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Catching up with Coach Wash

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The last time I watched Phillip Washington run a practice, it was in the Crispus Attucks Medical Magnet High School gym during the 2015 Indiana high school basketball tournament. He was getting his team ready to face Cloverdale and Park Tudor in the 2A Regional Finals.

Now, on a cold snowy night in March of 2017, I watch as he puts grown men through many of the same drills with much of the same passion that he displayed during Attucks workouts. Washington is now coaching the semi-pro Indianapolis Blaze of the Central Basketball Association.  He claps his hands, yells out instructions, and urges the players on as they scrimmage five-on-ten.

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The drill works like this. Team A inbounds the ball against a press by Team B. If Team B steals and scores, they inbound against a pressing Team A. But if Team A gets the ball to midcourt, Team C starts guarding in the front court, trying to steal and score at the other end. Any team that makes a basket gets the ball back, and has to start all over against backcourt pressure.

Washington’s whistle is little more than a fashion accessory in this drill. Players wrestle for the ball out of bounds, crash into each other on drives to the basket, and bear-hug in the post. Finally, one team scores its sixth point and the coach orders the other ten players to the end line for “towel drills”, where they sprint to each line on the court and back. Not just endlines, free throw lines, midcourt; every line on the court, including those marked for volleyball.

Several players protest, claiming mistakes in scorekeeping. Washington answers them, but as they keep arguing he tells them “Enough. That’s it. Just stop.” He blows the whistle and the players, still grumbling, start running the lines.

“Everything we do is competitive and we play for a consequence,” Washington says. “Yesterday the new guys beat the guys from last year, and they were mad.”

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Washington chuckles. “They were really mad. No conversation after practice, they just put on their clothes and left. Grown men, very angry.”

“But they respect the process. They know it helps keep them accountable.”

After the 2015 season, Washington was a candidate for the Anderson High School job, which would have been a jump to 4A as well as a triumphant return to his hometown. Another coach was selected, and Washington returned to Attucks. But early in the season, the IHSAA determined that Attucks had used ineligible players in summer league games and Washington was eventually removed as head coach. The following spring, Anderson High School re-opened the head coaching position and hired Washington, but before the season began he was charged with DUI only blocks from his home. The Anderson school board removed him as coach, though he still works there as a teacher.

When we spoke over the summer, Washington told me he thought he was finished with high school coaching. But now he’s not so sure.

“It’s a possibility,” he says. “I miss it. But I didn’t realize how much time I was taking away from my family….I miss the interaction with the kids and growing a team.”

CBA players pay a league fee to participate in the 8-game season, and they get a chance at exposure to scouts from the NBA D-League and International teams. According to the league, over sixty CBA players have signed professional contracts to play overseas or in the NBA since 2013. The league features teams from Baltimore, Bowling Green (KY), Ft. Wayne, Illinois, Nashville (TN) and Mississippi. The players aren’t paid, but get training dates with International pro teams, video highlight packages, and exposure to high level competition.

And the coaches get exposure as well. Due to the brevity and scheduling of the season, a CBA coach can work around college and high school coaching jobs.

“If this can open doors to a college coaching job, that’s my ultimate goal,” Washington says. “If it does, that’s the direction I’ll go.”

Whatever the outcome of the season, the team looks to be vintage Coach Washington. Active, loud, swarming defense. Quick shots. Constant communication on defense.

The Blaze roster includes the 2016 CBA scoring leader in Anthony White and former Butler University standout Chrishawn Hopkins. Washington also seems excited about the new additions to the team.

“Ja’Rob McCallum from Marion (HS) played for University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee,” he says. “He’s going to play a major role.

All of the drills and running during practice aren’t for show. At Attucks High School, Washington’s teams always played with a frantic desperation that was fun to watch and easy to root for.

“I want to play fast and be all over the floor,” he says.

The Blaze open the 2017 season at 6:00 PM on Friday, March 25 at the Broad Ripple High School gymnasium against the Mississippi Eagles.    

MLB is over-thinking again

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So Major League Baseball and the Players Association have agreed to a few rules changes for the 2017 season. The impetus for many of the changes is (allegedly) a desire to speed up the game. Some of the other changes that MLB wants were blocked by the players’ union, but after this season the owners can implement them unilaterally, so I’m sure we’ll see the more dramatic aberrations…..uh, changes ….next year.

In 2017, the most noticeable difference will be on intentional walks. For the last hundred years or so, if a pitcher wanted to walk a hitter he had to throw four pitches out of the strike zone. Now the pitcher’s manager just has to “signal” the umpire, and the batter will be waved to first base. WP_20160804_010

Two other changes have to do with pitchers re-setting their pivot foot (which is really directed at one particular player with a quirky delivery) and positioning by base coaches. The last change prescribes time limits on managers and replay officials.  

I’m something of a traditionalist when it comes to baseball. (Some people who call themselves my friends would use other terms. “Anal retentive”, “Dinosaur”, and “Mirthless Hater of Fun” being some of the more charitable ones.) But none of these wrinkles give me much heartburn. Yeah, there’s the occasional ESPN highlight where somebody wildly swings at a pitch meant to be a walk and gets a base hit, but it really doesn’t happen very often.    

I do think it’d be more fun if they made the manager’s “signal” unique for each team. Like the Diamondbacks manager should have to come out and walk toward home, clap twice, then make a snake head with his thumb and fingers while saying “ssssssss”. The Giants could signal by having a ball boy walk around the on-deck circle on stilts. The Twins could have two interns with shirts attached at the back. You get the idea.   

And speeding up the replays is OK if you accept that replays are a good thing to start with. I think officials should make a call and move on. Mistakes will be made; but there will also be missed signals, errors, imperfect groundskeeping, and drunken ushers. (Ooops. May have given away a trade secret with that last one.) The point is, if you’re looking for perfect competition with no randomness or human error involved, don’t count on a nap. You’re gonna be busy.

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But the really egregious stuff will have to wait until 2018. For instance, in order to speed up extra inning games, MLB wants to start each half inning with a baserunner on second. Because nobody ever enjoys or talks about 18- or 19- inning games? Ask any fan to describe his or her most memorable game experience, and 75% of the time it will be a long, extra-inning contest. Baseball’s most distinguishing feature is the lack of a time limit. It takes as long as it takes. You can’t get a lead and run out the clock. Now I know how long-time soccer fans feel about penalty kick shootouts.   

If MLB really wants to speed up games, here are are a couple of suggestions, humbly and faithfully submitted by your obedient servant:

  1. Stay in the Batter’s Box

It’s gotten to the point that a batter spends more time out of the box than in it during the at-bat. Pitcher delivers and batter takes. Batter immediately calls for time, steps out of the box, takes off helmet, smooths his hair back, replaces helmet. Loosens left batting glove strap and re-fastens it. Repeats with right hand. Taps left shoe with bat. Taps right shoe. Takes a deep breath and puts one foot into box. Stretches arms above head, then blinks rapidly. Steps back out to remove speck of dust from eye……STAY IN THE @#$%^& BOX, SON

Batters should have to stay in the box anytime they take a pitch unless there is a potential play at a base (attempted steal, wild pitch, etc.). Take a swing? OK, sure, step out and gather yourself. But on a pitch that’s just watched, there’s absolutely no justification for stepping out and wasting time.  

      2.   Shorten commercial breaks

  Haha. Kidding.

       3.  Disallow a mound visit when replacing pitchers

How often are games intentionally delayed by managers going to the mound when they’ve already decided to replace the pitcher? Everybody knows they’re just out there killing time to get a few more warm-up pitches for the reliever. If a manager visits the mound, the pitcher should have to face one more hitter or finish the at-bat in progress. Then if the manager wants to replace him, he can just wave a guy in from the bullpen. Maybe by doing that snake thing.

I understand why MLB is worried about demographics. According to ESPN, the average age of baseball fans is 53. NFL and NBA are 47 and 37, respectively. Kids used to handheld video games, instant communication on social media, and the BOOM-POW-BANG culture of ESPN Sportscenter have a hard time focusing on the gradual tension that slowly builds to the final denouement of a great baseball game. But instead of robbing the game of its charms, maybe they should try enforcing the rules they already have. Keep hitters in the box, don’t allow time-wasting on the mound, and call a rulebook strike zone. Maybe we can keep the old guys AND the kids happy.   

 

 

 

Getting almost as much for a lot less in Vegas

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Just a couple weeks from today, the NCAA tournament selection show will air, and two days later I’ll board a plane with a few friends headed west to Las Vegas.

Thirteen years ago, the Fear and Loathing Athletic Club Fantasy Football League began a tradition of spring practice in Vegas for March Madness. We were all working men with kids in high school and college back then, so frugality was a major concern. We never slept more than two to a room, but we refused to pay retail for anything. We’d typically arrive on Wednesday morning and then leave on Saturday to avoid the most expensive hotel night.

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One year we all got free airfare through a promotion by Wendy’s. All you had to do was collect 75 stickers from Wendy’s soft drink cups and mail them in for free roundtrip airfare from the now-defunct Independence Air. Most of us weren’t willing to rummage around in trash cans for cups (looking at you, Charlie), but at about $1 per drink we still got the tickets for less than $100 (not including the cost to our bladders).

Kids graduating college and moving out of the house have eased some of the financial pressure, but we still use coupons and exploit special deals that we find online. We don’t gamble enough to score free rooms, but we still get discounts and book early to minimize the cost. Now, obviously, we don’t stay in the trendy, night-clubby hotels on the strip. (Though last year I did get 1.5 free nights at the Mirage through a Facebook promotion.) But when you spend 80% of your time outside the room, it’s a waste to pay more for an upgraded hotel.

Like everything else, the cost of going to Vegas has risen over the years. A lot of the casinos have even tightened up on free cocktails, which disrupts one of our favorite approaches to watching basketball. In days past, when the sports books were packed we’d make our bets and then adjourn to the casino bar to play video poker –  very slowly – as we watched TV and soaked up free drinks.

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Photo by Joe Gauder

But there are still ways to save money on a trip. We always buy the two main coupon books (Las Vegas Advisor and American Casino Guide), which quickly pay for themselves with half-price meals, gambling match plays, slot free-play, and free drinks. We still share rooms, and book our flights as early as possible. There’s a page for March Madness in Las Vegas on Facebook that gives details on free watch parties that include match play coupons, T-shirts, etc.

To maximize efficiency in using coupons, I draft an itinerary for each day. Though we always go off script a few times to watch our favorite teams, it’s a good tool to avoid having six guys standing around deferring to each other on where to go next. For example, here’s the plan for Wednesday on this year’s trip. (No basketball games on that day.)

Wednesday, March 15

9:00 AM……………………..Breakfast at Hash House A-Go-Go (CET comps)

10:00 AM…………………….Poker tournament at Harrah’s OR Flamingo

1:00 PM……………………..Gold Coast/Palms/Rio (GC Senior Wednesday drawing at 4:30)

6:00 PM……………………..Dinner at Hard Rock ($7.77 Gamblers Special)

7:00 PM……………………..Double Down Saloon

8:00 PM.…………………….Ellis Island match plays

Since breakfast and dinner are often buffets, we only plan two meals a day. Hash House A-Go-Go is not a buffet, but serves huge portions (think platter-sized waffles and 36-oz. Bloody Marys). Though there are no coupons available, we use the minimal comp dollars we generate gambling to cut the cost. We usually hit the Gold Coast at some point anyway, so we might as well go when there’s a cash drawing for seniors. The gambler’s special at the Hard Rock is a decent steak and shrimp dinner for less than $8. Then we wind up at Ellis island to exploit a number of match play coupons from our books ($10 free slot play, $10 table game match play, and $25 free bet).  

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If you know where to look (and we do), there are free shuttle buses to get between the strip and off-strip casinos. If you don’t want to wait around for the shuttle, Lyft is a cheap alternative to taxis.

So if you put in a little effort and it doesn’t embarrass you to use coupons, you can still have a fun, reasonably-priced trip to Vegas. As long as you don’t drink alcohol while playing No-Limit Texas Hold’ Em. Trust me on this.   

 

 

    

Festering through midwinter

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Pitchers and catchers report to major league camps next week. I love baseball and I’m looking forward to its return, though it feels like the Cubs just won the World Serious a week ago.       baseball_in_the_snow-2

I’m always conflicted this time of year. We’re deep in the college basketball conference season, with March Madness (and my annual Vegas trip) in just a few weeks. This is the time of year when I’ve mostly lost interest in the NBA and I’m tired of Midwestern winter. So I start catching up with MLB news, assessing the value of trades and free agent signings, checking the calendar for potential road trips to baseball parks, and working on my strategy for betting season win totals. But it’s also still college and high school basketball season, so I have to watch those games. (Well. Not have to, exactly. But what’s the alternative? Cleaning the garage? Ho ho. I think not.)

The big news in Pirateland is that the club is moving its outfielders around. After trying all winter to trade face-of-the-franchise Andrew McCutchen, the Bucs have resigned themselves to keeping him (at least until the trade deadline at the end of July). McCutchen had the worst DRS (defensive runs saved) in MLB last year, and also produced the worst batting average and OPS (on-base plus slugging) of his career. The Pirates announced they were moving Cutch to right field and putting Starling Marte in center.

I expect a bounceback year offensively, and McCutchen accepted the change like the class act that he is. Shortly after Pittsburgh announced the move, Cutch tweeted a photo of Roberto Clemente playing right field. As I’ve said before, it’s always more fun to root for good guys. And Andrew McCutchen is one of the best.

                                                                                  *****

Last fall the Indianapolis Indians announced their plan to extend the protective netting behind the plate all the way past first and third bases. Gan, Jack, and I share Indians season tickets, and the new net will be between our seats and the field.

Now, we’re not as nimble as we used to be. So the net is probably a good thing. We’re often distracted during games, drinking beer and making stupid wagers (“I bet the catcher’s throw to second after the warmup pitches will be in the dirt”), and none of us baseball_diamond_in_snow_-_panoramiowant to take a foul ball in the noggin. (We’ll still be able to make a play on pop-up foul balls over the net. Jack actually caught one like that with his belly last year.)

But before renewing our tickets, we went down to the ballpark to check out the view from our seats and see how distracting the net would be. As usual, nobody wanted to make a decision, so we decided to discuss it over a beer. Or beers.

“We can just fester through this season,” Gan said. “Then if it’s too distracting we can change next year.”

“Fester?” I said. “Whadda ya mean, fester?”

“You know, fester. Just get through the year.”

I’ve always said that I don’t read enough books, but most of my friends read even fewer. After an argument about the etymology of the word fester (and another beer), we decided to keep the same seats. I don’t like looking through the net, but I’ll probably get used to it. And when I take one of the grandkids to the game, I won’t have to worry about making an error and having them get hit by a foul ball.

                                                                                  *****

Over the last two weeks of January, the Savannah State Tigers rolled to a six game winning streak, beating MEAC foes both at home and away. They’ve since lost two straight, but they lead the nation in tempo with 81 possessions for every 40 minutes. They also boast the shortest average possession length in NCAA Division 1 (12.1 seconds). The Tigers’ record currently stands at 10-14, but, with five games to play they still have chance to break .500 on the season. And I’m pretty sure most coaches don’t want to face them (though their players probably do).  

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One coach enters, another leaves

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I went to Jeffersonville High School over the holidays to sell books at the First Annual Ted Throckmorton tournament. The event featured a pretty good lineup with Northeastern entering play at 7-1, Indianapolis Scecina (6-1), under-performing-but-always dangerous Indianapolis Cathedral, and undefeated Danville. Regular readers will note that Danville was one of the four teams featured in Thirty-Two Minutes in March. Coach Brian Barber had told me last spring that they were scheduled to play in a tournament in Jeffersonville over the holidays, and that I should drive down and sell some books.

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On the first day, most of the Indiana teams played schools from Kentucky. In the earliest game, Northeastern swamped Fox Creek Christian (KY) 85-45. Fox Creek had only six players, and one of them fouled out….in the first quarter. I didn’t get to see much of the game since my table was in the hallway just outside the gym, but when I peered around the corner I saw a lot of gassed, dejected players. When the team left, I saw their frustrated coach lead them out to the parking lot and slump into the driver’s seat of the school van. I tried to look the team up online, but since Kentucky doesn’t seem to have their own John Harrell, I didn’t learn much. According to MaxPreps (which varies wildly in accuracy since it’s updated by fans), Fox Creek has won only once this season.

Later that morning, the Danville Warriors bested 7-1 Henryville in double overtime. I’d spoken via text to Coach Barber before the season after seeing a number of references to his hospitalization on Twitter. He’d told me he had a serious medical issue, and that the Throckmorton would be his first game back. I looked in on the Danville game as much as possible, and, as the score indicates, it was a tight, hard-fought contest. When Danville was leaving for their hotel, I caught up with Coach Barber at the door to see how he was doing. He looked drained and had obviously lost some weight.

But, as usual, Barber was friendly and jovial. I said “Ho-hum, another easy Danville win.” He laughed and shook his head, talked about how exhausting it was as his first game back. I didn’t stay for the rest of the tournament, but the Warriors apparently responded to their coach’s return. They ran the table over the next two days, beating Scecina by twenty and Northeastern by four, then winning the championship 56-55 over Cathedral.

Danville is now 11-4, and Barber is headed to yet another winning season there, his seventeenth in 18 years. In their other two games in Jeffersonville, Fox Creek lost to Henryville by 55 and to 4-5 Forest Park by 36. Lawrenceburg, KY is only 53 miles from Jeffersonville, but I can only imagine how long the ride seemed.

                                                                                    *****

Over the past weekend I ejected a coach from a basketball game for the first time. It was a Catholic Youth Organization (CYO) game. For fourth graders. I won’t identify the school, but here’s what happened:

From the tip-off, the coach was shouting “FOUL!”, “TRAVELING!”, “DOUBLE DRIBBLE!”, etc., every time he saw (or imagined) a foul or violation. Late in the second quarter during a dead ball I said, “Coach, I’ve heard enough. We will make the calls.” He said, “I’m just coaching my team.” (I don’t understand how calling out your opinions on calls qualifies as coaching your team, but, OK.) I said “That’s fine, but you need to stop officiating from the sideline.” He said “OK, OK”, and, for the most part, complied.

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Late in the third quarter, there was scramble on the floor for a loose ball, and my partner and I both immediately stopped play and signaled for a jump ball. One of the players was lying on the floor crying, and the coach stormed out across the floor, screaming at me, “MY PLAYER GETS HIT IN THE FACE AND YOU DON’T CALL A FOUL?” I immediately whistled a technical foul, and then walked over to the player and coach. The coach then looked up at me and yelled, “YOU GIVE ME A TECH FOR CHECKING ON AN INJURED PLAYER?” I said “No, I gave you a technical for your behavior. Do you want another one?”

(In hindsight, I should have phrased the last part differently. I realize it may have sounded like I was baiting him. I should have said something like “You need to calm down if you don’t want another one”. Having warned him in the first half and seeing him come onto the floor without being summoned, he probably deserved ejection anyway. But, I digress.)

He answered, “I don’t care”, so I called the second technical and ejected him. After the game, he came back into the gym (in violation of CYO rules), saying he wanted to “congratulate the other team”. The gym manager warned him to restrict his comments to congratulations, and we moved on to the second game of the day.

I’d be interested to hear any other perspectives on this, especially if you don’t think the ejection was warranted. 

 

A practice story

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Last week I mentioned the 24-hour short story contest at booklocker.com. I ended up writing three stories, only submitting the last one. Judging won’t end for around six weeks, so I don’t know if I won anything. But the first story I wrote was the one I actually like best. I didn’t use it as my entry for a reason that I’ll explain at the end of this post.

The piece was limited to 916 words. Also….the first graph contains the writing prompt required to appear in the story. I wasn’t crazy about it, but amended it only slightly. So I will accept only partial responsibility for the over-dramatic prose there. Hope you enjoy it, and comments/criticism are welcome!

Sister Act

Clinging tightly to her valise, she glanced over her shoulder before stepping onto the platform. She was wearing  the black and white habit of a Dominican nun from the 19th century, and her headdress fluttered in the wind. Dark blue clouds marched across the sky, pregnant with the promise of a blizzard. The conductor was urgently pleading for everyone to get on board so they could depart before the storm arrived. As she placed her foot on the first step, she paused. She looked like a woman who’d forgotten something…..

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“CUT!” the Director screamed in exasperation. The cameramen, stagehands, and cast muttered and sighed audibly, with several actors rolling their eyes and shaking their heads,  “Audrey”, the Director said, his voice shaking with anger. “The line is ‘I know I’m forgetting something’! How many times have we been over this?”

Audrey’s cheeks flushed to a bright red, as she timidly walked over to the Director’s chair, avoiding eye contact with the script people and stagehands gathered around the Great Man.

William Harrison Guest did not suffer annoyances graciously. Forgotten lines, unexpected crashes from props dropped backstage and empty whiskey flasks were at the top of the list, and this….girl….had just made two contributions to category one. His head was covered with white hair that had not been tended in some hours, and his bright blue eyes flashed beneath bushy, silver brows. Audrey looked at the floor as she stood before the famous filmmaker.

Guest stared at Audrey. “If you can’t remember the line, young lady, we’ll find somebody who can. I don’t care who your family is. Do you understand that?”

Audrey nodded, her eyes darting from side to side underneath the broad brim of the habit.

“Now get back on your mark and play the scene already, so we can all go home.” Guest turned away from her and shook his flask at his assistant, who snatched it from his hand and ran offstage.   

Audrey walked slowly back to her place, gathering herself for the scene. When she got to her mark, she turned and nodded at Guest. He turned and motioned to the cameramen, and said “ACTION!”

Audrey slowly mounted the steps and turned to the camera. Staring into the distance, she said, “I know I’m forgetting something….”

“CUT!” Guest screeched, taking a swig from his newly arrived flask. “Print that, and have it ready for review by tomorrow.” He  was already stalking off the stage as he spoke, and the crew began wrapping up production for the day. Audrey took off her hat and walked quickly to her dressing room.

When she got to the end of the long hallway, she saw her friend and hairdresser Evelyn waiting at the locked door. Audrey fished the key out of her bag and opened the door. Evelyn followed and, as she closed the door, Audrey fell on the couch, sobbing.

“I don’t know why he has to be so mean to me,” she said, crying quietly as Evelyn offered her a box of Kleenex. “He know this is my first movie. Why can’t he be more patient with me?”

Evelyn sat beside her, a hand on Audrey’s shoulder. “You have to know that it’s more about your father than you,” she said quietly. Audrey sat up, nodding, dried her eyes and blew her nose. After several loud honks, she absent-mindedly handed the tissue back to her friend. Evelyn shuddered and wrinkled her nose, but held out her palm. She dropped the trash into the wastebasket and made a mental note to start carrying handkerchiefs.

Meanwhile, Audrey had turned her attention to a mirror and began wiping off makeup. She looked up from her work when there was a soft knock. Evelyn opened the door to a stooped, wizened man of 80, who smiled and bowed slightly. Seeing her visitor in the mirror, Audrey said “Daddy!” and rushed to embrace him.

“When did you get here?”

“I just drove down from the cottage, sweetheart,” he said. He suddenly saw the streaks in the makeup on her cheeks. “Audrey, have you been crying?”

Audrey flushed with embarrassment. “It’s nothing, Daddy. Just a run-in at the end of shooting today with William.”

The old man’s eyes glittered and he pursed his lips. “And what, pray tell, did the great William Harrison Guest find to be unhappy about today?”

Audrey turned away. “It’s really nothing, Daddy. I just made a mistake and he got angry about it. It wouldn’t have bothered me at all, but he threatened to take me off the film in front of the rest of the cast.”

He stood up. “I see. I believe I’ll have a word with the man.”

Audrey shook her head. “No, Daddy, no…please don’t. I did make a mistake, and he’s under a lot of pressure to finish the film. It was nothing. Really.”

He offered a tight smile. “As you wish, dear. I have a meeting in the city, so I’ll see you this weekend.” He bowed to Evelyn, kissed Audrey’s cheek and left, closing the door quietly.

Guest was draining a glass in his office when there was a knock at the door. He barked ‘Come in”, and the old man entered, fixing the director with a hard, flinty stare.

Guest sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “ Come in, Dad. What is it now?”  

*****

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After I finished writing this, I looked at the fine print on the contest rules, and it said using the prompt as a scene in a movie or play is a common plot device and is a fast track to the discard pile. So, while there is no rule specifically prohibiting using it that way, I decided to go in a different direction for my entry. That one contained baseball references, and I’ll post it at some point.

 

Gambling for writers and writing for gamblers

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I was talking to a couple of Muslim friends the other day about Islamic restrictions on food and behavior. First, I asked one to explain what makes meat halal (permitted) for Muslims. He made sure I understood that pork was never allowed, and that there were no restrictions on seafood. Since his English is still rudimentary, he struggled to explain what made beef and lamb halal, then finally resorted to making a slashing motion across his throat and making a “ckkkkkk” sound. Which was clear enough, though it occurred to me that this explanation would result in a 15-yard penalty in the NFL.

Then we talked about Islamic prohibitions against gambling. (For some reason many of my conversations end up as gambling discussions. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. (Nothing to see here….move off the corner, Johnny.) They told me that gambling is haram (forbidden) because the winner “doesn’t deserve” the money, having acquired it without working.

Some of my non-Catholic friends belong to Christian traditions that also frown on gambling. They’ve explained to me that they consider it a waste of God-given resources, or that they consider a gambler to have the same motivation as a thief; that is. to get money by way of deceit.

I’m not arguing against anybody’s religious beliefs here, just trying to understand the rationale. For me, gambling has always been more about the competition than the money. Which is why slot machines don’t interest me. In poker and sportsbetting, you’re usually rewarded for making good decisions. I love the feeling of having figured out a team’s value or what cards an opponent’s holding. It’s not unlike solving a crossword puzzle. Sometimes luck enters into it, but that’s true with all games and sports.

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I can’t say winning money isn’t a part of the thrill; otherwise, I wouldn’t like craps so much. And I confess that playing online poker with free chips generally bores me. (Though the lack of value to focus my mind is only part of the problem there. It also causes people to play recklessly, like they don’t care about the outcome. Which reduces any enjoyment of the competitiveness aspect.)

I’m well aware of the social cost of compulsive gambling. I know it’s destroyed families and ruined lives. But one could point to a lot of innocuous activities that have done the same thing when there is a lack of moderation and balance.

                                                      *****

It’s been a long time since I wrote any fiction (insert cynical journalism joke here), but my publisher is having a 24-hour short story contest this weekend. They announce the theme at noon on Saturday and the story is due by the same time on Sunday. I’m used to cobbling together short narratives under pressure. When I was covering minor league baseball, I had to have the story mostly written by the end of the game since my deadline was usually 30 minutes after the last pitch.

If I was lucky, there was no late-inning rally that would force a re-write. After the final out, I’d hustle down to the clubhouse and stand outside the door, waiting for expiration of the league-mandated ten minute “cooling off” period. (Sometimes I cheated when the game ran long. It wasn’t usually a big deal if I was interviewing players on the winning team; if not, I had to step a bit more lightly.) Then I’d enter the clubhouse and try to quickly find a player who’d affected the outcome.

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Unless he’d had a good game, the player would invariably hide in the training room, off-limits to the press. Nervously checking the time, I’d then try to develop alternate questions for another player, and then go try to get the manager to say something interesting. Something other than a) “we just got/didn’t get timely hits”, b) “our pitchers were locating/not locating the fastball”, or c) “I was pleased with the effort”.

I’d then run up to the press box, taking stairs two at a time (the elevator was too slow), type in the quotes, scan the story quickly for obvious errors, and send it. One time on my drive home from the ballpark, I suddenly realized that the whole point of my lead – that a left-handed pitcher had dominated a right-handed lineup – was wrong. Because the pitcher was right-handed. Luckily, that was a day game, so I had time to call the editor, kill the story and re-write it.

So I’m used to writing with strict time limits, but, being fiction, this will be different. I’m looking forward to the challenge, and if I think my story is any good (or if I run out of blog ideas) I’ll post it here. If you’re a writer (or, I guess, even if you’re not) and want to submit an entry, you can enter at http://24hourshortstorycontest.com/ for $5. There are cash prizes for the winners, so it’ll be easier to focus. Just like if you were gambling.  

 

Marketing 101 and Gambling 43.7

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Last week I drove over to New Castle, Indiana to sell books at the City Securities Hall of Fame Classic. The four-team tournament is held in New Castle’s Chrysler Arena every year, hosted by the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame. The HOF is selling copies of Thirty-Two Minutes in March at their gift shop, and I asked if I could sell copies during the game.

As I’ve written before, Chrysler Arena is the largest high school gym in the U.S. Maybe in the world. It’s a classic fieldhouse structure, with one large seating area arranged in a bowl around the playing surface. The floor is below ground level, and the place seems dark as you enter and descend the stairs to your seat. The parquet floor trimmed in green reminds me of Boston Garden. When I entered the gym at about thirty minutes before tipoff of the the first game, about half the 9,000 seats were already occupied.

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The tournament featured the New Albany Bulldogs against the Warsaw Tigers, and the Lawrence North Wildcats against the Logansport Berries in the morning session. (Berries. Get it? Like, Loganberries? Maybe it’s an Indiana thing.) The consolation and championship games were scheduled to follow that evening. I’d guess that about half the people in attendance were New Albany supporters, with a significant number of non-partisan fans mostly there to watch the Bulldogs’ Romeo Langford.

I liked hearing the Southern Indiana accent that reminded me of my hometown just across the river, and several Bulldog fans came up to thumb through the book and talk about basketball. I sold several copies, but not everybody was in a spending mood. One guy came up and talked for a while, showing me pictures of all the Indiana basketball memorabilia and baseball artifacts in his “museum”. After a few minutes, he offered me an opportunity to donate a copy of my book, promising me that he’d also give out my business card to anybody who visited. I asked him if his museum was open to the public, and he shook his head, saying he only lets people in that he trusts. Which makes it sound less like a museum and more like a private collection. But, being in sales mode, I kept this observation to myself.

Another man came up with his adult son, and we talked high school hoops, New Albany basketball, and the Louisville Cardinals. He told me that Langford wasn’t even among the best five players to come out of New Albany. I can’t think of five better players to come out of New Albany. I’d be open to his argument, but I didn’t want to come across as challenging his opinion, so I didn’t ask him to name those players. Again, sales mode. Always be closing.  

Then there were the people who just walked up, said “How much for the book?”, and handed over a twenty without even browsing the cover. Which startled me. It’s not that I need the interaction; hell, I’m borderline sociophobic. I guess it’s just so different from how I’d purchase a book that it surprised me.

In the morning session Logansport and New Albany both advanced, with New Albany claiming the trophy by a score of 58-33. Langford was named tournament MVP, of course. But by then I was almost back home, driving west past frosted Indiana cornfields.

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I’m making a comeback in the NCAA handicapping contest. As I’ve mentioned, nine of us created a pool to pick five NCAA games per week against the spread for fun and prizes. After a dismal start, I began this week at 2-0 after Canisius won by three and Evansville easily covered a two point spread against Northern Iowa.

I stumbled a bit last night, taking Western MIchigan plus 10.5 against Ohio. (I think Western lost by around 160 points), but my handicapping was solid. (“Solid handicapping” being the last refuge of a losing bettor.)

In general, I’m focusing on mid-major conferences, in the hope that the point spreads will be softer than for games that people actually watch. Since they’re not generally on TV, I often can’t even see the teams I’m betting on. Which may end up being a good thing. I tend to imagine I’m gaining a special insight when I watch teams carefully, and that conceit has cost me dearly in the past.

So, if you’re scoring at home, I’m 2-1 so far this week. Tonight (Wednesday) I’m on Southern Illinois minus one against Indiana State. The Sycamores can’t shoot a lick (why am I suddenly channeling Slick Leonard?), and I thought it would be a good bet even laying four points, so I jumped on the number as soon as it came out.

I’m not as confident in my other wager, taking the Missouri State Bears plus 9 points on the road at Illinois State. In this game, I’m really betting more on the expected pace of play rather than the teams’ relative quality. The Bears rank 248th in possessions per forty minutes, and the Redbirds are 256th. Illinois State also shoots a horrendous 67% at the free throw line (247th in NCAA Division I), so I think it’ll be hard for them to cover a large spread.

I’d rather be getting ten or eleven points, but, hey….it’s gambling.

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Divorcing your college sports spouse

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I used to be a University of Louisville fan.

Growing up, I cheered for Kentucky and Louisville more or less equally. I watched Wes Unseld muscle his way around in the post and Terry Howard methodically hit free throws. I rooted for Dan Issel and Mike Pratt as they dominated the toothless Southeastern Conference. I fell asleep in the grainy glow of a small black and white TV in my room listening to Cawood Ledford and John Tong. As a twelve-year old, I attended the Rupp-Issel-Pratt basketball camp, an extravagant Christmas gift from my parents.

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Photo by Flickr user “K. Coles”

(Dan Issel told me “good rebound” once. This was, sadly, the apex of my basketball career.)

But somewhere along the line in high school, I started resenting the superior, dismissive attitude of UK fans toward U of L. Sure, Kentucky had won national championships, and UL was only a few years removed from life as a small, municipal college. But by the time I entered as a freshman in 1976, we (UL was we by then) had made it to two final fours under Denny Crum, and everybody else in the country considered the Cardinals a basketball power.

 

Not only did UK fans not share that opinion, the school refused to even schedule us. The “little brother” BS reached its zenith under the brief (though eventful) tenure of Eddie “I’d crawl to Lexington for the UK job” Sutton. Like most UL fans at the time, I thought we held the moral high ground over UK. The Wildcats seemed to periodically run afoul of the NCAA on a Halley’s Comet type schedule, and Denny Crum’s program and reputation remained unsullied.

By the time I got to college, I was a rabid fan and ardent UK-hater. I sat in the rain in 1977 and watched UL beat Indiana State in front of only about 5,000 fans to clinch their first bowl berth since 1970. I sat in a raucous, sweaty Red Barn in 1980 as the Cards clinched a sweet sixteen appearance, and we all chanted “Bring on the Cats!” (who folded to Duke five days later, thereby avoiding a “dream game”. In 1983, UK could no longer duck us when we were pitted in the NCAA tournament. I watched in our apartment in Terre Haute, Indiana, with equal parts joy (when we surged to the lead) and nausea (whenever UK made a run). I was completely spent emotionally by the time Milt “Iceman” Wagner and the McCray brothers got us the 80-68 overtime win.

I can’t claim the bonds to my alma mater weren’t loosened when we moved to Indiana. But they frayed further when AD Tom Jurich hired Rick Pitino to replace Denny Crum. Besides the whiff of scandal that seemed to follow in his wake and his obnoxious East Coast attitude, the worst part was that he’d coached at UK. The rumor was that Jurich had actually forced out Denny Crum – two-time NCAA championship winner –  for this guy, a UK guy, for cryin’ out loud.      

So with two kids (and eventually three) headed to Indiana University, I started rooting the Hoosiers. (It helped that Bobby Knight left.) I kept my allegiance to UL football, and all other sports; but I decided I couldn’t support them in basketball until that man left.

Then things went from bad to worse. First, there was Pitino’s sordid affair involving public sex and blackmail. Then Jurich hired Bobby Petrino, who was lugging his own tawdry baggage that included quitting an NFL job in mid-season and wrecking a motorcycle while out for a ride with his mistress – whom he’d hired in to his school’s athletic department. Then, in quick succession, Pitino’s sex-parties-for-recruits scandal and Petrino’s acceptance of Wake Forest game planning data from a disgruntled ex-coach. Both Pitino and Petrino denied any knowledge of the goings-on, of course. But when two noted control freaks don’t know something about their programs, it’s because they don’t wanna know.    

I’ve been calling for the university to clean house and fire Jurich for years.I don’t donate to the University, so I’m sure my opinion is immaterial to them. But it feels like my old school has become the current version of UNLV in the 1990’s. All we need is a point-shaving scandal or photos of players in a hot tub with a mobbed-up gambler.
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Miscellany

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I can’t in good conscience say that Savannah State played the role of giant-killer last weekend when they upset Oregon State in overtime. After all, the Oregon State Beavers staggered into the game dragging a record of 3-6 with losses to such luminaries as Lamar, Tulsa, and Fresno State. So maybe the Tigers were “moderately-tall-troll” killers? “Heavier-than -average- ogre” killers?  

Either way, they made 15 of 34 three-point shots en route to a 93-90 overtime win. According to a report in Oregon Live, the Beavers were so stunned by the loss that the coaches held a two-and-a-half hour film session on Monday, followed by the traditional team meeting where players yell at each other.

It’s hard to know Coach Broadnax’ tone from a printed quote (he’s still not returning my calls), but it sounds like he’s moved off his early season stance that he was just experimenting with the high shot volume approach. Quoted in Associated Press, Broadnax said “We want to play fast. If people want to play fast with us, that’s great.”

                                                                              *****

I spent some time signing copies of Thirty-Two Minutes in March at the Southport Shootout last weekend. The main attraction at the event was the 2 PM game between Indianapolis North Central and New Albany. Two of the best players in the state were on the floor in North Central senior Kris Wilkes (headed to UCLA) and New Albany junior Romeo Langford.

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Almost all of the 7,000 seats in Southport Fieldhouse were filled, with a significant number of people standing in the open concourse that encircles the seating area. Fortunately, Southport set up a table for me in a corner of the concourse, so I could watch some of the game action.

After that, the crowd thinned out considerably for the next four games on the schedule. Still, the fact that over seven thousand people showed up for an afternoon high school game in December just confirms what I’ve thought all along. High school basketball is still really important to Hoosiers, and there are still many fans who follow teams other than the ones they root for. One couple I talked to drove all the way from Madison, Indiana just to watch a day of high school hoops. Wearing Shawe High School sweatshirts, they said they make the trip every year, even though their school isn’t invited.

Somebody should write a book about this stuff.

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Fantasy football is over for another year. At least for me and the other teams that didn’t make the playoffs. Several of us started a weekly NFL pool picking five games each week against the spread for fun and prizes, so I’m down to one reason left to follow pro football.

We’ve also started a weekly NCAA basketball contest, again picking five games against the spread. My initial performance has been unimpressive. Despite my obvious gambling expertise, basketball knowledge, and subscriptions to kenpom and College Basketball Blue Book, I’ve stumbled to an 0-3 start. The worst part is that I’m currently trailing Charlie, who hasn’t paid much attention to college hoops for years.

Since I always want to be transparent (if not invisible), I have to admit that I did in fact bet against Savannah State in the Oregon State game. In my defense, the Tigers were returning from the east coast to the west coast a week after getting destroyed by Oregon 128-59.

There’s an old gambler’s axiom: The race is not always to the swift, and the battle not always to the strong. But that’s the way to bet. Unfortunately, that old saw doesn’t take karma into account. I may not always bet the Tigers to cover, but I’m not betting against them anymore. At least not this week.