Biting the Hand that Feeds You

I have some bad news J-Bors. In an effort to promote gender equality within the Jborhood, I had planned to bring you in depth coverage of the Fields Open from Hawaii, however, I was denied entrance to the event after I refused to sign a waiver which would have given the LPGA ownership of any photographs or writing I created while covering the event. I would have still been able to bring you yet another clever and intriguing look into a new area of sports, but after I had written my expose, I would have had to acquire written permission from the LPGA in order to republish or reuse my material for any other purpose. I guess I’ll have to direct my attention to another less exciting sport like Baseball, Basketball, or (*yawn*) Football.

I’m sorry, WHAT??!?!?!??

I would like to know, at exactly what point the LPGA thought it could impose these types of ludicrous restrictions on the media? Did they think that the majority of the American public would rise up in fury and refuse to buy any newspapers that didn’t cover the first round of the Fields Open? (“What’s that honey? No Fields Open coverage? Get the New York Times on the phone because I’m cancelling my subscription NOW!”.) I could understand this type of action from the NFL around the Super Bowl, but comparing the Super Bowl to the Fields Open is like comparing the London performance of the Phantom of the Opera with Michael Crawford to a kindergarten Christmas pageant. The LPGA is a bottom feeder sport that ranks on the average American’s sports interest level somewhere between Extreme Tiddlywinks and the WNBA (I swear that I just heard Nelly in the background say “Oohh!!”). The bottom line is that they simply do not have the bargaining power to enact this type of totalitarian control over the media coverage of their events. It would be like Motel 6 saying that you had to sign a contract that you would make the bed after you left in the morning or risk paying a $50 fine. Every month. Forever. In the words of G.O.B Bluth, “Come ON!”.

What I truly do not understand in this whole debaucle is why the LPGA tried to do this in the first place. For the first time in, well, ever, the LPGA has a little bit of what – in the right light – might be construed as momentum. They have a number of budding young stars, a dynamite player in Annika Sorenstam, and Michelle Wie, the female equivalent of Tiger Woods. The LPGA should be doing everything in their power to market themselves and establish an excellent and open working relationship with the press. The more exposure they get, the more new fans they gain, and in turn, voila, the more money they make. If anything, the LPGA should be bending over backward to make the media comfortable, happy, and excited. Why squabble over a few thousand dollars worth of photo royalties when it is front page headlines and Sportscenter highlights that make the real money? I should be writing about the Morgan Pressel and Michelle Wie feud instead of the foolish antics of the LPGA. The mere fact that I just had to Google LPGA, Morgan to learn that the last name of the second most exciting young female golfer is spelled with two S’s and no T is proof that the LPGA doesn’t market itself well enough. In fact, I am so confident that the LPGA has a complete lack of media presence that if one of my readers can name me a female golfer not named, Annika, Michelle, or Morgan without any additional research I will write an entire article on the topic of their choosing. Is it bad that I don’t think I’m going to lose this bet?

On a serious note, I do think that this is a very compelling issue and its resolution could set the precedent for some very serious and interesting legal work. The main issue at stake is whether or not the LPGA can rightfully claim ownership over photographic and journalistic work done while covering their event. There is currently no legislation concerning this type of claim, and a settlement on this issue may set the stage for a fierce legal battle between sports leagues and the general public based around the idea of ownership; namely, do leagues own the rights to items, facts, and information about their leagues? The LPGA battle is very similar to a legal battle between Major League Baseball and a number of fantasy sites over the rights to MLB statistics. MLB is claiming that they own the rights to their statistics – facts which are technically in the public domain – and that if anyone wants to use their stats to generate revenue, in this case through fantasy baseball, then they have to pay MLB royalties for the rights to use the statistics. MLB is claiming that they own these facts, but in actuality, anyone could obtian these numbers simply by watching games and recording the events. Their claim is that any unsanctioned use should be considered theft of intellectual property. In my opinion this notion absurd, but at this point, the outcome is unknown. However the outcome turns out this could have a significant impact on the future of sports in America and potentially cause a rift between sports leagues and its devoted followers: the media and fans.

The old saying says, don’t bite the hand that feeds you and hopefully these leagues will realize who’s feeding them before it’s too late.

Don’t tempt me. I just might start watching Lacrosse.

Brief Hiatus

World famous bloggers need holidays too and I enjoyed a nice relaxing Presidents day. Sorry to let you down J-bors. The J-borhood resumes its regular bi-weekly schedule on Saturday.

aloha, J-Rock

Saving the Winter Olympics

I’ve had this gnawing feeling in my stomach for the a while. It started as a dull ache, but has grown into an acute pain in my chest over the course of this week. I wish that I could make it go away, but I just can’t seem to shake it. That overwhelming sense that I’m not a true sports fan and furthermore, that I’m unpatriotic. I hate to admit this, especially to such a discerning group of athletic connoisseurs, but this ache is actually the unavoidable fact that I don’t care about the Winter Olympics. And when I say don’t care I mean that I truly have no interest in the biggest and most important international sporting event of the year. Well, the World Cup is this year, so what I really mean is that I truly have no interest in the second biggest and second most important international sporting event of the year. I pride myself on knowing as much about every major sporting event as possible, and yet I know almost nothing about this grand convergence of countries. Here’s a recap of everything I know::

• The opening ceremonies involved a gratuitous amount of fire
• Some guy nicknamed the Flying Tomato won the gold medal in snowboarding
• The hockey team tied some country I’ve never heard of in their first game (Latvia? Are the Russians just making up countries as they go?)
• Self-admitted alcoholic/alpine skier Bode Miller was disqualified for straddling something (or someone?)
• Michelle Kwan gave up before the competition started in the biggest Olympic flop since… Michelle Kwan in last Winter Olympics.
• Apollo Anton Ohno fell down and lost
• Male figure skaters wear, how should I say this, flamboyant costumes
• One of the U.S. ice dancers is really hot (hint: the one on the left)

That’s it. 2500 athletes, 85 countries, 16 days, and I only know 8 things, half of which involve some combination of flames, effeminate male clothing, and hot women. That’s a sad state of affairs for an event that’s supposed to transcend politics and culture and foster a sense of unity and excitement. What’s worse is that that I don’t think I’m alone. Admit it. YOU don’t care about the Winter Olympics either. And who could blame you? The Winter Olympics used to be an exciting blend of talent and culture, but now it’s little more then a bridge between the Super Bowl and the start of the baseball season. Frankly, I’m more interested in our Vice-President’s errant aim.

[Seriously, did the Vice-President of the United States just shoot someone in the face or is this some elaborate hoax by the Bush Administration to shift focus off of the war? It’s the first time a Vice-President has shot someone since Aaron Burr plugged Andrew Hamilton in a duel in 1804. This must be the biggest case of unintentional comedy in the last 10 years. Can you imagine what David Letterman thought when he woke up and saw the headline “Cheney accidentally shoots fellow hunter”? It is the comedic equivalent of winning the lottery. I’m not sure this joke is ever going to get old.]

Where was I? Ah yes, back in the golden days of the Winter Olympics I remember watching Kristi Yamaguchi perform dazzling figure skating routines and wondering if Nancy Kerrigan could overcome the Tanya Harding scandal to capture the gold. These days, the biggest story is a convoluted tie between Michelle Kwan losing before she even got to the arena, Bode Miller skiing drunk, or some little hotshot named Apollo failing to defend the gold medal he won by disqualification. We, the American public, are left without any stars, any stories, or any stimulation, and without these elements, the Winter Olympics are just an over-hyped, over-dramatized collection of games that wish they were sports.

Classic sporting events should be rife with controversy, edge of your seat excitement, ferocious competition, and memorable performances and the Winter Olympics don’t have any of these elements. The only controversy is judging scandals in figure skating, any excitement is removed by the tape delayed broadcasts, the competitions are amicable at worst, and nothing about curling, ski jump, biathlon, luge, skeleton, or cross-country skiing will EVER be exciting.

But I don’t think the Winter Olympics are without hope. If they made a few necessary modifications, I think they could instill some much needed drama and excitement to the games. Here a list of suggestions that I will be sending to the IOC:

• Make a mandatory trash talk period before male figure skaters go out on the ice. Watching those little ice princesses talking smack about each other’s sequin and lace covered ensembles would be the funniest thing since our Vice-President shot someone in the face. (See, still funny!)
• Speed skaters should be allowed to bump one another during the race. Anything that would make Olympic speed skating more like roller derby is ok in my book.
• Give the mogul skiers a beer at the top of the hill and award points based on how much beer they have left at the end of their run. “Jeremy Bloom is in the lead going in to this last jump, executes a perfect triple flip, sticks the landing, and OH NO! HE DROPPED HIS BEER! That’s not going to sit well with the flavor judge. What’s this? One of the fans has rushed onto the hill and grabbed the beer....” Wow. That would be AWESOME!
• Luge and skeleton tracks should be made four times as wide and four people should start at once. In addition, the track should have a couple forks to add an additional maze like aspect. Full combat sled racing? Fabulous.
• Last, but not least, I think female figure skaters should wear bikins.

I’m not asking for a lot. Just a few minor modifications to help excite the American people and restore the Winter Olympics games to their rightful place: The quasi-exciting step brother of the Summer Olympics. Well, we all have our dreams…

The Perils of Living Large

Happy Valentines Day J-Bors. I'm not the biggest fan of the over-commercialized Hallmark Holiday, but it put me in a romantic mood and so I thought I'd share an amorous essay with all of you. Unfortunately, I can't claim ownership over this dynamic diatribe, but it made me laugh for so long that I had to share it with all of you. However, it's original form was a little crass for the highly discerning audience of the J-borhood so I took the liberty of editing it's content, to insert a couple carefully placed euphemisms. You can tell that I edited a section because it is enclosed in brackets. Even still, if you're easily offended then I suggest that you stop reading, drink a glass of wine, eat a chocolate covered strawberry, enjoy Valentines day with your loved one, and come back on Friday when a regular J-borhood feature will grace the pages once again. Otherwise, sit back, relax, and let this sage advice sink in...

"I need to give an important warning to all my brothers. Never [engage in sexual relations with overweight women]. Living in a ski town with a male/female ratio that makes MIT look ideal it can be relatively easy to go a while without [engaging in any sexual relations of any kind]. After a lengthy string of celibacy I decided that I'd finally give in and [engage in sexual relations with an overweight female] in one of my classes who's been flirting with me since the day we met. The [engagement] couldn't have possibly been worse. She had so much extra weight around [her crotchal region] that it was very difficult to get any sort of deep penetration. When I was [attempting to please her by using the digits on my hand] I couldn't even reach the [a prominent erogenous zone] and she had too much [excess weight] for my [digits] to [have any significant penetration]. On top of that, she had the [female sex organ with least amount of elasticity] I've ever come across. I had to take her word as to whether I [had inserted my member] or not as I sure as hell couldn't feel the difference. And not only was the [female somewhat overweight], but she wasn't [very adept at pleasuring me]. The [oral stimulation] was bad enough that I had to stop her a few minutes in because it was [somewhat unsatisfying]. When she was on top, not only did I have to stare at her [somewhat unsightly breasts, drooping towards her waist], but probably as a result of lack of strength to move her [large body mass], she just sat there without moving an inch. [In summary], regardless of what Steve Salmon may recommend, avoid the [woman of extreme weight] at all possible costs. I don't care how [eager to engage at sexual relations] they are, it's not worth it. I'll actually [engage in sexual acts with a woolen farm animal] before I [engage in sexual acts with] another [female of excessive weight]."

Hope you enjoyed the Valentine's Day fun. Tune in Friday for my Winter Olympic exposee!

The Perks of NBA Ownership

What's crack-a-lacking J-Bors? Sorry for the late post today, but I really couldn't think of any worthwhile topic. The "Seattle was cheated vs. Pittsburgh played better" dispute is totally played out at this point, there's nothing exciting about pre-season baseball, and writing about the Spurs and the Pistons winning (and winning and winning…) is about as fun as discussing the mating habits of West Indian Water Buffalo. I felt like a kid in a cut rate candy store. "Sorry, we're all out of gummy cola bottles, we don't have any more sour apples, and that little squirrelly kid just bought the last jawbreaker. But we have plenty of black licorice and Swedish fish.” Woop-de-doo. Just when I thought all hope was lost, I browsed to ESPN.com to view the latest headlines and there it was: “Cuban responds to Jackson, says he owns him”. Nothing like everyone’s favorite billionaire calling out the greatest basketball coach of all time. Now THAT is a discussion worthy sports story.

Apparently, after last weeks Mavericks, Lakers game, Phil Jackson complained about Mark Cuban intimidating the referees. “I know there's a lot of pressure on the refs when they come here, because Mark has them review the tapes and send them into the league, and these guys are nervous Nellies when they come in to referee in this building. But they have to do a better job than they're doing. That's not acceptable.” In one of the most riotous replies of the fledgling year, Cuban responded to Jackson’s comments with an entry in his web log entitled “I own Phil Jackson”. Cuban says that “For whatever reason, I have gotten to Phil so completely and thoroughly that every time he comes to Dallas he has to offer unsolicited comments about me to the media. I wonder if he dreams about me the nights he spends here in Dallas.” He goes on to refer to Phil Jackson as his “bucket boy”.

As I was reading this comic diatribe, I couldn’t help but think, how does this guy own an NBA franchise? This is the exact kind of thing that I would do if I owned an NBA franchise. Pump the music up loud, whip the crowd into a frenzy, heckle the opposing team, and basically run around my personal arena like a wild man treating a multi-million dollar organization like my personal play toy. Isn’t there some sort of entrance exam you have to pass in order to qualify to become the owner of a professional sports franchise? Or even some sort of agreement along the lines of “I won’t run my franchise like a 57 year old frat boy.” Don’t’ get me wrong, I think it’s awesome, I just can’t believe it’s real. I can’t imagine that the NBA would let me and three of my buddies pool a couple hundred million together and buy a team. Can’t you just see how that meeting would go? The four of us sitting around with stupid grins on our faces, all thinking “this can’t be real”, on the edge of our seats, not paying attention to the discussion about the current state of the organization or the minute details of the 400 million dollar contract we were about to sign. Then we finally sign the contract to buy the team, start jumping around like a bunch of idiots, yell for the limo driver to send up the strippers, and all of a sudden it turns into a beer commercial as we throw down the biggest keg party in the history of an NBA front office? Lord have mercy…

Well, however he managed to get a hold of his franchise, my hat is off to Mark Cuban: He’s a retired billionaire who owns a highly successful NBA franchise. Furthermore, his only work consists of watching the Mavericks play basketball, researching ways to gain a competitive advantage over other teams, and occasionally, talking trash to NBA Hall of Fame coaches in the media. His outlandish and hysterical actions and unabashed pursuit of entertainment have earned him the first spot in the J-Borhood Hall of Fame. You can find his weekly musings at www.blogmaverick.com, located in the links of this blog. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work on making that first billion so I can get that NBA team of my own…

Speechless in Seattle

My foray into recorded sporting speculation has gotten off to an auspicious [Editors note: at best] start. As you all know by now (and if you don't I apologize that you mistakenly came to my site instead of your intended location) the Pittsburgh Steelers beat the Seattle Seahawks 21-10 in a Bowl that was far from Super. The game was closer then the score suggested, but all in all, quite a far cry from the 27-20 Seahawks victory that I predicted. In light of this, I suppose that I should admit that my prediction was wrong and that I overlooked some key aspect which played a large factor in the outcome of the game. But it wasn’t and I didn’t. The only thing I didn’t predict correctly about Sunday’s game was that the referees would have a bigger impact on the outcome of the football game then either team. The Seahawks outplayed the Steelers in almost every aspect of the game. The underrated Seattle defense swarmed to the ball while the announcers seldom uttered the names Polamalu or Porter. The Seattle offense moved the ball consistently with a balanced air [Editor's note: surgical strikes] and ground attack while Big Ben struggled to move the chains. In fact, aside from Seattle's punting unit, which seemed allergic to downing the ball inside the twenty, the Seahawks played exactly the type of well balanced, calculated game that I predicted they would.

Yet, in the city of Detroit, a scant four hour drive from Pittsburgh, the predominantly pro-Steelers crowd flexed their muscles and gave their team the decided hometown advantage using the indelible icon of Steeler nation: The Terrible Towel [Editor's note: Really, who thinks these things up, The Terrible Towel?!?...all that time mining coal in that dingy ass city has done some serious damage to the fans concept of intimidation]. The Steeler fans made so much noise, and twirled their towels so vigorously that the referees, in a seeming fit of jealousy, began throwing terrible towels of their own. In fact, the referees threw so many penalties at so many crucial moments of the game, that it effectively took the game out of the hands of the players and placed it into the realm of subjectivity [Editor's note: and exceptionally poor judgement]. All in all the referees reversed two almost certain Seahawk touchdowns, granted the Steelers a touchdown they never scored, , called back a 50 yard punt return on a block in the back that never happened, and gave the Steelers the ball at mid-field for a chop block that never occured thereby allowing them to score their final touchdown. Their were 5 controversial calls in the game and every single one of them was called against the Seahawks. The situation unravelled to the point of embarassment for my friend Colin, a diehard Steelers fan, who began to get sheepish about the number of calls going their way and started apologizing to the Seahawks supporters watching the game. You know it’s gotten bad when fans admit the referees helped their team win.

If it wasn’t for the “painfully obvious atrocious officiating” clause, it would violate the 5^th J-Borhood Rule of Fanaticism (a topic for a future article): "A true fan never admits their team won because of anything other then their superior play. The deluded mind of a true fan will never accept that their team didn't rightfully secure a victory solely based on merit." Therefore, when a fan tells you it's a fix, it's a fix.

I’m not saying the Steelers didn’t deserve to win the game. They executed more big plays. They tightened up their defense when needed. They kept the big mistakes to a minimum. However, what I am saying is that regardless of what you think about the game, the teams, and the way they played, no one who watched that game could dispute the fact that the referees had an overwhelming effect on the game. It was so bad that every single person who called up the local Sports Radio station (KKEA 1420 AM) on Monday morning discussed the impact of the referees on the game. [Author's Note: This trend continued on Tuesday morning as well!] Even the people who argued that the Steelers would have won without the aid of the referee’s shameless blown calls, didn’t dispute the fact that the referees completely altered the game, and that's what makes me sad.

As a sports fan, is it too much to ask for a championship game doesn’t hinge on the whim of a non-participant? Would we remember Franco Harris if the refs called holding on the immaculate reception? What if they said that Joe Carter never touched third after his walk off home run? What if they called Michael Jordan for a push-off against Bryon Russell? We remember these beautiful moments because an athlete made a spectacular play that will forever define the game. If these plays were somehow aided by the game's officials, it would take away from the pure unadulterated magic of the moment. [Editor's note: Cue the "Battle Hymn of the Republic"] We the people of this great nation will look past a push, turn a blind eye towards a hold, and somehow forget about a block in the back, but we will never, ever, forgive a referee for forever altering the course of a meaningful game. A game should ALWAYS be decided by the players on the field.

For the land of the free, and the home of the unpenalized.

[Author's Note: I would like to take this opportunity to introduce the new Editor-in-Chief' of the J-Borhood: Tricky V. This dynamic damsel will begin editing my rants and raves to correct my atrocious grammar and interject a quick note to let you know when I get carried away. (Luckily that never happens...). Welcome aboard EIC]

The Annual J-Borhood Super Bowl Prognostication Extravaganza!

It’s that time of year again. Well, in this case not again, but it’s definitely that time of year: The Annual J-Borhood Super Bowl Prognostication Extravaganza! It may be the “first” Annual J-Borhood Super Bowl Prognostication Extravaganza, but from the sound of that name, it sounds like this may be happening for a long, long time. Lucky you.

The Super Bowl is one of those few events that truly transcends the world of sports. Somewhere in the neighborhood of a billion people tune in to watch extravagant commercials, a star studded half time show, beer bottles playing football, the occasional nipple, and, if there’s any time left over, a football game. But have no fear J-Bors, as you can already tell from my previous essays, I am an incredibly high brow, immensely levelheaded person, impervious to the hype and spin of the mainstream media, who will sift through this morass of media to bring you hard hitting opinions and serious football commentary. Aw, who am I kidding? Let’s kick up the hype, transcend the sports, and BRING ON THE FUN!

This is Super Bowl XL (Super Bowl 40 if you don’t know about the Romans) or Super Bowl Xtra Large as the media has taken to referring to it. I think Super Bowl 40 ounces is a far better name, but in truth I’ve taken to calling it:

Super Bowl XL: The Ex-Girlfriends Bowl.

Interestingly enough, this Super Bowl pits two teams which hail from the respective cities of my two serious ex-girlfriends from college. Even stranger is that each team is very similar to the girl from the same city. The Seattle Seahawks hail from the rainy northwestern haven known to locals as the Emerald City, hometown of Leslie “Barnyard” Barnard. The Pittsburg Steelers come from the coal mining capitol of the United States, hometown of Bridget Callahan. Both teams (and women) have their strengths, but they certainly have their weaknesses as well and both play extremely different styles of football.

Pittsburg plays a hard nosed smash-mouth style of football, that reminds me of the rugged, broad shouldered, rugby playing, foul-mouthed Bridget. Both are extremely vocal in public, don’t shy away from a fight, and prefer to use a physical style that takes the game to the opposition. Also, both the Steelers and Miss Callahan seem to thrive off the criticisms of others. Neither is afraid to express their emotions and play their style of game, regardless of public sentiment. They seem to rise to the occasion when others count them out, letting nothing stand in their way of what they view as “rightfully theirs” (seriously). Both have that unmistakable propensity for psychosis. Overall, they bring a wild, physical, and emotional package to the table that is a formidable opponent in any setting.

On the other side of the ball, Seattle plays a much different style of football. Just like Leslie, they play smart and controlled, with a dangerous wild streak. Leslie was a very thoughtful girl who carefully pondered every decision like Seahawk’s quarterback, Matt Hasselbeck, who has grown into a dangerous leader on the football field, and uses his intelligent decision making to control the tempo of the relationship….err, game. Yet, Leslie was prone to the occasional bout of spontaneity (usually thanks to her affinity for Smirnoff) just like Seahawk’s running back Shaun Alexander who uses his quickness and incredible agility to break off big gains.

All in all, both “teams” have their good qualities, yet both suffer from glaring weaknesses that leave anyone but the most diehard fan a little wary. On one hand, it’s tough to root against a team of destiny like Pittsburg. In the second play of their game against Cincinnati, they injured the Bengal’s star quarterback Carson Palmer and feasted upon his back up in the second half. Against Indianapolis, Nick Harper inexplicably cut back inside, directly into the stumbling Ben Roethlesburger instead of staying outside for the almost certain winning touchdown. In Denver, Roethlesburger's second pass went right through the hands of All-Pro cornerback Champ Bailey (who would have returned it for a touchdown and an early 7-0 Denver lead), hit Hines Ward in the helmet, bounced 15 feet in the air, and then landed back in Hines Ward’s hands for a 15 yard gain. All the stars are aligned for “The Bus” to drive away from the game with a Super Bowl ring. Yet I get the same feeling from this Steeler squad that I got from my other broad shouldered acquaintance from Pittsburg: that something is missing. I’m not convinced that their good fortune can continue, effectively hiding their weaknesses for another week in a row, especially against a well balanced Seattle team. Furthermore, I don’t think Pittsburg has what it takes to come from behind. Last but not least, Pittsburg is a 4.5 point favorite, which sounds crazy considering they’re the #6 seed in the AFC facing the #1 seed in the NFC. The way I see it, Seattle strikes first and keeps Ben Roethlesburger on his toes with their quick defense. Seattle will score enough points to keep Pittsburg from relying heavily on the run game, and will control the clock in the second half with a heavy does of Shaun Alexander running behind the strong left side of the Seattle offensive line.

Final Score: Seahawks 27, Steelers 20

Then again, if this is anything like real life, the Seahawks should find a way to lose in a heart wrenching fashion and render my pick worthless. What can I say? It’s tough to win in the Ex-Girlfriend bowl.