High Socks Legend

Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

2010-05-24T10:20:00.012-04:00

-What would be so wrong with the sports world collectively deciding that we aren't going to mention LeBron James name until the beginning of free agency on July 1st? What is there to possibly say before then? I could really do without such "breaking news" as Obama Thinks LeBron Good Fit with Bulls or the equally fascinating Clippers Fans Launch Website to Lure LeBron. These are not stories. Besides, what's the big deal with this guy anyway? He's a 7-year veteran still lacking a ring and a consistent outside J. Give me a break. I liked LeBron a lot better the first time...when he was called Johnny Newman.

-I know it has become every Detroit sports fan's favorite cliché this summer, but when it's true, you can't help but echo the sentiment: "The Tigers will not go anywhere this season unless they start getting something from the bottom half of the order." It's been a weakness of the club for a while now, but this year, it has become especially helpless. Brandon Inge is rapidly approaching the Mendoza line with his .217 mark, and is yet to register a multi-hit game in the month of May. Gerald Laird is hitting .155 with no power, and has managed to be especially putrid on the road, registering a .106 BA with exactly zero RBIs. Adam Everett is also struggling mightily and is still looking for his first game of the year with more than one hit. You can get all the production you want from Cabrera, Maggs, and those guys, but with these mooks occupying the bottom part of the order, there is no realistic chance for this team to do anything of note this season. And sadly, it's hard to anticipate these numbers changing to any great degree in the near future.

-Caught MacGruber with my buddy BK over the weekend. Not the best flick ever, but certainly not the worst, either. If you're looking for a few smiles and to see Val Kilmer quietly tipping the scales at almost three bills, then fork over your $5 and you'll walk out a happy man.

-Absolutely brutal cut over the left eye of Israel Vazquez on Saturday night. Fighting Rafael Marquez for the 4th (and hopefully final) time, Vazquez took quite a bit of punishment in just three short rounds, and the fight was ultimately stopped due to the fact that you could basically see homeboy's brain through that hideous gash. The first three fights were epic, but there was really no reason for this last one. Vazquez had been having so much trouble with the skin over his eyes coming in to the bout that he'd been sparring with a mask over his face. Not just headgear...a mask, too. You'd think that would have maybe told Vazquez that it was time to hang it up, but boxers have never been great at putting their long-term health ahead of their short-term finances.

-Good to see the Suns making things interesting out West to at least add some intrigue to the dueling Conference Finals. Seeing as how Rashard Lewis and his crew never bothered showing up against Boston, we can only hope Steve Nash and the boys make it all square in Game 4, giving a little dose of excitement to an NBA Playoffs that has been loaded with series sweeps and 30-point blowouts. The switch to a zone on Sunday night by Alvin Gentry was a series-altering move. It frustrated the Lakers into several key turnovers (17 total) and invited them to hoist a whopping 32 threes, making just 9. Now, it still took career performances from both Amare Stoudemire and Robin Lopez to secure the W, so hoping for an eventual Suns series victory seems unlikely. But at least they delivered some drama and a couple of compelling story lines to a postseason that up until now has been depressingly vanilla.

-What in the world has gotten into Carlos Silva? The journeyman right hander improved his record to a sparkling 6-0 on Sunday, giving the Cubbies a much-needed and highly unexpected ace at the back of the rotation. Silva had basically pitched himself out of the big leagues the last couple years in Seattle, going 5 and 18 with a frighteningly high ERA that you don't talk about at parties. The Cubs acquired him over the winter, if for no other reason, than to just rid themselves of the clubhouse virus known as Milton Bradley. There were no expectations for Silva coming into the season. My, how things have changed after just a couple months. Silva has shed a few lbs from that 250-pound frame, his sinker is finally sinking again, and the 31-year-old afterthought is now one of the favorites for the NL Cy Young. If you close your eyes and let yourself go a little bit, you can almost picture the big fella straddling the mound at Wrigley in late October, throwing the first pitch in the 2010 World Series. (Ok, you might have to close your eyes really hard for that one.)

-I'm having a pretty tough dilemma a couple weeks into this summer's softball season. Last year, I played primarily in shorts and a t-shirt, and paid the price in the process. After a number of ill-advised hook slides into 2nd and dives across the infield, I worked up a pretty nice collection of scars and bruises on the body. So this year, I've decided to play it safe and go long pants-long shirt, protecting my skin from the treacherous Drake Park infield. The only thing is, it can get prittttay, pritttttttay hot out there at 1:00 on a Sunday afternoon. My legs are now protected, but the rest of my body feels like it's overheating like one of those motorcycles on Excitebike when you would push the engine too hard and the guy would just crumple off to the side, needing 3-4 seconds to recover and cool down while the other drivers sped past. I guess I could just wear shorts and refrain from sliding completely, but that seems unlikely. As the great Richie Kotzen said in the song Tobacco Road, "It's the only way I've ever known." Lastly, in a related story, I probably take recreational softball leagues a little too seriously, and without realizing it, have become a true "Softball Guy." I'm not proud of myself...

This article is devoted to the great Jose Lima, a Tigers mainstay from the mid-90s and early-2000s, and one of the more memorable characters in the majors over that time. His 21 victories pushed the Astros into the playoffs in 1999, but it was partnership with similarly-named Felipe Lira at the top of the apocalyptic Tiger rotation in 1995 that will always stick with me. We'll miss ya, Jose.

Drop me a line at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Too Good to be True

2010-05-11T00:26:00.004-04:00

Originally, I thought the story had to be some kind of fable. No way it could have actually happened.

It went a little something like this.

My dad's Little League team was preparing for a significant game late in the season. He was the ace of the team's pitching staff, and would be counted on to take the hill and shut down the opposition's powerful offense.

But a bizarre occurrence happened at school that week. My dad was a gym aide for one of the classes. Everybody was outside practicing various track and field events. The teacher needed a volunteer to display proper high jumping technique, and apparently that was something my dad did well.

He sped down the track, readied himself at the last moment, leaped in the air, and cleared the bar by at least two feet. But the landing was not exactly an artistic one. He came down hard and awkwardly, fracturing the radius bone in his left wrist. All of a sudden, his availability for the monumental baseball game was in serious jeopardy. But maybe not...

"I don't really need my left hand to throw the ball," my dad thought. "After all, pitching is really a one-handed activity." Could he be serious? Was he really planning on still pitching in the game despite having a hard plaster cast attached to one of his arms? He sure was, and he had other ideas, as well.

Without a functioning left hand, my dad knew he needed to figure out a way to get the ball back from the catcher following each pitch. The umpire would most definitely not allow the catcher to trot out to the mound after every toss; the game would last six hours. Maybe the catcher could just float the ball back, and my dad would snag it with his unbroken, but bare right hand. Nah, all that would do is potentially injure the other wrist.

Finally, they had a solution.

After each pitch, the catcher would sling the ball out to the shortstop. He would then take a few steps over to my dad, and hand-deliver the ball. Then his prized right arm would fire that pill towards the trembling batter, and the process would repeat. Poetry in motion.

The story always ended the same way. With my dad going the distance, stifling the other squad's attack, and leading his boys to a life-changing victory.

I always took the whole thing with a grain of salt. I mean, come on. The high jumping exhibition?? The giant cast extending out past the elbow? The ball being dropped off to him after every pitch like a room service breakfast at a 5-star hotel? This had to be some kind of urban legend, I thought.

Then I saw the picture.

Right there, clear as day, was my dad out on the pebbled infield, his dirt-stained white and yellow jersey hanging off his paper-thin 11-year-old frame; and enveloping the entire lower portion of his left arm was a cast. It was all true.

Makes Curt Schilling's bloody sock seem like a mechiah.

To this day, it remains quite possibly the single greatest pitching performance, pro or amateur, in our game's long and storied history.

And he only needed one arm to do it.

Happy Birthday wishes go out today to Doc High Socks, the best one-handed pitching internist in the Metro Detroit area. Drop a b'day word for the Little League legend here, or shoot me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

"Sweating Bullets": The Heroic Tale of the Original "Life of the Party"

2010-05-10T01:52:00.009-04:00

High Socks: Welcome back to the Big Show, Little Bro. Always a pleasure to have you in the neighborhood. Pretty good weekend, eh? Celts making things interesting versus your Cavs, a perfecto by the anonymous Dallas Braden out in Oakland, and several barbecues/parties surrounding the Mother's Day weekend. But me and you both know that going to a party isn't always such a simple exercise.

There are many things to take into account heading into the situation: what to wear, what not to wear, what to bring, when to get there. All of these factors must be considered with your full attention. But let's take a moment and focus on a frequent party guest that I know we both hold close to our hearts: "The Guy that Shows Up 100% Willing to Walk Out of the Festivities Three Hours Later Sopping Wet in his Own Sweat." I respect the hell out of this guy...and I know you do, too.

Low Socks: Mind if I skip the introductions? It's late, I've watched a lot of television that I'd like to forget (Men's College Volleyball Finals), and those barbecues you speak of haven't treated me so kindly...if you get my drift. The guy that shows up to a party totally willing to schvitz is a guy I look up to; straight up to.

If it was up to "this guy," he would have you write down the athletic activities on the invitation after the "save the date" so he could prepare a change of clothes. But he understands that it's not appropriate to reveal beforehand that the upcoming wedding will be held one floor above a room with a fully-equipped ping pong table. It's true, my man will avoid the oppo-sex after the competition starts. How can you blame 'em? After a 21-18 war, I wouldn't want to be dragged to the dance floor for a round of "Snowballs," either.

High Socks: Couldn't agree more. There are really two kinds of guys in this world.

One is the fella who shows up to a party or get-together simply to do just that...get together. He wants to engage in polite conversation, enjoy a leisurely meal with a couple mature beverages, and generally conduct himself in a perfectly acceptable adult manner. He is ever so careful not to walk too briskly at any point for fear of unleashing the slightest ounce of perspiration on his spotless well-tailored outfit. This guy wouldn't know a driveway game of pickup 3s if hit smacked him upside the head.

But then there's the other guy...our guy. This dude comes prepared for anything. Sure, he's decked out in appropriate party attire. And sure, he behaves respectably towards the other guests throughout the evening. But just say the word, and this guy's putting down the tea and crumpets for a Halex Three-Star and a double-elimination pong tourney in the scorching hot unfinished basement. Yeah, he knows there are no females down there. It doesn't concern him. He knows when a game or tournament comes calling at a party, you go. No questions asked. You may come back to the masses 45 minutes later looking like Ethan Hawke at the end of Training Day, but that's the breaks of the game. Survival of the Fittest means just that...even if you have to sweat through your grey Old Navy polo in the process.

Low Socks: For me personally, it's all a matter of picking the right battles. Say I walk into a party and haven't introduced myself or been seen by everybody yet. I still look like a normal human, so I'll make my rounds working the room and shake a few more hands. I think I have an internal game clock in my head where a buzzer will sound when I think the party has reached its halfway mark.

At this point, I tell myself: "You've been polite...Now make things right." I walk over to the punch bowl, fill up, and find the nearest unfriendly competition: ping pong, 3-on-3, or mini-stick hockey. No looking back now: I'm sweaty and unsightly. You either show me a back way outta this place, or I'm pulling the fire alarm.

High Socks: Not sure if you could classify mini-stick hockey as a sweat-inducing activity, but I've seen you in action and I'm gonna take your word for it. This whole discussion brings to mind the old "Gym period early in the day" conundrum back in middle school. There was always the ongoing battle between the angel and devil on your shoulders as to how to handle that upcoming 75-minute block of time.

The Angel would whisper in your ear, "Relax, High Socks. It's early in the day. You showered no less than two hours ago, and you still have five more classes to go after this one. Change into the gym clothes, lollygag your way through a couple go patterns in Air Force Football, and peacefully move on with the rest of your day still resembling a civilized 13-year-old boy. It's the sensible thing to do."

But the Devil had other ideas. "Look, kid. I know you think it's a risk going full throttle in a gym class this early in the day. You're going to get overheated. You're going to start sweating profusely. And in all honesty, you will be dreadfully uncomfortable for the remainder of the day. And you can forget about putting that hooded sweatshirt back on after this is all over. It's going in your locker until the final bell; strictly "T-shirt or Bust" from this point forward. But it is the world we live in. Nothing good can come without a little suffering along the way. You're gonna go out to that football field and play each down like it's your last. You're gonna count to Five Apples in 2.3 seconds. You're gonna dive head first across the dew-soaked grass for a potentially game-winning bomb even if it means getting up after the play with a scrape job on the knee and a mouthful of sod. You're gonna win the game, trudge into that locker room, and change back into your school clothes that now look much different on you than they did at the beginning of the day. At that moment, you might question your previous hour of activity; the sweat, the tears, the blatantly illegal cut-block you threw to spring a big gain on the final drive. But take a look in the mirror. That's your bloodied face in the reflection; covered in a mound of perspiration, and an even bigger mountain of self respect.

Low Socks: Here we go again...I sit down to have a peaceful conversation with you and it immediately takes an ugly turn. Angels? Devils? When did this talk become a forum for the "Good vs. Evil" debate? However, I do like your point and it is my belief that the age-old middle school controversy can be broken down into a simple word: experience. Like I said before, you have to know when to dial it up and when to ease off.

Before lunch, it's my opinion that there is way too much school left to be at any peak heart rate.

After lunch, but before band class, I can see where one might try and push their luck. I certainly could get away with it as I stood near the back, banging the drums.

My advice to those that are unable to make it past lunch without getting sickly in gym: don't bother showing up to class. Neither you or the teacher wants any part of all that. You may think the "cooling down" period will only take 15-20 minutos; but before you know it, you'll be caught in a small group round-table discussion about photosynthesis.

And Lord knows it ain't the plants absorbing the energy. It's you...

Drop a thought to the Socks Crew at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Secretariat Who?

2010-05-06T01:07:00.013-04:00

"It's always more fun to root for the underdog."

The day was May 5th, 1973, and Secretariat was preparing to begin his assault on horse racing's famed Triple Crown. A record crowd of 134,476 stuffed their way into the Churchill Downs infield to get a glimpse of the mammoth chestnut colt.

One horse racing aficionado described Secretariat at the time as "A Rolls-Royce in a field of Volkswagens."

Everybody knew it was Secretariat's day. Well, almost everybody.

My mom was also in attendance at the Derby that afternoon. She has two distinct memories from that trip.

One is that she claims to have never seen a horse. It's surely an odd sentiment coming from a person that was actually at the Kentucky Derby, but an understandable one considering the circumstances. She and her friends were amidst the throng of people; elbow-to-elbow on the infield, which was not exactly "prime viewing" in terms of actually observing the action. It would be like watching a Cubs game from the rooftop of an apartment building a half mile from Wrigley. You're there, but you're not really there. Secretariat could have been a blue horse with a bushy orange tail, and my mom would have had no idea. She never saw a horse.

The second recollection from that day involves her wagering strategy and the results that followed. As post time approached, Secretariat was still holding steady as a significant favorite (3-2 in most spots). Everybody was plunking down money on Big Red. It was a sure thing. But my mom had her own ideas.

She liked Warbucks. As she told me this past Saturday when we watched the Derby together, "I like the long shots." And old Warbucks definitely was that. It is near impossible to find exactly what odds Warbucks was getting that day (trust me, I've looked), but it is also just as impossible to find any account of anyone heading into the race that thought Warbucks had a chance. Didn't matter to my mom.

The race started and a couple rabbit horses bolted, leaving Secretariat and a host of others biding their time in the back. But as most of the horses began tiring and slowing their pace as the distance increased, Secretariat only got better. He ran each quarter mile of the race just a little bit faster than the one before it. He blazed the final leg in a blistering 23 seconds, on his way to a record-setting Derby time (a record that still stands today). It was a breathtaking performance by a horse that would eventually come to be regarded as the best in the sport's history.

But what about Warbucks?? What happened to that cute, little longshot that was supposed to pay my mom bundles of dollars?? Turns out, Warbucks was a longshot for a reason.

There were 13 horses entered in the Kentucky Derby that day. And Warbucks finished 13th. Dead last.

I recently came across a fairly long-winded recap of that race. Several sentences are devoted to each participant and interesting anecdotes are sprinkled throughout.

Our guy got three measly words. The final sentence read, "Warbucks was dull." That's it. No in-depth analysis or explanation for his performance. He was just dull.

But truth be told, how Warbucks actually performed that day really meant nothing.

My mom drove from Ann Arbor to Louisville, pushed and pulled her way through over one-hundred thousand sweaty fans, and spent an entire day at Churchill Downs without ever seeing a horse. After all that, there was no way in the world she was simply going to fall in line with all of the other sheep. She liked Warbucks.

Anybody could have sidled up to the betting counter that day and threw a fiver on Secretariat. It was the safe play. He was going to win. But, as Tom Hanks so eloquently stated in Big, "What's fun about that?"

Go up to any random sports fan at the bar and ask 'em who won the '73 Derby and you're likely to get an immediate response. Everybody knows that was Secretariat's year.

But nobody knows who came in last. Except my mom.

And she's got the losing ticket to prove it.

Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

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A Troika of Thoughts on the Big Winter Swap

2010-05-03T00:47:00.008-04:00

1. The baseball season is officially about a month old. Most teams have played about 25 games. And Tigers' rookie center fielder Austin Jackson still has more hits than anybody in the big leagues. The freshman phenom rapped Angels pitching around the yard all weekend, collecting nine safeties in leading the Tigers to a statement-making three-game sweep.

Jackson's fearlessness as a first-year player has brought life to the top of the order. Coupled with the old warhorse, Johnny Damon (.326 BA), they present what is quite possibly the most dangerous 1-2 combination in all of baseball.

The only troubling stat with young Mr. Jackson is his climbing strikeout total. His 34 punchouts top the American League, and trail only Justin Upton of Arizona for the MLB lead. It is impossible to imagine his production continuing at this level unless he finds a way to start putting the ball in play more often. A player like Jackson, with limited power (1 HR) and tremendous speed, should never be in fear of whiffing 100 times in a season. At this rate, he'll be lucky to stay under two hundred.

But all told, it has been a truly memorable first month for Jackson, and one that could prove crucial later in the season when the Tigers are duking it out with the Twinkies and Chisox for a place in the postseason.

2. While Jackson leads the bigs in hits right now, whether or not he stays there will likely depend on one player: Ichiro. The fleet-footed Mariner has led all of baseball in that category in each of the last four seasons, and he is off to his typically strong start in 2010 (33 hits, .317 BA).

But unlike the free-swinging Jackson, Ichiro forces you to make a play in order to record an out. In virtually the same number of ABs, he has fanned just eight times, less than a fourth of Jackson's staggering 'K' number.

3. People have been buzzing about the stellar play of Austin Jackson for the Bengals, the immense struggles of Curtis Granderson for the Bombers, and the brilliance of Dave Dombrowski in pulling off such a mid-winter heist. But take a moment to look at the second tier of players involved in the deal, and you realize this trade might actually be even better than the previous sentence would lead you to believe.

Edwin Jackson, who fell off miserably down the stretch in 2009, has picked up right where that season left off. He was absolutely torched by the Cubs at Wrigley yesterday afternoon, allowing eight runs in just four innings, including a 400-foot bomb off the bat of Alfonso Soriano. Amazingly, it was an improvement from his last time out when he surrendered 10 runs in just 2.1 innings of work against the Rockies. The Diamondbacks are now 1 and 5 in his starts, with his ERA soaring to a Nate Robertson-esque 8.07.

The most disturbing trend of all, perhaps, has been Jackson's diminishing strikeout figures. He picked up just two in the start at Coors, and then failed to strike out a single Cub hitter on Sunday. 22 batters faced, 12 outs recorded, and a big, fat goose-egg in the K department. Not once did Jackson suffer that fate last year in any of his 33 starts. When you lose the ability to miss bats as a major league pitcher, unless your name is Jamie Moyer, you are going to be in some serious trouble. And before you say, "Hey HSL, take it easy...the season is only a month old!", remember that Jackson is now sporting a near-six ERA (5.85) since his perfect inning of work at last year's All-Star game.

In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, "Good luck with allll that."

Oh, and don't forget Phil Coke. The lefty-tossing Soft Drink has vultured a trio of wins (3-0) and has yet to serve up a long ball in his 14 carbonated innings out of the pen. A couple more weeks of Austin's heroics, Granderson's aches and pains, Edwin's meatball sandwiches, and Coke Zero's southpaw reliability, we might have to declare this the "Greatest Trade in Baseball History."

Reach me by E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

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Name Droppin' Through Baseball History

2010-04-28T02:08:00.011-04:00

Five of the most memorable names in the long history of the game...

Bud Weiser

No joke. This guy is a real player. Suited up for the Phillies from 1915-16. In his rookie campaign, the Phils used him semi-frequently, allowing Weiser to tally up 77 trips to the plate. He rewarded them with a trip to the World Series. Not coincidentally, in Weiser's second and final season as a big leaguer, the Phillies let him bat just 10 times, and they were punished with a frustrating second place finish. Never mess with the Brewmeister.

Ugueth Urbina

The name itself is not spectacular, but Urbina makes the list for the unique claim of being the only player in big league history with the initials U.U. Aside from that distinction, Urbina has also taught us just how much a person can change in just a few short years. In 1999, Ugie was firing beebees for the Montreal Expos on his way to a National League-leading 41 saves. In 2003, he was closing out games in October for the world champion Florida Marlins and punctuating each win by exchanging a never-quite-explained smooch with battery mate Pudge Rodriguez. Fast forward to 2005; Urbina is in his native Venezuela, threatening workers on his property by wielding machetes and trying to light them on fire. Ugie was now literally a flamethrower. Even on the wildly corrupt streets of Venezuela, that is not considered normal behavior.

Morrie Arnovich

This 1930's mainstay makes the list for owning the most Jewish name you will ever find in the Baseball Encyclopedia. Sure, he could have gone by his given name of Morris, but maybe that wouldn't have been a clear enough indication of his heritage. The title of "Morrie" removed any and all doubt about how this underrated outfielder spent his Friday evenings; curveballs juicy, chicken dry. It brings to mind one of the classic quotes of all time, from the original Clown Prince of Baseball, Al Schacht.

"There is talk that I am Jewish - just because my father was Jewish, my mother is Jewish, I speak Yiddish and once studied to be a rabbi and a cantor. Well, that's how rumors get started."

Chick Hafey

One of my favorite things about life in America from the years 1912-1935: if your name was Charles, James, William, John, or pretty much anything else, you were just called Chick. Seriously, watch any old movie or look up any baseball roster from that time...everybody was just called Chick.
Mr. Hafey makes the list for being the best Chick of the bunch. He spent his prime years slapping the ball around Sportsman's Park in St. Louis, and was a key member of Roger Hornsby's championship Cardinals squad in 1926. Hafey also holds the dual honor of being the only Chick to wind up in Cooperstown and the first ever bespectacled player to win a batting title (feel free to drop that golden nugget of information the next time you meet an actual chick at the bar...you can thank me later). Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and the Chick craze was no different. After Hafey's exit from the game in the late 30s, the crop pretty much dried out. There was a minor resurgence with obscure Tigers outfielder Chick King in the 1950s, but that was short-lived. Some mook named Travis Chick threw a few innings for the Mariners in 2006, but last name Chicks don't really count; plus, the guy allowed like 75 runs in three career outings, so we really want no part of his company.

Puddin' Head Jones

Ok, so maybe his real name was Willie, but "Puddin' Head" still gets a place on this list for having what is quite possibly the coolest nickname in sports history. The legend says that Jones got the moniker from an old 1930's song, "Wooden Head, Puddin' Head Jones." Not the most interesting nickname origin of all-time, but nothing can take the shine off Puddin' Head. I just can't imagine how much it fun it must have been to play alongside this guy, being able to shout things like, "Play is at any base, fellas...watch your way, Puddin' Head!!" And aside from the tremendous alias, this guy was a darn good player, as well. Puddin' routinely led all major league 3rd sackers in fielding percentage. Hall-of-Famer Robin Roberts even went so far as to call Jones the second best at the hot corner that he'd ever seen, with the exception being fellow HOF Brooks Robinson. Ol' Puddin' Head's best season came in 1950, helping the Phillies take their only NL flag over a 60-year period and their first since our friend Bud Weiser was roaming the outfield in the mid-teens. The circle of life, one funny name at a time...

Drop your classic baseball name in the comments below, or let me you know what you think by E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Socks Brothers Present: "The Bigger Bang Theory." Not your Grandfather's Game of Floor Hockey

2010-04-23T02:37:00.003-04:00

High Socks: Welcome back, Low Socks. It's been a while. The sports world is flying right now with the NBA/NHL playoffs in full swing, the NFL draft kicking off, and early season baseball starting to pick up steam. But I know that you've always held a special place in your heart for the game of floor hockey. Care to share with the class??

Low Socks: Thanks, HSL. Glad to be back running the court with you. I do hold a special place in my heart for floor hockey. Not just any floor hockey, mind you: I'm talking about the kind with slippery floors, a tiny gym, and those lightweight foam sticks. Get your paws on one of them and you immediately feel powerful...almost like holding a bolt of lightning from Zeus' arsenal.

Before you call me crazy, let me enlighten you about the history of this earth. Leave it to the high courts to judge the validity of a certain theory of evolution or the story of creation. I think I've got one better for ya. Call it "Sam's Theory of Foam Stickitivity." No equations, no relativity, no natural selection; just some good old fashioned foam-on-foam fun.

Picture this scene.

Two guys on opposite teams scramble for the loose puck wherein each player tries to take control of it...and WHAM...the blades collide, causing a massive sonic boom resonating throughout the whole place. This is what happened four billion years ago, but has somehow lost support among scholars in recent centuries, which is why you've never heard it before. Is that the answer you were looking for, HSL?

High Socks: Let me just start out by saying, "Wow." I've heard a lot of wild conspiracies and theories relating to the beginning of this here world, and none of 'em made as much sense as that one.

I am quite familiar with the "Floor Hockey Stick Bash." Every time I am startled from a sound sleep by a loud crash in the middle of the night, my first thought is always, "Foam Stick Face-Off." Then I come to my senses and realize it was probably a big clap of thunder, but I'm still never entirely convinced.

The floor hockey games that took place in elementary and middle school were probably the purest form of competition since those epic Gladiator fights-to-the-death in the old Roman Coliseum. If you lost a close game to a buddy on the opposing squad, you didn't talk to that guy for the rest of the day, or maybe even a week. Hell, I'd understand if it meant the end of that relationship completely.

It meant that much.

Low Socks: Well gosh, I've never lost a friend over a battle on the ice, errr, floor, but I'll tell you one thing: if I lose a floor hockey game, don't come and pick me up from school Mom. I'm walkin' home.

I would like to share some insight into the mind of the "guy that plays ice hockey recreationally and for some reason thinks his abilities translate to the floor." I know you have experience handling the puck and operating near the blue line, but that goes right out of the window once you pick up that foam stizznick. You put Sid the Kid out there versus the 7th Grade All-Stars, equip everybody with the styro-stixx, and I can guarantee you the playing field will be level.

"Oh, hello there, Foam Stick, nice to finally meet you; my name is Wrist Shot and this is my good friend One-Timer."

It's no big surprise these guys have never met...

High Socks: Couple things.

To your earlier point about not getting picked up by Mom after a tough L: I respect the passion there, but don't your feelings change if you know she's waiting in the car with a bag of Honey BBQ Fritos and a cold 20 oz. Cherry Coke? That combo always had its own special way of curing the afternoon blizz-nues.

To your second point, I remember "Ice Hockey Guy" all too well, and to this day, marvel at his belief that the skillz would translate from pond to playground.

You feel like telling this lush, "Look man, it's 4:30 on a Wednesday afternoon. We're playing 3-on-3 floor hockey in a shoebox auxiliary gym with about three fans in attendance. The temperature in here is about 112 degrees. The referee is a guidance counselor that does far too much guiding and far too little counseling. The goalie's "equipment" consists of a couple mangled youth-small shin guards and a horror film mask that doesn't even have eye-holes to see out of. We're just out here to grab a couple smiles and get home safely to our families, so please for the love of all that is good and holy; stop trying to "curve your stick," stop body-checking the 55-pounder on the other team, and last but not least, stop smashing the styrofoam into the ground every single time you want the puck. I see you over there; I'm just not passing it to you."

Low Socks: I suppose this is a good time to wrap it up. Don't get me wrong, I love talking about floor hockey just as much as the next guy, but your point about shady guidance counselors left me feeling kind of ill. I say let's make like the white cap of a foam stick and break this thing off.

Thanks for the time, HSL. Where's the exit to this place, down the hallway on my left?

Oh yeah, and one more thing.

Is there any way I can get the last hour of my life back? Just wonderin'...

Care to comment on the blog? Drop a comment below, or styro-stick the Sox Bros. an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Once is Special, but Twice is Unforgettable

2010-04-19T05:35:00.005-04:00

I start out watching every baseball game the same way: wishing for a no-hitter. Sure, a perfect game would be ideal, but I'm not greedy. The no-hitter will do just fine.

Now, of course, with this approach comes plenty of disappointment. Inevitably, in the first couple of innings, both teams will erase the zero from their hits column and my dream officially goes up in smoke.

But then there are those rare occurrences when everything falls into place. The pitcher has his A+ stuff working, the defense behind him is extraordinary, and the opposing lineup trots out a slew of strikers south of the Mendoza line. This perfect storm of events converged in Atlanta on Saturday night.

Ubaldo Jimenez entered the game against the Braves looking for something. As a 6-foot-4 flame throwing right hander, the sky has always been the limit for the Rockies' Jimenez. In his rookie year, he went 4 and 4. He came back the next season and finished 12 and 12. Finally, last year, he shed the "Even Steven" label. Jimenez reeled off nine wins after the All-Star break on his way to a 15-12 mark. Still, he wasn't quite on the baseball map.

Jimenez took the hill at Turner Field with intentions of announcing himself to the world. Two hours and thirty-one minutes later, his mission was accomplished. The game was over, the Braves had zero hits, and his name would forever be part of baseball lore.

But one thing always enters my mind as soon as the euphoria of the no-hitter dies down. What happens next??

Ubaldo Jimenez will get the ball again in about a week and in all likelihood, the game will be less than memorable. Our hero from just five nights prior will likely allow a hit early in the contest, grind out a workmanlike outing, and watch as the baseball spotlight shifts its focus to the next big thing. Jimenez will have had his moment in the sun, and that will be that.

There have been 222 no-hitters twirled since 1900. Of those 222, some were thrown by Hall-of-Famers (Sandy Koufax, Nolan Ryan) and some were thrown by virtual unknowns (George Culver, Juan Nieves). Some were thrown by cagey veterans (Bret Saberhagen, Dave Stieb) and some were thrown by fresh-faced rookies (Bobo Holloman, Bud Smith). Some completed their no-hitters as part of a perfect game (Kenny Rogers, David Wells) and some finished the job without recording a single strikeout (Ken Holtzman).

Scroll your way through the list and you can find just about any type of player you are looking for. The gamut of no-hitter hurlers runs from A to Z. But one man refused to be like the rest. Whereas his fellow mound men took the ball in their next start and simply faded into the sunset, this pitcher recaptured history just four nights later.

Johnny Vander Meer.

To any baseball trivia guy worth a hill o' beans, this name means one thing and one thing only: back-to-back no-hitters. Vander Meer did what nobody could do before him, and nobody has done since.

He threw a no-hitter, took a few nights off, grabbed the rawhide again, and did the exact same thing. Without question, Vander Meer's accomplishment remains one of the most remarkable and unique records in all of professional sports.

Ask a baseball historian to name a particular feat or record that they think will never be matched. Most times, they will point to Cy Young and his astronomical total of 511 victories. And yes, I am in complete agreement that this record will never be equaled, passed, or even sniffed by any pitcher ever again. But, with all due respect to Denton True and his otherworldly win total, the current climate of the game simply will not allow for this record to be chased down.

From 1890 to 1911, elite pitchers such as Cy Young routinely started more than 50 games a year. Racking up more than 30 W's (he did it five times) was not uncommon and earned you little more than a yawn during salary negotiations for the following season. Roy Halladay is considered to be a modern-day bulldog, refusing to come out of games until they are finished. And he has only pitched 316 times in his entire major league career. He coulda won 'em all and he'd still be about 200 victories short of Mr. Young.

The point being made is simple. 511 wins is an unbreakable record, but it is also literally unreachable. Vander Meer's mark is similarly everlasting, but not because the state of today's game dictates so. The opportunity for a double no-no will always be there for any pitcher with a ball and a glove; it is just very, very, verrrrry difficult to duplicate.

Sports trivia hounds remain well aware that not all records are held by the game's legends.

-Most consecutive free throws made?? 97 by the onetime Bad Boy, but mostly anonymous Micheal Williams.

-Only NHL goalie to record five straight shutouts?? Journeyman netminder Brian Boucher.

-Most passing yards in an NCAA game by a left handed quarterback?? None other than former Lions signal-caller Scott Mitchell with 631 for the Utah Utes in 1988.

Johnny Vander Meer also belongs on that list. His career win-loss mark reads 119 victories to 121 defeats. He was a part of one World Series champion, but he only contributed three October innings to the cause. By all accounts, his career as a whole was perfectly forgettable.

Except for those two days in June of '38. For those 18 innings, Vander Meer was bulletproof; you couldn't touch him.

Ubaldo Jimenez toed the slab on Saturday night and did something special. He threw a no-hitter. Thursday afternoon in Washington, he will have the opportunity to do it again.

Johnny Vander Meer has been alone at the top for 72 years.

It's about time he got some company...

Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

The High Socks Legend's Second Annual Playoff Preview Extravaganza!!

2010-04-16T05:41:00.014-04:00

Matt Bonner's 3-Point Stroke

Does his shooting motion closely resemble that of a middle school girl? Yes.

Would your dad have scolded you growing up if you tried shooting the basketball this way? Yes.

But, the most important question of all is, "Does the ball go in?" Quite simply, yes, it does.

The "Red Rocket" is a 40% shooter from downtown this year, and has been cashing 'em in at about that same clip throughout his career. Bonner is a true X-factor for the Spurs, capable of stealing a playoff game all by himself on the strength of his unsightly long range release. With Roger Mason having an unusually ineffective year shooting the ball and Richard Jefferson morphing into a sad version of Sean Elliott, it will be more important than ever for awkward Matty Bonner to step up and knock down those shot put treys from 23 feet. Just be sure to cover your eyes when he does.

(Sidenote: Is Bonner the "pastiest" NBA player of all time? It's a close call, but I think the list looks something like this.)

5. Steve Kerr

A whiter version of Steve Blake.

4. Pat Garrity

Could shoot the pill from anywhere, but homeboy's complexion was far from "glowing."

3. Jud Buechler

Would it have killed Judson to get a little sun back in the day??

2. Chris Crawford

Rumored to have had an affair with head coach Terry Stotts during a very tumultuous 2003-04 Hawks campaign. Crawford never played in the league again.

1. Matt Bonner

Takes "pasty" to a whole new stratosphere. His official skin color in the San Antonio media guide is listed as "salmon."

The "NBA-TV" Series

Every year, one first-round playoff series gets treated like the ugly stepchild of the NBA postseason. Its games are scheduled at weird times. The worst referees get sent on the assignment. And Dick Stockton is usually prominently involved. Not surprisingly, this year the honor went to Milwaukee-Atlanta, which begins appropriately enough, at 5:30 Saturday evening. But don't fret, there are still plenty of reasons to get jacked up for this not-so-prime time battle. Here are five of 'em.

5. Old Guard (Mike Bibby) vs. New Blood (Brandon Jennings).

If there is any spot on the floor where the Bucks should have a decided advantage, it's at the point. Jennings is super-quick and can scoot by his defender pretty much anytime he wants. Bibby is 32 years old going on 75. His ability to move laterally on D is comparable to a one-legged elephant trying to keep up with a steroid-abusing cheetah that just chugged a case of Red Bull. Al Horford and company better be ready to help at all times.

4. Can Josh Smith continue to avoid the 3-point line??

In a recent Sports Illustrated article, Smith talked about his decision this year to completely abandon the long ball and instead focus on using his freakish athleticism to get easy looks around the rim. Smith's quotes regarding the 3-point shot made him sound like a recovering heroin addict trying to stay away from the needle. "I just don't put myself in that situation where I'm tempted to do it, because I probably will. If I find myself dangling around the perimeter, I'll move in a couple of steps." True to his word, Smith attempted just seven treys this season (making zero), most of which were end of quarter heaves in which he had no other choice. It was J-Smoove's best year as a pro, and the Hawks will need his continued long distance sobriety in order to make an extended run through the playoff bracket.

3. John Salmons...go-to guy?

It might sound strange, but it's the truth. After years of toiling away on benches in Philly and Sacramento, Salmons has finally found his true home in Brew City. After rescuing the under appreciated Sal-Muns from Chicago, the Bucks rolled off 12 wins in 13 games and finished the year on a 22-8 tear. And if there is anybody on the Milwaukee roster looking forward to meeting the Hawks, it is Salmons. The three times these clubs met since the trade, he erupted for point totals of 32, 32, and 28. And the unique thing about Salmons is that he doesn't possess the typical off-the-charts athleticism normally displayed by high-scoring NBA shooting guards. Instead, he does it with a clever in-between game, respectable range from 3-point land (38%), and an ability to draw contact and get to the stripe at crunch time. With Andrew Bogut's 16 points a night vanishing after that gruesome boo-boo to his elbow, the pressure on Salmons to light it up will be ratcheted higher than ever come Saturday night.

2. Gunners off the pine.

Jamal Crawford has been hugely important to the Hawks bench all year, and he will almost assuredly be taking home the 6th Man of the Year award next week. Despite not hearing his name called in the starting lineups once all year, Crawford still poured in 18 a game and hit countless 4th quarter daggers from well beyond the arc. Teaming with Joe Johnson, the Hawks have as good a combination of late-game snipers as any squad in the league. Also featured in this series will be the efforts of 14-year vet Jerry Stackhouse . Regardless of how you feel about Stack's sometimes erratic game, you can't knock the guy's competitive fire. Late in Milwaukee's home loss to Boston last week, Paul Pierce started jawing at Stack. Not one to back down from a challenge regardless of who's issuing it, Stack demanded the ball next time down the floor. He faced up on Pierce, made a quick first step towards the baseline, left his feet just outside the paint, and right when you thought you were witnessing a genuine turn-back-the-clock moment - Stack threw a horrendous cross court pass to nobody in particular that was picked off easily by Rajon Rondo, essentially icing the win for the Celtics. Stack may be light years away from his salad days in Chapel Hill, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's aware of it.

1. Mike Woodson is not exactly "familiar" with advancing deep into the playoffs.

As a player, Woodson played 11 years in the league, qualified for the playoffs five times, and not once escaped the opening round. As a matter of fact, his teams won just 2 of 16 playoff games overall. Bill Russell he is not. As a coach, the story hasn't been all that different. This is Woodson's sixth year at the helm in Atlanta (quietly tied for longest tenured coach in the East with Doc Rivers), and in that time, he has guided the Hawks to exactly one playoff series victory. If there was ever a year for Woody to make a run well into May, this is probably it. His team won 53 games and managed to grab the all-important third seed, which means no LeBron until the conference finals. Still, I think it's two rounds and out for Woodson and his boys, repeating last year's fate. This group remains too perimeter oriented, and needs to add a legitimate veteran big guy for next year to really be considered a championship contender. And no, Joe Smith and Zaza Pachulia do not count.

No Pistons Allowed

In 2001, Chucky Atkins was a jitterbug point guard trying to carve out a niche in the league and Ben Wallace was a powerful young forward just beginning to learn how to put all that strength and energy to good use. The Pistons won 32 games and failed to qualify for the playoffs. The next year, they added a couple pieces, won the Central division, and began a streak of eight consecutive playoff appearances.

Well, Chucky and Ben were back this year to try and recreate some of that old magic, but as it turned out, they were just old.

With the 'Stones missing out on the postseason festivities for the first time in a long time, let's take a look at the top five reasons why this season turned into the absolute train wreck that it wound up being.

5. Rip Hamilton quietly transformed into the Tracy McGrady of the North.

He'd play a few spirited games, turn an ankle, and proceed to sit out for the next month and a half. When he did suit up, he showed some flashes of the old Rip, but for the most part, his effort left a lot to be desired. It is painfully evident that Rip's mind has been elsewhere ever since November 3rd of 2008 when his backcourt mate and best friend Chauncey Billups was unceremoniously shipped off to Denver. Rip has had a tremendous eight seasons in Motown, but the time has come for both parties to move on. Plus, his "wearing a mask all the time" bit got old in like 2006.

4. As a unit, the big men for this team were simply atrocious.

Ben Wallace's offensive game has never looked nastier. Jason Maxiell is about two Cinnabons away from becoming Mike Sweetney. Jonas Jerebko blocked one shot in his final 365 minutes (he's 6-foot-10). Chris Wilcox spent most of the year in street clothes, wearing bizarre sport coats that made you wonder aloud, "Since when did they start putting buttons on shoulders??" And last but not least, Kwame Brown, the former #1 overall pick, is a guy with hands so slippery and unreliable that he probably couldn't even hold on to his you-know-what with a jar of Stickum and last month's issue of Everyday with Rachael Ray.

3. The crowds at the Palace were pathetic.

Most nights, the stands were half-filled, or worse. The fans that did show up were generally comatose. And those were the good ones. In a four-game stretch right around New Year's, the Pistons entertained the worst the Eastern Conference had to offer: Raptors, Knicks, Bulls, and 76ers. A good way to turn the season around with some easy home victories, right?? Umm, not exactly. The Pistons dropped all four games by an average of 17 points. Oh, and the Clippers won there, too.

2. They were the worst 3-point shooting team in the league.

That's right, somehow a roster filled with guards, swingmen, and big guys that like to shoot from deep managed to finish dead last (31%) in long range accuracy. And a special Mazel Tov to the not-so-bashful point guard combination of Rodney Stuckey and Will Bynum - a tandem that fired 134 threes and converted just 30, good for a season-ending tally of 22 percent. Way to cash 'em in, fellas!!

1. Three words.

Hooper...On...Crutches.

The Good Doctor (No, not that one)

By day, my dad is one of the most respected internists in all of Metro Detroit. By night, he is one of the sharpest basketball minds in the Midwest, analyzing games on League Pass like he would a patient in the exam room with three different shades of yellow fever. Like any Hoops-Head, he's got players he likes, players he hates, and thoughts on everything in between. Here are five popular Doc High Socks comments pertinent to this year's post season.

5. "I've never seen Stephen Jackson make a shot."

Now, at first, glance this seems like a ridiculous statement. How can the guy never make a shot when he racked up over 1,600 points this season and is just short of 11,000 for his career? But tell me this. Does Jackson ever make a shot when you are watching? He seems to be one of those guys that does all this damage and makes all these huge plays in some fantasy world that nobody can see. When you actually get a chance to watch him play for yourself, he throws up a 3-for-14 with six turnovers and lots of angry faces. Ichiro is another great example of this. The guy rips off more than 200 hits every year, but always manages to roll out weakly to short whenever you happen to catch one of his ABs. Stevie Jax's exploits will be on full display when they take on heavily favored Orlando. The only way his club stands a chance is if he hangs a 30-spot every night while maintaining complete sanity throughout. Anything is possible...just as long as my dad's not watching.

4. "Dallas just isn't tough enough inside."

A simple, yet spot-on analysis regarding the hoopers from Dallas and their continued inability each spring to make that final leap and reach the summit. Dirk's been doing his thing for years. Jet Terry is always there to knock down big 3s from the corner. Mark Cuban remains the most passionate owner in professional sports. But one thing about this squad never seems to change; they just aren't big and strong enough inside. Erick Dampier is decent enough, but he's getting to be a little long in the tooth. Hell, the guy was in the Final Four 14 years ago, and he looked like a 40-year-old then. Eddie Najera brings his own brand of toughness to the table, but he's so pesky and bothersome on the court that his own teammates even seem to hate him. Brendan Haywood was added at the trade deadline, but is he really the kind of guy that transforms a contender into a champion? The aforementioned group of bangers are all capable of rebounding and defending, but none of them are really legitimate options in terms of operating on the low block. There's no doubt that the Mavs have the depth, athleticism, and variety of scoring weapons to beat most every team in the league, but it still might be that Achilles heal in the paint that keeps them from achieving their ultimate goal in June.

(Sidenote: I think Mavs-Spurs will be the best series in the entire first round, and would not be shocked in the least if Tim Duncan and friends get the job done. In fact, let's mark it down as the official HSL upset selection.)

3. "You hungry?"

Getting full enjoyment out of the NBA playoffs is only possible if you know how to work the snack rotation correctly. Now the key is you don't want to peak too early. Going for that bag of chips or scoop of ice cream in the nine o'clock hour could ruin your whole night. See, you have to wait for just the right moment. The first leg of games are winding down. Denver-Utah is about to tip on the West Coast and you start to hear that tummy rumble. Jackpot. Now your options are limitless. Set that toaster oven to broil and get a little hot dog action going. Grab a bowl of Rice Chex just because it feels right. Or go to the freezer and let DiGiorno be your date for the evening. My dad has made a living knowing how and when to make these decisions safely and accurately. If you want to get the most out of your playoff experience, I suggest you do the same.

2. "I would just back off LeBron and let him shoot all day."

Sounds a bit weird when talking about the soon to be back-to-back league MVP, but much truth lies in that statement. No matter how big of a LeBron slappy you may be, it cannot be denied that his inconsistent stroke from the outside (and the FT line as well) has been one of the major hurdles in preventing the King from ever cradling that precious Larry O'Brien trophy. Go back just two weeks ago. The Cavs were in Boston on a Sunday afternoon. It was on national TV. You could tell both teams wanted this game. And as is usually the case in spotlight contests such as this, LeBron went off. 42 points, 9 assists, and 7 boards in 45 pressure-packed minutes. But examine that box score a little deeper. LeBron jacked up nine three-pointers during the game; he made zero. He got to the line a mind-boggling 22 times; he made just 14. The Cavs wound up losing by four. Again, I understand and recognize that LeBron is one of the top two or three basketball players on the planet, but can you be the leader on a championship team shooting 33% from distance and 77 from the stripe? When Michael was winning titles, he was always over 80% on his free throws. Ditto for Kobe. LeBron will continue to be the bridesmaid at the end of the playoff season until he finally learns to master the purest form of basketball skill: shooting the rock. The Good Doctor says it best..."Just let him shoot."

(Sidenote: Either LeBron is the most careful player in NBA history or the refs are just terrified to blow the whistle on him. Mr. James played close to three thousand minutes this year. He committed just 119 fouls. Only eight times in the history of the league has such a foul-free season occurred. Amazingly, LeBron has currently gone 30 straight games spanning almost three months without picking up more than two personal fouls in a night. And in a strange oxymoronic twist, you won't find many players that complain more than #23 in the Wine & Gold. Go figure.)

1. "I just love the NBA playoffs."

Ok, so maybe my dad never actually uttered that corny sentiment, but let's be honest; it's the way we all feel. There is high drama on a nightly basis. Young stars (Russell Westbrook) burst on the scene in their first postseason showing while battle-worn vets (Grant Hill, Antonio McDyess) make what could be their final push towards that elusive championship ring. Some matchups will be instant classics (Spurs-Mavs, Jazz-Nugs) while others will end before you realize they started (Thunder-Lakers, Bobcats-Magic). Others (Blazers-Suns, Bucks-Hawks) would have been memorable if not for a couple of ill-timed injuries to vitally important players (Brandon Roy, Andrew Bogut). The other two series' out East (Bulls-Cavs, Heat-Celtics) are simply mandatory warmups leading to a sizzling second round affair.

Epic individual battles will play out right in front of our eyes: Chauncey Billups-Deron Williams...Kevin Durant-Kobe Bryant...Dwight Howard-Theo Ratliff...and the showstopping Joe Johnson-John Salmons duel (okay, I'm a little bit obsessed with Milwaukee).

Every night, fresh storylines will emerge and new heroes will be crowned. It is truly two months of unbridled joy for all hoop fanatics that adore and cherish Naismith's century-old creation.

So for all of you that will go to sleep tonight dreaming about Matt Bonner rainbows from the right elbow extended, know that you are not alone. You're most definitely sick, but you're not alone.

Enjoy the playoffs, people.

Drop your own playoff thoughts and predictions here, or reach me by E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

In Progress: NBA Playoff Preview

2010-04-13T12:33:00.003-04:00

The High Socks Legend is busy preparing the annual NBA Playoff Preview. In the meantime, feel free to check out last year's encyclopedia-sized rendition or take a look at Antonio McDyess and his never-ending quest for a championship ring. Or check out any other classic article from the HSL archives.

And be sure to come back later in the week for all the playoff shenanigans!

An Unforgettable Night for All the Wrong Reasons

2010-04-08T03:59:00.006-04:00

Everything seemed to be business as usual inside the Palace of Auburn Hills last Wednesday night.

The Pistons were getting trounced by the visiting Heat, the stands were half-filled, and Chris Wilcox was taking his customary second quarter snooze over on the bench. My buddy BK and I slumped back in our seats, practically searching for ways to be entertained.

We stared at Charlie Villanueva for a while. It appeared as if CV was chomping on some kind of in-game snack. It was the most action he got all night.

Watching the huge Jonas Jerebko fan club to our right was mildly amusing until it became clear that JJ was having one of his patented "Look, I was at the club until like 5:00 this morning, so don't expect much from me" kind of games.

Pistons' rookie DaJuan Summers got significant minutes in the team's quest to see if they have a real ballplayer on their hands. On one hand, if the rules of the sport drastically change to the point where all you need to do is graze a piece of the rim or backboard in order for a basket to count, Summers would be on the fast track to Springfield. However, if the rules remain as they are now, requiring the ball to go all the way in the rim and down through the net, we are looking at quite possibly the worst NBA player of all time. It really could go either way.

Like I said, it was a very ordinary night at the Palace.

Then, things got weird. Really weird.

There was a timeout on the floor. Both teams went to their respective huddles. Music blared over the loud speakers. PA guy John Mason barked about some contest going on in the upper deck. And to the court came Hooper, the Pistons mascot.

Only, Hooper wasn't himself. He was moving at a snail's pace and it looked like he may have enjoyed about a half-dozen Heinekens before entering the building. But then I looked a little closer, and realized ol' Hoop had a reason for the restricted movement and abbreviated pace. Our mascot was on crutches.

I nudged BK and told him to check it out. He couldn't believe his eyes. An NBA mascot on crutches? Is that even legal?

We agreed maybe it was just part of a comedy bit. Maybe Hooper was going to feign injury, then a loud bang would go off, he'd fling the crutches aside, and the crowd would eat it up. But no such thing happened. He hobbled his way back to the tunnel and the night continued.

Midway through the 3rd, it was time for the "T-Shirt Toss," the most stale of all stadium gimmicks. The shirts are fired into the upper reaches of the crowd while throngs of screaming fans throw self-respect completely out the window and proceed to go absolutely berserk in trying to secure the cheap garment. Usually this event is right in Hooper's wheelhouse. He bounces around the court, determines which section is most passionate, and then directs his prizes accordingly. It's basically Mascot Heaven. But this was just...sad.

Hooper still had his crutches and clearly could not lead this event as is his custom. However, the Palace Patrol had come prepared. They wheeled this bizarre wagon-like contraption over to Hooper, and he struggled on board.

Just when you think you've seen all this world has to offer, here comes an old, beat up, NBA horse mascot forcing his way onto a makeshift T-shirt tossing machine. A more depressing sight I could not imagine.

The helpers pushed the ailing Hooper around the court, allowing him to work the cannon and blast the shirts. But the insanity that usually envelops the fans during this scene was absent. Instead, the crowd responded the same way they would if one of the favorites in the Kentucky Derby just collapsed on the home stretch with a shattered kneecap. Pure, unadulterated horror.

The thing that I haven't been able to wrap my head around is this.

I understand mascots get injured sometimes.

They are routinely flying off trampolines, roller skating across the floor, or somersaulting through a ring of fire. Accidents will occur.

But, if these furry heroes do get hurt, why not get a healthy replacement? Finding an adequate stand-in for this chronically mediocre mascot over the final few weeks would not have been difficult. Hell, you give me a couple Red Bulls and a few high-quality hallucinogens, and I'd throw on the outfit for a few hours. It ain't rocket science.

Or how about just going without a freaking mascot for a few games? Would that really have been the worst thing in the world? Would anybody have gone to a game, watched a couple quarters, and then screamed, "Hey, where has Hooper been tonight? I don't think I've seen Hooper!"

But anything would have been better than the current model of just sending out the same crippled Hooper night after depressing night.

Recently, Hooper and his fellow Piston spirit crew members went out for a community appearance. Hooper, being the honorable mascot that he is, called the event planner Daryl Hawkins ahead of time to let him know about his broken ankle. I love picturing how that conversation transpired.

Hooper: "Hey, so I'm uhh, on crutches. I messed up my ankle bad, dude."

Hawkins: "You're on crutches?!? But you're supposed to be the life of the party! How are you going to rev up the crowd and do your job if you can't move??"

Hooper: "Yeah, I can't answer that, man. I really just called to tell you to make sure there's beer. And some hay. I'm gonna be pretty hungry."

This Pistons season has been a nightmare from beginning to end. They've gotten blown out more times than I can remember and are headed for their worst record since the apocalyptic Sean Elliott-Olden Polynice squad in 1993-94. The players have underachieved, the coaches have lost control, and the fans have become disinterested. Our last safe haven was our mascot, and now he has fallen, too.

It's been one low point after another this year for the Pistons, but nothing will ever be as downright saddening as the night we saw Hooper on crutches.

Get better soon, big fella. For everybody's sake.

Don't forget to check out John Kuester's Year-in-Review, or return to the HSL Main Page

Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Ridin' High with the Giraffe Socks Legend

2010-04-06T00:38:00.016-04:00

As if the Pistons season had not become pathetic enough, now we have this weird issue at practice between Charlie Villanueva and Austin Daye. Apparently something major went down, but thankfully, both players did the mature thing by posting bizarre messages to their Twitter feeds all afternoon. Villanueva said, "This has been a very fustrating year, it just only got worse 2day, I have never experienced, in my 5 years, what I have experience this year." We learn here that Charlie V is definitely unhappy with his current situation, and also very confused as to when is the appropriate time to use a comma. The rookie Daye tweeted back with, "Sonthin happened to me today that won't every happen again and I'm just venting right now but I'm twisted mad and and gunna b ready 4 r game." Again, we see a not-so-peachy Detroit Piston and a less than stellar mastery of the English language. I like how Villanueva is simply "frustrated" with the incident, while Daye is actually "twisted mad." Sort of a sad representation of their personalities on the court too, isn't it? Villanueva is always floating around the floor, not really caring one way or another what happens. At least Daye seems to have an ounce of emotion in his body, even if he does lack any discernible basketball ability to go with it. Maybe we'll find out in the coming days what this whole fracas revolved around, but I can tell you one thing they were definitely not fighting over...a defensive rebound. Bup bup bup.

I'm not saying Barack Obama has the worst throwing motion of all-time, but let's just say he makes Lori Petty from A League of their Own look like Walter Johnson. That was atrocious, Mr. President, and I think we would all understand if you decided to step down as Commander in Chief, effective immediately. It was that bad. Health care, Schmealth Care; real issues take place at 60 feet, 6 inches. And when placed there Monday, Obama, the "Most powerful man in the free world," turned to jelly and looked about as confident as an aging cow at the starting line in the Farm Animal 100-Meter Dash. Absolutely brutal.

Most times, people are impressed with other people when they are able to come up with an answer to a really tough question or simply display a large amount of knowledge on a particular subject. Well, on Saturday I was wildly impressed with somebody for knowing absolutely nothing at all. At a stoppage during the MSU-Butler game, a few highlights of Geno Auriemma's dominating UCONN team were flashed across the screen. My Dad piped up and casually wondered aloud, "Has the women's tournament started yet?" This is a guy that knows more about the world of sports than 99% of the general public, and yet, he had absolutely no clue that the women's bracket had been unfolding for three weeks and that their Final Four was already set. Such complete unawareness of a particular topic has never been more refreshing.

Cameron Maybin got his 2010 campaign off to a rollicking start with an 0-for-4 at the dish, accompanied by a cute little trio of swinging strikeouts each time he faced Johan Santana. Fortunately for "Five Tools" Maybin, the Mets pulled Santana in the 7th with the game in hand, allowing Cameron the privilege of actually putting the ball in play, which he did by bouncing a depressing grounder to short for his final action of the day. I'd be shocked if this guy lasts the year in the big leagues, and if he does, I'd be doubly shocked if he hits above two-fiddy. He's basically like Willie Mays Hayes from Major League, only Maybin never seems to realize he should stop taking big cuts and instead be concentrating on slapping the ball around and using his speed to his advantage. If the Marlins were smart, they'd get Lou Brown on the horn immediately. He knows how to deal with guys like this. Brown would ensure Maybin's success by making sure he does several thousand push-ups while stressing the importance of hitting the ball on the ground.

That Andrew Bogut injury on Saturday night was quite simply one of the worst things I have ever witnessed. And this is coming from a guy that has seen 5 of 6 movies in the Saw franchise. (If you haven't seen the play, click here.) He just went up so high, and came down so hard, with one-hundred percent of the fall being absorbed by his woefully helpless right elbow. Oy, I cringe just thinking about it. Seriously, try and watch the highlight without audibly gasping or half-covering your eyes when Bogut is about to crash. It's not possible. Just a really tough break for the fightin' Glenn Robinsons. The team surprised everybody this season by overachieving with a weird mix of rookies, veterans, and complete journeymen. This injury, however, forces old warhorse Kurt Thomas into the starting lineup. And let's not forget, this is the same Kurt Thomas that led Division-I in scoring fifteen years ago. Not exactly the guy you want battling Dwight Howard 40 minutes a night come playoff time. The Bucks are still headed for a spot in the post season, but their chances of putting a scare into somebody were essentially obliterated with the loss of Bogut.

(Sidenote: Nobody has really had the guts to call out Amar'e Stoudemire on this play, but I'll do it. I thought it was dirty. Everybody knows that when a guy is either a) about to take off or b) already airborne, you stay away. Even the slightest bit of contact when a player is at this most vulnerable state can lead to devastating injuries, which was precisely the case here. Stoudemire trailed Bogut all the way, had no chance of stopping the eventual dunk, and should have simply stopped his own momentum and allowed the play to conclude. But instead, he trails closely behind, and when Bogut begins to elevate, places his hand ever so gently on the small of Bogut's back, giving the big fella just enough superfluous momentum to cause the horrific descent to the hardwood. I hate nothing more in basketball than a dirty play that leads to an injury, which is why at some point I will be devoting 12,000 words to Eric Snow sticking his foot under Chauncey's landing spot in the 2003 playoffs, and why I think capital punishment would have been an appropriate consequence in the aftermath of that situation.)

Placido Polanco bombed a grand slam and collected six ribbies for the Phillies on Opening Day. Still confused as to why Tigers' brass viewed Polanco as expendable this past off-season. I know money was an issue, but isn't three years at $6 million per a pretty fair deal for a career .300 hitter that plays Gold Glove defense at second? A lot of people are excited about young Scott Sizemore and the numbers he's put up as a minor leaguer, but forgive me if I'm a bit trepidatious. Frankly, I think I liked Sizemore better the first time he was with the Tigers...you know, when he was called Warren Morris.

Dear MLB Extra Innings 'Free Preview Week,'

I love you. Like, more than a friend.

-Yours Truly, High Socks Legend-

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Drop me a line at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Year in Review with Coach John Kuester

2010-04-01T02:41:00.001-04:00

Pistons P.R. Guy: I'd like to thank everybody for coming out this afternoon for the 2009-10 Year in Review with our head coach, John Kuester. The coach is here to answer any questions you may have about this past season. Let's begin.

Reporter: Coach, can you explain to us what happened with Ben Gordon this year? Twelve months ago, the guy was on top of the basketball world, leading the Bulls during what was quite possibly the best opening-round playoff series in NBA history. He blew up for 42 one night, 33 in the Game 7 loss, and seemed to have more confidence than anybody on the court. So how is it that in the span of one 82-game schedule, you were able to completely shatter Ben's confidence and also surgically remove any semblance of a soul that he had left?

Coach Kuester: Well, it wasn't easy, I'll tell you that. It all starts by making his role as unclear as possible. When Ben walked into the arena this year, he had no idea whether he'd be getting 35 minutes or 13. Maybe I'd throw him in the starting lineup, maybe not. He would have no idea until the game got going. Those things are crucial to removing a player's confidence. Also, I would often give him a quick hook if his first couple shots didn't go down. There is no way a guy will play to the best of his abilities when he's got that nervous feeling in the back of his mind, so that was very important as well. And let's not forget the instrumental contributions from Ben's ankle and groin, which he was able to borrow on loan this year from Joe Theismann and Nomar Garciaparra, respectively. Currently, Gentle Ben has gone 18 straight games without reaching the 20 point mark, which is by far a personal best for him after six years in the league. This is a guy that shot over 40% from 3-point land every year of his career; this year he's below 30. Going forward, we will just try to keep his role completely undefined like it has been all year, and frankly, just continue to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible whenever he steps foot on the court.

Reporter: Hey Kue, how important is it for you guys to finish last in the league in free throw shooting? I know you've been dead last for most of the year, and now you sit in 29th, one spot ahead of the Cavs for this honor. Wouldn't it be nice for your team to accomplish something this year??

Coach Kuester: Yes, obviously we are well aware of that race and are doing everything possible to finish the job. Make no mistake about it, we want this record. Haven't you noticed the increased burn for Kwame Brown lately? That's not an accident. The guy is an atrocious free thrower and that's earned him extended minutes. We aren't even in this race without his 5-for-20 effort in March, and his horrifying 35% on the year. Sometimes it looks like Kwame is trying to see if he can actually shatter the glass with one of his attempts, and lemme tell you something, I really hope the kid does it. You work that hard at something, you want to see results. One thing that has hurt us is the injury to Ben Wallace. He really had been so painfully bad at the line this year, and we've truly missed that 39% down the stretch. Who can forget the night that Gregg Popovich went to the Hack-a-Ben, and I left him in there to shoot 10 fourth quarter free throws??? You can't pay for memories like that. We just have to keep doing what we're doing, and hope Cleveland starts hitting a few. I mean, who does Antawn Jamison think he is, getting traded to the best team in the East and then transforming into a 46 percent foul shooter?? We won't stand for tank jobs like that. It might take putting Jason Maxiell (59%) at point guard and slashing Ben Gordon's (84%) minutes even further, but trust me, when all is said and done, we will be the worst free-throw shooting team in the National Basketball Association. You can quote me on that.

Reporter: The Pistons' trainer, Mike Abdenour, has been with the team for 31 years. He also happens to look just like the iconic Nintendo character Mario. But that being said, the team has suffered countless injuries this year and rarely has the full lineup been available. At what point do you cut the umbilical cord here, Coach?

Coach Kuester: It's a very tricky situation with Mr. Abdenour. Putting all our cards on the table here, I will tell you that we have fired Mike after each of the last three seasons. We clean out his office, give him a pink slip, and escort him out of the building. But I'll be darned, when we open training camp the following season, the little fella is right back on the bench, stuffing himself into that Youth Small sweater vest and cleaning Rip Hamilton's face mask. In a few weeks, we will bring in Bowser and Koopa Troopa, remove all mushrooms from the facility, and try to let him go again, but it likely will not matter. Mario never goes down without a fight.

Reporter: John, it seemed like Charlie Villanueva was starting to come on a bit of late. He had three straight games scoring in double figures and was finally beginning to display a consistent human pulse. But then you played him just five minutes in Sunday's loss to Chicago. Is there any truth to the rumor that you are planning to install an actual dog house at the end of your bench next season for Charlie V to crawl into when he is not in the game?

Coach Kuester: Yes, that is true, and I'll tell ya what, we are very excited about the possibilities with this. Joe Dumars and I have been spending a lot of our free time at IKEA looking at all kinds of different models and designs, and we think Charlie is really going to be happy with the end result. There's one particular dog house that we think will be perfect. It has enough space for a sleeping bag, a pillow, and a little shelf for an alarm clock. That way, Charlie can get some good rest when he's not playing, while also remaining perfectly clueless as to the flow and direction of the game out on the floor. I can call him out of the dog house, throw him in the game, and he can go jack up senseless 25-footers with no real idea of who's winning or how much time is left. It's essentially the same situation we have now; this would just make it official. A win-win for everybody involved.

Reporter: Coach, Rodney Stuckey is about to complete his third NBA season and he is still light years away from being a legitimate NBA point guard. Is there a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, or should we just politely accept the fact that he's never gonna be more than a glorified version of Robert Pack?

Coach Kuester: Rodney is really coming along as a point guard, and with a couple more years of tutelage under Chucky Atkins- hold on, I just threw up in my mouth a little- we think he will become one of the top assist guys in the whole league. Here's who Rodney is, in a nutshell. He's at a kid's birthday party at a bowling alley. The last frames are rolled and the pizza is being delivered to the tables over by the Claw Grabber machines. Rodney darts over before anyone else can get there, helps himself to the three largest slices of the pie, and sits down to enjoy his Za. Once he has devoured every last morsel of cheese, sauce, and crust, he will then go find the birthday boy: he will help him scrounge up any remaining grub, refill his glass of Coke, and make sure all the presents are up front and accounted for so the gift opening process can go on without a hitch. His ultimate reaction was all well and good, but it was not his first reaction. His initial move was to help himself to the pizza, fill up his own belly, and then go forward in helping his buddy out. That's not the behavior of a true point guard. Steve Nash wants to hook up Amare, Richardson, and everybody else. Then he will look for his own offense; but still, never at the expense of getting his own teammates involved. Unfortunately, we are still teaching Rodney these essential skills, and like I said, Chucky Atkins remains heavily involved in this process. Uhh, you're gonna have to excuse me...I think I'm gonna be sick.

Drop a thought on Kuester and the Pistons, or send me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

MSU Lives, Ashley Judd Cheers, and Omar Samhan Continues to Take Over the World

2010-03-25T00:20:00.006-04:00

Sparty

I'm not sure I have ever seen a team endure as many highs and lows in the course of one 40-minute basketball game as Michigan State did on Sunday.

-(High) The Spartans storm out of the gate, building up a double-digit lead after just ten minutes.

-(Low) Kalin Lucas crumples to the floor towards the end of the half. The team would no longer have its leader.

-(Low) Maryland begins to chip away in the 2nd half, cutting the lead to just 5.

-(High) Durrell Summers to the rescue, scoring 11 points in three minutes. Men in Green by 15.

-(High) I enjoy a perfectly toasted egg bagel with a nice glass of C-Milk (Chocolate, for the uninformed).

-(Low) ACC Player of the Year Greivis Vasquez will simply not go quietly into the good night. He rips off 10 points in the final 1:54, capped off by a feathery floater with 7 ticks left, putting his Terps up by one.

-(Ultimate High) Draymond Green (suddenly a flawless ball handler) dribbles up the floor, and exhibiting as much patience as you will ever see in a last-second, down by one situation, turns and lasers a pass to Korie Lucious at the top of the key. And I think you know what happens next...

It was a wild day with an even wilder finish. The Spartans' best player went down, his replacement stepped in, and canned the game-winning trey with nothing but zeros showing on the clock. Spielberg couldn't have scripted it better.

But now, reality sets in. Tom Izzo and his merry band of followers must continue their voyage through the bracket without Kalin Lucas. Opposing teams promise to have no sympathy.

Fortunately, the team awaiting them is not big, bad, Kansas, the tournament's #1 overall seed. Instead, it is little Northern Iowa, from the little town of Cedar Falls, led by their little point guard Ali Farokhmanesh. But this team is no pushover.

They play devastating defense in the half-court, holding high-powered Kansas to just 67 points, its lowest total in 10 games. They start three seniors and a junior, a rarity in today's one-and-done world of college hoops. They bring an actual circus freak off the bench in 6'6" forward Lucas O' Rear. (Rumor has it that O' Rear is the bastard love child of Birdman Andersen and Amy Winehouse.) So this team pretty much has it all. Except one thing became painfully clear in the win over Kansas.

This team doesn't like being pressed. Not one bit.

The Panthers had maintained a steady lead throughout the game. They shot better than Kansas, they played better defense than Kansas. They were simply the better team on that day. But, when Bill Self finally decided to unleash the hounds and attack these guys using all 94 feet of hardwood, the momentum shifted in the blink of an eye. Northern Iowa couldn't get the ball past half court. They threw long cross-court passes that were easily picked off and taken for quick layups. Sometimes, they couldn't even get the ball inbounded at all. Quite honestly, I've never seen a team so spooked to be facing a little full-court pressure.

But alas, it was too little, too late. Had Bill Self unveiled this pressure earlier in the contest, would the final result have been different? In all likelihood, yes.

Much like Kansas, Michigan State will have the advantage athletically over the kids from Upper Iowa. After all, we are talking about a top tier Big Ten school against a group from the Missouri Valley Conference. It's not quite apples and oranges, but it's something like it. If guys like Raymar Morgan and Durrell Summers can tap into their superior athletic ability and let loose on Friday night, I don't think the Panthers can keep up.

Now, if the game becomes a slogging half-court war of attrition, that's a different story. Kalin Lucas' absence will be spotlighted and the Spartans will struggle mightily to put points on the board. It is imperative that Izzo get his troops to push the pace, pressure the UNI ball handlers, and force the Panthers into an unfamiliar early deficit.

The Midwest Regional opened up wider than a clown's mouth at a miniature golf course when the Jayhawks got bounced from the proceedings. Now it's time for Raymar, Durrell, Draymond, and Korie to step on through.

Ashley

Everything about the Kentucky Wildcats screams "sure thing." They have a point guard (John Wall) that is the odds-on favorite to be the #1 overall pick in this summer's NBA Draft. They have another likely lottery pick in 6-foot-11 DeMarcus Cousins, a freakish athlete who could rack up double-doubles in his sleep. There's Eric Bledsoe, the freshman sniper, knocking down 15-of-24 shots in the first two rounds, including a sparkling 9-of-12 from downtown. And just for good measure, they throw in Patrick Patterson, the seasoned veteran of the group, and another player destined for the Association. But something just doesn't feel quite right. Try and stay with me here.

The most famous fan of UK hoops is the lovely and talented Ashley Judd. She has starred in countless movies over the years, one of which was the 2002 military thriller/drama High Crimes. Judd plays an attorney that has her life turned upside-down when her seemingly perfect husband (Jim Caviezel) is taken into custody for the murders of nine innocents that he may or may not have committed as a Sergeant with the U.S. Marines years ago.

Caviezel insists that he was not part of the killings, that he did nothing wrong. We are introduced to multiple characters that all seem to be working together to frame this man, and pin the blame on him for something he had nothing to do with. There are conflicting stories, sketchy eyewitnesses, and attempts at a cover-up whenever Judd seems to be getting close to the truth.

Finally, with the help of a drunken Morgan Freeman, Judd convinces the jury they have the wrong man and Caviezel is set free. All is well in the world as Ashley and her man drive off into the sunset.

He'd proclaimed his innocence throughout, the loyal wife did all she could to get him off, the final verdict was 100% in their favor, and here they were, just two lovebirds in some remote cabin celebrating the victory. But you just couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It all just seemed too easy. About five minutes later, every one of those suspicions came true.

Caviezel pretends he is going out for a bottle of champagne, only to return a minute later with a crazed look in his eye that tells us all we need to know; "This guy has been guilty the whole time." He turns on Judd and tries to choke her out. Thankfully, he is gunned down during the scrap and our beautiful heroine survives.

What this story illustrates is that sometimes things just seem too perfect.

Caviezel was the perfect man with the perfect wife with the perfect alibi. But there was this huge, dark, secret just waiting to be exposed the whole time. In the end, it was.

Just like Ashley Judd's perfect 2010 Kentucky Wildcats basketball team. They have the all-world point guard, the silky-smooth 2-man, the Powers of Pain up front, and the slickest coach in the business, John Calipari, leading the troops. Their record sits at a near-flawless 34 and 2, with both losses coming in super-tight road affairs where they were either tied or within one point in the last two minutes of the game. They coasted through their first two tournament games, smashing East Tennessee State by 29 and Wake Forest by 30. There really isn't an obvious chink in the armor.

But something's missing. I just don't know exactly what it is. Maybe they rely too much on their freshmen. Maybe they don't have enough threats from three-point land. Maybe Calipari is just snakebit when he gets deep in the tournament.

When you have a feeling, sometimes you gotta go with it. And something about this Kentucky squad just feels funny. I'm not saying they'll lose to Cornell, and I'm not even saying they won't make it to the Final Four; but somewhere along the line, just like Jimmy Caviezel at the end of High Crimes, the truth will come out and this squad will go down.

Ashley Judd just can't catch a break...

The Big Fella

The most dominant player thus far in the tournament has undoubtedly been man-mountain Omar Samhan, the senior from Saint Mary's. Through just two games, Samhan has tallied an astounding 61 points to go with 19 rebounds. He is relatively nimble for a guy his size (listed 6'11", 260) and has an extremely soft touch around the basket. The free throw line has also become Samhan's friend this year, where he has converted on 74% of his attempts (he was just a 59% shooter as a sophomore). And even though he possesses the foot speed of Babe Ruth and the leaping ability of Ruth Riley, Samhan has still become an almost unstoppable force on the offensive end. But the way opposing coaches have chosen to defend him during the tournament has boggled my mind.

In the first two rounds, Samhan and the Saint Mary's Gaels faced off against Richmond and Villanova. Neither team is blessed with a ton of size. One would think that this lack of height and bulk would force these coaches to bring plenty of help on Samhan, to double him repeatedly on the catch and then do your best to rotate out to shooters when the ball is kicked out. Yes, one would think. But that is not at all what happened. Instead, both Chris Mooney and Jay Wright gambled that they could handle the big fella one-on-one, thinking that staying home on the shooters was more important. Hmm...I always thought that canning a long 22-footer was more difficult than a near 7-footer popping in little baby hooks from right around the rim, but apparently some coaches disagree. And the funny thing is, I haven't seen Samhan prove that he's a legitimate passer out of a double team.

On the rare occasion that one of these teams would bring help to their helpless post defenders, Samhan looked uncomfortable. He telegraphed passes and made silly turnovers. As a matter of fact, through two games, Samhan has attempted 32 shots, taken 18 free throws, but has yet to record a single assist. In his last eight games, he has a grand total of three helpers. That means teams are not doing a good enough job getting the ball out of his hands and forcing everyone else to beat them.

If you remember, when Hakeem Olajuowon was at his most dominant for the Rockets in the mid-90's on the way to back-to-back titles, it was often guys like Robert Horry, Mario Elie, and Kenny Smith knocking down clutch 3s in the closing minutes. This isn't to suggest that Olajuwon was unable to make big buckets down the stretch. In fact, just the opposite. Teams knew they had no chance of stopping Dream one-on-one, so they did their best to double down, rotate, and hope the shooters missed. It was the only chance they had.

Saint Mary's won the West Coast Conference tournament this year, knocking off Gonzaga in the finals. The Zags kept it close for about 35 minutes before Samhan and Co. pulled away late. But at least Mark Few and his staff had the right idea. They surrounded Samhan, whether or not he had the ball. They bothered him throughout the night, and he never got into a good rhythm. He attempted just nine shots, and scored just nine points (the only time in 33 games he was held to single digits). Unfortunately for Gonzaga, the Gaels' shooters were on fire. They shot nearly 50% from outside the arc and knocked down 10 treys by game's end. It's like a poker hand where you make the right read, but get drawn out on the river. You may have lost some coin, but least you can leave the table knowing you played it right.

Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

It's a Smile...

2010-03-22T01:23:00.002-04:00

It's good to know that Rip Hamilton has not thrown in the towel and is continuing to keep up the intensity in the face of a disastrous Pistons season. Phhhhhh. Yeah, either that, or the complete opposite of that. Rip was absolutely corpse-like on the court over the weekend, going scoreless (with 3 turnovers) in a loss to Indiana, and then knocking home 1 of 8 in the blowout defeat to the Cavs last night. Your 2009-10 Detroit Pistons, ladies and gentlemen. "Going to Work, Every Night. Well, not Every Night...but at Least Two or Three Times a Month."

The Joe Nathan injury will not wind up hurting the Twins nearly as much as everyone thinks it will. The closer spot is one of the most interchangeable positions in all of sports. Look at a guy like Ryan Franklin, a journeyman right hander who tried unsuccessfully for years to be a solid major league starter, but wound up getting the ball in the 9th for St. Louis last year, and reeled off 38 saves for a playoff team. Examples like this can be found every year around the league. The Twins will plug in veteran guys like Matt Guerrier and Jesse Crain when the 9th inning rolls around, and they will be just fine. And worse comes to worst, they can always go bring Everyday Eddie Guardado back to town. It seems like the big boy's about due for another go-round with the Twinkies, doesn't it?

Boy, that John Malkovich sure was scary in Con Air. He made Charles Rane from Passenger 57 look like an upstanding citizen.

Fictional Boxer Bio of the Week: JaSharkus Cummings

-This fighter has zero idea that he is actually in the ring to "box." He merely smells another human's blood and instinctively attacks. Has two legs and two arms just like your average American male; the only difference with this guy is that he has a moon-shaped fin sticking out of his back. JaSharkus can live above or below water, making him half platypus, half man, and about three-fifths pure psycho. A 5-foot-5 omnivore, this cat will slice you, dice you, marinate you...then he'll go to work on ya. Just watch your back; but don't even dare look at his. Because if you do, and he sees you "checkin' out his fin," you'll have slept your last wink.

I get abnormally fired up about 8-second violations in the NBA. Whenever a team is bringing the ball up court, and I see that shot clock start to tick down in the 19-18 range, all bets are off. There is generally screaming involved, and rarely am I able to remain seated until the ball crosses the timeline. This is not just the Pistons, either. Any game, any team, any situation. I just find this whole sequence to be extremely dramatic; and if the violation actually does wind up occurring...well, let's just say the biggest mess ain't taking place on the court.

Defense is purely optional under Don Nelson in Golden State, and most times, it is deemed downright unacceptable. In the month of March alone, the Warriors have surrendered 123 to Memphis, 124 to Kobe and Friends, 127 to the Hawks, 135 to New Orleans, and a scoreboard-bursting ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN POINTS on Friday night to a middle of the road offensive club in the San Antonio Spurs. I'm fairly certain Geno Auriemma's girls from UCONN could hit the century mark against this squad. Yikes.

Is there anything better in life than a real good bowl of macaroni and cheese? The answer to that question would be "No, there is not." It's such a cozy choice, allowing even a little baby like myself to feel like an adult by ordering a grown-up "pasta" dish like all the other sophisticates around the table. I've often had dreams of a restaurant where all they serve is Mac, in various forms with multiple cheese options at your disposal. You tellin' me you wouldn't go to this place a couple times a day, maybe 8-9 times a week? Of course you would. And there's probably a good chance you'd see me there, too.

NCAA Tournament Thoughts and Sweet 16 Predictions Coming Later in the Week. Reach me at highsockslegend@gmail.com

HSL Big Dance Breakdown, Part Four: The Final Predictions

2010-03-18T01:09:00.011-04:00

Final Predictions for the 2010 NC Double-A Tournament

Ohio State emerges as the Final Four entrant from the Midwest Regional. Evan Turner is already well known to college hoops fans across the country, but he's got ample support, too. William Buford has come on strong in the latter part of the year, and possesses a similar type of skill set as the future lottery pick Turner. Jonny Diebler provides the firepower from long range, while space-eater Dallas Lauderdale does his part to keep the Buckeyes from getting overwhelmed inside. The main concern with this club is their extremely short rotation, which could cause them to wear down as the tournament progresses. But I'm a big believer in Thad Matta, and have been impressed with his work ever since he took underdog Xavier to the Elite Eight in 2004 with my good friend Romain Sato leading the way. Columbus rejoices as the Bucks make it to Indianapolis to take on the...

Butler Bulldogs. Yessiree, the Horizon League champs will finally make their mark when it counts and turn the West Regional upside-down. Like Ohio State, they will not come at you with a ton of players, but the ones they do throw on the court are very, very good. Sophmore Gordon Hayward is already being talked about as a future NBA ballplayer. He's 6-foot-9, can shoot the ball from anywhere on the floor, and is a terror on the glass. Shelvin Mack has hit big shots all year, and seems to get better as the stakes get higher. The main concern with this team is their lack of size. Matt Howard is their best inside player, but he's just 6'8" and wears a giant T-shirt under his jersey to hide the lack of muscle definition underneath. But that being said, this is still your typical Butler squad that plays exceptionally smart, makes plenty of 3s, and forces you into tough shots on the defensive end. With the Final Four being played right at home, it would be the ultimate Cinderella story to have little ol' Butler busting the bracket and dancing all the way to the semifinals. Either that, or UTEP is just too physical down low and Butler's on a plane back to campus by 7:00 tonight. Hey, at least I took a shot!

My brother Sam will express his undying love for Luke Harangody at least 700 times over the course of the tourney, regardless of how many games the Dame plays. He's truly obsessed with the guy, to the point where I worry that one time when I go in his room he's gonna have Gody pictures plastered all over his wall like that psychotic mathematician from A Beautiful Mind. I'm just scared about the possibility of the Irish making a legitimate run through the bracket and Sam's excitement level gradually building to a point that just might be downright unhealthy. Let's all root for Old Dominion to end this thing right away...for everybody's sake.
Michigan State will not advance past the Sweet 16. Maybe they get by Maryland in round two, but that's as far as they go. It's just not the same Spartan team we saw early in the year. Chris Allen's in trouble, Durrell Summers is in the doghouse, and that Garrick Sherman character gets a little bit whiter every time he steps foot on the court. I would not be surprised in the least if he shows up to the first practice next fall as an actual ghost. The excellent play of Raymar Morgan has been a pleasant surprise, but it just won't be enough to get Izzo's crew to the same heights they reached last April.

Out of the East, I can't see a scenario where 32-2 Kentucky does not float through the bracket and get to Indy. John Calipari's team has been as consistent as any group in the country all year long, and boasts a wealth of young talent from several different spots on the floor. John Wall is the odds-on favorite for #1 overall pick in June's NBA Draft. He's a super-athletic 6-foot-4 point guard that is deadly in the open court. His outside shot still needs plenty of work, but at this level, he can still get by just fine with what he's got. The painted area is also in good hands with this squad. DeMarcus Cousins is a jumping-jack freshman at 6'11", and grizzled junior Patrick Patterson takes care of whatever is left. Calipari has been down this road before, and knows exactly what it takes to navigate through the maze successfully. Don't forget that if Chris Douglas-Roberts and Derrick Rose hit their free throws a couple years ago, this guy is a former National Championship-winning coach, and not just some guy in a $5,000 suit that looks like he spent the last 2 and a half hours applying mousse to his perfectly maintained lettuce.
My cousin Mayer will make a flawless prediction at some point in the next three weeks. For instance, last year, when I wrote that Michigan State would have a decided advantage against North Carolina playing at home in Ford Field during the Final Four, and that this edge could quite possibly push the Spartans over the top, Mayer called shenanigans on me and set the story straight. He pointed out that this exact game took place just a couple months prior, and that the Tar Heels made mincemeat of MSU in the very same Ford Field. Mayer turned out to be 150% right as Carolina won that final game by 150 points. Can't wait to see what the wise one has in store for us this time around.
I hate to say it, but I think this is the year Mike Krzyzewski brings his Duke Blue Devils back to the Final Four. It's been a good long while since Coach K danced to the final, but the drought ends now. Kyle Singler and Jon Scheyer are both fantastic shooters, from the 3-point line and the charity stripe. Nolan Smith has come into his own this year, and is the perfect third banana for the Devils on offense. Duke employs their usual brand of physical, unforgiving defense, and that will be the difference as they waltz through their region unscathed for the first time since 2004.
As for the semi-finals and the finals (even though it's silly to predict outcomes of games that most likely will not happen), I like Evan Turner to best Gordon Hayward in one half of the bracket, and for Duke to knock off Kentucky on the other side in an epic battle between two powerhouse programs. As for the championship, and it pains me to say this, but I like the Buckeyes. I mean, don't get me wrong, I hate the Buckeyes. But I have been wildly impressed with Evan Turner's overall game and ability to remain poised even as his team faces a late deficit in a hostile setting. He can win the MOP award at the Final Four and ride off into the sunset, where he will almost undoubtedly be one of the first three players selected in the upcoming NBA draft.
OR, I could be dead wrong about everything. That's what makes the NCAA tournament the best event in all of sports. Okay, second best. I really do love that World Strongman Championship.

Enjoy the tournament, people...

Leave your tournament predictions here, or drop me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

HSL Big Dance Breakdown, Part Three: The Middle Seeds

2010-03-17T00:38:00.008-04:00

The 7 vs. 10 Games: Only one 7-seed has advanced all the way to the Final Four; Rick Carlisle's Virginia Cavaliers in 1984.

(7) Oklahoma State vs. (10) Georgia Tech

Like all 7-10 matchups, not an easy one to call, but I like the Cowboys. They played in the rough-and-tumble Big 12, were the only team in conference play to knock off Kansas, and feature a high-flying 2-guard in James Anderson that can take over a game all by himself. Georgia Tech has come on strong late in the season, making it to the finals of the ACC Tournament, but starting two freshmen and a sophomore in the Big Dance can sometimes lead to disaster. Look for Glen Rice, Jr. suiting up for the Yellow Jackets. Somehow, despite being the son of one of the best shooters of all-time, Little Rice shoots just 52% from the free throw line. He might have to join the "Jeff Jordan-Jeremiah Rivers Support Group" pretty soon.

(7) BYU vs. (10) Florida

I like the Mormons in this spot. The last three seasons, they've been pegged as an 8-seed, and have come up empty each time. This year, they were rewarded with a 7, and I think they'll finally get it done. Little Jimmer Fredette is a phenomenal shooter (47% from 3, 88% FT) that poured in 75 points in BYU's two conference tournament games last weekend. Florida is a squad that just seems to have lacked much punch or energy since the Noah-Horford-Brewer group won their titles and moved on. This year's attack is spearheaded by 5'8" gunner Erving Walker, a player so anxious to hoist from deep that he has actually taken some threes this year without ever possessing the ball. Go with the Cougs in this one, and don't be surprised if they put a little scare into Kansas State in round two.

(7) Clemson vs. (10) Missouri

History is not exactly on the side of Clemson in this one. The Tigers have not won a game in the NCAA tournament since 1997. Worse, their coach, Oliver Purnell, has been coaching Division-I ball for 22 years and is still looking for his first tournament victory. But, I think the drought finally ends here. Trevor Booker is a beast inside and Missouri is a finesse team that is lacking in the bulk department. They try to speed their opponents up and make them play their style, but Clemson is also plenty athletic and won't succumb to the frenetic ball pressure. With both teams enduring their fair share of ups and downs throughout the year, I wouldn't expect a prolonged run from either group, but I think Purnell can finally breathe easy after this game and celebrate tourney victory #1.

(7) Richmond vs. (10) Saint Mary's

This game presents an interesting battle of team strengths. Richmond has two outstanding guards, led by A-10 Player of the Year Kevin Anderson. Saint Mary's boasts the services of mammoth senior center Omar Samhan, a 260-pound immovable object on the interior. He averaged 21 and 11 on the year, and also had six games where he collected five or more swats. In a game like this, when dominant seniors can be found on both sides, I tend to lean in the direction of the team with the guards. They are the ones controlling the game, and no defensive alignment can keep them from handling the rock on every possession. But with Samhan, Richmond can junk up their defense, surround him on the block, and make everyone else beat them. In the WCC title game, Samhan got just 9 shot attempts, converting only 3. Richmond scampers on.

The 8 vs. 9 Games: The winner of this matchup has taken down the #1 seed in the following round just 12 of 100 times.

(8) UNLV vs. (9) Northern Iowa

The Panthers from Northern Iowa are known for their suffocating defense, allowing just 44 PPG in their three cakewalk victories through the Missouri Valley Tournament. In the first round of last year's tourney, they gave Purdue all they could handle. UNLV on the other hand, is an inexperienced crew led by a coach (Lon Kruger) that has not had a hair out of place since 1997. Plus, Northern Iowa starts three guys with the last names Eglseder, Ahelegbe, and Farokhmanesh. That spells F-U-N to me. The Hooked on Phonics boys get it done.

(8) Gonzaga vs. (9) Florida State

Every March, I fall in love with the Zags and wind up penciling them in all the way to the Final Four and beyond. And it always backfires. Adam Morrison, Jeremy Pargo, Austin Daye...it never works out. So I'm resisting the temptation this year. I'm backing the 'Noles, even if they are one of the most mediocre teams in the entire field. I guess what I'm hoping for is that neither of these teams advances, if there's any way that can be made possible.

(8) Texas vs. (9) Wake Forest

Wake Forest enters this game losers of 5 of their last 6, including a 21-point woodshed job in the ACC tournament at the hands of last-place Miami (FL). Texas also sputtered to the finish line, dropping 3 of 5 down the stretch, each loss by 15 points or more. I think the Longhorns' muscular front line will be the difference, but I wouldn't recommend sending this game tape to Springfield, Mass anytime soon.

(8) California vs. (9) Louisville

My buddy BK is a pretty hard-core fan of the Cal Bears. The main reason for this being that Adam Duritz, the front man of his favorite band (Counting Crows), attended Berkeley and has been their biggest celebrity groupie for years. So BK has jumped on board and become a Cal guy himself. More often than not, this obsession turns into disappointment right around mid-March as the Bears get whacked by a better team early in the bracket. I don't see this year being any different. Pitino tells Mike Montgomery, Goodnight L.A.

The #6 Seeds: I enjoy picking 6-seeds to knock off the #3 in the following round. It's a way of saying, "Hey, I'm willing to get a little crazy; but in a nice, polite way."

Tennessee (vs. San Diego State)

This hasn't been a typical Bruce Pearl year at Tennessee. The Vols were up and down all year long. They had off the court problems and had to dismiss their best player, Tyler Smith. They had nights where they looked unbeatable (knocking off Kansas and Kentucky at home), and then nights where they looked absolutely dreadful (getting blasted by Pac-10 also-ran USC). That being said, I've still seen Pearl do some incredible things come money time, especially during his years at UW-Milwaukee. Rocky Top in a squeaker.

Xavier (vs. Minnesota)

The Mr. Basketball award in Michigan was won by little Brad Redford in 2008. He decided to take his lethal three-point shot to Xavier. But after a decent freshman year and a solid start to this campaign, he has seen his playing time almost evaporate completely down the stretch. He's shot the long ball at well over 40% in both years, but somehow, he hasn't been able to get consistent time for the Musketeers. It makes you wonder how a guy like John Beilein that craves outside shooters couldn't convince Redford to stay in-state and jack up countless treys wearing the Maize and Blue for the next four years. You're telling me Redford wouldn't be infinitely more effective than a guy like Laval Lucas-Perry, or even Stu "I make shots once a month" Douglass? Oh well, might end up being a lose-lose for both parties.

Marquette (vs. Washington)

Not too high on the Golden Eagles this year, but that being said, I think the winner of this game knocks off 3rd-seeded New Mexico in round two. I just think Washington comes in as the hotter team here, and also, I'm not comfortable backing a head coach named "Buzz."

Notre Dame (vs. Old Dominion)

It's the Luke Harangody show!! Have you ever been more confused at a particular player's dominance? You watch this guy for 10 minutes; he's rumbling awkwardly down the court, he's flicking up mid-range Js that make Shawn Marion's delivery look smooth, and he appears to be carrying about an extra 20 or 25 in the tummy region. But somehow, the guy produces night in and night out, often pumping in more than 30 points. I'm just not sure how. I think March might turn into the "Month of 'Gody." Either that, or there is the distinct possibility that I've gone completely out of my mind. I'll take the former on that one.

See ya tomorrow for the Madness Preview finale, including Final Four and championship game predictions.

Drop a bracket-related thought of your own, or float me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

HSL Big Dance Breakdown, Part Two: The Cinderellas

2010-03-16T00:51:00.004-04:00

14: A pesky group of 14s, here. Look out...

Ohio (vs. Georgetown)

Big Ten followers might remember the name Armon Bassett, a 6'2" guard that played two years at Indiana before jumping ship during the Kelvin Sampson fiasco. After being a pretty good complimentary piece during his time in Bloomington, Bassett has now emerged as Mr. Everything for this Bobcats squad. In their four MAC tournament games, Bassett played 165 of a possible 170 minutes, averaged 29 a night, and got to the line almost 15 times per game. Ohio will have their hands full with the streaking Hoyas in this spot, but if Bassett continues to scorch the nets and get to the line like Wilt Chamberlain, anything's possible.

Oakland (vs. Pittsburgh)

While Pitt is always a very physical team that will hound you on the defensive end, this is not a terrible draw for Greg Kampe's Golden Grizzlies. They get to play in Milwaukee, which is only a stone's throw from Detroit (okay, about a six-hour drive, but not too bad). And OU's Keith Benson, the Summit League Player of the Year, will be the biggest and baddest guy on the court for either team. Pitt doesn't throw a ton of size at you, and if Benson stays out of foul trouble, he might be able to turn the painted area into his own personal domain on Friday afternoon. Two other players to keep an eye on: Derrick Nelson, a 9th-year Senior forward that exploded for 36 in the conference championship game; and Blake Cushingberry, Oakland's supersized shooting guard. He stands just 6-foot-3, but I'd say he carries at least a solid deuce-seventy in that frame. Well done, sir.

Montana (vs. New Mexico)

Wouldn't be the worst spot to pick an upset. Anthony Johnson for Montana is an unstoppable force on the offensive end, going off for 42 in the Big Sky title game. And doesn't it just seem a little bit strange to see New Mexico as a 3-seed? Something doesn't feel right here.

Sam Houston State (vs. Baylor)

There's some bad karma at play with this club. First of all, their nickname: the Bearkats. You read that correctly. Bearkat, with a K. I know Sam Houston State is not exactly the Harvard of the South, but you figure they could have at least brought in some knowledgeable middle-schoolers to aid with this spelling. And in an even worse slice of karma, Sam Houston, the fun-loving wrestler from the mid to late 80's, is now serving a ten-year prison sentence for multiple DUI arrests. And right before that, his house was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. But yeah, besides all that, I really like their chances against Baylor. Phhhhhh.

13: We're the 13-seeds. And we're about to break your heart.

Houston (vs. Maryland)

This contest will feature one of the best individual matchups of the opening round with Houston's Aubrey Coleman facing off against Maryland's Greivis Vasquez. Both are senior guards that most definitely do not require an invitation to shoot. Coleman led the nation in scoring with 26 a game, while Vasquez took home Player of the Year honors in the ACC. The winner of this one will most likely find Michigan State waiting in round two.

Murray State (vs. Vanderbilt)

A unique team. Six players average between 9.5 and 10.6 PPG. Their tournament MVP was a freshman...that comes off the bench. The Racers also racked up a highly impressive 30-4 mark on the year, although it did come against a cupcake schedule that included back-to-back matchups in late December against a Deering High squad led by Anthony Anderson and Coach Dick Butkus. And the best they could do was split.

Wofford (vs. Wisconsin)

The kids from Wofford are making the school's first ever trip to the Big Dance, and history tells us it might be a very short visit. See, earlier this year, Wofford got wasted at Illinois by 14. And in Illinois' regular season finale, Wisconsin trampled them by 15. Combine those two results, and we discover that Wisconsin is 29 points better than Wofford. Simple math.

Siena (vs. Purdue)

Dear CBS,

Please do not stick us with regional coverage of this game. Really. We understand it is a Big Ten team, and that we should be interested. But we're not. Please show us something else. We thank you for your expected cooperation in this matter.

Signed, The Entire State of Michigan

12: Mister Twelve has won 5 of the last 8 meetings with his annual rival, Dr. Five-Seed.

New Mexico State (vs. Michigan State)

The surprise WAC tournament champion enters their matchup with Michigan State riding a wave of momentum, but the buck will stop here. The Aggies rely on their duo of high-scoring guards, Jahmar Young (right) and Jonathan Gibson. But this team is not overly physical and lacks consistent effort on the defensive end; not a great recipe for success heading into a bullfight with Tom Izzo and Co. A quick glance at New Mexico State's non-conference schedule reveals some pretty significant cracks in their armor. They played on the road against Saint Mary's and UCLA, and dropped both games by identical 100 to 68 scores. They played archrival New Mexico twice and lost each time by double digits. They took on fellow tournament qualifier UTEP at home, and got rolled by 21. When this team steps up in competition, it doesn't generally turn out very well. And it won't here, either.

UTEP (vs. Butler)

An interesting battle between two clubs that absolutely dominated their respective leagues during the regular season. UTEP went 15-1 in Conference USA, while Butler did them one better in their spotless 18-0 jaunt through the Horizon. It should be a competitive game, but Butler just plays too smart and is too experienced to get knocked off this early in the proceedings.

Cornell (vs. Temple)

I know this is the "hot" upset pick, and everybody and their brother are jumping on the Big Red bandwagon, and that this is typically the death-knell for an upset-minded team, but I say screw it: make room for one more guy on the Cornell train. These guys absolutely throttled the competition in the Ivy League, and lost by just five points in Lawrence against the Jayhawks. Ryan Wittman (son of Randy) is one of the best shooters in the country, and 7-footer Jeff Foote is a present-day Jon Koncak. Their opponent, Temple, makes the game extremely ugly and keeps the score low, but look for the experienced crew from Ithaca to advance into the round of 32.

Utah State (vs. Texas A & M)

Hey, it's the Aggies versus the Aggies. Cue lame play-by-play guy right before tipoff..."Well Jim, we should be in for a good one today, and I might be goin' out on a limb here, but I think the Aggies are gonna take this one!!" Bup, bup, bup...that's hilarious, dude. You here all week??

11: Two of the 6 vs. 11 matchups last year were decided by one point.

San Diego State (vs. Tennessee)

In both 1992 and 1993, Steve Fisher took his Fab Fivers and advanced all the way to the National Championship game. The following year, Chris Webber jumped ship, but Fisher still led the Wolverines to the Elite Eight. That's 13 NCAA victories in a three year span. It's been sixteen years since, and Fisher is yet to win another game in the tournament. But as Nicolas Cage said of his beloved Nets in The Family Man, "The Nets? Are you kidding? They suck. But they're due. They're certainly due..."

Minnesota (vs. Xavier)

Simple postseason rule for 2010: if you drop two games to Michigan during the year, and one of those losses is a 28-point thrashing at near-dormant Crisler Arena, then you are not going anywhere in the NCAA Tournament. As Kevin Bacon coldly stated in A Few Good Men, "These are the facts; and they are indisputable."

Washington (vs. Marquette)

This game has first-round classic written all over it. The Huskies are led by a lightning-quick guard named Isaiah Thomas. But unlike the original Zeke, this one is left handed, stands just 5-foot-9, and basically shoots the ball every time he touches it. U-Dub by 1 in a mini-upset.

Old Dominion (vs. Notre Dame)

One of those quirky 12:25 starts on Thursday afternoon where the arena is half-empty, the players are still waking up, and midway through the first half, the score is 11-10 with both teams combining for a zillion turnovers. First team to 35 wins this one.

Two more days till the Madness officially commences.

See ya tomorrow for Part Three.

Drop a bracket-related thought of your own, or float me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

HSL Big Dance Breakdown, Part One: The Little Guys

2010-03-15T01:37:00.006-04:00

16: A team with this seed has NEVER won a game in the tourney...and probably never will.

Lehigh (vs. Kansas)

The Mountain Hawks lost a game this year to a horrendous Columbia squad from the Ivy League, and also dropped one to Navy, who I'd always thought shut down their basketball program when David Robinson graduated. I'm pretty sure Kansas could send out a starting five consisting of all walk-ons with a few male cheerleaders providing support off the bench, and they'd still roll over the boys from Lehigh by half a hundo.

Vermont (vs. Syracuse)

Pulled a major upset over Syracuse a few years ago on the back of sharpshooter T.J. Sorrentine, but the odds of a repeat result in this one are somewhere between slim and none. And slim just walked out the door. And got run over by a double-decker bus. And got dragged for a few miles after that. In other words, it ain't happenin' for the Catamounts. And no, I do not know what a Catamount is. And I kinda hope I never find out.

East Tennessee State (vs. Kentucky)

They qualified for The Dance by winning the Atlantic Sun, a conference occupied by a bunch of schools with fictional names that make you genuinely wonder if any of these "teams" actually exist. Seriously, have you ever heard of "Campbell?" How about "Kennesaw State?" And most ridiculous of all, there is "Florida Gulf Coast" and something called "USC Upstate," two places that sound much more like maximum-security prisons than respected academic institutions. Bizarre conference.

Play-In Game: Arkansas Pine Bluff or Winthrop (vs. Duke)

Ahh yes, the annual Tuesday night tournament play-in game. This easily qualifies on the HSL's list of "Most Depressing Games to Watch During the Year in Any Sport." Also on that list, in no particular order: the Pro Bowl, Sunday afternoon regular season Raptors telecasts on CBC, any college hockey game, more than one half inning of Spring Training baseball, and finally, the World Strongman Championships (when you realize after a couple events that this particular show is one that you have already seen before...and not just once).

15: One of these teams will generally get a little frisky every six or seven years.

UC Santa Barbara (vs. Ohio State)

If the Gauchos are to have any chance of taking out heavily favored Ohio State, they will need a superhuman effort from their star two-guard Orlando Johnson, Player of the Year in the Big West Conference. But weird as it sounds, I don't think he is capable. Somehow, Johnson was able to average 18 points a game this season without ever scoring more than 28 in any one contest (and never scoring below 10). Normally, if you average close to 20 a game, there are some dynamic performances (35-40 pts) mixed in with some clunkers (single digit games) and that's that. But Santa Barbara's Johnson hums to a different tune. That might be all well and good playing against mooks at Long Beach State and Cal Poly, but if the O-Dog has visions of dancing into the second round, he better hit that 30-point mark on Friday night.

North Texas (vs. Kansas State)

The team with the coolest nickname in the tournament. The North Texas Mean Green. Coooool, right??? And don't sleep on these fellas, either. They haven't lost since January and they are playing 2nd-seeded Kansas State, a school that has always been more at home on the gridiron than the hardwood.

Morgan State (vs. West Virginia)

Two years ago, the Bears drew Virginia Tech in the opening round of the NIT and got housed by 32. Last year, they made it to the big tournament, met Oklahoma, but this time only got smoked by 28. At this rate, in about seven years, Morgan State will officially emerge as a force to be reckoned with. Until then, it still might be a little hard to watch.

Robert Morris (vs. Villanova)

Seeing this school in the tournament just makes me miss my former "Favorite school named after a random guy nobody has ever heard of," Morris Brown College. The 'Mo Brown' academy was always a crowd-pleaser until they encountered some financial troubles in the early part of the decade, causing the once-storied athletic department to go belly-up. I always got a kick out of seeing the school on TV because I just assumed it was named for the Morris Brown that lived in my neighborhood. "Wow!" I thought, "Mo Brown is such a legend that he got his own school named after him!!" But I come to find out years later that the college in question was in fact a historically black school. The Morris Brown we knew was straight vanilla. It was a disappointing revelation, but all good things have to come to an end at some point. Just like this article.

See ya tomorrow for Part II.

Drop a thought on the 15-16 seeds here, or float me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

On Guard! The 11 Dribblers, Passers, and Shooters to Keep an Eye On During the Big Ten Tournament

2010-03-11T00:37:00.024-05:00

1. Durrell Summers (Michigan State)

With Chris Allen's status in jeopardy, the pressure is on the multi-talented Summers to step up and assert himself on the offensive end. Throughout the year, it has kind of been his M.O. to play terrific ball against the weaker teams and struggle mightily against the good ones. He averaged over 20 points per game against Northwestern, while contributing a paltry 5 per night against Purdue. His effort will need to be much more consistent in order for Sparty to make an extended run in this tourney, and then the big one next week.

(Weird Stat: In Summers' freshman season, he knocked down 50% of his shots from long range. In his sophomore year, with many more attempts, his percentage went down, but still checked in at a very respectable 38.5%. This year, when Summers was supposed to be flourishing and putting it all together, his stroke often deserted him, with his 3-point accuracy dwindling to 29.8%. Now would be a good time to start finding your stroke, sir.)

2. Michael "Juice" Thompson (Northwestern)

First off, isn't it always more fun when there is an athlete named "Juice" involved in the proceedings? Why even bother with the "Michael"?? If we have an option to call you Juice, we are taking it...no questions asked. And in addition to this 5'10" guard's sweet alias, he's also got a little game to go with it. He runs the point for the Wildcats, and is often the one taking and making big shots down the stretch. It's been a career year for the Juicer. However, with this newfound confidence, our friend has also managed to lose any semblance of a conscience when it comes to shot selection. In their season-ending heart breaker at Indiana, Thompson jacked up an eye-popping 16 shots from beyond the arc. Just two games prior, in a loss to Penn State, he hoisted another 11 threes. I'm not saying these shots are necessarily ill-advised (he's over 40% for his career), but generally you would like for your point guard to be doing a little more distributing and a little less launching. But hey, when your name is "Juice," you can pretty much do whatever the hell you want. That's just a fact of life...

3. Jeff Jordan (Illinois)

C'mon, just tell us the truth already, Jeff. You're not really Michael Jordan's son, are you? I mean, we've all seen you play, and it just doesn't seem possible.

Your dad was the greatest of all time.
You have made one basket in your last seven games.

Your dad won six NBA championships, and was named MVP in every single one.
You are a 55.8% free throw shooter for your career.

Your dad was an NCAA tournament legend, knocking down the game-winner for North Carolina to take the 1982 title.
You consider it a minor miracle if you are simply able to play more than 10 minutes in a game without committing a costly turnover or embarrassing your family.
(Most likely, both of these things will happen.)

4. Blake Hoffarber (Minnesota)

Midway through the conference season, the sharpshooter Hoffarber was absolutely killing it and providing the Gophers with a reliable long-range threat on a nightly basis. He poured in a season-high 27 in a home thrashing over Ohio State. But in the latter part of the season, the lefty Hoffarber has been a complete non-factor. He's gone five straight games without registering in double figures (he averages close to 11/game), and his playing time has been reduced in the process. For Tubby Smith's crew to have any shot of dancing come tourney time, they will need a good showing this weekend, and that means getting their funny-named sniper back in business.

5. Jeremiah Rivers (Indiana)

Another former NBA player's son (Doc Rivers) that basically manages to disappoint his father every time he steps foot on the floor. Jeremiah has been playing in college for approximately seven years (his first six were at G'town) and somehow, he is still just a junior. In his spare time, he likes to hang out with friends, take long walks on the beach, and turn the ball over as much as humanly possible. For a guy who isn't much of a playmaker to begin with, there is no excuse for him to turn the rock over as much as he does. In his time at Georgetown, he collected 65 assists while committing 64 turnovers. That's not the ratio you're lookin' for in a guard. This year, Jeremiah decided to step it up a notch. In the Hoosiers' first 8 games of the year, he notched at least 3 turnovers in every single one. In fact, Rivers appeared in all 30 games for IU this year, and defying the odds, was able to commit a turnover in all 30. What a (sick) streak!!

(Hey, at least the kid can shoot, right?? Ummm. Try this on for size. Rivers is sub-40% from the field, sub-60 from the stripe, and a sparkling zero-for-five from downtown. Yama-Hama, it's Fright Night in Bloomington!!)

6. Trevon Hughes (Wisconsin)

The 6-footer from Queens has improved in each of his four seasons in Madison, and now looks to lead the smokin'-hot Badgers to their second tournament championship in the last three years. In Wiscy's trio of wins to finish off the season, they trounced Indiana by 32, Iowa by 27, and Illinois (in Champaign) by 15, due in no small part to the vast contributions of Trevon Hughes. When this guy and Jason Bohannon are both hitting shots, Bo Ryan's club becomes almost unbeatable. Even if you hate the Badgers (as many Spartan and Wolverine fans do), you have to respect any player that plays with as much passion as Hughes. In their finale against Illinois, despite being saddled with foul trouble all day long, the little guy scored 14 points and hauled down 11 rebounds in just 22 minutes of play. Eleven boards in 22 minutes...for a 6-foot guard?? I haven't seen a stat line like that since 1985 when feisty Scotty Howard was "wolfing out" for the Beacontown High Beavers. Moving on...

7. Talor Battle (Penn State)

Talk about a lack of a supporting cast. Battle spent the majority of the year torching opposing defenses while his teammates looked on and...well, yea, they pretty much just looked on. Even with some spirited efforts down the stretch, the Nittany Lions still won just 3 of 18 conference games. Battle is really the only guy worth mentioning on this squad, and it makes me miss the days when the Nittanys were semi-relevant in the hoops world with the Crispin brothers bombing away from 35 feet with regularity. I know those guys weren't twins, but they sure seemed like it. Chances are, if you can correctly identify which Crispin is which (Jon or Joe) just by looking at their faces, you are either
A) the boys' mother, or
B) someone that had a bit of a gambling problem from 1999-2001.

8. Chris Kramer (Purdue)

I can't stand this guy. Hate his incessant flopping (yeah, I said it). Hate his broken jump shot (28% from 3). Hate the way every single announcer feels the need to laud this guy's effort and toughness as if he is the first basketball player ever to exhibit any passion or energy during a game. My brother Sam loves the guy, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why. Kramer is like a mini college version of Anderson Varejão. That's fun to root for?? Why don't you just go ahead and cheer for the Yankees, the Celtics, and unbuttered popcorn while you're at it?

(Prediction: Purdue will not get to the final of this tournament. Assuming they get by Juice or Jeremiah in Round 2, I see the Boilers bowing out to Sparty quietly in the semis. Robbie Hummel just meant too much to this team. His loss cannot be underestimated.)

9. Jon Diebler (Ohio State)

Everyone remembers that Florida team from a few years ago that cruised to back-to-back championships under William Donovan. They had future NBA'ers like Joakim Noah, Al Horford, and Corey Brewer. But more often than not, it was little Lee Humphrey taking his position outside the arc and hitting big shot after big shot to keep his team advancing in the bracket. He wasn't a superstar and he never got a ton of headlines, but his role was critical, and they likely don't win either championship without him. Well, if Ohio State plans on reaching that same apex of the college basketball world, they will need a similar performance from their Lee Humphrey...Mr. Jon Diebler. The Buckeye guard runs hot and cold, though. In the final game of the season, he banged home 7 triples in 14 tries. But in the two contests prior, he had connected on just 3 of 17 from long range. This team has all the components. Evan Turner, the do-it-all superstar. William Buford and David Lighty, the supporting actors. And appropriately-named Dallas Lauderdale holding down the fort inside. But it might be the streaky Diebler that decides just how far this team can go.

10. Darius Morris (Michigan)

John Beilein has taken the reigns off Morris down the stretch, pushing the freshman point guard's minutes into the 30s and letting him dictate the tempo of the game. It hasn't exactly translated into W's in the standings, but this team is so lacking in athleticism from the backcourt that Beilein has had no other choice but to throw the kid into the fire. Morris still has many obvious holes in his game (7 for 37 from downtown...yikes), but with the yearlong struggles of guys like Stu Douglass and Laval Lucas-Perry, it only makes sense to let Morris run the team, make the occasional highlight play in the open court, and go on generally looking like the black version of former Tigers hurler Don Mossi. (Look him up if you have to...these guys were definitely born with the same set of alien-ears.)

11. Devan Bawinkel (Iowa)

A hero to gunners everywhere that fear the paint and adore the long line.

83 Shots Attempted this Season.
Every single one taken from beyond the arc.

One more two-less game and history will be made.

I can't wait...

Drop a comment on Summers, Juice, or Bawinkel...or reach me by E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

The Best Mom in the NBA

2010-03-08T02:04:00.008-05:00

Earlier this season, the Pistons paid a visit to D.C. to take on the Washington Wizards. During that game, a shocking discovery came to light, and frankly, I haven't been the same since. Let's take a look back on that unforgettable night...

The Pistons and Wizards were getting set to tip-off. The players took the floor, the referees got in position, and the coaches took their seats. Everything seemed perfectly fine and normal...then I saw it.

It was an uncomfortable sight to see.

No, scratch that...it was a startling, nightmare-inducing sight to see.

No, no, no, scratch that, too...it was the single worst thing I had ever seen in my life.

The it I refer to is none other than the starting shooting guard for the Washington Wizards on this night, Mike Miller. I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just come right out with it.

He...looked...pregnant.

The signs were all there. He was heavy. He was bloated. Looked like he hadn't showered since training camp. He was wearing a giant shoulder/torso contraption underneath his jersey, undoubtedly a tool he picked up in Lamaze class to assist with breathing when the big day arrives.

His hair, typically well-coiffed and styled, now looked unwashed and grimy. It was excessively long, had strawberry blond highlights mixed throughout, and then in the back, Miller had fashioned some kind of dirty mock-ponytail deal that made him look like a cross between Mario Batali and the chunky middle school version of D.J. Tanner. Almost makes you shiver just thinking about it. I mean, Miller was never Mr. America or anything, but at least when he was at Florida and early in his NBA career, he kept his hair clean and short, even if it did make him look exactly like Hilary Swank's character from Boys Don't Cry.

In the early moments of this game, maybe the second or third possession, a whistle blew and there was a short stoppage in play. The camera panned to a clearly exhausted Miller, bent over with hands on knees, and desperately gasping for air. Pistons' play-by-play man Mark Champion tried justifying Miller's fatigue by saying something like, "Well, that's what happens when you miss a couple of weeks. It takes time to get readjusted to the speed of the game."

Nice try, Mark.

Miller was most definitely panting and wheezing, but it had nothing to do with missed time. It had to do with the fact that he was carrying another human life inside his belly.

Whenever Rodney Stuckey or Ben Gordon would start to make a move off the dribble to steam past Miller, you couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy. The poor man obviously had no chance of keeping up and would usually wind up grabbing an arm or piece of the jersey as they sped by. But it didn't end there.

See, pregnant women are known to be moody and irritable. Miller was no exception.

Each time the referee saddled him with another foul, Miller would lose it. He made ugly faces. He whined incessantly. He had a look in his eye that said, "I need a big jar of pickles and a quart of chocolate ice cream...IMMEDIATELY!"

At one point, a Piston slipped on a wet spot in the paint and the ballboy went to clean it up. Ninety-nine percent of the time in this situation, you assume it's just a player's sweat that dripped onto the floor, making it slippery. However, when Mama Miller is roamin' the hardwood, you really have to consider the possibility that homeboy's water just broke with serious contractions not far behind.

The question is, how are Flip Saunders and Co. going to keep their expectant shooting guard safe as the year progresses and he enters his third trimester?? Your guess is as good as mine, but let's just hope that opposing defenses know better than to foul Miller hard as he enters the lane.

There's a bun in that oven...

Leave a comment or thought below, or feel free to shoot me an E-mail at
highsockslegend@gmail.com

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5 Things Joe Dumars Must Have Forgotten about Charlie Villanueva when he Signed him for $35 Million Dollars Last Summer

2010-03-05T05:18:00.011-05:00

1. He's a big man who likes to shoot 3s...only, he ain't a good 3-point shooter.

See, as Pistons fans, we have seen this act quite a bit the last few years (see: Rasheed Wallace), and lemme tell you, it is even less fun the second time around. Charlie Villanueva is 6-foot-11, but you wouldn't know it from his game. This man just loves to shoot the long ball. In a home loss to Portland last month, Charlie V jacked up 9 from long range...he made 1. In the tight loss to the Celtics earlier this week, he hoisted 4 from distance...he made none. For the year, he is shooting 32% on 3s, which is pretty much right at his career average (.326). It's not like the guy is just struggling with his outside shot; it was just never that good to begin with.

2. He's not in the best shape, he's not in the worst shape. He's just kind of..."doughy."

Simply put, doughy is never a good adjective to have placed on you as a professional athlete. Its meaning is exactly what you think. While other NBA power forwards have toned bodies composed of lean muscle mass, Villanueva's main core is composed of actual cookie dough. Homeboy is soft, with a capital S. When you think of the word doughy, it conjures up memories of guys like Chris Gatling and George McCloud. They weren't necessarily in terrible physical condition, but it doesn't mean it would have been a pleasant experience to see them shirtless in the locker room after a game. At least with a guy like Rasheed, he was somewhat sculpted early in his career. Charlie V is only 25, and he's already starting to look like Terry Mills. Doughy might be an understatement three years from now...yikes.

3. He's got a little bit of funk in his post-up game...just don't expect the ball ever to be kicked out once he gets his mitts on it.

I made the joke earlier this year that in watching Villanueva play, it almost seems like he literally is not aware that when he receives the ball in the post, he still possesses the option to either shoot or pass. I really think that he is just unaware of the rules of the game and thinks that when he is delivered the ball on the block, he has to shoot, or the ball is turned over to the other team. That's the only explanation for the way he plays. Don't get me wrong, Villanueva is a semi-capable scorer down near the paint. He's got a nice little arsenal of jump hooks and awkward turnarounds. But he is definitely a "black hole." Meaning, once the ball goes in, it ain't comin' back out. You could double-team him, you could triple-team him...hell, you could send your entire roster and your coaching staff out on the floor to surround him in the post, and he would still send the ball towards the rim before it's all said and done. Watch an old tape of Hakeem in the Finals in '94 and '95. He was downright filthy on the block, scoring at will against whoever was guarding him. However, when help came, he was always willing to dish out to Robert Horry, Kenny Smith, Mario Elie, or whoever was open out on the perimeter. It's a mandatory skill for any guy that wants to get the ball in the post on a regular basis. Apparently Charlie V never got that memo.

4. Defense Optional

There is a lot wrong with Mr. Villanueva's work on the defensive side of the ball. And I think it starts with that funny body of his. He's almost 7 feet tall, but still lacks the necessary bulk to match up with beefy power forwards like Carlos Boozer. And if you want to free him up from all that banging and have him defend the 3-man, now it's his absence of foot speed and athleticism that makes the matchup a nightmare. There's really nowhere to hide him. One time this year, Al Harrington of the Knicks backed Villanueva all the way down for a layup. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a big deal. Except that Harrington started his voyage at the 3-point line. It may have been the first 22-foot post-up in NBA history. No coincidence that it involved our boy Charlie, a true NBA sieve.

5. Dude's attitude is prittttay, prittttay, shaky.

It's always been a concern for the Villanueva followers throughout his basketball career. Does the guy really care enough to be a top NBA player, or is he pretty much fine with sailing through his 8-10 years, making his money, and not breaking too much of a sweat in the process? I hate to say it, but I think it's clearly the latter. I just don't see much desire from Charlie. There have been rare moments this year when he gets fired up during a game. In an upset home win over Boston during the season's 1st half, it was Villanueva who kept knocking down big shots in the final minutes. After his final dagger trey, followed by a Celts timeout, Villanueva came bounding over to the Pistons bench, smile as wide as could be, high-fiving teammates and receiving a standing O from the crowd. It was the first real proof we had that this guy might actually be a force on the court, instead of the oversized human equivalent to rice pilaf that he often appeared to be. But alas, those moments have been few and far between. Just recently, John Kuester gave Villanueva his own personal quarters in the doghouse, playing him just 3 minutes in a loss to Orlando, and saying things like, "Charlie will be a good player for us down the road. We just got to make sure he's on the page of what we want to get accomplished." Hmmm, he will be a good player "down the road"?? It's his fifth year in the league...exactly when is the light going to flick on? And is there a bigger red flag than the coach saying that a certain player "needs to be on the same page" of what the team is trying to accomplish? One would safely assume the team's goals are winning and playing together. After 61 games, if Villanueva is still struggling to understand this, then we've got big problems.

Charlie Villanueva. Under contract for four more seasons.

Don't worry...I just got the chills, too.

Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com, or leave your own thoughts on Charlie V in the comments section below.

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Or check out some other High Socks NBA articles of the past couple weeks...

A Triple Double for a Couple Curly Fries

The Night Shareef Abdur-Rahim Broke my Heart

Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

2010-03-01T01:40:00.009-05:00

Hey, did ya hear the great news!?!? According to numerous reports, Joel Zumaya is feeling great and firing BBs with regularity down in Lakeland.

Oh, righhhhhht, I forgot about that.

And in related "I think I've seen this story before" news...

-Jeremy Bonderman is perfecting his changeup and looking forward to a big bounce-back season. You can search the various newspaper archives and find this exact same story written in 2005, '06, '07...well, you get the idea. Wake me up when this guy displays a working pulse or registers a season ERA under four. (Neither of which have ever happened.)

-Carlos Guillen is disgruntled over his diminishing role, ignoring the fact that he unofficially jumped the shark a few years ago and that his right shoulder is now composed of 50% solid muscle tissue and 50% Bisquick Pancake Mix.

-Bobby Seay looks to continue baffling AL sluggers as the Tigers' designated late-inning lefty specialist, even as his bulbous head seemingly increases by 4-5 inches every spring. Seriously, at what point are the team trainers just going to remove his oversized noggin and replace it with an actual pumpkin??

Clutch performance of the weekend goes out to our longtime friend here at the HSL, Aubrey. With the Sunday morning b-ball squad only having four available regulars, Aub got the call and stepped in admirably as has become tradition (his lifetime subbing record now stands at 3 and 0).

Combining gritty D and his usual rock-steady game on O, it was a good day all around for the man that has always been known simply as "Electric."

Now if we all can agree to just forget about that last-minute free throw that went Montross-ing off the backboard, I think we will all sleep a little better tonight.

Big ups, Aub. I see another call-up in the future, possibly to the real thing in Auburn Hills. Couldn't be any worse than...

Ben Wallace.

I've pretty much had it with this cat. The Pistons just finished up a jaunt out West that saw them drop 3 of 4 games to some of the worst teams that conference has to offer. All of the losses were tight contests that could have went either way down the stretch.

And there's our boy Ben, going to the line 15 times over the four games...and knocking down TWO.

Two for mother-f$^&ing fifteen, including a homicide-inducing 1 of 9 effort in the loss to G-State to wrap up the trip!

Hey Coach Kue, perhaps in these last twenty-something games, when the final quarter is about to begin, you can go kneel down by Ben, slowly untie his shoes, remove them from his feet, and hurl them into the upper deck.

Without the proper footwear, you would no longer feel the temptation to put the big fella back on the court.

There.

Problem solved.

Can we get some kind of ruling here on the infant-sized jersey Big Baby Davis has been rockin' this season?

Let's call a spade a spade, people. This man is very big.

And I don't mean tall.

Just wide.

Either call in a tailor and have him readjust this thing to make Baby look presentable, or create some kind of Celtics-styled Snuggie he can wear during games to help hide the excess fat and jelly rolls now spilling out of his green uni on a nightly basis.

I'm not a Davis fan by any means, but that doesn't mean I want the guy to suffocate to death on the court. If there isn't some kind of alteration made to his get-up though, that's exactly where we're headed.

Four straight double figure games for Jerry Stackhouse off the Milwaukee pine. Good for you, Stack.

Even though the Bucks finally had their six-game winning streak snapped Sunday with an OT loss in Atlanta, Jerry still got his 20. But maybe he ought to put the safety on the trigger just a little more often when he's on the court.

In his 28 minutes of play, he hoisted 14 times, picked up just one assist, and turned the rock over four times.

Wait a second...that's Rip Hamilton's stat line!!

Get your own material, Stack!!

Drop me a comment or question at highsockslegend@gmail.com

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Scary Free Throws, Frisky Bucks, and Another Lottery Dud: It's the HSL Friday 3-Man Weave

2010-02-26T00:54:00.013-05:00

1. While Ben Wallace continues to rank dead last all-time in free throw shooting accuracy, there is another brick-throwing NBA center that is making a real push for the single season record for charity stripe proficiency. Andris Biedrins, the athletic Latvian for the Warriors, has been nothing short of horrrrrendous at the line this year. Try and swallow this stat box with your morning coffee. On the season, Biedrins is a stomach-churning 4 for 25 from the land of free. FOUR FOR TWENTY-FIVE!! This comes out to a robust 16 friggin' percent. Yiiiiiiikes. The single season record is held by the Celtics' Garfield Smith in '72, and he still managed to knock home 19%. Practically automatic compared to our boy Andris, who if you haven't seen it, basically goes with some kind of fractured soccer style throw-in when trying to cash in his attempts. Don Nelson tried bringing in Rick Barry (career 90%) to teach his underhand method to Biedrins, but the big fella was not cooperative. Not "cool" enough, apparently. But if this sick display continues for a couple more months, Biedrins might find out what "cool" really is next year...when he's suiting up alongside Billy Owens and Mr. Cooper for the Brotherhood II chapter in the downtown Oakland B'nai B'rith League for retired Jewish foot doctors and former NBA washouts. If I were you, I'd start hittin' some free throws, Andris...immediately.

2. The Milwaukee Bucks emerged from the All-Star break as a sub-.500 squad searching for some kind of identity. They sputtered badly in their first game back, suffering a 28-point home thrashing at the hands of the Rockets. Things weren't looking good for Scott Skiles and company. Fortunately for the Bucks, their next game was at the Palace against the Pistons, a team that plays with passion approximately two to three times a month. They got the much-needed road W and haven't lost since. After last night's escape job in Indy, the Milwaukee winning streak has now reached five and they are over .500 (29-28) for the first time in three months. It's not a glamorous group by any means, but they're getting the job done. Andrew Bogut has been a monster of late, and for the first time in his career, is actually starting to provide some justification for being #1 overall selection in 2005. John Salmons has been superb since coming over from Chicago at the trade deadline, and rumor has it that he might finally be considering making the "L" in his last name silent. The old dog Jerry Stackhouse has been a splash of sunshine off the bench, mixing in his usual batch of post-ups with an improved stroke from downtown. And lucky Luke Ridnour just might be the best backup point guard in the league. Even though Brandon Jennings hit the rookie wall about 35 games ago and Carlos Delfino takes the word "streaky" to a whole new stratosphere, this is still a fun little squad and I look forward to watching them come playoff time. And no, I cannot figure out how this unique batch of journeymen and young guys are fighting for the 6th spot in the East, while the Pistons continue to lose double-digit leads to the LA Clippers of the world. When's that draft lottery, again??

3. Not everyday in the Association that you see the second overall pick demoted to the D-League, but that's exactly what happened yesterday as the Memphis Grizzlies sent Hasheem Thabeet packing to the "Dakota" Wizards. Not North Dakota. Not South Dakota. Just Dakota...a real hotbed for hoops. Nice pick, Grizz. On draft night, maybe you shoulda looked past the fact that your boy was eight feet tall and instead concentrated on the fact that he never made a shot outside of eight feet in his entire career at UCONN. You can get away with that kinda thing in college. Hang out near the rim, get a lot of dunks, shoot over guys half a foot shorter. But in the NBA, you usually need to possess some semblance of actual basketball skill in order to succeed. Sadly, Thabeet is sorely lacking in that department, and has fallen on such hard times that he has now been replaced in the Memphis lineup by an actual Iranian, Hamed Haddadi, the only such player in league history. I think it's safe to say that if the organization chooses to play a guy that may or may not be friends with Osama Bin Laden over you, then your days in the league are most likely coming to an end very soon. Enjoy "Dakota," Hasheem, and give my best to Mount Rushmore. You never know...one day you might find yourself on a monument just like it dedicated to the tallest lottery busts in history, along with Robert Swift, Vitaly Potapenko (taken right before Kobe Bryant), Sharone Wright, and the wildly overhyped Ricky Roe.

Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

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Pistons 2010: Where Even the Wins Feel like Losses

2010-02-23T01:46:00.006-05:00

The clock ticked under four minutes to play. The Pistons were leading the perennial Western powerhouse Spurs by 11 points. Tim Duncan wiggled free for a layup and the lead was cut to nine.

At that moment, Gregg Popovich had a revelation.

"Hey, this team we're playing has the worst free throw shooter in NBA history on their team. And he is on the court right now. GO FOUL HIM!!!"

And so they did. Again, and again, and again, and again.

In the span of just one minute and twenty seconds, Ben Wallace was ordered to the line a staggering ten times.

His shots were flying every which way. Some clanged off the side of the rim, some boomeranged off the backboard, and a few even managed to find their way through the hoop (four to be exact).

And throughout the whole ordeal, John Kuester did nothing. Sat on the bench, folded his arms, and watched.

Finally, with 2:05 on the clock and fearing the Spurs would get one more hack in before the rules would prohibit them from doing so (under 2 minutes), Kuester summoned Wallace to the bench.

The big fella angrily made his way to the sideline, took a seat, and fired his headband halfway to Livonia. This was clearly a very unhappy man. But who were his frustrations directed towards??

Sifting through Wallace's post game comments, that's pretty tough to judge.

A reporter asked Ben what he thought of the Hack-a-Ben strategy.
---"It's garbage."

Another reporter asked how he felt about Kuester showing confidence in him by leaving him in the game and not pulling him when the shenanigans started.
---"That's garbage, too."

Good luck figuring that one out.

But I will never understand why the frustration in this type of situation is always directed at the team enacting the strategy. Why is Ben not looking inward and putting the responsibility on his own shoulders, where it belongs?

Competition in any sport essentially comes down to this.

1. Search for your opponent's weakness.
2. Once identified, exploit that weakness as early and often as possible in order to emerge victorious.

It's as simple as that.

Gregg Popovich saw a glaring weakness on the other side of the court, and decided, understandably, to take advantage of it. And remember, it is not as if we are just talking about any old struggling charity tosser here.

Ben Wallace is literally the worst free throw shooter in NBA history.

Of the fourteen-hundred and six ballplayers that qualify (min. 500 career attempts), Ben Wallace ranks dead last in terms of free throw accuracy. And it's not even close.

1404. Eric Montross (.478)
1405. Chris Dudley (.458)
1406. Ben Wallace (.419)

(Sidenote: #33 on that list is Jason Maxiell at 56%. #47 is Kwame Brown at just under 58%. That's right...the Pistons currently suit up 3 of the worst 47 free-throwers in the history of the NBA. Don't let anyone tell you this isn't the most depressing season in franchise history.)

Richard Hamilton talked after the game how the Hack-a-Ben routine "was not basketball," and pondered possible rule changes in the future.

Gimme a break.

How is this any different than a football team continually attacking a weak cornerback by throwing in his direction on every play?

Or a team in the Little League World Series drag bunting down the first base line in every at-bat because the hefty 11-year-old hurler for the Venezuelan squad is easily pushing three bills ,and seems to have some kind of salsa dripping from the brim of his hat??

That's the way sports work. Do whatever it takes to win the game. This is multiplied by a million when you are talking about games at the professional level, when too many digits in the loss column typically end up costing you your paycheck.

And by the way, this thing could have ended in the blink of an eye...if Ben were able to MAKE A FREE THROW.

But what was John Kuester thinking throughout all of this?? He had the key to the castle the whole time, and chose to keep it hidden in his back pocket.

After the very first hack, he should have screamed for Charlie Villanueva and physically escorted him onto the court to replace Ben.

Now, I know that Villanueva has been living comfortably in Kuester's doghouse the last couple weeks, and that you'd be losing a lot on D by making the switch, but this was absolutely a move that had to be made. You put Charlie in for Ben, and now the Spurs have to D up for 15-20 seconds each time down. With a nine point lead and just a few minutes to play, every second becomes precious. That's what made their fouling strategy so valuable.

It's not just that they were forcing Ben to the line, where the Pistons would likely score 0 or 1 point. It's the fact that no time was elapsing in between their offensive possessions.

It's like one of those old bonus rounds on Super Mario Bros. where you could just go collect a million coins, but you had no risk of losing a life in the process. You're basically playing with house money.

Same thing here. For that 80 seconds, the Spurs had a chance to score as many points as they could knowing the number on the other side of the scoreboard would remain virtually the same. And most importantly, really no time was coming off the clock in the process.

For that minute and twenty seconds where they were hacking Ben, Tim Duncan and Co. went on offense a whopping six times. Remember, an NBA shot clock is 24 ticks. So typically, in 80 seconds of game time, each team will get two possessions, maybe three if the pace is really quick. They got SIX.

(Showing an immense amount of personal restraint, I did not fire a single projectile in the direction of the TV during these proceedings.)

Just to make sure the final outcome of the game does not get lost in the shuffle completely, I will point out that the Pistons did battle hard in overtime to come away with the mildly impressive home W over a Tony Parker-less Spurs squad. But to me, the story was that minute and twenty seconds where Wallace and Kuester both embarrassed themselves, each in their own unique way.

To me, Kuester is starting to look more and more like Michael Curry every day. Towards the end of Curry's reign, I realized that even though he had no chance to win with the roster he inherited, his clock management and in-game strategy were simply not good enough to be running a team at the highest level. He lacked certain essentials like how to handle timeouts at the end of games and which players to insert at critical moments. And maybe most importantly, he failed to assert himself as someone the players had to respect. He would rather be their buddy than their boss. Ultimately, it led to his dismissal after just one season at the helm.

I'm beginning to have these same feelings about "Kue." He was presented with a decision on Sunday night.

He could remove Ben after that first foul. This was certainly the right choice and the one that would have served the team best in securing the win with ease in regulation. But, this option might have also resulted in Diva Wallace turning against him and pouting his way through the rest of the season, like he has done to other coaches (Carlisle, Saunders) before.

Sadly, Kuester went the other way. He chose to play it safe. Or, as some like to say, "show confidence in his player." It's one thing for football coaches to punt late in a game to put the onus on their stout defense to finish things off. That confidence comes with reason. This particular form of confidence is, as Ben would like to say, "garbage." There was no mystery with this result. Ben was going to miss free throws. Many of them. But Kuester went the Mike Curry route, and turned catatonic.

As for Ben, it's the same old story, and one that I've rehashed several times on this site. Free throw shooting was his bugaboo entering the league, and he has not improved even the slightest in this department during his 14 years of service. I don't discount the fact that he has devoted huge chunks of time in the weight room throughout his career. It is admirable, and his work ethic in that regard is one to be replicated. But that does not take away from the giant elephant in the room; Ben has not done anything to improve his one major weakness, free throw shooting.

He has always loved to cry to the media and demand more touches on offense, but he never accompanies the words with the actions. Going to the gym in the summer and shooting 1,000 free throws might not be as glamorous or exhilarating as lifting 500+ pounds of metal with music blaring all around you. But the great ones fight through the boredom and do whatever it takes to change. But Ben just returns to training camp each year with that same ridiculous, fading away, high-arcing stroke that's about as graceful as a Tim Tebow spiral. And there is no excuse for it.

Go figure that on a night the Pistons win, I still find myself highly frustrated, writing this short novel at 1:47 AM more than 24 hours after the game ended.

It's been a long 55 games, but I think I can stick it out for the final 27.

Just please don't put Ben on that line anymore.

I can't take much more of that...

Share your thoughts on Hack-a-Ben, or shoot me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

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Socks Brothers Present: The Semi-Intelligent, Somewhat Coherent, but Always Entertaining Sunday Evening Chat

2010-02-22T00:55:00.021-05:00

HSL: Nice game this morning, little bro. Feels pretty good being 5-0, don't it?!?!

Low Socks: It was a nice game. Undefeated at the All-Star break is quite an accomplishment.

HSL: Sure is. And not to brag, man, but hasn't my 3-point stroke been especially lethal this season? What's going through your mind when I'm spotting up from deep?

Low Socks: Yes, you probably lead the league in three pointers made. But you might also have the edge in the attempts column as well. So, as you're spotting up for three, all I can think about is Antoine Walker and his "prowess" from behind the arc. I must add that in this image, I am your teammate, Paul Pierce...

HSL: Yeah, I can see that; only, if Paul Pierce were a 6'2" left handed Jew who was known to chug Kiwi-Strawberry flavored Propel while trying to work for position on the low block. Seriously, is that stuff just running through your veins at this point?

Low Socks: You could say that. In fact, I was scratched after a reach-in foul during the first half and started to bleed a little. The referee called for an official timeout to make sure my DNA was not grape flavored. It wasn't...and the game continued.

HSL: Ya, I thought I saw somethin' like that. In all honesty, John Beilein could use both of us on the floor this year. When you and me go to the gym and do rounds of 25 threes from all around the arc, we rarely make anything less than 17 or 18. On Saturday, in that HORRIFIC loss to the fighting Paterno's, the four guards (Douglass, Novak, Morris, Lucas-Perry) combined to shoot TWO for EIGHTEEN from downtown. Do you think we should check to see if Beilein wants to have us come in for an impromptu try-out prior to the Big Ten tourney??

Low Socks: We can dream. I've got a few years of eligibility left and I'd be more than happy to camp out around the long line for Big Blue. You can single out this loss against the worst team in the conference as a poor display of shooting, but it has been the theme the entire season. Lack of confidence, bad looks at the basket...how can recruited "shooters" lose sight of the rim??? This is the same team that made the tourney last year and beat Clemson in the first round, right?

HSL: I thought so. I guess maybe they just overachieved a bit last year in a mediocre conference, and everybody got a little too excited. At least Manny Harris continues to improve, though...phhhhhhh. I notice you've been watchin' a fair amount of Olympics. What up with that woman curler from Canada being pregnant? Can it really be considered a sport when you are able to compete at the highest level in the world even as you enter your third trimester?!?

Low Socks: Hmm, I was totally unaware that there is a pregnant competitor in the Olympics. Although, quite honestly, it doesn't surprise me that such an athlete can compete harboring a developing fetus. After our nine o'clock b-ball game this morning, I decided to relax a bit and catch up on the day's top news stories: so I flipped on the Mixed Doubles PBA event for a brief hour-fifteen. Mind you, Wes Malott is the most dominant bowler in the field; but the guy honestly looked to be carrying his first child. God bless.

HSL: Malott did look a little heavy today, didn't he? I mean, I know they call him "Big Nasty," but how about mixing in the occasional piece of fruit between all those triple cheese Baconators from Wendy's?? It seemed to affect his performance too, didn't it? Even when he struck out in that tenth to save a little face, a couple of those were real cheapies that he only got with help from the messenger. I don't think he looks like the same guy as last year, when he seemed to always be the #1 guy in the step-ladder tourney format. Wait, am I supposed to be saying this stuff out loud?

Low Socks: Wow, High Socks. When you invited me into this, you told me to keep it G-rated. That last comment was not for kids...or adults, for that matter. I believe we are all dumber after having heard that...I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul. No, but SERIOUSLY, it does strike me as odd that Malott, after having captured the Chris Schenkel PBA Player of the Year Award last year with his dominant performance in the Scorpion Championship, has somewhat faded out of the picture with only two TV finals this season.

HSL: Got to agree with ya, Bro. I hate to say it, but maybe Malott just got TOO big. Even in a sport like bowling, where your scores generally increase with each slice of snack bar 'Za that you destroy, there's got to be some kind of concern for your physical appearance where you finally stop and say to yourself, "Hey, I might be on national TV a dozen times this year in front of millions of fans...maybe I ought to hold off on this 17th plate of Van de Kamp's Fish Sticks." But on that note, Chief, I say we call it a night. A real f$^&ked up night...

Throw in your own two cents on the various bowling/Olympic events of the weekend, or shoot me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

The Elusive Curly Fries

2010-02-17T04:13:00.007-05:00

Who are the Pistons kidding with this Arby's "Triple Double" promotion?

Really, is this some kind of sick joke??

If you haven't watched much Piston ball this year, here's the deal. "Every time a Piston player records a triple double, you are entitled to a free small curly fry at your local Arby's."

Wait a second, did they just say "every time???" "Every time" makes it seem like this is a semi-regular occurrence; not one that has about 0.00003 chance of ever coming to fruition.

And let's just say for the sake of argument that this does happen once this year. You're telling me all we get is a free small curly fry?!?!? That's like telling your 4-year-old that if he sleeps in his own bed for 75 straight nights, you will take him to rent one new book from the library. Whoaaa...what an incentive!! Thanks Dad...ya lush!

You make the qualifications near-impossible, and on top of that, fail to include the words "roast" or "beef" anywhere in the prize package.

Honestly, who on the Stones is even capable of going off for a trip-dubb this year? Here are the only possibilities I see...

Charlie Villanueva: 19 points, 11 rebounds, and 14 defensive possessions where his man backs him down from outside the arc to directly under the rim in just 3 dribbles.

Rip Hamilton: 26 points, 10 assists, and 11 occasions where he leaves his feet in traffic with nowhere to go, resulting in another maddening turnover and easy run-out the other way.

Ben Wallace: 19 rebounds, 12 blocked shots, and 13 missed free throws (6 of which don't even hit rim), making all Pistons fans wonder, "Has this guy spent even the slightest bit of time over the last 10 years trying to improve this horrid aspect of his game?" Long story short; no, he hasn't.

(Sidenote: I hate to harp on it, but Ben has been in the league for 14 years and has never averaged even 50% at the line in any of those seasons. Just to put that mind-blowing statistic in perspective, Shaquille O'Neal has averaged better than 50% in 12 of his 18 seasons. There's just no excuse for never improving even the slightest in this area, Ben. None at all.)

The Detroit Tigers teamed up with Arby's this past summer in a similar fashion, only their promotion was quite realistic. The Tigers needed to jack three dingers in a home game and every fan with a copy of the box score was entitled to some free roast beef. This was a fair deal, and the Tigers obliged with the trio of round-trippers on more than a few occasions.

You'd think the Pistons could have come up with something in that vein.

Like, if they score over 110 points, every fan gets a free chicken finger basket.

Or, every time the Pistons win three straight games, you can go pick up a free vanilla shake.

They could even think outside the box and give each fan their very own Arby's franchise every time Kwame Brown catches the ball cleanly in the post and then follows it up with a legal pivot move that does not result in all-out disaster or major world catastrophe. (Trust me, the Arby's people would have nothing to worry about with this one.)

You made a one-sided deal, fellas, and it makes ya look cheap. Next time, come at us with something we can excited about. Otherwise, just keep it to yourself.

Shame on you, Pistons/Arby's. A 19 and 33 record is hard enough without depriving us of the one simple pleasure we can always count on in this mile-a-minute, upside-down world: curly fries.

Something tells me this is going to be a very long second half of the season.

And sadly, we won't be needing any ketchup along the way.

The High Socks Legend can be reached (sans curly fries), at highsockslegend@gmail.com

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Kwik Hitters on a Munday

2010-02-15T01:18:00.016-05:00

Saw The Blind Side over the weekend. One thing I couldn't figure out though was if the actor playing Michael Oher was actually made of wood. I'd appreciate some clarification on this.

Anybody ever take a really good bite out of a cupcake without getting the frosting all over your damn nose?? Yeah, I didn't think so.

What's the deal with that that option when you’re on the phone with some kind of voice message system, and it says, “To end this call, press 6.” Wouldn't I just hang up??!!

What’s with these guys that use napkins to clean their hands?? What, you got no sleeves or your shirt? Aren’t you wearing pants? Cmon, be a man!

It seems like certain names are only found in certain age groups. Like, have you ever met a kid named Mort before? How about a Grampa Justin? These things just don’t happen. I think once in a while, a 75-year old man named Mort just drops out of the sky. He can’t remember anything about his childhood. Maybe it’s because he only existed as an old guy. Same thing with the Justins and Andys of the world. They're all over the place when they are 5-18 years old, and then one day, vamooosh, they're gone.. Where do they go? I think they just switch places with all the Abes and Morts and we move on like nothing happened.

It is a proven fact that you are 75 percent more likely to order a particular kind of bagel if it has the "HOT" label attached to the bottom of its crate.

Don't ya hate that guy that argues an opposing viewpoint even if he doesn't believe half of what he is actually saying just for the sake of "playing the devil's advocate"?? Instead of doing that, how about you just do us all a big favor and shut the $#^@ up??

Am I the only person in the world that finds Kenny Smith absolutely unbearable on TNT? He was plastered all over the screen during All-Star Weekend, and for the life of me, I cannot figure out why. He's not funny, he's a subpar analyst, and for the most part, he always seems to be screaming. The only thing I'll give him is that he might be better than Brent Barry, a man so lifeless on the air that I often find myself worrying whether or not he has an actual operating pulse. I've seen more personality from a 2-by-4.

If you watched more than 12-14 minutes of the Olympic Luge competition over the weekend, then you're probably closely related to one of the competitors. Otherwise, there really isn't any excuse, and you are probably a complete lush. End of story.

You know Spring Training is right around the corner when you start reading things like, "Eddie Bonine is a candidate for the 5th spot in the Tigers rotation." I'm convinced that guy could actually lose his right arm in a winter hunting accident, and he would still be considered a candidate for that spot. It's a true Detroit rite of spring, and it wouldn't feel right without it.

Contact me, the High Socks Legend, at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Frostbitten in the Mitten...Will The D Ever Be Sunny Again??

2010-02-11T01:54:00.019-05:00

While the sports scene in Detroit has been anything but stellar over the last couple of years, if you look hard enough, you can still find a teeny-tiny light at the end of the tunnel. For instance...

As George Blaha would say, "Don't look now, but the Pistons are only six games back in the loss column for the 8th and final playoff spot!!"

Is it a long shot? Sure.

And if they somehow did manage to sneak in, is there any way in hell that they would keep even one of those games with Cleveland under 35 points? Probably not.

But when you're 15 games under .500 and the only team you ever beat is the 4-48 New Jersey Nets , you look for a little silver lining somewhere. I'm going with the "loss column" angle. Feel free to jump on board...
Justin Verlander just signed a major extension that will keep his prized right arm in Detroit for the next five years. And while many are writing the Tigers off in the upcoming season, Verlander himself said this could be an excellent club if guys like "Bondo, Nate, and Dontrelle" get back to their old form. Way to play the "glass is half full" card, JV!

We'll just casually look past the fact that the aforementioned trio of hurlers are either extremely banged up (Bondo), completely washed up (Nate), or irreparably screwed up (Dontrelle). Can't wait for Spring Training!
Michigan State may have lost their third straight game on Tuesday night, but at least brick-tossin' Derrick Nix knocked down 1 of his 2 free throws. That puts him at 8 for 41 on the year, which is just a hair under 20 percent! A couple more splits at the line, and he could be knocking on the door of 30 percent. Look out, Rick Barry!!
The Red Wings are on the outside looking in as far as the playoffs are concerned, but they sit just two points out of the last spot in the West. This is due to the NHL's new rule where the losing team is still awarded at least one point in the standings if the officials determine that they put forth an honest effort in trying to get the W. Maybe that's why 27 of the 30 teams in the league are still realistically fighting for a postseason berth.

Parity and excitement are good things, but isn't this a little ridiculous? If you're gonna have shootouts to decide a winner in every single game, you can't continue to award points for losing games, especially the ones lost in the actual overtime period. Okay, I'm off the soapbox.

Plus, if I go on about the NHL any longer, I fear that my keyboard could get angry and stop working, just like the night that I wrote a 10,000 word love letter to yellow Skittles and my whole computer burst into flames upon completion.
The All-Star Game will be played this weekend, and for the first time since 2002, no Detroit Piston will be involved. However, you can still get your Stones fix on Friday night by watching Jonas Jerebko in the Rookie-Sophomore affair, or as it has come to be known in recent years, the "If you are watching this garbage for more than 15 or 20 minutes, then chances are your life isn't quite where you hoped it would be" game. Enjoy!

(Sidenote: Did you know the Sophomores have won 7 straight games in this series?? And that those wins included victories by 20, 24, 27 (twice), and 41 points?!? In a game where defense is frowned upon and virtually every bucket is an alley-oop, it's pretty strange that the contests have been so lopsided.)
Last year, the Michigan hoops squad invaded The Barn in Minnesota and took down the Golden Gophers for a season-saving road victory. The Wolverines, coming off losses in five of their last six games, make that same trip tonight with faint hopes of possibly turning this campaign around as well.

But unlike last year, when Beilein's boys walked around with a little bit of a swagger, this year's version lacks any confidence whatsoever and displays on-court chemistry similar to that of a thrice-divorced couple trying to figure out where to go out to eat on a busy Saturday night. Oh, wait, there was supposed to be some kind of silver lining here.

(Thinking...thinking...ummmmmm)

Okay, got it: one month from now, the season will be over and the utterly useless tandem of Stu Douglass and Zack Novak will have officially used up half of their total college basketball eligibility. U of M hoops...catch the fever!
The Pistons might be among the worst teams in the NBA, but hey, at least we don't have to watch lazy Rasheed Wallace jack up ridiculous 25-footers anymore. I was chattin' with my buddy Beantown Al tonight, a die-hard Celtics fan, and these were his three observations after half a season watching our boy Sheed on a nightly basis.

1. Ugh.
2. Nightmare.
3. I was looking forward to his defense more than his offense...and even that has been $#*%.

Not exactly a ringing endorsement for the big fella.

I still think the Pistons should have completely cut ties with Rasheed immediately following his unforgivable defensive mistake at the end of Game 5 against San Antonio. Or at least told him to stay home for the rest of the Finals.

In Game 7 of that series, with the Pistons on the verge of back-to-back championships, the 6-foot-11 Rasheed played 28 minutes and grabbed one rebound.

For the entire seven-game series, he made one free throw.

You're telling me those are the numbers of a guy playing his absolute hardest and leaving it all on the court? Give me a break. Sheed's counterpart in the series, Tim Duncan, converted 36 times at the line over the same stretch while averaging over 14 boards a game.

I'm not suggesting that Rasheed has ever been blessed with the same talent or skill level as Duncan, but those previous numbers (rebounds, free throws) are basically effort numbers. How bad do you want it? How much does this title mean to you?

To play 28 minutes at power forward in Game 7 of the Finals and come down with one freaking rebound is simply inexcusable, and points a bright light at the lack of focus and passion that has come to define Sheed's game since the day he entered the league 15 years ago. Duncan had a difficult time shooting the ball that whole night, but he found a way to will his team to the title. He got himself to the line, scrapped for offensive boards, and came up with clutch assists in the final quarter.

It's what a champion does. It's what a guy like Rasheed Wallace never did.

He's all yours now, Al. Good luck keeping your sanity, brother...
Todd McShay's most recent mock draft on ESPN.com has the Rams selecting Oklahoma DT Gerald McCoy with the first overall pick, meaning the Lions could get the chance to snap up Ndamukong Suh from Nebraska, where with any luck, he will one day become an injury-riddled love child of Luther Elliss and Kerwin Waldroup. I know that doesn't sound like much, but it's the best I could do in terms of positivity for a squad that is 2-30 over the last two years and has not had a .500 season since 2000.

I get a kick out of the fact that in that 2000 season, when the Lions somehow grinded out a 9-7 campaign with Bobby Ross and Gary Moeller patrolling the sidelines, they scored 307 total points on offense...while allowing exactly 307 points on defense. Even Steven. The one year out of the last 12 that the Lions won more games than they lost, and they were still unable to actually outscore their opponents for the season. Makes ya wonder...

If only Stoney Case hadn't fumbled that ball against Chicago...

Then they woulda made the playoffs...

They might not have fired Moeller...

And they never would have hired Mill...

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Hello, My Name is High Socks Legend...and I am a Hoop Head

2010-02-08T00:22:00.013-05:00

Listen up, NBA-TV. It's one thing to have Cheryl Miller bouncing around the sidelines for TNT asking pointless questions at halftime and after the game. That's minimally invasive. But the decision to put her in your studio, where she is expected to offer coherent and insightful analysis, is simply way, way, wayyyy, over the line. I mean, have you heard her lately?? Her game is so limited that she makes Kenny Smith seem like Billy Shakespeare. Here is a general idea of what a Cheryl Miller highlight narration sounds like. In this scene, Matt Winer will be doing the highlights, and let's say it's a couple of Ok. City Thunder clips.

WINER: Third quarter, Thunder up 12, and here comes Kevin Durant down the lane for a nasty one-handed flush in traffic.

Cue Cheryl

CHERYL: (All capitals, since I have yet to hear her do any highlight without shrieking) UH-OHH! IT'S THE "DURANTULA!!"

WINER: (After a long pause) Moving on, under a minute to go in the game, Thunder with the basketball, and it's Jeff Green with a nifty spin move for the easy deuce.

CHERYL: OHHH, DON'T DO IT TO 'EM J-GREEEEN!! DO NOT DO IT!!!!

WINER: (Longer pause...searching for a response...clearly shaken) Let's just go to a commercial.

Throw in the high-pitched shrill that she picked up from her brother Reggie, and it is just about impossible to watch the late-night NBA wrap-up without wanting to rip the TV out of the wall and fire it against the wall. Hey, but at least she's attractive. Ya know, if you're into that whole Larry Fitzgerald-Troy Hudson kinda thing...

If a player has attempted more than 200 three-pointers thus far in the season, one can probably assume that said player is a pretty decent shooter from out there. Otherwise, why would the guy be hoisting so many? After a little research, we see that 30 players have attempted more than 200 bombs on the year. 28 of the 30 are hitting at least 30% of these shots, leaving us with two offending players. Take a realllly wild guess who they could be. Seriously...stop right now and try to think of the two guys. You should be able to come up with them. Alright, time's up.

One is obviously our good friend Baron Davis (202 3s taken, 28%), a player that has never developed a consistent stroke from deep, and amazingly enough, has never realized this part of his game should have been completely eliminated years ago. If you wanna be real sick, take a look back at Baron's 2003-04 season in New Orleans. He appeared in just 67 games, but still mustered up enough strength for a league-leading 582 hammer throws from three-point land. That comes out to a stomach-churning 8.7 trey attempts per game; clearly not the most efficient offensive option when those shots were finding the nets just 32% of the time.

The other guilty party is none other than Rasheed Wallace (214 3s taken, 29%). Announcers and fans still love to classify Sheed as some kind of "dual threat" power forward that is as deadly on the block as he is from 23 feet. Newsflash: the guy hasn't operated out of the block in a good 10 years, and hasn't hit a late-game 3 in, well, ever. What you were thinking, Danny Ainge? You knew last summer that your creaky squad probably only had one more good run in it, and you decide to murder their chances by adding quite possibly the most overrated and least intelligent player in the league over the last five years?? You'd have been better off signing Jayson Williams. And he's an actual murderer.
With Shannon Brown playing an integral role in the Lakers' quest for a second consecutive championship, it makes you wonder: how come Maurice Ager couldn't have had a similar NBA career? When they were hoopin' in East Lansing, both had very similar games. Tremendous athleticism, great in the open court, and a better than average shot from deep. If anything, Ager might have been a tad more polished offensively. But somehow, Ager never seemed to get a true shot to showcase his skills, and before you knew it, he was chewed up and spit out the NBA roster book. He is now playing overseas while Shannon continues to improve under the tutelage of Phil Jackson and Kobe Bryant. You gotta think that Mo lies awake some nights in Spain watching the Lakers on the tube, seeing Shannon throw down another vicious jam, just thinking to himself, "That should be me wearin' the purple and gold." One of those funny basketball mysteries that might never be fully explained.

Inappropriate NBA trivia question of the day: What's longer, Kevin Durant's right arm or Greg Oden's, ummm, "middle" arm???

The Pistons' starting backcourt of Rodney Stuckey and Rip Hamilton managed to play 56 combined minutes Friday night against Indiana without recording a single assist. As Steve Lavin would say, way to "Share the sugar," fellas!

HSL Nerdy, but Cool Stat of the Week

Shawn Marion (in his three seasons with Steve Nash) averaged 97 3s a year.

Shawn Marion (in 47 games this season, no Nash) has hit one three-pointer.

Michael Beasley definitely has some flavor in terms of his offensive arsenal, but my man needs to develop a little bit of a mean streak to become a real weapon alongside D-Wade for the Heat. In a recent game, I saw Brad Miller body him up a few times, grab some offensive boards, and the look on Beasley's face was one that said, "Jeez Brad, do you have to play that hard? You almost messed up one of my cornrows!!"

After his breakout 13 point, 6 rebound performance Saturday night against New Jersey, Jason Maxiell told reporters after the game that he is "trying to take his game to the next level." Eaaaaasy there, Big Fella. Look Max, I've always been a fan of yours and admire the hard work you generally put in, but whaddya say we call this performance what it really was (a minor miracle) and move on to the next game? This is your fifth year with the Stones, sir, and I'm not sure I have seen your game change one iota. You attack the offensive glass with hunger, smash home some of the hardest dunks in all the land, and continue to shoot middle-school percentages (career 57%) from the line. That's who you are, and it's who you will always be. So spare us this "Next Level" hype, J. I've seen that act before, and believe me, the reality never lives up to the original prediction.

If you don't believe me, go talk to former Pistons forward (and longtime high-socker), Mikki Moore. Going into each off-season, Mikki would talk about how he was really going to dedicate himself and work his tail off to become a legitimate threat from downtown. He had this bizarre vision in his head where he would become some kind of giant 7-foot small forward that could be a threat from anywhere on the floor, while also blocking shots and doing the necessary big person stuff inside. Needless to say, Mikki has now logged over 10,000 minutes in the NBA and buried exactly two shots from beyond the arc, while changing teams somewhere in the neighborhood of 37 times in the last five years.

But by all means, Mr. Maxiell, go ahead and make that leap to the "next level." We believe in you. We really do. Phhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

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You Pay a Price...For Every Slice

2010-02-03T02:05:00.029-05:00

(The following is another 'High Socks-Low Socks' production. Read the first installment here.)

(It's a Sunday. There's football on the tube. Munchies on the table. Just a few guys kickin' back for some good laughs and warm grub.)

LUKE: Hey man, glad you could all drop by and watch the game. You know, with everybody being so busy and all, it's hard to find a time we can all hang out.

RUSS: Totally agree. Thanks for having us. Hey, guys like us...we smell pizza, we come a runnin'. (Lets out an awkward chuckle while rubbing belly as if starving). I don't know about you, but I'm really pulling for a hometown victory today. That loss Wednesday night might have sealed our playoff chances for good.

LUKE: I'd like to see them get a win, too. Nothing worse than seeing a good season go to waste down the stretch. How's your family, man? Mark still playin' ball?

RUSS: Everyone is great, thanks for asking. Mark is a bit husky for Little League, but he's still playing. He's actually been going to a hitting coach on weekends...only thing is that the kid's still afraid of the ball. A mental thing, you know. (Reaches for two slices of 'Za at one time...having a hard time fitting both on a single plate. He manages to split and stack them.)

LUKE: Hey Russ, you're a good friend, right? I mean, we share just about everything with each other. Like blood brothers.

RUSS: Of course! Have been since the third grade. You remember the time I told you about my crazy housekeeper? And how she used to massage......well, you remember, right? That's some personal stuff right there.

LUKE: Right, right. I remember that. Now, walk slowly back to the buffet table and place that second slice back where it came from or I'm calling the cops--I mean it--and keep your hands where I can see 'em. (Turns around and runs to bedroom--locks the door behind him.) "Uh, 9-1-1, I'd like to report a double homicide. I'm at home and I just witnessed a guy kill two slices at once---Correct ma'am, the murderer took two slices in the first round without regard for anyone else. For Christ's sake, the guy used to babysit my kids!!!...please hurry."

(Cut to Police Headquarters: Interrogation Room B. The cop lights a cigarette and takes a swig of his piping-hot coffee. His gun sits loaded and ready on the metal tabletop.)

COP: You know why you're here, right?

RUSS: No, sir. I most definitely do not know why I am here. I was just watching the ballgame with my buddy, grabbin' a couple slices of 'Za, and next thing I know, I'm being dragged away in shackles and put in this orange jumpsuit.

COP: You just said a mouthful...literally.

RUSS: What are you talking about?!?!

COP: Hold on, let's take a step back for a minute. You said that you grabbed a "couple slices of 'Za." You mean that you "Grabbed one piece, put it on your plate, ate it, and then upon completion, went for number two." Right?

RUSS: Uhh, well, not exactly. See the things is...

COP: NO! (Smacks fist on table, sending vibrations throughout the room.) I don't want to hear stories and I don't want to hear excuses!! Tell me exactly what happened or I'll turn that pretty face of yours into a three-cheese calzone!

RUSS: Alright, I took TWO SLICES at once. OKAY?!?!? Is that what you wanted to hear?? I was nervous about my pizza quantity, and I panicked, so I snagged a pair! Since when is that such a big f$&king crime?!?!?

COP: Since the creation of a little thing called the goddamned Constitution, that's when!! Our founding fathers wrote that to prevent acts like this. Acts against this country. Acts against humanity.

RUSS: I've seen people do this kinda thing my whole life. Kids birthdays growing up...class pizza parties...we all did it. Why take only one to start when you know with 100% certainty you're gonna go back for a repeat performance?? It's not about being selfish or being a pizza hog...it's just common sense. You understand at all where I'm coming from, Detective?

COP: No kid, I don't. (He takes a long pause; not for effect, but because it just means that much to him.) See, I had a life once, too. I wasn't always "just a cop." I had it all: the wife (Pam), the kid (Tucker), a nice two-story out in Keego Harbor, and just about the friendliest little Chihuahua in the whole world...(now on the verge of uncontrollable sobbing)...we called him Buckles. So anyway, we're having a get-together over at the house one day. No big deal, just a little Faygo Orange, a little thin-crust 'Za, and a few family and friends. We were having such a good time!! (Now losing it completely...) So then my older brother Terry opens up the first box of pizza. And I still remember to this day, he didn't just reach with one hand...he reached with both. He grabbed a slice. And then another. Only, that "other piece" was three slices away. He was (now choking on his own tears) TAKIN' THREE MAN...RIGHT OFF THE BAT!! Just so much cheese...so much sauce...the plate couldn't even hold all that weight. So Pam notices. She asks Terry to "take it easy...just have one to start...there will be plenty to go around." He just stares at his plate, then at Pam, and then back at his plate. And so help me God, I wish what I was about to say next was a lie, but it's the blue-skies truth. Terry picks up his pizza, all three slices at once, and takes a big ol' bite. Got a little of each slice. Just went and made 'em his own. No way could they be "community slices" again. So my Pammie goes into the kitchen. She's in there about 20-30 seconds, ain't no longer. When she walked back into the living room, everybody started murmuring. I didn't know why...'till I glanced over, and saw my Pam holding our Commemorative Paul Bunyan Hunting Axe. Minute and a half later, those three slices were splayed all over the floor...alongside Terry's lifeless hands. It was the perfect storm of marinara, mozzarella, and mutilation. (Eyes now burning with rage) Terry took his three pieces of 'Za that day. He wound up losing his two hands. That leaves one. One slice that coulda saved his life.

RUSS: I'm sorry. I didn't know. I promise that I will never, ever do it again.

COP: I know you won't, son. I know you won't. (Reaches under the table)

RUSS: OH MY LORD!! Is that...an...electric pizza cutter??!?!?

COP: You'll thank me for this one day. (Revs up engine, strides toward Russ)

RUSS: NOOOOOOO!!! OMIGODDDDD!!! ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

If you or anyone you know has ever taken two slices at once, now is the time to get help. Reach me at
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You Said WHO Scored HOW MANY?!?!?

2010-02-01T01:36:00.017-05:00

Andre Miller scored 52 points in an NBA game on Saturday night. And amazingly, there have yet to be any confirmed reports that Hell has indeed frozen over. Honestly, this has to be one of the most bizarre 50-point outings in the history of the league. Miller entered Saturday night's action scoring 12.6 points per game, with a season high of 28. In his previous three games, he had shot 1 for 8, 2 for 11, and 1 for 6 from the floor. Combine those four measly buckets with the nine turnovers he made during that stretch, and you were looking at maybe the least likely player in the entire Association to randomly pop for half a hundo over the weekend. In honor of Miller's historic night, let's take a look at two other bizarre scoring outbursts from the NBA vault.

Darius Miles (47)

There must have been a full moon the night of April 19, 2005. The season was coming to a close, and Portland was in Denver for a ho-hum "let's get this thing over with as quickly as possible" affair. But weird things kept happening.

The diminutive Earl Boykins blew up for 24 points, 12 dimes, and a blocked shot.

The Blazers hung a 42-spot on the Nugs in the 2nd quarter, went to the line a staggering 42 times for the game...and still wound up losing by four.

And last but not least, our man of the hour, Darius Miles, one of the most frustratingly inconsistent lottery picks in league history, a player who was often rumored to be living without an active pulse, and a man that just nine days prior had posted a whopping two points on 1 for 10 shooting in a game against New Orleans...WENT OFF for Forty-Seven Freaking Points.

What in the Sam Hill got into ol' Darius that night, we will never know. We know that he shot the ball 33 times, made 19, and collected exactly zero assists in the process. He even volunteered to play defense for the first time in his career, grabbing four steals to go with his Pryzbilla-esque five blocked shots. Miles, never considered to be the most perceptive player in NBA history, surprised nobody with this comment after the game.

"I didn't know how many points I had at the half (he had 32), and guys were saying I could score 50. I thought, I'm not going to score 30 more points. I thought I had like 20."

People always say they remember exactly where they were when certain world-changing moments occurred: JFK...9/11...Blue Chips. Me, I'll always remember the night D-Miles went for 47. I was talking with my friend Harold online, and both of us came across the Portland-Denver box score at the same moment. I can't be sure of the exact amount of time, but I would estimate that we proceeded to spend the next 90-300 minutes just repeatedly expressing our combined sense of awe and overall confusion at the stat line Darius had just posted. It made no sense then, and it makes even less sense now.

But as often happens in sports, things tend to return to normalcy quite soon after a wild game, and in this case, it was the very next night. The Blazers closed the book on the season with a home win over the Lakers. Darius Miles scored eight lonely points.

Midway through the next year, he watched his right knee turn to lemon jello, and his transformation into literally becoming Jonathan Bender had become complete.

We might be a couple elections away, but somewhere down the line, we will have to vote a 47th US President into office. In my mind, there's only one man truly capable of representing that number and all that it stands for. His name...Darius LaVar Miles.

(Weird Sidenote: One of the reasons Miles was able to play 40 minutes in that game was because the normally mild-mannered Blazers starting small forward (Shareef Abdur-Rahim) was ejected in the 3rd quarter. Which leads us to...)

Shareef Abdur-Rahim (50)

I remember the details of this game so vividly, even eight and a half years later. The Pistons were invading Philips Arena in Atlanta to take on a depressing Lon Kruger-coached Hawks squad. For me, the night took on a life of its own when the starting lineups were flashed across the screen. Jerry Stackhouse: Out, Strained Groin. Starting at shooting guard for the Stones: my main man Jon Barry.

I'd been a huge JB fan his whole career, and could not have been more ecstatic when he finally became a Piston. Well, now my boy was in the starting lineup for the first time and I was praying he would make good on his 15 minutes of fame. He did much more than that. JB was a man possessed the whole night, scoring 25 points on a sparkling 7 of 11 shooting (including 5-6 from downtown and 6-7 from the stripe), all while motoring at his usual 150% for 40 exhausting minutes, and making one solitary turnover. It was a special night for me and the entire Barry family.

But there were two problems.

1. Shareef Abdur-Rahim was playing for the Hawks that night.

2. Rick Carlisle was coaching for the Pistons.

Bad combination.

Abdur-Rahim showed early in the night that he was not going to be stopped by one man. The Stones had the soon-to-be Defensive Player of the Year in Ben Wallace, but it didn't matter. Shareef was on a mission. So naturally, you would think, "Well, Carlisle had to start doubling him at some point, right???" WRONG.

If there's anything you could say about Rick Carlisle as a head coach at that time, it was this: the man was stubborn as a mule.

---"Michael Curry is 45 years old and can't guard his own shadow. Don't care, I'm still startin' him."

---"Corliss Williamson is scoring practically every time we give him the ball. Don't care, I'm still taking him out in the big moments of every game."

---"I might get fired if I don't start treating Mr. Davidson with some respect. Don't care, I'm still gonna be an unfriendly mook with an unhealthy affinity for Bruce Hornsby tunes." (Though I can understand that one...Set Me in Motion is possibly my favorite song of all-time.)

So, like I said, if you thought the Pistons would offer Big Ben some help on the block, you were sadly mistaken.

No double or triple-teams from various angles...no fronting him in the post to make it harder for him to catch the ball...no sending in the all-too-willing Brian Cardinal to "accidentally" obliterate one of Shareef's knees into a million pieces.

They just continued to let him peacefully set up his office on the left block and go to work. I'd say of Reef's 21 field goals that night, a good 18 or 19 were that same little baby hook in the lane from inside of 8 feet. Fifty points is fifty points, but homeboy wasn't exactly reinventing the wheel.

The Pistons led by 16 at halftime. At the end of three, the advantage had been chopped to 10. And when that final buzzer sounded at the end of the night, the lead had evaporated completely. The numbers looked like this.

Hawks 106, Pistons 99.

Abdur-Rahim 50, Jon Barry 25.

Rick Carlisle 1, My Emotional Well-Being 0.

It started off as the best night of my life. It wound up scarring me for the next eight plus years.

Rick Carlisle refused to adapt that night. And his Pistons paid the ultimate price. When Andre Miller torched the Mavericks on Saturday, it was post-up city for the duration without the slightest bit of defensive creativity from the Dallas bench. Who was the coach holding the clipboard for the victimized squad, you ask? Take a wild guess.

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I Say High Socks, You Say Low Socks: A Scholarly Panel Discussion on Pickup Hoops

2010-01-29T00:01:00.013-05:00

It's a topic we discuss a lot on this blog, and for good reason. Pickup basketball really is the truest measure of what a dude is all about. Does your boy pass the rock? Does he shoot it every time down the floor? Can he D his man up? It is often said that you can learn more about a guy in five minutes on the hardwood than you could in five years under any other circumstances. Don't try and argue with me...this stuff has been proven. Today, we bring aboard my younger brother Sam, a pickup ball extraordinaire, for a little back-and-forth exchange on this timeless athletic phenomenon.

HSL

Everybody can remember a certain game or day on the court when absolutely nothing could go wrong. Errant passes are recovered for easy layups, your crossover feels like it has been personally blessed by Tim Hardaway, and every 3-ball you take falls through the net like melted butter on a flaky Pillsbury biscuit. I can remember one specific late afternoon/early evening at IM East on the campus of Michigan State University when the pickup gods were all smiles in my direction.

I was lucky enough to hook up with that unique group of guys that all come to the court together, and know each others' tendencies inside and out. Once we started rollin', they could see I had it going from deep, and they responded immediately. Every time down, these guys were setting screens for me and wiping out any defender that dared to try and make it through the gauntlet unscathed. It became their personal mission to get me the rock in a position to shoot, and all I had to do was catch, rise, and fire.

I felt like Mitch Richmond on those horrendous Sac Kings teams in the early 90's when every single possession was geared around getting him the pill and letting him operate. Only we were winning. We probably wound up running the court for a good two hours before some fresh squad came on and wore us down. Guys were coming up to me after offering high-fives, a ride back to my crib, their younger sisters to date. For that night, I was a pickup legend.

Pretty sure you've had some nights like this yourself, young brother; though I'd imagine most of your big games came with me handling the ball and driving/kicking to you at your every beck and call, where all you had to do was set the puppies and let it fly. Any memorable gym-rat outings that stick out in your mind??

Sam

Let me start out by thanking you, High Socks. I am an avid fan of your blogitation, and am honored to be writing on it for the second time (see my article on can't miss deodorizers and other noteworthy information).

Ah yes, pick-up hoops. I love talking pick-up, playing pick-up, and all too often, eating pick-up. The game of basketball is very dear to me. If given the opportunity, I would partake in games every day of the week. In fact, contrary to what my academic advisor might tell you, I definitely earned college credit in the department of brain, behavior, and baseline jumpers. So it goes without saying that I've done a lot of "running:" threes half-court, fours, fives, and even Australian when I'm feeling particularly good. Yet, I can still point to that single day at the intramural gym where, like you said, everything seemed to go right. My four comrades and I took the court with standard pick-up expectations of winning two in a row.

It was clear to me even after the first few possessions that somehow, someway, our squad was meshing like "lamb and tuna feesh." Pick and rolls, backdoor layups, pick and pops, putbacks, fast breaks. The terror we imposed on offense was balanced by a vocal defense rarely experienced on the after-class hardwood. We must have won six or seven games consecutively without batting an eye. Unlike your story, my tale is about a team. While the game only necessitates you play five guys, it is near impossible to form a team where you play to each others' strengths. Little did I know that the particular team I speak of included John Grotberg, the NCAA's all-time leader in career threes. Now, pair him with myself, two other bodies, and whom I swear was actually the angelic form of Christopher Lloyd from that Outfield flick, and you've got a pretty sweet team and an unforgettable night at the gym.

I was very fortunate the past few years at Michigan to have actually run several games with LaVell Blanchard, a 4-year starter for Big Blue in the early 00's. He was a guy with incredible talent, and we actually became good buddies on the court. For me, this felt like a dream come true. Not only did I get to run as long as I desired (we won every game), but the style of play wasn't of your average pick-up quality with long threes and uncalled banks. LaVell demanded proper play and that's what me and the others delivered. Some people close to me said that I talked too often about those outings with 'Vell, and that it was starting to sound a little weird. I'm in a better place now...halfway around the globe from where he's playing in France.

HSL

Ahh, I see it didn't take long for you to mention your boy LaVell. I'll go ahead and say it. I've heard all your tales and fables about the times you spent with him over the years, but lemme ask you one thing; is there any legitimate evidence or documentation that these meetings/games actually took place??? I've never come across LaVell at a family dinner or seen his name pop up in the missed calls log of your celly. The only thing I can remember is that weird doctored photograph you created where he had his arm around your shoulder at some seedy bar with the caption "Friendz 4 Lyfe" scribbled at the top (Still one of the low points of your college career). I believe that during the time period for which those alleged "games" took place, LaVell was hoopin' in places like Italy, Greece, and Russia. What'd you guys do, meet halfway in Livonia?? (Unknown to most, Livonia is exactly halfway to every major city in the world. It's the geographical center of the universe.) Tell ya what, I'll give ya the benefit of the doubt and take your word that you balled with one of Michigan's finest, but I'm digesting it with several dozen grains of salt.

I'll agree that the pickup dynamic can change quite a bit when a stud college player or even a pro takes to the court. Sad to say, but most of the legends I've run with were either well past their primes or down to just one good leg, and most times, it was both. There was former UDM Titan star Terry Duerod, a guy that despite being heavily bandaged and braced at all times, continued to demand the rock in pickup games throughout the 1990's, at one point even doing so right in the middle of a hip replacement operation taking place at the top of the key. Former "Bad Boy" John Long has also been a gym-rat regular over the years in the area, and I'm honored to say that I've been swept off the court on more than one occasion so Steady Eddie could run his daily three-man weave. But I think you would agree that our most memorable brush with greatness didn't involve either of us at all.

We both took piano lessons for a couple of years. A little practice here, a little bit there, several busted versions of the Chariots of Fire theme along the way. It wasn't exactly our finest hour. You escaped one lesson by hiding in the bushes outside, while I infamously hightailed it to the nearby commons to avoid the "Piano Man." It's not that our teacher was scary. It's just that we hadn't practiced one iota and had no way of hiding this fact when that "30 Minutes of Hell" commenced. So we ran. But thankfully, sometimes we stayed, and we heard stories. And when I say stories, I mean stories.

Anybody that's anybody in the Metro Detroit area knows Mike Bez. That was our teacher. He could tickle the ivories like Beethoven. He could play "Chopsticks" with his feet. But those who knew him best were aware of his real talent. Shooting 3s...from the wing...off glass. And it worked. Elias Sports Bureau reported that Bez was cash money a good 86% of the time from beyond the arc when he was completely unguarded and given the standard 12-14 seconds to prepare his shot. (Unfortunately, this percentage did drop to 12% if there was any defender within breathing distance.) Even though his delivery resembled a soccer player 'throw in' with that unorthodox over-the-head release, the ball usually found its way through the net. Which takes us to the aforementioned classic story of David versus Goliath that generally found its way into our weekly lessons at least two or three dozen times in the span of that half hour.

As the legend went, Bez was just mindin' his Biz one lazy afternoon at Franklin Racquet Club. Then he walked in. The he in question...one Mr. Grant Hill. G-Hill was rehabbing his ankle at the time, but was still able to go work on his J every once in a while. Well, on this day, he couldn't help but notice the mop-topped piano teacher bombing away on the other end of the floor. He challenged our man to a shootout. The offer was accepted. It was "Hill vs. Bez" to decide the fate of the free world. Okay, maybe not quite at that level, but when he tells you this story and you're an impressionable 13-year-old mook doing all you can to memorize the notes on the treble clef, you'll believe just about anything. The exact specifics of that contest have been lost in the shuffle over the years, but there's one thing neither of us will ever forget: Bez took G-Hill down. The story always ended the same way; with our hero knocking down one final glasser to clinch the victory as the NBA super-duper-star looked on in sheer amazement. Un-freaking-believable.

Maybe we weren't actually at the gym to witness that slice of history. And sure, maybe Bez casually "forgets" to mention the fact that G-Hill was on crutches that day and performed most of his shots while in a wheelchair. None of it matters now. We heard the story. It changed our lives. Nuff' said.

Sam

Wow, BroSox. That was ummm...interesting. I think we just went from talking about pick-up b-ball to the musical stylings of one Mike Bez. To put this discussion to rest, let me point out a few things about the pick-up game that bug me. Your man Bez and his 25 foot bank just rubs me the wrong way. I've played in too many games when a three goes up from the top and it falls in...off glass. At that point, the players might smile and laugh their way back down the other side; but me...I say that bucket don't count. I call a foul on the shooter for "hurting" the backboard and we're going the other way...no points. The shot goes through the net, but it's unsightly. Hey, I'll tell you what. You can get a good look at a T-bone by sticking your head up a bull's a$$, but wouldn't you rather take the butcher's word for it? Wait, that doesn't apply...let's move on.

Speaking of shots that go through the net, I am absolutely certain you are familiar with the guy who refers to a swish as "all nets." First off, there is only one net, so "nets" is out of the question. Second, where has this guy has been playing all this time that nobody has "straightened him out" yet??? Next time you bring that jargon to the court, we instantly start calling you "Old Skool."

After a tough game, I like to get a healthy swig of water from the fountain just like the next guy. I understand that the postgame drink is one that is most satisfying; in fact, researchers at Subway University have shown that postgame fountain water is, on average, colder than pure ice. However, there is still no reason to spend more than twenty or thirty seconds lapping it up. I take pride in grabbing a few swigs, getting in line again, and then having my personal time with the watering hole. The next time you witness the marathon drinker after a game taking his good ol' time, interrupt him and ask politely, "Mind if you raise your chops when you drink cause I'm really thirsty and might be able to salvage what you're not catchin?" I promise he'll step out of your way and never think about committing that crime again.

Feel like adding something to the highly intellectual discussion that just took place?? Drop a thought here, or shoot me an E-mail at
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Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

2010-01-25T00:28:00.014-05:00

She Said Whattt?!?!?

Caught a segment on NBA-TV over the weekend where the analysts were giving their opinions on the Top-10 athletes in league history. Names like Vince, LeBron, and Michael were all being mentioned, and rightfully so. Then it became time for Cheryl Miller to unveil her list, and all hell broke loose.

She started off like a perfectly sane human being. Wilt the Stilt at the top, LeBron to follow, guys like Kemp and Dominique finding their way into the mix as well. Yeah, I may have done a bit of a double take when she dropped Darvin Ham in there at #8, but it wasn't the worst call ever. What she said next was, though. Last on her list, at #10, of the Top-10 Athletes in NBA history, was none other than Matt Freaking Harpring.

Hehhhhh??? Matt Harpring?? The same Matt Harpring that has always gotten by on heart, grittiness, and playing as dirtily as humanly possible, without even the slightest ounce of genuine athleticism...that Matt Harpring? And the craziest thing of all...she was one-hundred percent serious!! No sarcasm, no inside joke, no nothing. Cheryl Miller had officially lost her marbles. She tried justifying the insanity by explaining that Harpring was a great football player back in the day, and how injuries had robbed him of much of his explosiveness. Ohhh rightttt, I forgot about that.

I just think we're all lucky that they restricted the analysts to ten athletes apiece. I was afraid of who Miller planned to follow Harpring with on her list. Stanley Roberts? Khalid El-Amin? I'm thinking next up would probably have been someone like Matt Bullard, the Rockets' sharpshooter from yesteryear that had a similar "athletic brilliance" as her boy Harpring.

You learn something new every day. Today, we learned that being an elite athlete is not about highlight-reel dunks or fantastic high-flying finishes around the rim. Instead, it is about being pastier than Pete Chilcutt, possessing knees made up completely of minestrone, making textbook chest passes, and having a propensity for crowd-pleasing plays like "nifty reverse layups" and "perfectly executed back cuts."

In a situation such as this, where an analyst goes so far off the beaten path to make a point that should never have been made in the first place, robbing us all of precious minutes of our life in the process, there is really only one thing to say.

"Mrs. Miller, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."

"I'm in Love...with the 3-Point Line"

At first glance, Devan Bawinkel is just another Iowa Hawkeyes guard that likes hanging out in 3-point land. But look a little bit closer, and you realize; he doesn't just "hang out" there...he lives out there. Bawinkel has attempted 57 shots this year...and every single one has been from behind the long line.

It's an amazing accomplishment that completely defies any reasonable basketball logic. I mean, there are plenty of guys that like to go out and hoist from deep as part of their game. Hell, I've made a living out of it my whole life. But to play in 20 games, spend over 300 minutes on the court, and attempt 57 shots without once stepping foot inside the arc for even one shot?? That is truly unbelievable.

Doesn't Coach Lickliter ever take him aside and say, "Hey Devan, we think it's great how you like to shoot the 3 so much. We really do. But maybe tonight, can you maybe try moving in a couple feet, or even attack the basket a little bit? I know it's a lot to ask, but it's getting a little weird and people are starting to ask questions. Thanks, pal...now get the hell out of my office."

And it's not like the guy is Mark Price from out there, either. Bawinkel is shooting a modest 37% from long range, which of course also means he is shooting 37% from the field. (Paging Baron Davis) Not that any of this should come as a surprise.

In Bawinkel's freshman year at West Virginia (he transferred to Iowa after one season), 72.5% of his shot attempts were treys. Then last year, as his fear of the paint grew stronger, that number skyrocketed to 96.5%. Coming into this year, he must have figured, "I've made it this far...I might as well take it up that one final notch." And so he has.

57 field-goal attempts...57 three-pointers. It's different, unique, and embarrassing all at the same time. Frankly, I can't wait to watch Iowa's next game. It won't be hard to find ol' Devan Bawinkel. He's found his perfect 'home' on the basketball court...and he's never leaving.

(Sidenote: Bawinkel played 700 minutes last year without ever attempting a free throw. After knowing this, and the previously mentioned 3-point statistics, I think it goes without saying that this mook is quite possibly the least aggressive player in Big Ten history, and to take it a step further, probably the most worthless form of life ever to walk the planet earth.)

She Could Teach Dontrelle How to Throw Strikes

History was made Sunday afternoon when Kelly Kulick became the first woman to ever win a PBA Tour event. She "rolled" over (bup bup bup...that's me laughing at my cute word joke) veteran Chris Barnes in the final, 265-195, to capture one of the year's five majors, the Tournament of Champions from Las Vegas. Once you get past the fact that Kulick is basically a dead ringer for Aileen Wuornos, it becomes a neat little story.

I found myself checking in on the proceedings as the day went on, and when I say "checking in," what I really mean is, "watching every single frame from start to finish." The real highlight of the day was the super semi-final between Kulick and Major Mika Koivuniemi, but I think it's best to keep things low-key here and not get too out of control with the bowling match recaps. (Right? I mean, tell me if I'm wrong. I'm more than happy to oblige in the future.)

So on a day when the Super Bowl matchup was decided with battles in Indianapolis and New Orleans, and the New York Knicks lost a game by fifty points, the biggest story somehow came from the underappreciated world of bowling. And I saw the whole thing.

(And yes, I'm aware that this makes me a complete lush.)

What Else I Be Thinkin'...

-Brad Gilbert is the best analyst on TV today, for any sport. Period. He knows all the players and is never afraid to say exactly what's on his mind. B.G. (as Chris Fowler likes to call him when it's late and they get loopy) also has a world-class sense of humor. Either that, or maybe I'm getting a little loopy here watchin' Davydenko-Verdasco at 3 AM. Regardless, he's a tremendous announcer, and somebody I routinely think about, even when I'm not watching tennis. Wait...what?

-You ever met one of these guys that brags about how many times they've seen Lord of the Rings and how much they enjoy the whole trilogy? You ever done that and walked away thinking anything but, "Man, I really should have punched that guy right in the face?"

-Michigan State big man Derrick Nix is doing some historic things at the free-throw line, and it sho' aint pretty. The 280-pound freshman from Pershing has attempted 39 free-throws on the year. He has made 7. Don't worry, I just got the chills, too. If you're scoring at home, that's a bone-chilling 18% from the stripe. (Watch one of his horrific misses here.) And he's actually been pretty "hot" of late. Keep in mind, Nix got the year off to a particularly disgusting start when he converted just one of his first 21 attempts at the line. You almost have to try to be that bad, don't you?

-On January 15th, the Pistons played the New Orleans Hornets. Rip Hamilton committed 7 turnovers. Later in the week, the Pistons entertained the Boston Celtics. Rip Hamilton committed 7 turnovers. In the very next game, the Pistons took on the Indiana Pacers. Guess what? Rip Hamilton committed 7 turnovers. With youngsters like Jonas Jerebko and Austin Daye still learning on the job, it's a good thing they have a guy like Rip around to show them the ropes by preaching the importance of ball security and valuing each possession. Yeah, that...or the complete opposite.

Got a comment of your own?? Drop it here, or shoot me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Pullin' the Socks Up High for the Holiday Movie Review Extravaganza

2010-01-20T01:19:00.023-05:00

Crazy Heart

Was it the exact same movie as The Wrestler, only with the profession changing from pro grappler to country singer? Yes. Exactly the same. Was it nearly as enjoyable or well done as The Wrestler? I don't think so. And I'm not sure it's close. Not to put Jeff Bridges down in any way, because he was, as per usual, tremendous. He always puts his heart and soul into his roles, and this was no exception. I've always liked the guy. (Especially in the underrated thriller Arlington Road.) But somehow, I found myself much more invested in the fate of Mickey Rourke's "Randy 'The Ram' Robinson" than I did with Bridges' "Bad Blake." It was hard to watch this movie and not compare it to The Wrestler throughout because they really are so similar. But Crazy Heart always seemed to be coming up short when the two were stacked against one another.

Each had an attractive young love interest trying to straighten their man out. And obviously, I'll take Marisa Tomei over Maggie Gyllenhaal every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Each had the main character battling various health ailments and addictions. And both guys were trying to repair past mistakes in raising a family by attempting to reconnect with a forgotten child. But like I said, The Wrestler was superior on all fronts. In that flick, we see Mickey Rourke actually going to visit his daughter...spending time with her...disappointing her again. We cared because we could actually see the relationship on-screen in various stages. In Crazy Heart, we get a couple vague mentions of a son, and then an awkward 30-second phone call that does very little to advance the story.

I didn't love the movie, I didn't hate the movie. I wouldn't be surprised if Jeff Bridges ended up winning Best Actor at The Oscars (after winning at the Golden Globes), and I would be extremely happy for him if he did. But I thought the story could have moved along at a brisker pace, it could have delved a little deeper into the Bridges/Colin Farrell history, and they could have had about a half-dozen less shots of Bad Blake running for the nearest garbage can or toilet to let go of that night's alcoholic festivities. A terrific performance in an otherwise underwhelming story.

(Lowlight of the Experience: The lunch before the movie with my Dad and brother Mike. I have always been a big proponent of the cute little chain, "Noodles and Co.," and wanted to share the experience with my people. Unfortunately, they came away wildly unimpressed, and frankly, a bit angry with me for the selection. My Dad was upset that they force you to mix in the shredded cheese yourself with the Macaroni (an understandable beef), and lamented throughout the day that the meal was inferior to the Mac you get from a box of Kraft. I was shocked, to say the least. I know the place ain't any kind of 5-star gourmet joint, but I've always found it to be a pleasant experience and a quality bowl of pasta for the right price. They both said it would be their last time stepping foot in the place...it's their loss.)

The Hurt Locker

Maybe I should have seen it when it was playing on the big screen. Maybe I should have stuck with it for the entire 2-plus hours instead of bailing on the DVD after the first 65 minutes. Maybe I would have walked away with a different feeling about this flick. Maybe I would have been singing its praises along with every critic in America. But I highly doubt it.

It's weird to say that an intense movie revolving around a bomb squad in the Iraq War could not hold my attention, but that's exactly the case here. I just couldn't get on board. Every "action" sequence took about a week to unfold, and when it finally did, it was usually anticlimactic and disappointing. Even if you give the film credit for creating lifelike circumstances and accurate portrayals of the battle in Iraq, doesn't there still have to be some thought-provoking dialogue or interesting characters to qualify it as a Best Picture-type movie?? Apparently not. According to most pundits, The Hurt Locker is a virtual lock to be one of the flicks representing that prestigious category when the nominations are announced in a couple weeks, joining fellow undeserving entrants of the past like Lost in Translation and Babel (I still have never met anybody that has seen the movie Babel. Seriously, not a soul).

Chipmunks Squeakquel

Haven't seen it yet. Want to desperately. Can't find anybody to go with. Fear that going by myself might result in an arrest. I lay awake every night worrying that the next day will be the one that this gem leaves the theaters for good. Thankfully, it hasn't happened yet. The dream lives on...

The Road

Simply put, the least enjoyable film-going experience of my life. This movie is so dark and depressing that it makes the earthquake in Haiti look like Mardi Gras. It's a flick about the end of humanity, and they don't pull any punches. There's no laughs, there's no sunshine, there's no smiles. It's a chore of the highest order just to remain in your seat for the full 111 minutes without going completely insane and throwing your shoes in the direction of Viggo Mortensen's unsightly beard on-screen.

(Best Move of the Day: My Dad, with only about 90 seconds left in the torture, turned to me and said, "I refuse to stay for this entire movie. I'm leaving." And with that, he got up, walked out, and saved a little bit of face. At least now he can live with himself knowing that he did, in fact, walk out of this garbage before it concluded. He pulled the same move a few years back with about five minutes to go in Syriana, and that time I followed him right out the door. This time, I hung in for the duration, and not a day has gone by since that I haven't regretted it.)

Armored

My buddy Aubrey is notorious for his lack of desire to ever go check out a movie at the theater itself. You might get him out there once in a blue moon, but it's gotta be for something pretty special. So imagine my shock when I asked him what movies he'd seen over the holidays, and he replied with, "Just one. Armored." Heh?? You saw one movie, and that movie was Armored?!?? What, was every other movie sold out?? At every movie theater??? In the whole state???? Why else would this be the movie of choice when there were about 5-10 more intriguing movies rotating at the time? It's like going out for pizza one time a year, and that one trip being a visit to the local Hungry Howie's. Sure, it's a decent pie, and they had their gimmick going for a little while with the flavored crusts, but if you only had one chance at pizza glory for the whole year, I'm thinkin' old Howie wouldn't be making the cut. All we can do now is wonder what drove him to make such a bizarre selection, and offer him guidance and support in his movie-watching future.

Up in the Air

Still not getting it. What made this movie so great? What scenes were so memorable that made this thing a classic? Are we so weak-minded as a viewing public that when the critics tell us a movie is special, we have to simply join right along and follow suit like a flock of trained geese? Sorry, I don't roll like that. I'm willing to call a spade a spade, and I thought the movie was mediocre, at best. I'd love to hear what made it so memorable, beyond the fact that the critics told us that it should be.

(I addressed this movie at a little bit more length in this article from a couple weeks back.)

Avatar

By far the most fun I have had in a movie theater in the last year. The effects were second to none. The pictures occupying the giant IMAX screen were dazzling throughout. And the huge 3-D glasses they dish out make you feel like a superhuman cross between Kurt Rambis and Harry Caray. The movie really had it all. Good story, quality acting, and amazing visuals that you really should see on the big screen at some point before it drops from circulation. (Even though, judging by the ridiculous numbers this movie keeps getting, it will probably be available in theaters for the next 3-4 years.)

My only complaint to James Cameron would be that it was cruel to tease audiences with that five-second shot of the Na'vi creatures playing a little hoop out on the blacktop. These characters are 11-foot blue-skinned freaks...of course we want to see how they look when they're playin' ball!! There were so many questions that went unanswered. What height would they set the rim? How do they regulate goaltending? I say either show us a good 10-20 minute block of a spirited game of five-on-five, or don't show us anything at all. But to give us a little glimpse into what the game would be like and then rip it away was not cool. I was living in Frustration City for the next few minutes following that scene.

(Highlight of the Experience: My brother Gabe, a notoriously tough film critic, didn't seem to hate this one. I believe that would be the first new movie he has semi-enjoyed since the 2001 pseudo-animated Bill Murray romp, Osmosis Jones. The movie deserves Best Picture honors for this fact alone.)

(Lowlight of the Experience: The awkward romance between Sam Worthington's character and the main chick from the Na'vi tribe. I haven't been that uncomfortable in a movie since Mark Wahlberg and that female ape carried on that prolonged make-out session in Tim Burton's not-so-classic Planet of the Apes remake from a few years back. Still haven't quite gotten over that one.)

It's Complicated

One of those movies you get dragged to by a girl, only to wind up liking much more than she does when all is said and done. This phenomenon was also experienced by any male that saw The Devil Wears Prada, Miss Congeniality (secretly, my brother Sam's all-time favorite movie) or Music and Lyrics.

Precious

Disturbing story. Extremely well-acted and directed. Disturbing story. Interesting performances from a number of people you wouldn't expect, namely Mariah Carey and Lenny Kravitz. And yes, it was a very disturbing story. Oh, and I liked it better the first time I saw it...when it was called Antwone Fisher.

Do I regret seeing it? I think I would say no, but I would also say that me and my boy BK probably made a mistake opting for this one and not going for the brainless action jaunt, 2012, on that late Thanksgiving night. I'm not 100% sure, but I do believe we woulda had more fun watching John Cusack and Co. try and save California from drowning than watching a teenage girl get taken advantage of by every family member within a 12-block radius. Prittttay, prittttay, rough movie.

(Surprise Audience Member: Keep in mind, we saw this movie at 11:30 PM on Thanksgiving night. There were a few other people in the house, but not many. About a third of the way into the proceedings, I thought I heard a baby crying. I didn't make much of it, since obviously, there were numerous scenes in the movie where an infant was indeed crying. However, this was a scene with Precious trying to learn the alphabet at school...there were no toddlers presently on-screen. That meant the cries were actually coming from inside the theater. Wait, what?!?!? There is an actual baby here?? At the 11:30 showing?? Of quite possibly the most traumatizing film of the whole year? This can't be!! Oh, but it can. Apparently these parents were so adamant about seeing Precious on this very night at this very time that they decided to forgo the babysitter and just bring lil' fella along for the ride. When I whispered to BK how sick it was that someone brought an actual baby to the movie, he was completely oblivious. He rightfully assumed that all the cries we heard were coming from the theater's speakers...not the theater's 7th row. We left the Emagine Novi that night and promptly went to our respective homes, but something tells me we probably should have hung around for a minute and gotten in touch with Child Family Services. Hopefully that couple starts looking for a 2010 Halloween babysitter immediately. Saw 7 comes out that night...)

The Blind Side

I've heard nothing but good things, I've always been a fan of Sandy Bullock's work, and for the most part, I will see any movie revolving around sports. That being said, I never really had a desire to catch this flick, and I'll tell ya why. Because none of the sports movies nowadays are original. Think about it. Basically every single sports movie of the last ten years has been based on a true story. They just take a real-life event and adapt it to the big screen. Not to say that they don't do a nice job of telling the story and putting together a quality couple hours of film, but at some point, as a viewer, you crave originality.

Let's run down the list of true stories made into recent sports films (in no particular order). You have the aforementioned Blind Side, Cinderella Man, The Rookie, We Are Marshall, Glory Road, Miracle, Seabiscuit, Coach Carter, The Express, Friday Night Lights, Invincible, That movie about Bobby Jones with the guy from Frequency that nobody saw, Ali, Radio, and Invictus. And those were all within the last ten years!

It wasn't that long ago that quality original sports movies were being pumped out at a semi-regular rate. There was White Men Can't Jump, Major League, School Ties, The Mighty Ducks, The Cutting Edge, The Program, Blue Chips, Necessary Roughness, Little Giants, Diggstown, Bull Durham, The Sandlot, Little Big League, Above the Rim, Ladybugs...the list goes on and on. Hell, I'd even throw the underrated Woody Harrelson boxing flick Play it to the Bone in there. You can talk all you want how awkward it was seeing him and Antonio Banderas duke it out for a shot at the middleweight title, but at least it was original.

In almost all sports movies throughout time, you can usually make a pretty good guess how it's going to end. The underdog will win, the guy will get the girl, everybody goes home happy. I'm not saying this genre of flicks was ever shocking people when the final credits rolled. But at least with a story that was created out of sheer fiction, there is still some element of uncertainty as to how the story will end. With this recent crop of true-to-life sports movies that simply retell stories we already know, that suspense, however limited it may be in the first place, is eliminated completely. We knew Jim Morris was going to make it to the big leagues. We knew Vince Papale was gonna beat the odds and become a Philadelphia Eagle. And we knew that Michael Oher, in The Blind Side, was eventually going to be taken in by that nice family, leading to a glorious college career and NFL stardom down the line. The stories might be worth telling, and the various directors and film companies might do a great job delivering them, but at some point, don't you just want to see a movie where the events about to unfold on-screen haven't already unfolded in real life?!?!?

What was the best original sports film in the last few years?? (Thinking...thinking...) Sad as it sounds, I might have to say something like Beer League, and even that is a little less enjoyable now with the recent attempt by Artie Lange to stab himself to death. The Will Ferrell entries are becoming more nauseating with each attempt (Semi Pro was an insult to all of humanity.) Jack Black tried his hand with Nacho Libre, and it's safe to say that anybody who enjoyed that hour and a half has some problems that extend far beyond movies. At least the Bad News Bears remake with Billy Bob Thornton was not based on a true story, but it still was most definitely not an original piece of work. Nor will the upcoming Karate Kid atrocity with Will Smith's son in the starring role. There are even plans for Mark Wahlberg to play Irish Micky Ward in an upcoming boxing biopic. Ward was always a fun guy to watch, with his all-out brawling style, but a full-length motion picture? Is Hollywood that dried up for sports flick ideas? The well-done original sports movie has essentially become a thing of the past. And that's pretty sad, if you ask me.

Drop your thoughts on the flicks here, or pop me an E-mail at
highsockslegend@gmail.com

Stack and the Gang

2010-01-18T00:43:00.006-05:00

STACK

The Milwaukee Bucks have been reeling of late, recently dropping 4 of 5 on a West Coast swing. The longtime face of their franchise, Michael Redd, is out for the year with his annual ACL tear. Rookie sensation Brandon Jennings has begun to hit the wall as well, jacking up 70 shots in those five games and converting just 21 (30%). I mean, you know things are bad when Carlos Delfino comes in smoking off the bench for a 28-point outburst at Utah...and you still lose by 17. So what does a franchise in despair such as this one do? Why, sign Jerry Stackhouse, of course!!

That's right, the Bucks announced over the weekend that they'd be adding the 35-year-old shooting guard with 75-year-old knees to their roster, hoping to find that there's still just a little bit of gas left in that worn-down tank. Stack only played in 10 games last year for Dallas, and registered a career low scoring average, pumping in just 4 PPG. Thankfully for Jerry, the GM for the Bucks is none other than John Hammond, the longtime right hand man to Joe D in the Pistons front office. Hammond obviously has fond memories of watching Stack do his thing at the Palace in the early 2000's, when in essence, he brought the franchise out from the doldrums and made them a factor again in the Eastern Conference.

It was the Stackhouse-led 2002 team that finally broke through and won a playoff series for the first time in 11 seasons of Pistons basketball, creating hope and momentum that would eventually lead to an NBA championship two years later. So maybe Hammond is just throwing ol' Stack a bone and signing him as a show of appreciation for years gone by. Regardless, it's always nice to see #42 hooping it up somewhere, even if that somewhere happens to be "NBA Siberia"-esque Milwaukee.

(Sidenote: Stackhouse has played in the league for 14 years. During that time, he has appeared in 854 games and played over 28,000 minutes. And for every single second he has been on the court, it's been with the number 42 draped on the back of his jersey. Currently, Mr. Charlie Bell suits up in that very number for the Bucks, a number that he has also worn for every minute of court time since his return to the NBA five years ago. You'd think Stack would have priority here, but maybe he would feel uncomfortable joining a new club and rocking the boat right from jump street with a specific request for an already occupied set of digits. If I were you, I'd keep a close eye on the numerical roster in Milwaukee over the next few days...especially if you have no life whatsoever.)

STICK AND PUCK

The Red Wings snipers put on what was undoubtedly the worst shootout performance in NHL history on Saturday afternoon in Dallas. They made Stars' goalie Alex Auld look like Ken Dryden, putting up a giant goose egg in their six tries at glory. Todd Bertuzzi actually came in on one attempt with such a low rate of speed at such a bizarre angle that I would have been very interested to see what homeboy's blood alcohol level was immediately following his missed "shot."

UDOH

Sometimes coaches, especially those in college, can get too attached to their "system" and lose track of what really matters: talent. (See also: Rich Rodriguez-Ryan Mallet failed marriage) During John Beilein's first season as the Michigan head coach, he was dealing with a mismatched roster that was severely lacking in experience. The only real big guy on the roster was 6-foot-10 jumping jack Ekpe Udoh, a dominant defensive player with occasional hints of offensive ability. If tailored right, Udoh looked like a guy that had a chance to wreak havoc on the Big Ten in his two remaining seasons. But Coach Beilein didn't seem to share those sentiments. He yo-yoed Udoh's minutes, gave him limited opportunities on the offensive end, and in general, made him feel like a guy that might be better fit taking his skills somewhere else. Well, that's exactly what he did. After sitting out last season under NCAA transfer rules, Udoh is now hooping it up at Baylor and looking like one of the top big men in the entire country.

He is averaging a double-double (14.1 PPG, 11.4 RPG). He is 4th in the nation in blocked shots, averaging over four per game. In an impressive road win at South Carolina a couple weeks back, Udoh hauled in twenty rebounds, including nine on the offensive glass. In the very next game, big fella collected his first career triple-double with a mind-boggling 18 points, 17 rebounds, and 10 blocked shots in a win over Morgan State. And this isn't just one of those old 'Zach Randolph with the Clippers' type seasons, where Z-Bo would put up huge numbers for an awful team simply because somebody had to. This Baylor squad is legit. They are 14-2, ranked in the Top 25, and look to be a lock for the Big Dance if they don't throw up all over themselves during the conference schedule. And the worst part of it all?? This Michigan team has one huge hole on their roster...and it's in the paint.

They have zero presence on the interior. DeShawn Sims tries his best, but the man is 6'7" and flanked by two hearty family-sized portions of rice pilaf in 'The Zacks,' Novak and Gibson. Beilein tries to confuse teams with funky zone defenses and small lineups, but too often, the distinct size disadvantage Big Blue is faced with becomes too much to overcome. It's scary to think what this team could be like right now if they were able to throw a frontline of Udoh, Sims, and Harris out every night, accompanied by their streaky assortment of shooters. While I respect Beilein as a coach and believe that he will eventually get this program to where it needs to be, I continue to have reservations about his stubbornness when it comes to recruiting and handling certain players that might not fit in to his perfect little mold of what a "Beilein player" should look like.

Ekpe Udoh may not have been the prototypical center for a deliberate Princeton-style offense like Michigan runs, but you'd like to think they could have found a spot for a guy that blocks shots into the 8th row and attacks the glass like a rebounding love child of Dennis Rodman and Stromile Swift. Oh well, I guess you live and learn. Or, in the case of 'My way is the only way' guys like Beilein and Rich Rod; live, and probably do the exact same thing in the very near future.

CHUCKY

A nice round of applause for our good friend Chucky Atkins, who lately has been quite the little spark plug off the pine. During this 3-game winning streak, the Chuckster has averaged 10 points a night, while knocking down 8 of 13 tries from beyond the arc. These are things you get excited about when your team is 14 and 25.

Are Cheez-Its the poor man's Goldfish, or is it the other way around?? I mean, I know that Wheat Thins have always been a poor man's Ritz, but the cheese cracker war has always been a bit of a mystery. For my money, I'd say screw both of 'em and give me a delightful handful of Yogurt Pretzels.
Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Missing the "Point"

2010-01-13T02:19:00.008-05:00

Today is my birthday. And this is my wish...

That the Pistons acquire a legitimate point guard. Doesn't matter who. It can be a rookie, it can be a veteran, it can be Sue Bird on loan from the WNBA. As long as that person can play the point.

The "Rodney Stuckey as a PG" experiment has run its course. The guy is a scorer/slasher at heart, and needs to be treated as such. The Chauncey Billups trade last year gave Stuckey the opportunity to take the keys and prove himself as a capable floor general. It's been about a year and a half since then, and very little has changed in Stuckey's arsenal. He still looks for his own offense first, and his teammates second. It's not a complete knock on Stuckey's game. He is a very talented player that will only get better in the years to come when he refines his jump shot and improves his shot selection.

But the fact remains...the man ain't a point guard. Hell, nobody on this team is.

Chucky Atkins is the closest thing, and if that's not the saddest statement you have ever read, I don't wanna know what is.

Ben Gordon talked in the pre-season about his ability to slide over to either guard spot, and he might be on to something. Or he just might be on something. I'll go with the latter.

Will Bynum is an unselfish distributor on occasion, but his health has been an issue of late. I've never seen a guy sprain ankles as frequently and easily as Bynum does. The Pistons must have stopped trying to figure out which ankle it was that was causing the most problems, leading to his most recent diagnosis on the injury chart: "Bynum---Out---Both Ankles." Very encouraging. With the Pistons' luck of late, he'll go see Grant Hill's former doctor and be back on the court at full strength in about twelve years.

Everybody knows the main objective in the game of basketball is to score points. This is done with a combination of individual and team efforts. Sometimes a guy can simply break his man down and get all the way to the tin. But more often than not, a basket is created by one player setting up another. This is called an "assist." It's an important stat. Lots of assists usually means lots of points. Lots of points usually means lots of wins. Where do our Detroit Pistons rank in the NBA in assists? Take a wild guess. Dead last. 30th out of 30. The 3 and 34 New Jersey Nets average more assists per game than the Pistons.

(This section was written prior to the game over the Wizards. The Pistons now rank 29th of 30. Let's throw a party.)

And if you think maybe this is a team where the bigs set up the littles, then you've got another thing comin'.

For instance, are you familiar with Charlie Villanueva's work at all? Yes? Then answer me this...does he know that when he gets the ball and is swarmed by an aggressive double team, that he still has the option of either shooting or passing the basketball??? I think Charlie is literally unaware that the rules of the game permit him to make this choice.

Jonas Jerebko is having a fine rookie season and generally plays harder than anyone on the team, but you'll never get him confused with point forward pioneers like Paul Pressey and Anthony Mason. Jerebko is not a selfish offensive player by any means, but that doesn't mean he is necessarily adept at creating scoring opportunities for others. He's got three assists in his last 308 minutes. 'Nuff said.

Hey, Kwame Brown was the #1 overall pick once upon a time...maybe he's the guy to start racking up the dimes from the frontcourt. Or maybe not. In all honesty, Kwame really needs to start spending all of his time trying to transform his ghastly free throw stroke that seems to get even more repulsive with each new trip to the stripe. It is downright inappropriate to shoot in the matter that he does with nobody guarding him from 15 feet away. 62 attempts...24 makes...a shade under 39 percent. Ben Wallace (45%) ain't got nothin on Mr. Brown.

But back to the issue at hand. The Pistons finally got back on the good side of the ledger last night with a gritty road win in D.C. Sure, the Wizards are a team in serious disarray and it took a combined eight triples from Chucky and Charlie to get it done, but when you win a ballgame after dropping 13 straight, you take it however you can get it and go home smiling. But most important to the streak-breaking victory was the unselfishness on the part of the Stones. Isolations were kept to a minimum. Quick shots were passed up in favor of ball movement and clock management. Rodney Stuckey tied a career high with 11 assists. (This after the game in San Antonio last week where he failed to register even a single feed. Go figure.) The passing frenzy was contagious as Rip Hamilton also got in the act, tying his season high with 7. (He also turned it over four times and missed 15 of 23 shots, but hey, it was a win...let's remain semi-positive!!) It was refreshing to see this squad play as a unit instead of a group of individuals for the first time in a month. But let's keep things in perspective. It was one game. And the point guard issue will not go away overnight.

This team is chock full of scorers. Gordon can blitz you for five or six treys on any night and wind up with 30 points. Hamilton is still capable of turning back the clock for a 13 of 19 box score line every so often. Stuckey is as explosive as almost any guard in the league, discounting Dwyane Wade, and maybe Beno Udrih. Villanueva, despite being a virtual black hole on that end of the floor, is still equipped with a lightning-quick release and the cleanest scalp in professional sports. (Yeah, it's getting late.) The point is...having all of these weapons at your disposal is a tremendous asset. But there has to be somebody willing and able to think pass first. A guy that says, "I'll take my shots when they come...but my job is to create for others."

It doesn't even have to be a superstar. A guy like Andre Miller would probably work wonders for this squad. Luke Ridnour could lead the league in assists. Even my old running mate J-Brown, a playground legend with no real experience beyond the 1997 Maccabi Games in Milwaukee, could help this franchise with his genuine desire to initiate scoring opportunities for others. It's what a point guard does. And it's pretty tough to function as a successful basketball team without one. You can accumulate all the shooters and scorers you want. It won't matter unless you have somebody handling the rock and making it all go. Why do you think it took Carmelo Anthony six years to finally make a dent in the playoffs? (Hint: it rhymes with Phillips.)

Today is my birthday. I will have cake and ice cream, get a few tokens to play with at the arcade, and that'll be that. But maybe, just maybe, I'll get a call sometime later in the night asking about my availability for the next 10 days. After all, I've always known how to pass...

Contact the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Heros and Zeros with the High Socks Legend

2010-01-11T02:58:00.004-05:00

HERO

Mr. Skee Ball: You ever seen ANYBODY land even ONE ball in those upper corner pockets on a Skee-Ball game? No?? Me neither. Until Friday night, that is. I was fortunate enough to witness a true athletic miracle when this unknown bar game master stepped up to the lane and cashed in not one, not two, but THREE STRAIGHT flawless rolls into the previously unattainable Holy Grail of Skee-Ball slots. My cousin Ben, who had also been taking in this remarkable sequence of events, stood back with his mouth agape and tears in his eyes. I took it one step further. I sauntered up to the guy after his round was complete. I told him that I'd been watching the whole thing from a distance. I thanked him for the opportunity to be a part of such a historic Skee-Ball moment. And I humbly offered my hand for a congratulatory handshake. After a moment of hesitation, the hero complied with the shake, albeit with a look of sheer horror plastered to his face that said, "I got no idea who this maniac is...but I want him away from me...immediately." After our brief encounter, I let the guy be, and headed back to my crew, but I couldn't help but have one regret over the whole thing: I shoulda went for the hug...

ZERO

Joe Gibbs: Not exactly a banner day in the NBC announcing booth for the former Redskins boss. Gibbs fumbled his way through the Jets-Bengals game on Saturday afternoon like he had three tongues in his mouth. That's not a good thing...especially when one of 'em belonged to the man on his right, Joe Theismann...

PARTIAL HERO

UDM Titans Hoops Squad: With the High Socks Legend in attendance at Calihan Hall Sunday afternoon, the Titans gave Butler, the perennial Horizon League powerhouse, all they could handle. Unfortunately, the Titans only get partial hero status after coming up just short in the final seconds of overtime and finally dropping what could have been a program-defining win for a squad that has been sorely lacking in that department over the last several years. With an unusually raucous crowd in attendance, U of D fought hard all day and essentially had the game won after a gorgeous Woody Payne spin move put the good guys on top by one with just a few seconds left. But as is often the case in sports, and especially basketball, great teams and great players get the benefit of the whistles in the big moments, and that is precisely what happened here. Gordon Hayward, a white forward with a black name, hurried the ball up the court, picking up a punishing moving pick from teammate Matt Howard along the way. He fumbled the ball as he approached the paint, took an awkward step, then another, somehow eluding a traveling whistle in the process, and with just 0.4 seconds left on the clock, the referees finally made their presence felt. Foul on the Titans...two shots coming for the 88% Hayward. Defying the odds, he did miss the second throw, sending the game into overtime. But sitting there, most of us in the crowd sensed that the best chance to win the game had just gone by the boards, aided by a funny whistle at an unfunny time. Sure enough, the battle-tested Bulldogs from Butler made the big plays in the extra session and scampered out of Calihan Hall with a two-point theft job. But one thing this ballgame did do was serve notice to the rest of the Horizon League that a trip to Detroit is no longer a guaranteed W on the schedule.

ZERO

Up in the Air: Is there anything on Earth less reliable than a movie review?? Every critic in the land has been heaping praise on this flick ever since it hit theaters. Some have labeled it "The best movie of the year." One mook even said that "Clooney sticks the landing with his performance." Exactly where did that comparison come from? As far as I could tell, the movie never displayed or mentioned anything having to do with gymnastics or dismounts from the uneven bars. Though it probably would have made the 109 minutes much more interesting had they done so. To sum up my thoughts on Up in the Air, I will quote Elaine Benes, who described another excruciating viewing of The English Patient with four simple words: "How about, it sucked?" When I heard the rumblings about this movie with George Clooney playing a guy that jets around the country firing people, I thought it was going to be done in a lighthearted fashion. As in, "Sure, his job is of a depressing nature, but watch how hilarious we can make it!" Yeah, that didn't happen. It was just depressing. In between the commentary on the faltering economy and sadness felt by all involved, they threw in numerous "uplifting" monologues on the pointlessness of things like marriage and family. And if you thought they were being unique by showing Clooney as a guy obsessed with airports and everything that goes with them, I've got news for ya. I've seen that movie before, and I liked it a lot better the first time I saw it...when it was called The Terminal. If you enjoy doing things like smiling or laughing, I'd find another movie to check out. But if you're in the mood to be bored and unhappy for 109 minutes, then this is the picture for you.

HERO

Pita Chips: Let me just start out by saying, "Thanks." What you guys do is noble work, and far too often it goes unnoticed and underappreciated. Well, that stops now. The great thing about you, Pita Chips, is that you have always felt like you could be yourself. You don't put on airs. Not for me...not for the people at the supermarkets...not for anybody. The big name on the outside of the container might say "CHIP" in big, bold letters, but that doesn't mean you have to be like every other Ruffle and Baked Lay on the shelf. You evolved into some kind of Chip-Cracker Combo that is delivered in the adorable little shape of a mini pita bread, with enough crunch to make us all think twice before crushing you in a single bite. I mean really, whose idea was it to carry the appearance of a pita bread, but possess the texture of a slab of concrete? Because, let me just say, it was genius, my friend. We know that to really enjoy all you have to offer, there is going to be some work involved. And we're okay with that. We are willing to break your biggest chips in the package into 3-4 sections. We as a civilization often feel like every snack should be inhaled in a solo chomp, but you spit in the face of normalcy and announce, "Don't you dare think of me as a 'one-bite stand!' I am better than that!!" We know, P.C., we know. And I like that you make us think it's acceptable to eat your whole lot in one sitting. After all, you tell us, "We're just little pitas. Go ahead and enjoy yourself. Come on, it'll be our own special secret. Just let us sleep in your bed. Let us bring in your mail. Let us into that cute little tummy." And so we do. Whether it's of the "Plain" variety or the constantly underrated "Sesame" delegation, we applaud you all the same. Even when we dip you in pesto or hummus, and you know one of your corners or sections might get lost in the trip, we don't hear a single complaint. You're doing yeoman's work, guys...and here's one fan that ain't afraid to express a little genuine appreciation for a job well done. See ya next time, Pita Chips...and trust me, it won't be the last time.

Got a thought on Skee-Ball, Pita Chips, or any other critical issue facing the world today?? Drop a thought here, or float me an E-mail at
highsockslegend@gmail.com

Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

2010-01-04T01:53:00.014-05:00

Will this reeling group win another game this season? It is likely that they will, but I'm not making any guarantees. Having attended the New Year's Eve shellacking at the hands of the Bulls, I can tell you firsthand that this squad looked completely disinterested in that game. Put it this way: the highlight of the afternoon was me and my cousin Ben plowing through a couple things of Dippin' Dots during the third quarter. Granted, the Dots make for an excellent treat, but you'd like for an NBA team to put forth more of an effort so the majority of the conversation on the ride home does not revolve around words like "ice cream" and phrases like "one cup really wasn't enough."

Rip Hamilton continued his horrid stretch after returning from his strained hammy, making just 2 of 13 shots. All told, in the three games Rip has played since returning, he's converted 13 of 54 from the field. It's awful tough to win any ballgames when somebody is shooting that much and that poorly.

The loss was the Stones' 9th straight, but it gets even sicker when you take a closer look at the streak. Of the nine losses, seven have been double-digit defeats. And the closest one of them all was a 7-point affair in Toronto, a game in which the Pistons still managed to trail by 20 at one point in the 2nd quarter. The feisty bunch of hustlers that clawed their way to a 5-game winning streak and near-.500 record are nowhere to be found. They have now been replaced by a lackadaisical bunch of zombies that loaf through entire quarters and games without breaking a sweat. In the passionless loss to Chicago, Joakim Noah outrebounded the entire Pistons starting frontcourt 21 to 18.

Now John Kuester and the fellas must pack it up and head to Dallas to take on a very angry bunch of Mavericks that were just destroyed in Staples by Kobe and Friends by 35 points. (In an anti-Baron Davis campaign, all 11 Lakers that entered the game shot 50% or better from the field. That even included the thought to be deceased Adam Morrison, who rose from the ashes to knock down all three of his attempts in 12 sparkling garbage time minutes.)

After that probable L in Dallas, putting the Sadness Streak at 10, things get no easier with a back-to-back the next night in San Antonio. And again, they will most likely be facing a very angry bunch of Spurs. Tim Duncan's crew had won five straight before a peculiar loss last night in Toronto, a game in which Tony Parker shot 4 of 9 from the line and Tim Duncan came off the bench for just the second time in his career. (Apparently Mr. Popovich wanted Duncan "fresh" for the 4th quarter. Can you say "over-coaching"?? Duncan made 2 of 6 shots in that final quarter, and used those fresh legs to hit 3 of 7 at the stripe.) With two days off to rest and prepare for the crumbling Pistons, you can give the Spurs that one, and lo and behold, we will probably be looking at an 11-game losing streak.

If you would have told me on the eve of last season that in 15 months the Pistons would be without Chauncey Billups, Antonio McDyess, and Rasheed Wallace, yet would be with Ben Wallace and Chucky Atkins, and that their most reliable player would be a 6'10" Swede named Jonas, and that they would be staring a double-digit losing streak right between the eyes...I would have thrown you in my car and immediately enrolled you in the nearest treatment center for a long round of psychiatric evaluations. But alas, that is precisely where our dribblers from Detroit stand, and in all likelihood, it won't be gettin' any better any time soon.

Michael Redd

The Bucks' sharpshooter has missed quite a bit of time these last few years due to various knee ailments and operations. And from the looks of things, it appears he has devoted a great deal of that down time to inhaling DiGiorno's pies and chain-swallowing Little Debbies. In his heyday, Redd was a well-built 6'6" assassin with the ability to get to the rack or blitz you from distance. Now, he's become a blown-up version of Hersey Hawkins that won't step foot in the paint unless there is some kind of appetizer being served under the rim. The Bucks' roster still has Redd checking in at 215 pounds. That's fine, Mike...but would you mind putting your other foot on the scale, too?

You've Got Mail

I've said it once, I'll say it a million times. This is one of the most delightful movies of all-time. What about this movie doesn't work? Tom Hanks throws a perfect game as Joe Fox, the ice-cold businessman with a heart of gold. I enjoyed Hanks' performance so much that if I ever somehow managed to receive an E-mail from 'NY152,' I would consider my life complete. Meg Ryan, in her turn as the cute as a button Kathleen Kelly, dials up the good fastball one last time before her career-ending decision to go under the knife, resulting in a severely deformed set of lips that made her look like some kind of jacked-up cross between Donald Duck and Sam Cassell. Nevertheless, she is as charming as ever in this flick. When her quaint little children's book store, Shop Around the Corner, began to whittle away in the giant shadow of Fox Books, and the longtime customers kept coming in to reminisce with Kathleen about how much the store meant to them over the years...well, let's just say there wasn't a dry eye in the AMC Livonia 20 that winter day in 1998. Myself included.

A Kupple Other Interesting Little Stat Nuggets for your Info-Tainment

Jonas Jerebko has played a total of 208 minutes over the last seven games. In that time, he has totaled one assist. Combine that with eight turnovers committed during this same period, and you're looking at an ungodly .125:1 assist/turnover ratio, putting him in the esteemed company of past Pistons icons such as Gerald Glass and Mr. Rice Pilaf himself, Rodney White. Congratulations, Jonas...keep up the good work. But if it doesn't kill you, try and set up a teammate for a bucket once in a blue moon. It might make you feel good.

(Sidenote: Jerebko has hoisted 65 shots during this span. I dare you to try and go play basketball for the next seven days, shoot the ball 65 times, and collect just one single assist in the process. Not an easy thing to do.)

-A sarcastic High Socks round of applause for Michigan shooting guard Laval Lucas-Perry. LLP has done the improbable in the first two Big Ten games of the season, playing 21 minutes in each contest and failing to register even the slightest mark in the scoring column along the way. 42 minutes played...0 points scored. I know Lucas-Perry is no All-Conference guy or anything like that, but the fact remains he is starting at 2-guard for a Big Ten program, seeing significant minutes in each game, and was once thought to be a future star in the game when he enrolled at Arizona in the fall of 2007. Opening conference play with the infamous Double Goose Egg is not an encouraging sign for Mr. Perry in his ongoing quest to become a consistent contributor to the Big Blue ballclub and to society as a whole.

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Down for the Count

2009-12-30T01:22:00.003-05:00

Tyler Hansbrough spent the last four years in Chapel Hill torturing fellow power forwards in the ACC with his relentless aggression and unparalleled intensity. He played against bigger and stronger players. He played against guys twice as talented and ten times as athletic. He had his face mangled by a vicious Gerald Henderson elbow. None of it was enough to keep Hansbrough down. That all changed last night.

The Pacers (Tyler's current squad) were in the Windy City to run with the Bulls in a battle between two of the Eastern Conference's worst teams. Indiana was mired in a brutal six-game slide, but Hansbrough, Jim O' Brien's ace rookie off the pine, entered the game flying high after consecutive double-double performances earlier in the week. (Even though the second of which miraculously came without the aid of a made field goal. 0-5 FGA, 10-10 FTA .) His minutes were becoming more consistent as well, climbing over 30 for the first time as a professional in his 19 point, 11 rebound performance Saturday night against Atlanta. (Amazingly, the seemingly unselfish Hansbrough fired up 20 shots in that ballgame without collecting a single assist. Yinka Dare would be proud.)

So, with the teams ready to take the floor at the United Center, the sky was the limit for the workhorse wearing #50 for the Pacers. Until word hit press row that Hansbrough was out of the lineup. He would not be suiting up. What was it? A torn ACL? Ruptured bicep? Maybe even a bout of semi-respectable back spasms? No, sir. None of the above. The former college warrior would be sitting out this affair with an affliction that had previously only affected newborns and toddlers up to the age of three. Hansbrough could not play...he had an inner ear infection. Poor baby. Literally.

Seriously, when is the last time you heard of an NBA player actually sitting out a game because he had an ear infection? Come on, Ty. What's gonna be next? Perhaps missing an entire road trip with a "tummy ache?" Excusing yourself from the second leg of a back-to-back with a "sore throat?" Hell, why not just make the transformation complete and retire from the game permanently because of the unbearable pain that comes with "teething" and the nasty bout of "colic" that just won't seem to go away?

I remember having an ear infection every now and then growing up. You'd go see the Doc, sit up on the table covered with the loudest paper known to man (seriously, could you move one inch on that thing without it making a huge racket?), and let the guy take a peak in your lobe. He would poke around a little bit, flick his flashlight on and off a couple times to make us think he was actually "seeing something," and in the snap of a finger, you were bounding out to the car with a cold juicebox in hand and promises of a late-night trip to Blockbuster floating in the air. Ear Infection, Shmear Infection. This thing wasn't holding us down. We were back in pre-school the next day finger painting, singing songs, and eating enough graham crackers to ensure we wouldn't feel quite right on the inside for the next 3-6 weeks. But Ty Hansbrough, known throughout the league as a savage competitor, and one that is virtually unbreakable, could fight back no longer. Ear Infection in a 3rd round TKO.

Not surprisingly, without their sizzling spark plug off the bench, the Pacers dug themselves a cozy little 19-point first quarter hole on their way to a season-high 7th consecutive defeat. Former Dukie Josh McRoberts was forced into action in Hansbrough's place, seeing 28 minutes of court time. Needless to say, that's about 27 minutes, 53 seconds more than Josh McRoberts should ever be getting in any game unless the letters "JCC" are involved. The Bulls dominated the glass all night, bullying the Pacer bigs to the tune of a 47-31 rebounding advantage.

As NBA fans, we become accustomed to seeing a lot of things on team injury reports. Pulled muscles, twisted ankles, and even the occasional Delonte West special, "Personal Reasons." But Hansbrough's outright surrender to an apparently 'agonizing' war with the dreaded ear infection is a tale that will live on in basketball lore for years to come. The Pacers return home tonight for a clash with Memphis. Will Tyler Hansbrough be in the lineup? I highly doubt it. Word on the street is that the ear infection has settled down a bit, but the worst is still far from over. Hansbrough might have Chicken Pox. And he's already started scratching. Better get crackin' on those retirement papers...

Contact the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Taking a Trip Through "Struggles City, USA." NBA Style...

2009-12-28T00:00:00.006-05:00

Rock bottom. That's where this beleaguered bunch of Pistons currently reside. Seven losses in a row, several to the dregs of the league, while failing to eclipse the 100-point mark in any of those contests. Rodney Stuckey is quietly morphing into Baron Davis. (Seven straight sub-50% shooting games.) Jonas Jerebko is becoming our go-to guy. (Not a good thing.) And Ben Wallace's pathetic free throw stroke continues to regress, if that is even possible. (He's made 6 of his last 20 at the stripe.) It is most definitely not a good time to be wearing the red, white, and blue in Motown. Even with all of the troops back in uniform Sunday afternoon, the sub-.500 Raptors were still too much to overcome. You would think that with everybody back now, things would start to turn around and the Pistons would begin their climb back to respectability. But Sunday's performance was anything but encouraging.

The suddenly brittle Rip Hamilton returned to the lineup after missing a handful of games with a hamstring issue. Normally, when guys miss time, they come back and try to let the game come to them. As in, try to find the rhythm of the game again, don't force up shots, and just try to fit in again within the confines of the offense. Of course, with a guy like Rip, you do need him to be aggressive, but still, isn't 20 shots in 27 minutes a little too aggressive? (He made 6.) It's like telling a guest to "make yourself at home," and the next thing you know, the guy is taking off his shoes and jumping in the master bed for a nap. You skipped a couple of steps there, pal. Just like Rip on Sunday. By comparison, take a look at Tayshaun Prince, another player that made his return to the court after a long layoff. He played the same amount of time as Rip, 27 minutes, but hoisted a very reasonable eight shots, making four. Again, I understand that a player like Rip is counted on more than Tayshaun to create shots and initiate the offense, but there's got to be a grey area somewhere, and 20 jacks in 27 minutes is simply not even in the ballpark.

On the bright side, the Pistons' next two ballgames will be home affairs against the struggling Knicks and Bulls. I know the term "must win" is thrown around too often in sports, but I'm gonna join that silly parade and declare this pair of battles as such. With a complete roster for the first time since opening night, there is no reason the Pistons shouldn't take both of these games and head into 2010 with a mini burst of momentum. And if they don't, then all bets are off and I'll see ya at my NBA Draft Lottery party next summer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the New Jersey Nets picked up their first win of the year following 18 straight defeats (which the HSL predicted, by the way), they quietly exited the spotlight and went about the rest of their season in peace, hoping that nobody would bother them anymore. Not so fast, fellas. When you win two of your first thirty ballgames, somebody's gonna notice...and proceed to write about you in a very disrespectful manner. Might as well be me.

Simply put, this team is pathetic. And not even that cute kind of pathetic like the kid in Little League who strikes out 85 times in a 12-game season, but finally gets on base in his last at-bat of the year by chopping a slow roller down the third base line and beating it out by a half-step after tumbling to the ground three feet from first base and winding up with a face full of dirt and a huge smile plastered across his delightfully oversized melon. No, this Nets team is just pathetic. They opened the campaign with 18 straight L's. Then they won two of three. The light was starting to appear at the end of the tunnel. Yeah...if that "light" meant another depressing losing streak, this one a nine-gamer, including a home defeat to the similarly-woeful Timberwolves.

Kiki Vandeweghe's Nets defied logic late in that ballgame when, needing a quick score down by four with 16 ticks left, they inexplicably decided to work the ball around, run some clock, and eventually toss up a meaningless three-point attempt at the buzzer. Remember, they were down by four. You have to get a bucket, then foul the other team, hope they miss a free throw or two, then score again to possibly tie the score. But to simply burn off that last 16 seconds with virtually no regard for the score or situation facing them at the moment takes a level of incompetence that we don't often have the privilege of witnessing in professional sports. This is a special time...I suggest we all cherish it.

Alllll that being said, I'm getting that funny N-E-T-S feeling again, so I will go out on the limb one more time and tell you that the fellows from Jersey will be picking up their third win of the season tonight at home against the steadily improving OKC Thunder. Kevin Durant's crew is coming off a tremendous road win in Phoenix and a workmanlike home W over Charlotte, but something tells me the fightin' Vandeweghes get it done tomorrow night at the IZOD Center. Devin Harris pours in 25+, Brook Lopez provides his usual double-double, and perennial chucker Courtney Lee will tally more than three assists for the first time all year. You heard it here first...

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Holiday NBA Week: The Ultimate Journeyman Point Guard

2009-12-22T00:31:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, in the first entry to "NBA Holiday Week," we focused on the tumultuous and partially wasted career of Vin Baker. Today, our attention shifts to a player that has gone underappreciated and unnoticed for far too long. Well, the buck stops here. He gets the spotlight today...for the first time in his life. So take the stage, Mr. Rick Brunson. You were a journeyman backup point guard, and nobody's ever done it better.

This group of players has always formed a special bond in NBA circles. These guys live their lives 10 days at a time. Sometimes, they get that second 10-day picked up, but more often than not, it's a week and a half, and then it's the door. These guys are not flashy. In fact, most of them are completely anonymous to the casual NBA fan. But they are out there. Guys like Kevin Ollie. Anthony Goldwire. And one of the founding fathers, Nomadic Tyronn Lue. But the preeminent figure in this long line of nameless heroes remains Eric Daniel Brunson, or as he's always been known to his loyal band of followers, just Rick.

I really cannot think of a more perfect player to truly symbolize this unique fraternity of players. Brunson was the ultimate "serviceable" point guard. He had no real definitive skills, and the fact that he played parts of nine seasons in the NBA remains one of the more remarkable accomplishments in sports history. And our boy Rick definitely knew how to get around. Chances are, if you were a team looking for a plug-in floor leader for a couple weeks, he was available.

Brunson began his career in Portland in 1997. From there, he moved on to New York. Then to Boston. And back to New York. In 2001, it was Portland. Next year, Rick was in Chicago. Then to Toronto for a quick three-game stay. And back to Chicago. Of course, he had to be a Clipper at some point, so that came next. Finally, in Rick's final season, he spent a half hour in Seattle (literally...he logged 31 minutes), and then bopped over to Houston to close out the year and his career.

(Sidenote: I love that Brunson got stuck with the #40 for his short tenure in Boston. How much more disrespectful can you be to a point guard than to staple a number in the 40s or 50s on his back? Those digits are typically deserved for plodding big men that require such a high jersey number to represent their oversized...umm, wingspan. But to see a little fella like Brunson rockin' the 4-0, the team was obviously trying to get a very clear message across. Don't get too comfortable, kid...you ain't gonna be here long. They were right. Brunson lasted seven games for the Celts. But it was a blessing in disguise. A mere seven days later, Rick was a Knick, and his famous #9 was etched on to his gear.)

Talk about a guy being just good enough to keep finding NBA jobs, but also just forgettable enough for none of these franchises to ever want to be attached to him for more than a couple months at a time. He wasn't a good shooter, but he wasn't the worst. (36 3P%, 69 FT%) He was definitely no lockdown defender, but he was still usually good for a swipe or two every couple months. And most importantly, like any respectable hooper that plays the point, Brunson could handle the rock and find his big man for an easy deuce off the pick-and-roll. And let's not forget that in 2004-05, Brunson ranked 9th in the NBA for all qualifying point guards in the illustrious "Assist Percentage" category with a sparkling 32.7%. I'd put that number right up there with Gretzky's 92 goals and Chamberlain's 100 points on the list of greatest statistical accomplishments.

There were journeyman PGs that came before him, and plenty that followed, but when it comes down to it, Ricky B. is the gold standard. He is the absolute definition of the "journeyman point," and he's got the frequent flyer miles to prove it.

So congratulations to you, the reader. You now officially know more about Rick Brunson than any member of his own family. You should be proud...I know I am.

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