Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Fifty-Eight: Logan Morrison, Florida Marlins
My mother would call us in for dinner from the back window, and we’d hear her as the sweat dripped down our brows. “Just one more minute!” we’d call from the patio, panting the words. My brother and I were locked in combat, and there was no dish of spaghetti or tacos or London broil that could pull us away from this moment.
We were inevitably tied at 20 in a game of one-on-one basketball, and our rules required the victor to score at least 21 points (one point for each basket made), while winning by at least two. As my mom granted us that one more minute and closed the window, Eric would dribble back to the foul line, give me a head fake and swish a jumper. Game point for him. I’d follow by picking up the pace on defense, putting a hand in his face on the next shot, and grabbing a monster rebound.
I’d dribble back to the foul line quickly, then bulldoze my way to the rim, where he’d get a hand on the ball but I’d hold on and somehow drop a layup into the rim. My ball again: This time I’d miss a short jumper, but hustle for the offensive rebound and bank in a put-back to pull ahead by one.
My ball; game point. Finally, for the first time in months, I was about to beat my brother. The kid was three years younger than me, but he’d been growing like a weed and was developing long, sinewy muscles that could do most anything he asked of them in the sports arena. As he grew into his teens, the kid started defeating me regularly in hoops, in stickball and in tennis. Almost every time we played, I’d hold a late lead, only to watch him snatch victory away from me in the waning moments.
This time, though, it was going to be different.
I dribbled slowly toward the hoop, keeping the ball away from Eric’s lanky arms. I backed him to the rim, setting myself up for a head fake and a short jumper. He leaned in, but I had him where I wanted him. And then, for some reason, my inner desire to become the next Kareem Abdul-Jabbar overtook any semblance of sanity. I leapt, swung my right arm in an arc from below my hip to above my head, and let loose a pretty, yet dreadfully misguided, hook shot.
Eric grabbed the rebound. He took off for the foul line, then returned with a pretty layup. Game tied. Ball back to Eric. He brought the ball behind the 3-point-line, took a quick look at me, and released a perfect jump shot. In our games, shots taken from behind this line counted as two points. As Eric’s ball landed perfectly through the net, my mother called us in again. I was bent over and wheezing now, in need of an inhaler. My brother slapped me five and retrieved the ball. “Good game,” he said.
Yeah, sure. Good game. It was always a good game with my brother. The problem was that it always ended the same way. I was Charlie Brown going all-out to kick the football, and he was Lucy pulling it away from me at the last moment. Just when I thought I finally had him licked, he stepped behind that 3-point-line and finished me off.
This past week, somewhere in the virtual world of ESPN Fantasy Sports, two make-believe baseball teams played a head-to-head matchup in a league semifinal. One of these teams was managed by my brother, and the other by me. My team had far and away the best record in the regular season, while Eric’s had just barely made the playoffs. I had superstars ranging from Alex Rodriguez to Carl Crawford to Roy Halladay on my team. Eric had a few great players, but he also had to scuffle just to fill his roster with some players he could rely on regularly.
But when he found himself matched up against his dear brother, Eric knew his season was about to turn around. And it did, of course. While my superstars struggled just to get base hits last week, Eric turned to unsung players such as Marlins rookie Logan Morrison, whose superb week helped lead Eric’s team swiftly past my group of All-Stars and into the finals.
I have a pretty good history of recovering rather quickly from fantasy-baseball losses. There are, of course, several million more important things in our lives than virtual sports. But at the same time, well, it happened – he beat me again. I was so close to victory, and I could taste it as if it were Mom’s spaghetti steaming on the kitchen table. And then my laptop took a queue from the gathering dusk of a backyard patio on Staten Island, and that kid found a way to hit another final shot.
Charlie Brown, you can pick yourself up now. The game is over. You battled hard, you fought ‘til the end, and your brother still loves you. Dinner’s ready.
Showing posts with label ESPN. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ESPN. Show all posts
Monday, September 27, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
The Cool-Down (One Sixty-Two: Day 95)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Ninety-Five: Derrek Lee, Chicago Cubs
For the first time in weeks, those of us in the New York area awoke to a light breeze this morning. It’s been the warmest summer here in more than a decade, with temperatures roaring above 90 degrees nearly every day, coupled with stifling humidity. Today, however, the humidity was nowhere to be found, and the sparkling sunshine didn’t feel nearly as hot as it has this July.
The glorious morning felt a bit like the falling action in the plot of a dramatic film, right after the climax. You know the scene – the main characters have hit rock bottom, realized something deep and profound about their flaws, and learned what they must do to make it back to a state of grace. It’s Boogie Nights, after Mark Wahlberg, Julianne Moore, John C. Reilly and Heather Graham all have hit their lowest of lows. Writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson queues up The Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows” while we see the characters toning down their excesses and moving into a place of deeper self-awareness and maturity.
It was an appropriate morning for Carlos Zambrano to speak. There have been a number of outbursts in Zambrano’s career, but none as outlandish as the one he unleashed on his teammates June 25. When Zambrano lost his cool in the Cubs’ dugout that afternoon, he looked like a man in need of help. After the Cubs suspended him, Zambrano began anger-management sessions, according to his interview today with ESPN. “Thank God the Cubs have sent me to the doctor for anger management,” Zambrano told ESPN. “I've had three sessions already.”
Last month, Sports Illustrated reporter Pablo S. Torre wrote an excellent article about the number of baseball players who have sought help in the area of mental health throughout the past few years. For decades, Torre writes, baseball players were expected to be above issues such as anxiety, depression and anger issues. But when the National Institute of Mental Health reports that more than 57 million Americans – or 26 percent of Americans 18 and older – suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year, it seems impossible that baseball players would somehow be immune to such concerns themselves. So Major League Baseball has taken important steps in recent years to assist players who are struggling with mental-health issues.
And several athletes have chosen to step forward and seek help. Players such as Zack Greinke of the Kansas City Royals, Joey Votto of the Cincinnati Reds and Milton Bradley of the Seattle Mariners have been placed on the disabled list in recent years in order to seek assistance for mental-health issues. This past month, during his suspension from the Cubs, Carlos Zambrano did the same. According to Torre’s story, Greinke, Votto and Bradley all received considerable support from their teammates upon returning to their ballclubs. As Zambrano prepares to return to the Cubs this weekend, his teammates must decide if they are willing to give him another chance and try to help him in his attempt to “be more quiet,” as the 29-year-old termed it in his interview today.
Derrek Lee, the soft-spoken first baseman who seemed to be the target of Zambrano’s outburst last month, will be in an interesting position as the pitcher returns. Lee’s teammates will surely watch how he interacts with Zambrano, and many, I’m sure, will follow his lead. While it is imperative that Zambrano not lose his cool again on his teammates, it’s also essential that he be supported as he seeks treatment for his illness. Lee, I’m sure, will say and do all the right things. He will do what he can to help his colleague in recovery.
A month ago, Carlos Zambrano’s heat index was off the charts. But he seems to have cooled down in his month away from the game. He is in that moment where the clouds have parted and a slight breeze is blowing. The hard work is only getting started, but he may have begun his ascent from rock bottom. It’s time for the director to give us a happy song, and for the actors to flash a smile or two. Where Carlos Zambrano goes from here, God only knows. But it’s a new day, and he seems to be taking the right steps. When we struggle with mental-health concerns, we often hurt both ourselves and the ones we care for the most. As we climb back, their support can mean the world to us. Here’s to Derrek Lee and his Cubs teammates, as they prepare to help a co-worker in his time of struggle.
Day Ninety-Five: Derrek Lee, Chicago Cubs
For the first time in weeks, those of us in the New York area awoke to a light breeze this morning. It’s been the warmest summer here in more than a decade, with temperatures roaring above 90 degrees nearly every day, coupled with stifling humidity. Today, however, the humidity was nowhere to be found, and the sparkling sunshine didn’t feel nearly as hot as it has this July.
The glorious morning felt a bit like the falling action in the plot of a dramatic film, right after the climax. You know the scene – the main characters have hit rock bottom, realized something deep and profound about their flaws, and learned what they must do to make it back to a state of grace. It’s Boogie Nights, after Mark Wahlberg, Julianne Moore, John C. Reilly and Heather Graham all have hit their lowest of lows. Writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson queues up The Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows” while we see the characters toning down their excesses and moving into a place of deeper self-awareness and maturity.
It was an appropriate morning for Carlos Zambrano to speak. There have been a number of outbursts in Zambrano’s career, but none as outlandish as the one he unleashed on his teammates June 25. When Zambrano lost his cool in the Cubs’ dugout that afternoon, he looked like a man in need of help. After the Cubs suspended him, Zambrano began anger-management sessions, according to his interview today with ESPN. “Thank God the Cubs have sent me to the doctor for anger management,” Zambrano told ESPN. “I've had three sessions already.”
Last month, Sports Illustrated reporter Pablo S. Torre wrote an excellent article about the number of baseball players who have sought help in the area of mental health throughout the past few years. For decades, Torre writes, baseball players were expected to be above issues such as anxiety, depression and anger issues. But when the National Institute of Mental Health reports that more than 57 million Americans – or 26 percent of Americans 18 and older – suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year, it seems impossible that baseball players would somehow be immune to such concerns themselves. So Major League Baseball has taken important steps in recent years to assist players who are struggling with mental-health issues.
And several athletes have chosen to step forward and seek help. Players such as Zack Greinke of the Kansas City Royals, Joey Votto of the Cincinnati Reds and Milton Bradley of the Seattle Mariners have been placed on the disabled list in recent years in order to seek assistance for mental-health issues. This past month, during his suspension from the Cubs, Carlos Zambrano did the same. According to Torre’s story, Greinke, Votto and Bradley all received considerable support from their teammates upon returning to their ballclubs. As Zambrano prepares to return to the Cubs this weekend, his teammates must decide if they are willing to give him another chance and try to help him in his attempt to “be more quiet,” as the 29-year-old termed it in his interview today.
Derrek Lee, the soft-spoken first baseman who seemed to be the target of Zambrano’s outburst last month, will be in an interesting position as the pitcher returns. Lee’s teammates will surely watch how he interacts with Zambrano, and many, I’m sure, will follow his lead. While it is imperative that Zambrano not lose his cool again on his teammates, it’s also essential that he be supported as he seeks treatment for his illness. Lee, I’m sure, will say and do all the right things. He will do what he can to help his colleague in recovery.
A month ago, Carlos Zambrano’s heat index was off the charts. But he seems to have cooled down in his month away from the game. He is in that moment where the clouds have parted and a slight breeze is blowing. The hard work is only getting started, but he may have begun his ascent from rock bottom. It’s time for the director to give us a happy song, and for the actors to flash a smile or two. Where Carlos Zambrano goes from here, God only knows. But it’s a new day, and he seems to be taking the right steps. When we struggle with mental-health concerns, we often hurt both ourselves and the ones we care for the most. As we climb back, their support can mean the world to us. Here’s to Derrek Lee and his Cubs teammates, as they prepare to help a co-worker in his time of struggle.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
What's Next? (One Sixty-Two: Day 56)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Fifty-Six: Nick Swisher, New York Yankees
Throughout the year, ESPN has been running an innovative collection of documentaries titled “30 for 30.” In the series, the network celebrates its 30 years of existence by airing one-hour documentaries about sports events from the past three decades, created by various filmmakers.
Last night, ESPN debuted “June 17, 1994,” directed by Brett Morgen. Without conducting a single retrospective interview and using only video footage from that day, Morgen has created a breathtaking review of one of the most fascinating days in recent sports history.
The New York Rangers are parading down Broadway to celebrate their first Stanley Cup in 54 years. Arnold Palmer is limping along the course at Oakmont in his final U.S. Open. The World Cup is getting underway in Chicago, with President Clinton and Oprah Winfrey welcoming the world. Ken Griffey Jr. has launched a homer off of David Cone to reach 30 home runs in a season faster than any man in baseball history.
In Madison Square Garden, the fast, furious and physical NBA Finals between the Houston Rockets and New York Knicks are set to play Game 5 on this evening. Patrick Ewing and Hakeem Olajuwon are both in search of their first-ever title, and the teams are about as evenly matched as the 2010 Celtics and Lakers are.
So much sports excitement. And yet, it is all being pushed aside without a moment’s hesitation. The news is out of Los Angeles: One of sports’ most celebrated superstars has been charged with murder, and the L.A. police cannot find him. As O.J. Simpson and the infamous white Ford Bronco become visible on the highways of Southern California later in the day, American television news is quickly ushered into a new era. It is an era of news as entertainment, as soap opera, as sensationalism, as reality and as 24-hour Shakespearean drama.
It’s a day that altered the way our news is covered, and its imprint is all over the electronic journalism we encounter today – from the 24/7 oil spill camera, to the coverage of Tiger Woods and Michael Jackson, to the up-to-the-moment critiques and analysis of every political maneuver, to the constant overlap of news and reality television (balloon boys, White House gate crashers, American Idols, and YouTube sensations, to name a few).
My brother was showing me his Twitter account the other day, and he was explaining how it all works. He was using his iPhone to search around Twitter for people to “follow,” and he came across a very popular Twitter page for New York Yankees outfielder Nick Swisher. The people who follow Swisher’s Twitter page get any up-to-the-moment thoughts that the friendly Yankee slugger has to share each day. How was last night’s game, Nick? What are you up to today? Who are your Twitter friends? Swisher has voluntarily placed a portion of his life on display every minute of every day. He knows that his fans crave nothing less.
Technology has changed dramatically over the past 16 years. But the cultural shift of June 17, 1994, is guiding what we do with this technology: We create our own news, our own realities, and give ourselves the constant rush of something new. We want to be both consumers and newsmakers at once, so we take off for the highway overpass and wave to the cameras following the Juice.
You don’t get to follow a Ford Bronco through L.A. every day, with one of the best football players in history holding a gun to his head in the back seat. But when nearly 100 million people tune in to watch something as gripping as this, they want to know one thing: What’s next?
It’s June 17, 2010. Turn on your phone, your laptop, your TV. He’s still there, still in that Bronco. It never ends. It never has. There’s always something next.
Day Fifty-Six: Nick Swisher, New York Yankees
Throughout the year, ESPN has been running an innovative collection of documentaries titled “30 for 30.” In the series, the network celebrates its 30 years of existence by airing one-hour documentaries about sports events from the past three decades, created by various filmmakers.
Last night, ESPN debuted “June 17, 1994,” directed by Brett Morgen. Without conducting a single retrospective interview and using only video footage from that day, Morgen has created a breathtaking review of one of the most fascinating days in recent sports history.
The New York Rangers are parading down Broadway to celebrate their first Stanley Cup in 54 years. Arnold Palmer is limping along the course at Oakmont in his final U.S. Open. The World Cup is getting underway in Chicago, with President Clinton and Oprah Winfrey welcoming the world. Ken Griffey Jr. has launched a homer off of David Cone to reach 30 home runs in a season faster than any man in baseball history.
In Madison Square Garden, the fast, furious and physical NBA Finals between the Houston Rockets and New York Knicks are set to play Game 5 on this evening. Patrick Ewing and Hakeem Olajuwon are both in search of their first-ever title, and the teams are about as evenly matched as the 2010 Celtics and Lakers are.
So much sports excitement. And yet, it is all being pushed aside without a moment’s hesitation. The news is out of Los Angeles: One of sports’ most celebrated superstars has been charged with murder, and the L.A. police cannot find him. As O.J. Simpson and the infamous white Ford Bronco become visible on the highways of Southern California later in the day, American television news is quickly ushered into a new era. It is an era of news as entertainment, as soap opera, as sensationalism, as reality and as 24-hour Shakespearean drama.
It’s a day that altered the way our news is covered, and its imprint is all over the electronic journalism we encounter today – from the 24/7 oil spill camera, to the coverage of Tiger Woods and Michael Jackson, to the up-to-the-moment critiques and analysis of every political maneuver, to the constant overlap of news and reality television (balloon boys, White House gate crashers, American Idols, and YouTube sensations, to name a few).
My brother was showing me his Twitter account the other day, and he was explaining how it all works. He was using his iPhone to search around Twitter for people to “follow,” and he came across a very popular Twitter page for New York Yankees outfielder Nick Swisher. The people who follow Swisher’s Twitter page get any up-to-the-moment thoughts that the friendly Yankee slugger has to share each day. How was last night’s game, Nick? What are you up to today? Who are your Twitter friends? Swisher has voluntarily placed a portion of his life on display every minute of every day. He knows that his fans crave nothing less.
Technology has changed dramatically over the past 16 years. But the cultural shift of June 17, 1994, is guiding what we do with this technology: We create our own news, our own realities, and give ourselves the constant rush of something new. We want to be both consumers and newsmakers at once, so we take off for the highway overpass and wave to the cameras following the Juice.
You don’t get to follow a Ford Bronco through L.A. every day, with one of the best football players in history holding a gun to his head in the back seat. But when nearly 100 million people tune in to watch something as gripping as this, they want to know one thing: What’s next?
It’s June 17, 2010. Turn on your phone, your laptop, your TV. He’s still there, still in that Bronco. It never ends. It never has. There’s always something next.
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