I just get finished railing on Red Sox Nation -- which deserves to get railed on for its sanctimonious upbraiding of the Yankees as a team of "juicers" -- and then the Yankees go out and acquire another player who was fingered in the Mitchell Report.
I know we all need to move on from this steroid crap, but how are we going to do that? One way might be for a team to say, publicly, that while almost everyone currently lives under a cloud of suspicion, and we know we cannot guarantee our team is completely clean, we will do our best not to condone any use of illegal performance-enhancing drugs.
Therefore, a player who has been named in the Mitchell Report is not a player we want on our team.
I would love for the Yankees to take that kind of stand. Instead, they go and acquire Jerry Hairston.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Hypocrite Nation
I stopped in Newbury Comics last week to buy some used CDs. Had never been there before. The place is not what I expected. It’s almost like a mini-Target. They’ve got everything in there. Well, not everything, but it’s a pop-culture heaven.
In Boston, of course, pop culture includes Sox-loving – or Yankee-hating. The two are one and the same. So there, among a selection of T-shirts, was one with what appeared to be the Yankees’ baseball-and-top-hat logo. Only instead of the script “Yankees,” the word on the logo was “Juicers.”
I’ve seen this shirt on Sox fans around town, and others like it. I’ve also listened to Sox fans call the Yankees’ championships a fraud, heard them chant “STEROIDS” during Alex Rodriguez’s at bats at Fenway, and read screeds from a blogger calling himself “Typical Boston Fan” about T-shirts that proclaim the new Yankee Stadium as the “House that Juice Built.”
I snickered at the unbelievable naivety and hypocrisy of the Red S*x fans. Let’s be honest here. Anyone who thinks that their teams were clean just because their stars’ names didn’t appear in the Mitchell Report, which was compiled by a member of the RED SOX BOARD OF DIRECTORS and mainly based on two sources – both in New York – was kidding themselves.
Granted, Sox fans never let inconvenient things such as facts or common sense interfere with their irrational hatred of the Yankees. (Irrational hatred? Aren’t Sox fans allowed to hate their rival? Sure, but they go way too far. More on that later.) But there was nothing a Yankee fan, especially one like me, living in Boston, could do or say about it. There was no proof.
Then in May, Manny Ramirez was reported to have tested positive for a banned substance, one that is used to mask steroid use. The veneer started to come off the Red Sox and their lovable, “wonderful-for-baseball” storybook championship of 2004 and their follow-up of 2007.
Still, the chants at Fenway continued, as Peter Abraham noted in his excellent Yankee blog (that thing has been invaluable to me in a year when I can only watch the Yankees a few times a month). “It must be ‘Oblivious Hypocrites Night’ here at Fenway,” he wrote.
Now, we know just how right Abraham was in his description of Red Sox Nation. As of yesterday, the other half of the greatest 3-4 hitting combo I have seen in my lifetime – maybe the best one since Mantle and Maris – has been shown to be nothing but a steroid creation. David Ortiz is a steroid cheat.
That’s right. Lovable Big Papi. And I’m not condescending by calling him that. I always liked him. He was pleasant and classy. I thought. But something was always not right. How a guy went from a pedestrian first baseman to one of the most feared clutch sluggers in the game in a span of a few months of the 2003 season smelled awfully fishy. To anyone.
Anyone with common sense, that is.
Now it can be said. 2004 WAS A FRAUD. 2007 WAS A FRAUD. The Red Sox were not the saviors you thought they were, Red Sox Nation.
But you acted as if the Red Sox were the only clean angels in a sea of dirty devils, and you, with your irrational hatred of New York held the dirty tests of A-Rod, Clemens and Sheffield high over your heads in a show of unwarranted bravado.
Now, you get what you deserve.
This is not a day to celebrate. As a Yankee fan, the proving of Boston’s titles as tainted does not erase the taint on the ones the Yankees won in the previous decade – though our 1996 title looks pretty clean! Only a loser builds himself up by tearing down others. I experienced joy beyond my wildest dreams from 1996 right on up through Aaron Boone’s home run, easily the happiest moment of my sports-fan life. And it makes me sad that these moments were not as pure as I thought they were.
But Red Sox fans, not content just to enjoy their new-found success – or everything else that is great about being a sports fan in this city, and there’s a lot – decided instead to tear away at the Yankees’ dynasty, ignoring the likelihood that their own was just as fraudulent.
How tasty it is, then, that the Red Sox and “Big Steroid” get to play at Yankee Stadium starting next Thursday.
I want to hear it loud and clear, Yankee fans. “STER-OIDS. STER-OIDS. STER-OIDS.” I want to hear it every time Ortiz comes to the plate. Not because I’m angry at him. Not because the Yankees are clean. They’re not. Not as long as Rodriguez is on the team.
But because it’s time for Sox fans to be reminded, over and over, in loud voices, what oblivious hypocrites they are. And Peter Abraham and others will yell that the Yankee fans are showing themselves to be "no better than anyone else" or are hypocrites. Fine. Let Ortiz -- and by extension Red Sox Nation -- have it.
Or maybe, just whip out an old chant. One that is a perfectly valid reminder of the last time the Boston Red Sox legitimately won a World Series. 1918.
In Boston, of course, pop culture includes Sox-loving – or Yankee-hating. The two are one and the same. So there, among a selection of T-shirts, was one with what appeared to be the Yankees’ baseball-and-top-hat logo. Only instead of the script “Yankees,” the word on the logo was “Juicers.”
I’ve seen this shirt on Sox fans around town, and others like it. I’ve also listened to Sox fans call the Yankees’ championships a fraud, heard them chant “STEROIDS” during Alex Rodriguez’s at bats at Fenway, and read screeds from a blogger calling himself “Typical Boston Fan” about T-shirts that proclaim the new Yankee Stadium as the “House that Juice Built.”
I snickered at the unbelievable naivety and hypocrisy of the Red S*x fans. Let’s be honest here. Anyone who thinks that their teams were clean just because their stars’ names didn’t appear in the Mitchell Report, which was compiled by a member of the RED SOX BOARD OF DIRECTORS and mainly based on two sources – both in New York – was kidding themselves.
Granted, Sox fans never let inconvenient things such as facts or common sense interfere with their irrational hatred of the Yankees. (Irrational hatred? Aren’t Sox fans allowed to hate their rival? Sure, but they go way too far. More on that later.) But there was nothing a Yankee fan, especially one like me, living in Boston, could do or say about it. There was no proof.
Then in May, Manny Ramirez was reported to have tested positive for a banned substance, one that is used to mask steroid use. The veneer started to come off the Red Sox and their lovable, “wonderful-for-baseball” storybook championship of 2004 and their follow-up of 2007.
Still, the chants at Fenway continued, as Peter Abraham noted in his excellent Yankee blog (that thing has been invaluable to me in a year when I can only watch the Yankees a few times a month). “It must be ‘Oblivious Hypocrites Night’ here at Fenway,” he wrote.
Now, we know just how right Abraham was in his description of Red Sox Nation. As of yesterday, the other half of the greatest 3-4 hitting combo I have seen in my lifetime – maybe the best one since Mantle and Maris – has been shown to be nothing but a steroid creation. David Ortiz is a steroid cheat.
That’s right. Lovable Big Papi. And I’m not condescending by calling him that. I always liked him. He was pleasant and classy. I thought. But something was always not right. How a guy went from a pedestrian first baseman to one of the most feared clutch sluggers in the game in a span of a few months of the 2003 season smelled awfully fishy. To anyone.
Anyone with common sense, that is.
Now it can be said. 2004 WAS A FRAUD. 2007 WAS A FRAUD. The Red Sox were not the saviors you thought they were, Red Sox Nation.
But you acted as if the Red Sox were the only clean angels in a sea of dirty devils, and you, with your irrational hatred of New York held the dirty tests of A-Rod, Clemens and Sheffield high over your heads in a show of unwarranted bravado.
Now, you get what you deserve.
This is not a day to celebrate. As a Yankee fan, the proving of Boston’s titles as tainted does not erase the taint on the ones the Yankees won in the previous decade – though our 1996 title looks pretty clean! Only a loser builds himself up by tearing down others. I experienced joy beyond my wildest dreams from 1996 right on up through Aaron Boone’s home run, easily the happiest moment of my sports-fan life. And it makes me sad that these moments were not as pure as I thought they were.
But Red Sox fans, not content just to enjoy their new-found success – or everything else that is great about being a sports fan in this city, and there’s a lot – decided instead to tear away at the Yankees’ dynasty, ignoring the likelihood that their own was just as fraudulent.
How tasty it is, then, that the Red Sox and “Big Steroid” get to play at Yankee Stadium starting next Thursday.
I want to hear it loud and clear, Yankee fans. “STER-OIDS. STER-OIDS. STER-OIDS.” I want to hear it every time Ortiz comes to the plate. Not because I’m angry at him. Not because the Yankees are clean. They’re not. Not as long as Rodriguez is on the team.
But because it’s time for Sox fans to be reminded, over and over, in loud voices, what oblivious hypocrites they are. And Peter Abraham and others will yell that the Yankee fans are showing themselves to be "no better than anyone else" or are hypocrites. Fine. Let Ortiz -- and by extension Red Sox Nation -- have it.
Or maybe, just whip out an old chant. One that is a perfectly valid reminder of the last time the Boston Red Sox legitimately won a World Series. 1918.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Whither Halladay
Are you like me? Do you get seriously irritated that you can't enjoy a Yankee victory, or even a 2 1/2 game lead, without some annoying Red S*x fan (redundant) throwing out that tired mantra: "Yeah, well, for $200 million, you oughtta win a couple."? It's annoying because to some degree it's true. It's more annoying because the Red S*x use their financial might almost as much as the Yankees do, yet S*x fans seem to ignore this, but whatever.
The fact remains: it would be sweeter to watch the Yankees win with what they have now, or maybe make a tweak or two to the roster, rather than have them go out and bring in another ace. Yes, the Yankees can go out right now and get Roy Halladay from the Blue Jays. They obviously can afford his contract, and to resign him to a bigger one later, something Toronto cannot. They also have the prospects the Blue Jays would require to pry loose arguably the best pitcher in franchise history (No offense to David Cone, Dave Stieb or Jimmy Key).
Would getting Halladay guarantee the Yankees a world championship? There are no guarantees in sports, but this would come pretty damned close to it. But is that really what we want? Do we need a sure thing today that mortgages tomorrow? Besides -- what happens if the Yankees fail in October with Halladay and then watch those prospects that they were counting on to help the team contend in the future blossom elsewhere? Just go sign more free agents? We've seen how well that's worked out. And we've learned that in October, nothing is guaranteed.
Before we pooh-pooh a Halladay deal, however, there is this to consider: The Red S*x are in virtually the same position. They have the money and the chips to bring this guy into their fold. Now, they operate on a similar mindset. The Yankees have held onto their young players fiercely the last few years (and it's paying off awfully well with Cano, Hughes, and even a currently underwhelming Joba). The Red S*x have never trucked out their best young players for veteran stars -- the Josh Beckett trade being the lone notable exception.
But the S*x are now 2 1/2 games out of first, and Beantowners are a reactionary lot just like New Yorkers. They are feeling the pressure, and they are making sure Theo Epstein feels it, too. They could swing a Halladay deal. That would give them this rotation for the playoffs: Beckett-Halladay-Lester-insert name here (could be Penny, Wakefield if healthy, Matsuzaka if healthy -- it's just a fourth starter).
How comfortable are you with that, Yankee fans? I'm not very comfortable with that, Yankee fans. Nor am I thrilled with the possibility of the Rays getting him. They have the prospects to deal, as well. It's only a matter of their deciding they can afford his contract. With their window of opportunity clearly being open right now, they just might make that bold decision.
Personally, I'd like to see the Phillies swoop in and grab Halladay right now and put my mind at ease (at least until the World Series). Until then, the Yankees must ask themselves: Can we win the pennant if Roy Halladay goes to Boston or Tampa, and are we willing to bet that he doesn't?
The fact remains: it would be sweeter to watch the Yankees win with what they have now, or maybe make a tweak or two to the roster, rather than have them go out and bring in another ace. Yes, the Yankees can go out right now and get Roy Halladay from the Blue Jays. They obviously can afford his contract, and to resign him to a bigger one later, something Toronto cannot. They also have the prospects the Blue Jays would require to pry loose arguably the best pitcher in franchise history (No offense to David Cone, Dave Stieb or Jimmy Key).
Would getting Halladay guarantee the Yankees a world championship? There are no guarantees in sports, but this would come pretty damned close to it. But is that really what we want? Do we need a sure thing today that mortgages tomorrow? Besides -- what happens if the Yankees fail in October with Halladay and then watch those prospects that they were counting on to help the team contend in the future blossom elsewhere? Just go sign more free agents? We've seen how well that's worked out. And we've learned that in October, nothing is guaranteed.
Before we pooh-pooh a Halladay deal, however, there is this to consider: The Red S*x are in virtually the same position. They have the money and the chips to bring this guy into their fold. Now, they operate on a similar mindset. The Yankees have held onto their young players fiercely the last few years (and it's paying off awfully well with Cano, Hughes, and even a currently underwhelming Joba). The Red S*x have never trucked out their best young players for veteran stars -- the Josh Beckett trade being the lone notable exception.
But the S*x are now 2 1/2 games out of first, and Beantowners are a reactionary lot just like New Yorkers. They are feeling the pressure, and they are making sure Theo Epstein feels it, too. They could swing a Halladay deal. That would give them this rotation for the playoffs: Beckett-Halladay-Lester-insert name here (could be Penny, Wakefield if healthy, Matsuzaka if healthy -- it's just a fourth starter).
How comfortable are you with that, Yankee fans? I'm not very comfortable with that, Yankee fans. Nor am I thrilled with the possibility of the Rays getting him. They have the prospects to deal, as well. It's only a matter of their deciding they can afford his contract. With their window of opportunity clearly being open right now, they just might make that bold decision.
Personally, I'd like to see the Phillies swoop in and grab Halladay right now and put my mind at ease (at least until the World Series). Until then, the Yankees must ask themselves: Can we win the pennant if Roy Halladay goes to Boston or Tampa, and are we willing to bet that he doesn't?
Thursday, July 23, 2009
No, Kitty. Bad Kitty.
I, like any sensible Yankee fan, was awfully sorry to see Jim Kaat retire from the Yankees' broadcast booth after 22 seasons of straight talk. I don't have a big problem with anyone in the Bombers' TV booth right now (we'll leave the radio people aside -- that's a story for another day), but Kaat had a different presence. I don't want to say it was "regal." That's getting a little carried away. But Kaat was just above the pandering and the gimmickery that are nearly ubiquitous in the 21st-century TV booth. He never insulted anyone's intelligence. And for as intelligent as Yankee fans are as a fan base, I believe that the fact that John Sterling remains our radio play-by-play guy has to be seen as at least a slight indictment of us. Either that, or it's proof positive that most fans will listen to their team's games on the radio when they can't see them on TV -- in the car, at the beach, or wherever makes sense -- regardless of how bad the play-by-play guy is.
So it was sad to see Kaat leave. Imagine my horror, then, we I turned on a Sox game on NESN Friday night -- unbeknownst to me, DirecTV was offering a week-long free preview of the MLB Extra Innings package, and I could have watched the Yankees -- and heard what I distinctly recognized right away as the voice of Jim Kaat. I couldn't stand that thought that Kaat had "retired" in 2006 only because he wanted to get away from New York, only to grab not just another job, but the same job with the godforsaken Red S*x.
Fortunately, Kaat was only filling in for Jerry Remy. The man Red S*x fans affectionately call RemDawg is on sabbatical after undergoing cancer surgery. He is a local treasure. He is nothing like Kaat. He is an unabashed homer and he is edgy, but he's very good and extremely genuine, as far as I can tell from my limited time spent in from of the enemy's games on TV. Kaat continues to blog for the YES Network Web site and is under contract to Major League Baseball. He is not a fulltime color guy for the Red S*x or NESN. I'm glad.
Kaat is 70 years old. I doubt he'll be working regularly in a booth again. But if he does, I sure hope it's the Yankees' booth.
So it was sad to see Kaat leave. Imagine my horror, then, we I turned on a Sox game on NESN Friday night -- unbeknownst to me, DirecTV was offering a week-long free preview of the MLB Extra Innings package, and I could have watched the Yankees -- and heard what I distinctly recognized right away as the voice of Jim Kaat. I couldn't stand that thought that Kaat had "retired" in 2006 only because he wanted to get away from New York, only to grab not just another job, but the same job with the godforsaken Red S*x.
Fortunately, Kaat was only filling in for Jerry Remy. The man Red S*x fans affectionately call RemDawg is on sabbatical after undergoing cancer surgery. He is a local treasure. He is nothing like Kaat. He is an unabashed homer and he is edgy, but he's very good and extremely genuine, as far as I can tell from my limited time spent in from of the enemy's games on TV. Kaat continues to blog for the YES Network Web site and is under contract to Major League Baseball. He is not a fulltime color guy for the Red S*x or NESN. I'm glad.
Kaat is 70 years old. I doubt he'll be working regularly in a booth again. But if he does, I sure hope it's the Yankees' booth.
A time to get married, and a time to blog.
Getting married is a lot of work. That probably means that five months before your wedding is not the best time to launch a blog. Certainly not one that you hope to get significant readership and end up as a link on Peter Abraham's blog. But I did it, and I've been grateful for the feedback I've gotten from a lot of you. It has encouraged me to believe that this is something I should continue to pursue.
My sports teams are my lifelong passion -- the Yankees especially -- and writing has been my avocation for a long time now. I have always been a stickler for the rules of grammar and style in my 12 years as an editor and writer in the world of journalism. I'm anal like that, and, I don't mind saying, I'm a pretty good arbiter of those things.
But sometimes, you just want to let some of those things go (by starting a sentence with the word "but," for instance) and just write the way you would talk with a friend over a beer (something I spent hours and hours doing in Ireland on my honeymoon. I don't know if you've heard, but beer is kinda big over there). Hence, the blog. As with most technical advances, I rejected it for years, as I'm currently doing with Twitter. This was stupid. I have a lot to say, and the Yankees are making for some compelling content right now. The blog is my natural ally.
Therefore I am making my pledge to post much more frequently from here on out. The wedding and honeymoon are over. My wife and I have a lot of big projects and decisions to handle in the next few months (no, a baby is not one of them, though a puppy certainly might be!), but there is no reason I can't take a few moments each day to offer my take on what's going on in the greatest rivalry in sports.
I make this pledge in public because now I have to hold myself to it. And I want all of YOU to hold me to it.
Let's get blogging, and LET'S GO YANKEES!
My sports teams are my lifelong passion -- the Yankees especially -- and writing has been my avocation for a long time now. I have always been a stickler for the rules of grammar and style in my 12 years as an editor and writer in the world of journalism. I'm anal like that, and, I don't mind saying, I'm a pretty good arbiter of those things.
But sometimes, you just want to let some of those things go (by starting a sentence with the word "but," for instance) and just write the way you would talk with a friend over a beer (something I spent hours and hours doing in Ireland on my honeymoon. I don't know if you've heard, but beer is kinda big over there). Hence, the blog. As with most technical advances, I rejected it for years, as I'm currently doing with Twitter. This was stupid. I have a lot to say, and the Yankees are making for some compelling content right now. The blog is my natural ally.
Therefore I am making my pledge to post much more frequently from here on out. The wedding and honeymoon are over. My wife and I have a lot of big projects and decisions to handle in the next few months (no, a baby is not one of them, though a puppy certainly might be!), but there is no reason I can't take a few moments each day to offer my take on what's going on in the greatest rivalry in sports.
I make this pledge in public because now I have to hold myself to it. And I want all of YOU to hold me to it.
Let's get blogging, and LET'S GO YANKEES!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Magic Stadium
So I got married last weekend, right? And now I'm in Ireland on my honeymoon, and I want this to be the best vacation of all time. And I'm pretty easy. If my wife is happy, I'm happy. She has a few things she absolutely must see and do while we're here. Sleep in castle -- check. Get massage -- check. Drink Guinness -- check (obv).
I have the same requirement for this trip as I have for most: I must attend some sort of sporting event. If I'm out and around the States, I have to go to a baseball or football game. If it's abroad, it's usually soccer, as it was in England (Arsenal) or Germany (Bayern Munich). In some countries you can be a little more exotic and unfamliar -- such as the bullfight I attended Easter Sunday in Madrid in 1998. Pretty hideous sport, bullfighting, by the way. I'm glad I went, but I'm not going again. It's morally indefensible.
Ireland, of course, has soccer, but it's not the season, and their play doesn't quite compare to England's or Germany's. Not that I couldn't enjoy it, but, as I said, it's not the season.
But Ireland is known not for what most other countries call football, and certainly not for what Americans call football. They have their own football. Gaelic football. It's similar to rugby, but much, much faster. It's not that easy to watch on TV, but I was hoping to catch a match live, which is the only way to really experience any sport.
This time of year brings some healthy competition. There is the All-Ireland tournament going on right now, and the teams that did not advance to the provincial finals -- Ireland has four provinces, and each has it's own football championship -- are playing single-elimination matches right now to try to move on. A bunch of those matches were played yesterday, and my wife and I thought that we'd attend. We'd have loved to see Donegal. They played yesterday in the town of Ballybofey (one of my favorite Irish town names). Donegal was our first stop in Ireland, and we are completely in love with this place. But we left there Friday, so there was no way we were going all the way back to see them play. I was pleased to check the paper and see they won, though it was obvious that whoever wrote the 100-word blurb on the match was hardly impressed.
Our other option for yesterday was to venture from Galway (where we stayed after Donegal) to Mullingar, in County Westmeath, for a 7 p.m. match. Westmeath haven't beaten Meath in championship play. Ever. 0-19-2. I decided that was the one to see. I could get behind an underdog like that, and if Westmeath were to win, I would have made sure to let the locals know later in the pubs that I was at my first Gaelic game and had clearly brought their team luck, and they would have bought me pints all night.
But that was a long drive into an unfamiliar place, and it would have left us driving back across the country late at night. If we're going to drive somewhere for a match, it should be somewhere we can just stay a while. Like, say, Dublin! The Dubs were hosting the Leinster championship today at 2 p.m. at Croke Park Stadium, an 85,000-seat beast. The NFL should absolutely hold one of it's international showcases here. It's right in a local Dublin neighborhood -- as a stadium should be.
So we left this morning, made the drive from West Coast to East (Ireland is a great place to drive, by the way) and got checked into our hotel just in time to get to the match a few minutes early. Problem: we had no tickets. Nobody seemed to be able to tell us how to get any. We figured we could try at the stadium box office -- if there even is such a thing.
We got out of a taxi about a mile from the stadium and followed the crowd of blue-clad Dubs supporters eager to see a fifth straight Leinster crown for their team (which kind of made me root for Kildare, even though they go by the sad nickname of the Lilywhites). We got to within two blocks of the stadium and found that there was a gate, guarded by uniformed officers who seemed to be making walkers show their tickets to get past. I asked if he knew anything about whether tickets might be available at the stadium. We seemed to have a communication breakdown, but he said something like "ask the guard" and let us through.
When we got to the last block before the stadium, it was shoulder-to-shoulder, with another uniformed officer ushering people past the corner and onto the narrow street on which the entrance to Croke Park stadium stood. I asked him if he knew if they had tickets. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. "Wherever."
He pulled out a wad from his pocket that contained both paper money and a bunch of bent-up tickets. "Don't know if I have two together." Somehow, without my asking, a cop had become, apparently, a ticket scalper.
Finally, he pulls out a pair that were attached. Clearly, two seats together. Section 307. Lower level. Side. Great. He must want at least 100 euro for them.
"How much?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Are you serious?"
"Have fun."
I have no idea why this happened. My guess is that he, as a cop or stadium security officer, had confiscated the tickets from scalpers and was just happy to give them to a couple who clearly were just going to attend the game. Whatever.
The seats were great, and the game was tremendous. It's a very easy sport to follow, even if you can't figure out all of the rules. Dublin jumped out to a big early lead, but Kildare came back and actually led three times by a point, including 12-11 at halftime, before falling 21-18. (The scoring actually is a little more complicated than that, but 21-18 tells you all you really need to know.)
So, we got to the stadium with no idea how or if we'd get tickets, got great seats for FREE, and fell in love with a new sport, one that I could easily see myself following. My wife dubbed Croke Park "The Magic Stadium."
Indeed.
I have the same requirement for this trip as I have for most: I must attend some sort of sporting event. If I'm out and around the States, I have to go to a baseball or football game. If it's abroad, it's usually soccer, as it was in England (Arsenal) or Germany (Bayern Munich). In some countries you can be a little more exotic and unfamliar -- such as the bullfight I attended Easter Sunday in Madrid in 1998. Pretty hideous sport, bullfighting, by the way. I'm glad I went, but I'm not going again. It's morally indefensible.
Ireland, of course, has soccer, but it's not the season, and their play doesn't quite compare to England's or Germany's. Not that I couldn't enjoy it, but, as I said, it's not the season.
But Ireland is known not for what most other countries call football, and certainly not for what Americans call football. They have their own football. Gaelic football. It's similar to rugby, but much, much faster. It's not that easy to watch on TV, but I was hoping to catch a match live, which is the only way to really experience any sport.
This time of year brings some healthy competition. There is the All-Ireland tournament going on right now, and the teams that did not advance to the provincial finals -- Ireland has four provinces, and each has it's own football championship -- are playing single-elimination matches right now to try to move on. A bunch of those matches were played yesterday, and my wife and I thought that we'd attend. We'd have loved to see Donegal. They played yesterday in the town of Ballybofey (one of my favorite Irish town names). Donegal was our first stop in Ireland, and we are completely in love with this place. But we left there Friday, so there was no way we were going all the way back to see them play. I was pleased to check the paper and see they won, though it was obvious that whoever wrote the 100-word blurb on the match was hardly impressed.
Our other option for yesterday was to venture from Galway (where we stayed after Donegal) to Mullingar, in County Westmeath, for a 7 p.m. match. Westmeath haven't beaten Meath in championship play. Ever. 0-19-2. I decided that was the one to see. I could get behind an underdog like that, and if Westmeath were to win, I would have made sure to let the locals know later in the pubs that I was at my first Gaelic game and had clearly brought their team luck, and they would have bought me pints all night.
But that was a long drive into an unfamiliar place, and it would have left us driving back across the country late at night. If we're going to drive somewhere for a match, it should be somewhere we can just stay a while. Like, say, Dublin! The Dubs were hosting the Leinster championship today at 2 p.m. at Croke Park Stadium, an 85,000-seat beast. The NFL should absolutely hold one of it's international showcases here. It's right in a local Dublin neighborhood -- as a stadium should be.
So we left this morning, made the drive from West Coast to East (Ireland is a great place to drive, by the way) and got checked into our hotel just in time to get to the match a few minutes early. Problem: we had no tickets. Nobody seemed to be able to tell us how to get any. We figured we could try at the stadium box office -- if there even is such a thing.
We got out of a taxi about a mile from the stadium and followed the crowd of blue-clad Dubs supporters eager to see a fifth straight Leinster crown for their team (which kind of made me root for Kildare, even though they go by the sad nickname of the Lilywhites). We got to within two blocks of the stadium and found that there was a gate, guarded by uniformed officers who seemed to be making walkers show their tickets to get past. I asked if he knew anything about whether tickets might be available at the stadium. We seemed to have a communication breakdown, but he said something like "ask the guard" and let us through.
When we got to the last block before the stadium, it was shoulder-to-shoulder, with another uniformed officer ushering people past the corner and onto the narrow street on which the entrance to Croke Park stadium stood. I asked him if he knew if they had tickets. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. "Wherever."
He pulled out a wad from his pocket that contained both paper money and a bunch of bent-up tickets. "Don't know if I have two together." Somehow, without my asking, a cop had become, apparently, a ticket scalper.
Finally, he pulls out a pair that were attached. Clearly, two seats together. Section 307. Lower level. Side. Great. He must want at least 100 euro for them.
"How much?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Are you serious?"
"Have fun."
I have no idea why this happened. My guess is that he, as a cop or stadium security officer, had confiscated the tickets from scalpers and was just happy to give them to a couple who clearly were just going to attend the game. Whatever.
The seats were great, and the game was tremendous. It's a very easy sport to follow, even if you can't figure out all of the rules. Dublin jumped out to a big early lead, but Kildare came back and actually led three times by a point, including 12-11 at halftime, before falling 21-18. (The scoring actually is a little more complicated than that, but 21-18 tells you all you really need to know.)
So, we got to the stadium with no idea how or if we'd get tickets, got great seats for FREE, and fell in love with a new sport, one that I could easily see myself following. My wife dubbed Croke Park "The Magic Stadium."
Indeed.
Friday, July 3, 2009
BOYCOTT SELECTION SHOWS!
That's right, I said it. I am calling on you, my loyal readers, to strike a blow against the commoditization of sports information by refusing to watch these made-for-TV-money dog-and-pony shows we call "selection shows."
You would expect a column like this might appear in March, when the most famous of these shows airs. I'll get back to that one in a minute.
I got e-mail reminders yesterday that it was the last day to vote for baseball's all-stars. Seeing that Kevin Youkilis held a slim lead over Mark Teixeira for the starting spot at first base, I rushed online and voted the maximum number of times -- 25 -- for Teixeira.
Voting ended at midnight last night, so I went online this morning and looked to find out the results. Instead, all I found out is that the results will be announced on a TBS selection show, airing Sunday night.
Well, screw that. I shouldn't have to wait until Sunday night to find out the results. Does the Electoral College hold on to the results of a presidential election so Fox News can hold a selection show on Thursday night? Hell, no. The public gets the information when it's available, disseminated through any legitimate news source.
Why can't MLB just announced the results of the all-star voting? Well, it can. But it won't. Not as long as it knows it can package the results in a made-for-profit venture with a business partner.
But guess what. If nobody watched this crap, they wouldn't do it. So the question is: can you hold off a few hours and get the news somewhere else?
I know I can. I came a little late to the March Madness game. I never watched college hoops until I got to college, so it never occurred to me I was supposed to be watching these selection shows. I found out the next day in the newspaper. And just like the rest of you, I ooed and ahhed a little at some of the matchups, at the surprise snubs and last teams in, and, of course, at the matchups for my favorite (Syracuse) and least favorite (UConn) schools. I just did my ooing and ahhing about 12 hours later.
A few years ago I finally watched a selection show for the first time. You know what? I hadn't really been missing anything. Those cameras on the bubble teams as they got in the dance? It is a little nice to see the reaction, but not very insightful. A team that was worried about its chances gets in and is excited. REALLY? NO KIDDING!
The show is a waste of time, and nothing but a money-maker for CBS. But at least that one gives you the results right on time.
This TBS show on Sunday is delaying by two-and-a-half days the release of information that should come out right now. Please. I beg you. Do not condone this by watching the show. Visit one of God-knows-how-many Web sites later and find out who will be starting the All-Star Game.
You would expect a column like this might appear in March, when the most famous of these shows airs. I'll get back to that one in a minute.
I got e-mail reminders yesterday that it was the last day to vote for baseball's all-stars. Seeing that Kevin Youkilis held a slim lead over Mark Teixeira for the starting spot at first base, I rushed online and voted the maximum number of times -- 25 -- for Teixeira.
Voting ended at midnight last night, so I went online this morning and looked to find out the results. Instead, all I found out is that the results will be announced on a TBS selection show, airing Sunday night.
Well, screw that. I shouldn't have to wait until Sunday night to find out the results. Does the Electoral College hold on to the results of a presidential election so Fox News can hold a selection show on Thursday night? Hell, no. The public gets the information when it's available, disseminated through any legitimate news source.
Why can't MLB just announced the results of the all-star voting? Well, it can. But it won't. Not as long as it knows it can package the results in a made-for-profit venture with a business partner.
But guess what. If nobody watched this crap, they wouldn't do it. So the question is: can you hold off a few hours and get the news somewhere else?
I know I can. I came a little late to the March Madness game. I never watched college hoops until I got to college, so it never occurred to me I was supposed to be watching these selection shows. I found out the next day in the newspaper. And just like the rest of you, I ooed and ahhed a little at some of the matchups, at the surprise snubs and last teams in, and, of course, at the matchups for my favorite (Syracuse) and least favorite (UConn) schools. I just did my ooing and ahhing about 12 hours later.
A few years ago I finally watched a selection show for the first time. You know what? I hadn't really been missing anything. Those cameras on the bubble teams as they got in the dance? It is a little nice to see the reaction, but not very insightful. A team that was worried about its chances gets in and is excited. REALLY? NO KIDDING!
The show is a waste of time, and nothing but a money-maker for CBS. But at least that one gives you the results right on time.
This TBS show on Sunday is delaying by two-and-a-half days the release of information that should come out right now. Please. I beg you. Do not condone this by watching the show. Visit one of God-knows-how-many Web sites later and find out who will be starting the All-Star Game.
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