Illinnoyed

It’s true. You never quite forget your first.

I’m years away from my Central Illinois upbringing, but there’s something orange and blue that bubbles up inside me when I hear Oskee-Wow-Wow. And not many other schools boast that they have sand, which has to count for something.

So, while I may have renounced my childhood love of the Mariners (you really felt good rooting against a team that had Griffey Jr., Randy Johnson and little Joey Cora? Really?) to suffer on the altar of the North Siders, and my closet may be stuffed with Gold, Blue, Cream and Crimson, there’s that part that always answers “I-N-I!” when I hear the call.

Soooo, this is shaping up to be an interesting March for Illini fans. There’s the possibility for a showdown we all kind of hoped would happen someday—although there were times in January and February where it seemed impossible.

I mean, raise your hand if you figured Bruce Weber would foul up for the third time in four years and cost his team a trip to the NCAAs. Good. We’re all on the same page then.

This Friday, the last game played in Tulsa will be between the Fighting Illini and the UNLV Runnin’ Rebels. Now, if you’ve never had a debate about downstate recruiting over a Zorba’s gyro or Aunt Sonya’s pancakes, you’re probably asking, “Why the hell do I care if two teams with vaguely racist sounding mascots play each other in the Great Plains?”

Well, let me catch you up on the last decade of Orange Krush turmoil. In 2000, Lon Kruger rather abruptly left his coaching position at Illinois to coach in the NBA. Now, Champaign Urbana and the surrounding areas take their basketball and loyalty very, very, VERY seriously. People felt ridiculously betrayed by Kruger’s departure. His four-year tenure as coach had been studded with the complaint that he could never seem to recruit “The Chicago Athlete” (a Grail Quest of sorts for Illini sports), but no one could deny that he’d been the coach who nabbed the Illini three Illinois Mr. Basketball winners. When he left, he left a roster that would make any Big 10 coach weak in the knees. So both hearts and tournament aspirations took a hit.

And head coach of UNLV basketball just happens to be….hmmmm…Lon Kruger!

Yeah, that NBA run was not kind to him. Now, I’m not saying I wished the man harm, but when he offered money to ticketholders if the Hawks didn’t make the playoffs, failed to make good, and was canned halfway through the season—well, I didn’t shed any tears.

So, let’s just say Illinois beats the odds (UNLV are, I believe, 1pt. favorites?) and wins on Friday and, well, they might. I’m not holding my breath or, for God’s sake, putting money down on it, but it’s within the realm of physical possibilities. That's when the real fun begins, my friends.

Because a win on Friday would most likely pit the Fighting Illini of the University of Illinois against #1 Kansas.

Again, why should you care about this potential bloodbath?

Well, if you think Illini fans felt spurned by Lon Kruger, you should get a taste of a little something we call “Self-Hatred”.

You see, the coach who inherited that choice little roster from Kruger was none other than the current head coach at Kansas, Bill Self, a name I’d not advise you to speak aloud in certain bars in C-U.

Bill Self is a great college basketball coach. No doubt. And probably a nice guy. And he was adored by Illini fans from 2000-2004. Seriously, if you check the census records, I bet there was an increase in baby boys named William throughout downstate Illinois. Seriously.

But, in 2004, just days after he told a core of Illini fans he was thrilled with his position as their coach…he left for Kansas. Ouch.

So, the next week gives a decidedly lackluster Illini team a chance for revenge. A chance for redemption. A chance to prove they're not some stepping stone on the way to a more exciting program.

And no man ever needed that chance in a more desperate fashion than Bruce Weber.

And I can hear the cries of the frantic, loyal few:

“It’s not him, it’s the seniors!”

“It’s not him it’s the program!”

“But what about 2005?!”

Well, yeah, what about it? I’ll tell you, I could have probably made it to face North Carolina with a primarily Self-coached team that had Dee Brown, Deron Williams and Luther Head. That’s what about 2005.

And the seniors? Give me a stinking break! Every year it’s been people wailing about the damned seniors.

“Ohhhhh, once McBride leaves, it’ll be different!”

“Ohhhhh, once Randle leaves, it’ll be different!”

“Ohhhhhh, once Brock leaves, it’ll be different!”

Please. Cut the crap. Those are lousy excuses so everyone can stick their heads in the sand about the real problem: Weber.

Look, I’d love for him to be successful. He’s a wonderful, stand-up guy. And it gives every would-be comedian a chance to bust out a raspy-voiced imitation when his name gets brought up. But facts is facts: Bruce Weber is to Illinois what Ty Willingham was to Notre Dame—a guy who does everything right except win games.

I mean, even if it is the players’ fault (which, to some extent it is), who recruited these kids anyway? Did they just drop out of the sky onto the three-point line ready to play in the least aggressive fashion known to foe or spectator?

I mean, right, a coach can’t lace up his kicks and get out there on the court and make plays. But he can get some plays out of highly touted recruits. He can inspire people to care enough to play like it matters. And he can take them out of the game if they keep playing like they’d rather be anywhere else but there dribbling a ball.

And, the trend continues this year: it’s boo-hoo Tisdale this and, wahh-waah Davis that. Know what? A really good coach would bench ‘em. Bench ‘em and let the uber-talented freshmen and sophomores have some court time. But Weber is not a really good coach. Weber is a mediocre coach in a mediocre conference and no amount of equivocating can change that fact.

And I get that the University of Illinois (and, indeed, the entire state of Illinois) is in dire financial straits and won’t a) take a loss in cutting Weber’s contract or b) shell out money for a top coach to replace him. Fair enough.

But even that seems like a convenient excuse for Athletic Director Ron Guenther. The man is, understandably, gun-shy; he’s not going to waste time, money and personal pride on a great coach that is just going to be poached away from him.

So. The Bruce Weber Redemption Tour?

Unlikely.

Unwise? Yeah, under normal circumstances, I’d say it is. The only hope for an Illini comeback would be putting the talented kids they’re getting under a different coach. Weber is a good guy, but he’s not working well with the NBA hopefuls that both Illinois and the Big Ten in general need to really get back in the game.

But, unfortunately, dropping out early in the tournament is not going to get the Illini a new coach.

So I say, go for it, Orange and Blue. Find some fire and grow a pair somewhere between Champaign and Tulsa and win.

And I’ll cheer my throat sore.

And go ahead, beat Kansas and Vandy, too. (Though it’ll royally screw up my bracket…)

Know why? I want a redo.

Because in 2003, I was wearing orange and it was a low, low day.

But times have changed and so has my wardrobe and loyalty.

Go Irish.

The Ultimate Curse

There are certain curses you anticipate as a woman. You resign yourself to them.


The high heels that give you the arthritic feet of an 80 year-old by college. The inevitable boyfriend who refuses to cut the apron strings with his sainted mother. And, of course, the 12th birthday party that comes paired with an industrial sized package of Kotex.


But, there exists a subset of us that end up blindsided by a different kind of curse-- a slightly more insidious one, made even more intolerable because of its lack of universality.


The Curse of the Female Sports Fan.


Now, I'm sure there are men who consider the mere presence of a woman intruding on their sacred testosterone-fest to be a curse in and of itself, but that's a different hoedown.


I cannot count the number of times I've been in a bar/checkout line/airplane/waiting room and deigned to voice an opinion on the sports sound bite of the day within earshot of some man, only to receive some variation of the following:

"Well, hey there, little lady, that sure is a cute thought, but you can't possibly know a thing about football! You never put on pads and played! Why, I remember when I was playing for the state championship..."

Men who talk sports with you in public always played in high school. And any important story always happened during the championship game. Always.


And, let me tell you, I'm a fan. And I know from which I'm saying.

I'm not a "don't I look cute in this jersey?", know-who-we're-playing-this-weekend, regurgitate-some-quotes-I-heard-on-College-Gameday, kind of fan.

We're talking carry a schedule in my wallet, three years out kind of fan. Lovingly clean the dust from my Super Bowl Shuffle 45 kind of fan. Bargain my second born child for a seat at the game where the Cubs finally nab the World Series kind of fan.

(I'm hesitant to leverage the first-born, because she's already been here for 2.5 years and I'm rather fond of her. But the second-born? That's just some random stranger at this point. Totally fair deal.)


I blame my father, a sports-writer who was blessed with a daughter and no sons. And my mother, who fairly instinctively balks at anything that smacks of telling her what she should or should not do. I was singing fight songs at two and sitting on Lou Henson's knee at center-court by three. You do the math.


So I'm used to being talked over, discounted and brushed aside when it comes to conversations about anything from the Wildcat to the East German steroid scandal.


And this is why I love Glen.

Glen and I have been friends for a decade. When I married at twenty-two, he was my "best man". He's built like a lineman, opens car doors for ladies, cries when the National Anthem plays at sporting events and knows Grey's Anatomy episodes by title. Pretty much a ten.


And he fell for me when I spilled a bag of Oreos when jumping up to scream at the television, "You have to either rush the passer or cover the receiver! How can you just NOT DO either?! For CHRIST'S sake PICK one!"

Or so he likes to say.


So we found ourselves with a spare, freezing Midwestern evening this past week, and what evolved was a challenge for the ages: Create the Ultimate Sports Team.

In order to simplify things, we laid down some ground rules:

1. Teams will consist of 10 athletes, chosen draft-style by the two of us.
2. Only one athlete from any particular sport can be drafted, and the sport must be specified at the time of the pick. This was essentially tacked on because we both grew up being told, over and over, that "Bo Knows" both baseball and football. So multiple sport athletes have to declare their major, so-to-speak.
3. At least one female athlete must be drafted onto each team. Look, we all know we respect the ladies, but Title IX is there for a reason (Thank You, Mr. Kennedy).
4. Only one deceased athlete per team. It makes things slightly more dynamic and just a whole lot easier.
5. The teams will be based in a fantasy sports world. A "computer" will spit out a sport to which each team must adapt. This could range from football to curling to rhythmic gymnastics. (I stole the wording of this rule directly from Glen's blog, but I wasn't going to waste time trying to explain it this concisely when someone else already had).
6. In addition to the two teams of 10 (of which he and I will be head coaches), two coaches will also be drafted to assist.

The first pick was mine and the choice was easy:

1. Jim Thorpe
Look, if we're talking athletes, and we are, the greatest all-around pick just has to be Thorpe. Not only is his story compelling and his skill immense--he loved sports. He adored moving his body: running, throwing, punting. A Gold-Medalist and an All-American, his prowess just can't be called into question. And the longevity of his career speaks to a kind of conditioning any coach would salivate over. I can't imagine a better number one to inspire and lead the rest of the team.



Glen surprised me with his first pick, Jackie Joyner-Kersee. Hey, there's no doubt she's top-tier talent and certainly no one to turn up your nose at. It surprised me that she was his first round pick. He tends to value solid strength over speed to begin with and that he would choose a woman--and a track star to boot!--was just totally unexpected. Maybe it was because he knows I know my female athletes and he wanted to snatch the best before I had a chance? Maybe he wanted to get a track & field pick because I'd declared Thorpe as my track pick? Maybe he was trying to score points with the XX world in general? Who knows

But Round 1, definitively, goes to me.


2. Jim Brown
We all know he was one of the top running-backs of all time. What you may not realize was that he was offered a position pitching for the Yankees. He was a top lacrosse player in college. And, frankly, if it weren't for the institutionalized racism in this country, he probably would have led Syracuse to a national championship. A solid "football" draft if there ever was one.


Glen's pick was Frank Thomas. That's right, "The Big Hurt". Now, I teased him for picking from his heart rather than his brain, because I know he's got a soft spot for the big guy. However, it's a pretty decent pick, although not the kind of choice most would make this early in a draft. We're both focusing on demonstrated multi-sport athletes, or at least players with a decent chance of cross-training based on latent skill/body type/what have you. And besides being a great fielder and smashing (literally) hitter, Thomas is no shrinking violet on the gridiron. Here is also where you'll begin to notice a trend--Glen likes big athletes. The wider, heavier, brute-ier, the better. I think it's his team's downfall...




3. Michael Phelps
And with one pick, I have swept an entire sport. Beyond that, look at that boy's body. Consider his lung capacity and reflexes. He excels in every single stroke, and anyone who's spent time swimming knows just how different freestyle is from butterfly. I truly believe Phelps could excel at any sport required.


Glen goes with Patrick Roy. I shrug. The only hockey players I can name are Wayne Gretzky and Pacey Witter. Hey, we all have gaps in our knowledge, and I just can't seem to get into a sport that involves throwing sealife from the stands and such profound dental injury. Apparently this dude is a great goalie. Cool. Let's see him play some soccer and stand in front of a big boy goal.


4. Muhammad Ali
Honestly, I'm pretty sure it's Glen's hubris that allowed me to get in the first five picks I did. I mean, you're going to fritter away some picks on a giant first baseman and a French-Canadian before Cassius? Only five losses and no draws in his career, there's no argument he's "The Greatest". Not only does he possess great personal fortitude and exceptional strength, speed and talent--his fighting style was revolutionary. That shows the mind of an innovator as well as an athlete. Fourth round? Seriously.

And Glen counters with Tiger Woods. Guess he finally realized I'm not playing around. :-)
Honestly, though, it's a great choice. He's the best in his chosen sport and it's documented that he's a hard worker. Before Tiger, golfers didn't necessarily train like athletes. Then along comes that driving distance and all of the sudden guys on the tour are thinking they'd better pump some iron and put on a pair of running shoes once in a while. With Tiger out of the athlete pool, I make the decision I'm not going to bother drafting a golfer of my own. I'll just concede that one.



5. Pele
It's not just my opinion that soccer players are among the best conditioned athletes in any sport--there are plenty of people with more experience and credentials than I who hold the same belief. And that makes Pele the best of the best. He excelled at nearly every aspect of an incredibly demanding sport. His ball handling, endurance, pacing, agility and scoring abilities remain untouched. Yet another choice I feel will have no problems adapting to any contest.


The fifth round closes out with Glen taking...Sugar Ray Leonard? I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a great boxer across a range of weight classes, but I think this is a rather wasted pick. When Glen said he was taking Sugar Ray, I assumed he meant Robinson, which would have made a bit more sense. I mean, Robinson might be the only boxer who really has the possibility of taking out Ali. Still, Leonard fits in with the general size quality of Glen's squad.



6. Steffi Graf
In the spirit of full disclosure, it's worth noting that Graf is my favorite athlete of all time. She is incredibly consistent, versatile, disciplined, swift, accurate, lithe, strong...I could go on and on. She holds records that no other female OR male player has touched. She can play on any surface. She just doesn't fold on the court. Brilliant. Also? She's 6 feet tall. Ha cha cha.


Michael Vick. Hmmm, Glen was apparently expecting more outrage from me on this one. Look, I love puppies as much as the next dame, but I figure the guy paid his debt to society, he deserves a second chance. And you can't really find fault in his abilities--a real asset on the field.




7. Bonnie Blair
It's not only that she won so many Olympic medals, but the dominance with which she won them. That girl was like freaking Secretariat on the ice. Speed skating requires a musculature and stature that hasn't really been covered by my previous picks. And, I'm not sure if you remember or not, but there are roughly 70 speed skating events in the Olympics, so I've just managed to sweep another entire sport with this pick, unless Glen goes with Ohno. Which he won't.

Also, maybe we can get her to carry a stick and score on Roy.


Glen takes what may well be the anti-Bonnie Blair: Dennis Rodman. My quizzically raised brow to this choice gets an explanation: he wants a "bad boy" to throw my team off their game. Not a bad idea, but he seems to have forgotten that Ali pretty much invented trash-talking. And that's a match-up I'd like to see. Besides which, Rodman seemed like a teddy bear on Celebrity Rehab...



8. Bo Jackson
Bo knows! Yeah, I know how much of a stereotype this pick is, but there's usually some truth to stereotypes, you know. Here's a man who averaged nearly 7 yards a carry his rookie year. Heisman winner. MVP. And you want to argue that Frank Thomas can hit and field? Gimme Bo any day! His range in the outfield is insane. And the boy will hit you some homers, no doubt. He's also done decently well in a string of celebrity golf tournaments. The only complaint you can legitimately have about Bo is that an injury took him out before we found out all he could do.

Mia Hamm is Glen's pick. Certainly no slouch, but I'll bank on Pele.



9. Michael Jordan
I'm guessing the fact that 8 rounds passed without either of us snatching Jordan is due to the fact that we both recall his somewhat lackluster foray into MLB. The thing is, Jordan is the best basketball player ever. The end. And you can sit around all day and talk about how he doesn't have a demonstrated ability to adapt those legendary skills to pursuits off of the court, are you doing to suit up and try to keep him from dunking? No. I don't think so. Thrilled to get MJ on my team.


Glen's 9th pick is Andre Agassi. Pretty sure he just likes the poetry of pitting him against Graf at this point.



10. Nadia Comaneci
Here is an athlete that surpassed what even the sport itself thought was possible. The first perfect 10 and the perfect 10th choice to round out my team. A gymnast is a necessary component for the squad because none of the other players can do what they do. It's my impression that a female gymnast is more likely to be able to perform the events required in men's gymnastics than would a male gymnast be able to do the same in women's gymnastics. So, a female gymnast it is. And Nadia is the best. Done. Easy.



Turns out, Glen want a gymnast too. He takes Paul Hamm.





Now, you can probably see some themes running through these teams. I prefer speed and agility. Glen goes for strength. A glance at the two of us sitting at a table to draft these teams, and the reasons behind these differences are obvious. He's a big bear of a man; I tip the scales at 100lbs. The majority of his t-shirts boast his football and rugby glory days; I get high off of running marathons. He drinks whisky; I drink gin.

Yeah, pound for pound, The Whisky All-Stars would pummel The Gin Rockets--but that's not the whole story, now, is it?

I think putting up little Nadia against Thomas is going to throw the man for a serious loop.

So, our squads picked, our drinks refreshed, it's time to pick some coaches. Glen and I serve as the head coaches for our respective teams, but we each get two picks to assist us.

Glen's Picks: John Wooden & Bill Walsh
Mine: Lou Holtz & Phil Jackson


Four very, very talented men. Four very different strengths.


So, why Holtz? Well, the skills of my players aren't in question, they're a given. I want someone to inspire them to bring that best in every situation, and Holtz is that coach. Not to mention, Holtz hasn't proven his success with only one team--he's proven it over and over with half a dozen different programs.

And Phil Jackson? Well, he's obviously already had tremendous success and a long relationship with one of my athletes. And if there was ever a coach who got a number of players with amazing individual skill to work together as a well-oiled machine, he was the man. A very solid leader to round things out.


Granted, Jackson and Holtz might kill each other before we even got a practice underway....hmmm.....



So, there you have it. It was a great night of sports banter and trash-talking getting these things drafted; who knows what will happen when we start in on how the actual matches would go....