Hello readers:
These are pieces that were (mostly) published in the Dunkirk (NY)
OBSERVER.For some reasons, they don't seem to find the paper's webpage.
So here they are.
Enjoy, or critique if you wish. But if you need birdcage lining, you'll
have to print your own. :-)
Dan Borrello, II
___________________________________________________________
RALPH WILSON STADIUM: THE VILLAGE IDIOTS
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 8, 2008
If Tom Brady is out for the season, it was good news for some.
Yes, that is a sick statement. And it's a sad commentary of countless Bills fans
who celebrated as word spread of the quarterback's misfortune during the
first quarter of Buffalo's Week One 34-10 victory over the Seattle Seahawks.
With grown-men relieving themselves in the sinks of Ralph Wilson Stadium--
this is only news to those who have never used the Men's Room at the Ralph--
news spread like the digested Coors Light that missed the urinals, collecting on
the floor. And if you need any more evidence Bills fans were excited over Brady's pain--remember the sinks served as temporary toilets--few bathroom patrons
cared about germs as they high-fived just after zipping-up.
Only the thrills of Roscoe Parrish's 63-yard punt return for a touchdown rivaled
their joy.
It's sad enough when a team's fans hang their hopes on hope alone after a
millennium without (meaningful) January football. But what's pathetic is the
shadenfruede Bills' bretheren rejoiced in while sharing the news that the
greatest quarterback in this generation could be finished for 2008.
This may have happened in the Meadowlands, Indianapolis and even Miami.
It may have happened in your living room. But this writer can only speak on
what he witnessed, and it's disappointing.
And now, those who revelled in New England's misery have allowed Bills haters
point at their new shiners. Sure, this happens everywhere, but nobody wants to
hear your when-I-was-in-Cleveland story when there are enough Bills tailgates
on YouTube to make WWE fans look civilized.
These are same Bills fans who bought Browns fans lunches the Monday after
Dan Marino tore his achilles in Cleveland--five games into the 1993 season.
In a decade, true sports fans will appreciate the Joe Montana of this generation
and annoint some can't-miss kid the next Tom Brady, if they don't appreciate
what he's done for the league already. Meanwhile, the rest of them will be hoping
the next Brady will tear his ACL to better the Bills' (or the Toronto franchise's)
hopes of winning a Super Bowl.
Folks, before you return to thinking like a delusional Bills fan maybe you should
pop that Sunday Night Bills-Pats tape into the VHS player to keep yourself humble.
Some Bills fans will think and talk playoffs after a big win like yesterday. They think
they'll win the Mega Millions because last week they guessed right on two numbers.
Sure, yesterday's season opener evoked memories of a time when the playoffs
were a certainty and not just a wish. A Week One blowout is the perfect fuel for
perpetual hope--that of the longsuffering faithful whose wounds are re-opened
every Super Bowl week, and in films such as Ace Ventura: Pet Detective and
Buffalo 66. For once, Bills fans didn't mind being soaked thanks to bad weekend
forecasts from Buffalo meteorologists.
However, it could be a fluke and these may be the same 'ole Bills and Patriots,
so hang-on.
But after a fluke injury, Tom Brady's season is over and his career may never
be the same and some fans seem to be enjoying every second of it. While you're at
it, go dance on Babe Ruth's grave, rip Michael Jordan's 23 from the United Center
rafters, and take a club to Tiger Woods' good knee.
The most famous number 12 since Terry Bradshaw (sorry, folks) was 2:39 away
from grabbing his fourth Super Bowl ring in eight seasons and quarterbacking the
only 19-0 team in NFL history during the league's parity-enduced, "Any Given
Sunday" era.
If the NFL has a Jordan, it's Brady, and he's done. And like those two Houston
Rockets championships won during MJ's retirement/hiatus, we may forever
wonder what might have been about 2008, just like those would-be Bulls-Rockets
NBA Finals dream match-ups, or what Tiger what have made of this year's US
and British Opens, as well as the Ryder Cup.
There are two different types of Bills fans. There are sports fans who love the
Bills as their chosen team, and there are Bills fans who only know about the Bills,
show-up for a party, and don't care about history. That outspoken minority
basked in their own selfish glory, spitting in the face of history yet again. We'll
never know what would have become of this season had Tom Brady walked off
the field after the fourth quarter instead of halfway through the first. But before
Sunday, more pundits predicted the Pats would return to the Super Bowl than
the world champion Giants.
So, where did we put those famous asterisks again?
# # #
THANKS, FROM A HUGE (W)FAN
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED AUGUST 15, 2008
Bruce Springsteen once wrote a song called "Atlantic City". And he sang
"Everything dies, baby that's a fact. And maybe everything that dies
someday comes back."
Thursday night, WFAN-AM 66 in New York announced the end of arguably
the most influential sports talk show in American radio history. But
Friday, Chris "Maddog" Russo, the half of the Mike and the Maddog
program that is leaving, called his partner of almost 19 years, Mike
Francesa, and millions of listeners to say goodbye.
For a few minutes, radio's original M&M Boys were reunited and
resurrected one last time. Still, for many sports fans, Friday stunk.
Unless you've managed to avoid the sickness called sports radio.
Unless your idea of great sports radio is a goateed, deep-voiced midget
reading contrived jokes off a teleprompter like a South Pole elf.
Unless you think talking hockey in July is compelling.
The Mike and the Maddog Show heard on both the YES Network and WFAN
is no more. The show that created the landscape and standard for sports
talk radio in America can now only be heard in annals of fans' minds,
evoking memories of traffic jams, the workplace, newsstands, and even
reading closed captions at a Dave and Busters.
Those aren't exactly situations that nurture memories. Unless you're
entertained, of course. And that's the whole idea of radio, conceived
well before the television replaced the Philco as the cornerstone
of the living room.
Without Chris "Maddog" Russo, you wouldn't be reading this piece right
now.And if it weren't for the Mike and the Maddog radio program
simulcast on the YES Network, this writer wouldn't be still trying to
pursue a career doing sports radio up here in Rochester--whose sports
talk shows sound more like New York shows than they do Buffalo.
And without Mike and the Maddog, there may be no Jim Rome, Schopp and
the Bulldog, or WGR.
Dubya-Eyyyyyyyyennnnnnnnnnnnnnn-Bee-Cee decided to flip to sports talk
radio on it's 50,000-watt blowtorch (which in radiospeak means you can
hear it in several states during the day, and clear across the country
at night) in 1989. They kept Don Imus, but reinvented the rest of their
day with a concept that few American radio signals dared. Almost two
decades later, there are well over 300 sports radio stations loaded
with two-man shows doing their best Mike and the Maddog impersonation.
And to think people believed none of those concepts would ever work:
sports
talk, the two-man show, and Mike and the Maddog.
And now, sports radio in New York, and for YES viewers will never be
the same.
Russo is leaving WFAN to pursue other opportunities, which he will
reportedly announce very soon. There were rumors before summer that
the pair had done their last show together, supposedly due to personal
differences. Yet, the band Motley Crue has proven that a bunch of guys
who don't like each other can still work together and make a ton of
money being miserable. Heck, you probably don't like everyone you
work with either.
With Mike and the Maddog, it's hard not to believe Francesa
Friday afternoon when he said the show could have gone on as was.
This was strictly about the challenge Russo may be pursuing in the
near future. Period. And if you spent afternoons translating the
pair's novicaine vernacular because their opinions meant that much to
you, you know this wasn't about a personality conflict.
The pair have always been direct and never insincere. Pompous, perhaps.
Wrong occasionally, like any show host who churns words for over
five-hours a day for 46 weeks a year for 19 years. But never insincere.
The word "divorce" isn't accurate since divorces hardly end in amicable
fashion. And the term "break-up" hardly satisfies the end of a two-decade
relationship. And death is too morbid a description for two guys whose
careers will continue. This is none of those. This is simply radio.
And these things just happen.
Good is good. And when personalities build a rapport with the masses,
whether it be via radio or television, fiction or film, the end of a
relationship is hardly simple.
You can't blame Russo for leaving and doing what he believes is best
for him. And you can't blame Francesa for planning to stick around
WFAN and YES for the next five years.
And you can't blame yourself for getting attached.
Maybe the show will return someday. Maybe it won't. One thing we do
know is this:
Mike and Chris are timeless, either together or solo. That's something
many loudmouthed talk radio morons will never enjoy having. Jim Rome
won't be reciting Writers' Guild jargon in The Jungle into his sixties,
just like Snoop Dogg will never have the longevity of the Rolling Stones.
Like Mike Jagger and Keith Richards, M&M will can go as long as they
want. The beauty is, unlike the Stones, the pair are good and creative
enough to go solo. Now there'll be two good shows to listen to,
hopefully for a long, long time.
But for now, it won't be the same.
Thank you, fellas.
LORDY, LORDY! HE ONLY THROWS 40?
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED AUGUST 28, 2008
And with that thud heard from Connecticut, youth sports have hit a new low.
Off the heels of another Little League World Series, where collar-popping
pre-teens do their best Manny Ramirez impression, a 9 year-old has been
the subject of outrage after several teams in a New Haven, Conn. baseball
league refused to send their little sluggers to the plate to face him.
The reason: he throws too hard.
Yeah, all of 40 miles per hour.
Yawn. Somebody clear the vapor trails.
By now, you've heard the story of teams who refused to face Jericho Scott--
whom apparently is the next K-Rod. And yes, it's sickening.
It's sickening that people are shocked a 9 year-old can throw that hard.
Clearly New Haven is no Chautauqua County. Yeah, part of the mighty Red
Sox Nation. What? Are their no soccer fields in Connecticut?
Now before you throw a tantrum soccer moms (or dads), let's be honest:
many parents choose soccer for their babes because it's considered "safer."
Glorified cross-country with a ball generally is safer than a sport where a
common coaching phrase is "don't be a afraid of the ball."
This writer--still in his twenties--remembers a time where kids from Dunkirk,
Fredonia, Silver Creek, Brocton, Gowanda, Frewsberg, Falconer, Westfield and
Jamestown would take to the Eagan Sports Complex (is it still called that?) in
Fredonia, known better by those us from the Little Village (Silver Creek) as
"the fields behind the ole' Tops."
It was a 9 and 10 year old all-star tournament with round-robin divisional play,
playoffs and champions who walked away with trophies and got their pictures
taken in the OBSERVER. Heck, the trophy store on Main Street (is it still there?)
couldn't keep up.
Baseball was life. Unfortunately, some of us weren't any good at it.
But there was one time this former 9-and-10 year-old made the Silver Creek
All-Star team.
(One time. Thank you, Mickey Corsaro for overlooking my clumsiness because
I hustled. And I am still upset the gardner at Mt. Carmel Cemetery who cut
down the tomato plant your wife, Sophie, planted there in your honor.)
This one-time All-Star had two teammates named Davey Corsaro (Mickey's
grandson), and Mike Edwards who both threw in the mid-40's. TWO.
Unfortunately, everyone who played for Dunkirk, or Fredonia had entire
teams of kids who threw that hard.
Nine AND ten year-olds.
In fact, when many of us got to the plate we prayed that they ONLY threw
40.
And back then, few kids from Silver Creek wanted to face two Dunkirk pitchers
named DeShawn Troutman, or a kid only known as Dan "Spike" Snyder
because of their velocity.
But we did. And we lost.
But we went back the following year and tried to get better. With our arms,
and bats.
Unfortunately, so did they. Every year. But that's not the point. That point
has been made on countless shows on the slowest media week of the year.
In fact, the point isn't even to pile-on the national bandwagon supporting
Jericho Scott. We know. We know. We know. We're all with ya'.
This piece is to demonstrate that there's finally a team out there the 1990
Silver Creek All-Star team could beat. Or any team from any time period in
Chautauqua county Little League history.
They're the supposed "all-star team" from this New Haven joke league.
Your league (stinks). Your administration (stinks) for not allowing Jericho
Scott to pitch in a rec league. But most importantly, your players and coaches
(stink) because you have ONE 9 year-old who throws 40 mph whom the
national media writes about like he's Randy Johnson.
Kids, find a soccer field somewhere. Because you're not ballplayers.
Not here. Not there. Not now. Not ever.
Meanwhile, get this kid off national television. Any network can call any
Little League in this paper's circulation and find a few 9 year-olds who
can top 40.
Heck, if the Little Village can grow 'em, any village (or, ahem, city) in this
county can.
Unless things have changed that much and there really are more kids playing
soccer and fewer playing baseball thanks to self-esteem-drenched parents
who also helped eradicate dodgeball from gym class in New York State.
(Do they still play that?)
One more (of many) example: There was a kid by the name of Joel Howard
whom I helped coach. When he was 9, the SC 8- 10 year-old minor league
asked his dad, Jolly, if they could quell his high-speed by moving him from
the 40-foot mound back to the Little League sanctioned 46-foot bump.
He did. And he still blew the ball by everyone. And nobody protested.
So soak it in while you can, Jericho. You're not special. You're just another
lemons-to-Lemon Gatorade story created by the media in a town with a bad
athletic gene pool, wronged by parents who'd send their kids to school
wrapped in memory foam if they could afford it.
You're talented. And you didn't deserve to be treated the way you were.
Just like you don't deserve to be treated like a celebrity now.
# # #
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED AUGUST 1, 2008
There's a saying: sometimes the hardest thing to do and he right thing to do
are the same.
And if the story in Friday's Providence Journal is true, than the Boston Red Sox
made the right move in shipping Manny Ramirez to the west coast.
If the Red Sox veterans unanimously told general manager Theo Epstein
Manny needed to take his attitude elsewhere despite his gargantuan clutch blasts,
then it really doesn't matter how it affects the team in the standings.
And no matter how much the So-Cal heat makes his head (and hair) swell,
Manny and his dreads will fit right in in Hollywood, where stars treatment
is the rule, rather than the exception.
Sure, former Pittsburgh Pirate Jason Bay may not be Manny. He certainly isn't
the hitter Ramirez is and will probably never have the luxury of debating
which cap to wear in the Hall of Fame.
But the new Sox outfielder also probably won't bully traveling secretaries, take
personal phone calls from the outfield, lolly-gag his way to first base, get into
fist fights with Kevin Youkilis in the Sox clubhouse, have teammates excuse
his behavior as "Jason being Jason", show-up late for spring training, consistently
mistreat club employees, and embarrass the organization.
Theo Epstein said after the Sox won Game Four of the 2007 World Series
the Red Sox won't "win the World Series every year". Perhaps that's the
reason why the Red Sox won last year.
It was Theo who wanted to rebuild the Red Sox farm system, and eschew
big contracts for aging veterans such as Pedro Martinez, Nomar Garciaparra,
Kevin Millar, Johnny Damon, and Derek Lowe.
Many of those moves were deemed unpopular by much of Red Sox Nation,
especially when the Sox missed the 2006 postseason.
And the young GM made his share of bonehead moves last season, but they
were masked by his core stars and the young players he refused to part with.
With Manny Ramirez's departure, he's the Sox are in a vulnerable position
in defending their second title in four years. Then again, the saying "there's
always next year" doesn't mean what it used to for the Olde Towne Team.
2007 proves that much. Meanwhile, teams like the Yankees continue to
re-load with has-beens every July, no matter the cost, only for their bats to
go cold with the October wind.
Meanwhile, like all those years when he mashed bombs in the Bronx,
Manny is once again Joe Torre's problem.
And Jason Bay finally has a chance to win.
Don't think this All-Star will take that for granted.
Then there's Brett Favre. It's not often that you get your own heading on
ESPN's Bottom Line unless your name is Tiger.
The Green Bay Packers organization must really hate this guy.
Imagine Jim Kelly retiring after the 1996 season, turning the reigns over to
Todd Collins, who won all of two big games as a Bills starter. Then Kelly
changes his mind and the Bills say, "uh, no, we're happy with your unproven
successor. But here's $19 million more to remain retired." (Remember, the
Bills gave Kelly a million dollar retirement party at One Bills Drive, where
the only thing missing was the big plastic check.)
Favre is a much better quarterback than Aaron Rodgers. But he's also proven
to be the Packers chief decision maker since Mike Holmgren left the team to
become the head coach/GM of the Seattle Seahawks. And GM Ted Thompson
wants his title back in Titletown.
The Packer hierarchy has been at the whim of Favre's mood swings for the last
decade and after Favre's retirement, reported re-retirement, and return, the
Packers are now giving Favre the Manny Ramirez treatment.
And Favre is doing the same to the Packers.
It's clear what Favre's motives are, no matter what his sycophants spin to you
from Bristol.
He left Green Bay because they didn't sign Randy Moss. And if he returns to
Green Bay, he doesn't just want to be the starter. He wants to continue to
be the man in charge.
Thompson and head coach Mike McCarthy are the first pair to stand in his
way. So he wants to take his act to Minnesota where he would be welcomed
to Minneapolis with palms, while becoming Green Bay's Marcel Paton,
which in layman's terms is like Hulk Hogan joining in the New World Order.
The Packers are offering over $20 million to avoid the biggest PR disaster since
the Exxon-Valdez oil spill. And reports speculate that deal was part of a
marketing package that's been on the table since Favre's mistaken retirement
presser.
Imagine Favre leaving the tunnel at Lambeau on Monday Night Football in
purple-and-gold instead of green-and-gold.
The truth is, if the Packers truly believed Favre was better than Aaron Rodgers,
they'd ship him to the land of a thousand lakes, just like Bill Belichick sent Drew
Bledsoe to Buffalo, knowing he had the man in Tom Brady.
The fact is, as much as you can admire the Pack for sticking to their new
gunslinger, they know who the better quarterback is.
And that's the hold-up.
Maybe Ted Thompson should call his namesake in Boston for encouragement
in making the toughest move of his career, in the face of backlash, if he truly
believes its the right move.
Because if anybody knows what its like to make monumental, hand-wringing,
Maalox-sucking moves in a land where fans pray facing the ballpark, it's Theo.
And its worked.
0 comments:
Post a Comment