but especially him. He swings at everything, which was tough on our young staff because they were trying to learn the strike zone.”

9. Ozzie Guillen. He might have retired in 2000, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a player or ex-player who had as much impact on the game or meant as much to his team as Ozzie Guillen did. All season long, his name and face were everywhere. He was in the papers more often than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. From his White Sox’s special brand of “Ozzieball” on the field, to his steady string of outrageous quotes off the field, Ozzie Guillen was a force to be reckoned with in the AL in 2005.

10. Alex Rodriguez. Nobody is disputing ARod’s talent, and by the time his career is said and done, he may very well be remembered as one of the greatest players to ever play the game. The Yankees, with plenty of offense to spare, may have won the division without Rodriguez, but they certainly wouldn’t have won without pitching — in particular, the heroic efforts of Randy Johnson, Shawn Chacon, and Aaron Small down the stretch.

Yankee fans’ worst fears about ARod were confirmed against the Angels in the ALDS. He hit just .133, pulling a disappearing act at the plate that would have made David Copperfield jealous. You can’t ignore 48 HR and 130 RBI, but until he shows that he can carry his new team, those numbers will be the mark of a great player, but not an MVP.

Perfection in the Baddest Part of Town

Posted on by William C. Rhoden · 1 Comment

And with that, the Chicago White Sox dispatched the ghosts of their shoeless forebears back into the ether from whence they came. The ghosts – the ghosts of corruption and human fallibility, this time, not of billy goats and Billy Buckner – instantly vanished into the night. 88 years of futility resonated as emphatically within the hearts of the respectful throng in Houston as 88 piano keys struck all at once; as the music faded, so did the Chicago White Sox’ reputation as baseball’s penultimate losers.

In the end, it was smallball, after all, which on this late October night wrought its imprimatur in luminous script upon the blank horsehide slate – the White Sox dispatching the hapless Astros 1-0 less than 24 hours after the conclusion of a 14-inning marathon, the Astros’ power aces bowing to the White Sox’ finesse quartet. Not a flamethrower is to be found in the White Sox’ rotation – lefty Jon Garland barely fits the bill – but when it comes to painting the black, they’re Mick Jagger, Ron Wood, Keith Richards, and Charlie Watts.

I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. Mine was a childhood fraught with misery, enduring the slings and arrows of enemy Cub fans; the decades between World Series in Chicago were bleak and barren, but the White Sox never had Ernie Banks or Ron Santo to root for. If the White Sox have a defining mythology, it is of the ungainly stepsister, and if their tale has a redemptive ending, it is of the sweet champagne-drenched kiss Jermaine Dye placed upon the golden base of the coveted trophy on Wednesday night. Yes, that Jermaine Dye. Even Carl Everett – badder than King Kong and meaner than an old junkyard dog – played a key role. How fitting that longtime manager and White Sox stalwart Al Lopez lived long enough to see it happen; like Johnny Pesky, his peer in Boston, Mr. Lopez never lost faith in his team over the years.

A day after the ticker-tape parade wound its dizzying way through the gritty streets of the Second City, there was a macabre epilogue – Mr. Lopez suffered a heart attack and passed away at age 97. One hears told tales of Boston families who held vigils over the bedsides of their sickly elders last year, hopeful that they would outlast the Curse of the Bambino; indeed, a popular literary postmortem even bears the title “Now I Can Die in Peace.” As a White Sox fan, it is hard not to take that literally as it pertains to Mr. Lopez’ death; a smile must have been on his face as he finally departed this mortal coil.

In the first moments of the postseason lull, it is hard not to contemplate the future. What does the future hold for curses great and small, for the Astros, Rangers, Nationals, and even those dreaded Cubs? Consider the newest one of all. If the Red Sox were conceptual artists, they’d be post-modernists – theirs is a curse that knew it was a curse, an infinite feedback loop that supplied New England with generations of angst and its sportswriters with columns and columns of ink-drenched pathos. When the Red Sox were summarily eliminated by their pale-hosed nemeses, there was nary a blink from the Boston naysayers; so quick was the Red Sox’ transition from doomed franchise to media darlings that the return voyage seemed like a quick slip across the river Styx, back to the friendly confines of loss.

Don’t think for a second, Red Sox fans, that team leadership doesn’t recognize the substantive advantages of being affiliated with all that romantic failure; imbued with the memory of 2004, there is no great demand in Red Sox Nation for the team to aspire to anything greater than competence. Satiated, the Red Sox stand to lose touch with the ascetism that defined their passion throughout the years; there is no culture of fear and resignation in Miami or Anaheim or Phoenix, and as the years pass and the Red Sox keep winning and losing like any other team, they will lose the identity they cultivated for so long.

The Red Sox’ ownership apparently fully believed in this theory. Keeping a stiff upper lip in their negotiations with wunderkind GM Theo Epstein, they stonewalled his contract demands until he left of his own accord; in his absence, the Olde Towne Team will be left to the stewardship of the kind of baseball minds that thought it a good idea to give bull-market money to Jose Offerman and Troy O’Leary. As it well should be.

Indeed, in the public arena, the Red Sox’ 86 years of futility have already been eclipsed by the White Sox’ 88-year quest for redemption. In the short term, the Fenway summers may loom bleakly, but both the Red Sox and White Sox would be wise to follow their predecessors’ decision-making over nearly a century of comic ineptitude if they intend their next World Series win to be as remarkable and meaningful as the last one. A drink of water never tasted so sweet as after a long walk in the desert.

William C. Rhoden is a columnist for the New York Times.

HERE’S MORE LA BASEBALL!

Posted on by Tommy Lasorda · 2 Comments

The season ended badly for the Dodgers over a month ago, but I’ve been keeping busy. You don’t stop doing a job just because you’re fired. As an official advisor to the chairman for the Dodgers, I’ve been bending Frank McCourt’s ear all season, trying to keep him from making even more mistakes, especially since that know-nothing GM Paul DePasta never returned my phone calls. I would’ve told him that Paul LoDuca is worth 15 J.D. Drews, and that they should have kept Jeff Kent’s bad attitude away from this great city! But he wouldn’t listen to me because he’s got some fancy degree, and the Dodgers were left with one of the worst teams in baseball.

And then McCourt listened to DePodestro and fired Jim Tracy, the one guy left on the team that bled Dodger Blue when he wasn’t losing. I mean, he wasn’t Walter Alston, but who is? I’m not even Walter Alston (though I’m pretty close). Heck, Walter Alston isn’t even Walter Alston anymore! That was the last camel’s straw I wanted to see broken, Tracy’s firing. Drastic times call for drastic measures, so I went on the offensive. I went on a mission to save LA baseball!

I went to work right after DePodsednik went on vacation. Really, who goes on vacation when you’ve got a baseball team to manage? That’s a sign right there that he’s not all right up in his head. First, I hired a bunch of hackers to break into Paul’s e-mail account and spam everyone in the Dodger organization with e-mails from Nigerian businessmen and software salesman and pharmecutical companies and eBay account verifiers, all with Paul’s e-mail address prominently featured. (I got the idea from Billy Plaschke – he’s a great guy, and a fantastic writer. If I were head of the Writer’s Hall of Fame, he’d be first ballot every year, and twice on leap years!)

Then I prankcalled Frank McCourt’s wife as Paul and talked dirty to her. I’d say, “Hello, Ms. McCourt, this is Paul PeTostada, General Managers of the Los Angeles Dodgers. I’m calling from Italy on my overpriced cellphone on your dime, and I want to know what you’re wearing because you excite me in a sexual way.” And then I’d tell her what I’d do to her in an Olive Garden bathroom with the free unlimited breadsticks. I did this 10 times a day from pay phones all over Los Angeles. This is LA baseball!

I then called all of the candidates that Pondeboat wanted as manager and told them that Paul told me to tell them to go pound sand. I then called good old Orel Hershiser and connsumate professional Bobby Valentine (as myself!) and told them to hang tight because there was going to be a lot of business going down. On the Tuesday before the firing, I received a call from Frank McCourt asking what was going on with the prank phone calls to his wife, and all the spam, and the open jar of pig’s feet that he found in his bed. I said I don’t know. I was lying! He said that if Paul Sopesada didn’t call him and apologize, then he was gonna do something drastic. My plan was working! Then I called my buddy Pat Gillick and my buddy Jim Bowden and my buddy Dallas Green and my buddy Branch Rickey told them to pack their bags because they was going to start playing with the big boys. They were gonna start playing LA baseball!

For the piece of resistance, I called up Jason Grimsley and had him break into DePastrami’s office. I had him place copies of Chicken Hawk (a La Bamba documentary), Salo: The 120 Days of Sodom, and Mein Kampf all over his desk – whatever, it’s what the talking Angelyne billboard said to do. I also told Grimsley to tack up all sorts of tacky teen idol posters on the wall – Ricky Nelson, Bobby Sherman, James Dean, The Monkees, the works! Oh – and Plaschke also said that there should be posters of Adrian Beltre with moustaches and fake Johnsons and blacked-out teeth all over the place, so he did that. He also scattered lots of scrap paper doodles I made saying “MCCOURT SUX COMPUTERS ROX!” and “2+2 = SHUT THE HEE SEOP UP” and elitist Harvard stuff like that. For the cherry on the Sunday, Grimsley (a great guy, and a heckuva Bocce Ball player – he can be pitching coach!) put a dead skunk in his chair and skunk guts all over the floor. Come Friday morning, there were folks breaking down the door to see what the stink was! No one ever goes into Paul’s office, anyway – imagine how shocked they were to see all that stuff! When Frank called me up to ask what I’d do in his shoes, I said to fire that DePanera guy and hire a real GM like Pat Gillick or Branch Rickey, and someone with managerial qualities, like Orel Hershiser or Bobby Valentine. And that’s what happened! LA baseball was saved!

This off season is a key off-season for the Dodgers, and it’s important that they go into it with a fresh start and fresh blood. There are plenty of free agents out there that can do right by the glory and greatness of Dodger baseball. That kid in Chicago, Paul Konerko, for instance – he’s a great hitter! I’d sign him for 10 years, though the White Sox would be stupid to let him go. No one can resist the glamour of Los Angeles, though. I’d also sign Johnny Damon, Billy Wagner, Reggie Sanders, Rafael Furcal, Bill Mueller, B.J. Surhoff, Bernie Williams, and former Dodger greats Brian Jordan, Jose Vizcaino, and Lenny Harris. You need veteran leadership and depth up the middle to play LA baseball! Maybe I can get Pedro Guerrero to come out of retirement. He was a great hitter, and smart, too!

I’d also get rid of anyone that DePadsoda signed, because those guys aren’t true Dodgers. Goodbye, J.D. Drew and your brittle bones! Go back to your agent! Goodbye, Jeff Kent and your pickup trucks! Goodbye, Hee Seop Choi and your bad swing! And goodbye to all those awful starting pitcher. You chumps couldn’t hold Don Drysdale’s jock strap’s jock strap! I’d keep Jason Phillips, Ceaesar Iztouriz, and Scott Erickson, because they’re gamers and they play the game right. I’d also talk to Eric Gagne about sucking it up and taking one for the team – you can’t have your best pitcher sitting on the sidelines with an injury while the rest of the team’s out there trying to win a World Series! That’s not how it works!

Los Angeles has a reputation to uphold, and I think we can do something about living up to that reputation right now if we make the right moves. And then I can stop apologizing to fans on behalf of the Dodgers for another bad season. And, now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to call my good friend Larry Lucchino and congratulate him for his good fortune. Maybe we’ll see each other in the Fall Classic next year! Look out for 2006! This is LA baseball!

Tommy Lasorda once lost 30 pounds in three months, and never felt better in his life. He blogs at MLB.com.

World Series “Rundown”

Posted on by Spartacus · Leave a comment

When we here at Yard Work found out that two of our contributing writers were starting a feud, we decided to get them together here at YW headquarters. Here, slightly edited, is part of that conversation.

Ana Maria Callejeo Guillen: So, Spartacus, what did you think about World Series 2005?
Spartacus: Well, Ana Maria, I thought it was a pretty good series, for a four-game waste of time that proves nothing except that the wrong team can win any time.
AMCG: You mean you thinks Astros should has won?
S: No, I don’t think either team should have won. In fact, it is clear that the Cardinals are still the best team in baseball this year.
AMCG: You are crazy as a kaka monster! The winning teams is the winning teams, there is no question about that. My uncle Ozzie —
S: Your uncle Ozzie did a very good job with his mediocre team, because they had excellent pitching and pretty good defense. But there is no question that Cleveland should have beaten them, and that St. Louis would have beaten Cleveland. I ran one million projections and that’s the outcome I came up with 96.4 % of the time., based on the regular season, which is really all we have to go on. The fact that two other teams got in: LUCK, pure luck. Baseball isn’t luck, sister.
AMCG: Baseball very is luck, and I am not your sister!
S: It’s an expression we have in English.
AMCG: Here is another expression you haves in English: You make me laughing! Your computers are more a joke than “La India” and more feeble besides. Real people play beisbol, they have flesh and blood just like me, even you maybes!
S: But come on, you can’t tell me that the White Sox were anything more than a 90 win team that caught some breaks at the right time.
AMCG: Yes, and I tell you more: they won 99 games, three games, four games, and four more games. Maybe your computers can add that up.
S: Oh, sure, take a cheap shot. But come on, is predicting a World Series winner based on how many Venezuelan players are on a team any better?
AMCG: The team that had more Venezolanos won the World Series. Did you see Ozzie with the flag on him shoulders at that celebration?
S: But you picked against your uncle’s team! Hey, nice job on your Kelvim Escobar prediction, by the way.
AMCG: Oh, now you have a cheap shot against me and my country. I hope you are proud of yourselv. Plus, like Brett Tomko writes, A.J. Podsednik have many times where he taked advantage of umpires of stone, how can that factor into your contempt for me?
S: I don’t have contempt for you, not at all. I think you are a good writer.
AMCG: For seriously?
S: Sure! But you’re better in “El Universal” than you are in English. I loved that piece about the Caracas / Magallanes rivalry, that was hilarious.
AMCG: Thanks you, Spartacus, that is nice. I like to read your website sometimes, but those numbers! Ay yi yi! They making me crazy sometimes. Did you ever eplay beisbol?
S: I had health problems as a child, an allergy to air actually. I wasn’t allowed outside until I was fifteen years old.
AMCG: Pobrecito!
S: But enough about me, and enough about 2005. You want to go get a drink?
AMCG: What do you think is in this so calls water bottle? Water? Jajaja, you would be wrong about that! Okay, Spartacus…vamonos!