Todd MacCulloch, Pinball Wizard

Photo of MacCulloch at pinball tournament from Pinball News.

The Washington Post ran a great story yesterday on how former-Husky Todd MacCulloch has immersed himself in competitive pinball after a nerve condition in his feet forced him to retire early from the NBA. H/t to True Hoop.

Topics: Glory Days, Huskies, and NBA

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Angst Over Sonics' Departure Drives Local Man To Reach For New Heights...With His Feet!

This is a photograph I found on Facebook of my friend Brandon Ehrlich kicking a ceiling. Impressed by the feat (no pun intended!), I asked him a few questions on what makes and motivates an elite ceiling kicker. Here is what he had to say:

I would have to say that it all starts with the passion. You have to really want to kick the ceiling. Without that fire in your belly, you will always be resigned to walking on floors. One of the best tips I can give a person hoping to join the exclusive ranks of ceiling kickers is to imagine someone or something that you really want to kick. Picture that person or thing on the ceiling and then go for it. For me, I picture Clay Bennett's face and am always aiming for the teeth and nose.

An effective ceiling kicker is someone that is flexible, has long legs, can jump higher than most folks, and has the ability to time those jumps correctly. Many so-called experts compare this skill to being able to dunk a basketball. You need to make sure that your foot hits its target, which in this case is clearly the ceiling at the top of your jump. Many of my predecessors have been able to hit the ceiling on their way up. It is almost impossible to do so on the way down.

The best way to train for a career in ceiling kicking is lots of stretching, yoga, and any leg strengthening exercises.

Originally I got into ceiling kicking after many skeptics said that it couldn't be done. After proving them wrong, I took a nearly-two-year hiatus from the sport. Recently I have re-enlisted myself after many requests from my fans that had felt as if they had been abandoned. The announcement of the city's settlement with what is now the OK City Thunder just before the 4th of July was the final piece of motivation that I needed.

Topics: Glory Days, Sonics, and Stupid athlete tricks

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Swim, Run, Drink: The Beer Gut Triathlon

Open category winner Lindsay struggles to summit a flat

Saturday saw the 22nd annual observance of a summer tradition in sporting ambition, an event that has spanned eight states and the nation of Haiti, a grueling crucible of mind, body, and liver: The Beer Gut Triathlon. The brainchild of a prominent human rights lawyer named Brian Concannon, Jr., the BGT is a pointless, stupid affair wherein “athletes” swim roughly 1/5 of a mile, run roughly 3 miles, and then chug exactly four (women’s category) or six (open category) watery beers. Vomiting results in a five minute penalty and an extra beer. An athlete who has consumed her allotment must hold the empty cans upside down over her head for 69 seconds; if anything more than isolated drops comes out, she must pay, again, a one-beer penalty.

The following are photographs from this year's competition, held in Seattle's Lake City neighborhood:

Continue reading "Swim, Run, Drink: The Beer Gut Triathlon"

Topics: Glory Days

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Hydroplane inaction

Another season of hydroplane racing has sadly come and gone and with it the annual opportunity to watch clips of old vintage thunderboat crashes spliced between soliloquies by Pat O’Day about how great the sport was fifty years ago.

As a Northwest native this writer loves the hydros. It’s one of those secret handshake deals we few remaining locals can use to show how we really belong here and you don't. Slo-mo-shun V, Hawaii Kai, Miss Bardahl. They’re secret passwords that are used to know who is really in the club.

With that said, yesterday’s Seafair Chevrolet Cup had to rate way down there in terms of being a wet squib.

For those of you who weren’t drunk and passed out by the time the final hydroplane heat ran, the U-37 Miss Beacon Plumbing, piloted by driver Jean Theoret was stripped of the checkered flag by being penalized on the start for being “off-plane”; i.e. being too slow on the start.

So instead of a classic finish with the U-1 Miss Elam Plus reeling in the “Freakin’” Beacon in a duel of dual rooster tails you had a four minute exhibition heat where the boat that won the race really didn’t.

Unlimited hydroplane racing has finally returned to the point of actually being competitive again now that the 800-pound gorilla of the Budweiser racing team is gone from the sport. And for the past two decades boat race watchers have been treated to the same sob story put out by the American Boat Racing Association bemoaning the fact that no one pays attention to the thunderboats anymore.

Here's a suggestion.

How about figuring out a different way to start your boat races? It’s an arcane, arbitrary and pedantic exercise which makes harness racing look space-age in terms of how drivers get off the starting block.

Boat drivers spend more time milling about in a circle, trying to cheat and get into the inside lane and jumping the starting flag than they ever do actually racing. Maybe a page needs to be taken from auto racing by introducing a "pace boat" to the racing scene.

Extra: Tracking down the root to this year’s lame Seafair Cup is tricky. The one thing that sticks out is the use green, “environmentally friendly” biofuels in the hydros. This is obviously an affront to King Neptune and pussified eco-conscious Seattleites risk his wrath at their own peril.

Topics: Glory Days

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KD and Hawes in da Club!

A little Monday morning paparazzi action for you, courtesy of "The Dirty" and a hot tip from my man, Matt N.

It's Spencer Hawes and the Durantula hanging out with what appears to be next year's pledge class. More photos here.

Topics: Glory Days and NBA

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Whither the Spoils, Spree?

Twin Cities newspaper the Star-Tribune is reporting that Latrell Sprewell is in fresh financial trouble. Just months removed from the seizure of his yacht, the former NBA star is poised to lose his suburban Milwaukee home as well, thanks to his inability to make mortgage payments. Of course, the the Tubes are abuzz with jokes about Sprewell's famous "I've got to feed my kids," line—his justification for turning down a 3-year, $21 million contract that he deemed insufficient. (Spree's agent also said that $5 million a season was a level beneath which [Sprewell] would not stoop or kneel.")

The amazing and sad thing is that Sprewell's career earnings from basketball alone have topped $96 million. Granted, his strangling of current Sonics coach P.J. Carlesimo meant that he's never caught on as a product endorser, but he still had other business ventures, including the Washington-state based Sprewell Racing.

I'm reminded of a quote from the currently incarcerated Keon Clark (drug possession, driving on suspended license, etc.), who retired at the relatively young age of 29 and turned down overtures from multiple NBA teams:

"People don't understand, if you can't live the rest of your life off one year in the NBA, you can't live off 21."

A YouTube tribute to Spree as the self-proclaimed American Dream. He sure was fun to watch:

Warning: video's lyrics contain some NSFW language

Thanks to Nick for the tip.

Topics: Glory Days

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Bah Humbug: The Ten Worst Moments in Seattle Sports in 2007

The end of the year is the time for top ten lists. However, 2007 was not kind to Seattle sports fans, so we decided to make it a bottom ten instead:

10. May 24th - The Mariners lose to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays 13-12. Third base coach Carlos Garcia gets two runners thrown out at home. Explaining his decision to send not-so-fleety Jose Lopez home against the near legendary arm of Delmon Young, Garcia says, "It was the first time we played them. I didn't know he had such a good arm. But now I know." The club defends Garcia against fans who point out that the strength of Young’s arm is widely recognized and could have been gleaned by reading a scouting report, or merely conducting a google search. “The fans who are expressing their discontent are displaying an unsettling level of cultural insensitivity,” declares Howard Lincoln. When asked to identify the culture to which the fans were being insensitive, Lincoln replies simply, “losing.”

9. Date unknown - Wally Szczerbiak takes rookie teammate Kevin Durant under his wing, explaining to the young star that he can boost his scoring average by largely ignoring those pesky things called teammates. “Unless, they’re setting a pick for you, they’re not there,” he says. (This may not have happened yet, but it’s a scary thought, no?)

8. The Weekend of November 10th to 11th - Let’s start on Sunday: Moving like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle minus the Teenage Mutant Ninja part, Robert Swift has zero points, two rebounds, and two fouls in 12 minutes of play. As he struggles to lug his freshly tatted 280 lbs up and down the Key Arena floor, some fans wonder whether, knee injury or not, the new bulk will ruin the agility that was his previous strong suit. One night earlier, the player the Sonics should have drafted in 2004, Al Jefferson, scores 17 points and grabs 12 rebounds for the Minnesota Timberwolves.

7. January 1st - Ty Willingham’s Huskies look totally unprepared for their bowl game matchup with...oh, wait, nevermind.

6. December 12th - Unable to resist his stunning array of “out” pitches (as in “quickly headed ‘out’ of the park”), the Seattle Mariners tender Horacio Ramirez, the man who accrued more walks than strikeouts and hits than innings in 2007. “It was a difficult decision,” explains Bill Bavasi. “Had he been signed by a division rival, we might have been able to keep Richie Sexson’s batting average over .220 for the season.”

5. November 15th - Howard Schultz signs up to sponsor a youth basketball team.

4. August 28th - With the Mariners needing a win against the 1st place Angels to stay in the pennant race; with the bases loaded, the team down one run in the 8th inning, and Vladimir Guerrero due up, John McLaren digs deep into the throat of bullpen suckage to pull out Rick White. The barrel-stomached veteran, a piece of waiver wire flotsam that somehow landed in the Safeco bullpen (care to explain, Bill?), takes the mound and promptly makes a mound of his own. Two batters later, the bases — and Rick’s bowels — have been emptied, and the game is all but over.

3. Sundays, generally - Shaun Alexander sees tacklers, falls down.

2. December 3rd — Citing his dissatisfaction with the community center facilities, Schultz transfers sponsorship duties to an Oklahoma City car dealership, but asks if he can still attend the year-end pizza party.

1. November 1st — Sonics owner Clayton Bennett celebrates the newly begun Kevin Durant era by filing with the NBA for relocation of the team. Here’s to you, Mr. Bennett. May all your years be as bad as our 2007.

Topics: Glory Days

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Mutton Bustin' at the Puyallup Fair

Sports do not come any better than mutton bustin'. Here's the summary, for you sad sacks who've never witnessed mutton being busted: Since the dawn of recorded time, humankind has manipulated livestock for its own benefit, subjecting sheep and cattle not just to lives of toil but painful indignations such as castration and branding. In return for helping us reach the Industrial Revolution, some kind soul invented muttton bustin', which gives enslaved animals the chance to unload centuries of anger onto our littlest and most tender representatives.

The game is simple. An adult takes a child, who if not bawling yet will soon be, and places it on top of a sheep penned in a corral. The gate is opened and the sheep rockets off with the child hanging onto its neck hair. The pair gain momentum and G forces—the passenger utterly terrified and the driver, not at all looking forward to a return to the cramped stable, having the thrill of its lifetime—until the ride ends with an abrupt discharge of the child into an iron fence. The kid cries, the audience claps, and the process is repeated with the next unlucky, soon-to-be-burdened-with-psych-bills individual.

I caught some mutton bustin' last Saturday at the Puyallup Fair. My video is of horrible quality, but the important parts are there if you look closely: The gradual buildup of speed, the package of fear latched to the animal's back, the roar of the crowd as the kid's head hits the fence like a cannonball. As the number of sheep milling around the arena grew throughout the show, the eventual impact of kid on fence became sandwiched between a buffeting of ambient sheep and an ignominious landing in a pool of fresh sheep urine. Like I said, this is unarguably the apex of sportsdom in the U.S. Where's ESPN?

UPDATE: Injury videos here! 

Topics: Glory Days

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Intergenerational Ballin'

Wade Boggs has long been known as one of the best hitters of his generation, as well as a man of many idiosyncrasies, the most famous of which may have been his habit of eating chicken before every game. Recently, however, a friend introduced me to an article detailing another of Boggs' strange habits: drinking large amounts of Miller Lite. According to a couple of his former teammates, Boggs would drink somewhere in the neighborhood of 50-70 Miller Lites in the course of an ordinary East Coast to West Coast day of travel. Exaggerated or not, these stories indicate that Boggs loved beer as much as he loved chicken. This, of course, can bring to mind only one figure. It's a shame Boggs played about twenty years too early for his perfect entry music.

Nevertheless, Boggs and Ludacris both appeared in this year's Wrestlemania 23. What does that tell us? Despite considerable career earnings, they're both still looking to make a little extra cash. What better way for them to do it—and for us to be entertained—than to send them out to Wing Domes, roadside barbecues, and sports bars nationwide to sample the chicken and beer and mingle with the locals. (Of course, Wade might have to expand his beer repertoire, but I think he could do it. And Miller Lite makes a great chaser.) It'd be low-cost TV—just a crew with a couple cameras and mics—no rides to pimp. And it'd be entertaining. Odd couples sell; it's a proven fact. MTV, Food Channel, Discovery Channel execs: make it happen.

Topics: Glory Days

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Masters of Wrath: The Ten Greatest Sports Tantrums Available on the Internet

Serbian basketball forward Darko Milicic's recent post-game rant set me adrift on memory bliss. There have been so many great tantrums and tirades by our sporting entertainers over the years. Here I present my favorite ten (of those recorded and available on the Internet), which I shall call the ten greatest, if only to encourage debate. I've deliberately left off Mike Tyson, as he's a little too sad and disturbing for me to really enjoy. I've also omitted Phillip Wellman's famous tantrum, as it seemed a bit too calculated and playful, as well as the Jim Rome/Jim Everett debacle, for the same reasons. Be warned that the list contains NSFW/profane audio and text.


The Ten Greatest Sports Tantrums Available on the Internet


10. Mike Sanford

A top-notch sports tantrum can take many forms. Sanford decided to go the civil disobedience route after his UNLV Rebels football team lost to the Iowa State Cyclones. Sanford asserted (wrongly, as replays later showed) that a UNLV receiver had been inbounds when catching a potentially game-winning pass. Bringing Walden Pond to the breadbasket, Sanford stormed the field, telling his players "we're not leaving" and demanding a meeting with the Iowa State athletic director. He may trip and stumble, but in the end he takes a principled stand. Here's to you, Mike.



9. Lennox Lewis and Hasim Rahman

This one isn't much to look at---a kiss-me-or-push-me moment of truth, a lot of awkward grappling, and some crashing into tables. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a clip containing the lead-up. But here's what you need to know:

A few days before their fight, Lewis and Rahman were taping a promotional appearance on ESPN's "Up Close and Personal" with Gary Miller. Referring to previous comments by Rahman, Miller asked Lewis, "Did Rahman question your sexuality?" Lewis ignored Miller and glared at Rahman. "Why you starting that gay stuff? I'm not gay. Why you call me gay?" Rahman replied that Lewis' lawsuit to force a rematch between the two of them was a "gay move...I don't know why he was offended."

Declaring himself "100% women's man," Lewis offered to prove his assertion with Rahman's sister. Rahman took offense. The rest is below:



8. Dennis Green

Following a loss in which his underdog Cardinals blew a big lead, Green offered his thoughts on their more ballyhooed opponent, the Chicago Bears. He's like the middle school kid who had his lunch money taken and almost stood up to the big bad bully. Impotent Rage, thy name is Dennis Green. (Also, note the slight resemblance, at least in this clip, to The Family Guy's Cleveland Brown.)



7. Jim Mora

Mora has had a number of highly-regarded postgame rants, but this is his most famous. Enjoy the polite qualifiers ("In my opinion, that sucked") as well as the concluding Don Knotts/Barney Fife impression during the discussion of "playoffs."



6. Lou Piniella (and other baseball tantrums we don't get to hear)

It seems MLB has cracked down on game footage on YouTube, making it difficult to find some of Piniella's best performances, but one of his 2002 outbursts can be found on this compilation. We see a strong performance by Lloyd McLendon, but Piniella is the real star. Nobody looks funnier throwing a base than Lou Piniella.



5. Darko Milicic

Darko received a $14k fine for this outburst, though it probably should've been a grounding instead. Gone are the frosted tips and gangly physique, but Darko remains ever the teenager. With Larry Brown but a distant memory, Darko takes aim at another authority figure, the refs.



4. Tommy Lasorda

Next up, a dugout argument between manager Tommy Lasorda and pitcher Doug Rau during Game 4 of the 1977 World Series. This speech may be considered the forefather of George Bush's "I'm the Decider." The incessant organ music in the background gives it an air of carnival fun!





3. Hal McRae

An otherwise standard clubhouse tantrum, with a lot of profanity and throwing of random objects (note the reporter's bleeding cheek---the result of being struck by the flying phone), McRae's tirade is made special by his attire. His baseball pants and undershirt resemble a child's pajamas---just one step up from a onesy.



2. Lee Elia

In 1983, Elia managed a talented but not quite mature Cubs team that finished the season under .500. The next year, they went on to win their division (before blowing a 2-0 series lead to San Diego in the NLCS---still painful to think about). But in April of '83, few could see the good things to come. Cub fans, frustrated by the team's perennial losing, booed repeatedly during a 5-4 loss to the Dodgers that left the team's record at 5-14. Meeting with reporters in the clubhouse after the game, Elia unleashed a tirade for the ages.





1. Earl Weaver

One of baseball's all-time leader in ejections, Earl Weaver was a man before his time, engaging in the sort of rigorous statistical analysis that still eludes some managers today (see McLaren, John). Here he appears on The Manager's Corner, his weekly radio show. I'm not sure whether it's fair to classify this as a tantrum, but whatever it is, it deserves to be number one.

Topics: Glory Days

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So much for sailing into the sunset

ESPN reports that Latrell Sprewell's $1.5 million yacht, Milwaukee's Best, has been repossessed.

The bank intends to put the yacht up for auction. Potential buyers include Gavin McLeod and Fred Smoot. In the interest of feeding his family, Spree has offered his services as First Mate.

Topics: Glory Days

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Tiger Burning Dimly

I’m not a golfer. I enjoy the mental challenge that golf presents, and follow it enough to speak intelligently about the major storylines, but I wouldn’t say I’m a fan. In fact, one of my biggest fears is that my future father-in-law will be one of those Chris Berman-worshipping, practice-swinging-in-the-office, golf-course-photo-with-inspirational-message-hanging men who will expect me to not only accompany him on multiple weekend rounds, but also expect me to watch non-major golf championships on TV, the kind that get won by guys named Scott Verplank or Rocco Mediate. I would almost prefer him to be a racist. I’d understand him better, and probably have a better chance of talking him out of it. I know this makes me sort of lame, but for me, golf on TV doesn’t really matter unless Tiger Woods is playing.

So I understand NBC’s nonstop hyping of Woods during yesterday’s final round of the US Open. But it was over the top by even my (Woods—not golf—fan) standards. Every time we came back from a commercial or left for one, we were reminded that Woods’ 13th major championship was all but imminent. It wasn’t of course, as even a casual fan could see that Angel Cabrera was the better golfer that day and Woods was heroic just to make the final pairing. That didn’t stop Johnny Miller and Dan Hicks from creaming themselves every time Woods appeared on the screen, though. They were so desperately partisan that I felt like I was watching Cold War-era Olympics coverage.

There isn’t much doubt that Tiger Woods is either the best or second best golfer to ever live. Or that he’s the most compelling character in the game for many fans. But it seems that the days of him stalking the field are over. Back during the Tiger Slam of 2000-2001, I got the feeling that every tournament was his to lose. He just put so much pressure on his competition to play perfectly, because everyone knew that he wasn’t going to blink. (It’s no coincidence that I watched a lot more golf those days.) But yesterday, I don’t think he made a single putt over 15 feet. One down with three holes to go? The old Woods would have won by two strokes just to make a point.

By the way, how long can a grown man carry around a tiger head driver cover in his bag? It’s a nice touch of personality in a sport that can use as much as it can get, but Woods is going to be 32 years old this year. Even Woods “pal” R-Fed, six years his junior, traded in his ponytail for a smart off-white blazer like two years ago.

Topics: Glory Days

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Let's Pretend We're In St. Louis

Saint Louis University men's basketball coach Brad Soderberg was fired this week without explanation by that midtown school's chickenshit Jesuit brass. I lived in St. Louis for 3-1/2 years, and I never met a more open, genuinely decent and affable major sports figure than Soderberg. Once a week, he would gather the media for open discussions at St. Louis' equivalent of the Spaghetti Factory. Over remarkably mediocre food, he would discuss anything. If someone asked him his dick-size, he would likely respond with a fairly accurate estimate. Nothing was off-limits. You don't find this sort of candor anywhere in American sports today, not even at the high school ranks. He was an amazing person to cover as a sportswriter, and an amazing person in general.

Soderberg, like all of us, had shortcomings in his capacity: There were times when I looked at his incoming recruits and wondered whether he thought he was competing in a 6'5" and under league. But, hey — SLU (Husky coach Lorenzo Romar's coaching alma mater) plays in the A-10, where you can win with a four-guard offense. And last year, Soderberg's squad posted the school's first 20-win season since the Larry Hughes era, bolstered by a superb locally-grown backcourt of Kevin Lisch and Tommie Liddell, both of whom are reportedly absolutely mortified at Soderberg's ouster. For idiot boosters and SLU's cowardly fucker of a headmaster who allegedly conspired to can Sodie, if you want evidence that he was headed in the right direction, there you have it: Lisch and Liddell. Either could have gone to more reputable programs, and neither did. Why? Soderberg.

So who's rumored to replace Sodie as the Billikens' next coach? Who cares? The only candidate who's worthy of the job at this point is coke-snorting anti-Semite Micheal Ray Richardson. I sincerely hope Lisch and Liddell — two princely young men — transfer to SIU-Carbondale and blow out Richardson's Bills by 50 on their homecourt. Oh, and Father Biondi, there's now a special circle reserved in Hell with your name on it, buddy. You treat people like shit; you eat shit.

Topics: Glory Days

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