May 2008 Archives

The Western Conference championship T-shirts and hats were out and on and Kobe Bryant, standing at midcourt late Thursday at Staples Center, said with that big smile, "This is a dream come true."

Let me tell you what's a dream come true, at least if you appreciate greatness.

It's watching Kobe night in and night out.

It must be like it was in the 1940s, watching DiMaggio at Yankee Stadium. It's simply incomparable.

It's enough to ask, without it being rank heresy: is he the greatest ever?

Yes, yes, I know, here comes the answer, hard and fast: Michael Jordan is the greatest.

But: is Jordan truly, honestly, really all that much better? I mean, why? Don't be all sentimental. Jordan is significantly better than Kobe? Why?

"There are comparisons," said Chuck Daly, the former Pistons coach who also coached the 1992 U.S. Olympic "Dream Team," with Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird and others.

Daly, emphasizing that he was not favoring one over the other, said in comparing Kobe with MJ, "It gets really tough. I mean, they are so close. He's almost a clone. I hate to use that word but-- he has won championships, he scores big numbers, he can get his shot any time and he's got those same attributes, especially that unbelievable competitiveness plus that unbelievable ability.

"A lot of guys have that ability but not that same ruthless competitiveness. They don't accept losing to anyone."

'Cause we just can't stop making our own NBA commercials.

Set the scene: I'm chillaxin (no I did not make that word up. Rather it was used in all seriousness by a guy on a beach to my friends and I this past weekend. I've since adopted it in all of its ridiculousness) reading my New York Magazine standing in line with other greedy Manhattanites who are all impatiently waiting to get in. Into what you ask? A random building on the West Side where two flights above valuable merchandise is kept, all of which is disgustingly overpriced at major stores except HERE for three brief days, aka a Sample Sale. It's all the pleasure of buying good stuff minus the remorse of having to fork over an entire paycheck for a dumb dress.

The line is long so I entertain myself by reading. At page 11, the first article leaps out. 

'Vogue' Ranger Is a Hardworking Intern
He'll even get coffee, if only someone would ask.

I remember hearing about this...

A week into his Conde Nast career, New York Ranger turned Vogue intern Sean Avery hadn't yet had to fetch a cup of Starbucks. He later says, "Hopefully no one asks, but if they do, I'm definitely there to get the job done."

I hear ya Sean. It IS a job, trust me. I once was responsible for ordering oatmeal every morning for 19 days in the middle of December for the Executive Producer of a show I was working on. You do not screw up these people's orders, especially anything in the breakfast category. They take it seriously.

"Today I went to a Steven Klein shoot for a little bit in the morning, then I had lunch with Michael Bastian, a men's designer (I was wondering who that was?)," he said at the FiFi fragrance awards on May 20.

Now it makes sense. Just a few pages over I'd seen a picture of Avery attending the 36th Annual FiFi Awards. Because I had a brief stint working in the fragrance department of Bloomingdale's (Narciso Rodriguez anyone?), I'm all too familiar with the FiFi's. And I'm also aware that there aren't many male athletes clearing out their social calendars to attend this event. I read on...

The burning question appears: What does a hockey star do on a photo shoot?

"A lot of times it's just helping out wherever. If it's with clothes or lighting or whatever, I'm there just to learn it all and help anywhere I can."

Awww.. He sounds like a true intern! Love it while it lasts, buddy.

I logged on to the NBC Sports Blog service for the most innocent and, as is often the case with me, inconsequential of reasons. Obsessed as I am with the upcoming premiere of The Strangers (just three days away!), last night I conjured what might be the film's perfect ending.

Here's what happens: Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman are seated in front of the trio of intruders. Two of them unmask themselves and we learn that they are Bronson Pinchot and Mark Linn-Baker. The third would be Albert Camus, though how many people really know what he looks like? Besides, he's dead.

Now this is interesting...

That story was posted yesterday. The blog where said story was written is no longer up. From LAobserved.com:

Hmm, ESPN.com blogger Laura Lane's blog item where she calls the wife of Kobe Bryant insane — and talks about rumors of an affair — has gone off the air. In fact, her whole personal blog is gone.

Drama.. drama.. drama.

The Today Show.

If VH1 isn't playing music videos, Matt, Meredith and Al are my number one morning background noise of choice. I don't normally pay special attention to the stories because I'm getting ready for work and racing out the door. But today one story unexpectedly made me put the hair dryer down and pay attention. And at 8 something in the morning, that is hard to do. Grab my attention, not stop blowing my hair. 

Here's what I remember:

Ann Curry talking...
Mentions "A young boy... "
Says something about being against all odds...
And that what I'm about to watch will make me feel inspired...

Yup. Heard that one before. Blow dryer goes on full blast and I head back into the bathroom. 30 seconds later I come back out of the bathroom (hard to stay in one spot), yanking my hair with my brush and only able to hear the loud "oooooooowwwwwwoooo" of the blow dryer.

I look back at the TV. It's muted yet the screen is a screaming picture. There's this little boy, with one arm, no legs riding on top of a skateboard. He uses his one arm to push himself as the rest of his body lays belly down. What?

Then an interview, I'm assuming his father. Then a series of shots peaking into his daily life. Him hitting a baseball pitched to him by his mom. He holds the bat with his arm and between his neck and the top of his shoulder. A school musical where he plays the drums. His little body scooting down the stairs one at a time, secure only by the use of his elbow. A kitchen scene where he sits on top of the counter and helps cook with one hand.

An interview with his mom.

I turn off the blow dryer. 

At one point the boy is wearing a Tiki Barber jersey and playing football in the yard. It's football by a completely different definition then you or I know it but it's his version. A few more sound bites. Another shot of him back on that skateboard racing down the street.

The piece ends and Ann Curry is back. I'd forgotten what I'd been doing before. There sitting on a couch on the Today show set is the little boy squeezed in between his mom and dad. He's wearing the Barber jersey. They begin to talk. All I can think is "Tiki better be coming to the show today. They have to introduce him."  

I turn the volume up. Nick is his name and he's happier then most 12 year olds I've ever met. His eyes sparkle and I can't help but think, "I hope that little spirit never gets broken."

As I watch the interview I'm thinking to myself what I would do as a producer. I'd want to be careful that if I brought Tiki onto the set, the football star wouldn't overshadow the tiny boy. The presence of a famous athlete wouldn't take away from the story. Would I have had the two meet before?  No time for an answer...

Ann asks if Nick would like to meet someone special. You can tell Nick is hoping it's who he thinks it is but doesn't want to jinx it. Tiki walks out holding a skateboard. The boy lights up.

As Tiki tells Nick how brave he is and Ann asks how cool this all is Nick tears up. But the tears are a mixture of awe, joy and privilege. There are none of pity. Ann asks: "Do you want to play football with Tiki Barber?" Nick nods, rubs his eyes and then responds with quick wit: "Are you kidding me?" It was a nice way to start the morning.

The Yankees, who have been at .500 at many different junctures of this season, climbed back to even on Sunday afternoon with a 6-5 win against the Seattle Mariners. The victory was significant for a few reasons:

1) New York was a season-worst, "rock-bottom" 20-25 after a 12-2 blowout by the Baltimore Orioles last Tuesday. That was their fifth straight loss. Now the Yankees have won five straight, their longest win streak of the season.

2) It was the first time New York had come from behind after trailing in the 7th inning all season. Previously, they were 0-23 when trailing after seven innings.

3) It was the first time they'd come back to win after trailing by more than two runs. The Yanks were down 5-2 entering the bottom of the 8th yesterday, but due to some good at-bats (Jeter and A-Rod worked walks out of 2-2 counts, while Bobby Abreu stroked a double after fouling off three pitches on a 3-2 count), a horrible fielding error by the Mariners' J.J. Putz, and smart baserunning by Hideki Matsui, the Yankees scored four in the 8th to win.

What those previous figures should tell you is that through 49 games this season, the Yankees have been a boring team to watch. They either grabbed a lead and held on to it or fell behind and stayed behind. Monday's victory was really the first outing all season worthy of being re-aired on the YES Network during some future rain delay.

Update:

Yankees lose 6-1 at Baltimore on Memorial Day. I take back everything I said. Seriously, though, while it's understandable why Joe Girardi (with Hank Steinbrenner loudly hemming and hawing over his shoulder) would move Joba to the starting rotation, that maneuver allows for more days such as today, when the Orioles scored 5 with two outs in the 7th to put the game away.

The Rolling Stone arrived in the mail the other day, and there were The Eagles on the cover. It's funny. This weekend the two biggest concerts in New York City are Van Halen (Friday night at MSG) and The Eagles (tonight in Newark). And I wonder who today's teenagers will be going to see when they're my age. That's right: the Stones.

Anyway, reading about the best-selling U.S. rock band in history reminded me of one of their former members, Randy Meisner, who only sang lead vocals on "Take It To The Limit" (a song we've all sung lead vocals at some point in our lives, most likely when not all alone at the end of the evening). Anyway, it all took me back to junior high, listening to Casey Kasem do the Top 40 on the radio, and then I searched on YouTube and found this classic version of Meisner's "Deep Inside My Heart"...

Spent most of Wednesday afternoon reading The Road, Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize-winning 2006 novel about a father and son making their way in a post-apocalyptic world. It is an excellent and disturbing story, and I believe that I was able to gain a heightened appreciation for it by subsisting in my own post-apocalyptic landscape as I read it: Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport.

Now, while my experience here was certainly less unpleasant than, say, Carol Anne Gotbaum's, it was still six hours of waiting for a delayed flight that was eventually canceled. Twelve hours after leaving my parents' abode in Devil's Gulch, I'm right back where I started. That's more brownies for me, though.

(As for the Gotbaum family, certainly the woman's death is sad. However, if you're going to sue the City of Phoenix for your daughter's wrongful death, are you also going to sue yourselves for allowing what you yourselves describe as a suicidal woman to travel alone?).

So I was driving across the desert early morning Monday, betwixt Los Angeles and Phoenix, on Interstate 10. And I came across a "Border Patrol" truck, which looks not unlike one o' them "Animal Control" trucks. And it occurred to me that while Border Patrol is probably a necessity (you have no idea how many Canadians are hoodwinking kindly customs officials to gain access into the fruited plains and whatnot), wouldn't we all be better off with a Boredom Patrol?

These agents of excitement would sweep into town and relieve us all of our languid ways. The truck would pull up, a deejay would emerge out of the back, and suddenly it would be crazytown all over the place. Or we could all just continue watching Idol, I guess.

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Congratulations to Jon Lester of the Red Sox. That's the fourth no-hitter a Boston pitcher has thrown since 2002 (Hideo Nomo, Derek Lowe and Clay Buchholz as well) and more meaningfully, the catcher for all four gems was Jason Varitek. Which is why the game that sticks out most to me is the one-hitter thrown by Curt Schilling last year. Schilling has 216 career wins, the other four a combined 256. But unlike Schilling, those other four were smart enough not to wave off Varitek's sign with two outs in the 9th inning and a no-hitter still intact. Schilling waved off Varitek last spring in just that situation at Oakland, and the A's broke up the no-no.

First off, it's Sunday, 12:17 p.m. local time here in Los Angeles. That is, Game 7 of the Cavs-Celtics has yet to tip off. So I just want to prognosticate right here, right now that the Cavaliers will win.

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Have spent the past five days here in lovely Los Angeles. A few highlights: Meeting up with my old friend Steve Hymon, a former Sports Illustrated reporter who now writes the "Road Sage" column in the Los Angeles Times. That is, when anyone in L.A. writes in to the region's largest newspaper to complain about traffic, Steve is the man who reads those missives. How would you like to have that gig?....Last night I saw an off-, off-, off-, off-Broadway play. So off-Broadway that it was in Hollywood. It was entitled "Cellphone Funeral" and it starred my friend J.P. Hubbell, (you know him as "S.W.A.T. Leader" on CSI: Miami). The conceit was that a gay man died (he is run over by another gay man who did not see him as he was checking out yet a third man while driving) and his family, not knowing much about his adult life, invited guests based solely on the names he had in his cellphone. Memo to my family: If I should expire in an untimely fashion, just post it on this blog. That way we'll keep the guest count very small...

Well, this is decidedly bad news for the still-developing reality TV series, "Dallas Cowboys 2008."

Everything had fallen into place so nicely for Jerry Jones. The Pacman Jones deal is done. HBO is locked in to run its oft-interesting "Hard Knocks" behind-the-scenes at training camp. T.O. plays Flavor Flav's brother on some MTV show tonight, likely spawning a friendship that could have half the team wearing sundials around their necks during film sessions.

And now ... this? No Jessica and Tony. That'll put a surgery-defying crease in Jerry's forehead. Unless it's all a ruse. (Heck, her rep already says it's not true.) Unless this is merely the buildup to reconciliation the cameras can catch this summer. Picture it ... Romo in his dorm room, leaving message after text for an AWOL Jess? Shopping for baby gifts for Ashlee? Flav telling Romo he's got Brigitte Neilsen on speed dial? Mark Gastineau getting inflamed by that news.

That, my friends, that will advance the brand. And isn't that what training camp is for?   

So I check my email today and find one titled:

Psychic Judi Hoffman hits Kentucky Derby Trifecta. Who's Next for The Triple Crown?

Did you get this in your inbox too? (Cause I don't have a clue how Judi's people found me.)

Anyways, I read on ... it is after all for immediate release.

Vibrant celebrity psychic Judi Hoffman hit a trifecta at the May 3, 2008 Kentucky Derby. A "trifecta" is when a bettor predicts exactly which horses will finish in first, second, and third place. With an OTB ticket to prove it (scan attached), Judi predicted that horses Big Brown (20), Eight Belles (5) and Denis of Cork (16) would be the winning order.  (Don't we all wish we were at that 44th street OTB!)

I'm not sure if "NBA on TNT" ran its segment with "Samaritan's Feet" founder Manny Ohonme more than once Sunday, but I first saw it following the Hornets-Spurs game. I am glad that I did. If you don't know him, Ohonme is the African expat who has made it his mission to outfit 10 million impoverished children with 10 million pairs of new shoes within ten years.

What struck me most, watching him talk with Ernie, Kenny and Chuck, was not just the purpose for his visit. What struck me was the obvious love for people and the passion inside of Ohonme. It has been said so many times, but it's true: the key to happiness if putting others before yourself. Which explains why so few wide receivers in the NFL are ever happy.

The Chicago White Sox Locker Room, a unique spot for work to be conducted...

Granted most work environments are large spaces filled with desks, computers, TV's, printers, and a fax machine or two. Few "offices" are actual locker rooms... yet the very fine line between a typical locker room and a professional office was crossed on Tuesday. Of course which side of the line the offense falls on depends on who you talk to.

Gist of the deal is someone (no one person has been to blame) placed two inflatable female dolls, propped by bats (you can guess where the bats were placed), inside the locker room. The new "mascots" had signs hanging around their neck that read: "You've Got To Push" and "Let's Go White Sox". It was a petty and cheap display of team spirit with the laughable hope that a few dolls could bring the team out of a losing slump. Hey, we all have our ways of finding motivation. Turns out the cheerleaders dolls didn't work, they still lost. 

Now here's the thing... was the act tasteless? Yeah, pretty much. Offensive? I could see how someone would be. I did not walk into the locker room, so as a woman I can't say 100% that I would or would not be offended by it. Did it completely lack in good judgment? Absolutely. But in the scheme of things, was there any harm meant in it? No way. A bad joke is a bad joke. Beyond someone looking for a cheap pick me up, I don't think there was any bigger meaning beyond it.

I'm not defending the team. This is no Matt Leinart invasion. Displaying it in the locker room where media has access made it fair game to become a big story. On top of that, when the manager has been known for poor taste in past decisions, it's hard to make excuses. 

The real question is should the behavior in the locker room have to change? Is what's acceptable behind closed doors between teammates still ok when visitors aka journalists have access inside those closed doors? Does the set environment have to fit the people who are present? Or should the media recognize that they are only guests in someone else's office and the purpose of their stay is to gather information for the story? The story being the game at hand.

I'd like to think that sometimes our sensitivity gets in the way of humor. Then again, humor can be harsh and repulsive.

In this case, it makes one think. Who knew a blow-up doll could make you do that.

Straight outta the "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" files: No more than 100 yards from my front door there is a wildlife phenomenon happening that is quite cool. A red-tailed hawk has taken up residence in a tree that literally overhangs the West Side Highway. It's a pretty cool sight each day, whilst going for a run in Riverside Park (because these days I'm too lazy to drag my ass over to Central Park), to start out by looking up at Mr. Hawk's nest as if the Upper West Side has suddenly become a scene out of Animal Planet.

I do believe that there has not been a hawk sighting in Manhattan--outside of Central Park--since the 2006 NFL Draft, so this is cool. Of course, rent being what it is in this part of the world, none of us here are surprised that (I kid you not) a few smaller birds have taken up residence in the bottom of the hawk's nest. Yes, Mr. Hawk is sub-letting.

BOSTON - How can the Cavaliers be leading the Celtics midway through the third quarter despite shooting just 30 percent from the field.

Paul Pierce is 1 for 7. Ray Allen is 0 for 3. Boston has 16 turnovers (3 each by Pierce, Allen, Rajon Rondo and Kendrick Perkins). Cleveland is 20 for 23 from the line and Boston is 8 for 10.

Lebron James is laboring through a 1 for 9 start himself in his first 20 minutes on the floor but all by hisself he's 8 for 10 from the line.

This is a rockfight.

So Roger Clemens, following in the wake of ex-teammate Jason Giambi, is also now apologizing without providing details? Let me ask you this: Imagine you know a specific manner in which someone is putting themselves in mortal danger. And you simply say to them, "Watch out." But you don't tell them what to watch out for. And then they touch the third rail or forget that the traffic in London is opposite as they're stepping off the curb or whatever. Do you get credit for trying to save them?

"I GOTTA GO PEE!"

Last night I finished writing late, and you just cannot go to sleep immediately after that, so I watched "The Green Mile", which has some outstanding performances by the way (none better than Sam Rockwell as rapist-murderer "Wild Bill" Wharton). Anyway ...

Sorry about my absence here of late, but you know, "It's hard goddamned work doing a blog." 

So I'm still obsessed with last Tuesday's "Costas Now". And the more I watch that 16-minute "Sports Bloggers" segment, the funnier I find host Bob Costas', "Braylon, do you blog?" question. Outside of this one moment, Costas was his typical self, which is to say masterful. I believe that he was actually jazzed by the live format, by the challenge to his intellect to cover five different topics live over 90 minutes while also following the "comic stylings of Paul Mercurio." (our in-studio warm-up comic)

What happened, then, with that question? My suspicion is that the mind of Costas, for just a moment, went blank. The question was a stall, something I've done dozens of times during an interview when I've had a runaway train of thought. As have almost all reporters. The difference is that we were not on live TV. Why did Costas blank for a moment? Maybe he was musing to himself, "Did I just say, 'Good riddance, (bleep)face' on national television?"

John Walters (hey, that's me!) was there for the whole night of HBO's live, 90-minute edition of "Costas Now". He was in the studio audience when H.G. "Buzz" Bissinger took the stage and in the pub when a slightly buzzed Bissinger took his leave (hey, so was Walters). The program, divided into five segments, was devoted to an examination of "Sports and the Media". What follows is a thumbnail assessment of each topic.
 
Part 1: Sports Talk Radio

"The Giants winning the way they won is a nine. The Mets collapsing the way they did, from what we do, is a ten." -- Mike Francesa, WFAN

Champ: Michael Strahan, New York Giants
Punching Bag: Chris Russo, WFAN
Admiral Stockdale "Who am I and what am I doing here?" honoree: Mitch Albom
Best Moment: When Russo attempted to demonstrate that he is fair by noting that when the Giants won the Super Bowl, he praised Strahan. Replied the future Hall of Fame defensive end, "You had no choice."
The Skinny: Apparently, sports talk hosts are misogynistic, two-faced louts who possess all the charm of Louie DePalma. Who knew? Strahan had the best punches landed-per-punches thrown of any panelist the entire evening, noting that Russo may not be the best-suited person to talk football "when the last time you had a uniform on your mom took you trick-or-treating."
HBO Entertainment Rating: "Real Time With Bill Maher"

Part 2: The Internet and the Impact of Bloggers

"You don't have to go to school to say, like, "I think that the Indians should have pulled Carmona in the eighth." -- Michael Schur (a.k.a. Ken Tremendous), FireJoeMorgan.com
  
Buzzsaw: H.G. "Buzz" Bissinger, author, rageaholic
Sonny Corleone pulling into the tollbooth: Will Leitch, founder of Deadspin
Stockdale Honoree: Braylon Edwards, Pro Bowl wideout, Cleveland Browns
Best Moment: Perhaps it was hearing the most articulate man in sports, Costas, say (even if he was just reading a commenter's words), "Good riddance, (bleep)-face."
The Skinny: The morning after this show aired I was able to find well-written columns on this fracas (as well as hilarious comments, such as "W.C. Fields > W.C. Heinz") all over the interwebs. Meanwhile, not one of New York's four major newspapers had a word on it. Print is dead.
HBO Entertainment Rating: "The Sopranos"