I Wanna Dance with Somebody

(editors note: part one: I would like to apologize to the millions of readers I have left hanging (aka, sorry mom))

(editors note: part two: I didn’t even realize I hadn’t updated this baby since March until my mother pointed it out. Stalk much?)

(editors note: part three: I wrote this at the beginning of the month and since it was written earlier some of the facts are no longer facts… you’ll see what I mean)

We have missed a lot in the past 10 months: the entire 2011 Major League Baseball season, 12 weeks of the National Football League (see editors note: part three), and 0 2011-2012 NBA games (again, this was written prior to December 25th, and at the time that had a nice ring to it, and since I’m the boss here: I’m leaving it).

A lot has happened in the past ten months: scandals and tragedies, wins and loses, heartbreaks and hangovers. But that’s what we get everyday with sports, every week, every season. Sports bring you down and bring you right back up.

I am going to write about Tim Tebow because I get so upset that everytime I turn on ESPN there is nothing about Tim Tebow. I want to talk about Tebow Time, and how he is the comeback master, and how he has overcame the odds. Tim Tebow is so under-appreciated in the NFL.

Did you guys see that? A whole paragraph of sarcasm… you’ve missed me right?

Anyway, I’m not writing about Tim, but I am writing about something that just as many people have talked about… and guess what? I don’t care, because I have been thinking a lot about something, a lot about something that is flawed, and a tad upsetting.

I'm talking about that Bull Crap System that everyone knows is screwed up yet no one is willing to change. That Bull Crap System, or BCS, that lets computers, people who don’t play the game, and worse: people who personally, and financially benefit from the game (like coaches), pick who gets to play in the National Championship (and all those other brand name bowls).

On January 9th, 2012 LSU will play Alabama for the National Championship (I don’t know why, but I have the weirdest feeling about this game, maybe de ja vue?).

Are these the two best teams in the country? Probably.

Can either team win? Yes.

But guess what? So could Oklahoma State or Stanford or Boise State. Maybe Wisconsin or Baylor? Or how about a handful of other teams? And we’re not even going to give them a chance.

I know, this sounds like a broken record player. Playing a song over and over again, but this is a good song so listen closely (I mean, really good, like Whitney Houston- I Wanna Dance with Somebody, good, or maybe TLC- No Scrubs, good). But maybe we should listen to this broken record player, listen to the hoards of sports writers and the collection of college coaches who see the flawed system and want something done about it.

So, at this point you can call me a waaaambulance and order me a burger and some cries, to go with all my whining and complaining… But wait, I have an idea. A revolutionary idea…

College football needs a playoff system. This is the first you’ve heard of that right? Oh wait… no it’s not, NCAA basketball does it, the NFL does it, Major League Baseball? Yeah…they do it too. What about international soccer? Oh yeah, that World Cup thing. So this playoff thing seems to be a pretty good idea.

Take out a few non-conference games (yeah, Michigan that Appalachian State game you love… that’s out), and add a playoff at the end.

Personally, I like an eight-team playoff, but ten doesn’t bother me either. Let these 8-10 teams battle to play in the national championship.

Give everyone a shot. Don’t let men in plushy chairs and home offices decide where these athletes play. (Note: I tried to put a sweet bracket graphic of what this years 8-team, single elimination, bracket would look like in my world…but clip art, or word art, or whatever that crap is…isn’t my forte, someone else would have to be in charge of making that image in the BCS future).

How can you oppose this? Do you hate fairness? Does legitimate competition scare you? Does watching more college football make you want to punch yourself in the face? That’s what I thought.

Would the result be the same? Maybe. But after the last whistle is blown, when the season is done, the teams that deserve to be in the national championship will be. And the teams that thought they could be in the national championship… they got their shot too. Everyone got a chance to go to the big dance.

So when that clock strikes upon the hour and the sun begins to fade… there is still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away1

1Please refer to the above hyperlink if you do not understand this last reference. And then thank me for changing your life.

March MADness

I’m mad. Very mad. Madder than someone going ten under in the left lane. More angry than shrinking your favorite shirt in the dryer. More irate than switching the channel during Iron Chef: America, and forgetting to turn back to find out the victor. Mad.

I’ve said it once, and I will say it again: I’m no basketball expert. However, I do know, that my Colorado Buffaloes were one of the best 68 teams in the country. They deserved a shot. Tad Boyle and the boys beat K State...3 times. They beat Texas and Missouri. The stats are there…the RPIs, the wins, the losses. But they deserved it. Gahhh, they desrved it.

I’ve been throwing myself a pity party for the past 24 hours. Poor me, a fan robbed of the cheering, and t-shirt wearing, and the overly-hopeful-bracket-filling-out that encompasses March MADness (emphasis on the mad).

But what about the team? What about Cory Higgins who gave 4 years to CU Basketball. Higgins has gone through coaching changes and fan doubts. He has turned CU into more than just a football school. His sweat and hard work line the floorboards of the Coors Event Center. What about Alec Burks? A player who could go to any school in the nation, but chose CU. Chose to help CU win, help CU put it’s name on the map (or in this case, the NCAA bracket), chose to believe in CU. What about Marcus Relphorde, and Andre Roberson? What about Levi Knutson? What about the players?

The thought of ten men sitting in cushioned chairs around a deep mahogany table deciding the fate of the players who have given everything disgusts me. These old, wrinkly men probably couldn’t hit a free throw, let alone beat K State 3 times. They might be able to tell you what an RPI is… but I doubt they can hit a clutch 3-pointer with 15 seconds remaining. Why do they get to decide?

I don’t know how to end this. There is no witty saying, no famous quote, no song lyric that can express how I feel. And there is definitely nothing that can show what Tad Boyle and the boys have gone through this season, and what a shame it is they can’t show the nation this. Roll Tad.

Love & Other Drugs

Today is the four-month anniversary of the 2010 World Series. In this time of reflection I have discovered something.

In the past I have described baseball as the love of my life, my favorite child, and my red letter day. It has taken another identity. Baseball is my Zoloft, my Ritalin, and my Viagra. That is, to say, baseball uplifts me, it calms me, and boy does it excite me.

Baseball uplifts me. When Sportscenter shows me clips from the Cactus League or the Grapefruit League my eyes light up, I get a skip in my step. It's the first time baseball has called in nearly 4 months...do I answer? My heart is beating fast and when I finally decide to pick up, it's too late. Baseball goes straight to voicemail. Baseball always leaves a message, never leaves me hanging. The date has been set: April 1st. Baseball will take me out, and so it begins. The wear and tear of everyday life is supplemented by the faint sound of swinging strikes and crushing homers, by the ringing of my phone as baseball calls, the ding of the message, the uplifting call I've been waiting for for a long time.

Baseball calms me, it gives me a schedule. You can always depend on baseball, baseball is always there for you. Baseball doesn’t forget to call. Baseball is there when he tells you he will be. If he promises to take you out for a ballpark frank and the national anthem at 2 pm on Wednesday, he’ll be there. He’ll be there with peanuts and cracker jacks. Every game he asks: “hey hey baby, Oooo ahhh, I wanna know-o-o-o if you’ll be my girl” and the answer is always the same: Yes. While his incessant wooing might annoy some, it calms me. It’s expected. It’s comfortable. Baseball promises me 162 dates a year, and he delievers. Raining? We’ll reschedule. Plane delayed? Let’s find another time that works. If the first 162 dates go well, we’ll have some more. If they continue to go well… let’s throw a parade. Baseball calms me, it structures my days, my weeks, my years.

Baseball excites me. Seeing outfielders dive for pop flys and first basemen stretch for the out. While you can always count on baseball to be there for you, you never know what he will bring. One day he might grace you with the perfect date, letting the pitcher see 27 men walk to the plate, and 27 walk away. Maybe he’ll bring you a bouquet of roses, caught just above the outfield wall. How about some chocolates, diving into home headfirst? Maybe he’ll write you a poem, peppered with obsenities screamed by managers. Baseball is always exciting, he’s never boring. And he always brings gifts...

Baseball is my all-in-one pill.

Bad to the Bone

While cat-lovers, cilantro-fans, and SF Giant supporters may already be a tad apprehensive about me and my sports/life ideals, today’s words may prescribe me a lot more doubters. But you know what, those dissenters can make their own blog (and Lose with Wynne does not have the same ring to it).

In sports, as in life, there isn’t supposed to be perfection. Hitting .300 (that’s 3/10 folks, 30%...missing 70%) is good in baseball. No basketball star hits 100% of their free throws (uncontested, set distance shots). Qbs do not throw “perfect” passes and receivers don’t make perfect catches. Because perfect doesn’t exist. Now I could use this time to tell you what a joke the person who wrote “practice makes perfect” is, but I will save that for a rainy day.

I am here to shun perfection. Shun Tom Brady and his unanimous All-Pro Team selection. Laugh at his façade of a perfect, model wife, and an equally perfect child. Cool Tom, real cool-but give me some drama (and I don’t count haircuts as drama). T.Brady is one of those golden boys who everyone is genetically predisposed to liking (women want me, men want to be me, and animals want to learn to talk so they can joke with me).

So guess what Tommy-you, my friend, can join the likes of cat lovers, cilantro, and bandwagon fans in a place I call Hateville, USA. Population-not me. I hear the weather is nice there.

And in my desperate quest to shun perfection I enter a stage of life every girl goes through: bad boys. (Don’t worry mom and dad it’s just a sports metaphor). No, I do not believe Tiger Wood’s indiscretions are becoming, or Big Ben’s allegations are acceptable, or that Michael Vick’s actions are warranted. But yes, I like these guys. Unlike Tom, they have struggled through media barrages, fan hate mail, and management questioning. Focusing on just the game is not an option.

Did they do this to themselves? Yes. Their off-course, off-court, off-field transgressions have led them to the place they are today. Led to doubts and dissenters. Led to trade talks and PTI arguments. But I have seen these bad boys grow. Grow and learn. Tom is the same man that wore the maize and blue in 1999. Twelve years later he is still with the same team who drafted him, he has not changed. More facial hair, more wins, and superbowl rings. But he is the same.

The bad boys have changed. I want these bad boys to win: to win games, to win support and to eventually, win respect. Before they win I want them to understand. Understand respect, understand humility, understand the chance they have been given, and even more, understand the second chance they have been given.

I hope the bad boys are going to make it.

Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?