Redemption in England

Alright, y'all. Most of you have noticed that I have a penchant for following sports teams that none of you care about in countries you don't live in, and I have noticed that all of you who notice this have a penchant for not caring about them one iota. And that's fine. You don't need to get quite as gripped by Matthew Scarlett's brilliant toe tap in the 2009 AFL Grand Final nor do you really need to know that the Johnstone's Paint Trophy exists. But regardless you kids do know that one of those two teams I follow is the bedraggled footballing outfit on England's southern coast known as Southampton F.C.

When I began following Southampton in 2002, all was well in the Saints' world. Southampton was up in the Premier League with a top notch keeper in Antti Niemi (though ironically not this Antti Niemi) and a marvelous striker named James Beattie, to say nothing of the talent coming down the pipeline such as Theo Walcott and Gareth Bale.

Things only got more exciting for the Saints when they made an impressive run to the 2003 F.A. Cup Final before losing to Arsenal, and they were pegged by many to finish in the top five of the Premier League during the following seasons. But almost immediately the troubles came. The Saints had managerial instability that contributed to a precipitous collapse and relegation at the end of the 2005 season, ending a 27-year run at the top flight of English Football. After a middling 2005-06 season the Saints nearly got back to the Premier League in a playoff in the Coca-Cola Championship, but a wayward penalty by Inigo Idiakez ended their hopes and things only got worse from there. Aside from a brief interlude in which Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen made a preliminary offer to buy the club and give it a dramatic cash infusion, which he later denied, the team struggled on the field, saving itself from a second relegation on the final day of the season and selling off most of its top players to avoid going into administration -- a process that requires relegation due to financial insolvency.

Avoiding that bug wouldn't last for long, though. Southampton went into complete financial disrepair a season later, forcing relegation which would have happened anyway due to poor performance on the field and suddenly, seven years after I had begun following the team, the Saints had dropped two levels from the Premier League and were virtually invisible on this side of the pond.

But after this week that could, at long last be changing.

After a first season in the third tier of English Football, League One, which saw the Saints overcome a mandatory 10-point penalty in the standings to not just avoid relegation but nearly reach the promotion playoffs, and the victory of the Johnstone's Paint Trophy, there was hope for Saints this season, and they delivered in solid fashion.

Southampton went on a torrid stretch during the final months of the season, finishing out the campaign on an almost obscene 13-1-1 run in the final 15 matches, and this all culminated with a virtual clinching of the No. 2 overall place in the table with a 3-1 win at Plymouth on Monday -- a result that was clinched for good with a festive 3-1 romp at home yesterday against Walsall. Amazingly, the product of winning the second spot in the table of League One is, basically, just as good as winning the whole thing, because as one of the top two teams in the table, Southampton will automatically be promoted back to the Coca-Cola Championship for the 2011-12 season.

They're back.

Well, the Saints aren't completely back, not back all the way to where they were when I first started following the team, but this season's promotion is a huge step toward regaining the respectability the outfit once had. Getting back to the Premier League may yet be a few years off, but this was a necessary and exciting step in the right direction, particularly considering the manner in which the Saints dominated the League over the season's second half. Given how well they were playing promotion almost seemed less a prize than a expectation, but that didn't stop the crowd from unleashing the type of joy only seen stateside when a college football team topples a No. 1-ranked foe.



And so they may not be all the way back, not yet, but they finally, at long last, are doing a pretty good job of making their way there. I imagine it's a pretty exciting time to be watching football on England's south coast, but even as one of the few Americans keeping track of the team by following its twitter account and checking the box scores on the website, it's pretty fun over here, too.

Who Wants To Buy Part Of A Minor League Baseball Team?

Yeah, that's right. I don't know if any of you heard, part of the delightful fallout from that whole "Madoff thing" is that there's a baseball club that's looking for some minority investors. Some of you may never have actually heard of this "baseball team" because their performance over the past few years has called into question whether or not they are a "real" baseball team, but sure enough they've been playing 162 games a year -- no more than 162, let's be clear -- right here in the Big Apple.

Come on. You've heard of them.

Yes, that's right people. Mets chairman Fred Wilpon and his son Jeff announced this week both with a released statement, a press conference, and a personal e-mail to their fans which made me feel oh so special, that they have decided to explore finding new investors interested in a minority stake in the New York Mets. A real live baseball team!

Now, if you've been following the 'Ropolitans like I have for more than a decade, this announcement seems like a particularly odd one for the Wilpons to make for a few reasons. For one, they've done an extremely large amount of work over recent years to consolidate and improve the financial potency of the franchise. The introduction of SNY in 2006 has gone quite a distance to bring more money into the team's coffers and give them a financial base, ideally, more in line with those crosstown rivals in the Bronx. In addition to that, the recent construction of the Wilpon moneyfactory, also known as Citi Field, was further intended to strengthen the team's position. Lastly, and perhaps most notably, Fred Wilpon has tried awfully hard to make sure this team would belong to him and only him.

Obviously, given the track record of one Fred Wilpon, it seems patently bizarre that he would want to unload a chunk of his baby just as he's finally prepared the setup to make the team flourish financially even if it doesn't do the same on the field. So what gives?

Oh right. That.

It seems someone has decided that considering lots of people have lost money due to the pyramid scheme of Bernie Madoff, and because the Wilpons, who had hundreds of millions of dollars tied up in those investments, um, didn't, they must be the perfect people to sue to get that money back. What with Bernie being in jail and all -- without his Mets jacket -- it makes sense. I won't claim to understand how all the legal liabilities work in this thing since I'm, you know, not a lawyer, and I'm sure there's a legitimate reason why the Wilpons might possibly be somehow liable in this whole horror story, but it all seems kind of silly to me. Regardless however, absolutely none of that matters. The only thing of note is this:

There's a part of the Mets for sale!

Why is this so exciting? Well, some people might claim it is, in fact, not exciting at all, and while Rob Parker may have a point here, he's also an unnecessary provocateur and an asshole, so I'm going to ignore him for the moment. No, for me this is more exciting because I've just realized this is as good a prospect as any to pull some money together and own a baseball team. Indeed, that prospect was the very first idea I had when I first saw the story.

Shockingly none of my other potential investors seem interested in joining in despite my assurances that the Mets could not possibly be worth more than $10,000 or so given their on-field performance the last few years, but the bigger obstacle than this might be competition. And apparently that competition is coming. My guess is these other potential owners are going to jack the price out of my personal range, but let me state this right here for all who are interested.

I AM WILLING TO LISTEN TO ANYONE WHO IS INTERESTED IN FORMING A BID TO BUY A MINORITY STAKE IN THE NEW YORK METS.

Is that clear? I want to buy the Mets, I want to pool money to get the job done and I will actively seek partners. Not only will owning a piece of a Major League Baseball team be a great source of pride, but we'll get to see any Mets game we want for free (probably) and it'll totally help us get chicks. Or men if that's your fancy. Plus, I'm totally a really serious big time Mets fan. Just look at that picture of what I wore to my brother's wedding this summer to the right. I'm totally right for it. If I somehow won't be the right person for the job, the list of potential minority owners is certainly interesting.

My personal preference is for the minority bid to go to a group that is headed by Martin Luther King III, which also involves former Met Ed Kranepool and the son of Mets great Donn Clendenon. Failing that, however, the likely bid being brought forward by Martin Silver, the owner of Georgi Vodka, will at least make those long painful days at the park go faster.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more appropriate it seems to align the classy Mets organization with the class of a brand of vodka that is sold in plastic bottles.

If I'm unable to get my hands on any piece of the Mets, I will simply have to settle for watching the Wilpons' iron grip on the franchise slowly recede, which, given the team's prospects since they gained full control of the franchise, probably isn't the worst thing as I've noted before. Now to be fair, I suspect that regardless of ownership, the administration of Sandy Alderson will bring a much more professional auspice to the franchise and that success will follow, much as it did with Frank Cashen in the early 1980s, but giving the Wilpons less power couldn't hurt. And in the end, the prospect of the team forcibly getting better ownership is really enough for me.

Considering that this weekend already saw Southampton blow a second-half lead in the FA Cup against Manchester United and that Northwestern blew a tantalizingly close chance at knocking off No. 1 Ohio State, well, the promise that the Mets are on the way to better times would help salve those wounds. The fact that I also booked a flight to beautiful Detroit for a Pistons and Red Wings game this April also perks me up a little bit (more on that in a few weeks), but when I realize that the Pro Bowl is tonight, well, that just makes matters worse.

This is why, for the good of the Mets, and maybe my sanity, this chunk of the Mets being for sale is coming just at the right time. If it can't be me, maybe it can be someone else who actually knows how to run a baseball team.

But remember, I'm not giving up on my bid for a piece of the pie. Someone out there will want to take a bite, too. Who's with me?

Sometimes You Just Want To Hit Your Head

Friends, enemies, acquaintances, I am no stranger to heartbreak. Both in real life and as a sports fan I have taken my fair share of difficult metaphorical stomach punches -- though fortunately far more in the sports department. Over the years just about all of my teams have had at least one utterly frustrating, deflating brutal defeat that has thrown me into emotional disrepair. To wit:

The Mets -- This team is a special breed with numerous tough losses to swallow since I started paying diligent attention, but the Kenny Rogers Ball Four in Game 6 of the 1999 NLCS, Armando Benitez's inability to strike out Paul O'Neill in Game 1 of the 2000 World Series, the final games of the 2007 and 2008 regular seasons and Game 7 of the 2006 NLCS all bring a special kind of pain with them.

The Giants -- At long last in February 2008, I was rewarded with the greatest upset in football history, but prior to that, a tough beating in Super Bowl XXXV, an almost absurd Trey Junkin-capped collapse in the 2002 postseason against San Francisco, Jay Feely's three missed field goals in Seattle in 2005 and the blown 21-point lead in 10 minutes at Tennessee in 2006 had left me wondering if glory would ever come.

The Devils -- Even a team with 16 consecutive playoff appearances and three Stanley Cups has had its share of tough setbacks, with Game 7 of the 1994 Eastern Conference Finals and Game 7 of the 2001 Stanley Cup Final chief among them. Oh yeah, and this gut punch which I still wince while watching.

The Knicks -- The entire decade of the 2000s. Isiah Thomas.

Northwestern -- This season alone has been a bitter pill with a blown 21-point lead to Penn State just last week to go with collapses at home against No. 7 Michigan State and a broken, battered Purdue team. But just for good measure, let's throw Michigan State's 35-point comeback in 2006, last year's Outback Bowl and the 2008 Alamo Bowl in there for good measure. And don't forget that Northwestern is the only school in the BCS conferences to never make the NCAA Tournament.

Hell, even Southampton FC, with its Inigo Idiakez botched PK against Derby County in 2007's flirtation with Premier League Promotion, and Geelong FC, with this year's painful Qualifying Final loss to St. Kilda and the departing of Gary Ablett have gotten in on the act.

But given all of that pain, what happened to the New Jersey Devils and Ilya Kovalchuk last night was something else entirely.

No, I'm not going to be silly enough to suggest that a regular season shootout loss in November in a season quite possibly already down the tubes was enough to top this prodigious list. But it just may be the most embarrassing loss I've ever seen one of my teams suffer.



Yes, you watched that correctly. Ilya Kovalchuk, with the game on the line in the fourth round of a shootout against the equally disappointing Buffalo Sabres, simply had the puck hop over his stick and drift away, costing New Jersey another potential point in the standings. For a team that, with its new $102 million man in tow and several other major offseason additions to boot (Jason Arnott, Henrik Tallinder, Anton Volchenkov), was expected by many not just to be competitive, but to take aim at a Stanley Cup this moment has represented everything that has gone wrong in about three seconds of non-action.

This muffed shootout attempt has epitomized a tremendously disappointing year in downright comical fashion. Now, of course, the season is not over. In fact, it's not even a quarter of the way over. But the Devils, tied with Edmonton and the NY Islanders for the lowest mark in the League have quite a bit of work to do to make their way back in the playoff discussion. And they're doing so without their best all around player for three months.

Now, to say this is not what I had expected is a dramatic understatement, and as I watched last night in the office, I simply dropped my head into my hands in a way I hadn't done since Carlos Beltran let strike three for Adam Wainright go by without a swing in 2006, but there is plenty of time for New Jersey to make a move and salvage a playoff run. After all, in the NHL all you need to do is make the postseason. Once there all bets are off. But the disenchanting thing is not that the Devils are in this almost inexplicable funk, but that they show very few signs of actually breaking out of it.

I won't lose hope yet, but to put it mildly, reasons for excitement are starting to fade away as the season progresses. The only thing that truly reassures me is that with the Devils' 15 games behind them, they still have 66 left to play. And that looks like an awfully large number at first glance. For now, I'll cling to that.

NFL Picks Week Nine: In Which I Look Toward The Future

It's probably a little too soon to be talking about this already -- the trip isn't for two more weeks -- but the bye week and a flurry of bad news related to my Devils periodically causes the mind to wander. Fortunately, the Giants return to action this weekend against Seattle so I won't have to wander much longer, but I couldn't help but get jazzed upon seeing the photo to the right.

Yeah, you're seeing that right. That's Northwestern's home gridiron painted in the Friendly Confines of Wrigley Field in Chicago. For those of you who aren't aware, on November 20 the Wildcats will be leaving their regular home of Ryan Field (nee Dyche Stadium) for the mecca of National League baseball when they take on Illinois. It will be the first college football game played at Wrigley in nearly 72 years and the first football game of any type since the Bears left for Soldier Field in 1971.

The novel setting, the joy of watching my alma mater in person and the excitement of returning to Chicago for the first time in three years all add up to an awfully pleasant distraction from what has been a two weeks in sports ranging from boring to depressing -- though I guess the Knicks' 2-2 start is mild cause for excitement. Beyond the anticipation of the Wrigley game, however, the biggest cause for excitement for me has been Southampton's race back up to the promotion zone of League One, which I'm sure you've all been paying attention to.

Oh, and the Giants won the World Series, which I guess is pretty cool considering it ended one of the more underrated title droughts in baseball history. The best part about it for me, however, was getting an e-mail from a friend in Australia congratulating me when she didn't realize that the San Francisco Giants are not the New York Giants. Really, it's a pretty honest mistake, and considering she was the absolute first person to congratulate me when the Giants actually did win the Super Bowl three years ago, I'd say she's earned a lifetime of sports-centric passes.

But, as I so often do, I'm getting off topic.

I'm going to Chicago and going to Wrigley, and beer, college football, Giordano's stuffed pizza and a whole lot of Northwestern fun await -- not to mention one of the more interesting sporting events I'll have ever been to. What's even more exciting about the whole experience, however, is that after an almost incomprehensible three-year drought in which I didn't see Northwestern in person, I'll be going to my second game this season with a few more on the way in the near future. Surely, you all remember my jaunt out to Minnesota to see the Cats and Gophers at TCF Bank Stadium, but next year and the year after provide even more opportunities.

Northwestern opens its 2011 schedule on Sept. 3, 2011 at Boston College with another visit east to West Point two weeks later. A mid-season trip to Nebraska is also intriguing though obviously far less convenient. A year later, in 2012, the Cats return to Syracuse to take on the Orange in another easily do-able trip.

And so, for several reasons, I look toward the future of college football with incredible zeal -- and because I'm a little too anxious about this weekend's game against Penn State. Pro football should be a little easier to watch this week. I don't want to be arrogant, but as the Giants finally return from the bye they take on a Seahawks team that is apparently without it's starting quarterback and wasn't all that great to begin with.

So I guess I know what one of my picks will be. As if it were going to be any different. And now, once you're done sifting through all the info of that awesome Bruins-Capitals preview you saw, check out the rest of them.

Last week: 7-5-1
Season: 55-56-6

NY Giants (-7) over SEATTLE
Tampa Bay (+9) over ATLANTA
Chicago (-3) over BUFFALO
New England (-5) over CLEVELAND
NY Jets (-5) over DETROIT
MINNESOTA (-8) over Arizona
New Orleans (-7) over CAROLINA
BALTIMORE (-5) over Miami
San Diego (-3) over HOUSTON
Kansas City (+3) over OAKLAND
Indianapolis (+3) over PHILADELPHIA
GREEN BAY (-9) over Dallas
Pittsburgh (-5) over CINCINNATI

Did I really just pick only three home teams? Apparently. We'll see just how crazy I am on Sunday.

Go West, Young Man. Again.

Some of you might have noticed that my updates have been somewhat sparse lately, and I will plead your forgiveness by offering a few reasons why. You see, the month of August 2010 has been particularly busy for me, with work, weddings and travel galore. Also, the downtrodden Mets have left me with little to be excited about in sports beyond the start of Southampton's League One season and the run up to the Aussie Rules Football Finals, which Geelong should figure to impact rather heavily.

But y'all cats aren't necessarily interested in all that, though perhaps the coming start of Northwestern's college football season might excite you. Or maybe not. I'm sure my four readers would feign interest while I rambled about the Cats' prospects at a surprise Big Ten title or my Geelong Cats' prospects of a third premiership in four years, but I wouldn't want to make hypocrites out of all of you.

In any event, I will come clean and tell you all why this month has been so busy, and essentially, I will revolve it around my zany trip to San Diego to see the annual Comic-Con, and a trip I made two weeks ago to see my friends Dave and Caitlin tie the knot in Portland, Oregon. This would be the same Dave with whom I saw that magic moment for Ken Griffey Jr. last June. In between all of those events I've been juggling a typical work schedule, the precipitous downfall of my Mets, the impending start of the season for my Giants, the fact that Ilya Kovalchuk somehow still isn't under a contract that passes muster and my brother's impending nuptials this Sunday.

See how I slipped that in there? Eh? Eh?

That, my friends, is what we call burying the lead. Burying it after the jump is equally as bad, but you've got to entice the reader to keep on reading no?

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Elliott, Emmy-winning comedy writer, terrible movie enthusiast and newly minted comic book author, is getting hitched to his fiancee Danielle this Sunday in Sonoma, California, which means, I have to book it to the airport tomorrow morning for a flight to San Francisco that will mark my third trip across the country in five weeks.

Yep. That's right. The third time in five weeks.

Fortunately, this is no longer the era of covered wagons like you see to the left here, so my accommodations -- the newfangled "airplane" -- will get me to San Francisco in at least half the time.

Now, surely none of you really care all that much about my travel plans to my brother's wedding, beyond offerings of congratulations and curiosity over just how big a disaster my best man speech is going to be, but here's why it matters for this space. There will be baseball. West Coast Baseball. The Mets would not exist were it not for the California-bound relocation of the New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers half a century ago, and because the actual Mets are, well, terrible right now, I will instead scope out the forbears of my favorite team who are much better than terrible and actually even in contention for what they call "a playoff berth".

We Mets fans may be unfamiliar with that concept these days, but I assure all of you, it actually exists.

And so, because I will be on the left coast, my sister, I, and a few assorted others will be attending this Monday's Giants-Rockies game at AT&T Park, and while this will not be a new experience for me -- I've been there twice -- it just may be my favorite. Two days later, if we can wake ourselves early enough to make the drive from San Luis Obispo, we will be in Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles to, at long last, knock the second oldest park in the National League off of my list. I'm awfully excited about the prospect.

Oh yeah. And my brother's getting married. That's pretty exciting, too. One of my best friends in college, Luisa Badaracco of my venture to Fenway and TD Garden fame, was at her sister's wedding three years ago when Clay Buchholz threw a no-hitter in his second career start for her Boston Red Sox. Will history repeat itself for my brother Sunday as the historically pitching-rich Mets finally get their first no-no? Well, the odds are a little slim, though this isn't the most unlikely thing I've banked on -- in High School I once told a teacher I'd have to miss a club meeting because I had Mets tickets and I liked their chances for a Perfect Game against the hapless Orioles. The Mets probable starter is R.A. Dickey, who already has a one-hitter under his belt in a surprising knuckleballing season that has him stunningly in the top ten of the NL's ERA chase. His foe -- the equally as hapless Houston Astros in the pitcher's haven of Citi Field.

The stars are aligned. You can pretty much take it to the bank.

On one last note, it was revealed this week whom the Mets will be visiting in 2011 for interleague play, which is always of great interest to me as I look to strike down stadiums on my quest. Despite much hub-bub that the Amazins would be visiting Minnesota's new Target Field, they will in fact be visiting Rangers Ballpark at Arlington and Comerica Park in Detroit. While I have already been to Comerica Park, the Texas Rangers are new on the list. Who's up for a road trip?

And that's all the news that's fit to print and a whole lot more that isn't in these parts. California beckons tomorrow, again, and the Kalan family will be changed forever. If I can keep my eyes open after crisscrossing the U.S. one last time this month, I'll be sure to tell you all about it next week.

Some Birthday Irony

I, some of you may have noticed, rather like sports. Like a lot. You probably should notice that since that's more or less the entire point of this blog.

Regardless, one might imagine that there is little I would enjoy more on a day I can make entirely about me than watching sports. Makes sense, right? Well, today, as it is my 25th birthday, is that day. In past years I've spent my birthday watching the Home Run Derby, the All-Star Game or attending a Mets game if they happen to be home.

In the world of amateur and professional sports I follow, in no particular order, the following teams:
New York Mets
New York Giants
New Jersey Devils
Chicago Blackhawks
New York Knicks
Northwestern Wildcats
Florida State Seminoles
Southampton FC
Geelong FC

So knowing that I pay so much attention to so many organizations, it seems more than a wee bit odd that this year my birthday happens to fall on the one completely dark day of the North American sports calendar. That's right everyone, the day after the MLB All-Star Game, every year is the only day on the entire calendar in which no regular or postseason games are played in the MLB, NFL, NHL or NBA.

Not a one.

It seems bizarre to me that on my birthday I won't get to watch any sporting events -- though the picturesque vistas of this year's Tour de France will have to do for now, but perhaps that's a good thing. Now nothing will be able to distract me when I'm having my celebratory dinner here tonight.

That's right. The joke's on them.

Weekend Sports Roundup

Ok, I'm going to level with you. I had a fairly busy weekend and last night in the semifinals of my office fantasy hockey league I suffered the most painful fantasy sports loss of my life, so.....

Yeah, I don't have a story prepared for you.

I know. I know. You're not sure how you're going to procrastinate at work today, but I'm going to ramble a little and perhaps you'll be able to find some solace that way. Maybe. I have a hunch that won't be the case right away since, for me, the most exciting sports moment of the weekend came when I checked my twitter feed at the Brooklyn Brunch Experiment and found that Southampton FC had won the Johnstone's Paint Trophy.

Some of you might recall from my earlier posts that I follow a soccer team in England called Southampton FC, known as the Saints, the result of a sparsely maintained friendship I formed with a Brit named Scott Pestell eight years ago while working as a summer camp counselor. Since I started following the Saints, after an early brush with Premier League prominence -- the club rose as high as fifth in the table of England's top flight -- it has been a rough period for the team. Southampton has been relegated twice in the past eight years, the results of financial constraints, injuries and being put into administration. The Saints did nearly pull back into the Premier League before losing a play-off match to Derby County on PKs a few years ago, but since then it's been nothing but bad news.

Well, the red and white stripes got some good news on Sunday.

No, the Johnstone's Paint Trophy isn't exactly the U.K. equivalent of winning the Super Bowl. In fact, the Wikipedia page for the tournament says it, "is not considered a priority by many clubs, with some opting to field below-strength teams, particularly in the earlier rounds". But it's still the first piece of hardware for the club in 34 years since its triumph over Manchester United (Surely, you've heard of them at least) in the 1976 F.A. Cup Final.

So, while this may not particularly excite you, it certainly excited me. Following this team through the internet for nearly a decade has only reinforced to me that, well, maybe I didn't make the most fortuitous selection in my European soccer clubs. But perhaps with this accomplishment, a push towards promotion to the Championship League and then finally on to the Premier League might be in the cards.

Ok. The section on sports you don't care about is over now. Just be happy I didn't dedicate several paragraphs to Gary Ablett's public declaration that people need to stop bugging him about a potential move to Gold Coast for the AFL's 2011 season.

Now, if you want to hear about something you've heard of before, this NCAA Basketball Tournament thing is starting to wind down to its final stages. Baylor missed out on a golden opportunity to make this the most peculiar and interesting Final Four I've ever seen when it blew a late lead to Duke last night, and with the Final Four now sitting at Butler, Michigan State, West Virginia and Duke -- raise your hand if you had that one -- well, it looks to me like the Blue Devils have pretty much an open path to a championship after they were gifted the weakest region in the bracket.

What this essentially means is that after one of the greatest tournaments ever, we may very well wind up with Kyle Singler and Mike Krzyzewski cutting down the nets next Monday, and that is a conclusion that will be incredibly unsatisfying to just about everyone. With any hope, the Mountaineers of West Virginia can throw Duke off the pace Saturday night and still give us hope of that West Virginia-Butler National Championship Game we've all been hoping for. The only problem I have with this is that West Virginia coach Bob Huggins is, you know, despicable, but at the very least his alma mater, should it triumph, can probably count on having its name spelled correctly on the t-shirts this time.

Of course, if the other established program still alive, Michigan State, should take the title, it will be slightly more palatable because they wear my favorite color and they're not quite as nationally reviled, but as an alum of another Big Ten school I have difficulty cheering for Sparty. I will say, however, that this may have solidified Tom Izzo's reputation as the best basketball coach of his generation -- at all levels. Yes, Phil Jackson is really, really good, but the best player to come through Michigan State in Izzo's tenure that I can think of is Mateen Cleaves, who, unlike Jackson's charges of Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant or Scottie Pippen, hasn't exactly made the right kinds of headlines lately. And yet, Izzo, who has a National Championship to his credit, is in his second consecutive Final Four and sixth in the last 12 years. Oh yeah, and he's doing it without his best player.

Mighty impressive indeed.

Lastly, I leave you all on a sentimental note. If you've never seen the movie Slap Shot, you might do well to stop everything you're doing and pop it in immediately. The craziness of Paul Newman and the Hanson Brothers as they play for a minor league team known as the Charlestown Chiefs is a classic bit of cinematic fare for not just hockey fans, but comedy fans alike. The film was an homage to the Johnstown Jets of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, which had folded prior to filming, but a new team, named the Chiefs has played there for 20 years after being inspired by the movie. Well, according to ESPN.com, the team, faced with financial troubles yet again, will be moving south.

I've never been to the city, and it always bugs me when some jackass wears a Charlestown Chiefs jersey at NHL games (without fail there is always at least one), but something about this just seems sad to me.

Perhaps I'll mourn the loss by popping it in the DVD player.

72 Hours In The Life Of Steve Nash

Instead of spending most of today thinking about the dumbest holiday known to man, I beseech you to take a few minutes and consider one Stephen John Nash. Yes, I'm sure most of you reading this have at least heard of Steve Nash, the point guard for the Phoenix Suns who may very well wind up in the Basketball Hall of Fame one day, but I wonder how many of you have actually taken a few moments to really think about his life. And by think about his life I mean, if you have watched anything sports related this weekend, you've probably seen Steve Nash.

This has been Nash's weekend:
Friday Night: Light the Olympic cauldron to open the 2010 Winter Games in Vancouver, roughly 60 miles from your childhood home in Victoria, British Columbia.
Saturday Night: Win NBA All-Star Skills Competition in Dallas, Texas, a city that still adores you for the six years you spent turning their Mavericks from moribund cellar dwellers into championship contenders.
Sunday Night: Play in NBA All-Star Game.

Yeah, just a typical weekend in the life of Steve Nash.

I'm not entirely sure how someone could be so lucky to have that kind of three-day journey, but no one really seems to be noticing it. Of course, I have no problems with this. I like Steve Nash. He's a joy to watch on the court, and he's also one of the most underrated public personalities in the world, as his work for Vitamin Water can attest.



Still, I find it somewhat bizarre that this has slipped through the sporting consciousness. No one is really talking about Nash, perhaps because he's not the biggest star playing in tonight's All-Star Game, or perhaps because he was overshadowed in Vancouver by Wayne Gretzky, but it's almost absurd.

In fact, it's so absurd that I can't really think of anything else to say on it. There really are no words. I just hope some day I can have three days in a row that are quite so cool. If I, too, can manage to do it without the media broadcasting it, well, all the better.

At least Nash always gives hope to his come country, which is starting to get antsy after its first gold medal hopeful, Jenn Heil, was unable to defend her crown in women's moguls last night. Canada still has never won a gold medal on its own soil, but I have a feeling they won't wait too long this time around, even if the U.S. has taken the early medal lead with Hannah Kearney taking Heil's place on the podium and Apolo Anton Ohno getting his sixth Olympic medal.

If nothing else, Canada's women's hockey team, which beat Slovakia yesterday, 18-0, will probably continue to wax the competition.

In other news, I was stunned to find earlier this week that apparently the Melbourne Football Club, formally known as the Demons, is pulling whatever strings it can to have Barack Obama attend its season opening AFL match against Hawthorn when the POTUS makes his scheduled trip to Australia this March. On one hand, it excites me that Obama's visit might give footy a little more pub, but at the same time, why would the President want to see the mediocre Dees, who finished last in the league table last year, when instead he could simply come to the Melbourne Cricket Ground a day earlier and catch the season opening tilt of the defending-champions Geelong Cats -- who happen to be my favorite team.

In fact, while Geelong is facing Essendon, which also made the postseason tournament known to AFL fans as Finals, Melbourne and Hawthorn both missed the playoffs a year ago. Geelong being overlooked, in addition to Southampton meeting its FA Cup demise in a fifth-round tie against Portsmouth, has made this a rough week for me internationally.

At the very least, maybe Obama can come to his senses and see the greatest team of all. Failing that, maybe the U.S. can take a few more medals and cheer me up.

Expect a story early this week, though I'm currently debating which one to post. Also, with the holiday tomorrow, I may wait until Tuesday so you're all entertained at work instead of missing it.

You'll thank me later.

Apparently There Are Crazy People Like Me Everywhere

Daniel Kernkraut brought to my attention yesterday the existence of a group of people in England who refer to themselves as The 92 Club. Apparently this is a group of men who have made it a point to see every stadium in the Premier and Football League in England and Wales, a total of clubs that works out to -- yep, you guessed it -- 92 teams. Apparently the club was started after England's sole World Cup win in 1966 and as of four years ago it boasted approximately 1,100 members. It even has an unofficial website.

Now, I know this is not exactly the same journey as the one I'm forcing myself irrationally to pursue, but these are men after my own heart nonetheless. My trip will have some 30 more teams to visit -- barring future expansion, which is always possible -- but at some point I might contact these people or try to start a similar organization on my side of the pond.

The tricky thing about the 92 Club is that the English system of promotion and relegation means that teams in the top Leagues will often change over time, moving up and down depending on their club's fortunes. This also happens to be why my Southampton FC is mired in the third tier of English Football following hard times over the past few years and a recent series of financial troubles. And to think, they were in the top half of the Premier League just seven years ago.

Lastly, I'm sure almost none of you were watching the Devils-Maple Leafs game last night because a) it was Friday and b) it was hockey. As is the case in so many of these things, this was all your loss, as the Devils managed to pull off one of the most remarkable comebacks I've ever seen in a hockey game.



Yes, New Jersey trailed by two goals with just over three minutes to play and then scored twice in the final 44 seconds to steal a remarkable win against Toronto. It was almost as remarkable as the preview for tonight's Blackhawks-Blues game I'm not silent in the newsroom, but rarely do I jump up like this.

The coworker who sits next to me that roots for the Leafs? Well, he was less than enthused.

And in case you were wondering, new acquisition Ilya Kovalchuk had two assists.