Recently in Sports Category

ESPN has a ranking of the 25 Best Sports Movies. Two different lists, actually. There are movies on those lists that I haven't seen, and I'm sure I would love them if I saw them (like "Eight Men Out" and "North Dallas 40"). But of the sports movies I HAVE seen, here are my favorite 25. I'm not talking about "critically acclaimed" movies, like "Raging Bull," only about my personal favorites.

1. Field of Dreams
2. Brian's Song
3. Chariots of Fire
4. Rocky
5. Hoosiers
6. Tin Cup
   
7. Jerry McGuire
8. Remember the Titans
9. Rudy
10. The Color of Money (Sorry, I've never seen "The Hustler")
11. Bloodsport (come on, ESPN, admit you liked it!)
12. A League of Their Own
13. The Rookie
14. Million Dollar Baby
15. Heaven Can Wait
16. For Love of the Game
    
17. White Men Can't Jump
    
18. Bull Durham
    
19. Major League
    
20. The Blind Side
21. Caddyshack.
    
22. Rollerball
23. Friday Night Lights
    
24. Kickboxer (another guilty pleasure)
    
25. Cool Runnings

Kevin Costner starred in four of those movies. He's definitely the Sports Movie MVP.

As a big NBA fan, I was fascinated by this year's free agency dealings. I made sure we got home by 9:00 last Thursday, after worship team practice, so I could watch The Decision, when LeBron James announced where he was going.

First, it was way too much hype. I wish he'd done it a different way. But that's just a process issue. The result is that the best players on three different teams will now play together on the Miami Heat.

LeBron is taking a lot of criticism. One criticism is that a Real Superstar would have stayed in Cleveland and won a championship on his own. He would have wanted to compete head-to-head with D-Wade and Chris Bosh, rather than team up with them.

But my mind goes back to the 2008 Olympics. As I watched James then, I remember thinking that he seemed to truly be having fun. He didn't need to carry the team. He just had to do his part. In the pre- and post-game interviews, he seemed energized being part of a collective purpose.

I sort of see that now. He'll be part of a team, not THE team, the perpetual go-to guy, the one who gets the blame if the team falls short. He's been playing that role all his life, including, from what I've heard, carrying his family on his shoulders while growing up.

I suspect that the Olympics opened his eyes to something he enjoyed far more than being Top Dog. He was part of a team. He belonged. He was appreciated for what he brought to the mix. He could sit on the bench and wildly cheer his teammates. Nobody depended on him alone. It was a whole different type of exhilaration.

Yes, he could have proven a macho point by winning a championship in Cleveland. But was he having fun? I don't think so.

Some personalities are suited to being the supreme leader. Michael Jordan was certainly that way. So is Kobe.

I'm not sure that comes naturally to James. By joining an all-star roster, he may give up the chance to be the Greatest of All Time. But does that motivate him? I suspect not. I think he'd rather have fun. And in Miami, with Wade and Bosh, James will have fun. And so will I, watching them play.

I was pulling for Ghana in the World Cup, even though they took out the US. An African team has never won. In fact, an African team has never even placed in the top 4. It's always Europe and South America. I looked it up. Korea placed 4th once, but that's it for Asia. And nada for Africa.

The list of winners is interesting. It's a case of Europe and South America alternating. Italy won back-to-back in the 1930s, and Brazil won back to back in 1958 and 1962. But beyond that, it's Europe one year, South America the next.

In fact, only 7 different countries have won the World Cup:

Brazil: 5 times
Italy: 4 times
Germany: 4 times
Uruguay: 2 times
Argentina: 2 times
France: 1 time
England: 1 time

So the list of World Cup winners is a pretty exclusive club.

And the list of runners-up only adds 4 more teams, all in Europe: Hungary, Czechoslavakia, Sweden, and Netherlands.

The way it stands today, the only past winner still in the tournament are Argentina and Germany--and they play each other tomorrow. The winner will play either Paraguay or Spain, two teams that have never made it to the finals.

Hey, I'm just trying to make it interesting. Ghana's defeat made it decidely less interesting, and more a matter of The Usual Suspects.

Few things are more exciting than watching several hours of soccer during which NOBODY SCORES.

Actually, more than a few things are this exciting. In fact, every conceivable human activity is more exciting. Boiling water is infinitely more exciting, because you at least know the water WILL eventually boil.

It drives me nuts to see a score from the World Cup where two teams hammered at each other, and the final score was 0-0.

Last night, I watched Paraguay vs. Japan. After either 110 or 120 minutes (I can't remember which it was, which demonstrated my degree of rivetment), they had to do something else to determine a winner, because this could go on forever.

When this situation arises in soccer, here's what they do to get a winner: they stop playing soccer. It would be like resolving a tied basketball game by playing H-O-R-S-E. The soccer players could do rock-paper-scissors, or arm-wrestle, or see who can kick a soccer ball the farthest. Instead, they have a shoot-out

The shootout is insidiously designed to humiliate goalies.

Yes, the goalies have played flawlessly up to this point. Their teammates are the ones falling short, just kicking the ball around rather than actually scoring, as their job description demands. But rather than reward the goalies, they are made to look silly in front of millions of people.

An opposing team member is given a free kick ridiculously close to the goal. Like moving the pitching mound forward 15 feet. All the goalie can do is take a wild guess about where the guy will kick the ball. What usually happens is the goalie dives right, and the ball goes left into the net. Or vice versa. Regardless, the goalie looks silly.

The shoot-out, at least, has some drama to it, as opposed to two hours of kicking the ball around and comically faking serious injuries.

I really WANT to be excited about soccer. But it's SO HARD.

Until a couple years ago, I didn't even realize Butler University was in Indiana. I knew it was somewhere in the East, but didn't know where. Boston? Nashville? It was like Drexel, Murray State, Siena, Xavier, Robert Morris, and Radford. I had no idea where it was located, and no reason to care.

Now, suddenly, I have another Indiana college for which I'm obligated to root. But don't we Hoosiers have enough already? We've got IU, Purdue, Notre Dame, Indiana State, and Ball State, plus a slew of small Christian colleges. That's plenty to cheer for. But now I have to add Butler. And it's really not a choice, since they did so well. Butler now joins IU and ISU as teams that made it to the NCAA Championship game. In Indiana, that's a big deal.

But look at Michigan. They've got 10 million people, Indiana has 6.5 million. But when you think of colleges, only two come to mind--Michigan University, and Michigan State. Everyone in Michigan can be divided into two groups--MU fans and MSU fans. That makes it easy. Someday, those two groups will engage in a bloody civil war. It's inevitable.

Or think of Arizona, which has a slightly larger population than Indiana. They've got Arizona State and the University of Arizona. That's about it. Throw in Northern Arizona University if you want. Still easy to keep track of. Of course, there's the ubiquitous University of Phoenix, but it doesn't really count in my book, because it mostly exists in cyberspace.

But, I'll squeeze Butler into my fanosphere. They earned it.

Ron is one of the better players in the Fort Wayne table tennis club. He also manages a golf course.

Tonight I said to him: "I imagine you've heard every opinion possible about Tiger Woods."

He smiled. Yes he had. Then he said, "Here's my opinion, if anyone's interested. One: You don't really know a person's character, deep down, until they are tested--until they have opportunity. Two: I hope I never have opportunity."

That's a humble, "there but by the grace of God go I" kind of attitude. A good attitude to have.

That's me on the far right, kneeling, next to our coach, Guru Rajneesh (actually his name was Ross Gentry). This was 11th grade, my third and final year of playing high school ball. (Click photo to enlarge.)

When I go to the YMCA, I sometimes watch the games being played on the two basketball courts. And it maddens me. Because nobody passes. When a guy gets the ball, he dribbles around until he can find space to loft up a shot, which usually misses. They're all a bunch of gunners. And this is Indiana, where basketball is supposed to be more pure, more fundamental, than elsewhere.

I love seeing good passes. But they don't exist at the Y.

In my basketball days, I was always a point guard. My greatest delight was the pass, hitting someone when he was open. I didn't need to score. I loved enabling others to score. That's what point guards do.

Of course, part of it was just compensating for my weakness, which was shooting. I was always a terrible shooter. If the coach said we could leave practice after making five straight free throws--well get me a pillow, because I'm gonna be here all night.

But I could always pass, and let others do the scoring.

In pickup games, whether in PE or on the court behind our house in Pixley, Calif, where scores of kids came to play, I looked to pass. And sometimes, there would be one guy who knew that, if he got open under the basket, I would get him the ball. And HE would then score. I loved that, watching this guy maneuver and making sure I was in position to dish him the ball.

In pickup games, it's not especially hard to get open (especially in PE). Nobody guards vigorously. So if you put just a little effort into getting open, it'll happen. And I would get you the ball somehow.

But at the YMCA, nobody plays to pass. Consequently, nobody tries to get open...because, what's the point? Everyone knows that the guy with the ball is gonna dribble around and eventually shoot. So everyone else is just a spectator, standing around until he lets fly.

I would not enjoy playing in those games. It drives me nuts just watching.

When I saw the report this morning about Sven Kramer, the Dutch speedskater who was skating to a sure gold medal when his coach messed up and got him disqualified--well, it's a heart-breaking story. My sympathies immediately went out to the coach, who felt terrible for messing up.

Mika, on Morning Joe, felt the same way. And on CNN, when they showed the report, the host felt bad for the coach.

But as I drove to work this morning, I thought about that. Why was I instinctively drawn to the coach? Why wasn't my first reaction to feel bad for Sven Kramer?

After all, Kramer's the one who trained brutally hard for years and years, probably since he was a young kid. He's the one who sacrificed and punished his body in pursuit of a dream. He's the one who skated those 25 laps in Olympic record time. He's the one who would have received the Gold medal and gone into the history books. He's the one on whom the hopes of his country rested. He's the guy six million skating-obsessed Dutch viewers were watching. He's the one who truly lost something.

But my first thought was to feel bad for the coach. Why? Here's what I concluded.

I can't relate to Sven Kramer, an elite, world-class athlete. He exists in a different universe.

But I can relate to a poor dumb schmuck who screws up. That's where I live, the land of the ne'er-do-well, of the guy who squanders his chance, who gets confused under pressure, who blows it for everyone else, who makes a mistake which can never be redeemed. The coach--he's my kind of people.

Last night I watched the USA men's Curling team lose, in overtime, to the Swiss. It was a thrilling match which demonstrated the human spirit at its finest. Rarely have I been so proud to be an American.

Our finely tuned Curling athletes pushed themselves to the limit, extracting every last ounce of energy from their chiseled physiques, the determination showing on their faces as they dug deep within themselves for that last boost of adrenaline, dripping sweat betraying their exhaustion, drawing on untold years of crushing endurance training which would vanquish lesser men. But alas, it was not to be. Not this day.

Now let's give them all wedgies.