Poking, Prodding Behind the Scenes

Last weekend, after Adam Scott won a PGA Tour tournament, who did the media focus on? Steve Williams, of course, Scott’s caddy. What made Williams noteworthy was that he also was the fired caddy of Tiger Woods, and the media was intrigued by the irony of Scott winning with Williams’ aid, while Tiger struggled to a 37^th-place tie.

“The public’s right to know!” is the standard cry of the media. Maybe so, but who really cares? The traditional role of the media (including sports) is to report the news, not to make the news. But increasingly, the media seems to be deciding for us what is the news. And then they’ll beat us over the head with it, whether we like it or not.

Few fans lose sleep over whether Brett Farve is going to un-retire one more time, but the media keep harping at the question. They simply must inform us what Lebron tweeted between bites of pasta at the famed Miami restaurant. They rant over ethical molehills until they transform into mountains before our eyes. ‘Cause the public’s gotta know, right?

Now the media's spending time watching the every move and listening to every word of…a caddy! What’s next? Asking the water boy exactly how many cups of Gatorade were consumed by the Cowboys in their game against the Broncos – and how it affected the game? Interviewing the batboy about how he felt when Slugger Smith tossed his bat halfway down the first base line after the popup?

Cornering the exercise girl and asking whether she thought she might have walked the second-place finisher in the Kentucky Derby too fast prior to the race? Inquiring of the gas can man whether the fuel flowed as smoothly as usual during the last crucial pit stop?

What’s in a Name – the Name Game of Sports

“What’s in a name?” Juliet asks in Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” At least in the world of sports, having the right name’s a big deal.

Take Tim Tebow, for example. From the time Florida recruited him, “Tebow” carried mystique. The name sounds athletic all by itself. No wonder he won two national championships and a Heisman Trophy. Now if he can just make a name for himself in the NFL.

Years ago, Chad Johnson changed his name to Ochocinco. But in his case, it hasn’t helped much. Maybe it’s because the correct Spanish for 85, his uniform number, is ochenta y cinco. To have the right name in sports, you have to get the name right. Something like “Peyton,” maybe?

How about Jimmer Fredette? He scored points galore for Brigham Young, and now "Jimmer" must prove he can do it in the NBA. But do you think he would have gotten as much attention if his name were Joe Wilson?

Maybe the best sports name of all is Dale Earnhardt Jr. When his dad died tragically at Daytona International Speedway in 2001, many NASCAR fans presumed “Junior” would fill his shoes. “Little E” has had a respectable career to date, with 18 Sprint Cup wins and nearly 100 top 5’s, but do you really think he’d have gotten all the media focus he’s received if his name were George Bartlett?

Amazingly, Jeff Gordon’s had a stellar career with an ordinary name. Would Danica Patrick, who’s not won in NASCAR yet, grab as much attention if she were Jill Smith?

Baseball has always been big with names, preferably nicknames: “The Mick,” Yogi, “Hammerin’ Hank,” the “Say Hey Kid,” “Joltin’ Joe,” “the Splendid Splinter,” A-Rod. It’s amazing Albert Pujols is as good as he is – there’s definitely no magic in his name.

Then we have the NBA’s divas, typically with only first names: Lebron, Kobe, Carmelo, Shaq. Perhaps the greatest of them all, Michael Jordan, was known as either Michael or MJ. But some of us still remember Wilt, Kareem, and Magic.

All great names. The Bible says names are important, too. Particularly one: Jesus. Think about it. You just read that name and had an immediate reaction – pro or con. Reading “Jesus” either just turned you off, or made you smile.

To my knowledge, Jesus Christ is the only spiritual leader whose name is used for swearing. When was the last time you heard someone cussing and say, “Oh, Muhammad!”? Or, “Buddha!”? “Confucius!”? “Vishnu!” anyone?

The Bible tells us, “…for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). And, “that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow…and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:10-11). Many people don’t believe it, but that’s what the Scriptures say.

So, what’s in a name? Apparently, a lot!

Oh! . . . What a Relief It Is!

That sudden wind you felt yesterday was the collective sigh of relief from fans coast to coast. The NFL lockout is over.

The United States might still be under the Atlantic Ocean in debt, and unlike any responsible person, can’t settle on a workable budget. But there will be football! The specter of global terrorism continues to loom. But yes, boys and girls, there will be NFL football. Gas prices might continue to soar, unemployment remains at alarming levels, and some states are virtually bankrupt – but hooray, we’ll be able to watch NFL football!

But what does it really mean? Well, bookies and gambling establishments will resume bang-up business. Moribund office pools will be revived. Men can revert to boys as they compete in their little fantasy football contests.

Networks with billions of dollars already committed in NFL TV commercials can reap their riches. The Peyton Mannings, Troy Polamalus and others will again collect their endorsement checks. The Terrelle Owenses and Ochocincos will perform their foolish antics for another year.

The rise in national obesity will continue as folks desperately in need of exercise remain anchored to their recliners and couches, except for occasional forays to the refrigerator and quick trips to the potty. In the process, marriage relationships will virtually be put on hold until next February.

Inner city youths can continue to ignore the value of education while dreaming about being among the fraction of 1% of young men that even get a hint of NFL glory. Many with athletic prowess will advance to universities not thirsting for knowledge, but only to bide their time while waiting to move to “the next level.” They will, however, diligently practice saying, “Hi, Mom,” from the sidelines.

And perhaps best of all, with all the NFL news to catch up on, sports media will finally cease rehashing the supposed wickedness and deceitfulness of the Ohio State Buckeyes. (At least OSU did them a favor and helped fill many boring days during the spring and early summer.)

Was there really any doubt the NFL season would be saved? The players could only hold out for so long. When you acquire champagne taste, it’s hard surviving on a Kool-Aid budget. And everyone loves the NFL, don’t they? If the lockout had continued, both the President and Congress would have intervened.

They might not be able to reach consensus on how to run the country, but we must have our football. Says so right there in the Constitution – somewhere! (Doesn’t it?)

Yup, before long we’ll be answering the question we’ve longed to hear: “Are you ready for some football?”

Champion . . . or Chump?

One week ago, no one had heard of Christian Lopez, except for family members, some friends, and his girlfriend. Saturday, with one simple act, his national status leaped to folk hero – or phenomenal chump. Depends on who you ask.

All Lopez did was catch a homerun in Yankee Stadium. The homer happened to be hit by the Yankees’ Derek Jeter, and it just happened to be the 3,000^th hit of Jeter’s illustrious career.

Lopez could have held the ball in a death grip, waiting to see how many thousands of dollars he could squeeze out of it. Instead, he gave the ball back to Jeter, saying the Yankee captain should have it. In some minds, Lopez became a champion, exhibiting selfless character. But to others, he became a chump, a fool unwilling to capitalize on his moment of serendipity.

In the end, Lopez wasn’t left empty-handed. The Yankees rewarded the 23-year-old with a personal meeting with Jeter (shown in the Associated Press photo above), season tickets for the remainder of the year (including post-season, if the team qualifies), and bats, balls and jerseys signed by the future Hall of Famer. Not a bad reward for selflessness.

Amazingly enough, many people still chastised Lopez for his magnanimous act. It’s understandable, I suppose, in a time when it’s seems common practice to take advantage of others whenever possible. “Ya gotta look out fah numbah one,” as they say in New York City.

Even some sports talk show hosts jumped on the bandwagon, questioning Lopez’s sanity in surrendering the ball without the promise of anything in return.

This last part astounds me the most. Sports commentators pontificate ad nauseum about athletes and coaches that act in self-interest. But these same “experts” seem to believe for ordinary people to act out of greed is not only normal but expected.

So it’s okay to be greedy, as long as your income is below a certain level? What level is that? If Donald Trump or Bill Gates had caught the ball and held onto it, that would have been greedy, right? But because Lopez wasn’t greedy, he’s an idiot?

Fact is, greed is an equal opportunity vice, and no respecter of income levels. A well-known billionaire once was asked a revealing question: “How much is enough?” To which he purportedly replied, “Just a little bit more.”

Frankly, I find it refreshing to hear about someone who did the right thing, rather than trying to calculate what he could get simply for being in the right place at the right time. I guess you could say that for him, it was the Christian thing to do.

The Trouble with Tangled Webs

Scottish novelist and poet Sir Walter Scott offered a timeless commentary when he wrote, “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!”

TV and cinematic comedies have drawn from this truth – a small deception leading to another to conceal it, then another…until finally the protagonist is up to his or her neck in deceit run amok. Viewing such fictional calamities, we laugh. “Ha, ha, how silly. Ha, ha, he should have ‘fessed up in the first place and he wouldn’t have dug such a deep hole. Ha, ha.”

Unfortunately, web-weaving in real life is usually not as hilarious. It’s sad, even tragic. Such is the case with Jim Tressel, now-former head football coach at Ohio State who about six months ago was the toast of the town in Columbus. Seven consecutive victories over Michigan, six straight Big Ten championships, one national championship, and expectations for another in the near future.

Today, Tressel is unemployed, having resigned under intense pressure for having withheld information from superiors and the NCAA about players that broke rules. No crimes were committed, no laws violated, but NCAA rules were disregarded – and therein was the rub.

Tressel, having built a reputation for integrity, forthrightness – and faith – besmirched it all when he elected not to report the violations. As time passed, the cover-up deepened and the media outcry intensified.

Early in 2010 the coach probably thought it a small matter easily swept under the rug for the sake of a greater good. We might never know his actual reasoning. But with today’s 24/7 eyes-are-always-watching-you media and internet coverage, someone eventually checks under the rug.

Walking with integrity is a fine line, a delicate balance – especially in a high-profile positions. But it’s true for all of us. It’s a sobering reality to know regardless of our status in life, big or small, people are always watching and eager to pounce when we fail. “Bloodthirsty men hate a man of integrity and seek to kill the upright” (Proverbs 29:10).

Even more than that, we have an audience of one that knows our hearts, as well as sees our actions. In the Old Testament of the Bible, King David wrote, “May integrity and uprightness protect me, because my hope is in you…. Vindicate me, O Lord, for I have led a blameless life; I have trusted in the Lord without wavering. Test me, O Lord, and try me, examine my heart and my mind; for your love is ever before me, and I walk continually in your truth” (Psalms 25:21, 26:1-3).

How many of us can say the same?

Crime Rates and the Gridiron

Sports Illustrated and CBS Sports have collaborated on an investigative report that determined seven percent of the 2,837 student-athletes on SI’s 2010 preseason Top 25 teams had criminal records, with nearly 40 percent of those offenses being serious crimes.

Is it time for wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth, learning about the “criminal element” in college football? Who knows? What’s the context? How does this compare to the student body at large, or society as a whole? I read one report that six percent of every 100,000 youths, ages 10 to 17 in the USA had been arrested. So in light of that, seven percent of college football players doesn’t seem that far out of line.

Almost like doing a study that shows 50 percent of all people in traditional marriages are female.

I remember one national sports radio commentator observing that U.S. legislators have a higher rate of crime, bankruptcies and other legal problems than the so-called “thugs” of the NBA.

Of course, we’d like to think each of our Saturday gridiron heroes spends his off-field hours studying diligently to ace every exam, helping old ladies across the street, visiting ailing patients in hospitals, feeding the homeless, teaching Sunday school and crusading to protect endangered species.

But let’s be honest: Many of these athletes come from disadvantaged homes, often absent a positive male role model. Survival, not upholding high ethical standards, has been their reality. For them, collegiate athletics provide a means for escaping the ghetto.

And football, as we all know, is a violent sport. Saturday game time’s are punctuated by cries from fans demanding the home team destroy the opponent, yet during non-game hours we expect these same players to forsake such dastardly demeanor and behavior, exhibiting less aggression than the Pillsbury Doughboy.

Many, thankfully, do seem able to separate gridiron hostility from their personal lives. But not all. The greater issue, it seems, is what happens to those young men once they step onto college campuses. Do their coaches take the effort to mold into them strong character qualities, along with insisting they take full advantage of the educational opportunities presented to them? Or do they simply reinforce the notion that superior athletes are above the law?

Frankly, having only seven percent with criminal records doesn’t seem all that startling. Seventy percent, certainly. Or even 17 percent. But seven? Not enough to merit screaming red headlines to announce the outcome of a “six-month investigation.”

But then, after expending lots of money and time in this study, and evidently already armed with a conclusion they wanted to document statistically, the SI and CBS powers-that-be obviously had to report something. To say “no big deal” would have been anticlimactic.

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.