2010's Ten Best Running Sports Jokes

The best part about a joke, particularly the kind of joke that enjoyed by you at the expense of someone else, is that it is not meant to be a joke.

Some of 2010’s most enjoyable sports moments were completely unintentional; others borne out of the silliness that is the sports life.

If you thought watching the World Cup in a bar got you some peace, forget it.

1. Vuvuzelas.

Nobody in the world had any idea what “vuvuzela” meant until spectators and commentators alike started complaining about the constant buzz from these horns throughout the game.

Annoyed TV pundits suggested everything from quieter horns to horns that sound less buzzy and more like real horns (maybe “hornier” horns), to the idea that maybe more goals scored would shut these fans and their horns up. Fat chance. But at least you can now pronounce vuvuzela. Hopefully.



2. The Chicago Bears stink, but are good.

Now in pole position to clinch the NFC North, questions have lingered for over a year whether Jay Cutler is as good as they say or just a primadonna with an occasionally accurate arm.

Then, there were questions about whether the Bears’ offensive line could play in keeping with the NFL’s rumored under-the-table policy of protecting quarterbacks from getting clobbered. But after eeking out wins against their division rivals and beating the Eagles and an early-season Cowboys team at home, it seems that Lovie Smith may be asked to come back. Likewise, Cutler is playing his team to their potential, and the Bears will start to be taken seriously so long as they make it to the playoffs without getting embarrassed.


3. Brett Favre’s phone antics

There’s not much new news here, but since I wrote last winter about how great Brett Favre is an how everyone lives him, maybe I should have taken a cue from “There’s Something About Mary” a film from ten years ago that placed Favre in a bit part as the some time on-and-off boyfriend of a beautiful blonde who kept referring to a mysterious man named just “Brett”. Then again, that was back before we could text and take dirty pics on our cell phones.

We all know what he did, with texts and pictures (allegedly) to a woman who worked for the New York Jets while he was there as starting QB. The sports pundits keep beating the scandal of it to death, but what most of us, those who have followed pro sports and (by default) pro sports celebrities for years, found surprising is that Favre was actually stupid enough to take part in this sort of activity.


4. England’s goalkeeper, Robert Green

Actually a decent goalie in the English League, Green, the #1 at West Ham United, makes the blunder of a lifetime as he mishandles a weak, slow tip of the boot of USA’s Clint Dempsey, which evens the score to 1-1.

"Oh, Crap !" and the goal that really shouldn't have gone in.

Somehow, after floundering around against Algeria in a drab 0-0 tie, England advances to the next round before self-destructing against Germany, who beat them 4-1.

And just to top himself, Green did it again, yesterday, on December 11th against Man City in front of his home crowd.


5. The New York Yankees choke, again.

You have to give the Texas Rangers credit for being a good team, motivated by a great coach, who focused them and took the Rangers to the next level in reaching the World Series.


But with a $206 million payroll and an average Yankee salary at $3 million above the median, one might expect the Yankees to make the ALCS more of a series then they did.
But like most non-Yankee fans, I am actually glad they didn’t.



6. Danica Puts Her Foot in Her Mouth Instead of on the Accelerator

Danica Patrick probably gets more scrutiny, unfairly, than the average racing talent because she is after all the only woman out there. But she should have known better, in such a skeptical, male-dominated environment, than to criticize her car, criticize her techs &track crew, and let it get out to the public.

Her first NASCAR start, also in 2010, was marred by a 12 car accident, and she’s continued to have some growing pains with NASCAR, posting unimpressive finishes.

Not surprising, some NASCAR folk complained that Patrick’s low body weight, as a petite and fit woman, could give her an unfair advantage. But with her talent still there, let’s hope it was only a few ignorant boos and media noise that took her off track a bit in 2010.


7. Ben Roethlisberger is done being an idiot.

A year after winning his second Super Bowl, Big Ben got himself into some Kobe Bryant style media trouble. Last time he won a Super Bowl, he only jeopardized his entire career and livelihood by falling off a motorcycle without a license or a helmet.

Along with being suspended four games without pay, Big Ben was sentenced to undertake an NFL “professional behavior evaluation”. Better yet, Roethlisberger was recently lampooned on South Park’s episode entitled “Sexual Healing”.


8. Arena Football, not an April Fools joke. Nor the USFL either.

Arena Football re-launched itself on April Fools Day, but it was not a joke. However, their choice of the day to make their official announcement might call their thought process into question.

Rejoice! The Boston/Portland/New Orleans Breakers are back!

But, as a consolation, the USFL, known for it’s corrupt sounding team names like the Gunslingers, the Maulers, the Bandits, and the Outlaws, heralded its own return too. The USFL’s last announcement (which can be found at http://www.thenewusfl.com/ ) was that they are back, but not til 2012, if then.


9. The Dallas Cowboys going nowhere at 1 and 7.

The Cowboys were looking good at the top of the power rankings and average fans like me who don’t root for the Cowboys were bracing for Tony Romo and company to light the NFL on fire, and make it miserable for all of us.

The Cowboys still have a ton of talent on the team, but forgot one important ingredient to a Super Bowl run. That ingredient: WINNING GAMES. The Cowboys won one of their first eight games and saw long time Coach Wade Phillips tossed out into the parking lot with his belongings.

But with a new coach and Cowboys legend Don Meredith in Heaven, maybe the Cowboys can save some face and play somewhere near their abilities, if it behooves them.

I took this photo during halftime of the England / Germany game. And this sums it all up.

10. Mayweather ducks Pacman, Dances with the Stars.

Seasoned boxer and sometime champion, Floyd Mayweather, Jr., spent the entirety of 2010 and some months before this year ducking Manny “Pacman” Pacquaio.

His reasoning could be sound, given that many pro boxing experts consider the undefeated Pacman the best fighter pound for pound in the history of the sport. However, Mayweather blames Pacman’s camp for not being able to come to a deal.

And besides, as evidence of his participation in Dancing with the Stars, he’s a currently working on his showboating and salsa moves.


-----

Andy Frye writes about sports and life a couple times a month here, and tweets throughout the day on Twitter at @MySportsComplex.

Besides that, he’s a very busy dancer as well.



Written words © 2010. Breakers helmet pic courtesy of The New USFL, and pic of Green courtesy of cnn.com

Somebody Please Help the NFL Find Its Spine

I’d hate to have been a parent with my kid at the Titans / Texans game yesterday in Houston watching in shock, surprise and maybe horror as Andre Johnson and Cortland Finnegan got into a fist fight after ripping off each other’s helmets after the play broke up.

Granted, I don’t go to many NFL games and probably wouldn’t take my kid, but I wouldn’t have wanted to see that. Must have been a tough work day as a millionaire on either one of these mediocre teams, but sometimes having gainful employment is difficult, and personality conflicts are part of the job.

In Soccer, not considered a “real” sport by American Football’s geniuses, team mates Lee Bowyer (left) and Kieron Dyer brawl. Dyer got a 3-gan suspension, while Bowyer (who started it) was fined $200,000 and banned 4 games.

These days we’re hearing a lot of complaints from players and pro football pundits that the NFL has allegedly gone soft. Their argument is that the NFL has cheapened the game by not letting players hit each other harder and with more force, knocking off helmets and roughing players more and more. Moreover, such voices argue that the NFL is “protecting” quarterbacks to keep up scoring and boost ratings.

Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but I remember the grand old days when stripping the ball and grabbing the face mask were both illegal; and even way, way back, when players had to actually fully enter the end zone to score a touch down, before badgering the ref to just give them the points so they could dance in the end zone. Now face masking is accepted practice and players barely need to have a foot in to be awarded points; while defensive players (in lieu of tackling their opponents) hit the ball fist-first like Gabrielle Reece during a bikini-clad beach Volleyball tourney.

When did the quality, the integrity, and the National Football League’s control of the game go down the toilet? When overpaid players started calling all the shots, that’s when.

The NY Knicks lost four players to suspension in the 1997 NBA Playoffs. Not for brawling, but for coming off the bench. They lost that series after a 3-1 lead over the Miami Heat.

Sure, cage match fighting as a sport is a popular rage now. And there’s a lot of money in the enterprise of watching two guys kick the crap out of each other in fighting matches staged by UFC and TapouT. Hell, even women’s roller derby touts the brawl as a part of the draw for fans. I suppose the difference is that these sports, while supported by a loyal following, are not televised across the world to potentially billions of viewers, played live on Sundays in front of tens of thousands while being underwritten by billions of advertizing dollars.

Maybe I’m reaching here, but I guess I expect the NFL and its players to be professionals at a higher level.

On the contrary, for all the barking from Football’s insiders about “just letting them play”, it is clear that pro players like Finnegan and Johnson can not handle the rougher play of today’s NFL. Otherwise they wouldn’t have had to take it to fist fighting and acting like unruly drunks at a bar yesterday.

Eric Cantona kicks a verbally abusive fan. Later, Cantona, Manchester United's top scorer is suspended eight months, after initially being sentenced to prison.

Their “punishment”, a $25,000 fine for each of the players, is no sort of recourse to an NFL player, considering that the average NFL salary is supposedly $770,000 if you don’t count endorsements. $25,000 is merely a drop in the bucket, and a night out on the town. Or in the context of the spoiled, obnoxious man-children who occupy the pro sports rosters, $25,000 probably constitutes a night with a top notch call girl. What makes anyone think that fights like these won’t crop up again and again, if it means the player gets their name in the headlines and a slap on the wrist as a disincentive for acting like a hooligan?

For all of the money pro athletes make, it’s not too much to ask for them to act like professionals while on the field, especially while in the presence of the fans who pay their salaries through the NFL’s exorbitant ticket prices. That’s right, “professionals”, not petulant goofballs with pads and a helmet, but professionals.

With the League leveling no meaningful punishment here, I wonder at what point will the NFL actually step in and suspend players when they act like drunks at a bar. Will it be at the punching of referees? Guns and knives on the field?

Or maybe with a little help of their lawyers and media consultants --better yet some sound advice from fans-- the NFL will lift its skirt and find its manhood again soon.



Andy Frye writes about sports and life here and tweets throughout the day on Twitter at @MySportsComplex. He plays soccer without a cup, but will lend one to the NFL should they suddenly grow a pair.

Written words © 2010. Soccer pics courtesy of the London Telegraph. Knicks-Heat pic courtesy of the National Basketball Association (NBA).

Let's Give Michael Vick a Break

On Monday Night Football this week, Michael Vick led the Philadelphia Eagles to a 59-28 victory over their NFC North rivals, the Washington Redskins, and besting the Eagles’ former quarterback Donovan McNabb. According to ESPN, Vick grabbed second place among quarterbacks all-time, in rushing yardage, but still Vick threw three touchdown passes too, as a mature, complete quarterback would.



For some, the performance probably didn’t make a difference. I hear from a lot of people back home in Philly, many of whom own dogs and are animal lovers, talk about what an animal they think Vick is for his misadventures a few years ago with his underground dog fighting outfit, Bad Newz Kennels.

As we all know, Vick rightly pled guilty back in ’07 and did almost two years in federal prison. During the trial days and the media blitz, both dismayed fans and angry dog lovers were able to shop for a plethora of Michael Vick dog chew toys like the one pictured above. Sure he deserved the criticism and the chew toy products were probably the best novelty gift since Osama bin Laden urinal cakes.

In comparison though to Vick, other pro athletes have not so easily admitted their guilt and done the time for the crime. One example, Rae Carruth, who was indicted for conspiracy to commit murder, fled the law and then hid in the trunk of a car until he was found and arrested. Also, Jayson Williams, on old NBA favorite of mine, ruined his post-NBA career as one of the more thoughtful sportscasters by accidentally shooting a friend and trying to disguise the incident as a self-inflicted gun accident. Who knows how different it would have been if Williams had not tried to cover it up.

Even guys not facing felony charges, particularly baseball players alleged to have used banned substances, have hid behind lawyers and maintained a veneer of innocence.

Both Andy Pettitte and Mark McGuire did what became the usual song and dance among many of the 89 players identified in the Mitchell Report. While being grilled before Congress about alleged drugs use, McGuire essentially pleaded the 5th Amendment, though he wasn’t (yet) on the stand before a court. And Pettitte put on a patronizing smile and made it like it wasn’t a big deal at all, just a misunderstanding.

Ah, Osama bin Laden TP… That was the good old days…

Vick, perhaps solely on the advice of his attorneys against the charges he faced, did admit his guilt and actually stated publicly that he had done an awful thing and that maybe he “needed to grow up.” Plenty of people, who despise Vick, probably don’t think that statement means anything.

Not every athlete can be impeccable as both a performer and a professional like Derek Jeter or retired NBA great David Robinson. But Vick has long since done his time. And as an observer of sports and a fan for 38 years of my life, I still think Vick’s statement was one of the most honest and refreshing that I have ever heard about any misstep, particularly a felony.

I’m not saying you have to feel sorry for Michael Vick; or even that as an Eagles fan that you should buy and wear his jersey. Burn it, or use it as a dribble pad for your cat's litter box for all I care.

But it’s about time that people give Vick a break and let him play football.


Andy Frye writes about sports and life at here and tweets throughout the day on Twitter at @MySportsComplex.

Written words © 2010. Vick toy picture above courtesy of The Consumerist.com

'Cocks, Football and Grilling Pigs

The University of South Carolina and its football team have always had a little bit of a naming dilemma in my mind.

Anyone living outside of The Palmetto State would in no way be inclined to call South Carolina “USC”, since when most people think of USC they think of the University of Southern California, the 11 time National Champions. Southern California’s football teams have spawned such NFL greats as Mike Garrett and Keyshawn Johnson, as well as Marcus Allen, Lynn Swan, Junior Seau, Ronnie Lott, all of whom have Super Bowl rings; and even a statistics monster in the now reviled OJ Simpson.

---------- Gamecocks Crossing: Watch your step---------------

So historically, it’s no wonder that Gamecocks Football is played at the other USC. But then again, The Cockpit is on fire as we speak, and it might help to look at College Football’s rankings right now.

It’s an anomaly compared to what you would normally see in November. Oregon tops all three polls, and the rest of the Top 25 is rounded out not with the usual stalwarts, but instead by Utah, Mississippi State, Stanford, and Big 12 whipping boy Baylor. Texas, Florida, Colorado, Michigan and Southern California (that other USC) are nowhere to be found.

South Carolina, now ranked at 18 in the AP Poll knocked off #1 Bama a few weeks ago, bolstering their argument; right after the Gamecocks beat a solid, nationally ranked Georgia in the weeks prior. Carolina fans would not say they are at all surprised.

In early summer, I took my first trip down to South Carolina right before the Gamecocks domination of UCLA in the College World Series. The Gamecocks would go on to beat UCLA by allowing only two runs in two games after setting the playoff season aflame, torching rival Clemson and knocking out #1 seed Arizona State in their first game, 11-4.

But since this was June, grilling season was in full swing, and in more ways than one. I got to kick off the weekend listening to Cousin Scott jab his brother, Newton, an esteemed Air Force officer, about how Scott’s Carolina beat up on Newton’s nearby alma mater, The Citadel. I got the full story from the locals on their version of why Carolina Football is changing the SEC, and a short history of the Rise and Fall of Clemson Football, a former Roman-style empire of sorts.

Trash talk was rife while smells of barbeque filled the air as Uncle PJ grilled a large, whole pig on the hot irons. For me, the combination of these two things were absolutely wonderful.

Gamecocks like grilling pigs and some Georgia dogs too.

I’ve said before that SEC sports fans, particularly football fans, have a tendency to talk trash. And they do it with such refined poise –maybe it is hospitality and Southern manners—that heighten the stakes of the upcoming came without being rude or obnoxious. Maybe more to the point, SEC Football fans have a fervor unmatched in any sport, at least on this side of the Atlantic.

No disrespect to Ohio State fans at the Horseshoe, but you don’t know crazy at a football game until you’ve sat next to 60,000 screaming yahoos dressed in bright orange at a Tennessee game. The fans are actually what make Tennessee football the “Big Orange”.

But maybe things are changing in the SEC. It has only been since 1992 that the Gamecocks have moved into the conference. Before that, Carolina Football seemed to be, at best a fringe oufit, buried in the nestles of the Atlantic Coast Conference (ACC) under the dominance of Clemson, Maryland, and the dirt kicked over them by that other Carolina, the North Carolina Tar Heels.

Live from Uncle Henry’s refrigerator, South Carolina Gamecocks mustard.

More notable, Gamecocks Football had lost all 8 of their sparse bowl game appearances from 1946 to 1988, against the likes of Indiana (a basketball school) and Miami University (that is, the other Miami, in Ohio). But after the 5-year mishmash of the Lou Holtz era at USC, Steve Spurrier seems to have really strengthened the program into a respectable and formidable one. As such, Carolina fans have a lot of reason to wear their Garnet and Black with pride.

If the momentum and Carolina football fans’ confidence can carry over to the boys on the field, then maybe a major bowl game is in the works.

Some might say the Gamecocks have had an easy schedule, but they just might grill a razorback, #17 Arkansas tonight.


Andy Frye writes about sports and life at MySportscomplex.blogspot.com and tweets throughout the day on Twitter at @MySportsComplex.

Grill him a Razorback, and he'll eat it.

Written words © 2010.

11 Great Non-United Footballers

It does get tiresome for some footy fans when they read the sports pages to find that one team and its players dominate the headlines.

That's not to say that Manchester United hasn't earned its keep as a great club that can attract (and also develop the best players. It's just that sometimes you want to hear about the others.

United turned its back on contract talks, and Tevez crossed town, where he turns and scores for City against United.

Hear are my top 10...

1. Alan Shearer - The cream of the crop among English Premier footballers in the last decade and a half. Man United desperately wanted him in 1996, and was willing to pay ₤ 15 million. Yet they lost out to his hometown club, Newcastle, where Shearer scored 148 goals in 303 games.

2. Patrick Vieira – One of two Arsenal tough guys, Vieira was best known for great passing and keeping Roy Keane from pushing fellow Gunners around. A towering figure, Vieira centered Arsenal's constant warring against rivals Man United for years, helping guide them to the title on occasion.

You miss a penalty kick. Keown laughs in your face.

3. Martin Keown – Perhaps Keown should be top of the list simply for laughing in Ruud van Nistelrooy’s face after he missed a penalty for United. Moreover, Keown was one of England’s and Arsenal’s toughest defenders, and gave hell to many a striker.

4. Steve McManaman – Not a hall of famer, for sure, Macca, like Peter Bearsley, was a great example of how a true team player adds power to the team, improving performance. Also as a humorous half time commentator for World Cup ’10, he seemed to be one of the few who was paying attention to what players were doing.

5. Steven Gerrard – Say what you will about Gerrard and the boys phoning it in for England at World Cups, but he is the midfield’s top talent in England. He adds a dimension for his team that creates chances that wouldn’t be there otherwise; and causes trouble for United and other opponents everywhere.

6. Ashley Cole – Though Arsenal fans hate him now, Cole gave the Gunners several good years and is still the league’s top left back. Maybe he’s a cruddy sportsman, but he’s got ample skill and a fire unmatched in English football.

Cole is excellent at ball control; depending on what balls your speaking about

7. Craig Bellamy – Another firey one, Bellamy through a punch at Inter’s Marco Materazzi, who is almost a foot taller, 4 years before Zidane head butted him. Though he’s played for half a dozen teams, save Liverpool, Bellamy has brought an extra kick at the end of the game to each of his club. Each time you're down and out against United, Bellamy may likely score one to get your head straight.

8. Magnus Hedman – OK, I know I’ll take flack for this one, but the Swedish goal keeper Hedman was a great keeper. Problem was that he never player for a great team and never had a top back-four in front. But his 5+ years with lowly Coventry gave him the chance to display a lot of hard work that showed us just what kind of keeper, and tough character he was.

9. Tony Adams – As England’s and Arsenal’s captain, and other center back along with Keown, Adams was both a gentleman and leader. It’s been said that he wasn’t the most physical or naturally gifted player, but made up for it with wise and studied play, and a true maturity that the game sometimes misses from its high profile players.

10. Dennis Bergkamp will admit, he’s cocky and sometimes arrogant maybe. He considered himself the best-in-the-world at his position behind the striker for Arsenal and Holland. Possibly Bergkamp was the only player in the EPL whose fearless attitude and confidence matched that of United as a club in the whole.


11. Carlos Tevez...This one is a bit of a wildcard since Tevez did play for United following a stint rescuing West Ham at the end of the season a few years ago. In 2009, when Man United balked at renewed contract talks, Tevez was picked up happily by cross town rivals Manchester City. Given his dislike of cold weather, and the fact that he is an Argentine (Argentines dont typical stay in England long) who knows where Carlos may end up. Fair to say though, where ever he ends up in coming years it will involve 1) starting for another top club and, thus 2) scoring many more goals against Manchester United.


Honorable Mention, -OR- swell guys who could have made the list had they not gone and joined United: Andy Cole, Michael Owen, Paul Scholes, Wayne Rooney, Teddy Sheringham, Rio Ferdinand, Edwin van der Sar. Nice Work, men.


Andy Frye writes about sports and life here and via My Sports/Complex on Facebook and @MySportsComplex on Twitter. He’s worth his weight in tech talk and trash talk.

Pics courtesy of Guardian.co.uk and Virgin Media

Battle of the Cheesesteaks, redux

The Late Entry: Jury's on Lincoln Ave

I was off my game today when I headed to my regular writing / watering hole, only to find that The Bad Apple is not open until 4:30pm. And I call myself a regular. But I guess the silver lining is that I'm not the kind of writer who hits the bar before Noon.

Jury's on Lincoln in Lincoln Square: Messy & Fanciful

So I stumbled, hungry and thirsty, to Jury's in Lincoln Square to grab a Stella and some ESPN at the place where I usually grab crab cakes with my wife and kid. As it turns out, there's a "Philly Steak" on the menu, so I thought I'd take a crack.

More off my game, this time as a cheesesteak connoisseur, I had my nose stuck in some editing without even thinking about onions, peppers and all of the other stuff I don't typically want on my Philly when I order.

Not a Philly type haunt, the barkeep at Jury’s probably didn’t even think to ask how I take my steak. So when my late lunch hit the bar I was met with slight disappointment (so I thought) that I had ordered an artisan sandwich. But so what…

Jury’s take was different for sure. Their version of a Philly steak comes on quality bread, probably the best French bread that I have had outside of France.

Usually I don’t like onions on my cheesesteak not because I don’t like onions, but because it sweetens the taste and totally changes the effect. For me the onions just don’t work; and some things on your favorite foods just don’t work. Just like that you never order a cheesesteak hoagie to go for the simple fact that the “hoagie” part (the lettuce and tomato) will be a soggy, wilted salad by the time you get it home.

But at Jury’s even the onions worked, even though they were red onions, which are supposedly the sweetest when cooked. Likewise, the bell peppers worked too even though they spent their time falling out of the roll while hanging by a thread onto the stretch of Mozzarella cheese that kept it all together.

As a sports fan, I’d say that Jury’s gave me a head fake. If I were a teacher, I’d give it an A+. And an A+ is an A+, even for poor students like me and some of the rough-and-tumble Philly types (cops, fireman, and other tough guys) who wouldn’t be caught dead eating and artisan sandwich.

No Tastykakes, but still…nice work, chefs. Chicago cops, just park on the sidewalk as usual and get your butts into Jury’s.


Andy Frye writes about sports and life MySportsComplex.blogspot.com, and also tweets several times daily @MySportsComplex on Twitter, mostly about sports but sometimes food too.

So put that in your mouth, and chew it.

Battle of the Cheesesteaks: Chicago North

Every once in a while a writer gets what is known as writers’ block. But the block never applies to the stomach. A writer is always hungry; believe me…even the alcoholic writers like Poe and Kerouac, they just preferred alcohol over food.

Not that I’m suffering from either. Being from Philadelphia, I get asked all the time about Philly cheesesteak sandwiches, and where to go back home and here in Chicago. And it doesn’t hurt to veer off the sports track every once in a while and talk about competition of a different sort. So, since barbeque season is pretty much over with the onset of winter near, I figured it was time to compare cheesesteak joints in my neck of the woods.

The Phlly Cheesesteak...Good Stuff

Typically the first question from anyone who has been to Philly is “what are those two cheesesteak places and which is better?” What this tourist question refers to is the two well known cheesesteak meccas, Pat’s King of Steaks and Geno’s, both on 9th & Passyunk Ave in South Philadelphia. I’ll answer the second part of that question some other time.

For now, it’s Chicago, a world class city that rivals London and New York, smells better than Houston, has more real meat and potatoes than LA. Plus, there’s a whole lot more to do than Midwestern driving-only cities like St Louis. So here’s the ledge…



The Authentic: Philly’s Best on Belmont

The jewel in the crown for Philly Steaks is of course Philly’s Best; a spot that used to fly in Amoroso rolls daily about a decade ago, before going with a local Chicago purveyor, Gonella. Gonella’s rolls are crusty, not half bad and close enough.

I once dragged a lifelong Chicagoan friend after midnight, breaking him in to Philly verbal judo while watching the owner vocally harangue some teens who were messing up tables with condiments after ordering only a drink. Skilled at the judo and attitude, the owner made the kids feel bad enough to pick up their mess and leave (after a short argument of course), and I told Brad, “Welcome to Philadelphia. Let’s order.”

Like the family owners who moved out here from West Philly two decades ago, everything you could want here is authentic as you can get. Cheesesteak orders must be specified with or without onions, and with your pick of Provolone, Whiz, White American, Mozzarella or Cheddar if you must; and your meat comes out flat and layered just like at Geno’s and suburban Philly chains like Lee’s. Likewise, if it’s a meatball sandwich you want or something vegetarian, they have that too. Locals like their “East Coast Style” pizza, which I think is nothing special, really.

Along with a selection of everything from Tastykakes to pepper & egg sandwiches for Lent, Philly’s Best has signs that tell you to be ready when you order and that if you are not a customer that the restroom is “The Lake, 5 blocks east”. There are pics of the owner poised with celebrities like Jackie Mason, Hillary Clinton and local news people, and to top it off, all of the employees must wear a mandatory Philadelphia Phillies caps and a red shirt. Like I said, authentic.



The Approach & Attitude: Clarke’s on Lincoln

Clarke’s is nowadays a standard diner with everything you could ever want on cheeky menu adorned with side commentary, and is open 24 hours with a few locations on the North Side. Everything they make is cheap and excellent.

Great ad, but you'll need to go to Cali for this one.

The first time I went to Clarke’s was in 1995, and I went with a friend from Ohio who was kind of a know-it-all / pain in the ass type of guy. He tried to pull some ‘tude on the staff at Clarke’s and got it shoved right back in his face.

My lunch mate (unfortunate me) decided to ask for the Fruit Plate, hold the grapes and then changed his order, strangely, to a Bowl of Grapes. In the midst of arguing his flimsy “customer is always right” shtick he was told by our impatient waiter, probably a DePaul student, that Clarke’s wasn’t a five-star restaurant. But that he could choose from the myriad choices on the menu or get out. He settled on a club sandwich.

Since East Coast style frictions were stirred up just during the order, flustered, I picked their cheesesteak, wondering if it matched the mood. Like Pat’s King of Steaks, it came out with the steak chopped up, signaling that the short order chef knew what he was doing. It came out plugged with my decadent favorite, White American cheese, which was hard to get in Chicago back then believe it or not.

Good standard-build cheesesteak, authentic quality, pretty much like home but with no frills and no variance. And a little attitude to go with it.

Ironically, Clarke’s website says “We have a large menu to choose from-and you're able to order whatever you want whenever you want.”


Heavy on the Pepper: Hoagie Hut in Lincoln Park

Ever since my later college days in Ohio, I’ve been haunted by the “Philly Cheese Steak Hoagie” I once ordered at Oxford’s now defunct Attractions Bar & Grill (good riddance) which best known for 25¢ beers and should have stuck to that.

“Hoagie” in the Midwest can be a fielder’s choice of any meat on any bread, and on that one occasion the “Philly Cheese Steak Hoagie” was a grease-ridden bun length hamburger with more bread filler then meat. It was even more terrible than I could have imagined, and I was insulted that Attractions was brazen enough to think they could even fool the townies with such a half-hearted, unstudied, garbage rendition of a cheesesteak. You’d probably get a better cheesesteak at the Ho Chi Minh City Airport.

So when I first scoped out “Hoagie Hut” I was skeptical that a Midwestern establishment could nail a hoagie or anything close. But have no fear here. Hoagie Hut is a top notch sandwich spot that does it all right.

A couple of other foodies picked up on something that I did too, that Hoagie Hut uses “a lot of black pepper” and probably white pepper too, according to many who dropped feedback. Not only did this assure me that my taste buds haven’t gone soft on me, but I have to say the Hut’s extra kick adds a little dimension to their cheesesteak which, like Clarke’s, is basic but spot on.

Pat's at 9th and Passyunk. "Who's the King, baby?"

No Cigar, Still Decent: The Daily, Lincoln Square

Lucky for me I wasn’t alone on this one. I’ve been to the Daily Bar a number of times and will continue to go back, but it wasn’t until I had a visitor from PA, an old high school friend, that the Daily had put a cheesesteak on their menu.

On the tail end of several beers and about two hours of conversation and catching up on the last 20 years, it was time for dinner and we both took the leap in ordering a the “Philly” which comes standard with Pepper Jack cheese. To me, deli Jack cheese is just White American with an extra joust of flavor, and a little extra red pepper in anything (for my tastes works). Notably, my pal Eric who is a strident purist on all things Philly thought their steaks were pretty good.

It could have been the 75 degree Spring weather or the beers that night, but The Daily seemed to hit a bright note on their own take of the cheesesteak, taking a risk that is taken too kindly among cheesesteak connoisseurs. And it didn’t hurt that the steak was basically chopped prime rib.

That said, The Daily (which is not named after Mayor Daley, by the way) has a great selection of beers and is an excellent place to watch sports, having no affiliation other than Chicago sports in general.

So if you're at The Daily and if you don’t like cheesesteaks or calculated risk, have a Bud Light and the Daily Meatloaf.



Andy Frye writes about sports and life MySportsComplex.blogspot.com, and also tweets several times daily @MySportsComplex on Twitter, mostly about sports but sometimes food too.

Rock over Philly, Rock on Chicago.

"Pep Talks, Chairs and Dodgeball"

The following is part of a series called Short Short Sport Stories which are real life stories, funny stuff and things that happened around about 1000 words.



Dodgeball was a game that I picked up not on the playground but through my participation in the local Cub Scouts troop. Usually the scout experience is about the outdoor stuff, which is pivotal for the 3rd grade boy if he’s ever to get his butt off the couch and become a man. Good thing for me that I grew up in the days before video games were a kid’s first meal of the day.

Scouts is also about the experiencing life through constructive activities. Team building. Pitching tents. Responsibly starting, using and extinguishing camp fires. Arts and crafts and using a whittling knife. Plus, thanks to the scouts I learned how to tie knots and consequently complete the previously un-mastered art of tying my shoes.

You see, our Cub Scout “pack” had a reorganization that got about twelve of us 3rd graders from different schools in the same cohort. Part of the deal was a weekly Wednesday night meeting, a remodeled Scout Lodge, and a new leader, Mr Neumann. While my friend’s mom did a good job as Den Mother before, we needed to be whipped into shape.

When the first Wednesday came, we got our orientation from Mr Neumann about the structure and drill. It went like this:
1. The pledge of allegiance, and some formal stuff
2. An opening game
3. An outdoorsy activity, usually a about problem solving
4. Cleanup

Looking back it was like landing Bear Bryant as your coach plus use of the Superdome. I remember Mr Neumann as a tall, imposing guy, somewhat quiet and measured, and sort of a John Wayne type with an East Coast accent.

Now I wanted in for sure, even though I had contemplated quitting just like everything else I had ever joined.

Sports wise, dodgeball became our opening game from the second week on, settling on the sport because it just worked. And when you are indoors on a winter night, not too many other alternatives work unless you got a full gym, so it fit.

Sure, Scouts is about cooperation. And though dodgeball is a team sport that forces your team to mend and adapt quickly, you approach your opponent with vigor and cutthroat competition.

As one major newspaper put it, dodgeball is about "violence, exclusion and degradation". And maybe that was what I felt that made me, a fairly spastic 3rd grader already, snap one evening.

Despite where I might be now, I started out with no talent whatsoever in sport of any kind. I was a pretty gentile lad, idealistic maybe, and I thought that dodgeball was all teamwork and cooperation….not being pelted and knocked out as an early sacrificial lamb. I came to find out I was an easy score for the other team no matter who got the ball.

Week in week out of the first month of Cub Scouts, every game of dodgeball began with a whistle and grab for the ball at center, followed by me getting pelted and sent off. We played a couple of rounds every Wednesday night, but the result was always the same and my minutes on the court were more like seconds at most.

But Week 6 would mark a change though not in the way I thought. My intention that night was to start the dodgeball match with a rush toward center. I figured if I used my kid speed, I'd snatch the ball and defend myself before the first assault.

But by the time I got the ball in-hand, an opposing scout had wound up his throw, spotted me, and launched the ball right at me. Knocked on my butt, it took the ball clean out my hand and threw me back a few steps. The other 3rd graders laughed with a roar but I had had enough.

So I responded the way any other extremely frustrated 3rd grader would do. I had a verbal fit, threw out a few obscenities and grabbed the nearest chair, tossing it Bobby Knight style, right across the court.

And for a moment that stopped the laughs. “Hey!” yelled Mr Neumann, as I stormed out though the front door the of cabin, holding back the tears of frustration that I didn’t want anybody to see. Probably February, it was cold outside, and with the door slamming behind me Mr Neumann came out and I figured I would get sent home after getting my ass chewed out by the Scoutmaster.

Coach Bobby Knight, the pro, showing how you do it right.

But then a weird thing happened. Mr Neumann talked to me like an equal, giving me a chock full of empathy, acknowledging my frustrations and a bit of a pep talk.

No chewing out, no “you're going home, son”. Instead of being a military grade tyrant or a corny scout leader with silly anecdotes, Mr Neumann treated me like an equal.

He told me bit about keeping my cool. And that by keeping my cool I’d have more fun, plus that the other kids wouldn’t as easily poke and prod. “Sounds stupid”, he said, “but it works... Keep your cool.” It was the first time in my life that a man had talked to me like a coach. I was only 10 or 11 and had played sports before, but this was the first real coaching I ever got.

Strange thing about this pep talk stuff is that it ties in well with a favorite film, Dodgeball the movie. From Lance Armstrong's jibes about quitting to Rip Torn's anachronisms and dodgy advice, it seems that dodgeball brings out pep talk, perhaps by its ying/yang nature. And Mr Neumann's pep talk helped me and could have helped the Average Joes, the underdog team in that film.

I had heard recently that Mr Neumann had passed away after a bout with a long illness, and the news came right at the time I had thought about penning something about dodgeball. As usual, I had heard the news after the fact and maybe that made me a bit pensive.

Though I didn’t keep in touch or get to say goodbye, it was meaningful to remember that my first ever coach lived a good long life. And that my first coach showed up on the scene during one of my worst moments as a young athlete.

Andy Frye writes about sports and life here and also tweets several times daily via @MySportsComplex on Twitter.

After being buried in day-job work, writing about sports provides the mind and soul a nice vacation.

Writings © 2010. Pic of Coach Knight making love to his chair courtesy of USA Today

Symptoms of a "sports complex"

Years ago I blew out my knee playing soccer while taking a free kick during a Sunday intramural game. Playing contact sports at age 31 is a venture and it is the approximate age when your body starts to revolt and roll downhill.

To summarize, it was just me and the ball in the back field; goalie behind me and everyone else up ahead, looking to make a play out of it. I stepped into the ball to take my kick right footed and must have stepped too hard on my worn out left knee only to make it snap as I hit the grass.



This reminded me one winter evening, known among friends as “The Drunken Ice Capades” when I slipped on ice, hitting the pavement in front of my apartment after a few margaritas with friends. In gracious fashion, after I fell, they each obliged and did the same.

But on this June day, I didn’t hear my patellar tendon detach as I went down but my goalkeeper did. He also informed me that, more importantly, I got off a pretty good kick. Later when someone asked, “What did you do to the other guy?” I had to answer that there was no other guy, just a ball.

Actually it wasn’t that big a deal. Over time it heeled just fine.

The very next week on the same field and same time, 10am maybe, we were up against a lesser equipped team in a playoff. Our best player, Jeremy, was carrying the ball downfield as always, speeding down the right side and getting ready to score as he always did. And as usual there wasn’t much the other team could do about it.

Yet this time, some hack that got stuck playing defense, probably because he wasn’t in good enough shape to run far, fouled Jeremy, sticking his leg out in front our guy with the ball. Jeremy went down, tumbling over with a yell and a couple of f-bombs.

From my sideline spot about 20 feet away it didn’t look like he went down that hard. But the colorful words were plenty justified as we found out later that Jeremy had broken his ankle in three places and would require surgery that day. While being lifted into the ambulance, Jeremy apologized for his language.

That was about seven years ago and to my knowledge Jeremy had the metal rods taken out of his leg not too long ago. Since the injury, he’s played plenty of games since, including soccer, softball and a few other sports, with extra caution, and a doctor’s note for the airport metal detector as the only major inconvenience.

But the injury, the pain, the foul language and the surgeries weren’t the main problem. Nor was the metal rod destined for his leg, nor the doctor’s note that would accompany it. The big problem that faced Jeremy that day was that the Yankees were playing the Cubs at 1:05pm.

I had Cubs season tickets that summer; night and weekends, 60-some games, third base side and great view. And it was the first season in five or six decades that the Yankees would come to Wrigley. And I don’t think they’ve been here since.

By then in a hard cast, leg straightened, I couldn’t sit in my Wrigley seats anymore, and I had many friends lobbying me for those tickets. Moreover, Jeremy was a lifelong Yankees fan and a rabid, partisan one at that. Don’t get him started about how much he hates fair weather Red Sox fans. He had to see his team and so he got the Cubs-Yanks tickets for that Sunday. To top it off, Roger Clemens was on a hot streak and was pitching that night, set to get his 300th win**.

But it took more that an ankle broken in three places and an orthopedic surgeon to tell Jeremy that he wasn’t going. The hours between 10am and 1:05pm flew by as any reasonable person would expect, but that didn’t matter. It took Jeremy’s brother a few attempts to talk some sense into him, before the crushing blow, “Forget it. You’re not going today.”

As it turned out, the tickets went last minute to a Canadian friend of ours who made a blind date out of it. Surprisingly, the Cubs beat the Bronx Bombers 5 to 2 that evening, and Clemens did not get his 300th win.

Understandably, Jeremy was annoyed about his ankle and the prospect of hobbling around Chicago. But he was really miffed about missing Clemens pitch.



I’ve written many times before about sports fandom, and the apparent irrational nature that goes with being a sports fan. Many, like me, associate rabid fandom with being glued to the tube during a tight game, or rearranging plans to watch. Sometimes we get a little wild at the ballpark and yell, talk trash, or throw a beer at the opposing team’s outfielder. And don’t get me started about what Philadelphia Eagles fans have thrown onto the field over the years.

But it seemed unusual to see a guy with a broken ankle say “hurry up” to the doctor and his staff so he could take his seat at a regular season baseball game. Then again, maybe it’s not so unusual.

There’s something about competition and suspense that pulls people in and holds them tightly as fans and TV viewers relentlessly without mercy. This might explain why so many tune in repetitively to watch “The Bachelor” and “America’s Got Talent”. Certainly it’s not unpredictable plots or interesting dialogue that makes it all a hit.

But there’s a strong difference between the competition that you witness on game shows, and the kind you feel during a down field drive. Or suspense you feel during a pitch to a batter at full count on home plate, with two outs and bases loaded. Sport is the one thing that embodies competition and suspense in its most rich, dense and enjoyable form.
This goes for sport of any kind, whether you’re talking golf, hunting game, or team sports like volleyball, cycling or even a four on four game of bocce.

First, as participants, we’re willing to risk injury just to play and then we’re willing to brush it all off, broken bones or not, to participate as spectators in our favorite team’s afternoon endeavor.

The love of sports, its suspense and our psychological need to follow it, causes the fan to do other obsessive or irrational things. Maybe not as irrational as my team mate Jeremy, but still...

So, what are the symptoms of this social condition I call “the sports complex”? First off, it consists of things we’re all aware of. Constant checking of scores, wearing of replica jerseys, and studied knowledge (if not savant-like knowledge) of sports trivia…these things all apply.

But it might creep a step further when a member of your household designates one room as the “sports lounge” or dresses up the dog in a football jersey. Generally, one’s behavior is affected in ways both big and small. Perhaps some anecdotes would paint a picture of a complex at work.

One parent that I know personally, painted a golf course scene around his infant son’s room. In that scene, a Chicago Bears fan, clad in dark blue and an orange pointed C, was enjoying his day on the links. His caddy was tired and slumping, dressed in yellow and green with a frown on his face. And a big Green Bay Packers “G” on his cap.



Another friend from college, an Ohio State fan, ends every email from August to January with the farewell “Beat Michigan, ”

Similar college football sentiments came up once after my kid attended a fellow 3 year-old’s birthday party. My kid gave his friend, for his birthday, a wooden puzzle map of the United States. His parents, who are friends of mine and Alabama football fans sent a warm thank you note pointing out Bailey’s great friendship and also that any map from a University of Mississippi fan’s academic collection would usually have states missing from it.

Ha ha, yeah, OK. I wasn’t sure if the joke was cracked on Ole Miss’s academics or Mississippians’ age old Civil War fixation. But like any greeting card, it’s the underlying thought that counts.

Years ago, the marketing people in Las Vegas stole an old adage from the culture of English Football. That old adage, “What happens on the pitch, stays on the pitch” was transformed to the tagline, “What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas.” Sure, they stole a good line for profit and TV advertising, but at least the marketing people got the spirit right.

Since I’m not a shrink or a social scientist it’s fair to say I’m not the proper authority to fully define or diagnose the sports complex. But I do know one thing about sports nuts.

And that is that, no matter the symptoms, whether it is the collecting of caps, ball and jerseys; the hours spent watching sports live and on TV or whatever; every fan with the sports complex shares one thing in common.

That common attribute is living every moment with at least a little bit of sports on the brain. Most importantly, that fan can never, ever just “leave it on the pitch”.



Andy Frye writes about sports and life here and also tweets several times daily @MySportsComplex on Twitter.

**He had to fact check this stat from memory and 7 years ago but totally nailed it. Such is the condition known as “the sports complex”.

Writings © 2010. Clock picture courtesy of Photobucket.com

David Durham, RIP

A friend of mine, David Durham, died as a result of a bout with cancer today at age 59. David was a life long fan of Ohio State football, and all things Ohio State as it goes.




Dave was brought up in Galipolis, Ohio, and like any resident of there would tell you he's from the same hometown of the breakfast and comfort food giant Bob Evans. After spending much of his life in Ohio and close to the Horseshoe, Dave later made his life in his second hometown of Chicago, where his business practice and acclimation for public service drove him to get involved in civic duties. Most recently, Dave took up the role as President of The Rotary Club of Chicago, the world's oldest service club.

Morever, and most important to me is that Dave was the kind of guy you could lower your guard around; a normal guy for a good conversation.

As a sports fan, and a particularly enthusiastic one, he was comfortable both in extolling his love for OSU and the Big Ten and poking a little fun in the arena of sports conversation. Often, if you ventured into conversation about college football, he might lend a little levity to the discussion of football with some trash talk toward the around upcoming football battles.

I remember one time asking him about the Michigan fight song "The Victors" and moreover why it seemed that every Ohio State fan I met knew the song by heart. Dave then met my question with the parody version of the song including its more colorful language. So that answered my question in full.

His enthusiasm for life and sport brings back that old Bill Shankly saying that has popped up in my mind a thousand times:

“Some people think that football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it’s much more serious than that.”

Certainly that's an exageration, and one laced with humor, poking fun at the football fan's fervor. But the words do hammer out a simple fact: That besides life and family, love for the experience of life can take many forms.

Furthermore, cheering for your team, as Dave did amply, is a noble thing. Also, enjoying a good football game, built up by the experience of witnessing it with family and friends throughout a lifetime can make for a passion that does, so it seems, become a matter of life and death.

Rest in peace, Dave.

Sports in film: 4 Big Fumbles

As a sports enthusiast and amateur athlete, I’ve spent a lot of hours watching film about sports. I’m always looking for good films that nail it…the love of sport, passion, and what ABC's Wide World of Sports best captured as the “Thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat”.

Earlier this year I gave my bit on the ten best sports films of the last 20 years. Here are the “Big 4” in my opinion that fumbled it the worst.

1. Ali (2001) - Boxing

Michael Mann’s 3-hour epic about one of the greatest and most charismatic athletes of the 20th Century was an ambitious project and a noble venture, but falls hard. Too bad this film, Ali, was boring and almost as hard to endure as Oprah’s Beloved. Sadly, this film, with bold aim and a careless hand largely missed the mark.

Will Smith displays his best and most studied acting as Muhammad Ali himself, along side other great actors who play titan roles. Jon Voight as sportscaster legend Howard Cosell, and Mario Van Peebles as Malcolm X shine, along side other greats like Jeffrey Wright, Jamie Foxx, and comedian Paul Rodriguez as boxing voice Ferdie Pacheco. Still the dramatic potency of the cast is weighed down by the storyline’s inertia.

Ali: Acting a knockout, but the storyline has rubber hands.

Perhaps what doomed the film was that the timeline stuck militantly to Ali’s life between the years of 1965 to 1975. Unfortunately, much of what was shown of this decade focused less on boxing and more on personal affairs, as it spent much time on Ali being banned from the sport and scorned by the establishment for refusing to fight in the Vietnam War. And while (in real life) Ali’s court case went on for years during his ban from the sport, the film didn’t go the route of The People Versus Larry Flint, focusing on intellectual ventures surrounding the legal fight.

Besides the great acting, the only high spike in Ali is the scene surrounding the Rumble in the Jungle fight that took place between Ali and George Foreman, in Zaire in 1975. Here, Mann does deserve some credit for transitioning his underlying assertion –that Ali was a universal and influential American icon—to the build up and anticipation about this legend challenging and beating the new champ Foreman.

Biased I may be, but like most sports fans, I wanted to see this charismatic, inspirational man and prolific athlete fight titans in the ring, not fighting sociopolitical causes or punching wind against partisan apparitions. Maybe shame on me for wanting Ali to be more like Rocky and less like Against All Odds.



2. Friday Night Lights (2004) - Football

When asked about this film by another sports fan, I couldn’t help but and say that, to me Friday Night Lights is little more than Melrose Place of a football field. Even worse it reminds me of some of those horrid, catty British shows like Footballers’ Wives. Or maybe the better put, the last time this film came out, it was called Varsity Blues.



Go figure, Billy Bob Thornton is a Texas high school football at Permian High; a school with a huge stadium and a bigger tradition for football. Permian’s coach who, like every high school football coach in every film about football, has as his task coaching the underdogs to the state championship. The herd of football boys practice, play, win, and win more, then get interviewed by local media and generally get put on a pedestal as the sole means of inspiration for a small Texas town.

In chatting about this film, a friend of mine put it this way: “I never knew how big high school football is in Texas”. That may be true, but football is big everywhere in the United States, so who cares? Why does Texas get special recognition for loving football, I wonder.

Carrying the film’s predictability further, the successful season for coach and the boys leads them to play the top team in the state. Egos enflame and partying leads to some unruly behavior amidst the backdrop of social disparity and minor racial tensions.

More predictable --given today's trash TV and the need to do what you can to keep people watching-- is the amount of open sexuality and hook ups availed to these high school football players. After all, according to this film, high school football players claim instant celebrity status and have the physique of 26 year old men. Of course, only in a special place like Texas.

Sure there’s a place in popular American film for a movie like Friday Night Lights, and an appetite among moviegoers. And the trashy, kitchy veneer is a standard part of the sales kit. Much of this appetite comes from America’s love of film and sport both, and especially when movies and football are combined. However, the makers of the film seem to think that slick southern accents and “go get ‘em” speeches stapled to pretty boys strutting around like NFL pros is something that is supposed to lift us up for life.

Unfortunately, while the thrill of the football play is there in the film --for die hard football fans-- the whole of Friday Night Lights is a canned, predictable stock movie we’ve seen a hundred times before. Maybe the TV show is better.


3. Vision Quest (1985) -Wrestling

This film, which features Madonna about the time she hit it big, stands as the only major studio work about high school or collegiate style wrestling. The film tells the story of Louden Swain, a high school senior who has been wrestling for barely two years. Because of his “balance” and natural gifts, he’s already a state champion and the best in his weight class. But that’s not enough. The tall and lanky wrestler, played by Matthew Modine, decides that the path to glory is to starve and sweat himself down two weight classes so that he can challenge the unbeatable 3-time state champion, Brian Shute. Shute trains by walking up and down stadium bleachers holding an 18 inch wooden telephone pole.

For Swain, making weight is a long and arduous process, consisting of constant running and frequent nosebleeds. Swain’s sanity and competence are questioned by everyone else in his drab suburb of Spokane, WA. Meanwhile his only inspirations come from a beautiful, feisty 20-something wild flower named Carla, played by Linda Fiorentino, who randomly rolls into town and bunks with Swain and his dad for a while.

1985's mish mash wrestling film, Vision Quest. Awful.

All in all there are a lot of problems with this film. First off, the script writer (or the producer / director) seems to have little understanding of Wrestling as a sport. Matches end for no reason and scoring is inconsistent. In one scene, the home team forfeits the match simply because the away team has taken the lead, meaning the last couple wrestlers forgo their matches. Anyone who knows Wrestling remotely knows that this doesn’t happen. Imagine your hometown baseball team is down 10-0 in the 3rd Inning. Even the Cubs would finish that game.

Also, like with Chess, champions in Wrestling are never made in a matter of two seasons. Having wrestled myself in high school in Pennsylvania, which is –granted—a very tough wrestling state, I can tell you that most of the champions I competed against started at age 4 or 5, not 16. But inaccuracy and uninformed fantasy aside, there’s more.

When not starving himself and risking his health to reach his goal, our “hero” is babbling on about virtues and character. Yet in one scene he tries to force himself sexually on his houseguest/love, Carla, before she punches him in the face (prompting nosebleeds, again), only to have it brushed under the rug when she shows up to cheer him on at his wrestling meet.

As a wrestling lad, I was forced to watch this movie more than I could bear. But at least I learned what kind of things make a terrible movie terrible.

In the end, boy wins girl, boy beats the unbeatable champion, and returns to high school and a normal diet. But Vision Quest will leave you and anyone who’s not an anorexic, nerdy, sexually deviant excuse for an athlete wondering what the hell you’ve just watched for two hours.

But social issues and my hang-ups aside, Vision Quest is just a bad, bad film.


4. He Got Game (1998) – Basketball

He Got Game, a Spike Lee film featuring NBA star Ray Allen foretold the coming future of a high school phenomenon and basketball virtuoso, so skilled that he was as better than almost all professional players as an 18 year old. Sort of an accidental story version of the rise of LeBron James, 10 years early, but one with greedy people hanging on everywhere.



Director Lee has done a great job of depicting the experience of urban African-American youths while throwing on the table the valid issues. He’s done this in films such as Malcolm X and Crooklyn to better effect. Typically every Spike Lee joint forces the viewer to have a conversation about racism, opportunity in America, and economic disparity along with both the savory and unsavory sides of success, fame and fortune.

Jake Shuttlesworth, played by Denzel Washington, is a prison inmate who has been incarcerated for killing his wife during an argument. His son, Jesus Shuttlesworth, played by Allen is the god-like basketball prodigy who is being recruited by every big college in the country.

Jake can get an early release from prison and a pardon from the governor if he can only convince his son to play for Big State, the governor's alma mater. Meanwhile, Jesus faces temptation by big money, beautiful women, super agents and money men who want to take him away from the Brooklyn projects but make him sign on the dotted line.

NBA players Shaquille O'Neal, Reggie Miller and Michael Jordan, make appearances in the film as well as top coaches and spunky broadcaster Dick Vitale. As always, Denzel is impressive and Allen, who is not a professional actor, shows that he could be. If you're a basketball nut, there’s a lot to get excited about here.

Yet too often in this film, the protagonist, Jesus is portrayed as the victim of every single advantage he gets and every good thing he has going for him. Sure, his mother is dead and his dad is in jail…he’s had it rough. And everybody’s trying to sell Jesus out, to get their piece of money, power, and influence for pointing Jesus to this college or that pro team.

But by the time the film reaches it’s conclusion, you realize that the theme is less about basketball in America and less about talent and hard work and prevailing. He Got Game is largely an essay about how athletes, especially the ones who become celebrities and make millions upon millions of dollars, spend their entire life getting victimized and screwed by everybody in the sports business, while being objectified by the fans too.

Not that some pro athletes don’t get screwed, or big money hasn’t tainted sport. These are valid issues. But looking back since in the 12 years since this film came out, many a sports fan would be hard pressed to feel sorry for pro athletes as some sort of repressed, misunderstood group in need of fair play or a more just system of commerce.

He Got Game is not a dud like Vision Quest, but not a slam dunk either.

Andy Frye writes about sports and life here and via My Sports / Complex on Facebook and Twitter. He doesn't have a film degree but, like your dog, knows more about film than Richard Roeper.

Writings © 2010. pics courtesy of The Internet Movie Database www.IMDB.com

“Ensnared by Little League”

The following is part of a series called Short Short Sports Stories which are real life stories, funny stuff, quips and things that happened around 1000 words.



Little League Baseball is one of those formative experiences. Sort of like basic military training for life, designed especially for little boys.

As participants in Little League, we get to experience it all. Not only how to run, hit, throw and but also get to be part of a social experiment. And as part of the social experiment, as Little League kids, we got fed little bits of what we would experience as adults later in life. The good comes with the bad.

Good things we learn about: teamwork, different styles of communication, perseverance and the rewards it brings, as well as second chances, the value of effort and hard work, the thrill of victory, and the joy of a good ice cream cone after a game.

The less savory parts of the game and life: cheating, bad sportsmanship, egos, personal agendas, and nepotism.

Maybe the words I’ve used make it sounds worse than it is. Sure, it’s not like pitchers in the 3rd grade were coating fastballs with Vaseline. Nor were there 10 year old hitters in my Little League were using pine tar on their bats, charging the mound, or bribing umpires. At least that I know of…

As a young kid, I moved around a little bit before my family got settled in suburbia, Pennsylvania. I was a small kid who wasn’t a superstar athlete, but not so bad, so Little League Baseball was a key part of settling in with the neighbors and getting acclimated to the township.

At the school play ground there were two cliques: 1) the kid with the ball and all the friends he chooses to let play with him, and 2) the others.

Outside of the schoolyard, the local Little League haphazardly served as a key institution. Public parks, open enrollment, combined with shared equipment and a supportive crowd of moms and dads seemed to paint a picture of harmony-in-sports. So as a kid, it was my assumption (maybe a grand one) that Little League ball was an institution that was supposed to level the playing field a bit, for those of us who never got much time with the ball at the schoolyard.

Unlike the schoolyard, Little League gave you the opportunity dress up in uniform. Our team got Navy polyester ball caps, the old plastic-mesh kind, with matching shirts that bore the name of a local electrician, bank or plumber who was our sponsor. The pre-season started out with a few mandatory practices to get you warmed up and ready for the first week of the season; one which consisted mostly of games threatened by rain, or subsequent to rain.

I got to play Right Field (or Right Puddle, it could be called maybe), which is the place where coaches stick kids who are average…average at baseball, with average connections. Plus I had a decent throwing arm for a 3rd grader, just in case another 3rd grader might hit to Right, which was unlikely come to think of it.

Meanwhile Keith, a year younger then me, got to pitch and play where ever he wanted because he was great at every position and a phenomenal hitter for a 2nd grader on a 3rd grade kids’ team. Among others, there was Derrick, whose dad was some hot shot with the league and a local political type.

The one thing that got my baseball stretch pants in a bunch as a youth was seeing other players no better than me start every game, and bump me off the lineup. Some players got to play the whole game so long as their dads were coaches or sponsors. Some of this is part of Life; some of this is nepotistic BS of course.

But the dad-kid-lineup hook up seemed to be in force no matter how clumsy the connected kids were on the field or how many times they struck out. Hell, even if you couldn’t pitch, you might get to pitch if you were a son of an important member of Little League baseball’s secret troika somewhere.

Derrick got to play 3rd Base when he felt like playing Mike Schmidt, 1st Base when he wanted to pretend to be Pete Rose, and got to pinch hit (sometimes for me) when he wanted to be Fred Lynn. But unlike Fred Lynn, his hitting sucked.

We played about 10 games, with mediocre success and “made” the playoffs against the other three teams in our four team league. With better play or a better, more honest lineup we could have won more games that season to take the top spot for glory.

Caution....Please mind the twine.

Probably the best sequence of play that season came in the last game in May when the new grass seed for summer was just planted. The tough part about playing on a new field is that you can’t step on the “new grass” when they plant it. After all it’s cordoned off with twine.

A little buddy of mine on the other team that night took a couple of hard swings against our star pitcher, fouling the ball once and again, over and over. It started to frustrate our star, Keith, who could usually strike a guy out.

On the twelfth or fourteenth pitch maybe, my friend swung and got a piece of the ball. It looked like a line drive to Left popping it up high along the 3rd base line. Whether it would end foul or fair, the hit had some legs to it.

Derrick, who was playing Left Field that evening went running after the ball, head looking up toward the sky. Trending foul, he ran toward the baseline, glove out for the catch. Before he could get a hand in front of the descending baseball, he took a step toward the new grass and ran neck first, right into the twine, getting clothes lined.

Several “Ohs” and “Ouchs” from the shocked crowd, reacting to this wipeout –a Little League version of a NASCAR road accident—but Derrick got back up. He was fine and brushed off his embarrassment showing he was OK and ready to play again.

Worst of all (for him) he made what would have been a fantastic diving catch for a crucial out look like a penultimate screw up by an overconfident, careless goon. Only because he couldn’t mind the twine.

But then again, if I recall, his connection or influence with our coach got him the right to play where ever he wanted. One that night, pretending to be Gary Maddox, Derrick chose Left Field.

And maybe for once that night, Little League Karma just bit Derrick and Little League Nepotism in the ass.

Andy Frye writes about sports and life at MySportscomplex.blogspot.com and tweets his daily sports mania thru @MySportsComplex on Twitter. He is still recovering from the World Cup as are you.

World Cup Round Up: Holland Head-on as Mighty Brazil Falls; Iberia Clashes

Nobody said that Brazil was unbeatable, but everyone quietly thought so. Except for the Dutch...maybe.

Today the Netherlands, also known as soccer’s most self destructive infighting specialists, came back from Brazil’s first strike to finish off the world’s number one squad 2-1.



For Brazil, Robinho (pronounced Ro-BEAN-yo, for my American pals) scored at the 10 minute mark after knocking down the receiving the end of a long pass from winger Kaká, Up the center, Holland’s defense was absent as Brazil scored in effortless fashion. A few minutes later, Kaká almost made it 2-0 with a brilliant curved ball that the Dutch keeper blocked one-handed with a lunge.

But after the half, the Netherlanders showed resolve on defense with a one-two punch on offense.

The Dutch first scored after a strike from Wesley Sneijder skidded off the head of Brazil’s defender Luis Fabiano, and then into the goal. Making it 2-1 for Holland occurred in similar style as a corner kick bounced from the head of Dirk Kuyt to the bald head of Sneijder into the back of the net.

The last few weeks has shown a Dutch side that has done well on defense, but has featured a display of uneasy strikers up front, sometimes bickering instead of scoring.

Unike America’s most favorite surprised-filled neurosis, March Madness basketball, the World Cup often has fewer surprises for the fans. Rarely, it seems, does the minnow eat the shark on the world stage.

Sure, Brazil came to the pitch today with their usual speed, excellent passing and fantastic skill. However, every once in a while, a measured and disciplined performance, like that of the Dutch today, can best the theatrics of the world’s most consistent juggernaut. But the Dutch aren't the only ones.

Wednesday saw two of the best national teams both from the same nook of Europe go at it in Capetown. At the end Spain bumped Portugal 2-1 in a long and slow battle.

Portugal hasn’t often figured into the top realm since the days of Eusébio, The Black Panther, in the late ‘60s and 70s. But in the last few years, Portugal has had its share of superstars like Cristiano Ronaldo build up the squad into a recognized force. It was with Ronaldo’s blaze that a firey Portugal scored seven against North Korea last Monday.

Yet, it’s been said by some that the people of Spain are formal and methodical in their approach to all things, and if so, this week their football showed it. The result of the match was a one goal win for Spain, after 63 minutes of knocking consistently on the goalkeeper’s door.

Spain’s goal came from the foot of David Villa from a pass from the masterful work of midfielder Xavi, who ESPN Magazine recently called the “Steve Nash of soccer”.

Holland will face either Ghana or two time cup winners Uruguay next week, with the fixture to be decided today. While, on the other side of the bracket, Spain will meet Paraguay Saturday after an epic battle between Argentina and Germany.

Stay tuned for more surprises...maybe.