The New Top 25

My new top 25,

Comments to follow tomorrow

1) USC
2) Michigan
3) Texas
4) Virginia Tech
5) LSU
6) Iowa
7) Ohio State
8) Georgia
9) Louisville
10) Florida
11) Tennessee
12) Florida State
13) Miami
14) Oklahoma
15) California
16) Virginia
17) Boston College
18) Purdue
19) Arizona State
20) Bowling Green
21) Texas A&M
22) Texas Tech
23) Georgia Tech
24) Notre Dame
25) Auburn

Creativity in a Bare Forest

In case you missed it; and probably most of you did, the US National Soccer team qualified for 2006 World Cup this weekend, defeating Mexico 2-0. Of note, is that it’s the fifth consecutive World Cup will participate in after decades upon decades of failing to reach the month long epic.
One of those World Cup qualifications did come as a direct result of being the host nation in 1994. A year which saw the native Yanks advance through the group stage and into the second round before falling victim to the mighty Brazilians. This of course, spawned the creation of the MLS, which debatably has become a success and certainly has if only slightly, raised awareness about the sport in this country.
FIFA, the governing body of the international game has a convoluted formula devised to establish world rankings. The US is ranked sixth in these rankings, which speaks to the dishevelled nature of them. The National Team may be improving, but the sixth best side in the world it is not. Not when you consider Brazil, Holland, Argentina, France, England, Germany, Italy, Croatia, amongst others.
But the team is improving; and the question is does anyone really care. The World Cup is the gala of all sporting events worldwide, a 30 day saga that incorporates the southern and northern hemispheres and attracts an audience that dwarfs that of the Super Bowl. The US is rapidly a player on this stage; it was only four years ago in Korea that the US outplayed a German side in the Quarterfinals, and if not for Oliver Kahn, likely would have only had a South Korean side laying in the weeds for a berth in the final.
And the question persists, if and when the US, buoyed by young stars on the current outfit and almost certain to be better in 2010 when the World Cup hits Johannesburg, Capetown, Durban and the like in South Africa will there be a fan base befitting the team and the great work that players, coaches, and administrators have put in to make the team a worthwhile and feasible international success.
DeMarcus Beasley, magnificent on Sunday versus Mexico is a fixture for years to come. Landon Donovan, ditto. And John O’Brien is perhaps the most valuable member of the American starting 11; and if can remain healthy he can be the bridge in the midfield and utilize his impressive skill set.
Freddy Adu will continue to improve; and the US youth teams have enjoyed more international success than their experienced elders have; assuring a bright future. Will Bruce Arena stay on past 2006? And for how long? This will prove to be the next difficult hurdle for US Soccer to jump, as Arena has provided tremendous leadership and organization in the wake of debacle in France in 1998.
But does it make a sound in the forest if no one is hear it? The MLS is decidedly the fifth most important league in the United States; and the process to improve is a long, grinding one, especially as players such as Beasley and O’Brien migrate to the more lucrative and tougher European leagues.
Keeping fans interested as they watch the most successful players leave the country is an idea American sports fans are used to. If fans will jeer Carlos Beltran from going to Houston to New York; what will fans think of someone going to Paris?
The World Cup will be in the ides of June; the NBA & NHL finals as well as baseball hitting its summer circuit. The kids will be out of school.
Will fans tune in or like the kids, tune out?
Stay tuned…

The Death of a City

We’re never going back.. New Orleans was always a place of leisure, adventure. It exuded fun. Its stench implied there was fun within its borders. And now it is gone; driven away by waters flooding and streaming off the Gulf of Mexico. Bringing out the very worst; not only in people but in America.
Darwin maintained the survival of the fittest; the natural order of selection, and that unfortunately has what has exactly occurred in NOLA, as the locals affectionately call it. The haves have gone, and have nots have not; and when faced with the horrific conditions and a sporadic and seemingly soporific response from the government, anarchy inevitably ensued. And, depressingly, is continuing.
And its not just New Orleans; its Baton Rouge, its Biloxi, Gulfport, far reaching to even Houston, where over 20,000 now are nomads. What do they do? What can we do? Money can’t cure the problems. Time is sliding like the homes on the slippery slopes of the Mississippi. And we’re left to wonder why, and how this can happen. In America. In the 21st century. Proving that yes, this can happen.
One can’t blame Osama Bin Laden, they can’t pass it on Saddam Hussein. Hell we can’t even blame the French. No, it’s a simple matter of something that America should have been prepared to deal with; something that one needn’t be Nostradamus to predict.
One can blame whomever they want; the President, the Mayor of New Orleans, the countless leaders who preceded them. The geographical positioning of the Gulf Coast along the banks of the Mississippi both in Louisana and Mississippi. The doomsayers all along had wondered what would happen if a catastrophic storm hit these shores; yet governments chose to ignore it; falling asleep at the wheel. Laziness? Financial constraints? Simply a case of higher priorities, whatever the case today one of the Icons of the South, and one of the truly great American cities, is on life support and barely breathing.
And we do we go from here, as the government paints grim pictures such as nine months of a city gone. And where do the 1.5 million supplanted residents go? What do they do? To whom do they turn? Can they even trust the government, and the bigger question what reason do they have to do so? And their deepest and darkest moments, it failed them, it failed the city, it failed America.
This isn’t meant to be partisan. This isn’t an attack on the Bush regime, it’s a critique of what seems to be an increasing pattern. America simply falling asleep at the wheel. Furthermore, why are we rejecting offers of assistance, tokens of help from others, some of whom we have assisted in the past.
Worse yet, simply saying its logistical matter, when for the past week, we simply didn’t have enough willing and able bodies to do save the city. Police officers have flown the coup; leaving anarchy inevitably to ensue. Socrates and Plato said as much over 2000 years ago. History, once again proves them and others like them, prophetic.
The city of New Orleans used to reek. Now it is just dying a slow painful death.
Dying while the world watches, flooded in a sea of despair and watching the warning bell toll for those who have no one to save them; let alone ring them.
Apparently the warning bells didn’t sound loudly enough, so the unanswered question is why someone didn’t heed the warning cry. Now the cries we hear are people, slowly setting in the Crescent City.
And we’re left to wonder, will it ever rise again?

Head of the Class

Presenting the top 25....

1. USC
2. Michigan
3. Texas
4. Virginia Tech
5. LSU
6. Iowa
7. Oklahoma
8. Ohio State
9. Miami
10. Louisville
11. Florida
12. Tennessee
13. California
14. Florida State
15. Georgia
16. Auburn
17. Virginia
18. Boston College
19. Texas A&M
20. Purdue
21. Bowling Green
22. Pittsburgh
23. Arizona State
24. Boise State
25. Texas Tech

Feel free to berate me.

Attention Deficit Disorder

Thank you sir, may I have another.....and another.....

The time is now; the moment is here. The unofficial dawning of fall. August is just about in the rear view mirror and with that new hopes and dreams of September is spawning a new day. September brings about more than just college girls in sundresses and inflated textbook prices. It means football is here, it means the NHL training camps are opening; it means the nearing conclusion of the baseball regular season; the marathon spitting out into a full fledged sprint. Champions League is here. Club seasons are in third week.

So where does the attention turn? Does one really have ENOUGH time and effort for this? Are you ready? Am I? Are you ready to follow baseball action on both coasts, to watch the 10 pm and 1 am Baseball Tonight. The day ends sooner, and there's still only 24 hours in a day. The weekends, once spent leisurely sprawled across the soft strands of beach sand and crashing waves; now has violent collisions on astroturf.

The objects of your fanatical desires now are LaDainian adding a meaningless touchdown in the fourth quarter; you get excited when the Ravens pick off Carson Palmer for the second time because it means you beat some poor lanky 13 year old in Sioux City this week.

But aren't you winning the whole month? Chris Fowler is your alarm clock Saturday morning; primes you, lathers you into a frenzy. And then its only noon. ACC, SEC, Pac 10, Big 12, Big 12. The true Bureacratic Nightmare. Which do you watch. Picture in picture isn't enough. You're the producer, the maestro and you need options.

And when you wake up Sunday morning, it all begins anew. Holding out for a Hero, Tom Brady? And what of Mime in Philadelphia. And has ever one player, Randy Moss, been more destined for one franchise, the Oakland Raiders. Its not just the east and left coasts; the heartland purrs, with ebullience and excitement scattered through our midsts.

A break during the week? but there's no relaxing...not with divisional races that grip that backpages; mvp awards and wildcards to be pull off the flop. Deuces are indeed wild.

All summer it was the blockbusters. Batman, Star Wars, War of the Worlds. Now every day, you're crashing the Wedding, selecting, choosing how you want to climax. A Vlady with that happy meal? Now you're falling. Falling for the moments, events that will entertain and keep our days light.

And its only the prequel. The blockbusters come later. October baseball. Titantic Campus Gridiron Clashes.

Let the Games Begin.

If only I knew where to begin.

November Rain

And its raining, and raining, and raining....

Just in case you were wondering...

The Red Sox are still World Series champions. Back to that later.

First, Bob Stoops is complaining. And complaining. First about ESPN. Then about Auburn. Then about USC. Um, maybe Bob, your team plays in a league that simply isn't any good. Maybe your pass defense is about as used and abused as Paris Hilton. Maybe you had this team last year that was being viewed as one of the greatest of all time before it decided to get blown out by Kansas State on a neutral site.

Maybe Auburn looks to be as complete a football team as there is in this country. You have one running back. They have two. You have a quarterback who can win games with his arm. They have one who can run and throw. And most importantly, they have 11 guys on defense who regularly stop the other team. Its a funny thing what reality has shown us.

And maybe most importantly, Auburn doesn't throw the ball on fourth down in the fourth quarter up 30-0, and then whine about what disrespect they are shown. Hopefully, you and your team will just go away.

Um, we got a problem...

Its called Iran. And how will the White House spin the fact that despite no Saddam Hussein to make as a scapegoat, no prior Persian Gulf war, no 9-11 tragedy to shove down our grieving throats, they are much more a threat than Iraq ever was.

How will this administration, which did a poor job spinning the Iraq War, spin this to those in the Christian Conservative right who need a misantrophic anti-hero to loathe?

Get ready for a lot of airtime, Condaleeza Rice. Step up and have your opinions. Be strong and follow your heart. Because this time you could have scapegoat written on your head. And after Iran, its North Korea. Which not even Karl Rove can spin to this supporters. At least I don't think so.

Which doesn't make these conflicts wrong. But as they say, its all about the delivery. And well, its kinda akin to expecting a major delivery on a Sunday afternoon. Post office is closed. Call back later.

But at least Arafat is still dead.

How do you defend a World Series victory in Boston?

Its been done before. This time, you let Jason Varitek go and his outlandish salary demands with it. You resign Pedro Martinez to three years, 40 million after much consternation. You trade for Julio Lugo or sign Barry Larkin and wait a year for Hanley Ramirez.

You bring Carl Pavano back home to where he started. You resign Mike Myers for the lefty out of the pen and sign San Diego's Antonio Osuna to provide another arm.

Oh, and you wait till about Super Bowl week and let the market for Adrian Beltre play itself out so that you can sign the soon to be 26 year Dodger on the proverbial cheap. Cheap, relative, its not as if he's Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. But cheap enough so that he is your cornerstorne infielder for the next four or five years. In which time, he's still 30. And then maybe you trade Bill Mueller to a team that needs a 3B for a mid level prospect or an arm in the bullpen.

Just my two cents. If they are worth that.

In case you didn't know...the Holidays are coming.

People all across this world largely fall into two distinct camps.

Those who live for the holidays because they allow their fake real fake personalites to become their real fake personalities, with cheer and music for all to endeavor upon. Joy to the world, baby! Oh, secret Santa, and to wear red and green as if its our j-o-b.

Then to counteract these peppy, joyous sorts, we have the woe is me crowd who for the very idea its the Holidays, become more depressed, hate the over zealous nature of the first camp of people and generally turn into Scrooge before our very eyes. These are the types likely to see the Salvation Army, and simply try to spear them to the ground.

I don't like either one of these camps. Its December. Buy gifts, freeze your ass off outside, eat food with family. Receive gifts. Move on. Don't be happy when you usually aren't, and don't be miserable because the date has a 12 prededing the day.

Lastly, as a couple more months remain before I hit the backpacking circuit again, its a good time to remind that the circuit is something that cannot be explained, but since I've slightly forgotten, here goes.

There are the hundreds upon hundreds of people you meet that will tell you where they have been. Countless more will tell you where are going. But, rarely you will meet those who will tell you where they are. And its those who make it worth it.

Now I'm off to search for Nicollette Sheridan.

But wait, its about race..

Just take a little piece of my heart.

I tried. Fighting reality that is. I could barely watch. And the end wasn't about how swift it was, but about the predictability of it all.

I sat and watched, and watched, as Brock Berlin could do nothing. The Hurricance offense seemingly stuck in the eye of Ivan under the watchful eye of the Florida State defense. But it didn't matter.

Florida State was playing Miami, in Miami, and couldn't slay the dragon. If the Hurricanes were fighting Ivan, Florida State was fighting every single storm that has every blown in the Carribbean. And we all knew. FSU fans. Miami fans. And certainly the Seminole and Hurricane players. After all it always happens.

So after Miami stopped the Noles once again, and got the ball with a minute to go. You were waiting for the other shoe not to drop, but to squarely knock you out. Hurricane style. 80 yards? Check. Touchdown and tie contest? No problem.

Except it wasn't a tied contest after it was knotted at 10 and headed for OT. The game was over. Its watching the same movie with a new director's cut. You just see the suspense filled additions to the same tragic ending.

And so it happened that the gamely defense stopped defending an offense that couldn't offend anyone, that being their own. After all, why stick in a battle you can't win? And so went another year, another loss. Six. For six. And so it beats on. the beating of a constant drum..

And if there is one constant, it is that Chris Rix is the best player on the field. For the Miami Hurricanes. Oh he tries, the senior from California. He really tries. But that too, just leads to more heartache. A futile battle was completing a pass. Let alone driving his team down the field. This isn't your redshirt freshman QB making his first career start. Rather this is the same player four years later.

Sometimes reality is what it is. Rix isn't completely at fault. After all, he's the same player he was four years ago. What does that say about the grown men who are paid to coach him. Or the fans who expect any different from Rix. There is no doubt he works hard. He is a Seminole and a proud one at that.

But the reality is its time to end the experiment. Three complete seasons and one game is enough. Wyatt Sexton? perhaps. One of the two star true freshman Drew Weatherford or Xavier Lee? Even better. They will make mistakes. But history has taught us that this senior QB makes them too and he hasn't stopped. Maybe its time to see if someone else can learn. Or else FSU will not learn themselves.

Wolfpack for Life

Apparently someone took it a little too much to heart...

This weekend, the following occurred...

Witnesses said a fistfight preceded the shootings Saturday evening.
The victims, identified as Kevin M. McCann, 23, of Chicago, and Marine 2nd Lt. Brett Johnson Harman, 23, of Park Ridge, Ill., were tailgating before North Carolina State University's season-opening football game against Richmond. Neither was a student at the university.
Tony Harrell Johnson, 20, of Raleigh, and his brother, Timothy Wayne Johnson, 22, an NCSU student, were arrested a short time later and charged with two counts of first-degree murder, said sheriff's department spokeswoman Phyllis Stephens

Road Rage in the parking lot. Where plenty of witnesses abound. The lack of control is simply breathtaking. Their sense of anger management is ten times worse than that of Kevin Brown, he of the broken left hand.

Tailgating at college football contests is ritualistic. It is part of why it makes the sport the best in this country. Travelling fans from visiting schools interacting with the host school, giving each other a hard time, talking football, throwing a ball around, meeting new people, and then entering the stadium, usually very intoxicated and wildly cheering your team on victory. You see the same fans in the same spot, year after year, and most travel insane distances to root for their team.

Some schools care more. Some have more fans, some drink more, and some cook better. And god knows, some of the schools have better fans than others. During bowl season, some bowls are even predicated on these fans (which is a whole other topic) because one school's fan "travel better" than another.

The NFL may tailgate. But all it is a knock off of the College Football Saturdays. The NCAA may be a lot of things, but in spite of it, its game, Saturdays in the fall, still shines bright year after year. Its the players, coaches, mega ESPN/ABC and CBS TV deals, the band, and yes, the fans that make it this way. There are no bandwagon NCAA fans. Well, unless you're a Miami Hurricane fan.

Its this experience that gives College Football soul. In Raleigh on Saturday, two souls were lost because two brothers, of all people mistook this passion in a rage unbefitting any location, let alone by the football field.

But what about the fans surrounding the situation in the parking lot. A similar event occurred this year between Dodger and Giant fans. If we celebrate sports, isn't our job as fans to make sure that gaming and competitive nature of it is upheld and that fans keep their own composure as we expect the competing athletes to do?

If we can boo the outside linebacker for a late hite out of bounds on the QB, surely we can dissipate rage in a parking lot outside the Stadium.

Just two cents...

The Age of Innocence

We peak at 16. And then the adult world ruins us all.

After reading Bill Simmons piece on espn.com on the year that was, 1984, I realized after discussion, that the greatest year, in terms of the pop cultural, sports pantheon, for me was 1993. Simmons was 14 in 1984, and I also was 14 in 1993.

More on the how's and why's of it is 1993 in a later ramble (hint initials CW x 2).

But moreover, we peak at 16. We're too young before the age of 12 to have any significance of the world's events or our place in it. And starting then, we begin to build a secondary concept of the planet we exist within. Things happen, and our happiness or unhappiness is derived because of these things that happen.

We find our place at 13, 14, 15. Find that Ice Ice Baby is a phenomenon that can't be curtailed. Or that Mortal Kombat can change all our lives. Or even read the Transcendentalists.

But more than anything, we get freedom. Our parents are sick of us constantly being in their hair so they let us explore, for the first time, on our own. We find these things that interest us, don't, or annoy us. Hear opinions from friends and foes and make our own decisions. Or so we think.

Because then 16, 17, comes along and the freedom is but a tease. Our parents sense a stray dog and begin to lure in the reins they gave in the first place. They giveth, they taketh away. They can do that. After all, your mom says, I gave you childbirth. Not to mention the first car.

And thus, the age of innocence is over.

The outside world tugs at what we are, and what they expect. Parents, co-workers, teachers all have opinions. We've had our freedom but now, after only a few short years, its being taken away. Expectations are born. They must be adhered to. After all, there's a world to be run and our spot in it belongs on what those around us say. College, job, money, bills, we got em, you gotta have em, they say. Come and join us.

That's why our greatest memories are at thirteen through 16. We make our own place. Then, for most, the world grabs us by the horns. When you join this world, you are joining a large and not so exclusive club, the sage ones say. The Real World.

Also known as the the world of real cynical assholes.

SM What?

The bigger the world, the smaller the relationships.

Have we forgotten how to talk? You know, the symbiotic act of actually be capable of having real dialogue.

You know who you are. You're the one who only communicates via email. Even when the recipient sits two cubicles down from you. God forbid we might actually get up and have a real tangential conversation and establish a rapport. No, you send an email. Maybe, if your feeling incredibly brave you know that your intended conversational target is away, you'll call them so you can leave a message so you can "be personable."

Caller ID. Beautiful. You know who's calling. Even more reason not to answer it. Let em leave a message and you'll see what they want. You'll get back to them when they least expect it and they've forgotten why they called you in the first place, so you can remind them. Or better yet, you'll get their answering machine and start the fun game of phone tag.

Except its not phone tag. Its hot potato. At this point, the awkardness consumes both parties and you really don't want to talk to each other. So at this point, you send an email, just to catch up and to "break the ice."

Which brings me to SMS messages, texting, whatever you want to call it. You're using the phone, which is intended for talking. But you dont' want to talk. You're too lazy to get to the computer and send the ever impersonal email response and query. So you text. They even have preset text messages you can choose from. Hell its like a Hallmark Greeting Card. You don't have to think of anything special to say at all.

Personality? What's that. Your $99 Best Buy phone has it all. Its interpersonal communications for dummies. Can you press a couple of buttons? Presto. You're a living, breathing human being. Right now, you can vote on reality tv shows, those every popular pop culture polls, criticize Joe Torre's move in the bottom of the 8th inning, whatever you want.

Well, not whatever. You can't vote for the President, or have a Minister pronounce you Man and Wife.

But oh ye of little faith, Verizon Wireless has plans in motion for that too. Soon we won't ever talk at all. We'll push buttons. And we wonder why no one can talk in these times.

No one would dare attempt to even try.