Jack’s Blog

As Derek Jeter squared to bunt, the pitch came inside, right at his fists.  The ball ricocheted out toward the playing field as Jeter pulled back, grimacing in pain.  He held his left wrist and asked for the Yankees’ trainer to come out and check on the severity of his injury.  Except instant replay showed (and the audio confirmed) the ball hit the butt end of the bat, never touching Jeter.

To the naked eye, the play initially had fans holding their breath, as it looked as though the, arguably, most valuable and respected player in MLB might be forced to miss time down the stretch of a crucial pennant race due to a pitcher (intentionally?) throwing too close.  After viewing the replay, it was obvious Jeter had just pulled off an acting job worthy of a nomination for leading actor in a reality series.

The question being tossed around on talk radio, in offices and barbershops is “gamesmanship or cheating/”  The majority opinion, as far as I’ve heard, is “it’s baseball; whatever a player can do to help his team win, outside of something illegal (seems like we’ll never be able to get away from the steroids issue) is OK.”  Even Tim Kirkjian chimed in, somewhat embarrassingly, with his take, saying Jeter’s move was nothing short of brilliant.

One thought: is the fact that the player involved is Derek Jeter influence how people feel about perpetuating this fraud?  If it were, say, Nyjer Morgan or Manny Ramirez, or stretching the imagination a little more, Barry Bonds or Pete Rose, would the reactions be the same? 

If any sport would condone a deceitful act like this one Jeter successfully pulled off, it would be baseball, steeped in traditions such as hit the opponent’s best player if their pitcher hit yours, stealing opponent’s signs and, most recently, refusal to expand video play - even though other major sports do because they understand that modern technology can help determine which team truly deserved to win.

My feeling about what Derek Jeter did?  Sweet move.  Some (obviously clever) guy named Michael Iapoce said:

“Reputation is character minus what you’ve been caught doing.”

Those who interview Kobe Bryant find him as tough a cover as those who guard him.  Many come away feeling humiliated, much as the guys trying to defend him feel after the game.  While it’s his job to destroy those checking him, why should he display the same attitude toward those who are simply writing about him?  Because they ask irrelevant and asinine (to him) questions, that’s why!

When one scribe posed to Bryant a question about how the Lakers could possibly come back from such a devastating Game 5 loss to the Celtics, the result of which put them in a 3-2 hole, Kobe said, “What’s the big deal?  We go home, put on our boots and go to work.”  It was reported that Kobe’s response upset the media member who asked it because he obviously thought it was a highly insightful question.  While it may seem like a perfectly normal question to ask, the guy should have considered to whom he was directing it.  Plus, he probably felt as though Kobe was “showing him up,” the same phrase that referees use when they T guys up (see 5/27/10 blog).

Plain and simple, Kobe Bryant is different than the rest of us.  Not just his skill, but his approach to competition, his ability to focus, his getting his body in peak physical condition (do you call your workouts, “blackouts” like Kobe calls his and is someone begging you to leave the gym because you’re pushing yourself too hard)?  Basically, his will to win. 

“Kobe, does it mean anymore to beat the Celtics than it does another team?”  He claims, at the time, no.  But after beating the Celtics in Game 7, he admits he was lying to “you guys.”  His guard is down now - because he’s accomplished what he set out to do.  Competition.  Focus.  Will to win.  Yet, his answer to that identical question the same time next year (probably asked by that same media member - those guys have loooooong memories) will be just what it was this year.  It’s how he’s wired.  Does he want to be that way?  It doesn’t matter - he just is.  Just like you and I are wired however we are. 

Think about how you’ll occasionally play a great tennis match on a Sunday at the club, but still lose.  You shake your opponent’s hand, like any good sport would do.  Deep down, you actually feel pretty good about the way you played.  You gave it your all (wrong, you can always give more), but you just came up a little short.  Nothing to be ashamed of.

Kobe Bryant never feels this way.  Neither did Michael Jordan.  Or Larry Bird.  Or Jack Tatum.  Or Pete Rose.  Or John McEnroe.  Or George Allen.  This list goes on and, as it shows, that attitude might not always be healthy.  These guys are not like the rest of us.  Something inside drives them - oftentimes to the point of personal destruction.  Maybe to the point of ignoring their family.  They can’t change - just like you and me.  All of us can try but, as our current society’s most favorite cliche goes, “we are what we are.” 

1. God  

2. Family

3. Winning

That is the credo many in the sports world preach, mainly because it’s blasphemous, unhealthy or just plain wrong to think of living life in any other order.  Yet, to these people, who, once again, didn’t ask to be put together this way, their life follows only one path:

1. Winning

2. Winning

3. Winning

In many ways, their singlemindedness of purpose is admirable.  For those of us who will compete like hell - until we reach that point where, when we taste defeat, can justify it saying that being too competitive puts us in danger of losing the balance in our lives.  In may ways, that’s the best point of view; in other ways, it’s a cop out. 

Sure, these supreme competitors still manage to carry on with life if they don’t win (although most have a real tough time ever getting over it) , as another member of that list, Vince Lombardi, said (the quote having no meaning without the last word):

“I firmly believe that any man’s finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious.”

In the 9/7/09 issue of ESPN Magazine, there is a list of the NCAA’s top 10 revenue producing institutions.  Texas was at #1, hauling in $120,288,370, Ohio State next at $117,953,712, all the way down to another OSU, Oklahoma State, which brought in $88,554,438 (allegedly half of that total coming from T. Boone Pickens).  The source for this list is the Sports Business Journal and the subtitle is “Yet still not enough to pay the players,” proving what we knew all along: one of the easiest things to do in life is spend someone else’s money.  Let’s take a look at the logistics of paying college players.

1) I wonder what the revenue of the 100th school on that list was?  And in Division I basketball, there are nearly 350 colleges “competing.”  March Madness is still the number one watched intercollegiate sporting event, as far as total viewers. 

2) This list was just that, a list of ten schools and their revenue.  Not even an article, so it’s not like we could dissect it, but, as with our own personal budgets, expenses play a major role in deciding to spend even a little more, and these expense numbers for the universities aren’t factored into what certainly does seem to be exorbitant income figures.

3) If players, i.e. student-athletes were to be paid (over and above their scholarship money), the field of colleges would definitely dwindle.  To, maybe, 100.  Or even 50.  Possibly, this is what the country truly desires.  The top 50-100 schools battling it out on the gridiron throughout an entire season - one mega-conference, . . . culminating, naturally, with a playoff!

4) Obviously, if student-athletes were going to be paid, it certainly wouldn’t be feasible to pay all of them (not even Texas could afford to do that).  So, a line would have to be drawn somewhere.  Sort of like a guest list at an exclusive party - who makes the cut, and who doesn’t?  First decision: both men and women?  Since football brings in the vast majority of the revenue, it only makes sense that football players get paid (which is, for all intents and purposes, what this debate is all about anyway).  It could be argued that is the fairest way.  Very sound, logical reasoning.  However, where it falls a little short is on the legal side.

Say, though, that this was the case, i.e. that all, as a close friend of mine calls the female zealots, the “Femi-Nazis” were drugged by his version of their male counterparts, the “Helmet-Heads” and fell unconscious - only until the first checks were issued.  Now the Neanderthal-thinking HH’s could claim a precedence had been set.  Doesn’t make much sense, but let’s say the trial was held in California, where not only does God have no place in the classroom, but sense has no place in the courtroom.  The number one virtue a person going to trial needs in this proud, newly bankrupt state is . . . a better lawyer than the opponent.

So now the schools are paying the football players.  But this is limited to only those institutions whose programs are money makers, not money drainers (on the overall budget).  After all, the student-athletes at the colleges that don’t make the cut ought to be grateful they are getting their room, board, books tuition and fees paid for - with a little travel meal money thrown in.  Uh oh, if one university is paying its guys but another institution (possibly from the same conference) isn’t, how could any prospect - and his parents - even consider the lesser (in terms of straight green) college?  True, the well-to-do family could opt for any school of their choice (keep in mind, the kid’s still going to school for free, i.e. on scholarship), but in my experiences in recruiting, how much, e.g. scholarship school vs. Ivy League, junior gets becomes a matter of ego.  This would only widen the gap between the haves and the have-nots.   

Moving along, do subs get the same pay that starters do?  How about starters vs. superstars?  Any book store manager can tell you the hottest selling item and, I’m sure it will not shock you that the returning Heisman Trophy winner’s jersey brings in far more than the school’s all-time leading rusher (even though the running back returned to good ol’ State U, instead of going pro, claiming sheer loyalty - plus the fact the NFL scouts felt his 40 time was too slow, thus dropping him to a second day draft pick).  Everyone else on the squad falls in line after those two (with the possible exception of the good, but not great DB whose father was an All-American alum twenty years ago, during the “Glory Years”).

In other words, pay those who bring in the most cash more than the guys who aren’t so popular.  Wait, we already have that system.  It’s called professional athletics.

If you want to read a microcosm of this theory, get the 8/31/09 edition of SI, which has an excerpted story from Joe Posnanski’s new book, The Machine: A Hot Team, a Legendary Season, and a Heart-stopping World Series - The Story of the 1975 Cincinnati Reds.  In it, manager Sparky Anderson’s speech prior to training camp went as follows (paraphrased): “There are two kinds of players on this team - the four superstars (Bench, Rose, Morgan and Perez) and the rest of you guys.  The superstars get special treatment, play by their own rules.”  Then he said, speaking about the remainder of the team, exactly what a pay (football players)-to-play system in college would make athletes who were not getting paid feel like:

“The rest of you are turds.”       Â

First of all, I need to apologize to anyone who went to this site on Saturday & Sunday (yesterday) because I don’t blog when I go out of town.  However, on the post prior to my leaving, I try to make sure I let readers know that there will be nothing new here until I get back - so you don’t have waste time checking in and finding it out for yourself, which is an excuse - and, if you’ve read other blogs I’ve written, excuses aren’t allowed.  The main reason for my forgetfullness was that I wasn’t as organized as I should have been.

Sometimes, though, being organized doesn’t guarantee successful outcomes.  This past weekend will serve as exhibit number one.  Our older son, Andy, is a sophomore at UC-Irvine.  When he was in high school, seemingly every one of his buddies wanted to drive trucks.  Not 18-wheelers, the kind people drive to grind out a living, but pick ups, be they two-seaters, club cabs, extended cabs - almost anything with a bed for storage.

How the times change!  None, except for Andy-Boy, have those “fad” items now and he, too, is ready for a change.  The deal my wife and I gave him is you can get whatever you want - as long as it doesn’t exceed what you get for the ‘03 black, single cab Chevy Silverado - a mere 55K on the odometer (with all the “fixin’s” - wheels, rims, bedliner and other things with names I don’t know but that nevertheless make it noisier and sleeker-looking than someone else’s ‘03 black, single cab Chevy Silverado).

Since our younger son, Alex, was playing in a basketball tournament in Long Beach, Andy was going to come up in his truck and have one of his SAE frat bro’s follow him so he’d have a ride back to UC-I.  Actually, several of the brothers wanted to come up because they’ve been hearing of Alex’s exploits on the hardwood (a 6′2″ freshman, he started on the Buchanan HS varsity and averaged nearly 14 ppg).  What compounded the problem was that my wife, Jane, as much as she wanted to see Alex play (but even more so, wanting to be with her number one son who we don’t get to see that often due to his being four hours away - and with SoCal traffic, the four hours is only a beginning estimate), had so much to do at home, she decided to stay in Fresno. 

This meant Alex and I needed a one-way ride with somebody.  To the rescue, as they always are, came the Johnsons, Denise and CJ, parents of team member, Denzel, and also, of two older sons, each of whom Andy played with at Clovis West HS.  Denise and CJ are as fine a set of parents - or simply people (genuine would be the best descriptive word for them), anyone will ever find.  They’ll take care of their boys, but other folks’ children as well.  Their generosity knows no limits, even though they are struggling through the same tough times each of the rest of us are.  An example: when I went to give CJ gas money, he refused it.  I’d hear nothing of that, since he bailed us out and had to force it on him.  On Sunday morning, knowing Alex was hurting and I was still without a means of transportation, he knocked on our door and showed up with breakfast for both of us.  Everyone should be so blessed as to know people like Denise and CJ.   

Well, the first game was scheduled for 9:00 am on Saturday morning (a time no college freshman is interested in on the weekend).  And, since it was a tournament format (as opposed to pool play), when the team played next depended on how they did in their previous game.  When our team, Organized Chaos, won easily in their first game, a check of the brackets showed their next game wasn’t until 4:00 pm.  This caused a dilemma because Andy’s part-time job at Gina’s Pizza had him working at 5:00 that night.  Since it was a 30-40 minute drive from Irvine, the 4:00 game became an impossibility.  No problem.  He’d planned on coming to Sunday’s contests anyway so he wasn’t going to give up his truck until then.

The 4:00 game was against Team Ariza, basically, the players from Westchester (L.A.) HS, sponsored by one of their very own who made good - real good - in his post-scholastic line of work, the NBA.  Yup, the team was sponsored (outfitted, entry fees paid for, as well as whatever else the total price tag was for an AAU team) by the Lakers’ Trevor Ariza.  Two other NBA players (that I know of, there may be hundreds) who do the same are Lamar Odom and Rafer Alston.  An aside: Rafer is someone I’m partial to since he was at Fresno State when I was there and he’s a great example of a young man who grew up and learned how to be responsible - occasionally, by not being responsible.  He might not be a finished project even yet (how many of us are) but, for all those who are critical of Rafer, please keep in mind that he has positively influenced more young kids that all his critics combined because, not only does he pay the entire freight, he coaches them too!  I’ve seen him in action and he’s into every move - encouraging, and when necessary, getting onto the players who make the inexcusable, e.g. lack of hustle, plays.

Back to the game, one which would prove to begin as one of the most promising, then turn into the shortest of Alex’s brief career to date.  He opened the game by nailing a three-pointer from the corner to put OC up, 3-0.  Team Ariza came down, and although my memory’s hazy, I believe Alex got a steal.  The guys from Central Cali then missed a short jumper, which Alex rebounded and passed to his friend and teammate, Denzel, who got fouled taking it strong to the basket.  On the next trip, a shot went up and Alex came down on the side of his ankle (he can’t remember if he landed on someone else’s foot or just the floor), but he heard something pop.

He hobbled off the floor, headed to the tournament trainer (a young lady, certified athletic trainer who was terrific) to find out what someone in the know regarding athletic injuries had to say.  She did a thorough examination, and after poking and prodding, came up with the diagnosis - a severe high ankle sprain.  I spent thirty years in intercollegiate athletics, including taking a Care & Prevention of Athletic Injuries course in graduate school.  I knew Mr. Alex’s playing days were going to be put on hold for at least 4-6 weeks. 

Now, I had to call Andy & tell him not to have a caravan come up from Irvine because Alex was out of action.  If he could get one of his SAE’ers to follow, the four of us would go to lunch, then he & his other frat rat would head south and his (blood) brother and I would make the four-hour trek home.

Our search for a nice place to have lunch took us to an inviting looking joint called the Gaffney Street Diner in San Pedro.  We passed the place, turned right at the corner and pulled into a fenced in parking lot.  The lot was directly behind a building housing two businesses, although one was shut down, a “FOR RENT” sign in the window.  The business next to it was a bait and tackle shop.  Next to that was our eatery.  As soon as I walked in, I asked a lady - who looked like, if she wasn’t in charge, she was a veteran of the Gaffney, and could answer my question.  “Are we allowed to park in the lot behind the bait store?”

“Oh, certainly, we allow their customers in our lot and they allow ours to park in theirs.”  Good enough.  “So, what, on the menu, looks good today?”

We ate, chatted it up - about everything - academics (and how much harder college was than high school), Alex’s basketball (he’s been invited to the NIKE Jamboree in St. Louis in June for the top 100 freshman and sophomores) and their intramurals (softball’s in now; this, after winning for the first time ever, in the history of SAE, the basketball championship), to living arrangements for next year and, somehow, even girls made their way into the conversation.  By now, it was nearly 3:30 and time to leave (Andy had to go to work at 5:00 again and we were facing a four (minimum) drive back - in a truck with no backseat - and Alex supposed to having his foot elevated.

I paid the check, even gave a brochure and business card for C.U.T.E.* Baby Gifts since one of the waitresses mentioned one of her colleagues was pregnant.  It looked like things might be looking up when Andy, ahead of us because of how slowly Alex was forced to hobble, came back and said, “You’re not going to believe this, but we’re locked in the parking lot!” 

Apparently, the bait & tacle shop owner left (the sign said they closed at 3:00 on Sundays) and when he did, he just locked the gate with a padlock when he left.  Not good.  I told them to stay and I went back to the diner, where I explained the situation.  The owner of the diner was beside herself.  “We have a reciprocal agreement.  The very least the owner next door could have done was walk into the diner and asked if anyone in there had vehicles parked there because he was leaving and locking up.”

Her idea was to cut the lock.  Since my idea was to get home, I had no problem with anything that would get us out of that parking lot.  I looked and there was no phone number listed on the bait store, only their hours.  The only number was for their security company to the store, so I called that, but on Sunday no one answered and there was no voice mail message.  Andy’s friend, Stratton, said he thought he might have some cutters in his car, so he went down to the end where it was an easy hop over the fence, but he didn’t have them.  While the diner people (who genuinely shared in our struggle) went to get their lock cutter, I called 911.

A few rings before I heard something I’d never heard before, “You’ve reached the emergency 911 line.  All of our operators are busy right now, so please stay on the line and your call will be answered by the next available operator.”

Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?  Hold for the next operator - on a 911 call?!!?!!?  I held, and every so often, I’d get the same pre-recorded message.  After a while, I hung up and tried again.  Same result.  Meanwhile, the lock cutters the diner had were only garden trimmers - the kind you’d use for nothing much stronger than a thin branch.

Back to square one.  I tried 911 for a third time.  Evidently, when you call 911, your number pops up on a screen.  So, when my cell phone number popped up for the third time, I finally got someone to answer.  I explained this wasn’t the typical 911 call and proceeded to tell about our mishap.  There was noise as the guys who was sweeping the floor at the diner came out with a pair of pliers, as Stratton noticed we could remove the bolts on the door, roll it back, get through and “re-lock” the door.  Due to the noise, I thought the operator I was speaking with said, “This is a national 911, let me put you through to a local 911.”  I mentioned I had tried that, to no avail.  She simply said, “Someone will answer this time.”  I guess it’s good to know people in high places.

After explaining once again all that had transpired, she said to me, “It sounds like a good story, but I don’t have the power to do what you need, let me put you in touch with the San Pedro police.  Wonderful!  Finally, we’re getting somewhere.  She explains the story to the officer (some type of protocol), then turns it over to me.

I’m a strong proponent of law enforcement.  Without it, even with the mistakes they occasionally make (once again, don’t we all), it would be a rather barbaric society without them.  The oficer says to me: “What can you add to this story?”

First I tell him that after we parked, I asked the people at the diner if it would be OK to park there.  The officer broke in, “Was that posted by the parking lot?”  I told him it would be foolish to have it posted; it was just an agreement between two establishments, trying to help one another out - and, I mentioned, the people at the diner told me of their reciprocal agreement with their neighbor - to the point that the diner owner advised me to cut the lock off.  I said if we did anything like that. I’d leave a note, there was a slot in the bait shop for mail, explaining what had been done and I wanted to let them know it wasn’t an act of vandalism, . . . “Yes, it would certainly be vandalism.  The people at the diner have no legal right to tell you to cut off the lock to someone else’s property!”

I simply said to the officer, somewhat facetiously, “We’re stuck here.  Do you expect me to get a room at a hotel and wait until tomorrow morning when the guy opens up?  I don’t even know if there is a hotel here.”

Incredibly enough, he replied, “There’s a hotel one block from you.  Just walk to the end of the street and you’ll see a Holiday Inn.”  Now, I faced a crossroads.  25 years ago, I probably would have made a wise crack and ended up making the situation worse.  But - and maybe it’s because I am constantly telling the kids in my math classes, that what math is really good for, use logical thinking.  “Math is problems; life is problems,” is one of my favorite lines.

So, I tried a different tactic.  “Officer, I wasn’t serious when I said that about waiting 17 hours and spending the night at an HI, when I’m a teacher in Fresno and have to get there tonight so I can be in school on time tomorrow morning.  The two guys are UC-I students and they have class.  In addition, my older son has to be at work in about an hour and my younger son is a high school student who has to attend school tomorrow.  You seem to be intent on showing me how much power you wield over me and that you’re just interested in winning the argument.  All I want to do is to see what’s the most reasonable thing we can do so that we can resolve this problem and no one is out money or embarrassed in any way.  You are the law.  I have no problem with that and, as a mater of fact, I admire what you do.  You have the ultimate power over me.  This is also an issue I have no debate with.

“While we’ve been talking, these guys have used the pliers to remove the bolts, slid the door open and are about to drive the vehicles out.  After they do, they will put the bolts back together.  Therefore, as it turned out, had I not called you, no one would have been the wiser, but I want to set an example for my sons that when you do something like this, take responsibility (as I’d hope the bait shop would do, by saying it would have been a thoughtful gesture to walk into the diner and ask anyone if their cars were parked in that back lot), and report it, admit it, leave a note with all the contact information on it.

Whne he heard everything was as it had been, he said, “I have no problem with what you did.  Make sure you contact him tomorrow.”

Things don’t have to be as hard as many of us make them.  It’s not always necessary to win the argument, as it is to get along and look out for each other - within the law.  Teddy Roosevelt hit it on the head:

“The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is  knowing how  to get along with people.”

Curt Schilling is shutting down his baseball career for the remainder of this season and, in his words, may have “thrown my last pitch forever.”  Some time ago, the Red Sox medical director advised a course of rehabilitation for Schilling who had injured his shoulder.  He then went to another doctor, Craig Morgan, for a second opinion.  Dr. Morgan advised Schilling to undergo surgery, but he declined and went with the rehab plan.

After making his announcement that his season is done and his career might be finished as well, a reporter asked Schilling the question, “Does this mean Dr. Morgan was right?”  He paused, before saying, “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

This could very well be a telling remark.  Many times in his past, Curt Schilling has been involved in verbal battles with teammates, other colleagues and media members.  A very close friend of mine (who happens to be a member of the media of one of Schilling’s career stops) told me that Schilling could be a great interview for the national guys, but an arrogant ass with the “locals.”  When your career has taken you from Baltimore to Houston to Philadelphia to Arizona to Boston, there’s a good chance you’ve antagonized a lot of “locals” along the way.

At the end of every great player’s career, there’s always the question of will he or won’t he be elected to the Hall-of-Fame?  Schilling’s credentials are sensational (to his supporters), yet can be argued as good, but not good enough (by his detractors, i.e. those he upset along the way to a fabulous career).  On the plus side, he’s as good a money player, i.e. “clutch in the post-season” as even a Reggie Jackson (and possibly as obnoxious - according to other media people I know).  A vital member of three World Championship teams with a post-season record of 11-2, a World Series record of 4-1, and a 2.23 ERA all have to work in his favor.  Many people, when they think of Curt Schilling’s post-season performances, will use the words “heart” and “ankle” on multiple occasions. 

Regular season statistics are split when it come to “worthiness” of HOF voting.  On the plus side is certainly the post-season performances as well as his 3,116 strikeouts, six All-Star appearances, three-300 “K” years and as many 20-win seasons.  Although it’s not supposed to factor into the equation, his charity work on behalf of finding a cure for ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease) will be difficult to disregard.

It’s hard to say “only 216 wins” can be held against him, but there are players who are not in the HOF with better (as far as numbers go) credentials.  The biggest reason as to whether Schilling gets his ticket to Cooperstown punched will be his relationships (or lack of) with people.  Why should this be such a determining factor?  Because players get voted in and it’s people who vote.  The “human element” always matters.

If I had a vote, Curt Schilling would get a “Yea” from me, but I don’t know him, never met him.  All I’d go on is what I saw him accomplish on the field and to me, that should be the overriding ingredient for membership into any Hall-of-Fame.  Which is why I think it’s absurd there even exists such a place without Pete Rose in it.

Maybe it ultimately comes down to:

“You reap what you sow.”Â