Apples and Oranges, or Not

 By the time Clare turned 19, she was sweating bullets over making her college softball team.  The coach who had seemed so friendly to a high school senior was all of a sudden demanding and skeptical of any freshman’s talents, or so it seemed.  A few weeks before her birthday, our daughter called to tell us that she probably wasn’t going to make the team because she had gone 0 for 3 in a scrimmage, with a walk and two strikeouts.  Clare ended up the only freshman to crack the starting lineup, and the rest is history, as noted in the Elmhurst College record books.

As a 19-year old playing in the NBA, Jahlil Okafor is still trying to figure out what to do with his down time.  On top of the two nightclub incidents that have come to light, The Philadelphia Inquirer is reporting that in early November Okafor was clocked driving at 108 mph in a 45 mph zone.  Elmhurst didn’t allow freshmen who lived on campus to have a car.

Clare got a car her sophomore and managed to stay off the radar screens; as of this morning on her drive back to Valpo, she’s still good in that regard.  Back in April, when he announced he was leaving Duke after one year for the NBA, Okafor released a statement that said in part, “I can’t thank my coaches, teammates and family enough for making this year so special and helping me grow on and off the court.” 

I’d hate to see the immature version.  I’d love to see grownups get involved before it’s too late.  

He Did What?

At 0-17, the Philadelphia 76ers are in a bad way, and it’s going to get worse if they can’t get a handle on 19-year old rookie center Jahlil Okafor.  After a loss earlier in the week in Boston, Okafor went to a nightclub, which, for professional athletes, is a lot like going to a strip club; only bad things happen at those places.  Sure enough, around 2 AM Okafor got into a fight with hecklers.

“I’m ashamed with what I did and that’s not who I am,” Okafor told reporters after the incident.  “Everybody that’s reached out to me, that’s in my circle, they know that’s not who I am.”  But now comes news of another nightclub incident, last month in Philadelphia.  More heckling, with someone allegedly pulling a gun on Okafor.  If Okafor isn’t that person, then who is he?

Basically, he’s a kid, and kids do dumb things.  As an 18-year old in the minors, Bryce Harper blew a kiss to the opposing pitcher after he hit a home run.  That’s on-the-field dumb, for which there are remedies.  But the stuff that happens off the field can lead to gunfire or, in the case of Johnny Football, whatever an excess of alcohol can fuel. Mr. Football, aka 22-year old Browns’ quarterback Johnny Manziel, has already been to rehab this year, which makes this week’s video of him partying rather sad; his lying about it is more pathetic than anything.  Nobody forced Cleveland to draft Manziel, and apparently nobody in the Browns’ front office did the necessary due diligence.

Long story short—tons of sudden money can corrupt a person, a young person most of all.  Families of said young athletes need to take heed no less than the teams that employ said athletes.

The Little Things

Because it was a gray day after Thanksgiving, I passed the time surfing the Internet to end up on the White Sox website.  I listened to ex-Tigers’ catcher Alex Avila, just signed to a 1-year deal, admit that his father, who happens to be the new Tigers’ GM, did not make an offer to his son.  Talk about cold, though Avila handled it well.

I also watched Micah Johnson deliver turkeys to residents at a Chicago public housing project for senior citizens.  Johnson talked with people—in Spanish to at least one resident—and posed for pictures.  The guy does all the little things right.  He’s going to be 25 come February.  This spring training will decide if Johnson can start at second base in the major leagues.  Please, oh please.    

A House Divided

A House Divided

We had my in-laws over for Thanksgiving; they’re both what I’d call social Bears’ fans, like me.  We don’t lose sleep over the often dumb play that comes out of Soldier Field, but put us in a roomful of people watching a game, and we’ll cheer right along.  We also had their daughter and her family over, Packers’ fans one and all (and five).  My in-laws also have a son who bleeds Cheesehead green and gold.  So does Clare’s boyfriend, Chris.  Now guess what two teams faced off against one another in Green Bay last night and you have a Chicago version of civil war right in the living room.

My father-in-law’s youngest grandchild, a fearless 10-year old, walked through the door and up to his grandfather, to let him know, “The Bears are going to lose tonight.”  Thank you very much.  My brother-in-law no doubt was texting my wife about how the Pack was going to dispose of the Bears by halftime, when everyone at Lambeau Field could cheer their heads off for Brett Favre, who was having his number retired, and Bart Starr, who was intent on showing that a heart attack and stroke could not keep him from appearing.  And still the Bears won, 17-13.

I have no idea why so many football fans in these parts prefer the Packers to the Bears.  When I wax eloquent about the departed Cardinals being the South Side NFL team, hardly a person knows what I’m talking about, as the Cardinals checked out over 50 years ago.  Both the Packers and Bears are known for hardnosed football, with Green Bay having the better quarterbacks and Chicago the better running backs.  The Bears were pretty good in the 1950s and the Packer even better in the 1960s; both teams pretty much stunk in the ’70s while Chicago was always the more interesting team during Da Age a Da Coach, 1981-1992.  Favre came to Green Bay in ’92, and the Packers have dominated ever since.

Still, none of this explains why there are so many Packers’ fans south of the Wisconsin state line.  The best I can offer is that Vince Lombardi had something to do with it.  Deserved or not, Lombardi had the reputation of being extremely tough but fair (and a little brilliant) while George Halas was tough, arbitrary and cheap.  I know that last quality really rubbed my blue-collar father the wrong way.  That, or Chicago-area football fans reacted to the local team the same way I did with the White Sox—since the Bears rarely had a good quarterback, it was more fun to watch the team of Starr, Favre and (Aaron) Rodgers.  Except I never took the next step and switched over to the Braves or Red Sox.     

On the Beauty--and Safety--of Going Deep

Growing up a White Sox fan in the 1960s, for sanity’s sake I took to following mirror-opposite teams like the Red Sox and Braves; if only we had Tony Conigliaro and Mack Jones, or even Gene Oliver, I was certain we could win a pennant.  It was the same in football.  The Bears back then lived and mostly died pounding the ball into the line, so I liked to follow teams with an honest-to-goodness passing game.  Naturally, Sonny Jurgensen became one of my favorite players.  Oh, how that man could throw passes long and on target.

So, when critics talk about violence being a major part of football’s appeal, I disagree.  What makes the game special is a Jurgensen or Johnny Unitas or Aaron Rodgers doing the hitting, be it short, middle or long.  Because I watched Dick Butkus so much, I also enjoy seeing a running back break tackles or in the case of an otherworldly talent like Gayle Sayers, avoid tackles altogether in a 50-yeard dance to the end zone.  At least in my version of the game, a good offense lessens the chances of a concussion. 

A Well-Dressed Man

So, there I am walking through the shoe department at Nordstrom’s with my wife yesterday when this guy comes out of nowhere to shake my hand.  “That is a great throwback jacket,” he enthused.  My wife is now used to this kind of thing happening to us.

The jacket in question has become old in and of itself.  I bought it Christmas Eve 1992, with a 1-year old Clare in tow.  A Mitchell and Ness beauty, the jacket is red with yellow leather sleeves and a White Sox logo from the 1940s, big S with a small O and X fit into the curves.  Billy Pierce liked it, and so have a number of other people in addition to that fellow at Nordstrom’s.

I had a 1959 White Sox jacket, but wore that one out.  When I’m in an Eddy Stanky mood, I wear the 1966 jacket.  Michele wears it, too, and gets guys hitting on her when she does.  I have also been known to wear a Philadelphia As jacket (with white elephant logo) and an Oakland Oaks beauty, forest green with dark brown leather sleeves and an oak leaf patch on the front.  That jacket along with a bunch of caps comes from Ebbets Field Flannels.

I won’t wax nostalgic about “the good old days,” not when they included tuberculosis, polio and lynchings, but the ballparks and uniforms, yeah, I’ll take those any day.

The Reality of College Sports

The Reality of College Sports

Clare woke up yesterday to a text from a friend who’d heard that the Syracuse football coaching staff had just been fired.  That’ll make you want to get out of bed.

Scott Shafer’s Orange started the season with three straight wins, only to follow that with eight straight losses; it’s never a good thing to go a combined 2-13 the last two seasons in the ACC.  By all accounts, Shafer is a really nice guy who may have been too loyal to his defensive coordinator, a close friend.  After a 3-9 record last season and a new athletic director wanting to see improvement in the program, Shafer found himself on the proverbial hot seat.  Syracuse was his eighth coaching job in 24 years of college football.

So, now Clare’s boyfriend Chris is left in a kind of limbo.  As a graduate student, he can’t be fired, but that doesn’t mean the new regime will give him the same chance to coach the way the old offensive coordinator did.  You watch a college football game, one team beats up on another, and you don’t think twice about it.  But somewhere there comes a loss too many.  Yesterday, it happened in Syracuse.