Some stuff can’t be taken back: Roberto Alomar spitting in Mark Hirshbeck’s face? That can never be taken back. Jack Tatum’s hit on Darryl Stingley that left Stingley paralyzed? That’s permanent too. Mark Chmura’s sexual assault of a 17-year old, Kermit Washington’s punch that almost killed Rudy Tomjanovich, Zinedine Zidane’s headbutt of Materazzi in the World Cup? All disgraceful events etched in the granite that is sports history.
And now there’s Alex Burrows, the Vancouver Canuck’s Winger. The 27-year old winger with the 26 goals will not live in the violent infamy of the aforementioned hooligans. Instead Burrows will forever be remembered as, “that hair-pulling bitch from Canada.” In Sunday’s 4-0 loss to Vancouver, the Blackhawks reverted to the Mike Keenan tactics of taking a moral victory out of an ass-kicking by running the Vancouver netminder and setting of three separate skirmishes. Ben Eager and Kevin Bieksa supplied the main event while Duncan Keith/Burrows supplied the undercard. Long story short: Keith - who is a stand-up guy, but no brawler - did his job and wrapped up his man - standard fare for the non-goons. Rather than ride out brawl and wait for order to be restored, Burrows repeatedly pulled Keith’s hair as he tried to recover. In hockey fighting, just about anything is acceptable outside of stabbing your opponent with the skate (yeah, I'm talking about you Clint Malarchuk) and hair pulling. Hair pulling - in actuality - is about as acceptable as Travis Green's post-goal kiss planted on Ziggy Palffy's mouth. Oh to be young and sexually enlightened in Long Island in the 90s.
Keith put it best: “That's not something I've ever had happen to me," Keith said. "My little sister never even pulled my hair when I was a kid. It's kind of comical when you have a grown man trying to pull your hair on the ice." Comical and pathetic.
Welcome to the land of bitches Mr. Alex Burrows. And that’s the Word of Sand.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Jayson Stark - One Silly Rabbit
Yesterday, on his espn.com Blog, contributing writer Jayson Stark threw his support behind a notorious douche bag. With Curt Schilling deciding this week to finally excuse his balsa-wood shoulder from the table of major league baseball, "Playboy" Stark went on record to plug Schilling as Hall-of-fame material. Among other things Stark counts Schilling’s three World Series rings, 11-2 post-season record, and three second place Cy Young finishes as being sufficient credentials for HOF entry. We’ll get back to Mr. Stark in a moment. In the meantime I would like to channel the career of another douche bag – ice hockey forward Claude Lemieux.
Like Curt Schilling, Lemieux was known as a gritty player who thrived in the postseason. He is 8th on the all-time list of post season scorers resulting in 3 Stanley Cup championships with 3 different teams. Completing the 1995 post-season with 13 goals, he was also awarded the Conn Smythe Trophy that year as the playoff MVP. Further to that, Lemieux was – and most likely remains – a miserable player and human being. Among his finer moments are the Jim Peplinski finger-biting incident and the blind-side hit on the pint-sized Kris Draper that required considerable facial reconstructive surgery for the Red Wing. And who could forget Lemieux turtling after Darren McCarty’s phantom right hook toppled him in the playoffs. I remember Lemieux on his knees cowering and covering his head while a disgusted McCarty gave him every opportunity to get up and stand up for himself.
Using “Playboy” Stark’s criteria, Lemieux is also Hall of Fame material and to that I say, in the words of Brigadier General McAuliffe, “NUTS!” In the history of the game, no player has made the Hall based on post-season production. That is why MVP and CY Young voting is done before the playoffs begin - so the successes of world series flukes like Brian Doyle and Buddy Bianacalana don't distract writers like Stark from the long grind of the regular season where true HOF credentials are earned.
At no time in his career was Schilling considered the best in class at his position. Second best three times? This places him behind Orel Hershiser and Doc Gooden (and Mark Davis and LaMarr Hoyt) in that category. Further to that his 216 career wins place him behind perennial HOF also-rans Bert Blyleven, Tommy John, and Jim Kaat, not to mention Jerry Reuss and Joe Niekro. If the doors won't open for Blyleven, Schilling shouldn't even reach the valet. And finally Schilling was – and is – a loudmouthed self-promoter who alienated clubhouses nation-wide. In recent history, maybe Barry Bonds is more reviled, it would be a close race. While no one could prove that wasn't actually Schilling’s ankle blood on the infamous playoff sock, I don’t buy it for a second. And his face in the towel antics during the 1993 World Series are the epitome of poor sportsmanship.
“Playboy” Stark’s advocacy of Schilling is sheer bush-league. The normally erudite Stark ends his article with, “I can’t wait for the debate to begin. See ya in 3 ½ years.” Well the debate starts and ends here. Like many who came before him Schilling can take a measure of pride in his championships and individual accomplishments. The retired Schilling can look forward to baseball card shows, the occassional analyst gig during the postseason, and his make-believe “World of Warcraft." As for the HOF, he can certainly get in with his paid admission ticket, but odds are even he disappears with less than 5% of the vote after the first ballot. As for "Playboy" Stark, he should stick with topics he knows – like whether or not the Rabbit should get to eat Trix. And that’s the Word of Sand.
Like Curt Schilling, Lemieux was known as a gritty player who thrived in the postseason. He is 8th on the all-time list of post season scorers resulting in 3 Stanley Cup championships with 3 different teams. Completing the 1995 post-season with 13 goals, he was also awarded the Conn Smythe Trophy that year as the playoff MVP. Further to that, Lemieux was – and most likely remains – a miserable player and human being. Among his finer moments are the Jim Peplinski finger-biting incident and the blind-side hit on the pint-sized Kris Draper that required considerable facial reconstructive surgery for the Red Wing. And who could forget Lemieux turtling after Darren McCarty’s phantom right hook toppled him in the playoffs. I remember Lemieux on his knees cowering and covering his head while a disgusted McCarty gave him every opportunity to get up and stand up for himself.
Using “Playboy” Stark’s criteria, Lemieux is also Hall of Fame material and to that I say, in the words of Brigadier General McAuliffe, “NUTS!” In the history of the game, no player has made the Hall based on post-season production. That is why MVP and CY Young voting is done before the playoffs begin - so the successes of world series flukes like Brian Doyle and Buddy Bianacalana don't distract writers like Stark from the long grind of the regular season where true HOF credentials are earned.
At no time in his career was Schilling considered the best in class at his position. Second best three times? This places him behind Orel Hershiser and Doc Gooden (and Mark Davis and LaMarr Hoyt) in that category. Further to that his 216 career wins place him behind perennial HOF also-rans Bert Blyleven, Tommy John, and Jim Kaat, not to mention Jerry Reuss and Joe Niekro. If the doors won't open for Blyleven, Schilling shouldn't even reach the valet. And finally Schilling was – and is – a loudmouthed self-promoter who alienated clubhouses nation-wide. In recent history, maybe Barry Bonds is more reviled, it would be a close race. While no one could prove that wasn't actually Schilling’s ankle blood on the infamous playoff sock, I don’t buy it for a second. And his face in the towel antics during the 1993 World Series are the epitome of poor sportsmanship.
“Playboy” Stark’s advocacy of Schilling is sheer bush-league. The normally erudite Stark ends his article with, “I can’t wait for the debate to begin. See ya in 3 ½ years.” Well the debate starts and ends here. Like many who came before him Schilling can take a measure of pride in his championships and individual accomplishments. The retired Schilling can look forward to baseball card shows, the occassional analyst gig during the postseason, and his make-believe “World of Warcraft." As for the HOF, he can certainly get in with his paid admission ticket, but odds are even he disappears with less than 5% of the vote after the first ballot. As for "Playboy" Stark, he should stick with topics he knows – like whether or not the Rabbit should get to eat Trix. And that’s the Word of Sand.
Monday, March 16, 2009
North Side Kitties
Cats use their whiskers to get in touch with the world around them. They specifically grow out of their faces so that the whiskers are the first thing that touch anything new, wondrous, or exciting. That little cat brain then decides whether to eat it, run from it, or mount it.
Why am I talking about little kitties? I will tell you, Chicago.
Going 0-for-six in the playoffs in two years tells us a little something about the Cubs’ whiskers: they’re growing out of their asses. That means that the world smells the Cubs coming from a mile away, and it don’t smell pretty. In one year, the beloved North-siders have pledged 15 million dollars to Milton Bradley and Rich Harden to see if they can avoid embarrassing themselves again in October. One of those two is a pitcher who gets hurt when his alarm clock goes off, and the other is the sort of nut job who would bitch at the sun for doing his shadow wrong. So far in spring training, Bradley took himself out of his first game after valiantly drawing a walk and pulling up limp, and Harden took half of March to find the pitcher’s mound.
I don’t want to say that these professionals aren’t going to perform. They might. They can be overpowering when all the body parts work. I am, however, going to say that they’re an organization’s inside straight. That means, dear reader, that more than likely, it ain’t gonna happen.
All you Cubs fans are hoping -- I understand that. You have been hoping since Teddy Roosevelt was in office (put down you Ipods and look him up.) But let’s set our sights on something more realistic. If these two kids are going to be difference makers; and if Carlos Marmol can get over letting his whole country down by blowing it against the Netherlands (yeah, I said THE NETHERLANDS) then the bush-league Central Division is in your grasp. Three games after you win it, you should be home to walk your kids for trick-or-treat.And that's the Word of Sand.
Why am I talking about little kitties? I will tell you, Chicago.
Going 0-for-six in the playoffs in two years tells us a little something about the Cubs’ whiskers: they’re growing out of their asses. That means that the world smells the Cubs coming from a mile away, and it don’t smell pretty. In one year, the beloved North-siders have pledged 15 million dollars to Milton Bradley and Rich Harden to see if they can avoid embarrassing themselves again in October. One of those two is a pitcher who gets hurt when his alarm clock goes off, and the other is the sort of nut job who would bitch at the sun for doing his shadow wrong. So far in spring training, Bradley took himself out of his first game after valiantly drawing a walk and pulling up limp, and Harden took half of March to find the pitcher’s mound.
I don’t want to say that these professionals aren’t going to perform. They might. They can be overpowering when all the body parts work. I am, however, going to say that they’re an organization’s inside straight. That means, dear reader, that more than likely, it ain’t gonna happen.
All you Cubs fans are hoping -- I understand that. You have been hoping since Teddy Roosevelt was in office (put down you Ipods and look him up.) But let’s set our sights on something more realistic. If these two kids are going to be difference makers; and if Carlos Marmol can get over letting his whole country down by blowing it against the Netherlands (yeah, I said THE NETHERLANDS) then the bush-league Central Division is in your grasp. Three games after you win it, you should be home to walk your kids for trick-or-treat.And that's the Word of Sand.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
There's no defense........
Not since Phil Housley scored 91 points with a plus/minus of -14 for the Winnipeg Jets in 1993 has the NHL seen as big a defensive liability as Brian Campbell. I recall back in ’93 Housley’s stats had the league scratching their collective heads to the point they scheduled a hearing to see how his 26 goals could be at -14. Unfortunately Housley was caught up ice and failed to attend.
Sure it was fun to watch him join the rush, but when he was on the ice the opposition scored at an alarming rate. In summary, it was absolute crap defense from a perennial all-star. No wonder Winnipeg moved to Phoenix.
Fifteen years later the Blackhawks have their answer to Phil Housley and his name is Brian Campbell. The former Buffalo All-Star signed on to wear the Indian-Head sweater last year for 8 years at $7 million per making him the richest Blackhawk in history. And as the number one defenseman, his poor play in his own zone is starting to raise eyebrows and the collective temperature of the Blackhawk faithful. Campbell was terrible again Wednesday playing bitch to Sergei Samsonov’s prison bull on Carolina’s first goal. His minus 1 doesn’t do justice to his general defensive cluelessness. We’ll give him a pass on the two easy goals he missed scoring because at least they didn’t put his team further behind. Such performances are becoming more and more common and making this writer nostalgic for the days of Cam Russell and Greg Smyth.
The boos every time he’s on the ice are becoming deafening to the point he can’t catch a pass let alone make one. The 29-year old looks completely lost and it’s time Joel Quenneville had the stones to bench his rich pretty boy before Campbell turns into a complete basket case. Otherwise we’ll get to see what Rex-Grossman-syndrome looks like on the rocks. And that’s the word of Sand.
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