Reaching Out

"I wonder what it's like to be the rainmaker
I wonder what it's like to know that I make the rain"
--Real World, Matchbox 20

I hope that someday, when I've "arrived" in the business and have become the executive producer of a show (the "rainmaker," if you will), I'll be able to show the same giving spirit to aspiring producers that I've been shown by those far more accomplished in this business. I continue to be amazed by the willingness of others to reach out and teach me, no matter their perceived place on the ladder.
This pretty much started with Bill Plaschke, whose encouraging e-mails and lunch meetings were totally unexpected and incredibly inspiring as I started to undertake my first real sportswriting job. Dallas Raines introduced me to everyone at KABC News (the dip-packing Rob Fukuzaki and Jeanie Zelasko's husband Curt Sandoval included) and tried his darndest to get me a job over there, eventually settling for an internship that I never took. Jeff Michael did the same at KTTV, and the sports producer let me hang out there for a day and see everything they do; when he left and a guy got promoted, Jeff tried to get me a job there as well.
Anyways, now that I've been here at Best Damn for a while, I've certainly been able to learn from some amazing people on staff (Chris Rose, a consummate professional, and a few of my superiors), and now the latest: Adrian Wojnarowski, the author of the amazing St. Anthony book I lauded yesterday, is a frequent contributor to ESPN.com in addition to his book authorship and regular gig with The Record (a New Jersey newspaper). I e-mailed him upon my completion of the book and told him how much I enjoyed it, and he actually called me shortly after receiving the e-mail (my office number is signed on the bottom of my work e-mails) last Friday. I was out of the office, so we've gone back and forth a few times now (he's flying to St. Louis today, so he's calling me tomorrow morning), but he's already mentioned a few writing things and said he hopes to explain more about the book-writing process (I'm in the very early stages of a few ideas for doing just that) in an actual conversation.
Now I know it's not like these guys are LeBron James and Kobe Bryant or something like that, but in their field, I think Plaschke and Wojnarowski are two of the best I've ever read (I put John Feinstein ahead of both; after that, not too many on the list), and they've both been amazingly gracious to somebody who is in no position to even do them any favors. Maybe I shouldn't be shocked by an individual acting unselfishly, but the world and our culture sort of lend themselves to a more cynical view of people (and the "industry" is the same way: always wondering what someone has to gain when they give you something or help out in some way).
It would be nice if we lived in a world where people did stuff like this all the time: the older, more experienced and accomplished individuals would raise up others to be like them, and even to exceed their accomplishments. Theoretically, that's the value of having a guy like John Salley on your team if you're the 2000 Lakers or David Wells on your staff if you're the 2004 Padres. Not all of those seasoned veterans are so generous (I don't even know if Salley or Wells were, but this is hypothetical anyway), but when it happens, the young guys benefit immensely. Kobe said he learned more from Byron Scott his rookie year than he could have learned from any coach (so maybe it would have been better to learn from Magic--leading a championship team rather than being a big part of one, but we can't be too picky here).
As it is, I think these sorts of things are indeed rare, and I consider myself privileged beyond belief to have people of this caliber helping me along the way. I had the opportunity to interview a college student two weeks ago for a summer internship and started to think about how I might be able to give this guy some hands-on experience, teach him at least some of the stuff I've been able to learn here, if he gets hired. Whether it's this summer or in the distant future, I can only hope I'll be able to reciprocate someday.
Line of the day: Standard Stephon Marbury, with three numbers that matter. 45 points, 10 assists and one big loss to the Lakers (hallelujah, the streak is over). This guy has had a lot more time to run a team and try to win than Kobe has, and he continues to fail in that area. Great numbers, nothing to show for it.
Rumors abound regarding the Niners and their possible trade of the number one overall pick in next month's draft, reportedly to the Chargers for Philip Rivers. I doubt the legitimacy of said rumor, but I don't know that I'd be able to control my enthusiasm if it indeed takes place. Three number one picks, including the top overall selection? Wow. I need to wait until it happens to get really excited, but we could add Braylon Edwards (Brees' top target for the next ten years), a pass-rusher and a lineman or a DB, all in the first round. Wow.

Wait a Minute

"Don’t you know things can change
Things’ll go your way
If you hold on for one more day"
--Hold On, Wilson Phillips

A great scene in a somewhat underrated movie, "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle," has the two title characters singing along to this early-90's classic in the car, a la Spade and Farley in "Tommy Boy" (and in "Black Sheep"). In this case, however, I'm referring to an attitude of patience, one that right now absolutely needs to pervade Laker fans, a group that is as unaccustomed to waiting for success as anything Eminem produces. The rant that is about to occur was inspired by Chad Ford's column yesterday discussing the possibility of the Lakers trading Kobe...
Now I've been as critical of Kobe as anyone this season, acknowledging his unhealthy penchant for needing the ball at all times and an inability to make his teammates better. Here's what we need to keep in mind: Kobe came into the league with Shaq already in place, and didn't need to be the guy until this year. He experienced winning at too young an age, I think, to truly appreciate the sacrifice and hard work necessary to get there. Michael spent several years losing to Boston and Detroit before finally breaking through and getting his, and spent four years developing the core (Horace and Scottie) that would help him get there. If Caron and Lamar are indeed going to be that core, it's going to take more time than one year for them to jell and to become a team that's capable of winning anything. Kobe needs more than one year to figure out how to lead--it's not something you can figure out that quickly, as Michael saw in the first six years of his career (33 ppg, 0 rings). I have lowered Kobe on the list of players in the league this season, as we've seen he needs to do things very differently without Shaq, but there's no doubt he's still one of the top three or four. Dwyane Wade gets the luxury of learning how to win from Shaq as well, but do you think the Heat will continue to be the Eastern Conference's best when Shaq retires (can't be too far away)? No way.
It's therefore a necessary thing to exercise patience--as hard as that may be, following a period of three titles and four Finals appearances in five years. There's no way Kobe would honestly rather shoot all the time and lose than be the leader of a championship team, so I'm more than willing to give him a few years to make that happen. After all, I'm a Laker fan, and it wasn't that long ago (was it?) that Sedale and Elden were leading a team that missed the playoffs (Nick Van Smack, Vlade, etc.). So let's wait it out...
We need a line of the night real quick: Shaun Livingston didn't play, so we'll go with another Shawn--Marion. He continues to be one of the most remarkable players in the league, averaging more than 11 rebounds a game at only 6-foot-7. He had 30 points, 13 rebounds and 3 assists (no turnovers) last night, helping the Suns win another one, 123-114 over the streaking Nuggets. Steve Nash makes them go, Amare Stoudemire has stepped up big time, Q-Rich can bomb with the best of them, but Marion is the glue for this team.
Missed a couple days between blogs, so I'll try to recap what's been missed:
Friday was a day off (sort of), so I went in for a couple hours, watched first-round tournament games to find good stuff (had to watch the UCLA-Texas Tech game first; it was cathartic), then drove up to LC for a Good Friday service at La Crescenta Pres. Followed that up with some good reading (a summary of recent books is in order) and a visit to Darren's birthday party, which, despite its Lizzie McGuire theme, was definitely a good time. Spent most of the time with the Dude and the cousin (Brian), and headed home fairly late with a bag full of candy for the handful of Beiruters still at the house. Watched basketball Saturday and Sunday, pretty much the best two-day run in my recollection of the tournament, and had a lovely Easter brunch on Sunday at Mom's.
One strange element that permeated the family gathering Sunday was the impending lockup of Uncle Johnny (failure to pay income taxes for quite some time), a reality that seems to have been with us, at least on some level, for about a year. I've known people who have gone to prison (the incredible jolting reality of Ben Lee's saga), but it's odd to have someone in the family, and someone with whom we just dined, to be heading that way. Does it put a stigma on the entire family? Is it a black mark nobody wants to talk about? I think people have been pretty conversational to this point, and it was even brought up a little bit at the end of the mealtime conversation (stuck around for more of that than usual, but Kentucky-Michigan State and double overtime presented too strong of a draw), which was in some ways a pleasant surprise. The matriarch of the Zentmyer clan is not an ideal role model when it comes to bringing up difficult issues, censoring oneself and/or exercising tact of any kind, so it's a welcome addition to family time when something can be brought up, discussed at any length and not overly criticized. no matter what happens to him, we can learn from all this crap, no doubt.
Recent reads:
"Ted Williams," Leigh Montville: Amazing biography of an amazing man, finished a couple months ago and well worth the effort.
"Let Me Tell You a Story," John Feinstein: A great semi-biography of Red Auerbach, centered around his weekly lunch meetings with a group of friends at a Chinese restaurant in D.C. and the stories he tells therein. Finished it about three weeks ago, read it pretty quick.
"The Miracle of St. Anthony," Adrian Wojnarowski: Amazing book, best I've read in a long, long time. I finished it in one sitting (with maybe two breaks for food), and it was an incredible draw. Going through the 2003-04 season with Bob Hurley (Bobby's dad--Suss, you'll see the guy you make fun of in a whole new light if you read this book) and his St. Anthony Friars, you get to know an entire ensemble of players, coaches and administrators--even parents--as the season plays itself out. I was moved to e-mail the author (he also writes for ESPN.com) and he actually called me on Friday (my work number is attached to my work e-mails) to thank me for the compliments, kinda cool. It's about way more than just basketball, extending to a pattern of thought that's totally foreign to us La Canada-born individuals: the need to get out of your hometown and make something better for yourself. All of these kids have basketball as that opportunity to do so, and Hurley does an amazing job of delivering his kids to that higher level. I strongly, strongly recommend this book.
"'Cane Mutiny," Bruce Feldman: I was excited to follow up St. Anthony with an inside look at the Miami (Fla.) football program, its rise in the 80's and its extended dominance through the 90's and the 00's. There were a few good anecdotes (and it's always fun reading about that ridiculous 2001 team), but it really didn't get under the surface as much as I would have liked. Maybe it's because I read it so quickly on the heels of the St. Anthony book, where character development was at a premium. There wasn't enough time to get to know anyone, because they were all gone so quickly: Howard Schnellenberger, Jimmy Johnson, Butch Davis and all the players, never discussed much longer than a chapter or two. I guess it's hard to encompass all of Miami football in a few hundred pages, but I wasn't overly impressed.
My next read, I think, is "Beckham," the autobiography, but I'm not totally sold yet. Any book recommendations? I think Side had one a while back by the Moneyball guy, but I don't remember what it was. I'm open to whatever, just waiting for the next Dan Brown novel (apparently set in D.C. and dealing with the freemasons, nice).

Line It Up

"I can see it in the faces
We got trouble in the streets tonight
And power keeps us in our places
And it doesn’t matter if you’re left or right
You lay it on the line"
--Layin' It On the Line, Jefferson Starship

I remember the Loose Cannons (Chet Forte alongside Steve Hartman, before Philly Billy Werndel and ultra-negative Kobe-lover Mychal Thompson earned the moniker) used to do a "Line of the Day" during the basketball season, honoring what they determined to be the best performance of the previous night in the NBA (they contrasted that with the "Jon Koncack Award," commemorating the absolute worst performance of the night). I've decided to give a late start to my own version of the former award, and with fewer than 18 games left in the regular season schedule, I think games are starting to mean something (especially for the struggling Lake Show).
I'm guessing that in the span of the next few weeks, very few of the award winners will end up with two points, but that's exactly what last night's recipient did. Here are the unimportant portions of his line: 1-4 FG, 2 pts, 4 reb, 1 stl. Here's the important number: 11 assists. Shaun Livingston earned his first career start last night (and we bid a sad farewell to the Rick Brunson era), played 25 minutes and dished out 11 of the Clippers' season-high 34 assists. I think somebody recently predicted several big games for the teenage point guard (oh wait, that was me, in yesterday's blog), and he's already starting to deliver. Obviously the key will be remaining healthy, as he's only played in 16 of a possible 68 games thus far. His pass-first mentality rubs off on the other guys too, as four other guys had four or more dimes, including my favorite Clip, Quinton Ross. Ross had his 19th start and put up a respectable 10 points (5-of-9 from the floor) to go with 3 boards, 4 assists and 2 steals. I'm not giving up on the Lakers yet, but the Clippers are definitely more fun to watch right now.
Just read the little news story on Whitney Houston's latest trip to rehab. Evidently she's back after a year-long absence from the the rehabilitation facility. At the bottom of the story it mentions two little tidbits: Bobby Brown has a history of drug and alcohol arrests, and the couple has a 12-year-old daughter, Bobbi Kristina. If it isn't bad enough that the little girl is named after her father, she also has to deal with the fact that her parents are Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston. That might have been pretty cool if she was alive in the early 90's (like when "The Bodyguard" came out or when Whitney sang at the Super Bowl), but now she has to live in a world where her parents are an absolute joke. Bobby is the epitome of the wife-beater and Whitney is a broken, drugged-out (evidently) woman. I thought the same thing about Barry Bonds' son as he accompanied his crutch-bearing Dad after the impromptu press conference on Tuesday and wondered how he handles being at school when people no doubt disparage his father and talk about the steroids and the girlfriends and all of that. I wouldn't wish that sort of existence on anyone.
Quick Sweet 16 thoughts: Louisville-Washington and Arizona-Oklahoma State could be two of the better games in recent memory, and both go off tonight. Duke-Michigan State is the big one tomorrow, so it's quite nice to have the day off and time to kick back and watch all the games. Texas Tech will win, but will not beat the UW-L'Ville winner. The winner of the 'Zona-Ok St game will beat Illinois. Carolina and Duke will win out and will provide an epic national semifinal (a total of one point separates the two after their two meetings already this year; Timmy Chung had the pleasure of attending both). Let's go with Carolina over Louisville, Roy Williams getting his first title in a close one over Pitino's boys. I don't know, I picked New Mexico to win two games, so I obviously don't have a clue about what's going on in this tourney.
From a Maundy Thursday devotion: "It is truly the greatest feast on earth, to which we are asked to come as we are. No need to dress up, no need to stand out, no need to pretend—simply to believe, knowing that we are sisters and brothers of the one who sits at the head of the table, finding joy in the assurance that we are welcome and that we will be fed."
This goes right along with our discussion at bible study last night, based on the Ephesians passage discussing the fact that we are all one body (of believers) and should therefore be peacemakers, living to build up the body and bring it together. The "table" is the place where that entire body can come, with no walls between us and no pretense. Sets the stage for a "good" day tomorrow and a lovely weekend with family. Blessings.

Getting Jacked?

"Did the dishes, made the bed
Read a book I’ve never read
Any minute you will show
And I’m wondering, where did you go?"
--Where'd You Go, Mighty Mighty Bosstones

I'm fast growing accustomed to the idea of a format change in the "industry," having now gone through two of them on our show in the last three months, but I was still unprepared for the shock of tuning my radio to 93.1 FM the other day and hearing Tone Loc's "Wild Thing." Don't get me wrong: it's a great song, one I hear all the time on 93.5, KDAY (hip hop today and back in the day, if you didn't know), but it's certainly not one I expected to hear on the Arrow. So I listened a little bit more. John Mayer? This is weird. Then the station ID comes up: "Jack, 93.1 FM." What? Where did the trusty arrow go? When I reached a computer, I immediately headed over to Google News, which informed me that a huge operating loss last year combined with the rise of satellite radio gave way to a need for change. There aren't even any DJ's on the station yet, just music and the station ID voiceover guy. Poor Uncle Joe Benson--where's that guy gonna go? Just sort of a sad state of affairs, I guess. As far as I know, Arrow's been around since at least high school (note: I re-read the article, and it said Arrow was around for 11 years), and it's always been the source for good classic rock (better than KLOS for sure), but alas, it is no more.
Mike and Mike (who I can't listen to for more than two minutes at a time, unless Peter Gammons or John Clayton or somebody informative is on) hit the whole Dean Smith/Pat Summitt thing this morning, and Greenberg (who sucks) actually agreed with what I was saying. Good for him (he still sucks--far too arrogant). His analogy was close: if Bill Laimbeer keeps coaching in the WNBA (for the uninformed, his Detroit Shock won the title last year) and wins 10 championships, people aren't going to say he's tied Red Auerbach and Phil Jackson, right? Just let her have her record and be done with it. I am now done with it too, I promise.
The erstwhile female (see 2/17's blog) called last night, ending about six weeks of confusing silence. Nice to get an apology, nice to get closure, and certainly not as exciting to hear her voice as it once was. Since I'm the only one who can really judge, I'd have to give myself high marks for standing up for myself and not letting her off the hook. I don't know that I'd have been able to do that (make someone else--rightfully--take the blame) even a year ago, so I'm at least a little bit proud of some demonstrated progress in that field. I was terse but not mean, aloof but not totally disinterested, and it didn't require any acting at all. I accepted the apology, asserted (truthfully) that I had somewhere to be, and hung up quite satisfied. The relationship itself could have been better, for sure, but the closure convo went about as well as possible.
I don't think I can come up with three positive words to say about the Lakers right now, stewing in the disgust of a six-game losing streak and a rapidly-growing deficit in the race for the eighth and final playoff seed. Kobe had 43 last night, but his fourth quarter was absolutely abysmal, missing all four treys he attempted and getting no help whatsoever. They went the final seven-plus minutes without a field goal, which (unless you're Duke) makes it kinda tough to win games. Listening to the hyper-critical Joel Meyers and Mychal Thompson makes it even worse--I'm more frustrated with them right now than I am with the team, and that's saying something. After watching the Clipper game the other night (by the way, Shaun Livingston is back and if he doesn't get injured again--that's a big if--there will be some special things happening the rest of the way in Clipperland), I was alerted to the hughe discrepancy between the announcing quality of Ralph Lawler/Michael Smith and any combination of Paul Sunderland/Stu Lantz/Meyers/Thompson. It makes me incredibly grateful for the time we had with Chick, because it's awful right now. Sorry, more anger directed at sports--I promise, there are things I'm excited about too, like the tourney, but I'll get to that tomorrow. Peace.

Venting Briefly

"Compare an apple to an orange like in the dream we seen
As the energy come from the waves at Trussels
And all this hearty fruit has made my muscles grow to what you see"
--Orange Appeal, Alien Ant Farm

Those guys did that "Smooth Criminal" cover, which has to rank as one of the greatest covers of all time (approximately 17 billion spots ahead of Jessica Simpson's calamitous remake of "Take My Breath Away"), and I don't think I've heard from them since. The reference is to comparing things that are incredibly different (I'll briefly mention that this would be another opportunity to literally and figuratively do something: pick up an apple and an orange in the produce section at Ralphs and start comparing), specifically something that has me as upset about a sporting issue as I've ever been.
Let me preface this by saying that I'm not a sexist, not even close. But here's what is getting my goat right now: Pat Summitt's Tennessee Volunteers won an NCAA tournament game on Sunday and earned her career victory No. 879, which is the most a women's college coach has ever won. A WOMEN'S COACH. All the news is referring to the fact that Summitt has tied Dean Smith--yes, Dean Smith, the former North Carolina MEN'S COACH--for the most victories all time. Smith also won 879 games in his illustrious career in Chapel Hill (he should have been awarded another 30-something for the team that Bill Guthridge took to the Final Four the year after Dean's retirement). So every single story I've seen (and that includes like three different links from the front page of ESPN.com yesterday - for example) has talked about her tying and then passing Smith (the Vols play tonight), moving into first place by herself on the all-time wins list. Now I don't want to take anything away from Pat Summitt's career. It's obviously been quite successful. She's won six titles, and even considering the lack of parity in the women's game (I don't care about it enough to really analyze it, but trust me, there's only like four good teams), six national championships is pretty good. But here's the thing: SHE COACHES WOMEN!!!! It's a totally different sport. Come on. She deserves a record: the women's Division I record. Dean Smith has his own record, probably soon to be surpassed by Bob Knight, who, by the way, also coaches men. I seriously can't understand why people insist on putting the two in the same category. In the same Summitt article, there's a line about another coach: "Smith's record was surpassed this year by an NAIA coach. Harry Statham of McKendree College in Illinois finished this season with 896 wins." So if you're going to include women's basketball in this so-called record book of yours, why wouldn't you include other men's divisions? Why not drop down to high school? Tom Hofman's about halfway there, right? It's absurd.
The comparison I made at yesterday morning's meeting was this: If Lisa Leslie sticks around and plays fifteen more years in the WNBA, will she be challenging Kareem's scoring record? Of course not. Why? Because it's a totally different sport, that's why. Is Jennie Finch getting anywhere near Nolan Ryan's strikeout record? Should the Lingerie Bowl MVP be mentioned in the same breath as Tom Brady? (Sorry, that last one might have been a stretch.) If Summitt happened to be the women's coach at North Carolina, they wouldn't even say that she's approaching the school record for wins, because the two programs are separate. She'd have her own record, and comparisons would likely be made between her and Smith (as they are now), but the records would certainly exist separately. I spent too much energy on this yesterday and I'm obviously still worked up about it this morning, but it's worth talking about. Anyone who's ever had to watch women's basketball for any length of time (and yes, that includes those who willingly watched the first ever WNBA game on TV--I'm looking right at you, Side) knows that the men's game differs vastly from the women's, and the two can't even be compared. Pat Summitt should have been honored a long time ago for breaking the women's record, and it should have been left at that. She's got nothing to do with Dean Smith. Okay, I'm done.
Got to finally screen the biographical film for your Father last night, and it was a huge success. After dinner at Grandview Palace Inn (Bill Plaschke's favorite Chinese spot), we were treated to a quasi-theater setting in the youth facility at La Crescenta Presbyterian Church, thanks to their benificent Youth Director, Darren Pollock. Each successive guest that appeared on screen was greeted by surprise and excitement, and the overall experience was tremendous. He was very grateful and quite impressed with the breadth of commenting individuals. Of course, that made for quite a late evening, followed by Outlook editing upon my return home, and a bedtime after midnight, which doesn't make the 5 a.m. wake-up any easier.
Quick update on the show, beginning it's new (old) format yesterday with Chris Rose back in the fold, John Salley still around, and Guest Hosts Willie McGinest and Rex Hudler chipping in. It worked well yesterday and I think it should continue to be a good thing, especially since I'm more prominently involved, which is always nice. After two weeks of very little work, yesterday was a necessary reality check, jarring me back into the familiar daily routine.
On another (closing) note, it's Holy Week, and the return to work makes it a little tougher to be in the right frame of mind. Being at church for Palm Sunday was great, bible study tomorrow night will also be good, and I'm hoping to make it up to our Maundy Thursday service (though this new shooting schedule makes any sort of early departure highly unlikely). I've been reading through some devotions, and here's one that I'm afraid I won't be able to follow so closely: "This week, be deliberate about not turning to the media to fill your time. Try not to watch TV (also a good practice for kids), or listen to the radio in the car. Try to avoid computers (as much as work allows it). Trade newspapers or magazines for the Bible or quiet contemplation. Meditate on Easter and all that was paid on our behalf to make it possible." I can do the whole meditation thing, but the rest of it might be tough. A blessed Holy Week to everybody. Remember the price He paid.

Shearah

"And now I see Ince ready for war
Gazza good as before
Shearer certain to score
And Psycho screaming"
--Three Lions '98, Baddiel & Skinner

I actually have an mp3 of that song, England's 1998 World Cup anthem, which I think makes me rather pathetic, or a soccer fan, or both. This afternoon, as I watch the second set of tournament games wind down (on the multiple television monitors in this room, giving me as many games to watch as possible), it's time for a tribute to my favorite athlete not born on U.S. soil (the only ones ahead of him right now are T-Gwynn, LT--the running back, not the crackhead--and big Antonio Gates; I think Sean Avery, born in Canada, is the only other foreigner anywhere near this list). First of all, if the title and the lyrics weren't sufficient, the object of this blog's affection is one Alan Shearer, the so-called "Angel of the North" (don't worry, that's not my nickname for him, that's actually what they call him up there in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne). The reason I've decided to write today is the impending possibility of some hardware heading Newcastle's way for the first time since 1969, the acquisition of which would provide a fitting send-off for the soon-to-be retired Shearer. Here's the situation: after a 4-0 thrashing of Greek side Olympiakos yesterday, the Magpies are into the UEFA Cup semifinals (with three other weak squads), meaning they've got a great shot at winning that bad boy. The other competition in which they're still alive is the historic FA (Football Association) Cup, in which they battle Man United in Cardiff, Wales in a couple weeks. Both are strong possibilities, and winning either one would be a long-awaited gift for Shearer (hasn't won anything since the Premier League in '94-'95) and the fans of Newcastle.
My devotion to Shearer goes way back, well before this recent run of success (eight straight wins since the hiring of Graeme Souness earlier this year), before the purchase of an authentic, personalized Newcastle jersey (Shearer #9) by my roommate upon his visit to England several years back, and even before the record-setting transfer from Blackburn Rovers in 1996. Yes, the obsession with the goal-scoring feats of A Shearer (definitely thought it was "Andrew" for a time there) began with One-Nil way back in the day. Had a little experience with the first version, but the infatuation really took hold with One-Nil '94, in which Blackburn Rovers was the best team and Shearer was their superstar. Completely off the top of my head, I think I can come up with the whole starting lineup: T Flowers, C Hendry, G Le Saux, H Berg, D Batty, T Sherwood, J Wilcox, S Ripley, M Newell, A Shearer. Dang, that's only 10. M Atkins? P Warhurst? S Pearce? C Sutton? D May? I think that's a pretty good recollection, frankly. If I could accurately quantify the number of hours I spent doing various things during my senior year of high school, watching college hoops would rank quite high and playing basketball (practice, games, sixth period, mentry) would also register quite a bit, but I honestly don't think anything would approach playing One-Nil. The legendary evenings of infecting the entire church computer system (Baldi and Kimbrough most definitely included), the five-hour session the night before I left for Young Life camp (meaning I didn't sleep a single minute before departing), the countless Premiership titles won with those lovely Rovers--I always chose the easier route rather than spending 15 years trying to reach the Prem with Stockport Co or some sad squad ("Hey Dell, is 'myopic' good?"). So yeah, One-Nil definitely established Shearer in my mind, and unfortunately we didn't get to see him in World Cup '94 (England embarassingly failed to qualify), so it wasn't really until Euro '96 and England's magical run to the semifinals (Shearer scored four goals in three group-play matches and then converted both of his penalties in the quarters and semis) that he became more than a character on a computer game. I got to see highlights of those Euro games, read multiple soccer magazines (World Soccer, FourFourTwo, etc.) and got a few more soccer games to boot (pun intended). Always England or Newcastle on FIFA, and even tried to buy Shearer on Major League Soccer Manager (which eventually evolved into World Soccer Manager, in which I could actually be Newcastle again)...yes Side, I would rather have Alan Shearer in my squad than Josh Henderson, I'm sorry.
Once he transferred to Newcastle (end of the summer after the European Championship), they immediately became my favorite team, and I chose to demonstrate my support with the authentic jersey, thanks to my roommate Matt, who went to visit his grandmother in England over Christmas break my junior year. I still wear it proudly, even to work on occasion, in an environment quite unfriendly to soccer. I even had a scarf for a little while, but somebody pilfered that during one of the many functions at our apartment my senior year. Oh well.
Okay yeah, he's great, he's evidently retiring at the end of this season, and it would be awesome to send him out in a blaze of glory (thank you Jon Bon Jovi). I'm even thinking about flying out there for a weekend to see him play in one of the final weekends of his career, late April or early May. Serious consideration right now, but it might end up being too expensive, we'll see.
So no sports yesterday and all sports today (though I would offer that Alan Shearer transcends sport); I think I've reached a good balance here. Probably no time to write tomorrow, so a happy tournament weekend to all. Go Bruins.

Momentous

"I'm in the moment
The one where nothing matters
And everything's alright
I'm seeing things so clearly now
And you're the reason why
I'm in the moment and I'm alive"
--In the Moment, Sister Hazel

Every so often, I experience a moment of enlightenment, when the big picture becomes clear at the expense of the momentary details. It can be a good or a bad thing, depending on the circumstances, but when it comes, it results in a total appreciation of the current reality and an understanding of my place in life. I had two of those yesterday, which is certainly cause for some long-overdue writing (I'll get to the explanation for my prolonged absence shortly)...
Moment number one: Just finished lunch with your father (at a lovely little establishment in Gardena called Hoops Deli, complete with a basketball representing the first "o" of the name), and was driving home around 1 p.m. with nothing to do. I turned from Aviation onto 15th Street, a couple blocks from home, windows down, sun shining (if I owned a convertible, the top would most certainly have been down; or if I still had the Volvo, the sunroof would surely have been open), KZLA blasting (if country music can indeed be "blasted"), sunglasses on (feeling like part of a Don Henley song), and a huge smile came onto my face. A combination of things was becoming apparent to me at that moment: I live in the greatest place on earth--Southern California, and more specifically, Manhattan Beach. The weather (though we've had the rain to deal with over the last few months) is impeccable, sun (almost) always shining, and never really getting too hot. My life is pretty darn carefree, especially in a week like this where I have no real responsibility. Yesterday I had exactly one thing on my to-do list: lunch with YF. I had no obligation to get up any time before 11 (though I obviously did) and had nothing important to do once I got home (though I was surprisingly productive nonetheless), and though this is a rare occurrence, wow is life good. I was also smiling thinking about my family, and how fortunate I am to have four individuals who all care about me so much. Having just come from spending time with one of those individuals, the joy brought to me by my family was very apparent at the time (On a side note, the multi-month project is finally completed, and I'll be screening the video for YF, Sharon and Michael next Monday night after a birthday dinner. I honestly can't wait). The final element was a thought generated by my morning devotional, something that I think has me back on track in a self-confidence way for the first time since the Ashley debacle of '05. I actually don't know if I can refer to it by year, since we're still in that year and will be for some time, but I stand by my characterization. Anyways, long story short, my day had already been elevated, and this moment just seemed to pull it all together at once, manifesting itself in a smile no one else even got to see. Good times.
So moment number two came later in the afternoon, as I was writing a check for the cleaning ladies that come every Friday, considering some advice about real estate investing given to me by YF, looking over my phone bill at the behest of someone asking me to change services, checking an e-mail about my income tax returns (I had to PAY taxes this year for the first time ever; sucks), filling out an online recommendation for a friend who wants to study abroad in the fall, printing out another recommendation for for another friend who wants to work in youth ministry in DC this summer, talking on the phone with the president of an advertising agency about possible employment at Fox for a family friend of his (yes I realize this has become the longest sentence in the history of mankind, but all of these things were taking place yesterday within the span of a couple hours). The final act, the one that brought moment number two into focus, was a perusal of my investment accounts (inspired by this whole real estate thing), all three of them. I sat there after glancing at the numbers for a second, and just one thing came to mind: I'm OLD. Usually that distinction has brought with it an ugly feeling, like my youth is fleeting and my fun years are behind me, but this time, it was a real sense of pride and of accomplishment. It's old in the responsible, capable sense, not old in the "can't have fun anymore" sense. I have retirement accounts, mutual funds, money market accounts, and am now looking into real estate. Wow. I earned twice as much money this year as I ever have in the past, and I'm saving at a crazy rate. I sometimes help lead a bible study and I play in a men's basketball league in my neighborhood. This isn't self-serving, but it's a cool realization when you figure out that you're totally capable of being an adult. I'm certainly still capable of being a kid, maybe moreso than I should, but I'm sufficiently surprised by this moment of maturity.
Okay, so now a quick re-cap of the last two weeks or so: Our show is dark during conference championship week every year, so I was only in Monday through Wednesday of last week, for a total of 15 hours or so. I cut a 30-second boxing promo for the "Best Of" shows this week (even though it's boxing, it's something of which I'm quite proud, as much as anything else I've ever done, actually), and then got some fun things done, like getting DVD copies of the 1992 (Jason Kidd) and '95 (Garnett, Vinsanity, Marbury, Pierce, etc.) McDonald's All-American games, and copying my sports DVD's (Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, Bulls, Lakers) to digital tape so I can use them for the show when the need arises. Watching those Bulls championship videos makes me wish so badly that MJ was still playing, still in his prime. I guess I'm just glad that we have so many of his great games to watch.
So I've been off work since last Wednesday, only returning this morning (and I'll have half-days until the end of the week). In the meantime, here's what I was able to get done:
Thursday: Lunch at Lucky Boy with Chris French (actually my second stop there in less than a week; hit up the LBC with Nick, Wang and Farag after the Clipper game--courtside, of course--on Saturday), sitting and chatting with Charlie and Kotick as they ate lunch at Rocky Cola, a dental appointment with Dr. Ho (saw Dan Niemann there, wish he had been my hygenist instead of the same pain-inflicting woman I always get), and then a trip up to Santa Barbara with Christi to see Mike Motia and his fellowship group. Had a great time up there, including a couple slices at Woodstock's and a great conversation with a couple of the seniors in the group, stressed out and thinking about the real world (giving advice to people hoping they'll find work, telling them it'll be fine--probably a helper in that whole feeling responsible thing).
Friday: Up ridiculously early, drove down to San Diego to meet with Brad Holland, the final individual in the aforementioned video project, and had a great time doing that. Drove up to San Clemente right afterward for a nice lunch with Mike B, who I definitely wish lived closer to me. I so thoroughly his company, something I definitely took for granted when we lived in the same house for two years, and something I need to make more of an effort to seek out in this busy, busy life.
Saturday: Back up in LC to hang out with Charlie, then to the Morris residence to see Perry (accompanied by Kelly, Cara and Rachel), Ben (with the love of his life, Breanne), Cindy and Brian. Another place that's always so welcoming, and one that I miss a lot (when you spend approximately nine days a week in a certain location and eat approximately 15 meals a week there, you tend to grow quite fond of said location). Had some Baja with Charlie and then came back home to view "Anchorman" with Phil and Ale (still not sure the name adequately translates when it's read: think "Ali" or "Ollie," sort of). Very underrated movie, I think. I got there late when I saw it on the lot a long time ago, and I remember laughing a lot, but that could have also been the drunk guys I was with at the time. Instead of disappointing in viewing number two, Will Ferrell was even funnier (if that's possible) the second time around, especially in my favorite scene, the whole "Afternoon Delight" songfest.
Sunday through Tuesday: Nothing redeeming, with the exception of watching our basketball team collect its first win in a month, and watching a great episode of "The West Wing" immediately thereafter. Former Vice President John Hoynes is pretty much done, following some harassment allegations, and unheralded Matt Santos won the California primary, which pretty much reserves Jimmy Smits' spot in the White House next year. They haven't dealt with Arnold Vinick (Alan Alda) in forever, so I can't foresee them making us care about Santos and then having him lose the election. And that brings us to yesterday, that momentous Tuesday. No guarantees about writing the rest of the week (half days, like I said), but it's good to be back. Peace.

Eins, Zwei, Drei

"Now you may try to subtract it
But it just won’t go away
Three times one? What is it?
One, two, three!
And that’s the magic number"
--The Magic Number, De La Soul

That title is just "one, two, three" in German, folks, a language I've used all too often since studying it for seven years in high school and college. Boy, that sure wasn't a waste of time.
The number three is, of course, my favorite number, and I bring it up today for two reasons: it's the third straight day I've blogged before our morning meeting, and it's the third straight day of post-basketball physical pain. Interestingly enough, the two are related, and here's how. Because of the pain, I'm exercising less (I can't run on the treadmill and there are many liftings that I can't do without hurting, so there's only a few things I'm doing), meaning I get out of the gym and into work earlier, meaning there's more time before our morning meeting to write. So there's that (I'm digging that phrase too, sorry to bite it). I think I'm like Sesame Street this morning: today's blog is brought to you by the number three...
- The jersey number of the greatest shooter in the history of college basketball, Mr. Alex Dillard. Had more range than anyone I've ever seen, bombing from upwards of 30 feet with ease, and had no conscience, which is a must for a shooter. He was buried on the bench at Arkansas behind Corey Beck, Clint McDaniel, Scotty Thurman, Davor Rimac, Roger Crawford & Co., but when he got time, man, could he light it up. The game I'll never forget was one that John May had taped, and I got to watch a few days later, in which Big Al played just 25 minutes and scored 39 points, hitting 12-of-22 three-pointers on the night. That's sick. In another game, he hit for 16 in the last three minutes of the first half. In his two-year career as a Razorback, Dillard hit 185 field goals. 138 of them were threes. My hero.
- The jersey number of me, circa 1995. I was #14 as a sophomore and junior, based largely on the influence of one Jason Berns, but we were ordering new uniforms senior year and Coach asked me which one I wanted. I asked whether or not it had to be an existing number (to my knowledge, I hadn't seen a #3 in a Spartan uniform before), and strictly because of the Al Dillard factor, I requested--and received--#3. Good call on my part, I must say.
- The number of Riddell boys in the world--well, there are probably more Riddell boys in the world than three, but only three that really matter to anyone reading this right now. Most of the time it's really only two, but the black sheep occasionally returns from the great north to re-enter his name in the hat and become significant again. That's a joke. This is far and away the most significant three in my life, without a doubt.
- The number of consecutive titles the Bulls (MJ series 1), Bulls (MJ series 2) and Lakers (Kobe/Shaq) won during my high school, college and post-college years, respectively. It's a nice round number to win, and evidently all parties involved got bored after the third one, or there would have been more to come. Three is also the number of titles the Showtime Lakers won while I was cognizant of their existence ('85, '87, '88), because the '80 and '82 championships were won before I knew what a basketball was.
- The number of the month in which my father (your father) and the younger suss were born, in 1948 and 1981, respectively. A belated happy birthday to Suss (and to Eric Irvine, and to Coach Hofman, I think).
- The number of times Christopher Walken (aka Bruce Dickenson) emerges from the sound booth to request more cowbell from Gene and the guys in Blue Oyster Cult. Technically, he talks about it four times, because the last request is two-fold ("I gotta have more cowbell, baby!" then the "I've got a fever..." line), but three times works for me.
- The number of years (plus a few months) I got to live in "the back house," which could have been the greatest thing in the history of mankind. Living with the quality guys that stayed there (Darter, Frandsen, Mattesich, Bautista, DiGuilio, Djang, Langford-for a summer, Drenckpohl-also for a summer, Leonhardt-I hardly knew ye, Bower and Braun) was a blessing in and of itself, but the financial situation made it that much better. What a generous family, those Shuppers.
- The number of good sports teams in Southern California. Not the Lakers or Clippers, or the locked-out Kings or Ducks. No professional football to speak of, so what do we have? Dodgers (technically, because they did make the playoffs last year, even though the Pads will finally overtake them this time around), Angels and USC football. That's it. So sad.
- The number of networks showing vastly inferior programming on Wednesday nights at 9 p.m. "King of Queens" and "Yes, Dear?" "Alias?" "American Idol" and "Simple Life 2:Interns?" Nope, it's "The West Wing," still the smartest show out there, even in spite of Sorkin's departure. Last week's fight between Josh and Toby sets the stage for a great one tonight.
I'm sure there's more, but I've got a meeting to get to.
And oh by the way, I haven't heard too many bad "literally" uses in recent times, but this morning, Colin Cowherd got me in double-fashion. He was talking about this NFL body-mass index thing, and here's his gem: "On paper, I'm literally Randy Moss." First of all, "on paper" is a figurative expression, so you can't follow it up with the word literally. Second of all, not only are you not Randy Moss, you're not even close. It's not like the "I'm Tiger Woods" commercials or the epic "I'm Spartacus" scene (now stolen for a Pepsi ad), because those are figurative and symbolic, respectively. Cowherd is neither figuratively nor symbolically Randy Moss, so this thing upset me quite a bit this morning. I'm so lame. Peace.

Inching Closer...

"Don't call it a comeback
I been here for years
Rockin my peers and puttin suckas in fear"
--Mama Said Knock You Out, LL Cool J

That's "Ladies Love Cool James," if you didn't know (real name: James Smith). First of all, before I explain the lyrical application, I need to mention something about this song. Whenever I'm watching a game and a team trails, then starts to cut down the deficit, it's a force of habit to say, "Don't call it a comeback." It's one of those phrases that has permeated culture (at least in my observation), so it's an obvious utterance when those situations arise. However, I've discovered, sadly, that it's only a generational thing. When I've said that while watching games with younger guys (high school-age), there's no recognition of the reference. Instead, the response is, "Why? Why shouldn't I call it a comeback?" "It's a song." "Oh." Oh well.
I seriously can't believe this physical pain. I'm on the way back to normal (there's the comeback angle), but it's taking way longer than I expected. About halfway through yesterday I discovered a messed-up knee in addition to the previously-listed ailments, running the total to approximately 43 things wrong with me at once. I think I've discovered why I don't play professional sports (besides the whole slow/white/can't jump thing): I'm sure that what I experienced on Sunday is no worse than a normal gameday in the NBA (and certainly far less pain-inducing than gameday in the NFL), which would mean going through the same exercise 82 nights a year, often not even getting a day off before the next game. I'm glad I gave up those dreams somewhere around eighth grade (a good lesson for all you kids out there: give up on your dreams early in life so you won't be too disappointed when you're older...a related quote from my youth basketball editing last night, courtesy of a misguided coach: "Boys: You are all awesome and improved dramatically this year. Your coaches look forward to seeng some of you in the NBA in the future." Don't tease them like that, coach.).
This Sports Guy intern contest has been on-and-off interesting, but the second round of entries got me thinking about what I would do with complete control of a TV network, given full reign to program whatever I want throughout the day. Here's a rough idea of what the day's schedule would look like, starting with the start of my weekdays:
5 a.m. - re-air the previous night's Letterman and Conan shows, like Comedy Central already does (did?) with the latter...I can't stay up late enough to watch either of these anymore, so if I did decide to skip a workout, this would be the way to go. Of course, if I had control of the network, I might be able to work out some way to get it fed into my gym and/or a handheld TV to accompany my daily exercises.
7 a.m. - a good three hours of the best of NFL Films...got to watch this hour-long piece called "Wide Open" yesterday, made sometime this year and chronicling the best receivers in the game, present and recent past. Great looks at Moss, T-O, Rice, Irvin and several others, driven by some great sound from the sidelines and in games. Their productions are vastly superior to the NBA, MLB and other counterparts (MLS Films, anybody?), so they're worthy of some time for sure.
10 a.m. - NBA Entertainment hasn't done much in the last few years, but their work in the 80's was exceeded by no one, so we've got two hours cleared out for any of the following: NBA Superstars, Larry Bird: Basketball Legend, Come Fly With Me, Magic Johnson Showtime, Lakers Dynasty Series, Bulls Dynasty Series or Celtics Dynasty Series. You can't go wrong here. If I'm able to take a few minutes to eat lunch, I'm stoked to see MJ or Magic during that break time, no doubt.
12 p.m. - Two more hours of basketball, this time a great game from the career of any of the following: Magic, Michael, Larry, 'Nique, Barkley, Hakeem, the '00-'02 Lakers, the '91-'98 Bulls, Reggie vs. the Knicks, Kobe (pre-Colorado).
2 p.m. - Two more hours of basketball, this time a McDonald's All-American Basketball game from the past. The '95 game will be shown at least once a week, with various others sprinkled throughout (Some of the notables in that '95 game: Ron Mercer, Tractor Traylor, Antawn Jamison, Shareef Abdur-Rahim, Chauncey Billups, Stephon Marbury, Paul Pierce, Vince Carter and Kevin Garnett; some not-so-notables, but good players nonetheless: Derek Hood, God Shammgod, Louis Bullock, B.J. McKie; garbage: Jelani McCoy). Verne Lundquist and Bill Raftery calling the game, John Wooden and Morgan Wootten in attendance, and guys like Wojo trying to pretend like they belong in games like this.
4 p.m. - Since it's now prime-time on the east coast, I'd better get to some more mainstream programming, so it's time for MacGyver re-runs, followed immediately by SportsNight. Two hours of Mac and then two hours of the greatest program in television history means I'm home by eight for the next round of programming.
8 p.m. - Here begins the only two shows I watch on a weekly basis: The West Wing and 24. New episodes for each would air on their respective days (Wednesday and Monday, in this case), and repeats would air on the other days, starting with season one and progressing accordingly.
10 p.m. - With two hours left in the day (and me on my way to bed), we'll close out the schedule with The Simpsons and Seinfeld, alternating a half-hour apiece until midnight. If I do stay up, these are two quality selections to keep me occupied and entertained until slumber finally beckons.
12 a.m. - For the early a.m. hours, let's just show Best Damn five times in a row; it's either that or infomercials, and I'd rather have our show on than nothing.
Weekends have to be different, so they're going to be all sports all day, including the English Premier League, NBA, good college hoops (NFL and NCAA football during their respective seasons, baseball likewise), and replayed versions of the best games of the week to fill holes where there isn't any live action. That last part is key: I think ESPN Classic should do those Instant Classic things much more frequently, showing the best of the week or the month all the time. ABC and ESPN combine to show so much stuff that it wouldn't be at all difficult for them to do. So yeah, I'm going to make sure we're doing that on weekends.
How did the Lakers come all the way back last night to force overtime and then manage to lose that game? Down 10 with like 40 seconds left, bombing threes, getting some missed free throws from the Knicks, and then tanking in the last three minutes of OT. Story of the season right there. And P.S. Kobe's quickly running from his designation as a great player, with every Laker loss and every teammate who doesn't get better. Last night was a perfect example: Luke Walton passed the ball with less than two seconds left, leaving the Lakers without a shot as they attempted to tie up the game. Kobe is the only guy who ever shoots, so Luke--by default--just passes back to him, no matter the time or situation. He's become less of a basketball player and more of a Kobe-placater this season, and the same can be said for a bunch of those guys. MJ knew how to get the most out of his teammates while still dominating games. Kobe hasn't figured that out.