Right On Schedule

E. Gordon Gee, The Ohio State University’s animated, opinionated president, created a stir last week when he declared Boise State and TCU don’t play schedules worthy of consideration for the BCS Championship. Boise State made Gee’s statement a bit moot when it lost to Nevada.

But TCU remains undefeated and in the mix, pending the outcome of Oregon’s visit to in-state nemesis Oregon State and Auburn’s rematch with South Carolina in the SEC Championship game. If the Ducks or Tigers lose, that could launch TCU into the crystal football tussle, to Gee’s chagrin.

We need a major college playoff. It’s time for academics to give up the hypocrisy, admit major college football is big business, select the best four (or eight) teams each year and set up a playoff system, somehow incorporating the traditional bowl system.

But Gee has a point. Imagine if Alabama, Southern Cal, Texas, Ohio State (or name your favorite big-boy college football team) were to announce the following schedule for 2011: Wyoming, New Mexico State, Toledo, San Jose State, Louisiana Tech, Hawaii, Idaho, Fresno State, Nevada, Utah State, Virginia Tech and Oregon State. Except for the last two entries, even ardent fans would have to admit that’s cupcake city. Exactly what Boise State’s 2010 lineup looked like!

Or what if your team had the following slate for next year: Tennessee Tech, Baylor, SMU, Colorado State, Wyoming, BYU, Air Force, UNLV, San Diego State, New Mexico, Oregon State and Utah. Not your basic “murderers’ row,” but funny thing – that was TCU’s schedule this year.

Besides BYU, a lot of those games were the equivalent of BYE (as in, “bye week”).

Granted, Ohio State scheduled Ohio University and Eastern Michigan, a couple of cream puffs, as did all the traditional powers. But they also played a number of games against formidable opposition.

So in one sense, Gee was right. But in opposing a National Champion determined by playoffs, Gee is very wrong.

Suggestions to Fix What Ails Baseball

Baseball was my first love in sports. I remember the epic World Series battles between the New York Yankees and Milwaukee Braves in 1957 and 1958 when I was a little boy. And for decades afterward, I bought into the idea that baseball was the “American pastime.”

Unfortunately, the snail’s pace of the sport – in the context of today’s fast-food, microwave, immediately-if-not-sooner world – has turned it from “pastime” to more like watching time pass through an hourglass.

Other sports – notably football and basketball, pro and college – have surpassed baseball in popularity, particularly among younger people. The bedrock of baseball fandom today is the so-called Baby Boomer generation, of which I’m a card-carrying member. But even I have a hard time sitting through more than an inning or two anymore.

Baseball has long been a part of Americana, and it would be a shame for it to crawl into the Smithsonian and become a quaint relic of the past. Here are suggestions to revitalize the game:

Put pitchers on a time clock (call it a “pitch clock”). Pitchers take an interminable amount of time between pitches, scratching their ears, adjusting jocks or whatever they need to do. Football, basketball, hockey and other sports all utilize time clocks to keep action moving. How about having a clock that limits time between pitches to 20 or 25 seconds? If the pitch isn’t delivered by then, it’s an automatic “ball.”

Institute instant replay. Videotape replay has revolutionized both pro and college football, making for more accurate officiating, and it’s even used in some instances in basketball. Forget “tradition” – and egotistical baseball umpires. Institute instant replay for controversial calls, those bang-bang plays at the bases or questionable catches in the outfield. Get it right!

Outlaw the “drama.” One silly baseball practice is the manager storming onto the field to protest a call he disagrees with, jawing chin to chin with an umpire, even kicking dirt or throwing his hat. You don’t see this in football, or basketball – if you do, the coach is banished immediately. Such behavior isn’t tolerated in the workplace; why should a ball diamond be an exception? It’s just another waste of time – and if videotape replay is instituted, it becomes utterly unnecessary.

Have players show post-game sportsmanship. Have you noticed that after football games the opposing players mingle? And in basketball, competitors routinely shake hands after the final buzzer? Not in baseball. The winners do shake hands – but only with fellow teammates. Meanwhile, their opponents either shuffle to the clubhouse or watch enviously from the dugout. Let’s have a display of sportsmanship, with winners and losers congratulating each other post-game.

I’m sure there are other ideas that could be implemented as well, but these could be a good start. Otherwise, I fear, we’ll soon be going to museums to see baseball, displayed alongside T-Rex, the cotton gin and the “Spirit of St. Louis.”

Money, Sex and Power

Americans are fascinated by violence. Crime dramas consistently rank high in TV ratings. News shows typically lead with mayhem and tragedy. So is it any wonder one of the primary appeals of the National Football League is its weekly menu of violent collisions?

This week league officials have begun taking steps to curtail the inevitable consequences of mass plus force plus speed, first by levying large fines and second by threatening suspensions to offenders of rules designed to protect opposing players.

The problem is, horrific impacts are a big part of the NFL’s phenomenal appeal. Along with money – countless millions of dollars at stake through gambling and fantasy leagues, and sex – scantily clad cheerleaders stationed along sidelines for whatever purpose, the sheer power of muscled athlete crashing into muscled athlete has captivated the American male psyche. ESPN used to have a feature, “Jacked-Up,” that replayed the week’s most violent tackles. Will the NFL’s appeal remain as strong if it becomes a safer, gentler sport?

It could be argued the popularity of NASCAR, which grew steadily for a couple of decades, began to decline when it began imposing stringent safety measures after the tragic death of Dale Earnhardt, along with other drivers. Races still feature spectacular wrecks, but the macabre link with death has been virtually eliminated. Perhaps in the minds of some observers, if there’s no real danger, where’s the fun?

This isn’t to say the NFL shouldn’t step up to protect players from ferocious hits that could leave them being permanently maimed, even killed. No amount of compensation can offset disabilities – immediate or delayed – or loss of life.

But if the “greatest hits,” the ones that evoke the ooh’s and ahh’s from voyeuristic viewers, are subtracted from the equation, will the NFL sustain its attraction? Only time will tell.

Give Me Reality, Not Fantasy!

When I was a boy, we played several fantasy-type sports games – dice baseball, with numbers on the dice representing hits and outs; another game in which you placed cards of Hall of Fame baseball players over a spinner; and a vibrating, electric football game that literally shook the miniature players up and down the field.

I’ve never played “fantasy football,” but last week witnessed firsthand what it involves. That happened to be the night my alma mater, Ohio State, was opening its season against Marshall and I went to a local sports bar where fellow Buckeye fans here in Chattanooga often gather to share in the thrill of victory.

Our accustomed long table in front of the big TV screen, however, had been absconded by a group of fantasy football fanatics. I know they were fanatics because they each clutched stacks of paper containing team rosters and statistics from last year, and were also armed with laptops for collecting and correlating other relevant performance data.

Judging by the intensity and somberness of this group, you might have thought these people were negotiating a world peace agreement, or at least a hostile takeover of Microsoft, rather than forming make-believe football teams.

I admit to being miffed because their presence relegated many of us Buckeyes to a far corner of the restaurant, out of sight of the big screen, but had to wonder about the many hours these fantasy devotees were investing on the startup of an annual but essentially inconsequential pastime.

Perhaps these gridiron dreamers had visions of winning big bucks at season’s end, but it seemed like a strange way to spend time. Of course, I do my own things to consume time in silly ways. But at least they don’t deprive ardent OSU fans from enjoying the big screen!

It’s Football Time in . . .

As Monday Night Football’s opener inquires, “Are you ready for some football?!”

Tomorrow night, football – college version – will unwrap its season when Ohio State, my alma mater, hosts Marshall. South Carolina hosts Southern Mississippi in another notable opener. That will be what more people will see because it’s on ESPN, since the Buckeyes circa 2010 debut on the Big Ten Network.

For the moment, all football fans are euphoric – their favorite teams all are undefeated. (At least they haven’t lost yet.) For many, however, it will be downhill right after opening kickoff.

My hopes are especially high since the Bucks are a consensus No. 2 in preseason polls, and defending champ Alabama will face all kinds of challenges repeating. But that’s why they play the games. After weeks and months of “too much talk, not enough action,” every squad will have the opportunity to show what they can do.

Here in the South where I live, most fans seem convinced the SEC again will reign once everything in the season’s said and done. I imagine some of them even think the game was invented below the Mason-Dixon line. Actually the first football game was played between Rutgers and Princeton in 1869 in New Brunswick, N.J., just a few miles from where I grew up. The game then, of course, bore little resemblance to what we see today.

Since the NFL starts its season one week later, for one weekend college football will reign as king of the hill. And for the next four months we’ll listen to non-stop debates about who’s the real No. 1, who will win the Heisman this year, and whether anyone in the sluggish North can even compete with any team in the speedy South.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some football!

Childhood Baseball Memories

For the most part, I think most sports talk commentators are loud-mouthed, bombastic blowhards, barely more knowledgeable than me – which isn’t saying much. But one exception is ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd. I don’t concur with everything he says, but rather than rattling on about “I think…”, Cowherd actually does research and has data supporting his views, whether you agree or not.

Recently he was talking about a televised Major League Baseball game which included a quick glimpse of two little guys overwhelmed with glee when one caught a homerun ball. Scenes like this, Cowherd said, are what make baseball unique and special, despite its snail pace in a hyper-speed world.

His comments brought back my own boyhood experiences of going to ballgames. Living about 40 miles from New York City, a couple of times a year my father and I – usually with my friend, Mark, and his dad – would drive to see the Yankees in The Bronx or the Mets in Flushing. I vividly recall sitting in the reverse-facing backseat of my friend’s Rambler station wagon waving at drivers of other cars going by.

There was nothing like sitting in the box seats to the right of home plate, eating hotdogs and drinking ice-cold, watered-down Cokes (they’re actually more refreshing that way) while admiring my heroes – Mantle, Berra, Maris, Skowron (at Yankee games) or Ron Swoboda and Ed Kranepool (at Mets games) – as they knelt in the batter’s box or strode toward home plate.

For me, probably even more meaningful was the time spent with my dad. He was old-school – work hard, provide for the family – not overly talkative. We never went fishing or boating; he wasn’t the outdoors kind. Probably being wounded twice in World War II was enough outdoor action for him.

Dad was very mechanical, but after becoming convinced the mechanic-gene somehow had bypassed me, he left me to writing, reading and other pastimes.

Those times sitting in Yankee Stadium or Shea Stadium with my dad, however, were special. Although he wasn’t a big sports fan – by age 12 I easily knew more about the teams than he ever cared to learn – it was one way to indulge his son.

Our relationship wasn’t everything I might have wanted, but whether at a ballgame, watching him work on a car, tagging along with him at a National Guard exercise or whatever, Dad still managed to impart valuable principles to me: a solid work ethic, faithfulness, constancy, integrity. As it says in Proverbs 4:1, “Listen, my sons, to a father’s instruction; pay attention and gain understanding.” I did. One day I hope my own children and grandchildren will be able to say the same about me.

Bouncing Down Buckeye Memory Lane: Clarett and Tatum

Reading this week’s sports section has been almost like being visited by ghosts of Buckeyes past.
Maurice Clarett, who largely contributed to Ohio State’s 2002 BCS Championship Game victory over Miami, is back on campus in Columbus. Having served several years in prison for armed robbery, Clarett again is a student at The Ohio State University, although his football eligibility is long gone.

I’m sure there are those who question what right he has to set foot on campus again after putting the football program into disgrace, but head coach Jim Tressel has welcomed Clarett, still a young man. Personally, I think “Mo” has done the time for the crime. If he’s trying to get his life back on track, why not? Too often prison sentences are only about punishment, and not about restoration and rehabilitation.

One other Buckeye was sadly in the news, Jack Tatum, who died of a heart attack at 61 after years of other health issues. Supposedly nicknamed “The Assassin,” which apparently was not true during his pro career, Tatum is infamously remembered for the savage hit he made as an Oakland Raider on New England receiver Darryl Stingley in 1978, leaving him a near-quadriplegic.

“A bad guy” is the instant assessment of many sports observers. But in 1969, while I was a reporter for Ohio State’s student newspaper, The Lantern, Tatum struck me as anything but that. He had been a member of the National Championship team the preceding year, the centerpiece of a fierce defensive backfield for the Buckeyes. Experts say that had he played on offense, Tatum could have been a stellar running back, but Woody Hayes liked to keep his best athletes on defense.

I spoke little to Tatum, because he was a quiet guy. He would stroll through the locker room hallway in pads and cleats, look you in the eye and offer a slight smile, then move on. Like me, he had come to OSU from New Jersey, but from a background very unlike my own.

What Tatum was really like, I can’t say. Without question, despite his NFL celebrity – and notoriety, his life wasn’t an easy one. Since I just turned 62 myself, I can honestly say that 61 seems too young to leave this life. My only hope and prayer is that he has found peace and joy in the next.

Carrying the Weight of Leadership

Not long ago, life was good for University of Georgia athletic director Damon Evans. He held a prestigious job and had the distinction of being the first African-American to hold that role in the Southeastern Conference. He also was about to receive a new contract and pay increase to $550,000 annually. Yes, life was good.

Then Evans, married and the father of two, got caught in the devastating mix of late hours, too much alcohol, an attractive young woman not his wife – and the police.

Suddenly he’s jobless, his career is in jeopardy, and his marriage and family might be as well. Situations like this are so common we’re no longer shocked. A much-higher profile sports figure, Tiger Woods, drew similar attention not long ago. But the same question arises: “What was he thinking?!”

Whether this was a singular act of poor judgment, or a case of finally being caught in bad behavior, we don’t know. What we do know is Evans betrayed the university’s trust and failed as a role model for hundreds of athletes at UGA who constantly are receiving warnings about being in wrong places with wrong people at the wrong time.

Some may scoff, saying Evans’ termination was harsh, but he wasn’t merely an employee. He headed Georgia’s athletic program. Leadership brings privilege – and a price: As Jesus admonished, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked” (Luke 12:48).

The Bible also cautions, “If anyone sets his heart on being an overseer, he desires a noble task. Now the overseer must be above reproach…self-controlled, respectable…not given to drunkenness” (1 Timothy 3:1-3).

Those are wise words for us all, even if we don’t hold prominent, visible roles in sports.

NBA Draft, Rugby . . . and Other Random Thoughts

Tonight is the night several dozen young men officially part ways with their respective academic institutions so they can earn a degree – their NBA.

The NBA Draft is not the spectacle of the NFL Draft, but still marks a commencement of sorts – from the college to the court. Who knows how many of the top picks will live up to their pre-draft hype. Some notable first-round picks in recent years have made the transition from collegiate “Who’s Who” to professional “Who’s He?” with amazing quickness. Stay tuned.

“Invictus.” I finally got to see the film, “Invictus,” starring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon. It’s about how the remarkable World Cup triumph of South Africa’s rugby team in 1995 helped to solidify Nelson Mandela’s leadership in that nation.

Rugby has a World Cup? Who knew? I barely knew that soccer had one, but now I know rugby has its own international competition every four years. If you’re interested, the next one is being held in 2011. That should be enough time for you to recover from the excitement of this year’s soccer World Cup.

Watching the film, I didn’t have the foggiest notion about the rules of the game. Most of the match, it seemed, was similar to American football when the ball is fumbled and the players jump onto a pile, wrestling for the ball. Except in rugby, if the ball squirts out, you can grab it and run, throw it to someone else, or even kick it to try for a score.

And rugby guys, from what I could surmise, don’t even wear pads. Our football players are such wimps!

By the way, Nelson Mandela does have a strong resemblance to Morgan Freeman.

And the Cup goes on. Speaking of soccer, I have formulated a six-word phrase that I think summarizes the problem with soccer. If you’ll pardon the romantic metaphor, soccer is basically – too much foreplay, not enough sex.

And do you know why, when a team does score, the announcer proceeds to scream, “Gooooooooooooooaaaaaaaalllllllllll!” for what seems 15 minutes? It’s because he knows it will be a really long time before he has to shout it again.

Candidate for the Hall? Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Jamie Moyer, who must be about 80 years old, is slowly inching toward the 300-career victory mark. Now in his 25th Major League season, Moyer recorded his first victory in 1986 when he was with the Chicago Cubs. He now has 266 wins, to go with 201 losses.

Because 300 wins has traditionally been the threshold for Hall of Fame pitchers, pundits are starting to discuss whether Moyer should be considered for the Hall. He did have 20-win seasons in 2001 and 2003 with Seattle, but has averaged less than 11 wins per year over his career.

Maybe the sacred 300 mark needs to be reconsidered. What if a guy one day lives to be 320, entered the majors at age 21 and pitches for 300 years, winning one game each year. Does that mean that he will qualify for the enshrinement in Cooperstown, based on career victories?

At his current pace, Moyer probably will deserve to be elected into the Hall of Fame – for being the first pitcher to retire from baseball and immediately collect his first Social Security check!

The Great un-American Game

Was it Willie Nelson who sang, “Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be soccer players”? Maybe not, but with apologies to poet Robert Frost, “something there is (in America) that doesn’t love…a soccer game.”

Yes, the networks and ESPN are casting faux enthusiasm toward the World Cup, but it’s the same treatment they give figure skating in the Winter Olympics. “Yeah, we gotta cover it, but I’ll sure be glad when it’s over.”

The American psyche, forged in the melting pot of blended cultures, is unquestionably unique. But despite the European, African, Latino and Asian mix that makes up our society, somehow soccer got lost in the translation.

Ask the average U.S. sports fan about soccer and the reply is, “I don’t get it.” All that running up and down, back and forth with deft footwork; great stamina and athleticism for sure – but so much effort with so little outcome. You watch a 90-minute soccer game, and lather into a frenzy for what? 1-0? (And it’s “nil,” not zero or zip.) Or, as the U.S. team did on Sunday, crow victoriously over a 1-1 tie with England? In soccer, an offensive spectacle is 3-1. Woo-hoo!

These days, people complain baseball, “the Great American Pastime,” is too slow and lacking in action. Yet it’s not uncommon to see scores of 6-5, 8-6, and sometimes even double-digits. Still, compared to “upstarts” football and basketball, which have surpassed it in popularity in recent decades, baseball is “boring.” If that’s the case, no wonder we can’t get revved up about soccer.

To me, watching a soccer game is akin to going out to buy a new car and settling instead for new wiper blades. Or buying tickets months in advance to see your favorite band in concert, then one day before the event having it canceled because the lead singer has a hangnail. Much ado about nothing!

Perhaps over time, with the influx of people into the United States from soccer-crazed lands, soccer will soar in acceptance. Here in Chattanooga, for instance, with an influx of Germans because of the new Volkswagen plant, maybe some of their devotion for the original “football” will rub off. But don’t count on it.

No, in America, football will always be synonymous with “pigskins,” first downs, blitzes and sacks. And we don’t need the vuvuzelas, those raucous-sounding plastic horns that soccer zealots are using to try and destroy one another’s eardrums. The traditional bell chime, to remind the defense that it’s third down and they need to stop to opposing offense, is just fine with us.

Why settle for “Gooooooooooooaaaaaalllllllll!” when you can shout, “TOUCHDOWN!”?

One of a Kind

As a teenager, I hated UCLA basketball. After all, they won all the time. From 1964 to 1975, the Bruins reigned as National Champions 10 years out of 12, including seven in a row. It seemed unfair UCLA could have players like Lew Alcindor (now known as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) and Bill Walton, when nobody else did. But what UCLA had, most of all, was a one-of-a-kind coach named John Wooden.

Over his 27-year career at UCLA, Wooden posted an overall record of 620-147. Look up “dominant” in the dictionary and you’ll probably his photo alongside the definition. Despite remarkable on-court accomplishments, however, Wooden stood out for other reasons. He was a man of integrity, of principle, and of faith. With his passing June 4 at the age of 99, the world lost a remarkable individual.

Millions of words already have been said and written in homage to him, and I’m hardly one to write with authority about Wooden. I did meet him once in Columbus, Ohio at a sports awards program back in the late ‘70s. Already retired, he was still held in awe by everyone he encountered. He was humble, unassuming, quite unlike many celebrity coaches of today. Like the old E.F. Hutton commercials, whenever Wooden spoke, people knew they should listen.

After his beloved wife, Nellie, died in 1985, he never remarried. He never even dated. It’s said that Wooden, a native Midwesterner, had just accepted an offer to coach at UCLA when a phone call came to offer him a job to coach at Minnesota. Wooden declined the offer, holding to his UCLA commitment. Why? Because he had given his word.

Young men who played for Wooden at UCLA inevitably left his mentorship as better men, whether they advanced to the professional level or not.

Proverbs 11:3 says, “The integrity of the upright guides them, but the unfaithful are destroyed by their duplicity.” From all accounts, Coach Wooden was never accused of “duplicity.” In an age when double-mindedness seems prevalent, when principles rarely interfere with ambition, we need more people like John Wooden. By God’s grace, may it be so.

Imperfect Game, Perfect Response

The perfect game: a pitcher’s dream. Twenty-seven batters up, 27 batters down. No runs, no hits, no errors, no runners, no nothin’.

Perfect games don’t happen every day, although this season it’s starting to seem like they do. In Major League history, there have been 20 perfect games thrown – but two already are in the record books this year, and June 2 there almost was a third.

Detroit Tigers’ hurler Armando Galarraga had retired 26 Cleveland batters in a row and was just one out in the ninth inning from finalizing his own “perfecto.” The only problem was, umpire Jim Joyce’s eye was not as quick as the instant replay. In his view, the Indians’ Jason Donald was safe on a bang-bang play at first base; slow-motion videotape clearly showed both ball and Galarraga arriving a blink before Donald’s foot hit the bag.

As expected, many of Galarraga’s teammates responded in anger, but the pitcher only displayed a wry, incredulous smile. No hysterical tantrum, no irate outburst, just good-humored disbelief. Then he quickly recorded out No. 28, although only 27 counted.

Many argue it’s time baseball stepped into the 21st century with instant replay, but what stands out most is how both umpire and pitcher responded.

Joyce had sincerely believed he had made the correct call, but after viewing the replay admitted he had blown it. Confession. Galarraga, who delivered the starting lineup the next day to Joyce, slated to work behind home plate, was gracious in accepting the umpire’s apology. Forgiveness.

What a vivid, real-life demonstration of biblical admonitions to “confess your sins to each other” (James 5:16) and “…forgive men when they sin against you” (Matthew 6:14).

A missed call may have cost a winning pitcher his perfect game, but in its aftermath a greater victory was won.

What Changed Baseball?

For whatever reason, I vividly recall that in my final year of Little League baseball – also my last attempt at organized baseball, because I couldn’t hit my way out of a field of weeds – I batted .226 (seven hits in 31 at-bats), and every hit was a bunt. (I also got plunked by pitches several times, but my brief experience as a human baseball target is not the focus for this blog.)

I remember two solid hits, one deep down the leftfield line that went foul, and the other a hard grounder to the shortstop that was called an error when he bobbled the ball.

Why do I mention that? Because the other day a radio sports commentator bemoaned that in Major League baseball, you rarely see players bunt the fall. Pitchers occasionally bunt to advance base runners, but position players hardly ever bunt.

He also mentioned you never see players choking up on the bat so they can control the ball by smacking it just beyond the infielders’ reach. I remember watching Bobby Richardson, the Yankees’ second baseman in the ‘60s, choking up on the bat at least two inches. He certainly was not one of New York’s famed “Murderers’ Row” – his career high for homeruns was eight – but he did bat over .300 twice. And he knew how to bunt.

So why don’t today’s players bunt? The commentator said he thought it’s because modern ballplayers don’t consider it “manly.” I think it’s an even simpler reason: ESPN.

We’re all familiar with Chris Berman’s “back, back, back, GONE!” to describe homeruns. When did you ever hear Berman offer a similar description for a bunt? What’s he going to say, “dink, dink, dink, safe”?

The nuances of baseball have suffered as the spotlight has grown brighter on mammoth homers. Players don’t get paid millions for bunting, or capture endorsement contracts for pushing a baseball gently down the baseline.

As a Little Leaguer, I actually did bunt the ball into the outfield, over the head of the charging third baseman, but that was long before ESPN, or even YouTube. And I wasn’t on steroids!

Hearkening Back to a Very Different Time

Summer’s long, steamy days fast approach, meaning only one thing: Baseball can temporarily resume its role as national pastime. NBA and NHL playoffs will have ended. College football will fade from public view until practices resume in August. College basketball won’t beckon our attention until October. That leaves “the boys of summer” – unless you’re big into NASCAR.

While baseball no longer reigns as my favorite sport, it has provided some of my most vivid memories. Growing up in New Jersey, twice a season I enjoyed riding into New York City’s Bronx Borough and striding into the shadows of the historic “House that Ruth Built.” I would usually go with my father, a friend and his dad, spending a day consuming lukewarm hotdogs, peanuts and watered-down Cokes, while watching my heroes – Mickey, Yogi, Whitey and others – lead the guys in pinstripes to victory.

I’ll always remember the day I went to Yankee Stadium in 1961 with my Little League team. Mantle and Roger Maris were chasing Babe Ruth’s sacred homerun record, and we saw both “the Mick” and Rog slam homers. Ford was the winning pitcher, and Luis Arroyo came in to save the victory. Yankee nirvana!

In those days baseball stars were revered. We didn’t have investigative reporters or Internet rumors recounting the Yankees’ late-night hijinks. I never knew Mickey often patrolled centerfield nursing a killer hangover. No, major leaguers were golden boys, virtual gods to adoring young fellows like me who would never master hitting a round ball with a round object square.

Those Yanks probably weren’t better or worse than players reviled today for their misdeeds, but it was a simpler, perhaps more naïve time. We read only news that was fit to print – not news that wasn’t.

As a nation – and a sporting culture – we’ve lost our innocence. Not that we ever really had it. But we thought we did. And there’s something sad about that.

Where Would You Be Drafted?

Tomorrow night, the NFL will begin its annual right of passage for collegiate heroes who hope to trade their alma mater’s adulation for professional riches. Millions of fans will tune in to ESPN to hear Mel Kiper, Jr. (was Mel Kiper, Sr. a draft guru, too?), Todd McShay and others gush over the prowess of various prospects.

The NFL Draft has become so big, this year for the first time it’s opening on a Thursday during prime time and being extended through Friday and Saturday. If a two-day draft is good, a three-day draft should be great, right?

Besides who will be the top picks, other questions awaiting answers include: How high will Tim Tebow (“Tim Terrific”) be drafted? Which seemingly can’t-miss prospect will see his draft stock plummet? And who will be “Mr. Irrelevant,” the very last pick of the seven-round draft? Keep calm – soon all those questions will have proper answers!

But what if a national draft were conducted for your profession, whether it be sales, medicine, homemaking, business administration, clerical work, engineering, truck driving, accounting, teaching, mechanical trades, or whatever role you happen to fill? Where would you be drafted?

Based on performance – or potential – do you think you would be a top-round pick, maybe even one of the very first draft choices? Or would your name be called in a later round? Would it be called at all?

For most of us, playing in the NFL is not even a dream or a fantasy, much less a hope or a goal. But we can resolve to be the best we can be at whatever God has equipped and called us to do. “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2:10).

Infidelity and Devotion

Sports – like all of life – is often a study in contrasts and contradictions. We witnessed a vivid example in yesterday’s closing round of The Masters.

The week started with tongues wagging about the return of Tiger Woods to the PGA golf circuit after his much-publicized violations of his marriage vows. How would Tiger perform on the biggest stage of all in the professional golf world? How would the spectators respond to the seemingly repentant superstar? Would Elin attend?

Each question was answered over the course of the tournament’s four days, but slowly – almost imperceptibly – another story emerged. Phil Mickelson, once known as the greatest golfer never to have won a major golf championship, made one phenomenal shot after another to snatch attention – and victory (his third at the Masters) – away from Tiger and other contenders.

After sinking his final shot for a birdie on the 18th hole, Mickelson’s poignant, tearful embrace of his wife, Amy, could not have been more fitting. Eleven months after being diagnosed with breast cancer, Amy has been fighting a battle even more fierce than the one her husband waged over the four days at Augusta National.

For sports purists, Tiger Woods’ 11-under par, fourth-place finish satisfied expectations, and Mickelson’s demonstration of golfing artistry – 16 under par – was a glowing addition to the Masters’ legend.

But the real story was the elevation of love over a sordid tale of lust. While the fate of Tiger and Elin’s marriage appears still in doubt, the devotion between Phil and Amy was obvious. He had prevailed in an epic battle, and all observers were hoping she would as well.

The Bible says, “Many a man claims to have unfailing love, but a faithful man who can find?” (Proverbs 20:6). On Sunday, I think we saw one donning the fabled green jacket.

Who Is 'the Greatest'?

Life used to be much simpler. We didn’t have to debate, “Who’s the greatest?” Muhammad Ali boldly told us: “I am the greatest!” Who were we to question that?

Alas, like all athletes, Ali’s prime years faded and no longer could he make such an outlandish declaration. So the debate is renewed, “Who is the greatest?” Not only in boxing, but in every sport: pro football, college football, baseball, basketball (college and pro), motor racing. Maybe bowling, snow skiing, or even curling?

Certainly such discussions can be entertaining. They give us something to talk about – as if we didn’t have enough already. But how can you realistically compare athletes from different eras? Whenever I see films of a roly-poly Babe Ruth rounding the bases after a homerun in the 1920s or ‘30s, I think, “No way he could have been as good as Albert Pujols, Alex Rodriguez or Joe Mauer.” But who knows?

In those days they traversed the countryside in trains. Sports venues then were hardly a shadow of what modern athletes enjoy. Nutrition and medical science certainly weren’t close to what they are now; the same with conditioning and strength training. Would a “buff” Babe be a superstar today?

This reality would apply to comparisons between Johnny Unitas, John Elway and Peyton Manning; or Oscar Robertson and Elgin Baylor with Kobe Bryant and Lebron James. How can you accurately evaluate how Jerry Lucas, who starred for Ohio State in the early 1960s, and Evan Turner, leaving one year early for the NBA after winning virtually every NCAA individual honor, would fare head to head?

So who really is the greatest? It’s a chicken-and-the-egg argument – no definitive answer or resolution. Only ardent, often dogmatic opinions; some well-reasoned, some not.

If each could say, “I did the best I could,” that’s all that truly matters. If they were the greatest of their time, isn’t that enough?

The College Football Playoff Fallacy

If you practice Bracketology – the science of predicting which teams will advance in the NCAA Basketball Championship Tournament – your life has probably been turned upside-down. Few envisioned Butler marching past Syracuse and Kansas State, and fewer imagined Northern Iowa upending Kansas. Many people’s favorite Kentucky got bounced out – by West Virginia, without its starting point guard. Georgetown lost to Ohio (not Ohio State)!

Commentators crow about how wonderful it is seeing have-nots prevail against the haves. The adage, “on any given day, one team can beat another,” is affirmed. Hooray for the little guy!

But this year’s topsiest-turviest tournament of all points out the fallacy of arguments advocating a college football playoff. The goal, we’re told, would be to resolve once and for all who the preeminent team is each year. But would it?

What true fan honestly contends Northern Iowa is truly a better team than Kansas. If they were to play 10 times, how many times would the directional school win – maybe twice? And who would be so bold to declare the Bobcats as talented as the Hoyas? Yes, winners advance fair and square, but does that ultimately convince us which team is superior day in and day out?

The same would hold true in a Division I (or whatever the academics insist on labeling it) college football playoff. On that given day, the lesser team could prevail. A fortuitous bounce here, a costly penalty there, a key injury somewhere else and a game’s outcome could hang in the balance.

I would favor a “plus one” matchup, in which following the bowl games the two best teams (chosen by consensus) would battle for national bragging rights.

But even then, so what? We would still have wars wrecking nations; economic woes putting people in financial ruin; diseases ravaging bodies. Sports championships are fun to argue about, but little more than diversions. Fifty years from now, who will really care?

Thousands of years ago, Israel’s King Solomon penned some words that apply here. He wasn’t writing about athletic tournaments, but might well have been when he said, “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14).

Any Volunteers for the Buckeyes?

Ohio State’s Buckeyes have advanced to the Sweet Sixteen. Friday night they will play the Tennessee Volunteers. The Bucks better win or I’ll never hear the end of it. It’s tough being a Buckeye in the Land of Orange, despite our small and zealous contingent of OSU faithful.

It’s bad enough people down here think the SEC invented football. (Actually, the first collegiate football game was played by Rutgers and Princeton. But don’t tell that to folks in Dixie.) When they convene for Saturday afternoon in the hallowed stadia of the South, they take great pride in their pigskins.

So Buckeyes, don’t let them have any quarter on the basketball court. Kentucky’s Wildcats have excelled on the hard-court for decades, but they’re not really Southern – after all, Kentucky does border Ohio and Indiana.

Nevertheless, the contest in St. Louis will be for Big Ten and Southeastern Conference pride. Having never advanced beyond the Sweet Sixteen, the Vols look to achieve a first. Ohio State has made the NCAA Tournament Finals five times, winning one national championship, so the Buckeyes know the way there.

I’m confident the Bucks won’t drop their guard – after all, the starting five includes four guards. And they have an ironman mentality. All four play virtually the entire game, apparently without getting tired. Since they’re only about 20 years old, they shouldn’t. If it were me, I’d be on life support.

All season OSU has epitomized teamwork. If one player has a subpar game, another takes up the slack. Realize it or not, they have modeled Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work…. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” As a team of five strands, they have been virtually unbreakable. Hope they keep it up.

It’s Madness, I Say, Madness!

Selections have been made for this year’s NCAA Basketball Tournament and brackets filled. Regular season preliminaries are over, conference titles have been settled, tournament winners determined. Now things get serious.

There’s some teeth gnashing: “Why didn’t my team get in, while those guys did?” “Why are we a No. 5 seed, and not a No. 3?” But most of all, fanatics get to revel in more extreme emotional highs and lows than at any other time of the year. It's madness - March Madness!

Ohio State fans like me have already received a taste of that – Evan Turner’s 37-foot, three-point buzzer-beater depriving rival Michigan fans of the ecstasy of triumph on Friday; then the Buckeyes surviving double-overtime against Illinois on Saturday to advance to the Big Ten Conference Tournament final. OSU’s second half romp over Minnesota on Sunday for the championship was almost anti-climactic after the earlier frenetic finishes.

Starting this weekend, college basketball addicts from coast to coast will experience firsthand the fickle nature of happiness. Underdog teams will go on quick scoring spurts, filling their loyal followers with glee, until the stronger opponents regroup and take control.

A few teams will play over their heads and win a game or two they shouldn’t have, bringing happiness to the faithful, until they swallow a dose of reality and fall by the wayside.

Happiness, they say, is dependent upon happenings; when good things happen, we’re glad, but when bad things happen, we’re sad. So over the next three weekends we’ll witness a natural ebb and flow of happiness and hysteria, of hilarity and hopelessness.

Ultimately, only one team will grasp ultimate NCAA happiness, but all can experience the joy of knowing they did their best – even if it wasn’t quite enough. “Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).

Spring is Near – and Hope Springs Eternal

While much of the country still deals with remnants of snow and frigid temperatures, promise of the coming thaw already has arrived: Spring training.

Millions remain huddled indoors, trying to keep warm, but the so-called “boys of summer” have converged upon Florida and Arizona, merging the crack of the bat with the smack of baseballs and leather. Major League Baseball’s season is less than a month away.

Long regarded as “the American pastime,” baseball has slipped somewhat from that lofty perch, usurped by the NFL and college football. For today’s fast-paced, instant society, the Major League season drags on too long and games continue to progress at snail’s pace. But the sport remains central to our national culture.

The thing about spring training is at this moment, every team holds high expectations. The Kansas City Royals and Cleveland Indians have as many regular season victories at this point as the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox: Zero. In April that will change, but right now, hope springs eternal (or for another three weeks, whichever comes first). Whether you’re a fan of the Marlins, the Astros, the Diamondbacks…or even the Cubs, you’re thinking, “This could be our year.”

Spring training also is the time when we hear and read so much about the next phenoms, the sure-fire Hall of Famers yet to play their first major-league games. This year the list includes Washington’s Stephen Strasburg and Atlanta’s Jason Heyward. Whether they will one day join baseball’s “Who’s Who” or fade into “who’s he?” remains to be seen. But one thing they have for certain – potential. And that’s what spring training is all about.

So if you’re a baseball fan, enjoy the moment. Come September, things will probably be very different, but for now your team’s as good as the next!

You Can’t Go Back to College

Evan Turner, Ohio State’s outstanding point guard, faces a difficult decision. A junior All-American and odds-on favorite for college basketball’s player of the year, he’s projected as one of the top picks in the upcoming NBA draft. With millions of dollars beckoning, why would he consider returning for his senior year with the Buckeyes?

But he says his decision isn’t cast in stone. Now that OSU has cinched at least a tie for the Big Ten championship, Turner said he’s focused on the Big Ten tournament and then the NCAA Tournament. Then he’ll weigh the alternatives.

Again, why would Turner even think about remaining in college when he can become an instant millionaire? There are two reasons: Right now, even with hours of practice and conditioning, coupled with classwork, he’s still having fun playing a game he enjoys. Once he gets into the NBA, even if he becomes a star, it’s business, a job.

There’s also the reality the collegiate experience is once in a lifetime. A former Buckeye who gave up eligibility to turn pro, then returned to finish his degree, reportedly made this sage observation: “You can go back to school, but you can never go back to college.” In other words, once you assume adult responsibilities, you can’t go back to being a kid.

Even today, nearly 40 years later, I cherish my college years. I was young and stupid, but in the process of learning – and growing up. Sure, if the New York Times or Washington Post had made a generous offer for me to “come out early,” I would have considered it. Fortunately, I wasn’t an All-American – even in journalism school – so that temptation never arose. But my years at OSU will always stay with me.

Being young, there’s a tendency to see life in the short-term, seeking instant gratification. The perspective of years helps us to appreciate special times, thankful we didn’t toss them away.

The Bible tells us, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24). If Evan Turner does elect to turn pro, good for him; I hope he does well. But I also hope he takes his decision seriously, valuing the moment, rather than rashly opting for the obvious. After all, you’re only a kid once.

The Thrill of Victory, the Agony of Defeat

Do you remember the old ABC “Wide World of Sports” promo that featured Jim McKay’s memorable line, “The thrill of victory…and the agony of defeat,” with the last statement punctuated by the video of the hapless ski jumper tumbling off the ramp into a heap? Can you imagine what it must have been like for that guy – and then to see it repeated dozens of times, year after year?

Images like that are what capture my attention during the Olympics, especially the Winter variety. Maybe it’s because I did not grow up in the hinterlands of America, but I can’t imagine doing what many of the competitors do – zipping down an icy slope on narrow skis at upwards of 70 miles per hour; hurtling down a bobsled course with its twists and turns at nearly 90 miles an hour; trudging up and down hills as a cross-country skier; racing around an icy track on razor-sharp skates with several rivals jostling for the same space.

We cheer for the victors, but sometimes it is the agony of defeat, along with the heart-tugging stories of adversities faced and overcome, just to be a part of the Olympic dream, that we often find most captivating.

So many people approach daily life with lethargy and indifference. That’s why I so admire the men and women who have devoted their lives, and made countless sacrifices, to excel at sports they love. Even if they don’t capture the coveted gold, they have achieved far more than most of us could ever dream.

Whether they realize it or not, they are living examples of what King Solomon wrote about when he said, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your heart” (Ecclesiastes 9:10). When was the last time you were successful in doing that?

It’s Not How You Start, But How You Finish

NASCAR’s seemingly interminable season has started. Until Nov. 21, from Fontana, Calif. to Homestead, Fla., another 35 Sprint Cup races will be run, the greatest suspense being whether we’re in for a fifth consecutive installment of “The Jimmie Johnson Show.”

The Daytona 500 featured a surprise element – potholes – which prompted two red flags to halt racing. In this race, “pothole position” trumped pole position.

My NASCAR baptism came in 1997 at the Talladega Superspeedway, a sprawling 2.65-mile track where, like Daytona, cars ride two, three and even four-wide, bumper to bumper, at speeds approaching 200 miles per hour. Most memorable was a multi-car pileup on a restart midway through the race. I recall Ricky Craven’s car going airborne, flying over several cars on turn one.

From the first green flag, the spectacle of colors, the thunder and rumble of engines, even the smell of racing fuel, captivated my senses, transforming me into a fan. My zeal has waned somewhat in years since, but I’ve always marveled at the real-life truths demonstrated during each race.

Sunday, Johnson started third but mechanical and tire problems dropped him to 35th. Jeff Gordon started 21st, led some laps, but crashed on the last lap and finished 26th. Meanwhile, Jamie McMurray started 13th and made a late charge to win “The Great American Race” for the first time. The moral of the story: It’s not how you start, but how you finish.

It’s the same in everyday life. Anyone can begin well, in marriage, a job, or a hobby. But how will you finish?

That’s one reason the apostle Paul declared, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7). If you don’t finish well, how you perform during early or intermediate stages matters little.

Not Manning Up, Yet . . . No Panic-a About Danika

…Because the Indianapolis Colts’ lost to the Saints in the Super Bowl, the sporting world will have to wait at least another year before Peyton Manning has his face chiseled atop Mount Rushmore alongside Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln.

Funny how an errant, ill-timed “pick-six” pass can instantaneously reduce a fellow from the status of gridiron god to that of gridiron goat cheese.

Frankly, I’m rooting for Peyton to return soon to the Super Bowl, and depart victorious. He seems like one of the sport’s really good guys. For now, the city of New Orleans has some happy news to rally around. Good for them.

…After surviving the spin cycle during last weekend’s ARCA race at Daytona, Danica Patrick will make her debut in NASCAR’s Nationwide Series on Saturday. No word yet on whether she will wear a traditional racing suit or a flame-retardant bikini.

For the moment, Danica’s probably best-known for being featured in last year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition (a feat neither Jimmy Johnson nor Jeff Gordon has yet to match), along with mildly suggestive TV commercials. To date, her on-track success has amounted to winning one Indy Car race in Japan with deft fuel economy. Whether she’s capable of muscling stock cars over ovals for several hundred miles remains to be seen.

The reason she’s in NASCAR now can be summed up in one word: marketing. Once the fastest-growing spectator sport in America, NASCAR has stagnated in recent years and motor racing’s royalty are desperate to recapture the spotlight, even if it means using a woman more suited to “The Bachelorette” than a super-charged Chevrolet.

Janet Guthrie, Lyn St. James and Sarah Fisher – all of whom took their turns at competing in the Indianapolis 500 – never got an invite from NASCAR. They must’ve flunked the bikini test!

Who Wants to Be a Super Bowl Loser?

The Indianapolis Colts and the New Orleans Saints will face off Sunday in the 44th edition of the Super Bowl. Less than four hours later, the winners will hoist the Vince Lombardi Trophy, forever claiming the right to be known as Super Bowl Champions.

The losers? They will slink into pro football limbo – hardly anyone remembers the losing team in the Super Bowl – except for the sports talk wags who for the next week will relentlessly discuss, debate, dissect and disembowel every aspect of why the losers fell short.

But is it fair to label them “losers”? After all, they did qualify for the NFL playoffs, won two games to claim their conference championship, and actually reached the Super Bowl – something 30 other teams didn’t do. That’s not wet cardboard, is it?

In his book, The Winners Manual, Ohio State football coach Jim Tressel challenges the notion that the final score should be the sole measure of a team’s success or failure. He observed after the Buckeyes defeated in Miami in double overtime to win the 2002 national championship, “we still needed to work on our academics.”

Similarly, when his teams lost BCS Championship games against LSU in 2008, “I remember expressing how proud I was of all my players…. I couldn’t help but think back on all the hard work and preparation it had taken to get to that game in New Orleans.”

The same will be true for this year’s Super Bowl. It took a full year of preparation, with countless hours of training and practice, to reach pro football’s ultimate game. To fall on the short end of the final score will be a disappointment, no question. But if the players have given it everything they have, leaving it all on the field, they will have succeeded.

Christmas, College Football Style

Feb. 3 is “National Signing Day,” the equivalent of Christmas for college football. Every rabid fan from Boston to L.A., Austin to Ann Arbor will study websites to see what gridiron goodies have been stashed under the goal posts.

It’s the day when – according to the recruiting gurus – we will know how Favorite College should fare on Saturdays a couple years hence. For schools ranked in the top 5 nationally, maybe even No. 1, there will dancing and shouting in the streets. However, alumni whose college’s recruits are deemed inferior will be grinding and gnashing teeth, as well as wringing hands. “Oh, why didn’t So-and-So not want to play for the Tomcats? Why’d he choose the Buzzards instead?”

Anyone who follows such things knows recruiting rankings and evaluations are an inexact science, with hardly anything scientific about it. Only time will distinguish a “blue chip” from a cow chip, or which high school “Who’s Who” will become a collegiate “Who’s He?”

Being a fervent Ohio State fan, I think of players like Troy Smith and A.J. Hawk that were hardly a blip on anyone’s recruiting radar coming out of high school, yet they earned a Heisman Trophy, All-American status and other honors before advancing to the NFL. Meanwhile, some “can’t miss” Buckeye recruits, in fact, did miss – and not by just a little.

Recruiting services can’t predict career-ending injuries, poor academic performance, encounters with law enforcement, or most important, heart and determination. Which reminds me of 1 Samuel 16:7, which refers to God’s selection of David as the next king of Israel: “For God sees not as man sees; man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” If only the recruiting analysts could do the same.