"The List"

LOOP - Yesterday it was released that Manny Ramirez and Big Papi Ortiz both tested positive for performance enhancing drugs in 2003. I woke up at about 11 am and promptly went on ESPN.com (usually how I begin my day), and learned of this unsettling news. At about 11:15 I went on facebook and saw about 11 status updates on the topic. "2004* 2007*" "Papi, how could you? My childhood is ruined." No, your childhood is ruined because your parents don't love you, not because these two names are on this list.

This thing is pissing everyone off. Everyone. What the hell is this list? Does someone somewhere have a piece of yellow legal pad paper with 100+ names written in crayon on it? It feels like the person who has this sheet of paper in their back pocket is just screwing with the baseball world in this form of chinese water torture name releasing. As a baseball fan, my worst fear is that we're going to get 2 names at a time every few months for the next 5 years.

However, This does in no way invalidate what my Bo Sox did in 2004 or 2007, they tested positive for performance enhancers in '03, so if you want to take away our ALCS runner up plaque, go ahead. This isn't revolutionary France, so in '04 and '07, when the rings were won, these two lovable Dominicans are still innocent until proven otherwise. This test wasn't even a test, really. It was an exercise Bud Selig set up to gauge the amount of users in baseball at the time. The deal was if 5% of players tested showed up positive, steroid testing in the MLB would be implemented.

I hate to disappoint those of you out there who think you found something to taint what the Sox have done in this decade (bitter, jaded Yankee fans), but this is unquestionably insufficient. Keep looking, haters, we'll see you all in October.

What Could Have Been

LOOP - At one point, I believe when Tom Watson was a shot up on the 71st hole of the Open Championship at Turnberry, Mike Tirico commented on the importance and the specialness of this situation. We live in an age in which we try and compare every situation to another situation, but there just isn’t anything you can compare this to. Golf is unique, and this Open was unique in it. Watson was one par away, one 8 footer away from doing something unthinkable. For so long in the 70’s and 80’s, when Tom Watson was still Tom Watson, he made his living on those putts, because the great ones always do. He made a weak, scared, nervous stroke and was forced in to a 4-hole playoff with Baldy Cink.

59-year-old Tom Watson carried around the burden of the Open lead all week after his shocking 65 on day one. Cink makes one putt on 18 and putts himself in to the lead for the first time all week. And then the disaster that was the playoff came. It could have been fatigue, it could have been nerves, it could have just been that the magic ran out for Watson, but after about three swings in that sudden death you could tell that midnight had struck on this possible miracle on the links.

The fact is, sometimes sports just break your heart. It’s happened to me twice this year. Listen, Stuey, we get it, you’re a grinder and you haven’t won a major. You deprived us of a top 5 sports moment of all time perhaps, and certainly in golf. The Boondock Saints killed for less. I have trouble believing that Cink’s immediate family was rooting for him to win in that playoff. It was a great Open, but it obviously could have been so much more. In the press conference after Cink had raised the Claret Jug, Watson was just painfully, brutally, and gracefully honest. “It would have been a hell of a story,” he said. He talked about how it hurts like it always had. Once a competitor always a competitor.

There are two specific events that this made me look back on, even though, as I said before, you can’t compare this to anything in the history of this game or of sport in general: Roddick v. Federer at Wimbledon, and Mickelson at Winged Foot. Everyone wanted the American at Wimbledon, everyone wanted him to win that marathon, and everyone wanted Phil at Winged Foot (chafe you, Phil). Instead, the Swiss robot took home his 5th title at the All England Club, and Geoff Ogilvy fell in the US Open as he was probably driving home from Mamaroneck. Both have certain aspects in common, but this trumps them all. A bigger story, a bigger disappointment, and maybe the most painful could-have-been I’ve ever witnessed.

He was playing for every golfer on the wrong side of their prime, every athlete hanging on to a sport longer than they should, and any older person anywhere trying to feel young again. It was one hell of a run, one hell of a week at Turnberry. I hope it reminds people that special moments in sports can come from anywhere, and that special moments in golf can come from someone other than Tiger Woods. We love you, Tom.

Suck it, Cink.

Why I Love Sports

LOOP - It's just before 1 a.m. and I was prompted to late-night post because Jonathan Sanchez just wrapped up his masterpiece no-hitter against the Padres. This particular gem just had so many things that made it awesomely (almost eerily) special: A sketchy 8th inning error by Juan Uribe that could have actually prevented what might have been an infield single (I decided that in any close play in a possible perfecto/no-no an infielder should bomb the ball 20 rows in to the stands to be safe), an unbelievable play by Aaron Rowand with one out in the 9th in which he leapt up the center-field wall to make the grab, a strikeout to end the game (filthy called-third curve), and Sanchez's dad was even in the crowd, having never before seen his son pitch. And if things weren't already strange enough, the only reason Sanchez pitched tonight was because Randy Johnson went on the disabled list earlier this week with a shoulder injury. I mean, really? Freshest no-hitter ever? You really can't make this stuff up. Either Poppa Sanchez just put on the most elaborate fix in the history of sport...Or he's God. I'll let you decide. Regardless, the night is yours Jon, enjoy it.

Shinskie, 25, Commits to BC

LOOP - David Shinskie, a 25 year old who has been playing minor league baseball player for the last 6 years, has committed to Boston College, and is their leading candidate for the starting quarterback job. Shinskie hasn't played organized football since the East-West Shrine game in June 2003. He had originally signed a letter of intent to play football and baseball at Delaware but was drafted by the Twins in the 4^th round of that year, pitching in AA there for 6 years before joining the Blue Jays’ league farm system. Shinskie was released three weeks ago by the Jays, but still wanted an opportunity to compete in athletics. "I've always been a competitive guy," he told ESPN.com. "I've been playing sports my whole life. When a door closes and another opportunity opens, I'm just going to try my best when I go there." Good to hear, Dave. You're really giving Eagle nation a lot to look forward to, citing the fact that you’ve played sports your whole life as a motivating factor for being our man under center in the ACC next year.

This is the sketchiest college football situation since Greg Paulus, arguably my least favorite athlete and/or person on this planet, told the world he would be playing football at Syracuse in the upcoming season. Shinskie is 25 and he’s going to be a freshman? (Lebron James is 24... yeah). First of all, my sincere apologies to all BC male freshman, on a count of this 25-year-old QB is going to be setting the bar pretty high in the eyes of your female counterparts. I suppose this is a positive for the Eagles, considering the only QB on the team with any experience at all was forced to transfer for academic reasons, and next in line were Codi Boek, a former junior college transfer who was playing fullback just a year ago, and Justin Tuggle, a red shirt freshman. It’s just going to be hard for me to get over the fact that I’m a grade above a football player who’s old enough to be the father of my little sister.

Eligibility guidelines have always intrigued me, and this is just a great example of why. However, big Dave is really using them to his advantage, and is setting one hell of an example for how we should all try and go about our twenties. The fact is “Living your Life Between 18 and 30 Like and Absolute Legend: The David Shinskie Story” is going to be a New York Times best seller.

Wake Up, Wake Up on a Saturday Night…

LOOP - Tim Wakefield is an all-star. He’s 42 years young, this is his 17^th season in the big leagues, he has more Fenway Park starts than any man in history, and finally he’s made it to the midsummer classic. I’m officially letting my first-born son only throw a baseball with his knuckles. He’ll thank me. Next to Brody Jenner, Tim might have the best life of any person on earth. He’s 42 and still capable of making the all-star team, his contract renews every year automatically with new incentives depending on how he pitches, and his job puts almost literally no strain on his body or his life. Typing this article is probably tougher than what he does. This man is just everything the Red Sox are about. He’s been with the club for 15 of those 17 seasons, he rides the T (subway) to and from work every day, and he just does not look like an MLB player (Pedroia, Bill Mueller, Varitek, Youk, Drew, Kevin Millar, Mark Bellhorn are some others who fit that mold). You put together most of the guys from the last decade of Sox squads, and what you have looks more like a construction team working on a public middle school than the Boston Red Sox. I just don’t understand what’s not to like about this guy. Someone like Burey would probably try and invalidate his success with some sketchy math and awkward MVP baseball references, but would undoubtedly come up short. There are no foul notes in the ballad of Wake.

Wakefield is also one of those guys in sports who will just seamlessly make the transition from player to coach (Avery Johnson definitely suited up the night before his first coaching appearance). Other players in this group: Bruce Bowen (Bruce BROwen), Brian Scalabrine, Shaun O’Hara (Shaun BRO'Hara), and Jamie Moyer. The fact is as long as Timmy has a right arm and can stand on his own two feet he’ll have a spot in that rotation, and when he’s 83 and can no longer pitch effectively, he’ll be in the dugout, and no one will have noticed the change in job description.

He’s also one of the MLB’s most charitable players, he has a pretty good-looking older woman for a wife, and he plays the guitar. In other words, he wins the award for most sketchily fresh player in baseball.

By the way, for any of the slower readers, the title of the article is from a Hillary Duff song, hence the first link. Step it up.

Lance, Lance, Lance

LOOP - The Tour de France is showcased on the versus sports network. For any of you who aren’t particularly familiar with versus, you can hop on their website. “The official website of bull riding, NHL hockey (hockey fans are not going to love Los Sports Bros), and the Tour de France.” The topic of this article is listed behind bull riding, so I don’t expect their to be a wealth of knowledge out there on it, and I’m not going to claim to have too much myself.

Here are some of the most basic facts: At this point, stage 4 has been completed, and Lance Armstrong (at the age of 37 and with one testicle) is in second place by tenths of a second. Let me start off by saying that I’m extremely biased when talking about Lance. I’m a sketchily avid cyclist, I’ve read, “It’s not about the Bike, my Journey Back to Life” twice, and a Livestrong bracelet has been on my right wrist for the better part of five years (with the tan line to prove it). I love the man and I’m 40% sure I’d take a bullet for him in the arm or leg, and considering we’ve never met I think that’s fairly high praise.

On October 2, 1996 (I know the date by heart and did not have to look it up), he was diagnosed with cancer that had spread to his lungs, abdomen, and brain. Years of treatment, one testicle, and seven Tour de Frances later, the guy is still plugging away at the age of 37. I’m not sure about you, but when I think of 37 year olds I think of the sweaty, hairy, d-bags I play pickup basketball with at college who wear 6 knee braces and sport goggles, not Tour winners.

I know what the cynics, and the critics, and the Lance-haters of the world say, because I’ve heard it all. I’ve read it in newspapers, I’ve seen it on the web and I’ve watched it on TV. The longest section of the guy’s Wikipedia page is entitled “Allegations of drug use.” I know we live in an era of sports plagued by steroids and asterisks, and by athletes like Barry Bonds and Marion Jones and Mark Belhorn ((joke, but he was juicing (I still love him)). The people my age grew up in this era. We learned to love sports during stretches of our lives like in the summer of 1998, when Sosa and McGwire were racing away, becoming our Mantle and Maris. Unfortunately, slowly but surely the recollections of those great times in our sports adolescences have been contaminated. Now, whenever something great comes along in sports we have second and third thoughts. We are always questioning and we are immensely cautious to believe.

Believe in Lance. I urge you to, I implore you to. I’ll leave you with a few Lance facts to validate that request.

• 7 (maybe 8) Tour De France victories
• Hilarious cameos in “You me and Dupree” and “Dodegball”
• Olsen twin (not going to pretend like I know which one)
• Beat a shitload of cancer
• No positive drug tests, despite all of the allegations
• Sheryl Crow
• Ridiculously profitable cancer foundation
• Kate Hudson
• 37 years old competing at the highest level in the most physically demanding sports known to man
• He can do crazy stuff like run a sub 3 hour marathon on a whim
• Olsen twin

America Spelled A-N-D-Y

LOOP - It was the afternoon following the birthday of our nation, and two days after Andy Roddick played what a lot of smart people thought was the best match of his career against Andy Murray and 15,000 of his closest friends. I was physically ill watching Roddick play in that final. I honestly cannot remember a sporting event I was more emotionally invested in than that tennis match this past Sunday. Four and a half hours, 77 games, and one break of serve later, Andy Roddick is hanging his head at his change –over chair as the runner up in the 2009 Wimbledon and I feel more defeated than I did in ’03 when Aaron Boone sent a Tim Wakefield Knuckleball, and Red Sox World Series hopes, soaring in to the upper deck of Yankee Stadium. I’ve never been more nervous watching anything than I was watching Roddick in that fifth set trying to hold his bigger-than-life serve. At one point during that match I told my family I would forfeit the remainder of the Red Sox season for a Roddick win. At one point my younger, slightly more neurotic, brother said he would let our 10 year old sister catch swine flu if it meant a Roddick win. I’m quite sure he meant it.

When the match was over, I found myself wondering what you can even begin to compare that match to, and I came up with this: If the 6 OT, Syracuse v. UConn Big East final had been for the national championship of college basketball, or if Junior Griffey robbing Lou Collins of a game-tying dinger in “Little Big League” had been in the 20^th inning of that Twins v. Mariners game.

I know he’s great, I know I’m witnessing something remarkable every time I get to see him play, but I really and truly despise Roger Federer. His subtle arrogance, his big nose, the way he runs his hand through his hair every 6 seconds, his Gillette commercials. I even despise his unborn child. He had the number “15” embroidered in gold on his post-match Nike zip-up, and two adds in the first TV break after the match. Roger: WE GET IT. You’re strangely good at tennis; for the love of God we get it. I did manage to take some solace in the fact that Andy got to go home to Brooklyn Decker, who I’d take a year off of my life to get with, and Roger had to go home to his wife, Mirka, and I wouldn’t let my Norwich Terrier fuck something named Mirka.

Let me close with this: If you rooted for Federer in that Wimbledon final, you do not love your country, you are no longer aloud to root for the USA or any athlete belonging to the USA in international sporting events, and your pro-Federer facebook status is no different than a 1940’s pro-Hitler status.