Playing For Gold

Written with apologies to my handsome and witty Canadian brother-in-law:

I have to admit that I am not a huge fan of the Olympics. I have always been more of a "team-sport guy," so the individual sports on display such as ice dancing, speed skating and downhill skiing do not really trip my trigger. Also, I have to admit that stuff like snowboarding doesn't really seem like an Olympic sport to me. It belongs in the X Games or the Stoner Games. All this means, however, is that I am old.

But that all changes with Olympic hockey. I love Olympic hockey. I love the idea of the best hockey players in the world representing their country. Growing up, it was easy to cheer against the hated USSR, i.e. the "Godless Communists, i.e the Evil Empire." Now that the Iron Curtain has fallen, Canada represents the USA's biggest rival. Now, you can't hate Canada. That would be like hating your closest cousin. Americans and Canadians are cut from the same cloth. This is more of a rival "by vicinity." (I am not sure, however, if a Canadian would echo this sentiments - my brother in law might have to weigh in on that one). Canada also represents the most talented team in the world on paper. Check out these names on the 2010 Canadian squad: Brodeur, Luongo, Pronger, Crosby, Nash, Iginla, Thornton, Heatley, Staal, & Toews. That, folks, is literally an NHL All-Star team.

Competing against Canada for the Gold Medal will be the upstart American squad. Nobody predicted the US to be competing in the Gold Medal game. While the US is comprised of NHL players, the roster does not exactly read like an All-Star lineup. That is because there are not many NHL All-Stars that were born in America. In fact, I heard a hockey brainwizard say that the only American that could have made the Canadian roster was Zach Parise of the New Jersey Devils (and a Minnesotan, son of former North Star J.P. Parise). Along with Parise, the players with the most recognizable names would probably be Chicago's Patrick Kane, Goalie Ryan Miller of Buffalo and Phil Kessel (who is from Madison and played one year with the Gophers). The US averages about 25 years in age, and has been called a "starless team." They have managed to go undefeated, however, going into Sunday's rematch against Canada.

A second victory over Canada will not come easy. The US managed to beat Canada 5-3 earlier in the week, which seemed to piss Canada off. A second victory in a week over Canada, this time for the Gold, would not be on the level of the 1980 Gold Medal in Lake Placid, New York. Nothing can touch that. In my opinion, however, it would be one small step below that. It would be a "minor miracle on ice."

The US women's team has already lost to the Canadians in the Gold Medal game this week. Canada received quite a bit of flak for celebrating with beer, champagne and cigars publicly on the ice. I say that people should lighten up about that. The Canadian women were deserving of the celebration, and ecstatic to win the Gold. I say let them celebrate on their home ice. The only thing that I ask is that the Americans not be called ass-holes if they celebrate publicly in the same manner.

It could happen on Sunday.

30 Years Ago - Miracle On Ice -Original Live Call

It was 30 years ago that arguably the greatest upset in sports history took place in Lake Placid, New York when a bunch of American college students beat the most powerful hockey team in the world. Back in those days, the Soviet Union was still "The Evil Empire." Russians were not permitted to play in the NHL and were largely unknown in the United States. This added to their mystique along, of course, with their evil-looking CCCP jerseys.

We're all used to hearing the Al Micheals "do you believe in miracles" call. This, however, was the original call on radio, I assume. I'm not sure who the announcer is, but the emotion is great. Well worth the 10 minutes of viewing.

Hard to believe it's been 30 years.

Quatchi?

I received an e-mail from CD today alerting me to the fact that the Olympic Committee has decided to include Bigfoot (aka Sasquatch) (aka "Stink Ape") as one of their mascots for the 2010 Winter Olympics. Oddly enough, I was not aware of this. I expected, perhaps, to be consulted. But I digress. The Bigfoot mascot will be named "Quatchi." You can see a picture of Quatchi above. Here is a link to a web page about him. The description of Quatchi is as follows:

"Quatchi is a young sasquatch who comes from the mysterious forests of Canada. Quatchi is shy, but loves to explore new places and meet new friends."

Ah, ok. That's cute. Apparently, he likes hockey but is a little "clumsy." It also says he likes "photography and travel." It says he is encouraging his friends to travel with him across Canada.

All of this, of course, is bullshit.

Now, don't get me wrong. I think it is very appropriate that the Olympic Committee has decided to include the Sasquatch as one of their mascots. Why shouldn't they? Some of the greatest sightings of the Stink Ape were in Canada. There are probably thousands of them roaming The Great White North as we speak (totally undetected, of course). What I want to know is how the Olympic Committee can take a proud, 9-foot-tall, 800-pound beast and turn him into that thing you see above. That is not The Sasquatch. That is an Ewok. Remember them? Ewoks were the tiny fuzzy creatures that almost single-handidly ruined the Star Wars trilogy (that is, until Jar-Jar Binks accomplished that later). Remember when the Ewoks went up against the Imperial Stormtroopers, the toughest, most well-trained killers in the universe, and managed to beat them in a battle with nothing more than some sticks and rope? Laughable.

Once again, the Sasquatch receives no respect. He's made to look like a cross between ET and a beaver and smile and wave at all the kids. And his hobbies. Traveling? Meeting friends? No way. The Sasquatch likes to devour prey, throw stones at people and be left alone. Once again, I commend the Olympic Committee for naming the Sasquatch as a mascot, but the image of the beast should be something like this:

Now that would look great on an Olympic T-shirt.

Jeff

John Randle - Hall of Fame

John. Randle. Was. Crazy. He often barked like a dog before the ball was snapped. John Randle makes Jerod Allen look like Andy Griffith. And now Randle is a member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame class of 2010.

Other than being insane, what made Randle special was the fact he was undrafted. For a defensive lineman, he was undersized at "only" 6' 1", 287 lbs. And yet, he became a game-changing pass rusher.

I have to admit that I am surprised that Randle made the Hall of Fame before Cris Carter. But, it is very well deserved. The dude was fun to watch.

Things Might Be Looking Up

As the smoke rises and the pall lifts from another crushing end the Vikings season, it is that time of year to start looking forward to baseball. As I look out the window at four new inches of snow, it certainly doesn't look like baseball season. The excitement of Target Field opening, however, along with some recent moves by the Twins have got me looking forward to this season more so than in year's past.

The Twins started the off-season by trading the talented but very confused Carlos Gomez to Milwaukee for shortstop J.J. Hardy. I believe Hardy will benefit from this change of scenery. They also resigned starting pitcher, and innigs-eater Carl Pavano. Then, it was announced a few weeks back that the Twins signed DH Jim Thome, a future Hall of Famer. Thome, one of the all-time "Twins Killers," is 39 years old, but still has some pop left in his bat and should fit in perfectly in the clubhouse. In addition, the word was leaked by WCCO's Mark Rosen that the Twins and Joe Mauer are very close to signing a long-term contract that would keep the 2009 MVP in Minnesota for the next decade. Personally, I thought this was going to be the end of the Twins off-season moves. It looked like they were going to be a very good team going into 2010, with holes at 2nd and 3rd base.

The biggest surprise, however, came yesterday when it was announced that the Twins have signed 2nd baseman Orlando Hudson, a former LA Dodger, to a 1-year, $5 million dollar contract. This, folks, is the icing on the cake in many ways. Hudson, a 3-time All-star and 4-time Gold Glove winner, will fill a huge gap at second base. This also means Nick Punto can shift to 3rd base and platoon with Brendan Harris. Both Punto and Harris are more effective on a part-time basis rather than as full-time starters.

Check out the anticipated Twins batting order in 2010:

CF - Denard Span
2B - Orlando Hudson
C - Joe Mauer
1B - Justin Morneau
RF - Michael Cuddyer
DH - Jason Kubel
SS - J.J. Hardy
LF - Delmon Young
3B - Brendan Harris or Nick Punto

PH - Jim Thome

Not too shabby. The signing of Thome also means that Jason Kubel can play left field if Delmon Young falters, which Thome at DH. That brings up one of the most amazing tidbits of off-season news, by the way. The word is that Delmon Young has lost 30 lbs. Yes, you read that correctly. This could make a huge difference in his batting and play in the outfield.

Lastly, Freealonzo sent me this excellent review of Target Field written by Baseball Digest. It's rather long, but the details of the ballpark are great. The review calls Target Field "the most urban and the most modern ballpark in baseball:"

Yes, there are plenty of urban ballparks billed as downtown ballparks, mostly in the minors. The closest analogy in the majors is Pittsburgh’s PNC Park, as both offer stunning views of the city skyline.

But there’s not a MLB park so closely tied into a downtown area: Target Field is literally two blocks from bustling First Avenue (yes, you’ll be able to easily go to a Twins game and then hit the iconic First Avenue nightclub) and five blocks from the city’s business core. Commercial rail runs on one side of the ballpark, while two commuter train lines meet directly outside the ballpark.

The article also contained this little tidbit about the exact seats that we will be sitting in during the 2010 season:

"The best cheap seats in the house: sections 320-324. You’ll have great views of the downtown skyline and seats angled toward the playing field."

Nice. I do believe things in the sports world might be looking up.

Jeff

A Great Winter Song

"Be still for a second while I try and try to pin your flowers on
Can you carry my drink I have everything else
I can tie my tie all by myself
I’m getting tied, I’m forgetting why

Oh we’re so disarming darling, everything we did believe
is diving diving diving diving off the balcony
Tired and wired we ruin too easy
sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave

Hold ourselves together with our arms around the stereo for hours
While it sings to itself or whatever it does
when it sings to itself of its long lost loves
I’m getting tied, I’m forgetting why

Tired and wired we ruin too easy
sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave
but I’ll be with you behind the couch when they come
on a different day just like this one

We’ll stay inside til somebody finds us
do whatever the TV tells us
stay inside our rosy-minded fuzz for days
We’ll stay inside til somebody finds us
do whatever the TV tells us
stay inside our rosy-minded fuzz

so worry not
all things are well
we’ll be alright
we have our looks and perfume

stay inside til somebody finds us
do whatever the TV tells us
stay inside our rosy-minded fuzz

so worry not
all things are well
we’ll be alright
we have our looks and perfume on"

Turn this one up.

OK. One Last Lament....

I must admit that I have been in a funk all week. I promised to shut up about the Vikes loss, but I found one more example of another person going through the same emotions as I, and a lot of Viking fans, are experiencing right now. This, from Scott Korzenowski of KSTP 1500 AM:

"The game had ended as so many of them had before, in yet another Vikings defeat. But this defeat, like so many of the others, was not an average, every day, basic defeat, as in, "My team scored fewer points than the opponent." No, this was a complicated, inexplicable, and undeniably far too familiar Vikings defeat, as in, "How can my team send 12 players into the huddle when the rules of football have said for nearly 100 years that you can send in only 11?"

And so there I was, my thumb on the remote control of my DVR running the final offensive play of this Vikings season over and over and over again and believing, really believing, that the next time I pushed "play" Brett Favre was going to run it up the right sideline, or flip it out to Bernard Berrian in the flat, or throw it away ... anything other than what he did, which was twist his body in an unnatural right to left motion and force an across-the-body throw into the waiting arms of a guy in black.

I didn't know how to explain my purely irrational belief that the digital recording of the image of Brett Favre's final pass would magically transform itself into a different and, this time, euphoric result, but I did. I believed Favre would make everything better, as he had against San Francisco and Baltimore and Green Bay and Dallas, that he would make the right decision and deliver the thousands of addicted and afflicted Vikings fans from what now is going on 40 years of emotional torture.

But after ranting about Chilly for his indecisiveness and then contemplating whether Favre will or should return next season and then spending a restless night that led into a fitful and nightmare filled sleep, I received an email from a friend and colleague that finally explained everything.

This Vikings loss, like so many of them before, had sent me into the first four of the five stages of coping with loss: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression.

Suddenly it all became clear.

I was running and rerunning and rerunning my DVR because I was in denial, much as I had been following Gary Anderson's missed kick against Atlanta in January 1999, much as I had been following Darrin Nelson's drop of a Wade Wilson pass in January 1987, and much as I had been as a 9-year-old boy in January 1970 when I wept uncontrollably as Joe Kapp slumped off the field clutching his cracked ribs and broken heart.

I was blaming Chilly because I was angry; not so much at the coaching staff's inability to count to 11, but at myself, because, for the better part of 40 years, I have allowed this team, with different owners, coaches, players and stadiums, to completely grab hold of my emotional well-being for three hours on 16, and in some cases 17 or 18, Sundays a year.

I was wondering about Favre's future and when someone will invent gloves that magically affix themselves to pigskin because I was bargaining for a way to sooth the ache that once again had found its way into the pit of my stomach.

And I was unable to sleep because I was depressed that just when it seemed that it had been worth the Vikings selling their collective souls to acquire their most feared and hated rival, this deal with the Devil had done nothing to change the fate of this franchise, just as the deal to acquire Herschel Walker, or the deal to move into the Metrodome, or the deal to sell the team's stock to Red McCombs had done nothing to change what is inevitable in these parts every half decade or so.

And suddenly it hit me. I have not been able, despite my years of schooling and advanced age, to wander into the fifth and final stage of coping with loss. The one and only stage that will truly deliver peace: Acceptance.

Acceptance that the Vikings are going to tease you; that they are going to look unbeatable. Acceptance that they are going to play hard and with skill and with flair. Acceptance that they are going to present the appearance of infallibility only to rush for 17 total yards (Super Bowl IX), fumble at the goal line (Brent McClanahan in Super Bowl XI), or watch as their savior turns into the same guy who kept throwing the ball to Jeff Brady a decade earlier.

And as I pondered this, toyed with this, and then started to accept this, I started to feel calm, at ease, perhaps even freed. Finally, after 40 years, four straight Super Bowl defeats and now five straight NFC Championship Game defeats, I started to simply accept that this is whom the Vikings are, and this is whom the Vikings always will be.

The Vikings are losers. Not in the sense that they never win, like the Cubs or the Gophers football team. No, the Vikings are exciting losers, accomplished losers, creative losers.

No franchise in all of professional sports does defeat and disappointment quite like the Vikings. Okay, so the Cleveland Browns suffered "The Fumble" and the Red Sox "Bill Buckner," but what other team has lost a game by "Taking a Knee"?

But for a handful of these wholly original losses spread out over 40 years, the Vikings are nearly every bit as successful as the Steelers, 49ers, Cowboys and Patriots. The Vikings have made the NFL playoffs 25 times; they've played in nine conference championships and four Super Bowls. But unlike the Steelers, who have won six Super Bowls, the 49ers and Cowboys, who have each won five, and the Patriots, who have won three in the last decade alone, the Vikings have won none while losing more playoff games than any other franchise in the NFL.

The Vikings are the lead character in the classic Greek tragedy. They are the ones who dominate the performance and then gulp the poison, leap from the balcony or fall on the sword. They're the ones who deliver the most lines only to end up sprawled on the stage when the curtain falls.

These are the Vikings, and despite my lifelong efforts at denying it ("They were the better team Sunday night"), fighting it ("That wasn't interference!"), rationalizing it ("If only we'd won the coin toss!") and feeling bad about it ("Why can't we win just ONE of these games?"), I finally have learned to accept it.

There is next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. And the Vikings, perhaps as soon as next year, will once again take center stage, excite the masses, and appear headed toward the winning field goal as the clock ticks toward zero, but don't believe it. The Vikings will blow it. They will miss a key block (Todd Steussie), or a key tackle (Earsell Macbee), or a sure interception (Tyrell Johnson). They simply will not win the Big One, and there isn't anything anybody (including Brett Favre) can do about it.

And so if you'll excuse me, I am going to return to my DVR, load up Sunday night's game and, just as soon as I make certain that the Saints field goal attempt actually sailed through the uprights, delete the very image that only 24 hours earlier represented my irrational attachment to the hope that this Vikings' season would end differently than all the others. I know better now. "

Amen Scott.

Jeff