As I write this, I am sitting on the terrace of my "Boatel" in Prague watching the Astros get slaughtered by a very bad Pittsburgh Pirates team. Watching the Astros makes me want to tie a weight to my legs and throw myself of the railing of my "Boatel" and into whatever Prague river this monstrosity is situated on. The more I watch, the more I think Uncle Dr. needs to politely ask Cecil to take over the job as manager of the Astros' AAA club, the Round Rock Express and proceed to fill the job with someone, anyone else. But its probably too soon for expressing such thoughts, and furthermore, I knew this was coming. Good baseball teams simply do not lose 19 consecutive games, pre-season or not, ever. Losing, like smoking, is a habit and the Astros are smoking three packs a day at the moment.
Rather than focus on the awful baseball team we all follow (at least for the moment, Uncle D.....fooooor theee moment) I want to dwell on the fact that I am watching this god awful baseball game....in Prague (which is not in the United States...). How? MLB.tv. The other day, I forked over 100 bucks to subscribe. I've only had access for three days, but you can already count me as a satisfied customer. I don't want to gush too much, but for once, Major League Baseball is actually ahead of the curve. I can watch not one, not two, not three, but up to four live games simultaneously on one screen. Granted, watching four games at once can induce motion sickness....but still!!!! Four games. I can pause live games. I can watch any game from any date anytime. I can select 30 players I want to follow and MLB.tv will update me when they are at bat so that I can switch to the game and watch the at bat. Did I mention I can watch any and every regular season baseball game anytime, anywhere if I have a decent Internet connection. I can watch the Astros in freaking Prague! The best feature of all, though, may well be that every time I watch the opposition stomp the Astros lifeless, I can switch on another game and remember what good baseball looks like. If you are a baseball fan, buy this. Do it now. Lets be honest, a season of watching only the Astros will make you hate baseball forever. Like I said, this is only for you if you reaaallly like baseball, but if you do, buy it. Buy it now, for the sake of your sanity.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Not Quite Friday Night Lights...
I'm in the process of training for the Zurich Marathon, so this past Friday I made my way out for a 70 minute training run at around 6pm. As I ran along my normal route in the park, I noticed the stadium lights on one of the park's main "football" (soccer) fields illuminating the field with little dots in motion on it. This isn't out of the ordinary; most nights there is a soccer or rugby game being played. I presumed that this particular evening was no different.
As I continued along the path, though, I started to hear something that peaked my interest in the action on the field. I was still too far away from the field to be able to see what was going on, but that didn't matter, the popping and the grunting told me everything I needed to know. I was still over a mile from the field, but the cracking noises were the unmistakable sound of collision.....I knew without a doubt that on the field in front of me, I was going to find a host of Swiss boys playing the American variety of football on this Friday night in Geneva.
When I reached the field, I jogged off the trail over to the rugby/soccer field where about sixty boys dressed in poorly fitting pads were warming up in a very strange way and asked the coach in my best French what time the game started. He said I had forty minutes so I continued my run and figured I would stop and watch a bit at the end of my run. I finished my brutal training and made my way back over to the field to watch what I assumed would be a very amusing half hour or so of football.
Like I'd imagine all football fanatics fromTexas
My skepticism proved well founded. They played without kickoffs. Most of the players were, there is no nice way to put this, goofily formed. There were short fat kids, tall lanky kids. One team's offensive line was formed of what I can't help but concluding were the smallest, most unathletic members of the team.
On defense, one team lined up with two defensive lineman, two linebackers, four corners, and three safeties. The first play from scrimmage, the miniscule, not that fast, not that strong, not that athletic running back for the other team slashed through a ten yard wide hole, into the secondary where I'm pretty sure each and every one of the team's seven defensive backs failed to successfully bring the running back down.
The running back ran (very slowly) sixty five yards before he tripped over his own feet at the three yard line, stumbled forward, and finally fell into the end zone.
On the extra point, the one thing I presumed they would be good at since the best athletes in Europe almost all play football (soccer), the long snapper overshot the holder by about five yards. The kicker picked up the ball, ran around like a chicken with his head cut off, and then fell to the ground in order to avoid the unruly mob of misshapen softies that would have surely done him in.
There was no kickoff. They just gave the other team the ball somewhere between the 27 and 35 yard lines (I couldn't really tell, and it was never the same in the half hour that I watched).
Given just how poorly the white teams seven defensive back scheme had fared, I figured their offense would be just as horrible and would send me home quite quickly, laughing at myself for even bothering to waste my time watching. But then something happened.
After two poorly designed run plays had yielded a total of about one yard, the white team came to the line in the shotgun. The quarterback stood about 6'2 and probably weighed 180 lbs, was clearly the most athletic person on the field. Although he was wearing shoulder pads that were about 19 sizes to large, he managed to look like a football player. I'd noticed this before he took the snap, rolled to his right, stepped up and threw an absolutely gorgeous fly route that hit his receiver perfectly in stride at the opponent’s ten yard line for an easy score. The ball travelled sixty yards in the air. My jaw dropped to the floor.
I stayed around for another hour. The quality of the football was beyond awful. I was simply there to watch #10 on the White Team. His footwork was abdominal; his decision making was also pretty awful. But the kid was big, fast, strong, and my God did he have an arm.
I'm going to go back next Friday at 5 and watch a little more, but it got me to thinking. The NFL is not going to go global. Despite the Friday night game inGeneva , I have seen little sign that anyone in Europe gives a damn about professional football. But just because there aren’t any pro teams does not mean that there won't be talented football players. If we hypothetically assume that a city like Geneva has three different youth football leagues (by youth I mean high school) with five teams a piece, and you spread that same amount across Europe , there is talent that is going unfound and undeveloped.
A number of MLB team's have started baseball development academies inLatin America . Along with growing the game internationally and giving talented kids a chance to at least temporarily escape the harshness of the local conditions and thrive in an instructional environment where they learn from the best teachers in the business, the academies also serve to identify and develop talent. If it serves a good cause, grows the game, aaand could yield prospects that might help down the road, why on earth would a team not want to start one (or more) international academies.
NFL franchises should be copying this model. Because there is no minor league system in the NFL, it's less likely that a prospect developed by an individual franchise's academy will end up with the team down the road, but it's possible. All I know is that I found out that believe it or not, some people do like football over here and while most of the kids suck, I found at least one kid with NFL caliber arm strength (I'm not kidding, in my three years of regularly making it out to Texans training camp, I've never seen a Texans quarterback with the arm strength to flick the ball 60 yards with as little effort as that little Swiss dude). Every other professional league is reaping the benefits of globalization. Why not the NFL? It's time.
As I continued along the path, though, I started to hear something that peaked my interest in the action on the field. I was still too far away from the field to be able to see what was going on, but that didn't matter, the popping and the grunting told me everything I needed to know. I was still over a mile from the field, but the cracking noises were the unmistakable sound of collision.....I knew without a doubt that on the field in front of me, I was going to find a host of Swiss boys playing the American variety of football on this Friday night in Geneva.
When I reached the field, I jogged off the trail over to the rugby/soccer field where about sixty boys dressed in poorly fitting pads were warming up in a very strange way and asked the coach in my best French what time the game started. He said I had forty minutes so I continued my run and figured I would stop and watch a bit at the end of my run. I finished my brutal training and made my way back over to the field to watch what I assumed would be a very amusing half hour or so of football.
Like I'd imagine all football fanatics from
My skepticism proved well founded. They played without kickoffs. Most of the players were, there is no nice way to put this, goofily formed. There were short fat kids, tall lanky kids. One team's offensive line was formed of what I can't help but concluding were the smallest, most unathletic members of the team.
On defense, one team lined up with two defensive lineman, two linebackers, four corners, and three safeties. The first play from scrimmage, the miniscule, not that fast, not that strong, not that athletic running back for the other team slashed through a ten yard wide hole, into the secondary where I'm pretty sure each and every one of the team's seven defensive backs failed to successfully bring the running back down.
The running back ran (very slowly) sixty five yards before he tripped over his own feet at the three yard line, stumbled forward, and finally fell into the end zone.
On the extra point, the one thing I presumed they would be good at since the best athletes in Europe almost all play football (soccer), the long snapper overshot the holder by about five yards. The kicker picked up the ball, ran around like a chicken with his head cut off, and then fell to the ground in order to avoid the unruly mob of misshapen softies that would have surely done him in.
There was no kickoff. They just gave the other team the ball somewhere between the 27 and 35 yard lines (I couldn't really tell, and it was never the same in the half hour that I watched).
Given just how poorly the white teams seven defensive back scheme had fared, I figured their offense would be just as horrible and would send me home quite quickly, laughing at myself for even bothering to waste my time watching. But then something happened.
After two poorly designed run plays had yielded a total of about one yard, the white team came to the line in the shotgun. The quarterback stood about 6'2 and probably weighed 180 lbs, was clearly the most athletic person on the field. Although he was wearing shoulder pads that were about 19 sizes to large, he managed to look like a football player. I'd noticed this before he took the snap, rolled to his right, stepped up and threw an absolutely gorgeous fly route that hit his receiver perfectly in stride at the opponent’s ten yard line for an easy score. The ball travelled sixty yards in the air. My jaw dropped to the floor.
I stayed around for another hour. The quality of the football was beyond awful. I was simply there to watch #10 on the White Team. His footwork was abdominal; his decision making was also pretty awful. But the kid was big, fast, strong, and my God did he have an arm.
I'm going to go back next Friday at 5 and watch a little more, but it got me to thinking. The NFL is not going to go global. Despite the Friday night game in
A number of MLB team's have started baseball development academies in
NFL franchises should be copying this model. Because there is no minor league system in the NFL, it's less likely that a prospect developed by an individual franchise's academy will end up with the team down the road, but it's possible. All I know is that I found out that believe it or not, some people do like football over here and while most of the kids suck, I found at least one kid with NFL caliber arm strength (I'm not kidding, in my three years of regularly making it out to Texans training camp, I've never seen a Texans quarterback with the arm strength to flick the ball 60 yards with as little effort as that little Swiss dude). Every other professional league is reaping the benefits of globalization. Why not the NFL? It's time.
Friday, February 20, 2009
What I would say
The following is the transcript of Houston 3rd baseman Jeb Golinkin's statement regarding his use of steroids:
"I used steroids because I saw what they were doing for the guys who were using them. There is enormous pressure put on us as athletes by virtually everyone involved in the game of baseball to produce at a high level and there are tremendous incentives to do everything you can to please those pressuring you. Hitting another ten home runs is a big deal in this game and there are big rewards for doing it. Put simply, I took steroids because at the time, the rewards for taking the substances outweighed the risks involved with using. Did I know it was wrong? Yes. But an extra ten million dollars a year along with all of the adoration that comes with being a superstar makes you rethink whatever moral objections you may have to taking steroids in one hell of a hurry.
I used steroids, and I got caught. I accept full responsibility for my actions. It was my fault and only my fault and I am personally prepared to deal with the consequences of my actions. I'm not answering any questions about who else was involved or where I got them or any of that other bullshit. I made my decision on my own. As far as details, I can tell you that I used from 2001-2003. I used x, y, and z. I took x so that I would recover from my workouts faster. The faster you recover, the faster you can get back to the gym and lift again. I took y to make the muscle that x allowed me put on look good. In other words, y made sure that I would look like a Greek God when I took my shirt off and not some neanderthal. And I took z to limit the side effects of taking x and y. In particular, I was looking to not grow tits and keep my nuts from shrinking too much.
I discontinued my drug use at the end of the 2003 season not because I saw the light and came to the realization that what I was doing was morally wrong but because, and only because Major League Baseball implemented a viable steroid testing policy starting in the 2004 season.
I realize now that what I have done has stained my career and has hurt the sport. I am truly sorry for all of those things. But I am also not going to sit up here and act like I'd be telling you this if I hadn't gotten caught. I, like everyone else who used, made a decision that involved taking a calculated risk. At the time, it seemed like a pretty easy decision. In retrospect, knowing what I know now, which is that the sport would actually wake up and that I eventually might get caught, I would have to think a little more about it.
In particular, I would like to sincerely apologize to the guys that were clean. Each and every one of them felt the same pressure to use I did. Each and every one of them saw the benefits and had to compete against guys that were taking advantage of those benefits. Some of them never cracked the bigs because they didn't use. Some of them only played 4 years in the Majors when they would've played 9. Some still put up great numbers and continued to make all start teams. My decision and the decisions of others like me have called the legitimacy of every accomplishment of every baseball player of this era into question. Lance Berkman's numbers will be subjected to the same skepticism by members of forthcoming generations as my own, and that is truly unfair. Thus I would like to take this opportunity to truly and sincerely apologize to Puma, and every ballplayer like him. Let me reiterate, I'm not going to tell you anything about who was involved. This was my decision and I personally got caught and thus I personally will deal with the consequences. I'm not outing anyone else. Period.
As for going forward, I think that if you look at my numbers since I stopped using, you'll realize that I'm still a pretty damn good ballplayer and if you don't believe me, I'll show you again this season. I care about the game, I care about my teammates, and most of all I care about winning. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the batting cage."
"I used steroids because I saw what they were doing for the guys who were using them. There is enormous pressure put on us as athletes by virtually everyone involved in the game of baseball to produce at a high level and there are tremendous incentives to do everything you can to please those pressuring you. Hitting another ten home runs is a big deal in this game and there are big rewards for doing it. Put simply, I took steroids because at the time, the rewards for taking the substances outweighed the risks involved with using. Did I know it was wrong? Yes. But an extra ten million dollars a year along with all of the adoration that comes with being a superstar makes you rethink whatever moral objections you may have to taking steroids in one hell of a hurry.
I used steroids, and I got caught. I accept full responsibility for my actions. It was my fault and only my fault and I am personally prepared to deal with the consequences of my actions. I'm not answering any questions about who else was involved or where I got them or any of that other bullshit. I made my decision on my own. As far as details, I can tell you that I used from 2001-2003. I used x, y, and z. I took x so that I would recover from my workouts faster. The faster you recover, the faster you can get back to the gym and lift again. I took y to make the muscle that x allowed me put on look good. In other words, y made sure that I would look like a Greek God when I took my shirt off and not some neanderthal. And I took z to limit the side effects of taking x and y. In particular, I was looking to not grow tits and keep my nuts from shrinking too much.
I discontinued my drug use at the end of the 2003 season not because I saw the light and came to the realization that what I was doing was morally wrong but because, and only because Major League Baseball implemented a viable steroid testing policy starting in the 2004 season.
I realize now that what I have done has stained my career and has hurt the sport. I am truly sorry for all of those things. But I am also not going to sit up here and act like I'd be telling you this if I hadn't gotten caught. I, like everyone else who used, made a decision that involved taking a calculated risk. At the time, it seemed like a pretty easy decision. In retrospect, knowing what I know now, which is that the sport would actually wake up and that I eventually might get caught, I would have to think a little more about it.
In particular, I would like to sincerely apologize to the guys that were clean. Each and every one of them felt the same pressure to use I did. Each and every one of them saw the benefits and had to compete against guys that were taking advantage of those benefits. Some of them never cracked the bigs because they didn't use. Some of them only played 4 years in the Majors when they would've played 9. Some still put up great numbers and continued to make all start teams. My decision and the decisions of others like me have called the legitimacy of every accomplishment of every baseball player of this era into question. Lance Berkman's numbers will be subjected to the same skepticism by members of forthcoming generations as my own, and that is truly unfair. Thus I would like to take this opportunity to truly and sincerely apologize to Puma, and every ballplayer like him. Let me reiterate, I'm not going to tell you anything about who was involved. This was my decision and I personally got caught and thus I personally will deal with the consequences. I'm not outing anyone else. Period.
As for going forward, I think that if you look at my numbers since I stopped using, you'll realize that I'm still a pretty damn good ballplayer and if you don't believe me, I'll show you again this season. I care about the game, I care about my teammates, and most of all I care about winning. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the batting cage."
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I think the guys in the black jerseys won....
When we launched the new (and oh so fabulous) 1560thegame.com, I was supposed to begin writing my blog directly on the website. That was the idea at least.
We tried, we failed, and now I crawl back to blogspot like an old man who still buys cds because he can't figure out the Ipod his kid gave him two Christmases ago.
Since you haven't heard from me in a while, I won't discuss the Rockets on this particular post. If I did, you'd probably find my criticisms unreasonably harsh, and you'd probably be right. But you can all relate to the frustration of watching the Rockets stumble through games and blow fourth quarter leads. It pisses you off, right? Well then imagine how pissed off you'd be if you were in Europe and were following the game at 4 am instead of sleeping. That's me. Just keep that in mind.
I'd imagine that most of you thoroughly enjoyed this years Super Bowl. So did I, however I will say that the game is considerably less interesting at 4 am than it would have been at 10 pm. I'm in Geneva (which is in Switzerland....). Here in Europe, the majority of the populous doesn't give a damn about [American] football. But I did manage to find an English pub (Mr. Pickwick's) willing to stay open all night and make money on the "stupid Americans."
I showed up at the bar at around 11:30 pm our time (4 30 pm) and was pleased to find a rather well lubricated crowd of American folks happily drinking overpriced pints of beer and generally reveling the fact that everyone around them didn't secretly (or in the case of the French, not always so secretly) resent their nationality. Personally, I was simply pleased to be in the company of people that spoke English. Anyway, I got a beer and successfully managed to get downstairs without being hit by an errant dart thrown by some drunk wearing a Jeff George Washington Redskins jersey and I found a seat next to some British guy (side note, upon my asking him if he liked American football, he responded in a perfectly awesome British accent "I like beer and American women"...love the Brits).
After spending roughly 10 minutes simply being fascinated by the completely random group of people gathered together for the mother of all American sporting events, I turned my attention to the television...where the "Sky Sports" pregame show was playing out in front of me. It was at this point when I realized it was going to be a long night. Sky's analysts included some guy that might have played football at one point in his life who sort of looked liked James Brown, some guy that allegedly once played quarterback for the Washington Redskins (the key word being "allegedly" and rounding out the all star team, some British guy. After seeing this all star crew, my British friend turned to me and asked (referring to the former Redskin quarterback) "who the hell is that bloke, I've never heard of him." Yep And when I asked who the British guy was, he responded "he covers Rugby normally."
Right before kickoff, Sky explained that we would be able to select our announcers. We could have the Michaels/Madden team, or two British guys that neither I, nor my British friends had ever heard of. I never thought I'd say this, but thank God we got Michaels and Madden. I thought things might look up from there and I might be able to salvage a normal Super Bowl experience out of the evening but it was simply not meant to be. Sky couldn't fill the copious amounts of advertising time and as a result, while everyone in the states watched really expensive commercials, I had to listen to some British guy who covers Rugby, some guy that might have played for the Redskins, and some James Brown wannabe talk about football.
At 3am some relatively attractive Irish lady bought me a drink.
At 3 15, pretty much everyone left.
At 4 am, I started playing darts to stay awake.
At roughly 5am, Santonio Holmes caught a pass. Because of this catch, the game ended, and I got to go home and go to bed.
No wonder no one in Europe follows the NFL.
We tried, we failed, and now I crawl back to blogspot like an old man who still buys cds because he can't figure out the Ipod his kid gave him two Christmases ago.
Since you haven't heard from me in a while, I won't discuss the Rockets on this particular post. If I did, you'd probably find my criticisms unreasonably harsh, and you'd probably be right. But you can all relate to the frustration of watching the Rockets stumble through games and blow fourth quarter leads. It pisses you off, right? Well then imagine how pissed off you'd be if you were in Europe and were following the game at 4 am instead of sleeping. That's me. Just keep that in mind.
I'd imagine that most of you thoroughly enjoyed this years Super Bowl. So did I, however I will say that the game is considerably less interesting at 4 am than it would have been at 10 pm. I'm in Geneva (which is in Switzerland....). Here in Europe, the majority of the populous doesn't give a damn about [American] football. But I did manage to find an English pub (Mr. Pickwick's) willing to stay open all night and make money on the "stupid Americans."
I showed up at the bar at around 11:30 pm our time (4 30 pm) and was pleased to find a rather well lubricated crowd of American folks happily drinking overpriced pints of beer and generally reveling the fact that everyone around them didn't secretly (or in the case of the French, not always so secretly) resent their nationality. Personally, I was simply pleased to be in the company of people that spoke English. Anyway, I got a beer and successfully managed to get downstairs without being hit by an errant dart thrown by some drunk wearing a Jeff George Washington Redskins jersey and I found a seat next to some British guy (side note, upon my asking him if he liked American football, he responded in a perfectly awesome British accent "I like beer and American women"...love the Brits).
After spending roughly 10 minutes simply being fascinated by the completely random group of people gathered together for the mother of all American sporting events, I turned my attention to the television...where the "Sky Sports" pregame show was playing out in front of me. It was at this point when I realized it was going to be a long night. Sky's analysts included some guy that might have played football at one point in his life who sort of looked liked James Brown, some guy that allegedly once played quarterback for the Washington Redskins (the key word being "allegedly" and rounding out the all star team, some British guy. After seeing this all star crew, my British friend turned to me and asked (referring to the former Redskin quarterback) "who the hell is that bloke, I've never heard of him." Yep And when I asked who the British guy was, he responded "he covers Rugby normally."
Right before kickoff, Sky explained that we would be able to select our announcers. We could have the Michaels/Madden team, or two British guys that neither I, nor my British friends had ever heard of. I never thought I'd say this, but thank God we got Michaels and Madden. I thought things might look up from there and I might be able to salvage a normal Super Bowl experience out of the evening but it was simply not meant to be. Sky couldn't fill the copious amounts of advertising time and as a result, while everyone in the states watched really expensive commercials, I had to listen to some British guy who covers Rugby, some guy that might have played for the Redskins, and some James Brown wannabe talk about football.
At 3am some relatively attractive Irish lady bought me a drink.
At 3 15, pretty much everyone left.
At 4 am, I started playing darts to stay awake.
At roughly 5am, Santonio Holmes caught a pass. Because of this catch, the game ended, and I got to go home and go to bed.
No wonder no one in Europe follows the NFL.
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