Wow, You Know How to Curse

The Chicago Bears' visit to FedEx Field was disappointing. Not because we had an excellent vantage point of Archuleta whiffing on yet another tackle (we had a pretty good sight line on that particular display of AA's skill in Chicago), nor because first-hand visual evidence confirms that Brian Griese is, in fact, awful (also confirmed in Chicago); no, instead, for purely personal reasons, I regret going. Sports fans in all cities, for all sports, can be jack*sses. Whether you run across them in any given venue is really the luck of the draw. Two of the more pleasant NFL experiences I've had were at the Bears last two visits to FedEx. And yet some of the most disheartening sporting events I've ever been to took place in DC: A playoff game between the Wizards and Bulls in 2005 where some genius in the Wizards promotional department thought they could inspire the Wiz to greatness with a shtick whereby the Wizards mascot playfully attacked a faux fan in a Bulls jersey with silly string. Hysterical. Particularly when drunk Wizards fans started to toss $10 beers at anyone wearing black and red shortly thereafter. Several Nationals home games surrounded in Loge by a father, after downing six or seven beers, teaching his young son how to scream profanity at the opposing team's right fielder and young men who batted about xenophobic slurs towards a dad with his young son who were happily waving a small flag of the Dominican Republic. Good times. So good in fact that I walked away from my season tickets. And then there was last night. Club section, group of six, two young kids in tow and scores of belligerent, drunk, moronic purportedly Redskins fans surrounding us.

At some point, something has gone seriously wrong in the way that a significant minority of people in the DC area behave at largely populated sporting events. Want to scream the word "c*ck" over and over again for no particular reason? Head to a Redskins game. Want to call a young woman a "b*tch" for two quarters, joined by three of your best friends? FedEx is your destination. Want to shout homophobic slurs and racial epithets after dropping several hundred dollars for the pleasure of entering an arena? Grab your Miller Lite, hop on the Blue Line, jump off at Morgan Boulevard, and walk due north.

I guess I would be able to understand the phenomenon if it was young men who just wanted to get into a fight. But each and every time any of the idiots around us was physically confronted, they backed down, slinked away, stayed silent for tens of minutes, and then slowly built their confidence back up so as to express what could not be said in even the most anarchic drinking establishment. At least in our section, the motivating force for the behavior appeared to be akin to the third-grader who, upon the departure of a teacher from the classroom, tries to impress his friends by dropping a number of f-bombs for the sake of dropping of f-bombs. Strange way to seek approval, but if that is all you have going for you, well, that is all you have going for you.

I'm angry that I've been in this area long enough to see the devolution of DC professional sports (sans soccer and Women's basketball) to places where a major attraction is the ability to offend and denigrate with impunity. Ultimately, it doesn't matter and the easy answer is to just stop going to the games. I would, however, like to think that after a decade of being here, I might be able to cheer for the local teams in games that did not matter to those of my hometown. But I can't. Wizards fans made me hate the Wizards. Last night, Redskins fans have made me hate the Redskins. And, I'm fairly sure that if the Nationals ever get fans, I'll learn to hate the Nationals as well (and should hockey ever matter again, I'll probably hate the Capitals).

Whatever. It was still a good perch to view the game:

What Doesn't Matter

It took place over a month ago, but I could not bring myself to face it. My annual trip back to Chicago for a Bears game happened to be for the Bears-Lions game on October 28th. Fortunately, the visit instilled in me a hatred for Ron Turner that is only surpassed by my hatred for John Shoop. (How about that Terry Shea? You don't even rate anymore). Of course, it makes watching LSU games all the more painful as I now pine over Gary Crowton in the same way that 50 Cent loves fat girls that love cake.

So no comments (well, no comments except why did I think that Griese was anything but horrible? How low are my standards for a quarterback? Where are you now Jimmy Miller?). Just photos:

What Matters (Part 1)

I'm learning to turn a bit away from my professional sports affiliations as the Bears and Bulls sink even further into wasted seasons and the Addicks' have suffered two horrible losses to Sheffield and Burnley at the Valley. A trip to Wales has temporarily righted the ship, but my confidence is a bit shaken.

After watching (virtually) Charlton's collapse to Burnley, we headed out to check out Georgetown as JTIII's kids took on a surprisingly competitive Fairfield squad. I have absolutely no ties to Georgetown but I feel privileged to have the opportunity to watch the Hoyas take the court nevertheless. The team is incredibly charismatic and the energy they exude is infectious. Georgetown presents, for DC residents, the last meaningful sporting event that can be attended by those on strict budgets and watching a wide diversity of my neighbors -- most of whom, like me, have no formal connection to the University -- filter into the Verizon center with broad smiles on their faces is something I look forward to. The Hoyas are doing what they ought to do in these games against lesser opponents; namely, seeing what everyone in a Georgetown jersey not named Roy Hibbert can contribute before they head to Tennessee for their showdown with Derrick Rose and the Memphis Tigers on December 22nd. Patrick Ewing Jr. continues to be my favorite to watch as despite obvious offensive deficiencies, PE2 never eases up on defense and his contribution (I hope) will prove a difference as the Big East season runs its course. From what we've seen so far, I am also hopeful that Macklin and Rivers will continue to develop and that Wright and Freeman remain comfortable with taking on more and more responsibility. But regardless of what happens, I am certain to enjoy it.

Later on Saturday night, we headed over to Ludwig Field to watch Maryland's very good men's soccer team take on Bradley in the third round of the NCAA's tournament. We watched the first half from the touch line behind Bradley's goal and were treated to an impressive display from Maryland's squad:



Of particular note was the Terps' phenomenal freshmen midfielder Rodney Wallace, who punched in Maryland's first goal at the 17th minute. Unfortunately, Wallace was knocked out of the match with an injury a little over six minutes later. The rest of his team picked up the slack and Maryland took a two goal lead into half time on a header by Omar Gonzalez, photographed horribly here:



Maryland dominated for much of the game, but as we sat in the bleachers for the second half, a let down seemed inevitable. Fans around us began to talk about Maryland's next possible matchup against Ohio State or Santa Barbara. A little later they talked about what it would take to make the final four, and a little later after that there were those who were wondering if this wasn't 2005 all over again. I looked up at the scoreboard with three minutes left in the game, frozen (and therefore certain that the match was going to come down to penalty kicks), and marveling that Bradley had taken only six shots in the first 87 minutes of the contest. Maryland failed to clear the ball well and the team's defense relented and Bradley scored in the 89th minute. Bradley's fans cheered wildly and the Maryland folks on the other side of the pitch scoffed that Bradley was excited to lose by one. And then Bradley scored again. 42 seconds from time. And this time, the Bradley supporters were orgasmic. The cheers were visceral. The reaction of the squad on the field was of immense joy. And it was guaranteed that Maryland wasn't moving on. Bradley confirmed it with a minute fifteen left in the second overtime. And there it was again. Bradley's cadre of fans out of their minds. The joy, the thrill, evinced by the folks from Peoria was usefully contrasted by a sole drunken idiot Maryland student screaming "F*ck you" at what he believed to be the referee but was, in fact, a member of Bradley's coaching staff. (Otherwise, the Maryland fans were great... the impossibly-sustained "Knock, Knock, Who's There? Banana. Banana Who?" chant at Bradley's goalie is one of the most improbable things I've witnessed at a sporting event).

I know next to nothing about college soccer and I was left a bit startled by Bradley's reaction to the win. Of course, knocking off Indiana and Maryland in consecutive games is impressive, but perhaps didn't warrant that much of a response. And this is, of course, why we have the internet. To answer random questions that should not take up much of our time. So why did Bradley react that way? Really? Wow. Sports might mean something to me, but I hope that I never have it mean as much to me as soccer means to those kids right now. Regardless, I am certain that when Chris Cutshaw put the ball in the net to send it to overtime, the Braves' fans knew that it was going to happen. And when Cutshaw put the ball into the net the second time, each and every Brave fan in the grandstand thanked a power higher than themselves for having the opportunity to be there for it.

Go Bradley. All that stands between y'all and the championship is Ohio State and either UMass or UIC. We will be rooting for you throughout.

Good Times

The last month has not been fun from a sports perspective. The horrible, abysmal play of both the Bulls and Bears, coupled with the ineptitude of those managing both underperforming teams, has overcast most every other cool development of the last four weeks: the resurgence of Illinois football under Ron Zook, culminating in a 28 to 21 win over Ohio State on November 10th (and a performance by Juice Williams that will be passed down in Illini lore); Charlton's four game November winning streak in the Championship (that will, with luck, continue against fellow relegees Sheffield United on Tuesday night at the Valley); the Georgetown Hoyas racking up its first three wins -- with an impressive dismantling of Beilein's Wolverines (before Western Kentucky beat them); and Darren McFadden's star-making turn in a gritty Razorback triple overtime win over LSU.

What Scott Skiles and Ron Turner haven't been able to do, however, is effect how much I am enjoying American soccer. On Thursday, November 8th, DC United invited planholders to RFK to meet the team. My sister and I attended, trying to swing in and out of the stadium quickly so as not to miss a pre-scheduled screening with Uwe Boll's "Alone in the Dark" later that night. After purchasing far too many game worn jerseys from the team in a room packed with United fans grabbing everything they could, we stood in line for a chance to get autographs from, and say hello to, every United player but Jaime Moreno. I've asked for autographs from Cubs players at spring training and my sister and I had once stood together in a line as kids in a suburban Sears in west Chicago to meet Wilber Marshall, but I've never stood in a line with other adults waiting to meet professional athletes that I barely recognized. Whatever reluctance the circumstances might have created in me was wiped away quickly upon getting a chance to greet Tom Soehn. To a man, United's players appeared to be happy to have the opportunity to meet fans and made those who took the time to drop by feel as if both the fan and the player were better off for the interaction. I had the opportunity to thank Bobby Boswell for his blog and to tell Guy-Roland Kpene how much I enjoyed his flair on the field and the joy he brought to the game. I did not, however, take the opportunity to sing my rendition of James Blunt's "Beautiful" to Emilio. I am certain that he would appreciate my forebearance. I called to renew and upgrade my season tickets the next day.

Nine days later I was back at RFK, this time with my wife, to take some kids to a free event that Major League Soccer was hosting for area kids involved in club soccer. We were not sure what we were going to, but the event featured DC United's Nicholas Adderly, the Fire's Chris Armas and Diego Gutierrez, and two other MLS players, running drills with children on the auxiliary field at RFK:



Now I knew who Adderly was before the event -- after all, I had asked for his autograph a little more than a week earlier -- but I did not, in all honesty, recognize Chris Armas or Gutierrez and that's embarrassing. All the more embarrassing not only because of who Armas is, but how he acted throughout the day. Armas was amazingly patient with the kids and spent time with them with a smile on his face, laughing the entire while. Whatever Armas has meant for U.S. soccer or for the Chicago Fire, these kids, who also did not know who he was, greatly enjoyed the time he set aside for them. Nicholas Adderly spent even longer on the field. Had I taken the time to learn more about Adderly prior to the event, I would have loved to have asked the Jamaican-born striker how he found himself playing professional soccer in Trinidad and Tobago (South Starworld Strikers and San Juan Jabloteh) before ending up in Vietnam playing for a club team (Dong Nai FC) and then with DC United in 2007. But whatever else Adderly has done, whatever else he achieved, he dealt with a gaggle of screaming young girls with equanimity and joy.

The next day we took ten people with us to the MLS Cup match between the Dynamo and Revolution. I admittedly know little about soccer and my ignorance may be the reason why I cannot understand why European ex-pats living in the U.S. spend so much time denigrating American soccer. I've watched enough Fizzy Pop football now to, I believe, say with conviction that I'd rather watch Houston play New England than Scunthorpe take on Cardiff. Regardless, the Cup match was thoroughly entertaining. Canadian international Dwayne De Rosario, American international Taylor Twellman, and Grenadian international Shalrie Joseph played eminently watchable football. The announced crowd of just under 40,000 (and there were well over 30,000 in the seats) was fully into the game. Andy Dorman, who will likely be in the Championship come January, subbed in for Steve Ralston at the 79th minute and almost sparked the Revolution. Michael Parkhurst, who has been linked to Fulham (and would be the fifth American on the South London squad), also played a good game.

And this is important, to me, in that I can read about the Bulls losing to the Knicks and the Raptors and listen to Ron Turner further Shoopify the Bears remarkably talented offense and think happy thoughts about what is waiting when the CONCACAF 2008 Champions Cup begins.

Revisiting an Old QB

I am not a huge fan of Brian Griese and the decision to go with Griese at QB over seeing what Orton can do rankled me. But I am also frequently wrong. And it appears that Griese may yet salvage this horrible season and give the Bears a shot at the playoffs, even if they can only hope for a wild card. Griese followed up the great deep throw to Hester against the Vikes last week with a jaw-dropping 97 yard drive with under 2 minutes left on the clock and no timeouts. Not surprisingly, Griese was able to take advantage of the Eagles' soft coverage over the middle -- something the Eagles had left exposed for most of the game -- on two big passing plays to Berrian and Hester for 47 of the 97 yards that netted the winning score. Perhaps even less surprising, Griese called the final plays himself, as radio communication with the underwhelming Ron Turner was cut off for that last drive.

Unstated in much of the coverage of today's game in the Chicago press is a fact that I find, well, unreal: in two games, Griese has thrown for 322 and 381 yards. The two back to back 300+ yard games equal the amount of 300+ yard games a Bears quarterback has had in the 5 seasons between 2002 and 2006. Last year Grossman threw for 339 yards against Tampa Bay in an overtime game on December 17th. Before that, no Bears quarterback had thrown for 300 yards in a game since Jim Miller threw for 353 yards in a loss against the Packers on October 7, 2002. In fact, I believe that the 381 yards that Griese threw for in the loss against the Vikings two weeks ago were the most a Bears quarterback had amassed in a game since Jim Miller threw for 422 yards against the Vikings in week 10 of 1999.

The performances that Griese has turned in the last two weeks fully justify the move away from Grossman and have helped to demonstrate how good the receiving corps of the Bears has become. While Berrian and Bradley have not shined, the two U alums (Olsen and Hester) have flourished and present daunting additional threats for opposing defenses. The more dangerous the passing attack becomes, the greater the chance that Ced Benson will have some success carrying the ball. And, if Benson does not, the "bust" tag can be hung on him with little controversy and Angelo can use the offseason to figure out what alternatives exist to shore up the team's backfield.

The Season for a Fifth Round Draft Pick

Chris Harris is a good man. In April, he made his second trip to Iraq, traveling with then teammate Israel Idonije and the Colts' Nick Harper. By all accounts he was loved by the rest of the players on the Chicago defense. I loved watching Harris play, he was a safety who, while not a great coverage guy, hit hard and played with reckless abandon. Other Bears fans disagreed. Regardless, the former 6th round draft pick was traded for a fifth round pick in 2008 and given a chance to start with the Panthers. The Panthers are now 4-2, Harris has been credited with four forced fumbles and a pick in those six games.

Todd Johnson, like Harris, was not a great coverage safety, but hit even harder than Harris. The Bears let Johnson walk as a free agent, and he signed with the Rams for a relatively modest 4 year, $4 million (or $3.9 million) deal. The Rams, in contrast to the Panthers, are horrible and Johnson's not been as big a part of St. Louis's team as Harris has been for the Panthers. Of course, the Rams are coached by Scott Linehan.

Cameron Worrell was also in the Bears secondary in last year's Super Bowl campaign, although he largely contributed on special teams. Worrell was allowed to walk and signed a relatively modest two-year, two million deal with the Dolphins. Injuries have depleted the Dolphins secondary and Worrell's been pressed into service as a starting safety and some of his coverage deficiencies have been exposed.

Harris, Johnson, and Worrell are not going to be mistaken for Hall of Famers and they were never going to be in the pantheon of Bears greats at the position -- in my lifetime, Mike Brown, Mark Carrier, Shaun Gayle, Dave Duerson, Gary Fencik -- but they did have one thing in common: they can tackle.

At least, they can tackle better than the sorry lot that now inhabits the starting lineup of the Bears secondary. Brandon McGowan was appropriately singled out during the television broadcast for his pathetic effort on one of OAP's long TD runs, but a breakdown of film will show how intimately involved McGowan, Danieal Manning, and Adam Archuleta were in each and every long touchdown play for the Vikings today. Archuleta, who cost the Bears a 6th round pick and is signed to a three-year $8.1 million contract, with $5 million guaranteed, (with the Bears said to have assumed the majority of the $5 million roster bonus that Archuleta was due prior to the start of this season), has been simply horrible (regardless of how his girlfriend looks).

Mike Brown got hurt and is out for the season. Kevin Payne got hurt and is out for the season. Archuleta has a broken hand (he couldn't tackle even with both good hands). These things might have had an impact, but the big difference was the decision by the Bears coaching staff and the front office to get rid of Harris, let Johnson and Worrell walk, and roll into the season with Archuleta, Manning, and McGowan. That decision has been fatal to the Bears season this year. The arrogance of thinking that Archuleta could return to form despite his horrible showing in DC... the arrogance of giving away a starting NFL safety to a NFC rival for a second-day draft pick... and the arrogance of thinking that Danieal Manning could be coached out of the deficiencies that he evidenced all last year are what has led to the sorry state of Bears defensive football that was on display today.

Bet Lovie wishes that he had Rivera to kick around these days.

Cheater

The year that the word "Bartman" was added to the constellation of phrases signifying the Cubs prolific tendency to fall short was, otherwise, a pretty good year to be a Cubs fan. On October 5th, we sat in the stands at Turner Field with thousands of other Cubs fans and witnessed something that did not seem possible -- the Cubs winning a postseason series. But before the Cubs got to the playoffs, Cubs fans were forced to deal with something that the rest of baseball fans already knew: Sammy Sosa was not a good guy. In June of that year, Sosa was caught with a corked bat and provided an inane explanation for why he was using the bat. The week following, the Cubs traveled to Baltimore to take on the Orioles in a three game series. We had tickets to all three games and I don't remember feeling as miserable at a Cubs game (well, maybe the Rob frigging Mackowiak doubleheader at PNC Ballpark, but they are close) as I did in our short time at Camden -- we later decided not to use some of our tickets. People came to the ballpark not to cheer for the Orioles (because, after all, who in their right mind does that? Thank you, Peter Angelos) and instead were there to get obscenely wasted and berate Sosa and all resident Cubs fans for the duration of the game. The whole thing was painful. In the nearly two decades that had passed since the team choked at Jack Murphy, the Cubs had managed only meek performances against the Giants and Braves in the playoffs and pretty much the only exceptional stories for Cubs fans in the latter half of the nineties was Kerry Wood’s 20 strikeout game and Sammy Sosa’s home runs. In one corked bat, Cubs fans were largely stripped of that joy – not that we deserved to have it, as most of us turned a blind eye towards his doping and general surliness, but we were stripped of it nonetheless.

The Sosa corked-bat incident is relevant at the moment for two reasons: first, it helps to explain why the epic incompetence displayed by this year's Cubs team, culminating in a sweep by a pretty bad Arizona Diamondbacks squad, hasn't bothered me as much as it probably should. Second, I'm reminded of it every time I watch the Patriots destroy another NFL team this season.

On the first point, there is no question that I am p.o.'d about the lifeless performance of the $100 million Cubs in the NLDS. In what would have been the ultimate irony for Sweet Lou, he might have been better served if he'd sat the starting veterans in game 3, played Ward at first, Fontenot at second, Theriot at short, either DeRosa or Aram at third, Soto at catcher, Murton in left, Pie in center, and Jacque Jones or Cliff Floyd in right. I can now add Mark DeRosa's horrible at-bat in the fifth inning to the constellation of bitter Cubs' failures -- bases-loaded, one out, three and one count, team down two, and Livan had just walked to two straight batters. Well hit fly ball gets you within a run. Or you could reach for a ball out and away and hit it into the ground for a Drew-Ojeda-Jackson double play. Whatever works. When the Cubs lost to the Marlins in 2003, the sports media chalked it up to Bartman. Some Cubs fans hung the series around the neck of AGone. Cubs fans who understood what was going on blamed Fox and Bernie Mac. But given four years of sorrow, of thinking about what it would have been like to see and hear Santo calling a World Series game, have taught me that it was karma. I, and thousands of other Cubs fans, gave Sosa a free pass and let him demean the game and the Cubs uniform. At spring training in Mesa in 2004, I was aghast watching Maddux shag fly balls in center field while Sosa had a cadre of sycophants around him and his personal assistant in right. Despite the exhortations of the crowd watching batting practice (and CPatt put on a show), the most that Sosa could be troubled to do was to send his assistant to give a ball to a young girl who would not stop shrieking his name. In three days, that was the only recognition I saw Sosa give fans. He was bigger than us. He was the personification of American baseball. Cubs fans were prepared to let Prior treat them just as badly. Just so long as the Cubs were relevant, just so long as we weren't the joke of the National League, just so long as we weren't being told that Jose Guzman was the equivalent of the recently departed Greg Maddux, that an outfield with Kal Daniels or Candy Maldonado would get us back into contention, or that Danny Jackson was the best free agent in Cubs history. When (if?) the Cubs win the World Series, I want it to be a team that I can cheer for unequivocally. The suffering has to mean something. I don't cheer for the Cubs because I believe in winning at all costs. I am not a Yankees fan. Had the 2003 Cubs gained rings, it would have made it even more difficult for the organization to extricate itself from the debacle that became Sammy Sosa -- we would be the Giants, hoping that Barry would just up and decide to wander the subcontinent a la Ricky Williams. The 2007 Cubs presented different problems. Z's sense of himself and his achievements has lost its bearing to reality. Prior remains on the team (as does, I believe, Scott Eyre). Cubs fans viciously and unfairly killed Jacque Jones all season. The team lost way too many games that they had no business losing by ridiculously listless performances (where have you gone DLee? The city of Chicago wants you back). This was not a team to be proud of. This was, instead, the perfect team to post yet another postseason failure in the record books. At least they, like the Phillies, had the good grace to make it quick.

At the same time, I believe that the karmic wheel will come around on the Pats this season. I love Bill Simmons' writing. I often disagree with his analysis of sports, but there is no more entertaining read about sports. But this has got to be a difficult time to be a Pats fan. Gregg Easterbrook has correctly expressed the appropriate level of indignation for what Belichick has done to disgrace the NFL. It is, however, even more painful to watch, listen to and read apologists trying to excuse Belichick's actions. At the moment, most Pats fans can take solace and salve wounds by reference to the quality of the team -- clearly superior to every other squad in the league. But as JT sings, what goes around comes around and the Pats are prime candidates for comeuppance. It is a whole new type of losing -- one that Cubs fans are used to -- a catastrophic loss that is looming and the whole time that you as a fan anticipate it, you know you deserve it. Belichick's taping on top of (1) the addition of Randy Moss, (2) drafting Brandon Meriweather, and (3) Rodney Harrison's HGH tempts the fates too much to believe that the road from Foxboro to the Super Bowl has already been paved. Look to the horizon, Pats fans, something wicked is headed your way (or there is no justice in sports, in which case we'll soon be witnesses to the Knicks rallying around Zeke and leading NY back to the Finals).