Today is the sort of day that a professional beat writer for the Washington Wizards dreams about. Unfortunately, I don't have any connections to get a beat writer's reaction in this space, so an amateur blogger who happens to love the Wizards will have to do. The sporting world has a real knack for mixing in highs and lows to the point that you never really know what to think about anything. Today had a little of both for this intrepid reporter.
Throughout the train wreck that was the Wizards' season, there was always a thought in the back of my mind that it could at least result in the number one pick in the NBA draft. At the same time, a freshman at the University of Kentucky named John Wall was lighting up the country and being lauded as an elite level prospect and possibly a franchise changer. I would jokingly tell my fellow Wiz fans that this year would be worthwhile when John Wall was suiting up for us next year. Since my teams stink, though, I assumed it wouldn't actually happen. Some incredible ping pong balls and the infinitely superior karma of a beloved owner's widow over a Russian billionaire made the John Wall/Washington Wizards scenario a reality today. I yell at many sporting events happening on TV, but a nerd in a suit pulling a card out of an envelope isn't usually one of them. Nonetheless, I was the only person at the Copper Hog (the coolest place in Bellingham) cheering at the lottery. This is the beauty of sports. Events like drafts and draft lotteries make sure you have just enough hope that your team will come around. The hopeful fan in me is giddy tonight. The Wizards are drafting John Wall or Evan Turner. Both appear to be locks. Not even the Wizards can mess this one up.
On the other hand...
Once again, I am going to point out that this site is called "My Team Stinks". Of course the Wizards can mess this one up. They stink! They had a 10 percent chance of winning the draft lottery because they were horrendous last year. They were horrendous last year because the decision makers who build their roster are the sort of people who mess up draft picks. They were horrendous last year because their "best player" has a knee seemingly made out of tinker toys. Also, said "best player" is a total imbecile with a penchant for bringing guns in the locker room to settle card game disputes. Gilbert Arenas is not the sort of guy with whom you want your prized rookie sharing the back court. Lastly, need I mention that the last time the Wiz had the number one pick in the draft, they took a guy named Kwame Brown. Ruh roh.
I can confidently say that I no longer possess the ability to react to the events that surround my favorite teams rationally. I will always hope for the absolute best and look forward to a day when I can write about one of my teams winning a championship. Until that day, though, any good news is likely to be met with a tinge of pessimism while I wait for the other shoe to drop.
Nobody Beats the Wiz.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
The History of “My Team Stinks” Part III: The Washington Capitals
Like most Americans, hockey was a sport that wasn’t exactly on my radar during my earliest years as a sports fan. I knew nothing about the NHL aside from the casual knowledge that Wayne Gretzky was great. If all of the players’ nicknames were equally as on-the-nose as “The Great One”, I probably could have figured the sport out a lot more quickly. For example, if Grant Fuhr’s nickname would have been - - actually never mind. I’m going to move on. This post is going to be about the Washington Capitals.
It wasn’t until 6th grade that I started becoming interested in hockey. There are three things that caused this to happen: NHLPA ’93 for Sega Genesis, roller blades and Al Iafrate. The latter of these two actually intersected directly when I would play roller hockey with my big bro, Mark, and he would refer to himself as Al Iafrate. The first time he made this reference, I honestly had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but since he is my big bro, I was in no place to question it. Fortunately, I was living in the DC area at the time so it didn’t take long for me to find out that Mr. Iafrate (pronounced eye-uh-fray-tee) was a mulleted-yet-somehow-still-bald defenseman for the Caps. He also happened to be the owner of the hardest slap shot in the NHL. Not yet understanding the nuances of the NHL, something like “hardest slap shot in the NHL” really spoke to me. It wasn’t long before I wanted to be Al Iafrate while playing roller hockey, but Mark had that covered so I’d always have to be Sylvain Cote or maybe Calle Johansson if I was feeling particularly Swedish. I can’t imagine there were many kids living out the athletic fantasy of being Sylvain Cote, but I like to think I was more pragmatic than the average 6th grader.
Thanks to the good folks at EA Sports and their creation of the greatest sports simulation series of all time (initially NHLPA ’93, then NHL ’94, NHL ’95, etc), I quickly developed a finer appreciation for all things hockey. It still took me a while to figure out the offsides rule, but who played the NHL games with the offsides on anyway? I won’t even bother trying to put the NHL video game experience into words. It is, and forever will be, best captured by the scene in Swingers when Trent “makes Little Wayne’s head bleed”. (Please note: the video contains adult langauge. Lots and lots of adult language)
During this era of Washington Caps hockey, I thought I might be getting my first indoctrination into cheering for a consistently successful franchise. The Caps were in the midst of a run of 14 consecutive playoff appearances when I came aboard as a fan. Most people, unless they are Blues fans, would agree that such a streak is awfully impressive. For whatever reason, though, the Caps could never quite get over the hump. Usually some stupid team from Pittsburgh with a wimpy little bird mascot did the deed of knocking my boys out of the playoffs. At least it always seemed like it was at the Penguins’ hands. In 1998, the Caps did make a memorable run to the Stanley Cup Finals and I was even there in person when they clinched a trip to the Conference finals. It was a pretty remarkable run and it’s the sort of thing that makes all the tough years worthwhile for us fans. Sadly, though, the Caps were quickly dismissed by the Red Wings and that was that. Could you really expect anything different? It’s not like this website is called “Myteamsstinkbutit’sOKbecausetheyhaveoccassionallywontitlesinthelast20years.blogspot.com”.
The magic of ’98 was short-lived. It seemed like the Caps were poised to make a run at being an elite team when they traded for Jaromir Jagr. I hate Jaromir Jagr. It didn’t work out. Within a few short years, the Caps were blowing up the team and rebuilding completely.
In the world of sports, you hear often about a team being in rebuilding mode, but it’s not as frequent to hear about a team successfully coming out the other side as “rebuilt”. By some miracle of miracles, the Caps have figured out how to do this and assembled one of the best rosters of young talent in the league, including the dynamic, mature, unbelievable role model to people everywhere, Alex Ovechkin. (Whatever. If you want to call him a petulant choke artist, start your own blog.) I don’t remember a team filling me with as much legitimate hope as the 2009-’10 Capitals. Subsequently, I don’t remember as devastating a loss as when said team was eliminated from the first round of the playoffs by some team from French Canada. I mentioned before that I cried when the Bengals lost the Super Bowl. I was damn close to crying again when the Caps bowed out this year. One lesson I learned with this loss is something that only comes with age and I never could have done it when it when I was a 7 year old crying over the Bengals: Being a sports fan is a little easier when you can drink whiskey.
Let’s Go Caps.
It wasn’t until 6th grade that I started becoming interested in hockey. There are three things that caused this to happen: NHLPA ’93 for Sega Genesis, roller blades and Al Iafrate. The latter of these two actually intersected directly when I would play roller hockey with my big bro, Mark, and he would refer to himself as Al Iafrate. The first time he made this reference, I honestly had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but since he is my big bro, I was in no place to question it. Fortunately, I was living in the DC area at the time so it didn’t take long for me to find out that Mr. Iafrate (pronounced eye-uh-fray-tee) was a mulleted-yet-somehow-still-bald defenseman for the Caps. He also happened to be the owner of the hardest slap shot in the NHL. Not yet understanding the nuances of the NHL, something like “hardest slap shot in the NHL” really spoke to me. It wasn’t long before I wanted to be Al Iafrate while playing roller hockey, but Mark had that covered so I’d always have to be Sylvain Cote or maybe Calle Johansson if I was feeling particularly Swedish. I can’t imagine there were many kids living out the athletic fantasy of being Sylvain Cote, but I like to think I was more pragmatic than the average 6th grader.
Thanks to the good folks at EA Sports and their creation of the greatest sports simulation series of all time (initially NHLPA ’93, then NHL ’94, NHL ’95, etc), I quickly developed a finer appreciation for all things hockey. It still took me a while to figure out the offsides rule, but who played the NHL games with the offsides on anyway? I won’t even bother trying to put the NHL video game experience into words. It is, and forever will be, best captured by the scene in Swingers when Trent “makes Little Wayne’s head bleed”. (Please note: the video contains adult langauge. Lots and lots of adult language)
During this era of Washington Caps hockey, I thought I might be getting my first indoctrination into cheering for a consistently successful franchise. The Caps were in the midst of a run of 14 consecutive playoff appearances when I came aboard as a fan. Most people, unless they are Blues fans, would agree that such a streak is awfully impressive. For whatever reason, though, the Caps could never quite get over the hump. Usually some stupid team from Pittsburgh with a wimpy little bird mascot did the deed of knocking my boys out of the playoffs. At least it always seemed like it was at the Penguins’ hands. In 1998, the Caps did make a memorable run to the Stanley Cup Finals and I was even there in person when they clinched a trip to the Conference finals. It was a pretty remarkable run and it’s the sort of thing that makes all the tough years worthwhile for us fans. Sadly, though, the Caps were quickly dismissed by the Red Wings and that was that. Could you really expect anything different? It’s not like this website is called “Myteamsstinkbutit’sOKbecausetheyhaveoccassionallywontitlesinthelast20years.blogspot.com”.
The magic of ’98 was short-lived. It seemed like the Caps were poised to make a run at being an elite team when they traded for Jaromir Jagr. I hate Jaromir Jagr. It didn’t work out. Within a few short years, the Caps were blowing up the team and rebuilding completely.
In the world of sports, you hear often about a team being in rebuilding mode, but it’s not as frequent to hear about a team successfully coming out the other side as “rebuilt”. By some miracle of miracles, the Caps have figured out how to do this and assembled one of the best rosters of young talent in the league, including the dynamic, mature, unbelievable role model to people everywhere, Alex Ovechkin. (Whatever. If you want to call him a petulant choke artist, start your own blog.) I don’t remember a team filling me with as much legitimate hope as the 2009-’10 Capitals. Subsequently, I don’t remember as devastating a loss as when said team was eliminated from the first round of the playoffs by some team from French Canada. I mentioned before that I cried when the Bengals lost the Super Bowl. I was damn close to crying again when the Caps bowed out this year. One lesson I learned with this loss is something that only comes with age and I never could have done it when it when I was a 7 year old crying over the Bengals: Being a sports fan is a little easier when you can drink whiskey.
Let’s Go Caps.
Friday, May 14, 2010
The History of "My Teams Stink" Part II: The New York Metropolitans
I have no distinct memories of how I became a Mets fan like I did with the Bengals. I’m pretty confident it involved Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry to some extent. You see, I had a serious drug habit throughout elementary school, so I could really relate to Doc and Darryl. Actually, I have no idea why I latched on to the Mets, other than being of the belief that they were a successful organiztion with some popular players. I also felt an unspeakable magnetism to Howard Johnson’s beard. The Mets were coming off winning the World Series in ’86 (a big deal to any 5 year old) and went to the NLCS in '88 so I imagine that I had little difficulty deducing with my child brain that they were pretty good.
Coincidentally, the Mets much like the Bengals proceeded to suck for virtually all of an era that historians refer to as “the 90’s”. A note to all you readers (reader?) out there: If your children are going to pick their favorite team based on current success, please try to make sure that the team they are choosing is not on the tale end of a successful run – or comprised largely of criminals. (Read: tell your kids to stop rooting for the Cavs. Immediately.)
The fact that I am both a Bengals and Mets fan not only got me laughed at during the previously posted Copper Hog episode, it also had people guffawing at my expense in middle school. In 7th grade, one of my classes had a “Getting to Know You” exercise that resulted in me sharing the appreciation I had for my beloved orange clad heroes. Hilarity ensued. 7th graders can be so cruel sometimes. 1993 was a bad time to let everyone know that you were a Bengals and Mets fan, especially to a bunch of pubescent jerks.
The similarities to the Bengals did not stop merely at sucking. The Mets’ lack of success on the field was also compounded by a litany of embarrassing off the field gaffes. Vince Coleman threw a lit firecracker into a crowd of autograph seeking fans mere months after injuring Dwight Gooden while swinging a golf club in the clubhouse. In his defense the multiple uses of "clubhouse" obviously created a misunderstanding. Doc and Darryl became the poster children for Major League Baseball. Unfortunately their posters of choice came in the form of mug shots. Rickey Henderson and Bobby Bonilla found more interest in a card game than a playoff game. It was about the early 90's Mets that the book "The Worst Team Money Could Buy" was written. So there's that. On a side note, I'm terribly disappointed that I can't find the clip of Bobby Bo's "We just chillin" incident that the book caused.
The Mets have had some competitive teams in recent years. While I was in college, they went to the Series, but fell short against the Yankees in the Subway Series. The words "epic collapse" are pretty commonly associated to varying degrees with the 2006-2009 seasons, which is unfortunate. This season "that other New York baseball team" is most likely somewhere between mediocre and not too bad. On the bright side, they are exceeding expectations.
Through it all, I continue to root for them. I'm just like Jerry Seinfeld, except I'm neither famous nor rich and I think that the guy who hosts "The Marriage Ref" is awful.
Let's go Mets.
Coincidentally, the Mets much like the Bengals proceeded to suck for virtually all of an era that historians refer to as “the 90’s”. A note to all you readers (reader?) out there: If your children are going to pick their favorite team based on current success, please try to make sure that the team they are choosing is not on the tale end of a successful run – or comprised largely of criminals. (Read: tell your kids to stop rooting for the Cavs. Immediately.)
The fact that I am both a Bengals and Mets fan not only got me laughed at during the previously posted Copper Hog episode, it also had people guffawing at my expense in middle school. In 7th grade, one of my classes had a “Getting to Know You” exercise that resulted in me sharing the appreciation I had for my beloved orange clad heroes. Hilarity ensued. 7th graders can be so cruel sometimes. 1993 was a bad time to let everyone know that you were a Bengals and Mets fan, especially to a bunch of pubescent jerks.
The similarities to the Bengals did not stop merely at sucking. The Mets’ lack of success on the field was also compounded by a litany of embarrassing off the field gaffes. Vince Coleman threw a lit firecracker into a crowd of autograph seeking fans mere months after injuring Dwight Gooden while swinging a golf club in the clubhouse. In his defense the multiple uses of "clubhouse" obviously created a misunderstanding. Doc and Darryl became the poster children for Major League Baseball. Unfortunately their posters of choice came in the form of mug shots. Rickey Henderson and Bobby Bonilla found more interest in a card game than a playoff game. It was about the early 90's Mets that the book "The Worst Team Money Could Buy" was written. So there's that. On a side note, I'm terribly disappointed that I can't find the clip of Bobby Bo's "We just chillin" incident that the book caused.
The Mets have had some competitive teams in recent years. While I was in college, they went to the Series, but fell short against the Yankees in the Subway Series. The words "epic collapse" are pretty commonly associated to varying degrees with the 2006-2009 seasons, which is unfortunate. This season "that other New York baseball team" is most likely somewhere between mediocre and not too bad. On the bright side, they are exceeding expectations.
Through it all, I continue to root for them. I'm just like Jerry Seinfeld, except I'm neither famous nor rich and I think that the guy who hosts "The Marriage Ref" is awful.
Let's go Mets.
The History of "My Team Stinks" Part I: The Bengals
It’s a curious thing to root for teams that stink, and one might wonder how and why I made such awful choices. Each of my allegiances has a story of how it happened, but the most prominent story and the one that I have had to explain the most is how I ended up being a fan of the Cincinnati Bengals. The Bengals are a team that spent the entirety of the 1990’s being horrid. The 90’s were the decade in which it would make the most sense, given my age, to develop allegiances to specific teams. This combined with the fact that I have never lived in Ohio make it surprising that I’m a fan of the Bengals to say the least. My fandom started circa 1988 (I got in just before a decade of futility. Excellent.) As a 7 year old, how could I not love a team with a quarterback named Boomer and a running back named Ickey? These guys have tiger stripes on their helmets for cryin’ out loud! Not only did Ickey have a ridiculous name, he also had a ridiculous dance! Looking back, the Ickey Shuffle probably had a lot to do with my officially becoming a fan. It was the Shuffle and my ability to do it that led to people making the association that the Bengals were my team. Unfortunately the 1988 season ended in one of the most famous drives and touchdown passes in NFL history. I’m sure you recognize this:
Even more unfortunately, my two older brothers were both 49er fans at the time. We were living in Germany when this game was played and the Super Bowl came on much too late for us to watch it live. The morning after, my brothers and I eagerly awaited the highlights on CNN Headline News. The result may have been enough to make me cry regardless, but being that my brothers’ favorite pastime was making me cry, there was no way the tears weren’t going to flow. My first discernable memory of being a Bengals fan was that of heartbreak.
This became an enduring theme as Dan Wilkinson, David Klingler, Ki-Jana Carter, Jeff Blake, Carl Pickens, Akili Smith and many others continued to make Sundays in the fall disastrous for fans of the striped ones. Things looked like they might change for the better in 2005. The upstart Bengals won a division title and had a match-up with the hated Steelers in round one. On the second play, franchise QB Carson Palmer’s knee was blown out by that bastard Kimo von Oelhoffen and his evil sounding name. My hopes were dashed yet again. The subsequent years featured more disappointment and the Bengals reclaiming their throne as the laughingstock of the league once players started getting arrested in exceedingly ridiculous ways. Things might currently be looking up. My boys are coming off another improbable division championship this decade and seem to have figured things out at least a little bit. On the other hand, they did just sign the dueling delinquent Joneses, Adam (AKA Pacman, AKA the Rainmaker, AKA Huge Dumbass) and Matt (AKA the Cokehead). How next season will turn out remains to be seen. I do know that I will be rooting hard for the Bengals all season and for every season after.
Who Dey
Even more unfortunately, my two older brothers were both 49er fans at the time. We were living in Germany when this game was played and the Super Bowl came on much too late for us to watch it live. The morning after, my brothers and I eagerly awaited the highlights on CNN Headline News. The result may have been enough to make me cry regardless, but being that my brothers’ favorite pastime was making me cry, there was no way the tears weren’t going to flow. My first discernable memory of being a Bengals fan was that of heartbreak.
This became an enduring theme as Dan Wilkinson, David Klingler, Ki-Jana Carter, Jeff Blake, Carl Pickens, Akili Smith and many others continued to make Sundays in the fall disastrous for fans of the striped ones. Things looked like they might change for the better in 2005. The upstart Bengals won a division title and had a match-up with the hated Steelers in round one. On the second play, franchise QB Carson Palmer’s knee was blown out by that bastard Kimo von Oelhoffen and his evil sounding name. My hopes were dashed yet again. The subsequent years featured more disappointment and the Bengals reclaiming their throne as the laughingstock of the league once players started getting arrested in exceedingly ridiculous ways. Things might currently be looking up. My boys are coming off another improbable division championship this decade and seem to have figured things out at least a little bit. On the other hand, they did just sign the dueling delinquent Joneses, Adam (AKA Pacman, AKA the Rainmaker, AKA Huge Dumbass) and Matt (AKA the Cokehead). How next season will turn out remains to be seen. I do know that I will be rooting hard for the Bengals all season and for every season after.
Who Dey
Marlins 7 - Mets 2
Oliver Perez's line tonight: 3 1/3 IP 9H 7ER 3BB. Hey at least his walk numbers were down from his last start. Unfortunately, when Ollie actually hits the strike zone the other team has a pesky propensity to hit it super hard. Dude gave up four homers in three innings! Please take this guy out of the rotation. Oliver Perez, you stink.
A New Blog. Why? Why not.
I decided to throw my proverbial hat into the blogosphere ring for several reasons: Some of my friends have one and if nothing else I’m something of a follower. I very much enjoy writing and have recently discovered that I also very much enjoy reading things that I’ve written. Since I am vain, I figured I needed a vanity project to really shine. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of anything thematically around which I could base my blog. At this point, to simply post updates and pictures about me and my personal life in blog form would be a rip-off of some of my aforementioned friends and it would also render my Facebook obsolete. This would be tragic. Facebook defines me and I wouldn’t want to upset it in any way. I needed a hook. I needed inspiration.
I found inspiration during one of my many trips to The Copper Hog (the coolest place in Bellingham). The friendly barkeep, Ian (not to be confused with the hot barkeep Megan) expressed his condolences for the Washington Capitals’ disappointing loss to the suddenly unstoppable Montreal Canadiens. By disappointing, I mean heartbreaking, tragic and horrifying. Some dude who must also think that the Copper Hog is the coolest place in town overheard the end of the conversation and asked who my team was. I explained that I was a huge Caps’ fan. As often happens with “guy talk” I ended up explaining that I am used to such disappointment since my other favorite teams are the Cincinnati Bengals, the New York Mets and the Washington Wizards. Ouch, ouch aaaaaaand ouch. For continued amusement, I threw in the fact that I’m a Washington State University alumnus. For those who are unfamiliar, good ol’ Wazzu’s most storied athletic achievements were led by Ryan Leaf. This is not a good thing. The empathetic laughter that I received as a result of my disastrous selection of favorite sports teams led me to theme around which I could build a blog. I like to think that the misfortunes of my favorite teams in the four major sports could stack up with just about anyone else’s combination in terms of futility and frustration. Living in Western Washington now, many Seattleites are quick to challenge me in sports misery. I’m sure the good people of Cleveland would as well. This is not a mission to find out what combination of teams would be the worst possible group to root for. The bottom line ultimately is this: My teams stink.
Of the many aspects of my life, the fact that my teams stink is hardly the most important. That said, it is the topic about which I am most irrationally passionate and probably the thing that I think and talk (bitch) about the most. As such, I think it’s the topic that is most likely to get me writing something down more than once every few months. That, my friends, is ultimately the point of this adventure (with a secondary mission of weaning myself off of the parenthetical. I am not off to a good start in this regard. Dang!)
Being that it is baseball season, there will probably be many gripes about the New York Mets to follow, especially when Oliver Perez starts. Before long, the Cougs and Bengals will be firing up their camps and the Caps and Wiz will craft their plans on how to best go about making me angry and/or sad. I might also sprinkle in some pop culture, some personal info, and some current events. I don’t have a plan. For the most part, though, this bad boy will be about my life as a sports fan and the many ways in which my favorite teams let me down.
Until then, Let’s go Mets, Rock the Red, Who Dey, Nobody Beats the Wiz and as always, Go Cougs.
I found inspiration during one of my many trips to The Copper Hog (the coolest place in Bellingham). The friendly barkeep, Ian (not to be confused with the hot barkeep Megan) expressed his condolences for the Washington Capitals’ disappointing loss to the suddenly unstoppable Montreal Canadiens. By disappointing, I mean heartbreaking, tragic and horrifying. Some dude who must also think that the Copper Hog is the coolest place in town overheard the end of the conversation and asked who my team was. I explained that I was a huge Caps’ fan. As often happens with “guy talk” I ended up explaining that I am used to such disappointment since my other favorite teams are the Cincinnati Bengals, the New York Mets and the Washington Wizards. Ouch, ouch aaaaaaand ouch. For continued amusement, I threw in the fact that I’m a Washington State University alumnus. For those who are unfamiliar, good ol’ Wazzu’s most storied athletic achievements were led by Ryan Leaf. This is not a good thing. The empathetic laughter that I received as a result of my disastrous selection of favorite sports teams led me to theme around which I could build a blog. I like to think that the misfortunes of my favorite teams in the four major sports could stack up with just about anyone else’s combination in terms of futility and frustration. Living in Western Washington now, many Seattleites are quick to challenge me in sports misery. I’m sure the good people of Cleveland would as well. This is not a mission to find out what combination of teams would be the worst possible group to root for. The bottom line ultimately is this: My teams stink.
Of the many aspects of my life, the fact that my teams stink is hardly the most important. That said, it is the topic about which I am most irrationally passionate and probably the thing that I think and talk (bitch) about the most. As such, I think it’s the topic that is most likely to get me writing something down more than once every few months. That, my friends, is ultimately the point of this adventure (with a secondary mission of weaning myself off of the parenthetical. I am not off to a good start in this regard. Dang!)
Being that it is baseball season, there will probably be many gripes about the New York Mets to follow, especially when Oliver Perez starts. Before long, the Cougs and Bengals will be firing up their camps and the Caps and Wiz will craft their plans on how to best go about making me angry and/or sad. I might also sprinkle in some pop culture, some personal info, and some current events. I don’t have a plan. For the most part, though, this bad boy will be about my life as a sports fan and the many ways in which my favorite teams let me down.
Until then, Let’s go Mets, Rock the Red, Who Dey, Nobody Beats the Wiz and as always, Go Cougs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
