I hate to say I told ya so, Memphis, but I told ya so.
They got a whole lot farther than I thought, obviously, but when all the chips were on the table (pointless poker metaphor alert!), the Tigers simply couldn't shoot free throws. With Leather summed it up nicely, and, no, I didn't win the pool (I had Kansas overall, but way too many underdogs that got knocked out early - I'm looking at you, Drake). You can probably find in-depth game summaries over at Deadspin or Storming the Floor, if you didn't watch the game for some reason.
It's a shame, Tiger fans. Y'all could have been kings.
Showing posts with label talking headitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label talking headitude. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
A Litte Off the Top 04/02/2008
McCovey Chronicles nearly made me put my head through a wall. Then I noticed the date of the post.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Sleeper Watch
I was watching Gonzaga v San Diego at the gym tonight (They have bigger TVs. Sue me.), and Gonzaga doesn't look very good at all. Their entire offense, if you can call it that, seems to consist of Jeremy Pargo running around making crazy plays.
I don't know that Gonzaga really counts as a sleeper these days. They are ranked 22 in the nation, after all. But if tonight bears any resemblance to how they play in the tournament, they won't last long. You've been warned, bracketeers.
I don't know that Gonzaga really counts as a sleeper these days. They are ranked 22 in the nation, after all. But if tonight bears any resemblance to how they play in the tournament, they won't last long. You've been warned, bracketeers.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Mikey B., we hardly knew ye...
This is getting dangerously close to being old news (and perhaps it already is), but Michael Bloomberg officially withdrew from the race he was never officially in. Count me among the nine people who are sorry to see him go. Not that America was ready to elect a short, Jewish billionaire as president of the United States. But still...
I don't pay much attention to NYC politics. As long as the subways are on time and relatively clean, I don't particularly care (although I do sometimes wonder exactly they're doing with all the city taxes I pay). But Bloomberg always struck me as a great mayor for the city, a confident technocrat who wasn't afraid to call in competent help when confronted with an issue he didn't know much about.
He has a great populist touch, giving out free hot chocolate and sleds to kids during our recent snow storm.
And, most importantly for me, Bloomberg isn't bogged down in partisanship like so many of our politicians. Hell, the man only chose the Republican party because he saw a clearer route to the mayoral nomination. He's not afraid to cross the aisle, to transcend petty Democratic/Republican squabbles, to do what is best for the city.
Now that the wheat has separated from the chaff, we're left with three very competent, very qualified candidates, none of whom I'm particularly excited about. Was I excited about a President Bloomberg? That's probably pushing it. But I do think he possesses the combination of experience, independence and transcendence that we need in our next executive-in-chief. It felt like much less of a compromise, whereas now I'll spend the next eight months trying to distinguish between three ok choices.
Makes me wonder what might have been...
I don't pay much attention to NYC politics. As long as the subways are on time and relatively clean, I don't particularly care (although I do sometimes wonder exactly they're doing with all the city taxes I pay). But Bloomberg always struck me as a great mayor for the city, a confident technocrat who wasn't afraid to call in competent help when confronted with an issue he didn't know much about.
He has a great populist touch, giving out free hot chocolate and sleds to kids during our recent snow storm.
And, most importantly for me, Bloomberg isn't bogged down in partisanship like so many of our politicians. Hell, the man only chose the Republican party because he saw a clearer route to the mayoral nomination. He's not afraid to cross the aisle, to transcend petty Democratic/Republican squabbles, to do what is best for the city.
Now that the wheat has separated from the chaff, we're left with three very competent, very qualified candidates, none of whom I'm particularly excited about. Was I excited about a President Bloomberg? That's probably pushing it. But I do think he possesses the combination of experience, independence and transcendence that we need in our next executive-in-chief. It felt like much less of a compromise, whereas now I'll spend the next eight months trying to distinguish between three ok choices.
Makes me wonder what might have been...
Friday, February 8, 2008
Kevin Hart: Evil Genius?
As a (sometimes) proud Cal alum, I haven't decided yet how to feel about the whole Kevin Hart signing day fiasco. Those of you unfamiliar with the saga can find links to all the deadspin posts on the wonderful Mr. Ufford's With Leather. For fans of the Worldwide Leader, Gene Wojciechowski has a pretty thorough article as well.
Honestly, my first reaction was frustration with the Cal program. The team just finished an epic, embarrassing collapse of a season that makes the 2007 Mets look like strong finishers. A 5-0 start followed by a single win in 7 games when the wheels came suddenly, horribly off against Oregon State. A win in the Bell Helicopter Armed Services Bowl against an Air Force team that doesn't even run the triple option anymore. I don't know if it's as bad as the Tom Holmoe years, but it's close.
Cal has enjoyed a strong running game over the past few years, with players like Justin Forsett and the incredibly gangter Marshawn Lynch running rampant out of the backfield. So when a 6'4, 305 pound 2-star recruit, holds a press conference in his hometown and proudly declares his intention to enroll at Berkeley, instead of Pac-10 rival Oregon, why, oh why would Coach Jeff Teford turn down the opportunity to secure a strong addition to the offensive line?
Well, it turns out he's not very good. I guess two stars (out of 5) at rivals.com doesn't mean nearly as much as two stars (out of 3) from Michelin. This also happens to be when the story gets interesting. When it came out that Cal (and, for that matter, anyone) had no interest whatsoever him, Hart initially claimed to have fallen victim to a shady recruiter named Kevin Riley.
Now, I know there are 300 million people in this country, but surely a recruiter just happening to have that name is at least a little coincidental. Cal football fans will remember Kevin Riley virtually single-handedly ruining the Golden Bear's shot at a number 1 ranking in the aforementioned Oregon State game. Remember, the very same day that LSU lost in triple OT to Kentucky? Yeah, so do I. Anyway, that was when alarm bells started clanging in my head.
It turned out in the end that Hart made everything up, getting caught in an elaborate story that went back weeks, if not months. And you can understand his desire to play D-1 football. Heck, I thought of myself as a pretty decent hockey player at one point. But what exactly did he think was going to happen? Sure, if he was a 4 star prospect, Tedford might have said 'Hey, we didn't think we had a shot at this kid, but if he wants to come here so bad, let's try to work something out.' After all, Cal's recruiting class didn't exactly set the world on fire. No top 150 recruits, and only 2 teams in the conference ranked worse. Then again, if the kid was a 4 star recruit, Cal probably would have recruited him.
It's going to be a long offseason, Bear fans. And I haven't even started on the basketball team yet (A lousy 5-5 in conference so far)...
Honestly, my first reaction was frustration with the Cal program. The team just finished an epic, embarrassing collapse of a season that makes the 2007 Mets look like strong finishers. A 5-0 start followed by a single win in 7 games when the wheels came suddenly, horribly off against Oregon State. A win in the Bell Helicopter Armed Services Bowl against an Air Force team that doesn't even run the triple option anymore. I don't know if it's as bad as the Tom Holmoe years, but it's close.
Cal has enjoyed a strong running game over the past few years, with players like Justin Forsett and the incredibly gangter Marshawn Lynch running rampant out of the backfield. So when a 6'4, 305 pound 2-star recruit, holds a press conference in his hometown and proudly declares his intention to enroll at Berkeley, instead of Pac-10 rival Oregon, why, oh why would Coach Jeff Teford turn down the opportunity to secure a strong addition to the offensive line?
Well, it turns out he's not very good. I guess two stars (out of 5) at rivals.com doesn't mean nearly as much as two stars (out of 3) from Michelin. This also happens to be when the story gets interesting. When it came out that Cal (and, for that matter, anyone) had no interest whatsoever him, Hart initially claimed to have fallen victim to a shady recruiter named Kevin Riley.
Now, I know there are 300 million people in this country, but surely a recruiter just happening to have that name is at least a little coincidental. Cal football fans will remember Kevin Riley virtually single-handedly ruining the Golden Bear's shot at a number 1 ranking in the aforementioned Oregon State game. Remember, the very same day that LSU lost in triple OT to Kentucky? Yeah, so do I. Anyway, that was when alarm bells started clanging in my head.
It turned out in the end that Hart made everything up, getting caught in an elaborate story that went back weeks, if not months. And you can understand his desire to play D-1 football. Heck, I thought of myself as a pretty decent hockey player at one point. But what exactly did he think was going to happen? Sure, if he was a 4 star prospect, Tedford might have said 'Hey, we didn't think we had a shot at this kid, but if he wants to come here so bad, let's try to work something out.' After all, Cal's recruiting class didn't exactly set the world on fire. No top 150 recruits, and only 2 teams in the conference ranked worse. Then again, if the kid was a 4 star recruit, Cal probably would have recruited him.
It's going to be a long offseason, Bear fans. And I haven't even started on the basketball team yet (A lousy 5-5 in conference so far)...
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The real Super Bowl MVP: Sideburns!
02/05/2008
I was in Vermont a few weeks ago, over the recent three day weekend (Thanks, LBJ!). It was a great trip, full of maple-flavored foodstuffs, snowshoeing, beer, and more cheese than you can shake a stick at. If, you know, you're the sort of person who shakes sticks at inanimate foodstuffs. Anyway, it was such a good trip that I decided to do what any good Vermonter would: turn my too-lazy-to-shave stubble into an honest to god beard. It was thick. It was luxurious. It was red.
It was also terribly unlucky. The drive home took several hours than the drive there, even with (or maybe because of) the GPS. I couldn't land a new job, even after more interviews than I can remember. The beard got into an argument with a friend of mine. The Chargers stunk in the AFC title game. The missus had rug burn on her cheeks. I could go on. An ugly situation all around.
By Super Sunday, it was clear something had to be done. Drastic measures would be required. Boldly, I took my Mach 3 Super-duper Power Turbo Razor in hand. In a matter of minutes, the viking mane was transformed into gi-normous, California shaped sideburns (Ok, I'm homesick. Deal with it.). Thus reborn, I proudly put on my Repli-thentic (Whatever that means) 1990 red Joe Montana 49ers jersey and ventured out to watch the game somewhere in Morningside Heights, looking like Hugh Jackman's Wolverine (at least the facial hair).
By now, you all know what happened. The Patriots played like they had somewhere to be. David Tyree defied the laws of physics. Eli played like his older brother, and for once, I don't mean Cooper. The Giants won the freaking Super Bowl.
And I went 7-2 on my props, only missing on a shot in the dark highest scoring quarter bet and a Patriots-biased double result hedge.
So, you can have your trophy, Eli. You can have all the glory. But just consider: would you really have played the game of your young career if I hadn't done my best General Ambrose Burnside impression that very morning?
Sure, some of the kinks still need to be worked out. I haven't found a new job yet. But I haven't lost my current one, either, which is nice. The sideburns are on good terms with my friends. And Joe Montana is still the greatest quarterback of all time (for now).
But, still: All hail sideburns!
I was in Vermont a few weeks ago, over the recent three day weekend (Thanks, LBJ!). It was a great trip, full of maple-flavored foodstuffs, snowshoeing, beer, and more cheese than you can shake a stick at. If, you know, you're the sort of person who shakes sticks at inanimate foodstuffs. Anyway, it was such a good trip that I decided to do what any good Vermonter would: turn my too-lazy-to-shave stubble into an honest to god beard. It was thick. It was luxurious. It was red.
It was also terribly unlucky. The drive home took several hours than the drive there, even with (or maybe because of) the GPS. I couldn't land a new job, even after more interviews than I can remember. The beard got into an argument with a friend of mine. The Chargers stunk in the AFC title game. The missus had rug burn on her cheeks. I could go on. An ugly situation all around.
By Super Sunday, it was clear something had to be done. Drastic measures would be required. Boldly, I took my Mach 3 Super-duper Power Turbo Razor in hand. In a matter of minutes, the viking mane was transformed into gi-normous, California shaped sideburns (Ok, I'm homesick. Deal with it.). Thus reborn, I proudly put on my Repli-thentic (Whatever that means) 1990 red Joe Montana 49ers jersey and ventured out to watch the game somewhere in Morningside Heights, looking like Hugh Jackman's Wolverine (at least the facial hair).
By now, you all know what happened. The Patriots played like they had somewhere to be. David Tyree defied the laws of physics. Eli played like his older brother, and for once, I don't mean Cooper. The Giants won the freaking Super Bowl.
And I went 7-2 on my props, only missing on a shot in the dark highest scoring quarter bet and a Patriots-biased double result hedge.
So, you can have your trophy, Eli. You can have all the glory. But just consider: would you really have played the game of your young career if I hadn't done my best General Ambrose Burnside impression that very morning?
Sure, some of the kinks still need to be worked out. I haven't found a new job yet. But I haven't lost my current one, either, which is nice. The sideburns are on good terms with my friends. And Joe Montana is still the greatest quarterback of all time (for now).
But, still: All hail sideburns!
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