The ABCs of the World Cup

The ABC's of the 2010 World Cup

A is for Argentina, which is probably the most polarizing team in the World Cup. They have the current best player, and considering the last best player was an in-the-closet metro that liked to be caught with hookers, and currently squires around with Paris Hilton, Messi is the closest thing to an era defining player since Zidane. However, the era-defining player that came along before Zizou, Maradona, is back to ruin Argentina. He be batshit insane, and is dead-set on screwing the World Cup up. Maradona doesn’t like anyone challenging his name as the premier of Argentinean Football, so he would definitely sabotage Messi’s chances at glory just so no one thinks Messi is better than himself. Also, the guy that Messi will be playing with for goals, Sergio Kun Aguero (Kun Aguero is what most call him), is Maradona’s son-in-law, so there is an approximately 87% chance Maradona demands the middies pass to the Kun over Messi. They could win the World Cup, they could get knocked out early. What we do know is that they will be fun to watch.

B is for Boring Brazil, who has finally embraced what wins in a time where the old Brazil flair is all the rage. It is an interesting twist for the Brazilians. For years, they played aesthetically beautiful soccer, while the world played tactically strong, athletic soccer. Now, they decided to switch to a defensive/counter-attack style (aka – the exact 100% polar opposite of Brazil), while the world, headed by Spain, is starting to accept beautiful football as the way to go. I don’t think it is a bad idea, as Brazil attacking players are nowhere near as talented as even the Brazil team of 4 years ago, and most of Brazil’s true talent is at the back, with star defenders Maicon and Lucio, and even a damn good goalie in Julio Cesar, so the switch makes sense but it certainly has not gone over well. And if they don’t advance further than ’06, when they lost to the brilliance that is Zidane in the QFs, Brazilians, for once, might be furious at their soccer team.

C is for Coronation, this tournament can really settle a lot of lingering questions that the soccer world has created in the last four years since the last World Cup. First, is this Spain team the best European Team Ever? That question needs to be asked. Only two other teams have won both the World Cup and the European Championship consecutively. France in 1998 and 2000, and West Germany in 1972 and 1974. Spain is just as good. They rolled in Euro 2008, not conceding a goal in the knockout round, and beat the semifinalists, Russia, twice 7-1. They are just as talented now. The other coronation can be of Leo Messi. Other than possibly Ronadlinho in 2006, the last player that could gain so much by a great World Cup performance was Zidane in 1998. However, it is expected from Messi, Zidane’s was more of a post-tournament “Did we just witness greatness?” question. With Messi, people expect greatness. Lead them to glory, and he will be crowned a God of Football for life. I feel like Spain has the better shot at being coronated after the world cup ends.

D is for Defense? Defense has taken an interesting turn over the last four years. Outside of Brazil, who had the talent to overcome it, defense has historically won championships, like in every other sport known to mankind. I profiled this earlier in my Inter Milan/Barcelona breakdown, that great defense has become uniformly underrated. A great defensive team is just as good as a great offensive team, yet even more so than at the club level, offense has captured the world. Two of the top four favorites, Spain and Holland, are brilliant offensive teams. Italy, an aging team to be sure, is still one of the best defensive teams in the world, and is totally under-the-radar, despite being, well, the defending champs. If the Brazilian team had any other name on the front of their shirt, they would not be co-favorites with Spain, because they embraced defense. This tournament, like in 1990, 1998 and 2006 can see the best defensive team win, because usually that is what happens in World Cups, but with this infusion of offense, defense might be too far gone.

E is for Energy, in terms of offense. Scoring was way down in the 2006 World Cup, as the tournament’s top scorer had just 5 goals, which was the fewest in World Cup history. Look for that to change. Scoring has been up across Europe the past two years, with 2.62 goals being scored a game across the top-4 European Leagues (Premier League, La Liga, Seria A and the Bundesliga), and that has always correlated to scoring at the World Cup. With so many teams placing a bigger emphasis on offense at the top of their game (Spain, Holland, England, Cameroon, Mexico, Argentina) goals should be up, at least from 2006 levels. Offense is the new game in football, with ball possession being the key. Just like in the football across the pond, the one that involves using your hands to do the various things that the game revolves around, offense is winning the battle with defense currently, and look for that to continue.

F is for Furia Roja, the favorite to win and to watch. Each team has a nickname (Der Manschraft for the Germans, El Selacao for the Brazilians, etc) and for Spain, it is la Furia Roja, and they can take this tournament by red fury, or their fans faces will rage with red fury. They have the most talented team top to bottom. People say that a lot about Spain, as it has become the common theme to label Spain the most talented. However, much like the Chargers in the NFL, that title used to be undeserved. They were not any more talented than some of the other countries. Not true now. They are so stacked they have the best midfielder (arguable, I guess) in the Premier League on the bench in Cesc Fabregas. The weirder thing, no Spanish fan cares that Fab is on the bench, since they legitimately have four better players. Their defense is their supposed weakness; however, they allowed the fewest goals of any team during World Cup Qualifying in Europe. That is scary. So are they.

G is for Group of Death. There always is one, but this time, there are a couple. In reality, there are two different distinctions. One would be the group that has three very good teams, three teams that are all capable of making the Semifinals to little fanfare. That would, until Drogba’s injury, be Group G, that combines Brazil, Portugal and Cote D’Ivoire. Even with Drogba out, Cote D’Ivoire poses problems. Then, there is the real group of death, with four teams all capable of winning the group, where any combinations of advancing teams is not surprising. You can make a case that Group A and Group D fit this bill. Group A has France, a team that has the talent to go really deep, but a crazy coach (sound familiar), Mexico (ditto France), South Africa (hosts have made it out of the group stage every time) and Uruguay (a capable team that has the resolve to pull out of the group). Group D is even better with Germany (less talented than before but always dangerous), Ghana (missing Essien, but expected to get that normal African bump), Serbia (very talented and underrated), and Australia (QF in 2006, and should have taken Italy to penalties). Those two are the real Groups of Death, because all four teams are good. Of course, the real deathly experience will be in Group G, as the runner up gets Spain, most likely, as their consolations prize for surviving.

H is for Hemispheres, which are important. No team has won the World Cup in the opposite hemisphere, except for Brazil (it is amazing how many trends Brazil is the exception for, in a good way). None. In that sense, Brazil and Argentina, historically, are your best bets. They say it is because the grass grows differently (or at least that is what some ‘soccer’ fan said on Bill Simmons’ podcast the other day), but the easier, and probably more relevant explanation is that in the Southern Hemisphere the World Cup takes place in winter, and it is summer when it is the North. European teams are used to playing in winter, but not during June and July. That is a weird body adjustment to make. There obviously is some merit since no Northern Hemisphere team has ever won one of the seven world cups that have taken place in the Southern Hemisphere. So, for a Spain, England, USA, Germany, Italy, France, Portugal to break through, they will have to fight their opponent and geography.

I is for Injuries, which have already derailed the world cup. Obviously, the biggest two injuries are to Didier Drogba and Michael Essien of Cote D’Ivoire (Ivory Coast to those normal folk who don’t do geography) and Ghana respectively. They are the best players in their country, and with the World Cup being in Africa, they were some of the big stars in the world cup. Essien’s injury just kills Ghana who needed his organization and technical ability in that holding midfielder role. If Cote D’Ivoire was in any other group, it probably wouldn’t be the death knell that Drogba is out, but in the group with Brazil and Portugal, despite how talented the rest of the Cote D’Ivoire team is, Drogba’s injury will certainly kill them. Of course, then comes the various nagging injuries to favorite Spain. Fabregas broke his leg in March, but is back now. Fernando Torres broke his knee in April, but is supposedly back for the first Spain game. Xavi supposedly tore his calf in a mysterious injury that still allowed him to play for Barca. Iniesta hasn’t played in a while. Spain has enough talent to withstand one of the Xavi/Iniesta/Torres group being out. If two are, then there are problems. Then, of course, there is the Ballack injury, but that’s not worth mentioning since Germany will just make the Quarters like they always do.

J is for Jozy Altidore, and more than that what he and the rest of the US team represents: a shift where the US is using athletic advantages to get ahead. The US will probably never have the innate talent to consistently be a major player in the World’s soccer scene, but it has the athletic ability. US athletes are better trained, conditioned and nutritioned than any other country. And whether this involves steroids or not (if it does, than the Dominican athletes probably have the upper hand, anyway), the US is probably the most athletic team, and this is headlined by Mr. Jozy Altidore. He probably is overrated, as his performance is nowhere near his recognizability, but in him and the rest of the new wave of US players, athleticism is starting to become the US’ trump card. It probably won’t work for too long, as talent still wins out, as does speed which the other countries probably have over the Patriots, but the US will never be outworked, nor outtoughed in a game. And that is more than what the US had to offer in 2006.

K is for Keeping, as this is still a sport with a goalie. Just like in the NHL where a hot goalie can take you places (see: Halak, Jaroslav; rounds 1-2 of the 2010 NHL Playoffs), so too can one in the World Cup. Gianluigi Buffon was brilliant for Italy in 2006 in their run. Oliver Kahn was even more brilliant, posting five straight shutouts before the Final against Brazil, taking an averagely talented German team (even by German standards) and putting them into the final. It is hard to really judge soccer goalies, since most face about 10 shots a game, and really only four or five of those are threatening (as opposed to hockey goalies), so I’m going from what I hear, but the best out there now is probably Brazil’s Julio Cesar. Of course, the old guard is still there with Gianluigi Buffon still keeping goal for Italy and St. Iker Casillas in net for Spain. Those two have been great goalies, including cup winning goalies, for ages, but age has been showing recently. Goalkeeping can decide this tournament.

L is for Lionel Messi, who is the star of the World Cup. He has the most to gain and to lose here, at least from an American perspective. American’s care about stars, that is our nature. Messi is currently the biggest star, and he is the biggest name, so if he pulls a Ronaldinho from ’06 (the biggest star coming into that tournament doing practically nothing and having no impact in the teams elimination game), then American’s will really have a bad impression of Mr. Messi. The real football fans probably won’t care if he doesn’t have a great tournament, since his coach is a moron who wants Leo to fail, but the casual fan will. Plus, Messi has a chance to become one of the all-time greats with a great performance here. Although I think it is too early to start these comparisons, many feel that Messi is already at a Maradona level. Again, not sure about that, not even sure he was any better than Ronaldinho was from 2003-2006, or even the Portuguese Ronaldo from 2006-2008, but he has a chance to fly his star higher than anyone else does.

M is for Moments, which the World Cup always provides us with. Each World Cup will have two or three moments that will be replayed for eons. Obviously, the 2006 Cup gave us a pretty memorable one, with ‘The Headbutt’, but even ’02 gave us the gap-toothed grin of Ronaldo waving his arms after scoring the Cup-Winning goal. ’98 gave us the moment of Zidane’s header (head-ER, not head-BUTT) to beat Brazil. ’86 gave us the “Hand of God”. ’98 had Michael Owen’s goal as an 18 year old kid. ’02 had Ronaldinho’s ‘welcome to the big leagues’ moment with his floater from 40 yards out over England’s goalie to beat England in the Quarters. ’94 had the US finally reaching the knockout stage at home. ’66 had the goal that was debated for decades as to whether it crossed the line or not. Each cup has a moment all to itself, and 2010 will provide this moment too. It might be anything. It might be a controversial call like in ’66, or a play that had nothing to do with soccer like the headbutt in ’06, but it will be memorable.

N is for Nationalism, which is never more present than it is during the World Cup. People who have never shown any interest in their heritage will start wearing their countries jersey, start eating their countries food, basically adopt back their motherland for the month. Whatever country goes deep in the tournament suddenly will have thousands of immigrants transplanted in every city. So, when you suddenly see Spanish paraphernalia around everywhere come July, just remember it is people that normally keep their heritage very dormant expressing it for the one time it seems okay for four years. Also, the underrated part of the world cup is how nationalism plays a role. If we beat England, not only did we beat them at soccer, the game they invented, but this just compounds what we did in the American Revolution. It is like paying homage to Washington, Adams and Franklin. If Germany goes down, the country that started World War II goes down (not that I believe that the WWII overtones are still really there in that major of a way, but it is a legitimate point of celebration in Europe). Then there are the countries that haven’t been on the best of terms, like Spain and Italy, England and France that can always play each other. Man, just for the nationalist part alone, I wish India qualified. It makes little sense that in a country of 1.1 billion they can’t five 30 guys good enough, but one day they will, and I will be right beside them cheering the Tigers eating Dosas and wishing we could get a crack at England and repay them for scalping our land.

O is for Ole! Ole, Ole, Oleeeee! Oleeee! Ooooleeeee! Which is the eponymous World Cup song. But really, it is all of the songs that make the World Cup an amazing fan experience. The World Cup crowds are the best, mainly because they don’t infuse the stadium with music blasted from speakers. The World Cup lets the fans sing and dance and play instruments in the stands, creating their own music. It is beautiful. If anything, it is too much music and noise, as it almost distracts from the game. But there is nothing better than turning on the game, and hearing fans act like what fans are supposed to act like. All the songs are good, yet nothing beats the classic ‘Ole!’ song. I’m not sure what country started it, but pretty much all of them use it now, and for good reason. After “na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey-hey-hey, goodbye” it is the best sports song out there. Also, the goal song at Euro 2008 was great too, and usually the World Cup releases a goal song of its own. If it is half as good as Samba de Janiero, the Euro 2008 goal song, I’ll be ecstatic.

P is for Penalties, which are sure to rear their ugly head at some point. Don’t get me wrong, they are truly dramatic moments, the tensest in all of sports, even tenser than hockey shootouts since the shot lasts all of one second, but they should not decide a competition. In 1990, 1994 and 2006, penalty kicks decided the World Cup Final. In 1990 it was a penalty, so it is hard to complain, but in 1994 and 2006 (Brazil beat Italy, then Italy exacted some revenge by beating France, who transitively beat Brazil in 1998), the whole tournament, all 51 games, came down to a skill competition. Of course, it will happen and probably more than once. Just hopefully the evil Lord that is PKs stays clear of Johannesburg on July 11th. However, if they do, they are entirely random. Sure, there are goalies better at stopping penalties, and players that are betting at shooting them, but at the end of the day, it is just utterly random who wins a penalty shootout. Spain in 2002 proved this by beating Ireland in one, where St. Iker Casillas stopped 3 out of 4 penalty shots, and lost the following round to Korea on PKs, where Casillas didn’t stop a thing. Penalty Kicks can ruin careers. David Trezeguet used to be a hero in France for his Golden Goal in 2000 that won France the Euro Title against Italy, but now he is a dog for being the only man to miss a PK in the 2006 Final. Just hope the next David Trezeguet is not lurking.

Q is for Quadrennial? As in, “Why is the World Cup a Quadrennial tournament?” It really is the greatest single month of any four year period (numbers 2-5 are the four NFL Playoffs months, but that is neither here nor there) and is the biggest moneymaking sports tournament by a mile, so in a world where money rules all, why wait four years to play one of these? This is not the Olympics. People will not get tired of more Word Cup. I’m not saying every year, as that would be tiresome, and I see that four is a nice square number, but that is too long to not celebrate. People in America are still trying to be wooed to soccer, and having the only relevant soccer event that American’s care about only once every four years is not a good way to start the wooing process. Every three years would be a little better. Every two years even. Of course, now that the Champions League is being shown in America each year, and ESPN broadcasted the Euro Cup, as well as select Premier League and La Liga games, there is soccer to digest during the other 47 months that encompass the four years, but still, there is a little too little of the World Cup. It’s not like people will rejoice any less if it was every three years.

R is for Ronaldo and Rooney, who are the two players, behind Messi, that will make this tournament. The former Manchester United teammates are still not in good terms with each other (stemming from an incident in the Portugal-England 2006 Quarterfinal where Ronaldo pleaded to the referee to get Wayne Rooney sent off), but they are in very similar positions. They both need good performances here to leapfrog one another on the “Best Player”chart. They are currently 2 and 3 in some order, and even if I think they are both a bit overrated, they are fantastic players that are able to carry their teams offense on their back. They might have to. England was great during qualifying, but are still underachievers on the World Cup stage. Portugal struggled mightily during qualifying. Both Ronaldo and Rooney are very pompous players, proud of their own abilities, and they both probably don’t like all the attention being given to Lionel Messi. They have their chance to say something about it in the World Cup. Also, the Player of the Year voting is greatly influenced by World Cup results, as the last four World Cup years the player that won the FIFA World Player of the Year award came from the winning team (Cannavaro, Ronaldo, Zidane, Romario), so there is a chance that they could even wrestle the prestigious awards from little Messi’s hands.

S is for Security, which has been a big story since South Africa was announced as host for the World Cup. The World Cup could be played in Switzerland, a neutral country that has no enemies outside of people who hate it by extension of hating Federer (me), and there would be security risks and scares, but put it in one of the most volatile countries politically and socially, and people think FIFA is asking for problems. Then, Barack Obama announced that if the US made the Quarterfinals, I believe, he will attend the game, creating more security problems. Personally, I think it is overblown. Has there ever been a major event like this that has been terrorized (other than the Munich Olympics, which did not terrorize fans, but athletes, which is horrible but not exactly the fear here). The Olympics in China had similar fears, and nothing happened. The Super Bowl always is supposedly a major terrorist target, and nothing has come out of that, ever. It makes too much sense for terrorism to occur at the World Cup. The real danger is South Africa at night, but really, it is not any more dangerous than Rio will be in 2014. However, to save us this trouble, FIFA, can you just put the 2018 in Spain?

T is for The Treble, which is a different treble than the one Barcelona and Inter won the past two years. In club football, the treble is when a club wins its countries league, its countries cup and the UEFA Champions League (ex: Winning the Premier League, FA Cup and Champions League in England or the La Liga, Copa del Rey and Champions League in Spain). However, this is a different treble that involves tennis. In 2008, it was the year of Spain, as in six weeks, Nadal crushed Federer for the French Open title, winning 6-1 6-3 6-0, Spain beat Germany for the European Title, its first major tournament win in 40 years and one that erased years of underachieving, and then the triad was capped with Nadal winning Wimbledon in the Greatest Tennis Match ever. That was Spain’s month, and it very well could happen again. Part I is already done, as Nadal, just like he did in 2008, won the French Open without dropping a set. Part II, this time, will be up to Rafa, as Wimbledon will finish before the World Cup. If Rafa gets Wimbledon, I guarantee Spain finishes off its second consecutive Tennis/World Cup treble. Also, another little similarity, in 2008 Rafa Nadal, in doing the treble, took over No. 1 from Federer, just as he did with finishing Part I of the treble in 2010.

U is for Usual Suspects, which always happens in each tournament. So much is made of the favorites that teams that are so obviously going to contend are just plain forgotten about. In 2006 it was Italy, who breezed easily through their qualifying campaign, but lacked the pizzazz that the other European teams had. France had Zidane’s farewell, England was, well, England, Germany had more talent, Portugal had way more talent. Italy was the team that won it all. In 2002 it was Germany, who really is always slightly underrated. People talk themselves into taking outside picks for the World Cup, but underrating teams that have done it before and that consistently perform well is always dangerous. There is a reason only seven countries have won the world cup, and only five since 1970. In fact, since 1970 only six have even made the final. The World Cup Final seems oddly repetitive since 1970 (Brazil-Italy, then Germany- Holland, Argentina-Holland, Italy-Germany, Argentina-Germany, Germany-Argentina, Brazil-Italy, France-Brazil, Brazil-Germany, Italy-France). By the way, what scares me is that Spain is nowhere to be seen. They are much more talented now than they ever were, and they just won a top competition, but still, it seems pretty exclusive.

V is for Vacation Days, which will be taken en masse during the World Cup. Historically, countries that love soccer (read: all countries in the tournament not named US) basically shut down their business during World Cup games. Trillions of dollars are lost each tournament because no one works, just watches. It is truly mesmerizing. This extends far beyond work. Wars have stopped in the past. Cote D’Ivoire was in the middle of a light Civil War when the 2006 World Cup was about to start. All parties involved decided to take a small break to engorge themselves in the World Cup. It truly is the World’s unifying event, as it unifies the rest of the World to stop living their lives, drop everything meaningful and be glued to the TV and watch people that they will never meet kick a ball around grass. Boy, I love the fact that I won’t get flak for acting like I do the rest of the time, since everyone else will be doing it too.

W is for Winning, which teams have to remember is the ultimate goal. Too many teams try to win and try to play beautiful soccer. Those two things are not the same, as much as soccer ‘purists’ (see: soccer fans who are bored by defensive tactics and want offense all the time) try to convince the world that playing offense directly leads to wins. Win and advance. That is the mantra of every major sports tournament in the USA. It is especially useful if a team has a scare in one round. Get over it, win and advance and the slate is clean. Amazingly, Spain doesn’t fall into that trap that the others do of trying to appease the artist instead of the winner, as they played a mostly ugly 0-0 (penalty kick win) game against Italy in the Euro 2008 quarters. They won the PKs, and advanced. That’s all that needs to be done. Also, never get too high or low because of a team’s great or bad performance in a win. Whether the team wins 4-0 or 0-0 (penalties), they are the same. The team moves on and will play a completely different game. Germany knows this better than anyone. They play games in so many different ways, styles and tempos. The only link? Germany is the team that wins them. Win, that is what this tournament is about, or at least it should.

X is for Xavi and Xabi, arguably the two most important players for the Furia Roja. They both make up what is the best midfield a country has played in generations, but these two are especially important. Xavi makes up one half of Spain’s dancing duo, with Andres Iniesta being the other half. Sir Alex Ferguson said of those two last year before their other-wordly performance in the Champions League Final, that “the last time either lost the ball was when they are seven.” Xavi stays a little further back than Iniesta and is the brain of Spain. He was slightly injured at the end of the club season, and Spain need him at his best because he is at the crux of their possession attack. As for Mr. Alonso, he is arguably more important. Spain can dominate possession, sure, but if they get into the type of game that happened against the US last year, they need Xabi Alonso. Spains defense is what could kill them, and Xabi is the defensive midfielder. Marcos Senna played that role beautifully in Spain’s Euro 2008 run, and with a similar performance by Xabi here in 2010, it allows Sergio Ramos to do what he does best, go forward. Plus Xabi is one of the few Spanish players that can go aerial for a header, and set-pieces always play a part in determining winners.

Y is for Yellow Cards, which are almost as important as reds. Very few players actually get two yellow cards in the same game. Not only because players booked once get more careful, but also because referees are more lenient after a player has been booked once. So, in that vein, yellow cards have less in-game applications as do reds, but they can be deadly. As two yellow cards accumulated in separate games means a suspension from the next. I believe there was a rule made for the 2006 tournament that is carrying over to this one. It is that the yellow card slate is wiped clean at the start of the knockout stage, and then again at the start of the semifinals. In essence, it makes missing the final a hard possibility, but other than that, it is fair game. If a player gets a yellow in both the round of 16 game and the quarterfinal that player is gone from the Semi. This happened in many cases in the France-Portugal semifinal in 2006. The most oft used example of this was in the 2002 World Cup, where Michael Ballack missed the World Cup Final due to picking up two accumulated yellows in the Semifinal. That probably will not happen again, but yellow cards can greatly affect group play with suspensions for the third group game, and even knockout play.

Z is for Zidane, who obviously is not playing in this World Cup, but in the soccer community, still lords over as a central figure. Zidane was unquestionably the best player from 1996-2006 (with the real, better Ronaldo a close second), and those ten years were the Zidane era, and soccer is still looking for the next era. Eras are huge in soccer. There was the Pele era, then the Beckenbauer/Cryuff era, then the Maradona era, then the Zidane one. Messi seems like the logical candidate, but if the last four years taught us anything, it is that the title of “Worlds Best Player” is fleeting. It was Kaka in the 06-07 season, Cristiano Ronaldo in 07-08 and Messi in 08-09 (and in all likelihood, unless he is horrible in the World Cup) 09-10. All three of those player were simply amazing in their respective years, and they all have tremendous pressure, because they have been anything from slight underachievers (Kaka) to outright disappointments (Messi) for their country. That is what made Zidane great. He was amazing for his club, and better for France. To reach that level, one of these three will have to make a deep run. By the way, Messi is just not the polarizing figure Zidane is, and not only because Messi wouldn’t headbutt someone. Zidane had a charisma, had a magnetism that Messi doesn’t. Zidane did, Jordan did; Gretzky, Montana, Manning, they all do. Messi is a Brady: a great, great player who is missing that quality that makes him immortal. Maradona had it and that is why Maradona has almost become the biggest figure of this World Cup. Even in 2010, Zidane is the central figure of Adidas’ ad campaign, not Leo. In the real footballing part of the world, Zidane is still the man.

The Changing of the (Swiss) Guard

There is a man in Switzerland today, a man who is quite upset, quite undone by the events of the last six days. This man has owned the world for seven years now, ever since his birth on a grassy lawn in England, to his coronation six years later, on those same mighty lawns. This man, for seven years now, has been better at his job than nearly everyone else in the world is at theirs, he has been perfect in nearly every way. That man is named Roger Federer, and he is quite upset, because he knows that his time is done. Two years ago, I could have said the same thing, as Federer languished after a 6-1 6-3 6-0 beatdown that he absorbed, but this time seems more definite. Not only did Federer not win the French Open, he was gone three rounds earlier. He was bested by four men, failing to make the semifinals for the first time in 6 years. No, this is final. Federer’s reign, the most bountiful, glorious reign in tennis history, is over. This is the Rafa Dynasty, and get ready, because it will be fun.

Rafael Nadal was not quite upset. In fact, he was sobbing harder than ever before, covering his weeping face in a towel, hiding his own emotions from the public. In tennis, though, the player is never public, and Nadal’s tears were known and understood. His rise to glory had been an odd one. Fifteen months earlier, after finishing off the Holy Trinity of tennis, beating Federer in the French Open Final, Wimbledon Final and Australian Open Final in the span of seven months, he seemed untouchable; however, his knees were conspiring against him, like the senators of Rome against Ceaser. Knee trouble, as well as the divorce of his parents, knocked Nadal off his lofty perch, and allowed Federer to complete the only two things left for him to complete, win the French Open and break Pete Sampras’ all-time Grand Slam record. Done and done. Federer followed this up with winning another Australian Open title, pushing his slam record to 16. Nadal, at that point, dropped to number 5 in the world, and ad sportswriters asking, “Will he ever be the same again?”. No, he’s better.

Rafael Nadal is a different player now. He attacks more, he plays a more complete, offensive game. The old skills like the jack-rabbit quickness, the ridiculous defensive shotmaking and the overpowering will to win are all still there, but they are buoyed by a new sense of self-belief. Rafael Nadal know believes that he can win by simply overpowering his opponent, and quickly massacring them. That is the truly scary part, Nadal is not done getting better. Nadal’s win in the French Open Final against Robin Soderling, the man who took out a weak Nadal last year in the French Open, and also beat Federer in the Quarterfinals five days earlier, was not a vintage Nadal victory, like his 2008 run to the Title that saw him lose just 43 games in seven matches, it was better. Soderling, a man with a newfound self-belief the last two years and the only man to ever know the feeling of beating Rafael Nadal on the clay terrain of the French Open, was powerless. The man who could hit hard enough to beat anyone, including the ‘Greatest of All-Time’ in Federer, could not penetrate Nadal’s mind or body. Soderling could do nothing but idly watch greatness punch and punch until there was nothing left in Soderling. Nadal, like he has done all but one time he has played at the French Open, had won the physical battle and the mental one, but again, he won it differently. Nadal was more offensive, more attacking. He fought Soderling head-on, fighting fire with fire against one of the hardest hitting shotmakers on the ATP Tour, and Nadal won, easily.

Roger Federer is not happy, and mainly because he now sees a different Nadal, one that honestly has no weaknesses, and he seems him hearlthier and better. Of course, this is not news to Federer, who has played Nadal 21 times and lost 14 of them, but what is more troubling was that there are players out there not named Nadal that Federer could lose to, which the opposite is coming true for Rafael. Since his win in the Australian Open, Federer has only made the final in one other tournament, and has lost to the following fringe top-20 players: Marcos Baghdatis, Tomas Berdych, Ernests Gulbis and Albert Montanes, as well as Robin Soderling, a guy he held an 11-0 record against. In the meantime, Nadal has lost to no one, becoming the first man ever to sweep the top-4 Clay Court events in one spring. Nadal used to be the guy getting picked off by the lesser. It was Nadal’s fault that Federer couldn’t have beaten Rafa more than he did, because Rafa was the one that was knocked off early, while Federer calmly waited for the dream matchup that never happened. No, instead, it is now Federer that loses before he gets the chance to play Rafa. Since the Aussie Open, Federer has lost every time before Nadal did at every tournament. Even the one time they did play, in Madrid, it was more of the same, as Federer could not make a big point, and he comically swung and whiffed on match point. Federer had his one shot and failed, and in his heart, he knew The French Open would be no different.

Compounding the fact that Nadal crushed the guy that blasted Federer off the court in the quarterfinals (Soderling), is the even more desultory fact that with that win Rafael Nadal stands atop the ATP standings, again as the number one player in the world. Rafael Nadal had that ranking from August 2008 to July 2009, but lost it when his knee problems forced him out of Wimbledon last year. One year later, Nadal is healthy and changed his game to take pressure off the knees, and Federer may never see number 1 again. The hauntingly amazing fact is that Federer was just one week away from tying Pete Sampras’ record for 286 weeks at No. 1, but may never get that 286^th week at this point. It is a Nadal world, and Roger and the rest are living in it.

Roger Federer is never a man to admit defeat. He’s a man that always feel that it is his ability that will carry him through, and that is partly why this is such a troubling time for him. Federer, like many great champions, is very, very stubborn. His beautiful game carried him to 16 grand slam titles, but no longer can. However, he is slow to change, slow to accept the fact that his game currently is just not good enough anymore. He used to believe that when he played Rafa, he was simply better than him, that on talent alone, he could beat him. In many ways, he still does believe that. He has rarely tried to change gameplans, change styles against Nadal. The man has once made Federer cry in defeat at the 2009 Australian Open Final, and also embarrassed Federer giving Roger the worst loss at a Grand Slam the No. 1 player has ever taken, with his 6-1 6-3 6-0 win in the 2008 Final, but through it all Federer truly believes that he is the more talented player. That is why this is a dark day for the maestro in Switzerland, because he is not.

Roger Federer, in all likelihood, will end up with more grand slams than Rafael Nadal. Sure, Nadal, who just turned 24 last week, is already two ahead of Federer’s pace (Federer had 5 slams when he turned 24 in August, 2005), but Federer from ages 24-26 was unlike anything seen in tennis. However, Rafa will always be the man who not only conquered the Fed-eration, but also was the man who completely toyed with Federer at times. Everything Federer did to other players (make them look foolish, pass them on the run with ease, tense them up so they play tentatively), Nadal did to Federer. Even though 12 of their 21 meeting have come on clay (Nadal is 10-2 in those), the other 9 non-clay meetings has Federer barely edging out Rafa 5-4. Also, Nadal has beaten Federer in a Grand Slam Final on clay, grass and hardcourt, while Federer’s only returned the favor on grass. Federer might be the greatest tennis player of the Open-era, but he had one rival who owned him, consistently, because when those two played, Rafa was the better player. This is the first time that Nadal has won a Grand Slam without Federer being an opponent, which is a more harrowing fact. Federer’s won 14 slams without playing Rafa in them. Federer has been able to extend his dominance to everyone, and up until now, Rafael Nadal couldn’t say the same, but now, after crushing the man that handily beat Federer, he can say that, he can make a claim that even with Federer gone, he’s still the best, Rafa Nadal could see his stock soar, and the slams pile up, and that, above anything, is why Federer is crying at home is Basel.

Story of the Year: 2006

The Headbutt

Just ten minutes were left, plus penalties. Win or lose, his career would be complete, and he would leave on top, nearly single-handidly leading his aging country from the depths of European Football to the precipice of a second world cup, and third major trophy (along with Euro 2000), in eight years. Zinedine Zidane still could not believe that Gianluigi Buffon, the Azzurri's talismanic goalkeeper saved his pinpoint header five minutes earlier. That, he assumed, would be his last great moment on the football pitch. Just like when he lit the world ablaze in 1998 with two great headers past the Brazilian goalkeeper Taffarel, a header would be Zidane's last great moment. However, that career-capping header was yet to come, and would do something that above all his accomplishments, whether it be the World Cup Title, the Euro Championship Title, the countless league titles at Monaco, Juventus and Real Madrid, and even the three Champions League Final's he had played in, would move him to a rarified air. Zidane would become a mega-star for doing something most un-football like, for displaying brute force that is more generally associated with the 'football' played across the pond in the USA. Zidane would use his head to slam Marco Matterazzi to the ground, and provide a fitting end to a career most brilliant and most entertaining.

Nine months earlier, Zinedine Zidane was lured out of retirement because France was in a mess. They were lagging behind in World Cup Qualifying, with precious few of the old guard that had completed the double of holding the World Cup and the Eueropean Title at the same time, including Zidane. He came back from retirement and spurred a furious finish that allowed France to qualify for the 2006 World Cup. This was not supposed to be France's tournament, and merely a nice swansong for Zidane before France was inevitably knocked out and Portugal, Spain and Brazil fought for the World Cup Title. Weird thing happened, though. Zidane played like it was 1998 all over again. He was the everything for France, as he led Les Blues past all three of those aforementioned teams that were the pre-tournament favorites. Up first was Spain. They were talented, with the seeds of the team that enters the 2010 as the favorites as youthful players. Zidane was great, prolonging plays and passing seeds of offense to his forwards. He had a direct hand in France's game-winning goal, with a whipping cross from 40 yards out to Patrick Vieira, and then scored a goal himself with a great shot past Iker Casillas. Brazil was up next. Even more talented than Spain, Brazil was off a fresh 3-0 win over Ghana, and was back for revenge for France's 3-0 win in the 1998 World Cup Final. At this point, no one knew that Zidane would go Keyser Soze two weeks later against an Italian Thug. It was still about the masters swansong, and act two was about as good as it gets.

It was against Brazil eight years earlier that Zidane's star first shone brightly, and before it turned into a supornova in the 111th minute against Italy, that star ballooned against Brazil once again. Zidane was breathtaking, exhilerating and masterful. It was a performance for the Gods, for the Maradona's and the Pele's. Lionel Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo and Wayne Rooney, the stars that could shine in 2010 can only dream of such games. The ball was seemingly tethered to the foot of Zidane, while his passes were strung along on the same string. He effortlessly toyed with the Brazilians. Against the team that toyed with everyone, and against the player that was currently the best in the world, Ronaldinho (who at that moment was better than Messi is now), Zidane was the best Brazilian on the field.

Zidane's epic game against Brazil in 2006

Up next was Portugal. Against the man that would replace Ronaldinho as the best player in the world, Cristiano Ronaldo, Zidane, at the "young" age of 34, outshined them all. He scored a deadly penalty kick, placing it in the most perfect place at the net. France then stifled the Portuguese team for 90 minutes, shutting them down. Zidane's magic had led Les Blues to the World Cup Final. Somehow, a team that played 8 out of 11 starters over the age of 30, France was in the World Cup Final, against Italy. And that is where the story gets really ridiculous, more so than a 34-year old bald man being the best soccer player on the world, again.

The game was mostly undramatic. Zidane scored another sublime penalty. Italy scored a header twenty minutes later. Until Buffon's glorious save on Zidane's last great footballing moment. Next came his most lasting. Marco Matterazzi, a ruthless, brash defender, tugged at his shirt. Zidane pushed away, but the leech that is Matterazzi is not so easy to disengage from, and Marco re-tugged on the same shirt. Zidane quipped that "If you want my shirt, you can wait till the match is over." Marco Matterazzi responded with words that were shrouded in mystery for four years. Seconds later as each was jogging back down the field, Zidane slowly turned around to face Marco Matterazzi head on, lowered his shoulder and headbutted Matterazzi right in the chest. Although Marco Matterazzi was a tough, 6'4" player, he 'crumpled' to the ground as if he was sniped by a SWAT team. After some initial confusion, Zidane was deservedly sent-off ten minutes before his career would expire, and Italy won the penalty shootout to claim their fourth World Cup Title. However, no one cared that Italy won the World Cup again. No. All people cared about was that headbutt.

The Headbutt had a life of its own. Immediately, the biggest question, a bigger one than "Isn't it amazing that Italy are now the world champions?", was "Why the Hell did Zinedine Zidane to that?". Obviously he was provoked, although the exact provocation wasn't know for years, but speculation ran rampant. News organizations called in lip-readers who tried to decipher what Matterazzi said. Some said Matterazzi insulted Zidane's Muslim, Algerian roots. Some said he made a simple inslut of Zidane's sister. Some said he did nothing. Then there were the people who judged. Some wanted Zidane arrested for assault. Some wanted him stripped of his Player of the Tournament Trophy for the 2006 World Cup (which rightly never did happen). Some thought Marco Matterazzi, a known rabble-rouser, got what he deserved. However, no one stopped to realize what the headbutt really meant, and what it was. The Headbutt was the single most polarizing and known sports moment of the decade, by far. Billions know what 'the Headbutt' was. Billions know just what happened that night in Frankfurt, in the Olimpiastadon. The Headbutt was bigger than Zidane, bigger than soccer, or football or futbol, or anything. The Headbutt was a different monster.

Four years later, the headbutt is still as known as ever. Back in February, three and a half years after it happened, Zidane finally admitted as to what it was that Marco Matterazzi said. Matterazzi insluted Zidane's mother, who at the time was ill with cancer in a hospital. None of that matters now. All that matters is that it was an event that tarnished Zidane's career forever. Zidane is still known in the parts of the world that appreciate and love football above all else as the best player of his generation. However, in America, he is known as the guy who headbutted the other guy. He will always carry the reputation of a headbutter, he will always carry the reputation as a villain. Of course, that adds to the intrigue of football's dark night. Zidane will be a hero, a brilliant footballer, a magician on the field, but his most enduring moment will always be, in the hearts and minds of many, his headbutt. Of course, this belies the most interesting sports "what if?" of the decade as well. "What if Zidane didn't do it?"

Of course, Italy still could have won. People seem to act like the only reason that Italy won was because Zidane headbutted Matterazzi and got himself red-carded. The game would, in all likelihood, still gone on to penalties. The only man to miss a penalty, David Trezeguet, would have taken a penalty anyway. However, the best "what if?" is even more intriguing, "What If France won anyway?". The reason why that is so damn intriguing is because much of the reason that Zidane is villified for the headbutt was that France lost the game. If France won, Zidane, who is still a hero in France, would have been the hero anyway. Not only did he lead the French to the Final with amazing play, but he headbutted the thug of the Italian team, and his team won the most prized trophy in all of sports. Zidane would probably be praised for admitting some vigilante justice on Marco Matterazzi, but no, the fates were interested in a more delicious dish, one where Zidane did unleash his fury and Matterazzi did fall to the ground.

The Headbutt is probably the most famous World Cup play ever, and it did not even include a ball. It will always be remembered as the moment that the World Cup became mainstream in America. It is definitely the most famous World Cup moment here in the states. Back in 2006, youtube was still about a year from being mainstream, but after just minutes, the interwebs were alive with headbutt videos. 'The Ultimate Zidane Headbutt Video' was the quickest video ever to 1,000,000 views. Still today, the video has had to be re-uploaded three times, and each successive version got even more hits. The Headbutt will always define football in the 2000s, the 2006 FIFA World Cup, and sadly, part of Zinedine Zidane epic career.

The Ultimate Zidane Headbutt Video, the Youtube Sensation

Why the Celtics Have to Win

I would never have thought I would ever write that statement. I hate Boston teams. All Boston teams, especially those that play in Foxboro and Fenway. The Celtics don't bring out the same fury that the Pats and Sawx do, but they still are a Boston team, and for that reason, I hate them. But I want them to win so, so, so badly that I don't care what city the Celtics play in, I just care that they beat the Lakers. It is mainly becuase sooner or later basketball has to become what a team sport is, where "team" trumps "talent." The Lakers are the more talented team, with the best player. But the best player winning gets a little old. For once, let the team with more hunger, more fight and more importantly, more team chemistry win the series. Let Boston win one for "teams" everywhere. Let the ruthlessness of stars dominating the NBA till Kingdom come finally end. Especially since the next three months in the NBA will be dominated with the talk of one individual who has seen his star-status grow while his collection of rings lay stagnant, let the NBA finally be about the team.

I first really noticed it in the Cleveland series. Although the Cavs were the team who routinely showboated in choreographed dance during the regular season, the Celtics were the team that actually loved to play with each other and just loved each other. The Celtics were the team with the tighter bond, and it was those bonds that helped them upend the Cavs. At the tensest of moments, they trusted each other, they fought for each other, they played for each other. The Lakers have some of these traits as well, but there is a nervous tension on that team. You get the feeling that they don't all trust each other. Kobe doesn't trust Odom since he disappeared in the 2008 Finals and 2006&7 series against the Suns. Kobe doesn't trust Gasol since he was surprisingly quiet in the Suns series. No one trusts Artest since he has no internal governor, and puts up shots when he's firing blanks. No one trusts Bynum since he just looks lost. The Lakers are a strange team in that their whole is actually less than the sum of their parts. They should be better. Even then, they are damn good. They can easily win this series, but the Celtics have to.

The Celtics have clear advantages at the power forward position (Garnett vs Bynum, Odom, etc), and a Titanic sized advantage at point guard (Rondo vs Fisher, Farrmar). However, their biggest advantage is inside. It is cliched in sports to say that "heart" and "passion" and "will" will swing a series, but in this case it is true. The Celtics have a special bond, because in 2010, they were most 'un-Boston-like'. They were counted out, understandably so after their 27-27 finish to end the season. They were the fourth best team in the East by record, and many people had the Heat and Bucks (before Bogut's injury) as teams that were more of a threat in the East than the Celtics. Then, after a dominant first round series against the Heat, people still did not think the Celtics were anything more than first round fodder, and another tune-up for the perpetually overrated Cleveland Cavaliers. Than, after blowing an 11-point third quarter lead in Game 1 against the Cavs, everybody, even the staunchest of Boston supporters said "well, they blew their best chance to win a game." How little people, including me, understood what a team that played through each other, more than with each other, could do.

There is a huge difference between a team that plays with each other and a team that plays through each other. The first is a team that has great talent, and plays well as a team, but it is more of individual talents working together to create a beautiful finish. Great examples would be Barcelona in 2010. The talent was still there, but the feeling that they were all tied together, with the ball as the string, was gone. Guys like Sergie Busquets and Pedro Rodriguez were talented enough players, but they weren't guys that would die for the team. A team that plays through each other is like the Celtics, or the New Orleans Saints. Every player is out there, but really it is just one giant body, one mass that contains many moving parts. Every pass, every shot, every dribble, every pick and every roll is a team movement, is a team play. Everything is team. 2010 has been the year for the team, with Alabama's team defense shutting down Tebow mania, with the Saints team of 53+New Orleans riding the wave of emotion to a Super Bowl in the bayou. Then Duke, the iroinic underdog, riding juniors and seniors that knew how to play defense to another banner that will grace the roof of Cameron Indoor. Why not the Celtics joining in?

It pains me to admit that I am whole-heartedly rooting for a Boston team. I have never done this before since the Red Sox in '04. Since then, Boston has become somewhat the more arrogant New York. Like how a born-again Christian becomes an even more fanatical Christian than those who were there before, trying to catch up, Boston, when becoming the city of champions, became more arrogant than the cities that already won titles (see: York, New) to catch up. Boston was on top of the world in sports from 2004-2008, with the Pats, Red Sox and Celtics combining for five titles. Well, those days are over. The Red Sox are the third best team in their own division, the Bruins just blew a three games to none lead, including a three goals to none lead in Game 7 at home, and know Bostonians are questioning whether the Pats have another Super Bowl run in the Brady/Belichick era. Boston has suffered a precipitous drop, and they finally have a chance for a little redemption. And it is because for once, they have the likable team, not the pompous collection of individuals.

The Great Divorce

I first heard it on Friday. It was news that I had been expecting for sometime, but even then, it caught me off guard. It killed me, it pained me, it made me more distraught than anything else had in sports in years. Just three months after my team lost a heartbreak of a Super Bowl, my sports year and turned even worse. Roy Oswalt was demanding a trade, divorcing himself from the Astros, which considering they suck is quite understandable, but more than that, divorcing himself from me. Roy Oswalt does not know me, and probably never will, but I know him, I cheered for him and I love him, and I don't know what to do.

First, I should say that I do not blame Roy at all. He was the Astros best pitcher of the last 10 years, and in all honesty, was probably the best pitcher in the NL for the entirety of his run here. He battled and bled for the Stros, and now he deserves a better fate than to tirelessly pitch to a team that struggles to score but one run for him. Roy was amazing for the Astros, and now that he gave his life to help this team to its first World Series ever, they should give be a lifesaver and ship him off to a team where he can win games. But this is not about Roy and his connection to the team, this is about my connection with Roy.

Baseball is a funny sport. It is not about entertainment and fun, it is about love. Purely and simply love. It fosters a deeper more human relationship between a fan and a team. There is a personal attachment to a baseball team because each season is eternal. The baseball offseason offers the cold detachment of a separation. The spring training is like a yearly honeymoon, where the possibilities of this love seem endless. The season is a long, marathon and the vows of marriage are renewed each year. Unlike the Colts and Raiders, who are just my teams, the Astros are my partner. In many ways my relationship with the Astros are much more volatile. I love them to death, but honestly I need marriage counseling. They are a horrible organization right now, with little direction and an aging, moderately talented roster. They are a laughingstock, but I married them, and I am not ready to divorce them, yet. But pushing the one and only redeeming part of the Astros, and the part that made me love them in the first place out of town, might just end it.

I first married the Astros in 2001. I did it because of Roy. It was unexplainable really what made him so appealing. His demeanor, his look, his 'screw-you' attitude, and his talent all mixed together to provide a potent sum. Oswalt was a bull-dog in style but simply a great pitcher in substance. He was the perfect underdog, short and stocky from Weir, Mississippi, a town with a population of 314. Bursting onto the scene with a 14-3, 2.73 ERA season in 2001, he finished second to Albert Pujols in the Rookie of the Year Voting. One 19-9 season later, Oswalt was a top-10 pitcher, something he would be for the rest of his Houston career. Oswalt was the most appealing part of the Astros for me, and I attached myself to him and the team, and went along for quite the tumultous marriage.

Roy Oswalt was the man that gave me my happiest non-football sports memory ever, with his brilliant performance in Game 6 of the 2005 NLCS against St. Louis. Two days after Albert Pujols' infamous home run off Brad Lidge, Oswalt toed the rubber with the Astros still in a state of shock. He, however, was not, and I watched Oswalt pitch one of the greatest games of his life. For seven breathtaking innings, he shut down the NL's best team in their own ballpark. Under a dark, mystifying night in St. Louis, the gateway to the West, Oswalt was the gateway to the World Series. The Astros were finally playing in a world series, and Oswalt, the NLCS MVP, was given a 400,000$ tractor as a MVP gift, and a new 6-year contract. Drayton McLane, the Astros owner, was standing in front of a champion locker room and put his arms around Oswalt, the man he said would be an Astro for life. I had the same feeling. He was the king of baseball for that one night, he was the star, and the marriage could not have been better.

Five years later, the marriage has hit rock bottom. The Astros are floundering, the Astros are a disorganized mess. The Astros have cheated on me by not rebuilding, not restocking the farm system. They have dominated me by having an owner blind to anything but the bottom line. I am ready to divorce them, but I have to deal with Oswalt first.

He was my hero, my guide, my partner. He was the man that kept me interested in the Astros during the last five dark years. He was the man that made me love pitching. He was the man that made me watch baseball tonight in awe of the beauty of the lovable game. Roy Oswalt will probably be dealt to some other team, some contender where he can actually go better than 2-6 with that 2.66 ERA. And that will leave me with a horrible decision. Do I divorce the Astros and follow Roy? Leave my spurned lover that spurned me, or stay faithful to the abusive partner. That is the question, but all I know is that for nine years, the Astros gave me wonderful memories, and moreso did Roy. You cannot explain true love, and really I cannot explain why I feel this nagging connection to a team that does not do anything redeeming at all, but it is still there. For Oswalt, though, there has been no turmoil, no devastation, and no abuse. Oswalt was the perfect partner, and he deserves one as well, a team that can provide for him what he provided the Astros. I however, need him more than ever.

Top 10 Iconic Images of the 2000s

These are the iconic and memorable images that defined the decade in sports. The images that when seen immediately illicit a reaction from millions, and in one case billions.

10.) The Volley


The first iconic moment comes from cold, rainy glasgow, where the best soccer player of his generation warmed up the crowd, and heated up the intensity of the game with the most memorable goal of the decade in soccer. At the top of the 18-yd box, Zidane received a high arching cross, more aptly described as a lob, from Brazilian Roberto Carlos. In one quick whirl of his left foot (his off-foot mind you), Zidane struck a volley right over the Bayer Leverkusen goalie. It was a perfect showcase of just how far and mighty the talent of Zidane could go.

9.) The Swimming Celebration


In race 3 of his 2008 Beijing Escapade, Michael Phelps was not the person who put up the great show in the pool. Phelps ran the second leg of the four-man relay, and didn't swim all that well, so fate rested in the hands of Jason Lezak. Lezak ran the laps of his life, but like life so often does, the star still took center stage. Phelps' totally spontaneous, vibrant celebration was arguably the iconic moment of the Olympics and it was the moment when everyone realized just how long of a torso Michael Phelps has.

8.) The Chip


Tiger Woods has now entered into the gray area between Pariah and Devil, but back in 2005 he was still the squeaky clean, but slumping golfer. Tiger lined up on the edge of the 16th green, clinging to a two shot lead on Chris DiMarco, and just unfurled genius. 'Genius' and 'Golf' usually are not connected, but for this one moment it was. Tiger's shot landed seemingly far, far away from the cup, but started rolling and rolling and rolling. It then paused just long enough to show the nice Nike logo, strike up a nice ad campaign, and drop in the cup for Golf's moment.

7.) The Steroid Hill


It was the moment that really defined baseball in the 2000s, where steroids trumped everything that really happened on the field. The old heroes of the 90's took their place on Capitol Hill, and answered and in all reality lied through their teeth. It was the moment that put Rafael Palmeiro's finger wag into the infamy. It allowed Mark McGwire's "I'm not here to talk about the past" into the verbal lexicon. It was the moment that truly un-caped the legends of 1998.

6.) The Miracle by Mario


It is strange that the most iconic moment in basketball happened in the college stage, but it really fits. In the best Title Game of the decade, Memphis and Kansas went back and forth in a see-saw game, but Memphis was able to put up a nine-point lead. The big elephant in the room was Memphis' free-throw shooting, and thank God the elephant reared its ugly head. Because of the Tigers' inability to hit free-throws, Mario Chalmers had a chance to launch a last-second three. Like a perfect arc, the shot split the net easily and prettily, sending the "Rock-Chalk Jayhawk" crowd into a frenzy and killing the hopes of one arrogant Mr. Calipari.

5.) The Tackle


This Game, Super Bowl XXXIV, has already been detailed in long prose already, but the most lasting moment of the game is the above image, arguably the most famous defensive play in NFL History. Kevin Dyson saw the yellow-painted End Zone open in front of him, but Mike Jones, the no-name defender from the Rams was paid money to defend that painted area. Jones perfect tackle was a fitting cap to one of the all-time Super Bowls, and started the decade off in style.

4.) The Tuck Rule


It was the biggest refereeing decision in football history. It was the play that started a dynasty, and the play that indirectly led to Tampa Bay getting Jon Gruden and winning a Super Bowl of their own. The moment is most memorable for entering the Tuck Rule into the encyclopedia of football. The Tuck Rule still lives on today, and is one of the few plays of the decade that is recognizable just by the utterance of its name.

3.) The Bloop by Lugo


Just two outs away from a 4th straight World Series win, and with the greatest closer in MLB History on the mound, Bank One Ballpark stood in waited hope that their Diamondbacks could do to the Yankees what the boys from Gotham did to their martyr of a closer in Byung-Hyun Kim. The Arizona prayers were answered when Luis Gonzalez lofted the first pitch from Mariano Rivera over the head of Derek Jeter into the Bermuda Triangle of the baseball diamond. It nestled into the grass, and Arizona had finally ended the Yankee Dynasty, kickstarting a new era of, dare we say, parity in baseball.

2.) The Helmet Catch


It is very strange that one of the most famous football plays and images does not have an official name. Pretty much every other great football play has a name, but the connection between Eli Manning, fresh off escaping a sack, to David Tyree's helmet, is probably the most memorable domestic sports moment of the decade. The 'Helmet Catch' is all the more great for its timing, as the first punch that would ultimately knock off a juggernaut.

1.) The Headbutt


It only fits that in the decades most watched sporting event, the decades most memorable moments is born. Just 10 minutes, plus penalty kicks, from the end of his glorious career, French Magician Zinedine Zidane, always a holder of a hot, quick temper, had heard enough from the libelous mouth of Marco Matterazzi. Matterazzi acted as if he was shot by an AK-47, but either way Zidane's career and World Cup hopes were red-carded in dramatic fashion. It is the one moment that is truly known by billions just by its name. "The Headbutt." There is something greatly humorous that in a sport known for its artistry, it was its greatest artist that added a bit of physicality that led to the decade's most iconic, memorable moment.

Raining on the Reign of King James

While watching Sportscenter after Game 6 of the Cleveland/Boston series, I expected to see a nice breakdown of the game, and then a nicer preview of what should be a great Orlando/Boston Eastern Conference Finals. I quickly realized I could not have been more wrong. No, ESPN took the next two hours to talk exclusively about LeBron and where LeBron will decide to go six weeks from now. I really was not surprised. I mean, what is surprising about ESPN endlessly musing about the intentions of a confusing man that will not take place for another 50 days. The LeBron free agent watch just started, and it already was nauseating. But really, the more important question is, what has LeBron done to deserve this type of coverage and fallating. LeBron, or "King James" which is an nickname that bleeds arrogance and one that he has never tried to distance himself for, is overrated, is not a winner, and really does not deserve half the coverage he is about to receive.

First off, yes, LeBron is a great, great player. He has a combination of skills that probably has never been seen in NBA history. He's a man-beast, who can get a layup at any time. He is a great passer, and a great help defender. He's great. He's not a winner though, and there is a difference. I like stats, but really, I am not a member of the statistical revolution in sports for the simple reason that in the statistical revolution, the thought of someone being a "winner" is ignored and laughed at. Statisticians would tell me that LeBron is easily the best player in the NBA. He is the most talented, but best and talented is not the same thing. LeBron might put up stats like no one else, he might be the most dominant NBA player since MJ, but really, at the end of the day, I wouldn't want him.

LeBron has now twice won 60 games in the regular season and failed to make the finals. LeBron has also been on the team that had the best record in the NBA for two straight seasons, and he has failed to reach the finals. The former has only happened one other time, the latter: never. That's right. LeBron's Cavaliers are the first team EVER to have the best record in the NBA for two consecutive seasons and fail to make the NBA Finals either year. One year ago, they fell six wins short of an NBA title, and were one miracle LeBron shot from being swept by Orlando. This year, they couldn't even make the Eastern Conference Finals. That is a total underachievement for the team that was hailed b nearly everyone as the best in the league either of the last two seasons.

What is more amazing is that LeBron is really a victim to an entirely hypocritical media. The media loves LeBron for his regular season greatness, but always fails to point out the fact that he has been a disappointment for each of the last two postseasons. They claim that he has no help on the team. Firstly, that is patently untrue. He may have no one that is as good as Scottie Pippen, but Antawn Jamison is a regular all-star. Anderson Varejao is a defensive force. Mo Williams is an all-star. J.J. Hickson was one of the most efficient players in the NBA per minute played in 2009-10. He has enough talent around him to win 65 and then 61 games in the regular season. Seeing that, he should have enough talent to at least get to the conference finals, let alone the NBA finals. If LeBron didn't have talent around him, how did his team attain the best record in the league two straight years? Are all of his players programmed robots that only play well in the regular season? If the media thinks that Mo Williams and Anderson Varejao are stiffs and aren't a good enough supporting cast, why does that same media vote Mo to an all-star game and vote Varejao to the 2nd team All-NBA Defensive Team? I'm sorry, but if he can play on the team that has the best record in the league each of the last two seasons, then he has enough players around him to win three rounds of the playoffs.

The next excuse is that LeBron cannot win games by himself. Well, if he can do it, by the media's perspective, in the regular season, why the hell not can he do it in the playoffs? I'm sorry, but if he can routinely "win games by himself" for the first 82, he should be able to do it in the final, most important, stages of the season. LeBron was terrible in Game 5. Just abhorrently bad. That was an embarrassing performance, and it led to the most titillatingly hilarious excuses, that LeBron was injured. If LeBron was injured in Game 5, what allowed him to, admittedly, play brilliantly in Game 3? Was there some new injury? Was he someone healed by Jay-Z's presence through osmosis that allowed him to drop bombs in Game 3? The only explanation is the admit what no one in the media is willing to: LeBron does not rise to the moment anymore.

Now, LeBron did have a great run in the 2007 playoffs to the NBA Finals, with a breathtaking performance in Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Finals, but that was before LeBron was "King James", in fact, that was when LeBron became "King James." He took advantage of a weak year for the East (by East standards), and surprisingly little true expectations in that series, and delivered. Well, it seemingly went to his head. His team, which was in 2007 really full of players that were simply not as talented as San Antonio, was lifelessly whipped like a fish in a sweep. Either way, LeBron's magical performance in Game 5 changed him, changed the way everyone viewed him. He became the media's newly-anointed "Greatest Player In the League" after that game, and it really went straight to his head. He became arrogant, he became more interested in upholding his stature as the media darling than he was with winning games. He became a brand, a corporation, fueled by endless media propaganda that hailed and coronated him way too soon.

I first realized this when he claimed that his goal in life was to become the "world's richest man." Michael Jordan, the guy LeBron's aspires to match in greatness, would rather be caught playing baseball than to say that his goal in life was to become the "world's richest man." No, Michael's was to win, and win at all costs. So is Kobe's. So is Tim Duncan's. They want to win, LeBron wants to be hailed as a great player. There is a huge difference in motivation at hand here. Even Tiger Woods, the man who will very soon become the world's first billionaire athlete, is not fueled by the ridiculous money he makes, he is fueled by winning golf tournaments (as well as banging broads). LeBron is not fueled by the chance at winning a ring, he is fueled by world supremacy. If LeBron wins a ring one day, he probably will not cry out in sheer unfettered joy like Kevin Garnett did with his "Anything is POSIBBBBBBBLLLLLEEEEE" chant after the Celtics won his 2008 Title. No, LeBron is the man who left the court Thursday night not the least bit sad, or angry that his season ended in futility again. No, he looked like the man who is one day closer to getting a large paycheck from some team.

Dwayne Wade is man who seemingly killed his own body to win a title, and he did it with an aging Shaquille O'Neal, Gary Payton and Udonis Haslem as major players. Dwayne Wade won a title with less talent around him than LeBron had each of the past two years. Dwayne Wade is similarly a free-agent on June 1st, yet he will get about one hundredth media attention that LeBron will get. And Why? Because LeBron can put together better regular season numbers because he is his teams primary ballhandler? In actuality, no one knows why. I would rather have Dwayne Wade. Here is one thing I do know. LeBron has now twice led a team to the best record in the NBA in the regular season. LeBron has not a single finals appearance to show for himself. Tim Duncan, a player that garnered about one millionth the media hype that LeBron has, has never had the talent around him to have the best record in the NBA. He has won four titles. Those are numbers I care about.

Story of the Year: 2005

The Definition of Madness

It was over, and Sean May stood watching the confetti fall on him like a White and Baby Blue blizzard. He was the man of the evening, with a game for the ages. His team, talented and tenacious, had finished off the perfect but equally pesky Illinois Fighting Illini. North Carolina had won it all, but May was not completely celebrating, he was remembering. Remembering what had just transpired, what had just taken place. It was a great final, to be sure, one that saw the talent of North Carolina and the resolve of Illinois, but moreso, it was a great tournament, a perfect tournament. It was, the definition of madness.

Each weekend provided close game after close game and upset after upset. It all started on March 18, 2005, when Bucknell took on powerhouse Kansas in the first round, in OK City. Kansas was a 3-seed, was the team that many pegged to give UNC their toughest task in the East Regional. Instead, the upstarts from Bucknell scratched and clawed their way to trailing 63-62 with 15 seconds to go. It was a close game throughout. At that point there were perilously few upsets in the tournaments first 1.5 days, and Craig Bolerjack said the infamous words, "Buckle up, it's finally March." Little did he know how true his words would end up being. Bucknell took the inbounds pass, dribbled the length of the court and with just over 10 seconds to go remaining in the neck-and-neck game, Bucknell forward Chris McNoughton banked a fall-away shot off the backboard. It cut through the twine perfectly, cut the hearts of Kansas followers and Coach Bill Self (a man who knows heartbreak in the tournament one too many time's), and started the 2005 March Madness Roller Coaster.

The NCAA Tournament needed a spark. 2003 and 2004 were boring years highlighted by very few close games or great moments. Sure, Carmelo Anthony's run in 2003, and the Duke-UCONN Classic Fina 4 game in 2004 were lasting, but overall the tournament was running dry of the one thing that fueled its rise to the incredible heights: drama. That would all change in three short weeks in late March 2005, and the tournament finally proved to be the 'definition of madness.' There were upsets, and comebacks, and shots that were reviewed for 10 minutes. There were heroes and villians, rises of programs and major losses, and to end it all, the tournament was whittled down to the two undisputed best teams who capped it off with a memorable final. The tournament was, in many ways perfect.

Later that night, with the shock of Kansas' loss to the Bucknell Bison still radiating across the country, in snowy Worchester, MA., the Vermont Catamounts took the court against the Syracuse Orangemen. After a lost season the year before, Syracuse had retooled and reloaded their team and as a 4-seed in the nation's most volatile region, were trendy Final-4 favorites. Vermont was, like its state that it represented, boring and white. The game played out just like Bucknell against Kansas, where Vermont was all the time in the game, but there was an eternal sense of "When will Syracuse finish them off?" It was a fair question, as Syracuse had to be able to stop Tyler Coppenrath eventually. Well, they did, but they looked off T.J. Sorrentine. In overtime, with the game in the balance, Sorrentine stood 28 feet away from the basket, dribbling, dribbling. He posed no threat at that location, Syracuse imagined, but Sorrentine knew the limits of his ability, he know the haunted spirits that rise every March, he knew that no distance was too far, no shot was too outrageous. Hell, March was for the outrageous. Sorrentine picked up his dribble and launched. The ball cleanly struck the net. Syracuse was gone. Just like that, the boring tournament had turned into the spectacular in one hour, and the best was yet to come.

It was over and Deron Williams lowered his head, and quietly sobbed. His college career, his college life, his amatuerism, taken away in one quick put-back. Illinois, as they had done so many times in that magnificent 36-1 season, had not accepted defeat lost, but it was useless against North Carolina whose reign was to be crowned. Down by 13 at halftime, he knew the game was far from over. Not totally because he knew his team had enough ability and energy to make the comeback, but seeing what had just happened in the past month, he knew anything was possible. Just the fact that they were playing in this game, although very feasible coming into the tournament, was amazing. He knew that there was a chance to fight back, and he was right. They started hitting threes again and again. They were playing like the champion team they were, and in the championship game, coach Bruce Weber thought, hey there have been crazier comebacks just last week, why not us? And it was a crazy comeback, fought off the craziest way, with a 6'5" sixth-man putting back a rebound that lifted hearts in North Carolina, and crushed them in Champagne, Illinois. The fact that a sixth-man made the biggest play would usually be considered strange, but in 2005, it was just another ride on the definition of madness.

The college basketball landscape was still getting over Kansas and Syracuse, the teams that met in the Title game just two years earlier, being knocked out each within an hour. They finally overcame that shot when the second round tipped off that night. There was no time to rest, as there was more magic to be seen. In Tucson, Arizona, Bob Knight stood on one side of the hardwood, gazing across the floor at Adam Morrison leading his Gonzaga team out of the tunnel. If Knight could construct a person who was his exact opposite, Morrison was it. Morrison was shaggy haired, Knight was straitlaced and clean-shaven. Knight had a legendary, fiery temper. Morrison had a calm, cool demeanor that seemed to fit a man riding the waves in Maui, not throwing up 15-footers against close pressure. Knight watched as his top protoge, Ronald Ross fought Morrison head-on, shot for shot. It was a sight to behold, two players essentially making the rest of the people, including Knight, in the stadium meaningless. One of those players would decide the game. Ross hit his final shot, Morrison missed his. Crashing to the floor in despair, Morrison and Gonzaga fell victim to Bobby Knight's final ride to the second week. Knight stared at the scoreboard, reading "71-69". Knowing he escaped, he quickly left the court and put on the TV to scout 2-seed Wake Forest and 7-seed West Virginia, his two possible opponents. Little did he know his night was just beginning.

Ian Eagle entered the Wolstein Center in Cleveland for the game between the West Virginia Mountaineers and the Wake Forest Deamon Deacons expecting the worst. On paper, this was not a very competitive matchup. Wake Forest was superior, and had arguably the best player in the country, in Chris Paul, on their side. The tournament is usually the playground for the stars, and Paul's star overshadowed the West Virginia team. It was playing out like Eagle had expected with Wake taking a 13 point halftime lead. However, the night was, as Eagle and Bob Knight found out, far from over. Mike Gansey, Kevin Pittsnogle, D'or Fisher, Patrick Beilein and John Herbert were far from the household names that Paul was, but they combined, with Paul's theatrics included, to stage one of the greatest college basketball games ever, and certainly the most forgotten one.

Everyone on West Virginia just started draining three pointer after three pointer. Gansey could not miss. Herbert's three sent the game into overtime, which then featured three more threes from Gansey and one from 6'11" center Kevin Pittsnogle. Of course, Paul did everything possible to get Wake Forest to tie the game at 97 to enter double overtime. Double Overtime games are the rarest species at the college level. College athletes are not used to playing those lengths of games, so the quality of play dips drastically as the games go longer and longer. No one told Gansey, who continued to hit three after three. Finally, after 1 AM, it was over. It was the latest finish for a March Madness game in 10 years, finishing West Virginia 111, Wake Forest 105 (2OT). Wake Forest has never recovered from losing that game, while that marked the ascendancy of the WVU program, which Bob Huggins has continued since taking over for Coach John Beilein. The first weekend was finally over, with 12 of 16 games decided by single-digits in round two. Everyone got a breather, because more madness was still left to unfold.

It was over, and Bruce Weber fell to his knees. Taking over the reigns from Bill Self was not easy for Bruce. Bill Self was able to ressurect the Illinois basketball program from perilous depths, and did it quickly and efficiently. But on this day, that connection became even stranger, as it was Roy Williams' move to North Carolina that allowed Bill Self to go to Kansas and eventually pave the way for Bruce Weber to take over a talented, bright Illinois team. Bruce Weber knew he was a lucky man, but also a man with great expectations thrust upon his shoulders, and in 2004-2005, he handled those expectations perfectly. Guiding his talented team through a near-perfect regular season, and then through a tumultuous, but finally terrific tournament run had led Bruce to the ultimate stage. After seeing his team replicate his own life, one where he was an assistant coach for a staggering 18 seasons at Purdue, fighting and clawing their way back into a 71-71 deadlock against the mighty Tar Heels, he saw the ulikeliest of players crush his spirits and seemingly his knees. However, it was more the strange situation he was in that made his drop down, as Bruce Weber would have to go congratulate the man that was indirectly responsible for hsi being at Illinois, but that was nothing in a tournament that was the definition of madness.

West Virginia would win another tense close game against Knight's Texas Tech team, again with Kevin Pittsnogle and Mike Gansey draining multiple three's each, but this time no headlines were written about the exploits of the Mountaineers. No, this time there were other classics to digest. Salim Stoudamire was known as the man with the amazing shot, but the man that could do nothing but miss at crunch time. It was a tough label to attain, but one that was deserved. Stoudamire entered his Seet 16 game against 2-seed Oklahoma St. knowing that he was the key to Arizona's chances. Down 76-72 with barely two minutes to play, Stoudamire knew that he had to rise to the challenge. Among great pressure, Stoudamire launched a three. He knew that it was going in from the second it left his hands. Stoudamire was finally confident of himself in the clutch. Joey Graham was confident too, as his back-to-back baskets put Oklahoma St. up 78-77 with twelve seconds left. Joey Graham thought it was all over, because Stoudamire would come up short as he always did. Stoudamire was left to wonder if his three pointer two minutes earlier was just a one-time deal, or if he could do it again. Stoudamire released a shot with three seconds left and turned away. He could not look. His teammates did, and saw it perfectly swish through the net. Stoudamire did close his eyes, but his ears were open and hearing the sound of the crowd, knew that he finally had done it.

He would need that confidence one round later, as Arizona would face pre-tournament favorite Illinois. The Illini had finished an incredible regular season with a 30-1 record. They had a three-headed hydra at guard, with three fleet, sharp-shooters in Luther Head, Dee Brown and Deron Williams. They were a perfect college team, with three juniors, experienced and savvy. Arizona was different. They had the talent, but not the chemistry. But in March, talent is often the great divider. In a packed, intimate setting in cozy Rosemont, Illinois, in a relative home game for the orange-clad Illini, the teams traded punches back and forth for 30 minutes. Arizona's talent and size against the genial guile of Illinois. Tied at 46, the teams entered the under 16 timeout with the feeling that the game would go down to the wire, that something special was in the air in Rosemont. They weren't wrong, but when the game entered the under 6 TV timeout, with the game at 75-60 Arizona, the Wildcats lost all thought that this ending would be anything but routine.

Meanwhile, in Albuquerque, Lousville and West Virginia, playing far, far away from home, the game was the complete opposite. West Virginia, like they did in each of their last two games, were just not able to miss. Gansey was hot, Pittsnogle better, as West Virginia raced to a 32-13 lead. Rick Pitino, Louisville's dynamic head coach, was completely puzzled. He was a man who was once the best coach in the land, leading mightily talented Kentucky teams to back-to-back title games. Now, eighty miles away from Lexington, Pitino felt helpless, something he hadn't felt since he knew that "Larry Bird was not walking through that door" in his time in Boston. Pitino called a timeout, switched Francisco Garcia to point, and Louisville was able to cut the lead to 13 by halftime. At that point, thirteen seemed like a huge deficit to overcome. Pitino did not know that in a couple of hours, he would be able to have a celebratory beer watching another team overcome a greater deficit in one quarter the amount of time.

Meanwhile, in Rosemont, Illinois, Deron Williams looked to the ceiling, seeing his and his teammates amazing season go to ruin. They were the perfect team, and now they were being outplayed, they were inferior. Deron Williams went over to coach Bill Weber and put his arm around him, an obligatory thank you for an amazing season. Deron Williams walked back onto the court, sullen but prepared to fight out the last 4:55 of his season and his college career. Fight was everything the Fighting Illini were about, and the Arizona Wildcats were about to find out just how right their thoughts were about this game being down to the wire.

It was steal after steal, lay-up after lay-up and three after three. It was the greatest barrage in college basketball history. The Illini in a matter of mere minutes unleashed the most vicious fury in tournament history. Even as it was happening, as Luther Head was hitting threes, and Dee Brown stealing balls from point guards, the Wildcats were sure that there was just too little time left. As they did all throughout their 31-0 start, the Illini did what they did, refuse to lose. When Deron Williams nailed the fourth three in the comeback, blazing to a 20-5 run, the game was tied at 80. It was the perfect game at the perfect pace of one basket per minute, and it left the Wildcats declawed. The Illini had completed the most desperately insane comeback in March Madness history, and there was no better way to describe it but that, just pure madness. Overtime awaited.

The furious finish in Rosemont made the happenings in desolate New Mexico seem just normal. Pitino, in that great whirling mind of his, conjured up the simplest of switches, going to a zone defense, and it killed off the last vestiges of West Virginia's epic run. The Mountaineers were finally shooting bricks, finally just missing. Louisville, spurred by the motivation from their beloved coach, starting hitting shots. It was the exact opposite of the first half. With 11 minutes left, Louisville made it a three point game. West Virginia was stunned, puzzled, how a team missing their best player, Taquan Dean, was able to make a comeback. Whatever the reason, it happened. It was now West Virginia's time to throw the next punch. Their lanky, ebullient center did just that, as Kevin Pittsnogle hit two threes to extend the lead back to 10. Pitino was utterly dismayed. Basketball is a cruel game built almost entirely on momentum, and dispite Pitino's best effort, and the great run that made the game a one possession affair, after 14 minutes, Louisville was just three points closer than what they were at halftime. However, there was one last punch to be made, and like the one made by Deron, Dee, Luther and crew, it was a haymaker that reverberated from New Mexico all the way back to Kentucky. Louisville went an a run that was all too Illini-like. It was more defensive, as they held West Virginia to just two points in the final six minutes, forcing a off-balanced West Virginia attempt at the win to miss the basket completely. Somehow, someway, Good 'ol Rick had done it again. Lousville and West Virginia were deadlocked at 77, and overtime awaited.

In Austin, TX, another outpost of basketball not totally conducive to the media maw that generall followed the tournament, Pitino's old team would try to knock off Tom Izzo's Michigan State Spartans, trying to make their fourth Final Four appearance in 7 years. It was the polar opposite of both the other Elite Eight games, as it was close throughout. The biggest lead was Michigan State by 6 with six minutes to go, but even then, there was not the feeling that the game was too far gone like in both the previous cases. This was just a rugged match between College Basketball's preeminent grinders. However, the finish would have the flair for the dramatic.

Shannon Brown stepped to the line, readying his body as he nervous dribbled echoed his ever loudening pulse. These were the moments that college kids lived for, in all reality. The game clock literally frozen in time, waiting on him to finish off the game. However, like so many other games have taught us, there is nothing more imprisoning and haunting than a "free" throw. Brown needed to make two free throws to assure that Michigan St. would not lose. Up by one, with twelve seconds to go, Brown cocked his left arm and arched the right, and released. Softly and gently in flowed in an arc right through the net. The second was the copy of the first. Brown exhaled, knowing that on the most pressurized of stages, he was able to be the hero. Patrick Sparks, Kentucky's senior lunch-pail player, looked on in dismay, as he, just moments ago, was not able to deliver with the same preciseness, as his missed free throw cost Kentucky the chance to tie the game. Sparks just wanted one last chance. Luckily for him, the weekend had one more miracle left. With barely a tenth of a second on the clock, Patrick Sparks launched a desperation heave up to the basket. It was an ugly shot, rotating curiously and floundering on its way to the cylinder, but got the prettiest of bounces. It hit nearly every part of the rim, seemingly playing hot potato with the iron, but it refused to bounce off. After what seemed like five seconds to itself, it calmly rolled into the middle of the net. Kentucky was safe, Sparks was the hero again. Overtime awaited.

Nothing more can describe the unbelievable nature of the 2005 March Madness like these three overtime games on Elite Eight Weekend. They were just, to a word, perfect. They each had their respective flaws and differing beauties. None of the overtimes were totally able to live up to the highest of standards their regulation times set, but in each their own, they were fitting codas. In Rosemont and Albuqueraue, Arizona's Hassan Adams' last gasp three missed, sending Illinois into the Final Four, and the game into the halls of history. In New Mexico, Louisville, after finally breaking the most resilient of hearts in that of the West Virginia Mountaineers, finished their comeback by cruising over a broken team to a comfortable overtime win. Finally, bucking the trend that the team that gives up the lead heading into overtime is done, Michigan St. led by Tom Izzo who has made a hall of fame career and numerous millions by bucking trends, was able to muster enough energy to dispatch the peskiest of Wildcats. The Final Four was set, but really, the drama had climaxed in a two day buffet of basketball. Desert was all that was left, and it was delightful.

It was over, and Roy Williams raised his hands in well-deserved celebration. After losing a memorable title game with a pre-tournament favorite two years earlier, his life's work as a college coach was finally complete. For years, Williams was the coach who 'Could Not Win the Big One', and finally that was all over. All the demons he contained in his closet, the dark memories of Syracuse's Hakeen Warrick blocking Lee Miles tie-attempt, and his crushing loss at the hands of Mike Krzyzewski in 1991, were all forgotten. Roy had finally reached the mountaintop, and for a guy that was crucified for failing to do so for so many agonzing years, that was the prefect way to cap off a tournamet that was a definition of madness.

One Shining Moment, 2005

The Real Peyton Manning

Y'all act like you've never seen me do work before

Jaws on the floor, like Belichick's was after 4th and two entered lore.
Now, I started whooping his ass worse than before
The league knew I could throw it galore and throw it some more.

It's the return of the Manning, "Oh wait he's kidding"
Belichick said before I turned his D to kindling

And Tom Brady says....
Nothing you idiots, Tom Brady's dead locked in Moynahan's basement

Delusional Pats fans love Tommy Brady.
"Tommy Brady, I just love him"
Look at Tom, walking around grabbing his you know what,
flipping the you know who
"Yeah but the goats so cute though".

Yeah I probably got a couple of screws up in my head lose
but no worse than what's going on in Belichick's filmroom.
Sometimes I just wanna go up to him and let loose, but I can't
but its cool for his cameramen to break all the rules?

I'm driving for the win, I'm driving for the win
and if you're lucky I might make Brady throw down a shot of gin
That's the message I'm trying to give to little kids
that it's not as important to marry a model as he thinks it is
Of course they're gonna know who Gisele is when they hit fourth grade
They got the Victoria's Secret catalogue, don't they?

"Manning, you ain't nothing but stats"
Yeah, but some of us are cats
who cut up defenses like cats do with welcome mats
But if we can cut up cats and mats and blow up Rex's blitz packs
Then there's no reason why we can't go up to Gillette and dice the Pats

But if you feel like I feel, I got the antidote
Don't worry, I'm on the same page as Gonzo's
Sing the chorus, how's it GO!!

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

Phil Rivers don't gotta run and audible under pressure.
Well I do, so screw him cause I can do more than he can do.
You think I gave a damn about the rest of the AFC?
Half the teams can't score on Freeney, let alone stop me.

"But Pey, what if you lose, wouldn't it be weird?"
Why? I've done reached that high gear
I've done it all before and no one can reach levels near
After that Title Game, Rex Ryan better buy me a beer
So I can drink and tell him and Darrelle Revis
how I beat their ass, and that they'll never beat us.

That big fat slob, tried to blitz and confuse me on national TV
"Yeah, but I think he got a lap band, hee hee!"
I should download that game for the world to see
and they can see how I showed the Jets the power of me.

I'm sick of you little young teams, all you do is annoy me
So I have been sent here to destroy you.

There's a dozen of us just like me
Who audible like me, who just burn blitzes like me
Who impress like me, who walk, talk and throw like me
and it might be the next generation, but not quite me.

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

I'm great to watch to, because I'm only giving you
things you can do while I audible before I lower the boom.
The only difference is I've got the balls to do it in front of ya'll
and I don't feel the need to hurry up the snap at all.
I just get to the line and hit it
and whether you would like to admit it, I just throw it
better than every other quarterback out there.

You wonder how I can keep putting up wins by the dozens
It's funny, cause at the rate I'm going, I'm gonna be the only one throwing
Shaving Aaron Rodgers' beard, while I'm at the Super Bowl rollin'
While the Pack are folding, people will see my legend again growing

And there will one day be another me lurking
He could be at Alabama working, sucking on Nick Saban's Title Rings

In the Lucas Oil lot Brady, Bill and Rivers will be crying
Screaming out "I just give up"
with their heads down and hands cupped.

So will the real Manning please stand up?
And put one of those fingers on each hand up
And be proud in February to start rocking two rings
Cause one more time the Colts will win that thing.

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

Cause I'm Peyton Manning, yes the better Manning
And that other Damn Manning is just imitating
So won't the real Manning please stand up,
please take the chance to blow the Pats up.

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