I played basketball in high school. I wasn't great, but I was on a great team and I developed a huge love for the game. It was the one sport my mom would watch with me on TV (I was on my own with football. Nobody in my house watched but me and my bro...) March Madness was/is always a favorite time of the year...not only because it happens during THE MONTH OF MEL but because it was a bonding time for my me and my momma.
The year was 1992 and Christian Laettner was playing for Duke in the finals against Kentucky. It was a heated game. A close game. A very physical game...
I watched Duke a lot during the season. I never liked Laettner, I had seen some very poor sportsman-like behavior over the year--and I thought Coach K (who I'd always admired) should've been doing more to unswell Laettner's head and his attitude. But (as is with a lot of programs) if the player is great, then he can often get by with being an ugly sport.
Anyway, back to the finals. Laettner stomps on a Kentucky player that fell. It wasn't a rib-breaking stomp...it was more of a tap, BUT it was an intentional move that showed Laettner's true colors. Initially, Laettner denied it was an intentional move, but later he admitted he was getting Timberlake back for pushing him earlier in the game.
Now, I could've lived with the childish behavior if he had been dealt with properly. (he got a Technical foul in the game, as he should have, but honestly, Coach K should have punished him for being such a tool. He didn't.) And that's when I lost respect for Coach K and in the end, the entire Duke athletic program.
You wanna know why I think Laettner was never punished for his actions? Because in the last seconds of the game, he scored the winning shot. And we all know that nothing is more important than winning, right?
So yeah, I hate Duke. (but I still love all my friends who love them...)
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Monday, March 29, 2010
Monday, December 29, 2008
sports movies
I'm a huge fan of sports related movies. Friday Night Lights, We Are Marshall, Bull Durham, Hoosiers, Jerry McGuire, Juwanna Mann (seriously, too funny)--you name a sports film, I've probably scene it. More than once. Hell my favorite TV Show of all time was Sports Night--which was about sports casters.
Last week, I spent some time rewatching favorite movies. Friday was Bull Durham. There is a scene in that movie that makes every girl weak at the knees. Crash Davis set the bar high for men all across the world with this speech: (strong language warning)
And yesterday, while folding laundry, I watched my all-time favorite sports movie, The Replacements, starring Gene Hackman and Keanu Reeves. It wasn't a blockbuster hit, but I could watch this movie every time it's on. Wait, I do watch this movie every time it's on. And I watch it other times as well because it's on my keeper shelf.
This is my favorite scene in the movie. It cracks me up every time. Is it realistic? I dunno. But it's funny as hell. The best part of the scene? The very last line. So watch it all the way to the end. (sexual content warning)
Are you a fan of sports movies and tv?
Last week, I spent some time rewatching favorite movies. Friday was Bull Durham. There is a scene in that movie that makes every girl weak at the knees. Crash Davis set the bar high for men all across the world with this speech: (strong language warning)
And yesterday, while folding laundry, I watched my all-time favorite sports movie, The Replacements, starring Gene Hackman and Keanu Reeves. It wasn't a blockbuster hit, but I could watch this movie every time it's on. Wait, I do watch this movie every time it's on. And I watch it other times as well because it's on my keeper shelf.
This is my favorite scene in the movie. It cracks me up every time. Is it realistic? I dunno. But it's funny as hell. The best part of the scene? The very last line. So watch it all the way to the end. (sexual content warning)
Are you a fan of sports movies and tv?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Summertime...
Bon Jovi Summertime:
I’m one of the few kids who didn’t have a summer job growing up. Actually, I wasn’t allowed to work—I played competitive sports for a living. Softball was my career of choice at the time. I didn’t get paid to play, but it sure was fun.
Sometimes I wonder if I missed out on anything by not having a job—even just one day a week. But our softball schedule was so busy I never knew when I would need time off. We traveled every week for tournaments and we had practice on the nights we weren’t on the road. I’m not kidding when I say softball was my job from April through August.
What I loved about not working, was the freedom I had during the day. I would spend most of the time at the swimming pool (except on game days, of course) and we’d always get at least a week’s vacation and go camping.
When I graduated high school, my softball career ended. And I was ready to give it up, honestly. It had been fun, but very demanding, and I was ready to feel grown up and get a job.
Boy, I wish I would’ve waited just one summer longer. I’ve been working ever since!
Here are some things I fondly recall about my jobless summers:
Hm. I think summer for me was all about the hot guys—funny how things really haven’t changed all that much. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t have a job. I probably would’ve gotten fired for staring at all the hot guys and not doing my job.
Do you work after school or in the summer? Do you think it enhances or hinders your summer vacay?
No matter what you do during the summer, please remember to make the most out of it...preferably by drooling over a hot guy or two. (or girl. we don't discriminate here at Fictionistas!)
You make me feel something like summertime
Top down ain't nothing but time
Radio's on and you're by my side
Feels something like summertime
Like a first slow dance and a first long kiss
There ain't nothing baby better then this
It's like a beach blanket and a bottle of wine
It feels something like summertime
Sum-summer-summertime
I’m one of the few kids who didn’t have a summer job growing up. Actually, I wasn’t allowed to work—I played competitive sports for a living. Softball was my career of choice at the time. I didn’t get paid to play, but it sure was fun.
Sometimes I wonder if I missed out on anything by not having a job—even just one day a week. But our softball schedule was so busy I never knew when I would need time off. We traveled every week for tournaments and we had practice on the nights we weren’t on the road. I’m not kidding when I say softball was my job from April through August.
What I loved about not working, was the freedom I had during the day. I would spend most of the time at the swimming pool (except on game days, of course) and we’d always get at least a week’s vacation and go camping.
When I graduated high school, my softball career ended. And I was ready to give it up, honestly. It had been fun, but very demanding, and I was ready to feel grown up and get a job.
Boy, I wish I would’ve waited just one summer longer. I’ve been working ever since!
Here are some things I fondly recall about my jobless summers:
- Hanging out for 8 hours at the swimming pool, looking at all the hot guys but being too shy to do anything more than look. (FYI, one of those hot guys is now my kids’ pediatrician…)
- Hanging out at the baseball fields watching all the hot guys in between my games.
- Going to the lake. Skiing and showing off for all the hot guys.
- Hot guys.
- My first kiss was on the lake…with a hot guy of course.
Hm. I think summer for me was all about the hot guys—funny how things really haven’t changed all that much. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t have a job. I probably would’ve gotten fired for staring at all the hot guys and not doing my job.
Do you work after school or in the summer? Do you think it enhances or hinders your summer vacay?
No matter what you do during the summer, please remember to make the most out of it...preferably by drooling over a hot guy or two. (or girl. we don't discriminate here at Fictionistas!)
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Heroes Falling and Flapjacks Flying
I'm a sports chick. I used to play with the guys, though I never did see they mythical "all guy plus one" teams alleged to pepper the neighborhoods of America. When I was a kid there were both girls and boys on every corner lot with baselines carved into the grass by wear and tear. The notion that girls liking sports made them "tomboys" always confused me. I never knew "girly girls" really existed. All the girls in my neighborhood loved kickball, dodge-ball, and dirt. We wore makeup in high school, liked boys, and would slug anybody who said a word against our home team. And everybody-- regardless of gender-- loved the Sox. Which wasn't always easy... we waited 86 years for that series win, you know. I mean, they let school out early back in the day when Pudge waved a dinger to glory, and when Buckner made a small ummm... error with a ball... we've moved on from that one recently. Not going to talk about that.
So my fan loyalty is serious. I know my Red Sox obsession can, on occasion, be unhealthy. I'm owning it, k? Cut me some slack. Yet, regardless of my adoration, when a relationship is in trouble, pretending everything is fine doesn't work. If we ignore the problems they grow. So I'm putting it out there. I'm facing it. There's an elephant in the dugout.
What was up with the in-house spat? I'm not saying that Red Sox Papa figure Curt Schilling is wrong in his dismissive assessment. Guys who are like brothers, guys who work together closely, guys who are passionate about what they do... they're going to have occasional releases of steam. And maybe it means nothing. Honestly? The other night, when Coco Crisp started a bench-clearing brawl the other night... I wasn't shocked. I'll admit I wasn't even all that disappointed, though that's probably the wrong attitude.
But when Manny Ramirez and Kevin Youkilis-- two very significant Red Sox icons, for the sports-impaired-- had a dust-up right there in their own dugout I felt cold dread. Ice in my veins. Pain. Hurt. Confusion.
It reminded me of the tangled knot of feelings I would feel, as a little girl, when my brothers fought. I mean, they'd roll around in the dirt and pound the daylights out of one another. You'd swear on your life they hated eachother and were out for blood. It looked that way.
In that moment, in the dirt, with the insults and fists flying, they probably thought they hated eachother. And it used to freak me out. And I would get upset, and scared, and sometimes when I was really small I would cry.
In retrospect, those fights-- and even the recent scrap between my Fenway boys-- actually represented a level of intimacy that has to be pretty deep. We are most willing to hurt those closest to us for a reason. We trust them, unconsciously, to forgive us. We are passionate in our pride and love for them, so our disappointment goes just as deep.
And heroes do, now and then, stumble.
So Curt Schilling, that grampy old guy who knows a thing or two about heroism, is right. They're not just team mates; they're not just two guys in uniforms; they're brothers. Even the generally vitriolic Boston press could find absolutely no hostility between the two guys a day after the incident. A couple of lockers apart, they puttered around the locker room as usual.
So it's probably just like it is with all of us. Families, even really good ones, fight. It looks bad if it takes place in public, sure. I mean, if you chuck a flapjack at your brother down at the IHop people will probably think you were raised by terrible parents and hate one another. They don't know your history. They don't know you tell that story every Christmas and laugh. It's over, and now it's funny. But you know the back-story. There were comments about a certain boy, a syrup situation, something involving sneakers borrowed without permission...
Like Jonathan Papelon (pitcher, for the sports-impaired) said, he has had pretty bad fights with his own brothers, but it's normal. "Josh broke my nose," he said, but "when it's all said and done, you still have love for eachother."
Way to out your baby brother there, Pap. Watch out for flying flapjacks. I'm just sayin'...
So ok. I once cut nasty strips into my oldest brothers' sideburns right before he got called to National Guard duty because he didn't give me notice before demanding the haircut. And I used to mess up the back of his head pretty bad and wait to see how long he'd go without noticing it. My baby brother got me in trouble for nothing once and I convinced him he had neglected his teddy bear and it was dead. He tearfully agreed not to confess to anyone and let me bury it in the back yard to "cover for him," while he watched and cried. (Dad unearthed the corpse while rototilling the garden years later. The look on my brother's face as the memory flooded back was pretty scary. It was like CSI Green Harbor... the body in the garden came back to haunt me.) One of my brothers had a bulls-eye burn scar on the end of his nose for months after a car cigarette lighter incident in the back of an Oldsmobile.
So... what magnificent torments have you inflicted on the siblings you love? Spill it!
So my fan loyalty is serious. I know my Red Sox obsession can, on occasion, be unhealthy. I'm owning it, k? Cut me some slack. Yet, regardless of my adoration, when a relationship is in trouble, pretending everything is fine doesn't work. If we ignore the problems they grow. So I'm putting it out there. I'm facing it. There's an elephant in the dugout.
What was up with the in-house spat? I'm not saying that Red Sox Papa figure Curt Schilling is wrong in his dismissive assessment. Guys who are like brothers, guys who work together closely, guys who are passionate about what they do... they're going to have occasional releases of steam. And maybe it means nothing. Honestly? The other night, when Coco Crisp started a bench-clearing brawl the other night... I wasn't shocked. I'll admit I wasn't even all that disappointed, though that's probably the wrong attitude.
But when Manny Ramirez and Kevin Youkilis-- two very significant Red Sox icons, for the sports-impaired-- had a dust-up right there in their own dugout I felt cold dread. Ice in my veins. Pain. Hurt. Confusion.
It reminded me of the tangled knot of feelings I would feel, as a little girl, when my brothers fought. I mean, they'd roll around in the dirt and pound the daylights out of one another. You'd swear on your life they hated eachother and were out for blood. It looked that way.
In that moment, in the dirt, with the insults and fists flying, they probably thought they hated eachother. And it used to freak me out. And I would get upset, and scared, and sometimes when I was really small I would cry.
In retrospect, those fights-- and even the recent scrap between my Fenway boys-- actually represented a level of intimacy that has to be pretty deep. We are most willing to hurt those closest to us for a reason. We trust them, unconsciously, to forgive us. We are passionate in our pride and love for them, so our disappointment goes just as deep.
And heroes do, now and then, stumble.
So Curt Schilling, that grampy old guy who knows a thing or two about heroism, is right. They're not just team mates; they're not just two guys in uniforms; they're brothers. Even the generally vitriolic Boston press could find absolutely no hostility between the two guys a day after the incident. A couple of lockers apart, they puttered around the locker room as usual.
So it's probably just like it is with all of us. Families, even really good ones, fight. It looks bad if it takes place in public, sure. I mean, if you chuck a flapjack at your brother down at the IHop people will probably think you were raised by terrible parents and hate one another. They don't know your history. They don't know you tell that story every Christmas and laugh. It's over, and now it's funny. But you know the back-story. There were comments about a certain boy, a syrup situation, something involving sneakers borrowed without permission...
Like Jonathan Papelon (pitcher, for the sports-impaired) said, he has had pretty bad fights with his own brothers, but it's normal. "Josh broke my nose," he said, but "when it's all said and done, you still have love for eachother."
Way to out your baby brother there, Pap. Watch out for flying flapjacks. I'm just sayin'...
So ok. I once cut nasty strips into my oldest brothers' sideburns right before he got called to National Guard duty because he didn't give me notice before demanding the haircut. And I used to mess up the back of his head pretty bad and wait to see how long he'd go without noticing it. My baby brother got me in trouble for nothing once and I convinced him he had neglected his teddy bear and it was dead. He tearfully agreed not to confess to anyone and let me bury it in the back yard to "cover for him," while he watched and cried. (Dad unearthed the corpse while rototilling the garden years later. The look on my brother's face as the memory flooded back was pretty scary. It was like CSI Green Harbor... the body in the garden came back to haunt me.) One of my brothers had a bulls-eye burn scar on the end of his nose for months after a car cigarette lighter incident in the back of an Oldsmobile.
So... what magnificent torments have you inflicted on the siblings you love? Spill it!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Dems da Breaks
The spring breaks, that is.
Back in the age ofdinosaurs cassette tapes, I was an athlete. I played basketball, softball, and was forced to run track. (running is from the devil and should be banned.) I grew up in the small town of Bryant, Arkansas (it's not so small now. When I graduated, the population was 2800. Now it's nearing 15,000, I think)
I wasn't on the first string by any stretch of the imagination. I alternated between second and third string, as my weight alternated between 135 and 140. (ridiculous, I know.) Anyway, we had a great team. We were undefeated throughout junior high, so by the time we entered high school, we had a target on our back.
Even so, we rarely lost more than a handful of games each year. Which meant we would go to the state tournament. Which was always spring break.
As was my birthday.
I never got to have a spring break in high school and I never got to celebrate my birthday. It sucked because the one day of the year that was supposed to be all about me was actually all about the Bryant Hornets. My friends could only whisper happy birthday to me because coach wanted us focused on the game only. And if we lost, he'd say it was because we were focused on other things. And yes, he'd look my way.
Same thing goes for Spring Break. We weren't allowed to go on vacay with the family because we had basketball. there was no choice. If a parent tried to trump the coach, then the kid would no longer be on the team. Period.
What does all this mean to me now? I celebrate the mess out of my birthday. March is my "Birthday Month" and I make sure it's all about me. (Gotta make up for lost time, you know?) And I try to do something special for spring break every year. This year, we didn't go anywhere, but last year, we spent our break stalking Mickey Mouse.
What do you guys do for Spring Break (and for your birthday?) And are coaches still as serious about their sports now as they were then?
Back in the age of
I wasn't on the first string by any stretch of the imagination. I alternated between second and third string, as my weight alternated between 135 and 140. (ridiculous, I know.) Anyway, we had a great team. We were undefeated throughout junior high, so by the time we entered high school, we had a target on our back.
Even so, we rarely lost more than a handful of games each year. Which meant we would go to the state tournament. Which was always spring break.
As was my birthday.
I never got to have a spring break in high school and I never got to celebrate my birthday. It sucked because the one day of the year that was supposed to be all about me was actually all about the Bryant Hornets. My friends could only whisper happy birthday to me because coach wanted us focused on the game only. And if we lost, he'd say it was because we were focused on other things. And yes, he'd look my way.
Same thing goes for Spring Break. We weren't allowed to go on vacay with the family because we had basketball. there was no choice. If a parent tried to trump the coach, then the kid would no longer be on the team. Period.
What does all this mean to me now? I celebrate the mess out of my birthday. March is my "Birthday Month" and I make sure it's all about me. (Gotta make up for lost time, you know?) And I try to do something special for spring break every year. This year, we didn't go anywhere, but last year, we spent our break stalking Mickey Mouse.
What do you guys do for Spring Break (and for your birthday?) And are coaches still as serious about their sports now as they were then?
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