G.O.A.T.s

This year Jerry Rice will be inducted into the Pro-Football Hall of Fame in Canton Ohio. This is Rice’s first year of eligibility and he will be what is known as a “first ballot hall of famer.” That’s all obvious and well known to people who follow football and even to some people who don’t. The only real question surrounding Rice’s career is whether or not he is the best football player ever,, or the Greatest Of All Time. During the latter part of his career Rice’s nickname was G.O.A.T. which is a pretty strong argument for his status as the best football player ever. A recent ESPN.com article examined Rice’s candidacy for G.O.A.T. status and in my opinion sealed it up for old “Flash 80.”

The Jerry Rice question got me thinking. If he is the best ever that means that recent sports fans have been treated to quite an era. Anyone who was alive and conscious between 1978 and 2005 (inclusive) had a chance to see the best athletes ever to compete in three of the four major North American sports*. Wayne Gretzky and Michael Jordan are held almost without debate as the best ever in their sports. Sure, some diehards still hold out for Bill Russell and Gordie Howe but the fact is that Gretzky and Jordan established their greatness during a time when their leagues were really coming to prominence. Gretzky helped establish hockey in the non-Canada adjacent parts of the United States. Jordan not only won at an astonishing rate he also changed the way sports-business is done. Howe and Russell played at a time when their sports were niche compared to baseball and football. Out of the three greats to play between 1978 and 2005 only Rice is still really debated in terms of his place on the all time leader board.

In 1999 Wayne Gretzky was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame without having to wait the usual three years. That same year Jerry Rice was named the second greatest football player of all time by the Sporting News. Jerry went on to play five more years, which in the minds of many solidifies him as the NFL’s G.O.A.T. Both of these honors were bestowed on the heels of Jordan’s sixth NBA championship run in 1998. In 2002 Rice went back to the Super Bowl one last time but lost to the Buccaneers. Still, Rice can’t shake the ghost of Jim Brown. Brown supporters point to his dominance during his playing career and the fact that he retired early. “Look,” says the average Brown fan “he could have done so much more f he hadn’t retired early.” But he did retire early. He left the game and in my mind left behind his claim as the Greatest Of All Time.

But I don’t want to get bogged down too much in what is really an impossible debate. My point is that we sports fans have been treated to a special era. We saw three of the greatest athletes in three of the most popular sports in North America all overlapping. So, what do we hope for now? Maybe we hope for Albert Pujols to stay free of the steroid era. Dare we go for the superfecta of greatness? Sure, why not? But in the meantime let’s just take a moment to sit back and reflect on what we had.


Gretzky (1978-1999): “The Great One”, four Stanley Cups, several all time records

Rice (1985-2005): “World”, “Flash 80”, “G.O.A.T.”, three Super Bowls, 13 Pro Bowls, 11 time All Pro, 1985 ROY, 1980s All Decade Team, 1990s All Decade Team, 75th Anniversary All Time Team, 1988 NFL MVP, Super Bowl MVP, 7 All Time career records

Jordan (1984-1993, 1995-1998, 2001-2003): “Air Jordan”, “His Airness”, six NBA titles, 5 NBA MVPs, 14 All Star selections, 6 NBA Finals MVPs, 1988 Defensive Player of the Year, 10 All-NBA selections, 1985 ROY, 2 Olympic Golds, 50th Anniversary NBA All Time Team.

Jim Brown: (1957-1965): 9 Pro Bowls, 8 time All Pro, 1960s All Decade Team, 75th Anniversary All Time Team, 6 NFL MVPs

*Sorry Bonds fans, Barry wasn’t even the greatest ever at his position (Ted Williams, Rickey Henderson) or the greatest ever Giant (Willie Mays), Barry was just a ‘roided up freak show.

A Matter of Perspective?

(Note: This column has been delayed by a few weeks due to computer problems that persisted throughout December and the Mark McGwire news that required more immediate analysis. I can’t believe it’s been two months since my last post. Oi.)

Here we are in the midst of January 2010. The past month has inundated us with various “of the Decade” lists. Best this, worst that, most memorable etc. I will not bore you dear reader with any long reminiscence of the last ten years. In part because I don’t have a coherent perspective on it all and thus would ramble on even more than usual and in part because the last thing we all need is another damn list. I will say that on new year’s eve 1999/2000 was the first time I kissed the woman I would someday marry and on new year’s eve 2009/2010 I found myself kissing my beautiful wife who is in fact a completely different person than the one in the previous sentence. And that pretty much sums up the ‘00s. Besides, we all know that we’ve all changed in the last ten years. We’ve all had struggles and triumphs. You don’t need me to rehash it here.

Instead I want to focus on something that has been either an unqualified success or a semi-dismal failure depending on how you look at it. I am turning to you oh readers to help me decide which it is. I want us to examine my career in fantasy football. If you don’t know what fantasy football is click here for the full explanation or just know that it is a drawn out form of sports gambling that is tied to individual player performances collected into disparate groupings involving several “owners” trying to win money in a league type format. If you want to see what a league looks like you can click here to view our league from this year. The bottom line is fantasy football, like most forms of sports betting exists to enhance the fun of watching sports. It is not supposed to a viable means to earn money.

The intangible aspects of playing are numerous and rewarding. Tracking “your” players lets you feel involved and excited while watching games that might otherwise be boring due to lack of a rooting interest in the teams involved. For example, as a 49er fan I would be pretty bored watching the woeful Chiefs play the horrific Raiders except that I need the Chiefs’ wideout to score at least one touchdown so I can win my fantasy game this week. Fantasy football also provides camaraderie and fellowship by connecting friends both near and far to get together or make an extra phone call to talk smack to other owners in your league.

My two favorite fantasy football memories both involve games that I lost. The first was a game between me and my wife (the current one) that came down to players we each had on Monday night. The game went back and forth all night both in real life and in our little fantasy game. The missus and I had been running smack all night and in the end it came down to a 50 yard field goal with :01 left on the clock. The field goal was good and I lost, but man it was a fun night. Anything that can get your significant other invested in watching Monday Night Football is a good thing. The second memory also involved my wife. It was the last week of the regular season and it was down to me and her for our division crown and a playoff spot. (The playoffs are where you win money in fantasy football.) Five of our league’s 12 owners got together (including two who drove to DC from New Jersey) and it was on. My wife ran so much good smack while kicking my team’s ass she instantly became a legend among our friends and family.

While the intangible benefits of fantasy football are wide-ranging and immeasurable, the tangible benefits are narrow and ultimately quantifiable. It starts with your buy in. In our league the buy in is $25.00 in a twelve team league for a starting pot of $300.00. Over the course of the season most owners spend between $35.00 and $55.00 additional dollars on transactions like adding players and making trades. In the end the prize pot is usually around $700.00 which is divided among teams that make the playoffs with the champion getting the lion’s share. If you win games you win money. If you win money you get a tangible benefit along with all the fun of playing.

Of course as with all gambling how much you win is offset by how much you spend. So while bored at “work” I decided to see what my tangible return on investment has been. Below is my year-by-year result: money spent -> money won and [initial analysis ROI].

2009 1st: $110.00 -> $400.00 [3.61]
2008 8th: $85.00 -> $50.00 [0.59]*
2007 3rd: $80.00 -> $89.00 [1.11]
2006 6th: $95.00 -> $47.00 [0.50]
200513th: $59.00 -> $0.00 [0.00]*
2004 1st: $65.00 -> $300.00 [4.62]
Total: $494.00 -> $886.00 [1.79]

(* represents non-playoff years)

On the surface it looks pretty good. I spent $494.00 on fantasy football (an average of $82.33/year) and won $886.00 (an average of $147.67/year). Not bad. If I’m reading that right I’ve made 179% more than I’ve spent. You tell me another investment that’s going to return 179%. Go ahead I dare ya!

So I was feeling pretty good about myself until a thought dawned on me. In a way I didn’t really win the money I had invested. It may be a more realistic and grounded analysis to factor out my original investment. It is more instructive to see not how I did when I gambled, but how I did compared to holding my money not having played at all. So lets check that out:

2009 1st: $110.00 -> $290.00 [2.64]
2008 8th: $85.00 -> -$35.00 [-0.41]*
2007 3rd: $80.00 -> $9.00 [0.11]
2006 6th: $95.00 -> -$48.00 [-0.51]
2005 13th: $59.00 -> -$59.00 [-1.00]*
2004 1st: $65.00 -> $235.00 [3.62]
Total: $494.00 -> $392.00 [0.79]

These numbers feel more real to me. Dismal, depressing, but real. It makes sense, if you factor out the money I put in that I would never have lost in the years I lost money I haven’t really made all that much. I paid $494.00 to play fantasy football over the last six years and got only $392.00 back. Which means I only got .79¢ for every dollar which is a negative return right?

“Plus your original investment.”

Huh? Who’s that?

“It’s Other Berto. Dude, you did get your original money back. So all your worry is just worry. No matter how you slice it you’re still up .79¢ on the dollar. Sure the profit margin is slim compared to the gross margin but it’s really the same number. You brought in more than you spent. Period. Get over it.”

Um, OK, I think I believe you Other Berto but I’m still not sure.

“Then let the readers weigh in.”

OK readers help me out. Has fantasy football been a good tangible investment or not?

Mark

So Mark McGwire has finally come out and admitted what many of us already believed, he was a steroid user and he used them during his run at the single season home run record in 1998. Why now? Well McGwire was recently hired as a coach for the St Louis Cardinals and he knew he was going to have to come clean all at once or face questions all season. This was an opportunity for a personal and national catharsis but though McGwire showed emotion he did not give his fans or the public what they needed most from a fallen star, he did not fully reveal himself. Rather than give in fully to the reality of his actions McGwire continued to hide throughout his admission.

McGwire claims that he never discussed steroid use with anyone. Not with other players, not with his family, not with his friends or his agent or anyone else. He says none of the people in his life ever asked. As hard as that is to believe I guess it could be true. However according to former teammate Jose Canseco, and ESPN analyst T.J. Quinn several players have said that McGwire was very open about his use of steroids and human growth hormone. Canseco went as far as to write in his book that he and McGwire would shoot up together in the Oakland clubhouse. McGwire’s claims that no one knew about his steroid use seem dubious at best.

Another of McGwire’s assertions that does not sit well is his claim that his steroid use did not contribute to his ability to hit home runs at a rate never seen in baseball history up to that point. McGwire claims that his production was due to shortening his swing and improving his concentration. During his interview with Bob Costas on MLB Network McGwire mentioned that he had always been a good home run hitter. He claims that his first little league at bat resulted in a home run. He mentions that he led the country in home runs while in college. Then he says something that hasn’t been focused on in much of the commentary I’ve seen so far. He talks about how as a rookie he hit a lot of “wall scrapers,” home runs that just barely get over the fence. As either a testament to his delusion or slip up that exposes his lies he first acknowledges that he hit a lot of homeruns prior to his PED use that were just barely out but then attributes his increase in production to swing adjustments and concentration, not the added strength he got from juicing. While his claim that “There is no pill that can give you the hand eye coordination to hit a baseball” may be correct it falls way short completing the steroid equation. First, if steroid make you stronger and faster and thereby increase your bat speed you are able to wait longer to identify a pitch. A lot of hitting involves being able to wait as long as possible and bat speed and reaction time determine how well a batter sees a pitch. But even if we allow that making contact with the ball relies solely on talent we must continue on and look at the result of that contact. It is insane to deny the possibility that due to steroid use some of those wall scrapers became towering shots, and balls that would have died on the warning track became wall scrapers. For that matter a little velocity can be the difference between a routine ball to second base and a hit that just gets through the infield. Here’s a look at McGwire’s numbers before and after he says his steroid use really picked up.

Year, Average, AB/HR, Slugging%, Most HR in a Season
1986-1993, .249, 14 , .509 , 49,
1994-2001, .277, 8.4 , .674 , 70,

So here’s a guy who by his own admission ramped up his steroid use and added roughly 30 points to his batting average, 70 points to his slugging percentage, doubled his home run rate and hit 20 more home runs than he ever had before (nine more than anyone had ever hit in a single season) but doesn’t acknowledge a connection. The only question here is if he’s really that stupid, or if he thinks we are.

Finally McGwire really lost any sympathy we may have had for him when he refused to take full responsibility for his actions. Yes, he said several times that he had done a stupid thing, a “dumb act” in his words. But he never allowed himself to shoulder his full burden. Instead he says he wishes he hadn’t played in the steroid era. That if he “hadn’t played in that era we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” McGwire also says he wishes there had been testing when he played. The implication seems to be that if there had been testing, or if steroids had been against the rules he wouldn’t have done it. Here’s a news flash Mark, the era didn’t make you do it. You chose to take steroids. You went out and purchased steroids. You injected them. You did it Mark, not the era. You. You are to blame. Besides, you claim you never discussed steroids with anyone else and you have no idea who else, if anyone, was taking steroids. If that’s true then there was no steroid culture, no pressure to perform. If you had no knowledge of any other steroid use then you didn’t play in the steroid era as far as you knew. According to your story you played in a bubble where you were the only one taking PEDs. And in a way that’s even worse.

It also doesn’t matter the rule book didn’t have a specific prohibition against it. You knew it was wrong. You knew you were doing something wrong. Otherwise why would you talk about the burden of keeping this secret? It wasn’t the lack of testing that caused this problem, it was your failings as a person. McGwire was asked, if the steroids didn’t help his performance then why are they banned? His answer, “I don’t know, that’s for the Olympics.” Mark, if they didn’t help you and you don’t know why you’re takning them ten why the cover up? If you don’t even know why you’re apologizing then why are you crying and carrying on? The fact is you know you’re stats are tainted. That’s why you hid it.

As a lifelong A’s fan growing up in the 1980s and ‘90s I was a huge McGwire fan. When they found the andro in his locker in 1998 and the steroid whispers started I was still a fan. As time went the little boy in me clung to the hope that Big Mac was clean. When it became clear that McGwire was a likely PED user I still maintained hope that he’d say or do something to redeem himself. Now that hope is gone also. McGwire admitted to taking steroids but in blaming others for his weakness and refusing to acknowledge their effect on his performance his admission and apology have hurt him more than they have helped him. I don’t care if this is hard for you Mark. I don’t care if you’re sorry. It was one thing to lie, it was one thing to clam up and disappear. But if you can’t be honest with us now when you are claiming to be coming clean and unburdening yourself then this is not an act of contrition, it’s a PR stunt. I am far more disappointed in Mac now than I ever have been. He lied to the fans, he lied to baseball, he lied to nine year old Berto. A part of my childhood was a lie and this guy did it. Maybe I should be more grown up and less hurt but I’m not. Thanks for nothing Mac. You had one final chance to be a stand up guy and you blew it. You’re a joke.

Ramble

I just watched “Lars and the Real Girl.” I can’t take it. I don’t have the strength. Watching sad movies, or any movie involving death by anything other than car chase or explosion has become too much for me. I can’t get used to the idea of death. I understand it on an intellectual level of course but I can’t get used to in my life. There are people in our lives who we will never see again for a variety of reasons, but for me that makes death even more incomprehensible. I can’t explain why, but even now the idea that I can never see my parents again doesn’t really register. Maybe it’s because I lived so far away for so long that I only miss them every few months or so. But when it comes it comes so strong that I feel like I should be able to pick up my phone and call and I can’t. I can never call them again.

I’m too young for this. I’m too young to have lost them both so close together. I look at my son and I have so many questions. I wonder if I was like that when I was his age and I have no to tell me. I have no one to tell me who I was. Instead I find myself in the opposite position of having to describe them to him. I have to keep them alive for him. Instead of them keeping the little boy Berto alive in their memories and doling him out in little pieces to me and my little branch of the tree, that little boy who was me only exists in me now. And since my mother’s death tore apart the already tenuous bonds between me and her side of the family she really only exists in me now as well. Here I am, burdened with the task of teaching my son who she was and who I was. The truly crippling thing is that I can see her with him as if I’m actually remembering them together. I can see her holding him, fussing over him, telling me how I was just like that or not like that at all. I remember it even though it’s not real.

So I fear death. Not my own death but death of people around me. I think my mother was used to death. Her brother died shortly before I was born. She’d had friends die and grandparents die. In a way it seemed like the lifestyles of the 1970s and 80s took a lot of people away from her. It makes me wonder at what age or after how many occurrences do we get used to death. I’m not used to it. I avoid loving the people around me much as I want to because I don’t know what I would do if they were taken from me. I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle the death of someone to whom I’ve given my whole heart. So I build little walls. I know, it’s a hackneyed metaphor, but it’s what I’ve got. I build little walls by not looking at people unless I have to. I build little walls by being endlessly sarcastic. I build little walls, not high enough or strong enough to isolate me but just enough so that I can bear to lose people if they go.

I pile worry upon worry. I worry that I don’t love my son enough. I worry that I’ll distance myself from him as he grows older in order to protect myself when I inevitably end up being a bad parent and he ends up hating me. I worry that this worry is exactly what will lead to me being a bad parent and him hating me. I worry that even though I’m aware of all this I’ll be unable to prevent it because I am so afraid of loving anyone to the extent that losing them would destroy me.

I’ve built a life on not letting anything destroy me. I know I don’t have real problems. Not in the sense that people who truly have nothing and have no prospects of ever having anything have problems. And I didn’t have a hard childhood like my mother did. And she didn’t have a hard childhood like my grandmother did. And I was better off growing up than my father who came from that group of people who had very little with very little chance of ever getting more. The one thing I had to deal with was notion the that the people you love can leave you at any time. My father left me for years, and even though I understand why, I was never able to forgive him while he was alive. During my somewhat tumultuous adolescence my mother often threatened to cut me out of her life. It seemed like the members of my mother’s family were always ready to write each other off over whatever perceived slight or inequity. As much as they were proud to be associated with each other they never allowed themselves to grow truly close. They never wanted to depend on one another. For most of my childhood I understood that at any moment you could end up completely alone. Up until my mom died I wanted so desperately for her side of the family to show some real unity, for them to stop backbiting and really support each other. After mom died I got a version of that as they all united against me. I still don’t know why they did it, but I know that I lashed out against them with a terrific fury in large part because I was so hurt that they would all turn on me like they did. As a result my walls with everyone else grew a little higher and a little thicker.

My friend Ben used to say he didn’t need any of us. We were a tight knit group from the time we were 14 all the way through adulthood. We fought and made up just like a family, but in contrast to my real family no one ever walked out or even threatened to. Rarely was anyone ever threatened with expulsion from our little tribe and on the couple occasions when it did happen the idea of it was enough to bring the offender in line. Squabbles could last for months but in the end they were always squashed. Ben used to say he didn’t need any of us. He would say we could all die or decide we hated him and it wouldn’t make any difference to him. I couldn’t understand that. I needed those guys, and I wanted to need them. Ben never had to find out whether he was right or not because he hung himself in my stairwell. Instead, we all had to find out how much we needed him.

His philosophy stuck with me. Losing Ben drove home the point that anyone can leave you at any time for any reason. So you isolate yourself so people can’t hurt you and in doing so you create a world where people can’t help you either. Maybe not needing us was the final piece that allowed Ben to take is own life. I don’t think I could ever commit suicide because I know how horribly it would impact all the people who care about me. There’s a lot of them. Still, I can’t stop myself from trying to reach a state where anyone of them could disappear and I could go on.

When my first wife left me I had to be able to go on. She hadn’t died, she’d left. I grieved the loss but instead of the loss of her life it was the loss of our life. The life I had imagined was gone. The kids I thought we would have would never exist. The vacations wouldn’t happen. There wouldn’t be any of it and I had to learn to cope and move on. Looking back I know that my little walls were partly to blame. They were also what allowed me to go on. The same issues with trust and love have threatened my new marriage from time to time. Strength can hurt. Too much strength can cripple you. Look, I know I’m not unveiling any great new truths here. Other people have been saying this for centuries. I do think that until we hear it from the right source t doesn’t sink in. My mother’s strength kept a lot of people at arms length including me. Her strength probably led to her cancer going undiagnosed for over a year. In trying to emulate her strength I appeared dispassionate to her family and they in turn treated me as though her death shouldn’t affect me. I spent so much time making sure nothing could affect me from the outside I rotted from within. I was never destroyed, but I never grew either.

Trying to be too strong leads to carrying burdens alone. We are not alone. None of us are alone. Having a partner means having someone to share your burdens. Not because you’re weak but because they want to help. Accepting help strengthens both of you. The measure of a man isn’t how much you can bear on your own. It’s how much you can do as a part of your community. I’m finally learning that. I’ve been lucky to find another influence.

I didn’t get to know my father’s side of the family until I was an adult. They lived on the east coast so I didn’t see them much until I moved to Washington DC. Even then it wasn’t until my cousin made a real effort to reach out to me over and over again that I really opened myself up to them. My cousin’s efforts to get to know me are endemic of that side of the family. They fuss and squabble just like my mother’s side but the difference is they do it out in the open. They yell at each other, they criticize, they admonish. Then they make up and move on. I remember my aunt telling me that there were times when she told my father to not call, to not visit, to not be around. But she always told him she loved him and never failed to help him out when he needed it. Even when she knew she could never give him money she still gave him clothes and books and mementos. My father’s side of the family embraces the idea that you can have passionate disagreements with family but you can never turn your back on them. This is a stark contrast to the Japanese side who can cast you out without ever telling you why. As an adult I’ve come to identify much more closely with my Puerto Rican side of the family because they give me the one thing I’ve always craved, unconditional love coupled with unconditional honesty. You always know where you stand with them and wherever you stand you always know that they love you.

That’s what I want people to get from me. I want them to know that even when I’m upset I love them. Before that can happen I need to learn to allow myself to love people beyond my ability to recover. I need to be able to give myself to people without fear. My wife deserves more of me than I’ve been able to give her because I’m afraid of hurting too much if she leaves. My son deserves more than I’ve been able to give him because I’m afraid he’ll suffer some accident and die. My friends and family deserve all that I’ve withheld from them because I’ve doubted the permanence of our relationships. I need to give myself permission to love people the way I believe many of them love me.

Why I Can't Hate the Yankees

Hate:

I am an avowed Yankee hater. I hate the Yankees. I hate them for the playoffs in 2000 and 2001. I hate them for taking Jason Giambi and turning him into a complete tool. I hate them for driving up the price on everything from players to tickets to caps. I hate them because it’s almost un-American not to.

But I can’t hate them for winning. Not this time. Yes the Yankees are still the bully on the block. Yes they are still primarily responsible for the payroll imbalance in baseball. But the fact is this time it feels different. I’m not happy to see them win. I would have been happy to see Philly take them in five. But it’s different this time. For all the talk of the Yankees spending $423.5M on three players this year, they really only spent $62 on those three players this year. This year they won with a collection of stars and role player. Just as they did the last time.

The Giambi Factor:

Jason Giambi was the Oakland A’s from the time Mark McGwire left in 1997 until his own departure after 2001. Giambi’s transformation from hero to complete crapulence was immediate and began before the 2001 season had even ended. Giambi praised New York at the press conference prior to the A’s game five ALDS loss to the Yanks. He went on national TV and denigrated Oakland. He shaved, he cut his hair, he pimped deodorant. He turned his back on everything that had made him great. Then he came back to Oakland and all was forgiven. He was forgiven for the same reason this Yankee win is easier to swallow, he didn’t win. During Giambi’s tenure with the Yankees they made the World Series only once and lost to the Marlins. Giambi not being on this year’s team makes a Yankee win less enraging than it would otherwise have been.

Nine Years, Big Money, No Titles:

Over the nine years since the last Yankees championship the team has proven that simply buying all the big name players at the highest prices doesn’t work. Especially when you’re buying old players long past their primes (Gary Sheffield, Randy Johnson, Kevin Brown) or off the juice (Sheffield, Giambi, Clemens) or never as good as advertised (Carl Pavano, Esteban Loaiza, Jose Contreras). Sure they still have a roster full of the most highly paid players in the world but the core of the team is also stocked with home grown talent and castoffs. Jorge Posada, Robinson Cano, Derek Jeter, Melky Cabrera, Brett Gardner, Andy Pettitte, Joba Chamberlain, Phil Hughs, Phil Coke, and Mariano Rivera all came through the system. Nick Swisher was cast off by the A’s and the White Sox and then almost cut or traded before ever playing a game for the Yanks after they signed Mark Texiera. Eric Hinske, and Freddy Guzman and Jerry Hairston, castoffs all, played important roles this year. Without Jose Molina AJ Burnett may have been a bust. The team stayed afloat for two months with Cody Ransom at third base. As much as the mercenaries were the story this year the role players were the heart. Mark Texiera hit .180 during the playoffs. From that standpoint it’s easier to view this Yankee win the same way I’d view any team winning. After all, every winner since 2000 (aside from the Marlins) has been in the top tier in payroll. It’s not just a Yankee phenomenon any more. The fact that the Yankees haven’t won in nine years, and that everyone else who has is also on the money train, makes this one easier to deal with.

Did I mention that it’s been nine years since the Yankees last won the World Series? It seems it’s true what they say about time healing all wounds. There are people I’ve had tremendous disagreements with who I no longer hate. It seems this now includes the Yankees. Sure I still dislike them, and when the season starts again I’ll root for them to go 0-162. If they win again next year, and/or the next year, and/or the next year I’m sure the old hatred will spark up again. But today I’ll tip my cap.

Quickie

This article mentions that the University of Central Florida has lost it's sponsorship deal with Adidas because Marcus Jordan will only wear his father's shoes on the court.

What a bunch of over entitled bullshit. First off if MaJ were any good he'd be at a real basketball school. Second if I were the AD at UCF I'd sit the kid until he came around. Pandering to him (perhaps in the hopes his dad will bestow riches upon the school) sets a bad example for everyone everywhere. Suck it Marcus. You're not your dad and you never will be. Grow a pairs UCF. Suspend the kid or offer him a transfer to another school. I'm sure the UNC intramural league would let him wear whatever he wants.

Halloween for Sir Rantalot

Recently a friend of mine posted the following on facebook:

“Considering saying screw it and letting the kids eat all their candy and deal with one day of crazyness rather than the whining because I won't let them eat it.”

She got a lot of responses and advice from various people in her life. I for one recalled my childhood habit of trying to make my candy last as long as possible. After trick or treating I would come home and organize my haul. Candies of the same kind were grouped together. Then based on the amounts of each kind I would formulate a plan on what order they would be eaten in and which ones I would allow my mom to poach when she came sniffing around my stash.

On thing my mom did has influenced me to this day. My mother felt that the worst type of candies were lollypops, gummies, and anything else that was hard or sat in your mouth for an extended period of time. Her logic was that due to the duration those candies spent in your mouth they were more likely to give you cavities so she would take them from me. She did this so matter-of-factly that I never complained. The result is that I’ve never really liked those types of candies. In fact I now view those types of candies, especially anything with gummi and fruit flavor, as old people candy. Recently when my wife filled our candy jar, which I always fill with M&Ms, with fruity gummies I came home and had about the same reaction I had when she came home with Daniel Radcliffe’s haircut. “What are these? Why do we have old people candy in here?” (Now I know, the mere fact of having a candy jar makes me an old person but that’s another deal.) I was unhappy for a day or so until my friend came over and happily started eating them. “Oh, I love these!” he exclaimed. I felt silly. I still think they’re old people candy but I didn’t realize why until my friend’s post allowed me to reflect on my mother’s approach to her children’s Halloweens.

The other thing this reflection brought me was a longing for the eager anticipation of a Halloween stash. Understand, I was the type of kid who organized his dollar bills by serial number, my candy stash was obsessively cataloged. I felt a certain sadness knowing that I may never have that kind of feeling again. I could see now why people collect wines or cars, though I’ll never have the money for those. Now I understand my friend’s vast collection of model cars. But the cars are only partially consumable and that’s part of the whole point right? The anticipation and planning of how and when to consume these things that would someday be gone with nothing but a moment’s satisfaction to show for it. I wasn’t sure what could provide that childhood feeling again., until today. You see, the other factor is that you don’t buy the candy you get on Halloween. You go out and get it for free. You go out with your friends, usually on a school night, and people give you candy. The joy of organizing, planning and consuming something you got for free far outstrips the feeling you get from things you buy. Where can we get this satisfaction as adults?

My son was baptized on Sunday and we had a small reception at our house afterwards. Unexpectedly more than one person brought beer to our house. We had about five different kinds of malty goodness in our fridge when the party ended. Of course, since we are adults now no one brought their beer gifts home with them. I had no idea how much beer was left until I opened the ‘fridge that evening. It was just like opening up that loot bag for the first time. There before me lay chocolaty stouts, malty porters, spicy reds, caramel draughts, and nutty browns. Reflexively I did a quick count of how many there were of each and formulated a plan regarding how many there were of each, what order to drink them in, and which ones could be combined to create even yummier concoctions. It turns out we can recapture the joys of our youth in unexpected places.