Welcome To The Show

Article first published as Welcome to The Show on Technorati.

In the beginning, there was Strat-O-Matic.

Growing up, I would play the popular sports simulation board game for hours, rolling dice and vividly conjuring the exhilarating results on the lush playing fields of my mind. I had their releases of all the major sports, but the baseball facsimile always seemed to be the favorite, inspiring me to label many on my Little League team as “4-e48”-- or, for the uninitiated, horrendous fielders.

Video games further upped the ante, offering choppy graphics and absolute control of my squad. Realism, sadly, fell by the wayside, and it frustrated the purist to have an outfielder miss a lazy fly ball because, thanks to awful game design, I had no idea where it would land.

It seemed impossible to have a perfect marriage between these two worlds.

Then along came The Show.

My relationship with the series dates back to SCE San Diego’s second offering in 2007 on PS2. Each year the intention, or obsession, if you prefer, is to attempt to take my team- the Toronto Blue Jays- and play its entire 162 game schedule along with the real-life counterpart. It may not surprise to learn that life often has a way of interfering with this plan.

“Hey, we’re going camping for three days in June. You want to come along?”

The wheels begin to spin. Wait- what weekend is it? Oh no, the Jays have a series against the Orioles. I’ll have to finish those three games ahead of the camping trip if I don’t want to fall behind. In the end, I’m left desperately playing catch-up, telling myself, “It’s fine, I can do it. If I just play three games tomorrow and four on Sunday, I’ll be right back on schedule again.”

Two years ago, we were in the race, finishing just six games behind the Red Sox for the wild card. Last year, with Halladay gone to the Phillies, the prospect of a post-season did not look promising. But digital players I’ve coached will tell you I have never been the type to back down from a challenge.

Once again, we were chasing the Red Sox and the wild card all year. We won our last eight of the season and they dropped their last three, leaving both teams deadlocked and setting up a one-game playoff in Boston to determine who would advance.

My hands were shaking in the bottom of the ninth when our All-Star closer, Scott Downs, attempted to seal a 6-4 victory with a runner on second. Kevin Youkilis then struck a ball to left that looked like it might have enough—that is, until it fell harmlessly into Adam Lind’s glove on the warning track for the final out, vindicating our marathon pursuit.

With this year’s edition available as of March 8, you would think I would be scrambling to finish the playoffs and purchase the new installment. Instead, I’ve picked up NBA 2K11 and have my sights set on conquering an entirely new sport.

Brackets For Dummies

Article first published as March Madness Brackets for Dummies on Technorati.

It’s that time of year again when the familiar disease descends upon us. Rabid college hoops fans recognize the symptoms right away.

1- The burning desire to see young people play basketball
2- The need for said basketball to be played in a tournament structure

Everyone you encounter, The Stricken we will call them, seem programmed to ask the same question.

“How’s the bracket looking?"

As if it were either a part of your anatomy or a newly purchased extravagance. Or perhaps both. They all love to closely scrutinize your March Madness bracket too, condemning what they deem as egregious errors.

“Really?” they’ll ask, pointing to a first-round upset, “You sure about that one? Because if I were you, I might want to take another look.”

Once the games start, though, the same experts that were busy trashing your bracket have curiously shed that self-righteousness. It has been replaced by a refreshing air of humility, like someone who got a little too drunk the last time you saw them, and felt shame and regret about something stupid they’d done.

“My bracket’s shot,” they announce. “No one saw that upset coming.” And you nod your head in sad agreement, your fever starting to wear off as well.

“How could you have forsaken me, bracket?”

The fact is that there are 68 teams in the 2011 NCAA tournament, and if you know enough about all of these teams to produce a well-informed bracket, then I would wager you probably aren’t doing a whole lot else. The casual viewer, meanwhile, can fare just as well, though.

As with any other problem or puzzle, the first thing to do is gather the information. In this case, the hard work has already been done for you. Teams are seeded 1 to 16 on each branch.

Heavyweights (1’s and 2’s)- These are your workhorses and they are 1 and 2 for a reason. You must respect them as such. There will be upsets, but best to ride these ponies far, as chances are, there will likely be 2 of them in the finals.

Dark Horses (3-9)- These are the ones to worry about, as they will make or break your bracket. And breaking you bracket, though it is awfully fun to say, is not what you want to happen. Play the percentages here, and take most of them to get past a round or two, and maybe a couple, preferably a 3 or a 4, to the Elite Eight.

Long-Shots (10-16)- Now proceed with extreme caution here. Most of these teams should be gone after the first round if things play out as expected. But there are always a few that squeak through, and in most cases, they are entirely unpredictable. Select them based on personal connection, gut feeling, or just because you like their name, but if you take them as far as the Sweet Sixteen, you’re on your own.

Now I must go, for I hear the sweet sounds of the bracket’s siren song stirring and am powerless to resist.

Send In The Scabs

In the wake of last week’s events, it would seem that we are now staring down the barrel of a players’ strike in the NFL, its first since 1987. While pundits debate the merits of both sides’ arguments and assess where to lay blame, the fans are left either shaking their heads in disbelief, or in more extreme cases like myself, unable to sleep, muttering through choked sobs, “What am I going to do in September without football?”

Yes, there is about as much excitement in attempting to make sense of the past weeks’ negotiations as there is in the term “collective bargaining agreement” itself.

The great game of football is a violent, strategic ballet—one that puts on display a dizzying array of talents each week in an overwhelming buffet on Sunday after wonderful Sunday. Watching Peyton Manning dissect a helpless defense or Troy Polamalu fly to the ball is akin to watching any master of their craft—it’s downright titillating.

So it should come as no surprise that a somewhat less titillating proposition is to imagine these same athletic specimens in a courtroom as part of an antitrust lawsuit against the NFL. If you thought Drew Brees could throw a pass, wait until you see him speak legalese— it will electrify!

Ugh, no thanks.

The time has come to accept the inevitable and, faced with the alternative, announce that I am fully prepared to embrace the possibility of scab players. Now, I may not be chomping at the bit to have Chad Ochocinco replaced with the less talented and more generically named Chad Davis, but if that’s the only way to have football return, then consider me on board.

Besides, since the last players’ strike, there have been a few key developments that may lead to this time around being a little more palatable as well.

In 2000 a little film was released called “The Replacements,” starring Keanu Reeves and Gene Hackman. Loosely based on the ’87 strike, Keanu portrayed scab quarterback Shane Falco and followed his attempt to guide the fictional Washington Sentinels to an unlikely play-off spot under Coach Hackman.

Okay, so the movie’s not exactly stellar, but it did underline the inherent drama in having some unknowns and has-beens get an unprecedented opportunity to play on the biggest stage for a short period of time. Each game takes on an added importance for these guys, and every QB has the potential to be another Keanu. No doubt they will all spend an inordinate amount of time trying to court the comely head cheerleader and practicing, after long completions, an astonished variation of “whoa.”

The advent of reality television could also lead to an improvement in the coverage of a replacement season. Rather than viewing scabs as lesser athletes, perhaps it would be best to regard them more as interesting characters that happen to be playing football. Think of it as “The Real World: NFL” or “Survivor: Redskins.”

As much as I would love to be Tom Brady for a day (or a lifetime), I would imagine that most football stars’ lives are remarkably similar in their lack of any pressing concerns. Conversely, the scabs could be selected based not only on abilities, but on how interesting their story happens to be.

“You say you played some tight end in college but now you work in a slaughterhouse?” Now there’s a piece I could see Terry Bradshaw unveiling before a Raiders game.

“Let me get this straight. You can kick a ball AND you survived a violent civil war in your country before immigrating here?” Suddenly field goals just got a little more engaging.

Now, if you excuse me, I have some work to do if I am going to have a shot to fulfill my inner Keanu and finally lead the Bills to a Super Bowl victory. Do you think I should be a brave firefighter or a blue-collar plumber? So many decisions…

Whoa.

The Main Event

Wrong place, wrong time.

Max Pacioretty lay in a crumpled heap on the ice, the victim of a head first trip into the so-called “turnbuckle,” the Bermuda Triangle of hockey arenas, a dangerous stanchion standing where the benches end and the glass begins. Zdeno Chara, the Bruins’ All-star defenseman is charged on the play with a major interference penalty and a game misconduct for, shall we say, serving as tour guide on Pacioretty’s unfortunate jaunt.  

The league reviews the matter and determines that no further punishment for Chara is warranted, that he was making “a hockey play” and, as far as they are concerned, it just happened to occur at the wrong place and the wrong time. And the event sets off again the ongoing hockey debate that will continue to rage as long as the sport exists.

How far is too far?

On November 19, 2004, near the end of a Pacers-Pistons game, Indiana’s Ron Artest, enraged at having someone in the crowd toss a Diet Coke at him, ends up throwing a few frustrated punches at a Pistons fan. The ensuing brawl is branded by commissioner David Stern as “shocking, repulsive and inexcusable” and leaves nine players suspended for more than 140 games, including the remainder of the season for Artest.

During the 2000-2001 NHL season, Philadelphia Flyers fan Chris Trumbore is heckling legendary Toronto Maple Leafs “goon” Tie Domi after Domi, in the penalty box as usual, has just sprayed a water bottle at another Flyers fan. The glass gives way and Trumbore has the misfortune of falling into the tiger’s den with Domi, who naturally takes the opportunity to pin the heckler down and land a few punches. Not only does Domi receive no suspension for his actions, but he’s back playing later that period, and the fan, in fact, is the one ejected from the game.  

The handy website hockeyfights.com informs that there were 714 fights in the NHL last season, with at least one fight in 40% of games. Most of these ended in a couple of five-minute major penalties when referees finally decided the show was over and it was time to intervene.

Yet we are still “disgusted and appalled” when Marty Mcsorley strikes Donald Brashear in the temple with his stick in 2000, leading to a seizure and a Grade 3 concussion. Or we “don’t know what the sport is coming to” after Todd Bertuzzi sucker-punches Steve Moore from behind in 2004, knocking him cold and ending his career with a broken neck

And now, this is what has happened here again with Pacioretty. The young kid ends up with a fracture to the 4^th cervical vertebra and a severe concussion while some of the same hockey fans that stand up and applaud a long, hard-fought tilt demand the book be thrown at Chara. Sponsors threaten to boycott, criminal charges are filed, and the hockey world ponders anew about how something so savage could happen.

What the NHL and its fans need to realize is that theirs is a league that does not function like others. A primal aggression is perpetually on display that kids grow up watching, and in turn emulating as soon as contact is implemented in their development. The tolerance, and even encouragement, of this aggression breeds a mindset that becomes ingrained in every player that laces up the skates.

So we could say “wrong place, wrong time” or attempt to decide who is truly to blame for Max Pacioretty’s injury. Obviously Zdeno Chara violated the rules and was slapped on the wrists for it, but how are we to determine what is true justice here? It’s the chicken and the egg- what came first: our desire for extreme violence or the sport’s acceptance of it? And just how did they get so married together along the way? It may be time that fans are forced to declare, “I like the game of hockey more than the bloodshed.” After all, there are so many better venues to see a good fight these days.

It is somewhat fitting, though, that besides the Pacioretty incident, the only other place where turnbuckles are frequently mentioned is in professional wrestling. At this rate, the NHL may want to start cutting promos prior to games, like the ones in which “Macho Man” Randy Savage used to call out The Hulkster before a match.

“I’m coming for you Max Pacioretty! And when I’m done with you, you’ll be lucky to ever walk again. See you at the turnbuckle!”

And the crowd goes wild.