The Kings of the 90's (...and the two-decade legacy)

The 1990's was the decade when sports went from being big business to huge business. Population and media growth made contemporary superstars seem like giants compared to Mickey Mantle. Bigger was in fashion, and flashier was in style. signature moves were as common, deadly and trusty as 'The Million Dollar Dream" or the 'DDT.' Michael Jordan's fadeaway used to be one of those moves. He would turn his back to the basket and you'd scream at the television "he goes right, they got him there, he goes left, he's got to make an amazing shot!" You've momentarily forgotten that it's Michael Jordan and he can make either play with style and ease, and that you'll know the shot's in before he's done shooting it. Something like a Ken Griffey Junior swing or a Roy Jones left hook.



Michael's athletic dominance came in the decade before, the high-flying 1980's. His league dominance was certainly a 1990's thing. The six championships he won were the punctuation on the ideal 1990's superstar career. Ken Griffey Junior, Major League Baseball's premier player was supposed to have his league dominance in the 2000's or the "aughts" as I like to call them. His trade to the Cincinnati Reds in 1999 was supposed to be the beginning. Roy Jones, likely the 1990's pound-for-pound boxing champion was supposed to dominate the sport by ruling several weight divisions at once. He beat John Ruiz in 2003 to scare everyone into thinking that might happen. There was talk that he might go back down in weight to meet Felix Trinidad. Imagine a fighter aspiring to whup the heavyweight champion and the welterweight champion in one year.



Then, some funny things happened. Griffey, having never had problems with injuries, and having never done much real strength training to prevent injuries, got a whole bunch of injuries. Jones, who'd never been anything but stellar in the ring began to fight poorly, like he was fighting against himself in his prime, and ultimately began to lose disgracefully. Although we liked the 1990's so much, the following decade was about forgetting the 1990's. You were told that Wu-Tang was dead, that baggy clothes were out of style, and all of your friends told you to give up the Ken Griffey and Roy Jones obsession. "JORDAN'S RETIRED TOO!" they write at the bottom of those mocking e-mails.

Because of all of the grouping and bundling, many don't remember the primes of either athlete because Jordan's two-decade legacy of athletic and then sport dominance is to date, unmatched. It's funny to think of a time when sports becomes so esoteric that athletes plan their legacy. It's evident that Alex Rodriguez does, it's obvious that boxers are allowed to, to some extent. In planning their own, Griffey and Jones stumbled hard. They were though, among the flashiest in style of their era. Griffey's picture-perfect swing became his personal endorsement logo, and he became the major's most special talent. He was a five-tool player who seemed to do something dazzling every game. Roy Jones was even more dazzling. Any of the punches he threw could knock you out, and that's if you could see them, or him. That's because his foot and hand speed was unlike many had ever seen. Along with Deion Sanders of football and baseball fame, this trio was the one that skill-freaks swore by.



All of it has made me a really skeptical adult sports fan. Even knowing that Griffey and Jones are hall-of-famers, legends and icons, I see athletes today who have overwhelming skill and I'm skeptical. I know that it takes much more than a good first step or a ninety-eight mile-per hour fastball to win your team championships. In 2010, it takes much more than a grand plan. I'd hope that Lebron James keeps the careers of Roy Jones and Ken Griffey Junior in his thoughts.

The Quadruple-Double Player

There's a reason that Lebron James is so special. Saying that he's "good" is downplaying his true significance. Saying that he's "important" is is like saying that the iPod was important to music listening. Lebron James is what I call a League Changer. Meaning, he's the type of athlete who can leave his team and instead of simply changing his new team, the move changes the balance of power in the league. Athletes like Deion Sanders, Alex Rodriguez, and Charles Barkley have all changed teams and the way we view their league at different points during the last twenty years. James, much like Rodriguez and Sanders is considered the very best talent in his sport at the time he may be looking to change teams, and his ability to fill a basketball stat-sheet is uncanny for a twenty-five year old and was unnatural for an eighteen year-old. He is a triple-double type player, one who can score at will, will facilitate an offense to create shots for others, and has a stellar defensive and rebounding game. There aren't many other players like him, and a new type of player may be here to replace him.

Meet Greg Monroe. I know what you're saying, "there's no way that Greg Monroe is going to be as good as Lebron James, and he's got a different type of game." This I'm well aware of, but I do know that Lebron James is the last in a long line of experiments, and Greg Monroe may mark the beginning of a new one.

Coaches have for for so long tried to create the unorthodox player: taller players who can shoot and handle the ball, shorter players with ball-handling skills who can block shots and rebound. For twenty or so years, teams have been out do give us the anti-NBA player, or a player who doesn't have to excel at one job to be a star or to help his team win. So we were given players like Toni Kukoc, Dirk Nowitzki, Lamar Odom, Stephen Jackson, Rashard Lewis, Tracy Mcgrady, and many others like them. By the time the NBA was blessed with Lebron James, many felt that we'd seen enough of triple-double type players. Then we saw that Lebron James had a superior skill set to any of these players, and we realized that the experiment was finally going to work. Lebron James was going to be the first tall player to head an offense well since Earvin "Magic" Johnson. Lebron James was a better jumper than Vince Carter. Lebron James had a jump-shooting height comparable to Michael Jordan's. Lebron James is going to compile triple-doubles like Oscar Robertson.

All of it was true, and slowly, the experiment began to die. Teams were beginning to draft different sorts of players. It was obvious that so many years of trying to infuse guard play into big men's games ruined the classic center. This made it the perfect time for Greg Monroe to be a top collegiate player. I can't say that Greg Monroe was deeply relevant at Georgetown or in collegiate basketball, and I can say that the 2009-10 Hoyas seemed terrified of their expectations the entire year. What stood out to me though was that Greg Monroe showed signs of basketball skills that the professional game hasn't seen.

He's 6' 11" and left-handed. His passing ability is borderline outrageous. He has the ability to play with his back to the basket or facing it. Think Arvydas Sabonis with more one-on-one game or Tim Duncan with Lebron James' passing ability. Think of a 6' 11" Chris Webber. If you think back, even Duncan was a very different player in college than in the NBA, and I can imagine that NBA coaches are salivating at the idea to really utilize Monroe's talents. Greg Monroe, is a potential quadruple-double player. he can become a perfect mix of points, rebounds, assists and blocks. He can throw in some steals if he's got the other teams center out of his own comfort zone. Greg Monroe may not be the NBA's best player in a few years, but he may be the type of player NBA general managers are looking for at that time.

Calipari's Minstrel Show

Today, as I watched Kentucky struggle with another un-ranked SEC opponent, Mississippi State, I thought back to an ESPN interview I saw a few weeks ago with John Calipari in which he was crooning about his young and talented team-"There's a charisma about these kids" to a video overlay of John Wall dancing like a gay professional wrestler before thousands of fans, and I thought, Bob Knight was right, why do they let this go on? True, there are a great deal of immoral practices around college sports, whether with players, coaches or administrators, but what Calipari has done as a recruiter has changed basketball, and should really outrage a great deal of people. Now, I don't mean to get all Bill Cosby on you, because to tell you the truth, I like to see players having fun, I liked Deion Sanders, I liked the Jimmy Johnson Miami Hurricanes and the UNLV Runnin' Rebels basketball teams from twenty years ago. I like dancing and trash talking and intimidation. I like cockiness from the best players. I do not like John Wall. I'm neither a fan of the player nor the persona. I'm equally as displeased with Derrick Rose. The difference is, this obvious revolving door of point guards for John Calipari at Memphis and now Kentucky is encouraged to dance, to talk, to show out, to melt into fits of immaturity in a way that exceeds Johnson's 'Canes. But the Kentucky Wildcats don't ruffle the same elitist feathers because they're a traditional powerhouse. Honestly, the Kentucky basketball nation, and the internet nation have taken a great liking to John Wall and his dance exploits. The "John Wall dance" is now quite familiar to sports fans. Sports analysts have taken an even greater liking to Wall's game, hypothetically placing him in the NBA right away, but aside from talent that might not look too special amongst professionals, he's not ready to play point guard in the NBA. Not because he dances and smiles too much, and not because he makes terrible decisions, but because he already thinks he's a star, and Calipari's at fault.


I'd hate to think that eight years ago, a player like John Wall might have gone from High School to the NBA, but maybe having Larry Brown in his life would have spooked him into going to college all four years. Calipari, is the CEO of Calipari Inc. the leading company in the the sleazy business of recruiting top players, making them show out in a sort of minstrel show freshman season of college fame, and sending them to the NBA with the idea that they should blindly attack basketball and expect their skill to dominate the professional game. Those who argue the prior statement may say that the strengths in those Calipari point guards' games in the NBA is just that, using athleticism to reach the rim. Rose, Tyreek Evans of the Sacramento Kings, and Wall all are encouraged to use their abilities in that way, but the weaknesses in their games are in what they don't do. All can kill their teams with silly turnovers, poor shot selection, and poor leadership. Sound familiar? Those are the things that hurt Calipari's Memphis team in 2008 when they lost the National Championship game to Kansas. Tyreek Evans used all of his ability to try beat Michigan State on his own for Memphis last year, but Tom Izzo is a little better at the "basketball" thing than Calipari, he helps young men understand the game, far before they are made to understand that they are stars. Calipari is much better than Izzo at the "be tall, look good, I'm going to make your little negro child a millionaire" thing. He is in fact, the king.

Whether it's Derrick Rose losing his head after a missed free throw in the National Championship game, or Demarcus Cousins dealing with the Vanderbilt fans, Calipari's players show a firm immaturity that makes them seem even less mature for the NBA after one year of college. Looking back through the years, the Calipari player is selfish and misguided (I write this with my vision of Marcus Camby being too demonstrative for television after that ejection so vivid and clear). Explanations? Maybe Calipari is a selfish and misguided coach. Being stripped of two final fours might be an indication of such traits. When you jump ship at one University and "Kiffin" all your recruits to your next school, right after you conveniently forget if you know who exactly took Derrick Rose's SAT test, or you call A Sportscenter anchor a "Jackoff" on live television for bringing up something that happened in the past, those might be some more indications. As a matter of fact, Calipari is right, no one should bring up the National Championship failure, because according to the NCAA, that Final Four Appearance never happened.

Paying an old friend a visit...

Listen to that organ. What's the tune? Who ever knows the actual name? But the organ, that organ is going, louder as you get nearer to the big gray beast. Smell that unmistakable smell. Hot dogs, beer and peanuts only smell one way combined-they smell like Yankee Stadium. The elevated number 4 train drowns out the organ and everyone on the bleachers line ready to fight for the best seat, or their seat. Across the street you can see shops, the bars, the sea of blue hats and jackets. Make a right turn around the gray walls and you'll see the sidewalk cafe, the alley, where black guys wave thick stacks of box-seat tickets in your face, telling you can shake Don Mattingly's hand in the on deck circle you'll be so close. Pass the old blue ticket booths that they used to use when you could walk right up to the stadium and buy a ticket like it was Disneyland, and you were paying for a day's entry. You go to the huge smoke stack bat, and it's near half-covered with cigar smoke from all of the old men sitting at it's base. You pass the box office and the lines are so long they block people from getting through. The people on the credit card return line look the happiest. You go to the first gate you see and hand your ticket to a man in a blue blazer and gray pants who looks to be happy that you came: "and you're wearing your Yankee's cap little boy, great sign!"

The building is as gray inside as it is on the outside, but now the smell is so strong that is has you in a daze. You walk those ramps and tunnels as if it is a maze that leads to bliss, to an understanding of something you love that lasts eternally inside you. And bliss it surely is when you find your gate and see that sky like an endless peak of a roller coaster, then you look down and see the most green sea of grass you've ever seen. As you go to your seat, you mumble to yourself, "if they hit the ball to me on that outfield, I'd field it! I'd field it like Jesse Barfield, and I dare that runner to try to go to second on my arm." Your seat is cramped, and in the middle of the row, but you wont move from your seat. You won't have to use the bathroom, you won't want to miss a second.

Listen to Bob Shepherd announcing the the names. The catcshuh, Ruck Ceroone. You mock the voice because it's so familiar, something that you think will never change. Just like the organ, the one playing the national anthem, Eddie Layton having his way with a church instrument, weaving it into baseball, making it the soundtrack to the Yankees. Look down from the cartoonish upper deck, sloping from the heavens with intrigued faces in blue caps eager to pass instant judgment, and you can see Dave Winfield, twirling a bat with a weight-doughnut on it and you lock the memory, that's how I'm going to warm up before I go to bat, I'm going to be a star. There's our mustachioed captain Mattingly making a clever first-to-third advance on a single, and someone says out loud, "see that, just like the captain, always hustling," and gives his fatter buddy a huge high-five. That's how I'm going to run when I get on base.

A portly man yells from above you "peeeanuts hayaa, getcha PEA-nuts!" and a man yells "hey peanut man!" and before you can say 'projectile' a bag of peanuts whizzes past your eyes and hits him in the chest. They meet later to complete the transaction. The crowd cheers, and the ground under you shakes like an earthquake of good feelings. You almost want to laugh at that shaking because you're certain that this place will never be gone, this place will never crumble, this place will never be a six-hundred foot spread of ruins. This place is special and not like those places you see blown up, being sucked down into their own ugliness as if the earth underneath had grown tired of it and flushed it. The lights are brighter here and the game looks so much more pure and smooth. It's a spot far too perfect to destroy, so sitting there letting the place overwhelm you, you never had to take the time to imagine it disappearing because when you left you were still there. At home, in the mirror, you were Rickey Henderson, or Roberto Kelly or Jack Clark, and when you were hitting that home run that won game seven of the fictional World Series in your head, the one that only has a game seven and a bottom-of-the-ninth inning, you were in Yankee Stadium, taking in the showering rain of cheers splashing down from the decks like adults said Reggie and Mickey did.

That sad feeling you have when the game is over is that feeling of leaving a good dream to go to school. The feeling of being forced to move on, forced to understand that there will be tomorrow's and next year's and new places to go. That feeling of being forced to take the medicine without the 'spoonful of sugar.' All of the adults around you can handle it being over just fine, but you, you'd stay if you could. You'd get full on peanuts and hot dogs and watch that Diamond-Vision screen until it turned off for the night. Fall asleep in a box-seat and have wild dreams about men in top-hats cheering swift-swinging Yankees in baggy pinstriped uniforms. Next to you, a man may light a pipe. The field is just as green, and the chatter is just as loud. The smell is at it's strongest, and now you know why that smell has always felt regal to you, it's because it's the smell of baseball in it's most artistic, pure and admirable form. It's the smell of baseball painted on baseball's most perfect canvas, Yankee Stadium.

The Playoff Pageant

If you're a TSS reader or someone who dislikes Tony Romo, then you may have seen my October 20, 2009 blog (http://topshelfstories.blogspot.com/2009/10/putting-it-into-wordswhy-tony-romo.html) that analogizes football teams and girlfriends-the running backs being her breasts, the wide receivers her stomach, the quarterback her personality, and so on. Since then, Tony Romo has improved the personality of the Dallas Cowboys, and they have made the playoffs. At the start of the season, the Philadelphia Eagles were thought by some to have a split personality, but she proved to show no effects of that...yet. So get ready, because pressure is coming, and my girlfriend has made the beauty pageant. Has yours?

The NFL Beauty Pageant Super Bowl Tournament is a four round, twelve-contestant tournament in which every single aspect of the contestant is examined.

In the first round, the evening gown competition, the judges will be making their assessments based on what the face says about the personality, how well it protects it and opens it up. As they walk, the shape and posture of their backs are important, seeing a tall, lean back through that gown is important to the judges.

Meaning, the women's offensive lines, being their faces, need to pass protect to win and teams that win in the early rounds generally pass protect quite well, and good pass protection slows down defenses, even ones that have great strengths. Defensive lines are also dominant tools in the early playoff rounds, so when comparing the Cincinnati Bengals to the New York Jets, I'm confident that both the offensive and defensive lines for the Jets will make her look taller and prettier than the Bengals. For that same reason, I think that the Baltimore Ravens will out-class the New England Patriots, the Dallas Cowboys will control the game tempo enough to look better than the Philadelphia Eagles, and the Green Bay Packers will use defensive line play to cause turnovers in the Arizona Cardinals' personality.

In the second round, the talent round, the contestant is judged on intangibles, and she must display a talent. Any gimmick is welcomed, this might be the time that Philadelphia lets her split personality out if she gets by Dallas, or when Dallas unleashes the pair of breast implants she got two years ago. It's when the Jets will make Jim Nance say "Mark Sanchez is growing up before our eyes." It's when you will find out just how many weapons the Saints, Vikings, Chargers and Colts have, and how really attractive those women actually are.

In the third round, the swimsuit round, the breasts and legs are most key to controlling the match up, and the judges' eyes. Look for women with great running backs and line backers to control this round, because they usually do. This is where Jonathan Vilma or Adrian Peterson can save their teams' seasons. This is where the Indianapolis Colts may wear something to try to to highlight the breasts because the Chargers are using the whole body and not letting her personality (Peyton Manning) shine.

The fourth round, the final round, between the two most attractive women is the 'question and answer' round, where the personality shines most. The questions and problems are numerous and leave the personality exposed before the largest audience possible. This is why, in the Super Bowl, the winning personality is always first to be considered most valuable. Before the season began, I predicted that the Saints' personality would out-duel the Chargers' personality in an epic Super Bowl. If you trust the Vikings' or Cowboys' personality in that sort of situation, then I'd like to find you when it's time to do some betting, the Jets' personality is immature, but she shuts up and cleans up well, when the Vikings' and the Cowboys' personalities really show, they're eerily similar, and difficult to trust.

Enjoy the Playoffs.