February 15, 2005
Since this website officially has a staff of one person: moi -- in addition to an editor behind the scenes who I really need to get on the payroll (if there only was a payroll) -- on occasion things have to shut down, particularly when I travel to the far reaches of the globe and have no means to get online and post updates. Such will be the case over the next couple of weeks -- I-R.com is going into a brief hibernation. Check back in early March for a plethorah of new material. And in the meantime, check out Sam Stern's latest rant on Celtics' broadcaster Tommy Heinsohn. See you in March.
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February 11, 2005
Millers Crossing
Presumably you've heard the news by now: Reggie Miller announced today that he's going to retire at season's end. While a lot of news outlets are going to report this story as, "NBA's 3-point King to Step Down," in my mind, that's not the most intriguing headline here. Sure, it's newsworthy that Reggie Miler is retiring, but there's a pretty compelling subtext here. The fact is, TNT's Craig Sager broke this story two weeks ago, and the very same evening that he reported it, he was verbally berated by a visibly upset Miller, who expressed his disappointment in Sager as though Sager were an insolent toddler who had just pee-peed on the living room floor. Did you see it? Reggie was not just pissed; he was scornful and condescending, and he made sure to mention to Sager that if he was planning on retiring, his sister (TNT reporter Cheryl Miller) would be the first to know.
So now we see what this is all about. Sager got the early scoop on the Miller clan's plans, and put it out there before Reggie was ready to dish it to Cheryl. Reggie's plan was clearly to give his sister the story, so she would get credit for reporting it, in the process not just looking like a good reporter, but a caring older sister as well. Having personally met both Sager and Cheryl Miller (who several years ago patted the back of my head and said I had a bump on it similar to Reggie's head -- yes, that sounds weird, and frankly I'm embarrassed to write it, but it's true), I can honestly say that they both seem like good people. And as a result, I don't really want to take sides...but I can't resist. If you ask me, this thing was poorly handled by the Miller camp. When Sager first reported Reggie's planned retirement a couple of weeks ago, Reggie and Cheryl both acted so incredulous, as if they had no idea where Sager had gotten his info. According to Sager, it was Reggie's own GM
(Donnie Walsh) who gave it up. I can see why Reggie was annoyed that his story got leaked, but he really should have been pissed at Walsh, not the guy who reported it.
What's really silly about this whole thing is that Sager reported the story, but now Cheryl Miller's getting all the credit. When you get right down to it, Sager (as far as we know) did nothing more than practice good journalism, something we all aspire to, and Cheryl Miller (as far as we know) did nothing more than succumb to a little bit of nepotism, something we all may have been guilty of at one point or another. Truthfully, it's tough to really blame either one of them. But even so, it seems like the wrong side won this fight.
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February 9, 2005
File it Away
Call this what you want -- I'm considering it a public service announcement. And yes, I know it has basically nothing to do with sports -- other than the fact that the particular behavior I'm about to discuss makes me want to learn ultimate fighting, become conversant in the ways of kung fu, and/or master the ancient art of capoeira. The point is, what I've been seeing can't continue any longer, or I think I'm going to go on a rampage. So I'll say this once, and I'll say it clearly:
You need to stop cutting your fingernails in public. Not today, not tomorrow. Yesterday.
Now, I don't know if this is a new trend in our depraved society, and I can't say for certain whether or not this is indigenous to my native NYC, but over the past year, nail clipping in public seems to have gotten out of hand. Lately, I've seen nail fragments flying on the subway, street corners, and train stations. I've seen them slice through the serene sky on a sunny day. They're seemingly everywhere. I consider it a minor miracle one hasn't yet lanced me in the eye as though it were an assassin's dagger.
Perhaps as you read this, public nail clipper, you don't quite understand what's so reproachable about your actions. Well, on the simplest level, it's just disgusting. You're releasing sharp little dead parts of your body into the world, flying unpredictably in every which direction. And if that's not enough, the sound of nail clippers cutting is as hideous an audio sample as my brain can possibly conjure. Especially when some sicko is chopping finger right next to me while I'm trying to dine upon my sandwich. With each passing bite, I'm desperately hoping to avoid a piece de resistance.
But worse than all of this, I think, is the transformative effect that public nail clipping has on our surroundings. You see, in reality you may be sitting on a park bench or standing outside a deli, but the moment that someone starts clipping their nails in front of you, whether you like it or not, you've been transported into their life. Now that you've seen this intimate act, suddenly you're much deeper into this person's life than you ever wanted to be. Under normal circumstances, you'd just be two people passing on the street, or randomly occupying the same space for a few minutes. But having seen and heard what he clearly wants you to see and hear, you're now figuratively sitting on his couch, uncomfortably watching TV and hoping your cell phone will ring because it will give you an excuse to leave as all the while, he sits next to you, his bare foot propped up on a weathered stool as he breaks out the heavy machinery to polish off his unseemly toenails.
There's a reason that those of us fortunate enough to do so floss our teeth, apply various facial products, shave and change clothes inside the confines of our own houses and apartments. Quite simply, by doing any of these things on the street, you're forcing strangers to prop their eyes open and take a long look at you at your worst moment. And these kind of looks really aren't meant for strangers. They're meant for loved ones, or close friends. And please forgive me for being so snobby here in assuming that you and I aren't friends, but I've seen your fingernails, and I simply can't associate with someone who lets them grow that hideously long.
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February 7, 2005
Language Malfunction
Other than Terrell Owens' unbelievably gutty performance and Donovan McNabb and the Eagles' horrendously nonchalant clock management in the closing minutes of the game, not a lot of storylines jumped out at me from Super Bowl XXXIX. And I think it was for this exact reason that one small moment from the postgame hoopla resonated so strongly. The moment I'm speaking of came when FOX commentator Terry Bradshaw took to the field to MC the postgame awards. In attempting to sum up the Patriots' remarkable acheivement, Bradshaw declared that the Patriots had won their "third Super Bowl in fourth year." Now, I hate to go all "grammar police" here, because that's not really my style. You won't normally hear me bickering about conjunctions, or sounding the alarm over misplaced modifiers, but this is absurd. Any of us who have had the misfortune to see Terry Bradshaw in action knew that he ranked somewhere in the vicinity of Lloyd Christmas on the intelligence scale, but here he's gone too far. It's one thing to be a big lummox if that's your schtick and it works for you; it's another thing entirely to appear on national TV unable to put a coherent sentence together. Let notice be served: Terry Bradshaw, I'm gunning for your job. Having trouble understanding? I'll translate it into your dialect: I your job mine. Understand now?
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February 2, 2005
Under the Weather
Ever heard of the term "flulike symptoms"? Sure you have. Other than perhaps the sprained ankle, flulike symptoms seem to be the number one reason that NBA players miss games. How many times have you heard an announcer say that so-and-so isn't dressing tonight because of flulike symptoms. It's a little weird, isn't it? If it's flulike, then can't we just come right out and say he's got the flu? Not quite. And here's why -- I've long held the belief that "flulike symptoms" is code for something else: namely, "unbearable hangover brought about by excessive carousing and/or associating with licentious women." Think about it. You never hear someone come right out and say, "Yeah, Latrell Sprewell's not playing today. He was out boozing last night until 5 a.m." Yet you know from everything you've heard and understand that this kind of thing happens (not to Latrell Sprewell, though -- remember, he's got a family to feed). The point is, when you hear the words "flulike symptoms," understand that it's meant to be a smokescreen. The use of the adjective "flulike" is meant to throw you, the skeptical and discerning fan, off the trail. And in some cases, I'll admit it's best not to pry: as ESPN's Marc Stein points out in his recent column, the term once held a far more ominous meaning, and one almost entirely devoid of humor.
Sorry to end the article with such a buzzkill, but the fact is, I'm starting to feel kind of crappy anyways...
-Matt Stroup 
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