10/05/2007
Bachelor Party -> Sports
So the bachelor party was just about a complete and total success. We grilled some man meat from the Peoria oasis which is Pottstown Meat & Deli, rode around greater central Illinois on a bus, rocked ass at three different redneck bars, and ended up in downtown Peoria around one. Shortly thereafter, I went black and was asked to leave a drinking bar for the first time in probably five years.
From there I was denied entrance to world famous Big Al's (for being too drunk, natch), thrown in a cab, and may or may not have passed out on my buddy Tito's back porch for an undetermined amount of time. I woke up in his guest bedroom around 11 and how no idea how I got there. Neither did Tito.
Neither did anyone else, really. Nearly everyone blacked out.
A group of 28-27 year old guys, and the majority of us all blacked out? Real mature, gents, real mature. (And awesome.)
So the brain cells I killed Saturday night and the fluish symptoms I developed from sleeping outside for [scene missing] have left me with a good case of the bad week. Luckily the weekend is here with a veritable smörgåsbord of sports:
Baseball playoffs, Illinios v. Wisconsin (not on the Big Ten network!), Mizzou v. Nebraska, more baseball playoffs (go Indians!), and topping it all off with a Packers v. Bears Sunday night game.
Which leaves me to a whole weekend of recharging my batteries on the couch, eating chili, wings, and burgers, and killing even more brain cells with vodka and wine. Then next week, I can complain of being sick and poopy all week before rinsing and repeating next weekend.
It's a vicious cycle.
[have a great weekend, everyone. i hope youre as bonerly inducing excited for illinois game as i am; this could be epic.]
From there I was denied entrance to world famous Big Al's (for being too drunk, natch), thrown in a cab, and may or may not have passed out on my buddy Tito's back porch for an undetermined amount of time. I woke up in his guest bedroom around 11 and how no idea how I got there. Neither did Tito.
Neither did anyone else, really. Nearly everyone blacked out.
A group of 28-27 year old guys, and the majority of us all blacked out? Real mature, gents, real mature. (And awesome.)
So the brain cells I killed Saturday night and the fluish symptoms I developed from sleeping outside for [scene missing] have left me with a good case of the bad week. Luckily the weekend is here with a veritable smörgåsbord of sports:
Baseball playoffs, Illinios v. Wisconsin (not on the Big Ten network!), Mizzou v. Nebraska, more baseball playoffs (go Indians!), and topping it all off with a Packers v. Bears Sunday night game.
Which leaves me to a whole weekend of recharging my batteries on the couch, eating chili, wings, and burgers, and killing even more brain cells with vodka and wine. Then next week, I can complain of being sick and poopy all week before rinsing and repeating next weekend.
It's a vicious cycle.
[have a great weekend, everyone. i hope youre as bonerly inducing excited for illinois game as i am; this could be epic.]
Labels: boners, ILL-INI, Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports
3/16/2007
St Madness Weekend
A few notes, in non-killing bullet form:
Good to see the Big Ten go 3-0. I know it's kind of chic to kick the Big Ten this year -- that aside from Wisconsin and OSU, it's just a bunch of shitty teams. I can see why some would come to that conclusion (stupidity), but the Big Ten is not a bad conference.
It’s a different conference, to be sure. And it sure as shit ain’t pretties (much like this sentence). Here's the dealie-yo (kids still saying that?): there is surprisingly very little turnover in the Big Ten (hell, Brian Cook and Frankie Williams were both at Illinois for over nine years and Mateen Cleaves was at Michigan State for twelve) -– with the exception of a group of five guys who got together in Ann Arbor fifteen years ago (which, if I remember correctly, never actually happened) and this year’s tOSU squad, freshman dominated teams rarely make waves in the Big Ten –- which means that these guys don’t just play each other two or three times a year; by the time they’re seniors, they’ve played against the same guys upwards of ten times, they know everything about everyone of their moves. Hence, lots of D, lot's of 53-48 scores. It isn’t pretty, but it isn’t bad either. It’s just different.
And I will now stop defending my retarded little brother of a conference.
Best text of the day, from Jason Major: “Are you telling me Bradley couldn’t have lost to Louisville by 304?” Exactly. Thanks for showing up, tree nerds.
Biggest complaint of the day: I don’t know exactly what the mainstream sports media’s real job is, but next year, if there is a team that is an eleven seed who is playing a struggling six seed, and this eleven seed also happens to play some of the most intense up your ass defense in the country... could you guys maybe do a little work and tell us about this eleven seed before the tourney? The only thing I knew about VCU is that Bradley thumped them in the Bracket Busters (at VCU). So, "how good could they be?" I thought to myself.
Good enough to beat Duke, obviously. And it may have fucked up one finger of my bracket, but I don’t care. Duke lost, God smiles.
Also, VCU to the Sweet Sixteen. You heard me.
Sixteen more games today, eight more Saturday, eight more Sunday. Oh, and a big ass party in my neighborhood Saturday as well. This is already high in the running for best weekend of the year. Unfuckingbelievable. I'm too excited to keep typin
[have a great weekend, everybody. tune in next week to see pics of me dressed as an old-timey irish cop, beating ethnics.]
It’s a different conference, to be sure. And it sure as shit ain’t pretties (much like this sentence). Here's the dealie-yo (kids still saying that?): there is surprisingly very little turnover in the Big Ten (hell, Brian Cook and Frankie Williams were both at Illinois for over nine years and Mateen Cleaves was at Michigan State for twelve) -– with the exception of a group of five guys who got together in Ann Arbor fifteen years ago (which, if I remember correctly, never actually happened) and this year’s tOSU squad, freshman dominated teams rarely make waves in the Big Ten –- which means that these guys don’t just play each other two or three times a year; by the time they’re seniors, they’ve played against the same guys upwards of ten times, they know everything about everyone of their moves. Hence, lots of D, lot's of 53-48 scores. It isn’t pretty, but it isn’t bad either. It’s just different.
And I will now stop defending my retarded little brother of a conference.
Good enough to beat Duke, obviously. And it may have fucked up one finger of my bracket, but I don’t care. Duke lost, God smiles.
Also, VCU to the Sweet Sixteen. You heard me.
[have a great weekend, everybody. tune in next week to see pics of me dressed as an old-timey irish cop, beating ethnics.]
Labels: Beating Ethnics, Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports, Stuff You Probably Don't Care About
3/14/2007
Brackets!
First off - Scott is back to bloggin' after his post-season hiatus. Still one of my favorite writers on the internets, good to have him back.
Anyhoo, Josh and I were g-chatting yesterday and in between racial slurs and talk of jerking it while drinking bourbon, we decided that this tourney is one of the weakest fields in years. I can't call anything bold like last year's Bradley picks -- the only real upset I'm calling is Winthrop over ND, but, hell, EVERYONE is calling that one. Old Dominican and the Dirtbags could both pull of some upsets, maybe VCU, too, but I'm just not 100% sold. Just a shit ton of parity (if not mediocrity) in the mix.
The two things I am looking forward to:
1) An Illinois v. Southern Illinois match up in the "thrilling thirty-two", which may end with a score of 14 to 9. It's also scheduled to go at around 1:30 on Sunday; which, post St Pats day, will be the perfect excuse to mosey down to the pub and drown my hangover in pints and wings.
2) The ever enjoyable first time this conversation happens (and it happens every year):
Someone: "Al, how's your brackets?"
Me:(sorrowful)"Busted. (tuba impersonation) whaaaaat-whaaaat-whaaaa"
Someone: "You're such a douche."
Anyway, here's how I see this whole thing turning out:
Agree? Disagree? Let it be known. But either way, I don't care.
Anyhoo, Josh and I were g-chatting yesterday and in between racial slurs and talk of jerking it while drinking bourbon, we decided that this tourney is one of the weakest fields in years. I can't call anything bold like last year's Bradley picks -- the only real upset I'm calling is Winthrop over ND, but, hell, EVERYONE is calling that one. Old Dominican and the Dirtbags could both pull of some upsets, maybe VCU, too, but I'm just not 100% sold. Just a shit ton of parity (if not mediocrity) in the mix.
The two things I am looking forward to:
1) An Illinois v. Southern Illinois match up in the "thrilling thirty-two", which may end with a score of 14 to 9. It's also scheduled to go at around 1:30 on Sunday; which, post St Pats day, will be the perfect excuse to mosey down to the pub and drown my hangover in pints and wings.
2) The ever enjoyable first time this conversation happens (and it happens every year):
Someone: "Al, how's your brackets?"
Me:(sorrowful)"Busted. (tuba impersonation) whaaaaat-whaaaat-whaaaa"
Someone: "You're such a douche."
Anyway, here's how I see this whole thing turning out:
Agree? Disagree? Let it be known. But either way, I don't care.
Labels: SIU v U of I will look like a fourth grade game, Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports
2/04/2007
Colts 29, Bears 17
I bet the Bears to win and to beat the spread, as well as on the under. In the process, thanks to the lovely process of hedging ones bets, I lost eight dollars, total. In my mind, that's a successful Super Bowl Sunday.
As for the people who are actual Bears fans... well, via the Chicago Tribune, this is a pic of some of my Peoria friends in South Beach:
If this pic was taken any time after the 3rd quarter of the Super Bowl, I'm pretty sure they are all chanting for Kyle Orton to relieve the Sex Cannon from his quarterbacking duties.
As for the people who are actual Bears fans... well, via the Chicago Tribune, this is a pic of some of my Peoria friends in South Beach:
If this pic was taken any time after the 3rd quarter of the Super Bowl, I'm pretty sure they are all chanting for Kyle Orton to relieve the Sex Cannon from his quarterbacking duties.
Labels: Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports
2/01/2007
Kyle Orton Does Have a Beard!
It's a short week here at The FYC, as I need to head up to Peoria for a funeral, but I will leave you with this, something which I didn't think I'd ever say with any sort of conviction:
Go Bears.
What could possibly make me want to cheer for the Bears? The bliss and elation that a Chicago championship would bring to my many near and dear friends who are Bears fans? Nope, those jerks can suck it. It's this guy:
If this dude, Kyle Orton -- this drunken, 20-something vagrant, looking seamlessly like a man on a drift, slumming it up around Australia for a few years -- can somehow earn a Superbowl ring while inexplicably skating by and staying on the Bears roster... well, then, Goddamn it, there's hope for all of us.
[have a great superbowl weekend, everybody. don't get any chili in your neck beard.]
Go Bears.
What could possibly make me want to cheer for the Bears? The bliss and elation that a Chicago championship would bring to my many near and dear friends who are Bears fans? Nope, those jerks can suck it. It's this guy:
If this dude, Kyle Orton -- this drunken, 20-something vagrant, looking seamlessly like a man on a drift, slumming it up around Australia for a few years -- can somehow earn a Superbowl ring while inexplicably skating by and staying on the Bears roster... well, then, Goddamn it, there's hope for all of us.
[have a great superbowl weekend, everybody. don't get any chili in your neck beard.]
Labels: Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports
1/24/2007
15-7; Nowhere To Go But Up.
A Frosted Flakes level “Grrrrr-reat!” win by the University of Illinois over Indiana last night, and while it was nice to see the Illini not give away a lead and commit 26 different shot clock violations, it was especially satisfying that the “big win” the Illini so desperately needed came against “Coach” Kelvin Sampson and his newly hated Hoosiers.
Sure, it would have been nice for the Illini to have gotten that “signature win” of theirs against either Wisconsin or Ohio State, but let’s face it, those two squads are leaps and bounds more talented than the boys in orange (how the hell did Wisconsin get so good in one year? Didn’t they lose to North Dakota State at home this time last year? That’s an impressive turn around to say the least). But they beat a ranked team and if they manage to finish out conference play at .500, they should sneak into the NCAA at somewhere around an 11 seed; playing with no pressure and, with a good draw, they might get to play Vassar or whoever knocks Kansas out of the tourney in the first round this year and sneak into the Sweet Sixteen. (Of course, this is a best case scenario; there is always the distinct possibility that they lose out and are NIT bound.)
And it’s not just that they beat a ranked team; they beat a newly venomous conference rival. The Illini have never really had an intra-conference rivalry – during the run of awesomeness of the last seven years, pretty much every other school has hated the Illini an equal amount – besides Mizzou there isn’t a school which year after year the fan base passionately wants to beat. One could make the case for a handful of schools (Michigan State, Wisconsin) that one despises for any particular reason (I personally still hate Ohio State for ruining the unbeaten season of ’04-’05), but there wasn’t a school which really made the blood boil for the entire state.
Kelvin Sampson and his shenanigans in the Eric Gordon recruiting wars have changed all that, though. And I like it. I want to see Johnny Cougar effigies burning brightly in Champaign and kids burning REO Speedwagon albums in Bloomington. I want to feel threatened the next time I run into Babbs Super Valu in Spencer, Indiana for a loaf of their ridiculously tasty cheese bread while wearing an Illini jersey. I want an all out border war.
And while I started looking forward to rowdy crowds at the Assembly Halls for the next few years, I also started looking forward to what the Illini’s prospects are for next season. I am, to say the least, cautiously optimistic:
For ’07-’08, there is the simple case of addition by subtraction, and that subtraction of course comes in the form of Marcus Arnold and Dick McBride. McBride, after a stellar high school career at Springfield Lanphier, has gone on to have one of the most underwhelming collegiate careers I can remember. I really thought he could develop into a potential NBA caliber three point specialist, but I guess the fact that he is actually a 47 year old accountant from Dallas finally caught up with him. And Marcus Arnold may very well be the nicest guy on the planet, but he is simply a really, really bad basketball player (although, he does love him some Red Lobster!).
The only other senior, The Enigma That Is Warren Carter, needs to start saying nightly prayers to Serge Zwicker, the patron saint of inexplicably long eligibility terms. If Marcus Sommerville was allowed to play college ball for 17 years, I don’t see why “The- Double-You-Sea” can’t get a fifth frame.
Meanwhile, the following are for sure (barring any ill-advised early NBA jumps or beer pong related altercations) returning to the fold:
Shaun Pruitt, who is quickly turning into an absolute beast (the development that Weber’s coaching staff has done on Pruitt is worth noting and, in my opinion, is nothing short of amazing – I’m pretty sure that they lock him in a room with Wayne McClain, tape his eyes open, and make him watch Marcus Griffin highlights for twelve hours a day, seven days a week) and in next year’s (hopefully) Greg Oden-less Big Ten, could be the conference’s premiere post player.
Dee Brown v2.0, otherwise known as Chester Frazier, the scrappiest point guard to ever scrap, will be back and will probably continue to get weird injuries and gut his way through them once again.
Jamar Smith, who really has nowhere to go but up next season. He’s not just personifying the term “Sophomore Slump” this year, he’s defining it to the point that they may change the term to “The Jamar Smith Effect.”
Brian Randle will be back and gunning to foul out of every game he enters, often within his first six minutes of action. Then he’ll get hurt. A few weeks later, he’ll have a sweet dunk, but he’ll hurt himself and get called for a charge. Then he'll get called for a foul while on his way to the hospital.
Chris Hicks will be back for another year of people asking “What the devil is a Chris Hicks?” when they look at their programs.
The Brian Cardwell Experience, all 280 or so pounds and 9’2” standing reach of it, will be back and filling up the lane like never before.
Plus, incoming freshmen:
Quinton Watkins, who is from Compton, CA, and if every NWA song is to be believed as truth (and they are), must be a bad ass.
Westchester St. Joseph’s PG Demetri McCamey, who, if history has taught us anything (and it hasn’t) is either the next Isiah Thomas or the next Arthur Agee.
And Bill Cole, who if I was forced at gunpoint to describe his game I would say: “Brian Cook Light.”
So, yeah, now that I look at it on paper, with the exception of a possibly dominant Pruitt and a resurgent Smith, maybe I shouldn’t be looking forward (cautiously or otherwise) to next year all that much.
Whatever, as long as they beat Mizzou, it’s cool. (Oh, and Indiana. Gotta get used to that one.)
Sure, it would have been nice for the Illini to have gotten that “signature win” of theirs against either Wisconsin or Ohio State, but let’s face it, those two squads are leaps and bounds more talented than the boys in orange (how the hell did Wisconsin get so good in one year? Didn’t they lose to North Dakota State at home this time last year? That’s an impressive turn around to say the least). But they beat a ranked team and if they manage to finish out conference play at .500, they should sneak into the NCAA at somewhere around an 11 seed; playing with no pressure and, with a good draw, they might get to play Vassar or whoever knocks Kansas out of the tourney in the first round this year and sneak into the Sweet Sixteen. (Of course, this is a best case scenario; there is always the distinct possibility that they lose out and are NIT bound.)
And it’s not just that they beat a ranked team; they beat a newly venomous conference rival. The Illini have never really had an intra-conference rivalry – during the run of awesomeness of the last seven years, pretty much every other school has hated the Illini an equal amount – besides Mizzou there isn’t a school which year after year the fan base passionately wants to beat. One could make the case for a handful of schools (Michigan State, Wisconsin) that one despises for any particular reason (I personally still hate Ohio State for ruining the unbeaten season of ’04-’05), but there wasn’t a school which really made the blood boil for the entire state.
Kelvin Sampson and his shenanigans in the Eric Gordon recruiting wars have changed all that, though. And I like it. I want to see Johnny Cougar effigies burning brightly in Champaign and kids burning REO Speedwagon albums in Bloomington. I want to feel threatened the next time I run into Babbs Super Valu in Spencer, Indiana for a loaf of their ridiculously tasty cheese bread while wearing an Illini jersey. I want an all out border war.
And while I started looking forward to rowdy crowds at the Assembly Halls for the next few years, I also started looking forward to what the Illini’s prospects are for next season. I am, to say the least, cautiously optimistic:
For ’07-’08, there is the simple case of addition by subtraction, and that subtraction of course comes in the form of Marcus Arnold and Dick McBride. McBride, after a stellar high school career at Springfield Lanphier, has gone on to have one of the most underwhelming collegiate careers I can remember. I really thought he could develop into a potential NBA caliber three point specialist, but I guess the fact that he is actually a 47 year old accountant from Dallas finally caught up with him. And Marcus Arnold may very well be the nicest guy on the planet, but he is simply a really, really bad basketball player (although, he does love him some Red Lobster!).
The only other senior, The Enigma That Is Warren Carter, needs to start saying nightly prayers to Serge Zwicker, the patron saint of inexplicably long eligibility terms. If Marcus Sommerville was allowed to play college ball for 17 years, I don’t see why “The- Double-You-Sea” can’t get a fifth frame.
Meanwhile, the following are for sure (barring any ill-advised early NBA jumps or beer pong related altercations) returning to the fold:
Shaun Pruitt, who is quickly turning into an absolute beast (the development that Weber’s coaching staff has done on Pruitt is worth noting and, in my opinion, is nothing short of amazing – I’m pretty sure that they lock him in a room with Wayne McClain, tape his eyes open, and make him watch Marcus Griffin highlights for twelve hours a day, seven days a week) and in next year’s (hopefully) Greg Oden-less Big Ten, could be the conference’s premiere post player.
Dee Brown v2.0, otherwise known as Chester Frazier, the scrappiest point guard to ever scrap, will be back and will probably continue to get weird injuries and gut his way through them once again.
Jamar Smith, who really has nowhere to go but up next season. He’s not just personifying the term “Sophomore Slump” this year, he’s defining it to the point that they may change the term to “The Jamar Smith Effect.”
Brian Randle will be back and gunning to foul out of every game he enters, often within his first six minutes of action. Then he’ll get hurt. A few weeks later, he’ll have a sweet dunk, but he’ll hurt himself and get called for a charge. Then he'll get called for a foul while on his way to the hospital.
Chris Hicks will be back for another year of people asking “What the devil is a Chris Hicks?” when they look at their programs.
The Brian Cardwell Experience, all 280 or so pounds and 9’2” standing reach of it, will be back and filling up the lane like never before.
Plus, incoming freshmen:
Quinton Watkins, who is from Compton, CA, and if every NWA song is to be believed as truth (and they are), must be a bad ass.
Westchester St. Joseph’s PG Demetri McCamey, who, if history has taught us anything (and it hasn’t) is either the next Isiah Thomas or the next Arthur Agee.
And Bill Cole, who if I was forced at gunpoint to describe his game I would say: “Brian Cook Light.”
So, yeah, now that I look at it on paper, with the exception of a possibly dominant Pruitt and a resurgent Smith, maybe I shouldn’t be looking forward (cautiously or otherwise) to next year all that much.
Whatever, as long as they beat Mizzou, it’s cool. (Oh, and Indiana. Gotta get used to that one.)
Labels: ILL-INI, Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports
1/11/2007
Welcome Back "Handsome" Mark Mulder
If this signing does anything, it guaran-tee(martin)s that I'll get another 18 versions of this e-mail in June of '07:"Well ~ I guarantee Hrabosky and Dan will be discussing in the next few weeks that when we get Mulder healthy and back in the rotation, it will be like making a trade for a starting pitcher. So we have that to look forward too. Hey, when we get Bigbie back playing left, it will be like picking up that impact bat we were looking for. That fucker better have a new number if he gets called back up."
That's from my buddy Dave (who is a huge Larry Walker fan and seriously considered attacking Larry Bigbie with a dulled knife when he saw Bigbie was sporting #33 last year) in June of '06 after Dan and Al spent every damn inning of Cardinals baseball that month talking about The Great Mulder returning to the rotation later in the year. And we all know how that ended up, now don't we? Let's hope this years rehab/return ends up a little bit better than '06's (read: LaRussa doesn't pitch him into the ground when he's clearly not healthy).
Other than that, I agree with Dan on this whole brewhaha.
Labels: Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports, St Louis Baseball Cardinals
A Really Disjointed Post Which May or May Not Be About Basketball (I'm Still Not Sure What The Subject Is)
There has been a lot of angst around the great state of Illinois concerning the recent craptitude of U of I’s basketball team. A 13-5 record in what is essentially a rebuilding year? Not good enough for some people, apparently. Myself? I’ll take it (plus, we do have Rights!) and I will throw this in as well: If Ron Guenther listens to any of the blowhards and lets Bruce Weber walk within the next three years, much like the New York Jets letting go of Kevin Ward, it will be the biggest mistake of their life.
Most of the worrying around the state of the Illini’s program is focusing on Weber’s inability to recruit so-called “athletes” (this worrying makes no sense to me, for if Kelvin Sampson had a soul, Weber would have just landed the top senior “athlete” in the country for next year) and instead focuses on guys like Jamar Smith. You know… guys that fit into a motion offense. Like the one Weber runs. What a dumb idea.
Anyway, all of this talk about “athletes” got me thinking about the most athletic basketball player I ever saw (that is to say, seen) in my life (not hyperbole): Ronnie Fields.
I remember on a lazy Tuesday last November, I was lying on my couch, watching Fox Sport's "Behind the Glory" on Kevin Garnett. "That's really random, Al," you may be saying to yourself right now. "Why were you watching that?" Easy. To get to the part where Garnett moves from South Carolina to Chicago and enrolls at Farragut Academy, where he teamed up with Ronnie Fields to form the core of a ridiculously talented Farragut squad. Basically, I watched an entire FSN product (hard to do) just to see some of Fields’ unbelievably amazing dunks.
Ronnie fucking Fields.
He was 6'3" and possessed a 48 inch vertical. Just freakishly athletic – If he didn't make the grades to get into DePaul, he would have gone the Garnett route and head straight into the NBA. He would have won every Dunk contest he entered, on any level of competitive ball.
In what continues to be the most spectacular dunk I have ever seen in person, during the 1996 Peoria River City Shootout, he drove the lane, took off from about two feet inside of the free throw line and jumped over Sergio McClain (who was a good 6'3" at the time himself) before slamming the ball home (he literally jumped over him – Sergio's head was just south of Fields' nuts).
He averaged 32.4 points, 12.2 rebounds, 5.1 assists, 4.5 blocked shots, four steals and 4.5 dunks a game his senior year at Farragut and dropped at least 40 in nine games, topping out at 51. He left high school as the third all time leading scorer in Chicago Public League history with 2,619 points.
Then, on Febuary 26, 1996, in a late night car accident, Fields suffered three broken vertebrae. Doctors weren’t sure if he'd be able to walk again, let alone play ball.
Eventually, he made it back on the court, but he has never the explosive player which he once was. He rehabbed, played a little overseas and around the country in the many minor leagues of basketball. Right now, he's 28 years old and plays for the Rockford Lightening in the CBA (he played alongside the Rev. Roger Powell for a bit), hoping someday to finally make the jump to the NBA.
Around Illinois, among the tens of thousands of residents who treat high school basketball as a bit of a religion, Ronnie Fields' name is still almost sacred. But nobody else really seems to know of him. In probably the only apt comparison I have heard, my buddy Nate likes to say that Ronnie Fields is the Earl "The Goat" Manigault of our generation, even going so far as to hope that "in 10 years a Don Cheadle look alike will play him in a movie."
So I was more then a little excited to get to Garnett's senior year to see just a couple clips of Ronnie. And what happens? They show him a handful of times throwing alleyoops to KG. That was it.
Now, I'm not saying Fields ever would have been even half the pro that KG is now, but I think that Fox Sports should have at least mentioned the fact that Garnett wasn't even the best player on his team.
Really, though, I just wanted to see some of his old dunks. Luckily for me (and, of course, for all of us) there is YouTube. So sit back, relax, enjoy some dunks, and enjoy your Thursday (and don't forget to watch "The Office" tonight) (and I apologize for the music in the second one. I think the song is by "MC Generic Late 90's Rapper"):
Most of the worrying around the state of the Illini’s program is focusing on Weber’s inability to recruit so-called “athletes” (this worrying makes no sense to me, for if Kelvin Sampson had a soul, Weber would have just landed the top senior “athlete” in the country for next year) and instead focuses on guys like Jamar Smith. You know… guys that fit into a motion offense. Like the one Weber runs. What a dumb idea.
Anyway, all of this talk about “athletes” got me thinking about the most athletic basketball player I ever saw (that is to say, seen) in my life (not hyperbole): Ronnie Fields.
I remember on a lazy Tuesday last November, I was lying on my couch, watching Fox Sport's "Behind the Glory" on Kevin Garnett. "That's really random, Al," you may be saying to yourself right now. "Why were you watching that?" Easy. To get to the part where Garnett moves from South Carolina to Chicago and enrolls at Farragut Academy, where he teamed up with Ronnie Fields to form the core of a ridiculously talented Farragut squad. Basically, I watched an entire FSN product (hard to do) just to see some of Fields’ unbelievably amazing dunks.
Ronnie fucking Fields.
He was 6'3" and possessed a 48 inch vertical. Just freakishly athletic – If he didn't make the grades to get into DePaul, he would have gone the Garnett route and head straight into the NBA. He would have won every Dunk contest he entered, on any level of competitive ball.
In what continues to be the most spectacular dunk I have ever seen in person, during the 1996 Peoria River City Shootout, he drove the lane, took off from about two feet inside of the free throw line and jumped over Sergio McClain (who was a good 6'3" at the time himself) before slamming the ball home (he literally jumped over him – Sergio's head was just south of Fields' nuts).
He averaged 32.4 points, 12.2 rebounds, 5.1 assists, 4.5 blocked shots, four steals and 4.5 dunks a game his senior year at Farragut and dropped at least 40 in nine games, topping out at 51. He left high school as the third all time leading scorer in Chicago Public League history with 2,619 points.
Then, on Febuary 26, 1996, in a late night car accident, Fields suffered three broken vertebrae. Doctors weren’t sure if he'd be able to walk again, let alone play ball.
Eventually, he made it back on the court, but he has never the explosive player which he once was. He rehabbed, played a little overseas and around the country in the many minor leagues of basketball. Right now, he's 28 years old and plays for the Rockford Lightening in the CBA (he played alongside the Rev. Roger Powell for a bit), hoping someday to finally make the jump to the NBA.
Around Illinois, among the tens of thousands of residents who treat high school basketball as a bit of a religion, Ronnie Fields' name is still almost sacred. But nobody else really seems to know of him. In probably the only apt comparison I have heard, my buddy Nate likes to say that Ronnie Fields is the Earl "The Goat" Manigault of our generation, even going so far as to hope that "in 10 years a Don Cheadle look alike will play him in a movie."
So I was more then a little excited to get to Garnett's senior year to see just a couple clips of Ronnie. And what happens? They show him a handful of times throwing alleyoops to KG. That was it.
Now, I'm not saying Fields ever would have been even half the pro that KG is now, but I think that Fox Sports should have at least mentioned the fact that Garnett wasn't even the best player on his team.
Really, though, I just wanted to see some of his old dunks. Luckily for me (and, of course, for all of us) there is YouTube. So sit back, relax, enjoy some dunks, and enjoy your Thursday (and don't forget to watch "The Office" tonight) (and I apologize for the music in the second one. I think the song is by "MC Generic Late 90's Rapper"):
Labels: Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports
1/10/2007
Hopefully the Last Thing I Ever Write About Mark McGwire and the Hall of Fame
"Do you want to know the terrifying truth, or do you want to see me sock a few dingers?"
"Dingers! Dingers!"
I honestly respect Mark McGwire. I think what others have referred to as his “shameful” display in front of Congress was actually the classiest of any of the ball players who sat upon Capital Hill that day. He didn’t flat out lie like Raffy, he didn’t forget how to speak English like Sammy, and he didn’t wear a see through shirt like Jose. He just didn’t comment.
If it was I up there, I would have gone off. I would have said “Yeah, I did steroids. And so did almost every single player from 1995 to 2002. Clemens, Caminiti, Ripken. Everyone of the guys sitting here. We all juiced. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Did you see me? I was a freaking cartoon character. If you didn’t realize Sosa and I were on steroids in 1998, when the people at SI dressed us up in togas and declared us gods among men, you’re fucking stupid. That’s your fault, not mine. Do I regret doing it? Yeah. It makes me sad. So when I start to cry, I use the millions and millions of dollars steroids helped me make, and I blow my nose with a thousand dollar bill. Fuck you. Like you wouldn’t do the same? Who here wouldn’t have? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? You’re Goddamn right I did it!”
But Big Mac just skirted around the issue and didn’t comment. Not the ballsiest thing he could have done, but at least he didn’t sell anyone out (like I would have). Then he went back home and he hasn’t been heard from since. In today’s society, that’s probably the best thing he could have done. Because of it, he may never make it into the Hall of Fame, but you know what? Any club that uses a massive collection of douche bags to decide who gets in isn’t a club I want to join.
He used drugs. That’s it. Drugs.
I’d be willing to bet that the percentage of Americans who have used drugs is 100%. Sure, maybe it’s only alcohol, but that was once so evil that it was outlawed to produce in the states. Maybe it was tobacco. That’s on its way out, too.
Maybe you’ve dabbled in something a little bit harder. Maybe, say, cocaine. You know who else used coke? The fucking President of the United States of America.
(And in all seriousness, if you've never done any drugs, I feel kind of bad for you. I'm not saying you should be an addict or anything, but every now and then it's time to fly the freak flag and freak out some squares. Like a
jester with an invisible proclamation proclaiming conformity factories closed style freak out.)
The American people can elect (twice) a man who used coke (and also has a DUI) as their President, and a guy with as many DUIs as Leonard Little as Vice President (and then he shot a man in the face!), but the hypocritical douche bag Baseball Writers Association of America (many of whom I am quite sure have more than enough skeletons in their own closets) can’t elect a guy who used steroids to something as trivial as the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Well, then, fuck them.
I actually hope that Mark McGwire never says another word to the public again. He can go off and live his life of solitude; playing golf, banging his hot wife and being left the hell alone (sounds kind of nice, actually). He’ll fade out of public mind and in fifty years, he’ll become nothing more than a myth. An infamous character that everybody saw play, but nobody ever knew. He’ll be our generations Joe Jackson, Moe Berg, and Ed Delahanty all wrapped up into one.
Then, someday, my grandson will be rummaging through my boxes and come across my old SI’s, ticket stubs, and tapes from 1998. He’ll see a picture of me next to McGwire in 2000 and notice that his thighs were the size of my waist. Maybe he’ll even read through uber-hypocrite Mike Lupica’s “Summer of ’98”(which at one point in time was one of my favorite books). He'll see photos of McGwire's devestating, thunderous swing -- the way he used his legs like no player I have ever seen before or since. And he’ll ask me, “Grandpa, how come this man who hit so many home runs and broke so many records and was so beloved never made it into the Hall of Fame.”
“Because, my boy,” I’ll say. “The lazy ass, pompous, hypocritical, dick bag writers who once claimed that he helped save the game of baseball at its darkest hour decided to get up on the ever so high fucking horse, re-write the games past and not let him in. Fuck them and fuck the Hall of Fame.”
“Yeah! Fuck them!”
“Watch your mouth, you little shit,” I’ll say with a slap to the head. “And stay out of my boxes!”
"Dingers! Dingers!"
I honestly respect Mark McGwire. I think what others have referred to as his “shameful” display in front of Congress was actually the classiest of any of the ball players who sat upon Capital Hill that day. He didn’t flat out lie like Raffy, he didn’t forget how to speak English like Sammy, and he didn’t wear a see through shirt like Jose. He just didn’t comment.
If it was I up there, I would have gone off. I would have said “Yeah, I did steroids. And so did almost every single player from 1995 to 2002. Clemens, Caminiti, Ripken. Everyone of the guys sitting here. We all juiced. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Did you see me? I was a freaking cartoon character. If you didn’t realize Sosa and I were on steroids in 1998, when the people at SI dressed us up in togas and declared us gods among men, you’re fucking stupid. That’s your fault, not mine. Do I regret doing it? Yeah. It makes me sad. So when I start to cry, I use the millions and millions of dollars steroids helped me make, and I blow my nose with a thousand dollar bill. Fuck you. Like you wouldn’t do the same? Who here wouldn’t have? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? You’re Goddamn right I did it!”
But Big Mac just skirted around the issue and didn’t comment. Not the ballsiest thing he could have done, but at least he didn’t sell anyone out (like I would have). Then he went back home and he hasn’t been heard from since. In today’s society, that’s probably the best thing he could have done. Because of it, he may never make it into the Hall of Fame, but you know what? Any club that uses a massive collection of douche bags to decide who gets in isn’t a club I want to join.
He used drugs. That’s it. Drugs.
I’d be willing to bet that the percentage of Americans who have used drugs is 100%. Sure, maybe it’s only alcohol, but that was once so evil that it was outlawed to produce in the states. Maybe it was tobacco. That’s on its way out, too.
Maybe you’ve dabbled in something a little bit harder. Maybe, say, cocaine. You know who else used coke? The fucking President of the United States of America.
(And in all seriousness, if you've never done any drugs, I feel kind of bad for you. I'm not saying you should be an addict or anything, but every now and then it's time to fly the freak flag and freak out some squares. Like a
jester with an invisible proclamation proclaiming conformity factories closed style freak out.)
The American people can elect (twice) a man who used coke (and also has a DUI) as their President, and a guy with as many DUIs as Leonard Little as Vice President (and then he shot a man in the face!), but the hypocritical douche bag Baseball Writers Association of America (many of whom I am quite sure have more than enough skeletons in their own closets) can’t elect a guy who used steroids to something as trivial as the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Well, then, fuck them.
I actually hope that Mark McGwire never says another word to the public again. He can go off and live his life of solitude; playing golf, banging his hot wife and being left the hell alone (sounds kind of nice, actually). He’ll fade out of public mind and in fifty years, he’ll become nothing more than a myth. An infamous character that everybody saw play, but nobody ever knew. He’ll be our generations Joe Jackson, Moe Berg, and Ed Delahanty all wrapped up into one.
Then, someday, my grandson will be rummaging through my boxes and come across my old SI’s, ticket stubs, and tapes from 1998. He’ll see a picture of me next to McGwire in 2000 and notice that his thighs were the size of my waist. Maybe he’ll even read through uber-hypocrite Mike Lupica’s “Summer of ’98”(which at one point in time was one of my favorite books). He'll see photos of McGwire's devestating, thunderous swing -- the way he used his legs like no player I have ever seen before or since. And he’ll ask me, “Grandpa, how come this man who hit so many home runs and broke so many records and was so beloved never made it into the Hall of Fame.”
“Because, my boy,” I’ll say. “The lazy ass, pompous, hypocritical, dick bag writers who once claimed that he helped save the game of baseball at its darkest hour decided to get up on the ever so high fucking horse, re-write the games past and not let him in. Fuck them and fuck the Hall of Fame.”
“Yeah! Fuck them!”
“Watch your mouth, you little shit,” I’ll say with a slap to the head. “And stay out of my boxes!”
Labels: Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports Sports, St Louis Baseball Cardinals
