Leave it to Miguel

                                                 

How do I begin to explain a two year bout with writers block? Let’s just say I now know why Hemmingway drank, why Emily Dickinson became a recluse, why Hunter S. Thompson was an utter lunatic, and why Virgina Woolf filled her pockets with rocks and took a walk in the River Ouse.
 

This thing that was my passion, this thing that was my release, this thing that I once enjoyed more than any other thing in the world, became a daunting, scary, and highly overwhelming thing. A wave of panic and terror took over my body at the thought of even writing a grocery list. Every time I put my pen to paper or my fingers to keys this little Holden Caulfield wannabe in my head said, “I’m a fraud! I’m a no good phony!”  My brain just couldn’t put together a coherent sentence if my life depended upon it.

But look! Here I am, WRITING. It won’t be a surprise to many of you who I have to thank for that; my beloved Detroit Tigers.

As I sat Friday night watching an incredible game against the Yankees, I found myself instinctively reaching for my phone to text my Dad. “Oh man, Pops! Torii Hunter was robbed on that call! I can’t believe Mild Max was ejected for sticking up for him!” and again later on when Austin Jackson continued his hot streak, “Daddyo, you were right! AJ makes losing Granderson a lot less painful.”  I do this quite often and every time, reality smacks me across the face; as reality has a tendency of doing. My heart sinks into my stomach. Eventually I regain my composure and I say out loud what I was going to text my dad. Well Friday night, I believe he answered my spoken text…

Top of the 9^th, Tigers at bat, we’re down 3-1. With one out, Austin Jackson shows the Yanks what their missing by smacking a double. Next at bat, Hunter gets the second out for the Tigers. This brings up the one and only Miguel Cabrera. I immediately get to my feet.  Rocking back and forth, I watch Miggy swagger up to the plate, a look of calm on his face because he knows he’s about to make it storm. ” SMACK!” One foul ball almost caught over the railing by Yankee first baseman, Lyle Overbay. “CRUNCH!” One foul ball off his knee cap (which Miggy brushed off, merely a flesh wound) “WHACK!”  Another foul ball, this time off his foot. He takes a few hops and steps right back into the box. With a 2-2 count and every Tiger fan holding their breath, “CRACK!” homer over the center field wall, with plenty of room to spare. As Austin Jackson glides across home plate and Miggy jaunts around the bases and touches home for the tying run, I of course, am making noises that only dogs can hear. Quickly, I remember to calm myself since my neighbor almost called the cops during the Seahawks vs. Packers debacles last season, for fear I was being robbed or worse. Miggy had saved us from a Yankees defeat...at least for now.

Perhaps I’m as loony as some of the aforementioned authors but I do believe this at bat was my dad answering my text.  With every swing Cabrera took I heard him say, “Never give up, keep playing with your whole heart no matter how far you’re down.” With every foul ball that Miggy maimed himself with but got right back in the batter’s box I heard Timmy say, “Never let ‘em see you hurt, kid.”  And sadly, in the bottom of the tenth when Miggy uncharacteristically missed a grounder, causing the game losing run, I heard him say, “You can’t win ‘em all, but hey, there’s no crying in baseball.”

Our Last World Series

Well kind readers, here I am again, having to explain my hiatus. Many of you already know but for those who don’t, I lost my father to cancer just before Christmas. He fought his four-year battle with dignity, grace, strength and not a word of complaint. Daddy-o is highly responsible for my love of sports and for that I dedicate this blog to him.

On August 12, after multiple surgeries, two stints in radiation and a six-week long chemo session, we found out his cancer was back and this time it was terminal. My dad, defeated? It didn’t seem possible. But alas, that bastard opponent, cancer, didn’t play by the rules. I flew home September 1 and was able to spend three more months with my daddy, my hero.

Tim McGee was one of those athletes I envy. He was good at everything he tried. He picked up a basketball, tennis racket, pool cue, baseball mitt, golf club etc… and knew just what to do with it. Not only did my dad have amazing athletic ability, he had sports smarts, a quiet manner and a humble spirit. Three things that many people don’t realize make a truly amazing competitor.

When I decided I HAD to play basketball and that I wanted to be the best, he duct-taped my right hand behind my back while I played him in one on one. He coached my all boys and one girl “coach’s pitch” team. He let me use his high school wooden tennis racket (that he won a championship with) the first time he took me to a tennis court. He got me a “job” as the NMU ball girl and had a sweat suit with my name on the back made for me. He taught me to ski by holding his pole parallel to the ground while I held onto it for dear life; trying not to go ass over Mickey Mouse skis, when I was four-years-old. He was always by my side, guiding my way, in sports and in life.

My dad and I talked sports constantly. We were both so passionate about athletics that it was normal when 90 percent of our conversations were made up of sports stats, scores, trades, etc... The years I was away from home, my dad and I continued our debates via email, phone and text. More often than not we would pick the opposing team just to irk the other and stir the pot. It made things much more amusing. Our most heated rivalry was Michigan vs. Michigan State. (Me being the MSU fan.) He loved pushing my buttons and up until the last few years it was quite easy. It was only in recent years that I was able to get his goat about his crybaby coach, his quarterback who didn’t know how to tie his shoes, and his complete lack of a secondary.

In October, we watched our last World Series together. Our Tigers weren’t in it, and in true father-daughter fashion we decided to root for opposite teams and make things interesting. He went for the Rangers because he likes Nolan Ryan and I cheered for the Giants because I have a crush on Lincecum. We recorded game two on our DVR and watched it the next afternoon, just daddy and me.
My dad was a very popular guy, which meant our doorbell rang twenty times a day with people coming by to see him, but on this day he looked at me and said, “Is it just me and you here right now, kid?”

“Why yes Daddy, it is.” I responded with an inquisitive grin. “Good, go lock the door so we can watch this in peace, just the two of us,” he ordered without breaking his gaze from the television. I stood up and ran to that door and turned that lock faster than Barry Allen. (“The Flash” for you non-nerds.)

That afternoon was one of the best of my life. We talked about all the past years of watching the World Series together. The World Series where we were staying at a little cabin on the lake, the World Series where my little brother, Dylan, was going through his karate chopping phase and earned the nickname, Mr. Waaaaah, the World Series the first year I moved away from home and we talked on the phone before during and after every game. But we didn’t just talk about sports as we watched that game. We talked about life. His life. Stories of when he lived in California, stories of his years of rebellion, stories he’d never told me ever before; and even though each story was interrupted by a, “COME ON!” or a “SAFE! SAFE! SAFE!,” it was perfection. This is proof that sports can be so much more that just sports. They are a method of bonding, they teach strength and courage and connect gereations.

It needs to be mentioned that this year’s Super Bowl between the Green Bay Packers and the Pittsburgh Steelers was no fluke. Daddy-o planned that one all out. I mean, Aaron Rodgers’ quarterback rating isn’t really that high, that was thanks to Timmy McGee. What also needs to be revealed is that I happen to be a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. Good work, Timmy. That, right there was the “coup de grace” to our sports rivalry. I cheered for the Steelers through the whole game, screamed and yelled during their valiant comeback and at the end couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear when my Daddy’s Packers took home the Lombardi trophy. I don’t give up a win easily but I have to say, “well done Pops, you deserved it.”

Feeling the Basketball Jones Again...

While at breakfast this morning I couldn’t help but smile when I saw a sports page splattered with a plethora of NBA news and an ESPN station devoted to Lebron‘s “Decision“. James not only has a nation on the edge of their seats he more importantly has a nation again interested in the NBA.

For years it has been painful for me to watch the NBA. The lack of defense, the lack of discipline and worst of all the lack of heart. Being a basketball player and lover to my very core, it made me sick to see the downward spiral pro ball took after Jordan left. It was as if he took the heartbeat of basketball when he retired.

I was five or six years old when my dad took me to my first basketball game. It was a women’s college game. Northern Michigan vs. Michigan Tech, arch rivals. It was truly a life changing event. I remember it as clear as day. I sat in the stands, jaw on the floor in complete awe of these women. The woman who forever changed me, Julie Heldt, #42 was putting up points like Jordan himself and hustling down that court as if her life depended upon it. Now, my dad has never been the type to force us kids to do anything we didn’t want to do but I know he had a hidden motive in taking me to this game; to get me to want to play ball. It worked. After being speechless for the first half of the game I turned to him and said, “Daddy, I want to play!” He looked at me with a knowing smile and said, “OK.” From then on my life was consumed with the sport.

I was lucky to fall in love with the sport when I did, during the peak of the Bulls Dynasty. With players like Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Luc Longley, Bill Cartwright and the coach I now love to hate, Phil Jackson. The rivalry they had with the Jazz and the Suns. The stand-up players like Karl Malone, the stand-out players like Sir Charles Barkley and the little guys like Johnny Stockton and then there came my hero (despite his choice in colleges), Grant Hill. How could you not love the sport back then? Suddenly, like a full force avalanche the game crumbled. It lost everything….its fans included.

There was a slight ray of sunshine when the new group of Detroit “Bad Boys” started playing like the days I so longed for. (And took down those greedy wicked witches of the west, the LA Lakers) But alas, it was broken apart by a lack of discipline and a few bad seeds. (I still love you Sheed and Big Ben.)

Now, perhaps the clouds that have overshadowed the NBA these ten plus years will part. With big names and big talent like Kobe, D. Wade, Lebron, Howard and Garnett as the leading men of the NBA the talent cannot be doubted. There are also those key players that aren’t as recognized as the big names. Jason Richardson, Derrick Rose, Amare Stoudemire, Kevin Durant and of course my man Chauncey Billups. They are really giving the NBA what it has been missing. Now talent alone can’t bring back the NBA, but these players have, not only the passion that seemed to disappear, but a true respect for the game.

Today we look at what could be the most important decision the NBA has seen since Jordan decided to retire…for the last time. From the beginning I have said I think Lebron will stay with the Cavs, and I am sticking to my guns. Miami would be a great home for James and I believe that he and Wade would make the best of sharing the spotlight. James would have an all-star supporting cast in Chicago but they’ve already had their #23 and James knows it. Pairing up Lebron and Stoudemire would be as brilliant a pair as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid but the Knicks have yet to complete their team and there is no confirmation on Tony Parker or Carmello Anthony beefing up the starting line by next summer.

The bottom line to my pick is this: Lebron wants to prove himself in Cleveland. He wants to prove he doesn’t need Wade to help him get his ring. He wants to prove it to the fans in Cleveland who haven’t seen a championship (in any sport) in ages. Cleveland is home to him now and as of 8 o’clock tonight I firmly believe he will still be calling Cleveland his home.

SSD: It's a Serious Problem, People!

Well my dear Sports Fans, I must apologize for my hiatus. I have been suffering from what I like to call SSD or, severe sports disappointment. It’s a rare form of depression that affects only those who have what may be considered an unhealthy passion for sports. Now don’t get this confused with SSW or Seasonal Sports Withdrawal. I go through that at the end of every NCAA football season and after March Madness. This folks, is a horse of a different color. I like to compare it to a bad break-up. You curl up in bed, eat a lot of ice cream and do all that is possible to stay away from anything that would remind you of your ex. In this analogy, I must stay away from all 300 ESPN channels, my fantasy baseball league, sports bars and especially Sports Center. It just hurts too much.

First I had to deal with the devastating loss of my Spartans in the Final Four. I am not one to make excuses for my teams when they lose, but come on, we got HOMERED! Even Hayward admitted he ‘may have’ gotten away with the foul against Green in the final seconds of the game. (Although my boy Green said he should have gone up harder. That folks, is why I love him.) It wasn’t even just the exceedingly one-sided foul calls in the second half, it was even the possession calls. I mean it’s pretty rare that a team with almost a 12% better field goal percentage loses. Ok, we made our mistakes i.e. 16 turnovers leading to 20 points and our unusually poor free throw shooting. I still think we deserved and should have won that game. I’m not dwelling, can you tell? Next year boys, next year.

Then there was that tiny ray of hope when my boy Phil Mickelson won The Masters and that adulterous bastard (I used to love you, Tiger!) looked like an amateur. However I was still too downtrodden from Michigan State’s defeat to enjoy the win as much as I would have liked. I am at least healed enough to say this: Phil, I think you are a class act for sticking by your wife, family and mother through one of the hardest battles anyone on earth ever has to fight. Oh and also, I love your shiny pants.

But alas my ray of hope was shattered…

Then came the first blow. The overrated, self righteous Tim Tebow was drafted not only first round but to my State’s team, the Denver Broncos. Ok, McDaniels, what was your logic? You have Brady Quinn AND Kyle Orton already. Is another mediocre QB really the best idea? I’m sorry, I like Brady Quinn and Kyle Orton and I think given the chance they will do something in the NFL; but Tebow doesn’t have the fortitude. He can’t be successful in the NFL when he’s not yet been weaned from Mama Bear, Urban Meyer. After losing Brandon Marshall and having a pretty sad looking, injury laden O-Line our pick could have been much better used.

Then I was given a false sense of security with my Nuggets pulling through with a big win against my arch enemies the LA Lakers [minus you, Shannon Brown] on April 8th. But all in all the loss of George Karl (and maybe even Mello’s ego a little bit…) proved to be a hurdle the size of the Great Wall that we just could not overcome. At least my boy Chauncey had a damn good season.

If I even bring up the Pistons season I might re-enter my state of SSD, so let’s not go there.

Now, where do I even start with the Red Wings. To be honest I could barely watch any of their games because they looked pretty ugly at times. Despite Franzen‘s game 4 effort against the Sharks, which can only be described as a thing of beauty, my boys just couldn’t pull it together. I obviously hate Chicago and I used to be a Sharks fan in the days of Jeff Friesen, so I guess I have to say, GO SHARKS! Although by saying this… I may have burdened them with whatever kind of cosmic curse has been placed on any team I root for.

Lastly my boy Grandy gets injured! Seriously? That was it. The final straw. He was the backbone to my fantasy team and just my boy in general. He may only be on the 15 day DL but come on universe, give my teams and players a break would ya?!

It’s all ok though. I made a breakthrough in SSD therapy and turned on ‘Jim Rome’ and ‘Around the Horn’ today. My sports therapist also recommend that I talk out my frustration. So there you have it. I have to make a full recovery before MSU football starts; a State fan needs all the strength they can gather to make it through the season without a breakdown.

King Leonidas Leads His Boys To Battle

Alright so maybe I am biased but I’m getting a little sick of hearing about Butler being a Cinderella or an underdog in this year’s final four. They are a #5 seed people! (For those readers who don’t know, my Spartans are also a #5 seed) This is as close as the competition can get but I do think MSU has an edge and here is my back-up.

First point of argument is Sophomore Draymond Green. Not many people realize that Green is in fact a sixth man. (Nix being Izzo’s usual choice for power forward). Green is not only great at finishing underneath but as of late he seems to be channeling the outside range of the greatly missed Spartan, Goran Suton. Green’s knowledge of the game is arguably the best in the NCAA. His one-handed dish underneath to Raymar Morgan to draw the foul and ultimately win the game against Tennessee was not luck or an accident people. It’s knowing the court. It’s seeing not only your next move but the next move of the nine other guys out there. Green does just that and that’s why he leads his team in assist to turn-over ratio, steals, blocks and rebounds. Now obviously, as a post, leading the team in blocks and rebounds is not an anomaly, but very few non-starters lead their team in anything let alone four important aspects of the game. He is second only to Kalin Lucas in assists, 3.1 to Lucas’s 4.0 and this Big Ten’s sixth man of the year averages 25.4 minutes a game. Because of his deep understanding of the game he is teaming up with Korie Lucious (whose fade-away jumpers and outside shooting are things of beauty) to fill the bronzed shoes of the injury laden Kalin Lucas.

Then we have the bench as a whole. When healthy, it’s easily a ten deep bench. State has seven men who average over 20 minutes a game whereas Butler is wearing out their big five with 25+ minutes and the next highest being only 15.8. You’ll hear it all the time, MSU is a second half team. Well readers, that’s because we wear the other team down before the end of the first 20. My boys will still be coming off their screens full speed and getting the backdoor while the other team has their hands on their knees and just praying their coach will sub them out.

Michigan State has struggled this year with giving up too many offensive boards, not finishing underneath and the Achilles heel (no pun intended Kalin) TURNOVERS. But I have faith. State is a tournament team. They love the pressure. They learned what it’s like to be humiliated in a championship game and I can tell you right now those boys won’t let it happen again.

Sure, Butler has home court advantage but they don’t have Tom Izzo.

Bright Light Leaves Fading City

Those damn Yankees just won’t stop waving around all that money they’ve got, will they? On December 8th, the Yanks tightened the purse strings of the attendance struggling Detroit Tigers, by taking All-Star Curtis Granderson off their hands. According to USA Today, Granderson was owed $25.75 million through 2012. All of the residents in Detroit combined don’t have that kind of money these days.

Unfortunately, Granderson was just the kind of light the fading city of Detroit needed. Not only were #28’s baseball achievements last season quite impressive (30 home runs, 71 RBI's, 20 steals), he was also voted 2009 Marvin Miller, Man of the Year by his peers. Although the southpaw’s batting average has been looking like the Dow Jones over the last few years, he has proved himself to be one of the best in the league; on and off the field.

In 2006, when he beat out Nook Logan for the starting centerfield position, even the untrained eye could see he had something special in him. With career highlights such as last season’s mind-boggling catch in the crucial game against the White Sox, (where a win would send the Tigers to the American League Central tie-breaker game against the Twins) and a seat as an elite member of baseball’s 20-20-20 club (20 doubles-20 triples-20 homers in a season) Granderson has continually proved a force to be reckoned with.

In a sports world of heartless Michael Vicks, arrogant Terrell Owenses and holier than thou Allen Iversons, Granderson is doing everything in his power to regain the good name of athletes. As one of the few college graduates currently in Major League Baseball, he seems to recognize the significance and value of a proper education. In 2008 he founded "The Grand Kids Foundation" which provides supplies, equipment, books, etc… to needy families and inner-city schools. On top of all this, he was recently asked to work with First Lady Michelle Obama on her Anti-Obesity campaign in D.C. Believe it or not, I have only hit the tip of the iceberg when it comes to his humanitarian efforts.

So this, readers, this is my farewell to a bright light of the Tigers and a beacon of the city of Detroit. As much as I hate those damn Yankees, I will cheer for you wherever you go in your career, Mr. Granderson. Rock those pinstripes.

You say, "You play ball like a girl!" I say, "Thank you."

I always knew I wasn’t like other little girls. It never bothered me, or seemed strange. I never longed to be like the pretty little girls in dresses with their hair done just right. I never wanted to watch “My Little Pony” or “Care Bares”. I never pretended to be a princess or a damsel in distress. I didn’t pine for a Malibu Barbie or a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Nope. Not this little mongrel. I wore Michigan State sweatshirts and my Oshkosh B’Gosh overalls with holes in the knees. I would come home from a day full of mischief with my long, stringy, blonde hair knotted, dirty and going every which way. The hair tie my mother so hopefully put in would, inevitably, be so tangled in my dishwater mane it would have to be cut out. I watched Batman (of the Michael Keaton variety) and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels repeatedly. I pretended to be Vicki Vale and would walk around with my reporter’s notepad trying to dig up the truth about the viciously corrupt Gotham City that was my family’s ten acres of land. I longed to play with my big brother’s brand new Nintendo. Usually, while he played Nintendo, I would settle for stealing his Gameboy and hiding in my mom’s largest suitcase with a flashlight in order to play Tetris unseen and therefore, un-punched. I think I’ve painted my picture.

It all started with Michigan State football. My family bleeds green and white. I’m a State fan through and through. It’s not something I chose to be it is something I was born to be. The thing is, if you are born a Michigan State football fan with it comes some serious resentment towards your parents. To this day I ask my mother, “Why? Why did you do this to me? It’s a lifetime of heartache, upset and pain.” I fully blame this for my fear of commitment. Why would I want a relationship? Why would I want to worry about throwing a shoe at a boyfriend after he forgets my birthday for the second year in a row when I have four months out of the year where I throw it at my 47 inch plasma after we get flagged ten for yet another holding penalty? My holy matrimony to Michigan State gives me enough angst, yelling and sadness for a lifetime, thank you very much.

Little did I know, Michigan State football was just the beginning. At about three years old I started going to my older brother’s hockey tournaments and baseball games. At six, I attended my first girl’s college basketball game with my dad and become completely enthralled with the sport. (More on that life changing event another time) Then two younger brothers were added into the equation. So there I was three brothers, a football crazy mother, and a state championship athlete of a father. Did I have any other choice? If I did, I’m glad I didn’t make it.

Then tonight, while watching the Spartan basketball team beat THEMSELVES for the third game in a row, I decided I needed an outlet. My girlfriends don’t give two shits about my in-depth game analysis, and the more I talk to guys about sports the more they forget I’m a girl and put me in the “friend zone”. Not that I am worried about being in the “friend zone” for dating purposes but for the pure fact that guys then start to think it’s ok to give me a wicked Charlie horse in the thigh. Hey, I may be a tough-ass tomboy but I bruise like a peach.

Don’t worry; I won’t just be talking Michigan State here. I will be covering all my favorite highlights of what’s going on in sports. (We’re talking the real sports here people, I don’t do soccer.) I could be bitching about what quarter back is seriously overrated (that’s you Tony Romo and Tim Tebow) or praising the gods amongst mere mortals (that’s you Lebron).

What it comes down to is this: I wanted to find a way to combine two of my favorite things, and since it’s too hard to play basketball and drink Jameson at the same time, I figured I would settle for writing about sports. ..