Category: Sports

Whether the Bucs make the playoffs this year, much less advance any further, is sobering testimony to factors beyond the control of Jon Gruden, Monte Kiffin, Rich McKay and any and all Glazers.

The NFL, with its premium on parity, might as well stand for “Not For Long” — as in the reign of defending Super Bowl champions. The salary cap, free agency, tougher schedules for high achievers and reverse-order-of-finish college draft conspire against a Super Bowl redux, let alone a dynasty.

Then add the vagaries of refereeing (Oops, that on-side kick recovery really wasn’t legal and shouldn’t have been allowed) and the misfortune of crippling injuries, and it’s easy to see how a Super Bowl year can be followed by a sub-par season.

Much more frustrating, however, are the scenarios that could unfold for the Lightning. Under the stern and savvy leadership of coach John Tortorella, the Lightning are no longer a parody of an NHL team. They are good and getting better. Expectations legitimately include a Stanley Cup run.

The timing, however, couldn’t be worse — or more ironic.

The collective bargaining agreement between the league and the players’ association expires Sept. 15, 2004. To date, discussions have gone nowhere.

The critical issue is salary cap — not unlike what the NFL imposes. No other major pro league spends a higher percentage (76 percent) of revenues on player salaries and benefits. And no other league needs one more.

The NHL is not only not flush like the NFL, but it’s in serious financial straits. Last year the league’s 30 teams totaled operating losses of some $300 million. Two franchises, Ottawa and Buffalo, filed for bankruptcy. Its network television money is a veritable pittance. Teams are overly dependent on ticket sales — just to limit losses. It’s no way to run — or stay — in business.

While the players’ association remains adamant in its opposition to a salary cap, the owners are doing nothing to dispel the notion that a lockout awaits. Should that occur, and talk is of a stoppage that could last more than a season, it could be disastrous for the NHL. It doesn’t have the staying power to survive — at least intact — such a shutdown showdown. Smaller-market franchises in areas without an established hockey culture — such as the Lightning — are especially vulnerable. Last year the Lightning had its most successful season ever — yet still lost a reported $10 million.

The Bucs post-championship challenge was a formidable one: to defy the odds and repeat. Should the Lightning’s Cup runneth over, the Bolt’s challenge could be even more daunting: to defy economic reality and stay in business.

For as long as I’ve been following baseball, I continue to be dumbfounded by fan behavior. And I’m not even talking about losers running on the field to assault someone or those who ransom souvenirs emblematic of someone else’s achievement. That’s just part of the dysfunctional times we live in.

And I’m not talking about fans who still yell “balk” whenever a pitcher fakes a throw to a base. That’s just impossibly technical stuff for a lot of fans.

But I am talking about something that is really, really basic.

Fans, even those who bring their own gloves, shouldn’t be going after a ball in play. But they do; again and again. As if it were a front-row entitlement. And sometimes, as we’ve become accustomed to seeing, it can help determine a game’s outcome.

So, how’s this for a concept? Only someone who is actually PLAYING — not someone who bought a ticket to watch others play — is permitted to field or attempt to field a ball in play. It doesn’t get more fundamental than that.

Maybe the front row of seats in areas that abut the playing field should be left vacant. Perhaps Plexiglas shields should be erected as in hockey.

Or maybe nothing should be done, because baseball needs all the reasons it can muster to induce fans to come to the ballparks, including a chance to lend a hand and land a souvenir. That, ultimately, is the ticket.

John Madden came into town for the Bucs’ Monday night meltdown against the Colts early enough to see the USF-Louisville game two nights prior. He noted that the Bucs’ Martin Gramatica was among those running on to the field to celebrate brother Santiago Gramatica’s winning field goal. Only he referenced “Southern Florida.”

Another example of why the university is marketing itself as simply “USF.” And another example of what a challenge that continues to be.

For more than a decade, Frank Morsani has battled Major League Baseball over what he has said amounted to an illegal conspiracy to prevent him and the Tampa Bay Baseball Group from getting a team. Recently Morsani and MLB reached a settlement on his lawsuit, the results of which are strictly confidential. Morsani, however, seems satisfied.

Good for him, because he got a raw deal and spent a lot of his own money in the ill-fated process. It’s only fitting that Morsani be fairly compensated, if that is, indeed, still possible. There was nothing fair about MLB’s bad faith, strong-arm treatment of Morsani and the TBBG. Not only were they induced to make concessions — especially regarding the Minnesota Twins — but they were led to believe such concessions would be rewarded via expansion.

He was, however, stiffed by MLB and eliminated early from expansion-franchise consideration. Eventually, of course, a Vince Naimoli-led group was awarded the franchise that became the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and began playing in 1998.

We can all empathize with what Morsani has gone through. He deserved better — and so did we. A bad team, in a bad facility, in a bad location with bad ownership. This market has been stiffed too. Thanks, MLB; thanks, Vince.

Hopefully there will be another satisfactory settlement — and not contraction down the road.

How outrageous was it for Keyshawn Johnson to claim revisionist racism regarding the TV coverage and commentary accorded last year’s heated, sideline exchange with Jon Gruden? The media — being the media — played up the incident pitting the brash, talented, highly paid, outspoken receiver and the hands-on, successful, highly paid, charismatic head coach. It is what it is.

Johnson now sees the confrontation through a racial filter. That’s because the media didn’t similarly overplay another sideline incident — the recent one between Oakland Raiders’ quarterback Rich Gannon and his head coach Bill Callahan and offensive coordinator Marc Trestman.

According to Johnson, much more was made of his animated exchange with “blond, pretty boy” Gruden than is being made of the veteran (white) QB Gannon going ballistic during the Raider’s 31-10 drubbing by Denver. Only institutional racism, reasons Johnson, could account for such media-treatment disparity.

Johnson referred to the perception that he is a “loudmouth receiver from the ghetto,” while Gannon is perceived as a “class-act quarterback.” And he’s right. Only it’s more than perception.

Johnson has spent an entire career honing and reinforcing a loud, bodacious, “the rules don’t apply to me” image, both with the New York Jets and here with the Bucs. While the sideline incident with Gruden was overblown, it was not out of character for Johnson, who is never spotlight-challenged.

On the other hand, Gannon has long been known as one of the league’s more respectable, good guys. His shouting session with his coaches was a behavioral aberration, not a personality extension. It was a one-day news item. End of story. Johnson vs. Gruden was media red meat, but not because of societal racism.

There’s a reason Johnson is also known as “Meshawn.” And, no, that’s not a racial slur.

Just play the damn game.

When ESPN hired Rush Limbaugh, it was expecting — and desiring — controversy and polarizing commentary. But race — in all its permutations — is still too taboo. Not even the bombastic but influential Limbaugh and his large constituency — which includes a surprising number of NFL players — because they’re rich — could transcend that.

First, let’s put this into its appropriate context. In a politically correct culture it is hard, if not impossible, to distinguish between racial and racist. If you’re in the media, you have to watch your wording in an ordeal of self-censorship. You have to use the proper code words.

If you say a player can beat you with his “athleticism,” what color might he be? If you say a player can’t beat you with his “athleticism” but is like a “coach on the field,” what color do you think of? Happens all the time.

If you said black athletes were behaving like boorish clowns by their celebratory, look-at-me antics on the field, are you a racist? Well, it so happens that white players, except for the occasional tight end out of the University of Miami, don’t do that.

Suppose you disagreed with Temple University basketball coach John Cheney who wants black recruits admitted to Temple regardless of academic standing. Cheney will tell you it’s part of giving kids a chance and a ticket out of the inner city cul-de-sac.

Are you a racist if you argue that the university — any university worthy of the higher education label — is not the place for remediation? Does it matter if you argue that uncompromised standards really send a helpful signal to inner city, “student-athlete” wannabes that grades do count as much as scoring averages? Does it matter if you argue that a “no” to an academically substandard black “student athlete” probably means “yes” to the next best black player with decent grades and test scores?

Back to Limbaugh.

His views on who wants to see black quarterbacks succeed is not way off target. It’s just that it would have been much more on target a decade or two ago. Currently, more than a quarter of NFL starting quarterbacks are black, among them Duante Culpepper and Steve McNair, who are franchise-type players. It’s a long way from James Harris going solo as a quarterblack.

Would the media like to see more black quarterbacks succeed? That’s not all that relevant. Reporters are not supposed to cheer from the press box — whether it’s for the home team or the homeboyz. But most sign on to a liberal agenda, of which race is the centerpiece in this country. So the answer is probably yes. The more stereotype-busting QBs, the better. So what else is new?

Interestingly enough, when Limbaugh made his stop-the-presses comments, those best positioned to respond–and refute–what he said, fell silent. That includes his ESPN colleague and former player Michael Irvin, who is black. Ironically, the flamboyantly outspoken Irvin, who always has something to say, said nothing.

The NFL’s take is more important.

It remains embarrassed — and subject at any moment to Jesse Jackson extortion — because in a league dominated by black players, it has so few black head coaches. Ownership is white. Most of the fans and advertisers are white. It’s getting more like the NBA. It’s like the Romans watching the Christians lose to the lions.

So the next best thing for NFL show-and-tell is the highest-profile position on the field: QB. What better way to say, in effect, “We really are progressive. We’re not part of the Al Campanis-Jimmy the Greek generation. We think black players assuming the consummate cool-under-fire, make-good-decisions, lead-your-men-in-battle position reflects well on the NFL. It helps bury those old stereotypes about blacks being gifted athletes who weren’t as smart as their white counterparts. It helps buy us time until we can showcase more black head coaches.”

Back to McNabb. For all their loutish behavior, Philly fans are pretty savvy sorts. Most of them, especially after the Eagles’ season-opening, offense-challenged losses to the Bucs and Patriots, wouldn’t dismiss out of hand Limbaugh’s comments on McNabb being overrated. He looked awful.

Philly fans remember Randall Cunningham. He had enough, uh, athleticism to have his own highlight video. But in big games, they will tell you, you couldn’t count on him to make good decisions. Ron Jaworski took them farther.

They see haunting parallels in McNabb, who’s better than Cunningham. They will tell you that the biggest fault of the Eagles offensively is that there is a concerted effort to force McNabb into being more of a pocket (read: white) passer than he is comfortable being. He was free to freelance –and do what he does best and put up big numbers — when the Eagles were a non-contender.

But since the Eagles became better balanced, he’s been asked increasingly to play within a system. (As with backups who replaced him late last year and won.) But when he stays in the pocket, within the system, Philly fans will tell you, he’s not nearly as effective, and he won’t be leading the Eagles to any Super Bowls that way. And he will look overrated in the process. The fans are frustrated as only Eagle fans can be.

And in moments of despair and candor, they’ll tell you that the Eagles are better if McNabb stops trying to be too much of a traditional pocket passer, reading defenses and looking off DBs. If that sounds like they want him to be less like a stereotypical white quarterback, they don’t care. If it sounds like they want him to be more like a stereotypical black quarterback and use his legs a lot, they care even less. They don’t want a black Koy Detmer. They just want to win.

For the record, the hard-core fans in Philly are much less upset about the Limbaugh flap than are some presidential candidates and the local media, which is as liberal on race as most media most places.

Recently Vanderbilt University made news for something other than good academics and bad football. Its chancellor, Gordon Gee, announced some rather revolutionary changes regarding athletics. He left no doubts about his intent when he proclaimed that “there is a wrong culture in athletics, and I’m declaring war on it.”

The opening skirmish was to kill off Vanderbilt’s athletic department as a separate entity. He said that with the skewed priorities over Division 1-A sports “the tail is always wagging the dog.”

Gee, whose previous presidential stints were at West Virginia, Colorado, Ohio State and Brown, also proposed tying graduation rates to scholarships and linking TV and conference revenues to graduation rates. He also wants every athlete to complete a core curriculum, thus assuring that “graduation” actually means something.

“We know the model we have right now is broken,” underscored Gee.

The only thing wrong with Vanderbilt advocating such radical changes is that it’s, well, Vanderbilt doing the advocating. They have little to lose. In football, they lose anyhow.

Would that it were Ohio State, where Maurice Claret seems finished with his suspension-shortened, sham-student, pro football apprenticeship. Or maybe Auburn, where former coach Terry Bowden said boosters had paid recruits to sign, a scenario that surprised no one close to the program. Or a bunch of other places where, if it weren’t for double standards, there would be no standards for major college football and basketball players.

So, Chancellor Gee’s efforts notwithstanding, the genie of “student-athlete” mercenaries and the corrupting influence of network television and athletic-shoe companies isn’t likely to be rebottled any time soon. It’s more likely Brown will play in a BCS bowl.

But kudos to Gee for taking such a public stand. But it is too bad, however, that he didn’t take such a principled stance when he was at West Virginia, Colorado or Ohio State. That could have been meaningful, not symbolic and quixotic. Then, again, he probably would have been run out of Morgantown, Boulder or Columbus for his heresy.

For once, I’d like to get through an entire major college or pro football game without it seeming like a BET video had somehow been spliced in.

Enough of the punk gibberish and the boorish gestures on the field. Enough of players “celebrating” the most mundane of accomplishments in the most preening, “look-at-me” manner.

And enough of those fans who excuse all of the above in the name of “enthusiasm” shown by the home team. For example, to applaud and even revel in Warren Sapp’s juvenile, end-zone “tribute” to Beyonce Knowles after his TD reception against the Falcons, is to be part of the problem.

And speaking of race, which we obviously are, how outrageous is it for Keyshawn Johnson to be claiming revisionist racism regarding the TV coverage and commentary accorded last year’s heated, sideline exchange with Jon Gruden? The media — being the media — played up the incident pitting the brash, talented, outspoken receiver and the hands-on, ego-driven, charismatic head coach. It is what it is.

Johnson now sees the confrontation through a racial filter. That’s because the media didn’t similarly overplay another sideline incident — the recent confrontation between Raiders’ quarterback Rich Gannon and his head coach Bill Callahan and offensive coordinator Marc Trestman.

According to Johnson, much more was made of his animated exchange with “blond, pretty boy” Gruden than is being made of the veteran (white) QB Gannon going ballistic during Oakland’s 31-10 drubbing by Denver. Only institutional racism, reasons Johnson, could account for such media-treatment disparity.

Johnson referred to the perception that he is a “loudmouth receiver from the ghetto,” while Gannon is perceived as a “class-act quarterback.” And he’s right. Only it’s more than perception.

Johnson has spent an entire career honing and reinforcing a loud, bodacious, “the rules don’t apply to me” image, both with the New York Jets and here with the Bucs. While the sideline incident with Gruden was overblown, it was not out of character for Johnson, who is never spotlight-challenged.

On the other hand, Gannon has long been known as one of the league’s more respectable, good guys. His shouting session with his coaches was a behavioral aberration, not a personality extension. It was a one-day news item. End of story. Johnson vs. Gruden was media red meat, but not because of societal racism.

There’s a reason Johnson is also called “Meshawn.” And, no, that’s not a racial slur.

Just play the damn games.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about Robin Roberts, the old Philadelphia Philly Hall of Fame pitcher. The Temple Terrace resident has a new book out, “My Life in Baseball.” I noted it was absent the requisite sensational or scandalous elements. It was a nice read by a nice guy.

Roberts claimed he didn’t “pull any punches.” He simply wrote about “his life” and the way he lived it, he explained.

In a subsequent conversation, however, Roberts amended matters some. In answer to the question about whether there was a sequel in the works, he didn’t miss a beat and deadpanned: “Yes, and I’m going to call it ‘Everything I Left Out.'”

“Robin Roberts.”

The sheer alliteration gives it a stage-name sound and a marquee look.

To a lot of contemporary sports fans, Robin Roberts certainly fits the attractive, articulate, black female sportscaster who first achieved national prominence in the 1990s as an ESPN Sportscenter co-anchor.

But there’s this other Robin Roberts. An affable, low-key, 76-year-old white guy in Temple Terrace who used to coach the baseball team at USF. He’s best known by fans who remember the 1950s.

Roberts was one of his era’s most dominant pitchers, winning 20 games or more for six consecutive years for the Philadelphia Phillies. Seemingly, he started every All-Star game in the ’50s. He’s in the Hall of Fame. He was to Philadelphia what Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays were to New York, Ted Williams to Boston, Stan Musial to St. Louis, Warren Spahn to Milwaukee, Ralph Kiner to Pittsburgh, Ernie Banks to Chicago and Duke Snider to Brooklyn. He was Roger Clemens in red pin stripes.

He was on the cover of Time magazine in 1956. He was that big.

These days he still follows the game intensely and gets out on the links as often as possible. In fact, he can still shoot his age. He’s on the board of directors of the Hall of Fame and makes the occasional guest appearance and memorabilia visit. He still throws out his share of ceremonial first pitches.

And he continues to cherish the memories and friendships that Major League Baseball has afforded him. Any question can propel Roberts into a story-telling reverie. And there’s a bunch in his recently published book, “My Life In Baseball.”

Don’t look for “My Life” on the New York Times’ best seller list, but for the hard-core baseball fan, it’s a nice read — filled with tales of another time and musings on the game since then. Perhaps its most impressive facet is its minute, almost Bob Graham-like detail.

“I think a lot of athletes can recall details of their career, because it was so important to them,” explains Roberts. “I still remember stuff from grade school. I get a kick out of folks who come up to me and say, ‘Do you remember the day you struck out so and so in a certain situation?’ Well, of course, I do. I was there.

“I’m not so good, however, on birthdays,” he concedes. “I know my wife (Mary, to whom he has been married for 53 years) has never been all that impressed.”

By today’s standards, “My Life” is uncommonly non-controversial. Roberts is neither Jim Bouton nor David Wells. He was one of baseball’s good guys, and the book reads that way. It is, however, punctuated with a couple of anecdotes on Jackie Robinson’s racial crucible, and there’s a chapter devoted to Roberts’ significant involvement in the players’ union.

“The ‘innocence,’ if you will, is real,” says Roberts. “I was the kind of guy who went to the ballpark and then back to the hotel. I’m not pulling punches. That was my way of living.”

He is, however, considering a sequel, he says impishly. Even has a title: “All The Stuff I Left Out.”

Fans remember

Today, he enjoys opportunities to mix with those who recall yesteryear as if it were yesterday. They remember him winning 28 games in 1952, and that number 23 came when he pitched all 17 innings against the St. Louis Cardinals. They remember his personal pitched battles with Brooklyn Dodger ace Don Newcombe and his mano a manos with Stan Musial. They remember him pitching 28 straight complete games — and, no, that’s not a typo. They remember he could hit and run the bases.

They remember when Roberts, pitching on two days rest, won the final, pennant-clinching game of the 1950 season, 4-1, against the Dodgers and was literally carried off Ebbets Field by his teammates. It put the Phillies, dubbed the “Whiz Kids” for their relative youth, into the World Series for only the second time in franchise history.

Roberts, however, revels more in the memory of center fielder Richie Ashburn throwing out the winning run at the plate, Dick Sisler hitting the game-winning home run and Jackie Robinson coming over to the Phillies’ clubhouse to personally congratulate the winners.

And they remember Roberts pitching 10 innings before Joe DiMaggio beat him with a home run in a 2-1 loss to the New York Yankees in game two of that ’50 Series.

“You know, while I was playing I didn’t have the feeling that I was that important to people,” says Roberts. “So it’s very gratifying to meet these fans now.

“It’s also funny in a way,” adds Roberts. “They all know that I gave up my share of home runs. Well, if I had known that someone was counting, I tell ’em, I wouldn’t have thrown so many.”

Then and now

Roberts’ career pre-dates free agency riches. He earned $530,000 — over 18 seasons. His top salary was $58,000. But he’s hardly resentful of the timing.

“Remember that the average annual household income in the United States in the mid-fifties was less than $4,000,” he points out.

“I’m certainly not one of those old ballplayers who insists that the way we did it was better,” states Roberts. “It was just different. I would, for example, much rather be pitching today with adequate rest and knowing I was going to go to the mound with great stuff.”

He even understands modern athletes, such as the Bucs’ Warren Sapp, who feel they owe fans nothing once the game ends.

“Look, when I won, I was pretty tired,” recalls Roberts. “When I lost, I wasn’t good company. Now you have people selling autographs and all