On Sports

I was lying in bed last night, unable to fall asleep, and I thought about a woman to whom my sister had introduced me. (Don't worry, DR isn't that kind of blog.) I've met the woman, who's a med school classmate of my sister's, once or twice, and while we hit it off fairly well, it's become obvious recently that nothing's going to happen.

My sister told me once that the friend knew nothing about sports. They were at a bar with some classmates one night and the group started talking about the Chiefs' recent victory over the Raiders. After a while, the friend said, "The Raiders...wait, wait, shut up, don't tell me. I know this. The Raiders...New Jersey, right?"

Now, I don't know this woman very well, but she came off as an informed, intelligent individual in our brief interactions. And as I was lying in bed last night, I started wondering how I'd answer if this woman, or any other similarly ignorant person, asked me why I enjoyed sports so much.

There's a certain intellectual satisfaction in giving the academic answer, the "Sport reflects humanity's drive for greatness and the unattainable pursuit of perfection" response that echoes Classical Greece. But, well, The Academic Answer is also The Douchebag Answer, and I don't think I could say that with a straight face.

It would be more honest, less pretentious to shrug and say, "I don't know. I enjoy them, and the why never really comes up." But that's more a capitulation than a response, and it wouldn't satisfy our hypothetical interrogator. Beyond all that, it's not really accurate. Because thinking about it, there are specific, concrete reasons. Those reasons are just different for each sport.

There's a lot to love about baseball, of course. Strange as it sounds, though, I think what appeals to me the most is how unapologetically languid the game is. Baseball is the cool, low-maintenance girlfriend every guy dreams of having.

"You need to check your email? Don't worry about it, man. I'll be on in the background. Get back to me when you're ready."

"Need to pick up a pizza? S'all good. Go ahead, miss an inning. I've got nine of the things. Besides, statistically the odds are against them scoring. You probably won't miss much. Pujols is due up in two innings though. Be back in time for that. Oh, don't worry. I'll DVR it for you."

Baseball is also America's proudly intellectual game. Oh, sure, the scouts and the "baseball men" don't like it, but there's a rich, nerdy vein running straight through the middle of the game. And I'm not just using Bud Selig as proof. The fundamental mechanic of baseball is a combination of the mental and the physical; it's pitcher and hitter trying to out-muscle each other, sure, but they're also thinking along with each other, playing a game.

If baseball's the openly intellectual game, football's an affair that obscures its nerdiness behind a wall of blood. Huge men, impossibly huge men, running impossibly fast, collide in ways that would break a normal human being in half. They scratch and claw and desperately strive to open the space where, for brief moments, skill and athleticism can explode.

Football shocks and awes the viewer into forgetting the game's complexities. It's a smart game, but you have to work to see the dynamics. Peel back the cacophony and the Xs and Os leap into motion, like those scenes from A Beautiful Mind, only without the schizophrenia the lead actor pretends to have or the psychosis the lead actor actually has. There are blocking schemes, running schemes, passing schemes, zany schemes. Coaches devise a thousand different variations on the same rushing play. Intelligence is football's secret shame.

It goes without saying that high-level football is rife with athleticism, but we tend to see that athleticism in quick bursts. When Percy Harvin broke this play, it was like a bolt of lightning:



Blink and you miss it.

Basketball, on the other hand, is an orgy of athleticism. It's a wide open, relatively uncluttered playing area. Contact is discouraged, even penalized if you don't play for Duke. So the full range of human potential is possible on the basketball court. You can see those great moments developing. You can watch LeBron James circle the perimeter, slice through the defense and haul in an alley oop from Mo Williams. With the normal camera shot offered in most telecasts, every step of the play, every player involved, comes into view. When it's run well, basketball is a muscular ballet.

And I love the flow of a basketball game. Team A hosts Team B, and for a while they trade baskets, go back-and-forth. Then Team A slams down a dunk and stops Team B on the defensive end. Then they run down the court and drain a three. Team A's fans are getting riled up. All of a sudden, Team B can't get the ball over the half court line, and Team A is shooting like they've made three buckets in a row on NBA Jam.

This goes on for five minutes before, out of nowhere, Team B hits a three. Team A takes the ball down the court, but their shot rims out. As Team B runs its offense, the fans are still raucous, but a little less so than they were a minute ago. The aura of invincibility has been pierced. They stomp and shout, but less out of confidence and more to scare away the impending comeback.

Those are the big ones, but not the only ones. High-level volleyball plays on the human mind's capacity for pattern recognition: bump, set, spike. Bump, set, spike. So the viewer gets lulled into this sense of security, and it's pleasantly shocking when someone subverts the pattern by hitting the ball over the net in two shots instead of three. Or when a player passes up the spike for a subtle loft shot over the extended arms of a defender.

Blow It Up

Braves Fall to Phillies...again

Nice try, but it's over. Time to give up the ghost.

Cole Hamels eviscerated the Braves again last night and the otherwise excellent Jair Jurrjens gave up three homers. Atlanta lost, 4-1, and they've dropped eight of nine games against the division-leading Phillies this season. They're seven games out, closer to last place than to first, the starting rotation is Tim Hudson, Jorge Campillo and three rookies and the highly touted offense completely shuts down against left-handed pitchers.

None of that gives me any reason to believe the Braves can make up the seven games they've given to the Phillies or the eight and a half games by which they trail in the wild card standings. Impossible? Of course not; the 1993 club trailed the Giants by seven games on July 4, and that San Francisco team was much better than the current iteration of the Phillies. But it goes without saying that these Braves don't measure up to the 93 team.

If you're not going to the playoffs, and the Braves are not, there's no point to playing out the string with the current crew of veterans. It's time to pack up shop and start thinking about 2009 and beyond. It's time to do something the Braves haven't done for at least 18 years: sell at the trading deadline.

The most attractive trading piece is undoubtedly Mark Teixeira, who has a disappointing air about him despite a basically solid .269/.373/.484 batting line. There's no chance the Braves will be able to re-coup their investment in him; no one will give up the equivalent of the Saltalamacchia/Neftali Feliz/Matt Harrison/Elvis Andrus package Atlanta surrendered last trading deadline. But a team like Anaheim, the third worst offensive club in the American League, could use even the sub-optimal version of Teixeira. Tampa's getting poor work out of Carlos Pena at first base. Both have lush farm systems, and a trade with one of them could help replenish Atlanta's minor league foundation.

But Teixeira's not the only desirable commodity. Teams are always desperate for left-handed relievers, and Will Ohman has been more than solid. Ohman's given up just one home run and 26 hits in 35 1/3 innings; some team could use him as a situational lefty. Jeff Bennett has done admirable work as a long reliever/set-up guy/spot starter and might command a mildly intriguing long-shot prospect. Omar Infante could hold some appeal as versatile bench player.

Cashing in the chips this July doesn't have to indicate that the Braves are in for a long, painful re-building process. Atlanta's assembled a pretty solid corps of young players, headlined by 24-year-old Brian McCann. But he's joined by 22-year-old Jair Jurrjens (having a fantastic year), 26-year-old Kelly Johnson, 25-year-old Yunel Escobar, 24-year-old Gregor Blanco, 24-year-old Brandon Jones, 23-year-old Jo Jo Reyes, 24-year-old Charlie Morton and 26-year-old Blaine Boyer.

Most of those guys are flawed, to be sure. Blanco can't hit for any power, Escobar has a similar (if not so extreme) problem, Jones isn't great and the pitchers all have question marks. But they're young and they've demonstrated Major League talent.

Noticeable in his absence from that list is Jeff Francoeur, who was yesterday demoted to AA after Gigli-ing the season to the tune of a .234/.287/.374 line. I remain unconvinced that he'll be a useful part of Atlanta's future.

With some luck and wise spending in the off-season, the Braves could go into 2009 with a young team headed by still feisty veterans Hudson and Chipper Jones. With a few lucky breaks, like a successful return to the bullpen by John Smoltz, improvement from some of those young players and contributions from a few minor leaguers (like Jordan Schafer), Atlanta could actually compete for the division in 2009.

2010 is a more realistic goal. More realistic than 2009, and certainly more realistic than 2008.

Roger Goodell Hates Jake Long

Goodell on rookie pay: "There's something wrong."

Evidently tired of his role as the NFL's vice cop, Commissioner Roger Goodell has decided to become its salary scold. Friday, he took the extraordinary step of telling the media that one of the league's players, Dolphins' rookie left tackle Jake Long, is dramatically overpaid.

Goodell referred to Michigan tackle Jake Long's five-year, $57.75 million contract -- with $30 million guaranteed. Long was the first overall draft pick by the Miami Dolphins in April.

"He doesn't have to play a down in the NFL and he already has his money," Goodell said during a question-and-answer period at the end of a weeklong sports symposium at the Chautauqua Institution. "Also, his face is really weird."

OK, I made that last part up, but the rest is legit. Long wasn't quoted in the story, but I certainly hope he'll respond by saying, "Interesting. And I find it ridiculous that Goodell made $11.7 million last year despite the NFL Network fiasco and completely botching the entire Spygate saga. Also, his face is really weird."

Goodell, who was speaking at something called the Chautauqua Institution, which sounds like a mental hospital named after an Indian chief, didn't restrict his remarks to telling Jake Long that he made too much money. His greater point was that all NFL rookies make too much money, and the poor owners simply can't afford it any more.

"Now, with the economics where they are, the consequences if you don't evaluate that player, you can lose a significant amount of money. And that money is not going to players that are performing. It's going to a player that never makes it in the NFL. And I think that's ridiculous."

There's probably some legitimacy to the idea of a standard NFL rookie contract based on the NBA's system. College football stars might be more inclined to stay in school for their senior year if they know they're restricted to a three year, $10 million contract for being chosen in the top 10.

But the NFL's brass doesn't have the credibility to demand that its players make less money. Goodell's a smart guy. He knows he can earn blue collar cred with the average fan by raging against player salaries. No one ever lost popularity by saying athletes make too much money. But the NFL, even more than the other leagues, is a cutthroat operation. Contracts aren't guaranteed. Teams take young, athletic players, feed them through the meat grinder until they're no longer useful, and spit out crippled shadows. Running backs retire at 34 and spend the rest of their lives walking with a cane.

So if Jake Long can guarantee himself $30 million when he enters the league, it's not for Roger Goodell to scold him for it. By the time the league's through with Long, he'll need every cent of that money.

If the NFL wants to make progress on this issue, they need to make a grand conciliatory gesture toward its gladiator class. Come to the NFL Players Association with an offer of guaranteed contracts, and then I can take his concern for the players who are "performing" seriously.