Being a sports reporter can be very demeaning. You know how they say those who can't do coach? Well, perhaps those who can't do AND can't write are the ones coaching. Those who are snappy writers yet mediocre players are the ones in the bleachers with notebooks.
At least that's my opinion. But aside from feeling athletically inept as I watch young men my age throw touchdowns, dunk baskets and hit homers, I also feel rather small. And I've noticed something--how many freakishly tall reporters do you see? Not many. Most of them are around my size--I'm 5'10". And I've begun to feel insignificant among 6'6" sweaty men with abs of steel and inked-up biceps (And no, I'm not doing it for the sexual thrill). LeBron James looks tiny on TV but I bet he could stomp me into the ground if I asked him the wrong questions. Maybe that's why I like soccer. I hear Landon Donovan is shorter than me!
So why do we do what we do? Well, it's not for the glory. It's not for the smell after the game. It could be for the occasional free food and VIP seating. But maybe it's because we just love the game. We love picking out the most exciting parts of the games and talking to players and coaches about their reactions. Maybe it's because we want to be a part of our native team's journey, to have the MVP know us by name.
Or maybe we're just crazy.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Team USA's nation of believers
America gets a bad rap around the world.
We're cocky. We're fat. We have too much money. We get involved in everyone's business. And on the world stage, no one gives us much respect.
Enter the world of soccer (or football, as everyone else calls it). Soccer is the world's game. Kids in Africa and the Central/Southern American countries grow up playing it in the streets. Soccer in Europe is like the MLB or the NFL in America--everyone's got a team to root for, and players are traded and swapped and bribed around teams all season until a league winner is crowned. But it hadn't really caught on in America until recently.
Sure, kids play it and we have summer camps and a major league team and even some opportunities for women. But we don't have big stars like Beckham, Ronaldinho, Ronaldo or Messi. We don't have huge national soccer tournaments. We'd rather tune in to our own version of football than everyone else's, and our fans certainly aren't characterized like the face-painting, vuvuzela-blowing raucous crowds that everyone else seems to have.
I have never been a huge fan of the US team. Of course, I have national pride, but in the 2006 World Cup it seemed wasted on our squad. Who were these men, thinking they were so tough amidst these glamorous teams from Europe and South America? Thinking they had the guts to make a run? I'm quite confident our 2008 Olympic champion women's team could have swept the floor with them.
But they had four years to shape up, and I had four years to develop my own soccer skill (and thus, my critical eye). And when this year's Cup rolled around, I watched our little Yankee underdogs with a bit less hostility.
A lucky tie against England and an unlucky tie against Slovenia (that goal should have counted!) were, nonetheless, ties. Never mind that we came from an 0-2 deficit against the Slovenians starting in the second half. In the point brackets, it was still a tie.
But Algeria. Wednesday's match against Algeria was nothing short of magnificent. I'll say that in hindsight, though I was screaming at all of our missed chances the entire game. Our World Cup this year has been one of both good and bad luck, as I said before. And as time wound down and as shot after shot went awry or was scooped up by the Algerian keeper, my little glimmer of hope in our ragtag, come-from-behind team was waning.
And then, it happened. Tim Howard snatched the ball off of an Algerian shot and whipped it down the field to Landon Donovan. Donovan passed it off and it landed at the feet of Jozy Altidore, who in his haste kicked the ball out a little too far into the box and into Rais M’Bolhi's goalie gloves. The charging Clint Dempsey tripped over the deflection and the ball rolled forward... leaving a wide open shot for Donovan to run in and punish the back of the net!!
GGGOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL! USA! USA! USA!
My girlfriend and I jumped up from the couch, screaming. The dog started howling. The announcer was hollering in his British accent as Donovan, our hero, slid on his belly down the goal line and got mobbed by his team. Bob Bradley smiled. The USA fans in the crowd went nuts, from the eagles to Captain America to Elvis to those just decked out in their patriotic best.
It was a damn good day for America.
Never mind the two disallowed goals, none of that mattered anymore. We were through, we won the group, we proved our worth in the bracket. And it showed up everywhere, all over the news. Our little team had WON. For the third game in a row we had held on and pulled one out in the last minute to save our asses and our reputations.
We may not be the classiest players on the field or have the most famous players. Our fan base may not be huge, but it is loyal. And it's growing, especially after today. When we've got an energy crisis, a huge oil spill, two wars we're losing, crooked politicians left and right and a still-weak economy on our hands, soccer is becoming the one thing we can turn to for support and strength. We believe in the pride of our nation and the glory of our team to bring us home a victory!
We're cocky. We're fat. We have too much money. We get involved in everyone's business. And on the world stage, no one gives us much respect.
Enter the world of soccer (or football, as everyone else calls it). Soccer is the world's game. Kids in Africa and the Central/Southern American countries grow up playing it in the streets. Soccer in Europe is like the MLB or the NFL in America--everyone's got a team to root for, and players are traded and swapped and bribed around teams all season until a league winner is crowned. But it hadn't really caught on in America until recently.
Sure, kids play it and we have summer camps and a major league team and even some opportunities for women. But we don't have big stars like Beckham, Ronaldinho, Ronaldo or Messi. We don't have huge national soccer tournaments. We'd rather tune in to our own version of football than everyone else's, and our fans certainly aren't characterized like the face-painting, vuvuzela-blowing raucous crowds that everyone else seems to have.
I have never been a huge fan of the US team. Of course, I have national pride, but in the 2006 World Cup it seemed wasted on our squad. Who were these men, thinking they were so tough amidst these glamorous teams from Europe and South America? Thinking they had the guts to make a run? I'm quite confident our 2008 Olympic champion women's team could have swept the floor with them.
But they had four years to shape up, and I had four years to develop my own soccer skill (and thus, my critical eye). And when this year's Cup rolled around, I watched our little Yankee underdogs with a bit less hostility.
A lucky tie against England and an unlucky tie against Slovenia (that goal should have counted!) were, nonetheless, ties. Never mind that we came from an 0-2 deficit against the Slovenians starting in the second half. In the point brackets, it was still a tie.
But Algeria. Wednesday's match against Algeria was nothing short of magnificent. I'll say that in hindsight, though I was screaming at all of our missed chances the entire game. Our World Cup this year has been one of both good and bad luck, as I said before. And as time wound down and as shot after shot went awry or was scooped up by the Algerian keeper, my little glimmer of hope in our ragtag, come-from-behind team was waning.
And then, it happened. Tim Howard snatched the ball off of an Algerian shot and whipped it down the field to Landon Donovan. Donovan passed it off and it landed at the feet of Jozy Altidore, who in his haste kicked the ball out a little too far into the box and into Rais M’Bolhi's goalie gloves. The charging Clint Dempsey tripped over the deflection and the ball rolled forward... leaving a wide open shot for Donovan to run in and punish the back of the net!!
GGGOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL! USA! USA! USA!
My girlfriend and I jumped up from the couch, screaming. The dog started howling. The announcer was hollering in his British accent as Donovan, our hero, slid on his belly down the goal line and got mobbed by his team. Bob Bradley smiled. The USA fans in the crowd went nuts, from the eagles to Captain America to Elvis to those just decked out in their patriotic best.
It was a damn good day for America.
Never mind the two disallowed goals, none of that mattered anymore. We were through, we won the group, we proved our worth in the bracket. And it showed up everywhere, all over the news. Our little team had WON. For the third game in a row we had held on and pulled one out in the last minute to save our asses and our reputations.
We may not be the classiest players on the field or have the most famous players. Our fan base may not be huge, but it is loyal. And it's growing, especially after today. When we've got an energy crisis, a huge oil spill, two wars we're losing, crooked politicians left and right and a still-weak economy on our hands, soccer is becoming the one thing we can turn to for support and strength. We believe in the pride of our nation and the glory of our team to bring us home a victory!
The big gay chip on Rob Thomas' shoulder
This is old but I liked it. I miss Rob and Matchbox 20...
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rob-thomas/the-big-gay-chip-on-my-sh_b_208183.html
Also, Get Him to the Greek is hilarious.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rob-thomas/the-big-gay-chip-on-my-sh_b_208183.html
Also, Get Him to the Greek is hilarious.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Control your children!
I was shot and robbed at the Florence Freedom baseball game Tuesday night.
Something hit my shoulder with crushing force in the second inning and thudded to the ground at my feet. It was a navy t-shirt, tied up into a bow like some cruel grenade. My best guess was that it was shot by a t-shirt cannon, so I turned around to look for the perpetrator. I saw nothing, so I twisted back around to get it when someone began to close in on my prize.
A small child, running from several rows over, reached out her little hand, swooped down, and grabbed the shirt from off of my Sperry. Before I could protest, she was running back to her seat, shirt held high.
Her mother congratulated her on her prize as she climbed back into her seat. But I was livid. Her brother, I'm sure, could feel the fire in my eyes as I glared over at them. Oh, he knew. He knew how I had been wronged by his little harlot of a sister. But that didn't stop him from wearing it later.
Children like that are why people murder other people. If I ever see them again, I'm telling them that Santa Claus isn't real and their mother found them in a dumpster. There is no excuse for rude children like that.
I hate America.
Something hit my shoulder with crushing force in the second inning and thudded to the ground at my feet. It was a navy t-shirt, tied up into a bow like some cruel grenade. My best guess was that it was shot by a t-shirt cannon, so I turned around to look for the perpetrator. I saw nothing, so I twisted back around to get it when someone began to close in on my prize.
A small child, running from several rows over, reached out her little hand, swooped down, and grabbed the shirt from off of my Sperry. Before I could protest, she was running back to her seat, shirt held high.
Her mother congratulated her on her prize as she climbed back into her seat. But I was livid. Her brother, I'm sure, could feel the fire in my eyes as I glared over at them. Oh, he knew. He knew how I had been wronged by his little harlot of a sister. But that didn't stop him from wearing it later.
Children like that are why people murder other people. If I ever see them again, I'm telling them that Santa Claus isn't real and their mother found them in a dumpster. There is no excuse for rude children like that.
I hate America.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Taking on Taylor Swift
The opportunity of a lifetime has presented itself to me...tonight, armed with only my voice, I will begin my quest to topple my biggest rival, Taylor Swift.
How, you ask? Well, a local radio station is holding a contest to see who will sing Taylor's part for "Two is Better than One" at the Boys Like Girls concert on Saturday in Cincinnati. I'm trying out tonight to take her place. If I land the spot, I'll gain fame and fortune in front of thousands of preteens and their parents and hopefully get a record deal or something.
Let it be known that Swiftie, my biggest and fiercest rival, is going down like a busted oil rig.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Nothing says Cincinnati like a football game in June between the all-stars of the east side and west side. I'm currently in the corner seat in a press box full of middle-aged men talking about the Reds as we all devor hot wings and Saratoga chips. I bet they are from Montgomery Inn. A cooler of soda accompanies these treats.
Even though one reporter goes to my old church and one has covered a lot of the same games I have, I feel like the new kid that skipped a few grades on my first day of school. Everyone knows each other and has reported football games before. I'm an awkward newcomer.
I expect to be making many east-west stereotypes in my head tonight.
I have to say I'm excited to be covering the annual Cincinnati east-west all-star football game tonight. I hope my west side bias doesn't show through too much. It'll be interesting to see if the folks I meet live up to the stereotyped (yet true) caricatures of east side and west side people. From dress to cars to mannerisms, I'm going to keep a close eye on the faces of my beloved city.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A less than gleeful episode
The funk episode of "Glee" hurt my ears and my soul.
Usually, the music salvages the sub-par plot, or at least the choreography does. Not tonight. I was left wanting more drama and less of the soul-less, excruciatingly painful funk that they tried to pull off. If I were Shelby Corcoran I would sleep well. Will Schuester and his brothel of women/problems is no threat to you.
To start, I don't know where Mercedes gets off a) laughing at Quinn wanting to get funky because she's white and pregnant, and b) claiming to be discriminated against. The only time race factors in to Glee is when she calls herself a "steamy mug of hot chocolate" or throws around lines like "Hell to the naw, I'm Beyonce," "Why are we going all vanilla on this song," and "You've never dated a sista before have you?" She's just like Kurt. You either stop flaunting how different you are or grow a pair and deal with it
...But then I saw what white people do to funk and wished they would just leave. Funk is about anger and rhythm, which you can infer black people have both of. Finn Hudson? Tina Cohen-Chang? Not so much. And Quinn's performance with the awful fake baby bumps on the "unwed mothers club" members was a train wreck. White girl, you cannot sing James Brown. Pregnant women, stop shaking your unborn, unexpected and probably unwanted fetuses around.
Sue Sylvester's small presence in these past few episodes made me wonder just what she was up to. And I hoped it would be more than slinging one-liners and trying to one-up the ever-changing Will Schuester. If Will isn't divorcing his wife, he's trying to trick Sue. When he's not trying to be motivational he's making out with the world. And when he's not seeking revenge on Sue he's yelling at the kids for trying to seek revenge on Vocal Adrenaline...all the while being an obnoxious compromiser.
Rachel also annoyed me because of her lack of guts. I would have kicked Jesse in the crotch instead of having a sing-off. Besides, those high socks were NOT funk.
I'm worried that the season finale will have too much to wrap up. Quinn's baby bump, though it disappeared for the Gaga episode, looks bigger than ever. What's up with Will and Emma? Will Terri start meddling again? Are Finn and Rachel going to stop being obnoxious and go out? Will Kurt hit puberty? Can Artie walk now?
And most importantly, who wins regionals?! Hm...
Usually, the music salvages the sub-par plot, or at least the choreography does. Not tonight. I was left wanting more drama and less of the soul-less, excruciatingly painful funk that they tried to pull off. If I were Shelby Corcoran I would sleep well. Will Schuester and his brothel of women/problems is no threat to you.
To start, I don't know where Mercedes gets off a) laughing at Quinn wanting to get funky because she's white and pregnant, and b) claiming to be discriminated against. The only time race factors in to Glee is when she calls herself a "steamy mug of hot chocolate" or throws around lines like "Hell to the naw, I'm Beyonce," "Why are we going all vanilla on this song," and "You've never dated a sista before have you?" She's just like Kurt. You either stop flaunting how different you are or grow a pair and deal with it
...But then I saw what white people do to funk and wished they would just leave. Funk is about anger and rhythm, which you can infer black people have both of. Finn Hudson? Tina Cohen-Chang? Not so much. And Quinn's performance with the awful fake baby bumps on the "unwed mothers club" members was a train wreck. White girl, you cannot sing James Brown. Pregnant women, stop shaking your unborn, unexpected and probably unwanted fetuses around.
Sue Sylvester's small presence in these past few episodes made me wonder just what she was up to. And I hoped it would be more than slinging one-liners and trying to one-up the ever-changing Will Schuester. If Will isn't divorcing his wife, he's trying to trick Sue. When he's not trying to be motivational he's making out with the world. And when he's not seeking revenge on Sue he's yelling at the kids for trying to seek revenge on Vocal Adrenaline...all the while being an obnoxious compromiser.
Rachel also annoyed me because of her lack of guts. I would have kicked Jesse in the crotch instead of having a sing-off. Besides, those high socks were NOT funk.
I'm worried that the season finale will have too much to wrap up. Quinn's baby bump, though it disappeared for the Gaga episode, looks bigger than ever. What's up with Will and Emma? Will Terri start meddling again? Are Finn and Rachel going to stop being obnoxious and go out? Will Kurt hit puberty? Can Artie walk now?
And most importantly, who wins regionals?! Hm...
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