If you’re the Yankees, you shouldn’t have a horrible 7-10 record in Spring Training. With injuries aplenty marring March hope, we know that George and his merry men can’t wait to leave Disney for Yankee.
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Time to Stand Up for the Little Guys
As the snow finally melts and we move ever closer to another wonderful year of baseball, there remains an alarming number of players who are not given the proper respect, by fans and the media alike, outside of their home markets. For some of these players, it is the simple misfortune of playing for small-market teams which fail to generate sufficient interest in their star players. Still, others seem to have an uncanny knack for flying under the radar year after year.
Here is a breakdown of some of the more under appreciated players in the league and how they stack up against some of their more well-known counterparts.
There is no better (extended) weekend in sports than the opening two rounds of the NCAA Mens hoops tourney. Hell, there probably isn’t a better day in all of sports than the first Thursday of March Madness. If I were President, I’d declare those first two days as national holidays. And I’d make gambling on the tournament legal in every state. Could I run on that platform? Considering that about $2.5 Billion is wagered across America, I think I’d have a decent shot. Somehow, family values as it relates to March Madness wagering goes out the door. I know I’d at least have Rick Neuheisel’s vote.
By Sean Quinn
Looking for someone to aim your anger and cast your finger towards for Syracuse’s first round upset? Don’t dare flap your fingers at Hakim Warrick for his 10 turnovers. And don’t you even think about directing your blame at Gerry McNamara for his 4-18 shooting performance. Don’t blame anyone who was suited up for the loss to Vermont on Friday. Blame Billy.
By Ryan McGowan
It was like the Perfect Storm of scheduling, a windfall in which a succession of circumstances produced possibly the greatest weekend of hedonism of all time. It was a blur of memories of vague colors, with Kelly green mingling endlessly with Carolina blue, Wolfpack red, and Golden Knights… well, gold. Was that the Vermont Catamounts on TV, or did I just order another Guinness? In moments like this past weekend, it was at times impossible to tell.
I honestly thought that movie “Closer” was going to be about Gagne. And after 10 years of watching Bev 9er, what I remember most is that Dylan McKay’s dad used “Eddie Waitkus” as his witness protection program alias. Along the same lines, the most recent episode of Arrested Development also thematically translated into a sports-related concern.
This latest synaptic misfire stemmed from the scene when Henry Winkler literally jumped over a shark, taking one small hop for mankind, one giant leap for entertainment parody. My first thought? That riding Winkler piggyback during the allegorical shark jumping is the 2004 sports season.
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LaMont Jordan is no Curtis Martin
Age is nothing but a number, and that was proved to be true by Curtis Martin this year as he became the oldest player in NFL history to not only lead the league in rushing yards but to gain over 1,500 yards on the ground.
He also joined Barry Sanders as the only backs in NFL history to rush for 1,000 yards in each of their first 10 seasons. Currently fourth place on the NFL’s all-time rushing list with 13,366 yards, Martin is well on his way to the Hall of Fame and having his number 28 retired by the New York Jets. However, the impressive statistics that he has amassed over the years has become secondary to what Martin represents.
We are in an era in sports tarnished by steroids, drug use, flashy end zone dances and selfishness, among many other things. While some players do represent the morals and decency that is expected, great role models are hard to come by. Martin has been one of the few athletes that we should encourage our children to look up to. He embodies the word class, has been nothing but consistent and he displays the rewards of hard work.
Last year, Martin’s off season regimen was running up and down 230 steps on a hill in Santa Monica, California. Regardless of how old people said he was or what they thought he could accomplish in the 2004 season, he set a goal of 1,500 yards for himself which he achieved on his way to the rushing title.
Displaying his usual selflessness, Martin is extremely active in community relations — he donates more than 10% of his earnings to the Job Foundation, which helps the disadvantaged, disenfranchised, single mothers, at-risk youth, and the homeless.
Martin told Football Digest writer Barry Wilner, “I want to make a difference. I want for what I do as an athlete to help me make a difference in people’s lives. If Curtis Martin can have an impact on the people around me and the people I come in contact with, and if I can improve their situation or help them improve it, that means the most to me. It’s not what people say about me, whether they praise me or believe I am someone special because of what I do on the field. It’s what I can do to help them because I am an athlete who can make a difference for them.”
As a Jets fan, I wish Jordan all the luck in the world with his new role as the starting running back of the Oakland Raiders. He has the utmost potential to be a star in this league and will be missed by all fans of Gang Green, but he can and will be replaced. However, when the day comes that Martin walks off of the field for the last time, nobody will be missed more than him. Even though a Jordan may not come around for another five years, there will never be another Curtis Martin.
Thank you, Curtis.
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Baseball’s Thin Blue Line
The real boys of summer are emerging from winter hibernation all across America, pounding their fists into stiff baseball gloves and asking dad to take them to the batting cage. Soon they will dot fields that are not yet green, laughing easily amidst the clink of aluminum and the smack of leather, creating a genuine American symphony. This is the sound we should pipe into outer space to explain America to anyone who might be listening.
The sound that came from yesterday’s hearings on steroid use in baseball was quite different. That sound–voices of denial, self-importance, and sadness– was not about baseball, but a cacaphony of distortion. This act has been in the making for some time, since steroids first became part of baseball’s tapestry, as unbreakable records were broken and re-broken. It grew on the fuel of rumor and tell-all books, but it still needed the grandiosity of ponderous government types to reach it’s final, absurd culmination.
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Jose- I believe?
Why do I believe Jose Canseco? Because unlike the four other jokes who flip-flopped in front of our nation’s Congress on thursday, Canseco looked and acted like he wanted to be there.
Because he really wanted to help baseball, not himself.
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What’s Next?
As the seasons change, and frigid football in Foxboro bequeaths headlines to balmy baseball in Scottsdale, we the reporting public seek out every cannon fodder outlet mall in the country for sports-inspired survival tactics.
It is, after all, February, and we’re awash in the wake of Super Bowl Sunday, eagerly anticipating the madness of March.
So what’s next?