The Spurs Are Good (And Other Statements of Fact)

Meet the new boss, yada, yada, yada...

In the interest of full disclosure, I had reserved this very Monday post for a team I’d crowned eventual champions all the way back in September. I knew said team would be very much around come early January because they are always around come early January. They stand a towering model of consistency – one with the best coach, the best management, and a core of grizzled veterans who’ve achieved multiple times all a core of grizzled veterans can possibly achieve.

This team was the New England Patriots. I usually save basketball posts and, specifically, posts about one ever-so-quiet South Texas bulwark, for rainy afternoons.

Well on January 17, it is raining in Gainesville, Florida. And the San Antonio Spurs are 35 and 6.

This is, as you know, a good start. One of the best, actually – about 1.5 games off the hottest 41-game blitz of all-time. The Spurs have now run the equivalent of a half-marathon, they have lapped the field, and – as of Sunday’s dismantling of the floundering Denver Nuggets – seem, for once, in the kind of tip-top shape conducive to seeing this trek through to the finish line.

The Spurs will top 60 wins for the first time since ’05-’06, a franchise-best regular season sandwiched in between titles number three and four. In Dirk Nowitzki’s injury-induced absence, the team’s built an 8-game division buffer over arch-rival Dallas, its biggest cushion since the dawn of the Reagan Administration and, more to the point, one only 3 1/2 games bigger than San Antonio’s lead over the two-time defending champion Lakers.

The Spurs have lost two games at home. They have lost four games on the road. Two of these four came during an East Coast back-to-back against the Knicks and Celtics days after New Year’s.

Nobody saw this coming. Obviously. And should someone tell you otherwise, he or she is either lying or stupid. Picking the Spurs to win the West in the preseason would’ve been like picking my 10-year-old golden retriever to kill at the dog track Saturday. San Antonio’s best player, the premier power forward in league history, is painfully past his prime and, though he shed a good 20 pounds in the offseason, still runs with a noticeable, irreversible gimp in his right leg.

Still, 50 percent of Tim Duncan is better than… (you finish the sentence, but keep in mind the airborne big managed a poor man’s Blake Griffin in a blowout victory over Dallas Friday).

Fortuitously, Batman’s decline coincides with the resurgence of both Robins: the older-than-Kobe Manu Ginobili who, fresh contract in hand and playing more minutes than at any point in his career, has picked up where he left off in last year’s playoffs; and, of course, Tony Parker, who’s plunged every fiber of his being into becoming a better basketball player because he is either A) heartbroken or B) spiting his ex-wife.

To this mix, the team’s added a battery of youthful no-names (Euroleague castoff Gary Neal, 7-foot Brazilian refugee Tiago Splitter, last year’s breakout performers George Hill and DeJuan Blair), a reconstituted Richard Jefferson (whom management forced under the threat of financial exile to retool his game in the offseason) and – to coach Popovich’s undying credit – a total reversal of fundamental philosophy. Shoot first. Keep shooting. Shoot until your arms hurt. Shoot, Matt Bonner, until it goes in. Play for April… in October.

Fifth in the league in scoring average – a year-over-year bump of 4 points on 1.5 more attempted field goals and three more attempted threes/per – and the aforementioned 35-6 suggest this strategy has worked: that come post-season, when the game slows and the possessions dwindle, a once-lumbering post-reliant offense will be better prepared to score quickly and efficiently.

It perhaps goes without saying that if Pops’ Big Three was not the Big Three it is – if it was LeBron, Wade and Bosh or Garnett, Allen and Pierce, or Kobe, Pau and Phil’s id – I would have long-fulfilled my obligatory, hyperbole-driven blogger commission of name-checking the ’95-’96 Chicago Bulls, Air Jordan, 70 wins and the title of Best Team Ever. I’ll hold off, if only because even if the Spurs did indeed finish 73-9, nobody would put any stock or take any pleasure in crowning such an unassuming bunch of yeomen Best Team Ever. Four rings or not, the Spurs will fly under the radar right up until Timmy hoists his “One for the Thumb” T in a post-Finals presser.

“We just want to continue to play,” says Duncan, stating the obvious with the kind of head-down, peripherally blinded univision that causes one to make such a statement.

So this we know: the Spurs want to continue to play. And continue to play, they will. They are the Spurs. This is what they do.

- Robbie

Things Rex Ryan Could’ve Conceivably Said To Bill Belichick When The Two Met At Mid-Field

Man love.

“So Woodhead… Is that Irish?”

“Now that you’re free, I was wondering if you could watch Antonio’s kids Tuesday.”

“How hard’s it gonna be to get a table at Regina’s?”

“Wish Nantz would save the sermons for church.”

“You thought you could beat us with Alge? Alge Crumpler? (*snickers quietly*).”

“Can you sign these socks for my wife?”

“F***, man. I mean… I’m just really… Just f***, man.”

“Seriously, there were like 17 million people on Twitter screaming, ‘WATCH FOR THE FAKE!’”

“Running six minutes off the clock down 10 with nine to play is more arrogant than a James Cameron Oscar speech, no?”

“Mike Tomlin is one cool dude.”

“No, but I checked. Nike only makes hoodies up to 3XL.”

“We’ll be a 6-point dog next week. Take the points. Trust me. I’m really good at these things.”

“Did you know Lawyer Milloy’s still in the league…? Yes, THE Lawyer Milloy… THAT’S WHAT I SAID!”

“I taught Braylon that last night.”

Post-game celebration.

“Probably not a good time… But LT really wants to know if you have a VIZIO.”

“It’s really too bad, too, cuz Tom and Mark would’ve had a field day in the North End tonight.”

“Santonio makes that catch twice a day in practice. Honest.”

“Look on the bright side: you could be TJ Houshmanzadeh.”

“Got any ideas for a witty Post headline?”

“Worst. Playoffs. Ever.”

“Ya know, some poor kid’s gonna look at the box score 10 years from now and think, ‘Hey, Tom Brady played pretty good.’”

“What’s the story with Pat Chung?”

“However unreal it may seem, we are connected, you and I. We’re on the same curve, just on opposite ends.”

“Sanchize, bitch.”

“Hilson’s gotta be crushed.”

“Are you taping the Globes, or you don’t really care one way or the other?”

“Fool me twice, shame on… Wait, how does it go?”

“So I have this idea for a drinking game at the presser. Every time a guy says ‘defense and running games win championsh…’”

“Asshole.”

- Robbie

2011: The Year of the Pumpkin?

Speed Kills (But Corgan Lives Forever)

I find myself thinking about Billy Corgan a lot, which admittedly is a little anachronistic given this is not 1994 or even 2004, but in fact a solid decade after the first, original incarnation of the vaunted alt-rock behemoth Smashing Pumpkins ceased to exist.

I don’t even particularly love Corgan’s music anymore – not all of it, anyway. His debut solo album The Future Embrace came on like a synthetic cross between mid-’80s Cure and a dumbed-down rewrite of the sounds-better-with-age Adore.

His material with Pumpkins MK II has proven similarly hit-or-miss, with stone-cold gems like Teargarden’s “A Stitch In Time” giving way to the disposably generic rock noise of “Astral Planes” and Zeitgeist’s… Wait, what was on that album?

So maybe it’s just my inability to kill off idols or, more likely, the lingering high from last night’s uber-loud spin of the eternally immaculate Siamese Dream, but my ears still perk up when The Thin Bald Duke says things like, “For me, this will be a make or break year“ (of course, Teargarden’s sh*t-hot combo of “The Fellowship” and “Tom Tom” piques an auditory nerve as well).

Keep in mind that BC’s never experienced a “break” year. Sure, he’s released his fair share of commercial flops (See Zwan’s criminally neglected Mary Star of The Sea) and excremental pieces of acronymed ear cancer (“F.O.L.“/”G.L.O.W“), but the Pumpkins’ de facto musical overlord doesn’t possess the sense of self-awareness or, for that matter, comprehension of failure it takes to throw one’s hands up and pack it all in.

In other words, Billy Corgan does not know defeat because he does not recognize what defeat is. His follicle-resistant dome is made of Teflon.

You might liken BC, one-time undisputed genius turned aging disputed genius, to a Hall-bound, past-prime athlete who lacks the wherewithal to hang up his Nikes. I hold him in high enough esteem to make the Jordan-circa-Wizards comparison: both A) reinvented themselves to adapt to a rapidly changing game (Jordan as a bulky post presence; Corgan as a digitally-obsessed indie) B) returned to a talent-depleted field with a radically different cast of teammates C) distanced themselves from the Windy City and D) still have/had the raw talent and sheer greatnes to drop 50 on any given night (proof).

Unlike the 40-year-old Jordan, however, the middle-aged Corgan seems to be again finding his creative legs (have you heard “Owata“?), lending some legitimacy to recent interview allusions to musicians who, through tireless proliferation, inevitably broke through with a second “period”. Neil Young, Nick Cave, Dylan – these artists, through late-career resurgence, at least allow for the possibility that Corgan can regain a measure of cultural relevance outside of his own diehard cult.

The difference between those guys and the Alpha Pumpkin rests in the latter’s unhinged appetite for success: few artists have ever been as hellbent on world domination, and those who have rarely stated Napoleonic intentions so explicitly.

“We realize that we have to create an artistic body of work that will lend credibility to everything else,” Corgan told The Wall Street Journal last week. “Without that, we’re dead in the water. It’s like in ’92: You knew when Pearl Jam and Nirvana put out major records that either you made a big album or you were dead. I like that kind of clarity.”

These are the kind of fighting words that raise the hair on the back of my neck – statements I’d discard as rock star bluster if not for Corgan’s record of parlaying impossibly ambitious musical blueprints into fully-realized mastercraft.

To say, then, I expect big things from the Smashing Pumpkins this year is an understatement the size of the band’s current magnum opus: a free, 44-track concept album loosely based on the Fool’s Journey. Corgan is, after all, the guy who devised the greatest alternative rock statement of all-time (yep, I said it), and then proceeded to top it with a 28-song, heaven-scraping wonderwork symbolizing a day in the life of a loner adolescent.

Corgan created the Pumpkins as a vessel by which he’d establish his musical empire. He’s a walking power trip – the very embodiment of go big or go home. I’d put nothing past him. And if he thinks 2011 will herald a return to greatness, I have little reason to believe otherwise.

- Robbie

Is Tom Brady Really An “Asshole”? A Special Investigative Report

Tom Brady insists he’s been called worse, and maybe he has.

But certainly not in public. And certainly not with such offhand hatred.

On Tuesday, Jets cornerback Antonio Cromartie, in reference to the legendary New England quarterback, used the only word in the English language that simultaneously sparks media frenzy and makes the casual observer wonder: why do they censor the “hole” and not the “ass”?

A conundrum

That word, of course, was “ass****” – a once common school-yard putdown that, in professional football circles, has evolved into coded speak for “he’s really good and come Sunday he’ll probably eviscerate us, so let me get my shots in now.”

Cromartie also said of Brady in the same Daily News interview: “f*** him,” a slight that seems to have slipped below the radar of sports media outlets such as ESPN even though it is the same number of letters and, arguably, more offensive.

Ground zero for Cromartie’s “A”-bomb seems to stem from a recurring Brady hand gesture recently exposed during Jets’ film sessions.

In the videos, the Patriots quarterback sticks his index finger out in a pointing motion directed at the Jets sideline, an occurrence especially frequent after touchdowns.

Though some have suggested Brady’s intimation is a simple sign of sportsmanship, as if to say “You there! I want to know where you’re eating dinner after the game so we can spend time together!”, one thing is clear: Shaun Ellis does not appreciate pointing for any reason.

“When they scored, he’d look over to our sideline and do a little body language and all that,” the Jets defensive tackle told the Daily News.

Interestingly, body language specialist and Ellis teammate LaDainian Tomlinson did not comment on the matter, opting instead to remain silent with his head down in a moping position.

Body Language Expert LaDainian Tomlinson

Regardless of the gesture’s intentions, Cromartie’s comments raise an important question that the mainstream media has yet to address: Is Thomas Edward Patrick Brady, Jr., a 3-time Super Bowl Champion and the face of the NFL, indeed an asshole?

SC’s in-depth investigation takes us back to the quarterback’s formative days, specifically August of 1977, when Tom was born to Irish parents just outside of San Francisco, CA. While it is likely he grew up in a hippie-friendly community fostering a sense of tolerance, acceptance, “alternative” lifestyles and rainbows, one would be remiss to overlook the mitigating factors of his very genetic makeup.

In short: Irishmen are generally assholes.

Though we have yet to confirm that Brady began drinking at age three and, by five, was pointing at total strangers in Guinness bars, making such an assumption would be well within the realm of responsible journalism given a random Google search for “Irish person”.

Results:

Ass**** Exhibit 1

Ass**** Exhibit 2

Ass**** Exhibit 3

Clearly, Brady was prone to anti-social behavior, douchebaggery and belligerent finger motions from the very beginning, but these innate shortcomings may have been offset by his professed idolatry of then 49ers quarterback Joe Montana, who most social observers agree was not an asshole.

Jumping ahead to 1995, we find Brady in a position to capitalize on his superior athletic abilities as a 17-year-old professional baseball draftee. However, the Junipero Serra High star passed on a chance to sign as an 18th-round selection of the Montreal Expos presumably because he was either “too good for baseball,” “too good for Canada” or both.

Much has been written about Brady’s career as a Michigan Wolverine and a fair portion of this coverage has focused on his stint in therapy for, according to Wikipedia, “frustration and anxiety” at backing up Brian Griese. Still, Brady’s psychologist did not say anything to Sports Casualties about his patient being “an asshole.”

This isn’t to say Brady’s college stay was without controversy. When he boarded a team bus in Miami in 2000 to attend that year’s Orange Bowl Banquet in advance of Alabama-Michigan, the senior starter walked right by a 14-year-old Robbie Hilson without saying “hi” or “I am a huge fan of yours,” an asshole move by any standard.

Said snub provoked a debate in league front offices about “character issues” that ultimately factored into Brady’s slide to the 199th pick of the 2000 NFL Draft.

Though the quarterback’s ascension to superstardom and Super Bowl legend thrust him into the public spotlight, Brady has displayed very little of the blatantly offensive behavior of which he’s recently been accused (and that he so often exhibited in his youth). On the contrary, the New England quarterback has twice landed the honors of Sporting News’ Sportsman of the Year and was even spotted charitably riding a bike for intellectually disabled persons.

Tom Brady for Best Buddies International

It should be noted that he did once spawn an illegitimate child with film actress Bridget Moynahan, before trading up for babies with Brazilian lingerie impresario Gisele Bundchen. But it is unlikely, given his own history, that Antonio Cromartie considered this circumstance when assessing Brady’s character.

Analysis, then, lends evidence to both possibilities: Tom Brady is/isn’t an asshole. One can only hope that Sunday, when the Patriots’ leader will have ample opportunity to point in gest, will further shed light on this all too murky query.

For Sports Casualties Investigative Unit, I’m Robbie Hilson.

NASCAR to Drivers: “Pick One Series”

From L to R: Ryan Newman, "Besties" Brad Keselowski and Carl Edwards

Plenty of rumors are circling around exactly what will happen when NASCAR releases its “competition update” which is expected to come out on Jan. 21.

But after Kenny Wallace picked up his 2011 NASCAR membership and licensing form, he noticed a precursor to one change that the announcements will bring.

“The brand-new license forms that are out, there’s a box and in it, it states that you have to mark–put an X –what championship you’re running for,” Wallace told NASCAR.com. “A driver will only be permitted to earn driver championship points in one of the following three series: NASCAR Sprint Cup, NASCAR Nationwide or NASCAR Camping World Truck Series.”

Now for fans of any other sports who may not be accustomed to NASCAR’s policies, this may seem like a no-brainer. Baseball players can’t play a minor league day game before a major league night game and NFL players don’t drop by UFL games on Thursday nights to get a feel for the weekend.

But NASCAR has always been a completely different monster.

It is not at all uncommon for drivers in the company’s most elite series, the Sprint Cup, to run in one or even two other races in an event weekend.

Since 2000, the Nationwide Series has seen as many non-full-time Sprint Cup drivers win its points championship as it has seen name changes, three. In 2010, Kyle Busch ran all 36 Sprint Cup races, 29 Nationwide races and 16 Camping World Truck races.

Busch won half of the races he ran in the Camping World Truck Series and finished third in points in the Nationwide Series. The Nationwide points title was won by Brad Keselowski who finished 25th in the Sprint Cup’s final standings.

Enough with the stats.

If you’re a NASCAR fan, you’re thinking one thing: What does this mean for me? If you’re not a NASCAR fan, you’re thinking one thing: When the hell is this hillbilly gonna shut up? The answer to the second question is never, but the answer to the first is a little more interesting.

It remains to be seen how this rule will actually affect competition in the Nationwide Series. While a handful or so of Sprint Cup drivers do take part in the Nationwide Series with the desire of winning the points championship, there are plenty of others who only run sparingly to get a feel for a particular track or please a secondary sponsor or whatever.

And one might argue that the Nationwide Series needs these drivers. NASCAR has been hurt as much or more than any other major sport in terms of damage from the struggling economy. It wasn’t long ago that the Firecracker Coke Zero 400 was the second largest race of the year. But the past two seasons, backstretch seats have been completely closed off, something that didn’t even used to happen at Daytona Nationwide races.

Sponsor-Free: Economy in the world of stock cars.

NASCAR prides itself on having a blue-collar, traditional fan base but its weekend events aren’t always incredibly affordable.

The hit is obvious in the Sprint Cup Series where races that historically sell-out are having difficult times. But it’s bitterly clear in the company’s two smaller series that have to try to bring folks in who are already likely spending three figures on tickets for Sunday’s race. The Nationwide Series and the Camping World Truck Series are often stained by extremely poor attendance, a fact that will only grow worse if the household names stop running.

But with this latest modification, NASCAR is turning more toward competition and development than marquee names, and the in-depth fans will be willing to accept that. This new agreement is all about more accurately defining each division the same way MLB or the NHL might.

Personally, I like it, but I also watch ARCA races.

Fans who want to see NASCAR’s future and some hard-working guys that just don’t have the juice or money to make it to Sprint Cup, this is your chance. Unless this fails to to chase off the “Buschwhackers” of the world, which there is still a marginal chance that it won’t, this season will be for you.

Long live the Busch Series. You were a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Nothing promises that this will significantly change things, it’s only a possibility. Three out of the past four years, the owner’s Nationwide points champion has differed from the driver’s Nationwide points champion. That is to say that the No. 18 car, that was primarily driven by Busch but used by others on seven occasions in 2010, actually racked up more points last year than Keselowski, the driver’s champion. Owner’s championship points won’t be changed according to Wallace’s observation.

One of the biggest areas where NASCAR has gone wrong over the years is in letting open-wheel drivers and young outsiders come into the Sprint Cup Series without paying any kind of dues in the lower regiments. It’s why Juan Pablo Montoya (besides having the worst name for NASCAR ever) gets the mark of being overrated, it’s one of the reasons why Dario Franchitti never made it and it’s why Sam Hornish, Jr., is still running for lunch money.

Maybe by defining the three series for what they are, it can help change things. Or nothing may change except the speakers at the year-end banquet.

We only have a little more than a month until we can start to figure these things out. Will someone drop the green flag already, dammit.

-Bryan

Netting ‘Melo: A Job For The Russian

The photo above Mikhail Prokhorov's bed.

Let’s not overthink this.

Even spelled out in Russian, it’s not a hard concept to grasp. The New Jersey Nets, the proverbial doormat of the Eastern Conference and the second fiddle in their own metropolis to a suddenly resurgent (and endlessly entertaining) Knicks franchise, have at their fingertips an opportunity to do what most bottom-dwellers can only dream about: land a premier, in-prime basketball talent who is at once a filler of seats and a punched ticket to the playoffs.

Should the Nets lure Carmelo Anthony’s $65 million smile and his equally valuable jump shot to the shores of the Hudson, the team would have at its beck and call one of the few true superstars in the NBA, and more, a chance to legitimize one of the most irrelevant brands in all of sports.

‘Melo’s cross-country flight would likely involve no fewer than 13 players and three teams, a seeming logistical impossibility that over the last 30 days has evolved into, depending on who’s reporting, either a potential reality or an all-out formality.

The Nuggets, once in no hurry to part with the team’s first franchise player in nearly a quarter century, have accelerated the negotiation process as negative vibes from the pending ‘Melo exodus have rubbed Denver vet Chauncey Billups like sandpaper on coconut flan, which is to say, it doesn’t sit well with him.

Luckily for Chauncey, the Nets have requested his services as well, along with Detroit live-body R.I.P. Hamilton, who, for his part… is believed to be still alive. New Jersey would then likely part with point guard Devin Harris, two first round draft picks, and the perceived diamond-in-rough making this whole shebang viable, rookie power forward Derrick Favors (6.7 ppg, 5.1 rpg).

(Dumars’ squad would take back Troy Murphy’s expiring contract, Johan Petro and a copy of Springsteen’s “The Promise.” And yes, Pistons info always belongs in parentheses.)

Here’s the snag, which to my mind, baffles with all the brain-flummoxing power of a tricked-out Rubik’s cube: the Nets continue to balk at accruing the 4-year, $28 million contract of Denver’s journeyman scorer Al Harrington. Mind you, New Jersey billionaire owner Mikhail Prokhorov (whom I’ve continually mis-referred to in my notes as “Dmitry Medvedev,” which should give you some insight as to the former man’s prominence), wields a money stick that would make John Holmes blush.

Or so we thought.

Prokhorov, a gold tycoon whose very name inspires visions of fantastical wealth, apparently won’t pony up the $28 million it would cost to close the deal because that would mean 28 million fewer dollars to restock the toilet paper holder in his sprawling Jersey Shore compound.

The Prokhorov Mansion: his for the low, low price of $587 million

This perplexing turn of miser-hood comes from a man who promised immediate turnaround and, oh yes – lest we forget – is the richest man in all the Old Soviet Empire.

I, for one, have always been under the impression that Prokhorov was the kind of guy who gave $28 million bills to trick-or-treaters; whose diamond-encrusted portrait of Stalin was worth at least a Harrington; who appraised the three embalmed mob casualties buried deep underneath his Siberian palatial estate at 10-plus mill per head.

But seriously, Prokhorov’s pockets go at least as deep as one of the three South African gold mines he bought yesterday.

What am I missing?

Perhaps this uncalled for display of monetarily-induced bullheadedness is a play to show his NBA colleagues he’s no typical NY Met: that having heaps of money doesn’t necessarily equate to dispensing heaps of money. Or maybe, in light of the ongoing labor dispute, his stingy ways are a show of solidarity assuring front office sorts he’s not one for spendthrift coin, even if he’s got loads of it.

Still, fortuitous circumstances as these do not come around so often. Attracting ‘Melo to the Garden State and surrounding him with a cast of no-names who aren’t nearly as incompetent as one may think could be a gamechanger for an owner who, less than six months ago, recklessly guaranteed fans a championship within his first five years.

Now, then, is not the time for exhibiting “financial savvy,” or “economic acumen” or “managerial IQ” – no, cases as these call for boundless gall and an ink-soaked checkbook.

So if I may, let me use these concluding remarks to address Mr. Prokhorov directly:

Положите деньги туда, где ваш рот.

- Robbie

BCS Title Game: SC Weighs In

Monday night, the Oregon Ducks and the Auburn Tigers will meet to declare a BCS national champion at the home field of the University of Phoenix’s severely underrated football team. For the past month, consumers of sports media have heard nearly everyone tell them what is going to happen on Monday night.

Everyone except us.

So with game time approaching quickly, your two resident geniuses are prepared to let you know our take on what will happen. For those keeping score at home, that means you’ll be getting the predictions of two guys who are never, ever wrong. Okay, maybe not.

Bryan Holt

The following is going to be difficult to write because I just might be going against everything that I typically stand for in college football.

Make no mistake about it. This title game is being billed as a completely offensive affair and rightfully so. While it is not rare at all to have two elite offenses in a BCS Championship Game, it is strange to see two teams that almost completely rely on offense make it this far.

While both Auburn and Oregon have top-10 offenses, they’re defenses rank 53rd and 26th in the FBS, respectively. Auburn is obviously led by Mr. Heisman, Cammy Cam, but brings a defense that has given up 24 or more points nine times this season.

Oregon packs a rapid-fire spread option offense fueled by running back LaMichael James, but some might say its defense didn’t have to play in enough big situations in 2010.

People will also continue to feed the SEC standpoint. Auburn did beat five teams that finished the regular season ranked while Oregon only had one victory of that sort.  Normally I would pimp this stat out all over the place if only it hadn’t gotten pimped out to no avail in last week’s Sugar Bowl.

As strange as it is to say, I think Auburn is the weakest undefeated team to come out of a BCS conference in a few years (cough, Ohio State, cough, cough). As an overall team, they just don’t seem that different from the group that went 8-5 in 2009. There’s a giant improvement at quarterback but that’s all.

Cam Newton was enough to go undefeated, but I doubt he’ll be enough on Monday night.

Both of these teams have been characterized by slow starts this season but typically demolish their opponents in the second half. Auburn does it well, but Oregon is on another level. The Ducks have an ability to push teams to their edge for so long that eventually they cave and it becomes a defenseless beat-down.

I usually laugh at the people who don’t expect SEC teams to shine through when it counts. Four-in-a-row will do that to you. But this Auburn team doesn’t possess the same qualities as the four SEC teams that have come before it.

Streak over.

Oregon 41 Auburn 24

Robbie Hilson

If one thing and one thing alone stands out while perusing the SC archives, it’s this: I am an extremely poor picker of games. So take the following with a grain of salt and know, too, that Auburn-Oregon (these are the teams playing, right?) will be the first collegiate pigskin action of any sort I’ve experienced in a little over two weeks – more, if you don’t consider Navy-San Diego State “collegiate pigskin action”.

Before we get to predictions, allow me some time to go all disgruntled-talking-head on you and bemoan the omnipresent “state of college football.” I feel like I would be neglecting my duties as a sports commentator if I didn’t acknowledge the fact that neither of these opponents has played a down of anything other than X-Box Madden in roughly – doing the math – 38 calendar days.

To paraphrase every redundant pundit in America: These aren’t the same teams we saw a month ago.

Regardless, then, of how you feel about the rampant capitalism-induced logistics of the BCS (to be honest, they’re growing on me), it’s hard to deny that the system’s penultimate product is prone to holiday hangover and a sloppy on-field product. Tonight’s game will be an improvement over last year simply by way of Cam Newton trumping Colt McCoy and lasting till the second quarter.

Knowing very little about Oregon aside from the idea that its dynamic offense would seem to deal a blow to Mr. Holt’s recent assertion that the spread is dead, I still think it’s safe to assume that intricate offensive game plans relying on timing and precision are at a disadvantage after a long layover; and unless you’re, say, the 2001 Miami Hurricanes, it might take a quarter or two to really fall back in the swing of things. Add to this the Ducks are, as Bryan mentions, a notoriously slow starter…

Advantage: Auburn.

OK. Through smoke and mirrors and a fair amount of circular logic, I’ve managed a semi-congruent argument that basically just reiterates how I feel in my not-so-reliable predictor of anything (that being my gut). I say the Tigers get the job done if only for the aforementioned reason and because A) the Heisman can’t jinx EVERY title game B) the battle-tested Auburn O-line (161 combined career starts) should manhandle an undersized Quackers D-line that’s short 50 pounds per man C) the Ducks must blitz (and blitz and blitz) to compensate for said lack of beef, potentially opening up throwing lanes for Cam Cam and D) Newton’s game is taylor-made to overcome long bouts of sitting on one’s ass eating Christmas turkey… He could role out of bed in July and accomplish the relatively undaunting task of “running forward”.

Finally, I favor myself an enlightened life form and as much as I’d like to see Nike expand its Empire of Cool by successfully fronting a championship amateur team (not very much, actually), I can’t bring myself to pick against the Southeastern Conference, especially against a pack of West Coast hippies and especially when a title’s on the line.

Auburn 31 Oregon 27

God Bless America: A Series of Incoherent Thoughts Celebrating My Return to the Homeland

My bff.

Just returned from an 8-day “vacation” to the Middle East. Needless to say, I have a new favorite country: The Good Old U.S.A. The following bears no resemblance to anything one might construe as “organized” or “comprehensible,” but instead will act as a cognitive clearinghouse of sorts for a bunch of random thought bubbles I’ve been unable to share with you for lack of free wifi.

I’ve actually taken the time to develop full fledged accounts of a bunch of sh*t-meets-fan vacay faux-pas in Israel, but those will have to wait as I am A) on Tel Aviv time (3:02 a.m.) B) without the digital memory to upload 600+ pics C) still unsure if I should share the details of how I ended up dancing on the countertop of a bar at a lively Georgian establishment for free shots and D) running on nine hours of sleep for the last 4 days combined.

Now it’s time to do what lazy people do: Use bullet points.

• Watching New Orleans’ clusterf*ck of a defense play in a noisy stadium in cold weather is a more dreadful experience than a semi-strip search at the Jordanian border. Trust me, I’ve experienced both. I think that Marshawn Lynch’s back-breaking, tackle-breaking, 67-yard TD run in the 4th quarter was to the Saints the equivalent of having a hulking Israeli security guard strapped with a semi-automatic assault rifle stick his Saran-wrapped hands down your pants and then pat your junk down with a not-soft metal detector…

• I just finished reading the ’80s hair metal homage “Fargo Rock City” by “cultural critic”/detached ironicist Chuck Klosterman. So bear with me if my writing wreaks of hipster douchisms, deadpanned narrative, references to Winger, pretzel logic, and caps-locked declarative adverbs for the next two weeks or so. CLEARLY, this is just a phase.

• I’m fully aware “ironicist” isn’t a word, but then again, “cultural critic” isn’t a legitimate job title either. It basically just means you have staunch opinions and love the sound of your own voice (i.e. this guy!).

• Look, I loved “Fargo Rock City” (yes, I’m still on this). It’s a page turner loaded with quirky anecdotes about growing up in East Nowhere with Motley Crue as the soundtrack to a tear-inducingly boring existence. HOWEVA, I don’t buy for a second Klosterman’s claims that glitter rock – Warrant, Poison, Cinderella, etc. – had any significant cultural impact aside from their massive popularity amongst dumb ninth graders and mullet-toting, hair blow-drying white trash whose idea of a good night was getting loaded on Budweiser and beating their wives. These things, along with the bands’ collective visual flamboyance, will forever exist the only memorable aspects of a genre any casual music fan could only rationally describe as god-effing-awful. I don’t blame Klosterman a second for loving these bands – he grew up with them; they were a crucial component to his formative years and the OST to his coming of age. Still, I loved Nickelodeon’s “Rugrats” when I was nine, but I make no claims as to its artistic merit. I think we can all agree that the only two redeeming aspects of ’80s metal were Appetite for Destruction and the “Jump” video.

• Sports Casualties turned a year old today. Bryan touchingly commemorated the occasion with this post, and if you don’t well up a little and fight back a few sniffles while downing your first of seven Busch Lights… you’re probably a more well-adjusted human being than Bryan. Or, alternately, you just don’t take this shit seriously enough.

• Living without the Internet for 8 days in a foreign country didn’t give me the sense of unplugged liberation I expected, but instead made me want to hardwire my cerebral cortex with an RSS feed from every major (nytimes.com, kylerancourt.com) and minor internet publication I’ve ever bookmarked. I’m starting to suspect there’s something wrong with me – like it’s not normal to have a craving for a steady stream of chopped-up, rapidly-mutating, hardly-digestible-in-large-doses viral information (or for that matter, to have a compulsion to hit up SC the very second I got back from the airport). At this point, I’m just hoping my head doesn’t explode by 30, and I worry, too, for the generation below me that’s known this 24/7 bombardment of hyper-media pretty much since popping out the womb with iPod buds plugged to their gelatinous ears.

• And finally, the answer is yes. Of course I was repping The U in an Arabian sweat shop in Jerusalem. Of course I was talking up Ed Reed (final ’10 tally: 10 games, 8 INTs) and RayLew to the kid from Baltimore on birthright who was perusing stacks of Ts for a Ravens shirt in Hebrew. We talked about Coral Gables. We talked about Al Golden. We talked about the relative merits of the Old Big East (he was a WVU grad). And we did it all from the deepest nook of the most grimy quarter of the holiest and most ancient city in the world. Bottom line: Miami is everywhere.
  

  proof.

• Since I couldn’t watch it, I’ll proceed with future writings as if the ‘Canes bowl game never happened.

• I really love this country. I mean I REALLY love this country. I mean I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY… Okay, you get the point. It’s good to be home. Happy weekend.

- Robbie

January 8, 2011: Sports Casualties is 1-Year-Old

Here to help celebrate.

Just a reminder of our awesomeness and longevity. Nothing too self-righteous.

Not trying to make some giant scene here as SC has been known to do, but today is officially our first birthday.

One year ago today, Robbie sparked the madness that is this site with this very post. We have since contributed 370 more posts to the already overcrowded Internet landscape, racked up 1,184 comments and registered more hits than we could ever imagine.

We also tend to brag.

Year one has brought surprises and domain changes and a little controversy from time to time. Year two is sure to involve super-stardom, groupies and a rise to iconic Gainesville status alongside Tom Petty and Tim Tebow.

I mean, John Daly follows us on Twitter, so we’re already pretty much a success.

But on a more serious note, there’s plenty of “Thank You” notes to go around. When we first started this thing, it was read by family and clicked on for loyalty purposes by a few friends. They’re still definitely the core of our readership, but we probably wouldn’t still be doing this if 20 people were stopping by the site per day. Just saying.

So on behalf of Hilson – whose off playing dradle or stalking Bar Refaeli or whatever it is one does on a Tel Aviv vacation – and myself, I would like to thank you.

I would like to thank everyone who reads us, says they read us or just clicks on us to look at pictures. Everyone whose ever complemented us, linked to us on their Web site or called us bad names. The world of sports and entertainment, which rarely leaves us speechless. And Weimer Hall, which gives us plenty to bitch about in the uncommon event that we are speechless.

You guys are the bestest, and Sports Casualties is only getting started. Trust me.

I actually have a real excuse to drink tonight.

Cheers.

-Bryan

Is the Spread Offense Dying?

Proof?

The revolution that stopped.

It has been six years since Urban Meyer brought his spread option offense to the University of Florida. At the time, the nation’s fastest rising coach was coming off of a four-year stint where he completely elevated football programs at Bowling Green and Utah. He was also surrounded by questions.

His spread option had worked to perfection in the MAC and the Mountain West, but the SEC was an entirely different monster to tackle.

Under Meyer’s stringent eye and the leadership of some guy named Tebow, the Gators not only made the spread option work, they helped spark a nationwide obsession with the various strands of the spread offense.

The spread went from being a gimmick that smaller schools used to even the playing field to a must-have system that leaked into nearly every elite college program not named Southern California.

It even seeped into the NFL where Meyer said he was contacted by three pro coaches interested in implementing pieces of his spread options into their playbooks, and Bill Belichick used the more pass-oriented version of the spread during New England’s 2007 undefeated regular season.

One 2009 ESPN.com article counted 48 FBS college football teams that ran some form of the spread offense at least 75 percent of the time.

But six years later, the national scene might be showing that the innovative style of football is outlasting its welcome.

Now the question that headlines this post is incredibly broad and possibly misleading. The “spread offense” is more of an umbrella concept and not necessarily a specific gameplan. Triple-Option Spread, Air Raid, Run and Shoot, Spread Option, Multiple Spread, Spread HD and The Pistol, [takes a breath] are all forms of the spread offense.

To think that all of these will universally die would be ignorant. The pass variations of the spread will probably always at least have a small place in offenses, and small programs will likely help bring the system back to its original roots. Because the spread is really nothing more than a mid-major medicine that blew the hell up.

Appalachian State taught that lesson to us all.

But while the explosion of the spread offense has been well-publicized, the negative side effects of it have not always been documented as much.

Whenever there is a clash as there is right now between styles at the collegiate level and the pro level, something is going to have to change. It can be a nightmare for a NFL coach to be handed a quarterback that has never taken a snap from under center before, and it’s difficult to judge receivers who have playmaker potential when they spent most of their college years blocking.

I would argue that no other sport currently has as difficult of a turnover between its amateur and professional ranks as football does.

And the NFL isn’t going to change. Sure some teams might institute a few spread ideas into their gameplan, but they do so in the same way that they insert flea-flickers and reverses. No NFL team is ever going to make the wildcat offense its lone scheme.

Although it would probably be an improvement over Chad Henne.

Instead, it will be the colleges that will have to change to stay competitive. The same way they did when most teams did away with the option-based offense decades ago. The same way Nebraska has had to change after falling off the face of the earth.

In order to attract top recruits, you have to show them that your program can get them to the next level. The option didn’t do that, and now some are saying the spread doesn’t either.

There’s a reason why Southern Cal recruits as well or better than anyone, even in the face of adversity. It’s not just because of the paychecks and houses, it’s because they promote themselves as a pro football factory. “Come here and run the offense and defense that the pros run. Be ready for the next level.”

And now that trend is expanding.

It’s why Jeremy Foley and Will Muschamp have brought pro-style ideas to Gainesville in the wake of Meyer’s departure. And why Michigan is looking to change back over to a pro-style after three years of the failed Rich Rodriguez experiment.

Meyer’s offense hindered the draft stock of every offensive player not named Percy Harvin during his tenure at Florida. The Gators have produced eight more defensive draft picks than offensive draft picks since 2006.

The unorthodox running game and unwillingness to have a feature back has held back Florida running backs from making it to the NFL. Alex Smith and the spread offense were part of the reason why teams were wary of drafting arguably the best college football player of all time.

David Nelson proved in 2010 that he is a much better pro receiver than his college career and undrafted status might have shown.

It’s difficult to make this argument when two spread teams will be playing for the national championship on Monday night, both with offenses that have seemed impossible to stop all season. The counter would be that this isn’t a short-term performance issue, it’s a longer-term recruiting issue. The other side would be that I’m totally wrong.

That’s very possible, too.

-Bryan