Sunday, February 28, 2010

A perfect Sunday

This afternoon I was awoken from a glorious slumber by a phone call I barely remember, and then I called back my friend David, who had also called during my nap. He told me he was heading home to watch the gold-medal Olympic hockey game and the Nuggets-Lakers game. Holy crap, how did I not know? So I switched on the TV and this is what I saw.

I picked up the hockey match early in the third period, with the U.S. down 2-1 and not really charging. I was alternately shocked how many names I did and didn’t recognize. Scott Niedermayer’s still playing? Whenever Jack Johnson’s name was called, I started to sing, “it seems to me that maybe…”, and likewise when Mike Richards was on the ice I began to reminisce out loud about what I would have done to him with a fork fifty years ago. This is particularly charming when you realize I was watching the game alone.

Meanwhile the Nuggets were taking care of business in L.A., up by eight or so.

The U.S. was getting occasional chances on goal, slightly better than Canada was, but it became clear that Canada was just playing not to give up another score. I was just hoping for a U.S. goal, or a really good U.S. chance, so the game could be worthy of its billing. Kept waiting, and waiting, and it didn’t come. Minutes were ticking off the clock very slowly, and I was wondering if anything was going to happen. The Nuggets were slowly losing their lead. I began to wonder where Team U.S.A. hockey ranks on my list of favorite teams…top 50, maybe? I of course would rather have one of my teams win gold than have another win some regular season game, but it began to appear I’d get neither.

Then the U.S. pulled their goalie. I don’t care how many hockey games you’ve seen, that never stops being fun, even if it often ends with the opponent scoring on an empty net. The Americans started pressing, forcing the issue, but we didn’t seem to know quite what to do. Come on, stop controlling the puck, get a shot! And then, holy crap, we tied it up.

There were, what, 24 seconds left at this point. The crowd seemed a little out of it, and the Canadian team in general felt shaky. I don’t know if they really were, or if they were just trying to play defense, but it felt good. Nonetheless, I thought, it would suck, but how awesome would it be for Canada to score in the closing seconds and win the gold? They didn’t, naturally, and the game went to overtime.

I switched back to the Nuggets and saw the Lakers take a lead, which later we tied, but the game started to feel over. I switch back to the hockey and IM a Canadian friend to say that they’re about to lose, but I honestly started to feel bad about it. It’s like if someone from Jacksonville had talked trash to me when they knocked out the aging Elway. I just would have cared too much to find any humor or charm in it whatsoever.

Our goalie, Ryan Miller, was playing his butt off, but Sidney Crosby broke free up the left side. I started to relax slightly, thanks to a Sports Guy tweet that he wasn’t worried about Crosby. And next thing I know, Crosby’s scoring on a point-blank, easy goal and the Canadians win the gold medal.

I’m bummed that the U.S. lost, but honestly, if you have to lose to any country in the world in anything, I’ll take to Canada in hockey. And I felt good for my friend, which I hope isn’t some sign of growing maturity or something. Seriously, though, the silver medal in hockey is great. It’s like I told a friend on the phone: if American football was an Olympic sport, we all know the most impressive country would be the one that won silver.

I switch back to the Nuggets, who were just clearly going to lose, and see Carmelo foul out while trying to establish position on Ron Artest. As Mark Jackson said, that wasn’t a sixth foul. But he was sent to the bench and well, that’s the ball game.

But I still had a great day today, since on the way to church I drove past my ex-girlfriend getting pulled over. Police, you’re okay by me. If you ever need voters to support some budget increase or something, you just let me know.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Saints triumph in the Super Bowl

Everyone’s been asking me the last few weeks who I wanted to win the Super Bowl, and the answer was easy: the New Orleans Saints. Why? Because I hate Colts quarterback Peyton Manning, I’d say, even though everyone says he’s the greatest player in the universe.

As I was explaining this over and over, I realized how weird it is to say I am rooting against a team because I hate someone. Thing is, I don’t have any reason to hate Manning. He’s a good guy or whatever. Or maybe he’s not, but he doesn’t seem to be that bad of a guy, either. And he’s very good at football. But he’s wildly overrated in any discussion of his talents as a quarterback. It’s just off the charts how much more highly people think of him than his actual ability merits. Just look at his record in big games, or the way he started going off-target in the fourth quarter tonight.

Enough about Peyton Manning, though. Tonight’s all about the Saints and Drew Brees, who cemented what should have been an MVP year with a masterful performance. (Just for the record, his completion percentage, yards-per-attempt, touchdowns, and interceptions were all better than Manning’s, and his team scored almost one hundred points more in the regular season. In fact, his team led the NFL in scoring, where Manning’s would’ve been third in the NFC North alone. But it’s Manning who gets the MVP? Too bad Brees’ dad didn’t suck in the NFL; both MVP trophies could’ve been his.)

The entire Saints team was impressive. I loved coach Sean Payton going for the touchdown in the second quarter, then following up with the surprise onside kick to start the third. I really loved Tracy Porter’s interception return. The wide angle replay, where you could see almost the whole field, was particularly telling: many of the Colts were jogging back, with minimal effort, while at least one other Saint was sprinting like a bat out of Lincoln to meet Porter in the end zone. I know it’s demoralizing, but this is the Super Bowl; you shouldn’t need any more motivation to run, to scrap, or to fight. Plays like that will forever remind me of Rod Smith chasing down Julius Peppers from across the field, saying if it had been his last play, he would’ve wanted to give it his best. And New Orleans did. The Saints came to win; the Colts came to claim a trophy, and not to lose. I was so glad to see it work out for the aggressors.

Monday, February 1, 2010

George Gore

Somehow I’ve never written about George Gore, the only Gore ever to play major league baseball. Though you’ve probably never heard of him, Gore was pretty sweet: an outfielder who could flat-out rake, run the bases, and had some skills on defense. He was probably a five-tool player, especially early in his career, though the standards were a little different back then.

Gore played his first eight seasons (1879-1886) for the Chicago White Stockings, the team that would become today’s…wait for it…Chicago Cubs (yes, seriously). In 1880, Gore won his only batting title, hitting .360, with league-leading on-base (.399) and slugging (.463) percentages, too.

According to Wikipedia, his last two White Stockings teams won the National League pennant, then faced the St. Louis Brown Stockings, champions of the American Association, in what then passed for a World Series. The clubs tied in 1885 and St. Louis won outright in 1886; this was the foundation of today’s Cubs-Cardinals rivalry.

Gore once stole seven bases in a single game. As near as I can tell, that record has never been broken. His 1,327 career runs rank him just outside of the top 100 all-time.

Gore’s nickname, “Piano Legs”, came from his massive calf muscles, a trait he shares with my brother John. In The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract, Bill James named George Gore as having the best outfield arm of the 1880s. Gore finished with a career .301 average (just above Juan Pierre) and .386 on-base percentage (a little better than Ichiro). Told ya he could play.

More information about Gore can be found on Wikipedia, Baseball-Reference.com, and Bleed Cubbie Blue.

(If my timing confuses anyone, my nephew George was born today to John and his wife Kristina. Congratulations!)