Bruins, Rangers, and Caps.

I have written this before but each April I feel like the comment is worth restating.  There is nothing more exciting than Stanley Cup hockey particularly in overtime games.

The most exciting event I have ever watched I describe in the Epilogue to the Madness of March.  It was a 2-1 double overtime in a seventh game of a Stanley Cup playoff series.  I recall thinking then of an expression that I've often used, but had never meant previously--"I don't know how much more of this I can take."

The last two nights have provided similar levels of thrill.  On Thursday night the Rangers won in overtime defeating the Montreal Canadiens.  Last night the Bruins, down 3-1 in its series, won in double overtime beating the Ottawa Senators.  For those into nationalism it was a tough two nights for those north of the border, as the Washington Capitals also won last night in overtime defeating Toronto. (The prig in me wants to know why the Capitals, who play in the Capitol, spell their nickname with an a not an o).

The thing about overtime playoff hockey is that within, literally, seconds a team can be in a position to win or immediately lose.  The rapid nature of the game is difficult to appreciate if you are only a casual spectator. During the regular season the intensity is not the same, the method for deciding winners in tied games different, and the ramifications of losing not nearly as great.

Even a minor error by a player can create an open shot for an opponent. A pass off by an inch, zigging this way instead of that, not getting off the ice fast enough for a substitution, letting the puck careen off your skate to your right or left--it is remarkable how many variables can immediately and suddenly change the outcome of a game.

Last night if the Bruins did not score the first goal in overtime its season was over. Tuukka Rask had made several incredible saves in the overtimes which kept the Bruins alive until a rookie put in the deciding goal.  What made this game even more dramatic is that twice previously in the game the Bruins had appeared to win only to have a replay disqualify the goal.

The description of the 2-1 game in the book is one of my better writing efforts. (I will opine that it was better still before the editor took the knife to several pages which I believe depicted the tension at Madison Square Garden more completely).  So, if you want to get a sense of what that event was like and a more detailed understanding of the excitement of playoff copy, go find your Madness of March and reread the Epilogue.

But if you would rather not dust it off, go watch the end of the third period of any of the hockey playoff games that are being broadcast during the next few weeks. If the game goes into overtime sit tight and hang on.

The Acid Test

I've always dreaded the injury I now have.  I have seen athletes go down with achilles tears and thought it would be hell to have an injury where one could not exercise for an extended period of time.  Since the summer of 1975 I have religiously exercised 5-7 times a week. Most of that time I was a runner. Occasionally when I had relatively minor foot injuries I would swim. Tennis and racketball were very regular activities in my late forties and fifties. Then the past few years I have spent 45 minutes to an hour and a half on the elliptical machine.   I played racquet sports for fun, ran and did the elliptical for the catharsis the activities gave me as well as the caloric expenditure which allowed me to consume calories without expanding my girth.

Since St. Patty's Day I have not been expending many calories.  I am now in week five of wearing a boot, and there will be a week six.  Then two or three more !@#$%&!@ months before I can resume full activity.  Not being able to exercise not only keeps the tensions within, but my innards seem to be expanding. I am not a happy camper.

Of course I could be more disciplined and cut down on what I consume. I decided that today I would have to start doing this.

And today happened to provide the acid test.

I arrived at work for a three hour meeting.  To nourish we conveners someone went to Paneras and brought in an assortment of pastries that were to kill for. Nothing plain in the box.  All sorts of sweets the kinds which I do not typically reject. I made it through the meeting eating just the pineapple chunks that were going begging because everyone else glommed on the pastries.  One credit for me.

Then at noon to celebrate the end of classes our office sponsored a pizza party for the students who are either completing final projects or preparing for exams which begin tomorrow.  At the last minute the decision was made to invite additional members of the community to enjoy our largesse.  The problem was that these additional invitees did not attend.  I am not exaggerating when I write that there were thirty pizzas left over.  One well meaning assistant asked if I wanted to take a pizza home. When I returned to my office there was a pizza sitting on a table.  I had a slice.  It was a veggie pizza. Still, no credit.

In late afternoon we had our college honors presentations. God forbid we should have an event without food. There, to nourish the attendees, there were an assortment of cookies and brownies plus lemonade.  I did not succumb. One credit for me.

Once in 1971 I went on a diet and decided to go to a tavern.  I requested a beer and figured it would be good will power to just sit and stare at it for an hour.  I did this and felt good about myself and subsequently had a successful fortnight of dieting.

The old will power is not what it once was.

Oscar the Grouch has nothing on me.

West by West

Regular readers of my blog and book reviews know that I've commented about my tendency to think and even sometimes speak in a way similar to how a book I'm reading is written. So if I am reading a book by comic writer Dave Barry I sometimes hear myself speaking in his cadence.  A mystery has me thinking about clues in every day life.  It is a strange idiosyncrasy and is certainly not done on a conscious level.

I just finished a very good autobiography by Jerry West, the basketball great. Sports fans collecting social security certainly remember West.  Even youngsters who follow sports know about him.  He was a great player at West Virginia University and then went on to play on the amateur dream team in the 1960 Rome Olympics.  Professionally, West played on the great Laker teams throughout the 60s and early 70s. It was his misfortune to play at the same time that the Boston Celtics had Bill Russell. The Celtics defeated the Lakers six times in the NBA finals. After his playing days West became a successful basketball executive.

This is no typical sports autobiography.  It is titled West by West: My Charmed Tormented Life.  If the autobiography is accurate then the subtitle is right on target.  West by his own admission is a tormented depressed person who is an impatient perfectionist.  He has not been able to get through the death of a brother nor the abuse of his father.  No matter his achievements in college, the Olympics, the NBA as a player, and the NBA as a general manager--he is troubled, sad, filled with self doubt.

One thinks of professional athletes--particularly Hall of Fame athletes--as people who are as rich spiritually as they are in their bank accounts.  Not the case with West.  And his book (co-written by Jonathan Coleman) depicts his multifaceted complex hell.

Very good book.  It helps if you are a sports fan because you will be familiar with West, but you don't really need to be that knowledgeable. More than about basketball, this is about a person, who cannot escape depression.

Given my tendencies to adopt the style and syntax of books I read, I have been a barrel of laughs to be around this weekend.

why ihop

Donna called me on the way home from Church this morning. She is not a regular church-goer but on Easter she likes to attend. And there is a church she has been going to for years downtown on Easter Sunday.  The church is right near the finish line of the marathon. Since tomorrow is Patriots Day and the Boston marathon, getting there and parking was not an easy feat.  As early as yesterday Commonwealth Avenue up by where I live in Auburndale has been cordoned off. You could drive on it, but the lanes were narrowed and the ropes to restrain spectators already in place.  She eventually got to the service which in part, and not inappropriately, addressed the desire for the race to be peaceful tomorrow with a special blessing for the runners.  

I did not join her since I am a member of the tribe.  We have on the island in our kitchen a box of matzohs sitting adjacent to the chocolate easter bunny I purchased while she was out.  I also visited a grocery store while she was winding her way around cordoned off Boston. There I purchased a ham and some other easter stuff for dinner.  If there is life after death, my mother is rolling her eyes, nudging my father and telling him that it is his fault because, as the legend goes, in the late 50s he brought home a slab of bacon against my mother's wishes.

Anyway, here I was with the matzoh, gefilte fish, matzoh ball soup from a seder on Monday night sitting adjacent to a ham the size of Kansas (smallest one I could find), a chocolate bunny which claims to have peanut butter inside it, three "crispy" bunnies, and a plastic egg that has on the label information claiming to contain several chocolates.  Oh yes, next to the flowers she bought on Monday night, is a lily I got.  If she can explain the purpose of the lily I will explain bitter herbs and a burnt shankbone.

I am not a religious person.   As my father used to say to the fury of my mother, I don't really believe in a god as someone who watches over us.  This would drive my mother bats.  (My dad was a rabbi compared to his father who thought all religion was, in his word, ridickalus).  Even though I am a non believer, I--and certainly my dad--liked to acknowledge the holidays to identify.

So, today, on the way back from church Donna calls saying she is going to stop for breakfast before returning home.  When she gets home I ask where she ate. She tells me I-HOP.  She adds that for we geezers IHOP has a senior citizen's breakfast which is a good deal.

I-HOP.  When I first lived in Boston in the summer of 1979 before I moved here permanently, I lived very close to IHOP. My buddy Ken and I went in there for breakfast one morning and had a singularly bland--bordering on bad--meal.  I have never been back since. IHOP is on my beat.  Right on Soldiers Field Road.  Moreover, whereas very few diners are open past 10 in Boston, IHOP is a 24 hour a day establishment.  Yet I never think of going there.

So, why is that.  Nearly forty years after one bad meal I have never even considered going to IHOP.  How much of what we do or don't do is based on what we have done and what we experienced. Why do I eat matzoh on Passover. Yes, I know it is a holiday and I like to identify.  But I have my beefs with Passover.  I do not understand for the life of me, why things that are called Kosher for Passover are eligible to be consumed.  The whole reason for eating matzoh is that the Israelites did not have time for the bread to rise when fleeing Pharoah. Okay, I get the matzoh. But kosher for Passover ketchup, soda, jelly, cake.  Hey the Jews did not have time to stop at Walmart and pick up sponge cake and kosher for Passover diet coke either.  I figure you should be able to eat anything on Passover except for bread.  And what is it with the Easter eggs?  Maybe because it's another team it makes no sense to me.  But what is there about the resurrection that is connected to plastic eggs with Reese's pieces in them?

Sometimes I think we do what we do, or don't do what we don't do, because we have always done or not done what we will do or not do.  For a fellow who eats like I do, and who must pass that IHOP every day during a week, why have I not stopped there since 1979. Perhaps observing holiday customs are not analogous to steering clear of a restaurant because it has become a habit.  But I think it is worth considering that what we do, who we vote for, what we believe in, where we go, is all too often an habitual practice.

What game was that.

I didn't even bother to watch "One Shining Moment."

After a great tournament, with terrific play and clutch players, the final game last night was beyond disappointing. And this had little to do with the play of the players.  

It is true that there were some players who underperformed. The big guy from Poland, Karnowsky, couldn't dunk a doughnut into a cup of coffee.  The foul shooting from both teams was atrocious.  North Carolina could not stick a three.

All this is true. But what made this game a drag--appropriate word here--were the men in stripes.  

I typically find post game accusations about poor officiating to be nonsense. The refs may miss calls, but these few likely even out over the course of a game or season.  And besides, any errors are unlikely to be made because of incompetence or a hidden agenda.

Last night was different. The referees decided to call touch fouls on both sides of the ball.  Two big guys for Gonzaga had four fouls apiece. The third big guy who was playing better than any of the other bigs fouled out.  Similarly, North Carolina's inside force had to sit for a chunk of the game with four fouls.  

The flow of the game was undermined by this unnecessary whistle blowing.  Sure, you want to make sure that violations are identified, but in basketball if you follow the letter of the law (it is officially a non contact sport) then there never would be any action.  And last night there was next to no action. Just fouls and foul shooting.  The score at the end of the game did not reflect a basketball contest.  A touch foul against Collins (the 7 footer who was effective) essentially put the end to his night.  It was his fourth. He came back in for just a few moments before getting his fifth. The fourth on UNC's big was also one that should have been let go.  He was bumping for position. That happens on every play.

The perspective that the result of the game is meaningful--because the referees called it the same for both teams--is meaningless. If a game is supposed to be played one way, and you change the rules or how the rules are enforced, then the game becomes a different game, and the victor therefore is not the winner of the game as it has been, but rather this new entity.  And the better team therefore has not been identified, because the team that is deemed the better team is the better team of the different game, and you never know who would have been the better team of the original game.

A UNC stud made a terrific play in the last minute and perhaps that is enough to argue that UNC deserved the victory because Gonzaga did not respond. But who knows what would have transpired before the last minute had the contest not been marred by officious officials who just did not get it.  I think these teams were physical, but so have been a lot of teams and consequently games in the tournament.  

Put another way, if all March Madness games were officiated this way, there would be no phenomenon called March Madness. College basketball would not have the allure it has earned when the officials understand that the game is not about them.

I was pulling for Gonzaga and I have wondered if I would have felt so offended if Gonzaga had prevailed.  I think I would have felt less insulted but still upset. I wrote a short blog when the score was about even at the 8 minute mark registering my disdain.

Referees

Whatever happens in the last 8 minutes, the referees have officiated abominably in the second half. What could have been an exciting game became a foul shooting contest.

Last Dance

My success at picking money line winners continued on Saturday night as both Gonzaga and UNC won as I thought they would.  However, if you wagered on the spread based on my wisdom I am likely not a welcome guest at your household. Gonzaga won by four and the spread was seven.  UNC by one and the spread was 4.5.   So, 2-0 on money line, 0-2 on the spread. This brings my sweet sixteen and onward totals to 12 out of 14 on the money line, and 8 out of 13 with one push against the spread.

Tonight is easy pickings (always words that make Las Vegas folks smile broadly).  But I think I have this one. Gonzaga is getting a point.  I think the Zags win and therefore will win both on the money line and against the spread.

If you are superstitious, you might not want to follow my wisdom.  Since 2013 most of the basketball games I have attended live, have been Northeastern games. However, in 2014, and 2016, I saw both Connecticut in '14, and Villanova in '16 play live.  And in both years Connecticut and Villanova went on to win national championships. This year I saw North Carolina play live.  So, since UNC is a competitor in the game tonight, if you believe in superstitions, go with UNC.  But I do not think they will win.  Gonzaga has depth. They have two seven footers each of whom is skilled. In fact, the player who comes off the bench may be better than the starter.

When I saw UNC play against Miami in January, Miami outclassed UNC.  UNC did not look like a .500 team that day.  Also, UNC is fortunate to be playing tonight. They are alive because of a bonehead play by Oregon in the semi-finals.  A bone head play that occurred twice in the last seconds.

Every coach in the country (except for the Oregon coach) will be happy with the last five seconds of the UNC-Oregon game.  That is because clips from the last seconds will illustrate what coaches preach regularly, certainly at the college level and beyond.  When I played for Albany, then a division 2 school (which then was the lowest level), the drills we spent the most time practicing were boxing out drills.  One was so effective that I can remember it now nearly fifty years later.  The coach put a lid on the basket. Then two players faced off at the foul line. One acted as if he was the offensive player. The other acted as if he was defending.  The coach threw the ball toward the hoop.  Since the basket was covered there had to be a rebound.  The goal was for the defender to box out the offensive player, and the offensive player to dodge the box out.  It was a great drill because the coach would often put a small guy as defender and a tall player as the offensive player.  And it became apparent that with good technique the smaller player would get the rebound even if he was outsized.

Every coach in the land must give at least lip service to the importance of boxing out.

In the UNC-Oregon game, with five seconds left and UNC up by 1, a UNC player went to the foul line and missed both shots.  This was good news for Oregon as they could get the rebound behind only by a single point and would likely have enough time to get off a decent shot.

The problem was, as replays clearly showed, neither Oregon player on the foul lanes made even an attempt to box out. So UNC got the rebound.  Oregon immediately fouled again.  So another UNC player went to the foul line. He too missed both shots now with four seconds left.

And then, incredibly, after getting burnt the first time, the Oregon players did not box out again so UNC rebounded the ball and won the game. Those five seconds will be shown over and over to players.

Earlier in the tournament Oregon made a dumb play but got away with it when they did not foul a Michigan player poised to win the game.  Oregon exulted because the Michiganite missed the shot, but they could easily have lost because of the mental lapse.

In sum, I don't think UNC is as good as they need to be, to beat the Zags. The Zags have two seven footers and a bunch of other solid players.  Gonzaga would have to get into early foul trouble or get a bad case of the heebie jeebies for them to lose tonight.  Take the point, bet the spread. On the money line, bet the Zags.