Holy crap

These are dark days indeed for my Wildcats, on the road Wednesday to play the higher ranked Sun Devils?! I know the Mustard & Rust have been on a bit of a resurgence of late, and in-state dominance can't last forever, but what sportswriter in his right mind actually believes ASU is a better team? I'll admit that without our leading scorer this isn't exactly a game that's worry-free at this point in the season. But c'mon, one of the nation's most storied programs is essentially an underdog facing a team that hasn't been ranked in 13 years? Let's just say this doesn't add up and move on to celebrating another blowout come Wednesday night.

Say it ain't so...

And to the surprise of nobody except Roger Clemens' lawyer, the baseball world learned today that at least dozens of players over the past decade have been juiced to the gills.
Since there's absolutely no telling how many home runs, strike outs or early returns from injuries are due to the magic of chemistry, let's just figure that the pitchers and the hitters were more or less even, cheaters or not.
And rather than dwell on what's being called baseball's worst scandal since the Black Sox, or at least its darkest days since the 1994 strike, let's all just celebrate the game, music style.
But first, here's a photograph I have framed in my living room, of Jackie Robinson in the 1952 All-Star Game. Now that's baseball.



First up is a jumpin' swing tribute to Jackie:

Buddy Johnson - Did You See Jackie Robinson Hit That Ball

I tracked that one down from Bob Dylan's Theme Time Radio Hour, which has a wonderful episode devoted to baseball. And the host even gets into it himself:

Bob Dylan - Take Me Out to the Ballgame

And let's not forget another Minnesota native singing during the Seventh Inning Stretch:

The Hold Steady - Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Baseball ("the one constant through all the years...") doesn't do too bad in the movies either. The Natural and Major League are definitely two of the best, but my favorite has got to be Field of Dreams. It's baseball as magic, as a mythic America, a metaphor for fathers and sons and all that's good about life:

James Earl Jones baseball speech

And I was hoping to leave everybody with Vin Scully's call of the Kirk Gibson home run that won game one of the 1988 World Series, but I had no luck finding it online in audio or video, so instead here's Jack Buck's radio call:

Kirk Gibson - 1988 World Series

Playgrounds

I just got back from watching Warren Miller's latest film down at the Fox Theatre (isn't it strange that I'd never been there before, then attended two events in three days? Monday's Iron & Wine show was incredible!).
I've long been a fan of his ski and snowboard films, which isn't a surprise considering he basically invented the genre. But for me it's always been more about Miller's narrative abilities and how he infuses his films with a great energy, taken from his simple mantra: If you don't do it this year, you'll be one year older when you do.
I haven't skied in nearly 11 years. Writing that, it kinda pains me that it's been so long. It was a trip during Christmas break my senior year of high school, out to New Mexico with the pop and the bro, to crash with friends in Farmington (shithole!) and venture out to the glorious Wolf Creek and the stuck-on-the-side-of-the-road Hesperus. (Coincidentally, the car-ride hours of that same trip were dominated via headphones by my newly acquired Recovering the Satellites album, which would later offer 'Angels of the Silences,' 'Miller's Angels' and 'A Long December' to Miller's Snowriders 2, the first of his films I'd see on the big screen.)
I was never much good. I could get down the not-too-steep hills just fine, but I was never too daring. What I liked most was zipping down fairly flat ground, not having to turn much, just enveloped in the nearly motionless gliding speed. To me, it was kinetic energy at its most peaceful. There's no other way on Earth to move quite like that, and it's absolutely exhilarating.
I learned at Williams Ski Area, an out-of-the-way mountain that was cheap enough and small enough to allow anybody more than enough runs in a day. There just simply weren't any crowds or lines. I still see that whole ski area in my mind clearly - though from a quick search on the 'Net it's apparently now called Elk Ridge Ski Area. But that map is still the same, and I know exactly what it represents.
I miss the feeling -- but skiing is expensive, and I live in the desert, and just a couple weeks after that last ski trip I blew out my left knee, which still doesn't feel completely strong...
Someday again I'll ski -- and that's the overriding inspiration that Miller's films provide.
But I also take away this tremendous spiritual uplift. The photography is gorgeous, the athletes are the best in the world, but Miller without a doubt captures skiing at its essence, which is the simple fact that it exists outside of day-to-day reality. It's an escape, it's pursued feverishly by people who can't be tied down, whose only drive is to go where there's fresh powder. Fresh powder, probably the most powerfully metaphorical playing field in all of sports. Skiing is exploration and escape -- and you're afforded a good bit of each just sitting there in the theatre.
I've now seen at least five of Miller's films on the annual big-screen tour (out of 58 total). It's just a ball of fun (though expensive -- I lucked into a free $20 ticket tonight). Playground was this year's title. There's little better for a pick-me-up as the winter arrives than getting a dose of Miller's quirky philosophy and get-up-and-go mentality. He's truly inspirational, even if you've never touched snow in your life. All he asks is that you grab a little adventure in your life.
See you next year, same time, same place...

An open letter to David Stern and Stu Jackson

(Which, if their email addresses are dstern@nba.com and sjackson@nba.com they might actually read, because the messages weren't sent back to me undeliverable.)

Dear Commissioner and Commissioner's Lackey:
Your suspension of Stoudemire and Diaw for game five is the most appalling and unnatural intrusion into playoff competition by any league office in the history of professional sports.
There are plenty of ways to parse words regarding the interpretation of "altercation" and "immediate bench area," but the fact is you have illogically chosen to suspend two players for merely standing up from the bench chairs and taking a few steps (hardly a wrong by any reasonable person's definition).
The incident in Monday night's game was wholy and entirely the result of one player: Spurs journeyman thug Robert Horry.
No Suns players from the bench even so much as attempted to participate in any physical altercation or escalate the situation to any degree.
If your defense of these suspensions is nothing more than "We have to follow the rules and they left the bench," than you, sirs, are devoid of any intellectual honesty.
The NBA's image problems are nothing but the harvest of what the league has sown itself, but even worse, it's ill-conceived "solution" has proven to be more damaging to the spirit of competition, the hard-working teams and the devoted fans than any fight has been yet.
It's no surprise that you have already cancelled plans to attend game five in Phoenix. Nothing could possibly reveal more the fact that you have no confidence in your decision, a fact which should have prevented you from making it in the first place.
Nobody knows what will happen the next two or three games of this series, but league office has certainly assured the outcome on the court will be anything but the result of pure competition.
You sirs have shamed the series and the game and should immediately reverse the suspensions of Stoudemire and Diaw. Barring that, I and a great many fans (of all teams), will have lost any confidence remaining in your abilities to administer the responsibilities of the league office and fully expect your resignation.
Sincerely,
Catfish Vegas,
lifelong Arizonan and Suns fan.