The Autumn Wind Will Always Be a Raider

I'll be honest, I wasn't too saddened with the death of Steve Jobs. Yes, he was a visionary and an innovator. Yes, he's the man who's mind is responsible for millions of phones and helping to make the music industry somewhat profitable again. Yes, he's the man who made us all see that Microsoft won in spite of it being the worse product. But after all that, he's just a guy who headed a company. Our lives wouldn't be radically different if Steve Jobs never lived. Computers and the internet would still be here. The iPod wouldn't but there were mp3 players long before the 1st iPod. The iPhone wouldn't be there, but I don't have one, and Android phones will overtake iPhones at some point. There were tablet PCs well before the iPad. All of that said, we all owe Jobs a thank you, because he made everything move faster, but I was never along for the ride (except for the iPod - curiously the only Apple product which is buggy as shit). I have an Android. I've been a PC user my whole life. Jobs' tragic defeat in his battle with cancer wasn't that big of a deal.

The loss of Al Davis? That killed me. See my life wouldn't be too different without Jobs (I would have had a Zune, which yes is awful, but without the iPod to compare it to, it would've seemed great). My life would be totally different without Davis and his Raiders. They were the NFL team I loved first. It was the 2000 NFC Championship Game and the Raiders were hosting the Ravens. I did not watch football at the time except for the previous two Super Bowls and still with just a passing interest (my love of Super Bowl XXXIV the year before is mainly from re-viewings years later) in either. Then I watched that game at the at-that-time McAfee Coliseum. I saw throngs of Raiders fans dressed in everything but a NFL jersey. There were countless Darth Vader costumes, Skeleton costumes, spikes and gorilla masks. There was every dark costume you could think of. It didn't matter that the Raiders lost that day 16-3. I was hooked. I was a Raider fan. Some would call this joining the band-wagon, but hell, I was 9 at the time, had no team that I was jumping from, and at least I didn't pick the Ravens who won the Super Bowl that year. I was a Raider fan, and that led me directly to being an Al Davis fan.

To this point in my Raider Fan life, which has spanned nearly 11 years, I've seen the team suffer the worst defeat of any team in any sport in the last decade (my opinion) in the Tuck Rule Game. I've seen them make the Super Bowl, before summarily being crushed in that game. Then I saw them win 4-5-4-2-4-5-and-5 games in 7 years. I saw a team that went 33-15 (4-3 in the playoffs) in three years then go 24-88 over the next seven. It was a tough time to be a Raider fan, a tough time to an Al Davis fan. But I always knew that sooner or later, Al would once again become that brilliant football mind that he used to be. The Raiders wouldn't always be bad. Now, they are a legitimate 3-2 after being 8-8 the previous year. They aren't bad. Hell, in many ways, they are good. They have explosive receivers. They have one of the league's best D-Lines. They have the league's best runningback at the moment. Their O-Line is solid. They have the league's best punter, and a kicker who has already hit field goals from 63, 56, 55, 54 and 50 yards on the season. They are everything Al Davis would've wanted his team to be. The only thing now missing is Al.

Football fans that are my age have long been told that Al Davis was a visionary and once one of the brightest football minds alive. That his teams were dominant for 25 years straight, and that they were the most feared team in the league, while also being the team that had the most fun. They had womanizing, boozing Quarterbacks, and fast receivers with weird numbers (Biletnikoff was #25?_. They had great hard hitting players on defense, and a string of all-pro cornerbacks. We all were told how great the Raiders used to be. I'm sure we all thought that part of this was just a myth. I iknow I did. But none of it is.

When you research the life of Al Davis, the words innovator, visionary and maverick aren't really enough. No, Al was a genius. Not in the same way Bill Walsh (although Al Davis identified that bit of genius, hiring Walsh once) was, or Bill Belichick or Joe Gibbs. No, he was a genius because he could do it all, and do it all his own way, and it all worked. It has been mentioned in scores of articles since his death that Al Davis was a scout, coach, GM, owner and commissioner at some point in his football life. Yes, he was against the merger, but that didn't really come in the way of him being associated with it. He was one of the first AFL owners to start the bidding war with the NFL, the single biggest point of ignition for the merger in 1970. He was the AFL commissioner and deeply believed that the AFL, if it stayed separated, could beat the NFL in popularity. He was the driving force behind the AFL being able to compete with the NFL. Al Davis changed football in that literal sense, but he did it in more ways than just the events of the 60's.

Al Davis' vertical offense was revolutionary. Bill Walsh used a lot of it to create his West Coast Offense. Al Davis' was groundbreaking, as he was made the Raiders first the first NFL team to be coached by a Latino (Tom Flores, who just went on to win 2 Super Bowls), and then the first NFL team to be coached by an African-American (Art Shell), and recently made the Raiders the first team headed by a woman (CEO Amy Trask). He never saw color, or gender, he just saw his team and wanted them to win. He didn't hire Flores because he was Latino, or hire Shell because he was black. He Hired them because he thought they were good coaches and wanted to win. That's why we love him.

Al Davis was the Raiders. It was his renegade image that fronted the team and then the ideal. He collected castoff veterans who were axed because partly because they didn't fit in, and partly because they were doing too much on the side to have the time to fit in. He brought in drunks, and playboys. All he asked them to do was win, and they did. 13-1, 12-2, 12-1-1, 8-4-2, 8-4-2, 10-3-1, 9-4-1, 12-2, 11-3, 13-1, 11-3, 9-7, 9-7, 11-5, 7-9, 8-1, 12-4, 11-5, 12-4. That was the Raiders' records from 1967-1985. Those 19 years were legendary. In that time, the Raiders won three Super Bowls, lost another and made four other AFC Title Games. Only the Steelers were more successful in that time-frame. It was John Madden, Daryl Lamonica, Ken Stabler, Art Shell, Gene Upshaw, Jim Otto, Marcus Allen, Cliff Branch, Ted Hendricks, Willie Brown, Mike Haynes, Fred Biletnikoff, Ray Guy. But most of all, it was Al Davis.


No team is identified by its owner. The one exception is possibly the Yankees and Steinbrenner, but the Yankees have a host of other candidates to identify the team by. The Raiders have had great players, but it was always Al Davis in front of everything. He was the guy who put all of those great players together, who hired young coaches, like John Madden at 32, Mike Shanahan at 35, Jon Gruden at 34, identifying coaching talent well before the rest of the league did. Al Davis was one of the few men who fought the league head on, and won, winning his lawsuit to move the team to LA (Reggie White is probably the other notable example). Al Davis did not like Pete Rozzelle, which led to one of the most iconic football images of the 80's not involving the 49ers, with Al Davis accepting the Lombardi trophy from Rozzelle. Al Davis' was iconic, with that white or black tracksuit as lasting as the silver-and-black team on the field. He loved the silver-and-black. No uniform has been changed less than the Raiders, and for good measure. How can you change a uniform that is perfect? It was so good so many teams in every sport started incorporating black uniforms; some good (Baltimore Ravens), some horrible (Philadelphia Eagles). Al Davis' teams weren't perfect, and neither was his behavior, but the look of him and the team he created. That was as perfect as could be.

Al Davis died last Saturday. In a way, one era of the Raiders died as well. Although he was in bad health, no one was really ready for this day to come, which is why the question of where the Raiders go from here is so interesting. Mark Davis, his son, is the successor for now (I hope for long, I would hate to see them back in LA), and the team looks to have a good foundation off of three straight fruitful drafts by Davis. But the Raiders are no longer Al's team. No other NFL team as old as the Raiders have had one owner. Yes, some have had the same family (Bidwill's, Rooney's, Mara's), but this is just one guy. This was a small-business prospering in the biggest sports business in the world. This was one man against 31 others, and for most of his life, he was up to the task.

The Raiders have always had an image, and it has always been the same image. I think the Steelers are the only other team that can say that. The Steelers have almost always been a great defensive team with tough QBs embodying the city they play in. The Raiders have always been a team with speed and flash on the outside (WRs, CBs) and toughness in the middle (o-line, d-line). It has always been the same. It probably will always be the same. It is sad Al Davis had to die this year. His team was finally right again. He finally had the fast receivers that could actually dominate games. He had the fast running back. He had a stable of fast corners (though his last great corner was gone in the offseason). Al Davis was finally about to prove that the NFL had not passed him by over the last decade. That his tricks weren't too old, that his ideas too antiquated, that the Raiders weren't too far gone.

I loved that image that the Raiders portrayed, which was what kept me with them. They were a team that didn't give a shit what anyone one else thought about how they did business. Their fans were fanatic and they were all over. The Raiders are, in my opinion, one of the four national NFL franchises, along with the Steelers, Packers and Cowboys, in that they have a national fanbase, with a lot of fans outside their own city. The Raiders have those fans, and I am one of them, mainly because of that image of rowdiness, of toughness, of living life on the edge of the rules, of fighting against the Man, of getting your opponent down on the ground, of running by him laughing, of winning. That image was built by Al Davis, and I am sure it will go on many years from now, and Al Davis will smiling all the way.

 

'Till Next Time (which should be my inaugaral 2011 MLB Playoff Running Diary, and my first attempt at a Running Diary Doubleheader, with the two baseball games tomorrow).

For Just One Night

After it all, the best part was three teams were one out away from winning, and all three needed to be blown for the Cardinals and Rays to clinch the playoffs, and all three were blown.

After it all, the best part is that all those people who said the Red Sox were dead after their 2-10 start to the season were somehow right.

After it all, the best part is the fact that the Yankees were up 7-0 before they trotted out guys named Golson, Romine, Ayala, Dickerson, Nunez, Laffey, Valdez, Brackman, Wade and Proctor.

After it all, the best part is that two of the best closers in baseball blew leads in the 9th inning, and for once, the Red Sox probably wished that Mariano Rivera pitched in the ninth.

After it all, the best part was that literally three minutes after the Orioles walked off with the 2011 Red Sox's scalps, Longoria hit a walk off home run to clinch the Rays 3rd playoff berth in three seasons.

But really, after it all, the best part is that October, a month filled with sacred, chilling, pulsating moments between pitches deep into cold nights, has not even started yet.

People say baseball is dead. People say the "national pastime" is so out of touch with the modern generation that it will soon be the 3rd sport in the US. People can say whatever the fuck they want, but on nights like last night, baseball is the best sport on earth. Facebook and Twitter erupted with baseball related statuses. Most of them were some knock on the Red Sox (whose fans will milk the living shit out of this collapse despite winning a championship in every sport since 2004). However, beneath all the silly jests on the Sox expense, there were many Facebook statuses that rang the same tune; "What a night of baseball!"

It was a night to rejoice in the game famous for having no clock and little action. It was a night to sit and watch three great games simultaneously going on, and all ending in stunning fashion. One of the biggest take-aways from last night was that the 2011 Braves and Red Sox have the biggest September collapses in the history of the MLB. However, even if those two teams hadn't blown huge September leads, and they were just in a daily battle with the Cardinals and Rays, that would have been the greatest closing night in MLB history.

That was a night that only baseball could give you. It is the only sport with rain delays, which allowed a 9 inning 4-3 game to end simultaneously with a 12 inning 8-7 game that started at the same time. It is the only sport where walk-off hits are common occurrences (in hockey, it isn't that common in the regular season, and then playoff hockey is just a different animal), and we got two within three minutes of each other that combined to give the Red Sox fans just one more thing to cry about. It is the only sport with 20 seconds between plays where that time is filled with tension (unlike the 35 seconds between plays in the NFL that is filled with nothing), and the tension was greater than anything I've seen in the regular season. Finally, baseball is the only sport where momentum changes often and that it is ingrained in the body of the game. The Red Sox had 1st and 3rd with no outs in the 9th inning, and didn't get an insurance run. The Yankees had 1st and 3rd with one out in the 11th inning, and didn't get an insurance run. Both teams would pay, or more exactly, the Red Sox would pay in both instances.

The drama in the AL really overshadowed what went down in the NL, and probably allowed the Braves to kind of be off the hook outside Atlanta, but it was as crazy. The Braves all season long have forced their top three bullpen arms to pitch way more than necessary, often to great results. They finally got tired, with star closer Craig Kimbrel blowing a 9th inning lead, just like what happened in Tampa Bay and Baltimore. The Cardinals were the only team to not give their own fans heart attacks, blasting the Astros 8-0 (in this, the Astros now had the worst season in the MLB since the Royals in 2005 - the same year the Astros made it to the World Series). The Braves finished their misery 25 minutes before the Red Sox and Rays decided to play play on two stages, and it was a great, if miserable, opening act.

Dan Johnson, Nolan Reimold and Robert Andino combined to kill a team that this offseason spent nearly 300 million in getting Carl Crawford and Adrian Gonzalez. Dan Johnson was hitting .108. Nolan Reimold is living off of one good year three years ago. Robert Andino is, well, Robert Andino. Those three wouldn't make the Red Sox roster, and they were the stars of the show. Jonathan Papelbon and the array of Yankee pitchers who decided to make cameos in the most important game for the Red Sox this season were the villains, and what better way to have it, with the Red Sox relying on their closer who had been brilliant in 2011, and the Yankees deciding to everything but openly throw a 7-0 game. It was dramatic, but it was comedic, with one team playing as hard as they could but still losing, and then needing their biggest rival to win, and that rival after taking a 7-0 lead playing as ambivalently as they could and inevitably losing.

The most dramatic part of all of the games was probably the 9th inning in the Red Sox-Orioles game, and that provided the most expansive ending. The best part was its finish, with speedy Carl Crawford messing up in the field and not getting to Andino's line drive. Carl Crawford never really wanted to go to Boston, but he was leaving Tampa, a place that couldn't afford him and had a replacement waiting in Triple A. Carl Crawford, like most mortal men, was won over by money to play for Boston, where he's done nothing but disappoint. In the end, Tampa used him well in 2011, capitalizing on his mis-field. The Rays, it seems, always know just when to get rid of players.

Going into last night, I was hoping for at least one 1-game playoff. All the one's in my time of watching baseball have been incredible. First was the Rockies/Padres 13-inning affair in 2007 where the Padres' Trevor Hoffman blew a 2-run lead in the 9th and it ended with Matt Holliday scoring a run in which he still hasn't tagged home. The next year, the White Sox beat the Twins 1-0 in a great pitcher's duel in game 163. The next year, the Twins closed out the Metrodome in 13 innings against the Tigers. I wanted a one game playoff. That said, I will take what I got last night every single time. I wrote last year that the chance to see Roy Oswalt pitch playoff games again will get me to love baseball again the way I used to when the Astros played back-to-back nail-biting NLCSs in 2004-05. That wasn't totally true, but it was last night. Night's like that, filled with drama and comedy and errors and struggle are what baseball is all about. Nights like that show why baseball is still around, still relevant, and can still captivate a nation of sports fans. Nights like that are why I, and so many others love baseball, because for just one night, anything, like winning when down to one strike, like Red Sox fans rooting hard for Yankee scrubs, like great closers blowing leads, like winning when down 7-0 in the 8th inning in a must win game, anything can happen.

How I've Come to Like Roger Federer

I hated Roger Federer. I hated him about as much as you can hate an athlete. Probably Bill Belichick is the only man in sports who I hated as much (yes, both are partly out of a fear/respect I have for the brilliance of each). I hated the way Roger played (his one-handed backhand basically a way of Federer sucking up to the old-timers). I hated the way he dressed (a belt and white sports-jacket and sports-khakis when coming on court in Wimbledon?). I hated the way he was really cocky and arrogant ("I was a treat to watch today" he once said). More than anything, I hated the way that no one else seemed to really hate him for those reasons, especially the tennis media, who all collectively decided to name him the Greatest Player ever before he even eclipsed Sampras' mark of 14 Slam titles. I hated Roger Federer about as much as I liked Rafael Nadal.

I no longer hate that man. I actually like him now. Roger Federer has become one of the most interesting figures in individual sports, a robot turned romantic. Roger Federer, much like his friend Tiger Woods, is seeing his kingdom being taken over, albeit in slightly different ways. There is no man out there close to Tiger's 14 major wins, but there are youngsters all over that can hit with him any day. Federer's kingdom is much closer to being overthrown, with Rafael Nadal closing in on his 16 majors not to mention the ever-increasingly one-sided personal rivalry, which has gone from 13-7 to 17-8 in over a year. However, in his slow decline from inhuman to very much human, Federer has become a sypathetic lovable figure - the man trying to hold on to what he had.

The moment I truly realized that I had become something of a Federer supporter (I should make it clear that I still wanted Nadal to beat Federer in the French Open Final, as I will in any match between the two) was in his match with Djokovic, the unbeatable man. I had always been a fan of Djokovic (again, I will always want Nadal to beat him), as I thought he was unfairly criticized for not winning titles when he simply wasn't as talented as Federer and Nadal from 2007-2010. I liked seeing Djokovic running away in Australia, and then sweeping the American Masters events. That said, his undefeated run through the clay season made me terrified. I'm not scared and fearful of Djokovic eventually taking #1 for 2011, mainly because it is inevitable and he has little chance of keeping it in 2012. I was scared of Djokovic winning the French. It was time for that streak to stop, for him to taste defeat for the first time since last thanksgiving. And Federer was the perfect man to do it.

Six months is a long time in tennis. Six months earlier Djokovic was the man who fought and clawed his way to upset Roger Federer in a dramatic incredible US Open Semifinal, twice firing winners when Federer held match point (the climax of a year of many match-point chokes by Federer). Djokovic ruined a dream US Open final between Nadal and Federer, ending my hopes of Nadal not only winning the career slam, but the 'Beat-Federer-At-Every-Slam-Final' Slam. Six months later, it was Federer fighting to a huge upset over Djokovic at the French Open ruining what was the new dream final between Nadal and Djokovic. Federer was the man who played spoiler, something unimaginable two years earlier, when Federer was winning the summer French Open-Wimbledon double and he was in full dick mode. Federer was now the lovable underdog, the man everyone thought was done. There was no perfect player to finally end Djokovic's run, as Nadal said, "The best player of the history" beat "The best player of today."

When Federer finally finished off Djokovic, he wagged his finger, telling us all "that's for thinking I couldn't beat this punk" and let off a roar, a celebration that seemed so geniune. I used to hate Federer that he fell down after winning the umpteenth major title (he does this without even attempting to cry, which seperates him from Nadal who tears up every time he wins a major). I used to hate that Federer's celebrations seemed choreographed and fake. He used to put on jackets and coats, courtesy of Nike, that made him look more like a preppy tween in a yacht club than an athlete fresh off winning a physical battle. This reaction seemed totally real, about how any man would react in that situation. He was 0-5 in 2011 against Djokovic and Nadal. He had lost two straight semifinals to Novak Djokovic, including a three-set loss that was nowhere near as close as the score indicated in Australia. He was a huge underdog. It was a serious surprise to everyone that Federer ended the streak that easily. He was the third man in the trivalry. However, he was finally able to remind us that it is indeed a trivalry, that he is capable of running with the younger Djokovic and Nadal (well, not Nadal). Federer gave us one more amazing moment, and finally one that seemed truly special.

Roger Federer is the Greatest Player of the Open Era (you could easily make a case that Rod Laver was more dominant, winning 10 majors despite not being able to compete for 5 years of his prime). Roger Federer has put up numbers and streaks that won't be topped. Nadal may beat his 16 slams. Some guy may one day win 5 straight US Opens like Federer, or three majors in a year three times. However, those players will have to be amazingly special. The one record that probably will never be topped is the 23 straight semifinals at majors. In comparison, Nadal's longest streak is 5. All that understood, it took me until Federer became the underdog, old and tired, to make me truly appreciate him.



It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I no longer fear Roger Federer (I love how I'm talking like I am the one playing him). I am confident Rafael Nadal will win all their big meetings in best-of-5 matches (he's won the last four). I am no longer scared off the specter of Roger Federer the G.O.A.T. He's not that guy anymore. He has to fight to make a final to beat a guy who used to fight to beat him. Roger Federer has become someone who was questioned about his ability, about his age, about his future. He always said that people count him out too soon. Of course, the media and him have had this rodeo for three years, but back then Federer was 27. He's now nearing 30. He's now way behind Nadal and despite his win in Rolland Garros, Djokovic in the rankings. After all the revelry, he still did not win the French Open and played amazing tennis to win just a set in the final. He's now the fighter, the underdog, the man who wants one more crack at the crown.

Roger Federer is still arrogant. He still thinks he is better now than he is. He is still a worse player currently than Nadal and Djokovic. He easily could never win another major (in that vein, I don't want him to win another). However, seeing Roger Federer have to work hard and drag and claw his way in attempt to do so is captivating, is interesting, is enjoyable. Watching Roger Federer now is fun. He still has that level that no one can still match, but that level only lasts for four or five games at a time before "old" Federer (as in age) returns, with an error filled backhand and misplaced serve. Those four or five games are something to cherish, something to behold, to remember that no matter how many matches in a row Novak Djokovic wins, and no matter how many people eventually pass him in the rankings, Roger Federer is the best of all time. I like him now, but mainly because I like the fact that that version of Roger Federer is retired. The more interesting, captivating and geniune version is here to stay.

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Before we depart, I would like to touch upon two other tennis topics.


1.) Novak Djokovic's streak was so underappreciated. While it was going on, especially in the French Open, it was a big deal, but the second Federer beat him, he returned to the backseat. There was no talk of "How amazing was that 43 match winning streak!!", it was just "Federer's back!!!!". Novak Djokovic arrived early in a shallow part of tennis history where Nadal was winning the clay events and Federer was winning everything else (2006-2007). In that time, Djokovic made five consecutive semifinals at slams, becoming the youngest man to reach the semis in all four majors (in comparison, Andy Murray just accomplished that). He won a slam. Then he seemed to plateau for three years, still making deep runs in almost every slam (Quarterfinal or better in 15 of 17 slams). He could beat everyone but Federer and Nadal consistently. He was continually battered and slammed by the media for not winning more, while strangely the media loved Andy Murray who even before this years Australian Open had achieved about half of what Djokovic had. Last year's US Open semi was the turning point. He always played Federer close but often lost close set after close set. Finally, he fought back and won the late games in the 5th set. He eventually lost to Rafael Nadal in a US Open final of extremely high level tennis. That set it off.

Djokovic's run was incredible. He won seven events before June. He won a major and four Masters titles, which is a good career (Andy Roddick in his career has won one major and five masters titles). More than that, Djokovic killed Federer each time they met (Australia, Dubai and Indian Wells without dropping a set), and even more impressively beat Nadal each time (Indian Wells, Miami, Madrid and Rome - all in finals). Djokovic was 0-9 against Nadal in finals before 2011. He's now 4-9. He was 0-9 against Nadal on clay, and he's now 2-9, becoming the first man to beat Nadal on clay twice in one season, and the second to beat him twice on clay, period. Novak Djokovic grew up. His shots become better, sure, but he was always technically about perfect in every way except for his serve. What changed is his confidence. He believed he could beat Nadal and Federer and soon he believed he couldn't lose. His streak was snapped by the man who owns much of the other streaks in the history of the sport and it took a great effort to beat him. 43 matches gave him just one major, but I feel like Novak is still here to stay.



2.) Finally, there is Rafa. He didn't play well early in the tournament. What does a not-as-good Rafa still accomplish in the French Open: He wins the title with dropping just three sets, two in tiebreaks in the 1st round to Isner when he was serving out of his gourd. Rafael Nadal is basically what Federer used to be. He's now a man who everyone tries to find fault with, tries to find ways and explanations of why he will lose. I used to do it with Federer. Federer twice had to go five sets early in majors that he eventually won, much like Nadal. For Rafa, the tournament starts in the quarterfinals, and it was true here too, as he played B- tennis until the quarters and then eviscerated Soderling and Murray and beat Federer with Federer playing about as good as he can on clay. After all the smoke and clay settled, Rafael Nadal was the man holding the trophy, again. He will always be the man holding the trophy in Paris until someone beats him.

Long Live the Lakers & Spurs

In the span of two weeks, the Spurs and Lakers fell out of the 2011 playoffs, and with aging stars, coaching problems, and the rise of other talented teams and the rise of the super team, the days of the Bryant-led Lakers and Duncan-led Spurs have reached their conclusion. It was these two teams that dominated the conference for 12 years, with the Lakers winning the West 7 times (and 5 finals), and the Spurs winning 4 times (and a title each time). The Lakers and Spurs exemplified basketball at its best. One team had the stars, the highlights, the celebrities. The other team played the best team basketball of the new millenium, with great role players surrounding a star the size of hundreds of suns. The Lakers and Spurs also had the best two coaches, two men who combined to win 15 of the last 20 titles (that statistic is staggering). The post-Jordan era took a couple years, but it became the Shaq/Kobe/Duncan era, and while the first has already seen the luster of his star shy away, the Kobe and Duncan eras are now finished, and what an era it was.

It was interesting the way both teams lost. The Spurs somehow went 61-21 this year despite their best player being Manu Ginobili, and them having no great player and 11 average to good ones. Their era, in all honesty, ended in 2008, but they have been able to hang on with the collective brilliance of Popovich, Duncan, Parker and Ginobili. They fought and clawed their way against the Grizzlies, the best 8th seed maybe ever and a team that has a legitimate shot at winning the title, and eventually lost in 6 games, but went down swinging with an amazing comeback in Game 5 in San Antonio, not allowing for their era to end on their own court. The Spurs always fought. They won their games with braun, not flash. They won four finals, one in a sweep, one in 5 games, one in 6 games and one in 7 games. They won in every way, winning defensive grudge matches against the defending champions Pistons to outgunning the 62 win "Seven Seconds or Less" Suns one round earlier and then two years later. They just won, and that's all their leader, Duncan, wanted to do.

Quiet man led a quiet team. The 4 title banners behind him were loud enough.

The Lakers were a team of flash and great ability, but always had odd, sometimes combustible chemistry despite having a coach who was fixated on the zen of things. From the Kobe vs Shaq days, where they feuded on and off despite combining for a three-peat. Then Kobe wanted out time and time again, before the Lakers were gift-wrapped Pau Gasol and made it to three more finals and back-to-back championships. It all ended much like the previous Lakers, getting ousted embarrassingly by a team that played more like a TEAM. For the Kobe/Shaq Lakers it was against the underdog Pistons. This time, it was against the underdog Mavericks, who really never should have been underdogs (more on them later this week). The teams may have changed, and the level of total embarrassment may have been different (this was a sweep), but all the elements were the same, and were so very Laker-ian. There was infighting, which this time came out as Bynum said that the team had trust issues. In the end, they quit on their coach and on their legacy.

The Lakers and Spurs are both great, great franchises, but they represent different things. The Lakers have been about the star, the celebrity, as shown by the line of rich, famous people that showed up to Laker games, to the Lakers love of signing tall, big men. The Lakers always wanted that feeling that they were the biggest team in size and in stardom, and most often, they were right. But this always came at a cost, as the Lakers were never the hardest working team, the team that was best at fighting. Everyone wanted everything on the Lakers, everyone wanted what being a winner in Los Angeles offered, and no one was willing to actually fight for it when it wasn't obviously there to be taken. Other than their dramatic, possibly scandalous and definitely lucky win over the Kings in 2002, they were the favorite in every series in their runs to the NBA Finals. They were never further than two games worse than their playoff opponent in their title runs. In fact, after Shaq left (the guy who was responsible for the Lakers not getting the #1 seed from 2001-2004 but turned it on to monstrous size in the playoffs), the Lakers made the finals three straight times but were the #1 seed each time. In years they weren't the #1 seed, they won just one playoff series (this year, against New Orleans who was basically a one man team). The Lakers never wanted to fight, they wanted to win and win with style. And they did, a lot.

At their peak, they were the most dominant 1-2 bunch of the decade.

Obviously, I feel like the Spurs were a team that fought more, but really, that because they had do. They never got that second great player, the way the Lakers did. If you look at the rosters that the Lakers and Spurs had over the last 12 years, three of the four best players to play on those teams were Lakers, with Kobe, Pau and Shaq joining Tim. (Robinson was basically Andrew Bynum level in 1999 and shell of himself in 2003). The Lakers had the better teams. They were the better destination. They didn't fight because they didn't really have to (I should say, this isn't to say they never did. They have won four dramatic 7 games series since 1999, Portland in '99, the Kings in '02, the T-Wolves in '04 and the Celtics in '10 - and didn't have home court in the middle two). The Spurs fought because they did. They were a machine that had to work to run smoothly, but when it did, there was nothing better.

The lasting memory of the Phil/Kobe era shouldn't be Odom elbowing Nowitzki while the team was down 26 with 9 minutes to go, and Bynum thugging JJ Barea just one minute later, but the fact that they were down 26, well maybe that should be the lasting memory. This was the fourth time that a Kobe led team lost spectacularly in a clinching game. Kobe basically took control of the Lakers starting in 2002-03. First, they lost by 28 at home in Game 6 to San Antonio in 2003, then lost by 31 in game 7 to Phoenix in 2006. Then the two real embarrassments, the 39 point loss in Game 6 to Boston, and finally this 36 point loss in a sweep, the first of Phil Jackson's career, much less Kobe's. When they went down, they went down hard. Luckily for them, they barely went down.

Head to head, the Lakers won four of the six playoff series between the two teams, winning in 2001, 2002, 2004 and 2008, and the Spurs winning in 1999 and 2003. They never had a memorable series, and the only real lasting memory from these meetings was Derek Fisher's shot with .4 seconds left (a shot that gave the Lakers a 3-2 lead instead of San Antonio going up 3-2). Instead of really knocking heads with each other, they did it against the rest of the West. It is amazing that in an era where the Western Conference seemingly got better year after year, two teams were able to win the conference 11 times in 12 (and Dallas needed a lot to get by San Antonio the one year that broke the trend). There were some legitimately great teams in the West over the years, from the 2002 Kings to the 2004 T-Wolves, and 2005 and 2007 Suns. All of them fell to the Spurs and Lakers, all of them had home court, but still couldn't beat the two titans of the West.

Most of their playoff series were really one sided (only two lasted more than 5 games) but there still was one epic moment.

The Spurs were probably the champion that will be more easily forgotten, but they are the most important. At a time in the NBA where everyone is nervous that superteams will take over the NBA (if it hasn't already happened with Miami), and everyone is as nervous that small-market teams will never be able to really compete and never be able to lock up their stars. San Antonio is the answer to both questions. Parker and Ginobili might be borderline hall-of-famers (I would say Ginobili has a better shot than Tony), but there's never been a team that won as many titles in a short period of time with just one true Hall-of-Famer. They were a small market team, and they had success, and they locked up their best player. Not only any best player, but one of the 10 best players in NBA history. The Spurs showed everyone that the small town formula could work, that being housed in a city where free agents don't inspire to be isn't the death knell to title hopes. It takes luck, like getting an all-time coach and all-time player, but these aren't impossible hurdles. It's probably more likely to do that than to ever get players of the level of Dwyane Wade and LeBron James to team up again under the new CBA salary cap. The NBA isn't doomed if teams learn the lesson that San Antonio taught us for 10 years.

Age is the greatest equalizer in sports. Age cripples players long before their desire to win goes away (and for everything I wrote about the Lakers never fighting, Kobe learned sometime around 2005 that the hard work had to be there, that winning was everything and although he wasn't always the hardest fighter, if he thought his team had a chance, he would die to win). It is happening to Roger Federer right now. He's at a point where winning one set off of Rafa Nadal when Nadal isn't playing close to 100%, is seen as a great result. It's happening in a way to Tiger Woods, who is seeing all of these twenty-something rise up at once and collectively make his run at Nicklaus exponentially more difficult. Despite their brilliance, it is happening to Duncan and Bryant. Big men decline quicker and more obviously, but in reality, the performance by Duncan and Bryant in 2011 were really similar. Duncan couldn't stop Zach Randolph. Here is a man who averaged a 35-15-5 against Shaq and Dirk in the 2003 playoffs, and he couldn't stop Zach Randolph and Marc Gasol consistently. Then there is Kobe, who destroyed everyone off of the dribble for years, and he got two layups in the entire Mavs series when being guarded primarily by Jason Kidd. The fact that those two had to play extended playoff seasons year after year after year didn't help either. These two all-time great players will be connected by their immense will to win championships, and by them dominating an era that after Jordan left, needed some domination.

The two best players of their generation loved each other... which didn't make for great drama, but did make for a great story.

The Lakers and Spurs were equals. Their coaches were the two best in the game. Their best player were the two greatest of a generation along with Shaq (at least one of those players was in every Finals since 1999). There was amazing respect between those two franchises, and it would have been perfect if they got to meet this year, but life moves on. Kobe Bryant hails Tim Duncan as "the best power forward ever" and "other than Michael, the best player I've ever played against." Tim calls Kobe "the best player of the decade, easily" (although I, and some others, would dispute that). Kobe hasn't always been a Saint (lest us forget that rape case back in 2003), and Tim hasn't ever been someone willing to let people embrace him the way so many would like to, but they are both classy enough to have been the two people to carry the NBA from the Jordan era to the present. There teams have also been able to carry us through the years where we waited for that next Jordan to come. Now we are still waiting, but take a moment and think, when will the next Spurs and Lakers come? Could it be the Bulls and Heat in the 2010's? Possibly, but I doubt two teams own a conference like this again. Even the Colts and Patriots had the Steelers (and Steelers fans would say that the Colts are the "other" team, winning one less AFC Title while being admittedly more year-to-year great). The Mavs always won 50 games, but only once made the Finals and only twice (not including this year) made the Conference Finals. The Lakers and Spurs were not a true rivalry, since there was no hatred, but still they went together perfectly, and it ended in the perfect way, with them both bowing out quickly, in the fashion that defines them.

A Wedding in India

Family, Fun and a City That Does Sleep

(Part 3 of 4)

(Link to Part 1: http://loungingpass.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-india-family-fun-and-city.html)
(Link to Part 2: http://loungingpass.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-india-family-fun-and-city_27.html)

By the time I had to wake up early in the morning and start our day-long jaunt over to Mangalore, I was already feeling a longing for our days in Bangalore as a family, as a counsinhood. I was already nostalgic, feeling regret in my stomach. Or of course, all of those feelings could just be due to the lingering effects of seven straight days of partying, of imbibing, of just living life. That said, by the time we reached Mangalore, we were ready to go through the emotional part of the holiday. It didn't matter that the two days in Mangalore were "dry days" as declared by the government because of impending elections. My sister and I were in no state to complain, as our bodily governments had basically declared "dry days" as well. Mangalore was dry, but by the end, our faces were wet with tears, both sad and happy.

Mangalore was the city that really started everything. It was where both of my parents were born, and all four grandparents. It was where my mother lived for the first 20 years of her life. It was where I spent the Summers or Springs of my 2nd, 3rd, 6th, 11th and 13th years. Outside of my house in Plainsboro, I've probably spent more time in my grandmothers house atop Lighthouse Hill in Mangalore than any other. As someone who's permanent residence has been one home for all but 1.25 years of my life, Mangalore has really been by second hometown, the place where I first walked, and the place where I first ate a mango; both equally important. Mangalore is the Pinto family, it is our home, our origins. And it was a place I hadn't been to in nearly ten years.

Mangalore was a small port-town, home to many things, including the Pinto family tile factories, which my Grandfather, his brothers and parents, owned tile factories and set up camp. When last I visited Mangalore, it was still that, a small port town. I never understood how small it was (as until 2001, the last time I visited I was five and had little recollection of actually going there other than sleeping under mosquito nets) until my Mom told me, my sister and Andy that we had to be on good behavior because the local townies knew we were Harry Pinto's grandchildren. I scoffed at this idea, that us three kids who didn't know a word of Konkani (the local language) nor Kannada (the language of the state of Karnataka) would actually be recognized. However, little did we know that people actually knew that Harry Pinto's grandchildren were in town, and that we were those same people, and that my mother was Harry Pinto's daughter, and a person that every shop owner in the city seemed to know personally. Mangalore was a small town, and it was perfect.

Of course, those warnings from my Mom did little use, as we were joined by three of my cousins from my dad's side of the Family, and with them we basically had a spectacular summer together. The best prank was teh "Dick from Boston" where my two cousins Andy and Robin (my dad's brothers son) went over to a stranger in Mangalore's main Cafe Coffee Day (the Indian Starbucks, until there are actually Indian Starbucks). They pretended to know him as being "Dick from Boston" (where Robin used to live), and basically pretended to be long lost friends, meeting for the first time. The man was stunned, and repeatedly pleaded that he had no idea of Robin, of anyone, of Boston. It was great comedy. Later on in the trip, Robin went up to a metal-head on a date at the bowling alley (back in 2001-2003, Bowling Alleys were all the rage in India), and challenged him to a fight and got himself thrown out of the alley. Needless to say, the Pinto grandchildren were known. That summer was the perfect way for my Mangalore memories to end, and I thought it would, as my Grandmother moved the following year to live with my Uncle in Bangalore up until her death in 2007. Her house in Mangalore laid empty, standing tall on top of Lighthouse Hill. That is, until we all took a trip back, a trip that ended up ruining the memories that "Dick from Boston" was so instrumental in creating.

That house was so amazing. It was the home that my mom and her brothers and sisters grew up in, sure, but it was also the greatest gift to a curious child. There were tunnels and balconies, and spiral staircases, and bath houses, and coops. It was more like a castle to me when I was a child, a never ending series of rooms and alleys. There was everything except for the moat and the dragon. In 2001, I finally was consciously able to use all the house had to offer, with the upstairs reading room and the bath house. God, that bath house, where water was fire-heated in two giant couldrons used to hold bucket-fulls of water. Thankfully the room was really dark, as who knows what horrible creatures crawled the walls of that place (a dark, wet room? That is a recipe for a bug breeding ground), but even if there were cockroaches lining the walls, I would still probably use it. That said, I really had come along way too late, as I missed out on the balconies, the stables, the farms, the cots. I missed out on what that house used to be - a miniature world with chickens and cows and of course, people. In 2001 it was just a house, but an amazing house at that. A place where I played cricket with Andy in the verandah, and played cards in the study, and listened to Mummy (what we called our grandmother) tell stories on her bed. By 2011, I wish the house was just that.

I finally realized why my mom and her siblings were all so hesitant to go to the house (although other than my mom, they had all been there since my grandmother moved out). Having heard stories from Vikram that part of the wall dividing two bedrooms that at one point in time housed all of the sibling had fallen, and the roof in the room that was first occupied by their eldest brother Al had a whole it, none of them were waiting to see it. On the other hand, from the moment that Vinitha gave her wedding dates, I had decided I was making a trip to the house. Seeing what it had become, I might have stayed back. It was not as bad the picture Vik painted (although the walls between the two rooms had crumbled), but seeing that house in its dark state was as bad. The house that was once as lively as bright as any, the one that stood firm under the never-ending Summer monsoons was now broken and beaten.

Broken and beaten could have just as easily been used to describe my mom and her siblings at seeing their home in that state. They remembered the home as a miniature world, their world. I just remembered it as a house. However, just like it was when it was occupied, the house still held treasures behind, as it was mostly still full of furniture and curios. Mummies cabinet was still in her room, and after we unlocked it, what we saw left tears in my eye. Left where different things that mummy felt compelled to keep, all gifts from her grandchildren, my cousins. There was a picture of my sister as a kid. There was a stuffed Gund Bear from Marie. I finally got to my one, which was a leaflet about Leopards that I gave to her after Leopard's were spotted in the compound. In all, it was basically a whole time capsule of our family, of the very same people who I recently drank and partied with the week before. But it was a snapshot of a very different time, back when our grandmother was alive, back when Mangalore was a second home, and when this house was our house and not an abandoned museum of the Pinto family.

My sister and I were the only cousins who made the trip to Mangalore, as we were the only two in college, without the draw of an actual life and job to return to after the wedding in Bangalore, but with all these mementos from the lives of our cousins left in that house, we felt that we were all there together. All the living siblings were there, and that was truly amazing. They all came and went through Mangalore and the house through the years, but this was the first time that they all were in the house together since the 1980's. For the first time since then, the house in some ways was complete, even with the circle of life extending fully as Anthony's kids saw the house in some ways for the first time, as they were either 1 or not born when Mummy left the house behind for Bangalore. It was a moment to cherish, despite the fact that the walls were crumbling and the place was strewn with dust bunnies. Through it all, it was still are house. We all had different memories of the house, different reasons why it was so special, but in that moment, all those reasons came together to reveal the real one. It was a symbol of our family, of us being Pinto's. The only people who will carry on the Pinto name were the three young kids who had never the house as an occupied home. They finally saw the house, finally saw where it all began.

The rest of the trip to Mangalore was actually quite educational as well, in that it was a good look at the life cycle of a city. Mangalore now is where Bangalore was about 10 years ago. It is less crowded, less busy and more enjoyable from a purely aesthetic view. With the sea close by, it is more humid, but at that time of year, the weather was perfect. The infrastructure of the city itself has improved tremendously, and buildings taller than 100 feet are starting to pop up, which is something that would have been thought unimaginable ten years ago. Sadly, as my Mom often pointed out with depressed amazement, most of those tall buildings stand in the same ground that previously held homes of all the Manglorean families. Most of those homes were just like our family one on Lighthouse Hill, all beautiful, but all empty and finally sold to developers. That is the circle of life in Mangalore, and one day it will most likely happen to our house on Lighthouse Hill, the house my Mom grew up in, the house that in many ways all of us cousins grew up in. One day that house will be gone, but knowing that I was able to see it off, steal some momentos and say a family prayer to bless the house makes me at peace with the fact that that second home will one day be land or some tall building. But that is just the circle of life in Mangalore.


Next: Part 4, with the Wedding. (Yes, it will be more light and fun than this part).

Community Problems

I've been looking for the next Arrested Development on TV for years; and for years, I have been left disappointed. I probably should give up hope, because there probably will never be a show that brilliant, that amazing. There will be shows as funny, as creative, but never as genius. That was a show for the comedy savants. Never a bad episode, never a bad scene, never a dull moment. That said, when I set out on a little voyage to start watching Community like it was a drug, I was amazed. Here was a show almost as brilliant; almost as referential; almost as layered; almost as funny. It was almost Arrested Development, and it was even a show in a similar style, with a large cavalcade of main characters all with different personality traits and quirks. However, the fact that it almost adds up to Arrested Development 2.0 but falls a bit short makes it hurt that much more.

Let me start with saying that I thoroughly enjoy almost every episode in Communities run (granted, I've only gone halfway through Season 2). It is a fabulous show, with great writing, better acting and a unique quirk that sets it apart from any other show I've ever seen (the uber-meta-ness of the show, especially the Abed character). It is, to me, the best comedy out on television right now.

*Sidebar: That doesn't mean it is the funniest. That's a different category, and I think it is a tie between Community and Its Always Sunny of Philadelphia, with Sunny having higher highs and lower lows in the laugh department. Best is about the show as a work of art. Arrested Development was that. Community is that*

It does an amazing job splitting screen-time between seven main characters (although Chevy Chase's is basically comic relief, with few actual storylines for him, and Shirley is underused). Very few shows can pull off having this many characters and not make it feel like too many. I know this sounds like I'm having a full hard-on for Arrested Development (and I am), but it did it better than anyone, with 9 main characters. Community comes close. Also, I love the incestuous dynamic of the whole group, with Jeff having slept with Britta, hooked up with Annie, and Pierce having sexual tension with Shirley, and of course the odd quasi-homosexual relationship between Troy and Abed. The gang in Community is really perfect. Everyone has their place. Everyone has their moments, their jokes, their gags. It all fits, like an intricate puzzle. The writers to an amazing job overall. It really is a great show; the best comedy on television right now.

That said, its biggest unique quality is its only failing. The meta-humor is just too much for a show that is so redeeming as just a show. The idea of Abed relaying to the group - as well as the audience - the state of the show at large, just comes across as odd. Community tries to toe the line between sitcom and reality, and in that, it really is not served well. For a show that has no third-party narration, or no Office-like draw as in a documentary, the show would be better served to stay a show, and not have the meta-humor in the interactive portal that is Abed. I enjoy the other meta-humor jokes that are laid into the dialogue of the show, the jokes that are layered in meta-humor. That's where the show becomes brilliant, and what makes it so much like Arrested Development.

Also, the reliance of pop culture references that are mainly confined to entertainment art like movies, games, etc. are a little too narrow in scope. Again, Abed's continual reference of the show scenarios in comparison to their similarities in other movies and shows are just too much, especially since most of the references aren't mainstream enough to be thoroughly enjoyed. The use of referential humor in the show itself is great, from the Glee-club in the paintball episode, or the entire Goodfellas homage in Abed's chicken-finger mafia. The show itself is great at portraying it as a satire of the entertainment industry. However, despite my love of the mafia chicken -finger scheme as an episode, the use of a famous film or genre as a framework for an episode takes away from the show in general. The show seems to get lost too much in answering the question "How much is too much?" The small, funny inserts of references to events and arts are great. The giant use of the entertainment industry, despite being funny, is sometimes a crutch that a show like Community does not need.

The reason why this use of the entertainment industry is as hurtful as it is (and remember, despite this, the show is still exceptional) is because after it is stripped of all of the arts industry references is a great show itself, with 7 characters that balance together perfectly - just quirky enough; just dry enough. The characters are mostly all likable (which is a huge contrast with AD, where the characters were loved for being bizarre), and play off each other well. The story has a lot of heart in it, with Jeff learning time and time again the subtle beauty of a life stripped of all the comforts of normal, corporate America. The show itself is great without the use of references and meta-humor. The addition of those two things makes the show great, but the overuse hurts the show.

Everything is there for Community to become the next Arrested Development, and it has advantages that Arrested Development did not have. Community has no threat of cancellation, which Arrested Development always had. Community has attractive women leads, which Arrested Development did not really have (Portia de Rossi was/is attractive, but that wasn't part of her character on the show - and she was married to Tobias). Community also has time to expand, to grow, to change. However, after two seasons, Community is near the threshold of losing all sense of reality, and this is due to the overload of references and reliances on creating satirical scenarios, instead of subtely layering in references onto normal dialogue. Arrested Development still always felt like this could be a real family - a screwed up one, definitely, but a real one. Community isn't exactly there. Despite the brilliance of episodes like the Apocalyptic Paintball fight, these make Community get further attached to the reality that is seven unlikely friends in a Community College.

Nevertheless, I will enjoy watching Community to continue to grow (although the run probably can't be too long, since the setting of a Community College has an attached timeline to it). I will enjoy watching it, and watching a show that reminds of me the greatest sitcom of the past decade. However, I will also have to enjoy the areas where it fails to match that sitcom. That should be easy, as those areas are quite funny themselves.

Madness 2011: What the F**K?!?!

I love Cinderella stories in college basketball. I loved Butler last year making it within one unlucky bounce away from a national championship, or George Mason shocking a loaded Connecticut team after already beating Michigan St and UNC (those are three of the six or seven best programs of the deacde) in 2006. I loved Steph Curry leading a Davidson team to the Elite Eight and giving the eventual national champion their toughest game until the Championship game. I love all of those amazing runs, and seeing little schools do well.

That said, I do not love the developments of the 2011 NCAA Tournament at all.

There is a difference between enjoying the run of a cinderella story and seeing March hijacked by one and in this case two. I like my cinderella's, but I just don't like them playing into the April portion of March Madness. Have your fun, but at the end of the day, just go away fighting and let the best teams really fight it out. I didn't have a real problem with Butler last year making it to the Final game, mainly because they were not a cinderella. They were in excellent team, in the top-10 of the AP polls late in the season; they had the major cast members of this year's Final 4 team, but add a great defensive player and a NBA lottery pick. I wouldn't have had a problem if San Diego St. or BYU made it to the Final 4, as they were great teams. I even don't have a real problem with Butler if they came solo, but add that to VCU, and it makes it ridiculous. Midnight has to strike at some point, and I would love it if it struck a little earlier.

At first, I loved that three of the four top seeds were gone before the Elite 8. It was at first interesting, funny, and led to basically everyone's bracket getting beaten with a club. What helped was that two of the games that featured one seeds going down were great quality performances. Arizona played amazing over the last 20 minutes, reminiscent of Kansas' emasculation of UNC in the 2008 Semifinal (more on the Jayhawks later). Kentucky played amazing, shutting down OSU in a way I thought impossible.

However, the lack of one seeds made me realize then and there that the great play portion of the tournament was now over. We might have drama. We might have great finishes, and overtimes, but not great play. Having all four number one seeds gone makes it even worse. No matter what anyone says, having the best teams actually playing in the Final 4 does make it better. Remember 2006? The last year that no one seed made the Final 4, the year that featured VCU's conference colleague George Mason, but probably was the least watched Final 4 and least memorable ever. For those who remembered, that was the year that LSU made the Final 4 (anyone remember two players on that team?). That was the year that a three seed (Florida) won the title. That was the year that March Madness went out with a large thud. The same thing will happen this year. It will be fun at first to watch an 11 seed take on an 8 seed, but when the game turns into a glorified 3-pt contest, it will stop being cute and be mostly unsatisfying.

It is hard to defend the postseason system in College Football, but at least the BCS will always give us a satisfying matchup in the National Championship Game. It will inevitably lead to arguments over why another team isn't included, but usually the two participants are among the best in the country, and have proven it over the length of the college football season. The matchups always feature highly ranked teams, and in general, the games are usually very good, especially since they fixed the BCS after the LSU-USC-Oklahoma mess in 2003. Even if the BCS is killed and a playoff system is initiated, it will be most likely capped at 8 teams, producing the eight best teams in the nation. Making it 65 (and now 68) really bastardizes the regular season. It is just way too many teams to make a single-elimination format effective, and essentially makes the entire regular season meaningless. VCU did little to make the tournament. Kansas did everything. What exactly did that give Kansas?

I'm not saying March Madness is broken, because it is not. In fact, with the addition of the new channels it is shown on so as to allow us all to watch any game we want, it is better than ever. I'm just saying that having two "cinderella's" make the Final 4 doesn't make March Madness better. In fact, it makes the third weekend of March Madness, which should be the best, most important weekend, worse. It takes the teams that play the best basketball out of the tournament, and leaves it with nice storylines and little substance. Cinderella is a great story, but midnight strikes before the ball is over. March Madness is better off if it were no different.


SIDE RANT


I hate how this loss to VCU is becoming another opportunity to reassess Bill Self's coaching and tenure at Kansas. I did write last week that I think he is an exceedingly good coach, and I stand by it, despite this being the fourth time in his Kansas tenure he has been knocked out by a team seeded 9 or worse. Yes, he lost back-to-back years as a 3 and 4 seed in the first round, and yes he has lost two years in a row before the Final 4 as a 32-2 one seed entering the tournament. However, this is more about him coaching up teams in the regular season. Kansas is a blue-blood program, and he has good players, but he doesn't have great players. He has never had a Kemba Walker, or even an Emeka Okafor, or Deron Williams. He's coached only three lottery picks in his time at Kansas, and has never coached a player who was drafted in the top-10, an amazing stat for a program that has been so consistently successful in the decade. He's had good players, but fallible ones. Also, every program has lost their fair share of bad games. Mike Krzyzeswki coached teams from 2005-2009 that were seeded 1,1,6,2,2 in their region, and never made it to the Final 4, and never even made it to the Elite 8, always losing to a lower ranked team, including a 24 point loss to Villanova in the 2009 Sweet 16. Roy Williams lost to George Mason at UNC. Every program has bad losses. Kansas' problem is that their bad losses happen to less-than teams.

Bill Self is notorious for losing to low ranked teams, but that discounts his record against highly-ranked teams. The one year he did win the title? He had to beat a one seed in the semifinal (let alone embarrass one in the proccess) and then beat another one seed in the championship game. Do you know the last time the Champion had to beat two #1 seeds in the Final 4? Arizona, in 1997. Bill Self also seems to have a problem in Elite 8 games, with a record of 1-3 at Kansas in that round (he won the championship the year he did get that "1"), but his record in the Sweet 16 is pristine, and Elite 8 games are about as hard to win as the games in the third weekend.

He's not an amazing coach. He's not Coach K. But he's also not the best of recruiters, and that might have something to do with him running a squeaky-clean program and once recruiting a one-and-done player (Xavier Henry). Only Duke has done as much with less-than-amazing talent (the talent that John Calipari has always had, or Roy Williams), and until 2009, Coach K achieved less than Bill for a long period of time (especially considering the 1999-2001 Duke teams were loaded with NBA talent, especially the 2001 title team). Bill Self will probably get ridiculed, but it is not his fault his team missed open shot after open shot. VCU didn't really contest many of Kansas' three-point shots, and obviously didn't defence their free throws, and Kansas was abhorrent at both. Not Self's fault. They defended VCU well enough to win, and defended them better than even Florida St, the nations best FG% defense, did the round earlier. It is hard to defend him, because the losses are there, but he's also accomplished a lot, among them, winning a title. I hope he doesn't have a 32-2 season next year, because honestly, it sets the expecations higher than a team of that talent should have. The 2010-11 Jayhawks weren't 32-2 good. They really weren't. They fooled me. They didn't fool VCU, though.

A Wedding in India

Family, Fun and a City That Does Sleep

(Part 2 of 4)

(Link to Part 1: http://loungingpass.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-india-family-fun-and-city.html)

Being the youngest cousin was not always to my detriment. When I was a toddler, it was fun to be the center of attention, like the Buzz Lightyear in a extended family full of Sheriff Woody's. However, this age impairment quickly turned against me, forcing me to sleep when others were awake, and cover my ears when others opened their mouths. Finally, I was on even footing, relatively. Being 19, in a country where 19 is good enough to do anything legal, allowed me to look them in the eye, these people, cousins who used to tower over me, and say, "Let's Have some fun." I have cousins ranging from 35 to 5, but taking out the younger ones (who are well younger than me), I have cousins ranging from 35 to 19. This is way different than when we used to range from 21 to 5 like we did at the last wedding in India. Then, there were stigmas attached to that difference, there were things that separated us, that made for a "Kids Table/Adults Table" set up. Those shackles were long gone, the years that spanned Avinash to myself were now just a measure of experience, not a divide for what you were allowed to experience. It allowed me to act free, to act like I was really at a wedding of a cousin, a wedding of a peer, a wedding in India.

That first day was the roce, which is a ceremony that probably means a whole lot more than what I know of it. All I can tell is it is really a final send-off between the, in our case, bride-to-be, and her family and their friends. The opposite party may or may not come; as it is more of a family event than the joint celebration of a wedding. In the beginning, there are some prayers, and then the members of the brides family, starting with the parents, then siblings, then aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, go and bless the bride with what can only be described as white paste. We also bless the unmarried female members of the brides family and friends, which in this scenario included my sister and our cousin and our cousins children among others. Of course, none of this really mattered to me. It was all sweet and I have to assume emotional and meaningful, but I was awaiting the end, where we all get to douse the bride with eggs and beer and ruin the lovely dress she was wearing. That little act ended the formal parts of the day, which left the rest of the day and eventually night to do whatever we want. It was a good thing that my cousin's family owned that farm, or we may have had to actually be careful. Needless to say, the beer was not used to douse people after that.

The actual ceremony of the "Roce"

In retrospect, that roce night was probably the best single night of the week. Since it was first, everyone was a little more amped and ready; we all let our guard down, not totally sure what to expect. Also adding to the night was the intimate setting of the farm, as it seemed secluded not only from the farm, but the world itself. It was a dizzying place by the time the darkness slowly rolled around, with beautiful lights strung from palm tree to palm tree, showering down upon a dance floor that was placed firmly on the sand beneath it. What made it truly special was that the people occupying the dance floor and the farm around it were the people that we had grown up with and together, the people I have known longer than anyone else. We were always a strongly connected family, and a strong group of cousins, but as we all got closer, and that age gap became less important, that strength grew tighter and tighter. This really was the closest I have ever come to a family reunion, with all of my living Aunts and Uncles from that side of the family, as well as all but one cousin (we missed you, Roy) present. The fact that there were few other people added to the fun, as we were left with the people we had grown up around.

I am not a dancer. Never have been, and unless there is some dramatic change in my life that I am certainly not expecting, never will be. My line that I often used as an explanation (some would call it excuse) for not dancing was that "I am a Pinto" (which is my mother's maiden name, and the patriarch of the family who's wedding we were all attending), because in my mind, the older Pinto males didn't dance, but drank and played cards. I have no idea if this is true, but I liked the sound of it. I did dance that night more than any other, because the dance floor looked appealing under the glow of the moon, the lights and the kingfisher. However, limiting my dancing gave me time to really talk to all of these cousins, some who I obviously had known for a long time, but didn't really know. I learned just how amazing, odd, interesting and downright "Pinto" all of these people really were. We are crazy people, much more debaucherous than we seem in our respective daily lives.

Every cousin, minus the bride, from 5 to 35.

There's the bride to be, Vinitha, who I never really knew until now. I realize now I missed out, because her life seemed to be much more fun than I could have imagined. There's Smitha, Vinitha's sister, who I've long been told stories of her wilder, younger days, before she got married and had two kids, both of whom are about as intelligent and ridiculous (in a great way) as any I've seen. She still has that side of her who's as interesting and fun as any. There's Avinash, the responsible one, who actually lives a very respectable life, but always is around to add to the fun. There's Dhiraj who is about as crazy and wild as they come. (The previous four are siblings) There's Vikram, the smart one, who also happens to be a Doctor-turned-Consultant who, like the Hailey's Comet, comes around rarely, but comes in a fiery blaze. There's his brother Andy, the funny smart one, who coined the phrase "winning the night", a daily award given out to the person who fought the hardest. He ended up being the undisputed champion (in his eyes - in reality, there were many viable candidates). There's Marie, the next bride, who brought along her fiancee Ryan, who provided gritty depth (had to throw a sports metaphor, as this is still kind of a sports blog) and set a great foundation for what will happen come October when we all do it again. There's my sister, who I won't describe because I still have to meet her a lot more than any one else. Finally, there's my Uncle, the last "cousin."

The "Uncle" (on left), the final cousin

I'll leave his name out of it, because he probably wouldn't come off to nicely, and the people present know exactly who he is, but he is the one who is closer in age to my eldest cousin than any of his siblings. He's the one who I've long been told was like a cousin to all my older cousins, being more a prankster and teaser than anyone else. I hadn't seen this side of him in reality. He was always my Uncle. I was by far the last cousin to call him "Uncle." By the end of the night, there was no need to call him Uncle anymore. He finally became to me that long-lost oldest cousin, the one who did all the ridiculous things we did, the one who drank with us, joked with us, and laughed with us. I told him late in the night that "how crazy it was [he] was drinking with his paige boy." I don't know who was more shocked at that sudden realization of the sheer size of 14 years in time, him or his wife (who happens to be my second cousin on my dad's side, someone with the generational label to take his place as the eldest cousin a little more naturally). In reality, we were all equal that night, as even the parents, who initially looked in in a mix of horror and hollow shock, were taken over by the moon, the farm and the times.

When the night finally ended that same Uncle returned to his post as "Uncle" when he had to care for the members of the cousinhood (as I'll call them - more easy than naming the individual names) who were defeated by the bottle on night one. No one was knocked out, just a 2-1 split decision after 12 well fought, fun rounds in the ring. We finally left that secluded piece of heaven and returned to Bangalore, the setting of the days that were capped by the more memorable nights. Bangalore is the town that is now my hub in India, the place where most of my family in India is concentrated. I have been there when I was two, when it was a city that had charm, and open streets, and little pollution, and grass. All of those things are gone, erased by the power of computers. Now, it is the IT hub of India, a sprawling, landlocked, dense Metropolis that makes Bombay seem sparse. I might be wrong, since I was only five, but I remember a swath of green grass in front of my Aunt's house in Bangalore when I visited in the mid nineties. That is most certainly gone, with a dense street now surrounding the house. I started this little piece by promising to be honest, as much an implicit promise as anything, and I have to about Bangalore. It is now a city that has lost the charm it used to have. It is a city that reminds me of, say, Dallas, but with pollution. Sprawling, crowded and dusty, it is a challenge; much like its cadre of auto drivers, who often flatly decline to offer you service if the location is anywhere within 5 km. Bangalore is not exactly the greatest city to vacation in, although I have little to say for its nightlife, other than the fact that all public places close at 11:30 (one of the few rules they do enforce), so afterparties are about as crucial at night as a facial mask should be during the day. All I will say is thank God the main three nights of the wedding took place far from the bustling place that is Bangalore central.

Vinitha's Roce was probably the peak of the trip, but this isn't like a band peaking with their first album, or a TV Show peaking in Year 1. This was more like a restaurant that has great appetizers before a solid main course. The week had just begin, and with the amazing day that was in fact Christmas day, we were all ready for day two and three. Lucky for us, the saga had just begun, and begun it had. We left the farm behind, hopefully in a respectable condition. The location would shift, but the drinks, the songs (which were repeated each night until they all got engrained in our heads - Everytime I hear "Stereo Love" I will immediately be taken back to the farm), the people and the fun would stay constant, a reminder of what it is like to go to a wedding in India.


Coming Up Next, Part 3 (The Groom's Roce, the Other Nights, and returning to Mangalore).

I wanted to write this soon after I returned from India in January, but like too many things in my life, I pushed it aside for a while. No longer, say I. It is coming. Now. This is a review of what a wedding in India actually is, how great it can be, and a city that has an arcane "Everything closes by 11:30" rule, which is about is ridiculous as prohibition in the 1920's. Anyway, let's go. It is a piece just about the general goings on of a wedding in India in my family. The bride is my cousin, we'll call her Vinitha. She's marrying a man (had to clarify; you can never be too safe), who we'll call Tri-Name. Actually, we'll call him by his nickname Chinny, mainly because I don't know his actual name, as it has been told to me as Rohit or Joseph. Anyway, it takes place in Bangalore, a town that is no longer a town, overrun by globalization, and not exactly in a good way. It takes place between the days of December 24th and January 2nd. It's a good one (for me at least).

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A Wedding in India

Family, Fun and a City That Does Sleep

(Part 1 of 4)

India is a different place, a different world. Never more striking when you go there and leave the dead of winter behind. The second you land in India, and leave the cozy confines of the plane, you know immediately that you are in India. There is no combination of smell (not necessarily a bad smell, just a distinctive one) and heat quite like India, a personal welcome greeting that I can't stand, but can't stand to live without (otherwise, how would I know I'm there?). That slap in the face, or more pointedly, in the nose and sweat-glands, at least wakes you up, which is necessary when almost any international flight arrives and leaves India around 2am (India may sleep early, but their airports definitely don't). That smell of heat (yes, it smells) pervades throughout the airport complex in Bombay, so I was dreading my five hour layover, but the second I reached the newly completed Domestic Airport in Bombay, I realized this would be a different experience. It was clean, with high glass windows. It looked like any airport anywhere else in the world (believe me, if you had been to the old Bombay airport, which resembled a Econo Lodge, you would know what this would mean); and that was the second that I realized that this was no ordinary trip to India. No, this was something special. It started out with a surprise, and finished with a week a only partially remember.

When it was over, and my family and me were leaving for Mangalore, my parents childhood home, my grandmother's home that I spent countless summers as a child, I was already set to go back and do it all over again. I wanted every cousin I know to start getting married in India. I don't even care who it was to, or if they would make a happy couple (well, that's not exactly true - I would care after the wedding was over), I just wanted more. The experience was that great, that entertaining, that endless, that its inevitable end didn't even bring on sadness when it was over (yes, I'm the person that normally feels sad when things come to a close and can't just remember the good memories). It just brought on a longing to do it again, and it was horrible. But now, a month and a half later, it is a memory that will be unbreakable and perfect, a memory of a week gone by, a week that was worth living to its fullest, and Lord knows we did just that.

(before I continue, I need to interject that I had to edit what followed about 100 times in fear of it bringing about litigation and what impact the following would have for my image..... but remember India's not exactly a country where the fake ID business is booming, if you know what I mean)

After the long flight, long wait in Bombay, long drive from Bangalore's slightly overrated new airport, and long nap, I was ready to go to Midnight Mass (I arrived on Christmas Eve), meet my cousins who had already arrived in the preceding days, and get a good start in Bangalore. Little did I know that midnight mass was actually more like a pregame. It was one since that was actually far from the end of the night for the family, but also because the outdoor venue for midnight mass was a meeting space for the local mass. Throngs of random people, who could not have looked less Christian even if they were wearing a turbin or reciting Koran verses, descended upon the church that within four days would host a wedding, the wedding. They were drinking in the church courtyard, conversing with each other, basically planning the rest of the night. Although this drew the unending ire of my Aunt Carmel, who's about as religious as they come, I thought it was great. It was like going to mass in a stadium. All I was missing was the beer and hot dog, and of course, the game. It was so perfectly Indian, in its genuine state. No other country in the world would a mass of people just go to a church on Christmas Eve to hang out. In no other country would I be surprised that all of the non-Christians listened to the priests cries of "don't receive communion if you are not a Catholic" (easily a big upset - considering this is the same country that will have every one rush to the line to board the plane when they announce they are boarding rows 30-40). This is the India I suspected, and in all seriousness, missed. What came next wasn't.

Night One...... And it was a good start.

We next retired to my Aunt Carmel's house. Luckily, retiring meant just going to an after Christmas Mass party, and there are few better reasons to celebrate. I finally got to see the bride to be (another cousin), her fiancee (who didn't remember me, but then again I had only met him for about ten minutes a year and a half earlier), my cousin Andy, the bride-to-be's sister Smitha, their older brother and many more people that I won't name right now because I'm sure my incessant naming of random people is losing readers with each successive word. Mainly, I got to meet Vinitha's friends, a cast of characters that would do well in a sitcom, but in this case, the city of Bangalore was just fine. They were all foreign to me on day one, a swath of talls and shorts, thins and not-so-thins, and varying shades of authentic Brown. Within a week, I would know most of them by name, by occupation and by favorite drink. That's what happens when there's an occasion each night to attend to. That's what happens when you see the same people night after night; especially when you want to see those people night after night. If the company you keep is a measure of success, then Vinitha, you are a hall-of-famer. Around three, or four, or five, or basically the expiration of my ability to put off being susceptible to jetlag, I finally did "retire" to the upstairs of my Aunt's house, a place that I really had not been to in eleven fourteen years.

One of the best unintended results of this trip to India was the way it changed my Aunt's house in my life. For my first four trips to India, my Aunt's house, a block away from the noted, turning-too-uppity Bangalore Club, was my home in India, a place where I could be comforted by my Aunt, my Uncle and her kids. It was of intrigue, fun and more good memories that I regret having to forget as age hit. The past three trips to India, it wasn't my home, it wasn't a home. After my cousins from that house mostly moved out, got married (didn't get to go to those weddings, which is really what made this one so special) and had kids of their own, it became a slightly lonely place. I still went there, because I love my Aunt and Uncle, but it wasn't a place I could ever imagine staying or spending the night (sorry for this Auntie Carmel, but be sure this is no longer the case). Not anymore. It became a home for me again, and one that I embraced. It was fun to relive my childhood in that way, sleeping in her house, living in it, eating meals in it. The same places I crawled over, through and under when I was a toddler, I was now living in a decade and a half later, and it was great. Considering little else in the trip would resemble my times in India as a toddler (not that that was a problem), having this little trip back to the mid-90's was an unexpected, lovely surprise.

The next day was the official start of the wedding festivities in its most exact sense, with my cousin's roce (which will be explained in excruciating detail later) in my other cousins farm in the netherworlds of Bangalore, in the way that a netherworld would be a peaceful place that doesn't have 100,000 people milling around per square mile like Bangalore central. It was the first of a week that redefined just how much fun my mom's side of my family is, and just how great this age in all of our respective lives is. It was a perfect set-up, the perfect mix of ages. A perfect brew, that much like India's perfect brews. Both brews would proceed to be imbibed day after day after day (more exactly night after night after night).



Part 2 coming up later............ the roce and meaning of family (at least in a wedding situation), plus the evolution of Bangalore.