Matt Waters is a screenwriter currently living in New York. He has been writing about sports since age seventeen, about the time when it became painfully apparent that his athletic dreams would go unfulfilled, due to terrible luck and an obscene lack of talent. His favorite movie is “The Thin Red Line”. His favorite band is “Modest Mouse”. His favorite sport is baseball! With an exclamation point.
It’s all illusion, the accolades, awards and accomplishments. These aren’t etched in stone, untouchable by time.
Seconds stop for nobody.
Perseverance is found on the field, never peace.
No matter the amount of success, or degree of failure, our competition will always return, different pitches and arm angles, different stances and strategies.
Adjustments become worthless, effort expended, and than, at breaking point, talent rises above, for a fortunate few.
Intellectuals often complain about the double standard athletes are granted in society. Professional players lose their distinction as citizens, American Royalty. However, many never stop to consider the treacherous position this circumstance drops our sports stars into. An individual can become easily entrapped in celebrity, and those who maintain their character in our cutthroat culture deserve to be commended for their courage, and conviction.
I say this. You just can’t leave the Hall of Fame to people. It can’t be done. It shouldn’t be done. How are you going to ask people, I mean, people for Christ sakes, to judge the merits of their peers? Are you kidding me?
I heard them laughing, months ago.
A bunch of real comedians…
Salisbury. Irvin. Young. Berman.
Joe, Terry, Jimmy. Even Howie, star of the universally acclaimed "Firestorm."
Disrespecting my Jets. Spewing witless one-liners while looming over their deteriorating green and white carcass.
As the new-year approaches, and the Jets, a punch line for ESPN lug heads [err, analysts] before the season began, continue to shock the football world, the Yankees made my Christmas, when their designs of trading the shriveling Unit leaked out to media outlets.
Why do I hate Randy Johnson?
Who should play first base for the Yankees in 2007?
Who the hell is Brad Halsey again?
The answers to these questions and more, right now!
Here’s a major point of contention of mine. Concerning the rivalry, our great theater featuring the Red Sox and Yankees, battle lines have been drawn. We’ve painted mythical pictures, illustrations of villainy and courage, of conviction and cowardice.
The hot stove has reached boiling point. Transactions are in the process of fervent dissection; dollars are flying around Disney land, the Immortal Gil Meche just signed with the Royals… for 45 million????
Indeed, the hot stove is burning a five alarm blaze impossible to contain. Here are two storylines that have specifically attracted my attention.
He’s a walking contradiction, half hero half villain, glaring like a samurai behind ice-cold eyes. He’s a warrior and a whiner, heart and talent, attitude and arrogance. He defends his teammates with righteous zeal. He belittles them with distant apathy.
He hits and he hits.
He is Gary Sheffield.
Who is Gary Sheffield?
The Yankees shocking expulsion from Baseball’s October proceedings left their devoted legion of fans falling perilously into negativity, trapped in feelings ranging from disillusionment to anger.
People react to disappointment in different ways, their methods of coping best reflecting their personalities. Some people disavow their devotion, while others find their loyalty reinforced in defeat. Some people react calmly, while others write a nonsensical stream of conscience sports column named after a Carlos Santana jam. Whatever the survival method, we all eventually get led back to a mutual point of origin:
Hope for the future, appreciation for the past, and a constant yearning to continually move forward.
How exactly should the Yankees correct the error of their ways?
At the dawning of yet another cold winter catharsis, here are one fan’s humble suggestions.
This hurts right now. Here is what’s on my mind.