Tony Jarboe is a journalism student at Northwestern University in Chicago. He's in his second year at NU and his second year writing for Turfsports.net. He pays to go to Northwestern. We should pay him to write for us. But we don't. Enjoy some previous columns by Tony as he brings us his thoughts, opinions and his college experiences.

WELL, AT LEAST WE WON SOMETHING I GUESS…(12-22-07)
For some time I had been perplexed by Northwestern’s inability to win in athletic competitions. As a very academics-oriented university, wins are not something that come easily, so we take pride in everything we do win, especially when that something is an award as prestigious as peta2’s Most Vegetarian Friendly College of 2007.
Yes, yes, I know your reaction: A collective “awe” as you let the significance of such an award soak in. Or maybe it is a collective “Huh?” as you try and figure out what the heck “Most Vegetarian Friendly College” means.
Basically Northwestern is being recognized by peta2 (the youth division of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) for having dining halls that use tofu, seitan, and soy most liberally. Foods like veggie burgers, chickenless nuggets, and vegan pancakes (no milk or eggs) appear in dining halls all over campus. Exciting isn’t it? On the ol’ thrill-o-meter, winning this award definitely ranks somewhere between “Watching Paint Dry” and “Watching Grass Grow”.
Northwestern underwent a rigorous, scientific selection process to beat out some 39 other universities in order to claim this celebrated prize. From what I could glean from articles about the process, it looks like peta2 picked forty schools based on what information they can gather from such sources of culinary expertise as Facebook and MySpace. Students then voted for one of the forty schools at peta2’s website, and whichever school gets the most votes wins. As I said, a rigorous, scientific process.
So, Northwestern is the most vegetarian friendly school as determined by the very systematic method of using an internet poll. But is that necessarily a good thing?
Look, I don’t mean I want vegans to starve. For the most part, it’s not their fault that their parents deprived them of the joy of hamburgers. But is it really necessary to provide the most vegan/ vegetarian dining options of any school in North America? A 2003 poll found that only 3% of people in the US are strict vegetarians, while 1.4% are vegans. And yet 20% of our recipes are vegetarian or vegan. Granted, the vegan population at Northwestern is likely higher than the general population, but I am going to go out on a limb and guess it is not that much higher. Perhaps dining halls are attempting to combat the “Freshman 15” by making 1/5 of the menu inedible.
Ok, ok, before I get angry emails from all of you animal lovers out there, I should let you know that I, too, love animals. They go great with ketchup.
 < Some people see cows, Tony see's this >

 

  BIG 10 ALUMNI CHALLENGE (12-17-07)

      One of the great sources of pride for any university is its alumni list. A school loves to trot out the names of stars that they have produced, whether they are in sports, acting, journalism, whatever. So which school has produced the impressive list of alums?

      There is admittedly a great deal of subjectivity in this as to choosing who the “big” names are from each school. The things I looked for in defining the most “impressive” list of alumni were quality, quantity, and variety. 

      To measure “quality” I ranked each list of alumni one through four and ranked them in order of name recognizability. From there I simply added up the rankings to measure the “quality” of each school’s alumni. As for quantity I used Wikipedia to see other notable people the school produced. In some cases, such as Michigan, Illinois, and Northwestern the list beyond the top four remains very impressive, while others such as Penn State and Michigan State had a precipitous drop off beyond the top few. Variety would be my tie-breaker in case any schools tied after the first two categories had been totaled. For “variety” I was simply looking for famous alumni across a variety of areas rather than just showing strength in one or two fields.

      Now, it’s time to dispense with the methodology and get to the results! Below is the ranking of each university with the four alumni I chose to represent them in the “quality” category along with an explanation of why I ranked them where I did.

1. Michigan
    1 Gerald Ford
    2 Tom Brady
    3 James Earl Jones
    4 Edward White

Michigan has a Top 4 that could hang with any college in the nation, including a former President of the United States, perhaps the most famous “voice” in Hollywood, a first-ballot NFL Hall-of-Famer, and the first man to walk in space. Their alumni list beyond White remained strong, including several astronauts and political commentator Ann Coulter. In addition, Derek Jeter and Michael Moore attended but did not graduate. That sound you hear, by the way, is every twenty-something female in New England flocking to Ann Arbor. The school that produced both Tom Brady AND Derek Jeter? Can’t beat that.

2 Illinois
   1 Gene Hackman
   2 Roger Ebert
   3 Hugh Hefner
   4 Will Leitch

Many of you may not recognize that fourth name, but he is the editor of Deadspin, one of the most widely-viewed websites on the internet. I put him on there to represent all of the technological wizards that come out of Illinois. Illinois has produced a ton of stars in not only technology-related fields, but also acting, journalism, and sports. Plus, the guy who founded Playboy went here. That alone is worth a Top 3 ranking.

3. Northwestern
      1 Charlton Heston
      2 Brent Musburger
      3 Stephen Colbert
      4 Joe Girardi

In terms of raw numbers Northwestern probably produces more big names than any other Big Ten school. Theater and journalism are the two major programs here, which of course are the two fields (outside of athletics) whose names you are likely to know. But, as I said, variety was the tie-breaker, so Illinois got the nod over my ‘Cats because the vast majority of our famous alumni are in either theater or journalism.

4. Purdue
    1 Neil Armstrong
    2 John Wooden
    3 Orville Redenbacher
    4 Eugene Cernan

Easily the best 1-2 punch in the Big Ten with Armstrong and Wooden at the top. Wooden has an NCAA championship ring for every one of his fingers, thumbs included, while Neil Armstrong is, well, Neil Armstrong. Redenbacher, of course, is the guy with the microwave popcorn. He gets bonus points for providing me with at least one meal a week. Eugene Cernan is the last guy to walk on the moon, which kind of brings things full circle since it was a Purdue grad that first set foot on it. Purdue has produced a ton of astronauts. My theory is that they are trying to get as far from the state of Indiana as humanly possible.

5. Ohio State
    1. Jack Nicklaus
    2. Jack Buck
    3. Jesse Owens
    4. Patricia Heaton

Ohio State is pretty weak beyond their Top 4, but they certainly have the quality down pat, producing a number of great athletes in addition to a smattering of other names such as Buck and Heaton. Overall, not a great variety from Ohio State, but good enough to crack the Top 5.

6. Iowa
    1 Lou Holtz
    2 Ashton Kutcher
    3 Tennessee Williams
    4 George Gallup

A wide variety in the Top 4 for Iowa, including a football coach, an actor, a writer, and the guy who founded the Gallup poll. Beyond this Iowa has produced some decent athletes, although no super-stars. Overall a solid, if not spectacular list of former Hawkeyes.

7. Indiana
    1. Dick Enberg}
    2. Mark Spitz
    3. Joe Buck
    4. Mark Cuban.

Perhaps the deepest Top 4 in the Big Ten. Any one of those guys could be their most notable, and all four are very recognizable. As you can guess by their impressive Top 4 and low overall ranking, however, their alumni list falls off a cliff beyond Cuban. A couple of athletes, former US Secretary of Treasury Paul O’Neill, and current MLBPA leader Don Fehr are ex-Hoosiers, and that's about it.

8.  Wisconsin
     1. Charles Lindbergh
     2. Bud Selig
     3. Steve Miller
     4. Jim Lovell

Even this far down in the rankings Wisconsin was able to put together a respectable Top 4. Lindbergh of course is an aviation legend, and Selig, love him or hate him, is a definitely a “big name”, especially in the past few weeks. A rock star and an astronaut round out their Big Four. The Badgers have produced a few good athletes, but little else outside of these four, hence their presence towards the bottom of the list.

9. Minnesota
    1. Hubert Humphrey
    2. Dave Winfield
    3. Robert Gore
    4. Tony Dungy

As we get farther down the rankings, more and more of the Top 4s tend to be populated with sports figures, usually indicating that the school lacks many notable alums. Indeed that is the case with the Golden Gophers, although I am thankful for number three, Robert Gore. He is the creator of Gore-tex, which makes Illinois winters much more bearable. I guess it should not come as a surprise that the creator of Gore-tex came from Minnesota.

10. Penn State
     1. Franco Harris
     2. Larry Johnson
     3. Tom Verducci
     4. Valerie Plame

A couple of football players, a Sports Illustrated writer, and a former CIA officer are just about all Penn State could produce. The school has some 20,000 graduates every year and this is all they could produce? 

11. Michigan State
     1. Magic Johnson
     2. Kirk Gibson
     3. Robert Urich
     4. Drayton McLane, Jr

I actually broke my own rule by including Magic Johnson on this list. He never graduated from Michigan State because he entered the NBA. However, I included him out of sympathy for the Spartans. Take him away, and the Spartans are one swing (Kirk Gibson, Game 1 of the 1988 World Series) from not having ANY notable alumni. For the record, Urich was an actor and McLane, Jr is the owner of the Houston Astros. Wow. Just…wow. 

      Big Ten schools pretty much run the gamut when it comes to alumni, from impressive to impotent, from Michigan to Michigan State. In the end, this was probably not a useful exercise, but it was fun nonetheless. I will have to rig the system so Northwestern comes out on top next time.

 

 

 

MY FIRST TIME! (AT A PROFESSIONAL HOCKEY GAME)...(12-8-07)
It was Reading Week at Northwestern this week, which means most classes were canceled to give students time to prepare for their upcoming exams. Needless to say, everybody was feeling just a little stressed and in need of a break. One of the guys that live across the hall from me, Greg, is a huge hockey fan and mentioned that the Chicago Blackhawks were playing the Los Angeles Ducks of Anaheim on Friday, and that tickets were only $8. I agreed to go because I am a sports junky who will watch anything up to and including Women’s Amateur Curling. James came along as well to watch his Ducks, whose home is about twenty minutes from where James grew up.
About the only thing I knew about hockey was that Rodney Dangerfield once said, "I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out." Other than that, I expected the final score to be 1-0, or if it was a real barn-burner, 2-1. Still, tickets were only $8 and it gave me a chance to make fun of hockey. What more could I ask for?
So Greg, James, and I embarked on our journey to the United Center. We hopped on the "L" and went downtown, which is always an adventure in and of itself. Once we got downtown we had to switch "L" lines go out to the United Center, so there was about a ten-minute layover between trains.
 < Tony and his posse were not on this Chicago train.

While we were waiting another "L" pulled up, but this one was very different from any other one I had seen. The windows were lined with multi-colored Christmas lights, and in the middle was a flatbed car with Santa Clause sitting in his sled saying, "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!" with Christmas carols were playing over the speakers. Instead of the usual window signs that say where the train is going and the color of the line, this train had a red and green sign that simply said, "Santa Express". The train slowed to a stop and the doors opened, revealing the red and green decor. A Chicago Transit Authority worker got out and said the train was a purple line train heading to Evanston, which was unfortunate because it was heading back where we had just come from.
Everyone on the platform, myself included, was completely taken aback by this stunning turn of events. It was as if a unicorn had just landed right there on the tracks. Certainly, we had heard of the Santa Express, but we thought it was just a myth. And yet there it was, right in front of us in all its glory. James begged Greg and me to ride it for a stop just to say we did, but unfortunately time was not on our side, so the Santa Express moved on without us.
Our train finally arrived and we boarded. Some homeless guy tried to sell us expiring bus passes for half price. Other than that the ride over was uneventful. We got to the arena, got our tickets, and found our seats. After I stopped my nose from bleeding, Greg, a seasoned veteran of Blackhawks games, warned me that the fans clapped and cheered during the National Anthem. I kind of brushed it off without giving it much thought.
Shortly after that the lights darkened, a laser light show started, and the Blackhawk players skated out and were introduced. Then the announcement was made, "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise and remove your caps for the singing of our National Anthem." The singer started and the fans started cheering, yelling, and whistling. Loudly. It was then that Greg’s words hit me. It was a surreal experience, because it’s not that I actually disbelieved him, it’s just that every time you go to a sporting event, everyone is dead silent out of respect for the singer. Here everyone is as rambunctious as they are during the actual game. I turned to Greg with a look of absolute bewilderment and he sympathized, saying, "That’s what I thought the first time I saw it." We figured that tradition must have started during a particularly horrendous rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner in an attempt to drown it out.
The singer finished and the United Center got even louder as the players skated to center ice for the puck drop. We had barely settled back into our seats when Chicago scored a goal, about a minute into the game. Everybody except James and me (pretty much the only two rooting for the Ducks in the entire arena) stood up and cheered. After a brief celebration the puck was dropped again and play resumed. About a minute later I saw some gloves fly off and everyone started yelling. What the…? I looked over and a Duck and Blackhawk were waling on one another. They were going at it back and forth while the other players and refs stayed out of the way. Everyone in the stadium was on their feet cheering on their guy. The Duck was looking good for a while but was finally taken down by the Chicago guy as the Blackhawk faithful showered their champion with applause. Order was restored and both players were penalized five minutes. A good start for my professional hockey-watching career: we were only two minutes in and already we had seen a goal and a major fight.
 < Unfortunately, there were no sightings of this guy...the greatest Blackhawk of them all...Stan Mikita (inventer or the curved hockey stick by the way).

I think there must have been a minimum blood-alcohol content required to enter the United Center because for the entire game clearly-intoxicated people were yelling "Hit ‘em!", seemingly unconcerned whether the ‘Hawks actually scored or not, just whether or not they hit the other team hard. One particular fellow with the BAC of Lindsay Lohan asked James, decked out in Angels gear, "What do you call an out-door ice-rink in California? Water! Ha ha!" James fired back, "Oh, excuse me, do you know where I can view the Stanley Cup around here?" He was rubbing in the fact that the Ducks won the championship last year, but this guy did not quite take the hint. He proudly pointed to a banner in the rafters and said, "1938!" which was the middle of the Blackhawk’s three championships (the other two were in 1934 and 1961) (why that dude chose 1938 I will never know).
 < Loved to this day by Hawks fans!

The arena exploded when, with two minutes to go, the ‘Hawks scored a goal to make it 4-3. However, it was close so the referees had to review it. Five minutes later the head ref finally got off the phone with the review booth, indicating a decision had been reached. The feeling in the arena was so electric that at that point, had I been the ref, I would have called it a goal no matter what the replays showed. I think there would have been a riot had the goal been overturned, and I do not mean that figuratively. All in all it was a great game with the Ducks winning 5-3.
So I had seen the mythical Santa Express and my first professional hockey game with not one but two major fights (a second one broke out with six minutes left in the game with the Duck taking it this time), and yet somehow my night was about to get even better. On the bus ride back into downtown Chicago we were riding with a gentleman who made the "1938" dude look as sober as a priest on Sunday. He was standing in the center of the bus, just singing and dancing. In the middle of the dance he turned around and did a pronounced booty shake which will continue to haunt my dreams for years to come.
He got off the bus at the same stop as Greg, James and me, leaving to thunderous applause. We started walking one way and decided to turn around, when I saw the two guys that had been with the drunken guy, with one saying to the other, "Your cousin is out of control!" I then looked over by the building that we were passing and saw the drunken guy peeing on one of the columns. In the middle of downtown Chicago. Wow. Just…wow.
 < This is just a dramatization...not the actual guy who took a public whiz after the game.
Unfortunately by this point I was kind of hooked on hockey so the three of us went back to Greg’s room when we got back and played video-game hockey into the wee hours of the morning. Speaking of wee, I hope those poor guys got the drunken cousin home ok. I am going to go out on a limb and say he had a hangover when he woke up. 

STUFF TO DO...(12-2-07)
For a school with such rigorous academic standards, there is always plenty to do at Northwestern outside of studying. Our sidewalks are littered with flyers advertising an upcoming speaker or event put on by one of the hundreds of student groups. A variety of groups ranging in cause from political to environmental to cultural bring in speakers to promote their various causes. The speakers range greatly from well-known political activists to rinky-dink no-namers, depending on the group sponsoring them. For some of the biggest names the group sponsoring them will station people around campus to attack you with flyers saying, “Come see so-and-so tonight!” Overall, there is probably an average of about two speakers a week on campus, giving students something to do when they are insanely bored.

For those with more culture than I have, Northwestern has an art museum with a many paintings and sculptures of modern “art”. Art, of course, is a term that I use very loosely in this sense, because most car wrecks make more sense than modern art. I miss the good old days of Michelangelo when a sculptor would make a sculpture and onlookers could clearly see, “Oh, that’s a statue of David!” Now people look at modern sculptures and say, “Oh, look it’s a statue of…uh…well…if you look at it from this angle it looks like a gigantic waste of money.”
On most weekends one group sponsors a movie for students at the student center. The movies are usually ones that are out of theaters now but have not yet or have just recently been released to video. Tonight I went to see the Oscar-winning film (not really) “Superbad”. It is very popular among people in my age-group, written by the same people as “Talladega Nights” or “40-Year-Old Virgin”. “Superbad” was pretty similar to the latter except less sophisticated. I guess the humor of constant drug, alcohol, and sex references somehow escapes me. On the bright side, at least the movie lived up, or rather down, to its name.
 < Not Oscar worthy according to Jarboe.
And of course for good old-fashioned entertainment there are always the old standbys, Northwestern basketball and football games. Unfortunately the majority of entertainment value is in the comedic aspect, but hey, entertainment is entertainment.

WHAT I'M THANKFUL FOR...(11-25-07)
Just kidding. It just seems like everyone else in the entire blogosphere wrote a column about things that they are thankful for. I suppose it could be a quick-and-easy column idea, but does anyone really care what some 19-year-old college kid is thankful for (Playstation 3, cars, and girls should just about do it)? I would prefer to go the other way and do a Festivus-style “airing of grievances”.
Take my classes for example. Most of them serve some sort of purpose, or at least have some sort of use once I get out of academia and into the real world. And then there is my Intro to Fiction class.
Finding the deeper meaning has never been a strong suit of mine. I like things right on the surface. If you have to work to understand the deeper meaning, is it really worth it? The worst part is nothing can ever be disproved. All you need is some insane claim and a couple of lines from the book to back you up, and academia takes you seriously. Two people can argue all day long about what point the author was trying to get across, and neither will do anything whatsoever to convince the other guy he is right. Trying to convince the Pope that there is no God would be a more fruitful task.
My general feeling is that if the author wanted to make a point that badly, they would have come out and said it. That saves many people lots of work. Plus, there is no danger of misinterpretation if there is no interpreting to do. You have probably guessed by now that literary critic is not at the top of my list of favorite jobs. I’m sure that literary critics are nice people and all, but is your job really that fruitful if you spend all day arguing and never get anything done? Seriously, we have enough of those people already. We refer to them as Congress.
Other than Intro to Fiction, my classes, at least most of the time, have actual bearing on the real world. But every now and again I learn about things that I will probably (hopefully) never have to worry about again. In anthropology, for example, we briefly studied a science called “garbology” which involves- you guessed it- studying people’s trash. Those who study it are called garbologists, an occupation which I just added to the list of jobs I never want to have. Basically a garbologist digs through people’s trash to…well, I’m not sure exactly what they are looking for. But whatever it is, I’m going to guess it is simply not worth the trouble. Why, oh why would anybody want to dig through trash, much less someone else’s?
In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I guess I can be thankful that I am not a garbologist.

PSYCHING ME OUT...(11-19-07)
With midterms in the rear-view mirror and final exams still several weeks away, now is the time for me to work on research papers and other things for my classes. One of the requirements for the psychology class that I am taking is that I must either write a 10-15 page research paper or help graduate students by being test subjects in their psychological experiments for their masters or doctorate degrees. Students must accumulate twenty “credits”. One credit basically equates to working half an hour as a test subject. Hmm, working 10 hours as a test subject in a psych experiment or writing a fifteen page research paper. That’s kind of like choosing between Arby’s and Micky D’s for lunch. Option A isn’t great, but it sure beats the crap out of Option B.   
Most of the experiments range from half an hour to an hour with a few stretching to an hour and a half (those suck). The experiments are designed to test things such as your short-term memory, reaction time, perception, and personal interactions. Riveting stuff, I know. But hey, it beats writing a research paper.
 One of the experiments involved sitting at a computer for an hour, looking at pictures. After each picture an “L” would flash in one of the corners. As quickly as I could I was supposed to hit the computer key corresponding to the proper corner. I would then have to remember whether the picture was of a male or female. Really, do you need a college student for that? A reasonably intelligent first-grader could handle that. I honestly believe that I lost IQ points during that experiment.
Another fascinating experiment included strings of letters flashing on the computer and required me to identify it either as a word or not a word. One of the “common, everyday words” that came up was “thoroughfare”. “Thoroughfare? Since when is that a common, everyday word? Only at Northwestern. By the way, for those of you who, like me, have failed to memorize the entire dictionary, “thoroughfare” is essentially a fancy way of saying “main road”. I have no clue who came up with that list, but I want to know who the heck thinks “thoroughfare” is a common, everyday word. Sadly, antidisestablishmentarianism never came up. 
My most recent experiment wanted to test how people interacted on a date, but with one catch: instead of talking about usual “date” things, all we would talk about was a group of pictures. We took turns describing a set of four unrelated pictures to the other person which they could not see. Whoever designed that experiment must be one heck of a ladies man: (On the phone) “Oh sweetie, forget about dinner and a movie. Everybody does that! How about we go back to my place and we can describe pictures to each other. Doesn’t that sound fun?” (Click.) “Sweetie?”
Ok, so maybe doing these goofy experiments is not my favorite thing in the world, but I guess it’s a good deal. The graduate students get relatively willing participants for free, and I don’t have to write a long paper about psychology. Life is good.

Big Ten Bummer...11-11-07
Findlay 70, Ohio State 68. Grand Valley State 85, Michigan State 82. And of course earlier in football Michigan had that little 34-32 hiccup against Appalachian State. If America loves an underdog, then paint me Communist red.
In the grand scheme of things none of those losses has any real long-lasting effects. Michigan ran off eight straight wins following the season-opening losses to Ap State and Oregon. Findlay and Grand Valley State were exhibition games, so they do not even count towards the standings. Something tells me that States Ohio and Michigan will survive.
Even so, those three upsets have turned the Big Ten into a punching bag of sorts for the national media and perhaps rightly so. Granted, they were exhibition games so it is not like they should play like it is the National Championship game. But come on! Findlay? Grand Valley State? Those schools are so obscure that even their students don’t know where they are.
Needless to say I was in a bit of a funk after watching the Big Ten get battered and bruised by the Who R U’s of the world and needed a pick-me-up. As a Northwestern student, I am used to watching my teams get trounced on a regular basis, so the fans just laugh it off and jokingly say “Oh well, we are still smarter than you!”
That’s it! The Big Ten is a very good academic conference (for a power conference), so as a group I assumed they were either the top conference or at least close to it.
I used the US News & World Report college list to determine rankings for every school in each of the six power conferences (Big Ten, Big 12, SEC, ACC, Pac-10, and Big East). How it went down:

ACC - Sadly, the ACC is the best conference, barely. Duke, Wake Forest, Boston College, Virginia, Georgia Tech, and North Carolina were all Top 40 schools. The only thing that made it close was the presence of Florida State (112) and North Carolina State (85). Even with those two, the ACC was able to pull out the win.
Big Ten- I knew going in that the Big Ten did not have any real academic liabilities. Indiana was the worst school in the conference, earning a still-respectable ranking of 75. This was easily the best of the worst in any conference. Unfortunately a lack of star power (only two Top 30 schools) left us just short of the top spot.
Pac-10- Stanford, USC, UCLA, and Cal-Berkley were all in the Top 30, but there was a clear divide between the haves and have-nots, with four schools ranking 100 or worse, and a fifth (Arizona at 96) just missing.
Big 12- Texas was the best at 44, but “only” four teams ranked lower than 100 helped make this conference the proverbial “Best of the Rest”.
SEC- At this point we are basically splitting hairs to figure out which conference is worse. Nine of the twelve schools ranked lower than 90. What separated the SEC from the Big East was the presence of Vanderbilt, which ranked 19, thirty slots higher than any other school in either conference.
Big East- Four of the eight “institutions of higher learning” (used very loosely) ranked lower than 130, which is as far down as the list went. Any way you sliced it, the Big East is not a power conference when it comes to brains.

So all that work and it turns out the Big Ten is not even the smartest conference. Basketball is off to a rough start and we are having a bit of a down year in football. Oh well. If living in Chicago surrounded by Cubs fans has taught me anything, it is that there is always next year.

THE CHUCK-O-LANTERN…(11-2-07)
Wednesday marked the first Halloween since my official retirement from trick-or-treating, but sadly I still needed a sugar fix. Since trick-or-treating was out, I instead spent the evening carving pumpkins with my church group. Of course, all the while we were eating the mandatory Halloween candy. We had five pumpkins so we broke up into teams to see who could make the best jack-o-lantern.
My group started brainstorming for ideas of what to make of our pumpkin. I jokingly suggested that we carve it into the likeness of Chuck Norris, referencing the recent spike in popularity of the “Walker, Texas Ranger” star. After all, with Chuck Norris on our side, we could not lose!
Unfortunately, my joke hit a snag. Everyone loved it. At first I laughed it off, wondering how on earth we could make a pumpkin look like Chuck Norris. We played around for a little bit, sketching out different possible faces. Looking at the drawings, we realized that if you tilted your head, squinted, and used A LOT of imagination, they did slightly resemble Norris.
Ranking as not only the idea man but also as the most experienced pumpkin carver of the group, I knifed out the image. To simulate beard stubble, I poked the knife in and out of the pumpkin many times until finally something that resembled a beard began to appear. For the mouth, I cut out a thin rectangle, giving the pumpkin a look of pursed lips. Next, the eyes. Two half-circles with a small notch to look like pupils. The nose I cut to look like an ordinary human nose. Standing back from the freshly-carved pumpkin, the team began to admire the fact that, as much as a pumpkin can, this creation did, in fact, resemble Chuck Norris. Or at least a man with a beard. I immediately dubbed it the “Chuck-O-Lantern”.
 < Chuck O'Lantern Norris.
It looked even better when we put a candle in it, because the beard stubble shown through, along with the pursed mouth and evil eyes. This was one bad pumpkin. We could not lose!
Well, there was one circumstance which I did not foresee. Everyone else had done a nice job with their pumpkins as well. There was a pirate, Harry Potter, an abstract, and an ordinary jack-o-lantern. Unfortunately, the last one was dubbed “Christina’s First Pumpkin” because Christina, one of the girls on the team, had never carved a jack-o-lantern before. Guess who won.
So my Chuck-O-Lantern failed to carry the day. Still, it was a good night. I got to carve a pumpkin, make Chuck Norris jokes, and get my sugar high, all without going door to door dressed as a cowboy. What more could one want from life?

WHY I’M NOT A CHEERLEADER…(10-28-07)
I could make a list with a lot of zeros as to why I am not a cheerleader. A Top 10 list. Top 100. I could even make a good run at Top 1000 Reasons To Avoid Cheerleading At All Costs, Up To And Including Death (perhaps that’s a little extreme...).
For one, there is the dignity factor. As in, I still have some. Simply put, males with dignity do not do cheerleading, despite being able to hang around cute girls in skimpy clothing. That is what the beach is for.
Then there is all the hours of practice, whiny girls asking if their outfit makes them look fat (no, your fat makes you look fat), and various other unpleasantries that make life as a cheerleader so agonizing. Of course, the most painful thing about being a cheerleader at Northwestern is having to watch the Northwestern football and basketball teams every game. The only bright spot is spending most of your time with your back to the field, which somewhat mitigates actually having to be there. But still…
I added yet another reason to the list last week following the cheerleader’s trip up to Detroit to watch Northwestern take on Eastern Michigan at Ford Field. You astute readers out there will immediately detect a problem…having to go to Detroit. Yes, in and of itself this is a reason to avoid cheerleading, so you do not have to go to Detroit. Sadly, this is not the worst part of the story.
The game was on Friday night, so the cheerleaders, traveling with the football team, had to leave on Thursday afternoon in order to get to Detroit a day before the game to give the players time to recover from the road trip, get used to the environment of Ford Field, and do last minute preparations. The cheerleaders needed no such preparations, so they were free to do as they wished. Basically, they went to dinner and then hung out until the wee hours of the morning at the hotel. The stayed up until about 3:30 because they did not have to be up the next day until 3 or so.
CHKACHKACHKACH…Early the next morning the guy cheerleaders are awakened by the soothing sounds of a jackhammer in the room directly above them. Apparently the hotel was undergoing construction in certain parts, and the guys just happened to be lucky enough to be right by one of those parts. Ten minutes later the phone rings with the standard, “This is your 9:10 wake-up call.” By now the guys were slightly irritable, so one of them said, “Yes, we also got your 9:00 wake-up call from the freaking jackhammers!” Mr. Desk Clerk apparently was not having a great day either, as he replied, “Just say thank you,” and hung up.
At this point the guys went over to the girl’s room, which was a floor lower and all the way across the hotel, out of jackhammer range. While the rest of the cheerleaders sat and watched Scooby-Doo with the volume maxed out, James, still tired, went into the closet, curled up into a ball, and fell asleep. Ah, the glorious life of a cheerleader.
 < Typical Northwestern Cheerleaders.
Finally it is game time so the cheerleaders head to Ford Field, capacity 65,000. Attendance at the Eastern Michigan/ Northwestern game did not quite pack the house, as some 60,000 seats were left vacant. Unfortunately, because of this the cheers took about three times longer than usual. The cheerleaders had to wait for the echoes to die down (Let’s!…ets…ets Go!...o…o Cats!...ats…ats).
The game ended and everyone boarded the bus to go home. By this time it was 11:30. Six hours later, the bus pulled on to campus at 5:30 AM. The squad was not in the most spirited mood.
I cheerily reminded James that he could be headed back to Detroit on December 26 to the Motor City Bowl if the Wildcats can manage to win one more game in the next four weeks. I’m pretty sure he and the rest of the cheerleading squad will now openly root for the opponent from here on out.

FOR THE LOVE OF THE GAME…10-19-07
Show of hands: who has ever dreamed of hitting the game-winning grand-slam in a baseball game? Or returning an interception for a touchdown? Or hitting a three point shot at the buzzer to win the game? Another show of hands: who has ever done any of those? All of them?
We all have unfulfilled athletic dreams. Those dreams usually die somewhere between high school and the so-called “Real World” when we finally come to grips with the fact that we just are not that good at sports. Unfortunately, most of us never realize these dreams because of a little problem called LOFT: Lack Of Frigging Talent.
Thankfully, Northwestern has a group for those of us who still struggle to recognize our athletic ineptitude: intramural sports. IM sports are a chance for students to put their money where their mouth is. Like when a professional quarterback overthrows his receiver by five feet and gets picked off. You exclaim, “I could do better than that!” In IM sports you quickly find out that no, you probably could not.
 < Coach Hawkins said, "Hey Jarboe...go play intramurals brother, go play intramurals." Tony followed Hawk's advice.
I play in a 7-on-7 flag-football league with some friends from church. Our opponents are similarly thrown-together squads, so the skill level is not exactly top-notch. In other words, it’s the type of league where you think that you can pass for five touchdowns, intercept a couple of passes, and pretty much be a one-man wrecking crew. It takes approximately two plays for you to realize it is not quite going to be like that.
We have been through two games so far and scored zero touchdowns. Yes, we are an offensive jugger-not. We only have one basic play on offense, and that is where everybody runs around and the quarterback tries to get the ball to them, except that he usually gets sacked or throws an interception. We have no speed, no one who can catch, and no one with a strong enough arm to throw a deep ball. In other words, we are the Bears offense sans Devin Hester.
Our defense is- I hesitate to say “better”- less horrific, allowing “only” 20 points last week following a 40-point shellacking the week before. Even so, I doubt any team has more fun than ours. After the games the other team *gasp!* practices. We show up, play, lose, and go to dinner, laughing the whole way. We almost take pride in our ineptitude. I sure hope we don’t accidentally win a game and ruin a good thing.
Despite our shortcomings, I firmly believe we are merely one good quarterback, one good receiver, and one good defense short of being unstoppable. Needless to say, my wild fantasies of athletic success have not been fulfilled. That’s ok though, because I firmly believe that we could probably beat Notre Dame.
 < "Hey Jarboe...do you want me to kick your ass?"

HOMECOMING DOLDRUMS...(10-14-07)
It is Homecoming this week at Northwestern, which means a week filled with festivities that cumulate in the big game this weekend between the Wildcats and the Minnesota Golden Gophers. A pie eating contest, Jeopardy!, and the mandatory pep rally and parade just were some of the events that were scheduled in an effort to get students excited for this week’s match up with the Deep Yellow Colored Short-Tailed Burrowing Rodents (there’s a mouthful).
 < "I'm offended and outraged!"
Theoretically at this point the student body should be reaching the absolute apex of school spirit. It’s Homecoming. We are playing the 1-5 (Not So) Golden Gophers. We are coming off a big 48-41 overtime win at Michigan State. A win this week puts us in strong position to go 6-6 and become bowl eligible (hey, when you are a Northwestern fan, you take what you can get). So why does the overwhelming reaction seem to be a collective shrug?
A big reason is that Homecoming does not really serve a purpose. You spend all week getting students and players pumped up for a football game that usually is not that important. Most teams schedule some cupcake for Homecoming just so they can score an easy win. Isn’t it kind of self-defeating to schedule easy opponent for Homecoming just so you can pump up the players and fans?
Certainly another part of it is the fact that Northwestern students are not as football-crazy as, say, Ohio State. The Buckeyes have an entire website devoted to their Homecoming. Heck, they have a corporate sponsor for their parade! Really

BACK TO CLASS A PAIN IN THE......(10-7-07)
Classes are back in full swing, which sadly means less free time to do silly things like taking a road trip to Milwaukee. This quarter I am taking five classes, trying to knock off distribution requirements in the absence of my usual journalism classes. My schedule is kind of like ramen noodles: pretty bland and boring, but gets the job done.
The only flavor really comes from my sociology class. The prof has an unpronounceable last name (first name Amin), but he is very eloquent, interesting, and engaging. The material is also very relevant to journalism, because part of the focus is on media coverage of sociological studies and how thorough the reports are. This looks like it will be my favorite class by far.
And then there is archaeology, where the lectures are so dry that I get dehydrated just sitting there. The professor knows his stuff but seems simply unable to convey his knowledge in a remotely interesting format. “Watching Paint Dry” would have been a more accurate title. Plus, I really do not care how a bunch of old men interpret a bunch of 10,000 year-old bones in the middle of a freaking desert.
Psychology would be interesting if the professor was not annoying. She tries to be funny, which is like enlisting Helen Keller to analyze a Da Vinci painting. She just does not have the ability necessary to do it. Humor-imparedness (is that even a word?) aside, I am sure that I will pick up some useful tips on psyching people out.
 < The Northwestern library. Tony thinks he may have been here before but he's not certain.
I think statistics will be an interesting course, but I do have one question for the Northwestern math department: Is it really that hard to find someone who speaks fluent English to teach math? Seriously. Of my three math courses, this teacher probably speaks the most fluent English, but she still has a minor accent. It would not be so bad except that she has a very soft voice, so you have to sit in front to hear her. Sorry, end of rant.|
For whatever reason, Northwestern seems to feel that their journalists should be able to scrutinize books, so I am in yet another pointless literary analysis class. Yay. At least the professor is interesting, even if the material is not particularly so. Overall, it should be a good quarter. Now I’m hungry. I want some ramen noodles.

 

SUDS SERIES...10-1-07
Classes have finally started at Northwestern, well over a month after most other colleges have commenced. While it is always tough to leave home, I was also excited to get back to school and on with my life. That excitement lasted for about five minutes, when I decided that I had to get out. It just so happened that the Cardinals were playing a short drive away in Milwaukee. Hmm…
 < Go North young man!
At this point any person with any sanity whatsoever would not pursue the idea any further. Unfortunately, I was born without the gene that says "Don’t do that!" and immediately made plans to go. Captain Common Sense (aka James) said, "Let’s go".
This short jaunt quickly devolved into a logistical nightmare. In order to get to Miller Park, we would have to go into downtown Chicago to the bus station, catch the bus up to Milwaukee, and then go three miles to the stadium. During rush hour. Magellan would have gotten lost.
Worse, the map of the Milwaukee County Transit System looked like a 5-year-old took a map of Milwaukee and scribbled all over it with a box of crayons. It would not have been less legible if it had been written in Latin. So it looked like we were going to have to hoof it, because I could not make heads nor tails of it (although if you look closely you can see a shape that looks like a hippo).
The trip got off to an ominous start when the tickets that I had ordered failed to arrive. I frantically searched the mail room for my tickets but to no avail. Worse, that left me with less than an hour to get downtown via the El, meaning it had to be running right on schedule. Planning on the El running smoothly is like planning on hitting the power ball for your retirement fund: there is like a 99.999999% chance that its not going to happen.
By some miracle of God we got to the station on time and hopped on the bus. The trip was supposed to take about two hours, putting us in Milwaukee at 5:30. However, between 3:30 and 5:30 the highway we were taking transforms into the world’s largest parking lot. A one-legged St. Bernard could have moved faster.
We finally got into Milwaukee and had the good fortune of running into a guy that knew the transit system around the city. Following his instructions, we got to Miller Park about half an hour before the game, giving us ample time to look around. We found our seats and, after stopping my nose-bleed, settled in to watch a good game. I use the term "good game" loosely. For the first two innings the Cardinals had worse defense than the French.
Despite being defensively-challenged early on, the Cards did manage to win 7-2, thus proving my "Law of Averages Theory". The previous two nights St. Louis lost 13-5 and 9-1. By my theory, they were due to have a game that was not decided by the National Anthem.
I had heard many great things about Miller Park, but sadly my expectations went unmet. It was not a horrible park by any means, but it seemed just like every other new stadium, giving it a "been there, done that" feeling. The worst part was that the game was played with the roof on (Miller Park has a retractable roof), and I absolutely hate indoor baseball. One of my favorite views in a ballpark is looking out beyond the giant scoreboard to see the city skyline. At Miller Park the entire place was enclosed, so there was no such view beyond the center field scoreboard.
 < The Mill >
Also, Miller Park made me realize just how spoiled I am to be a Cardinals fan. The Brewers were a mere two games behind the Cubs, fighting for their playoff lives, and only 25-30,000 fans bothered to show up (the announced attendance was 32,000, but that counts all tickets sold, not the turnstiles). This would be inexcusable if this were New York, where the regular season is just a formality. But in Milwaukee, where they have not seen the postseason in 25 years?
And to be quite honest, I’m surprised some of the fans at the ballpark were able to find their way there. In general (and I stress in general), "Brewers Nation" did not strike me as a bunch of MENSA candidates. They pretty much sat on their hands for the first six innings, even though the Brewers were within a run the entire time and, may I remind you, fighting for their playoff lives. Did anyone have a pulse? Then in the seventh someone must have flipped on the "applause" sign and forgotten to switch it back. They also gave their pitcher a standing ovation after a strikeout to end the seventh with a man on first. I understand applause after a strikeout, but a standing O? Did they really have that little to cheer about? The only other time they got that loud was during the sausage races. I will give Milwaukee this: no matter how much Miller Park seems like every other stadium, they will always have the sausage races. The Hot Dog won.
Another genius brought a beach ball to the game. In San Diego or Los Angeles, it’s excusable. In Milwaukee? I guess that guy came straight from the great beaches of Lake Michigan. In any event, the fans did not help to enhance the environment.
In the end, I am glad I finally got to see Miller Park, and it is a fairly nice stadium, but the environment is not a particularly enjoyable one, aside from the sausage race. At least the Cards won.

THE JOYS OF LOSING...(9-23-07)
Winning is overrated. Really.
But as a St. Louis Cardinal fan I have known no other way since the turn of the millennium. Each year starts off with high expectations, which my Redbirds manage to meet or succeed every time (with 2003 being the lone exception) and postseason play became almost like a birthright. The Cardinals will make the playoffs because they are the Cardinals. Seriously, they could have printed up playoff tickets during spring training and no one would have blinked.
This is not to say we have not appreciated each and every postseason appearance. Unlike other teams (*cough* Atlanta), the Cards have had no problems packing Busch Stadium throughout every series. However, the stresses and rigors of playing every October do wear on you as a fan. In the past I have had to sacrifice my social life for a majority of October, because the Cards usually played deep into the month (NLCS appearances in 2000, 2002, 2004-2006). Now I have the freedom enjoyed annually by fans of Kansas City, Pittsburgh, and Tampa Bay of not having to plan around those pesky playoffs. I might even (gasp!) do something non-baseball related on those cool October nights.
 < Mmmmm, what will I do this October? Maybe I'll visit Jarboe in Chicago.
Ironically, watching your team in the playoffs might make the experience LESS enjoyable. With so much hanging in the balance of every game, every inning, and even every pitch, the stress can sometimes be overwhelming. I have lost many fingernails throughout October in the past. Who needs all that extra anxiety? Not me! This October will be pressure free as I watch every playoff game without a care in the world.
Recently I had become so consumed with winning that I would often wonder how on earth people could root for teams like Baltimore, Colorado, and Cincinnati. Those teams were always mathematically eliminated by Opening Day. Why bother taking the field? Now I wonder how I ever managed to deal with the stress of high expectations, long playoff runs, and the resulting ruins that remained of my social life. The difference between losing and winning is night and day. Really, winning is for losers.
Now if you will excuse me, I have to remove my tongue, which is now firmly implanted against my cheek.

A WISH COME TRUE (9-16-07)
Many times I have heard the phrase “be careful what you wish for; you just might get it”, but I never really gave it a second thought. W.W. Jacobs even wrote a short story, “The Monkey’s Paw”, warning us to be careful with our wishes. However, I am not a superstitious person (no lucky shirt, no rabbit’s foot, nothing) so to me this was just another useless cliché. And this line of thinking came back to bite me. Hard.
By now everyone on Planet Earth (and even some on Mars, Venus, and the Moon) is familiar with the story of Rick Ankiel. A 21-year-old phenom pitcher starts Game 1 of the 2000 NLDS for the Cardinals and has a legendary meltdown, throwing five wild pitches and walking four batters in the third inning. Seven years and several operations later, Ankiel again debuts with the Cards, this time as their right fielder. In his first game back he hits a three-run homer and a grand total of nine bombs in his first eighty-one at-bats, leading the Cardinals to within a game of first place after being left for dead at the time of his call-up.
Ankiel was compared to “The Natural” by just about every sports columnist in the country because his story bore similarities to that of Bernard Malamud’s Roy Hobbs. At first it was a great story, because here was a kid who had overcome so many obstacles to return to the majors and succeed. Even better, he provided a spark for a stagnant St. Louis team whose playoff hopes had been on life support.
Although it was a great story, I eventually grew tired of the coverage. The team was doing well, but they were getting almost no media coverage. On sports shows there would always be a big production about Ankiel going 2-4 with a double and then a little blip at the end, “Oh, by the way, the Cards won 6-2.” I wished the media would stop focusing on the “Natural” storyline. When I woke up Friday morning my wish was granted.
Starting with the “New York Daily News” story and spreading quickly to news outlets around the globe, it was reported that in 2004, as Ankiel was still attempting his comeback as a pitcher, he had received a year’s supply of Human Growth Hormone from Signature Pharmacy, a sketchy pharmaceutical company to say the least. Ankiel was suddenly dubbed “The Un-natural” after his connection to the performance-enhancing drug and the made-for-Hollywood script took an ugly turn. Worse, since then Ankiel is in a 2 for 28 funk and the Cards have lost nine straight, falling to seven games out and basically ending any playoff hopes for St. Louis.
 < Not such a great story afterall.
The Cards have suffered through their share of problems and then some. Their ace has started one game all year while their number two pitcher has double that number. They lost arguably their most productive outfielder for the year when he took a foul ball in the eye while standing in the on-deck circle. Their All-Star third baseman also had an injury shortened 2007 campaign. By far the most tragic loss, however, was reliever Josh Hancock, who was killed in an auto accident earlier this year.
After all that, it looked like the Cards had finally caught a break. A rejuvenated Ankiel would inject life into this team and carry them into the post season, in what would have been a truly magical triumph over tragedy. The Cardinals would be a metaphor for Rick Ankiel, and Ankiel would be a metaphor for the Cards; setback after setback, tragedy after tragedy, but they never gave up and fought with everything they had, and in the end they would reach their ultimate goal.
The magic carpet ride ended abruptly with the HGH story. Ankiel became just another casualty on the 2007 Cardinals and now it looks like they have finally had enough, as both Ankiel and St. Louis appear to be finished.
So the moral of the story is: It’s true, be careful what you wish for. Now I need to fix this mess. Where did I put that lucky rabbit’s foot?

A  LONG SEASON AWAITS…(9-8-07)   

            I jokingly asked if any team had ever dropped from #5 to out of the Top 25 in one week.  After such a loss I figured Michigan would drop out of the Top 10, but I had them pegged for somewhere between 15 and 20.  After all, it was just one loss (although, admittedly, a very bad one).  Instead, they went from #5 to “also receiving votes”, the largest such drop in poll history.  ESPN ranked Michigan as one of the 10 worst teams in the country following the Appalachian State game.  How does a team go from being Top 5 to Bottom 5 after one game?  Perhaps the Wolverines were overrated.  Maybe they should not have been considered BCS Championship contenders (they certainly are not now).  But to suggest that they are not one of the best 25 teams in the country after one game is ridiculous.  People are acting as though this is the real Wolverine squad, when in fact they were probably simply overlooking their I-AA (FCS, or whatever they are called now) foe.  Admittedly, that is not a good excuse, but there is no way Michigan lets this happen again.  In fact, I would be willing to bet that Michigan will be 10-1 when Ohio State comes rolling into town on November 17.  And I am also willing to bet that a few OSU fans will be sporting Appalachian State gear just to rub a little more salt into U of M’s collective wounds.

            On a tangent, I found an online store that sells anti-Michigan gear.  Most of the things are quite amusing, such as the Michigan license plate with the Michigan “M” followed by “orons”.   But other stuff just made me cringe, such as the bib and the infant “onesie” that simply say, “F--- Michigan”.  Can you imagine how that impacts baby’s first words?  The mom will just be sitting in the kitchen feeding Junior when out of nowhere:

Baby: Fwuck Missigan!

Mom: What?

Baby:  Fwuck Missigan!

Mom:  (excitedly) Honey, come quick!  Junior said his first words!

Dad: (rushing in, video camera in tow) What’d he say?  What’d he say?

Baby:  Fwuck Missigan!

Dad:  Yes!  F--- Michigan!

Baby:  Fwuck Missigan!

 

Won’t Grandma be so proud when you send her the video of this historic event?

Seriously, any parent that would put their infant in clothing that says “F---“anything has some issues.  Yes I can understand being passionate about your team and raising your child to be a fan, but shouldn’t there be boundaries?  And shouldn’t “F---“be on the other side of said boundary?  Whatever, maybe I’m being prude.  Now I have to go regain my sanity after doing the unthinkable of defending the Michigan.

 

Post-script:  OK, so Miss Cleo I’m not.  I had this already written up and ready to go, and before the proverbial ink was dry Michigan got thumped by Oregon 39-7.  Oops.  Yeah, looks like the Wolverines are in for a long year.
 < Oregon's uni's look better than Michigan does thus far!

 

 

National Crisis...(9-3-07)

             We have a problem here, folks.  A nation that once represented something great has now been reduced to little more than a sideshow.  This powerful nation has been watered down and diluted to the point that we no longer remember what it truly stands for.

Although this nation includes several million people, you will not find it on any map (then again, apparently 1 in 5 Americans can’t find the United States on a map).  This nation is Raider Nation.
 < "Some people don't have maps."

For a time Raider Nation stood alone as having the most loyal and rabid fan base in all of football, and possibly all of sports.  Whether they played in Los Angeles, Oakland, Boston, or Miami, a large contingent of Raider fans would be there to support their team.  The nationwide support the Raiders received led their fans to be dubbed “Raider Nation”.  Boston adopted “Red Sox Nation” in 1986 during their World Series run and in more recent times the phrase “Cardinal Nation” has taken off.  From there the dilution of the word “nation” has spiraled out of control.

Like so many other terms in sports (stud, heroic, unbelievable, etc.), the term “nation” has been so overused by commentators and analysts to describe a given team’s fan base that it no longer has the same significance it did once upon a time.  A term once reserved to describe the fanatical national support of the Raiders (and later Red Sox) is now commonplace.  Every major sports team now has a website or web blog calling their supporters “(Insert team name here) Nation”.  Seriously.  During a Mariners/ Red Sox game the BoSox fans had their “Let’s go Red Sox” chant going when the Mariner fans battled back.  Seattle’s commentator said “Mariner Nation was really making it tough for the Red Sox.”  Mariner Nation?  Yeah, because when I think of rabid, die-hard fanatics disbursed throughout the country, those of the Seattle Mariners are right at the top of the list.
 < "Mariners Nation Rocks!"

The dilution of the word “nation” really is not that serious, but it is still annoying because some fan bases, such as “White Sox Nation” is confined almost solely to the south side of Chicago and parts of northwest Indiana.  What “nation” are we talking about here?  Morocco?

Although “nation” isn’t too serious of a transgression, the usage of words such as “heroic” and “courageous” in a sports context is just ridiculous.  We use the word “heroic” to describe a Marine risking his life to save another soldier.  We also use the term “heroic” to describe Curt Schilling’s performance in the 2004 ALCS.  Obviously nobody is going to question which event is more heroic, but at the same time describing every other athlete’s performance as heroic does dilute the term and make us forget what it means to be truly heroic.

The same is true of “cancer”.  Some athletes (Ron Artest, Terrell Owens, and Milton Bradley among others) have been called “clubhouse cancers”.  Somehow, comparing people who might be disruptive to clubhouse chemistry to a disease that has claimed millions of lives seems a little, oh, I don’t know…wrong.

I am convinced that there is a course that all sports journalists must take (haven’t gotten there yet myself) where the professor says, “OK, here are the only clichés you may use when writing or talking about sports.”

There will not be an overnight shift in sports terminology, but it is time to reexamine sports terminology.  Every time a national tragedy strikes, everyone laments, “This really puts sports in perspective.”  Then two weeks later, we are back doing the exact same thing.  A large part of that is because every injured athlete who takes the field is “heroic”, every fan base is a “nation”, and other hyperboles that blow things out of proportion.  Maybe we can call Schilling’s performance “laudable”, and instead of referring to a team’s fan base as “(Insert team name) Nation”, just call them “(Insert team name) Fans”.  Really, a nation?  It is not as though fans of a given team set up their own system of government and split off to form an entirely new country.  They are united solely by their passion for a given team.  Again, let’s stop going overboard with the hyperboles.  Perhaps if we revamp sports terminology a little, it won’t take another national tragedy to remind us that sports are merely sports and nothing more.

 

MY COLUMN IS BETTER THAN LENZ CRAFTING! (8-27-07)        

             Rivalries are one of the most illogical things in sports.  Many fans say they would  rather beat their rival and lose every other game than lose to the rival and win every other game.  Many very good coaches have been fired simply for failing to beat their arch-rival.  Ohio State coach John Cooper lost his job despite a sparkling 111-43-4 record overall.  He was sent packing because he was only 2-10-1 against hated Michigan (his 4-7 bowl record did not help).

            What is it about one’s rival that drives one so crazy?  It only counts for one game, same as any other.  But as soon as the schedule comes out, fans and players circle that date on their calendars in anticipation of that one game.  In college football, teams set their schedule so that with each week the tension builds until the final week’s climax, when all heck breaks loose.  Michigan-Ohio State.  USC-UCLA.  Florida-Florida State.  Illinois-Northwestern (OK, maybe not so much).

            I never could figure out the big draw for these rivalries in college football or any sport for that matter.  I always took the logical approach of “it’s only one game”.  But sports are not about logic.  What is logical about wanting your guys to run across a 100- yard field with a ball more times than the other team?  Or watching your guys hit a sphere with wooden sticks and running in circles?

            No, sports are about passion.  It is about a desire to be the best.  In a way, for those passionate enough a sports team becomes part of your identity.  And it is when a team is part of your identity that you can understand rivalries.

            With very few exceptions, all of the greatest rivalries are geographically based.  Their fan bases often overlap geographically and then it becomes a turf battle.  Teams are fighting for supremacy, the right to be top dog in the area.

            A rivalry takes on additional significance in a house divided.  Again, a sports team can become part of one’s identity.  And when your identity is on the line against your sibling’s identity, losing is no longer an option.  When sibling rivalry enters into the equation, it is no longer just a game.

            In theory, your arch-rival is just another opponent in a long season.  Their games count just the same as every other conference game and thus there is no reason to get all worked up about it.  In practice, however, it is not just the rankings that stand to be impacted, but your pride as well.  Beating your rival gives you bragging rights over your family and friends for the next year.  By winning, your team proves its superiority, and thus by extension you are superior.  Thus, a rivalry is something that shapes the very definition of your identity, either raising your arm as the triumphant champion or knocking you to the mat as just another also-ran.  It’s not just another game.  It’s personal.

 

Jabs Celebrates One Year Anniversary! (8-20-07)

            Break out the hats and noise makers because it’s party time!  Today I am celebrating my one-year anniversary as a columnist at turfsports.net

            I have been writing for Jarboe’s Jabs for a little over a year now, so I wanted to take this opportunity to thank all of my loyal readers.  Without the five of you none of this would be possible. 

For the past year I have been writing about things that interest me and it has truly been a blast.  I hope that I was able to convey my experiences in such a way as to keep you interested.  However, I am not writing for myself, I am writing for you, the reader.  So to make myself more accessible I have added my email address to the top of the page.  You can reach me at jarboes_jabs@yahoo.com with any comments, questions, suggestions, death threats, etc.  If you are curious about an aspect of college life that I have glossed over, shoot me a line.  Or if you just want to take some time out of your busy schedule to tell me I suck, that is fine too.  That is what it is there for.

This has been a great opportunity for me to learn a little about what it takes to be a writer and has given me an outlet to share my experiences with all of you.  I hope at least some of them made a connection with you and reminded you of an experience you may have had once upon a time.  In the upcoming year I look forward to being able to share even more new and exciting adventures in the life of a college student.  Most importantly, I look forward to being able to apply the lessons learned from my many misadventures, many of which I will never forget no matter how hard I try. 

  
 

Why We Love Sports (8-13-07)                    

           Gambling.  Dog fighting.  Steroids.  In the past month or so these stories have dominated the sports pages, talk shows, and water-cooler discussions.  Many have called this the darkest period in sports history and sports fans are fed up with all of the scandals.  Before, when players just got DUIs or abused drugs, they were often forgiven because, while what they did was wrong, it did not have any effect on the product on the field.  But now the integrity of the games themselves has been threatened.  The main purpose of sports is the competition, to see who is the best.  Results are everything, so if the outcome is tainted and cannot be trusted, then there is nothing left.

Even now in the darkest of days, however, there are still plenty of sports stories to feel good about.  The Hall of Fame induction ceremony gave us a chance to reflect on the careers of Tony Gwynn and Cal Ripken Jr., two of the most beloved athletes of our, or any, generation.  We also had an opportunity to celebrate Hank Aaron’s amazing career as Bonds chased and ultimately surpassed Aaron’s home run record.

Basketball, with the assistance of Tim Donaghy, will clean up its act and remove all “dirty” officials.  Baseball and football have toughened up steroid testing and are doing everything they can to remove performance enhancing drugs to avoid any future fiascos like the Bonds situation where a player obtains a hallowed mark using questionable methods.

Although all of the legal problems in the NFL, from Adam “Pacman” Jones to Chris Henry to Michael Vick, do not affect the game itself, it is still difficult rooting for guys who act like rich, spoiled children who were never told “no”.  Now Roger Goodell is coming down hard on these rogue players with lengthy suspensions, showing them that there is no place for their actions in professional football.  Goodell is working to once again make the NFL a league in which the athletes are role models for young children.

But the real reason we watch sports is not found in the pros.  No, the real reason is just down the street at the local Little League field.  For many, sports teaches discipline, team work, and a commitment to something greater than themselves.  For others, it is watching those times when David really does beat Goliath, providing hope for those who see themselves as underdogs that they too can one day succeed.  Or maybe it is just as simple as wanting to watch kids have fun.  Regardless of the reason, if reading the sports pages makes you wonder why you ever began following professional sports in the first place, a Little League game will cure all that ails you.

Although professional sports seemed to hit rock bottom in the past few weeks, there are still plenty of positives.  Now each league is strongly committed to wiping out their respective scandals and to avoid a repeat of the debacles of recent weeks.  We have had an opportunity to celebrate the careers of such beloved greats as Gwynn, Ripken, and Aaron.  And, most importantly, it is Little League, not the NFL, MLB, or NBA that defines our love of sport.  The pros may fan the flame, but Little League provides the spark in the first place.

             Seeing (Almost) History (8-7-07)

            “What would it be like to catch 755?”

            As Barry Bonds continued his assault on National League pitchers and it became more evident that Bonds would soon be the Home-Run King, I often asked myself this question.

            It had always been hypothetical, because Bonds is in San Francisco while I am some 2000 miles away in central Illinois.  The emotions I would feel and what I would do with the ball if I had the privilege of seeing baseball’s most prestigious record fall were mere fantasies that would never come close to realization.  Until last Friday.

            I flew to California last week to visit an old friend for a couple of days.  Since I am as fanatical about baseball as he is (no small feat), he nabbed tickets to a Padres-Giants game in San Diego, when Bonds was stuck on 754 home runs.  Suddenly seeing 755 did not seem like such a distant fantasy.

            We arrived at PETCO Park two hours before game time, so I got to witness the media circus around Bonds first-hand.  Dozens of reporters surrounded the visitor’s dugout, trying to get a piece of the man that would soon surpass Aaron.  And this was just the beginning of the circus.
  < Tony's friend Barry.

            The stadium had been relatively quiet through the first three batters of the game.  Then, as soon as Ray Durham finished his at bat, boos poured on to the field from all corners of the park, with the exception of a few cells of Giants fans.  Asterisks popped up throughout the stands as Padre fans expressed their opinions on the validity of Bonds’ record.  With each strike the cheers got louder until the explosion at the end when Bonds ended the inning watching strike three from Greg Maddux.

            Each Bonds at-bat brought the otherwise-tranquil PETCO crowd to life.  Despite the robust boos echoing throughout the stadium, most of the fans wanted to witness history first-hand.  On the one-fly ball Bonds did manage, many fans stood up and cheered as the majestic arc sailed.  Going…Going…Going- to be caught in medium right field.  The stadium was deflated.  Otherwise Bonds managed just two groundouts, getting pulled for a defensive replacement after his at-bat in the eighth with the Giants up 3-0.

            The Pads forced extras with a three-run bomb by Scott Hairston in the bottom of the eighth, and when Bonds’ replacement, Fred Lewis, batted in the tenth the reaction was…nothing.  One fan jokingly booed.  Somehow, the prospect of a Fred Lewis homer just did not seem to excite the crowd as much as a Bonds homer.  The Padre’s Scott Hairston pulled to within 736 home runs of Bonds with his second homer of the game in the 10^th to give the Pads the win.

            Despite this being perhaps the most thrilling game I had ever witnessed, I felt a slight twinge of disappointment at missing out on what could have been.  I had gone in hoping and even expecting to see history be made.  Instead I got two Scott Hairston home runs.  Almost as good.  To add insult to injury, Bonds tied Aaron in his first at bat the following game.

            As a post-script, the rest of my stay in LA was great, if not as historically significant.  A quick shout-out to Debbie and Justin, a mother and son I had the pleasure of meeting on the flight out of California and now (hopefully) avid Jabs readers.

 

Big Ten…er, Eleven…er, Twelve? (7-28-07)

            Big Ten Commissioner Jim Delany made headlines this week when he told the Des Moines Register that the Big Ten was again considering expansion from eleven to twelve teams.

            With the Big Ten Network launching in August 2007, Delany is looking to expand the conference’s reach, possibly into a ninth state (the Big Ten currently covers Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin).  A 12^th team would allow the conference to split into two divisions in football, leaving open the possibility of a Big Ten championship game.  For a fledgling network looking to increase viewership, that would be a rather attractive drawing card.

            This is not the first time the Big Ten has looked into expanding.  In 1998 and again in 2003 they extended an invitation to Notre Dame to join the conference, both of which the Fighting Irish ultimately declined. 

            After twice being rebuffed by Notre Dame, the Big Ten appears to have back-up plans.  The Register article mentioned two possible expansion targets: Rutgers and Syracuse. 

Syracuse is in New York and Rutgers is in New Jersey.  Not exactly traditional Big Ten territory.  I suppose now I should start waxing poetry about the history of the Big Ten, reminiscing about the “Good Ol’ Days”, and haranguing Delany for chasing the almighty dollar rather than preserving tradition.  But the truth is that I’m excited about the prospect of another team joining the conference.  I also like the prospect of a Big Ten championship game in football.  Plus, if the Big Ten can dip into the New York City market (both Syracuse and Rutgers have a share in the Big Apple), they will control two of the three biggest markets in the country.

            It is human nature to want stability and familiarity and to avoid change unless absolutely necessary for survival.  So if and when these changes do happen, it will inevitably be controversial.  “What about tradition?” people will ask.  And sometimes it never goes away.

Seventeen years after their inclusion into the Big Ten, people still want to dump Penn State and restore the conference to the original ten teams.  Do you know how long the Big Ten only had ten teams?  Three years, from it’s formation in 1987 until 1990 when Penn State entered.  Granted, the conference included the same ten teams from 1950 until 1987, when the conference was known as the Intercollegiate Conference of Faculty Representatives.  But when the conference was officially the “Big Ten”, it actually only had ten teams for three years.  With this in mind, can we please stop with the “jettison Penn State” talk?

Some people also bemoan the potential loss of rivalries if the conference splits into two divisions.  However, natural rivalries are some of the biggest and most lucrative games of the year.  Do you think the conference wants to lose the annual Ohio State-Michigan match-up?  Or any of the in-state rivalries such as Michigan-Michigan State, Indiana-Purdue, or Illinois-Northwestern?  All of the traditional match-ups will be preserved.  Penn State will also be picking up a rival on the eastern seaboard, someone less than 400 miles away.  So in reality we will gain rivalries, not lose them.

What’s in a name?  Often the name of a conference describes something, either geography (Big East, Atlantic Coastal Conference), the number of teams that are in the conference (Big 12), or both (Pac-10).  That’s nice, and it makes sense, but already the Big Ten has eleven teams.  Will the sun fail to rise tomorrow if the Big Ten adds another team?  Will the world and the entire human race as we know it cease to exist?  I’m going to go out on a limb and say even if (gasp!) the Big Ten adds another team, everything will be fine.  For the record, the Atlantic 10 has 14 teams and includes schools from such coastal cities as Cincinnati, Ohio, and St. Louis, Missouri.  Not exactly “Atlantic” or “10”.

Ideally conferences would be based solely on geography, and every school could build strong rivalries with schools in-state and in neighboring states.   After all, when many of these conferences were formed some 50 years ago, that was the intention.  However, back then travel was very different, so schools were close out of necessity.  With the much faster transportation and changing economics, conferences can no longer afford to confine themselves to a small geographical area.  By bringing on Syracuse or Rutgers, the Big Ten will position itself as the premier conference in the country by adding not only the largest media market in the county but also a quality program focused on both academics and athletics.   

 

What’s In a Name (Mascot Edition)? (7-22-07)

In the past year or so we have been subject to much debate over mascots, especially those with Native American imagery.  One side wants to do away with them completely, deeming them “hostile and abusive”, while the other side wants to preserve them at all costs.  At first it seems like a lot of fuss about a stupid logo, but in reality mascots and school nicknames are important parts of our college experience. 

Even though we are in college for a few short years, for the rest of our lives we identify with whatever school we went to.  If you went to Oregon, you are a Duck for life (and, unfortunately, you are the Ugly Duckling, judging by their football uniforms).  If you went to Oklahoma, you are forever a Sooner.  All Virginia Tech alumni are Hokies for the rest of their lives, which is about how long it takes to figure out just what the heck a hokie is. It turns out that a hokie is an emasculated turkey, according to dictionary.com. Emasculated means either deprived of strength and vigor, or castrated.  Wouldn’t Virginia Tech Castrated Turkeys be easier for people to understand than Hokies?  But I digress.

That mascot becomes part of your identity.  You spend those years laughing and crying, living and dying with your team.  You begin going to games in college (or earlier, if your parents are alumni) and continue to do so well beyond graduation.  So if your alma mater changes logos, they are not just changing a silly mascot, but also a part of your identity.

Tradition is another reason so many people is unwilling to change mascots.  Many of these logos and names have been around for many decades and have worked just fine.  And if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  A long, continuous tradition offers stability and comfort to fans.

Repeatedly it has been argued that Indigenous mascots are “hostile and abusive” and “racist”.  Many claim that the mascots lead to low self-esteem in Native Americans, and are at least partially to blame for problems such as low education, unemployment, drug abuse, alcoholism, and other problems that face that community today.  Where was this argument 30 years ago?  Or 50 years ago?  Only in the past decade or so has the pressure really been ratcheted up for schools with Indigenous nicknames to change.  Why now?

Most likely, it has to do with society’s shift towards being more sensitive towards everyone, more politically correct.  Nicknames that had been just fine were suddenly deemed “racist” because of society’s shift towards hypersensitivity.  If we continue being this succumbing to society’s whims to choose only names which have no potential to offend anyone, every college will have a nickname like Dartmouth, who scrapped the nickname “Indians” in favor of the less offensive “Big Green”.  Syracuse changed their name from the “Orangemen” (another reference to an Indigenous tribe) to simply the “Orange” in the 2004.  Marquette briefly joined the color guard in 2005 when they changed their nickname from “Golden Eagles” to “Gold” as they were preparing to enter the Big East Conference.  Thankfully, disaster was averted two months later, when a poll found that students preferred “Golden Eagles” to “Gold”, prompting the switch back to “Golden Eagles”.  Seriously, is that what we are coming to?  Worried about being so politically correct our school nicknames have to be colors?  I guess a box of crayons is not easily offended.  Right now only main colors such as green and orange are being used.  Soon colleges will have to dip into the box of 96 for nickname ideas (Duke Mango Tangos, anyone?).

By succumbing to pressure and changing mascots, many universities are not only changing a part of people’s identity, but also going against many years of tradition.  A mascot is meant to be a rallying point, something fun and enjoyable for all fans and alumni, and should not be harmful to anyone.  However, are these mascots really that “hostile and abusive”, or has society just become so hyper-sensitive that anything that could potentially offend anyone should be changed just so no one’s feelings are hurt.  Many people don’t want to throw away decades of tradition and lose their identity just because someone MIGHT be offended. 

 

FIRST HOT DOG EATING…NOW THIS! (7-15-07)

           “Veteran move!” crowed the commentator.  Later he mentioned a player’s rotator cuff injury and how it could become a factor.  Towards the end of the match-up, “Fatigue becomes a factor now.”  Obviously I was watching a baseball game, right?

            Actually, it was a rock, paper, scissors match.  The USA Rock, Paper, Scissors (RPS) Championship on ESPN2.

The announcers, Trey Wingo and Master Roshambollah, reminded me of Cotton McKnight and Pepper Brooks from “Dodgeball”.  When one of the contestants cheated by switching from rock to paper after the throw, Wingo said something to the effect of “This contest will be debated for years to come,” as though anyone would remember it in five minutes.

Strategy was discussed in depth by the commentators.  My basic strategy had always been to throw either rock, paper, or scissors, and hope the other guy did not beat me.  But apparently all of the players scout each other, and watch a ton of video to try and pick out any cues from the opponent as to what they might throw and when.  I guess I would be willing to watch some video too for the $50,000 that the winner took home.

The most amazing thing was how official this thing was.  There were referees, announcers, and of course the $50,000 prize.  There was even some official RPS lingo, such as the term “working on the railroad”, which means that, on the count prior to the throw, the players get out of sync.  When this happens the referee starts the count, the players reset, and start over.  The “throw” is simply when the contestants throw their weapon of choice:  rock, paper, or scissors.

Despite all of the hoopla that went into producing this, televised RPS is not as exciting as it sounds. Rock, paper, scissors is something you do with your brother to determine who gets the last slice of apple pie, not a televised sporting event with some 300 contestants.  And sometimes the analysis got a little ridiculous.  When the announcer said, “Fatigue becomes a factor now,” he mentioned that we were likely to see more rocks, because it was an easier formation, and already made during the pre-throw countdown.  Fatigue?  How out of shape to you have to be to get winded playing RPS?  On the list of strenuous activities, rock, paper, scissors rates somewhere between shuffleboard and checkers. 

ESPN2 only televised the last hour of the match-up, and quite frankly that was an hour too long.

 

THE HALL...AND I DON'T MEAN MEL (7-7-07)
            A kid in a candy store.  A fly in dog poop.  Michael Jackson at Chuck E. Cheese.

            That is how excited I was when I walked into the Baseball Hall of Fame.  This was my first time there since 1999, when I was 11 years old.  That was so long ago, Barry Bonds still had a 7 ½ hat size.

            Many things have changed since then.  Thirty-four people have been inducted into the Hall, many of whom were associated with the Negro Leagues.  The Red Sox and White Sox snapped championship droughts of 86 and 88 years, respectively.  Bonds basically rewrote the record book. 

            Even more impressive, however, were the things that had not changed.  More than any other sport, baseball’s foundation is built on the history of the game.  Need proof?  Name three professional football players whose careers ended prior to 1940 (no Googling!).  Jim Thorpe, Red Grange, and…that’s about it.

            Now try that with baseball.  If you cannot name three, I would encourage you to come out from under your rock and join civilization.

            The Baseball Hall of Fame really serves two purposes.  The first is to educate the younger generation.  Sure, you can tell them stories of what it was like to watch Reggie Jackson hit three home runs in one World Series game, but that just doesn’t mean much to them.  To be able to show them the bat he used to do it, now that is pretty cool.  While at the Hall, you can also make a case to your wife for naming your first child “Babe Ruth Smith” (this is assuming your last name is Smith).  To be able to see the bat Thompson used to hit the “Shot Heard ‘Round the World” or the glove Mays used to make “The Catch” is an awesome feeling, because you are seeing tangible items for those intangible stories.  It makes those legendary moments seem more real.
 < Willie's catch remembered forever.

            The other purpose of the Hall is remembering.  The Hall had one display called “Today’s Game” which featured every major league team, with some memorabilia from significant events of the past decade.  I was able to go through and remember almost every event of every team.  At the time it seemed cool, but now I realize that that is just kind of sad.  I really need a new hobby.

            There was also an exhibit featuring a replica of every team’s World Series ring.  I loved seeing the spoils of victory for each past champion.  Each ring was a sizable piece of jewelry, but all were dwarfed by Florida’s 2003 ring.  The thing took up about half of the trophy cabinet.  It is so gaudy that Paris Hilton would have second thoughts about wearing it.

            Of course the best part of the Hall of Fame is the plaques of all of the former legends, from the first class in 1936 featuring Wagner, Ruth, Cobb, Matthewson, and Johnson to 2007 inductees Tony Gwynn and Cal Ripken Jr.  Yes, you are truly in the presence of greatness.
 < Tony and Cal.

            The Hall of Fame is about more than just the exhibits themselves.  The exhibits freeze specific moments in time, special moments in the game that fans will remember for years.  But more than that, the Baseball Hall of Fame is simply a story.  It is a simple story about a simple game.

 

ITS ALL ABOUT THE GAME (7-1-07) 

Swing and a smash to the right side!  Diving stop by the second baseman, picked up and the thrown to first…got him by a step!  The crowd roars its approval of the highlight reel-worthy play!

            Ok, maybe the “roaring crowd” is just a few family members in the stands, while the “smash” was more of a soft groundball.  And perhaps “trips and falls” would be more accurate than “dives”.

So the action is not quite major-league caliber.  A groundball through the legs here, a dropped fly ball there. Batters swinging at and missing pitches three feet outside.  But still the game brings a smile to you.  This is sports in its purest form.

No contracts, agents, or disgruntled players.  You are pretty sure no steroids are involved (except for the other team’s clean-up hitter, who is 12 and has been shaving for three years).  Just a bunch of kids who enjoy what they are doing.  And winning?  Sure, winning is great, but in two hours no one will remember the final score anyway.  And when was the last time you saw a Little Leaguer act like, well, an adult and throw a tantrum a la Lou Pinella?

Or maybe Little League just is not your thing.  The game is dominated by a few big kids ahead of the puberty curve, poor fundamentals, and too many lopsided games.  College is where it is at.  High school is used to separate the men from the boys, so by college you are watching some of the most elite teens in the country.  You avoid the money issues of the pros without sacrificing much quality.  At this level you can reasonably expect an outfielder to catch a routine fly ball.

How about the minor leagues?  Only the biggest cities have major league teams, but every city, large and small, has a minor league team.  Yeah, these guys are paid, but aside from the occasional bonus baby, many of them have to work a job in the off season just to make ends meet.  These guys are out there busting it every day in hopes of eventually playing in The Show.  And the teams actually want you there!  They hold crazy promotions all the time to draw people out to the old ball yard.  It’s professional players with college enthusiasm in a family atmosphere.  What could be better?

            Perhaps you have a refined palette and accept only the best.  You drive a BMW.  Your wear a Rolex.  You stay at the Ritz.  So why should baseball be any different?  Sparkling defense.  Mammoth home runs.  Blazing fastballs.  You will not find the games biggest stars playing in Pawtucket any time soon. 

Who cares about off-the-field issues?  Sure, it can get tedious listening to millionaire players squabble with billionaire owners over a few pieces of the revenue pie, but why should that matter when you are at the game?  And for those who say players are just in it for the money?  DUH!  Who isn’t?  Would you go to your job if they quit paying you?  These are just men with an unusual ability to hit a baseball.  And if they can make lots of money doing it, well, good for them.  And just because they are in it for the money does not mean they don’t enjoy it.  With very few exceptions, every major leaguer gives 100 percent all the time, although if you read the newspaper, you might think only David Eckstein, Darin Erstad, and Scott Podsednik are the only one’s that do so.  Really, why accept anything less than the best?

            I tend to prefer the major leagues myself, although I am still working on getting my BMW and Rolex.  I do not worry about off-the-field issues too much, I just want to see good baseball.  Besides, baseball’s off-the-field issues are nothing compared to the NFL and even the NBA.  Which do you prefer?

 

THAT'S A WRAP! (6-24-07)

            College is one of those things that, no matter how much you try and prepare for it, you just do not know what to expect.  I knew that college was going to be unlike anything I had ever experienced, because I was coming from a predominantly white, conservative, rural area (population of 9 people on my square mile), going to a place that was heavily mixed, liberal, and urbanized (population density 12,600 people/ sq. mi.).  So I knew that I just might be a little out of my comfort zone at Northwestern.  I suppose I could have gone to the University of Baghdad if I really wanted to be different, but there were some issues of death and destruction that did not appeal to me.  So, Northwestern was the next-best thing.

            Obviously, going in I had no idea what to expect of some place so different from anything I had ever experienced.  I found in that case the best thing to do is expect the unexpected and be able to adapt to changes quickly.

            The classroom work was pretty standard.  Go to lecture, take notes, review notes, and take the test.  That part was pretty much like high school, except now I was in some classes of about 200 people instead of 20.  And some of the lectures were so dry I was afraid the whole building would go up in flames.  And of course, there was always the age-old question of, “When am I ever going to use this?”  Really, after college am I ever going to have to know what the derivative of sinx+cosx+tanx is?  Or what the underlying meaning of Brothers Karamazov is?  My journalism courses will be helpful, of course, and perhaps I will be able to use bits and pieces from other classes, but for the most part they will be as useful as Stevie Wonder’s kaleidoscope

            Outside of class is where all of my truly valuable life experiences came from.  Among other things, I learned:

• It is not a good idea to walk for two miles carrying shopping bags.
• A career as a cameraman is probably not in the cards for me.
• Hot Pockets have a shelf life, and that it is less than nine months.
• Man does not live on ramen noodles alone.  Pizza is also necessary to maintain a balanced diet.
• It is possible to blow a 35-point third quarter lead.  Difficult, but possible. 

Armed with this new information, I am now ready to go out and face the world.  Should I even bother staying in school?  Now that I know all of this, what else is there to learn?

           

 TERRY HOEPPNER

            Just a quick note to extend my condolences to Big Ten rival Indiana University, who lost head football coach Terry Hoeppner to brain cancer on Tuesday.  Unfortunately, the feeling is an all-too-familiar one, as Northwestern lost their head coach, Randy Walker, last year.  Hoeppner’s passing came just ten days short of the one-year anniversary of Walker’s death.  Ironically, Hoeppner was an assistant under Walker at Miami (OH) University and took over as head coach when Walker left for Northwestern in 1999.  Hoeppner’s first game as a head coach came against Walker’s Wildcats.
 < Coach Hoeppner...a major loss to Indiana and college football.

 

  
When Hell freezes over.  When pigs fly.  When O.J. finds the real killer.  I figured this would be around the same time that I would defend the University of Michigan for anything, especially something as humiliating as being on the wrong side of perhaps the biggest upset in college football history.  I was raised an Illini fan, which means hating Michigan nearly as much as Ohio State fans (long story).  I even have an old t-shirt that reads, “I root for two teams:  Illinois and whoever plays Michigan”.  Bobby Knight has more sympathy for reporters than I do for the maize and blue.  
So my initial reaction upon hearing “Appalachian State 34, Michigan 32” was gleeful to say the least.  It took the Wolverines 60 minutes to go from Big Ten favorites and National Championship hopeful to punch line and laughingstock.  It couldn’t happen to a better school.
Soon I realized just how much this would sting Michigan.  Football was their thing.  Yes, they have a good history in basketball with the Fab Five and whatnot, but somehow the 14,000 fans in Crisler Arena just can’t match the 108,000 gold and blue fanatics that pack the Big House on an autumn Saturday afternoon.  And to lose a game at home like that to a I-AA (or FCS as it is now called) team was an utter humiliation.  Remember that naked dream you used to have where you were in school wearing nothing but a shocked expression?  Now imagine that that was real and you went to a school of 108,000 people.  Yeah, the Wolverines were caught with their pants down on this one to say the least.
But in today’s world of internet and 24-hour sports channels was there anyone who did not know about the loss within about five seconds of game’s end?  This was the top story on every sports channel and major newspaper across the country.  Going back to that naked dream analogy, imagine that now not only the 108,000 people in the school know about it, but it is the lead story in every paper across the country.  This humiliation alone made feel at least a little sorry for the Wolverines.
 < Lloyd Carr...on the hot seat or...?  

. Then again, it is not as though Northwestern does not have any sponsorship. In fact, several sporting goods companies pay us to never, under any circumstances, use their equipment or associate ourselves with them in any way, shape, or form.
Homecoming was initially meant as an activity to give alumni a chance to come back and reunite. The problem is that now there are so many other activities, from the parade to the Homecoming Court, that the alumni are little more than an afterthought. Perhaps at schools that are not as voracious about football (ala Northwestern), the alumni could simply have a dinner or something. Really, do we want to shine a spotlight on the Northwestern football program? This is a program that has the longest D-I losing streak in NCAA history (34 games) and the biggest collapse in a game (35 points, at last year’s Homecoming) (maybe that is why I am so bitter about Homecoming).
Homecoming is simply a silly tradition where a school schedules a weak opponent and then spends a lot of time and money trying to convince fans and alumni to come to the game. Especially for weaker programs such as Northwestern’s, putting the spotlight on the players is really not a good idea. On top of it all, the fans still do not care that much. Maybe half of the stadium will be purple-clad (as opposed to the usual 20-40%). The celebration of Homecoming is little more than an exercise in futility.