Manny De Montaigne drinks single malts

For One Day - Not a Hater

2009-07-06T20:42:00.003-04:00

Saturday, July Fourth, we sat under sunny skies, just past third base, waiting to see the Yankees play the Blue Jays. We weren't in Toronto, where we've watched number of games over the years, but in the second row of the second deck in the new Yankee Stadium. We were waiting to see our old friend from law school, Mickey Goldsmith, throw out the first pitch.

Mickey has ALS, and last summer, while attending Orioles fantasy camp, he decided to become an advocate for more research for this terrible disease, which was then just beginning to rob him of his strength and coordination. The disease is called, after all, Lou Gehrig's disease, and Mickey believed that MLB should do more to raise money and awareness about ALS. Thanks in large part to a couple articles written by George Vecsey, Mickey's crusade drew national attention, and eventually persuaded MLB to get on board. So this year, on July 4, which was the seventieth anniversary of Gehrig's famous speech -- "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth...." -- every ball park across the nation featured some form of recognition for MLB's new partnership -called "4 - ALS". Maybe someone read the speech; maybe someone delivered a check. And as we sat in Yankee stadium, we watched a fifteen minute tribute to our friend, and his dedication to this cause.

Then we all watched Mickey walk to the mound with his son Austin, and throw out the first pitch. Everyone in the Stadium rose to their feet as he walked slowly off the mound, and back to his wheel chair behind home plate. Later that afternoon, we visited Mickey in the box that the Yankees had given him and his family for the day, and even had a sandwich and a Crown Royal on the Steinbrenners. Mickey's no Yankee fan himself, but he wore a pinstriped jersey all afternoon, one with Gehrig's number on the back. Every ballplayer wore a 4-ALS patch on his uniform. So for just that one afternoon, under sunny skies in the Bronx, we ceased and desisted from our hating. When Matsui homered in the second inning, to tie the game, and Tunic offered a high five, I even responded, celebrating with all the locals.

The next day, George Vecsey wrote a beautiful tribute to Mickey, and the courage he displayed before fifty thousand fans, despite the ravages of his disease.

Sports of The Times

Gehrig’s Voice Echoes in a Story of Courage

Mark Rucker/Transcendental Graphics, via Getty Images

Lou Gehrig at Yankee Stadium on July 4, 1939. Gehrig died from A.L.S. two years later.

By GEORGE VECSEY

Published: July 4, 2009

Michael Goldsmith was concerned a few fans might boo when they saw his underhanded flip of the ball in the ceremonial first pitch Saturday. But 70 years to the day after Lou Gehrig’s immortal speech in Yankee Stadium, the fans understood the courage it took for Goldsmith just to stand on the field.

Courtesy of Michael Goldsmith

Michael Goldsmith, a professor who has A.L.S., at a Baltimore Orioles fantasy camp.

Stricken by the vicious illness that now bears Gehrig’s name, Goldsmith was responsible for Major League Baseball’s holding ceremonies in 15 parks to raise money and awareness to fight A.L.S., also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.

A.L.S. is “a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord,” in the words of the A.L.S. Association. A.L.S. is invariably fatal, usually within four years.

•

Goldsmith, a law professor at Brigham Young University, was found to have A.L.S. in 2006. But he stood up on the field in defiance of his illness, on the day he had envisioned in his activist lawyer’s mind.

He lighted the bulb in Major League Baseball’s brain, saying the sport had used the doomed Gehrig as one of its central heroes for seven decades, and now it was time to give something back. After he wrote a guest column in Newsweek in November 2008, his idea was noticed by Commissioner Bud Selig, who set Saturday’s event in motion.

As the Yankees prepared to play the Toronto Blue Jays on Saturday, as part of a project called 4♦ALS Awareness, all on-field personnel wore patches with Gehrig’s No. 4 on them. Portions of Gehrig’s speech were recited by current Yankees stalwarts during pregame ceremonies on a gorgeous afternoon. Bases used during the game will be auctioned. And the Yankees donated $25,000 as an example to help fight A.L.S.

The Web site mlb4als.mlblogs.com is in operation to teach people about the illness and how to pledge money for base hits by their favorite players, in the major or minor leagues. As an example of what can be done, the Philadelphia Phillies have raised $867,670 this year in a separate drive against A.L.S.

More money is needed because pharmaceutical companies are not interested in research for drugs to fight A.L.S. because of the current lack of progress, according to Steven Perrin, the chief executive of the A.L.S. Therapy Development Institute in Cambridge, Mass., who was in a private suite provided by the Yankees.

No other donation of gate receipts from M.L.B. or other clubs was specified, and perhaps it could have been, but baseball does take on a number of causes. Major League Baseball has been working for months to produce this day all over the United States, under the leadership of Jacqueline Parkes, the chief marketing officer, and her colleagues.

“M.L.B. has billed this as an awareness event rather than a fund-raiser,” Goldsmith wrote in a recent e-mail message, adding, “but each of the four charities will have ample opportunity to raise funds.”

Goldsmith’s dream came to fruition not far from the place where, on July 4, 1939, Gehrig called himself “the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” He died on June 2, 1941, not quite 38. Goldsmith, 58, has proved he is one of the most determined people on the face of the earth.

“You know you are going to die a horrible death,” said Ron Goldstock, Goldsmith’s friend and former boss at the New York State Organized Crime Task Force. “But there has not been a word of complaint from him.”

“He spent his time working on this project knowing that the money raised could not help him,” Goldstock continued, “and that is an extraordinary thing.”

Goldsmith’s life had been an adventure. His vivacious mother, Anita Burg, who was present Saturday, left Austria in 1939 and moved to what is now Israel, where her son was born in 1951.

•

“I told Michael he did not need to go to such extremes to get me to a baseball game,” she said. After growing up in Forest Hills, Queens, as a fan of the Baltimore Orioles, Goldsmith left the task force for B.Y.U. because of the long ski season, said Aric Press, the editor of The American Lawyer and a friend since their Cornell days.

When Goldsmith learned he had A.L.S., he kept going, attending the Orioles’ fantasy camp, taking batting practice at B.Y.U. But he knew enough about the public decline of Gehrig, the powerful and durable first baseman. Gehrig’s courage was depicted in the classic 1942 movie “The Pride of the Yankees” with Gary Cooper, and has since been described by Ray Robinson in the 1990 book “Iron Horse: Lou Gehrig in His Time” and by Jonathan Eig in the 2005 book “Luckiest Man.”

It took courage for Goldsmith to make the long haul to New York from Utah, accompanied by his wife, Carolyn, and his two children from a previous marriage, Jillian and Austen. The son escorted his dad onto the field for the dignified half-hour that included a video linking Gehrig and Goldsmith. Manager Joe Girardi gave Goldsmith, who wore a special A.L.S. Yankees striped jersey, a copy of the day’s lineup.

“I have spent more than two decades exhorting law students to take a proactive ‘can-do’ approach to the law and life in general,” Goldsmith wrote last week. “And I have tried to lead by example, showing them how creativity and commitment to a cause can produce positive results. The success of this effort demonstrates yet again how the power of one can make a difference.”

“As for me, my health has declined considerably recently,” Goldsmith added. “I use a wheelchair part time, have skinny chicken arms, voice has become impaired, etc. But I’m still in the game and intend to go down swinging.”

Lou Gehrig, who swung for the fences as long as he could, still holds the record with 23 grand slams. On the 70th anniversary of Gehrig’s speech, Michael Goldsmith hit his own grand slam. His underhand pitch was short, as he knew it would be, but the fans understood, and cheered.

E-mail: geovec@nytimes.com

I never imagined I'd be so moved by something happening in Yankee Stadium, short of a game seven win. But I was.

Brine

2009-06-30T20:51:00.002-04:00

As requested by John, here's the recipes for the brine. First though, a bit of an overview. I use a salt brine, followed by a sweet marinade, and the result is a lot like the northwest smoked salmon they call Indian candy. Smoky inside, but with a sweet exterior.

Salt brine: 2 cups water; 1/2 cup kosher salt; 1 cup brown sugar; 4 bay leaves; 1 tsp. course black pepper; 1 tsp. allspice; 1 tsp. whole cloves; 1 tsp. ground ginger; 2 crushed garlic cloves. Soak at least 12 hours in the brine. Then remove from brine, rinse well, spray with olive oil, and prepare marinade.

Marinade: 1 1/2 cups water; 1 cup brown sugar; 1 tsp. course black pepper; 1 tsp. allspice; 1 tsp. whole cloves; some garlic. Seafood now marinades for at least 12 hours. I usually start this process two nights before I plan to smoke. About 24 hours in the brine, and then overnight in the sweet marinade; then take fish out of the marinade, and let it air dry for one hour before smoking begins.

Smoking de la mer

2009-06-28T21:46:00.003-04:00

I'm pleased to report that we successfully smoked fish and seafood on the Weber Bullet. We ran for five hours, with the temperature steady between 150 and 170, never any higher. Here's the technique:
We covered the bottom of the charcoal chamber with a single layer of briquettes, with hickory chunks mixed in. It was more like a layer and a half, because I wanted the coals to fill the chamber; I didn't want any 'open' space, so to speak. Then we lit 15 briquettes in the chimney. When the briquettes were lit, I placed them over the charcoal (using the Minion method), but tried to keep them toward the center of the chamber, and not near the edges, so that all the heat would be below the water pan, and would be as indirect as possible.

After assembling the bullet, we placed the scallops and salmon on the lower rack, and the shrimp and halibut on the upper rack. Susan wanted things cooked a little more, and as we expected the upper rack to be warmer, we put her fish and the shrimp on the top rack. Also, we were interested in seeing if parchment paper would work, both to keep the fish from sticking to the rack, and and to lessen any mess. So we placed parchment paper over the lower rack, poking holes in the paper to allow additional smoke to pass through. On the upper rack we used one of those disposable screens, and folded it in at the edges, to prevent stuff from falling off, and also to allow the screen to fit easily into the bullet.

After we got everything assembled, I could already feel the heat from the fire, so at first I closed all air vents to only one-third open. Not enough air flow, so I quickly opened them, to one-half open. The bullet promptly came to 150 degrees, and stayed very steady. I probably could have stayed at 150, but wanted to see a bit more heat, so first I opened one of the lower vents all the way. Then after almost three hours at 150, I used the chimney to light a few more briquettes, and twice added 5 lit briquettes to the charcoal. Also, I periodically added some small hickory chips that helped generate additional smoke. I know the experts say you don't need a lot of smoke, but when smoking fish at low temps, I like to see smoke generated pretty much all the time.

The extra briquettes brought me up to 165 to 170 for about an hour, hour and a half. At the end, the temp fell back to 150. Seafood smoked for a total of five hours. Everything was great. Scallops and shrimp had that translucent texture, smoky flavor throughout, and sweet exterior from the brown sugar marinade. I thought the fish was a bit cooked, but Danny and Susan raved about it. Danny thought the halibut had the look and feel of smoked whitefish. (Of course, it lacks all the fat one finds in whitefish, and fatty fish are the very best for smoking.)

Anyway, we were pleased with the outcome, and excited that we could run the bullet under 200 for an extended period. An interesting observation when we were disassembling the thing later on. The charcoal in the middle of the chamber burned out, but there remained a ring of unburned briquettes all around the exterior of the ring. I guess when you use the minion method, the coals burn vertically, but don't necessarily burn laterally. So because I used only 15 hot coals to start, and added the additional hot coals to the middle of the chamber, the stuff around the edges never burned. That helps explain why the temp stayed low.

The Weber Bullet

2009-06-28T13:31:00.003-04:00

Regular readers of the blog, all five or six of them, know that I have not been posting of late. What with Phyllis passing away and me being busy busy busy at work, I have not kept up with MannyMontaigne. As a result, there is a huge backlog of topics about which I need to post.

These include, in no particular order, my take on the world wide single malt price rise, a phenomenon that I had hoped might disappear with the current recession. No such luck. Or how about the Sox torrid pace in June, featuring a return to form by Josh Beckett and Big Papi? Danny wants the blog to address Manny's suspension, and what it means for Boston's recent success, as well as Manny's legacy. Can he still be spoken of as the best right handed hitter of the modern era? Another big topic is NNT and the Black Swan, perhaps the smartest and most intriguing book I've read in years. I'm also backed up with some additional Genesis reading, most of it unremarkable, but Joel Rosenberg's book about allegory is well worth mention.

All of these topics will have to take a back seat for now, however, as we have the Weber bullet fired up today, and I need to begin bringing everyone up to date on the spectacular results we've had with the bullet on the first couple occasions of its use. For the uninitiated, the Bullet is marketed as the Weber Smokey Mountain cooker, but known everywhere as the bullet, owing to its appearance. It's a Weber grill, cut in half, with a two-foot long cylinder between the two hemispheres. Charcoal chamber in the bottom; big water pan covering the charcoal, absorbing and deflecting heat, and then two racks for food up above. The great virtue of the bullet is that you can start a charcoal fire that will burn for up to 18 hours, without the need for any additional fuel. Maybe occasionally adding some wood chips for smoke, but it's so efficient that it can cook for hours on end, with very little attention. All you need to do is monitor the air flow to maintain temperature.

First day out, we smoked ribs, chicken legs, and turkey sausage. I had given up cooking ribs in the old smoker, as it was too much work to manage the fire for 8-12 hours, adding charcoal, adding chips, keeping the temperature in the correct range. I found I had to sit in the barbeque pit pretty much the whole time, checking the smoker at least once every 15 minutes. This time, I loaded up the Weber, (using the Minion method, just in case anyone reading this has familiarity with the Bullet), and found that it cooked at a steady 235 without much worry. At one point, and I can't recall why, maybe I had opened the vents too much, my temp reached 275, without any adverse effect on the ribs. Anyway, after 5 1/2 hours, they were done; and they were great. The best I had ever cooked ribs, and the easiest time I ever had cooking ribs. Chicken legs were good, but I need to work on technique to keep them tender. Sausage was fabulous, had the flavor of a smoked sausage, but didn't dry out to the point of becoming salami.

Today we smoking fish. And the concern was that the Bullet is not intended to cook under 200, so would I be able to smoke fish, without cooking it? We don't have the answer yet, and I can't make any representations about taste, consistency, texture, etc. But I can report that we've managed to keep the bullet between 150 and 170 for the entire time. We looked at the product after about three hours, and everything looked great. That brown glaze that's characteristic of smoked seafood. And everything glistening from the glaze, the sweet marinade in which it soaked after 24 hours of brining.

This might be the most significant technological advance since, let's say, the discovery of distillation. Certainly, every household needs a Weber bullet. Think how much better life would be, if everyone had a smoker going, with some cold beer in the fridge, and some good whisky waiting in the cabinet. There's a thought that everyone, regardless of political persuasion, regardless of whom they love or hate in the AL East, ought to be able to agree on. Don't you think?

Proust and Genesis

2009-05-16T11:47:00.003-04:00

In the final volume of In Search of Lost Time, Proust reflects on the nature of art, in his case, fiction, and the relationship between the author and the reader.

"The only true book, though in the ordinary sense of the word it does not have
to be 'invented' by a great writer -- for it exists already in each one of us --
has to be translated by him. The function and the task of a writer are those
of a translator." (Time Regained, at 291.)

For it seemed to me that they would not be 'my' readers but the readers of their
own selves, my book being merely a sort of magnifying glass....it would be my book,
but with its help I would furnish them with the means of reading what lay within
themselves. So that I should not ask them to praise me or to censure me, but simply
to tell me whether 'it really is like that', I should ask them whether the words that
they read within themselves are the same as those which I have written.... (Id. 508)

So for Proust, the truth of any text is the degree to which the text accurately reflects the world in which the reader lives. If the book resonates with the reader, if it accurately reflects the human condition for the reader, then the reader finds it to be true. Forget Proust for a second, who is too obscure, and whose subject matter (French society) is too esoteric, for most readers to judge whether true or not. Consider Shakespeare, whose plays are true because they best represent what it means to be human.

What do Proust's reflections say about Genesis, portions of which have been explored here at some length? For many, Genesis is true, because it is the literal word of God. But what if Genesis is only a book? Is it still true? Is it just as true for a non-believing reader? What is it about Genesis that has allowed it to be read meaningfully for three millennia, and not to have been relegated to the category of ancient myth, about battling gods and monsters?

Joel Rosenberg has written about the Eden story as an example of biblical allegory. If you disregard the whole original sin concept, and reread the Eden story, it becomes a explanation of much of the human condition. Men and women; people and nature; life as a struggle to survive, ending with a return to the earth; the origin of human consciousness. So then if Proust is right, Genesis has been been read for so long, and so often, and so closely, because it's true. It resonates within each of us, because it tells us much about who we are.

I think the same is true of Abraham, and I'll explore this some more in a future post. But to combine my ongoing thesis with this concept of Proust, Abraham is the guy who discovered these truths, that were then carried around as oral tradition for close to a thousand years, before they were recorded in the original Genesis text around the time of Solomon. And even if Abraham's insights were not conveyed literally in conversations with God, and even if the text written down a thousand years later was not the literal word of God, the text remains true, as true today as three thousand years ago, which helps explain why everyone still reads the same book.

Laphroaig 30

2009-05-14T19:39:00.002-04:00

A couple winters ago, when the economy was chugging along, when everyone in New York, certainly everyone working in finance, thought they were millionaires, the Wall Street Journal ran an article about 30 year-old malts. The idea was that if you needed a special gift, say for a good client, and the client was a scotch lover, then you might think about buying a bottle of someone's thirty to express your deep appreciation. The article reviewed about five or six of these special malts, and I can only remember two things about the article. One: the most expensive 30 was, as you might have suspected, the Macallan. It was close to $750. And two: the least expensive 30, which the author also felt was the very best of the lot, was the Laphroaig. Somewhere in the low two hundreds.

Now flash forward to the spring of 2009. Right now the economy isn't doing so great, and I don't imagine that seven hundred dollar malts are flying off the shelves anywhere, even in downtown Manhattan. Perhaps once upon a time, when that was happening, we wouldn't have even seen any 30s up here in Rochester. But this spring, I noticed that our favorite purveyor was displaying the Laphroaig 30 in the locked glass cabinet, where I had once seen a couple bottles of Hirsch. Not only that, but the price was very reasonable, under $200. Now another thing that happened in the the spring of 2009, in fact it's something that happens every spring, is that I had a birthday come due. I'm not exactly wild about that development any more, as the numbers have now grown close to astronomical levels. But as the day approached, I dropped some very pointed hints, and whaddya know? On my birthday, there appeared a bottle of, you guessed it-- Laphroaig 30. Is that a great gift or what?

I've tasted it twice, and have decided that it defies explanation. I can't imagine there is anything else quite like it. It has a big round flavor, caramel, maybe chocolate, that quickly gives way to smoke, and thenmore smoke. It's clearly a Laphroaig, no doubt, but smoother, richer, much more luxurious, and really without any bite. Jim Murray says it's "sweet peat-reek from distant lumbs", but I have no idea what that means. The other distinctive characteristic is that it has a forever finish. This is only the second time I've tasted a 30 - the first being a tasting sized pour of HP30 at the Last Hurrah in downtown Boston. That 30 had a finish that went on forever also. And this Laphroaig, after you swallow, the taste lingers in your mouth. And it doesn't change. Some whiskies are nice on the palate, but after you swallow, there is an aftertaste that doesn't quite match the whisky. The Laphroaig 30 keeps reminding you of just exactly how delicious it was.

I read somewhere that Laphroaig is going to replace the 15, which I love, but which some critics find too soft, too smooth, with an 18. I figure the 18 will be that much richer, that much more full flavored than the 15. So maybe it won't be the 30, but still I've got my hopes up. Meantime, I need to think of as many special occasions as possible, so I can make up reasons to take out the 30 and enjoy a pour.

Papelbon - Still Money

2009-05-11T20:39:00.005-04:00

Aside from the minor nagging injuries, like those that have sidelined Youk and now Pedroia, the big question marks for 2009 have been Papi, Beckett, and before last night, Papelbon. Papi, we all know about. Forget about the batting average that's slowly climbed above .225. It's more a question of whether Papi can hit with power. He's had over 150 at-bats this year, and not a single home run. Last night the ESPN crew mentioned that during batting practice, he hit a few half-way up the seats in the right field bleachers. That's a long ways out, because it's 380 to the bullpen in right, so half way up the seats is an upper deck shot in many parks with a short right field porch, say the new Stadium, for example. But that was batting practice, and although Papi had a big double in the eighth, and came around to score the winning run (on Jason Bay's game winning hit), he still hasn't parked one all year long.

Second question mark is Beckett, who looked terrific in shutting down the Rays in the season's opener, but since then has looked ordinary at best. He tossed a decent game last night, allowing only three earned runs over six innings, which turned out good enough because the bullpen followed with three shutout innings. (Really, it's been the pen and not the starters for pretty much all of 2009.) But since opening day, Beckett's ERA has been sky high, even worse than in 2006, when he was having trouble adjusting to the AL. And I still believe that Beckett is the key, if the Sox make it to the post-season. So unless he rounds into 2007 form, I don't care how the regular season goes. No one is going deep into October without an ace, without someone to play the role of stopper. Beckett was that guy in 2007, and especially with Schilling having retired, there's no one else on the staff who has shown he can do that job.

The other question mark had been, at least in my mind, Papelbon. I know that Pap had converted all of his save chances this year, but still, he hadn't looked dominant. He's been giving up more hits; he's held on for a couple saves despite having been hit hard; and I just don't recall any of those one-two-three innings, where he threw only eight pitches; where he would strike guys out on three pitches; where no one could make decent contact; or where the ball didn't leave the infield.

But then last night, Tito brought in Pap to pitch the ninth, even though Ramirez had looked solid facing a single batter in the eighth. I figured: Why not hold Pap in reserve? Why not use him only if Ramirez allows a base runner. I was still wondering about that as Pap walked the first batter, and then gave up a single, putting runners on the corners with no outs. Fly ball -- tie game. Double play ball - still a tie game. And Carlos Pena now coming to the plate as a pinch hitter. So after putting his back against the wall, and putting the tying run ninety feet from home, all Pap did was strike out Pena, Upton and Crawford, in order. Game over. Better than the win was the reassurance that Pap was back. That he could be every bit as overpowering and dominant as he had been in 2007, when he did not allow a single run in the post-season. When the game is close he's still money. He's not so money that he doesn't know he's money. On the contrary, I think Pap well knows that he's money. But who cares? What difference does that make, if he really is money? You understand what I'm I'm saying here?

Bladnoch

2009-05-03T15:45:00.002-04:00

John and I first tasted Bladnoch at Federal, on a day when we had gone looking for Rosebank. Always being helpful, Joe offered us a taste of Bladnoch, as another lowland malt we might want to consider. We enjoyed the tasting, but didn't give much consideration to buying that day. Too bad for us. A wasted opportunity. We next tasted Bladnoch at Keens, during last fall's Haters Ball. Keens was featuring a twenty year old Bladnoch on their Great Scots flight. We loved it, but I figured that a 20 year-old malt, from a distillery that had been mothballed in the 90s (although recently reopened) was probably way out of our price range.

A week ago, I stopped in one of our local purveyors, really just intending to window shop. Imagine my surprise when, amidst about a dozen unspectacular Signatory bottlings, mostly malts I had little or no interest in, I spied a sixteen year old Bladnoch, non-chill-filtered, 46 percent, for the very reasonable price of $65. And so now, my cabinet features two of the great lowland malts -- whiskies that are not readily found around these parts; whiskies that are unlike anything else distilled in Scotland; hidden treasures if you will.

The most distinctive characteristic of Bladnoch is the nose. It has a huge, rich, fragrant, flowery nose that makes you want to keep sniffing the malt the entire time you have some in the glass. And the second most distinctive characteristic is the fact that this malt is entirely unlike anything else currently distilled in Scotland. The great Lowland malts are light and floral, although very flavorful. Their taste is as far from a classic highland or Speyside malt as those whiskies are from the peated malts of Islay. The taste is clean, fruity, almost sweet. I prefer a lowland malt before dining, but Murray thinks Bladnoch is perfect with dessert. I can attest to the fact that even after Keens' porterhouse, we still loved the Bladnoch we tasted that night. This bottling also has a hint of spice, not unlike the Rosebanks we've tasted. And because the nose is so strong, there is an extra kick of flavor after you swallow. It's not just a long finish, but rather, by opening your mouth again after swallowing, you allow the fragrance to reassert itself, and now the taste and the nose combine with an extra kick.

I hope that the guys who reopened Bladnoch can restore this malt to its classic heritage. And if they do it, I hope they bottle enough so that some finds its way across the Atlantic, and into upstate New York, so I don't have to travel 400 miles to find it. In the meantime, I hope the Signatory folks don't catch on to just how classy this lowland malt really is. I'd like to keep finding the occasional bottle for a moderate price, until the new product ages long enough, gets put into bottles, and then gets shipped to my neighborhood.

The Fine Art of Hating

2009-05-02T13:18:00.004-04:00

Everyone who reads this blog is an aficionado of hating. We're more than just haters; at the same time we hate on our respective rivals, we take pleasure from that hating. I for one, love hating on the Yankees; who wouldn't? We even celebrate our hating, not just with the creativity we use for expressing that hate, but now more formally, with the annual Haters Ball. And when someone else is a great hater; when someone hates with style, with panache, I like to think we give respect to that. So here's a long excerpt from Bill Simmons Page 2 column from April 23, about the Celtics-Bulls series:

"There's hate and there's sports hate. Real hate is not OK. Sports hate is OK. We are fans. We are allowed to "love" certain athletes and "hate" others. It doesn't mean we actually love them or hate them. So under that umbrella, I present you with the following statement: I hate Joakim Noah. I hate looking at him. I hate his hair. I hate how he dunks. I hate the way he high-fives. I hate every reaction he has. I hate his game. I hate the way announcers pronounce his name. I hate the story that I've heard a million times about his tennis-playing father.
I want the Celtics to win for a variety of reasons, but one of them is because it means Joakim Noah would lose. I want him to cry when it's over. And we are only two games in. I can't imagine how I'm going to feel about him by Game 5. He's like a cross between Bill Laimbeer, Marcus Camby and Lisa Bonet. Near the end of Game 2, he wandered over to the Boston bench after a whistle and lingered there pretending to be disappointed about a call -- breaking the NBA code of "don't hang out for too long near someone's bench," because, you know, he's a complete jerk that way -- and I was screaming at Kevin Garnett (on my TV), "PUNCH HIM! PUNCH HIM! DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY WITH THIS! YOU'RE NOT PLAYING ANYWAY! PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE!!!!" I hate Joakim Noah. I hate him.
Little does he know, but I already exacted my revenge on him a few months ago, when I took my daughter to a Clippers-Bulls game. She was entranced by Noah's hair for some reason and asked me in all seriousness, "Is that a girl?" I thought it would be funny to convince her that, yes, Joakim Noah was a girl. She didn't fully believe me for about a quarter. By the end of the game, Noah was her favorite player and she was excited that girls could play in the NBA. We came home and she said, "Mommy, we saw a girl play at the Clippers game!" My wife thought it was evil that I did this. She made me feel bad. Now I feel happy. I love that it happened. Just retelling the story makes me happy. I hate Joakim Noah.
(Of course, if he played for the Celtics, I'd love him.) "

Now I'm not sure that Simmons would merit an invite to the Player Haters Ball, only because the language he uses is too pedestrian. After all, if Simmons wants to compete with the likes of Silky Johnson, then he needs more novelty, more creativity, in the manner of his expression. Still, the business about persuading his daughter that Noah was a girl; that's pretty good. It gets close to the level of Chokeback Yankees. Let's just hope that Simmons gets the last laugh tomorrow afternoon. I'd hate to think about him having to watch Noah play another series.

Looking Back on April

2009-04-29T19:54:00.001-04:00

Despite Tuesday night’s debacle – three errors leading to four unearned runs – which brought the Sox winning streak to an end, April will conclude with Boston at or near its goal of five games above five hundred. That’s amazing, considering the terrible start, and the fact that they still aren’t getting many quality starts from their pitching staff. Beckett and Lester have been uneven; Penny much worse than uneven; Dice-K AWOL after leading his countrymen to the WBC title; leaving Wake to step in as the ace of the staff. Barring injury, Wake looks like he should be able to pitch into his early sixties, allowing him to challenge Cy Young for many RedSox career pitching records.

Fortunately, as inconsistent as the starters have been, the bullpen has been pretty reliable. The big change for 2009 seems to be the addition of Ramon Ramirez, who has stepped into the role of Pap’s setup man. That’s especially important, because Oki no longer mystifies the opposition. It’s difficult to know why the change, but Okajima never had overpowering stuff. It was more that opposing hitters could not figure him out. Now that he’s been in the league for three years, maybe batters know him better. Or maybe he just isn’t hitting his spots. Still, he continues to perform well more often than not, and is a good contrast to all the fireballers on the pitching staff. Delcarmen has been solid so far; Masterson great in middle relief when called upon (although he looks more and more like a starter before too long); and didn’t Michael Bowden look awesome on Sunday? Two hitless innings, against the Yankees no less; including a strikeout of Derek Jeter. Not bad for 22 years old. A number of good young arms in the organization, and I haven’t even mentioned Buckholz, who last time I looked was shutting down the IL.

The one big question mark in my mind is whether Pap is OK. I know he’s five for five in save opportunities, but he doesn’t seem like the same guy this April. Too many walks; not enough Ks; and far too many pitches in most of his outings. What happened to those 1-2-3 innings where Pap would throw only six pitches, all of them strikes? One reason the pen was so good the past few years (and in 2004 as well), was that the other guys only had to get us to the ninth inning. Once it was the ninth inning, I could start calling the boys and recapping the game. Time will tell, but if the past decade demonstrates anything about baseball today, it’s that the team with the invincible closer had a big advantage come October. (Just picture Pap and Lidge in the past two Series.)

Enough about the pitching. During the early going, when Sox were coming up short in many games, the bats were silent, aside from Youk. The home stand seemed to have changed that. Jason Bay has continued to fill in adequately in Manny’s absence. (To read that is startling on two levels. First, Bay has been more remarkable than adequate of late, with two ninth inning home runs, and consistently productive at bats. Second, to suggest that anyone could fill in for Manny, who’s only the best right handed hitter of the modern era, is equally remarkable. But true. Plus Bay can actually catch fly balls; how about that running grab and tumble into the stands last night?) Lowell looks more like the Mike Lowell of 2007, who anchored the offense, and cleaned up all the base runners that the three and four hitters didn’t knock in. Even Tek has looked far better than he did in 2008. And here’s the other thing: this recent run production has mostly come from the right side of the plate. Papi is hitting better, but still not displaying much power; and Drew has been mostly MIA. If either of those guys comes to life, the lineup will be close to devastating.

I like the combination of young and old; I like the fact that there’s much room for improvement; I like the fact that there doesn’t seem to be much drama; I like the speed (I had to make some mention of Jacoby stealing home on Pettite. Not just that it’s perhaps the most exciting play in baseball, but he does it against the Yankees on ESPN.) I’ve got to go see when the Sox are coming to Toronto this year. Barring injuries, this is beginning to look like an entertaining season.

A-Fraud Back in the News

2009-04-25T21:31:00.002-04:00

I read that the Yankees sent Wang to A-Fraud's specialist for treatment. They don't say what his specialty is, other than to note that he is a 'soft-tissue' expert. So seeing that the guy is A-Fraud's doc, I figure he must be either a brain doctor, or a urologist.

Two nice comeback wins to open the season's first series with the Yankees. Last night we saw Jason being Manny, which is always a great thing, and then the Sox were visited by the Greek God of Walk-offs, as Youk is now known. Then in today's pitching duel between Burnett and Beckett, the Sox came from six down, to score 17 runs over five innings. Youk ended the day leading the majors in hitting at .444, a great number under any circumstances. Lowell has 22 RBIs, and looks like he's back to 2007 form. Jason Bay is batting a solid .309 with just about one RBI for every game played. So even though Beckett remains inconsistent, and Dice is still rehabbing somewhere, and Papi still slumping, the rest of the lineup has been hot of late, allowing the Sox to move five games above .500. Remember that's the formula for success. If they gain five games on .500 every month, they end up with 96 wins and another trip to the post-season.

So right now, let's just stay healthy. We need that in the AL East, where there's never a moment's rest. The Jays are hot this year, replacing last year's Rays, and the Sox-Yankees rivalry looks like it will be as competitive as ever. So we need Dice back in the rotation; and even though Nick Green has been hitting well, we need Lugo or Lowrie back for defense; and we need to stay away from the nagging injuries that plagued us last year. Plus it wouldn't hurt to see the old Papi and Beckett again. But right now, all I'll ask for is no more injuries.

A Turn for the Better

2009-04-20T20:31:00.001-04:00

After losing each of the three series that started this season, the Sox swept four from the Orioles, and are now above .500 for the first time in 2009. Lester pitched a gem; Masterson did a fine job filling in as the sixth starter; and the bats seem to have come alive at long last. Papi is still not himself, even though he had a couple good at-bats today. But Mike Lowell looks more like 2007 than last year; Tek has been hitting better than last year; and Pedroia is finally getting his licks in. Youk is close to unstoppable.

Mike says we are not to take pleasure in the defeat of our enemies; rather, we should just be thankful for our own blessings. Still, I have to admit that my favorite day of the past weekend was Saturday, when Cleveland scored two touchdowns in the second inning. Wang’s ERA has now soared above 30, which even Girardi recognizes as a bit of a problem. Indians ended up scoring twenty-two, to go with the ten they plated on Yankee Stadium’s opening day. Too bad Cleveland’s bullpen spoiled Pavano’s strong start yesterday. That would have been the ultimate indignity – Carl Pavano getting a win against the Yankees in the new park – even better than the fourteen run inning.

I’m getting closer to a posting about Joseph. We just celebrated the Passover seder, and the Haggadah makes only passing reference to Joseph. That’s an oversight. Joseph is the unsung hero of the exodus, for reasons I will explicate in the future posting. In fact, Joseph is perhaps the most underrated figure in the entire chronicle of Genesis. He’s the link between Abraham and Moses, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

So it’s springtime, the Sox have begun winning a few games, our people have been liberated from bondage, and I’m enjoying an occasional glass of malt whisky. Things are looking up.

Inauspicious Start

2009-04-17T16:45:00.001-04:00

I keep hoping that I’ll wake up, open the Sports Page, and learn that the month of April won’t count this year. MLB decided to let everyone start over. Which would be a good idea, since much of the month, for the RedSox at least, has resembled spring training. Out of nine games, we’ve had two good starts – Beckett’s opener, and Wakefield’s gem out in Oakland. The rest of the starters are still warming up. Except of course for Dice-K, who is now cooling down, or resting his fatigued shoulder, or who knows what. Wonder how happy the Sox will be with the WBC next time it rolls around? Nice for Dice to pitch his country to victory once again, but not so nice if that keeps him from being effective this year. And what’s going on with Lester, last year’s emerging ace? Now Beckett’s facing suspension, and will miss a start, so are we talking Buckholz? And can he rebound from his sophomore slump?

Maybe we could have gotten by in April, despite the absence of starting pitching, had we had any hitting to speak of. But last I looked, our one, two and three hitters were all batting under two hundred. That includes Papi, the lineup’s anchor for the past several years (#3), Pedroia, last year’s sparkplug, and MVP (#2), and Ellsbury, who has been slumping since the middle of last season (#1). Still, three of those losses were only one-run games, so there’s hope, assuming our starters can get past the first couple innings, and our hitters can get above .200.

Speaking of inauspicious starts, another thing about this lousy April is that it has really denied all of us the opportunity to take any enjoyment out of the Yankees’ troubles. Home opener for the new stadium yesterday; Sabathia on the mound; Sizemore grand slam; and the Indians, whose record is worse than the Sox, ruin Opening Day. But there’s not much pleasure in knowing that, unless the Sox can win a couple games in a row, and suggest that they’ll be competitive in 2009. The other night, I saw the box scores, and the Rays were running up double digits on the Yanks. Wang’s ERA is flirting with 30. See, that’s not really a good ERA, because pitchers try to keep that number down. Still, I don’t think the Sox managed a win that night, and it was cold comfort knowing the Yankees had been beaten by ten runs.

It could be worse. This morning I read that Doc Rivers had watched KG work out, and had then explained that he did not expect KG to play at all in the post-season. We’ve all been waiting, as the Celtics stumbled through the last third of the season, but still managed to hang onto second place in the east, for KG’s return. The holes in the defense would get plugged; the offense would get back in sync; and the Cs could renew their drive to repeat, albeit without home court advantage. They need to win in Cleveland, and then in LA, but with a healthy KG, an improved Rondo, and especially with Big Baby having stepped up with the chance to play more minutes, that didn’t seem impossible. Powe looks healthy again; Tony Allen and Stephon Marbury have the potential for instant offense off the bench; and Ray Allen might not miss a free throw in all the playoffs. But without KG – forget about it. Now way they beat either the Cavs or the Lakers.

And as long as we’re looking back on a bad April, let’s not overlook the wholesale defection of Flynn, Devo and PH2. I figure we could have survived Flynn’s departure, what with Jardine and Triche playing next year. But we’ll definitely miss Harris’ rebounds, especially with KO gone; and even more than that, we’ll miss Devo’s outside shooting. At season’s end, when Cuse played so well in the Big East and the first couple tournament rounds, Devo was shooting three balls at a fifty percent clip. The Oklahoma game was an indication of how badly the team needed outside shooting. Now Rautins will be back, but the outside threat was much more credible when we had two good shooters on the floor. So Jardine will play the point; Rautins will play the 2 guard (actually a better spot for him than small forward); AO will be in the middle; and Jackson and Wes Johnson will play forward. That’s not a bad lineup, but we won’t be deep. We’ll need Kris Joseph to play with more confidence; we’ll need Mookie Jones to play less selfishly; and we’ll need some help from one or two freshmen. If that happens, they’ll be good, even though they’ll miss the leadership and experience of the trio that departed. Dickie V won’t be picking this team to go to the Final Four.

So there you have it. April is supposed to be the time of renewal, a season of optimism. This year, however, it’s been a chilly spring.

An Open Letter to Dr. Gross

2009-04-07T16:00:00.002-04:00

Dr. Daryl Gross
Director of Athletics
Syracuse University
Syracuse, NY 13244

Dear Dr. Gross:

With the hiring of a new football coach, and the basketball team back in the Sweet Sixteen, you probably did not expect to receive a lot of letters like this. However, I’m writing to explain why I am not renewing my season tickets.

I’ve been an SU sports fan all my life—since the fall of 1956 when I saw Jim Brown score 43 points against Colgate. That was a Division I single game scoring record that stood for decades. I saw every one of Ernie Davis’ home football games, except the Kansas game in ’59, because my mother grounded me that Saturday for reasons I no longer remember. I was at Manley Field House for opening night—a UConn game, as I recall. I saw Floyd Little’s coming out party when he ran for five touchdowns against the Kansas team that featured a halfback named Gale Sayers. I used to watch Jim Nance wrestle in the men’s gym on Saturdays.

I haven’t lived in Syracuse since 1967, but have maintained my dad’s football and basketball season tickets since he moved to Florida in the early 90s. I think my dad bought these tickets the year the Dome opened. I’ve even kept the football tickets through the declining fortunes of the past four years. Every winter, I’ve driven through the snow to see at least a dozen basketball games, and in all those years, I’ve been turned back by the weather only once.

But now I’m done. My Orange Club donation, which had risen consistently year after year during your tenure, increased over 57 % in one year. That price increase, quite frankly, astonished me for many reasons.

First of all, I wondered about the decision to raise prices so dramatically during these economic times. I am not claiming hardship, and I don’t write this letter with the intention of asking for a price break. But still, I wonder, who raises prices 57 % when the economy is imploding?

Second, who raises prices when their product has consistently declined in value year after year? Just in case you were not keeping track, the football program has not done particularly well over the last four years. Not only has the team managed a total of ten wins during those four seasons (I recall many years they had ten wins in a single season, including the 1992 season, when I took my family to the Fiesta Bowl.) Worse, the team has consistently ranked in the bottom five or ten percent in almost every statistical category. Even defense.

Third, who raises prices like this when the venue is empty? Did you attend football games last fall? It was often so lonely and quiet in my section that I could converse throughout the games with other fans near my seats. These were familiar faces who had been sitting in the same location for decades—folks who remembered my dad and my Uncle Joe fondly, and would want to be remembered to my mom. By way of contrast, I recall games in the Dome when it was so loud I could not even tell my dad what I wanted to eat when he would get up to go to the concession stand. It was bedlam.

Fourth, I’m not sure you have figured this out yet, but Upstate New York is not Los Angeles. Sure, we’ve had big crowds in the Dome for basketball year after year. On many nights, SU attendance is the largest in the nation, not just Division I, but the NBA as well. But Syracuse is not a town of movie stars and millionaires. I wonder how many other fans from Rochester, Binghamton, Canajoharie, and Watertown will factor in the cost of gas, the cost of parking, the recent price increases, the hassle of traveling on winter nights, and then reconsider their commitment.

By the way, even though the basketball team has continued to perform at a high level, crowds are down. Whether it’s a result of TV exposure, or the economy, who knows? Except for a couple games this year, we really did not have monster crowds.

Still, all of that is a business judgment, and you must know some things that I don’t. Otherwise, I doubt you would have made the decision to raise the prices so much. And while one can quarrel with business judgment, I was still considering renewing my tickets until I called the Orange Club. You see, I could not figure out from the mailing and all the various schedules of ticket prices, why my seats now cost $535 just for the privilege of purchasing season tickets. When I called, I learned that my seats, which had been “B” level seats for 30 years had been changed to “A” level. “The same seats?” I asked. The same seats, I was told; now you just have to pay “A” level prices. I hate to think what the seats will cost if the football program ever turns around.

So I’m giving them up after 30 years in the family—not just football, but basketball too. It’s not just a matter of expense, but more that I feel betrayed. I’ve been a loyal fan for ages. I’ve come to football games the past four years knowing that the team would probably be beaten, and beaten badly. I’ve supported the concession stands, buying meatball sandwiches, BK Broilers, Dome Dogs, drinks and peanuts. I’ve bought little Otto stuffed toys for friends with newborns. And my reward for that loyalty is to have my pocket picked. If anything, I should have had my annual contribution reduced, for having loyally supported the team these past four years. Instead, I had my seats, which had always been the best “B” level seats, downgraded to the worst “A” level seats. That’s my reward. And if that’s how you treat your fan base, I’m done.

I’ll still root for the team, but instead of driving through the snow, and sometimes getting home in the early morning hours, I’ll go to a neighborhood tavern, sit at the bar, eat and drink, and drive five minutes when the game is over. I won’t pay for parking or fight the traffic. A couple times each year, I’ll get free tickets from a friend, or maybe even buy them on the street. But I’m sorry; I won’t allow myself to be taken advantage of.

Perhaps I’m the only one who feels this way. Perhaps you’ll sell the same number of season tickets to others, who don’t mind the constant increases. But on the other hand, perhaps you’ll erode your loyal fan base with these ever increasing money-grabbing policies.

Next year, when the Orange are back in the tournament (and they’ll get there, even if Flynn and Devendorf leave) I’ll be in front of the TV, or maybe, I’ll join one of my sons at the Garden or one of the first round venues. One of my boys lives in Miami and attended the first two games in person. And I’ll take the money I didn’t spend on season tickets and use it for airfare and hotel rooms. I don’t think that’s the best thing for the University or the Athletic Department, but last I checked, no one asked me.

Very truly yours,

David Rothenberg

Sweet and Sour Sixteen

2009-03-29T09:08:00.003-04:00

Notwithstanding the way it ended on Friday night, 2009 was a pretty good basketball season. On balance, as they say. A few great road wins early on, that helped raise our RPI enormously, and gave everyone a sense that this was a team with promise, unlike the past few years. Then there was that magical run through the Big East tourney, which finally fell short when the Orange ran out of steam in the second half of what was really the fifth game in four nights. Not to mention that, despite losing, they played credibly against a Louisville team that has looked downright scary at times in the NCAAs, which are beginning to look like the second Big East tourney of the spring. Maybe if we had played Oklahoma in the Garden, our second home court, we would have fared better.

There were other, less tangible things that made the season enjoyable. I liked how they shared the ball. In the first Big East tourney game against Seton Hall, Cuse tied a tournament record for single game assists. Everyone recognized Flynn for his creative dishing, especially on the break, but I also liked Rautins and his no look passes. Headphones next to me in the Dome incessantly hates on Rautins, and I have to concede that he threw a number of those passes away, all year long, because the big men weren't expecting them, because they had too much zip, or sometimes because they were off the mark. But I'd much rather see a turnover result from an entry pass than from someone dribbling the ball off his shoe as he tried to penetrate among three defenders. I liked how the team didn't finger point, how guys never seemed to get down on each other. I've noticed that even among teams advancing into the late rounds of the NCAAs, when something goes wrong, guys are quick to get on their teammates, and I almost never saw that happen among the Orange. I liked how hard PH2 worked all year, even when he wasn't scoring, and even when he ceded the star's role, first to Flynn, and then to Devo. I liked how KO came into his own, got some confidence, hustled every minute he was on the court, and once a game put an opponent on the floor with one of his Belgian blocks. He became a dome favorite, and it was great that his folks came all the way across the Atlantic for senior night. I liked how AO ate up Luke Harangody, as the Cuse ran Notre Dame out of the dome. That alone almost makes for a great season.

But there was also a frustrating aspect to the season, because the team would play so inconsistently. Some of that stemmed from the fact the offense relied on outside shooting, and when everyone was off, when no one could hit threes, the offense went stagnant. That's to be expected on occasion. But more aggravating were the games when the team played lackadaisically. When they threw those soft, casual, telegraphed passes that everyone in the dome could see coming. When they played down to the level of competition, or got way behind because they just didn't come out of the locker room with any focus or intensity.

The Oklahoma debacle was foreshadowed by the first half of the Rutgers game, when we scored only 19 points. They managed to pull that one out, not just because Rutgers was lousy, but because they played well in the second half. But we had another hint of what was coming in the second half of Stephen F. Austin. Same thing. No scoring; tons of turnovers; playing carelessly. We survived that game because the first half had built a big lead, and also because Stephen F. Austin (just to say the name finishes the thought) really wasn't very good.

But when they went into a shell against Oklahoma and Blake Griffin, they dug a hole out of which they could not climb. (Notice that even though I mixed my metaphors, I still managed not to finish that one with a preposition. Churchill once said, in response to someone criticizing his grammar, "This is the kind of nonsense up with which I will not put.") Orange hit no threes in the entire first half, as Oklahoma's Crocker had a career game, hitting six of his first eight threes. Recall that Cuse beat Memphis early on because Memphis could not shoot over the 2-3. The first half stayed close for a while, because Oklahoma was committing a million turnovers. Maybe better shooting from us, or no threes from Crocker would have made them panicky (think back to 2003), but the Sooners had their confidence, and they had Griffin inside. And then, there was a time spanning the end of the first half and the start of the second half when Oklahoma outscored the Orange 25-5. Game over. Tournament over. Season over.

Boeheim is now one win short of 800. With Jardine, Wes Johnson, young Mr. Triche, and some highly regarded big man coming in, next year should be just as exciting, with or without Flynn. Honestly. I'd love to see him return; he really makes the team go. But if he doesn't return, we'll still have two solid point guards, more experienced big men, and at least one, probably two outside threats. Maybe we can even run guys in off the bench for a change.

But the big question is whether I'll be back in Section 108. I don't have time to get into the details right now, but let's just say I've become resentful of how Dr. Gross has been breaking into my bank accounts. But whether it's in the Dome, or just on TV, I'm looking forward to 2010. Go Orange, and thanks for a lively and entertaining season.

Everybody Hates on Devo

2009-03-25T19:58:00.002-04:00

I read that Jonny Flynn is on the cover of a regional issue of SI this week, and my first thought, of course is that the famous SI jinx will land on us this Friday night. Let's hope not. But ever since the Big East tourney, there's a veritable shower of love for Flynn, and his big heart, and all that stuff. I like Flynn; don't get me wrong; but he's been demonstating a big head as much as a big heart lately, and I really don't like that 'offense', if you want to call it that, where we go four across the baseline, and then Flynn drives into traffic, looking to draw fouls, but more often drawing blocks. I preferwhen he plays within himself, and doesn't try to take over the game.

Meanwhile, for all the love shown Flynn, his backcourt mate is the object of almost universal disrespect, contempt and hate. Writers are hating on Devendorf's chest thumping, on his incessant jabbering, on his posing after threeballs, and even on his tatoos. Ibetthey didn't like when he climbed on the scorers' table after sinking theapparent game winner against UConn. The most aggravating aspect of all this hate is the self righteous sanctimonius hating about that nonincident with some gal who was the exgirlfriend of one or more players, and who ran off to see her lawyer in Long Island as soon as she concluded her encounter with Eric in the early morning hours. We often celebrate hating on this page, and maybe I wouldn't be a big fan of Devo is he were playing for Georgetown (he kind of looks like he would have fit right into the late-80s mentality at Georgetown, when JT was propagating a culture of thuggery), but I don't think he's getting the respect he deserves.

Check out these numbers. During the post-season run (and isn't that the most important time to step up?), and setting aside the Stephen F. Austin game, where not just Devo, but most everyone played awful, he has averaged 21 points a game, shooting just under 50% from three-point range, and committing only eight turnovers total in five games. In the sixty-one minutes he played against UConn, he had a single turnover. Not just that, but think of the big shots he made in the second round; almost single-handedly turning back the run that Arizona State went on. And these big shots don't even include the UConn gamewinner, which the refs waived off.

Another thing is that all his teammates stick up for Devo. They talk about how unselfish he is, and it's seems that he doesn't mind ceding the spotlight to Flynn. There doesn't look to be any competition about whose team this is, or who's in charge, or any of that nonsense. Everyone says that Devo is content to drill threes and do his jabbering at the opposition. So while the rest of the country is hating on Devo, I want to take the time to show him some love here, regardless of how things turn out this weekend. Go Eric. Go Orange.

Sweet Sixteen

2009-03-22T14:32:00.003-04:00

There's another week of basketball around here. It's been five years, but the Orange are back to the Sweet Sixteen. ASU made me nervous, because they had the potential to shoot over the top of our zone. When teams can drill threes all day, that's typically a big problem for the 2-3. But even though we left that Serbian kid alone too often, allowing him a career high, the zone was very active most of the day. Looking back over this late season resurgence, it really has been fueled by the defense. In most games that ended in regulation (three of the last nine wins have come in overtime), we've held the opponent under seventy. Same thing today, even though Arizona State hit thirteen threes.

Plus, Rautins and Devo were hitting from the outside today, with eight threes between them. That was a welcome change from Friday, when no one could buy a three. Turnovers were way down in the first half, but second half got sloppy again. If they're to have any chance against Oklahoma, they just can't commit unforced turnovers. So here's the formula for next weekend. Active D, plus a bunch of threes, minus turnovers, equals half a chance to advance to the regional finals.

Here are a few more numbers to think about. Five Big East teams are still playing in the tourney; and had Marquette managed to hang to their lead for another couple minutes, it would have been six. Six of the Orange losses this past season came at the hands of the other four Big East teams that are still playing. Today was the 799th win for Boeheim, and by my calculations, if Cuse should manage to beat Oklahoma next Friday, that will be the eight-hundredth win for the coach. Pretty impressive for a guy from Lyons.

No matter what happens from this point on, it's been a good season by any measure. The team was exciting, even if they were often exasperating. After a mid-season swoon, they rebounded nicely, and had a great run through the Big East Tourney. I figured that the best we could reasonably expect this year was sweet sixteen, and whaddya know? We're going to the sweet sixteen.

And by the way, Mike was in the house for both games in Miami. Too bad we couldn't get it organized to get all of us down there for the weekend. But Mike, let's hear about it. Or why not post a couple photos? And next weekend, Go Orange.

Surviving and Advancing the Ugly Way

2009-03-20T19:43:00.005-04:00

Here are some stats from this afternoon's opening round game: twenty-one turnovers, and only twenty-one second half points. 2 for 16 from three-point range, including 0 for 6 on the part of Rautins, who played 28 minutes and scored no points, as in zero points. Nothing. Devo wasn't that much better, going three for 15 from the field, and committing six turnovers. That's two turnovers for every made basket. The Orange totally dominated on the boards, (we really need to give some props here to PH2, who had 16 boards, and who probably played harder than everyone else combined, despite not scoring that much), ended up with a half decent shooting percentage, notwithstanding their inability to sink any threes; yet they couldn't outscore this 14 seed in the second half. Stephen F. Who?

If was the worst half of basketball since the first half of the Rutgers game. Remember that night? We had schlepped into Cuse for a 9 o'clock tipoff, and when they were down 20-19 at the half, I was wondering why had I done this? I was going to stay up until 1 in the morning, and drag my ass around all next day, to see that? Fortunately, they played with intensity in the second half of that final home game, ran away from Rutgers, and continued to play with that same focus all the way through the Big east tourney. But today, they reverted to their early season practice of playing down to the level of their opponent, making the final score a lot closer than it should have been.

Still, they advanced. And not all of the high seeds managed to do that. Wake got beaten by the same Cleveland State team that beat the Orange on that last second sixty foot heave. And not every two and three seed looked great the past two days. So in that sense, we're glad they managed to make it to the second round. Jimmy Valvano's mantra for the tourney, which has by now become a cliche, was "Survive and Advance." That's what the Orange did today, winning their first NCAA tournament game since the spring of 2004. As I recall, their last victory was over Maryland, when they made it to the sweet sixteen. That's my goal for this year, so one more win and we'll be there. Check back on Sunday. And go Orange.

My Book Report

2009-03-16T21:56:00.003-04:00

DISCLAIMER: This posting has nothing to do with the usual mannymontaigne topics. Danny lent me a couple books, and I promised him that I would critique the one I read most recently:
Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. In all likelihood, unless you've read Gladwelll, you could care less about this posting. So instead of reading this posting, just go have a glass of Highland Park. Either that, or watch film about Stephen F. Austin, so we're ready for Friday night.

The subtitle of Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers is, “The Story of Success”, and Gladwell’s thesis is summed up in the concluding pages of the book: “To build a better world, we need to replace the patchwork of lucky breaks and arbitrary advantages that today determine success -- the fortunate birthdates and the happy accidents of history -- with a society that provides opportunities for all.”(p. 268) To oversimplify this book, Gladwell attempts to prove that success is not the result of ability, or hard work, or initiative, or apparently any combination of the above, but rather comes from being in the right place at the right time. That and ten thousand hours of practice.

Gladwell is half right. He’s right when he attempts to show that there is no direct correlation between IQ, or ability, and success. He’s also right when he argues that opportunity can raise statistical performance across a given population – say inner city students. But once again, even though Gladwell writes an entertaining, engaging, and often thought provoking book, he can’t synthesize his various observations into any coherent theory. He errs in this book for two reasons. First, his methodology, if you want to call it that, is flawed. He really never thinks through his conclusions. He doesn’t look at them from every possible angle, to see if his propositions really make sense. Second, on a more substantive level, he is completely wrong when he tries to take talent, or genius, completely out of the equation. In Gladwell’s world, we can all be Mozart or Einstein; we just need a level playing field and an equal opportunity to get ahead.

Let’s talk methodology first. Gladwell cites what he calls the ten-thousand-hour rule for the proposition that great musicians (the Beatles) or great software developers (Bill Gates) became great for one simple reason: they practiced for ten thousand hours. Now really, all Gladwell is doing is arguing a general rule or law, on the basis of a couple anecdotal examples. Mozart supposedly became a great composer only after he had been writing music for 10,000 hours. Bill Joy and Bill Gates founded Sun and Microsoft only after they wrote code for 10,000 hours. And the Beatles only got great once they had played in Hamburg for years, seven hours a day, for a total of, yes, 10,000 hours. So then is Gladwell saying that any schlemiel will become a success if he only works at his craft for 10,000 hours?

There are a number of ways that Gladwell failed to think through this proposition. The first and most obvious is that for every example he selects, there are numerous counterexamples. In music, what about Dylan, who wrote Hard Rain and Blowin in the Wind, when he was only 21, barely a year out of Minnesota? How about Isaac Newton, who invented calculus and discovered the laws of motion when he was a young man? I mean, how does one discover something entirely new, such as calculus, if the ten-thousand-hour rule is really a rule? A second flaw in Gladwell’s analysis is that his exemplars were not the only ones who practiced for 10,000 hours. Gates and Joy were not the only teenagers fiddling with computers day and night, whether at Michigan or MIT or any of the other schools that had computer labs; and the Beatles were not the only band that played day and night for years on end. What elevated Gates and John Lennon from the others? Third, and this is a defect in Gladwell’s thinking in all of his books, is that he fails to consider causation. Do certain violinists become prodigies because they practice for 10,000 hours? Or do these performers practice incessantly, because of their innate ability? By far the worst example of Gladwell’s defective thinking is his quote (from some other purported thinker) about how Mozart didn’t compose any masterworks until his 271st composition at the age of twenty-one. And so the fact that Mozart didn’t compose Figaro when he was ten years old proves he wasn’t a genius?

I agree with Gladwell when he posits that success results from a constellation of factors, including opportunity, accident, being in the right place at the right time. All of the computer geeks who became jillionaires happened along just as PCs or the internet were about to blow up. The earlier geniuses like John Von Neumann, who is often credited with conceiving computers, never had a chance to turn their ideas into any practical application that could, in turn, generate any financial success for them. So in order to capitalize on computer hardware or software, one had to wait another generation or more, for the precise time when mainframe computers had become more accessible, and microchips were making it possible to put all that circuitry in a small box that could sit on the countertop. I disagree with Gladwell though, when he confuses talent with success. His book too often measures success in purely material terms, which I suppose isn’t a surprise from someone who is undoubtedly a deeply committed Marxist. For Gladwell, success is material or popular success. Kenny G has probably sold a thousand times more records than Ornette Coleman. So what? Who was more of a success, and by what measure?

Gladwell’s biggest problem though is that he is philosophically opposed to genius. It runs counter to his basic philosophy that we could all have been Mozart or Shakespeare if only we’d had the same opportunities they had. And by the way, what opportunities did Shakespeare have? Or Socrates, what advantages did he have in life? And Gladwell’s chapter on Chinese agriculture and its relationship to math is a prefect example of his refusal to recognize genius. Apparently, in order to grow rice, one has to be careful, and exact. Add that to the fact that it’s real easy to say numbers in the Chinese language, and one finds two cultural reasons why the Chinese are better at math than Americans. OK? So then why weren’t geometry, and algebra, and calculus invented in China by the children of this precise rice-growing culture? Why wasn’t Archimedes Chinese? In fact, what great mathematician was Chinese? I know there are a million Chinese kids at MIT these days, and I’m sure cultural factors play a strong part of that, just as they did when there were so many Jewish kids at MIT and Harvard a generation ago. But statistical achievement is different in many ways from the breakthroughs that have changed the way we understood the world.

In the end, one would like to root for Gladwell, and to imagine all the other great writers, composers, inventors, thinkers, lawyers and hockey players we’d have, if all the world had the same opportunities. But think of this: one of Gladwell’s examples of success stories is the tale of Joe Flom, who became a fabulously successful lawyer, after being raised as a child of immigrants living in New York’s tenements. Joe Flom, and other lawyers who made a fortune fighting hostile takeovers weren’t any more talented than anyone else; nor any smarter. They just had the good fortune to grow up in the tenements of New York’s lower east side, in the depths of the depression. Talk about being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Danny, really, what are you doing hanging around with all these pinkos?

Friday Night in Miami

2009-03-15T21:54:00.002-04:00

Earlier today, as the brackets were being announced, I kept looking at the fours and fives. G-Man predicted a four, and I thought four or five, no real difference. I knew the RPI had climbed through the Big East tournament; it was up to 11 before the Louisville game. But I have to admit I was more than a little surprised as I saw they would end up a three.

More than that, I was elated to see that the final bracket in the South, where the three and six seeds would open, was to be played in Miami, giving Mike a chance to see the Orange go dancing. I jumped on the computer and sent an e-mail to Lew, asking if he could find tickets for Mike. "Done." was the reply that came back. A few weeks ago, we had talked about getting the family together in Miami that weekend, just for a getaway. I figured we could all watch together, in Mike's living room, as we had last May, when Bron and Pierce lit up the garden in the Celtics Game seven win over the Cavs. But I also figured we'd be watching them play in Boise Idaho, or Kansas City. No way did I ever figure they'd be playing in downtown Miami. Anyway, it's too bad our schedules didn't allow us to get away. But I hope we'll be calling Mike's cell phone every five minutes, starting next Friday night.

I think the three seed was, in part, the committee's apology to Boeheim for overlooking the Orange over the past couple years. Really, when you saw the records of some of the teams that got in with 10, 11 and 12 seeds, it's hard to figure how Cuse got shut out, especially two years ago. Or maybe they were just rewarding him for playing a tougher schedule this year. Of course, had we played the usual schedule of New York schools, we'd have picked up two other tournament teams, Siena and Binghamton. Or maybe they just deserved the three seed; after all they've beaten a one and a two, both away from the Dome.

So the post-season starts on Friday, and they can't take this first round game for granted. I know they've been all over Sportscenter for several days; but all year long, they've had the ability to play up or down to the precise level of their competiton. But from now on, they've got to play every minute with the same intensity they displayed through all seven overtime periods. That, along with fewer turnovers, and a few more rebounds, and continued strong shooting from Rautins and Devo; and maybe then we'll be talking tournament a week from now. Go Orange.

Wide Open Field

2009-03-14T16:27:00.002-04:00

I am officially proclaiming that this year’s tournament field is wide open without any clear favorites any more. A week ago, it seemed that the number one seeds had already been selected, and that one could practically pencil them in for the final four. But in this week of conference championships, seven of the ten top-ranked teams have been beaten, with a couple tournament championships yet to be played. UConn and Pitt were both expected to draw number one seeds, but Cuse and West Virginia knocked them off their respective perches. Same for UNC, which now looks vulnerable without Lawson. Memphis will undoubtedly draw a number one, but if they have a single game where they shoot as poorly as when Cuse beat them back in December, they can pack their bags for the trip back home. Duke? Bunch of bitches.

This March has just begun, and it’s already shaping up as one of those extended sleepless seasons, reminiscent of Octobers past. College basketball games usually finish in under two hours, and unless you draw the late game on the west coast, you can expect a normal night’s sleep. Not so the past couple nights. Cuse has played the late game for three straight nights, and as every hoops fan on the planet knows, played well into the early morning hours on Friday, in the epic six overtime game with UConn. Too bad we don’t play the entire post-season in Madison Square Garden.

I’m predicting a five-seed, maybe even a four, in the tournament. I figured them for a six after they beat Marquette. But the UConn victory has to move them up at least one notch. I checked this morning and their RPI was 13 after the first round of the Big East, and apparently before considering the last two wins. Strength of schedule was in the top ten: quality wins over Memphis, Kansas, Marquette and UConn, all on the road. There’s no real difference between a four and a five, and either one gives them about the same shot to make the sweet sixteen. That’s what I’d really like to see this year.

I recently chided PH for losing faith in the team, and he recanted, made his penance, and returned to the fold. Now, I have my own confession to make. I had been down on KO early in the season, claiming that we played four on five when he was on the floor. I recall the South Florida game, where he missed six layups, and continually hurt the offense. But he’s brought his game to a new level (that’s the most meaningless sports metaphor ever). Actually, he was the unsung hero the past couple nights, especially with our otherwise weak rebounding making us vulnerable. His defense is good, mainly because he hustles all the time. He was stepping into passing lanes last night, and keeping guys from getting open looks in the corner. Plus, he’s managed to perfect those hard fouls that we love, the Belgian blocks. No more layups when KO decides to foul; and somehow he keeps the opponent from hitting the floor. Those were fun, but we can’t risk any ejections for flagrant fouls. I know Flynn has been getting the ink; along with the shooters, Devo and Rautins. But KO has been solid. So here, for all the world to see, I make my apology for disrespecting him.

I have low expectations for tonight’s game. Louisville is very good; they run that man up and down the court, and will harass the hell out of our tired ball handlers. And I recall that their shooters are good enough to put up points against the zone. But really, all I hope for is no injuries. I don’t care if we win the Big East. All I want is a healthy roster next week. Go Orange.

The Mutton Chop and the Garden Party

2009-03-12T18:08:00.002-04:00

As the Big East tourney was getting underway, our family convened a block away, at Keen’s, for no particular reason aside from the great food and whisky. It was really just a coincidence, but I was scheduled to argue an appeal the same week that Mike was coming to New York for a moot court competition, and John was planning to be in the City for work. So what better place to meet?

We struggled to find a spot at the bar, as the place was mobbed, even on a Tuesday night. But once we commandeered a couple seats, and requisitioned the scotch listing, we settled in on a ten-year old Arran malt. I know what you’re thinking: why not Rosebank? We always drink Rosebank at Keens. The unfortunate answer to that question is that Keens no longer has any Rosebank behind the bar. Can you imagine? Fortunately, we still have a few bottles in the family, and can partake on special occasions, say if the Cuse were to make it to the Sweet Sixteen. I think that might merit a taste of Rosebank. But our favorite lowland malt, and in fact, one of our very favorite whiskies of all times, can longer be found at this venerable establishment.

So anyway, Arran is a new distillery, on the island which bears the same name (an eponymous whisky?), but has a character much closer to a Highland malt than anything we’d usually associate with the islands. Partly, that’s because the whisky is young; but more than that, there’s no peat, no smoke, no brine in Arran. When I first became enamored of malts, Ben sold me a bottle of “Arran Malt”, which lacked any age statement, and was thought to be about five years old. It was very clean and crisp, even lighter than, say, a Glenmorangie. This ten-year old offering had more flavor and more body, perhaps closer to an Aberlour or an Edradour. The difference between this bottling, and the malt I tasted several years ago suggests to me that, once the folks at Arran can begin selling stuff that’s been fully aged in the barrels, their malt will be well worth tasting. As it was, even though a bit young, it was enjoyed by everyone.

Our second taste was a Port Ellen, for the simple reason that there are very few places on earth where one can now taste Port Ellen, the distillery having been closed for well over a decade. Joe wanted to sell us a bottle of Port Ellen this winter for upwards of $400 (a bit rich, even for malt lovers such as ourselves). I can’t recall the exact age of this bottling (by Signatory), but it was somewhere in the mid-to-late twenties. I’ve waxed eloquent on Port Ellen before, as it’s featured on the Great Scots flight. Being able to taste Port Ellen is one of the reasons we love going to Keens. This isn’t some fashionable malt; and Keens isn’t soaking its customers for the typically generous pour. Rather this is a gem of an island malt, no longer being distilled, hard as hell to find, and reasonably priced. John commented about how we love Keens because it’s all go, and no show.

Speaking of which, when we sat down to dine, later to be joined by Casey and Shahed, we ordered the porterhouse for two, and the mutton chop. The mutton chop is Keen's signature dish, an enormous lamb chop, easily the size of a two-pound steak. (Those two dishes fed five people; we don’t count Casey as she remains a vegetarian, despite our best efforts.) The back of Keen’s menu tells the story of how, when Keens catered to a male-only clientele, some gal stormed into the restaurant one night and demanded to be served the mutton chop. I can understand why, although I confess that my favorite dish there remains the porterhouse.

And after dinner, we shared, not surprisingly, the after-dinner flight, which included Edradour Ballechin #1 and Talisker 25. I won’t reprise my previous posting on the after-dinner flight, except to say that, if you’re a whisky lover, I can’t imagine a better evening than a Keen’s porterhouse followed by that flight of whiskies. I mean, who drinks Port Ellen, Ballechin and Talisker 25 on a Tuesday night, for no good reason other than the fact that the whole family was together? Really.

Meanwhile, we didn’t get to see the Orange on Wednesday at the Garden, because they weren’t tipping off until 9:30, the last game of the day. I saw the end on ESPN 360, and Cuse romped in the second half. Devo was on fire; the team shot almost sixty percent, while taking a generous number of threes. Harris had a quiet game, but the rest of the front-court played well. And they tied a Big East Tournament record for assists in a single game. In fact, had Boeheim not emptied the bench with about three or four minutes to play, I’m sure they would have broken that record. Tonight will be tough against UConn, but I won’t be troubled if we get knocked out. For one thing, we’ll be better rested for the first round of the next tournament. And also, I recall that in 2003, it was one and done, losing to UConn in the second round, and that was the last loss of the season, to be followed by six straight in the NCAAs. Not that I’m expecting a repeat of 2003, but I wouldn’t mind seeing us play into the round of sixteen or even eight.

Maybe next year, I’ll have enough time to stick around in NY, and enjoy the festivities at the Garden. But this year I was content to remain a few blocks away, and there to enjoy my family, in a more hospitable setting, and with far better food and beverages.

Dancing Again

2009-03-08T14:06:00.002-04:00

Two weeks ago, after the Orange came up short against Villanova, missing three threes in the final seconds, it looked like we might be buying NIT tickets again. That would have made three straight years without a tourney bid. And it would also have meant that PH2 would yet to have played in the NCAAs. But three easy victories, followed by yesterday’s road win at Marquette guarantees that Cuse will get a bid this year, regardless of what happens in the Garden this week. The other PH, the one we all know and love, had given up on the Orange, and had written off the season. But last night he apologized, and admitted the error of his ways. For his penance, he promises to wear Orange underwear and pajamas all of March. In addition, every day for a month he must watch a tape of the Cuse-OK State game from the 2003 second round. That was the game when Melo and company came from 18 points down to continue their run toward the title. Now I don’t think this year’s bunch are as gritty as 2003, but they did come back from nine down yesterday.

Other good signs were that Jackson had a strong game; he hasn’t been playing well of late. And that Rautins continued the recent hot streak that began during the second half against Rutgers. We need his shooting. And we need to keep the turnovers down. Yesterday wasn’t too bad, except for a stretch in the second half when they dozed off and let Marquette back into the game. Flynn and Devo had their pockets picked bringing the ball up court. And we had one of those lazy inbounds plays where the ball ended up in Marquette’s hands under their own basket.

It’s hard to gauge this recent run, because Cuse beat three lousy teams before yesterday, and because Marquette isn’t the same with James on the bench. Still, with the exception of the first half against Rutgers, they have played with much more intensity over the last couple weeks, acting like they knew they had to play hard every night. No nights off. The Big East tournament might be indicative of whether this season has really turned around; whether everyone is healthy again; and whether there is hope for anything beyond a first round game.

I celebrated with a cherry juice, things not being quite back to normal yet. But at the same time, I’m pleased to announce that the barbeque pit had its home court opener on Friday night. Cousin Bruce, once known as Waxie, was in town, and we grilled those big fat strip steaks we love so much. Put a bit of the Israeli rub on them, fired up the grill, and filled the back yard with the savory aroma of steaks on the fire. A sign of things to come. Steaks on the grill; Big East tournament later this week; and an invitation to the NCAAs next Sunday night. Go Orange.

Opening Day

2009-03-01T22:36:00.001-05:00

No, not that opening day, which is just over a month away. I’m talking about the reopening of the whisky drinking season. And for those among you who think the whisky season runs all year long, 365 days to be exact, imagine what it’s like when the season comes to a close. Try walking in the door every evening, after a long aggravating day, and pouring yourself a cold glass of ice water. Or how about sitting down after dinner with a hot cup of herbal tea? Think that would get it done for you? Anyway, after more than five weeks away, 37 days to be precise, I cut loose last night with a glass of Macallan 15 after sharing the porterhouse for 2, three ways at the Chophouse. Really, it was in the nature of a medical experiment, to see what would happen, because in another week or so I’m meeting the boys in New York, and we’re planning to dine, where else but Keen’s? And who could go to Keen’s without a taste or two? So the experiment was really designed to see how I would do. So far so good, I’m happy to report. But still, I’m not counting any chickens just yet.

The other thing I discovered last night was exactly how good that glass of Macallan really tasted. I mean, I think I was getting spoiled, having a chance to enjoy a glass or two whenever the urge came over me. Any evening at all, certainly any weekend day, whenever I just felt like it, I could go to the cabinet, and pour out some Aberlour, or some Lagavulin, or a little bit of Highland Park, and think nothing of it. Sure I enjoyed it, what’s not to enjoy? But after more than five weeks without, imagine how it felt to sip on the Macallan last night, to savor every drop, and to feel that soft mellow warmth wash over me. That glass was on a par with the very first taste of malt whisky I ever enjoyed – a glass of Lagavulin that a friend poured for me in DC one night, after we had all been out for Chinese food. One taste was all I needed; I was hooked. This time, I’m going more slowly; I’m trying to work my way back gradually, carefully, so as not to blow up my gut again. But if nothing else, the time away has only made me more appreciative.

Last night’s good cheer seemed to spill over into the afternoon today, as Cuse played a second strong game in a row, dismantling Cincinnati by half time, and coasting to the easiest win they’ve had all year in the dome. They accomplished this without much in the way of outside shooting, which suggests to me that there is still room for improvement. The defense looked good again; this was two games in a row where they held the opposition under 20 points in the first half. Now it’s hard to tell how much of that was good D, and how much was that St. Johns and Cincinnati simply couldn’t knock down their shots. But regardless, it certainly looked like guys were hustling more on defense; the zone looked far more active than it had earlier in the year. AO had a good game, even if he isn’t 100% just yet; KO is playing with a lot more confidence; and the team was running well, getting out on the break, and playing very well in the open court. With over 20 wins already, and with an RPI in the low twenties, and with the 18th toughest strength of schedule, they should be a lock for the tourney. However, the selection committee has been so squirrelly the last couple years, it’s hard to know. My goal for this year is the sweet sixteen. It doesn’t seem impossible. I mean Kansas and Memphis are both ranked in the top ten, and we beat them both on the road. So it’s hardly inconceivable that we could beat a couple tournament teams on a neutral court. Although it’s also conceivable that we could drop the first game to the likes of say, Vermont. Anyway, for the time being, the color of the season is still Orange.

Something for Everyone

2009-02-24T20:32:00.002-05:00

Chatterbox says that when AO is OK, the Orange are A-OK. We’ll call that Chatterbox’s law, or maybe the fourteenth law of thermodynamics. Either way, on Sunday in the dome, AO was not OK, and the Orange were often playing with a man down. In fact, with Flynn under the weather, or whatever was the matter with him, we were often two men down. Add to that the fact that Jackson was totally MIA, just lost out there, and then it was almost a miracle that we had a shot at the end, three shots really, to tie the game and sent it into OT. Alas, none of the three went down, so the game ended, and we’ve yet to beat a quality opponent since the conference schedule began.

Tonight they’re playing in the Garden, which used to be the home away from home, and depending on how long this posting takes, perhaps we’ll know the outcome before it gets to mannymontaigne. The big question, as I see it, is not whether AO is OK, but whether we get to play seven-eight deep, or continue to play short-handed as we have ever since Rautins got hurt in the first Georgetown game. He was out for a couple games, and then got dinged later on. AO has been struggling with tendonitis for a couple weeks. And the bench just isn’t deep enough to allow that many starters to go down. Right now, we’re only playing seven, because Boeheim has lost confidence in Joseph. I think he’s looked all right; maybe lacking a little self-confidence, but what do you expect if the coach sits him every time he makes a mistake? Fortunately KO has stepped up his game the last couple weeks, playing big under the boards, blocking shots, and occasionally hammering the opposition. A guy behind me in the Dome has a term for those muggings KO regularly commits, usually when someone has an open layup: the Belgian block. I thought it was a horseshit call when he was tossed from the Georgetown game, but I have to concede that some of his other fouls may have predisposed the refs against him.

Danny says he can’t wait for baseball season, because he wants to get back to some real hating here. He’s disinterested in the whole alkaline diet thing. Andy mentioned in a comment that he’d like to see more discussion of the movies, probably because he can’t get excited about single malts; that is unless they have a PH over 10. So here’s a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak – hating on the Oscars.

I’ve always hated the Oscars, a self-indulgent night, where the entertainment industry takes itself far too seriously, all the while patting itself on the back, and usually giving out awards to the wrong movies, actors, composers, you name it. It’s often a source of friction around here, because Susan loves to watch it, and I can’t stand it- with one exception. I liked Billy Crystal, and would usually watch his opening number. So this year, I came upstairs when I thought the thing was starting, so that I could see Hugh Jackman’s imitation of Billy Crystal. Unfortunately my timing was off, and I got to see the whole red carpet thing. Celebrities in gowns, being interviewed by fawning wannabes. You know what’s interesting about that? To quote Seth Rogan, “Nothing!” Worse, I had to sit through an interview of some gown designer named Valentino, who must be like the great grandson of the famous Rudolph Valentino, but through inbreeding has because a moron, an idiot. So the word for the night was insipid. Each interview was more insipid than the next. I need a new vocabulary here; what’s a word for the most insipid thing possible?

Then I watched about five minutes of Hugh Jackman. He told some purported jokes, only the joke writers forgot one thing: jokes are supposed to be funny. You know what’s funny about Hugh Jackman? That’s right, “Nothing!” I gave up. Even the chance to see my girlfriend Beyonce couldn’t keep me watching.

When we were in the Berkshires, I was telling everyone my theory that TV is really Invasion of the Body Snatchers. We’ve all gone to sleep and woken up zombies. A nation of zombies. And if you don’t believe me, what better proof is there than the Oscars? An entire night of mindless idiotic banter, fools dressed up in gowns and tuxedos, and everyone giving each other awards. Here’s my solution: from Clockwork Orange, which was actually a book before it became a movie. Next year, when everyone sits down to watch the Oscars, we hook them up electrically, and then give them a shock every time an award is presented. Have to sit there all night long; eyes clamped open; getting shocked every time that little statue appears on stage. That will cure everyone. Hate; hate; hate.