March Madness was entertaining if not profitable through the weekend. Some dark horses emerged in Davidson and West Virginia to salve the hurt of early losses by USC and Arizona. But bluntly, t'ain't enough. I am out of it, contest-wise. So it's down to just pure enjoyment.
The talking ape, Too-Much Talking Timmy on SportsNet, tried ever so hard to screw it up. But it came down to a series of great games that even HE couldn't deface. And there were some heroic performances that will stand the test of time. Davidson's Stephen Curry, the honorary Canuck (his dad played with the Raptors) stood out again. He hit for 30 last year, so his prime-time stepping up should hardly be a surprise. But coming back to beat Gonzaga AND Georgetown in similar fashion has Davidson eying the spotlight George Mason has left empty the last two years. And you know, Davidson MIGHT just be good enough to get to the final four. Such is the sublime shooting ability that Curry possesses.
Rick Majerus would not have been seen by the majority watching the CBS feed. But he brought up a great stat. The 180 Club. Basically, you take the player's shooting percentage, add it to the three-point shooting percentage and the free throw percentage. If they add up to more than 180, you are a certified shooter. The ability to be around and occasionally above that mark tends to last through school, college and into the pros. Steve Kerr had the top total on that list at 184. Reggie Miller was next with 181 and a whole bunch of current shooting hotshots were between 173 and 179. Curry? 183. He will be small for an NBA shooting guard at around 6-3, but he WILL have an NBA career. Might be a long one. I'd like to see him wearing Raptor Red in about two years.
Saturday's unsung hero was everyman Joe Mazzulla who almost triple-doubled OFF the bench! L'il Joe was the deciding factor in West Virginia's dismissal of vaunted Duke. He'll make a great motivational corporate speaker one of these days. A marvelous performance. Big Joe, as in Joe Alexander displayed a fine game that I missed completely before he starting heaving in 30-point efforts at the start of March. Besides sharing a name with local product Joey Alexander, who had a fine collegiate career and played for Canada's National Team, West Virginia Joe has the same lanky physique that had some maturing to do before catching up with the talent. Might be a bit thin and lacking range for the pro game, but Alexander sure impressed playing the college game Saturday. If he goes off and Mazzulla has a little more heroics inside him, the Mountaineers will be dangerous.
North Carolina and Kansas look like the only untroubled teams thus far. I don't see any way they don't meet in a semi-final in San Antonio. UCLA, Tennessee, Stanford, Texas and Memphis could have lost. I could argue UCLA and Stanford SHOULD have lost. Tennessee looks awfully lacking in direction right now, changing starting point guards THIS weekend. Memphis can't hit free throws to save John Calipari's job. Derrick Rose or no, Memphis is going home early. Still, you have to get a little tussle here and there before the final and both West Coast schools might benefit. Still can't believe Trent Johnson was willing to get tossed out the Stanford game. To me, that puts Stanford into the Can't Win category. Into the mix emerge Wisconsin, Washington State and possibly Louisville.
A week ago, I had UCLA over Tennessee in the final, Kansas and Texas getting Oh-so-close. But I was really backing Kansas. So, what the heck, flip Tennessee for North Carolina and keep the same script. But watch out for Rock, Chalk, Jayhawk!
Monday, March 24, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
SPORTS: I Miss Jack
Part of the delight the past few years in watching March Madness has been the always entertaining presence of Jack Armstrong on the simulcasts for SportsNet. The various hosts SportsNet used for their broadcasts weren't any great shakes, but the Happy Irishman, ex-coach of Niagara University and current Toronto Raptor analyst, always seemed to make the interludes when cutting to the studio interesting and informative. And if you smiled a bit, so be it.
Cut to this year and the new home of the Canadian rights to the NCAA Basketball Championships, The Score. Instead of Jack, we have one day of Rick Majerus. Some Sherm Hamilton, too. But negating any value they might provide is the idiotic talking head known as Tim Micallef. I'm told he's a good guy. But his performance just sets my teeth ajar.
It's silly of me to criticize anybody else's appearance, since I'm hardly Paul Newman myself. But come on, a soul patch? He's 20 years too old to try that desperate cry for attention. It looks silly. Add that to a voice that's annoying enough to cause epileptic fits and a patter that he stole whole clothe from Van Earl Wright, and then screwed it up. Given to double entendres and tortured puns, he can't JUST give you the information. I imagine he considers himself quite the poet. It's a lonely place, his mind.
And tonight, they even gave up on Majerus and Hamilton. Result? Lots of mumbling to himself, wrong information and the hope he's too tired to come back on the weekend. I don't much like Adnan Virk, but he knows basketball and he's only one-quarter as annoying as Micallef.
Actually, it's been a bad tournament for the broadcasters. Dick Engberg's been wrong a record-number of times already (two, I think). Jim Nantz hasn't performed up to par. And the CBS studio crew has been ... wrong. Seth Davis spectacularly so.
Which is too bad, because this had been an entertaining tourney to date, helped in no small part by the unprecedented sweep of the Tampa sectional by lower-seeds (12's and 13's at that) today (well, Friday). I'm gone in my pools. Even if I hit the final eight, the damage done Thursday by the USC and Arizona losses have me with no chance to win anything. Place? Sure, but there's only one prize. Still, I'm enjoying the roundball, now that the pressure is off.
You HAD to love Stephen Curry's bravura performance in leading Davidson past Gonzaga. And Roger Pelphrey did the best job I've seen in coaching in a long time, shepherding the Arkansas Razorbacks past the Indiana Hoosiers. Later that same night, Jay Wright, a normally outstanding coach, almost cost his Villanova Wildcats an upset win over Clemson. His kids bailed him out. No wind sprints for them, next practice. Seth Davis DID get the Siena upset correct, which was the biggest surprise of the day to me. It wasn't close against a Vandy team that blows hot and cold. And how sad for UConn that A.J. Price bunged up his ankle, leading to defeat at the hands of upstart San Diego. Still, the Toreros took advantage and good for them.
Cut to this year and the new home of the Canadian rights to the NCAA Basketball Championships, The Score. Instead of Jack, we have one day of Rick Majerus. Some Sherm Hamilton, too. But negating any value they might provide is the idiotic talking head known as Tim Micallef. I'm told he's a good guy. But his performance just sets my teeth ajar.
It's silly of me to criticize anybody else's appearance, since I'm hardly Paul Newman myself. But come on, a soul patch? He's 20 years too old to try that desperate cry for attention. It looks silly. Add that to a voice that's annoying enough to cause epileptic fits and a patter that he stole whole clothe from Van Earl Wright, and then screwed it up. Given to double entendres and tortured puns, he can't JUST give you the information. I imagine he considers himself quite the poet. It's a lonely place, his mind.
And tonight, they even gave up on Majerus and Hamilton. Result? Lots of mumbling to himself, wrong information and the hope he's too tired to come back on the weekend. I don't much like Adnan Virk, but he knows basketball and he's only one-quarter as annoying as Micallef.
Actually, it's been a bad tournament for the broadcasters. Dick Engberg's been wrong a record-number of times already (two, I think). Jim Nantz hasn't performed up to par. And the CBS studio crew has been ... wrong. Seth Davis spectacularly so.
Which is too bad, because this had been an entertaining tourney to date, helped in no small part by the unprecedented sweep of the Tampa sectional by lower-seeds (12's and 13's at that) today (well, Friday). I'm gone in my pools. Even if I hit the final eight, the damage done Thursday by the USC and Arizona losses have me with no chance to win anything. Place? Sure, but there's only one prize. Still, I'm enjoying the roundball, now that the pressure is off.
You HAD to love Stephen Curry's bravura performance in leading Davidson past Gonzaga. And Roger Pelphrey did the best job I've seen in coaching in a long time, shepherding the Arkansas Razorbacks past the Indiana Hoosiers. Later that same night, Jay Wright, a normally outstanding coach, almost cost his Villanova Wildcats an upset win over Clemson. His kids bailed him out. No wind sprints for them, next practice. Seth Davis DID get the Siena upset correct, which was the biggest surprise of the day to me. It wasn't close against a Vandy team that blows hot and cold. And how sad for UConn that A.J. Price bunged up his ankle, leading to defeat at the hands of upstart San Diego. Still, the Toreros took advantage and good for them.
Friday, March 21, 2008
SPORTS: That Was a Short Dream
My hopes of winning an NCAA March Madness pool died awfully quickly. Granted, I hadn't spent a lot of time analyzing this year's field, but I thought I had found two hidden gems. USC being an Elite Eight team from the sixth seed and Arizona getting to the Sweet Sixteen from their 10th seed.
Wrong.
In USC's case, they came a-cropper when Kansas State's Michael Beasley got an award-winning supporting turn from Bill Walker. Still, had the Trojans' OJ Mayo gotten similar help from Taj Gibson, USC might still be on the path I predicted. Instead, Gibson's fumble-fingered approach to rebounds might have irrevocably altered his NBA destiny and Mayo might have to put his pro plans on hold. At least according to Rick Majerus. The upside of being wrong is the chance to catch the sublime Beasley in at least another college game. He's good. REAL good.
Now, I have a guilty party for the Arizona loss to favoured West Virginia. And it isn't Mountaineer star Joe Alexander or any of his mates. No, being a Toronto Raptor fan, I can finger the Wildcat coach. Bad ol' Kevin O'Neill returns to bedevil me. Yeah, I take it personally.
Obviously, Arizona has a wealth of talent. Just as obviously, the Wildcats are a bunch of very confused ballplayers. It's been blamed on the on-off-on again coaching status of Lute Olsen, set to replace O'Neill, well, now, after ceding the position to him at the start of the season to take a one-year leave of absence. That IS confusing and these are young men. But men they are.
O'Neill's need to micro-manage made him a horrible NBA coach. He's a good assistant coach, where he aids and abets, but doesn't command. Given the reins, he shows his "I'm in control" persona. I appreciate that he might be a good bloke away from the court and is well-liked and respected by his peers. Some have touted him for Coach of the Year, for pulling Arizona to a 24th-straight NCAA tournament. But that is bollocks, to quote an English copper or two. His Wildcats threw the bit. He's responsible.
Those two games were the only blemishes on my otherwise perfect report card from today. I DID get the Texas A&M putdown of Brigham Young and wasn't seduced by Baylor in their attempt to upend Purdue. I do have three upset specials today (Friday) in St. Joe's, South Alabama and Davidson. But the multi-round hit from USC and 'Zona falling early spells finito to my winning chances.
Good luck to the other eight zillion contestants out there.
Wrong.
In USC's case, they came a-cropper when Kansas State's Michael Beasley got an award-winning supporting turn from Bill Walker. Still, had the Trojans' OJ Mayo gotten similar help from Taj Gibson, USC might still be on the path I predicted. Instead, Gibson's fumble-fingered approach to rebounds might have irrevocably altered his NBA destiny and Mayo might have to put his pro plans on hold. At least according to Rick Majerus. The upside of being wrong is the chance to catch the sublime Beasley in at least another college game. He's good. REAL good.
Now, I have a guilty party for the Arizona loss to favoured West Virginia. And it isn't Mountaineer star Joe Alexander or any of his mates. No, being a Toronto Raptor fan, I can finger the Wildcat coach. Bad ol' Kevin O'Neill returns to bedevil me. Yeah, I take it personally.
Obviously, Arizona has a wealth of talent. Just as obviously, the Wildcats are a bunch of very confused ballplayers. It's been blamed on the on-off-on again coaching status of Lute Olsen, set to replace O'Neill, well, now, after ceding the position to him at the start of the season to take a one-year leave of absence. That IS confusing and these are young men. But men they are.
O'Neill's need to micro-manage made him a horrible NBA coach. He's a good assistant coach, where he aids and abets, but doesn't command. Given the reins, he shows his "I'm in control" persona. I appreciate that he might be a good bloke away from the court and is well-liked and respected by his peers. Some have touted him for Coach of the Year, for pulling Arizona to a 24th-straight NCAA tournament. But that is bollocks, to quote an English copper or two. His Wildcats threw the bit. He's responsible.
Those two games were the only blemishes on my otherwise perfect report card from today. I DID get the Texas A&M putdown of Brigham Young and wasn't seduced by Baylor in their attempt to upend Purdue. I do have three upset specials today (Friday) in St. Joe's, South Alabama and Davidson. But the multi-round hit from USC and 'Zona falling early spells finito to my winning chances.
Good luck to the other eight zillion contestants out there.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
SPORTS: The Last Word on Pronger
And it isn't mine.
The word is, indefensible. For the full explanation, check out Jim Kelly's column at Sportsnet.
Pronger suspension is indefensible
Nothing more to add.
The word is, indefensible. For the full explanation, check out Jim Kelly's column at Sportsnet.
Pronger suspension is indefensible
Nothing more to add.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
MISC: This And That
Once again, caught in the work trap. Here goes come miscellania.
I like Mark Cuban. The Dallas Maverick-owner/HDNet TV mogul is accessible and writes a thought-provoking blog. Today, he rags on Leonard Shapiro for a column dissing Mixed Martial Arts, a staple of HDNet. Mark takes offense to Leonard's belittlement of the 'legitimized' assault and battery that is MMA. Mark's wrong, Leonard's right. The sport used to be called Christians vs. Lions in the old Roman days. Taking delight in having one human batter another into unconsciousness is demeaning.
I've heard the young lad who plays the gender-confused youngest on The Riches has had a growth spurt. If that stops the cross-dressing, it stops the weakest story angle on the show. The good will be get better. Yippee!
The Houston Rockets lost to Boston last night, ending a 22-game winning streak. As nature's balance attempts to be restored, betcha the Rockets go out and lose at least the next four, and it wouldn't be surprising if a double-digit losing streak is on the books.
Toronto Raptors, as presently constituted, are a Chris Bosh away from fighting Orlando or Cleveland for a berth in the Eastern semi-finals. Without Bosh, one of Atlanta, New Jersey or Toronto will miss the playoffs. And it ain't the first two. Consider Bosh the anti-Ford. Bosh's fellow Texan committed the ultimate selfish act in Monday night's loss to Utah and is done as a Raptor at season's end. He can't wrap his GIGANTIC ego around the fact he ain't as good as Jose Calderon, doesn't deserve to be a starter and isn't good enough as a backup to play ahead of 102-year old Darrick Martin. Once again, I state the obvious, he's Stephon Marbury in a smaller suit.
Big season ahead for the Toronto Blue Jays' Dustin McGowan. Shaun Marcum? Not so much. In fact, Jesse Litsch will have better stats. The other Blue Jay no-no will be Frank Thomas. The smart thing would be platoon him with Matt Stairs until about mid-June. That's when the Big Hurt warms up. It's been that way three years running (at least the last three FULL years). And Thomas' Spring Training performance suggests nothing will change this season.
Mike Wilner's man-crush on Blue Jay GM J.P. Ricciardi has always been off-putting. Added to his hate on for Gord Ash ... well it's nauseating. Did some research on the drafting record of the two GMs in their first six seasons and I will eventually find time to write it all up. Hint: The new guy is NOT as good as the guy he replaced. It'll have to wait until I can get the trading record to guild the lily.
I wear two different sets of glasses, depending on the task. It'll be three after the next visit to my schoolmate, Rick Thompson. Yep, separate sets for reading, working on the computer and just plain living. They sure see me coming!
I like Mark Cuban. The Dallas Maverick-owner/HDNet TV mogul is accessible and writes a thought-provoking blog. Today, he rags on Leonard Shapiro for a column dissing Mixed Martial Arts, a staple of HDNet. Mark takes offense to Leonard's belittlement of the 'legitimized' assault and battery that is MMA. Mark's wrong, Leonard's right. The sport used to be called Christians vs. Lions in the old Roman days. Taking delight in having one human batter another into unconsciousness is demeaning.
I've heard the young lad who plays the gender-confused youngest on The Riches has had a growth spurt. If that stops the cross-dressing, it stops the weakest story angle on the show. The good will be get better. Yippee!
The Houston Rockets lost to Boston last night, ending a 22-game winning streak. As nature's balance attempts to be restored, betcha the Rockets go out and lose at least the next four, and it wouldn't be surprising if a double-digit losing streak is on the books.
Toronto Raptors, as presently constituted, are a Chris Bosh away from fighting Orlando or Cleveland for a berth in the Eastern semi-finals. Without Bosh, one of Atlanta, New Jersey or Toronto will miss the playoffs. And it ain't the first two. Consider Bosh the anti-Ford. Bosh's fellow Texan committed the ultimate selfish act in Monday night's loss to Utah and is done as a Raptor at season's end. He can't wrap his GIGANTIC ego around the fact he ain't as good as Jose Calderon, doesn't deserve to be a starter and isn't good enough as a backup to play ahead of 102-year old Darrick Martin. Once again, I state the obvious, he's Stephon Marbury in a smaller suit.
Big season ahead for the Toronto Blue Jays' Dustin McGowan. Shaun Marcum? Not so much. In fact, Jesse Litsch will have better stats. The other Blue Jay no-no will be Frank Thomas. The smart thing would be platoon him with Matt Stairs until about mid-June. That's when the Big Hurt warms up. It's been that way three years running (at least the last three FULL years). And Thomas' Spring Training performance suggests nothing will change this season.
Mike Wilner's man-crush on Blue Jay GM J.P. Ricciardi has always been off-putting. Added to his hate on for Gord Ash ... well it's nauseating. Did some research on the drafting record of the two GMs in their first six seasons and I will eventually find time to write it all up. Hint: The new guy is NOT as good as the guy he replaced. It'll have to wait until I can get the trading record to guild the lily.
I wear two different sets of glasses, depending on the task. It'll be three after the next visit to my schoolmate, Rick Thompson. Yep, separate sets for reading, working on the computer and just plain living. They sure see me coming!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
TV: The Riches
Yeah, The Riches are coming back tonight for the first episode of their second season.
Boooooo. Earliest I can probably watch the episode is 20 days from now.
Who said I couldn't keep it short?
Boooooo. Earliest I can probably watch the episode is 20 days from now.
Who said I couldn't keep it short?
Monday, March 17, 2008
SOFTWARE: AVG and ZoneAlarm Mutating
I have long been a proponent of both AVG for Anti-virus protection and ZoneAlarm for firewalls for most unsophisticated users. Both have the charm of being free, while both hope you will want more than their free service and will upgrade. I use AVG myself. The free version.
Somehow, lately, there have been attempts to hoodwink some of you. And the result for me is TWO different crashed computers that I think were trashed by updating these two programs.
Let's start with AVG, which has released a new 8.0 version, available right now in a 'free' 30-day trial version. Apparently, there WILL be a release of AVG 8.0 Free sometime in the next three months.
AVG Free 8.0 FAQ
So, you should be able to live with the 7.5 that you have been using. An update to the program core of that release came out as recently as March 11th. You SHOULD be able to use it and get the daily updates as you always have--until it's time to upgrade to 8.0. I know Patrick has found that his 7.5 install is NOT updating anymore. So he's TRYING out 8.0. Most of you SHOULD not be faced with this upgrade or else scenario. 'Cept some are upgrading already. And that's troubling.
First, the trial is actually the full AVG security suite. I actually prefer to use dedicated tools for each of the usual tasks, virus protection, firewall, spam-blocking and spyware scanning. I actually use different products for all four tasks. I do NOT want a suite, thank you very much. And I hope you won't be tricked into getting this one. And it's not because I don't trust the quality of AVG. I have no idea whether v8 is any good. Too early to tell.
But, one of the sure recipes to disaster is to have two programs trying to protect you from the same threat at the same time. Bodyguards don't always place nice in these circumstances. It can lead to disaster.
I am, in fact, now wondering if AVG is tangling with AdAware AdWatch in stopped Casey's computer from running at all. It would answer a lot. This computer has cost me lots of sleep over the last two days.
It's not the only one. My Dad's computer decided to create a brand-new account for him on the weekend. It accepted his old name and password on booting, but he was no longer operating on the account set up for his name. Not even on the one that is his name plus 16 digits of random characters that suddenly got created last December. Now, it's his account, plus the 16 digits, PLUS '.000.'
And I have no better idea why it happened on the weekend then I did when responding to the first instance three months ago. Strike that, I think ZoneAlarm is somewhere near the responsible party.
Dad's browser suddenly developed an extra toolbar devoted to the ZoneAlarm SpyBlocker utility. Dad doesn't need it. He runs Firefox and has the NoScript add-in turned on. He has to actively ALLOW scripts to run. He also runs Adblock and StopAutoplay. In other words, NOTHING this update to ZoneAlarm could help. Co-incidentally, it updated and he lost his account. I truly wonder if an earlier update was the culprit back in December.
Users have long been aware that ZoneAlarm has some nasty habits when updating the program core. If you have manual updating turned on, each upgrade turns it back off. But now there's another negative option that you have to pay attention to. During that install, look for the spyware blocker toolbar and UNCHECK it.
The result of NOT doing so, COULD be a huge hit on my time.
By the way, I have made some modifications to my recommended list for living on the internet. Of course, you should be using Firefox instead of Internet Explorer. You simply cannot make the latter secure. Pick an email program OTHER than Outlook. I use both Eudora AND Thunderbird. With Add-Ins, Thunderbird can do a LOT of what Outlook touts as its advantage. AVG remains the suggested Anti-virus program, but the past few days has me wondering if a switch to AVAST! might not be ahead. Comodo Firewall Pro (free, despite the name) is looming as ZoneAlarm's replacement. It's not as easy to use, but I'm feeling awfully leery about ZoneAlarm anymore. Get rid of AdAware. No longer recommended. Pair Spybot Search and Destroy with Spyware Blaster.
I cannot tell you for certain that AVG or ZoneAlarm bear ANY responsibility for my lost weekend. But I will tell you two things. It won't take but one more puzzling situation for me to stop using these products. And I'm going to be doing a thorough back up of ALL my computers this week.
Somehow, lately, there have been attempts to hoodwink some of you. And the result for me is TWO different crashed computers that I think were trashed by updating these two programs.
Let's start with AVG, which has released a new 8.0 version, available right now in a 'free' 30-day trial version. Apparently, there WILL be a release of AVG 8.0 Free sometime in the next three months.
AVG Free 8.0 FAQ
So, you should be able to live with the 7.5 that you have been using. An update to the program core of that release came out as recently as March 11th. You SHOULD be able to use it and get the daily updates as you always have--until it's time to upgrade to 8.0. I know Patrick has found that his 7.5 install is NOT updating anymore. So he's TRYING out 8.0. Most of you SHOULD not be faced with this upgrade or else scenario. 'Cept some are upgrading already. And that's troubling.
First, the trial is actually the full AVG security suite. I actually prefer to use dedicated tools for each of the usual tasks, virus protection, firewall, spam-blocking and spyware scanning. I actually use different products for all four tasks. I do NOT want a suite, thank you very much. And I hope you won't be tricked into getting this one. And it's not because I don't trust the quality of AVG. I have no idea whether v8 is any good. Too early to tell.
But, one of the sure recipes to disaster is to have two programs trying to protect you from the same threat at the same time. Bodyguards don't always place nice in these circumstances. It can lead to disaster.
I am, in fact, now wondering if AVG is tangling with AdAware AdWatch in stopped Casey's computer from running at all. It would answer a lot. This computer has cost me lots of sleep over the last two days.
It's not the only one. My Dad's computer decided to create a brand-new account for him on the weekend. It accepted his old name and password on booting, but he was no longer operating on the account set up for his name. Not even on the one that is his name plus 16 digits of random characters that suddenly got created last December. Now, it's his account, plus the 16 digits, PLUS '.000.'
And I have no better idea why it happened on the weekend then I did when responding to the first instance three months ago. Strike that, I think ZoneAlarm is somewhere near the responsible party.
Dad's browser suddenly developed an extra toolbar devoted to the ZoneAlarm SpyBlocker utility. Dad doesn't need it. He runs Firefox and has the NoScript add-in turned on. He has to actively ALLOW scripts to run. He also runs Adblock and StopAutoplay. In other words, NOTHING this update to ZoneAlarm could help. Co-incidentally, it updated and he lost his account. I truly wonder if an earlier update was the culprit back in December.
Users have long been aware that ZoneAlarm has some nasty habits when updating the program core. If you have manual updating turned on, each upgrade turns it back off. But now there's another negative option that you have to pay attention to. During that install, look for the spyware blocker toolbar and UNCHECK it.
The result of NOT doing so, COULD be a huge hit on my time.
By the way, I have made some modifications to my recommended list for living on the internet. Of course, you should be using Firefox instead of Internet Explorer. You simply cannot make the latter secure. Pick an email program OTHER than Outlook. I use both Eudora AND Thunderbird. With Add-Ins, Thunderbird can do a LOT of what Outlook touts as its advantage. AVG remains the suggested Anti-virus program, but the past few days has me wondering if a switch to AVAST! might not be ahead. Comodo Firewall Pro (free, despite the name) is looming as ZoneAlarm's replacement. It's not as easy to use, but I'm feeling awfully leery about ZoneAlarm anymore. Get rid of AdAware. No longer recommended. Pair Spybot Search and Destroy with Spyware Blaster.
I cannot tell you for certain that AVG or ZoneAlarm bear ANY responsibility for my lost weekend. But I will tell you two things. It won't take but one more puzzling situation for me to stop using these products. And I'm going to be doing a thorough back up of ALL my computers this week.
SPORTS: THE Bracket Winners
Okay. Work, family situations and sheer tiredness means I'm giving short shrift to the deep analysis of this year's NCAA Men's Basketball Championships brackets released Sunday night.
Last I reported, I wanted Kansas to win, but had to predict AGAINST them to see the Jayhawks emerge victorious. I had UCLA beating Tennessee in the final, with Kansas and USC making up the rest of the final four. That can't happen now, cuz Kansas and USC will meet in the Midwest regional final. Oh well.
So, here's the gut prediction (and I won't have time to do much more this year). UCLA beats Xavier to win the West, and then beats Texas, who will beat Memphis in the South final. I know that goes against my prior prediction that Memphis will lose in an odd round, but I don't see anybody doing it before then.
On the other side, Tennessee (bet you can guess where I am going), will dunkirk North Carolina's title dreams in the regional final, setting up the match with Kansas, who will beat USC.
In San Antonio, Tennessee ends Kansas hopes (fingers crossed, or are they UNcrossed. Hmmmmmm). UCLA then turns Texas's dream of having one Big 12 team in the final into a nightmare. And there we have it. UCLA beats Tennessee 82-77 to win it all.
You're welcome.
Last I reported, I wanted Kansas to win, but had to predict AGAINST them to see the Jayhawks emerge victorious. I had UCLA beating Tennessee in the final, with Kansas and USC making up the rest of the final four. That can't happen now, cuz Kansas and USC will meet in the Midwest regional final. Oh well.
So, here's the gut prediction (and I won't have time to do much more this year). UCLA beats Xavier to win the West, and then beats Texas, who will beat Memphis in the South final. I know that goes against my prior prediction that Memphis will lose in an odd round, but I don't see anybody doing it before then.
On the other side, Tennessee (bet you can guess where I am going), will dunkirk North Carolina's title dreams in the regional final, setting up the match with Kansas, who will beat USC.
In San Antonio, Tennessee ends Kansas hopes (fingers crossed, or are they UNcrossed. Hmmmmmm). UCLA then turns Texas's dream of having one Big 12 team in the final into a nightmare. And there we have it. UCLA beats Tennessee 82-77 to win it all.
You're welcome.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
LIFE: Why I Will Never Own a Cell Phone
I was talking to Casey Slack on Friday night. Various subjects came up including my first computer, a VERY low serial number Apple ][ computer. I still have it. I doubt that it'd start up and run, mostly because I don't have an old black and white TV to attach it to. Maybe one of these days.
Back in the day, that Apple was a $5,000 purchase. Actually, slightly more than that, and only a grand less than my relatively new car at the time had cost me to drive off the lot. Before that, I had begged, borrowed and, to be honest, stole time on big main-frame computers at York University and the University of Toronto. Most of the programs then were BASIC programs written on mark-sense cards. Computer geeks weren't geeks in those days. Carrying long boxes of cards to and from the computers took some physical effort. The joke was that you could tell a programmer by his longer carrying arm. Okay, not so funny.
I also was the first in the school to have an electronic calculator. I was probably the earliest owner of a VCR on my block (bought to record ABBA in Australia) and I certainly was the first to have three or more of the things running. I probably fit the bill as a gadget freak.
And yet, I do not own a cellular telephone. Never have. Have my doubts that I ever will. I also don't have a bank card, only reluctantly use a credit card for purchases I make remotely and CANNOT do in person, and I have rotary dial service on all of my phones at home. That's right, the technogeek doesn't even have touch-tone service.
Those of you who DID switch when touch-tone came in decades ago might forget that it cost money to make the switch back then. I wasn't in the movies, so being able to dial quickly wasn't important. SIDEBAR: The push-button phone is one of the most important inventions in the HISTORY of Hollywood. Prior to the advent of push-button phones, scenes with characters dialing would take ten seconds or more, instead of a second or two. Eight DEAD seconds of movie time is a very expensive eight seconds. Hollywood LOVES the push-button phone, unless filming a period piece. Then, the property master has to go round and dig up some of the black Bell beauties. Oddly enough, MY lone remaining old-fashioned phone has more than earned its keep as a rental property. END OF SIDEBAR
I also didn't need services like Call Display. If I'm home, I answer the phone. If the phone cuts to an answering machine, I AM NOT AT HOME. Maybe indisposed you ask? No, NOT AT HOME. I have a phone in EVERY room in the house, including two in the kitchen, one in the basement and in BOTH bathrooms. I will NOT be indisposed. Unlike people who curse the air blue when caught in the bathroom with a phone ringing in another room, I have no such problem with making decisions.
You ask what about services like Call Waiting? Near as I can figure, about half the attempts to take advantage of call waiting go like this. "Oops, there's another call coming through. Let me see who it is. I'll get right back to you." Click. "Hello, hi, oh it's you. Guess they hung up."
I think every call I'm on is important, no less nor more important than another. I think it's rude of me to prioritize. That's just me. I have no problem with other people doing it to me, since I tend to ramble. Shutting me up can be a chore. If it takes somebody else calling in, so be it. But I wouldn't want to do it to other people. And if it is an emergency call, they'll keep calling till they DO get through. Simple. No cost, either.
The anti-cell phone phobia extends beyond the money. I once got one for Christmas, despite making my preferences not to have one quite plain. It was given in love, and returned with a certain lack of graciousness I regret to this day. But I won't have one. Basically, I don't want a phone going off when I'm driving down the highway with gigantic trucks doing 100 klicks an hour on either side. THAT is called a recipe for deadly accident. I don't want to turn off the alarm and suddenly have something kicking up a storm in my pocket either. I have a LOT of quick-twitch fibre in my muscles when I'm surprised.
No, the safest way for me to arrive alive, is NOT to be suddenly startled by a phone. Besides, it's not like I'm out all that often. It's mid March and I have gas in my car from DECEMBER of last year. If it wasn't for a trip north this week, I'm pretty sure I would have gotten to April 1st. At least. All with the same 40 bucks of gas I stuck in the tank the week before Christmas. There's been an illness in there, but I've largely been a stay-at-home, phone-accessible body for all that time.
I'm perfectly happy being a technology troglodyte slash expert.
Back in the day, that Apple was a $5,000 purchase. Actually, slightly more than that, and only a grand less than my relatively new car at the time had cost me to drive off the lot. Before that, I had begged, borrowed and, to be honest, stole time on big main-frame computers at York University and the University of Toronto. Most of the programs then were BASIC programs written on mark-sense cards. Computer geeks weren't geeks in those days. Carrying long boxes of cards to and from the computers took some physical effort. The joke was that you could tell a programmer by his longer carrying arm. Okay, not so funny.
I also was the first in the school to have an electronic calculator. I was probably the earliest owner of a VCR on my block (bought to record ABBA in Australia) and I certainly was the first to have three or more of the things running. I probably fit the bill as a gadget freak.
And yet, I do not own a cellular telephone. Never have. Have my doubts that I ever will. I also don't have a bank card, only reluctantly use a credit card for purchases I make remotely and CANNOT do in person, and I have rotary dial service on all of my phones at home. That's right, the technogeek doesn't even have touch-tone service.
Those of you who DID switch when touch-tone came in decades ago might forget that it cost money to make the switch back then. I wasn't in the movies, so being able to dial quickly wasn't important. SIDEBAR: The push-button phone is one of the most important inventions in the HISTORY of Hollywood. Prior to the advent of push-button phones, scenes with characters dialing would take ten seconds or more, instead of a second or two. Eight DEAD seconds of movie time is a very expensive eight seconds. Hollywood LOVES the push-button phone, unless filming a period piece. Then, the property master has to go round and dig up some of the black Bell beauties. Oddly enough, MY lone remaining old-fashioned phone has more than earned its keep as a rental property. END OF SIDEBAR
I also didn't need services like Call Display. If I'm home, I answer the phone. If the phone cuts to an answering machine, I AM NOT AT HOME. Maybe indisposed you ask? No, NOT AT HOME. I have a phone in EVERY room in the house, including two in the kitchen, one in the basement and in BOTH bathrooms. I will NOT be indisposed. Unlike people who curse the air blue when caught in the bathroom with a phone ringing in another room, I have no such problem with making decisions.
You ask what about services like Call Waiting? Near as I can figure, about half the attempts to take advantage of call waiting go like this. "Oops, there's another call coming through. Let me see who it is. I'll get right back to you." Click. "Hello, hi, oh it's you. Guess they hung up."
I think every call I'm on is important, no less nor more important than another. I think it's rude of me to prioritize. That's just me. I have no problem with other people doing it to me, since I tend to ramble. Shutting me up can be a chore. If it takes somebody else calling in, so be it. But I wouldn't want to do it to other people. And if it is an emergency call, they'll keep calling till they DO get through. Simple. No cost, either.
The anti-cell phone phobia extends beyond the money. I once got one for Christmas, despite making my preferences not to have one quite plain. It was given in love, and returned with a certain lack of graciousness I regret to this day. But I won't have one. Basically, I don't want a phone going off when I'm driving down the highway with gigantic trucks doing 100 klicks an hour on either side. THAT is called a recipe for deadly accident. I don't want to turn off the alarm and suddenly have something kicking up a storm in my pocket either. I have a LOT of quick-twitch fibre in my muscles when I'm surprised.
No, the safest way for me to arrive alive, is NOT to be suddenly startled by a phone. Besides, it's not like I'm out all that often. It's mid March and I have gas in my car from DECEMBER of last year. If it wasn't for a trip north this week, I'm pretty sure I would have gotten to April 1st. At least. All with the same 40 bucks of gas I stuck in the tank the week before Christmas. There's been an illness in there, but I've largely been a stay-at-home, phone-accessible body for all that time.
I'm perfectly happy being a technology troglodyte slash expert.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
BOOKS: Dinner-Time Reading
I've come by my curmudgeonly ways honestly, having started quite early in life. There was an affection for golden oldies/soft rock station CFRB as my radio station for life ... until The Fan 590 All-Sports radio arrived. There was the fact I skipped family vacations to do my own thing while still a tween. And I've sat apart from my family at the dinner table since before I needed two whole hands to figure out my age.
Mostly, the apart thing came from my incessant need to read. Cereal boxes at breakfast, newspapers at lunch and comic books or the like at supper. It was just me and my reading material propped up in front of me. I sat at the kitchen counter, allowing the four seats at the kitchen table to be filled by Mom, Dad, Wayne and Rick. Being the eldest child, I got first dibs on the big stool.
Now living alone in the same house, I have the kitchen table all to myself. I have set up an easel with the reading material of the day sitting there, ready to read. It's a concession to my aging eyes. I have to have it up closer to my nose now, as opposed to laying flat on the countertop when I was a kid.
Over the years, I've refined my reading habits. For the longest time, meals meant catching up with the weekly edition of The Sporting News, to be parceled out into roughly 14 reading sessions. (I had long ago stopped eating breakfast). On the occasions where the News would run short of the proscribed reading amount, or that I was having a midnight snack or two, then The Hockey News or Sports Illustrated served as a stopgap.
This worked for a long time. But then two things occurred. First, the postal system started mangling OR losing issues of TSN. The losing was the bigger of the two problems. I'd complain, get my subscription extended, but I'd be without the needed reading material. Sometimes, I'd have to read textbooks just to tide me over. Oh, the horror of it! A week or two later, I'd get two, sometimes three, and in one memorial week, FOUR issues of the weekly magazine. The hoard would be carefully cultivated to carry me through what I knew would be another fallow period in the near future.
The internet arrived and suddenly TSN and The Hockey News were no longer worth the money to subscribe. I wasn't getting anything new in their pages and the features weren't worth the money. But I STILL needed reading material.
Bridge magazines.
I have stacks and STACKS of bridge magazines. Turns out a fading memory is a boon. Reading issues from the 50's turned out to be like a brand new reading experience. Sure, I remembered SOME of the stories (I'd read them in the 80's, not the year I was born!), but the specifics were entertaining. I could compare the mechanics of bridge a half-century ago to how bridge is played today. Some of the problems that plagued players of that era, would be trifling issues to today's players.
It turned out, I had enough reading material to probably get 20 years of re-reading out of, one meal at a time. I've managed to get through the Goren age and am now up to the late 70s (when I was contributing to magazines myself in the U.S. and in India). And now, some of the stories are REALLY familiar.
I laughed out loud when I turned the page of the Bridge Magazine from Britain and saw the Victor Mollo article, The Hideous Hog and the Chartreuse Coup. I've read that one in magazine form in periodicals from BOTH sides of the Atlantic. It's also in book form at least twice, as I have two different editions of Bridge in the Menagerie. I remembered the hand and the story all too well. It was delightful.
Right now, working through Bridge Magazine issues from that decade, I'm reliving the exploits of Mollo's menagerie and the Wilson stories by P.F. Saunders. Soon, it will be time to start on the 80s editions of Bridge World from the US and a bunch of New Zealand Bridge Digests.
I look forward to each meal, as much for the nourishment as for the entertainment.
Mostly, the apart thing came from my incessant need to read. Cereal boxes at breakfast, newspapers at lunch and comic books or the like at supper. It was just me and my reading material propped up in front of me. I sat at the kitchen counter, allowing the four seats at the kitchen table to be filled by Mom, Dad, Wayne and Rick. Being the eldest child, I got first dibs on the big stool.
Now living alone in the same house, I have the kitchen table all to myself. I have set up an easel with the reading material of the day sitting there, ready to read. It's a concession to my aging eyes. I have to have it up closer to my nose now, as opposed to laying flat on the countertop when I was a kid.
Over the years, I've refined my reading habits. For the longest time, meals meant catching up with the weekly edition of The Sporting News, to be parceled out into roughly 14 reading sessions. (I had long ago stopped eating breakfast). On the occasions where the News would run short of the proscribed reading amount, or that I was having a midnight snack or two, then The Hockey News or Sports Illustrated served as a stopgap.
This worked for a long time. But then two things occurred. First, the postal system started mangling OR losing issues of TSN. The losing was the bigger of the two problems. I'd complain, get my subscription extended, but I'd be without the needed reading material. Sometimes, I'd have to read textbooks just to tide me over. Oh, the horror of it! A week or two later, I'd get two, sometimes three, and in one memorial week, FOUR issues of the weekly magazine. The hoard would be carefully cultivated to carry me through what I knew would be another fallow period in the near future.
The internet arrived and suddenly TSN and The Hockey News were no longer worth the money to subscribe. I wasn't getting anything new in their pages and the features weren't worth the money. But I STILL needed reading material.
Bridge magazines.
I have stacks and STACKS of bridge magazines. Turns out a fading memory is a boon. Reading issues from the 50's turned out to be like a brand new reading experience. Sure, I remembered SOME of the stories (I'd read them in the 80's, not the year I was born!), but the specifics were entertaining. I could compare the mechanics of bridge a half-century ago to how bridge is played today. Some of the problems that plagued players of that era, would be trifling issues to today's players.
It turned out, I had enough reading material to probably get 20 years of re-reading out of, one meal at a time. I've managed to get through the Goren age and am now up to the late 70s (when I was contributing to magazines myself in the U.S. and in India). And now, some of the stories are REALLY familiar.
I laughed out loud when I turned the page of the Bridge Magazine from Britain and saw the Victor Mollo article, The Hideous Hog and the Chartreuse Coup. I've read that one in magazine form in periodicals from BOTH sides of the Atlantic. It's also in book form at least twice, as I have two different editions of Bridge in the Menagerie. I remembered the hand and the story all too well. It was delightful.
Right now, working through Bridge Magazine issues from that decade, I'm reliving the exploits of Mollo's menagerie and the Wilson stories by P.F. Saunders. Soon, it will be time to start on the 80s editions of Bridge World from the US and a bunch of New Zealand Bridge Digests.
I look forward to each meal, as much for the nourishment as for the entertainment.
Friday, March 14, 2008
BLOGGING: I Could Use An Editor
This blog doesn't have an editor and won't ever get one. But it could use one.
The fact is, that this is, more or less, the computerized equivalent of talking to myself. The original idea was to get so angry at something that I just HAD to spew here to release the pressure. Then, I got into writing the novel and I used that as an excuse not to write here. Then, this blog to hide from the writer's block that reared its ugly head over at the book window.
Trying to kick the block, I decided I'd write EVERY day. And since new ideas weren't coming fast enough on the book, it was back to writing here to keep the typing fingers limber.
Still, I need an editor. Always have.
When I was getting started at The Guardian, I would occasionally decide I knew how to spell a certain word better than the rest of the world. One case was Optician. We had a slew of Opticians in town sponsoring various sports teams. Typing up the weekly minor sports results, I might type Opticians ten times in an evening. I knew how to spell Opticians. Hell, I've been wearing glasses since I was five years old.
But some night, I just decided to start spelling it Optitions. Monday morning, I was back in school and my editor Ken Giles went through all the copy I'd done over the weekend and corrected each mis-spelling. Then he forgot about it. The next weekend, I repeated my little adventure in Wacky Words Land. This time, he called me at home on Monday night.
"How do you spell Opticians?" he asked. I rattled off the correct spelling.
"Hmmm," he continued, "That's not how you've been typing it the last two weeks." I laughed at the joke. Surely he jested. Then I put the phone down and mimed the keystrokes. Darned if he wasn't right.
There have been other words over the years, including the names of cities like Winnipeg and St. Catharines, that I mis-spelled perpetually. But mis-spelling isn't the main bane of sloppy writing (and yes, I originally typed slopping writing!).
It's the words that the writer THINKS are there, that aren't, that's the biggest bugaboo. Truly, I DO read over the post before hitting the publish button. But I KNOW what's supposed to be there, so that's what I see. Simple as that. The screen images don't make it all the way back to the cortex, before I've decided I've seen enough to know that the pearl of wisdom I just formed, is perfectly formed. It's YOUR eyes that you can't believe.
Just kidding.
So, I don't sweat the small stuff with the column. There are spelling booboos and grammatical inconsistencies. Some of the latter are intentional. I know the rules and CHOOSE to break them. I ramble at times and I don't always have a good wrap-up, but I try. Words and letters occasionally get left out. And I get vague with the exact time and date and such, cuz it's just too difficult to do the research to get it pinpointed exactly. If I say early 80's, I'm pretty well safe for any date between January 1, 1980 and sometime in May of 1984. Or so I figure.
No question, I DO need an editor. Just don't bother applying.
The fact is, that this is, more or less, the computerized equivalent of talking to myself. The original idea was to get so angry at something that I just HAD to spew here to release the pressure. Then, I got into writing the novel and I used that as an excuse not to write here. Then, this blog to hide from the writer's block that reared its ugly head over at the book window.
Trying to kick the block, I decided I'd write EVERY day. And since new ideas weren't coming fast enough on the book, it was back to writing here to keep the typing fingers limber.
Still, I need an editor. Always have.
When I was getting started at The Guardian, I would occasionally decide I knew how to spell a certain word better than the rest of the world. One case was Optician. We had a slew of Opticians in town sponsoring various sports teams. Typing up the weekly minor sports results, I might type Opticians ten times in an evening. I knew how to spell Opticians. Hell, I've been wearing glasses since I was five years old.
But some night, I just decided to start spelling it Optitions. Monday morning, I was back in school and my editor Ken Giles went through all the copy I'd done over the weekend and corrected each mis-spelling. Then he forgot about it. The next weekend, I repeated my little adventure in Wacky Words Land. This time, he called me at home on Monday night.
"How do you spell Opticians?" he asked. I rattled off the correct spelling.
"Hmmm," he continued, "That's not how you've been typing it the last two weeks." I laughed at the joke. Surely he jested. Then I put the phone down and mimed the keystrokes. Darned if he wasn't right.
There have been other words over the years, including the names of cities like Winnipeg and St. Catharines, that I mis-spelled perpetually. But mis-spelling isn't the main bane of sloppy writing (and yes, I originally typed slopping writing!).
It's the words that the writer THINKS are there, that aren't, that's the biggest bugaboo. Truly, I DO read over the post before hitting the publish button. But I KNOW what's supposed to be there, so that's what I see. Simple as that. The screen images don't make it all the way back to the cortex, before I've decided I've seen enough to know that the pearl of wisdom I just formed, is perfectly formed. It's YOUR eyes that you can't believe.
Just kidding.
So, I don't sweat the small stuff with the column. There are spelling booboos and grammatical inconsistencies. Some of the latter are intentional. I know the rules and CHOOSE to break them. I ramble at times and I don't always have a good wrap-up, but I try. Words and letters occasionally get left out. And I get vague with the exact time and date and such, cuz it's just too difficult to do the research to get it pinpointed exactly. If I say early 80's, I'm pretty well safe for any date between January 1, 1980 and sometime in May of 1984. Or so I figure.
No question, I DO need an editor. Just don't bother applying.
SPORTS: Close Encounters of the Steroid Kind
Back when I was a sports reporter for the Brampton Guardian (the Guardian no longer offering separate editions for both sides of town), one of my favourite sports to cover was track and field. Part of the allure was the three-ring circus approach. So many things going on, all at the same time.
Another aspect was the uniqueness of two of the disciplines of the sport: Pole vaulting and high-jumping. They are, to the best of my knowledge, the only sports that end in failure. Ross Goheen, the pole vaulting guru at Bramalea Secondary School mentioned that to me one day, and it's stuck to this very moment.
At any meet, I would spend as much time at the high jump pit as I could. I know most people would congregate at the finish line. BSS, my alma mater, always had the high seats at the finish line for events at Etobicoke Centennial Stadium. Even after graduation, I'd prefer to be with them, rather than up in the press box. But I'd abandon them in a New York second, once the high jumping would start.
Getting back to the incident that prompted the head on this post. Early in the 80's, I was at the Toronto Maple Leaf Indoor Games, held annually at the venerable old Gardens back then. The money-paying, attention-grabbing, international-filled events went at night. The afternoon was billed as the Provincial Indoor Championships. That particular afternoon, I spent most of time down in the infield. It was a great vantage point.
It was also a popular one. Security was not very tight, and getting into the infield was a very good deal. You'd be feet away from the runners pounding the boards of the banked track. I know racing car enthusiasts rave about the SOUNDS of their sport. If it's anything like the sounds at an indoor track meet, they might have something.
Naturally, small clusters of VIPs, night-time athletes and the media formed at various points. I found myself in a group centred around Mort Greenberg, the famed CBC cameraman, charitable fund-raiser supreme and one of the most knowledgeable sports journalists working in the biz. What, or who, Mort didn't know, didn't count.
The point of interest for our small group was an attempt by Natty Crooks to bust the Canadian high school indoor High Jump record. It was, at the time, a little bit over seven feet as I recall. And I believe the holder of the record at the time was Milt Ottey, who happened to be part of our little discussion group. I think Mark McKoy was there as well. And so was Ben Johnson.
If the court records are accurate, then Ben was already using stuff by then. In retrospect, a lot of signs were evident. His complexion was bad. He'd muscled up pretty well already. But his eyes might have been the biggest tell-tale. There was a yellowish tinge to them. Not glow-in-the-dark cat's yellow eyes. But not white. There I was, standing right next to the biggest story in the world about five years later. and I was clueless.
Ben did stutter, so he tended to smile, nod agreement and disagreement and laughed a little Peter Lorre-like laugh. It was a pretty amiable group of track fans, some of whom would become famous. Well, everybody but me.
The conversation was mostly directed at Ottey who was 'about to lose his record.' Milt took it pretty well. The reason was that everybody in the track world thought very highly of Crooks. If he'd lived to see his full adult life, Crooks might have grown up to be a Chris Bosh-like citizen. Tall, talented and liked by just about everybody. His passing was one of the great losses to the Canadian Track and Field scene.
And the funniest thing was that he failed that day. He didn't break the record. He won, and he failed. That's the uniqueness of the event. And I prefer to remember that day for his victory. Not for his failure. And certainly not for failing to detect within Ben Johnson a whole different kind of failure.
Another aspect was the uniqueness of two of the disciplines of the sport: Pole vaulting and high-jumping. They are, to the best of my knowledge, the only sports that end in failure. Ross Goheen, the pole vaulting guru at Bramalea Secondary School mentioned that to me one day, and it's stuck to this very moment.
At any meet, I would spend as much time at the high jump pit as I could. I know most people would congregate at the finish line. BSS, my alma mater, always had the high seats at the finish line for events at Etobicoke Centennial Stadium. Even after graduation, I'd prefer to be with them, rather than up in the press box. But I'd abandon them in a New York second, once the high jumping would start.
Getting back to the incident that prompted the head on this post. Early in the 80's, I was at the Toronto Maple Leaf Indoor Games, held annually at the venerable old Gardens back then. The money-paying, attention-grabbing, international-filled events went at night. The afternoon was billed as the Provincial Indoor Championships. That particular afternoon, I spent most of time down in the infield. It was a great vantage point.
It was also a popular one. Security was not very tight, and getting into the infield was a very good deal. You'd be feet away from the runners pounding the boards of the banked track. I know racing car enthusiasts rave about the SOUNDS of their sport. If it's anything like the sounds at an indoor track meet, they might have something.
Naturally, small clusters of VIPs, night-time athletes and the media formed at various points. I found myself in a group centred around Mort Greenberg, the famed CBC cameraman, charitable fund-raiser supreme and one of the most knowledgeable sports journalists working in the biz. What, or who, Mort didn't know, didn't count.
The point of interest for our small group was an attempt by Natty Crooks to bust the Canadian high school indoor High Jump record. It was, at the time, a little bit over seven feet as I recall. And I believe the holder of the record at the time was Milt Ottey, who happened to be part of our little discussion group. I think Mark McKoy was there as well. And so was Ben Johnson.
If the court records are accurate, then Ben was already using stuff by then. In retrospect, a lot of signs were evident. His complexion was bad. He'd muscled up pretty well already. But his eyes might have been the biggest tell-tale. There was a yellowish tinge to them. Not glow-in-the-dark cat's yellow eyes. But not white. There I was, standing right next to the biggest story in the world about five years later. and I was clueless.
Ben did stutter, so he tended to smile, nod agreement and disagreement and laughed a little Peter Lorre-like laugh. It was a pretty amiable group of track fans, some of whom would become famous. Well, everybody but me.
The conversation was mostly directed at Ottey who was 'about to lose his record.' Milt took it pretty well. The reason was that everybody in the track world thought very highly of Crooks. If he'd lived to see his full adult life, Crooks might have grown up to be a Chris Bosh-like citizen. Tall, talented and liked by just about everybody. His passing was one of the great losses to the Canadian Track and Field scene.
And the funniest thing was that he failed that day. He didn't break the record. He won, and he failed. That's the uniqueness of the event. And I prefer to remember that day for his victory. Not for his failure. And certainly not for failing to detect within Ben Johnson a whole different kind of failure.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
SPORTS: It's All About Blood
Bob McCown spent a session of his radio show on The Fan 590 today talking with Jack McCallum about McCallum's article on drug use in sports for Sports Illustrated.
McCown seemed awfully frustrated with what he sees as a growing give-up attitude in the war against performance-enhancing drugs (PEDs) in sports. While it might not be accurate to say that McCallum shares the "Can't Beat'em" attitude, he did set off McCown. In this case, McCown's right.
HGH, Human Growth Hormone, and it's slightly chemically-altered cousins, is the current drug of choice when it comes to cheating detection. Right now, there is no effective test for it ... in urine. As soon as they develop one, and millions of dollars are being spent on that very goal, something else will take its place atop the heap of helpful cheats.
In reality, the flaw is the continued desire by governing bodies to skirt the line of respecting athlete's privacy. No, they won't mandate blood testing. Yes, they will mandate random tests wherein the tested athlete disrobes in front of an inspector and pees into a bottle. Hardly dignified. You can't have it both ways. Either you want a drug-free sports world, or you don't. Dignity and body be damned.
The ONLY way to catch drug cheats is blood testing. Simple as that. I don't know the whole efficacy of blood testing, but I know it's a zillion times more inclusive that is urine. Drugs CHANGE blood chemistry for a period of time, before being absorbed into their basic building blocks. And variants cause those same changes. That means you can't make a living by offering athletes steroids that are one or two atoms off from the original ... and thus not detectable for the very specific tests being used today. It if acts like a duck, quacks like a duck, then it's probably from the same drug family.
If I became sports czar for a sport like track and field, the drug-testing would be all year round. Base profiles would be taken of athletes to establish what is normal for their body. The same blood would be run through a battery of tests to see if the athlete was ALREADY getting enhanced. Then, periodically, the athlete would get called to give up a few CCs of blood (I'm not expert enough to know how much). When it comes to a major event, Olympics or World Championships, the athletes would queue up to donate blood at least 48 hours BEFORE they participated. Gotta give them time to recover from the blood-letting.
All medal-winners, the first runner-up and one other random participant, would all get to donate blood apres-event. The reason you do the fourth-place finisher is that you have to be sure you aren't replacing one cheat with another, if you catch one of the medalists and have to give him, her or them the boot.
If you've ever been in a drug-testing centre at a sporting event, you will be surprised to discover just how involved the process is for taking urine tests. The athlete is often completely exhausted, frequently verging on the edge of dehydration. They have given it their all. Juice, water, tea, even beer. It's all there in an attempt to generate some liquid waste. The donation itself is relatively private, if you count having an observer watching your privates as you donate, 'private.'
Wouldn't it be better to have a trained medical professional there to take a blood sample and let you get back to celebrating. It would take five minutes tops. One athlete I know, once took 2.5 hours to fill his cup.
Blood tests won't STOP PEDs and their insidious influence on sports, and their increasing destructive influence on young kids who want to use sports to better their lot in life. They'll put a big crimp on the current state of the art cheating. That said, before taking a leak on the idea, consider who'd win, if we did start using better testing methods to catch the cheats.
Yep, you and me. The people who play fair. Who play by the rules.
McCown seemed awfully frustrated with what he sees as a growing give-up attitude in the war against performance-enhancing drugs (PEDs) in sports. While it might not be accurate to say that McCallum shares the "Can't Beat'em" attitude, he did set off McCown. In this case, McCown's right.
HGH, Human Growth Hormone, and it's slightly chemically-altered cousins, is the current drug of choice when it comes to cheating detection. Right now, there is no effective test for it ... in urine. As soon as they develop one, and millions of dollars are being spent on that very goal, something else will take its place atop the heap of helpful cheats.
In reality, the flaw is the continued desire by governing bodies to skirt the line of respecting athlete's privacy. No, they won't mandate blood testing. Yes, they will mandate random tests wherein the tested athlete disrobes in front of an inspector and pees into a bottle. Hardly dignified. You can't have it both ways. Either you want a drug-free sports world, or you don't. Dignity and body be damned.
The ONLY way to catch drug cheats is blood testing. Simple as that. I don't know the whole efficacy of blood testing, but I know it's a zillion times more inclusive that is urine. Drugs CHANGE blood chemistry for a period of time, before being absorbed into their basic building blocks. And variants cause those same changes. That means you can't make a living by offering athletes steroids that are one or two atoms off from the original ... and thus not detectable for the very specific tests being used today. It if acts like a duck, quacks like a duck, then it's probably from the same drug family.
If I became sports czar for a sport like track and field, the drug-testing would be all year round. Base profiles would be taken of athletes to establish what is normal for their body. The same blood would be run through a battery of tests to see if the athlete was ALREADY getting enhanced. Then, periodically, the athlete would get called to give up a few CCs of blood (I'm not expert enough to know how much). When it comes to a major event, Olympics or World Championships, the athletes would queue up to donate blood at least 48 hours BEFORE they participated. Gotta give them time to recover from the blood-letting.
All medal-winners, the first runner-up and one other random participant, would all get to donate blood apres-event. The reason you do the fourth-place finisher is that you have to be sure you aren't replacing one cheat with another, if you catch one of the medalists and have to give him, her or them the boot.
If you've ever been in a drug-testing centre at a sporting event, you will be surprised to discover just how involved the process is for taking urine tests. The athlete is often completely exhausted, frequently verging on the edge of dehydration. They have given it their all. Juice, water, tea, even beer. It's all there in an attempt to generate some liquid waste. The donation itself is relatively private, if you count having an observer watching your privates as you donate, 'private.'
Wouldn't it be better to have a trained medical professional there to take a blood sample and let you get back to celebrating. It would take five minutes tops. One athlete I know, once took 2.5 hours to fill his cup.
Blood tests won't STOP PEDs and their insidious influence on sports, and their increasing destructive influence on young kids who want to use sports to better their lot in life. They'll put a big crimp on the current state of the art cheating. That said, before taking a leak on the idea, consider who'd win, if we did start using better testing methods to catch the cheats.
Yep, you and me. The people who play fair. Who play by the rules.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
SPORTS: Raptors Stayed Close, So What!
After watching the Toronto Maple Leafs pull out all the stops to try and creep two points closer to the Philadelphia Flyers, holders of the final playoff spot in the NHL's Eastern Conference, it was dismaying watching the Toronto Raptors play "closies count as a moral victory" against the Los Angeles Lakers in the nightcap NBA game.
The Raptors basically kept the game between six and ten points almost all the way to the finish line. A good performance. In some quarters, ball hog T.J. Ford will be lauded for his indomitable will and 20 plus points. As usual, he took 20 plus shots to get there. Bahh!
What gores my ox was the final two minutes. Trailing by six, the Raptors went inside. Then let the Lakers dribble out a few seconds before fouling lamely. The scene repeated itself three times. Needing three-point buckets, the Raptors (meaning Ford), kept getting the semi-easy two-point shots and then fouling Bryant with all the urgency of a fat man at an all-day buffet.
At NO time in the final three minutes or so, did it look like Toronto was doing anything OTHER than trying to keep it respectable. Whatever the decision-making process, that stinks. I don't care that there is a game tomorrow (actually tonight, now) in San Francisco. I don't care if it was odds on that the Lakers would make their free throws and hold onto the lead. I don't care if it would spoil a really good game-long effort to have a final score with Los Angeles winning by 15-20 points.
Damn the torpedoes, full effort ahead. The best 3-point shooting club in the league should have been giving it the old long-distance try. Trading three for two (and the occasional one) was the only way to win. They just didn't try.
And that stinks.
The Raptors basically kept the game between six and ten points almost all the way to the finish line. A good performance. In some quarters, ball hog T.J. Ford will be lauded for his indomitable will and 20 plus points. As usual, he took 20 plus shots to get there. Bahh!
What gores my ox was the final two minutes. Trailing by six, the Raptors went inside. Then let the Lakers dribble out a few seconds before fouling lamely. The scene repeated itself three times. Needing three-point buckets, the Raptors (meaning Ford), kept getting the semi-easy two-point shots and then fouling Bryant with all the urgency of a fat man at an all-day buffet.
At NO time in the final three minutes or so, did it look like Toronto was doing anything OTHER than trying to keep it respectable. Whatever the decision-making process, that stinks. I don't care that there is a game tomorrow (actually tonight, now) in San Francisco. I don't care if it was odds on that the Lakers would make their free throws and hold onto the lead. I don't care if it would spoil a really good game-long effort to have a final score with Los Angeles winning by 15-20 points.
Damn the torpedoes, full effort ahead. The best 3-point shooting club in the league should have been giving it the old long-distance try. Trading three for two (and the occasional one) was the only way to win. They just didn't try.
And that stinks.
SPORTS: Hats Off to Leafs
Not being a Toronto Maple Leaf fan, it's hard to admit, but there are other Maple Leaf employees to admire beyond Mats Sundin.
The Leafs turned in a spirited effort to come from behind in the third period and beat the Philadelphia Flyers tonight and it was as good a period of hockey as I've seen in many a moon. Mind you, they didn't actually WIN the game in the third period. But scoring three, coming close to a fourth and then potting the fourth in the OT period was full entertainment value.
Of course, Sundin had a big hand in making the 3-0 Flyer lead seconds into the final frame disappear. Scored the goal that proved Martin Biron WAS human, on a night where the Philly netminder made 51 saves. His face-off win led to the second Leaf goal and for all I know, he whispered instructions to Jeremy Williams on where to shoot on Biron, Williams being the game-tier.
The other Leaf guy I want to single out is Paul Maurice, the coach. By every person's opinion who I have talked to, Maurice is the kind of man you hope your daughter brings home to meet the family. He exudes calm and dignity, even when internally seething. When asked what he was thinking during one galling Leaf loss earlier this season, he reflected a second, answered, "Mostly profanity," and walked calmly away.
I actually think he's about average as a coach. I've seen worse, lots that are better. But few handle the media with a polite frankness that makes me wish he had better soldiers to go to war with. On the other hand, I have no confidence he'd actually take advantage. He seems to be too good of a guy. I would have said he also lacks moxie, but he pulled his goalie in a TIE game tonight, trying to win AND deny Philadelphia an extra-time loser's point. Tonight, if not all nights, he HAD moxie.
Maurice is unlikely to return next year. I thought the same of Sam Mitchell in his final contract year, and look how prescient THAT prediction was! He's a young guy and somebody will give him another chance.
OR he can make a move that I think benefits him for the rest of his life. He'd make a first-rate TV analyst. With the turmoil that is the CBC right now, I bet an opportunity opens up for him. I hope he takes it.
He still has a bit less than a dozen games to coach this edition of the falling Leafs. I wish him well. It won't end well, but he should go out with the same dignity, tenacity and, dare I say it, moxie he showed tonight.
The Leafs turned in a spirited effort to come from behind in the third period and beat the Philadelphia Flyers tonight and it was as good a period of hockey as I've seen in many a moon. Mind you, they didn't actually WIN the game in the third period. But scoring three, coming close to a fourth and then potting the fourth in the OT period was full entertainment value.
Of course, Sundin had a big hand in making the 3-0 Flyer lead seconds into the final frame disappear. Scored the goal that proved Martin Biron WAS human, on a night where the Philly netminder made 51 saves. His face-off win led to the second Leaf goal and for all I know, he whispered instructions to Jeremy Williams on where to shoot on Biron, Williams being the game-tier.
The other Leaf guy I want to single out is Paul Maurice, the coach. By every person's opinion who I have talked to, Maurice is the kind of man you hope your daughter brings home to meet the family. He exudes calm and dignity, even when internally seething. When asked what he was thinking during one galling Leaf loss earlier this season, he reflected a second, answered, "Mostly profanity," and walked calmly away.
I actually think he's about average as a coach. I've seen worse, lots that are better. But few handle the media with a polite frankness that makes me wish he had better soldiers to go to war with. On the other hand, I have no confidence he'd actually take advantage. He seems to be too good of a guy. I would have said he also lacks moxie, but he pulled his goalie in a TIE game tonight, trying to win AND deny Philadelphia an extra-time loser's point. Tonight, if not all nights, he HAD moxie.
Maurice is unlikely to return next year. I thought the same of Sam Mitchell in his final contract year, and look how prescient THAT prediction was! He's a young guy and somebody will give him another chance.
OR he can make a move that I think benefits him for the rest of his life. He'd make a first-rate TV analyst. With the turmoil that is the CBC right now, I bet an opportunity opens up for him. I hope he takes it.
He still has a bit less than a dozen games to coach this edition of the falling Leafs. I wish him well. It won't end well, but he should go out with the same dignity, tenacity and, dare I say it, moxie he showed tonight.
Monday, March 10, 2008
BOOKS: Robert J. Sawyer
One of the wonders of the World Wide Web is the ability to happen upon a new site. Such a site is www.sfquarterly.net, wherein lies an interview with Robert J. Sawyer.
Now, I am an unabashed admirer of Sawyer's work. I happened upon the Quintaglio Trilogy many moons ago and subsequently have gobbled up everything in long form he's ever written. It helps to have a brother connected to the writing business (he shares accommodations with one of the 30 most influential people in publishing in Canada). That gets me autographed Sawyer books for Christmas and my birthday, as Sawyer's publishing schedule permits.
I'm not actually gaga over signed first editions. I have some. Some very valuable ones. But I ask my extended family to sign the books they give me because I treasure THEIR autographs more than that of the writer. I KNOW it lessens its worth. Don't care. It's not the signing thing that makes the Sawyer book such a treasure, anyway. It's the fact that I'm getting it VERY SOON AFTER PUBLICATION.
As I said, Sawyer's work shines in that it makes me think. He is a writer of ideas. I know he thinks of himself as more than that (read the interview. I think it's illuminating), that he adds characterization to those ideas. But frankly, I read his work FOR the ideas. He joins James Hogan and Charles Sheffield as guys who's work demands slower reading.
Still most of his books give the ol' characterization bit a good effort. It's not that he fails, it's just that it doesn't meet his own self-generated (and maybe self-believed) hype all the time. Sawyer is a hard-working SF professional who pops up on TV and the internet regularly. He's the FACE of SF in this country. In fact, he might even be THE futurist, when it comes to other media looking for 'expert' opinion about what's going to happen five minutes from now.
So, I can forgive him the need to puff his chest so often, as long as he continues to pump out fiction that makes me stop, stare at a page and imagine, what if ...
Now, I am an unabashed admirer of Sawyer's work. I happened upon the Quintaglio Trilogy many moons ago and subsequently have gobbled up everything in long form he's ever written. It helps to have a brother connected to the writing business (he shares accommodations with one of the 30 most influential people in publishing in Canada). That gets me autographed Sawyer books for Christmas and my birthday, as Sawyer's publishing schedule permits.
I'm not actually gaga over signed first editions. I have some. Some very valuable ones. But I ask my extended family to sign the books they give me because I treasure THEIR autographs more than that of the writer. I KNOW it lessens its worth. Don't care. It's not the signing thing that makes the Sawyer book such a treasure, anyway. It's the fact that I'm getting it VERY SOON AFTER PUBLICATION.
As I said, Sawyer's work shines in that it makes me think. He is a writer of ideas. I know he thinks of himself as more than that (read the interview. I think it's illuminating), that he adds characterization to those ideas. But frankly, I read his work FOR the ideas. He joins James Hogan and Charles Sheffield as guys who's work demands slower reading.
Still most of his books give the ol' characterization bit a good effort. It's not that he fails, it's just that it doesn't meet his own self-generated (and maybe self-believed) hype all the time. Sawyer is a hard-working SF professional who pops up on TV and the internet regularly. He's the FACE of SF in this country. In fact, he might even be THE futurist, when it comes to other media looking for 'expert' opinion about what's going to happen five minutes from now.
So, I can forgive him the need to puff his chest so often, as long as he continues to pump out fiction that makes me stop, stare at a page and imagine, what if ...
Sunday, March 09, 2008
SPORTS: Impending March Madness
So, who do you like in the NCAA's?
Heard that question twice last week and had to answer, truthfully, that I didn't know. The scuttlebutt was that a North Carolina title win over UCLA would surprise no one. But I had been less than impressed with both teams in the few games I'd seen them play this year. Not sure things have changed much after yesterday's interesting day of play.
The highlight was the nightcap, UNC's big win over Duke AT Duke by eight points. It was really a four-point game with add-on free throws, but it was a telling victory in a lot of ways. I don't think either team is a lock final four squad.
North Carolina got out to a big first-half lead, blasting the Dukies on the boards and guarding the three-point shot that Duke loves so much. A perfect template for an athletic perimeter team with good rebounders. Such teams exist in the NCAA and Duke will meet a couple of them on the way to the final four. That will end their trip prematurely, I think.
However, in the second half, Duke showed the way past North Carolina, rallying to tie and then to actually take the lead on their home court. This is why the crazed fans camped out in front of Cameron Indoor Stadium starting in DECEMBER, to get seats to this game. The passion and the beauty of the collegiate basketball game, all wrapped up into one spectacular night. Duke also supplied the template for beating North Carolina. Avoid turnovers and treat Tyler Hansbrough with respect, but no deference. The Tarheel free-throw leader, Hansbrough often gets fouled by zealous shot blockers. The Blue Devils chose to contest his shots without fouling. Turns out, that's a good idea.
It came down to an end-of-game cold spell by the Duke three-point shooters, Gerald Henderson being the key-turner for the final minute. The week before, Tyrese Rice of Boston College had almost three-pointed the TarHeels out of the number one ranking himself.
Nope, North Carolina needs a fully-healthy Ty Lawson back before I'm ready to anoint them as the faves. They have comeback ability, and that's good. But if last night's performance by the undersized Duke front line is any indication, the leading factor in the Tarheels' dominance this year has a downside.
What about UCLA? Two narrow wins this week either show UCLA can win close ones or that they are playing down to the opposition. The win over Cal yesterday was as contentious as was the win over Stanford. Different set of officials might have turned both of those wins into losses. On the other hand, the ridiculous rule against shooting from behind the backboard is one of basketball's true head-scratchers. If you extend the basket INTO the playing court area, then why not mark on the floor where you CAN'T SHOOT FROM! Josh Shipp's shot hit nothing but net. Against the rules or not, it was a great play.
Still, you get the feeling that UCLA is all about health. Fully healthy, THIS is the team to beat. But can it get healthy?
The other top teams, including Memphis, Tennessee, Kansas and Texas all have flaws. I used to ride Florida in the NCAAs, but got off the bandwagon JUST in time for the Gators to win a pair of titles. I've been bandwagon jumpers with Kansas AND Texas the past few years. My gut tells me Kansas can't win, but they are getting healthy at the right time and I think Brandon Rush is one of the under-rated players in the country. If I say no way, count on Kansas enjoying some home cooking while winning it all.
John Calipari, only the second coach to ever win 30 plus games in three straight years, is the reason I'm down on Memphis. He just finds ways to lose in final fours (or earlier). The Dribble Drive Motion offence he's run this year surprised lots of teams early. Given time and now copious amounts of film to analyse, I just see his team getting stopped. Derrick Rose is a star in the making, but rookie point guards always give me a chill, Mike Bibby notwithstanding.
Tennessee was not far off a title last year and could come back. I hate that they took over the top seed in the country and then handed it right back two days later by losing to Vanderbilt, not that Vandy isn't capable of beating any team in the country on a given night. A big clutch win in the NCAA's might give their next opponent an opportunity to take advantage of a sluggish start. This combo is all too likely.
Texas is too young overall.
So, what about surprise teams. USC looked like world-beaters yesterday. I don't understand how an elite eight team from last year could lose a couple of guards to the NBA, BUT add O.J. Mayo and NOT be considered a title threat. Obviously, there's been some growing pains. But Mayo's the real deal. If you wanted somebody from the back of the pack, you could do a lot worse than place a long-shot bet on the Trojans.
I don't think Arizona is healthy enough to make it a trio of West Coast title threats. Nobody from the Pacific Northwest will contend. Moving to the Central states, Texas A&M wins and loses, often by big scores. Baylor's a nicer story than a threat. Michael Beasley's a beast, but only has Bill Walker for company on a Kansas State team that is not title threat at all. And won't be next year, with Beasley having been drafted number one overall in the NBA draft.
The Big Ten is basically Wisconsin, wounded Indiana and some over-achieving wannabes, like Purdue. Wisconsin is a team no one wants to play, but everybody thinks they can beat. Somebody will be right. Indiana's wounds are largely self-inflicted after the resignation of coach Kelvin Sampson. Can Dan Dakich match Steve Fisher and take over a NCAA titlist late in the season? No. But catch Eric Gordon in Indiana colours while you can.
Georgetown won the Big East over Louisville yesterday. It's been a down year for the conference and Georgetown hasn't exactly dominated this year. I thought they might, but it didn't happen. Wouldn't surprise me to see three Big East teams in the elite eight, or none. I DO think USC's east-coast equivalent might very well be UConn, where the Huskies are surprising lots of people by sitting starters and winning. Hasheem Thabeet is looking more like Dikembe Motumbo and less like Manute Bol. And you can't argue Jim Calhoun's coaching creds.
Mid-Majors have been surprises that last couple of years. Xavier seems to have taken over Gonzaga's role this year as the team nobody respects, but fears. They play tough basketball. The question is, can they play with the big boys? I'd say yes, but I haven't seen the evidence to back that up. Elite eight and a close miss for the final four.
Sooooo, who do I like in the NCAA's this year. I could give Kansas the kiss of death and call for them to beat UCLA in the final, or I could let them rest easy and predict UCLA over Tennessee in the final, with Kansas and USC filling out the final four. That feels about right.
But I really want the Jayhawks to win.
Heard that question twice last week and had to answer, truthfully, that I didn't know. The scuttlebutt was that a North Carolina title win over UCLA would surprise no one. But I had been less than impressed with both teams in the few games I'd seen them play this year. Not sure things have changed much after yesterday's interesting day of play.
The highlight was the nightcap, UNC's big win over Duke AT Duke by eight points. It was really a four-point game with add-on free throws, but it was a telling victory in a lot of ways. I don't think either team is a lock final four squad.
North Carolina got out to a big first-half lead, blasting the Dukies on the boards and guarding the three-point shot that Duke loves so much. A perfect template for an athletic perimeter team with good rebounders. Such teams exist in the NCAA and Duke will meet a couple of them on the way to the final four. That will end their trip prematurely, I think.
However, in the second half, Duke showed the way past North Carolina, rallying to tie and then to actually take the lead on their home court. This is why the crazed fans camped out in front of Cameron Indoor Stadium starting in DECEMBER, to get seats to this game. The passion and the beauty of the collegiate basketball game, all wrapped up into one spectacular night. Duke also supplied the template for beating North Carolina. Avoid turnovers and treat Tyler Hansbrough with respect, but no deference. The Tarheel free-throw leader, Hansbrough often gets fouled by zealous shot blockers. The Blue Devils chose to contest his shots without fouling. Turns out, that's a good idea.
It came down to an end-of-game cold spell by the Duke three-point shooters, Gerald Henderson being the key-turner for the final minute. The week before, Tyrese Rice of Boston College had almost three-pointed the TarHeels out of the number one ranking himself.
Nope, North Carolina needs a fully-healthy Ty Lawson back before I'm ready to anoint them as the faves. They have comeback ability, and that's good. But if last night's performance by the undersized Duke front line is any indication, the leading factor in the Tarheels' dominance this year has a downside.
What about UCLA? Two narrow wins this week either show UCLA can win close ones or that they are playing down to the opposition. The win over Cal yesterday was as contentious as was the win over Stanford. Different set of officials might have turned both of those wins into losses. On the other hand, the ridiculous rule against shooting from behind the backboard is one of basketball's true head-scratchers. If you extend the basket INTO the playing court area, then why not mark on the floor where you CAN'T SHOOT FROM! Josh Shipp's shot hit nothing but net. Against the rules or not, it was a great play.
Still, you get the feeling that UCLA is all about health. Fully healthy, THIS is the team to beat. But can it get healthy?
The other top teams, including Memphis, Tennessee, Kansas and Texas all have flaws. I used to ride Florida in the NCAAs, but got off the bandwagon JUST in time for the Gators to win a pair of titles. I've been bandwagon jumpers with Kansas AND Texas the past few years. My gut tells me Kansas can't win, but they are getting healthy at the right time and I think Brandon Rush is one of the under-rated players in the country. If I say no way, count on Kansas enjoying some home cooking while winning it all.
John Calipari, only the second coach to ever win 30 plus games in three straight years, is the reason I'm down on Memphis. He just finds ways to lose in final fours (or earlier). The Dribble Drive Motion offence he's run this year surprised lots of teams early. Given time and now copious amounts of film to analyse, I just see his team getting stopped. Derrick Rose is a star in the making, but rookie point guards always give me a chill, Mike Bibby notwithstanding.
Tennessee was not far off a title last year and could come back. I hate that they took over the top seed in the country and then handed it right back two days later by losing to Vanderbilt, not that Vandy isn't capable of beating any team in the country on a given night. A big clutch win in the NCAA's might give their next opponent an opportunity to take advantage of a sluggish start. This combo is all too likely.
Texas is too young overall.
So, what about surprise teams. USC looked like world-beaters yesterday. I don't understand how an elite eight team from last year could lose a couple of guards to the NBA, BUT add O.J. Mayo and NOT be considered a title threat. Obviously, there's been some growing pains. But Mayo's the real deal. If you wanted somebody from the back of the pack, you could do a lot worse than place a long-shot bet on the Trojans.
I don't think Arizona is healthy enough to make it a trio of West Coast title threats. Nobody from the Pacific Northwest will contend. Moving to the Central states, Texas A&M wins and loses, often by big scores. Baylor's a nicer story than a threat. Michael Beasley's a beast, but only has Bill Walker for company on a Kansas State team that is not title threat at all. And won't be next year, with Beasley having been drafted number one overall in the NBA draft.
The Big Ten is basically Wisconsin, wounded Indiana and some over-achieving wannabes, like Purdue. Wisconsin is a team no one wants to play, but everybody thinks they can beat. Somebody will be right. Indiana's wounds are largely self-inflicted after the resignation of coach Kelvin Sampson. Can Dan Dakich match Steve Fisher and take over a NCAA titlist late in the season? No. But catch Eric Gordon in Indiana colours while you can.
Georgetown won the Big East over Louisville yesterday. It's been a down year for the conference and Georgetown hasn't exactly dominated this year. I thought they might, but it didn't happen. Wouldn't surprise me to see three Big East teams in the elite eight, or none. I DO think USC's east-coast equivalent might very well be UConn, where the Huskies are surprising lots of people by sitting starters and winning. Hasheem Thabeet is looking more like Dikembe Motumbo and less like Manute Bol. And you can't argue Jim Calhoun's coaching creds.
Mid-Majors have been surprises that last couple of years. Xavier seems to have taken over Gonzaga's role this year as the team nobody respects, but fears. They play tough basketball. The question is, can they play with the big boys? I'd say yes, but I haven't seen the evidence to back that up. Elite eight and a close miss for the final four.
Sooooo, who do I like in the NCAA's this year. I could give Kansas the kiss of death and call for them to beat UCLA in the final, or I could let them rest easy and predict UCLA over Tennessee in the final, with Kansas and USC filling out the final four. That feels about right.
But I really want the Jayhawks to win.
LIFE: The Snow's ALL My Fault
Yep, I caused the snow to fall in record amounts in Toronto this year.
What's that? Messianic delusions? Nope. Plain ol' economics.
See, I've been paying for snow removal in advance for most of the last decade. I financed most of Nigel Jokhu's college education for the ability to not have to even look out the window. I knew the driveway would be shoveled free of the white stuff before I arose in the late hours of the morning. I also knew he farmed out the job to his family on more than one occasion. None of my business how he went about HIS business. I was only interested in results.
Over the years, the numbers on the October 1st cheque got larger and larger. Since the service was largely perfect, I didn't mind the pay raises. But the snow stopped falling despite the yearly increases and there was a point where I figured I was paying several HUNDRED dollars per snow removal. At that point, I decided to reconsider the whole plan.
I mean, it had gotten so ridiculous two years ago, that I distinctly remember him driving by my snowless landscape and grinning, knowing it was unlikely he had any early-morning work ahead of him for another week or so, if that. Wasn't his fault I was over-paying. He just accepted the cheque with thanks and did what I asked of him. Global warming was chilling the relationship.
So, last year, I asked Nigel to take a paycut. Gave him a day to think about it. He accepted with good humour. The payrate became more equitable, but frankly he still made about as much for an hour of actual work, as I make as a computer programmer.
This past spring, I told Nigel it was time to get on with his life. I wouldn't be employing him as my external facilities manager any more. Despite my grievances over pay for no play, the fact is that I knew that whenever I HAD needed him to do the work, he'd done it quickly, efficiently and without complaint. He had also, on occasion, re-arranged his life to accomplish that. It was approaching time that he'd leave his family and move on. I just pushed a little earlier.
I was going to save even MORE money by going to the old Per-snowfall scheme that had worked prior to Nigel getting old enough to take on the work and responsibility of shoveling snow for me. I arranged for Patrick's son, A.J. to become the guy. And I'd pay for it on an as-needed basis.
And there, ladies and gentlemen, were sown the seeds for this precipitous snowfall of the 2007-08 winter. That's right, I caused it. The largest amount since 1939. All my fault.
Yesterday, I opened negotiations to pay for it in advance for next year.
You're welcome.
What's that? Messianic delusions? Nope. Plain ol' economics.
See, I've been paying for snow removal in advance for most of the last decade. I financed most of Nigel Jokhu's college education for the ability to not have to even look out the window. I knew the driveway would be shoveled free of the white stuff before I arose in the late hours of the morning. I also knew he farmed out the job to his family on more than one occasion. None of my business how he went about HIS business. I was only interested in results.
Over the years, the numbers on the October 1st cheque got larger and larger. Since the service was largely perfect, I didn't mind the pay raises. But the snow stopped falling despite the yearly increases and there was a point where I figured I was paying several HUNDRED dollars per snow removal. At that point, I decided to reconsider the whole plan.
I mean, it had gotten so ridiculous two years ago, that I distinctly remember him driving by my snowless landscape and grinning, knowing it was unlikely he had any early-morning work ahead of him for another week or so, if that. Wasn't his fault I was over-paying. He just accepted the cheque with thanks and did what I asked of him. Global warming was chilling the relationship.
So, last year, I asked Nigel to take a paycut. Gave him a day to think about it. He accepted with good humour. The payrate became more equitable, but frankly he still made about as much for an hour of actual work, as I make as a computer programmer.
This past spring, I told Nigel it was time to get on with his life. I wouldn't be employing him as my external facilities manager any more. Despite my grievances over pay for no play, the fact is that I knew that whenever I HAD needed him to do the work, he'd done it quickly, efficiently and without complaint. He had also, on occasion, re-arranged his life to accomplish that. It was approaching time that he'd leave his family and move on. I just pushed a little earlier.
I was going to save even MORE money by going to the old Per-snowfall scheme that had worked prior to Nigel getting old enough to take on the work and responsibility of shoveling snow for me. I arranged for Patrick's son, A.J. to become the guy. And I'd pay for it on an as-needed basis.
And there, ladies and gentlemen, were sown the seeds for this precipitous snowfall of the 2007-08 winter. That's right, I caused it. The largest amount since 1939. All my fault.
Yesterday, I opened negotiations to pay for it in advance for next year.
You're welcome.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
SPORTS: I Answer Griffin
Richard Griffin's column in the Toronto Star today is about Toronto Blue Jays' Manager John Gibbons. Nice man. Slightly below-average manager. Probably history in about eight months. At least he'll take his former minor-league roomie, J.P. Ricciardi, out the door with him. However, the question that Griffin posed at the end of the article wasn't about Gibbons, it was about Clarence Gaston.
Why, Griffin wonders, has no team hired two-time World Series winning manager Gaston, beyond the Blue Jays themselves, who gave him a second tour into disaster?
The answer? He's not very good. Never has been. Although he was EXACTLY the right manager for the 92-93 Jays that won it all. When he had to 'manage' in 1994, he couldn't. Simple as that. I should point out that Gaston WAS offered other jobs back in the 90's, but he realized he wouldn't be stepping into conducive situations and turned down jobs. I heard Milwaukee and Anaheim. He wanted the ChiSox job, knowing that good things were happening there talent-wise, but Kenny Williams tossed his former batting coach over for Ozzie Guillen. It worked for at least one championship year.
I simply don't get what so many fans don't get. Just as different players have different talents, thus we have pitchers, infielders and catchers, good, great and not-so-great players, smart and dumb players, we have managers who's skill sets make them ideal in one spot and dunderheads in others.
Joe Torre is the classic example. Today, he's revered in the baseball world for his low-key approach to the zoo known as the New York Yankees. Under his gentle thumb, the Yankees re-emerged as world-beaters. His genius wasn't quite on display in his earlier managerial stints in Atlanta, St. Louis and with the Mets. He only ever won one division title in the three stops before the Yanks. But the Yankees needed somebody with an even keel, a low sense of self-importance and enough of a strategist to change pitchers at the right time. Result: Success in a major way. He only started losing in post-season again, when his pitching dried up.
Gaston probably could have done exactly the same job, quality-wise. He could be sitting with rings on his OTHER hand, if he'd been hired instead of Torre. But we'll never know.
In reality, the key component of Gaston's coaching success was his LACK of an ego in the two pennant years. Casey Stengel once opined that a manager could never win a game, but he could lose up to ten a year by interfering too much. He also said the key to managing was keeping the ten guys that hated his guts away from the ten that weren't sure. He viewed managing as people-bossing, rather than strategizing.
Gaston never got the Manager of the Year award during the Blue Jays' title runs. I didn't think he deserved the award in either year. However, in at least one of the years (his first) leading up to the title autumns, I thought it was beyond question he was the best manager in baseball. The voters disagreed and termed Gaston just a gatekeeper and scorecard-filler. Later on, they were proven right.
Gaston's ego exploded after remaining anonymous, despite the two titles. He became angry. He engaged in a nasty little verbal fight with Bob McCown, the eminence grise of the Toronto radio station, The Fan 590. His managing style, great for a team of veterans who knew what to do and when to do it, turned out to be less successful for a team needing guidance and decision-making.
Should that have been surprising? Only to fans who don't get managers have different talents.
The supposed big thinkers of managedom have rarely been successful. Gene Mauch and Tony LaRussa have two titles between them, LaRussa getting both. He won his during years when the A's and the Cards were stacked. In other words, he has about the success rate that Gaston enjoyed. Mauch NEVER had the talent it took to win, all he could do was keep it close and/or interesting with his stunts. He could never WIN games, according to Stengel, although he often put weaker teams into position to win with his coaching.
Smart, creative managers can pull little bits and pieces out of players that the players in question never knew they had. In hockey, these guys are called three-year hires, because their act only works for about that length of time. After that, they players learn all the psychological ploys, all the wisdom that can be imparted, and start tuning out. Baseball is rift with them, but they are more like one or two year wonders. Billy Martin was the instant fix in year one for many teams, and a disaster after that. It's the day after day, 162 games a year schedule that compresses brilliance and psychological destruction.
Managers CAN destroy talented teams. Martin comes to mind, as does Joe Morgan. Not the Hall of Famer and broadcaster Joe Morgan, but Boston Joe Morgan, who prolonged the Curse long enough for Schilling and Francona to finally put it to rest.
Clarence Gaston was a better than average player, a pretty good batting coach, a good and bad manager, and an imposing figure in retirement. Where he will stay.
Hope that answers the question, Richard.
Why, Griffin wonders, has no team hired two-time World Series winning manager Gaston, beyond the Blue Jays themselves, who gave him a second tour into disaster?
The answer? He's not very good. Never has been. Although he was EXACTLY the right manager for the 92-93 Jays that won it all. When he had to 'manage' in 1994, he couldn't. Simple as that. I should point out that Gaston WAS offered other jobs back in the 90's, but he realized he wouldn't be stepping into conducive situations and turned down jobs. I heard Milwaukee and Anaheim. He wanted the ChiSox job, knowing that good things were happening there talent-wise, but Kenny Williams tossed his former batting coach over for Ozzie Guillen. It worked for at least one championship year.
I simply don't get what so many fans don't get. Just as different players have different talents, thus we have pitchers, infielders and catchers, good, great and not-so-great players, smart and dumb players, we have managers who's skill sets make them ideal in one spot and dunderheads in others.
Joe Torre is the classic example. Today, he's revered in the baseball world for his low-key approach to the zoo known as the New York Yankees. Under his gentle thumb, the Yankees re-emerged as world-beaters. His genius wasn't quite on display in his earlier managerial stints in Atlanta, St. Louis and with the Mets. He only ever won one division title in the three stops before the Yanks. But the Yankees needed somebody with an even keel, a low sense of self-importance and enough of a strategist to change pitchers at the right time. Result: Success in a major way. He only started losing in post-season again, when his pitching dried up.
Gaston probably could have done exactly the same job, quality-wise. He could be sitting with rings on his OTHER hand, if he'd been hired instead of Torre. But we'll never know.
In reality, the key component of Gaston's coaching success was his LACK of an ego in the two pennant years. Casey Stengel once opined that a manager could never win a game, but he could lose up to ten a year by interfering too much. He also said the key to managing was keeping the ten guys that hated his guts away from the ten that weren't sure. He viewed managing as people-bossing, rather than strategizing.
Gaston never got the Manager of the Year award during the Blue Jays' title runs. I didn't think he deserved the award in either year. However, in at least one of the years (his first) leading up to the title autumns, I thought it was beyond question he was the best manager in baseball. The voters disagreed and termed Gaston just a gatekeeper and scorecard-filler. Later on, they were proven right.
Gaston's ego exploded after remaining anonymous, despite the two titles. He became angry. He engaged in a nasty little verbal fight with Bob McCown, the eminence grise of the Toronto radio station, The Fan 590. His managing style, great for a team of veterans who knew what to do and when to do it, turned out to be less successful for a team needing guidance and decision-making.
Should that have been surprising? Only to fans who don't get managers have different talents.
The supposed big thinkers of managedom have rarely been successful. Gene Mauch and Tony LaRussa have two titles between them, LaRussa getting both. He won his during years when the A's and the Cards were stacked. In other words, he has about the success rate that Gaston enjoyed. Mauch NEVER had the talent it took to win, all he could do was keep it close and/or interesting with his stunts. He could never WIN games, according to Stengel, although he often put weaker teams into position to win with his coaching.
Smart, creative managers can pull little bits and pieces out of players that the players in question never knew they had. In hockey, these guys are called three-year hires, because their act only works for about that length of time. After that, they players learn all the psychological ploys, all the wisdom that can be imparted, and start tuning out. Baseball is rift with them, but they are more like one or two year wonders. Billy Martin was the instant fix in year one for many teams, and a disaster after that. It's the day after day, 162 games a year schedule that compresses brilliance and psychological destruction.
Managers CAN destroy talented teams. Martin comes to mind, as does Joe Morgan. Not the Hall of Famer and broadcaster Joe Morgan, but Boston Joe Morgan, who prolonged the Curse long enough for Schilling and Francona to finally put it to rest.
Clarence Gaston was a better than average player, a pretty good batting coach, a good and bad manager, and an imposing figure in retirement. Where he will stay.
Hope that answers the question, Richard.
Friday, March 07, 2008
TV: Gossiping About Gossip Girl
I agreed Bionic Woman was a disaster. I found charm in Women's Murder Club. And that brings me to the supposed hit of the three season series I managed to watch full (well, all of the aborted) runs of, last month.
Gossip Girl is equal parts Beverly Hills 90210 and The O.C. There's precious little original in this new melange, save for an abundant use of current technology. Seems everybody in this rich niche of life in New York City is a technogeek. Everybody has the latest in phones, PDAs and any other electronic gadget that might be germane to the plot of the moment.
It also has Kelly Rutherford, who I could watch read a phone book. Well, almost. She's close to unwatchable in this show, and that's saying a lot. Blake Lively and Penn Badgeley are the key focus characters, playing riffs on Brandon and Kelly from 90210 and Ryan and Marissa from O.C. When I say riffs, I mean Badgley's Dan is poorer than Brandon and Ryan. Lively's Serena has a different name than either Kelly or Marissa. Let me check if there are any other differences. Ahhhhhh, no.
This show is popular because it's the current scripted show invading the school life of the rich. Any competition and it would be soooo like last year's fashions by (fill in the blank).
I do think there are a couple of actors with promise down the road. Taylor Morrisen plays Dan's kid sister Jenny with a splash of deep-rooted conniving evil, buried beneath a rosy-cheeked naive little girl. They WOULDN'T turn her into a bitchy villainess to tangle with her do-gooder brother, but THAT would make the show interesting. She'll inevitably end up with Serena's kid brother Eric, played by Connor Paolo. I bet the show becomes known as Paolo's breakout role, rather than the Badgley star vehicle.
Before I go, let me point out no REAL man would throw over Jessica Szohr, who plays Vanessa, for Serena. Not if it ain't a science fiction show.
Gossip Girl is equal parts Beverly Hills 90210 and The O.C. There's precious little original in this new melange, save for an abundant use of current technology. Seems everybody in this rich niche of life in New York City is a technogeek. Everybody has the latest in phones, PDAs and any other electronic gadget that might be germane to the plot of the moment.
It also has Kelly Rutherford, who I could watch read a phone book. Well, almost. She's close to unwatchable in this show, and that's saying a lot. Blake Lively and Penn Badgeley are the key focus characters, playing riffs on Brandon and Kelly from 90210 and Ryan and Marissa from O.C. When I say riffs, I mean Badgley's Dan is poorer than Brandon and Ryan. Lively's Serena has a different name than either Kelly or Marissa. Let me check if there are any other differences. Ahhhhhh, no.
This show is popular because it's the current scripted show invading the school life of the rich. Any competition and it would be soooo like last year's fashions by (fill in the blank).
I do think there are a couple of actors with promise down the road. Taylor Morrisen plays Dan's kid sister Jenny with a splash of deep-rooted conniving evil, buried beneath a rosy-cheeked naive little girl. They WOULDN'T turn her into a bitchy villainess to tangle with her do-gooder brother, but THAT would make the show interesting. She'll inevitably end up with Serena's kid brother Eric, played by Connor Paolo. I bet the show becomes known as Paolo's breakout role, rather than the Badgley star vehicle.
Before I go, let me point out no REAL man would throw over Jessica Szohr, who plays Vanessa, for Serena. Not if it ain't a science fiction show.
TV: Friday Night Lights Gets Fighting Chance
One of the best items at TV Squad today was the announcement that NBC is bringing Friday Night Lights back this fall. It'll be co-op production with DirectTV. Plain good news. The odds are that it will be an abbreviated season to test the waters of the new alliance, but we WILL get to see the production company's idea of how some of the stories resolved themselves.
Now, if NBC could only see its way to showing a resolution to the Las Vegas cliff-hanger.
Now, if NBC could only see its way to showing a resolution to the Las Vegas cliff-hanger.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
SPORTS: Ford Rant Redux
Okay, it's been a little more than a day since I ranted about trading T.J. Ford of the Toronto Raptors as soon as trading season opens this summer. One game later, Ford had actually passed the ball a couple of times (as well as throwing it away an equal number of times), but continued his "I can shoot anytime the ball is in my hands. Look, the ball is in my hands, NOW" approach to the game. Has my desire to see him housed somewhere south of the 40th Parallel abated?
Nope.
Nope.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
SPORTS: Trade T.J. Ford
It's too late for the Toronto Raptors to trade T.J. Ford ... THIS season. But, after last night's display of New York Knick-style selfishness, I'd make it the first priority of the off-season.
To Portland for Jarret Jack and Travis Outlaw, perhaps? I'd even take on the contract of Stephon Marbury, if the Knicks would throw in David Lee and Reynaldo Balkman. Pair Ford up with Jason Kapono and see if Utah would be interested in trading Andrei Kirilenko in a three-way with somebody else, the third-team getting Ford. Afterall, Utah has Deron Williams.
Whatever, I've always found Ford's ability to pass comes from as much surprise on the part of opponents as any real passing ability. He's a ball-hog. A play-maker, according to Bosh, but ultimately a shot-taker that would have Kobe Bryant embarrassed. He dribbles and dribbles and then finds a shot to take. ONLY when surrounded by three or more defenders will he dish off.
As a proponent of team basketball, his play is untenable. To compare with Jose Calderon is to show the yin and yang of point guards. One believes in team, one doesn't. And however athletically talented he might be, he's eminently replaceable on this team. He can't play on a championship team. Simple as that. If Toronto dreams of a championship in two to three year's time, he has to be traded.
The Raptors need Bargnani to mature. They'll need two wings, one of whom can play defence. They need a reliable rebounding big man who plays defence and doesn't need a lot of offensive plays run for him. They need a backup guard for Calderon. They need to be out from under Ford's contract about the same time the Nestorovic contract ends. THEN, the team will have the money to see about filling in the last piece of the championship puzzle.
I'd prefer the Kirilenko option above all others. Kirilenko would provide the defence and enough offence to make a front-line of Bargnani, Chris Bosh and Kirilenko awfully hard to defend. Throw in Calderon and Anthony Parker and that team can start in an NBA final. You draft a mini-Ford like Ty Lawson and there's your backup point, with Roko Ukic being the third guard. Carlos Delfino, Jamario Moon and Kris Humphries (or his better replacement), make-up a decent rotation. And that's without using any exception money OR Nestorovic's expiring contract.
The interesting one would be the Knick move. Marbury would start next season as the backup, but his big contract would be great trade material. And even if the team hung on to the contract to get cap space themselves in the season AFTER next, when combined with Nestorovic's contract, it would actually give the Raptors 20 million reasons to lure a superstar north to combine with Bosh. In the meantime, Marbury could give them the same selfish backup play that Ford does. But replace Humphries with David Lee and split Jamario Moon's minutes with Balkman when the other team has a wing that needs stopping, and you upgrade the Raptors immediately.
Portland pursued Calderon at this trade deadline with some vigor. I don't know if they'd be as enthusiastic about Ford, but no hurt in trying. Jack can fill Ford's backup minutes. And if the Raptors could score the athletic Outlaw, then one wing spot would be taken care of. That opens up trading Kapono and/or Moon. Portland might also be willing to offer up Martell Webster instead of Outlaw, and that wouldn't be a bad thing for Toronto.
In any case, the Raptors would benefit immensely from making T.J. Ford an ex-Raptor this summer.
To Portland for Jarret Jack and Travis Outlaw, perhaps? I'd even take on the contract of Stephon Marbury, if the Knicks would throw in David Lee and Reynaldo Balkman. Pair Ford up with Jason Kapono and see if Utah would be interested in trading Andrei Kirilenko in a three-way with somebody else, the third-team getting Ford. Afterall, Utah has Deron Williams.
Whatever, I've always found Ford's ability to pass comes from as much surprise on the part of opponents as any real passing ability. He's a ball-hog. A play-maker, according to Bosh, but ultimately a shot-taker that would have Kobe Bryant embarrassed. He dribbles and dribbles and then finds a shot to take. ONLY when surrounded by three or more defenders will he dish off.
As a proponent of team basketball, his play is untenable. To compare with Jose Calderon is to show the yin and yang of point guards. One believes in team, one doesn't. And however athletically talented he might be, he's eminently replaceable on this team. He can't play on a championship team. Simple as that. If Toronto dreams of a championship in two to three year's time, he has to be traded.
The Raptors need Bargnani to mature. They'll need two wings, one of whom can play defence. They need a reliable rebounding big man who plays defence and doesn't need a lot of offensive plays run for him. They need a backup guard for Calderon. They need to be out from under Ford's contract about the same time the Nestorovic contract ends. THEN, the team will have the money to see about filling in the last piece of the championship puzzle.
I'd prefer the Kirilenko option above all others. Kirilenko would provide the defence and enough offence to make a front-line of Bargnani, Chris Bosh and Kirilenko awfully hard to defend. Throw in Calderon and Anthony Parker and that team can start in an NBA final. You draft a mini-Ford like Ty Lawson and there's your backup point, with Roko Ukic being the third guard. Carlos Delfino, Jamario Moon and Kris Humphries (or his better replacement), make-up a decent rotation. And that's without using any exception money OR Nestorovic's expiring contract.
The interesting one would be the Knick move. Marbury would start next season as the backup, but his big contract would be great trade material. And even if the team hung on to the contract to get cap space themselves in the season AFTER next, when combined with Nestorovic's contract, it would actually give the Raptors 20 million reasons to lure a superstar north to combine with Bosh. In the meantime, Marbury could give them the same selfish backup play that Ford does. But replace Humphries with David Lee and split Jamario Moon's minutes with Balkman when the other team has a wing that needs stopping, and you upgrade the Raptors immediately.
Portland pursued Calderon at this trade deadline with some vigor. I don't know if they'd be as enthusiastic about Ford, but no hurt in trying. Jack can fill Ford's backup minutes. And if the Raptors could score the athletic Outlaw, then one wing spot would be taken care of. That opens up trading Kapono and/or Moon. Portland might also be willing to offer up Martell Webster instead of Outlaw, and that wouldn't be a bad thing for Toronto.
In any case, the Raptors would benefit immensely from making T.J. Ford an ex-Raptor this summer.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
NEWSPAPERS: Tissue-Thin Reading
I had cause yesterday to check out some old saved newspapers, looking for articles I wrote about the inaugural World Youth Softball Championships back in the early 1980s. The papers, while yellowing, were well-preserved. Maybe it was the paper, yellowing and all.
Leafing through the pages, I was struck by the full broadsheet size and thickness of each page. The pages almost felt like cardboard, compared to what I hold in my hands these days. The ink was black as starless night and didn't come off on my hands. But, that's a function of time, since ink back then, when fresh, was MORE likely to escape onto your fingers then today's duller, vegetable-based inks. On the other hand, I LIKED being an ink-stained wretch at the time.
The broadsheet has significantly shrunk these days. Holding out a broadsheet paper back in those days was like hugging a pickle barrel. You HAD to fold it so that you could only see one page at a time. And it wasn't unusual to see that one page folded vertically in half again, to handle better and to read down the length of the tall page.
This handling feature gave birth to the tabs which were roughly two-thirds of a broadsheet wide and about as tall as the broadsheet was wide. In Toronto, the Sun was always a tab, while the Star and the Globe and Mail were broadsheets (at least during my lifetime). When other papers joined the fray, they all came in as broadsheets, Toronto is the best-served newspaper town in North America, save for New York City.
Locally, the Guardian and the Brampton Daily Times were both broadsheets, until the Daily Times folded. About the same time, the Guardian became a tab. I'd worked for all four papers just mentioned, although only as a columnist for the Times.
I much preferred the broadsheet paper, and it's one of the reasons I've been a regular subscriber and reader of the Star all these years. I read the Sun, look over the Globe and Mail and occasionally the National Post, but I'm a Star guy. And that's the only paper that every FIRED me, so you know the loyalty runs deep.
Nobody in the paper business has any optimism about the long-term viability of the newspaper. The internet has bit big into the advertising business that fuels the newspaper model. In fact, advertising usually PAYS for the newspaper you read. The price you paid at the stand or into the hands of a carrier, is the PROFIT for the newspaper. I once wrote an essay in high school calling the newspaper the best bargain for 25 cents you can find (yes, I AM that OLD). Even at the current price, the statement still stands.
But I wish I wasn't making so many excuses for the newspapers. Let's start with the ink. Yes, it doesn't come off, but it's still too dim and it doesn't have that SMELL. I miss that smell. Secondly, the newspaper broadsheet is barely bigger than the tab of twenty years ago. There's less there, now. And so has the amount of words gone with it. I look for a newspaper to be MORE than a web-site paragraph. It doesn't have to go to Time magazine lengths, but there should be more analysis, more reporting.
And finally, we get to the paper. On a sunny day, I used to be able to open up a newspaper and read it, while sitting in my comfy green chair facing the front window. Now, not so much. I have to fold it back onto the back of the rest of the section. That's because the paper is so thin, ANY light source is enough to pass right on through and destroy the reading experience. And the paper's ability to withstand the rough handling of printing presses is a thing of the past. Creases and double-backs happen all the time. I am constantly pulling the page apart like an accordion, to see the words, rather than guessing at them. And waaaaaay too often, the paper didn't get through the press perfectly centred, resulting in chopped off text on one side or the other.
Still, my day always starts the same. I go to the computer, click a half-dozen times in Firefox to load the 70 or so sites I visit regularly. Then, it's downstairs to get the newspaper out of the door (You CAN train the carrier to put it inside the door, if you harp enough and cancel the subscription when they do it twice in a row). I glance at the front page, without being interested enough to check inside it if nothing catches my eye. I put the front section onto the discarded newspaper stack in the kitchen and then take what sections I regularly read upstairs to the reading room. On weekdays, the chosen sections are almost always the full rest of the paper. About half the sections make the journey on Saturdays and the whole paper, front section and all, gets read on Sundays.
I can't envision a different way to starting the day. I hope I never have to.
Leafing through the pages, I was struck by the full broadsheet size and thickness of each page. The pages almost felt like cardboard, compared to what I hold in my hands these days. The ink was black as starless night and didn't come off on my hands. But, that's a function of time, since ink back then, when fresh, was MORE likely to escape onto your fingers then today's duller, vegetable-based inks. On the other hand, I LIKED being an ink-stained wretch at the time.
The broadsheet has significantly shrunk these days. Holding out a broadsheet paper back in those days was like hugging a pickle barrel. You HAD to fold it so that you could only see one page at a time. And it wasn't unusual to see that one page folded vertically in half again, to handle better and to read down the length of the tall page.
This handling feature gave birth to the tabs which were roughly two-thirds of a broadsheet wide and about as tall as the broadsheet was wide. In Toronto, the Sun was always a tab, while the Star and the Globe and Mail were broadsheets (at least during my lifetime). When other papers joined the fray, they all came in as broadsheets, Toronto is the best-served newspaper town in North America, save for New York City.
Locally, the Guardian and the Brampton Daily Times were both broadsheets, until the Daily Times folded. About the same time, the Guardian became a tab. I'd worked for all four papers just mentioned, although only as a columnist for the Times.
I much preferred the broadsheet paper, and it's one of the reasons I've been a regular subscriber and reader of the Star all these years. I read the Sun, look over the Globe and Mail and occasionally the National Post, but I'm a Star guy. And that's the only paper that every FIRED me, so you know the loyalty runs deep.
Nobody in the paper business has any optimism about the long-term viability of the newspaper. The internet has bit big into the advertising business that fuels the newspaper model. In fact, advertising usually PAYS for the newspaper you read. The price you paid at the stand or into the hands of a carrier, is the PROFIT for the newspaper. I once wrote an essay in high school calling the newspaper the best bargain for 25 cents you can find (yes, I AM that OLD). Even at the current price, the statement still stands.
But I wish I wasn't making so many excuses for the newspapers. Let's start with the ink. Yes, it doesn't come off, but it's still too dim and it doesn't have that SMELL. I miss that smell. Secondly, the newspaper broadsheet is barely bigger than the tab of twenty years ago. There's less there, now. And so has the amount of words gone with it. I look for a newspaper to be MORE than a web-site paragraph. It doesn't have to go to Time magazine lengths, but there should be more analysis, more reporting.
And finally, we get to the paper. On a sunny day, I used to be able to open up a newspaper and read it, while sitting in my comfy green chair facing the front window. Now, not so much. I have to fold it back onto the back of the rest of the section. That's because the paper is so thin, ANY light source is enough to pass right on through and destroy the reading experience. And the paper's ability to withstand the rough handling of printing presses is a thing of the past. Creases and double-backs happen all the time. I am constantly pulling the page apart like an accordion, to see the words, rather than guessing at them. And waaaaaay too often, the paper didn't get through the press perfectly centred, resulting in chopped off text on one side or the other.
Still, my day always starts the same. I go to the computer, click a half-dozen times in Firefox to load the 70 or so sites I visit regularly. Then, it's downstairs to get the newspaper out of the door (You CAN train the carrier to put it inside the door, if you harp enough and cancel the subscription when they do it twice in a row). I glance at the front page, without being interested enough to check inside it if nothing catches my eye. I put the front section onto the discarded newspaper stack in the kitchen and then take what sections I regularly read upstairs to the reading room. On weekdays, the chosen sections are almost always the full rest of the paper. About half the sections make the journey on Saturdays and the whole paper, front section and all, gets read on Sundays.
I can't envision a different way to starting the day. I hope I never have to.
SOFTWARE: Another Reason Why Firefox is Better
Microsoft bashing has passed from being art to being ... as simple as breathing. Why ANYBODY who isn't forced to by company dictate or web-site requirement uses Internet Explorer is beyond me. Totally, 100% beyond me. Can't understand why you would be so dumb as to continue using the security-lax, feature-poor product when Mozilla Firefox does SOOOOO much more.
There's a zillion reasons (and add-ins) to explain why you should be using Firefox. But here's just one to think about.
I was uninstalling some software today and the uninstaller, in its brainless wisdom, decided to reboot my machine to 'finish' off the uninstall. At the time, I had a Firefox session running with three tabs open, including two tabs that might be hard to find all over again. I uttered the usual curse word (see Feb 08 posts) and then remembered, all WOULD be well.
That's because, when Firefox is closed through backdoor methods, i.e. by a reboot with all kinds of programs running, it offers to RESTORE everything you were looking at when the incident occurred! When I clicked OK, it brought back the tab with the instruction sheet for preventing AutoRun attacks, the BookCellarSales.com site promoting the day's special on Conan and the Spider God and the last tab, the one with the day's TV Guide on it. No harm, no foul.
I have no idea what led me to https://bookcellarsales.com, an on-line association for booksellers in the Mid-Atlantic area. But trying to keep my Conan collection complete just got easier. I think I got to http://windowssecrets.com/2007/11/08/02-One-quick-trick-prevents-AutoRun-attacks from one of my regular blog readings, but can't remember where. It's a bit techy and only for experts (or people infuriated by having that What To Do box come up EVERY time they stick a USB drive into the computer). In both cases, I am grateful that Firefox can out-think other programs lack of thinking.
There's a zillion reasons (and add-ins) to explain why you should be using Firefox. But here's just one to think about.
I was uninstalling some software today and the uninstaller, in its brainless wisdom, decided to reboot my machine to 'finish' off the uninstall. At the time, I had a Firefox session running with three tabs open, including two tabs that might be hard to find all over again. I uttered the usual curse word (see Feb 08 posts) and then remembered, all WOULD be well.
That's because, when Firefox is closed through backdoor methods, i.e. by a reboot with all kinds of programs running, it offers to RESTORE everything you were looking at when the incident occurred! When I clicked OK, it brought back the tab with the instruction sheet for preventing AutoRun attacks, the BookCellarSales.com site promoting the day's special on Conan and the Spider God and the last tab, the one with the day's TV Guide on it. No harm, no foul.
I have no idea what led me to https://bookcellarsales.com, an on-line association for booksellers in the Mid-Atlantic area. But trying to keep my Conan collection complete just got easier. I think I got to http://windowssecrets.com/2007/11/08/02-One-quick-trick-prevents-AutoRun-attacks from one of my regular blog readings, but can't remember where. It's a bit techy and only for experts (or people infuriated by having that What To Do box come up EVERY time they stick a USB drive into the computer). In both cases, I am grateful that Firefox can out-think other programs lack of thinking.
Monday, March 03, 2008
TV: Women's Murder Club
February was a month to catch up on recorded TV shows. In between the odd bout of working and watching sports, I managed to get completely caught up in three TV shows. One was the Bionic Woman show that has tanked into the eternal ether. The second was Gossip Girl, a relative hit in the weak Fall 2007 season. And the third was The Women's Murder Club.
A mixed kettle of fish is this show. But I'm glad the production company seems to have survived lots of creative upheaval to at least continue the show come April. It's not a certainty to come back in the fall, but a few good shows under the new show-runners might help.
Noted author James Patterson is the creative force behind the show. That's good and it's bad. Patterson, it has been told to me, can be a bit of a bear to handle. He's proudly right wing and a perfectionist and that's a difficult combination in these days. Still, out of dreams and desires ...
Take four women, all involved in crime in their careers. Good involvement. You have the tough-as-nails cop played by Angie Harmon. The Assistant DA, played by Laura Harris. The Medical Examiner played by Paula Newsome. And the rookie/Ace Crime Beat reporter played by Aubrey Dollar. Every one of them is easy on the eyes. And not a one of them is at all realistic.
That's the critical rub. The four get together regularly, actually starting the festivities AT THE CRIME SCENE. Yep, a dead body shows up and so do Harmon's Lindsay Boxer and her partner Jacobi, played by Tyrees Allen. Jacobi, a grizzled old vet of the San Francisco Police Department, is a bright light, expertly played by Allen. He plays him without extremes, leavening the scene when necessary, injecting a dose of reality at other times.
Rarely do Boxer and Jacobi arrive before the ME and the DA show up, the former dressed in the usual plastic windbreaker and the latter dressed to the nines, reaching for something to gag in upon seeing the dead body. Obviously, the ME is needed, the DA, not so much. After the threesome of ladies confab, they move to the perimeter, out where the Do Not Cross tape provides (mostly) a barrier for the fourth muskateer in our little club, the reporter, Clair Thomas.
It's Thomas, the enthusiastic rookie reporter who bugs me the most. Frankly, she's obviously the best detective in town. She unearths new clues at a rate that should shame the other three (and the WHOLE Police Department). She has connections around town that 30-year vets of the newspaper business would sell body parts to obtain. And she's perky and looks young enough to be swapping Language Arts notes in high school with my niece.
The other problem child is squeeky-voiced Harris as DA Bernhardt. Beyond the platinum blonde pixie haircut and quivering voice, she just doesn't present forcibly in a role that demands gravitas. Her inability to fend off sleazeball lawyer Hansen North, played by Kyle Secor (again), affirms the poor characterization. Even when she stands up for herself and her buddies, you get the feeling a loud BOO, would set her right back down.
Earth mother-type Newsome as Washburn and Harmon's Boxer might be stereotypes, but I've got no issues with either. It's fiction afterall and SOME leeway must be granted. Boxer's ex-husband becomes her boss and newly-remarried during the run of the 10 episodes that showed, pre-work stoppage. Rob Estes has played the role and San Fran before. Not a factor in liking or not liking the show.
What brings the show up to a passing grade is the humour. It's not an outright laughs show like Monk or Psych. It's a general humour that permeates ANY grim working place. It's a LITTLE girly, what with many of the statements that bring chuckles involving ick, ewwwwww and yuck. But beyond straining the limits of credulity, what you get is a friendship drama bordering on a dramedy.
Likable actress, four of them, some smiles and a laugh or two, and a mystery of two each week. Makes for a pleasant diversion. Might even check out the original WMC novels Patterson wrote.
In the meantime, it'll only take an hour of your life to check out the TV version.
A mixed kettle of fish is this show. But I'm glad the production company seems to have survived lots of creative upheaval to at least continue the show come April. It's not a certainty to come back in the fall, but a few good shows under the new show-runners might help.
Noted author James Patterson is the creative force behind the show. That's good and it's bad. Patterson, it has been told to me, can be a bit of a bear to handle. He's proudly right wing and a perfectionist and that's a difficult combination in these days. Still, out of dreams and desires ...
Take four women, all involved in crime in their careers. Good involvement. You have the tough-as-nails cop played by Angie Harmon. The Assistant DA, played by Laura Harris. The Medical Examiner played by Paula Newsome. And the rookie/Ace Crime Beat reporter played by Aubrey Dollar. Every one of them is easy on the eyes. And not a one of them is at all realistic.
That's the critical rub. The four get together regularly, actually starting the festivities AT THE CRIME SCENE. Yep, a dead body shows up and so do Harmon's Lindsay Boxer and her partner Jacobi, played by Tyrees Allen. Jacobi, a grizzled old vet of the San Francisco Police Department, is a bright light, expertly played by Allen. He plays him without extremes, leavening the scene when necessary, injecting a dose of reality at other times.
Rarely do Boxer and Jacobi arrive before the ME and the DA show up, the former dressed in the usual plastic windbreaker and the latter dressed to the nines, reaching for something to gag in upon seeing the dead body. Obviously, the ME is needed, the DA, not so much. After the threesome of ladies confab, they move to the perimeter, out where the Do Not Cross tape provides (mostly) a barrier for the fourth muskateer in our little club, the reporter, Clair Thomas.
It's Thomas, the enthusiastic rookie reporter who bugs me the most. Frankly, she's obviously the best detective in town. She unearths new clues at a rate that should shame the other three (and the WHOLE Police Department). She has connections around town that 30-year vets of the newspaper business would sell body parts to obtain. And she's perky and looks young enough to be swapping Language Arts notes in high school with my niece.
The other problem child is squeeky-voiced Harris as DA Bernhardt. Beyond the platinum blonde pixie haircut and quivering voice, she just doesn't present forcibly in a role that demands gravitas. Her inability to fend off sleazeball lawyer Hansen North, played by Kyle Secor (again), affirms the poor characterization. Even when she stands up for herself and her buddies, you get the feeling a loud BOO, would set her right back down.
Earth mother-type Newsome as Washburn and Harmon's Boxer might be stereotypes, but I've got no issues with either. It's fiction afterall and SOME leeway must be granted. Boxer's ex-husband becomes her boss and newly-remarried during the run of the 10 episodes that showed, pre-work stoppage. Rob Estes has played the role and San Fran before. Not a factor in liking or not liking the show.
What brings the show up to a passing grade is the humour. It's not an outright laughs show like Monk or Psych. It's a general humour that permeates ANY grim working place. It's a LITTLE girly, what with many of the statements that bring chuckles involving ick, ewwwwww and yuck. But beyond straining the limits of credulity, what you get is a friendship drama bordering on a dramedy.
Likable actress, four of them, some smiles and a laugh or two, and a mystery of two each week. Makes for a pleasant diversion. Might even check out the original WMC novels Patterson wrote.
In the meantime, it'll only take an hour of your life to check out the TV version.
TV: Could $6 Million Have Saved Bionic Woman?
When it was announced about this time last year that NBC was bringing back Bionic Woman, I had mixed feelings.
Like many a young male, I had fond memories of Lindsay Wagner. And of the TV show, too. I was just graduating high school at the time and it was a race between Wagner and Olivia Newton-John as to which was the hotter number back then. The TV show was a spin-off of the Six Million Dollar Man (an unfathomable value at the time. Today, not so much. Heck, Rasho Nesterovic clears eight mill a year).
It was entertaining in a sort of doppleganger way. If you liked the original, you probably liked the female version. It was actually quite successful, lasting three seasons. I mean, it wasn't The Girl from U.N.C.L.E. cheesy. And yes, I had a crush on Stephanie Powers too. Still do.
The crush on Wagner. Not so much.
When the series ended, the company behind Steve Austin and Jaime Sommers decided to do a TV movie or two. I ended up doing the computer screen special effects for Bionic Showdown. Byron Patchett, the Property Master on the show, asked me to mock up a program that would let Lindsay Wagner's character Jaime type away at a keyboard and have specific text come up on the screen. I also ended up doing some fake security computer screens for the big finish, filmed at Copps Coliseum in Hamilton.
I didn't quite warm up to Ms. Wagner. Any movie set is a question of hurry up and wait. Most movie sets are INCREDIBLY boring, unless you are heavily involved or heavily interested in the technical aspects of movie-making. Each second of footage is often the result of hours of setup. Shooting a full minute of usable film in a day is not good or bad. Might be average. Soooo, you wait around for something to happen.
In newspaper terms, it's called "Rewrite!!!!" Somebody doesn't like your work and wants it made different. Note, I did not say better. I had to rewrite my work on this movie. And I sure as hell hated the given reason. Especially on the night I set out in a sleet storm from my nice comfy cave, to drive to Hamilton to deliver updated security screens. Upon arriving, the crew broke for a 90-minute lunchbreak (albeit at 7pm in the evening).
If it hadn't been for the delightful presence of a young Sandra Bullock, already making a positive impact on crew (and certain computer effects writers alike), I'd have been thoroughly P.O.d. As it was, my festering resentment for Ms. Wagner hit its zenith and I lost complete interest in the Bionic Woman. Didn't even care that my name never made the closing credits.
Cut to last year. The show was coming back. The bitterness had never left. BUT it was a science fiction show, and I'm supposed to love SF. Hot new Jaime Sommers, with no trace of her predecessor anywhere around. In fact, I was surprised to find that Michelle Ryan, a rather sexy young Brit and a key supporting player in Jekyll, was going to be the new Bionic Woman. What was there to fear?
The pilot.
Loved the rooftop fight between Ryan and bionic predecessor Sarah, played by Battlestar Galactica star Katee Sackhoff. Miguel Ferrer plays grump better than any middle-aged man has any right too. But the whole thing just seemed leaden. Didn't like the way Jaime became bionic. Didn't like the new price tag. Wasn't awfully fond of the deaf kid sister (she was replaced by Lucy Hale, playing bratty, for the actual show, to no improvement). Didn't like the non-expressive Ryan. And was worried that blue jeans, plain top and a leather jacket was going to be all that she would ever wear.
And things never got any better.
Having Ryan play a British exchange student was one bright light. During one exchange with mission control, just about the time I was wondering why she was speaking to her control agent in her (real) accent, the operator asked her why she was doing it. She babbled something about staying in character, but I smiled about the timing, since it was starting to bug me. It might have been the only smile throughout.
Bringing in noted homophobe Isaiah Washington probably was a desperate bid for attention. He came, he died. He made no impact. Other comings and goings left a multitude of loose threads in the air. Solutions were perfunctory. As was Jaime's need to not publicly display her prodigious strength and running skills. Tearing a car door off not one, but two cars, in the final episode was "all in the wrist."
Turns out, I could continue hating on Bionic Woman again, afterall. And with this latest incarnation folding, I might not be alive when they try to revive for a third time.
And I'd like to life a mite longer, folks. So, let's not keep the rest of the scripts for the canceled series away from the trashbin, where they belong.
Like many a young male, I had fond memories of Lindsay Wagner. And of the TV show, too. I was just graduating high school at the time and it was a race between Wagner and Olivia Newton-John as to which was the hotter number back then. The TV show was a spin-off of the Six Million Dollar Man (an unfathomable value at the time. Today, not so much. Heck, Rasho Nesterovic clears eight mill a year).
It was entertaining in a sort of doppleganger way. If you liked the original, you probably liked the female version. It was actually quite successful, lasting three seasons. I mean, it wasn't The Girl from U.N.C.L.E. cheesy. And yes, I had a crush on Stephanie Powers too. Still do.
The crush on Wagner. Not so much.
When the series ended, the company behind Steve Austin and Jaime Sommers decided to do a TV movie or two. I ended up doing the computer screen special effects for Bionic Showdown. Byron Patchett, the Property Master on the show, asked me to mock up a program that would let Lindsay Wagner's character Jaime type away at a keyboard and have specific text come up on the screen. I also ended up doing some fake security computer screens for the big finish, filmed at Copps Coliseum in Hamilton.
I didn't quite warm up to Ms. Wagner. Any movie set is a question of hurry up and wait. Most movie sets are INCREDIBLY boring, unless you are heavily involved or heavily interested in the technical aspects of movie-making. Each second of footage is often the result of hours of setup. Shooting a full minute of usable film in a day is not good or bad. Might be average. Soooo, you wait around for something to happen.
In newspaper terms, it's called "Rewrite!!!!" Somebody doesn't like your work and wants it made different. Note, I did not say better. I had to rewrite my work on this movie. And I sure as hell hated the given reason. Especially on the night I set out in a sleet storm from my nice comfy cave, to drive to Hamilton to deliver updated security screens. Upon arriving, the crew broke for a 90-minute lunchbreak (albeit at 7pm in the evening).
If it hadn't been for the delightful presence of a young Sandra Bullock, already making a positive impact on crew (and certain computer effects writers alike), I'd have been thoroughly P.O.d. As it was, my festering resentment for Ms. Wagner hit its zenith and I lost complete interest in the Bionic Woman. Didn't even care that my name never made the closing credits.
Cut to last year. The show was coming back. The bitterness had never left. BUT it was a science fiction show, and I'm supposed to love SF. Hot new Jaime Sommers, with no trace of her predecessor anywhere around. In fact, I was surprised to find that Michelle Ryan, a rather sexy young Brit and a key supporting player in Jekyll, was going to be the new Bionic Woman. What was there to fear?
The pilot.
Loved the rooftop fight between Ryan and bionic predecessor Sarah, played by Battlestar Galactica star Katee Sackhoff. Miguel Ferrer plays grump better than any middle-aged man has any right too. But the whole thing just seemed leaden. Didn't like the way Jaime became bionic. Didn't like the new price tag. Wasn't awfully fond of the deaf kid sister (she was replaced by Lucy Hale, playing bratty, for the actual show, to no improvement). Didn't like the non-expressive Ryan. And was worried that blue jeans, plain top and a leather jacket was going to be all that she would ever wear.
And things never got any better.
Having Ryan play a British exchange student was one bright light. During one exchange with mission control, just about the time I was wondering why she was speaking to her control agent in her (real) accent, the operator asked her why she was doing it. She babbled something about staying in character, but I smiled about the timing, since it was starting to bug me. It might have been the only smile throughout.
Bringing in noted homophobe Isaiah Washington probably was a desperate bid for attention. He came, he died. He made no impact. Other comings and goings left a multitude of loose threads in the air. Solutions were perfunctory. As was Jaime's need to not publicly display her prodigious strength and running skills. Tearing a car door off not one, but two cars, in the final episode was "all in the wrist."
Turns out, I could continue hating on Bionic Woman again, afterall. And with this latest incarnation folding, I might not be alive when they try to revive for a third time.
And I'd like to life a mite longer, folks. So, let's not keep the rest of the scripts for the canceled series away from the trashbin, where they belong.
HARDWARE: And It's NOT A Computer
Of the many blogs I read, one that I enjoy is called Shareware Beach (http://www.shareware-beach.com/). It's written by a Thai writer who creates software that I'm unlikely to ever use, but have read good reviews about. The attraction is that he is a literate man who writes software for an income. And that's interesting enough to me, by itself.
His most recent post tells of his transition from a typewriter to a computer.
A typewriter is a device that USED to be a key writing implement, right up there with the #9 pencil J.K. Rowling used to write the Harry Potter books. Companies like Olivietti, Underwood and IBM were famous typewriter companies. I learned to type on an Olivietti at school, achieving the passing mark of 25 words a minute (corrected), while in Grade 10. Later, I took a single class in University, where the teacher spent ONE HOUR of my life instructing me on the proper way to insert paper into a typewriter. I then took the proficiency test, hit 50 on the results and never saw that fool of an instructor again.
In between, I went to work at a newspaper. The Bramalea Guardian, under the watchful eye of my boss, Ken Giles. As a student sports reporter, I got "stuck" with the oldest reject typewriter the paper had. An Underwood. Built in 1937. If it's possible to fall in love with a machine, I came to love that rickety old clatterbox, all burnished iron, with no attempt at a body case, just keys, platen, roller and ribbon. I wrote A LOT in those days. We filled a big sports section once a week and a lot of it was agate type, long listings of sports results. Lots of newsprint went through the typewriter, two copies and a carbon for each take.
The best part about using a typewriter was the feel. First, the keys had to be more than touched. You had to really pound them. Then, as you were getting near the end of the line, you had to intuit that it was time to reach out and pull the return handle, simultaneously moving the page up a line (or more) and moving the type head back to the far left. I am sure major league pitchers could do worse than train by typing on a keyboard. And it was fun to yank at the lever, especially if you had something you had to work out. And there was always the fun of pressing too many keys too quickly and having jamming the hammers at the point of type.
People might not realize that the layout of the typewriter (and subsequently the computer) was chosen to SLOW DOWN typists. Just to prevent the jamming I just described.
Now, I was a two-handed typist, but an awful lot of my contemporaries AND my forebears were incredibly speedy two finger typists. In fact, the Boss was a speed demon. And he did it without the full use of his left hand, an anomaly he was born with. The left hand was strictly for hitting the shift key. Otherwise, the Boss was a ONE-fingered typist. And he could outdo me on a speed and accuracy test hands down.
The funniest part of watching the Boss type was him peeling carbon sheets off his output. Where I could get 10-20 pages of work down with a single carbon, I watched while the Boss made a carbon last one, MAYBE two pages. The reason? He hit the keys hard, all the time, every time. You could hold a carbon up that he'd just used for a second time and SEE THROUGH IT! Every o and d punctured another hole in the fabric that was the carbon paper. I sometimes wonder if the reason I was hired wasn't just to off-set the Boss, when it came time to buying carbon paper in bulk. When the company did switch to computers, he went through three keyboards his first week. He's the only guy I know who could get a full workout daily JUST by typing.
Back to my Underwood. By the time I left the Guardian in the early 80's, the paper was still using typewriters, but was getting electric typewriters just about the time I left. Because of that, I got to take my Underwood home with me, since no intelligent newspaperman would be caught dead with the old manual. I already had my first computer at that point. An Apple with a ridiculously low serial number. But a bad experience where I lost some writing the first night I tried writing with the computer (as adverse playing and programming), prompted me to still use the typewriter a fair bit.
I used it a lot the first two months after I left. I was writing scripts for my radio broadcasts, having joined CKMW radio at the time. Two months into the year I spent there, I found myself with the time and interest to explore my computer in more detail. I started writing with scripts with the Apple more and more. Maybe six months after I left the Guardian, I put the typewriter in a corner and it stayed there for a decade.
One night at the Caledon Bridge Club, I was approached about any spare typewriters I might have. I admitted to owning one. A day later, the old Underwood was winging its way down to the Dominican Republic. For all I know, it's still in use today as it closes in on its 75th birthday. It doesn't need electrical power, although I imagine ribbons for it might be a bit hard to find. That, and a lotta love.
His most recent post tells of his transition from a typewriter to a computer.
A typewriter is a device that USED to be a key writing implement, right up there with the #9 pencil J.K. Rowling used to write the Harry Potter books. Companies like Olivietti, Underwood and IBM were famous typewriter companies. I learned to type on an Olivietti at school, achieving the passing mark of 25 words a minute (corrected), while in Grade 10. Later, I took a single class in University, where the teacher spent ONE HOUR of my life instructing me on the proper way to insert paper into a typewriter. I then took the proficiency test, hit 50 on the results and never saw that fool of an instructor again.
In between, I went to work at a newspaper. The Bramalea Guardian, under the watchful eye of my boss, Ken Giles. As a student sports reporter, I got "stuck" with the oldest reject typewriter the paper had. An Underwood. Built in 1937. If it's possible to fall in love with a machine, I came to love that rickety old clatterbox, all burnished iron, with no attempt at a body case, just keys, platen, roller and ribbon. I wrote A LOT in those days. We filled a big sports section once a week and a lot of it was agate type, long listings of sports results. Lots of newsprint went through the typewriter, two copies and a carbon for each take.
The best part about using a typewriter was the feel. First, the keys had to be more than touched. You had to really pound them. Then, as you were getting near the end of the line, you had to intuit that it was time to reach out and pull the return handle, simultaneously moving the page up a line (or more) and moving the type head back to the far left. I am sure major league pitchers could do worse than train by typing on a keyboard. And it was fun to yank at the lever, especially if you had something you had to work out. And there was always the fun of pressing too many keys too quickly and having jamming the hammers at the point of type.
People might not realize that the layout of the typewriter (and subsequently the computer) was chosen to SLOW DOWN typists. Just to prevent the jamming I just described.
Now, I was a two-handed typist, but an awful lot of my contemporaries AND my forebears were incredibly speedy two finger typists. In fact, the Boss was a speed demon. And he did it without the full use of his left hand, an anomaly he was born with. The left hand was strictly for hitting the shift key. Otherwise, the Boss was a ONE-fingered typist. And he could outdo me on a speed and accuracy test hands down.
The funniest part of watching the Boss type was him peeling carbon sheets off his output. Where I could get 10-20 pages of work down with a single carbon, I watched while the Boss made a carbon last one, MAYBE two pages. The reason? He hit the keys hard, all the time, every time. You could hold a carbon up that he'd just used for a second time and SEE THROUGH IT! Every o and d punctured another hole in the fabric that was the carbon paper. I sometimes wonder if the reason I was hired wasn't just to off-set the Boss, when it came time to buying carbon paper in bulk. When the company did switch to computers, he went through three keyboards his first week. He's the only guy I know who could get a full workout daily JUST by typing.
Back to my Underwood. By the time I left the Guardian in the early 80's, the paper was still using typewriters, but was getting electric typewriters just about the time I left. Because of that, I got to take my Underwood home with me, since no intelligent newspaperman would be caught dead with the old manual. I already had my first computer at that point. An Apple with a ridiculously low serial number. But a bad experience where I lost some writing the first night I tried writing with the computer (as adverse playing and programming), prompted me to still use the typewriter a fair bit.
I used it a lot the first two months after I left. I was writing scripts for my radio broadcasts, having joined CKMW radio at the time. Two months into the year I spent there, I found myself with the time and interest to explore my computer in more detail. I started writing with scripts with the Apple more and more. Maybe six months after I left the Guardian, I put the typewriter in a corner and it stayed there for a decade.
One night at the Caledon Bridge Club, I was approached about any spare typewriters I might have. I admitted to owning one. A day later, the old Underwood was winging its way down to the Dominican Republic. For all I know, it's still in use today as it closes in on its 75th birthday. It doesn't need electrical power, although I imagine ribbons for it might be a bit hard to find. That, and a lotta love.
Friday, February 29, 2008
TV: Ashes to Ashes Grows Life on Mars
Half the inaugural season of Ashes to Ashes has debuted in Britain, and it's safe to say that this show is not only a worthy successor to Life on Mars, it's better.
Sort of a sequel and sort of a new show, Ashes to Ashes fixes what little there was that was wrong with Life on Mars. And oddly enough, although Keeley Hawes makes a spectacular leading lady, it turns out the connecting thread of these shows is Philip Glenister as Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt.
In fact, the two shows will now be known as the Gene Hunt saga. Glenister's Hunt was a 1970's anachronism in the two seasons of Life on Mars. A do-gooder who'd do bad to get the bad guys, he typified the kind of TV cop of the time. Loud, bullyish and quick with the quip. He led a squad of Manchester cops not too divorced from the strike team on The Shield. But his boys were basically morons with badges, leaving him as the brains of the outfit. John Simm's Sam Tyler, a cop from the 21st century, was injected into the setup and a clash of styles became inevitable and inevitably entertaining.
Cut to this season. Detective Alex Drake, well familiar with Tyler's case, suffers the same fate as Tyler. She is shot. She wakes up in the past. This time in 1980's London. To her surprise, and our delight, she meets up with three figments (?) of Tyler's imagination. DCI Hunt, and two of the loopiest of his squadron, the cops played by Dean Andrews and Marshall Lancaster. Of the two, Lancaster's Chris Skelton is the slightly more evolved. But barely. On the other hand, Hunt seems to have mastered some levels of self-control.
Unless it's at the wheels of a car, which is driven around town like the old Starsky and Hutch vehicle.
At any rate, Drake's either clinging to life in a hospital room and dreaming up Hunt and Company, or we have another case of time travel. Same premise, but waaaaaay different execution.
Undoubtedly, Drake looks better in a tight 80's era pair of blue jeans, or a mini-skirt, for that matter. She favours off-the-shoulder tops and a white leather jacket. Her hair is a friz of brown curls and her expressive eyes came at you from blue-shadowed lids. And underneath all of that is Zoey from the first few seasons of Spooks.
Keeley Hawes, is indeed, a bit of a chameleon. It took me TWO full episodes before I realized knockout Alex and mousy little Zoey were played by the same actress. Hawes just exhudes sexual energy in this show, and a good part of the charm of the show is figuring out when (and what will ensue) when she and Glenister's Hunt finally clinch and kiss. For the time, they've been doing the Sam and Diane act, coming close in each of the last two episodes, despite the abhorrence she holds for Hunt's tactics.
The other bit that makes this show better is a reduction of the amount of the show given to Drake's fevered dreams, starring her daughter and a clown (the one made famous by David Bowie). Tyler would consume ten minutes of a fifty-minute episode with fevered attempts to communicate with the now. That's significantly cut in Ashes to Ashes, for the better. We GET it, we don't have to be hit over the head with it. There's also the thread running through were Alex KNOWS she's in a dream, and can do and say things, knowing it's all imaginary.
Naturally, like Sam Tyler, Alex Drake tries to re-connect with her parents, given the opportunity. In fact, we know her parents are doomed to die in a car-bomb. Can the past be changed? Can Alex survive finding out her parents were not paragons of virtue, the same fate having just befallen her godfather? Just how incestuous would it be to kiss said godfather, BEFORE he becomes your godfather? These are all stories to be told in the next month.
Ashes to Ashes is certainly worthy of a multi-year run. It does point out just how horrible fashions were back then. It was also the start of the Computer Age. It's interesting in retrospect, despite the music. And I could watch Keeley Hawes play Alex Drake for a l-o-o-o-n-g time. But word has come down that Glenister figures this is the last decade to watch Hunt flounder around in. He wants to be killed off, ere they come up with yet a third shooting victim to watch him dodder around in the 1990's. That presages no more than another season of Ashes to Ashes, let alone a third series.
But I'm already imagining Hunt as a retired copper turned private detective. I guess it'd have to be a kid going back in time. The mind wanders ...
Sort of a sequel and sort of a new show, Ashes to Ashes fixes what little there was that was wrong with Life on Mars. And oddly enough, although Keeley Hawes makes a spectacular leading lady, it turns out the connecting thread of these shows is Philip Glenister as Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt.
In fact, the two shows will now be known as the Gene Hunt saga. Glenister's Hunt was a 1970's anachronism in the two seasons of Life on Mars. A do-gooder who'd do bad to get the bad guys, he typified the kind of TV cop of the time. Loud, bullyish and quick with the quip. He led a squad of Manchester cops not too divorced from the strike team on The Shield. But his boys were basically morons with badges, leaving him as the brains of the outfit. John Simm's Sam Tyler, a cop from the 21st century, was injected into the setup and a clash of styles became inevitable and inevitably entertaining.
Cut to this season. Detective Alex Drake, well familiar with Tyler's case, suffers the same fate as Tyler. She is shot. She wakes up in the past. This time in 1980's London. To her surprise, and our delight, she meets up with three figments (?) of Tyler's imagination. DCI Hunt, and two of the loopiest of his squadron, the cops played by Dean Andrews and Marshall Lancaster. Of the two, Lancaster's Chris Skelton is the slightly more evolved. But barely. On the other hand, Hunt seems to have mastered some levels of self-control.
Unless it's at the wheels of a car, which is driven around town like the old Starsky and Hutch vehicle.
At any rate, Drake's either clinging to life in a hospital room and dreaming up Hunt and Company, or we have another case of time travel. Same premise, but waaaaaay different execution.
Undoubtedly, Drake looks better in a tight 80's era pair of blue jeans, or a mini-skirt, for that matter. She favours off-the-shoulder tops and a white leather jacket. Her hair is a friz of brown curls and her expressive eyes came at you from blue-shadowed lids. And underneath all of that is Zoey from the first few seasons of Spooks.
Keeley Hawes, is indeed, a bit of a chameleon. It took me TWO full episodes before I realized knockout Alex and mousy little Zoey were played by the same actress. Hawes just exhudes sexual energy in this show, and a good part of the charm of the show is figuring out when (and what will ensue) when she and Glenister's Hunt finally clinch and kiss. For the time, they've been doing the Sam and Diane act, coming close in each of the last two episodes, despite the abhorrence she holds for Hunt's tactics.
The other bit that makes this show better is a reduction of the amount of the show given to Drake's fevered dreams, starring her daughter and a clown (the one made famous by David Bowie). Tyler would consume ten minutes of a fifty-minute episode with fevered attempts to communicate with the now. That's significantly cut in Ashes to Ashes, for the better. We GET it, we don't have to be hit over the head with it. There's also the thread running through were Alex KNOWS she's in a dream, and can do and say things, knowing it's all imaginary.
Naturally, like Sam Tyler, Alex Drake tries to re-connect with her parents, given the opportunity. In fact, we know her parents are doomed to die in a car-bomb. Can the past be changed? Can Alex survive finding out her parents were not paragons of virtue, the same fate having just befallen her godfather? Just how incestuous would it be to kiss said godfather, BEFORE he becomes your godfather? These are all stories to be told in the next month.
Ashes to Ashes is certainly worthy of a multi-year run. It does point out just how horrible fashions were back then. It was also the start of the Computer Age. It's interesting in retrospect, despite the music. And I could watch Keeley Hawes play Alex Drake for a l-o-o-o-n-g time. But word has come down that Glenister figures this is the last decade to watch Hunt flounder around in. He wants to be killed off, ere they come up with yet a third shooting victim to watch him dodder around in the 1990's. That presages no more than another season of Ashes to Ashes, let alone a third series.
But I'm already imagining Hunt as a retired copper turned private detective. I guess it'd have to be a kid going back in time. The mind wanders ...
SPORTS: The Big Bald Swede... Again!
So, Mats Sundin doesn't want to play for any other team, save for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Last weekend's news? Nope. It's the lead story on sports broadcasts again, today.
Sundin said he'll play for Toronto next year or nobody. This is news? Well, to those who thought his rationale that he wanted to be with a team all year long in the quest for the Stanley Cup, rather than becoming a 'rental,' meant he'd consider going somewhere else this coming fall. But those people ignored the other words he said when he announced his decision NOT to waive his no-trade catalog.
He spoke of his relationship with the players and citizens here in the greater T.O. area. He didn't say the word love, but one gets the idea that Sundin isn't exactly a big-time orator. A big-time hockey player, but not a big-time talker. He felt leaving would be abandoning his ship before it completely went down, and that there was no such thing as a safe harbour, Stanley Cup chances be damned.
In other words, Sundin did everything a captain should. He led by personal example by being the best player on the team (and not being the best paid). He showed strength of character and interest in team goals over personal gain. And he got pilloried for it by the all-knowing (about nothing) Toronto fans.
I posted right here that he should have accepted a trade and gone somewhere else to win the Stanley Cup most hockey players want. And I told him not to come back, for his own good and for the needs of this team to hit rock-bottom, something that wouldn't happen to the team that could play Sundin 20 minutes a game. He is too good. But there's something noble about a player that says, with all honesty, that he wants to retire a Maple Leaf.
Now, the same maroons who decried his lack of a Wendell Clark type game over the years, call him selfish. No way the team should let him come back next season. If he does, he has to come on the Leaf terms, which would not include a no-trade clause. And he should take a big pay cut so the club can go out and offer the moon for the likes of Jason Blake (successfully) and Bobby Holik (unsuccessfully). Any wonder why the Leafs are two generations from being a good NHL franchise?
If I get hired as the new Toronto GM (okay, NOT a probability), I give Mats Sundin a blank cheque on a contract with a no-trade provision. IF he signs it, I then buy out the deadwood and start over. Building around a captain to be proud of, who can still play at a good level in today's NHL, that's possible. I also bet that the blank cheque comes back with a ridiculously low number on it. Given HIS choice, I bet Sundin would play for three million dollars, about half of what he's worth. But he'd want to free up finances to get him to his dream, hoisting the Stanley Cup in a Maple Leaf sweater. Hey, people play the lottery with less chance every day.
On the other hand, if Sundin doesn't want to put up with the rubes along the rails any longer and decides to self-grant his wish to retire a Maple Leaf, then I would wish him well in his post-hockey career, assuring him that there would always be a place in Toronto at Air Canada Centre for a great, great captain.
Sundin said he'll play for Toronto next year or nobody. This is news? Well, to those who thought his rationale that he wanted to be with a team all year long in the quest for the Stanley Cup, rather than becoming a 'rental,' meant he'd consider going somewhere else this coming fall. But those people ignored the other words he said when he announced his decision NOT to waive his no-trade catalog.
He spoke of his relationship with the players and citizens here in the greater T.O. area. He didn't say the word love, but one gets the idea that Sundin isn't exactly a big-time orator. A big-time hockey player, but not a big-time talker. He felt leaving would be abandoning his ship before it completely went down, and that there was no such thing as a safe harbour, Stanley Cup chances be damned.
In other words, Sundin did everything a captain should. He led by personal example by being the best player on the team (and not being the best paid). He showed strength of character and interest in team goals over personal gain. And he got pilloried for it by the all-knowing (about nothing) Toronto fans.
I posted right here that he should have accepted a trade and gone somewhere else to win the Stanley Cup most hockey players want. And I told him not to come back, for his own good and for the needs of this team to hit rock-bottom, something that wouldn't happen to the team that could play Sundin 20 minutes a game. He is too good. But there's something noble about a player that says, with all honesty, that he wants to retire a Maple Leaf.
Now, the same maroons who decried his lack of a Wendell Clark type game over the years, call him selfish. No way the team should let him come back next season. If he does, he has to come on the Leaf terms, which would not include a no-trade clause. And he should take a big pay cut so the club can go out and offer the moon for the likes of Jason Blake (successfully) and Bobby Holik (unsuccessfully). Any wonder why the Leafs are two generations from being a good NHL franchise?
If I get hired as the new Toronto GM (okay, NOT a probability), I give Mats Sundin a blank cheque on a contract with a no-trade provision. IF he signs it, I then buy out the deadwood and start over. Building around a captain to be proud of, who can still play at a good level in today's NHL, that's possible. I also bet that the blank cheque comes back with a ridiculously low number on it. Given HIS choice, I bet Sundin would play for three million dollars, about half of what he's worth. But he'd want to free up finances to get him to his dream, hoisting the Stanley Cup in a Maple Leaf sweater. Hey, people play the lottery with less chance every day.
On the other hand, if Sundin doesn't want to put up with the rubes along the rails any longer and decides to self-grant his wish to retire a Maple Leaf, then I would wish him well in his post-hockey career, assuring him that there would always be a place in Toronto at Air Canada Centre for a great, great captain.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
SPORTS: The No-Trade 5
The radio waves and newspapers hereabouts are still dominated by the five Toronto Maple Leafs who would not consent to being traded away. Somehow, 41 years of abject failure and frequent mismanagement have been laid on their doorsteps.
Get over it Leaf fans!
Fact is, the Leafs are the Chicago Cubs of the National Hockey League. They sell out nightly, yet never do what is necessary to win. Winning costs money, which the owners of the club have always made, hand over fist. Not for nothing was the old Maple Leaf Gardens called the Maple Leaf Mint and the Carlton St. Cashbox. And, with the new NHL salary caps, now the club makes tens of millions MORE than they used to. Most valuable franchise in the sport.
And all because moronic fans continue to treat tickets to a Leaf game as a prize. And the businesses around here treat Leaf tickets as top-drawer bribes to clients and workers.
Cannot you all see the emperor has no clothes?
The club didn't WANT to win in the old days, because it would have cost money and eliminated profit. In those uncapped days, you bought your way out of mistakes and lack of foresight. If you signed one star who winked out, you'd replace him with somebody else's star. But the third-rail of that management style was winning it all. Win enough and EVEYRBODY on the team came up to the owners' offices with hands out, looking for raises. Best to finish close and give the fans a bit of a thrill ... and a hope. It's the old saw about keeping them asking for more. Get too close to the Holy Grail, the Stanley Cup, and you had to manufacture some crisis to bring down expectations. Then the cycle would start anew.
The fans didn't catch on. Compare that with the Montreal fans. When the Canadiens dropped to Maple Leaf levels of mediocrity, bordering on badness, the fans started staying away. Enough with this crap, they said with their feet and dollars. There was even talk the old town would LOSE its historic franchise, the sport's best down through the years. It took George Gillette to recognize the situation for what it was--an OPPORTUNITY. He bought the team, brought back intelligence in the form of Bob Gainey and then told Gainey to spend his money as he saw fit. Montreal's back, not yet a champion, but a good team playing before gigantic sold-out audiences. The fans have spoken, and they approve.
Here in the Toronto area, the money-grabbers at Maple Leaf Sports Entertainment decided the best way to replace the eminently-replaceable Pat Quinn was to find some cheap rookie GM. And John Ferguson Junior failed. Hardly a surprise. It's only now that the poohbas recognize they can't go cheap anymore in the front office. Can they also be convinced to take tens of millions in write-offs to kickstart the hoped for Maple Leaf revival? They should be. The Marching Moron Society that is the Maple Leaf fandom will continue to flock to the Air Canada Centre no matter the quality of the team. They proved that during the Harold Ballard era.
But, in the meantime, the only entertaining that will go on is how the fans greet the No-Trade 5 when next they take to the ice in T.O. Mats Sundin will draw a mixed reaction. The intelligent Leaf fan (an oxymoron), will cheer and applaud his dedication to this town, if not this organization. Tomas Kaberle is a good man and a good player. No one really wished him gone.
The same can't be said for Darcy Tucker, a shell of his former self, and no longer a valued hockey player. His past contributions probably get him absolution. Not so Bryan McCabe, who didn't recognize the train leaving town, the Larry Murphy Express, was his best option. He will be booed until he goes elsewhere to contribute. Which brings me to Pavel Kubina. The on-again, off-again saga of his possibly being traded won't result in happiness all round. He'll play to boos and catcalls aplenty for the rest of the season. Over the summer, he'll be traded whatever his feelings for staying are, or he'll play in the American Hockey League with the Toronto Marlies. His NHL career with the Maple Leafs, the one he hung on to so tightly, has 18 games left in it.
By the start of next season, the No-Trade 5 will be three, maybe two and possibly even one. Sounds like a lot of fury and angst for the four for 18 games.
But such is the life of a Maple Leaf fan (not me, my Dad and my brother Wayne).
Get over it Leaf fans!
Fact is, the Leafs are the Chicago Cubs of the National Hockey League. They sell out nightly, yet never do what is necessary to win. Winning costs money, which the owners of the club have always made, hand over fist. Not for nothing was the old Maple Leaf Gardens called the Maple Leaf Mint and the Carlton St. Cashbox. And, with the new NHL salary caps, now the club makes tens of millions MORE than they used to. Most valuable franchise in the sport.
And all because moronic fans continue to treat tickets to a Leaf game as a prize. And the businesses around here treat Leaf tickets as top-drawer bribes to clients and workers.
Cannot you all see the emperor has no clothes?
The club didn't WANT to win in the old days, because it would have cost money and eliminated profit. In those uncapped days, you bought your way out of mistakes and lack of foresight. If you signed one star who winked out, you'd replace him with somebody else's star. But the third-rail of that management style was winning it all. Win enough and EVEYRBODY on the team came up to the owners' offices with hands out, looking for raises. Best to finish close and give the fans a bit of a thrill ... and a hope. It's the old saw about keeping them asking for more. Get too close to the Holy Grail, the Stanley Cup, and you had to manufacture some crisis to bring down expectations. Then the cycle would start anew.
The fans didn't catch on. Compare that with the Montreal fans. When the Canadiens dropped to Maple Leaf levels of mediocrity, bordering on badness, the fans started staying away. Enough with this crap, they said with their feet and dollars. There was even talk the old town would LOSE its historic franchise, the sport's best down through the years. It took George Gillette to recognize the situation for what it was--an OPPORTUNITY. He bought the team, brought back intelligence in the form of Bob Gainey and then told Gainey to spend his money as he saw fit. Montreal's back, not yet a champion, but a good team playing before gigantic sold-out audiences. The fans have spoken, and they approve.
Here in the Toronto area, the money-grabbers at Maple Leaf Sports Entertainment decided the best way to replace the eminently-replaceable Pat Quinn was to find some cheap rookie GM. And John Ferguson Junior failed. Hardly a surprise. It's only now that the poohbas recognize they can't go cheap anymore in the front office. Can they also be convinced to take tens of millions in write-offs to kickstart the hoped for Maple Leaf revival? They should be. The Marching Moron Society that is the Maple Leaf fandom will continue to flock to the Air Canada Centre no matter the quality of the team. They proved that during the Harold Ballard era.
But, in the meantime, the only entertaining that will go on is how the fans greet the No-Trade 5 when next they take to the ice in T.O. Mats Sundin will draw a mixed reaction. The intelligent Leaf fan (an oxymoron), will cheer and applaud his dedication to this town, if not this organization. Tomas Kaberle is a good man and a good player. No one really wished him gone.
The same can't be said for Darcy Tucker, a shell of his former self, and no longer a valued hockey player. His past contributions probably get him absolution. Not so Bryan McCabe, who didn't recognize the train leaving town, the Larry Murphy Express, was his best option. He will be booed until he goes elsewhere to contribute. Which brings me to Pavel Kubina. The on-again, off-again saga of his possibly being traded won't result in happiness all round. He'll play to boos and catcalls aplenty for the rest of the season. Over the summer, he'll be traded whatever his feelings for staying are, or he'll play in the American Hockey League with the Toronto Marlies. His NHL career with the Maple Leafs, the one he hung on to so tightly, has 18 games left in it.
By the start of next season, the No-Trade 5 will be three, maybe two and possibly even one. Sounds like a lot of fury and angst for the four for 18 games.
But such is the life of a Maple Leaf fan (not me, my Dad and my brother Wayne).
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