Lost In Translation

ESPN 30 For 30: Volume 2

ESPN 30 For 30: Volume 2 is a continuation of the landmark series that celebrates 30 years of ESPN. There are some great documentaries in this volume, but it might be weaker overall than the first volume, but taken as a whole it is a great enterprise. The first episode in volume 2, "Two Escobars" about the drug lord Juan Escobar and his influence on soccer in Colombia and one its greatest stars Alex Escobar who was killed by the drug element that infiltrated the game. It is a portrait of two men, a country, a great upset, and a great fall. This and the OJ Simpson episode are my favorites from the series. Some the other great episode for me were: "Into The Wind" (The Terry Fox Story), "Once Brothers" (Yugoslavian NBA players Drazen Petrovic and Vlade Divac and the ethnic tensions that destroyed a friendship), "The Birth of Big Air" (Matt Hoffman and the birth of X-Games), "Four Days In October" (about the great Red Sox comeback against the Yankees in 2004), "Fernado Nation" (the meteoric rise of the Mexican pitching sensation) "The Best That Never Was" (the story of the non-career of Marcus DuPree), and "Pony Excess" (college recruiting scandal that killed the SMU footbal program). There were several that were flawed for various reasons and might have been better in in another director's hands: "LIttle Big Men" (about the Kirkland Little League World Champions which suffers from pretentious narration), "One Night In Vegas" (Tupac getting shot at a Tyson fight, which has strange poetry slam narration and comic book panels), "Jordan Rides The Bus" (Jordan's return to baseball, which is respectful but un-insightful), "Unmatched" (about the great rivalry between Chris Everett and Martina Natravalova, which plays like a rom-com-complete with a Natalie Merchant theme song). I just didn't have much interest in a few epsiodes this time around: "The House Steinbrenner Built" (not a Yankee fan), "To The Limit" (Tim Richmond-again little interest in car racing), and "Press Pause" (Marion Jones doping scandal seemed to have a bit of an agenda).

Inoki vs. Ali

There's a good piece on this infamous fight in The Guardian:

Picture Muhammad Ali.

How do you see him?

Standing snarling over Sonny Liston? Shadow boxing on the bottom of a swimming pool? Leaning into the ropes as George Foreman pummels his kidneys? Stooping, shaking, to light the Olympic flame?

How about Ali flapping about on the canvas while an 18 stone wrestler sits on his face? Who wants to remember Ali that way?

There are some things a person should never have to see happen to a man like Ali. This is the story of one of them.

Dice-K 2.0

ESPN has an interesting in-depth article on Japanese-Iranian pitching sensation Yu Darvish. It turns out that his father was a student at EWU (Eastern Washington University in Cheney, Washington). This is significant because it is 15 miles outside of Spokane, WA my hometown, also my father's alma matter and the employer of my brother-in-law. Anyway, Darvish is the best pitcher in Japan right now:

SAPPORO, Japan -- The Sapporo Dome's sellout crowd of 42,126 (not counting 45 assorted cheerleaders -- yes, 45 cheerleaders!) bangs Thunderstix and howls for Yu Darvish as he fires his 124th pitch of the game. The pitch snaps the bat in half -- the long end sails toward the mound and bounces off the dirt -- as Darvish calmly fields the ball. Taking his time, he tosses the ball to first to complete a four-hit, 10-strikeout 1-0 shutout on opening day for the Hokkaido Nippon Ham Fighters. The best pitcher in Japan slaps his glove against his teammates' hands, walks to the dugout and exchanges a high-five with the club's costumed mascot and ...

Up From Down Under

Since I was raised in Spokane, it 's hard not to be a Gonzaga Bulldogs basketball fan. But when they were recently beat by their ranked conference contender St. Mary's of California. I was impressed reading about a spectacular freshman point guard from down under, a rare aborigine player who plays on the national team, Patty Mills. Here's an exerpt from an ESPN article on St. Mary's:

If it sounds like Mills and his mates are fitting right in at the small Moraga, Calif., school, you're right. Bennett started cultivating a pipeline from Down Under in 2001, when, after he took over a 2-27 team and was desperate to add a point guard, he lured Australian Institute of Sport product Adam Caporn to the United States. Caporn's presence then helped the Gaels land talented forward Daniel Kickert, one of Caporn's former teammates at the elite development academy. Kickert helped lead the Gaels to the 2005 NCAA Tournament. And now, along with Mills, there are two other Australians playing for the Gaels.

Mills' own recruitment started when he was 16 years old and the Kickert-led Gaels played AIS during a tour of Australia. Saint Mary's handily won the exhibition, but according to fifth-year senior Todd Golden, who was the point guard that day, he had his hands full with the precocious Mills, who scored 17 points and caused Golden to catch some grief from his coaches.

"I didn't feel as bad [about that game] when he put 37 on Oregon," Golden said with a laugh.

Mills said Saint Mary's was able to close the deal when Bennett personally made a trip to Canberra to meet with Mills' family. The presence of assistant coach David Patrick, a native Bahamian who had a long career in Australia's professional league and is a friend of the Mills family, also helped.

Baseball: America Vs. Japan

This photo was actually taken at Safeco field on my las visit to America when I saw the Mariners play the A's. These yukata clad girls were there to cheer on Ichrio and Jojima.

Real grass and an open air stadium make Safeco Field an appealing place to see a game. Prohibative beer prices are a bummer though.

The Big Egg from outside (the LaQua rollercoaster is on the left).

The Big Egg in ice cream form. We saw the Giants play the Hiroshima Carp. The Giants came out on top (they're like the Yankees, so I was rooting against them).

The Loneliness of the White Basketball Player

I really enjoyed a recent exchange between former NBA player Paul Shirley author of the newly published, Can I Keep My Jersey?: 11 Teams, 5 Countries, and 4 Years in My Life as a Basketball Vagabond, and author/humorist Neal Pollock in Slate. I think I might have to get that book. Here's an example, this exerpt is from Shirley:

My attempt to succeed in the world of basketball could be compared to the efforts of a 1970s-era black man in the world of bond-trading. White people are not supposed to be good at basketball. I've been reminded of that assumption hundreds of times in my career. The attitude most often displayed by black basketball players I've faced was very similar to the one you espoused at the end of your last turn, Neal: Your people have everything else. Just let us have this. From age 12 on, my one goal was to be a really good basketball player. I didn't care about much else. Of course, I did other things—stupendously hokey things. You're right: It was a Walton-esque existence. I was in 4-H, I was a Boy Scout, I finished fifth in the Kansas State Spelling Bee. I even got a National Merit Scholarship. I'm probably the whitest person with whom you'll ever publicly exchange e-mails. But none of those activities/pastimes/sexual obstacles ever brought me as much happiness as basketball did. As I got better, I found myself to be a minority on the court more and more often. And as the members of my race were whittled away, I quickly realized that I wasn't particularly welcome. When I was on defense, the other team would give the ball to whomever I was guarding and yell, "Take it to him. He can't guard you." They did that not because I am from a middle-class home, or because I grew up on a quasi-farm, but because I am white. So, forgive me if I feel that I have a special kinship with the Brent Barrys of the world.

Here's Pollock's reply:

I graduated from college in 1992. Lord Jesus, I'm old. Since then, I've lived in four neighborhoods in four different cities. One of those neighborhoods was predominantly black, one was predominantly white, one was predominantly Mexican, and the other one housed immigrants from about 60 different countries. Admittedly, each spot had its own special annoying qualities, but all of them were dirty, noisy, and dangerous. The family of man in all iterations behaves wretchedly when the median neighborhood income is low. Then again, I grew up among rich people, and they sucked, too. Yes, one of the reasons I watch television is to root for the success of people who look like me. That's why I enjoy sitcoms featuring Jewish characters. I wish there were more of those. But despite my decades of real-life exposure to the worst of what humanity has to offer, I still like to see people from other walks of life succeed. I recognize that there are superficial, even profound, differences among human cultures. But I can't help it; I was educated during the golden age of "cultural diversity," and my rooting interests are spread across all lines. When I watch basketball, I root for Nash and Amare because they're on my team. When I watch baseball, I root for Rafael Furcal and Russell Martin because they're on my team. When I watch football, I root for whoever's on my fantasy team.

The Sonics Do It Again

The NBA draft has just been completed and for the third year in a row (see Robert Swift and Jonathan Petro) The Sonics have drafted a project-a unheralded 7 footer from Africa, Mouhammed Saer, who averaged 3.1 points and 4.1 in a Belgium pro league. I hate it when they draft players based on potential. J.J. Redick was availabe as well. I have to agree with Seattle Times sports columnist Steve Kelly's take on it.

America and the World Cup

It seems unlikely that the US squad is going to advance as far as they did last time around unfortunatley. Here's a piece about soccer by Dave Eggers, in which he sums up the piece by saying:

It's inevitable, given the way the U.S. teams are improving every year, that eventually we will make it to the semifinals of the World Cup, and it's likely, one would think, that the United States will win it all in the near future. This is a country of limitless wealth and 300 million people, after all, and when we dedicate the proper resources to a project, we get the job done (see Vietnam, Lebanon, Iraq). But until we do win the Cup—and we have no chance this particular time around, being tossed into the Group of Death, which will consume us quickly and utterly—soccer will receive only the grudging acknowledgement of the general populace. Then again, do we really want—or can we even conceive of—an America where soccer enjoys wide popularity or even respect? If you were soccer, the sport of kings, would you want the adulation of a people who elected Bush and Cheney, not once but twice? You would not. You would rather return to your roots, Communist or otherwise, and fight fascism with your feet.

Curious Guy Part 2: Malcolm Gladwell

Here's a good exchange from the second part of the interview with Malcolm Gladwell:

Simmons: Second question: Can you explain in one paragraph why you're against Vegas?

Gladwell: Where to start? You get there. You can't get a cab. Last time I waited 30 minutes in line at the airport. You get to your hotel, you wait another 45 minutes to check in. It's 120 degrees outside, and inside it's 45 degrees and all you can think about is there's about to be a epidemic of Legionnaires Disease. The food is terrible. Everyone loses money -- everyone. The amount of plastic surgery is terrifying. There are large packs of enormous, glassy-eyed people in stretch pants, pulling the levers on slot machines. (By the way, greatest and most under-appreciated gambling story ever: William Bennett, he of one best seller after another lecturing Americans on moral values and virtue and the bankruptcy of our culture, turns out not only to be a degenerate gambler, but a gambler who only played the slots. The slots! Had he been a great poker player -- even a decent poker player -- I'm in his corner. But the slots?) I digress. Back to Vegas: Why would I want to see Celine Dion, ever (and I'm Canadian)? Or white mutant tigers? Or the Village People? Or Tony Orlando and Dawn? I have more fun walking to the laundromat from my apartment in New York than I do in Vegas.

More Bird Talk

In another entertaining colum from Page 2, Chuck Klosterman discusses the Adam Morrison/Larry Bird comparison, "the white gunner theory" (courtesy of Malcolm Galdwell), and the guilt associated with same-race comparisons in sports discussions:

...For the past three months, I have heard numerous pundits insist that Adam Morrison is not like Larry Bird, and that anyone who draws such a connection is a languid, biased thinker. It's the most counterintuitive of paradoxes: Politically, it feels as though Bird and Morrison should not be compared, and this is because both of them are white. Which raises a question that creeps into many sports arguments without ever being addressed directly: What do we do when two white (or two black) athletes are similar for clichéd, unprogressive reasons?

Click here to read the whole article.