Whit Watson

The Pre-Pregame

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:03:00 +0000

Since Game 4 of the Magic-Pistons series is scheduled for 5pm on Saturday -- whatever it takes to make ESPN happy -- I found myself in a production meeting on Friday morning, a full 30 hours before tipoff. Hope we make it in time.

(Note: Saturday's game is a "side-by-side," meaning that Sun Sports will produce and televise this game right alongside ESPN's national broadcast. If you love your country, you'll choose to watch the Sun Sports version over the Four Letters. We'll give you the familiar announcers with the hometown vibe, plus the added bonus of me, potentially reporting something totally mind-blowing from the Pistons huddle. Hey, it could happen. You better watch.)

Usually, we hold these meetings on the day of the game, but with the early tip, we figured we could gather a day early and make it a more casual affair. So it was on Friday that I wandered into the Magic's headquarters, the RDV Sportsplex in Maitland, to hear what my assignments might be for Game 4.

Our roster included Tye Eastham and Kevin Patterson, the two gentlemen who produce Orlando Magic basketball on Sun Sports, plus play-by-play announcer David Steele, color analyst Matt Guokas, former Magic GM John Gabriel (who will join us as a special guest on Saturday's pregame show), sideline host Paul Kennedy, and me. We were lounging around a glass coffee table in a lobby at the Sportsplex, watching the palm trees sway outside as we waited for practice to end.

While still killing time, we welcomed Magic Chief Operating Officer Alex Martins, who stopped to chat while on his way to something undoubtedly important. Alex goes back to the expansion days of the Magic in 1989, and therefore knows John Gabriel quite well. In fact, I couldn't help but notice the high levels of expansion-era experience in the room -- Alex, Gabe, David, Paul, and Matty were all on the ground floor of this franchise in one way or another. That's a ton of Magic history in one lobby. For what it's worth, Tye, Kevin and I can all trace our connections back at least as far as the Shaq-Penny era. Call us the JV division.

As the casual chatter continued, in walks the irrepressible Pat Williams, best remembered around Orlando as the Magic's original general manager and the man who made the NBA happen in Central Florida. Pat still holds an executive role with the franchise and is highly sought after as a public speaker. The man can flat-out work a room.

If you know Pat at all, you know he's always on his game when faced with an audience. And so it was that he looked around the table -- at Alex Martins, John Gabriel, Matt Guokas, David Steele, Paul Kennedy, and the rest of us -- gave it a perfect pause, and then dropped this one:

"Wow. I hired everybody in this room."

Never mind that he didn't, really -- great line nonetheless.

Oh, yeah, and one more thing: the Magic are going to win this series against Detroit. This team is going to the Eastern Conference Finals. Been saying it for two weeks now, to anyone who would listen. It's gonna happen.

Know how I know? Because going to the Eastern Conference Finals would REALLY throw my work schedule into the washing machine. Most likely, it would mean live pregame and/or postgame shows on Sun Sports. That's how I know. It's been too quiet around here for too long. My hair has not been on fire for a full week. Thus, the Magic will beat Detroit and make all of us nuts again. Book it.

Gotta go do a pregame show. See you on TV.

Don't Hate The Player, Hate The Game

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Mon, 05 May 2008 02:34:00 +0000

"The reasonable criticism [of sports blogs] is of the tone of gratuitous potshots and mean-spirited abuse."

So sayeth Bob Costas, and so it shall be done. Wait, was that mean-spirited?

If you haven't watched it yet, the recent episode of 'Costas Now' that focused on the blogosphere is worth a few minutes. Specifically -- and this is the part that everyone is talking about -- you need to watch the exchange between Will Leitch of Deadspin and Buzz Bissinger, author of 'Friday Night Lights.'

Bissinger, who attended Penn and Harvard and therefore immediately earns my distrust (I went to Cornell, and yes, that was a gratuitous potshot), leaps off the top rope immediately and never stops swinging. Draw your own conclusions from the video, but I liked what Jerry Greene wrote in the Orlando Sentinel this weekend:

"Buzz committed virtual hari-kari -- and took with him everyone that has problems with the excessive and worthless nature of the worst of blogging. Wrote Leitch almost immediately afterward on Deadspin: "We just watched a man immolate on national television. To have piled on the carnage would have been discourteous."

Buzz later admitted he "subsumed the valid points" he was trying to make."

Immolate: to kill as a sacrifice; to kill (oneself) by fire; to destroy.

Subsume: to consider or include (an idea, term, proposition, etc.) as part of a more comprehensive one; to bring (a case, instance, etc.) under a rule; to take up into a more inclusive classification.

The first one I get; Bissinger went down in flames. I drew the same conclusion.

The second one took me a moment, but I believe that Bissinger is admitting that his naive hyperfocus on one small aspect of the Deadspin blog -- the admittedly snarky comments from readers -- crippled his ability to objectively criticize the concept of blogging.

Leading off his counter-argument with "I think you're full of s**t" didn't help much.

What did this exchange accomplish? Let's take me as one example.

First, I read Deadspin for the first time, and thought it was pretty damn funny.

Second, I continued my long and proud tradition of never watching a single episode of 'Friday Night Lights' on TV -- only now I have the added benefit of believing the show's creator to be cranky, arrogant, hopelessly out of touch, and generally despicable. Which, I predict, will not compel me to change my mind about the TV show or rush out to buy one of Bissinger's many other works.

Nice work, Buzz! And it only took you 10 minutes!

What he did, of course, was completely and totally legitimize Will Leitch, Deadspin, and by extension, every other blog out there that attempts to accurately capture the attitude of the fan. He accomplished this by hating them.

Not 'hating on them,' playa, but simply 'hating them.' Because, Grasshopper, the opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is indifference.

If one truly considers something completely devoid of any lovable characteristics, one simply doesn't give a crap and ignores said thing. If, however, one recognizes this nebulous 'thing' as a threat -- if one views the 'thing' as potentially dangerous, and therefore worthy of concern and respect, even as a target -- then one chooses to expend energy on this 'thing.' And that energy, class, is hate.

You have to care about something to hate it. Bissinger cares about blogs, because they are (in his mind) a threat to traditional media, an affront to true journalists like himself who attended Phillips Andover and wrote a book about high school football in Texas that got so many people so pissed off that he was unable to set foot in Odessa for several years. That, you see, is REAL writing. Simply pissing off the guy who went to Andover doesn't count, I guess. Anyway, he hates the blogs. Which means he feels threatened by them.

Should he be?

Yeah, probably. You'll read this one hundred times in the aftermath of the Leitch visit to Costas Now -- if you haven't already in the aftermath of Costas himself making that galactically stupid 'high-tech place for idiots' comment several weeks earlier -- but the upshot is this:

The whole blog thing? It's not going away. That horse, as I have written before, is well out of the barn. Those who 'get it' will be those who ride the wave, as most major newspapers around the country already understand. Those who don't get it will be those who feel threatened by it, those who, to be frank, are pissed off that their own hard work, education, and experience counts for nothing in the court of public opinion.

Because isn't that what this really comes down to? People like Bissinger are appalled at the mere suggestion that some schmoe who didn't go to Andover, Penn, and Harvard could actually produce something in print that could rival the great classically-trained sportswriters of our time. No, wait -- what he's really tweaked about is that more people might choose to read it.

It's the ultimate exercise in free press, this blog thing. You read what you find entertaining, not what you're told is "great writing." That scares the living you-know-what out of people like Bissinger and Costas, who admittedly worked very, very hard to get where they are today. But they're finding that reputation and resume' only counts for so much.

So in the absence of career-threatening tirades on television, what should they be doing?

Like we used to say in the gym -- if you don't like my trash-talking, beat me.

Work harder, Buzz. If the blogospheric (loving that word right now) audience is so important to you, as it appears to be, then show us something. Be more entertaining than Deadspin. Be funnier than Every Day Should Be Saturday. Be sharper than Bill Simmons. Go ahead, do it. Do it, and we'll read your stuff.

You CAN do that, can't you?

Welcome Back

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 12:39:00 +0000

When the horn sounded on Game 5 of the Magic-Raptors series on Monday night, I did something unusual. Unusual for me, anyway.

I'm really no fun to hang out with when I'm assigned to report from the sidelines. I've got the play-by-play call being fed into my wireless earpiece, so I can listen to our Sun Sports/FSN Florida announcers and react to storylines they may be developing. Our producer in the truck also communicates with me via this earpiece throughout the night. It's akin to having a sports talk radio show playing in your head while the game is going on, and it requires a certain level of concentration, which is why I'm not much fun at the game.

Friends, neighbors, Sun Sports viewers will see me and say hello, and I'm usually staring off into space, trying to keep track of all the voices (which is probably another blog entirely). Throw in the fact that I've called dozens of games as a play-by-play announcer myself, and am therefore conditioned, Pavlov-style, to reflexively check the score and the clock after every possession, and you end up with a zombie in a suit.

For most of the game, I stood in the tunnel behind the visitors' bench, listening carefully to the traffic in my earpiece, arms folded, lifting my eyes every 24 seconds to check score & clock, score & clock. It's a pattern I have repeated in that building -- and about a dozen other NBA arenas, and a few Major League Baseball ballparks -- for more games than I can count. Like I said, fun.

On Monday night, the venerable Amway Arena was bursting at the seams. Even the Magic game night staff, those impossibly young and attractive 20-somethings in blue shirts who slave over t-shirt launches every night, were hooting and high-fiving as the Magic barrelled toward their first playoff series win in twelve years. The atmosphere was electric, the closest thing to the franchise's 1995 Finals run that I can remember. Pure noise, and pure bliss. Even Tiger Woods, sitting in a front-row seat across from the visitor's bench, got a little geeked. A little.

But when that final horn sounded, I did something unusual. I delayed my walk back to the Magic locker room for a moment and instead walked to the middle of the floor. The streamers were falling, the players were saying their goodbyes, the various broadcasters were grabbing the stars of the game for interviews. I simply stood at center court and listened, for the first time all night.

Did you hear it?

The Magic are back in the second round.

Let the record show that the three Magic players who had the biggest impact on this first-round series win over Toronto are the three players to whom GM Otis Smith has hitched his professional wagon: Dwight Howard, Rashard Lewis, and Jameer Nelson. Dwight was Dwight, with three 20-20 games in the series and one more giant step forward in the history he writes with every passing month of his career. Rashard Lewis, he of the much-discussed contract, delivered a little bit of everything, from scoring to rebounding to a surprising toughness on defense. Nelson may have made the largest leap in this series, distributing the ball, playing fearlessly and aggressively, paying Otis back for the faith his GM invested. This trio is locked up in Magic blue for the foreseeable future -- this is your team, Orlando -- and they delivered. Did they ever.

How does that plan for a new arena look now? How about the hiring of Stan Van Gundy after the Billy Donovan situation? Does anyone remember all the angst in 2004 when the number one overall pick came down to Dwight Howard vs. Emeka Okefor? Still wondering why the Magic signed Hedo Turkoglu as a free agent a couple of years ago -- you know, the guy who just won the NBA's Most Improved Player Award?

Anyone heard from Steve Francis? Has Tracy McGrady called?

Pat Garrity, the longest-tenured member of the Magic and the last uniformed connection to the team's collapse against Detroit with a 3-1 lead in the first round of the 2003 Playoffs, said Monday night that the Magic "haven't done anything yet." I know what he meant, but I beg to differ. He was providing a voice of reason as an NBA veteran, saying the right things, but he needs to give his squad a bit more credit.

The Magic have made themselves important again. Important in the 2008 NBA Playoff picture, and important in Central Florida. My wife called me at 9:30 this morning as she was dropping off one of the kids at school to report that "there are Magic spirit flags all over the parking lot."

Anyone else remember the giant Horace Grant goggles hanging off a downtown building back in '95?

Rodney Powell does. "Sid," as we call him for reasons too lengthy to explain, is the Magic's team operations manager. He's been there for just about all of it. My last impression before leaving the building last night was the sight of Sid collapsed in one of the plush player's locker room chairs, staring off into space as the room emptied around him, no doubt thinking of all the travel arrangements, equipment moves, and basketball details that awaited him in the second round. I walked up and offered the same congratulatory greeting that I had offered to the rest of the Magic staff veterans I saw that night:

"Welcome back," I said.

Through the exhaustion, he smiled. "Yeah."

Pause. "It's been a long time. Too long."

Welcome back, Magic.

Let The Games Begin

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 20:39:00 +0000

The Orlando Magic are the only team in the NBA that finished the 2008 regular season with more road wins than home wins.

Read that again.

Thirty teams, sixteen of which made the postseason. All eight of the Western Conference's playoff participants won at least 50 games this year. In the East, the top-seeded Boston Celtics went 66-16, their highest win total since the 1985-86 season, when the Bird-Parish-McHale squad won 67 games and finished with the franchise's 16th and last NBA Championship.

But in 2008, nobody -- not the Celtics, not the Pistons, and not one of those 50-win teams in the West -- did what Orlando just did.

That may end up meaning absolutely nothing in the Playoffs, but it bears mentioning. It's also a fine place to start a Magic-Raptors preview.

To add to all the analysis you'll read about this series in the next few days, here are two more points to ponder:

1. Bosh vs. Howard

Both are franchise players. Both are well shy of 25 years old. They're both smart, personable, and perfect ambassadors of their respective teams and the league at large. But they've got their differences.

Bosh is by far the more polished offensive player, with a mid-range game that can occasionally stretch even further -- he was 10 for 25 from three-point range this season, while Howard has only attempted 10 treys in his entire NBA career (almost always under duress). Bosh can also dish it, averaging almost three assists per game, or twice as many as Howard did. On the other hand, Howard is considerably more explosive, having led the league in rebounding at 14.2 per game, which is a full five and a half boards more per night than Bosh. Howard's 2.2 blocks per game doubles Bosh's average. Howard shoots nearly 60% from the field; Bosh shoots 84 percent from the line. Howard's a righty, Bosh a lefty. For every punch, there's a counterpunch.

Consider the three games that Orlando played against Toronto this season: Howard scored 17 points with 9 rebounds in their November meeting, went off for 37 and 15 when they met again in February, and then hung a 19 and 14 on the Raptors in March. Bosh responded thusly: 26 and 10 in the first game, 40 points and 5 boards in the second meeting, missed the third game due to injury.

I hosted that March game in Orlando on Sun Sports, and asked head coach Sam Mitchell about the matchup between Howard and Bosh. He responded, in tones reserved for the very slow, that it was of no interest to him to discuss players who weren't on the floor that night.

Well, coach, you're gonna have to talk about it now.

Let me go on record as saying I don't think Bosh vs. Howard will decide this series. If we've learned anything from their regular season meetings, it's that the two counteract each other. It's worth noting that on the February night when Howard went for 35 and 17 against the Raptors, the Magic lost; back in November, when Bosh recorded his 26 points and 10 rebounds in 38 minutes against Orlando, the Raptors lost -- and Howard scored only 17. Punch, counterpunch.

Instead, what will most likely decide this series is...

2. The Guards

Orlando has been shredded all season by teams with quick point guards who can get into the lane and force defenders to help out. Jameer Nelson and Carlos Arroyo struggle with perimeter defense, while Keyon Dooling gives yeoman's effort but is often similarly outquicked. San Antonio, Phoenix, Detroit, Dallas, even Atlanta -- the teams that had Orlando's number this season were teams who broke down the Magic's first line of defense and compelled them to collapse. Once the ball goes up, Orlando isn't dead -- the Magic were the 4th-best team in the league this year in defensive rebounding -- but the opposing team's ability to get by Orlando's guards is a real concern, something that Stan Van Gundy has been harping on all season.

Toronto, of course, offers Jose Calderon and T.J. Ford, two of the best in the business on the bounce. Their ability to create open looks for their teammates, and Orlando's ability to stop that, will be the swing vote in this series.

The X-factor for the Magic, as has been the case all season, is Hedo Turkoglu. Not only has Turk produced a Most Improved Player-worthy season, he's got the playoff experience that most of his teammates lack. For that matter, I would throw Maurice Evans into that mix, as he's been in the postseason both in the NBA and in Europe (something he pointed out to Paul Kennedy on the air after the Magic's win at Atlanta last week).

The Magic should win this series. Note that I write "should." I may as well write "need," seeing as how the team has not advanced past the first round since 1996. If we are to believe that the Orlando Magic are all the way back, that the presence of Dwight Howard and Hedo Turkoglu and Stan Van Gundy has truly, inexorably, honestly vanquished the ghosts of seasons past, they must get past Toronto. After that, it's probably Detroit, and we'll start all over again.

Games 2, 3, and 5 (if necessary) can be seen in HD on Sun Sports. See you on TV.

Rubbernecking At Augusta

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 14:27:00 +0000

Hearty congratulations and general huzzahs to 2008 Masters champion Trevor Immelman. Let me be the first to say, I had absolutely no confidence that he would actually win the thing.

Not that Immelman can't play -- we know he can. He was the PGA Tour's Rookie of the Year in 2006, and already has 7 wins worldwide. He belongs.

What I mean is, I couldn't foresee anyone winning at Augusta on Sunday. It was like watching a train wreck in spikes. The winner, to beat a cliche' to death, was the golf course itself, which yielded a final-round scoring average of 74.67. Immelman's Sunday 75 was the highest final-round score by a Masters champion since Arnold Palmer did the same in 1962.

As contender after contender went smashing into the shoals -- Brandt Snedeker, Steve Flesch, and Paul Casey were all within four shots of the lead on Saturday night, and all three went plus-5 or worse on Sunday -- I was reminded of a comment made by Tom Kite many years ago at the Players Championship near Jacksonville.

It was 1994, when I was a freelance producer for a golf radio network and Kite was still a relevant member of the regular Tour. You may recall the '94 Players as the year that Fuzzy Zoeller famously waved the white towel at Greg Norman, who won the event with a four-round total of 264, a staggering 24 under par.

At one point that week -- probably after his opening-round 65 -- Kite opined that if the Players truly wanted to be considered a "fifth major," as tournament organizers desperately wished, the course needed to be harder.

"The fans want to see us chop," I remember him saying.

This became a theme to the weekend, as several other players were asked about the relative ease of the TPC layout at Sawgrass. Zoeller himself took an opposing stance to Kite, saying "they shouldn't make any changes...there's nothing wrong with the course. It was just the conditions and you can't do anything about that."

(Note: Zoeller shot four rounds of 68 or better at Sawgrass that year and made $270,000 for the effort. What else is he gonna say?)

History suggests that the PGA Tour, which owns the TPC Sawgrass complex, took Kite's words into consideration. The winning score at the 1995 Players Championship was a mere five under par -- 19 shots higher than Norman's blitzing the previous year. In the thirteen Players' Championships since '94, no winner has come within six shots of Norman's tally, and six of those 13 winners didn't crack ten-under.

The 2008 Players will take place next month, and you can expect this 13-year trend to continue, if not worsen. The Stadium course at the TPC Sawgrass was blown up and rebuilt from March 2006 through January of last year. At the moment, the pro tees on the Stadium course have a USGA stroke rating of 76.8 and a Slope of 155 -- that last number representing the highest possible number the USGA will assign to a golf course. It would be no surprise at all if the winner of next month's Players Championship came in at or above par.

Tough setups are hardly new, of course. At the 1974 US Open at Winged Foot -- the famed "Massacre," won by Hale Irwin at 7-over -- the conditions were severe to the point of incredulity. When players complained, as they are wont to do, championship committee chairman Sandy Tatum uttered these famous lines: "We're not trying to embarrass the best players in the world. We're trying to identify them."

(Coincidentally, it has long been assumed that the 1974 Massacre at Winged Foot was the USGA's response to Johnny Miller's final-round 63 at the '73 Open at Oakmont. Greg Norman is to Sawgrass '95 as Johnny Miller is to Winged Foot '74.)

Tatum's iconic statement from 1974 is not only revisited every year at each US Open, it has become the USGA's core philosophy in setting them up. Intentionally or unintentionally, the other majors have followed suit -- even staid Augusta National, which claims to care not a whit about such things.

Ever since Tiger Woods smashed the Masters scoring record in 1997 at 18 under par, the course has undergone a steady diet of subtle changes designed to, well, make it harder. It hasn't done much to stop Woods -- in his four Masters wins, he's a combined 58 under par. However, the "new" Augusta can produce days like Sunday, when two players shot in the 80's and 23 players -- fully half the field -- failed to break 75. Further, as CBS Sportsline's Steve Elling notes, Woods himself has only broken par five times in his last 13 rounds at Augusta National.

Elling begs for a softening of Augusta National because he misses the birdies and "crazy rallies," and it's true that Sunday's final round of the Masters offered nothing in the way of such hope. However, that's not what turns me off about the 'bigger, badder, harder' course setup philosophy.

With all due respect to Tom Kite, he's wrong. I do not watch professional golf to see them chop. If I wanted to see hackers, I would set up a lawn chair along the first fairway at Winter Park Country Club.

I watch professional golf with the expectation of seeing something I CANNOT do. Putting the ball off the green, rinsing a tee shot on a 150-yard par-3, making double or triple on a par-5 -- been there, done that, have the scorecard. Sure, I identify with the misery, but does that mean I want to watch it on television? I suppose there's a sizable element of the golf-watching public that revels in the Tour stars' pain, gives it a mental "now you know how I feel!" at each agonizing miscue, but I'm not in that group. In a related story, I cannot watch five minutes of "Borat" without feeling a pang of discomfort in my stomach. I derive no entertainment value from others' pain or embarrassment.

Of course, I'm not in favor of Bob Hope Classic-style birdiefests, either, and I like watching the US Open just fine. I'm simply asking for something in the middle. Narrow the fairways, plant some trees, do what you gotta do, but soften the greens a hair and keep the tee boxes in the same county as the rest of the course. Allow shotmakers to make shots. "Bomb and gouge" sucks, but so did Sunday.

Can we not have some moderation?

A Tradition Unlike Any Other

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 03:01:00 +0000

Nine times out of ten, I write these blog entries with the reader in mind. This is not one of those times.

This is for me, and for any serious player who may read it.

By "player," of course, I mean one who plays golf. Note that I write plays golf, not "golfs." "Golf" is not a verb. One does not "golf," any more than one "soccers" or "tennises" or "baseballs." One plays golf. If you get that, and agree with that, read on.

Zach Johnson, the pride of Iowa and a current resident of Seminole County, Florida, won the Masters last year. He has won three times on the PGA Tour and twice on the Nationwide Tour. I once chatted with him on the driving range at my club, talking football and such. He's all of 5-10, maybe a buck-65 soaking wet. A wee thing. Hits it as pure as the driven snow.

Justin Rose, on the other hand, has won five international events, and has a history of early leads at The Masters, as you may have heard during Friday's second round coverage. He's a star. Broke out at the 1998 British Open, appears in television ads, has a swing to die for. He's dreamy. On the surface, if you were a betting man, you'd take Rose over Johnson every day of the week and twice on Sunday, especially the Sunday of a major.

Unless you're a player. In which case, you'd recognize one of your own. Which brings me back to Friday.

There were two moments that stood out to me in watching coverage of the Masters, both involving Johnson and Rose. I'm leaving out Tiger, because everything he does is a "moment." Yes, his par save on 18 on Friday was All-World. Of course it was.

Let's instead start with Johnson's par save on 18 on the same day. Little Zach Johnson, he of the sweepy hook swing and wedge game, got himself into downright jail on Augusta National's final hole. He hit it long, to the back tier of the three-level green, in a position from which no human could possibly escape. Par was the goal, bogey was the reality. He was deader than fried chicken.

Sometime within the same ten minutes, Rose decided to lay up on the par-5 fifteenth, even though he had but 213 yards to the hole. This decision, although on Friday and not Sunday, may someday be regarded in the same breath with Chip Beck, but that's another blog entirely.

The point is, Johnson looked over his 80-foot birdie putt from nowhere and promptly knocked it down to within a brush-in. It will never be revisited again, because Johnson won't win tomorrow, but it was among the five best putts I have ever witnessed.

Rose, on the other hand, with a sand wedge in his hand from less than 100 yards, dunked it into the creek. Drop, thin skank over the green, chip, two putts, triple bogey. Goodbye, Masters.

Johnson, I failed to point out, came to 18 on the heels of an atrocious double-bogey on 17, where he toured every bunker on the hole. Yet, rather than pack it in, he redoubled his efforts and managed a stellar 4 on the final hole, thanks to that incredible putt. It's worth noting that he bounced back to shoot 68 on Saturday, with five birdies and one bogey.

Justin Rose, who is, as we have agreed, dreamy, responded to his triple on 15 on Friday by throwing a bogey at 16, followed by three more bogeys, one double, and four birdies on Saturday en route to an irrelevant 73, a stretch in which he pretty much played his way out of the Tournament.

Understand that I come here not to bury Rose. Rather, I come to identify with Johnson, who is nothing if not a grinder. He willed himself into contention on Saturday, as tenuous as that may be. That's the difference between a guy who has won a major, and a guy who has a nice swing.

The final round comes tomorrow, one of my favorite days on the sporting calendar. If I had to pick anyone other than Tiger to win it, I would go with Steve Flesch or Brandt Snedeker, both of whom have demonstrated the kind of stuff that Johnson showed on 18 on Friday -- fearlessness. That's the secret, in case anyone was wondering. Fearless swings at precise targets, as Gio Valiante likes to say. Not how, but how many. The battle of wills is what makes Augusta so compelling, year after year.

Me, I'll be rooting for the grinders, if only because that's the sort of player I'd like to think I can be.

Spreadin' The News

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 15:25:00 +0000

So yeah, did the New York thing this weekend.

A two-night, three-day mini-vacation of sorts in Manhattan with kids in tow. I've covered events in New York before, but never taken the whole gang down the tourist path in the city. We met up with my wife's parents at the Yale Club, midtown, across the street from Grand Central Station, which is an exceptional base of operations if one wants to see the sights. You can get anywhere from there, and we did -- the American Museum of Natural History, Central Park, Times Square, you name it. It's refreshing to travel with kids sometimes, if only to witness the wonder of seemingly banal endeavors, like taking a taxi or riding the subway. My 8-year-old son loved it; there was lots of information to process, which is right up his alley. By the end of the weekend, he pretty much had the subway lines memorized. The four-year old found her personal Nirvana at the American Girl Place on Fifth Avenue, which, for those of you without female children of a certain age, is "Cabbage Patch Kids" for the next generation. Our newest "kid" is named Lacey, she looks remarkably like my daughter, and she has lots of expensive clothes to wear courtesy of my father-in-law (not unlike my daughter herself). Given the great distances we had to walk every day and the fine layer of grime that covers one's skin after a full day in the city, my kids were troopers, so much so that my wife and I were willing to overlook the fact that both of them threw up during the bumpy flight back to Orlando. Ahh, parenthood.

Of course, in the media capital of the world, you're never out of touch, and so it came to pass that I watched the NCAA men's semifinals from the Grill Room of the Yale Club on Saturday night. While Memphis and Kansas were clearly the better teams on that night, the TV guy in me couldn't help but chuckle at what I know are pained grimaces on the faces of CBS executives at the moment -- Memphis-Kansas, while interesting, cannot hold a candle to North Carolina-UCLA in terms of grabbing the Middle Ground. Similarly, when Stanford beat UConn in the women's semifinals, denying us another round of Auriemma vs. Summitt in a championship game, my former colleagues in Bristol must have been punching figurative holes in figurative walls -- a sound perhaps matched by the good people at the Tampa Bay Sports Commission, the hosts of the 2008 Women's Final Four.

Shannon Owens writes in Monday's Orlando Sentinel that Stanford's win over Connecticut provides "indisputable confirmation the women's game is not confined to the Big East, ACC, and SEC." She's right, but that won't do much for the ratings on Tuesday night, which will pale in comparison to what Tennessee-UConn would have drawn. Given that women's college basketball, financially, has been a losing proposition in the modern era -- $169 million in the red for the 2005-2006 season alone, according to the U.S. Department of Education -- the prospect of getting drilled in the Tuesday night ratings by the likes of "American Idol" is precisely what the women's game doesn't need.

That same Department of Education report tells us that men's college basketball recorded a $240 million profit during that same '05-'06 season, "largely on two things the women still lack: a lucrative TV package and strong attendance." As I've written in this space before, television is reactive, not proactive; TV deals happen AFTER the consumer shows interest in a given sport, not before. For examples, see poker, NASCAR, mixed martial arts, or anything else that has blown up in the last ten years. Television did not and cannot create interest in these sports; it merely reflects it. One way to measure interest is through attendance -- an area where, as the article above correctly summarizes, the women's game suffers tremendously.

If the 330 NCAA institutions that offer women's basketball were reporting jam-packed arenas night after night, the 'lucrative TV package' would surely follow. That's how our business works. I can remember working the desk at ESPNEWS a few years ago and hearing a rival women's basketball coach lamenting the fact that UConn received such tremendous national attention "because they're in ESPN's backyard."

Umm, no. ESPN only got on board after Connecticut starting winning like crazy, and after the locals in Storrs started packing the rafters. Same thing in Knoxville, by the way. That same principle, in reverse, is also why the NHL has failed as a national television sport -- while hockey holds on to passionate fan bases in certain local markets, it doesn't resonate at a national or even regional level. TV cannot change that, no matter how hard the game is promoted.

Reactive, not proactive. Remember that.

As an aside, I like the women's game just fine, for a simple and selfish reason: the pace of the game is a half-beat slower than the men's, which makes it much easier to call as a play-by-play announcer. Having broadcast dozens of high school and college women's basketball games on Sun Sports and FSN Florida, I speak from experience. Time exists to set up storylines, give background on certain players, and break down the X's and O's -- much more so than with the men, high school or college. Of course, I recognize that this does nothing for most casual viewers, who would rather see end-to-end action than a well-executed back-door cut. Another reason why the men's game outpaces the women's game as a TV sport.

And speaking of basketball, and New York: tip of the cap to Magic assistant coach Patrick Ewing and Heat head coach Pat Riley, two members of the 2008 class in the Basketball Hall of Fame. No arguments here. The list of names that didn't make it, including Chris Mullin, Dennis Johnson, and Don Nelson, probably deserve a new blog entry, but for now, credit where credit is due. Ewing and Riley, along with Hakeem Olajuwon, all made it in their first year of eligibility, as they should. Fitting honors for careers that truly match the definition of "Hall of Famer."

Now, Dick Vitale? We'll save that for another day.

Bounce And Squeak

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 03:05:00 +0000

On a random weekday last month, Stan Pietkiewicz beat me in "Horse."

You'd have to be a serious basketball freak to remember 'Stan The Man.' A six-five shooting guard, Pietkiewicz averaged 19.1 points per game as a senior at Auburn in 1978, good enough to earn second-team All-SEC honors, but his professional career was brief -- less than three full seasons in the NBA, followed by a couple of seasons in Italy. He's 51 years old now, a little thin on top, but in great shape. And, as I can attest, he can still shoot it.

Seeing Stan at the gym coincided with the opening rounds of the NCAA Tournament. Like most of you, I'm captivated by this rite of spring, particularly the early upsets. I'd love to know how many brackets were destroyed this year in "Treacherous Tampa," as CBS labeled it. The place where higher seeds were sent to perish. The "Tampa Turmoil" claimed two 4-seeds and two 5-seeds in one 48-hour period. What's better than that?

While the field of 64 was whittling itself down, the NBA season is hurtling toward its own version of madness. Call it the "stretch run," the "playoff push," what have you - this is simply a great time to be a basketball fan. It even lessens the pain of getting creamed by Stan The Man in "horse," although I should point out that I was shooting in sandals while waiting for a yoga class. Still, I got him to "h-o-r." So there's that.

As a representative of Sun Sports and FSN Florida, the cable home of the Orlando Magic, Miami Heat, ACC and SEC basketball, and the FHSAA high school basketball championships, I am often asked for my opinions on certain players. When it comes to the pro game in particular, I have a stock answer for anyone who accuses any NBA player of being a stiff: "yeah, but he was probably the best player ever to come out of his high school."

Think about that for a moment. The 12th man on most NBA benches, depending upon his hometown, is most likely one of the most celebrated and decorated players that said hometown has ever seen. For that matter, a legendary high school career provides no guarantees at the college level, either. The kid waving a towel on the far end of the North Carolina or Kansas bench may have been an absolute stud. You just never know.

I mention this because Stan Pietkiewicz may well be the best player that Winter Park High School ever produced. Some might point to Georgetown sophomore Jeremiah Rivers, son of Boston Celtics coach Doc Rivers, as Winter Park's most notable hoops alum; Stan himself claims that Austin Rivers, Jeremiah's kid brother, will be better than all of them, maybe the best ever. Of course, Austin is only a freshman at Winter Park this year. We'll have to wait and see.

Basketball can be described as timeless. The bounce-and-squeak marks the rhythm of the game from year to year and season to season. For me, the attraction of the game's playoff season is the "what if" -- the possibility that some otherwise unknown player will shine on the big stage. This is the time of year that gave us Lorenzo Charles, Keith Smart, Tate George, Ty Edney, and Bryce Drew. In the pro game, springtime produced Derek Fisher and Kenny Smith and Reggie Miller and Robert Horry. John Paxson and Steve Kerr. They were all already famous in their hometowns, probably the biggest celebrity in their old neighborhood, until a big shot at a big moment catapulted them into something else.

Those moments, by the way, are what drove those players, and thousands more you've never heard of, to spend countless hours in the gym in the first place. For every Christian Laettner or Dwyane Wade, there are hundreds of Stan The Man's - guys who had the tools, had the talent, but never got the opportunity. Don't feel bad for them; Stan Pietkiewicz, as far as I can tell, is a very happy, well-adjusted adult. His son, John, who was Jeremiah's teammate at WPHS, now plays college ball for Flagler College. Stan The Man is doing fine, living quietly in his hometown and giving me a hard time at the YMCA. Life is good.

When you celebrate the game, don't just celebrate the stars. Respect the guy on the end of the bench, too. For all you know, he was the best player you've never heard of.

Blog Long And Prosper

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 00:21:00 +0000

According to Blogger.com, this will be my 200th post since the blog went online in July of 2005. Coincidentally (and unintentionally), the topic is, well, blogs.

I recently received an column by Kevin Sherrington of the Dallas Morning News entitled "Let's Embrace The Age Of Now." The piece was a response to Mavericks owner Mark Cuban and his clubhouse ban on bloggers, who are no longer being granted Mavs media credentials for reasons that Cuban explains at length, ironically enough, on his personal blog (BlogMaverick.com).

To summarize, Cuban argues that a blog is a blog is a blog, no matter who employs the writer, and no matter where the entries appear. If he allows one Dallas Morning News blogger access to the Mavs' locker room, he must grant all bloggers the same respect - even the ones who write for free from their basement. Fearing a slippery slope of dozens of average Joes applying for press passes, Cuban decided on a blanket policy of "no bloggers."

(On that note - what if, back in the early '90s, major market radio stations, college teams, the NBA, and the NFL had told the young founders of AudioNet to take a hike? You know, it was a silly Internet-based thing. Not "traditional" media at all. What if those properties had never allowed AudioNet to carry their broadcasts online? We would never have heard of Broadcast.com, as it was later called, and we might never have heard of Mark Cuban, who became a billionaire when Broadcast.com went public and was eventually sold to Yahoo for $5.7 billion. Good thing for Cuban that nobody had any blanket policies back then.)

Had Cuban stopped at the ban, this would be a much smaller story. But he didn't stop. Instead, he devotes hundreds of words at BlogMaverick.com to his contention that newspapers are making a seismic marketing and branding blunder by adding blogs to their Internet sites. You can read the posts yourself if you like, but essentially, Cuban is lecturing newspapers on how they should be running their businesses. His points are valid, by the way. An abuse of power by leveraging his role as an NBA franchise owner to make those points? Probably. But valid nonetheless.

Cuban argues that newspapers must differentiate their Internet content from the basement blog of an average, non-credentialed Joe; Kevin Sherrington counters that the only way to pull that off is to have the behind-the-scenes access routinely granted to members of the traditional media. Whether Mark Cuban likes it or not, Sherrington writes, the desperate focus on Internet content by major newspapers is a fact of life, something that's unlikely to change. As he puts it, "if we're going to continue to evolve, we have to blog." The newspaper business is not good, in case anyone hadn't noticed. Writers across all disciplines are in a desperate fight to save their jobs, and if management says "blog," it shall be blogged. Cuban considers this a mistake; Sherrington, and dozens of other sportswriters like him, just wants to remain employed, minus the marketing lecture.

As one who straddles the line between "traditional media" (Sun Sports & FSN Florida) and "new media" (this here blog thingy), I'm siding with Kevin Sherrington on this one. Not that I think Cuban is necessarily wrong in his conclusions about newspaper bloggers; rather, Cuban's too late. That horse has long since left the barn.

Every major newspaper in Florida, and many more across the country, now includes enhanced web content as part of its coverage. Whether Mark Cuban agrees with this business decision is irrelevant; what's done is done. Readers, and sports fans in particular, have come to expect web content from established writers like Ira Winderman of the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, Brian Schmitz of the Orlando Sentinel, Greg Cote of the Miami Herald, and dozens more. It's already out there, a result of declining circulations and sagging profits in the daily newspaper business. These papers are trying to stay with the curve; you can call their web contributions a "blog," call it "RealTime reporting" (as Cuban suggests), call it what you will. Banning bloggers from the clubhouse, as Cuban has done, will do nothing to stop newspapers from exploring every avenue of the Internet in an attempt to salvage their business.

And that's another point - why is it so hard to distinguish an independent blogger from one who works for a legitimate media outlet? If some guy in Ft. Worth calls the Mavs and says he's got a kickin' sports blog that he updates in between shifts at Best Buy, I have no problem with the Mavs denying him a credential. If, however, said blogger draws a paycheck from the Dallas Morning News or the Austin American-Statesman or Yahoo or CBS Sportsline, the only difference between that writer and a print guy is the medium. The answer is, it's not a tough distinction at all.

I performed a highly unscientific survey of a few of Sun Sports & FSN Florida's professional team partners - the Miami Heat, Tampa Bay Lightning, and Orlando Magic. Media relations officials from all three teams told me essentially the same thing: as long as a blogger represents an established media outlet, be it a newspaper, TV station or network, or a website like Yahoo or ESPN.com, there is no policy against credentialing those writers. All three teams used some version of the phrase "case-by-case basis." In other words, no blanket policy required. Take a little time, ask a couple of questions, and then use your professional judgement to determine whether or not a credential request is legit. It's not that hard, and it's part of the job in media relations.

So why does Mark Cuban decide to flatly deny bloggers, even those who work for legitimate media outlets? It seems we are to be educated, even if we never asked for the lesson.

What he's doing with the ban, and reinforces on his own blog (has the irony of that sunk in yet?), is lecturing newspaper management and the unwitting general public on his business theories. He's using his ownership of the Mavericks as an avenue to make his point, which he is free to do, although I disagree with it. Put simply, if Mark Cuban didn't own the Mavs, would anyone care what he thought about newspaper writers as bloggers? But he does own the Mavs, and therefore it is a story - a story that will apparently not be written by anyone in Dallas who admits to being a "blogger."

At some point, the NBA - which has shamelessly promoted Gilbert Arenas' blog and the league's own enormous pile of web content at NBA.com - will have to address the issue of bloggers as it pertains to credentials. For that matter, I would imagine that similar stories have popped up with other franchises in other leagues, as local bloggers and media outlets compete for precious space in the press box. The difference, of course, is that no other owner in any other league has chosen to blog about the fact that he's banning bloggers. So now we know Mark Cuban's opinion on the matter. We didn't ask for it, but we got it.

And every day, more and more print coverage of sports will move towards the Internet, whether it's at a newspaper's site or not. This is where it's going, and there's no catching that horse.

What If

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 02:28:00 +0000

ESPN.com's Bill Simmons plays the "What If?" game in a recent post, limited to the last couple of seasons in the NBA. I love these scenarios; imagining the what-could-have-been when it comes to trades, free agent signings, and drafts is one of my all-time top five bar conversations.

(On that note, everybody needs one indestructable bar bet, and here's mine: I can name all 50 states in less than sixty seconds. Alphabetically. Never, ever test me on this. I'm digressing.)

Reading the Simmons post the day after I attended an Orlando Magic home game to gather interviews for an upcoming episode of "Inside The Magic" on Sun Sports and FSN Florida, I started thinking about the single greatest "What If?" in Magic team history:

What if Nick Anderson had made his free throws?

A refresher for all you young punks who think that Tracy McGrady was the first star ever to play for Orlando:

Nelison D. "Nick" Anderson was the Magic's first ever collegiate draft pick, entering the NBA in 1989 after his junior season as one of the "clones" at Illinois (Nick, Kendall Gill, Kenny Battle, Steve Bardo, Marcus Liberty. Another great bar bet). He was the first real star player in Orlando, a rebounding two-guard, a player skilled enough to eventually compete in both the Slam Dunk and the Three-Point contests at two separate All-Star Weekends. To this day, Nick Anderson holds a handful of Magic team records, including career scoring, minutes played, field goals attempted and made, three-pointers attempted, defensive rebounds (really), and steals. Nick was a star. The first star the Orlando Magic ever had.

But when the Magic rode the young legs of Shaquille O'Neal and Penny Hardaway to the 1995 NBA Finals against Hakeem's Rockets, Nick became a goat.

History shows that Nick Anderson missed four consecutive free throws at the end of Game One, any one of which could have sealed a win over Houston. Instead, the game went to overtime. An Olajuwon stickback and a Kenny Smith tornado-ball three-pointer later, the Magic were down 0-1, and never recovered. Sweep. One could argue that the franchise still hasn't recovered, but that's another blog entirely.

(Another digression: Nick's steal against Michael Jordan in Game One of the 1995 Eastern Conference semifinals -- perhaps the most significant on-court play in Magic team history -- catapulted the Magic towards the Finals in the first place. If we are to re-live his bad days, let us also re-live one of his best. Amen.)

The purpose of this entry: what if Nick had made his free throws?

I was working as a television producer for the Magic at the time, and during the following summer, we produced an annual season recap video. Bob Hill was an assistant coach under Brian Hill in Orlando, and during his interview for the video, he predicted the following when asked that Magic question:

"If Nick makes those free throws," Bob Hill intoned, "we win Game One, and probably win Game Two. From there, we go to Houston with a 2-0 lead and the whole series has changed."

Then, he curled into the fetal position under his chair and began whimpering softly. No, wait, that was me.

Anyway -- what if Nick makes them?

Let's assume that Bob Hill is right -- the Magic win Game One, and then win Game Two in Orlando. That, alone, probably would have changed the course of franchise history. Two wins or more in the '95 Finals may have convinced Shaq to stay beyond his contract date in the summer of '96. Maybe.

If they actually won the title in '95? I say he stays, no question. He sees the potential to build a dynasty. He adds a few bathrooms to the house in Isleworth. Furthermore, flush with overflowing ticket sales and Lord-knows how many other revenue streams that come with winning a championship, the Magic never think of low-balling O'Neal with their first offer in '96, as they inexplicably chose to do in real life. No, they have a banner in the rafters already -- they show him the money. With a title, Shaq stays, for at least one more big contract.

So then what?

I posit that Shaq becomes a free agent magnet in Orlando. Hell, if McGrady and Grant Hill were willing to sign with the Magic without him, imagine what the market would have been had Shaq stayed. Consider this:

Shaquille O'Neal signed as a free agent with the Lakers in the summer of 1996. Here are some of the other free agents who signed deals prior to the 1996-97 season:

Dikembe Mutombo, Atlanta
Tim Hardaway, Miami
Reggie Miller, Indiana (re-signed)
Michael Jordan, Chicago (his one-year, $30 million contract...okay, so he probably doesn't sign anywhere else, but this IS the guy who seriously considered the Knicks that summer, and later suited up for the Washington Wizards. Maybe Orlando is a serious stretch for MJ in '96, but don't you think that a motivated and ring-wearing Shaq might have been an attraction?)

Alonzo Mourning, John Stockton, and Latrell Sprewell were also among the dozens of players who could have been available in free agency that summer. Remember, that was the year that the NBA eliminated restricted free agency. The summer of '96 was supposed to be a free-for-all. While it didn't turn out that way -- the Jordans, Stocktons, and Millers of the world stayed put, while O'Neal himself was the one big fish who jumped -- the air was right for player movement. At least one of those stars goes to Orlando, probably at a discount, if a ring-wearing Shaq is there in 1996.

And then what?

I submit that the presence of Shaquille and one other "star" would have extended the career of Penny Hardaway, who went downhill in a hurry after O'Neal left. In three seasons next to Shaq, Hardaway missed a total of five games; the very first season after Shaq left, injuries limited Hardaway to 59 games, and he never played a full 82-game schedule in any season after that. The wear and tear, mentally and physically, that came with being the sole option in Orlando broke him down. If Shaq stays, and the Magic get free agent help in that summer of '96, I'm not convinced that happens. At least, not as quickly.

And then -- well, we're off the board. Does Orlando become what we now know as the San Antonio Spurs? Does Brian Hill keep his job a little longer? What about former GM John Gabriel? And here's a big one -- do the Magic get a new arena in Orlando a full ten years earlier than currently planned?

If Shaq stays, does Chuck Daly ever coach here? Doc Rivers? Is there any "Heart & Hustle" roster in Orlando? Does Tracy McGrady ever play for the Magic? What about Grant Hill? Which team would currently be trumpeting Dwight Howard as its franchise player? For whom does Hedo Turkoglu break out this season? If the Magic win a title in 1995, virtually none of their recent history comes to pass. It changes everything.

Understand, I'm not hanging all of this on Nick. Four free throws do not lose a series, regardless of how it was portrayed at the time. It was one game, and plenty of teams have come back from 0-1 in the Finals. For that matter, there's no guarantee that the Magic would have won that '95 championship series even if they did capture Game One. Houston, you may recall, was pretty good.

But What If?

Cinderella Wears Red

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 15:49:00 +0000

Rolled back into Orlando at 10:30 on Saturday night, absolutely cooked.

This was my schedule for the last ten days: host the Chevy Florida Fishing Report on Thursday, February 21st. Drive to Lakeland that night. Do play-by-play for three Florida High School Athletic Association girls' basketball state championship games on Friday, which requires several hours of preparation. Do three more on Saturday. Drive back to Orlando. On Monday, fly to New Jersey. Host the Magic pregame show prior to the Nets game on Tuesday. Fly back Wednesday. Host another Chevy Florida Fishing Report on Thursday. Drive to Lakeland again. Three boys' basketball title games on Friday, three more on Saturday, again, each one necessitating copious amounts of homework. Drive home.

So yeah, I was cooked.

However, before I crashed back into my own bed for only the fourth night in the last ten, my spirits were sent soaring by a teeny, tiny bullet point in the far-right corner of the Bottom Line ticker on ESPNEWS:

"Cornell becomes first team to reach NCAA Tournament."

As in, March Madness. The NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. The Dance. Cornell University, my alma mater, had wrapped up a stellar 12-0 Ivy League campaign to claim the conference title, and the accompanying tournament bid, for the first time since 1988 -- one year before I arrived on campus in Ithaca. It's the first time over those twenty years that a school other than Princeton or Penn will represent the Ivies in the Big Dance. And just to make it a little more delicious, the Big Red trounced those ninnies from Harvard to do it.

Let's back up for a moment.

Academically speaking, I had some game in high school. I also had a strong interest in the broadcasting and media field, so I narrowed my college options to those schools that offered a balance of academic reputation and opportunities in journalism. Taking all factors into account, I ended up applying to six schools as a high school senior: Cornell, Penn, Virginia, North Carolina, Stanford, and Florida. Stanford rejected me; UVA placed me on a wait list, and I was eventually offered a spot, but it was very late in the game. The other four schools admitted me.

I chose Cornell. There's a long story behind it, but it came down to reputation, course offerings, the desire to see a different part of the country, and the campus itself, which is pretty much Central Casting when it comes to what a university is supposed to look like. My experience there is worth a novel, which I might write someday. But the relevance here is this: in terms of athletics, well, it's the Ivy League.

The Ivies are non-scholarship I-AA programs. In Cornell's case, the men's hockey program is probably the school's most successful and notable, having claimed two NCAA titles, eleven ECAC crowns, and 19 Ivy League titles, including five in a row from 2003 through 2007. But that's college hockey, a niche sport if ever there was one. When it comes to the marquee sports, like basketball and football, Ithaca is a long, long way from Chapel Hill or Gainesville. At Lynah Rink, a Cornell hockey game is a religious experience along the lines of Cameron Indoor Stadium or The Big House. Everything else, however, was a diversion, an innocent way to kill a couple of hours between studying for a Calculus exam or reading another 200 pages of "The Odyssey."

As a result of choosing Cornell, I've always found myself left out of the conversation come tournament time or bowl season. It's a part of the college experience that I missed, quite frankly. Now that I'm back home in Florida, the land of Gators and Seminoles and Hurricanes and Knights and "Bulls in the BCS" and conference titles and postseason berths, it comes up all the time, especially when you consider what I do for a living.

And then, boom -- "Cornell becomes first team to reach NCAA Tournament."

I have to admit, I haven't followed Cornell basketball at all this season. Nor have I followed it for any of the fifteen seasons that have passed since I graduated. I can tell you that Jan van Breda Kolff and Mike Dement both coached at Cornell at one time; I can assure you, from personal experience, that my former roommate Stuart Roth played one season on the Cornell JV. That's the extent of my Big Red hoops knowledge. So I looked it up.

First off, there's a blog dedicated to the 2008 Ivy League Champions, a sure sign of success. I learned that head coach Steve Donahue spent ten years on Fran Dunphy's staff at Penn, another good sign (see the note above regarding Ivy League champs over the last twenty years). I also learned that one of the Big Red's star players is Ryan Wittman, son of former Indiana University star and NBA head coach Randy Wittman. And he's only a sophomore.

In fact, the Red have but one senior on the roster this year. Can you say "repeat?"

Never mind, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The last time we made the tournament -- and you have no idea how cool it is to write "we" and actually have a legitimate claim to it -- was 1988. The opening-round game was against Arizona. We were the 16th seed in the West region -- such respect -- and lost by 40. However, that was Arizona's first Final Four team, a squad that won 35 games that year behind Sean Elliott, Steve Kerr, and Kenny Lofton (really). No shame in that loss.

Now, we're back. I can finally watch a first-round game at the NCAA Tournament with a rooting interest.

Bracketography.com has us as a 14-seed in the South. Joe Lunardi of ESPN.com says Cornell is a 13-seed in the West. I've seen a couple of sites that claim we'll play Connecticut in the opening round -- another delicious coincidence, as Storrs is about 30 minutes away from West Hartford, where I lived for nearly seven years while working at ESPN.

Know what? I don't care who we play. I'm just thrilled to say "we" and mean it.

First ones in, baby. Cinderella wears Red.

Superman Has Entered The Building

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 03:34:00 +0000

On December 14th, 2005, I wrote a blog entry during an Orlando Magic road trip to New York and Dallas. This was Dwight Howard's rookie season; on the first game of that trip, Howard recorded 23 points and 13 rebounds in a win over the Knicks.

Here's part of that entry from two-plus years ago: The kid is an absolute monster, and he only gets better with each passing day. As [Magic television announcer] David Steele would say on the bus back to the airport later that night, Howard 'is going to save the franchise.'

Save the franchise? After watching the Slam Dunk contest at the NBA's All-Star Weekend in New Orleans the other night, I need to amend that statement.

Dwight Howard is going to save the National Basketball Association.

Does it need saving? As Orlando Sentinel columnist Jerry Greene noted this week, the latest Harris Interactive Poll shows that the NBA's popularity relative to other major college and pro sports has dropped once again -- tied for sixth with a 4 percent choice among those polled, a number that's down 60 percent over the last five years. That's tied with golf and college basketball, but trailing the NFL, baseball, college football, auto racing, and hockey (!). We've obviously come a long way from the days when "The NBA on NBC" was among the highest-rated programs on television each week.

Remember those days? Marv, the Czar, and Ahmad? Hannah Storm in the studio? I'm thinking of the early 90's, long before anyone had ever heard of Mixed Martial Arts or televised poker. The NBA was mainstream then; now, it's tied for sixth.

The reasons for pro basketball's decline in popularity are too numerous and complicated to lay out here. NASCAR has something to do with it; the proliferation of cable and satellite television and the Internet explosion probably counts, too. There's likely a socioeconomic factor as well -- a growing resentment towards young, obscenely wealthy professional athletes who don't seem to 'get it.' Whatever. All I know for sure is this:

What I saw on Saturday night was the most compelling thirty minutes of NBA-related coverage that I've witnessed since I left ESPN to move home to Orlando and join Sun Sports -- which, coincidentally, was almost five years ago. Dwight Howard, for anyone who missed it, owned the night.

He set the tone by dunking from behind the backboard -- something that I can write in ten words, but cannot possibly encapsulate for anyone who didn't see it. He raised the bar with the Superman Dunk -- and much like the Blind Dunk (Dee Brown), the Spud Dunk (Spud Webb), and the Free Throw Line Dunk (Jordan), Howard's effort instantly lept into one-line recognition status. And then, when merely showing up for the final round would have been enough to bury poor Gerald Green, Howard stunned us again by lofting a bounce pass to the rim, tapping the ball off the backboard with his left hand, and thundering home a dunk with his right.

It was ridiculous and magnificent. Sick and uplifting. Go back and watch the reactions from his peers -- check the looks on the faces of future Hall of Famers like Kobe Bryant and Jason Kidd -- and judge for yourself. They have no idea what to make of this wonder-child.

Let me help them: Dwight Howard is going to save the NBA.

He's not going to save the league purely because of his athleticism, which is freakish to the point of incredulity. He's going to save the league because he's an otherworldly athlete whose personality is such that even the most grizzled NBA observers -- the Charles Barkleys and Kenny Smiths of the world -- are drawn to him.

Did anyone listen to Kenny and Chuck gushing over Howard on Saturday night? Did you hear Barkley -- Barkley, of all people -- make the comment that Howard "is a great face for that franchise?" Did you hear Kenny Smith declare the contest "over" after the first round, noting that the earnest efforts of the other candidates -- and let's be honest, who cares about their names -- "wouldn't get it done?"

That doesn't happen solely because of athleticism. That happens because of personality. Howard is a magnet, the way Jordan and Magic were magnets, the way that, despite their spectacular skills, Kobe Bryant and Vince Carter and Tim Duncan are not. No knock on anyone in particular -- Magic, along with Larry Bird, saved the league once, Jordan elevated it into the mainstream, and guys like Lebron James have carried the flag admirably -- but they don't light the skies like Dwight Howard does.

In this lineage, the succession that covers my lifetime, there is Bird, Magic, Jordan, Lebron, and then Dwight. Honorable mention to Julius Erving for opening the airspace above the rim, and a purist's nod to the Detroit Pistons and San Antonio Spurs of this decade for bringing the team game into the conversation. But the royal blood is in Howard's veins.

Dwight Howard has already saved the Magic franchise. The new arena deal in Central Florida, complete with a written guarantee from the organization not to leave Orlando for at least 25 years without prohibitive financial penalties, can be at least partially laid at his feet.

Howard just saved the Slam Dunk contest. It's been written 100 times in the last two days, and you'll read it again next season, and the season after that.

His next feat? Dwight Howard is going to save the NBA. The league may never achieve the lofty prime-time status of the 1990's -- our sports universe may simply be too fractured for that -- but he's the future. He'll have some help from players like Chris Paul, Brandon Roy, Dwyane Wade, and a handful of other stars whose warmth and charisma match their supreme talents, but Howard is the key. The NBA has found the horse upon which to hitch its wagon.

Dwight Howard is going to save the league. And when his Hall of Fame biography is written, a magical Saturday night in New Orleans will be cited as the tipping point.

The Price Of Winning

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 18:27:00 +0000

"Was it worth it?"

A longtime Orlando Magic executive asked that question, rhetorically, in a hallway at Amway Arena on Wednesday night. The "it" of which he spoke was the Miami Heat's 2006 NBA Championship. The reason for the rhetorical question, of course, was Shaquille O'Neal's departure to Phoenix.

Was the Heat's title worth Shaq's money? Was it worth the salary cap quagmire that created this year's Miami roster, a group that currently holds the worst record in the Eastern Conference? Interesting question.

We'll get to that in a moment. First, the trade.

I was in Indianapolis for the Magic's road game against the Pacers last weekend when the Shaq rumors first started to simmer. By the time I arrived at Amway Arena on Wednesday for a Magic-Nets tilt, the deal was done. It was all the buzz in the hallways.

Nets coach Lawrence Frank was asked about the Shaq deal off-camera, and he articulated what many have subsequently pointed out -- the Heat just got themselves off the hook. They shed the $40 million that Shaq is owed over the next two seasons, taking back Shawn Marion's $16.4 million this season plus the $3.8 million that Marcus Banks will make this year. Banks is signed for three years beyond 2007-08, peaking at $4.75 million in 2010-11, but if Marion opts out after this year -- which he has the right to do, and which he might be enough of a knucklehead to believe he should do -- Miami could enter the 2008-09 season with a payroll of pebbles and seeds.

Assume that Marion opts out after this season, in search of another max deal somewhere else. That's $17,180,000 gone. Smush Parker has a player option for $2.4 million next year, but the Heat will surely find a way out of that. The Heat hold the option on Alexander Johnson's contract for a relatively miniscule $687,456. If all three of those deals go away, that's $20,267,456 off the cap next season, leaving the payroll at $52.78 million -- a number that would rank as the third-lowest among 30 NBA teams this year.

Even if Marion stays, the 2008-09 number for Miami could be $69.9 million, which is less than 12 teams in the league right now. Of course, that's before the team signs any draft picks -- and with a 9-39 record as of this writing, there's an awfully good chance that Miami will be drafting rather high this summer.

On that note, the only downside for Miami is the possibility that they rally just enough in the second half with Marion and Dwyane Wade to throw themselves into a washing machine for a high lottery pick. Short term, everybody wants to win; long term, the best outcome for the Heat would be to finish the season at their current pace, hope that Marion ventures off into free agency, and enter the 2008-09 season about $15 million under the luxury tax threshold. With that kind of cap flexibility and a high draft pick, the rebuilding around Wade starts immediately.

In summary, Miami gets out from under Shaq's deal, replaces him with a four-time All-Star who can run all night and guard five positions, and places itself in position to retool for the next decade. Off the hook, indeed.

On the other hand, why does Phoenix do this deal?

Say what you will about team chemistry between Marion and Amare Stoudemire, but to me, there's only one answer to that question: Tim Duncan.

The Spurs have knocked Phoenix out of the playoffs in two of the last three years and three of the last six. Shaq is clearly not the player he used to be, but he's also clearly 7-feet and three-plus bills. If Phoenix keeps him healthy and feeds off his unquestioned clubhouse-mediator skills -- remember, the first words out of his mouth when he got to Miami were "This is Dwyane's team," and as the guy who anchored the 2006 Miami Heat NBA Championship Parade on Sun Sports, I can vouch for the effectiveness of that approach -- they could very well ride the Diesel into a series against San Antonio. Once there, the Suns obviously like their chances with O'Neal hammering away at Duncan, as opposed to the jackrabbit style that has won plenty of regular season games but failed to deliver a title.

Further, while there are plenty of guys out there who could make life difficult for Duncan in a playoff series, none have the cache' and marketability of the Big Aristotle. Phoenix, which currently sports the best record in the Western Conference, is only 14th in home attendance this year. If increasing interest + selling more tickets + demonstrating a commitment to winning + doing SOMETHING to counter Duncan = $40 million over the next two seasons, you make the investment. That's how badly the Suns want to clear the hump and get to their first NBA championship. Obviously, they think it's "worth it."

Which brings us back to the original question -- was Shaq "worth it" to Miami? Was the title "worth it?"

I say it was. Shaq made basketball relevant in Miami, which is no small feat, but going a step further, he made Miami relevant in the NBA. He made the Heat legit, in much the same fashion that Kevin Garnett once made the Timberwolves legit and Alonzo Mourning once made the Hornets legit.

[Edit: based on a very astute reader comment below, let me amend this after the fact -- Alonzo Mourning was the first star player who made Miami Heat basketball relevant in the NBA. An omission on my part. There's no Heat, as we know them, without 'Zo. Thanks to the anonymous reader for pointing this out.]

For that matter, O'Neal did for the Heat what he did for the Magic ten years earlier. He put the franchise on the radar for the national media, the fans, and most importantly, other players. He made the Heat a more-than-acceptable option for free agents, the kind of place that a draft pick wouldn't be bummed to join. Of the most recent expansion teams, the Bobcats and the Grizzlies are still looking for that guy, while the Raptors may have found him in Chris Bosh. Maybe.

Of course, the one thing that Shaq delivered to Miami that none of those players ever did for their respective franchises, and the one thing he did for Miami that he couldn't do for Orlando: win a championship. I have written in this space before that "the only thing that never ends is the glow of a championship," and I'm sticking by it. I was a Magic employee when the team reached the 1995 NBA Finals, and if someone had offered us the chance to spend $40 million to ensure that Nick Anderson's free throws went down, well, that probably would have been a short meeting. Perhaps you have to suffer through the wins and losses long enough to get it.

I guess the Suns agree that "the only thing that never ends is the glow of a championship." They're betting $40 million on it. And the Heat, who wouldn't know that glow were it not for Shaquille O'Neal, were willing to let him go in the hopes of getting it back.

What I Did On My Vacation, Part Whatever

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Sat, 02 Feb 2008 03:37:00 +0000

Miss me? Doubt it. Again.

Yeah, I write about vacations often. Just so happens that I like to travel. I suppose that's part of what draws me to the broadcasting business in the first place -- although, with all due respect to my current digs of downtown Indianapolis, the "work" trips usually pale in comparison to the "fun" trips.

I should mention, however, that if one has to travel for work, Indy is highly underrated. Downtown Indianapolis is everything that Downtown Orlando would love to be, if only Downtown Orlando ever got out of the house. Within a five-minute walk of my hotel, I can find a museum dedicated to the history of the NCAA, plus the RCA Dome, the utterly stunning Conseco Fieldhouse, the soon-to-be stunning Lucas Oil Stadium (next year's home of the Colts), the minor-league baseball Victory Field, plus the state capitol, a dozen great restaurants, and about a zillion friendly people. My wife gives me a hard time about how much I enjoy Indianapolis -- and seeing as how I once got her a press pass for the Indy 500, wherein she hooted and hollered like the good racing redneck that she insists she didn't marry, she really ought to simmer down.

Anyway, I am here because the Orlando Magic are playing the Indiana Pacers tomorrow night on FSN Florida. How I got here, however, is worth a few minutes.

Mrs. Red Sox Nation and I just celebrated our 10th anniversary. I know, I know, I overachieved. Or, as I prefer to call it, I outkicked my coverage.

For this momentous occasion, we worked out a plan to take a vacation without our precious children. We love them very much, both of them; we also needed this. The plan, to make a long story short, was to go skiing. With all the planning of a dart at a map, we chose Taos, New Mexico.

For those who have never made the trip, the Taos ski area is just about the hardest place to get to among any vacation spot you can imagine. It makes Auburn look like Atlanta. You fly to Albuquerque, which is only forever, then drive two-plus hours straight uphill through some of the most breathtaking country you have ever seen. "Breathtaking" is actually a cop-out -- despite my rep as a writer, despite my English major and allegedly vast experience on the road, I honestly cannot capsulize the vistas we enjoyed while piloting a rental car up to 9,400 feet above sea level.

Ever heard the phrase "Big Sky?" It's usually attached to a ski area in Montana. All I can tell you -- and again, I'm struggling -- is that I have never understood the phrase "Big Sky" as well as I do now. New Mexico, and the American southwest, is Big Sky. Mammoth. Endless. Overwhelming. Please, if you take nothing out of anything I write in this space, please please please treat yourself to a visit to this region of America. You will be humbled. You will bore your traveling companion with repeated references to how bloody enormous and vast it looks. You will never look at a strip mall off I-95 the same way again.

So once we had literally climbed the mountain, we finally arrived at the Taos Ski Valley, which is essentially an Alpine village tucked into a crevice among the sharpest, most hostile terrain I've ever visited. There are about five restaurants, four hotels, two ski shops, and maybe 100 permanent residents of "TSV." And it's in the middle of absolute nowhere. Needless to say, we had a blast.

We hit the slopes like mad. And why not -- there's nothing else to do there. Fully 51 percent of the mountain is rated as "expert," which was way beyond my skill set, but worth every minute. We ate like kings. We signed up for a wine dinner wherein we met the owners of a small vineyard in Alexander Valley, California, who asked us for our e-mail addresses. By the end of the week, we knew every employee of our hotel by their first names. I'm skipping everything, including two days visiting Santa Fe, my cathartic experience of driving past "The Pit" at the University of New Mexico, and an utterly bizarre dinner at the oldest hotel in TSV, but it's only because I'm excited and exhausted. Once I get home to Orlando and recover, I would like to go into Taos Ski Valley in greater detail, only because I found it fascinating.

But mostly, I'm wiped. And we have a game tomorrow.

I'll be home on Sunday, about three hours before kickoff for the Super Bowl. In all seriousness, I hope your week was as wonderful as mine.

Back to reality. See you on TV.

I Don't Care If You Know This, But...

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 03:23:00 +0000

...it wasn't Lawrence Tynes' fault. The last one he missed, I mean. Bad snap. That said, I was stoked that Fate gave him the chance to redeem himself.

...the Giants are not better than Green Bay, but they were better on this night. That said, they will get freaking rolled by New England.

...Eli is playing out of his mind. And out of three-plus hours of television coverage on Sunday evening, the most relevant comment regarding Eli came from the criminally underrated (and under-utilized) Pam Oliver, who asked him an incredibly insightful question during the pregame nonsense: "Normally, at this time of year, your entire family is focused on what Peyton is doing. What's the reaction now that you are still playing and he is not?"

As the parent of two children, I am totally down with this line of questioning. Where the hell has Pam Oliver been all season?

And where was Peyton tonight?

...as of this writing, I do not know the line for the Super Bowl. As it stands, I will be flying back to Orlando on Super Bowl Sunday, returning from a Magic game in Indiana the night before. I should arrive shortly before kickoff. My wife, Mrs. Red Sox - slash - Patriots Nation, who was last seen bouncing down Palmer Avenue in Winter Park, has already invited her fellow New England refugees to our house for a Super Bowl party upon my return.

In short, I will be grossly unprepared for the Big Game. But write this down:

Take the Giants and the points. They might lose, but take the points, which will be stupid long. You can thank me later.

My Guys

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 03:37:00 +0000

After five seasons of the "Chevy Tailgate Weekend" block of college football programming on Sun Sports, the so-called "talent" -- me, Brady Ackerman, and Terry Norvelle -- have grown to know each other pretty well.

We have our little in-jokes, our habits, our subtle shots at each other that show up on the air every week. We're like fraternity brothers, or an extended family -- we get on each other's nerves, sure, but it's all in fun.

One of our repeated themes is "Your Guy." Whenever a player makes a bonehead mistake, somebody on the set will holler at someone else, saying "That's Your Guy!" Conversely, when a player has a breakout performance, we all kill each other in our haste to claim him as "My Guy." It's akin to Ahmad Rashad's tired line about "my main man" -- hopefully, without the gratuitous self-indulgence.

Anyway, now that college football is gone and I'm free to think hoops, here's the list of "My Guys" in the NBA. There's no rhyme or reason to this, and no order. Note that if I omit any obvious superstars, it's not because I don't respect their game -- these are simply the players that I would pay to watch, or the players I'll want on my roster when some NBA owner comes to his senses and finally hires me as a general manager. Which should happen any day now.

Carlos Boozer, Utah Jazz: If you play fantasy basketball (ahem), you know that Boozer is the ultimate stat hound. Not in a selfish way, mind you -- he simply puts up monster numbers. He's averaged about 22 points and 11 rebounds per game over his last two seasons. Not bad for a second-round pick. Always seems to be around the ball, much stronger than you think, and a great finisher.

Chris Paul, New Orleans Hornets: At 21 points and 10 assists per game, he's having his best season, and he's the primary reason why the New Orleans Hornets are A. interesting and B. making Dallas and San Antonio sweat in the Southwest Division. His team may be struggling at the gate -- the Hornets have been rumored as a relocation project, with Seattle and Anaheim among the suitors -- but it's not Paul's fault. There's not a team in the league that wouldn't love to have Chris Paul running the offense.

Tim Duncan, San Antonio Spurs: Yes, I know, he's a superstar. He's a lock for the Hall of Fame. He's hardly a stretch to be included on this roster, and he's on everyone's "Best Of" list. I include him because I could watch him play every night. There's just so little that he does wrong. He's a seven-footer who plays below the rim and makes it look pretty. Go ahead, find me another one.

Chris Bosh, Toronto Raptors: All he's doing is saving NBA basketball in Canada. That's it. And yes, I just noticed that I have an ACC-heavy roster. Not sure what that means, but I'll look into it.

Richard Jefferson, New Jersey Nets: In seven years in the NBA, all with New Jersey, Jefferson has averaged 17 points and 5 rebounds per game. When healthy, he's a workhorse, averaging at least 35 minutes per game in every season except his rookie year. There's no question that the presence of Jason Kidd has helped R-Jeff's career tremendously, but nonetheless, I love the way he goes about his business. He's also a great locker room quote, which counts for quite a bit in my book.

Mike Miller, Memphis Grizzlies: He's on my list mostly for his jump shot, which is one of the most fun to watch in the league. If I were producing an instructional video on shooting, Miller and JJ Redick would be my co-stars. Plus, he's much bigger than you think, and presents an interesting set of skills. But mainly, I love to watch him shoot.

Brandon Roy, Portland Trail Blazers: Is there any player in the league more directly responsible for his team's surprising success than Roy and the Blazers? Is there any second-year player with more poise? Any young gun who you'd be more comfortable with in a big-shot situation? Have I used enough question marks yet?

Dwyane Wade, Miami Heat: Much like Lamar Odom below, I got to watch Wade up close during his rookie season, when I covered the Heat in the NBA Playoffs. He's a cold-blooded killer with exceptional leadership skills. Players naturally flock to him. He's in a category with Kevin Garnett as a superstar who practices and plays every day as if he's in danger of losing his job. The league needs more guys like that.

Lamar Odom, Los Angeles Lakers: I've always had an irrational attachment to Lamar. It goes back to the pre-Shaq days in Miami, when he was a member of the Wade-Haslem-Brian Grant-Stan Van Gundy Heat squad that went into the second round of the 2004 Playoffs. Wade was clearly the best player on the floor as a rookie, but Odom was the glue that held that team together. He's perhaps the most underrated player in the NBA, and his transformation from perceived Head Case to Calming Veteran Influence rivals the career arc of William Shatner among the greatest 180's of our time.

David Lee, New York Knicks: As of this writing, averaging about 10 points and 8 rebounds in less than 27 minutes per game. Were it not for Isiah Thomas's hell-bent mission to ruin everything we ever knew about Knicks basketball and the NBA, David Lee would be a freaking superstar. There's nobody on the Knicks' roster -- nobody -- who will benefit more from a change of scenery than Lee. Once he escapes from Isiah (and mark it down, he'll be out of there as soon as his contract allows), Lee will explode. I'd love to see him in Orlando.

Matt Harpring, Utah Jazz: Of all the players that Orlando has let get away, Harpring is the one that galls me the most -- and yes, I realize the list is long and illustrious (see Mike Miller above). He's just a warrior. Plays hurt, but sticks it out -- at least 71 games in each of the last three seasons, which is remarkable for a guy who's seen more surgery than Michael Jackson. He's the perfect Jerry Sloan player.

Keyon Dooling, Orlando Magic: The epitome of a Professional Basketball Player. Want him to play the point? He'll play the point. Want him to guard the two? Done. Need him to swing to the three? No problem. Whatever you want, Coach. Plays hard, plays smart, and makes his team better. Terrific locker-room guy. He may not have the greatest skill set, but you never have to worry when he's on the floor -- and in this league, that's saying something.

Anderson Varejao, Cleveland Cavaliers: Love the hair, love the energy, love the exuberance. I also like Tony Battie, but this is one more player I wish the Magic had kept. I can clearly recall saying on the old "Sports Talk Live" show on Sun Sports that Orlando fans would fall in love with Varejao once they saw him -- which never happened, thanks to that trade.

Gilbert Arenas, Washington Wizards: I've included Agent Zero on my roster for his skill set, which is considerable, but also for his persona, which is pleasantly insane. He makes everything he does entertaining. Takes too many dumb shots, sure, but fun to watch. Plus, you have to love an All-Star who gets as much attention for his blog as he does for his play on the floor.

Robert Horry, San Antonio Spurs: No list of "My Guys" is complete without Big Shot Rob. Fifteen years in the NBA -- he was part of the same rookie class that included Shaq, Mourning, Laettner, Harold Miner, LaPhonso Ellis, Tom Gugilotta, Walt Williams, and Clarence Weatherspoon, among others -- and not only has he outlasted almost all of those players, he has piled up the hardware: seven NBA titles. He was a spectacular interview as a rookie with Houston, and is half of one of the greatest pieces of trivia in league history: from 1994 through 2003, every NBA champion had either Horry or Steve Kerr on its roster. Beyond that, up to and including the Spurs last year, Horry and Kerr won 12 titles in 14 years. My squad needs the winning influence.

The roster above would never happen, of course (thanks to the salary cap), but if assembled, this team would win 75 games a year. These are My Guys.

Brush With Fame

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Sat, 12 Jan 2008 04:27:00 +0000

As soon as I posted my entry into the NBC/USGA/Golf Digest "play a US Open golf course" contest, I got an e-mail from Sun Sports contributor and national sports radio host Todd Wright, questioning one of my (all true) claims:

"You actually met Shania [Twain] in a bar? Was her navel exposed and/or was she wearing tight pants? You always say you want my life...well, now I want a piece of yours."

Oh, ha, says the man who has been married for ten years. Yet, the story is worth telling.

Scene: 1996 NBA All-Star Game, San Antonio. I was producing features for the Magic TV Network. They sent me to Texas for the weekend because we had Shaq and Penny in the starting lineup, and Darrell Armstrong about to make his ill-fated attempt at the Slam Dunk contest.

It was just me and a cameraman, Rick Price (who is still with the Magic today). Our job was to shoot everything, including some standups and some packages, for use in halftime features and on "One Magic Place," the weekly show on WESH-2 in Orlando (which has transformed over the years into "Midnight Magic," on WKMG-6 in Orlando and on Sun Sports).

So we go to the Alamodome on the day before the game to get b-roll and scenics. We happened to walk into the empty arena at the exact moment that the game-night crew was doing dress rehearsal for the game itself the following night. That included the anthem singers. The girl who sang the Canadian national anthem caught my eye -- she was very cute, extremely short, and sang her guts out. Rick and I both noticed her, but thought little of it.

That night, with our work completed, we headed out to the Riverwalk in San Antonio to catch a few adult beverages. After hopping a few places on the river, we ended up at Dick's Last Resort, which had a multi-level dance floor and cheap food. We settled in with drinks and Tex-Mex and were pretty happy.

At one point, I looked over at the bar and saw the Canadian anthem singer herself. She was dressed to kill, with black tights and a white lacey top, and she was surrounded by her "entourage," which was all of two people -- a matronly, silver-haired lady that I took to be her mother, and a flitty little dude of questionable sexuality who was leaping back and forth to get the singer drinks and food.

Emboldened by the adult beverages, I walked over to the bar and introduced myself. I commented on how much I enjoyed her rendition of "O Canada." She was very appreciative, looked me straight in the eye, but was clearly not interested -- or, at least, her "entourage" was keeping me at arm's length. After a few minutes of chit-chat, I sorta wandered off. She was very nice, however, and I made a note to find her again the next day.

Which never happened. The All-Star Game comes and goes, and I never manage to catch up with the Canadian anthem singer. Many years later, I'm watching MTV or something similar, and I see a biography piece on a hot young star who grew up in Canada and has become a total celebrity. I had never heard her name, but as soon as I saw her on TV, I jumped off the couch -- "That's the girl who sang the Canadian national anthem at the All-Star Game!"

Yep -- Shania Twain. Swear to God. As I live and breathe, everything above is the honest truth, and I can give you Rick's phone number if you don't believe it.

Now, you know the story. A story, by the way, that my wife REALLY hates. Every time we see Shania on TV, she says something to the effect of "there's your girlfriend."

Thus endeth my brush with fame. And...scene.

Winning Entry

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 04:53:00 +0000

Golf Digest, NBC Sports, and the United States Golf Association are sponsoring a doozy of a contest.

Last year, at the US Open at Oakmont, Tiger Woods famously commented that with the way the course was set up for the second round, "a 10-handicapper wouldn't break 100." Thus, the magazine and the network mentioned above are giving us a chance to prove him wrong.

The "winner," if you can call it that, will play 18 holes at Torrey Pines in San Diego with three celebrities in the days leading up to the 2008 US Open -- in other words, a round on an Open course, under Open conditions. The whole thing will be videotaped and shown during Sunday's final round.

The hook? You have to write a 100-word entry explaining why you should win. Right in my wheelhouse.

Here's my entry:

"Why me?

I've interviewed Bobby Knight. I've run the Boston Marathon. I've climbed the Eiffel Tower. I've watched the Indy 500 from the infield. I've been to the Artichoke Capital of the World, the Indoor Foliage Capital of the World, and the Norman Rockwell Museum. I've placed my children onto the back of a live alligator. I've caught a lemon shark and body-surfed with dolphins. I've ridden a cafeteria tray down Libe Slope at Cornell University. I've seen Springsteen live. Once, I met Shania Twain in a bar.

But I've never played in Open conditions. And I'll break 100, dammit."

Should we go ahead and engrave the trophy now?

If you'd like to beat it, here's the link. Good luck. See you on the first tee.

Taking A Breath, Finally

noreply@blogger.com (Whit Watson) — Wed, 09 Jan 2008 03:19:00 +0000

BCS game over, "Tailgate Overtime" over, "Chevy Florida Fishing Report" starting at the beginning of February -- time to stop and take a look around, for the first time since August. Wow, I have TWO kids?

In order to keep things interesting this month -- in between thrice-weekly meetings to discuss what we're doing next -- I will be appearing on the much-heralded "Dante & Galante Show" at orlandomagic.com on Thursday at 3pm. For those who haven't caught the fever yet, it's an Internet-only interview show produced by Magic radio producer Dante Marchitelli and Director of Communications George Galante. The format is, umm, loose. I've already been warned that it could mean the end of my broadcast career -- and that warning came from Dante. Good times.

One follow-up to my great Capital One Bowl adventure -- more than one reader, including Orlando Sentinel columnist Jerry Greene, took me to task for sending my wife back to the parking lot on the bus to look for the mysterious missing ticket whilst I sashayed into the Hospitality Tent looking for refreshments. In my defense (and as I explained to Jerry) -- that was her idea. In her words, "I lost it, I'll go find it."

Which may partially explain why we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary last week. She's a warrior. Clearly, I overachieved, or as I like to say, "outkicked my coverage."

By the way, the traditional wedding gift for the big one-oh? Tin, aluminum, or diamond. That's a hell of a range, no? Can you guess what direction we went? Actually, we adopted an intriguing policy for all gift-giving holidays, one that I'm happy to share: I buy what I want, and she buys what she wants. Everybody's a winner. This worked beautifully at Christmas. I'm all about the spirit of the season.

It's pretty much planning and housekeeping for the rest of the month around here. The "Chevy Florida Fishing Report" is back on January 31st; I will miss the season debut, as I booked a vacation for that final week of January. Don't worry, there's only 36 shows left after the opener.

Meanwhile, the Magic still stink at home, while the Heat simply stink. And I know it's way after the fact, but I had to throw this in:

I watched the Magic-Rockets game at home on Friday night (thank you, DirecTV!) and went suitably apoplectic when Adonal Foyle's apparent game-tying tip-in was waved off, eventually. The game crew was all over it -- excellent looks at the replays from the truck, David Steele and Matt Guokas wondering out loud, as I was, how the refs could possibly have missed it. Once the smoke cleared, the FSN Florida broadcast went to a commercial break.

During those 120 seconds, a thought dawned on me -- for some reason, I kept interpreting the fact that Foyle had started his shot before double-zeroes as proof that it should have been good, when, as all hoopheads know, the ball must be clear of his hand before double-zeroes for it to count. Despite the twenty replays, I was too worked up to consider that fact. And here's the interesting part -- once David and Matt came back from break, it sounded like the same thought had just occurred to them.

You have to understand, a call has to be particularly egregious for David Steele to jump down a ref's throat. He's just not a screaming-homer type. Yet, as bonkers as they both had gone when the play occurred, he and Matt were oddly subdued when they came back for the postgame -- as if they had just remembered the same thing that I remembered.

Of course, the more likely story is that our FSN truck found a more definitive replay during the commercial break and showed it to the talent, who realized that the refs had (eventually) been correct. Still, it was interesting.

Maybe I should get into broadcasting or something.