For the love of the game

December 21, 2009


Today, despite the hard work of Peyton Manning and Marquis Colston, despite a 6-2 rally to end the season, despite a ridiculous season from a handful of throwaway players destined for the scrap heap, my fantasy football season ended.

I’d say prematurely, but as a #4 seed, facing a team that outscored the rest of the league by a couple hundred points, this was in the cards all along. Then again, it might be a blessing. After all, now – more than any time during the season – I can actually sit and enjoy a game of football.

Without the ancillary anxiety. Without the constant updates. Eyes straight ahead, focused on the game, mocking the commercials, filtering out the sarcasm.

We all keep score on something. We all spend some part of our lives measuring up against someone else, against the ideal, looking for quantitative data to prove our worth. But, when it comes down to it, that data proves nothing. It throws up smoke, much as Ben Wallace’s diminutive scoring undermined his talent on the basketball court.

I just switched sports on you, I know. But, you see, it’s all an exercise in not keeping score. Now that I have nothing left to play for, I can enjoy the art and spectacle that professional football is.

Take that metaphor, and you can probably attach it to whatever you want. Industry awards. Popularity lists. Elections. The old Favrd community.

I know, I know. Awards, championships, blah f’n blah. You play to win the game and all of that. But when you’re not playing by the same goals in the first place, you’ve got the freedom to weasel out the competitiveness and land on something more pure.

I guess it’s called “the love of the game.”

Tags: Basketball, Football, Sports |

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Thanksgiving, 1993

November 26, 2009


Miami vs. Dallas, Thanksgiving 1993It had been snowing for hours.

I listened with rapt attention to the radio in my mother’s car. I was on my way to my father’s house; after spending most of the afternoon with my step-grandparents, I had finished with the dining portion of Thanksgiving and ready to settle into the “lazy, doing nothing” portion.

Though I’ve never considered football to be my favorite sport, on this day – at this time, three and a half quarters into the evening’s game – it was the only thing on my mind.

The game: Miami vs. Dallas, November 25, 1993.

A snow covered field. Drifting in through the stadium roof’s iconic rectangle hole, the snow added a new dimension to the game. Mistakes were made, they might say, and it was evident by the abysmal 14-13 score.

The Dolphins – an improbable 8-2, despite the loss of Dan Marino in the fifth game of the season – trailed, but this was no surprise. They were on the road, against the Cowboys (who, unknown to everyone, would go on to win the Super Bowl). The Cowboys, at 7-3, were considered a far superior team, despite the record.

And at this point, the game was nearly wrapped up. Pete Stoyanovich’s kick had just been blocked, the ball landing close to the end zone. Dead ball. Three seconds to go. Cowboys ready to celebrate.

Enter Leon Lett.

I was returning home to an empty house, my father still at Thanksgiving festivities across town. On the radio, I had heard the set-up, the snap, the kick, the block. And, as I got out of my mom’s car, I heard a hold up. The Cowboys had fucked up. And the Dolphins may have another chance.

I ran to the front door, hastily waving goodbye to my mother. I ran in the house, switched the television on, and watched, mouth agape, as they replayed Leon Lett’s disastrous error, his snow-driven slide into the football allowing the Dolphins to get the ball back for a second chance, Stoyanovich wisely using the confusion to clear off a path to the football, a stunned Dallas crowd awaiting what could only be bad news.

Finally, a second set-up. A second snap. A second kick.

But this time, no block. Dolphins win, 16-14.

I broke free from the house. Running down the street, kicking up snow, ignoring the cold against my bare arms, I ran down the street. Cheering. Shouting. SHOUTING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS to no one in particular. My friend Steve, who happened to be walking down the block for a pre-planned sleepover, looked on as I went ballistic with joy.

The Dolphins would proceed to lose every game from there on out, while the Cowboys did the opposite, winning every game through the Super Bowl.

Later that night, after my father came home, Steve and I attempted to quell my football buzz by walking to Kmart in the middle of a mild snowstorm. That it was open was a surprise, but I barely noticed. My mind still ran wild with the possibilities.

It was my first taste of a meaningful comeback, and it came equipped with an elation that no amount of snow could cool off.

Tags: Football, Miami Dolphins, Sports, Vilhauer |

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School spirit

March 23, 2009


I didn’t give a damn about school sports when I was in high school.

There wasn’t much of a reason to in the first place. I went to Lincoln High School here in Sioux Falls. We were a smart kid school. We won debate tournaments, not football championships. We slaughtered in band, not basketball.

In fact, we seemed to only one game per year in football, and aside from a blip in 1995 we were pretty mediocre in basketball.

But now, whether it’s through some force of aging or a reminiscence for easier days or some other rah rah alma mater bullshit, I find myself caring again. I don’t follow the sports - I mean, come on, I have no connection outside of a diploma; it’s not like Sierra’s on the team or anything - but I find myself genuinely excited when the school does well.

Call it a common thread that we all have - all of us that graduated from Lincoln High, whether we were connected at the time or mortal enemies - but it’s as if we feel the same rush of electricity when our high school is mentioned. Not because of anything important, but just because it’s an item of identity. It’s part of who we are, regardless of whether we liked it at the time. It helps define us.

Part of me is there in that school. Even still today.

What I’m trying to say is that, against all odds, with the claws of irony threatening to tear away my genuine joy, I’m proud of Lincoln High School - my high school, my alma mater, my identifiable location for 9-12 grades - for doing something we all thought impossible.

On top of the sports world - not once, but twice. 2008 State 11AA Football Champions. And now, undefeated 2009 State AA Basketball Champions.

Congrats, guys. From all of us who still feel a part of it somehow.

Tags: Basketball, Football, Sioux Falls, Sports, Vilhauer |

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A meaningful game, for once

December 28, 2008


The Miami Dolphins haven’t had a winning season since 2005. They haven’t been to the playoffs since 2001.

Last season, I rooted for them to lose. I stayed mum about their only win. I watched Minnesota Vikings games because they wouldn’t show Dolphins games. Which is okay, because I’d probably have watched Minnesota Vikings games anyway. The Dolphins were that bad.

I came into this season without a peep, uncharacteristically, figuring they were already sunk. After all, they entered the season with someone else’s discarded quarterback, with the same team that won only one game the year before only without the Pro Bowl players they had depended on for so long.

I felt no need to write about them. Despite my blind loyalty to the team, I had nothing to say. Nothing to say that hadn’t been said before, that is.

They began the season 2-4. The NBA season was ready to strike up the band. And so my attention waned.

But they won against a hot (at the time) Buffalo team.

And they won again.

And again.

Going 8-1 over the next nine games, they found themselves back in the playoff race. Not just the playoff race, but the division race, holding tiebreakers over the hated Patriots and needing just a win against the hated Jets – the team that handed the Dolphins their first loss in the first game of the season, at home, in Miami.

It was Brett Favre’s first game in Jets Green. It was Chad Pennington’s first game against his former team. And now, the two quarterbacks meet again, their fortunes reversed, the Dolphins riding a wave of success while the Jets have watched their division lead boil away to nothing.

To this game. To this win.

It’s on television, which means this is the first Dolphins game I get to watch. It’s the first meaningful game since 2001, which means there’s something to play for.

It’s a chance for the playoffs, which means it’s the first time I’ve been able to sit down, shield my eyes, and hope for the best since Dan Marino was throwing the ball.

It’s kickoff. And I’ve got a game to watch.

Tags: Football, Miami Dolphins, Sports |

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Less is more

October 27, 2008


The CBS studio crew during football games consists of five people. Three former players, a former coach and a sports broadcast veteran.

The FOX crew is even larger. If you count the robot, it’s close to breaking double digits.

Post-debate coverage on the major 24-hour news channels turned into a rotation of several experts, pundits and other personalities. In one surreal television moment, Anderson Cooper sat in between a dozen people, squashed together behind two too-small news desks, shooting off questions like a semi-automatic firearm, fighting for space and for clarity.

Walter Cronkite would report on his own. By himself. No experts, or former employees, or anyone that would distract from the one important thing: the news. You listened to him as an expert. As a trusted voice. As a thick syrup of news, coating and lasting, irreplaceable, a true benefit to the station.

The more people you fit on a stage, the more watered down their message will become. They will receive fewer opportunities to talk, which makes them less and less important as individuals in the larger picture. And if they’re less important, then what’s stopping us from simply tuning them out?

My suggestion to television news and sports programs. Experts are good. But keep them at a minimum, please. Because when everyone starts sounding the same, it doesn’t really matter if your announcer is a former football player, or if your pundit is the premier historian in regards to presidential politics. They’re just another head on a 10-headed media monster.

And cutting one off doesn’t seem to matter.

Tags: Annoyances, Football, Politics, Television |

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The day after the Ad Bowl

February 4, 2008


Last night’s game - especially the fourth quarter - was fantastic.

It had everything. It had upsets. It had heroics. It had drama and excitement. It was everything a game should be - great until the last, bone jarring sack of Tom Brady.

As for the ads, well, let’s just say they weren’t the best.

The Super Bowl is the ad land’s greatest showcase, serving millions of captive viewers with over-thought, hyper-produced television commercials. For those of us who enjoy advertising - who work intimately with the industry or who still remember the first time they saw a great television commercial that changed their way of thinking - this is like a Super Bowl within the Super Bowl.

And like many Super Bowls, the hype outweighs the production.

None of the spots I saw were what I would call Super Bowl commercials. They were just commercials. Nothing that special, thanks. Some left me scratching my head. Others, I just rolled my eyes.

The GMC Yukon spot of a line drawing pushing a rock up a hill? Faux-sentiment; it’s a vehicle, thanks, and no amount of new age drawing will change that when your company is also known for putting out the GMC Sierra Denali. Pepsi gave us the same lame “trying to be cool” bullshit, and Budweiser ads continued the same path they’ve always gone: men are beer-hungry animals who eschew reality.

I should give Budweiser a little leeway, though. Of the three ads I actually liked, the Will Ferrell (as Jackie Moon) spot was pretty funny. I also enjoyed the E-Trade spots, featuring a talking baby, and I thought the Coca-Cola spot with the Macy’s parade balloons was brilliantly done. The NFL’s ad was superb - probably the best of the night.

That’s it. Four spots, three of which could have appeared anywhere and still been lost in the clutter. The only one that was really memorable was the NFL’s spot. And they were advertising the very product you were already watching.

In an industry that prides itself on creative thinking - on industry changing techniques and sudden twists of fate and beyond the normal humor - I find myself stunned each year to see the same batch of predictable television commercials, as if Ad Land’s biggest stage was just another way to pander to the same lowest common denominator they’ve always pandered to.

Great ads are made all the time. But because there’s no need to justify a multi-million dollar media budget, the ads can be made to perfection, without the nosy pokiness of a thousand different suits, joined together in one room to counter every last detail until the original idea has been drowned in corporate speak.

Really, you’d think we’d learn. The Super Bowl is no longer where great ads are finally revealed. You’ll never see an ad like Honda’s “Cog,” Sony Bravia’s “Balls,” or the beautiful Halo 3 spots. Those wouldn’t work. Maybe they’re too good. Maybe they’re too subtle - not enough breasts and not enough potty humor.

Maybe the difference between a great ad and a Super Bowl ad is similar to the difference between John Steinbeck and John Grisham - one is written to stand the test of time, designed as a heavy statement on the world around us, while the other is simply a form of entertainment, never considered as ultra-literary but perfect for the right demographic.

I’m not in the right demographic when it comes to Super Bowl ads. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised - I’m not in the right demographic for John Grisham either.

Of course, it could all change next year. Or, at least, that’s what I’ll be telling myself.

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Football, Sports |

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Really? Eli?

February 3, 2008


Eli?Holy shit.

Really? ELI Manning?

I didn’t see that one coming. Not at all. But it was pretty great.

I thought I was ready to welcome the Patriots to the “Perfect Season” table with the 1972 Dolphins. I figured that we were cursed, that perfection had to be shared before the Dolphins had a chance. I was tired of Mercury Morris, of Don Shula, of Jim Kiick and Larry Czonka and the rest of the team, popping their champagne, rubbing their long past achievement in the nation’s collective face as if the team was somehow relevant again.

But when it came down to it, I ended up rooting for the Giants.

Let’s just say old habits die hard. Congrats, New York. You guys earned this one.

Tags: Football, Miami Dolphins, Sports |

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