------ I'm chalking up this ridiculously inconsequential disagreement between Buster Olney and an otherwise unknown college basketball recruiting analyst to miscommunication. Not to suggest that someone who makes their living covering baseball is speaking an entirely different language as someone who keeps close tabs on what matters to most to prospective college basketball players, but - at the very least - they are working in very different dialects. Buster Olney is entitled to his opinion, but I just have a hard time believing that it's not highly influenced by what he's encountered in his own field. For one, almost everyone is guilty of applying personal experience to their point of view. More importantly, however, communicating with Managers whose lack of a second-to-second emotional investment in a slow, methodical chess match of a sport allows them open up to analysts between the chewing of sunflower seeds mid-game is the only thing that explains his lack of sympathy to Chris Mack's circumstance. Surely Louisville's coach could've, and admittedly should've, given a more gracious answer to a sideline reporter who was put in the impossible and unforgiving position of squeezing water out of rock...
However, to not take into account the anxiety/adrenaline build-up that comes as a result of the constant and closely supervised back-and-forth of a college basketball game, never mind one played against another nationally ranked team, reeks of being biased by baseball. To Buster Olney's point, whether it's John Calipari generously breaking down the performance of each one of his NBA-caliber talents or Chris Mack being curt in cutting off to the locker room, no one really gives a damn about the inherently rushed and unproductive practice of giving mid-game interviews to those who have more important things on their mind. Not me, not you, and most certainly not 17-18 year olds who are in the process of making the potential life-changing decision of where to best further their basketball career. Chris Mack was guilty of being a bit of a dick, but he wasn't guilty of ruining his program's reputation or wrecking his recruiting pitch by running off to the locker room to...god forbid...actually coach his players.
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I say the following knowing full well that Ilya Kovalchuk will inevitably be taking the ice in what will basically be an aviary of full-bellied boo-birds who are eager to give no shortage of shit to a player who put them through the ringer before resorting to early "retirement". I personally no longer care enough about a self-involved (former) superstar whose bang no longer matches his buck to offer him the self-satisfaction of my ire. Travis Zajac's thoughts on the matter were meant to be as classy and complimentary as you'd expect, but if it's true that you don't boo nobodies than nobody should say boo to someone whose impact is no longer worthy of the attention he's always been desperate in seeking. It feels weird saying as much, because I maintained a pretty explicit opinion each annual time in which Ilya Kovalchuk used a potential NHL return for financial leverage. However, now that he has returned to the NHL in relatively underwhelming fashion, I'd rather not pay the most money-hungry of mercenaries any mind. The instinctual reaction to being scorned by an athlete is booing the holy hell out of them, but - to a narcissist the likes of Kovy - apathy is the weapon that cuts the deepest. Assuming he has feelings at all, nothing hurts more to a King than being treated like a peasant. As has been covered ad nauseam, the organization was lucky to get out from under a boulder of a contract that Ilya Kovalchuk counterproductively demanded be franchise-crippling when they did. Still, if the gut punch he delivered Devils' fans after the much more respectable departure of Zach Parise didn't wash away all the good-will he built up throughout the Finals run of 2012 then waiting until New Jersey couldn't benefit from his return before making it certainly did. For that reason, I don't expect too many fans to follow my lead in treating #17 like he's just some defensive liability who is a -17 (which he is, for the record). However, it sure would be fitting to show a familiar type of indifference to a dude who only cared about being a New Jersey Devil when it was convenient to both him and his bank account.
Normally I'd say that mocking an MVP candidate who can posterize your pride from anywhere within the arc at any given moment is a bad idea, especially doing so early in a game of which your team is an undeniable underdog. Generally speaking, not drawing the ire of a human Monstar is preferable to giving him another reason to reach into his bottomless bag of tricks. That being said, MVP candidates who can posterize your pride from anywhere within the arc at any given moment typically don't leave wide-open three pointers shorter than they would have had they tried to dunk it from distance. Therefore, while the Nets' reserves may have pissed off the wrong player, it's my contention that they had an obligation to the entire NBA to give it to one of the least criticized superstars in the league after he hung one about two feet short of the hoop. A bench mob not making its presence seen, heard, or felt in a moment that out-of-character and embarrassing would basically be the equivalent of going against the proverbial "family", regardless of what kind of ridiculously superhuman and retaliatory whacking it might draw...
“It’s not fair to (Blackwood), it’s not fair to Cory and Keith (Kinkaid) and our team,” Hynes said about carrying three goalies. “The right thing to do is we want him to continue to play. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to be back here (in the NHL this season), but it’s an opportunity for him to go down and play and play a key role there, to help Binghamton get into the playoffs, which is important for our young players. It gives an opportunity for Keith and Cory to have a net and see what they can do." (h/t NJ.com) -------- And there you have it. If you were holding stubbornly strong to the possibility of the New Jersey Devils making some short of ridiculous run that would accomplish nothing more than making them look more respectable in the standings then you can finally let it go and click 'Buy' on your ticket to the tank-a-thon. I don't know why you'd still be optimistic about the season, since - for all we we've been told - Taylor Hall may have gone from winning the Hart Trophy to waiting on a heart transplant. However, for the overly positive crowd that remained illiterate to the writing on the wall, the demotion of Mackenzie Blackwood might as well be the most easily understood of audio books. To be clear, I know why the Devils did what they did. They should see what, other than an unprecedented inability to win a hockey game, they have in Cory Schneider before deciding what to do with him and the anchor of a contract that he looks to be storing under his ass pad whenever he moves laterally. They could benefit from getting as many looks at Keith Kinkaid as possible before deciding whether or not they want to pursue keeping him in free agency. That said, fairness be damned, they would ignore all those prerogatives and ride Mackenzie Blackwood if winning games were even remotely close to being a top priority. I love John Hynes, but not enough to let him relieve himself on my head then offer me an umbrella. Sending a kid who has come part and parcel with the Devils' watchability, never mind winning ways, the last few months back down to Binghamton to ride a bus immediately after he helped steal a game they had absolutely no business winning is the white flag amongst a whole bunch of red flags that have plagued a reality check of a season. Never mind being sellers come the trade deadline. Giving NHL games to Cory Schneider instead of the promising prospect who, as premature an observation as it may be, looked more than capable of replacing him in the role of franchise goaltender basically serves as one of those storefront-sized fire sale signs that hangs outside a Christmas shop on December 26th. I don't want to say the cost of winning is currently too great to start Mackenzie Blackwood, as I think the Devils are too proud a group to plummet much further than they already have regardless of who is in net. However, starting someone whose presence in the lineup has literally guaranteed defeat since 2017 is pretty damn telling of how the organization has budgeted victory.
In speaking as someone whose soul descended to the deepest and darkest of places when the Saints had a sure-shot Super Bowl appearance pried from their grasp by officiating incompetence, I must say that even I'm unfamiliar with being that amount of morbid in defeat. That being said, I'm not so sure that Andrew Whitworth and the rest of a Rams' team that took the unprecedentedly precious gift of an undeserved shot at a title and somehow hogtied themselves while trying to unwrap it shouldn't feel apocalyptically pessimistic about their performance. Honestly, I was already thinking that the apology Sean McVay should currently be penning to Sean Payton and Drew Brees might come across more genuine if it were written in blood, so maybe their left tackle wasn't too far off with his fatalistic approach to their massive failure. After all, Jared Goff might still be too young a quarterback to be looking forward to his funeral, but his mortality sure was on full-display with how often he was completely blind to entirely wide-open receivers last night. On one hand, it's technically just a game so there realistically isn't a reason to go knocking on death's door. On the other hand, taking advantage of a Patriots' team putting up a point per quarter through three quarters of the Super Bowl is pretty much a once in a lifetime opportunity, so who am I to tell the Rams not to turn their attention to their eventual demise? Maybe a reminder of the fragility of life and the pointlessness of football is just what they need to get over it. Guess it's not as easy as they originally thought, huh?
------ First of all, an apology to the haters, of which even one is too many. I'm sorry you were about as fun at high school house parties as the hosting parents that came home from vacation early...
Petitions? Personal "injury" lawsuits? Requests to replay? All admittedly their own ridiculous brand of petty and childish, but if partying through the pain makes Saints' fans "babies" then pass me a pacifier and an adult diaper so I don't have to worry about breaking the seal anywhere near Bourbon Street. A loud, proud, and apparently misunderstood legion of loyalists that shockingly weren't feeling any less scorned ahead of a championship game their team (now unquestionably) should have been a part of took an otherwise depressing day and turned it into a city-wide celebration. They collectively flipped their middle finger at a game that proved to be even more of an uninteresting sham than they assumed it to be, and - through better and absolute worst - made Super Bowl Sunday all about their Saints. Predictably, Boycott Bowl was really just a black & gold block party with a "fuck the officials" theme, so I fail to see how anyone who wasn't just having traumatizing flashbacks to teenage years that were mostly spent missing out could consider it anything other than a quintessential display of the fickle beast that is fandom.
The Who Dat Nation is probably never going to truly "get over" one of the most grave injustices in NFL history. However, those that kept clamoring for them to do so probably should have taken the cue to shut the fuck up when the visual of thousands of people drinking and dancing away their despair came across their screen. Especially since those same ignoramuses would have taken a great deal of pleasure in mocking the best fanbase in sports had only a mere spattering of supporters taken to the streets with an entirely understandable shared spite for the NFL. That group therapy session was classic NOLA and anyone who thinks the mood during it was anything but jovial could never possibly relate to the uplifting experience of rooting for the Saints. The most pissed off fans on the planet refused to sit on their ass and self loathe, instead decided to resiliently take unconditional pride in being a part of something special, and there are actually people out there that somehow came to the conclusion that that's a bad thing? In scoring approximately one single point for each of their fans in attendance, the Rams proved the entire point of what was more of an undeniably impressive parade than a protest, which is that they never even deserved to be on that field or represented in those stands. New Orleans Saints' fans actually enjoyed a Sunday they spent in full appreciation of their team. Prior to the Patriots winning, that's more than can be said for literally anyone else during what I've been led to believe was a lame excuse for a professional football game, never mind one that ultimately crowned World Champions*.
You might think we've reached maximum capacity in being complimentary of the admittedly brilliant Head Coach who is in the midst of something between his 9th and 90th Super Bowl week. You might even think Patriots' fatigue would make for a lack of new narratives surrounding the perennial powerhouse of a team that was "doubted" by "everyone", and therefore any way in which you could speak of Bill Belichick's ingenuity would be unoriginal. Fortunately, you'd think wrong, because apparently the most incredibly consistent curmudgeon in sports has convinced his staff of future head coaching failures that they are getting a full night's rest in the time it takes to catch up on your favorite TV show. Never mind what he's managed to do with an inherently flawed team, because what he's done in getting a bunch of grown ass men to believe they've actually added hours to their day by submerging themselves for a little solitary shut-eye is even more impressive. You thought Tom Brady's unorthodox diet was the one that was the most key to New England's success, but Josh McDaniels is giving it a run for its money while working his eyeballs bloody after slurping up the stupidity that his organization has "solved" sleep straight from the spoon of his moody mentor. I bet Robert Kraft could have been saved a lot of money if Bill Belichick could have just used a little elbow grease, twisted a few arms, and convinced his assistant coaches that holding their breath under water until they passed out is basically tomato/tomahto to a solid 8 hours. However, credit to the brains behind the most productive of operations for not being stiff in bullshitting his staff, for the only thing that truly comes close to simulating 4-5 hours of sleep is called rigamortis, and - needless to say - it falls a little short in the rejuvenation department.
If only because I would imagine it's easier to find a quality return man than it is to find a quality group of especially specialized coaches, I find this news to be disproportionally disconcerting. Unless I'm missing something, as I very well may be having shockingly not dissected the game tape from every change of possession throughout the season, Tommy Lee Lewis tightening the collective sphincter of the Who Dat Nation in catching punts that he rarely ever advanced was the only underperforming aspect of an inherently under-appreciated part of the game. Of course, all I really have to go off in judging the supply and demand of high-end Special Teams' coaches is the traumatizing memories of Saints' teams of yesteryear finding foolish ways to fail their quarterback in seeming destined to end up 7-9, but - in my personal opinion - that feels like more than enough. Much like a guy dating a girl that's entirely out of his league, it seems as though Sean Payton should have clung desperately to a crew whose results make it look as though he was basically kissing frogs with his previous coordinators at the position. From Thomas Morstead-to-Wil Lutz-to-Taysom Hill-to-Justin Hardee-to-Craig Robertson-to-Chris Banjo, the Saints finally have players that are known for actually being reliable in relatively anonymous roles. Presumably, the highly-heralded Mike Westhoff (and Co.) was responsible for putting them in those roles, so this re-staffing seems like a senseless overreaction to falling victim to one predictable, momentum-swinging fake punt from the best armed leg in the NFL. I have more respect for Sean Payton (and his extremely detailed rebuilding of this team) to think that's all it is, but finding ways to not only not lose in hilariously hopeless fashion, but also finding ways to win without the offense or defense on the field has been too welcomed a change for me to welcome any change. I thought I'd sooner see another River City Relay gone to waste than a kicking game that was more special than "special", so I hope Darren Rizzi is comfortable is prepared silence some skepticism.
You know, as stupid and satirical as the headline reads, I'm not so sure that it's not at least somewhat serious. I've been a staunch supporter of Kyler Murray and his well-earned autonomy in looking at more than just dollar signs in deciding which sport he wants to devote his blood, sweat, and tears to for the foreseeable future. However, I can't help but think that he may have cost himself a little bit something-something by, metaphorically speaking, fouling softballs off his own face in making Dan Patrick's fluffy, Super Bowl-week filler seem like it was conducted across an interrogation table. With how asininely over-reactionary NFL scouts are in picking apart prospects down to their pajama patterns, I can certainly think of more minute critiques than the inability of first-round arm talent to endorse electrolytes without seeming as though he just walked into his own surprise party stoned through next Sunday. Granted, it's got to be weird that every person that passes the Heisman winner by is at least silently asking themselves the same thing, but - as a kid who spoke to the entirely implausible possibility of being a two-sport athlete in 2018 - Kyler Murray is going to approach higher hurdles than having to artfully dodge his indecisiveness. His height, or lack thereof, might be the main knock on him as the future face of a franchise, but the shortstop's confidence throughout that short stop on set would have to stand on its tippy toes if it even wanted to tell a white lie about being taller than 5'9. Again, I absolutely loathe those that turn the draft process into a presumptuous personality dissection, but I'd have a reservation or two about asking a kid who had to have his Dad interject in an easy interview to lead an NFL huddle. Of course, he's got a lot more on his plate than the average aspiring quarterback, being that he apparently doesn't want divulge his plan going forward. Still, just silently staring at that proverbial plate as if it were going to clean itself like a self-conscious date who regrets not ordering a salad was made even more awkward by the fact that quality communication, or even something remotely like it, is kind of key to succeeding at the quarterback position. |
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