09/29/06 rant

09/29/06

How to Lose a Division Lead in Two Weeks

Inspired by the complete and utter catastrophe that is the St. Louis Cardinals as of late, Professor Julian Bashir is now commencing a lecture series on how to lose a large division lead in two weeks. He gave the first lecture today and I was lucky enough to sit in on it:

“Okay, time to see who is here. Ah, the Vikings of a few years back are here, good. Also, back there, the Red Sox of perpetuity. No, don’t be ashamed, your division leads lost have been large enough to warrant invitation to this prestigious gathering—especially that one in ’78 or whenever it was. Who else is there... is that the Angels from, uh, ‘95? Ah good. Well let’s begin.
“Division leads are very overrated,” he began, while pacing around the room. “That is the first thing we have to have understood. Being in first is unimportant. When you are in first, you have nothing to gain and everything to lose. Everyone will be playing with more intensity than you possibly can, because while they are the underdog attempting a revolution, you are only attempting to keep the status quo. And besides, thanks to professional sports leagues’ obsession with ‘wild card’ teams, you can still sneak into the play-offs despite your obvious inferiority. It no longer matters that the Cardinals were better over a 162 game season last year! The Astros received the privilege of representing the Nation League in the World Series because they won in the playoffs. And cleary, the 162 games played during the season were not nearly as strong of an indicator for a team’s strength as the six games the Astros and Cardinals played.
“Pittsburgh,” he continued, “a team which barely even reached the playoffs last year, won the Super Bowl despite not winning their division. No, no, it isn’t important that they only won the first game thanks to Carson’s injury; or that they only won the second game because the Colts choked like the Colts do (I mean, Ben Harper let a QB tackle him on that fumble return...); it is even unimportant that the Steelers got Super Bowl XL handed to them on a platter by convicts (what? prisoners don’t wear black and white stripes? Oh.) No, the only important knowledge to draw from this is that Pittsburgh did not win their division, and managed to steal a Super Bowl.
“This could be you! The necessary personnel for such a job are not particularly easy to come by, but most likely, you can get the parts you need on eBay.
“First, you need a very secure manager/coach,” he said, now sitting down and pounding his fist on a table. “You can’t have someone who is on the hot seat, and thus, needs to produce. That might compel them to effectuate change in the team’s attitude, and possibly stanch the tide. You need to lose fast and furiously to get out of a division lead in two weeks. No time for rumors about a manager/coach’s job security. Preferably, the manager/coach holds the mantle of ‘genius’. Tony La Russa is a perfect example of this; his team is doing an admirable job of throwing their division away. Tony is a ‘genius’, however, so he needn’t worry about a peep from his GM.
“Secondly, it is very helpful but not entirely necessary to have one of the following: A team which has so comfortably won its division in recent years that they forgot how to play the game in the last few weeks of the season, OR a team so used to losing that they simply revert back to this when the pressure is on in late months.
“I would go onto a third point but that is unwanted—we are trying to finish second here, not third. Now get your genius managers, one man line-ups and aging pitchers and start losing those divisions! I know you won’t let me down! Next week we will have a lecture on how to deal with the morale crushing blow of almost losing that division lead, but hanging onto it at the last second. The White Sox of ’05 will be here to share their heartbreaking story.”

Professor’s credentials: Julian Bashir is an accomplished underachiever. Born stupid, he was genetically enhanced through shady, technological means. To hide his brilliant but illegal brain, he purposefully finished second in contests, would work only so hard as to be the second best in his class, and would always make sure he got the second best score on tests. He has been giving talks and seminars on the benefits of coming in second ever since his genetic enhancements were revealed thanks to a holographic doctor, an uncharacteristically unreliable best friend, and a parental feud dating back years. Indeed, he created the second best time machine of all time to reach beings of the 21st century and share with them the good news.


Enough Already: Joe Morgan’s love affair with Albert Pujols has to be one of the strangest things I have seen in the world of sports. Maybe Joe likes him because he wears a red uniform, and Joe mistook Albert for a “Red”; maybe Joe likes him because “A” is only 9 letters before “J” in the alphabet; maybe Joe likes him because Joe mistakes him for his favorite food; maybe Joe likes him because Joe decided he needed to pick a favorite player, and Albert’s name came out of the hat. Who knows.
Whatever the reason, Joe has taken it upon himself to make sure the entire world knows just how good this Pujols guy is. Albert’s massive numbers seem to speak for themselves, but Joe does not apparently think so (which is ironic considering how much Joe loves the guy). At every possible turn, he will call him the greatest hitter alive, and possibly the greatest hitter of all time (and by “every possible turn”, I literally mean every turn Albert has at bat). At every possible turn, Joe will speak of his underrated defensive ability at first base (and by “every possible turn”, I mean every single time the camera view includes Pujols at first base). At every possible turn, Joe says Pujols should be the MVP (and by “every possible turn”, I mean every time anyone says his name. Period).
It is downright frightening, in a not-very-funny, not-very-informative, “Joe must want to marry him” way. Cut it out Joe. You’re creepy.

Roughing It: Everyone, except the networks, knows that sideline reporters are completely inutile (that’s a synonym for “useless”, if you didn’t know, *wink, wink*). One of the reasons behind their dysfunctional nature hit me as I was watching Rachael Nichols blabber on about who-knows-what the other day.
It is all rehearsed.
Think about what a sideline reporter’s advantages might be (for those of you tempted to say “there aren’t any”, I agree, but bear with me a moment). They are right in the action. They aren’t in the cozy living room-esque settings of a studio in air conditioned rooms debating silly things like whether or not it is polite to call Peyton Manning the Dan Marino of this generation in Dan Marino's presence. They are supposed to be out there, roughing it, giving up the niceties of the indoors to get a scoop on your favorite team (unless your favorite team plays in a dome, in which case... they are inside anyway. I digress). The point I am making is: they should be like those guys in the hurricane news reels, desperately attempting to stay upright while 70 mph winds knock everything in sight silly. Or, at least, they should seem like they are. But they are like anchors for Sportscenter (sometimes literally, I suppose), save for the different venues.
Sideline reporters’ hair is too good, their clothes too nice, their shoes too high, and their stories so rehearsed that you wonder how many times they debated whether to put that “immovable object versus unstoppable force” in the script (speaking of which, that phrase has officially entered... well, you’ll see). They shouldn’t have polished, clean delivery; they should be stumbling, bumbling, and tripping over their words (well... they do that anyway, but only because they are terrible speakers. I want them stumbling because they aren’t reciting a memorized script).
If no one understands what I am talking about here... well, no problem. Sideline reporters will never be useful. I just thought I’d illuminate one of the many faceted problems they pose. They need to look like they are giving a breaking story about something they saw while attempting to interview a head coach; they do not need to give those ridiculous “emotional” stories about players that no one likes.

Play-Offs!: I intended to print my baseball playoffs preview today, but thanks to AAAA’s incessant parody (all of the teams are equally bad), there is still only one playoff spot clinched, with three games to go! Remind me to file an official complaint with the commissioner of MLB.

Overachievers: The Red Sox took Dr. Bashir’s message to heart. Too much so, apparently. Not only did they fall completely out of the division race, they are now in third in the division! Go Blue Jays. (Ya know, seeing as the number five can only be divided in half with decimals, it is possible to now say the Red Sox are in “the bottom half” of the division!)

Dial ‘em Up!: List of phrases sports people use way too often:

“Dialed up”. They dial up plays, they dial up intensity, they dial up the bullpen... at least on that last one the phrase has some semblance of meaning.

“This team is on a mission”. Aren’t all teams supposed to be on missions to win?

“Team chemistry”. Oh save it already. The Heat won the NBA Championship. Baseball doesn’t require players to interact with each other. The NFL... well sure you need it there, but it is so meaningless that it is akin to saying:

“Pitching wins championships”. And... I think I hit this one already.

“Immovable object versus unstoppable force”. If I hear this again, I’m ripping Sal Pal’s head off. (And yes, I came up with that nickname for him because I have no idea how to spell his last name).

On a related note, Chris Berman has got to be stopped. If he injects one more “oh by the way” into a spot where it simply does not fit, he needs to be shot. He’s an okay guy, and besides his incessant “back-back-back-back” (which starts to sound more like a chicken than a home run call), I don’t think he is a bad commentator. But his squeezing, twisting and forcing of “oh by the way” into these spots is sort of like that guy who has obviously never cursed in his life, wants to be “cool”, so he starts dropping f-bombs in all the wrong places, and sounds far more like a moron than he would have had he kept his mouth clean.*

*Editor’s note. Cursing is bad. Don’t do it. The author was only illustrating a ******* point. Oh. Oops.