A Tale of Two Guards

Two Guards. Both basketball players. Both members of an NCAA Division 1 basketball program. Both guards. And, as far as I can tell, that is the extent of their similarities as players. One a guard for Kansas’ Rock Chalk Jayhawks. The other a guard for Villanova’s Wildcats. One a highly touted, highly recruited, Canadian transplant, expected to be a lottery pick, if not the first overall pick, in the 2014 NBA draft.  The other a local suburban Philly kid who, while undoubtedly the hardest worker on the court at any given time, may not even be the best athlete in his family. One is Andrew Wiggins. The other is Ryan Arcidiacono.  Lucky for us, their very different paths crossed on the 2014 Battle 4 Atlantis floor.  Who were you watching?

My guess is that most tuned in to the coverage of the tournament with little to no knowledge of Villanova’s 6’3” guard, Arcidiacono. I’d also be willing to bet that most, if not all, who tuned in not only knew of Andrew Wiggins, but at least in part tuned in specifically to see him play. I really can’t say that I blame them. Not only is Kansas a storied behemoth of a college basketball program with a fan base that I would argue rivals any in sports, but Wiggins himself has been dubbed the second coming of LeBron. How could you not want to see his basketball magic for yourself? There was no shortage of tournament magic at this year’s Battle 4 Atlantis: upsets, double-digit comebacks, game winners, multiple games that required overtime to be decided. Yet none, none of it was supplied by Kansas’ #22. If your tournament crush was Andrew Wiggins, then I’m sorry to say you were probably left a bit empty and unfulfilled. Minimal playing time, deferred shots, lackadaisical strolls up and down the court, and an overall lack of interest in the game. After watching all three of Kansas’ Battle 4 Atlantis tournament games in person, I could not tell you with any real conviction that Andrew Wiggins even enjoys playing the game of basketball. What a shame.  Ryan Arcidiacono, on the other hand, with a humble confidence and a game winner over Perry Ellis to upset preseason #2 Kansas in an arena that, if you closed your eyes, could have been mistaken for Allen Field House thanks to the some 2,000 plus Jayhawks fans who made the trip to Paradise Island. He not only provided a healthy heap of magic but, more importantly, made his team better and put them in a position to win.

I was fortunate enough to have seen Arcidiacono (“Arch”) play in the Big East Tournament earlier this year. Going into Battle 4 Atlantis, I had already seen the now sophomore point guard lead his team on the court with the gumption and grace of an NBA veteran years his senior, so I had a little inside information on who to draft as my #1 who to watch for the tournament. And here’s what I, and anyone else who was watching Villanova’s #15, saw- A player who has the utmost respect and complete trust of all of his teammates and coaches. A point guard who sees the entire game in slow motion and manages it much like a football quarterback. A teammate who does everything he can to put the other 4 Wildcats on the floor in a position to succeed. A selfless leader who will not be outworked, and who won’t force a shot just to score, but who isn’t afraid to take THE shot, either. We saw someone who makes everyone around him a better player. That game winning trey was pretty sweet, too. To be fair, I am pretty sure I did see Wiggins give one of his teammates a high five, once.

Two guards with two very different paths that happened to cross in Paradise. Wiggins is the guard who is fulfilling his mandatory one year in college on his way to declaring for the NBA draft. The next Shabazz (two z’s) Muhammad, perhaps?  Arch is the guard who could be one of those NCAA athletes who goes pro in something other than sports. Whatever he decides to go pro in and wherever he ends up, his is the path I’ll be watching.

C

P.S. A huge congratulations to the Villanova Wildcats, 2014 Battle 4 Atlantis Champions. That entire team, every one of them, made it happen. 

P.P. S. If you’re in the market for a new Jayhawk, might I suggest Joel Embiid? Much like Arch, that kid is also all kinds of hard work and wonderful.

Thank you, #75.

Earlier this week, the San Francisco Giants quietly placed Barry Zito (LHP) on waivers. Quietly, Zito cleared waivers and is now available to be traded. Barry Zito’s career in San Francisco, and possibly his career period, is quietly coming to a close.

Thank you, Barry Zito.

No, seriously, hear me out. Barry Zito, the left-handed pitcher who was a 3 time All-Star, the 2002 AL Cy Young Award winner and had an average ERA of 3.49 in his 7 years as an Oakland Athletic. Barry Zito who then signed a 7 year, $126 million, deal with his once Bay Bridge rivals, making him the highest paid major league pitcher at the time. In his 6 full seasons with the Giants since signing that monster contract, Barry Zito is a zero time All-Star, a zero time Cy Young Award Winner and boasts an average ERA of 4.65. Barry Zito and San Francisco Giants fans- the very definition of a love/hate relationship. Let’s be honest, the emphasis has most certainly been on the hate.

We all know the storyline and how it played out. The Giants, in 2007 when Zito joined the team, were 5 years removed from completely blowing it in the World Series against the Angels (no, I still don’t want to talk about it), 4 years removed from their last playoff appearance, and were desperately searching for some star power (ok, a lot of star power) to replace the other Barry’s, who’s power had been reduced to a sad “pow” at that point. With Bonds’ career all but over, the Giants’ brass- ahem, Peter Magowan- decided that Zito was the answer, the second coming of the Barry, if you will, and put all of its eggs, pennies, pebbles, marbles, and anything else that they could find, into his basket. To say that actuality fell short of expectations and hope would be a gross understatement, but we all already know that. What we don’t know, or perhaps fail to realize or appreciate, is that Barry Zito maneuvered his way through the last 7 tumultuous seasons with absolute grace.

Not once did he speak badly about his coaches or teammates. When the team made that all but impossible late season run in 2010, winning 20 of their last 40 games, to make the playoffs, Zito was left off of the post season roster. Left off the roster! I urge you to take a look at the tape from the end of each of the games that postseason and pay special attention to the first person out of the dugout and on to the field to congratulate and celebrate.

Not once did Zito complain about the way he was treated by the city and the fans. We heckled him, we booed him, we jeered him, we did just about everything short of spitting in his face and threatening his family- and you know I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that did in fact happen. The night Jonathan Sanchez threw a no-no against the Padres, I was on my way out to celebrate with the rest of the city and happened to walk passed a liquor store on Chestnut, the same liquor store that Barry Zito happened to be stocking up on supplies for his own post-game activities. Just as I walked passed, a model Giants fan walked in and screamed “Barry Zito that is the closest you’ll EVER get to a no hitter.” I stopped in my tracks, cringed, and waited. You know what Zito did? He looked at that jackass, smiled, and said “Go Giants”.

He has embraced his community and used his platform and celebrity for good. In 2005, he founded Strikeouts for Troops (http://strikeoutsfortroops.org/), an organization that supports injured military members and their families, and provides the comforts of home to military families as their loved ones fight to keep us comfortable and safe. An organization that now has the support of over 100 players and managers, giving back to those who give their all for all of us. Equally as impactful, a friend and I happened into All Star Donuts on Chestnut Street one evening (morning?) sometime past midnight (never you mind why we might have been at a donut shop so late). Z and his fiancé, now wife, were at the counter in front of us. When the cashier recognized him, she turned around, grabbed a bunch of baseballs and asked him to sign them. Without skipping a beat, he took the pen and the first ball and began signing, stopping only to turn around to apologize to us for the holdup.

Thank you, #75. Thank you for being a model teammate and a gentleman. Thank you for embracing us even when no one would have blamed you had you fired right back at all of it. I am sorry it has taken us so long to appreciate you, but thank you for being one of the best guys to wear this uniform. And, especially, thank you for Game 4 of the 2012 NLDS and Game 5 of the 2012 NLCS.

C

Life Without Brian

Earlier this week, ESPN reported that Romeo emancipated himself from the Montegues and that the Capulets adopted him and became his legal guardians. Wait, no, that’s just what it felt like when ESPN reported that Brian Wilson (RHP) accepted and signed a minor league deal with the Los Angeles Dodgers. Brian Wilson, a Dodger. Sigh. I’m not hurt, I’m just disappointed.

Brian Wilson was more than just our closer.

On the field, he was a homegrown talent, drafted by the Giants in the 24^th round of the 2003 amateur baseball draft. He was the guy who we called on time after time, via Bruce Bochy, at the end of the game to close it out for us and save the W. He often made that 9^th inning far too exciting, and far too dramatic, than was ever necessary, but more often than not he got the job done in a way that only he could. When the show was over, he’d turn around and pay tribute to his father, while the rest of us paid our own tribute to him and the rest of our boys.

Off the field, he was the guy who would roll up to the Starbucks on Chestnut in his blacked out Mercedes, wearing an outfit that could only be described as part army surplus, part Zac Brown, and would sit outside shooting the breeze with the other locals. Solving all of the world’s problems, no doubt. Wilson was the face of the “torture”, the lead “misfit”, the bearded eccentricity that didn’t make sense to anyone outside of San Francisco, but somehow fit perfectly in the City by the Bay. Torturous saves, the most entertaining media interviews ever, coined phrases, fake beards, a spandex tuxedo, “Fear the Beard” t-shirts, and the first World Series Championship, ever, in San Francisco. BWilly was our guy- and then he wasn’t.

The stints on the DL began soon after that glorious, glorious 2010 season. Short, at first, and then longer and longer, until, a year later, it was finally concluded that Willy needed his second career Tommy John surgery. Out for the season, out for the remainder of his contract. When the time came, the Giants offered Wilson an incentive filled contract to stay with the team. Fresh off of 2 seasons in which he didn’t pitch more than a couple consecutive games, and of having his arm completely reconstructed, for the second time, Brian deemed the contract “insulting”. He was offended that the organization would offer him such a low base and incentive payments based on playing time after all that he had done for the team. Apparently, Brian had already forgotten about the previous two seasons in which he had essentially been paid for being the team mascot. Forgotten that the team drafted him after his first Tommy John surgery, stuck with him through his struggles in the minor leagues, and through his various oblique and arm injuries in the following years. Forgotten that the team had just brought home its second Commissioner’s Trophy in three years, this time without him. Robb Nen thanked the organization for showing him the same loyalty he had shown them, Brian Wilson announced that he wanted to become a Dodger.

Purposeful message received, #38. I suppose not everyone can be the great Kirby Puckett. Say hey to Jason Schmidt and Juan Uribe for us. I hope you enjoy L.A. as much as they have. I hope the city and the fans show you as much love and pride in who you are both on and off the field as we did. No, I hope they show you more. Because, you can’t come home again.

Too much awesome?? Please. Not nearly enough.

C

FINALLY!!

You know that feeling of pure frustration when you spend what seems like an eternity trying to explain something to someone, but no matter how many different ways to you try to explain it, no matter how many different angles you take, no matter how loud you get or how big your arm motions become, they just do not see what you see? Then- the feeling of absolute victory and vindication in the exact moment their eyes light up and they utter the phrase “Ohhh, yeah!!”?! No two feelings could sum more perfectly my emotions toward PED use in MLB and, more specifically, the reactions of the players to the admitted and the outed cheaters. Finally.

Finally the players, the clean players, are starting to get fed up. Finally they’re coming forward to publicly and vocally express their anger and feelings of betrayal. WHAT took them so long? I refuse, absolutely refuse, to believe that everyone in the League is dirty. No shot. So, why now? What about this situation, and this cheater, in particular has those who play the game purely so outraged that they’re breaking their silence and speaking out? Two words- The Code.

The tales of use of Performance Enhancing Drugs in Major League Baseball, in all of its levels, are just about as old as time. I truly find it difficult to remember a time when steroids were not a part of the MLB storyline. I can name more admitted and rumored PED cheaters off the top of my head, than I can U.S. Presidents. Bonds, McGuire, Giambi, Palmeiro, Ramirez, Cabrera, Canseco, Clemens, Rodriquez, and on and on and on. Oh, yeah, and Ryan Braun, too. Yet, not until this Braun character did the fraternity comprised of current and former Major League players seem to really notice, let alone care. The difference is that Ryan Braun made it personal. Rafael Palmeiro may have wagged his finger in the face of Congress while adamantly maintaining his innocence; Braun wagged his in the face of his brothers. Can you say “no, no”?

Braun pranced through the league like The Pied Piper of clean play, piping his song of innocence and injustice, recruiting and gathering followers and supporters along the way. Braun’s tune was so sweet that even the weariest seemed to buy the story his lyrics told. I have come to peace with the fact that I will never understand why; the flaw in the sample transporting process that his overpriced team of attorneys found and turned into a loophole and upheld appeal didn’t also miraculously turn the sample from positive to negative.  Alas, I digress. Braun led his army of believers and together they stormed the Capital, err Commissioner’s Office, fighting for the wrongly accused. There was just one problem; the Emperor wasn’t wearing any clothes.

I may be mixing my childhood fables, but the facts remain- Ryan Braun played everyone. Curt Schilling “feels betrayed”. Matt Kemp, who came in second to Braun in the NL MVP voting in 2011, is “disappointed” and “considered [Braun] a friend”, and also believes his MVP award should be taken away. Aaron Rodgers, who shares the Wisconsin stage with Braun, is partnered with him in a restaurant, and considers him his “best athlete friend”, wagered his entire 2013 salary via Twitter that his bestie was clean. Here’s a pretty solid rule to live by, guys- don’t leverage your character on someone unless you’re absolutely sure of theirs. Lesson learned. Time to right the wrong.

Braun had one thing right- there are those who deserve a voice, who deserve a chance. The players in farm systems across the country, playing in front of no one and living on Ramen noodles to survive while they work as hard as they possibly can, and harder, to realize their dream of making it to The Bigs. Not to mention, the players who have made it, who are realizing their dream, thanks to hard work and dedication, without taking short cuts, who are being robbed of stats, of awards, of their legacy.  

The Institution of Baseball has a fighting chance to get clean if the players police themselves. Nobody likes a rat, and The Code, though unwritten, explicitly states that tattle telling is a clear violation, but the betrayal of your brothers is a much, much worse offense. It’s time. Finally.

C

P.S. Special shout out to Brett Pill (@PillzRgood) who is a first baseman playing for the San Francisco Giants’ AAA affiliate, the Fresno Grizzlies. And who also happens to be my new hero. If I ever create a Twitter handle, he will undoubtedly be my first follow.