For years, we've all heard how dispicable sports fans are in Philadelphia. After all, it's the same town that booed Hall of Famer and lifelong Phillie great Mike Schmidt. It's the same town that pelted a guy dressed as Santa Claus with snowballs in the 1970s, so badly that the poor soul needed a police escort to get out of the building.
It's the same place where an impromptu jail cell, complete with a municipal court judge, was placed in the bowels of the old Veterans Stadium to deal with the unruly fans. Get drunk and act like an ass at a Phillies or Eagles game? No problem. You got locked up right there and had to post bail right there. A novel concept.
It's a place that I personally saw a group of drunken men physically attack two women because they wore Dallas Cowboys jerseys. Yes, one of these hooligans actually socked the woman in the mouth, then ran away like a scared teenager was chased by myself and a friend.
It's a place where I saw someone wearing a brand new St. Louis Rams jersey, embroidered with name and number on it, just out of the Christmas box, get pelted with some concoction of beer, mustard and paper towels. No, it wasn't me. I knew better than to wear a Rams jersey in Philly.
Yes, it's a place that actually had security guards taser a drunken fan who ran on the field. Take a dash on the field? How does 3,000 volts of electricity through your body feel?
And yes, it's the place where another drunken unruly idiot got into a verbal dispute with another fan and then this drunken clown actually stuck his fingers down his throat to vomit intentionally on the guy he was fighting with _ and yes, that guy's 11-year-old son.
City of Brotherly Love? Please, that's a disgraceful moniker when it comes to Philly and its sports fans. More like the City of Drunken Tasers and Vomit.
Philadelphia may be a nice place with its museums and the Liberty Bell. It's where Doctor J played while he was making illegitimate tennis players. It's where Pete Rose bet on some really big games. It's where the Philadelphia Flyers, who singlehandedly kept Pennsylvania orthodontists in business in the 1970s, terrorized anything that didn't wear orange and black -- including jack-o-lanterns.
And Philly's fans have always been top notch, as proven with the comments listed above. Hell, the team's mascot is called the Philly Phanatic. He had to get fanatical over something because he drank a case of Genesee Cream Ale and had a cheesesteak.
To call Philly fans morons would be like giving them a title of distinction. It would be a word of praise.
Two summers ago, I went to CitiField to see the Mets play the Phillies in my season tickets. I was wearing a very obnoxious Mets tie-dyed T-shirt and was obviously cheering for my team.
But by the third inning, I found myself surrounded by six of these members of MENSA, liquored-up Phillies fans, taunting me with an assortment of fat comments that I first heard in third grade and how the Mets sucked (gee, like I didn't know that already).
And then they did what they do best, threatened to kick my ass, all because I was a Met fan in a Met shirt in my Met seats in the Mets' ballpark.
Guess what happened? I was instructed by the Mets security staff to move my location, that I was causing a problem for everyone else. All because I was dressed like a Met dormitory, a 6-foot-8, 400 pound monstrosity. I had to move, not the Phillies fans. I was livid. I tried to tell the security people that these were MY seats and they were seated in a ballpark that I regularly visited.
No such luck. I had to move. The drunken, obnoxious, moronic, physically-threatening Philly fans had won again. They always somehow manage to get their way. People think hooliganism only lives in soccer pitches in Great Britain. Guess again. We have our own location. It's called Philadelphia.
Well, Philly jackasses reared their ugly, infantile, moronic and idiotic heads again last week, when a group of criminal hooligans ambushed a guy outside Geno's Steakhouse after the NHL Winter Classic, simply because he and his friend were wearing Rangers jerseys.
And someone actually videotaped the vicious beating, stood there and watched these five morons pummel this soul and his friend to no one, then put the video on YouTube as some sort of moral celebration.
Well, the guy these Philly morons brutalized was Neal Auricchio, Jr. And Mr. Auricchio is already my nominee for Man of the Year in 2012.
Auricchio is a veteran of the United States Army, a hero who earned a Purple Heart in 2007 for being wounded in Iraq, shot by a sniper. He's been labeled a hero in his hometown of Woodbridge, N.J., where he is a police officer and volunteer firefighter.
The 30-year-old Auricchio received tickets to attend the Winter Classic from his wife as a Christmas present and took his friend to the game. His wife gave birth to their first child in November, so she stayed home to watch the baby and Auricchio went to the game in Philadelphia with his friend.
Auricchio was beaten so bad that his eyes were closed shut and he required more than 40 stitches to close his wounds.
Ready for this? It gets better. Some total jackass named "Edward Neary" claimed on Facebook that he was one of three Flyers fans to beat the stuffing out of Auricchio.
"Me and my friends had to do something about it, so we beat the c**ksucker," Neary wrote on Facebook, a post reported by Travis Hughes of the Flyers' fan website, BroadStreetHockey.com.
Bravo. Let's give this Neary moron a Congressional Medal of Honor or the Nobel Peace Prize or something, such a warm, kind bastion of geniusness.
On Neary's profile page on Facebook, it lists his interests as getting drunk and punching people in the face. Hey, he fits right in with the Philly fan mentality. Sounds like he's a regular card carrying member. Maybe he's the charter member, who knows?
So a guy goes to a hockey game with his friend, a once-in-a-lifetime game in Philly because it was outdoors, goes to get a bite to eat with his friend and ends up getting his face rearranged because he simply wore a Rangers jersey?
Sure looks that way. Chalk it up as just another incident involving the best sports fans in the world. Bravo, Philly fans. You've outdone yourselves this time. Be proud. Go out, drink about 54 cans of Schmidt's Beer and throw up on each other as a salute.
There was one clown on television Wednesday, some Philly jackass writer, who claimed that the "incidents involving Philadelphia sports fans get blown out of proportion" and that it's the "New York-based media" that fuels the fire.
Yeah, that's a good one. This, like the other reported incidents over the last 50 years or so, was totally blown out of proportion. Let's see if a Purple Heart recipient who almost lost his life fighting for this country _ and yes, fighting for the lives of Philly fans in the process _ thinks that this was blown out of proportion.
I'm part of that New York-based media and this story made me so sick that I wanted to throw up on a Philly fan.
==========================================================================
I had to cover an indoor track meet Wednesday and on the way there, I received word that an athlete I once covered, Steve Berstler of West Morris Central High School, was dead at the age of 22.
Steve was a student at Salisbury University in Maryland where he was competing in cross country and track and field. He was a kid who was beloved by everyone who knew him and was a credit to the West Morris athletic program.
When someone dies tragically at such a young age, it causes everyone to stop and wonder why events like this occur. There are no words to describe the empty feeling. It's a tragedy of the largest variety, one that will linger for the weeks and months to come.
==========================================================================
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com, www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com.
Newer head shot
Friday, January 6, 2012
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
2011: What I'll remember
The calendar year of 2011 is rapidly winding down, much like the year did itself. As I get older, I find time just flies by, the days, the months, the years.
I see little children grow almost before my eyes. I marvel at how big my own 14-year-old nephew Jonathan has grown, almost as tall as I am, and wonder how did that cute little baby become almost a man overnight.
I see my friends' children go off to college, reach their 20's and try to figure out how that happened, when just yesterday, I swear I was just in my 20's myself.
I recently went through the litany of pictured Christmas cards and in each picture, I was stunned on how much my friends' kids had grown. It's all a sign of how it flies by.
So as I reflect on 2011, the year that I turned 50, a fact that I can't seem to fathom either, I'll think of all the things that transpired in the past year.
I'll think of the tremendous triumphs and achievements I witnessed as a sportswriter, including the national championship won by St. Anthony in basketball and the state championship won by North Bergen in football, coached by legends like Bob Hurley and Vinnie Ascolese, two icons who I am fortunate enough to consider as friends.
St. Anthony won the battle of the titans at Rutgers, defeating the then-No. 1 team in the nation, St. Patrick of Elizabeth, a team that was already destined to be crowned the best high school basketball team of all-time until coach Hurley unleashed the best surprise attack since Pearl Harbor, a device called the "amoeba defense" that left St. Patrick and coach Kevin Boyle in a state of shock and panic. It turned the entire HBO documentary production about a championship made in heaven into a total afterthought.
If you wanted real drama, nothing was better than North Bergen. Nothing. First, coach Ascolese announced his retirement after 50 years of coaching. This would be his swan song.
The Bruins then managed to qualify for the state tournament, after turning their starting tight end into their starting quarterback. They won two state playoff games in overtime, with the coach's grandson scoring the game-winning touchdown in one and a little-used kicker making an improbable field goal in the other.
The Bruins then headed to MetLife Stadium for the North 1, Group IV state title game to face a Montclair team that was the top-ranked public school in the state, a team that had won 10 straight games by 34 points or more, yet somehow came away with a 14-13 victory on the game's final play. Does it get any better than that?
In sports, there were the horrendous child molestation cases in Penn State and then Syracuse and then involving sportswriter Bill Conlin. It used to be that sports pages were covered with sports stories, but over the last 25 years or so, there's more about court cases and arrests and now graphic sexual assault that makes me -- yes, even me -- want to turn the page.
There was another thrilling NCAA Tournament and in my eyes, there's nothing better to watch and be a part of. There was another baseball season, filled with trips to CitiField, to watch my beloved Mets become a laughingstock.
There were glorious days spent in the sun, watching high school sporting events, even October days spent in unexpected blizzards, yes, watching high school sports, where I was so thankful to realize that I was indeed getting paid to cover those games and events.
There were countless people to see along the way, friendly faces who somehow never forget, but sometimes I do. The smiles, the handshakes, the hugs, go a long way, knowing all those relationships I've acquired over the years through my career as a sportswriter, all the wonderful people I've met and got to know.
But in 2011, I had to say goodbye to so many people I loved and cared for, more than any other year in my life. Someone told me that it's because I'm getting older and that I know too many people. And yes, people do die.
In many cases, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to my friends and comrades. I didn't want to make another appearance at a funeral home or a funeral Mass. It wasn't time.
I paid farewell to both of my mother's best friends, the beloved twins, Alice Stark and Ann Doyle, both of whom died only months apart this year. It was sort of fitting that the twin sisters would only be away from each other for a short time. Now, I bet they're tooling around the afterlife with my mother. Those two took their lives into their hands every time they got in a car with Helaine, the worst driver known to man. I hope they have personal taxi services in Heaven.
I said goodbye to Mickey McLaughlin, who always treated me like I was her own while I dated her daughter, Meg. I was never just a guy who happened to go out with her daughter. I was a member of the family and I am forever grateful.
I said so long to countless Hudson County sports figures who I was close to, people I considered friends. I never greeted Roddy Maffia, the long-time Dickinson athletic director, with anything other than a kiss on the cheek. I used to capture every word that came out of Danny Waddleton's mouth with awe, because every single tale was something to behold and a complete belly-laugh. He was one of the best storytellers ever.
I developed a strong bond with both of the state's top two winningest baseball coaches in Harry Shatel and Tony Ferrainolo, both of whom died this year. Shatel, the Morristown legend, held the record when he died in May. Ferrainolo, the Memorial of West New York icon, broke the record a week after Shatel passed, then he lost his battle with lymphoma in October, taking the record with him as he went.
I lost my close personal friend Ed "The Faa" Ford in April, ending a 35-year relationship that I still have trouble finding words to describe. We were combative, argumentative, bombastic and at some occasions over those years, vowed never to speak to each other again. But I know one thing for sure. I loved him and he loved me. We told that to each other on the day before his life ended. And still it's almost surreal for me to believe he's gone.
But the hardest loss of all I suffered this year was the loss of my beautiful and wonderful friend Patti Crocco Gardner, who was introduced to me 15 years ago as my friend Glenn's new girlfriend, then became his wife and mother to his two boys.
Over the last decade or so, Patti and I became as good of friends as I am with her husband. Thanks to the computer, we chatted almost every single day. We spoke on the telephone about all different kinds of topics, ranging from reality TV to music to the Mets.
Patti wasn't just my friend's wife. She was my friend. She battled leukemia with an electric smile to the very end, to the last time I talked to her on the phone on Mother's Day. A day later, she slipped into a coma. Three days later, she was gone at age 45.
There was a game this year at CitiField where someone was heckling Patti's beloved Met, Jose Reyes. I went after the guy, saying that "I have a friend who loves Reyes and if she was here right now, she'd tell you how she felt." And I had to catch myself, totally forgetting that Patti was gone from all of us.
Maybe in a way it's fitting that Reyes is no longer a Met, then I don't have to worry about defending Patti's honor at CitiField. Hell, I'm not re-upping my season tickets anyway. Another loss in 2011, thanks to the hideous Met management.
So unfortunately, that's what I'll remember most about 2011, the people I lost in the year. They might be gone, but will never be forgotten, especially people like Patti and the Faa, who live with me still every single day.
Here's to hoping that there will be less suffering in the year to come, not just by me, but for everyone. In that respect, then it will truly be a Happy New Year.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com, www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com. The Hudson Reporter has the Top 10 Sports Stories of the Year for 2011. Maybe there was a hint as to the top two already in this blog.
I see little children grow almost before my eyes. I marvel at how big my own 14-year-old nephew Jonathan has grown, almost as tall as I am, and wonder how did that cute little baby become almost a man overnight.
I see my friends' children go off to college, reach their 20's and try to figure out how that happened, when just yesterday, I swear I was just in my 20's myself.
I recently went through the litany of pictured Christmas cards and in each picture, I was stunned on how much my friends' kids had grown. It's all a sign of how it flies by.
So as I reflect on 2011, the year that I turned 50, a fact that I can't seem to fathom either, I'll think of all the things that transpired in the past year.
I'll think of the tremendous triumphs and achievements I witnessed as a sportswriter, including the national championship won by St. Anthony in basketball and the state championship won by North Bergen in football, coached by legends like Bob Hurley and Vinnie Ascolese, two icons who I am fortunate enough to consider as friends.
St. Anthony won the battle of the titans at Rutgers, defeating the then-No. 1 team in the nation, St. Patrick of Elizabeth, a team that was already destined to be crowned the best high school basketball team of all-time until coach Hurley unleashed the best surprise attack since Pearl Harbor, a device called the "amoeba defense" that left St. Patrick and coach Kevin Boyle in a state of shock and panic. It turned the entire HBO documentary production about a championship made in heaven into a total afterthought.
If you wanted real drama, nothing was better than North Bergen. Nothing. First, coach Ascolese announced his retirement after 50 years of coaching. This would be his swan song.
The Bruins then managed to qualify for the state tournament, after turning their starting tight end into their starting quarterback. They won two state playoff games in overtime, with the coach's grandson scoring the game-winning touchdown in one and a little-used kicker making an improbable field goal in the other.
The Bruins then headed to MetLife Stadium for the North 1, Group IV state title game to face a Montclair team that was the top-ranked public school in the state, a team that had won 10 straight games by 34 points or more, yet somehow came away with a 14-13 victory on the game's final play. Does it get any better than that?
In sports, there were the horrendous child molestation cases in Penn State and then Syracuse and then involving sportswriter Bill Conlin. It used to be that sports pages were covered with sports stories, but over the last 25 years or so, there's more about court cases and arrests and now graphic sexual assault that makes me -- yes, even me -- want to turn the page.
There was another thrilling NCAA Tournament and in my eyes, there's nothing better to watch and be a part of. There was another baseball season, filled with trips to CitiField, to watch my beloved Mets become a laughingstock.
There were glorious days spent in the sun, watching high school sporting events, even October days spent in unexpected blizzards, yes, watching high school sports, where I was so thankful to realize that I was indeed getting paid to cover those games and events.
There were countless people to see along the way, friendly faces who somehow never forget, but sometimes I do. The smiles, the handshakes, the hugs, go a long way, knowing all those relationships I've acquired over the years through my career as a sportswriter, all the wonderful people I've met and got to know.
But in 2011, I had to say goodbye to so many people I loved and cared for, more than any other year in my life. Someone told me that it's because I'm getting older and that I know too many people. And yes, people do die.
In many cases, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to my friends and comrades. I didn't want to make another appearance at a funeral home or a funeral Mass. It wasn't time.
I paid farewell to both of my mother's best friends, the beloved twins, Alice Stark and Ann Doyle, both of whom died only months apart this year. It was sort of fitting that the twin sisters would only be away from each other for a short time. Now, I bet they're tooling around the afterlife with my mother. Those two took their lives into their hands every time they got in a car with Helaine, the worst driver known to man. I hope they have personal taxi services in Heaven.
I said goodbye to Mickey McLaughlin, who always treated me like I was her own while I dated her daughter, Meg. I was never just a guy who happened to go out with her daughter. I was a member of the family and I am forever grateful.
I said so long to countless Hudson County sports figures who I was close to, people I considered friends. I never greeted Roddy Maffia, the long-time Dickinson athletic director, with anything other than a kiss on the cheek. I used to capture every word that came out of Danny Waddleton's mouth with awe, because every single tale was something to behold and a complete belly-laugh. He was one of the best storytellers ever.
I developed a strong bond with both of the state's top two winningest baseball coaches in Harry Shatel and Tony Ferrainolo, both of whom died this year. Shatel, the Morristown legend, held the record when he died in May. Ferrainolo, the Memorial of West New York icon, broke the record a week after Shatel passed, then he lost his battle with lymphoma in October, taking the record with him as he went.
I lost my close personal friend Ed "The Faa" Ford in April, ending a 35-year relationship that I still have trouble finding words to describe. We were combative, argumentative, bombastic and at some occasions over those years, vowed never to speak to each other again. But I know one thing for sure. I loved him and he loved me. We told that to each other on the day before his life ended. And still it's almost surreal for me to believe he's gone.
But the hardest loss of all I suffered this year was the loss of my beautiful and wonderful friend Patti Crocco Gardner, who was introduced to me 15 years ago as my friend Glenn's new girlfriend, then became his wife and mother to his two boys.
Over the last decade or so, Patti and I became as good of friends as I am with her husband. Thanks to the computer, we chatted almost every single day. We spoke on the telephone about all different kinds of topics, ranging from reality TV to music to the Mets.
Patti wasn't just my friend's wife. She was my friend. She battled leukemia with an electric smile to the very end, to the last time I talked to her on the phone on Mother's Day. A day later, she slipped into a coma. Three days later, she was gone at age 45.
There was a game this year at CitiField where someone was heckling Patti's beloved Met, Jose Reyes. I went after the guy, saying that "I have a friend who loves Reyes and if she was here right now, she'd tell you how she felt." And I had to catch myself, totally forgetting that Patti was gone from all of us.
Maybe in a way it's fitting that Reyes is no longer a Met, then I don't have to worry about defending Patti's honor at CitiField. Hell, I'm not re-upping my season tickets anyway. Another loss in 2011, thanks to the hideous Met management.
So unfortunately, that's what I'll remember most about 2011, the people I lost in the year. They might be gone, but will never be forgotten, especially people like Patti and the Faa, who live with me still every single day.
Here's to hoping that there will be less suffering in the year to come, not just by me, but for everyone. In that respect, then it will truly be a Happy New Year.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com, www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com. The Hudson Reporter has the Top 10 Sports Stories of the Year for 2011. Maybe there was a hint as to the top two already in this blog.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The reason why both local grid teams won't go to the playoffs
It's supposed to be a big game on Christmas Eve and for all intents and purposes, it is.
After all, the Giants will face the Jets in a do-or-die for both teams. Win and the season remains alive. Lose and you're going home early.
So Saturday's game is exactly what everyone wanted -- a playoff game before the playoffs.
However, it could actually serve as a precursor to what may take place in two weeks, with both teams actually out of the playoffs. No one alive would have imagined that scenario when the season began in a rush last August. There were high hopes and expectations in both training camps.
A lot of things can still take place between now and New Year's Day. There could be some miraculous way they both get in, but it's unlikely.
However, before the Giants' ownership begins to put the blame on Tom Coughlin and the Jets' brass points fingers at the brash Rex Ryan, they should take a deep look and point the fingers at the real reason why the teams have struggled this season.
Ready? It's themselves. They should blame themselves, first and foremost. They should take a long look in the mirror and like Bill Parcells used to say all the time, blame the man in the glass.
Because it's the greed and avarice of both ownerships that have caused this upcoming mess. The greed to get as much money as possible in terms of Personal Seat Licenses and luxury boxes and higher priced tickets and money and money and money.
Both the Giants and the Jets owners believed that they had to have a new stadium, that Giants Stadium had outlived its purpose -- even if the place still hadn't been fully paid for by New Jersey taxpayers.
Nope, they needed a new home. So the Jets flirted with the West Side of Manhattan, but they knew that really couldn't work. The Giants desperately needed more luxury boxes than they needed defensive backs. Thus, the billion dollar edifice now known as MetLife Stadium was born.
And with the building of the new stadium and the destruction of the old, both teams lost any home field advantage they once enjoyed.
True, the Jets never had a chance to call Giants Stadium their very own. They were rentors and were the second-class residents.
But the Giants certainly owned a home field advantage after they became relevant again under Ray Perkins, becoming a playoff team once again in 1981.
Need proof? How about the NFC championship game against the Redskins that sent the Giants to their first Super Bowl? The wind was swirling like a cyclone that far exceeded the funnel that sent Dorothy Gale's house spinning towards Oz. Jay Schroeder was slapped silly that day and had no chance of calling out a play because the fans were in a complete frenzy.
How about the day the Giants destroyed the Vikings in another NFC championship game? The fans were so amped up on Kerry Collins and Greg Canella, of all people, scored a touchdown. The Giants won, 41-0, and that place rocked.
Whenever the Giants' opponents got third-and-long in Giants Stadium, the crowd would spring to their feet and you couldn't hear yourself think.
Even the Jets enjoyed a feeling of home advantage, when Fireman Ed would get on someone's shoulders and lead the chants in the lower deck at the 25-yard line.
Now? It's a country club mentality. There's no home field advantage. The people who go to the games now are more content with their wine and bree in the parking lot instead of making noise. Oh, there's a game today? Pass the poupon.
It has really destroyed the home base at Giants' games. Need proof? The Giants have dropped home games this year to Seattle, Philadelphia and Washington, all teams that entered the pretty new building with losing records.
In the old days, Lawrence Taylor would have eaten those teams for lunch. Hell, even Michael Strahan would have feasted on the also-rans.
If you're an elite team in the NFL, you don't lose at home, no matter who the opponent is. You win your home games, try to go .500 on the road and go to the playoffs. Simple as that.
And you win the games against the inferior teams. The Giants haven't done that this year _ and it's their own fault for getting rid of their most avid fans with the ridiculous and greed-based PSLs and for building a new stadium when the old one was perfectly fine.
For years, the NFL has been a license to print money for the league's owners. Money flowed like the Nile. Merchandising, TV revenues were in the millions before a single ticket was sold.
Now, there's all the other crap like PSLs and luxury boxes and it has killed the Giants' loyal fan base. The same can be said for the Jets as well.
So congratulations. You have a new stadium. It's pretty. It's a little absurd to get to your seat once you get inside and you can park in Carlstadt unless you have a PSL-preferred parking spot. But it's new.
However, there's no home field advantage at all. None. And that's the biggest reason why both teams might be standing on the outside, gaping in at the upcoming playoffs.
Sure, some may blame the coaches. In this corner, I blame the greedy owners who wanted more money than they know what to do with.
=============================================================================
It's almost unfathomable that there are all these cases of child predators in the sports world, the latest being Hall of Fame baseball writer Bill Conlin of the Philadelphia Daily News.
Conlin abruptly retired Tuesday after it was learned that a story was about to come out how Conlin, who was also a big part of ESPN's Sports Reporters for ages, sexually assaulted four youngsters, two of whom were his own nieces, in the 1970s.
The story has now come to light because of the Jerry Sandusky story in Penn State and the Bernie Fine case in Syracuse. The victims told the Philadelphia Inquirer reporter that they couldn't keep silent any longer after hearing the details of the other incidents.
So they revealed their past with the Philadelphia Inquirer reporter, who did a masterful job in reporting a very tough issue. Conlin was presented with the news of the story and immediately retired.
It's just a little unsettling that these stories are now the commonplace reads in general sports sections.
==========================================================================
Merry Christmas to all....enjoy the holidays
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com, www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com. In this week's editions of the Reporter, there's the incredible comeback story of North Bergen basketball coach Kevin Bianco, who has endured two battles with leukemia.
After all, the Giants will face the Jets in a do-or-die for both teams. Win and the season remains alive. Lose and you're going home early.
So Saturday's game is exactly what everyone wanted -- a playoff game before the playoffs.
However, it could actually serve as a precursor to what may take place in two weeks, with both teams actually out of the playoffs. No one alive would have imagined that scenario when the season began in a rush last August. There were high hopes and expectations in both training camps.
A lot of things can still take place between now and New Year's Day. There could be some miraculous way they both get in, but it's unlikely.
However, before the Giants' ownership begins to put the blame on Tom Coughlin and the Jets' brass points fingers at the brash Rex Ryan, they should take a deep look and point the fingers at the real reason why the teams have struggled this season.
Ready? It's themselves. They should blame themselves, first and foremost. They should take a long look in the mirror and like Bill Parcells used to say all the time, blame the man in the glass.
Because it's the greed and avarice of both ownerships that have caused this upcoming mess. The greed to get as much money as possible in terms of Personal Seat Licenses and luxury boxes and higher priced tickets and money and money and money.
Both the Giants and the Jets owners believed that they had to have a new stadium, that Giants Stadium had outlived its purpose -- even if the place still hadn't been fully paid for by New Jersey taxpayers.
Nope, they needed a new home. So the Jets flirted with the West Side of Manhattan, but they knew that really couldn't work. The Giants desperately needed more luxury boxes than they needed defensive backs. Thus, the billion dollar edifice now known as MetLife Stadium was born.
And with the building of the new stadium and the destruction of the old, both teams lost any home field advantage they once enjoyed.
True, the Jets never had a chance to call Giants Stadium their very own. They were rentors and were the second-class residents.
But the Giants certainly owned a home field advantage after they became relevant again under Ray Perkins, becoming a playoff team once again in 1981.
Need proof? How about the NFC championship game against the Redskins that sent the Giants to their first Super Bowl? The wind was swirling like a cyclone that far exceeded the funnel that sent Dorothy Gale's house spinning towards Oz. Jay Schroeder was slapped silly that day and had no chance of calling out a play because the fans were in a complete frenzy.
How about the day the Giants destroyed the Vikings in another NFC championship game? The fans were so amped up on Kerry Collins and Greg Canella, of all people, scored a touchdown. The Giants won, 41-0, and that place rocked.
Whenever the Giants' opponents got third-and-long in Giants Stadium, the crowd would spring to their feet and you couldn't hear yourself think.
Even the Jets enjoyed a feeling of home advantage, when Fireman Ed would get on someone's shoulders and lead the chants in the lower deck at the 25-yard line.
Now? It's a country club mentality. There's no home field advantage. The people who go to the games now are more content with their wine and bree in the parking lot instead of making noise. Oh, there's a game today? Pass the poupon.
It has really destroyed the home base at Giants' games. Need proof? The Giants have dropped home games this year to Seattle, Philadelphia and Washington, all teams that entered the pretty new building with losing records.
In the old days, Lawrence Taylor would have eaten those teams for lunch. Hell, even Michael Strahan would have feasted on the also-rans.
If you're an elite team in the NFL, you don't lose at home, no matter who the opponent is. You win your home games, try to go .500 on the road and go to the playoffs. Simple as that.
And you win the games against the inferior teams. The Giants haven't done that this year _ and it's their own fault for getting rid of their most avid fans with the ridiculous and greed-based PSLs and for building a new stadium when the old one was perfectly fine.
For years, the NFL has been a license to print money for the league's owners. Money flowed like the Nile. Merchandising, TV revenues were in the millions before a single ticket was sold.
Now, there's all the other crap like PSLs and luxury boxes and it has killed the Giants' loyal fan base. The same can be said for the Jets as well.
So congratulations. You have a new stadium. It's pretty. It's a little absurd to get to your seat once you get inside and you can park in Carlstadt unless you have a PSL-preferred parking spot. But it's new.
However, there's no home field advantage at all. None. And that's the biggest reason why both teams might be standing on the outside, gaping in at the upcoming playoffs.
Sure, some may blame the coaches. In this corner, I blame the greedy owners who wanted more money than they know what to do with.
=============================================================================
It's almost unfathomable that there are all these cases of child predators in the sports world, the latest being Hall of Fame baseball writer Bill Conlin of the Philadelphia Daily News.
Conlin abruptly retired Tuesday after it was learned that a story was about to come out how Conlin, who was also a big part of ESPN's Sports Reporters for ages, sexually assaulted four youngsters, two of whom were his own nieces, in the 1970s.
The story has now come to light because of the Jerry Sandusky story in Penn State and the Bernie Fine case in Syracuse. The victims told the Philadelphia Inquirer reporter that they couldn't keep silent any longer after hearing the details of the other incidents.
So they revealed their past with the Philadelphia Inquirer reporter, who did a masterful job in reporting a very tough issue. Conlin was presented with the news of the story and immediately retired.
It's just a little unsettling that these stories are now the commonplace reads in general sports sections.
==========================================================================
Merry Christmas to all....enjoy the holidays
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com, www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com. In this week's editions of the Reporter, there's the incredible comeback story of North Bergen basketball coach Kevin Bianco, who has endured two battles with leukemia.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Anyone want to buy a Met season ticket?
As any of my closest friends will attest, I am not the greatest mathematician. When figuring out statistics or filling out vouchers, I always have to have a calculator handy. Adding 8+7 is a chore for me.
However, after I received official confirmation that my beloved Jose Reyes had signed with the Miami Marlins for a boat load of cash, I started to do some computations.
I've been at least a partial season ticket holder for the New York Mets since the 1989 season. In the beginning, it was a six-game "Six Pack," but for the last 10 years, it's been a 15-game or over the last three years at CitiField, a 20-game package.
So I've figured out that I've spent more than $40,000 in Met tickets over the last 22 years. That's enough to buy a new Buick.
Well, that ends today. I have decided to not renew my Met season ticket plan.
If the Mets don't care about what product they put on the field, then why should I care about what they do?
I mean, I'll never stop being a Met fan. No way, no how. It's not like I'm going to take all 74 of my Met shirts and 39 of my Met hats and burn them in some gigantic bonfire over not re-signing their 28-year-old franchise shortstop.
I'll still follow them. I'll still care.
But to go there and spend my hard-earned money on that team? Sorry, not happening.
There was no way in hell that they were even going to try to bring Reyes back. It was all a complete charade. The idiotic owners, namely Freddie Coupon and Coupon Jr. once again lied to all of us Met fans, like for the 2,378th time, when they said they were going to make every effort to bring Reyes back.
Now we learn today that Reyes never received an official offer from them. What do they think we are? Totally stupid? I may drink the blue and orange Kool-Aid from time to time, but do not dare to insult my intelligence.
If you didn't even try to sign Reyes, that proves you don't care what is on the field in 2012.
And if you don't care, then why, as someone who forks over $3,500 of my money on tickets _ and that's before I even try to compute the cost of parking, beer, hot dogs (yes, I eat), you name it _ should I care? Why should I care what they do if the damned owners of the team don't care?
Gee, they're offering a discount on their tickets this year. Big whoop-de-damn-doo as Derrick Coleman once said. Discount to see a totally inferior product. Sorry, but Ruben Tejada, as nice of a player he seems to be, does not excite the masses. No one excited Met fans more than Reyes beating out a triple. Only Mookie Wilson's basepaths exploits were more enjoyable.
If they weren't going to re-sign Reyes or even make an attempt to do so, then they should have traded him last season. No, they knew they couldn't get fair value so they sat on him, gave some Met fans hope, then let him walk away without even an offer.
Why stop here? Let's trade David Wright now while we're at it. What the hell? Get rid of everyone.
I love reading the posts and quips today that said that the Mets are better off without Reyes.
"Hey, they didn't win with him."
"He's not worth it."
"He's only going to get hurt."
The whole "win with him'' thing irks me. Did the Red Sox win with Ted Williams? How about the Cubs with Ernie Banks? It didn't mean those teams got rid of those players because the team didn't win.
Not worth it? Not worth six years? Reyes is 27, going to be 28. He's in the prime of his career. At the end of his contract, he'll be 33. Is that an old man?
Did the team across the East River kick their franchise to the curb when he was 33? No, I don't think so.
The ''going to get hurt'' excuse is also laughable. Sure, Reyes has been injured a few times over the last four years...but look at his numbers when he's healthy. It's scary. No one in the National League put up the all-around numbers he did. NO ONE!
Need proof? Here goes:
2005: 99 runs scored, 190 hits, 7 HR, 58 RBI, .273 BA, 60 SB
2006: 122 runs scored, 194 hits, 19 HR, 81 RBI, .300 BA, 64 SB
2007: 119 runs scored, 191 hits, 12 HR, 57 RBI, .280 BA, 78 SB
2008: 113 runs scored, 204 hits, 16 HR, 68 RBI, .297 BA, 56 SB
2009: injured, 36 games
2010: 11 HR, 54 RBI, .282, 30 SB
2011: 101 runs scored, 181 hits, 7 HR, 44 RBI, .337, 39 SB
Pujols doesn't produce those overall numbers.
How can the Mets be better off without him? Better yet, who dares to be the leadoff hitter now?
So to the Mets' ownership (morons one and all), I bid adieu...it's done...my season ticket ownership is finished.
Come next April, when I used to have to sit in hours of traffic to go watch the Mets, I'll be doing creative needlepoint at the local YMCA or perhaps catching up on my classical music collection or maybe even taking a class to enhance my horrendous math skills.
Anything but going to Flushing and see the Mets. Thanks to the liars who run that asylum, I won't be going.
However, after I received official confirmation that my beloved Jose Reyes had signed with the Miami Marlins for a boat load of cash, I started to do some computations.
I've been at least a partial season ticket holder for the New York Mets since the 1989 season. In the beginning, it was a six-game "Six Pack," but for the last 10 years, it's been a 15-game or over the last three years at CitiField, a 20-game package.
So I've figured out that I've spent more than $40,000 in Met tickets over the last 22 years. That's enough to buy a new Buick.
Well, that ends today. I have decided to not renew my Met season ticket plan.
If the Mets don't care about what product they put on the field, then why should I care about what they do?
I mean, I'll never stop being a Met fan. No way, no how. It's not like I'm going to take all 74 of my Met shirts and 39 of my Met hats and burn them in some gigantic bonfire over not re-signing their 28-year-old franchise shortstop.
I'll still follow them. I'll still care.
But to go there and spend my hard-earned money on that team? Sorry, not happening.
There was no way in hell that they were even going to try to bring Reyes back. It was all a complete charade. The idiotic owners, namely Freddie Coupon and Coupon Jr. once again lied to all of us Met fans, like for the 2,378th time, when they said they were going to make every effort to bring Reyes back.
Now we learn today that Reyes never received an official offer from them. What do they think we are? Totally stupid? I may drink the blue and orange Kool-Aid from time to time, but do not dare to insult my intelligence.
If you didn't even try to sign Reyes, that proves you don't care what is on the field in 2012.
And if you don't care, then why, as someone who forks over $3,500 of my money on tickets _ and that's before I even try to compute the cost of parking, beer, hot dogs (yes, I eat), you name it _ should I care? Why should I care what they do if the damned owners of the team don't care?
Gee, they're offering a discount on their tickets this year. Big whoop-de-damn-doo as Derrick Coleman once said. Discount to see a totally inferior product. Sorry, but Ruben Tejada, as nice of a player he seems to be, does not excite the masses. No one excited Met fans more than Reyes beating out a triple. Only Mookie Wilson's basepaths exploits were more enjoyable.
If they weren't going to re-sign Reyes or even make an attempt to do so, then they should have traded him last season. No, they knew they couldn't get fair value so they sat on him, gave some Met fans hope, then let him walk away without even an offer.
Why stop here? Let's trade David Wright now while we're at it. What the hell? Get rid of everyone.
I love reading the posts and quips today that said that the Mets are better off without Reyes.
"Hey, they didn't win with him."
"He's not worth it."
"He's only going to get hurt."
The whole "win with him'' thing irks me. Did the Red Sox win with Ted Williams? How about the Cubs with Ernie Banks? It didn't mean those teams got rid of those players because the team didn't win.
Not worth it? Not worth six years? Reyes is 27, going to be 28. He's in the prime of his career. At the end of his contract, he'll be 33. Is that an old man?
Did the team across the East River kick their franchise to the curb when he was 33? No, I don't think so.
The ''going to get hurt'' excuse is also laughable. Sure, Reyes has been injured a few times over the last four years...but look at his numbers when he's healthy. It's scary. No one in the National League put up the all-around numbers he did. NO ONE!
Need proof? Here goes:
2005: 99 runs scored, 190 hits, 7 HR, 58 RBI, .273 BA, 60 SB
2006: 122 runs scored, 194 hits, 19 HR, 81 RBI, .300 BA, 64 SB
2007: 119 runs scored, 191 hits, 12 HR, 57 RBI, .280 BA, 78 SB
2008: 113 runs scored, 204 hits, 16 HR, 68 RBI, .297 BA, 56 SB
2009: injured, 36 games
2010: 11 HR, 54 RBI, .282, 30 SB
2011: 101 runs scored, 181 hits, 7 HR, 44 RBI, .337, 39 SB
Pujols doesn't produce those overall numbers.
How can the Mets be better off without him? Better yet, who dares to be the leadoff hitter now?
So to the Mets' ownership (morons one and all), I bid adieu...it's done...my season ticket ownership is finished.
Come next April, when I used to have to sit in hours of traffic to go watch the Mets, I'll be doing creative needlepoint at the local YMCA or perhaps catching up on my classical music collection or maybe even taking a class to enhance my horrendous math skills.
Anything but going to Flushing and see the Mets. Thanks to the liars who run that asylum, I won't be going.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Doing the right thing in Wayne, Matawan
It might have taken a few weeks, but the powers-that-be in Wayne got it right when they reinstated the suspension of the nine Wayne Hills football players who were involved in the altercation with two Wayne Valley students that caused serious injuries.
Wayne Hills will have to face Old Tappan for the NJSIAA North Jersey Section 1, Group III championship tomorrow night at MetLife Stadium without the nine suspended players _ and deservedly so.
The Wayne Hills nine (sounds like an old baseball team) were first suspended by the Board of Education, then reinstated after a disgraceful public display at a Board hearing, then re-suspended by the Superintendent, then finally after a legal appeal process from some attorneys represented the suspended players, they were ruled ineligible by a state Administrative Law judge and finally upheld by the state Commissioner of Education.
It was a lengthy, costly process where there were no winners. The bottom line was that those teenagers lost all right to play football once they were arrested.
These legal eagles tried twist the fate a little by stating in their appeals that the players didn't deserve to be suspended for reasons such as:
1.) There was no proof that three of the accused nine were present at the time of the incident.
2.) They are being prosecuted by the court of public opinion and their reputations are forever tarnished because of the suspensions and that the general public will know the identities of the nine (excluding the adult charged, Andrew Monaghan) by figuring out which ones are missing at the game Saturday by looking at the roster.
3.) That they are being punished before they get their day in court.
4.) That the incident did not take place during school hours or during a school activity, so therefore the school district has no right to enforce any punishment against them.
All of that is hogwash. They lost every right to be Wayne Hills football players the minute they were arrested. Guilty or not in the court of law, they relinquished their privilege rights once they were carted to the police precinct and booked. End of subject.
If they play another sport at the school, the same thing should apply. They should not be eligible to participate in athletics until they have had their day in court and they are then exonerated. Without that, they are done. Plain and simple.
But there were a lot of people in Wayne who wanted to circumvent the laws and who didn't want to do the right thing by keeping those kids on the sidelines. Well, that didn't work and the right thing was done _ ironically in a court of law with attorneys fighting tooth and nail, using every excuse in the book except common sense, in the process.
They're out and bravo on that.
About 60 miles south of Wayne, there was another incident that involved suspensions of football players who didn't do the right thing. Only this case wasn't highly publicized. There were no arrests. There were no court appearances, appeals, public meetings with teams in full uniform. Nothing.
Matawan will play at Rutgers Stadium Saturday night against Rumson-Fair Haven for the Central Jersey Group II championship. Matawan will be a little shorthanded, because five players were suspended by head football coach Joe Martucci, who also serves as the school's athletic director, because they did something really stupid.
Nothing criminal, nothing that required police, just plain stupid teenage idiocy. But Martucci, knowing that the kids deserved to be punished, followed the school policy and suspended the five gridders for two weeks. It happens to include the state championship game.
There was no fanfare, no controversy, no press conferences. Just a football coach and administrator doing the right thing and punishing kids for inappropriate behavior.
Star-Ledger columnist Steve Politi did a fine job in reporting the Matawan incident in today's column.
Here's the link: http://www.nj.com/hssports/blog/football/index.ssf/2011/12/politi_unlike_wayne_hills_matawan_high_school_handles_a_discipline_issue_the_right_way.html
Why Wayne Hills couldn't do the same thing in the first place is beyond me.
Bravo to Martucci who had to make a tough decision, one that may hurt his team's chances to win a state title. But in education, what's right is right. Martucci knows that.
==========================================================================
For the wizards out there who think that you can equate the Penn State-Sandusky case with the Syracuse-Fine case, here's something to chew on:
1. No one has been arrested in the Syracuse case yet. There have been no handcuffs, no federal indictments, no perp walks, nothing. Crimes took place in Happy Valley. Those were criminal acts.
2. There are legitimate witnesses who saw Sandusky with the little boys. It's documented in an indictment report. There is graphic proof that has been presented in a court of law.
3. There is also allegations of heinous acts against the little boys in Pennsylvania. In Syracuse, it appears that we have two disgruntled stepbrothers and one illusional child molester who can't seem to tell the truth.
4. So until someone gets arrested in Syracuse, this is just allegations and speculation. Penn State, there have been arrests.
Now, my two cents on the Bernie Fine case. It seems to be more of a bizarre, whacked out marriage gone wrong. To think that this Bobby Davis was molested and fondled by Fine for years, then he ends up in bed with his wife? She felt bad that the boy was fondled, so she decided to have some of him herself?
And if Davis was so mortified and bothered by the molestation for years, then why did he go back for more at age 26? At age 26, then it's not child molestation. It's called a gay affair.
The Tomaselli kid, who is apparently another victim, is another piece of work. He is up on child molestation charges in Maine and decides to tell the authorities about Fine to lessen the charges against himself? His story about going on the team bus to Pittsburgh holds no credence, because they didn't travel by bus. His own father said that the kid is lying and then Tomaselli counters by saying his father molested him. Ugh.
But ESPN, the high and almighty sports phenomenon, which only reports the truth, continues to parade these people on air to tell stories that they can't really confirm.
And for anyone to think that the Syracuse's problem is just as bad as Penn State's, do yourself a favor. Google the Sandusky indictment report. It's online. It's a legal document. After you reach for the Pepto for being sick to your stomach, come back and tell me it's the same thing as a disgruntled adult, who had sex with the accused's wife of all things, coming forth and saying he was touched inappropriately.
The two are not the same by any means, other than they accuse a college assistant coach of child molestation.
Penn State's case is legitimized in the court of law. Syracuse's case right now is speculation and accustation.
==========================================================================
One final note. Kentucky freshman Anthony Davis is the most imposing, most impressive college basketball player I've seen since an 18-year-old manchild named Shaquille O'Neal arrived at LSU in 1990.
The 6-foot-11 Davis has arms longer than Lindsay Lohan's stays in rehab. He blocks nearly every shot in sight. He runs the floor like a gazelle and he has soft hands to catch and shoot. He's the total package.
I read last night where one NBA scout was quoted as saying that Davis' "upside is tremendous." That's an understatement. The kid in three years could become the next Bill Russell. He's that good.
==========================================================================
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com (great piece on SPC point guard Brandon Hall upcoming this Sunday), www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com, where I will be all over the Morris County teams in the NJSIAA state sectional finals.
Wayne Hills will have to face Old Tappan for the NJSIAA North Jersey Section 1, Group III championship tomorrow night at MetLife Stadium without the nine suspended players _ and deservedly so.
The Wayne Hills nine (sounds like an old baseball team) were first suspended by the Board of Education, then reinstated after a disgraceful public display at a Board hearing, then re-suspended by the Superintendent, then finally after a legal appeal process from some attorneys represented the suspended players, they were ruled ineligible by a state Administrative Law judge and finally upheld by the state Commissioner of Education.
It was a lengthy, costly process where there were no winners. The bottom line was that those teenagers lost all right to play football once they were arrested.
These legal eagles tried twist the fate a little by stating in their appeals that the players didn't deserve to be suspended for reasons such as:
1.) There was no proof that three of the accused nine were present at the time of the incident.
2.) They are being prosecuted by the court of public opinion and their reputations are forever tarnished because of the suspensions and that the general public will know the identities of the nine (excluding the adult charged, Andrew Monaghan) by figuring out which ones are missing at the game Saturday by looking at the roster.
3.) That they are being punished before they get their day in court.
4.) That the incident did not take place during school hours or during a school activity, so therefore the school district has no right to enforce any punishment against them.
All of that is hogwash. They lost every right to be Wayne Hills football players the minute they were arrested. Guilty or not in the court of law, they relinquished their privilege rights once they were carted to the police precinct and booked. End of subject.
If they play another sport at the school, the same thing should apply. They should not be eligible to participate in athletics until they have had their day in court and they are then exonerated. Without that, they are done. Plain and simple.
But there were a lot of people in Wayne who wanted to circumvent the laws and who didn't want to do the right thing by keeping those kids on the sidelines. Well, that didn't work and the right thing was done _ ironically in a court of law with attorneys fighting tooth and nail, using every excuse in the book except common sense, in the process.
They're out and bravo on that.
About 60 miles south of Wayne, there was another incident that involved suspensions of football players who didn't do the right thing. Only this case wasn't highly publicized. There were no arrests. There were no court appearances, appeals, public meetings with teams in full uniform. Nothing.
Matawan will play at Rutgers Stadium Saturday night against Rumson-Fair Haven for the Central Jersey Group II championship. Matawan will be a little shorthanded, because five players were suspended by head football coach Joe Martucci, who also serves as the school's athletic director, because they did something really stupid.
Nothing criminal, nothing that required police, just plain stupid teenage idiocy. But Martucci, knowing that the kids deserved to be punished, followed the school policy and suspended the five gridders for two weeks. It happens to include the state championship game.
There was no fanfare, no controversy, no press conferences. Just a football coach and administrator doing the right thing and punishing kids for inappropriate behavior.
Star-Ledger columnist Steve Politi did a fine job in reporting the Matawan incident in today's column.
Here's the link: http://www.nj.com/hssports/blog/football/index.ssf/2011/12/politi_unlike_wayne_hills_matawan_high_school_handles_a_discipline_issue_the_right_way.html
Why Wayne Hills couldn't do the same thing in the first place is beyond me.
Bravo to Martucci who had to make a tough decision, one that may hurt his team's chances to win a state title. But in education, what's right is right. Martucci knows that.
==========================================================================
For the wizards out there who think that you can equate the Penn State-Sandusky case with the Syracuse-Fine case, here's something to chew on:
1. No one has been arrested in the Syracuse case yet. There have been no handcuffs, no federal indictments, no perp walks, nothing. Crimes took place in Happy Valley. Those were criminal acts.
2. There are legitimate witnesses who saw Sandusky with the little boys. It's documented in an indictment report. There is graphic proof that has been presented in a court of law.
3. There is also allegations of heinous acts against the little boys in Pennsylvania. In Syracuse, it appears that we have two disgruntled stepbrothers and one illusional child molester who can't seem to tell the truth.
4. So until someone gets arrested in Syracuse, this is just allegations and speculation. Penn State, there have been arrests.
Now, my two cents on the Bernie Fine case. It seems to be more of a bizarre, whacked out marriage gone wrong. To think that this Bobby Davis was molested and fondled by Fine for years, then he ends up in bed with his wife? She felt bad that the boy was fondled, so she decided to have some of him herself?
And if Davis was so mortified and bothered by the molestation for years, then why did he go back for more at age 26? At age 26, then it's not child molestation. It's called a gay affair.
The Tomaselli kid, who is apparently another victim, is another piece of work. He is up on child molestation charges in Maine and decides to tell the authorities about Fine to lessen the charges against himself? His story about going on the team bus to Pittsburgh holds no credence, because they didn't travel by bus. His own father said that the kid is lying and then Tomaselli counters by saying his father molested him. Ugh.
But ESPN, the high and almighty sports phenomenon, which only reports the truth, continues to parade these people on air to tell stories that they can't really confirm.
And for anyone to think that the Syracuse's problem is just as bad as Penn State's, do yourself a favor. Google the Sandusky indictment report. It's online. It's a legal document. After you reach for the Pepto for being sick to your stomach, come back and tell me it's the same thing as a disgruntled adult, who had sex with the accused's wife of all things, coming forth and saying he was touched inappropriately.
The two are not the same by any means, other than they accuse a college assistant coach of child molestation.
Penn State's case is legitimized in the court of law. Syracuse's case right now is speculation and accustation.
==========================================================================
One final note. Kentucky freshman Anthony Davis is the most imposing, most impressive college basketball player I've seen since an 18-year-old manchild named Shaquille O'Neal arrived at LSU in 1990.
The 6-foot-11 Davis has arms longer than Lindsay Lohan's stays in rehab. He blocks nearly every shot in sight. He runs the floor like a gazelle and he has soft hands to catch and shoot. He's the total package.
I read last night where one NBA scout was quoted as saying that Davis' "upside is tremendous." That's an understatement. The kid in three years could become the next Bill Russell. He's that good.
==========================================================================
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com (great piece on SPC point guard Brandon Hall upcoming this Sunday), www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com, where I will be all over the Morris County teams in the NJSIAA state sectional finals.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Wayne Hills football situation: Much like Steven Seagal
Wayne Hills won another NJSIAA North 1, Group III state playoff game the other night, defeating Paramus in convincing fashion. It's something that the school has done practically a gazillion times over the last 30 years. Winning is an annual ritual at Wayne Hills.
But so is the actions of their head coach and athletic director Chris Olsen, who continues to act like he's part of a Steven Seagal movie, you know "Above the Law."
Nine of Olsen's players were allegedly involved in a brutal beating of two players from neighboring Wayne Valley a few weeks ago, one beaten unconscious and dragged to the curb like the weekend trash. There are reports that the victims were not only beaten, but then kicked and stomped while lying on the ground. Yeah, real Boy Scouts, true credits to their school and program.
However, instead of facing punishment for what they did _ and one, a beautiful young man named Andrew Monaghan, who is supposed to be an adult now because he's 18 years old _ Olsen used his massive influence to have his entire team wear their football jerseys and appear at a Wayne Board of Education meeting convened to determine the bastions of goodness' eligibility to play.
So the Board of Ed, feeling the immense presence of Olsen and the gigantic pressure of winning at all and any cost, said that there wasn't sufficient evidence to prove that three of the alleged geniuses were actually there at the incident, so therefore, they should all play.
Now, that's one of the greatest rulings of all time. If we go on that premise, then several of the Manson family _ including Good Time Charlie himself _ should have never been charged in the horrific Tate-LoBianca murders, because, hey, they weren't there.
There is no way in the world that these kids should have been anywhere near that football field Friday night. None.
There are a lot of issues to address here.
First, let's start with the least culpible people, the members of the Wayne Board of Education, who allowed these wonderful role models to get on the field.
They first made a ruling, declaring the nine kids ineligible to play. Perfect. Smart move. But then they reconvene after some legal eagles step in and provided "evidence" that three of them weren't present during the attack. So there was another vote, one with 60 or so other Wayne Hills players present wearing their football jerseys (gee, you think that was organized on their own?) and allowed the nine to play.
"Because it is a criminal investigation, the attorneys were reluctant to give us everything they had," Board of Education trustee Allan Mordkoff told the Record of Hackensack.
"It wasn't a full-blown trial," Mordkoff said. "But we wanted to give it another look because what we were presented wouldn't let us sustain a suspension."
Perhaps the victim's medical records or photos of his battered face would have been enough proof.
Another lawyer, who apparently represents six of the nine accused Wayne Hills players, said that there was no proof of a "beating or stomping."
Again, the suggestion is an interview of the victim or perhaps the Wayne police members investigating the case.
So to these Board of Education members, who were elected by the citizens of Wayne, elected to represent the needs of their constituents, the question remains: What about the victims? After all, they are students in your own district. Sure, it's a rival school, but their parents are Wayne taxpayers all the same. Are you turning a blind eye for the good of the almighty Wayne Hills football program? What do you say to those parents who had to endure their children's hospitalization and recovery?
That's a disgrace. Wayne Valley has always been the ugly stepsister in the eyes of the Wayne Board of Education, that everyone always catered to the needs of Wayne Hills first and foremost. Well, here's proof.
Now, to address Coach Olsen.
I want to say that Chris Olsen is someone I've known for almost 30 years. He's someone who I respect as a football coach and unlike other members of the media, who despise him, I personally like him. He's always been very good with me. He's invited me to his home on several occasions. I've written many stories about him, his team, his sons. I've been fortunate to say I've never had an issue with Chris whatsoever. In that respect, I am of the minority, because he's had issues with a lot of others.
And now, honestly, this is just another case of Coach Olsen truly believing that he's like Steven Seagal, namely above the law.
It was that way when he was the coach of Paterson Eastside, brought in to turn around the Ghosts' program by the immortal educator Joe "Lean on Me" Clark, a man who realized how important football was to the overall discipline of his students.
Olsen eventually wore out his welcome at Eastside, eventually even alienating maybe his lone ally in Clark, simply because Olsen only wanted to coach football and nothing else. Olsen didn't see the situation like everyone else did and he resigned, because he simply couldn't get his way.
Olsen has moved on to Wayne Hills and the controversy has continued. About 15 years ago, Olsen was allegedly involved _ and later legally embroiled _ in a fistfight with one of his assistant coaches. It was a case that lingered for almost two years, with accusations and allegations flying about. It was so much a "cloak-and-dagger" case that I had several meetings with people involved in the altercation, but only in secluded, out of the way places, because they didn't want to be seen or spotted saying anything negative about Olsen.
Olsen maintained that he did nothing wrong in the incident with his assistant coach and he couldn't believe that news of the fight was leaked to the police and later the media.
Olsen was also involved with another controversial incident, one that Olsen couldn't avoid a suspension, even though he truly believed he did nothing wrong. Again, above the law.
Olsen used his then 12-year-old seventh grade son in a scrimmage. The NJSIAA got wind of this case and suspended Olsen for four games at the start of the season. Olsen insisted that he put his son into the scrimmage to prove a point, a learning lesson so to speak, to the rest of his Patriot players that being the quarterback wasn't that difficult, because his grammar school aged son could do it.
Olsen truly believed then that he did nothing wrong. When asked if he thought he put his pre-teen son in physical danger, he said that he was the boy's father and knew what was best for him.
Now, this case. It's a bad pattern.
Chris Olsen should have used better common sense in all of the aforementioned incidents, including this latest slice of controversy.
Is he a good football coach? Absolutely. I also believe he's a decent man, a good father. But Olsen wears blinders that prohibits him from seeing the whole picture.
If it's about winning at all cost, his team more than likely would have still defeated Paramus on Friday night without the nine players. It throws salt into the wounds of Paramus _ and the victims of the "physical incident" _ that Monaghan, the only 18-year-old charged in the crime, scored a touchdown.
And yes, it has to be called a "physical incident," because after all, the legal eagles say it wasn't a "beating or a stomping." Yeah, the victim was unconscious on his own, left in the gutter to bleed on his own.
And to actually organize the remaining players to show up at the Board of Ed meeting wearing their jerseys? There's no way in hell that these kids did this on their own. They were coached.
Chris Olsen is once again guilty of thinking that he is truly above the law, that he should determine what's good and right and just.
Baloney.
Those kids should not have played. The suspensions should have stuck.
And for those who believe that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, yes, I agree. In the court of law. That's where it applies. These kids are indeed innocent until they face the charges in court.
However, high school athletics is not the court of law. It's not life. It's a privilege.
A high school kid is privileged to be able to participate in athletics. It's not a state-mandarted requirement, like English and math are. It's not something that has to be provided by the Board of Education. It's a reward for hard work, discipline, teamwork, getting good grades.
And once you get arrested of a crime _ yes, aggravated assault is a crime _ then you lose all of those privileges, until it is proven in the court of law that you are innocent. You relinquish those privileges. Plain and simple.
I've had this argument with several coaches over the last few years, after local athletes were arrested for similar crimes. I'm steadfast with that belief. You get arrested of a crime, you're done until you're proven innocent in the court of law. End of privilege.
If you allow an arrested kid a chance to play, what message does it send to everyone else? "Hey, he beat someone to a pulp and can play. Why can't I?" It's an awful message. And what lesson, punishment is provided to those who were involved? None? Aren't we in the business of education?
But hey, some said that since the incident didn't take place during school hours, it should not relate to the athletic fields of play. Yeah, right. If you're an athlete, you represent your school. You get arrested, you disgrace your school.
So Wayne Hills will move on to the Group III state championship game and a rematch with Old Tappan and the state's best quarterback, Devon Fuller. No harm, no foul, right?
Try saying that to the two kids from Wayne Valley who were beaten, stomped, dragged, whatever way you want to slice it.
==========================================================================
ESPN should be totally ashamed of itself for running with this "Behind the Lines" segment, implicating Syracuse assistant basketball coach Bernie Fine.
It looks like the network, which also believes it is the pinnacle of everything in the world, is racing to put this sensationalistic slice of shiite on the tube without any justification.
We're going to get a slew of these stories now after the disgusting Penn State saga, but this one, without a legitimate police report, arrest and simply the allegations of two men (who happen to be brothers of all things), is just wrong.
==========================================================================
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com (Athlete of the Week story this week is a Hollywood script), www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com
So these Wayne Hills kids will remain eligible and pay
But so is the actions of their head coach and athletic director Chris Olsen, who continues to act like he's part of a Steven Seagal movie, you know "Above the Law."
Nine of Olsen's players were allegedly involved in a brutal beating of two players from neighboring Wayne Valley a few weeks ago, one beaten unconscious and dragged to the curb like the weekend trash. There are reports that the victims were not only beaten, but then kicked and stomped while lying on the ground. Yeah, real Boy Scouts, true credits to their school and program.
However, instead of facing punishment for what they did _ and one, a beautiful young man named Andrew Monaghan, who is supposed to be an adult now because he's 18 years old _ Olsen used his massive influence to have his entire team wear their football jerseys and appear at a Wayne Board of Education meeting convened to determine the bastions of goodness' eligibility to play.
So the Board of Ed, feeling the immense presence of Olsen and the gigantic pressure of winning at all and any cost, said that there wasn't sufficient evidence to prove that three of the alleged geniuses were actually there at the incident, so therefore, they should all play.
Now, that's one of the greatest rulings of all time. If we go on that premise, then several of the Manson family _ including Good Time Charlie himself _ should have never been charged in the horrific Tate-LoBianca murders, because, hey, they weren't there.
There is no way in the world that these kids should have been anywhere near that football field Friday night. None.
There are a lot of issues to address here.
First, let's start with the least culpible people, the members of the Wayne Board of Education, who allowed these wonderful role models to get on the field.
They first made a ruling, declaring the nine kids ineligible to play. Perfect. Smart move. But then they reconvene after some legal eagles step in and provided "evidence" that three of them weren't present during the attack. So there was another vote, one with 60 or so other Wayne Hills players present wearing their football jerseys (gee, you think that was organized on their own?) and allowed the nine to play.
"Because it is a criminal investigation, the attorneys were reluctant to give us everything they had," Board of Education trustee Allan Mordkoff told the Record of Hackensack.
"It wasn't a full-blown trial," Mordkoff said. "But we wanted to give it another look because what we were presented wouldn't let us sustain a suspension."
Perhaps the victim's medical records or photos of his battered face would have been enough proof.
Another lawyer, who apparently represents six of the nine accused Wayne Hills players, said that there was no proof of a "beating or stomping."
Again, the suggestion is an interview of the victim or perhaps the Wayne police members investigating the case.
So to these Board of Education members, who were elected by the citizens of Wayne, elected to represent the needs of their constituents, the question remains: What about the victims? After all, they are students in your own district. Sure, it's a rival school, but their parents are Wayne taxpayers all the same. Are you turning a blind eye for the good of the almighty Wayne Hills football program? What do you say to those parents who had to endure their children's hospitalization and recovery?
That's a disgrace. Wayne Valley has always been the ugly stepsister in the eyes of the Wayne Board of Education, that everyone always catered to the needs of Wayne Hills first and foremost. Well, here's proof.
Now, to address Coach Olsen.
I want to say that Chris Olsen is someone I've known for almost 30 years. He's someone who I respect as a football coach and unlike other members of the media, who despise him, I personally like him. He's always been very good with me. He's invited me to his home on several occasions. I've written many stories about him, his team, his sons. I've been fortunate to say I've never had an issue with Chris whatsoever. In that respect, I am of the minority, because he's had issues with a lot of others.
And now, honestly, this is just another case of Coach Olsen truly believing that he's like Steven Seagal, namely above the law.
It was that way when he was the coach of Paterson Eastside, brought in to turn around the Ghosts' program by the immortal educator Joe "Lean on Me" Clark, a man who realized how important football was to the overall discipline of his students.
Olsen eventually wore out his welcome at Eastside, eventually even alienating maybe his lone ally in Clark, simply because Olsen only wanted to coach football and nothing else. Olsen didn't see the situation like everyone else did and he resigned, because he simply couldn't get his way.
Olsen has moved on to Wayne Hills and the controversy has continued. About 15 years ago, Olsen was allegedly involved _ and later legally embroiled _ in a fistfight with one of his assistant coaches. It was a case that lingered for almost two years, with accusations and allegations flying about. It was so much a "cloak-and-dagger" case that I had several meetings with people involved in the altercation, but only in secluded, out of the way places, because they didn't want to be seen or spotted saying anything negative about Olsen.
Olsen maintained that he did nothing wrong in the incident with his assistant coach and he couldn't believe that news of the fight was leaked to the police and later the media.
Olsen was also involved with another controversial incident, one that Olsen couldn't avoid a suspension, even though he truly believed he did nothing wrong. Again, above the law.
Olsen used his then 12-year-old seventh grade son in a scrimmage. The NJSIAA got wind of this case and suspended Olsen for four games at the start of the season. Olsen insisted that he put his son into the scrimmage to prove a point, a learning lesson so to speak, to the rest of his Patriot players that being the quarterback wasn't that difficult, because his grammar school aged son could do it.
Olsen truly believed then that he did nothing wrong. When asked if he thought he put his pre-teen son in physical danger, he said that he was the boy's father and knew what was best for him.
Now, this case. It's a bad pattern.
Chris Olsen should have used better common sense in all of the aforementioned incidents, including this latest slice of controversy.
Is he a good football coach? Absolutely. I also believe he's a decent man, a good father. But Olsen wears blinders that prohibits him from seeing the whole picture.
If it's about winning at all cost, his team more than likely would have still defeated Paramus on Friday night without the nine players. It throws salt into the wounds of Paramus _ and the victims of the "physical incident" _ that Monaghan, the only 18-year-old charged in the crime, scored a touchdown.
And yes, it has to be called a "physical incident," because after all, the legal eagles say it wasn't a "beating or a stomping." Yeah, the victim was unconscious on his own, left in the gutter to bleed on his own.
And to actually organize the remaining players to show up at the Board of Ed meeting wearing their jerseys? There's no way in hell that these kids did this on their own. They were coached.
Chris Olsen is once again guilty of thinking that he is truly above the law, that he should determine what's good and right and just.
Baloney.
Those kids should not have played. The suspensions should have stuck.
And for those who believe that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, yes, I agree. In the court of law. That's where it applies. These kids are indeed innocent until they face the charges in court.
However, high school athletics is not the court of law. It's not life. It's a privilege.
A high school kid is privileged to be able to participate in athletics. It's not a state-mandarted requirement, like English and math are. It's not something that has to be provided by the Board of Education. It's a reward for hard work, discipline, teamwork, getting good grades.
And once you get arrested of a crime _ yes, aggravated assault is a crime _ then you lose all of those privileges, until it is proven in the court of law that you are innocent. You relinquish those privileges. Plain and simple.
I've had this argument with several coaches over the last few years, after local athletes were arrested for similar crimes. I'm steadfast with that belief. You get arrested of a crime, you're done until you're proven innocent in the court of law. End of privilege.
If you allow an arrested kid a chance to play, what message does it send to everyone else? "Hey, he beat someone to a pulp and can play. Why can't I?" It's an awful message. And what lesson, punishment is provided to those who were involved? None? Aren't we in the business of education?
But hey, some said that since the incident didn't take place during school hours, it should not relate to the athletic fields of play. Yeah, right. If you're an athlete, you represent your school. You get arrested, you disgrace your school.
So Wayne Hills will move on to the Group III state championship game and a rematch with Old Tappan and the state's best quarterback, Devon Fuller. No harm, no foul, right?
Try saying that to the two kids from Wayne Valley who were beaten, stomped, dragged, whatever way you want to slice it.
==========================================================================
ESPN should be totally ashamed of itself for running with this "Behind the Lines" segment, implicating Syracuse assistant basketball coach Bernie Fine.
It looks like the network, which also believes it is the pinnacle of everything in the world, is racing to put this sensationalistic slice of shiite on the tube without any justification.
We're going to get a slew of these stories now after the disgusting Penn State saga, but this one, without a legitimate police report, arrest and simply the allegations of two men (who happen to be brothers of all things), is just wrong.
==========================================================================
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com (Athlete of the Week story this week is a Hollywood script), www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com
So these Wayne Hills kids will remain eligible and pay
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Smokin' Joe and the Electric Slide
The news that came down early this morning that former heavyweight boxing champion "Smokin'" Joe Frazier was under hospice care, nearing the end of a battle with liver cancer, certainly hit close to home for a multitude of reasons.
For one, Frazier was my favorite boxer as a little kid. He was a relentless warrior in the ring, a man who defied the odds. He was considered too small to become the heavyweight champ, but he managed to overcome that stereotype to win the title in the early 1970s.
I also vividly remember Monday, March 8, 1971. I was a fourth grader, but already a huge sports fan. My father knew that and encouraged by love of sports at every opportunity. If he was still around today, he would have totally enjoyed the fact that I basically have a poor-paying hobby as a sportswriter and not a real job so to speak.
Anyway, on that day, my father was insistent that I had to get my homework done. I never asked why, but he was on top of it all day. My father worked for the city of Jersey City in the automotive department and had the night shift, working from 4 p.m. to midnight. He always had dinner with us, but went back to work and came home long after I was in bed.
So that day, I asked him why he was so intent on me getting my homework done. He said, ``Well, isn't that fight tonight?" He was referring to the first of the trilogy of wars between Frazier and Muhammad Ali that was set for that night at Madison Square Garden.
I told my father that I planned on listening to the fight on my little transistor radio that I used to put under my pillow. That little transistor allowed me to envision Madison Square Garden in my head, thanks to the voice of Marv Albert. Marvelous Marv allowed me to dream of the Knicks, the days of DeBusschere, Bradley, Reed and Clyde, when I loved the NBA. Now, it's like root canal. Better yet, what is the NBA?
My father said, ``Good, I just want to make sure you get your homework done."
I always did my homework, so I didn't know why he was so insistent.
He then came home from work and told me that we were going for a ride. I never missed a chance to go anywhere with my father, so I just grabbed my coat and headed for the car.
We started driving and I asked him where we were going.
``Don't ask so many questions,'' he said.
We headed for the Holland Tunnel. I asked why we were going to New York. I also said I wanted to be home in time for the fight.
``Don't worry,'' he said. We kept driving and we were close to the Garden. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets to the fight.
Sure, it's not the most conventional sporting event for a 10-year-old, but I was with my father. The place was packed and we were sitting in the general vicinity of big celebrities, like Frank Sinatra and Soupy Sales./ Hey, at that time, Soupy was a legend in my eyes.
Well, my man Joe Frazier won the fight, knocked down Ali in an epic battle. It is one of my fondest memories of being with my father, who was sick, dead and gone from cancer some eight months later.
I followed Frazier throughout the many storied moments. I went to the Stanley Theater in Jersey City and paid $20 to see the closed circuit viewing of Ali-Frazier III, the fight known as "The Thriller in Manila." I was about 13 or 14 then and was alone in a theater with a packed audience of rabid adults. But it was my money and I wanted to see it. I remember scoring the fight on a notebook in the dark (the sportswriter in me was already in full bloom) and thinking Frazier had the fight won if he could last the 15th round.
Battered, his eyes almost closed shut, Frazier's trainer Eddie Futch called an end to the fight and Ali won via technical knockout after 14 rounds. It was a fight that took years off the lives of both boxers. It was a brutal, physical, epic war.
There were other memorable moments, like Frazier showing off his lack of swimming skills during ABC's Superstars competition, his fight with George Foreman with Howard Cosell's memorable call of "Down goes Frazier, down goes Frazier," and his return to boxingn managing son Marvis' career.
Joe Frazier was always someone I followed and admired.
Flash forward to 1994. Tracey Tullock, a girl who I coached when she was in grammar school at my alma mater St. Paul's of Greenville in Jersey City, was in need of a costly heart operation in St. Louis. Her father asked me if I could help organize a fundraiser to help defray the cost of the surgery.
So I agreed to help and decided to see if I could get some assistance in raising money. I called my friend, the late Willie Wolfe, who was one of the most generous people I've ever known.
Whenever I needed anything, Willie was always there. He had a lot of connections in the sports world, including several members of the 1969 Miracle Mets, some former Giants and a bunch of boxers.
When I told Willie I was helping with the fundraiser for Tracey, he told me I could have anything I wanted. The next day, he arrived at my front door with a garbage bag full of memorabilia to raffle off. There were autographed pictures galore from the Mets, the Giants, and boxers. There were at least fiven boxing gloves autographed by both Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. Willie had a close relationship with the former champ Smokin' Joe.
When he arrived at my door with that bag, I was flabbergasted with the generosity. He asked me if there was anything else he could do. Willie had already been his generous giving self.
"How about if I bring Smokin' Joe to the event?" Willie said.
I was amazed. The former heavyweight champion of the world was going to a fundraiser for a Jersey City girl he never even met.
Sure enough, Frazier arrived with Wolfe at the Jersey City Moose Lodge to sign autographs. All of the proceeds of his appearance went to help Tracey.
And Frazier had a great time, signing autographs and mingling with the people. He even got up to dance and did the Electric Slide with young Tracey and myself. Yes, I danced the Electric Slide with Joe Frazier.
Tracey had the surgery. She's doing well, healthy and living life with her children.
So when I heard Frazier was nearing the end of his life today, I remembered what he meant to me as a young sports fan and what he meant to a young girl who needed medical help.
For that, Joe Frazier will always remain a major part of my life. If the Lord calls him home, then Frazier goes to the Lord with knowledge that he was a generous, giving soul, just like his friend, Willie Wolfe, who is so sorely missed.
====================================================
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com, www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com.
The Hudson Reporter this week features a tribute to my good friend Vinnie Ascolese, who announced that he is retiring as the head football coach at North Bergen at the end of the season. Ascolese was honored tonight, when the township renamed Bruins Stadium after him. I wish I could have been there, but other commitments kept me away.
It's a tribute that was a long time coming, but I'm glad that North Bergen decided to honor Vinnie while he's still here to enjoy it.
I'll have more on my relationship with Ascolese in a blog to follow.
For one, Frazier was my favorite boxer as a little kid. He was a relentless warrior in the ring, a man who defied the odds. He was considered too small to become the heavyweight champ, but he managed to overcome that stereotype to win the title in the early 1970s.
I also vividly remember Monday, March 8, 1971. I was a fourth grader, but already a huge sports fan. My father knew that and encouraged by love of sports at every opportunity. If he was still around today, he would have totally enjoyed the fact that I basically have a poor-paying hobby as a sportswriter and not a real job so to speak.
Anyway, on that day, my father was insistent that I had to get my homework done. I never asked why, but he was on top of it all day. My father worked for the city of Jersey City in the automotive department and had the night shift, working from 4 p.m. to midnight. He always had dinner with us, but went back to work and came home long after I was in bed.
So that day, I asked him why he was so intent on me getting my homework done. He said, ``Well, isn't that fight tonight?" He was referring to the first of the trilogy of wars between Frazier and Muhammad Ali that was set for that night at Madison Square Garden.
I told my father that I planned on listening to the fight on my little transistor radio that I used to put under my pillow. That little transistor allowed me to envision Madison Square Garden in my head, thanks to the voice of Marv Albert. Marvelous Marv allowed me to dream of the Knicks, the days of DeBusschere, Bradley, Reed and Clyde, when I loved the NBA. Now, it's like root canal. Better yet, what is the NBA?
My father said, ``Good, I just want to make sure you get your homework done."
I always did my homework, so I didn't know why he was so insistent.
He then came home from work and told me that we were going for a ride. I never missed a chance to go anywhere with my father, so I just grabbed my coat and headed for the car.
We started driving and I asked him where we were going.
``Don't ask so many questions,'' he said.
We headed for the Holland Tunnel. I asked why we were going to New York. I also said I wanted to be home in time for the fight.
``Don't worry,'' he said. We kept driving and we were close to the Garden. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets to the fight.
Sure, it's not the most conventional sporting event for a 10-year-old, but I was with my father. The place was packed and we were sitting in the general vicinity of big celebrities, like Frank Sinatra and Soupy Sales./ Hey, at that time, Soupy was a legend in my eyes.
Well, my man Joe Frazier won the fight, knocked down Ali in an epic battle. It is one of my fondest memories of being with my father, who was sick, dead and gone from cancer some eight months later.
I followed Frazier throughout the many storied moments. I went to the Stanley Theater in Jersey City and paid $20 to see the closed circuit viewing of Ali-Frazier III, the fight known as "The Thriller in Manila." I was about 13 or 14 then and was alone in a theater with a packed audience of rabid adults. But it was my money and I wanted to see it. I remember scoring the fight on a notebook in the dark (the sportswriter in me was already in full bloom) and thinking Frazier had the fight won if he could last the 15th round.
Battered, his eyes almost closed shut, Frazier's trainer Eddie Futch called an end to the fight and Ali won via technical knockout after 14 rounds. It was a fight that took years off the lives of both boxers. It was a brutal, physical, epic war.
There were other memorable moments, like Frazier showing off his lack of swimming skills during ABC's Superstars competition, his fight with George Foreman with Howard Cosell's memorable call of "Down goes Frazier, down goes Frazier," and his return to boxingn managing son Marvis' career.
Joe Frazier was always someone I followed and admired.
Flash forward to 1994. Tracey Tullock, a girl who I coached when she was in grammar school at my alma mater St. Paul's of Greenville in Jersey City, was in need of a costly heart operation in St. Louis. Her father asked me if I could help organize a fundraiser to help defray the cost of the surgery.
So I agreed to help and decided to see if I could get some assistance in raising money. I called my friend, the late Willie Wolfe, who was one of the most generous people I've ever known.
Whenever I needed anything, Willie was always there. He had a lot of connections in the sports world, including several members of the 1969 Miracle Mets, some former Giants and a bunch of boxers.
When I told Willie I was helping with the fundraiser for Tracey, he told me I could have anything I wanted. The next day, he arrived at my front door with a garbage bag full of memorabilia to raffle off. There were autographed pictures galore from the Mets, the Giants, and boxers. There were at least fiven boxing gloves autographed by both Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. Willie had a close relationship with the former champ Smokin' Joe.
When he arrived at my door with that bag, I was flabbergasted with the generosity. He asked me if there was anything else he could do. Willie had already been his generous giving self.
"How about if I bring Smokin' Joe to the event?" Willie said.
I was amazed. The former heavyweight champion of the world was going to a fundraiser for a Jersey City girl he never even met.
Sure enough, Frazier arrived with Wolfe at the Jersey City Moose Lodge to sign autographs. All of the proceeds of his appearance went to help Tracey.
And Frazier had a great time, signing autographs and mingling with the people. He even got up to dance and did the Electric Slide with young Tracey and myself. Yes, I danced the Electric Slide with Joe Frazier.
Tracey had the surgery. She's doing well, healthy and living life with her children.
So when I heard Frazier was nearing the end of his life today, I remembered what he meant to me as a young sports fan and what he meant to a young girl who needed medical help.
For that, Joe Frazier will always remain a major part of my life. If the Lord calls him home, then Frazier goes to the Lord with knowledge that he was a generous, giving soul, just like his friend, Willie Wolfe, who is so sorely missed.
====================================================
You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com, www.theobserver.com and www.dailyrecord.com.
The Hudson Reporter this week features a tribute to my good friend Vinnie Ascolese, who announced that he is retiring as the head football coach at North Bergen at the end of the season. Ascolese was honored tonight, when the township renamed Bruins Stadium after him. I wish I could have been there, but other commitments kept me away.
It's a tribute that was a long time coming, but I'm glad that North Bergen decided to honor Vinnie while he's still here to enjoy it.
I'll have more on my relationship with Ascolese in a blog to follow.
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