Sympathy for the UT Fan

By Guest Writer: Mike Reed

I will say I agree and disagree with your Longhorn Fan analysis. First, I have been a Texas fan since I was old enough to watch TV. Texas Longhorns, like the Dallas Cowboys, were on TV. I had a perception that the Texas Longhorns represented none other than the Great State of Texas. A&M still was a military school with just guys attending. What did A&M stand for anyway????? So, I grew up supporting the Texas Longhorns. Now, I did not attend the school but did attend 50 miles east of the A&M campus, SHSU. Do you expect me to be a Bearkat fan? I
am in their own conference. But, give me a break. I actually pull for TEXAS teams. My favorite is the Longhorns. However, I support the team that needs the win the most to best reflect the winning TEXAS tradition. Example: If the Aggies are going for the Big 12 Title and not Texas, I YELL for the Aggies. If they play a non-Texas (out-of-state) team, go AG's go. I bleed whatever color needs the transfusion. God forbid if Baylor ever won anything.

I can understand the intense hatred for a rival. However, I am an American first and then a Texan. Texas fans or Aggie fans would rather UOR (that is short for University of Russia) or Osama Institute for Terrorism won instead of their archrivals. I find this quite disturbing. It is like politics; we would rather become communist than let those damn Republicans get any credit. Talk about dividing your country. How about dividing your state?

I had to watch the U.T. / A&M game with my father-in-law this past thanksgiving holiday. He went to A&M the same time as my Uncle. I was on my best behavior. My son (who is a diehard Longhorn fan, because he actually wants to play for them someday) and I would at least excuse ourselves to the back room to high-five when Texas would score. I have to give it to the Aggies. They played very well. They gave a much more talented Texas team all they could handle. This is why the game is a tradition. Anyone can win, no matter the records. I think A&M has found their starting quarterback for the next three years. The kid is a stud.

I told my son if Texas A&M shows up on your doorstep with a scholarship, I will be wearing maroon underwear and only drinking Merlot. I might even drive a maroon pickup. Even if Notre Dame shows up on the doorstep offering a scholarship, I would wear….. (I have to draw the line somewhere) Go University of Russia. Later.

Sherrod Shout-Out

During my hair-days in Dallas, there was a sportswriter with the Dallas Morning News, named Blackie Sherrod. He wrote his columns for 60 years. He wasn't much for shades and hues and flowery sports-prose. He was all about capturing big news in short sentences, using small words. The Dallas Observer interviewed him on the occasion of his 2003 retirement. He remarked that the reason he was so succinct was so he could have time to get a beer with the boys. He wrote in bullet-points. I am going to try a little Sherrod-esque scattershooting today. (Boy, we never appreciate what we've got 'til it's gone.)

* Houston Chronicle reports that Major Applewhite is now QB Coach at Syracuse, and is a candidate for vacant Rice Head Coach Job. This kid isn’t even old enough to drink yet, is he? (They also suggest that former Nebraska QB Turner Gill and UM QB Jim Harbaugh are candidates.)

* Major Applewhite was among the top three greatest college QB’s (pound-for-pound)of all-time. Just heart and guts, and a big head, filled with an abundance of game-film.

* If UT could have their big-time NFL QB Chris Simms back for this year’s Big 12 Championship instead of their current QB, I don’t think they’d do it.

* Old friend, Travis Wilson tried to topple me from the peak of the mountain of Macho-Buck-Swishy-Writers yesterday with his use of the word “alacrity”. I take that as a provocation, a remonstrance to my dominion and paramountcy of the realm of the written word. By this slap in the face, he neglected the most important aspect of rightitude, which is the magnification of didactic pontification. I trust he won’t wade into these muddy waters again.

* What a skewed free-agent market it is: The Yankees are offering the walking Mexican pharmacy, Kyle Farnsworth, two to three years at $5 Million a season. Compare that to the $3 mil Brad Lidge will get in arbitration. It’s just not the time to go after pitchers. Prediction: Farnsworth’s joints won’t hold up. Within two years, we’ll see him on ESPN,laying on a mound in agony, having thrown his arm off his body. (Steroids don’t strengthen ligaments.)

* If the Rangers make a move in free-agency, I hope its to get Juan Pierre via the Marlins’ fire sale.

* And back to the Major Domo. When he, the reigning 1999 Big 12 Offensive Player of the year, stepped aside quietly to allow Mack Brown to fulfill the terms of his back-room recruiting deal with Phil Simms, Applewhite sealed his status as member of top ten classiest QB’s in history.

Scattershooting is the best tact for those of us who prefer the art of scatological, random sports-thought profundity. Blackie Sherrod was brief, but eloquent. He once said: “Saying that Wilt Chamberlain is another good, big center is like saying the Grand Canyon is just another ditch.” And, during his 60 years of sports writing, Mr. Sherrod made plenty of time for beer with the boys.

A Lesson for the Bandwagoner

It really nags at me. I am always amazed at the number of “UT Alums” out and about every year, on or around the time of the Thanksgiving “Backyard Brawl”. The successive losses are piling up so high for the Aggies that my relatives don’t want me to be alone during the holidays. I suppose I give my relatives reason for concern. This year, I twisted an ankle on a coffee table after the blocked punt that sealed the win for the Longhorns. There’s really no telling how low I could get emotionally if I was alone with my loser-team and a hangover. But, one thing is for certain: I’ll never switch allegiances. I’ll quit on the coach and the QB, but never the team. What really bothers me is that the more the Longhorns win, the more “Alums” they seem to have to help them celebrate wins from your backyard Kroger, to the most remote deer blind. Bandwagoners.

It’s a scientifically proven fact that the number of fans a team has increases in direct relation to its win-percentage. Longhorn Fans are getting so brazen in this state that they don’t even pretend to have a legitimate affiliation with the school. I don’t even bother asking how they think they’re entitled to join the maniacal, drunken mob-convulsion of the Austin Undergrads after another victory over the kind and dignified gents from College Station.

For the record, a fan is only entitled to wave the “Hook-em’ Horns” sign at me if he/she was enrolled there (or a state-sanctioned satellite) for at least two semesters before flunking-out and assuming his/her career as a Plano receptionist or Baytown dog groomer.

I just don’t respect the growing legion of Faux Horns. I do respect people who celebrate their teams’ good fortune as a legitimate expression of their long-time affiliation. For example, there is a high school friend of mine in Chicago who is more Irish than a leprechaun, dipped in green ink. His name is Sean O’Connor. His story is an illustration of honest and certifiable, non-bandwagoner, accredited sports fandom.

Sean’s dad was an Irish-Catholic from Belfast, Ireland. And, so was his dear mum. All of his brothers were at least part-time bartenders, as you might have guessed, from the time they were old enough to ride the scooter down to the corner. (And, they'd fight eachother for the scooter.) Any Chicagoan knows that it’s a much more pleasant trip to the Lakeview neighborhood surrounding Wrigley Field than to the rough and dirty South Side. Still, his dad took him to games at Comiskey from the time Sean was old enough to tug green beer through the nipple of his bottle. There they endured the interminable agony that the team had suffered since their last championship in 1906.

Sean and his father were always faithful. It’s always been sexy to be a Cubs fan. But, to my friend, it seems to be more about the connection with his roots. It seems that the elder Mr. O’Connor chose the Sox as his team because the Cubs were owned by a Protestant. The White Sox were owned by a Catholic. In 1910, Charles Comiskey built his ballpark at 35th and Shields. Shields St. ran through Bridgeport, which was as Catholic a neighborhood as could be found.

When Sean and I exchanged emails relating to the World Series Sox Sweep, I dutifully read and responded to his jubilant praise for the South-Siders. Although still stinging from what I saw as mystifying impotency at the plate by Astros 3B, Morgan Ensberg and SS Adam Everett, I gave Sean the ear that he had earned from his years as a real fan. As he crowed, and wished that his dad was there to crow along, I couldn’t feel a bit of resentment (as I cried over the wasted efforts of Backe and Pettitte).

I do however resent the legion of Faux-Horns that are breeding like rabbits at spring-break. This is not sour-grapes (although I can understand how it may appear that way). Its just that I can’t find a real UT graduate with whom to share the experience through the mob of Walmart-Longhorns. This crowd should show a little shame. If a sports fan wants to share in the joy of having an archenemy, he needs to take a lesson from Old Irish Sean O’Connor: he needs to pay his dues (or tuition).

Blalock Fallout: More Trade Speculation

Now that he's thirteen, there are times when my son doesn't walk next to me. Sometimes he jumps out in front, or lags behind. Sometimes it is a social situation, or just a visit to the Mall (where he doesn't know a soul). He doesn't want to be seen with me. And, my wife complains of the same thing. More temper outbursts. The Adolescence Fairy has got the radar gun on my son, like a pro scout.

The kid's got a big upside, with increasing potential for power numbers as his limbs elongate and he gets stronger. But, in light of this recent spat of what I consider emotional instability, I am beginning to see why some baseball clubs have trouble dealing with stars who are saddled with the "headcase" moniker. I have to consider not only how I am to handle his emotional turbulence, but I have got to think about how its going to affect my clubhouse. Now that the Blalock/Danks for Josh Beckett/Mike Lowell trade talk has simmered, I am starting to consider my own trade. I wonder if the A's would part with Barry Zito in return my young lefty prospect.

Its just like Rangers GM Jon Daniels related the potential loss of Hank Blalock, "It would certainly leave a scar." I wouldn't just get rid of my boy to get rid of him. He's come up in my system. He knows the protocols because he's been watching my signs since he was old enough to crawl. But, I've got to think about the club. My wife and daughter might warm to the trade after a while. I can just hear it now:

Wife: "Honey, I miss our son."

Me: "Well, sure we all miss him. But, in this game, you've got to give value to get value. Barry here has a career 3.50 ERA. He's 1.22 with hitters in scoring position, for heaven's sake! And, he can reach all those high boxes that Junior couldn't get for you."

Yep. Zito for My Kid sounds so one-sided, it seems unlikely that the Oakland Club would consider it. Wait. There's more to it. Zito's a big name for sure. But, his numbers are trending downward. Like my kid, he's still a young lefty pitcher. However, his best season was three years ago. He zenithed at 23 Wins and 2.72 ERA. Wowzer!! Well, he hasn't sniffed more than 14 wins since. So, when I called dangling this lengthening lefty whose best season is still in front of him, the Oakland Athletics would certainly answer the phone. Bet on it.

He's my kid. But, I have never allowed disrespect or disorder in my organization. The A's don't know about all that. They only know he's got a Plus Fastball, developing change-up and a filthy knuckler. A GM only keeps his job if he can sell-high and buy-low.

Could I pull the trigger on this? My wife thinks I've got to slow down and give it some thought. She says to think about it. Players and sons change. She says sometimes they need space. Our son might have to grow out some in order to grow up some. Its the front-office's responsibility to provide an environment that allows space and growth. She's right, if you use Zito's career as a measure. He's all over the road in terms of his numbers. And, Manager Ken Macha still loves him and gives him all the space he needs. Macha still considers Zito one of the faces of the franchise.

All this talk has given me new respect for what Jon Daniels must have been going through. The prospect of parting with Blalock, the home-grown, former top prospect must have been agonizing. Of course, he is tasked with running a winning organization. The gossip was that the Marlins wanted a sweeter deal. But, there was a point beyond which Daniels wouldn't go. I can relate. I guess my organization will take the bumps and bruises this year while our own top prospect develops. If I work with him, he'll come around. The Adolescence Fairy moves on down the road sooner or later. And, like the A's, I'll continue to stand by the face of my franchise.

The Bear's Challenge

The Maroon-bloods at Texas A&M University have a story about the harshest “Coach’s Challenge” ever declared. In 1954, in his first season as Head Coach, Paul “Bear” Bryant’s gridders went 1-9. The following summer, he took two busses with just over 100 players to a hot, cactus-ridden dot on the map, called Junction, Texas. In heat that exceeded 110º, The Bear worked those players for ten days, on a rocky pasture, with no water, in full pads. Most players didn’t have the courage to tell the Coach that they were quitting. So, they left under the cover of darkness. In the end, only 25 players remained. The following year, such off-campus “camps” were outlawed. No doubt, today Bryant would be arrested on criminal charges for his unyielding harshness. It should be noted however that his football teams went 25-4-2 in the following three seasons. The quitters didn’t want “it”. The survivors found it within, and are reverently referred to as “The Junction Boys”.

In sports, parents and coaches ask their kids to excel. We demand that they exceed previous limits. Why? Simply put, to the winner goes the spoils. For example, in my high school, the athletic achievers got first pick of the girls. The draft order worked like this: 1) The jocks. 2) The rich kids. 3) The Musicians. 4) The Partiers. 5) The Geeks. Oh sure, now we all act indignant about the inherent unfairness and insensitivity of “The Draft Rules”, but we all knew them. And, we all played by them. And, deep down, we knew that they were fair.

Winning is fun, but sustained winning carries expectations. My boy’s baseball team has had remarkable success in the past year. And, he was one of the two pitchers who helped carry the team to a league championship and a berth in the Little League World Series. But, sometimes success carries that ugly, burdensome baggage: complacency. As the boys began preparation for this fall’s series of tournament games, the coaches noticed an increase in the “dropsies” and other statistical indicators of 10-year-old half-heartedness. After a recent and particularly underwhelming practice, the coaches gathered the kids to tell them that when the team bus takes off this fall, only the hard-charging players can ride. It was the kind of talk that becomes familiar to a kid once he plays at the high school level. It’s the coach’s challenge: step up or step off. No doubt, the challenge was the first of its kind for these boys, most of who still prefer GI Joe to any girl at school.

The next day was hot and humid. The grass was high and wet, from the day’s rain. The mosquitoes were out collecting blood, by the pint. And, where there were 9 players at the previous practice who heard the challenge, only 5 were present to accept it. Insuring one’s place in that unwritten draft order means hard work.

Fall is the time of year when men all over our great country define themselves. In fact, it was in the fall of my junior year in high school when I first heard “The Challenge”. Acutely aware of my uncertain spot in the draft lottery, somewhere between underweight rich kids and clueless geeks, I was determined to move up on the selection board. I decided that I would make the football team. And, like all good stories, I encountered a few hurdles. These were my size, my utter lack of speed and a complete ignorance of the rules and fundamentals of the sport. With pads, I was emboldened to take the field, for Two-A-Days. The football coaches issued the “the Challenge” every day, followed by endless running, hitting and vomiting. Players thinned in number. But, I persevered. I wore the bruises like a badge of honor. I began to understand the definition of character. And, I felt like I was building a little of my own. I was far from All-State, not recruited by a Division I school nor did I get my picture in the paper. But, I played. I succeeded. I didn’t quit. And, you better believe I moved up in the draft.

The winner gets the glory, the sense of accomplishment, the girls, etc. Our coddling moms and their servile husbands sometimes require a refresher. I had a firm grip on this dynamic by the time I was sixteen. If I wanted to move up, I would have to work. I appreciate the coach or teacher who demands excellence because it creates opportunity for the player to achieve. My son has never heard of Junction, Texas and I hope he never endures anything so grueling. But, sooner or later, everyone comes to his own Junction. By helping our sons learn to work hard, we increase their chances of being a survivor and a winner.

A Refund for Pudge?

Remember that my favorite ballclub is the Texas Rangers. Well, my brother in Detroit called a week or so ago. He was mad. At me. Evidently, he needed to vent for the failings of his catcher. Since I kind of sold him on I-Rod, he wanted to talk about the terms of a warranty. I know how he feels. I was angry too, when WE lost him.

For the record, I didn't sign-off on Ranger Management's decision to allow Pudge's exit. At the end of 2002, second-guessing Hicks for not opening the wallet yet again for the future Hall of Famer, was the Muzac filling my home. In '03, Pudge validated my disappointment by hitting .297, having his second best year in OBP, 85 RBI's and winning a World Championship in Florida. He finally received credit for calling games as well as flaunting all his other gifts. But, Arlington's rationale had included arguments about age, catchers' longevity and the need to spend dollars on pitching. Good reasons all, but he was OURS. I was sorry to lose him.

Before Pudge, no catcher had ever before had a 20 HR/20 SB season. In 1999, he raised the bar by going 35/25. He was just 19 when he took over behind the plate in Arlington. And, who can forget how quickly he established himself as the most feared gun in Texas, setting the MLB standard for throwing out base-runners? His quicks earned him 10 consecutive AL Gold Gloves. He made himself a Cooperstown lock.

So, what was my anguished sibling up there in Detroit so upset about? He had a list of offenses, for which he felt Pudge needed to be held to account. It seems that the Tigers' record, the firing of the legendary Allen Trammell, I-Rod's percieved selfishness and Congress' crackdown on steroids have led to the events that (in retrospect) makes Tom Hicks look pretty savvy.

Something was afoot back in February of this year, when Pudge reported to camp weighing 193. Keep in mind, he finished the previous season at 213 pounds. Hmmm.
Did this new streamlined appearance have anything to do with Congressional Hearings in March, involving (among others) old teammates Rafael Palmeiro and Jose Canseco? And, hadn't Canseco impugned Pudge by name as a steroid user? Certainly, Jose Canseco's credibility lies somewhere on the spectrum between Jon Lovitz and Jim Bakker. But, one must admit, this confluence of events really seemed to be seriously confluencing.


Performance and perception suffered this year. In 2005, Pudge had a .276 BA, .290 OBP and .444 SLG. All these numbers were well below his career averages. And, to make matters worse he had to shut it down early due to a lingering calve condition. Back in August, Pudge turned a four-game suspension into a personal trip to Columbia. He then showed up late (after the suspension) to the team's series with Kansas City. This led to an unhappy, closed-door session with Trammell. Then, instead of observing the seemingly advisable golden hue of silence, I-Rod dropped the following verbal Daisy-Cutter Bomb on the entire team on September 10th: "I've been here two years and I don’t see any changes. ... I love to be in the playoffs. I would love to see my teammates the same way, but I don't know. I don't have their minds ..."
From this point forward, teammates and management have questioned their mutual commitments where it regards Pudge, even causing doubt relating to the severity of his season-ending calve injury.

The Tigers think Pudge wants out. They know that arguably baseball's best all-time catcher wears the Olde English "D". But, he's not the best if he doesn't want to be. Lefthander Mike Maroth summed up the team's evident posture in an interview October 3rd, with Tom Cage of the Detroit News: "I want him back if he wants to be back," Maroth said. "If he doesn't want to be back, then no, I don't. That's up to him. What I know is that we need everyone on the team pulling in the same direction -- not just everyone saying they are." Those are at once the most appeasing and incendiary words I have ever heard, relating to the former AL and ALCS MVP. My, what a difference a year makes.

The venom in Detroit is bubbling just under the surface. Players and fans feel that Pudge was behind the movement to rid the Tigers of Trammell, the 1984 World Series MVP and the team's last connection with its former greatness. There is a sense that Trammell was the scapegoat for a bad season. There is also the realization that the team has made its bed with Pudge. There are 2 years and $20 Million left on his contract. And, as he carries the baggage of 2005 into Spring Training on those 35 year old knees, there is no team in the MLB that is likely to take that contract, without saddling the Tigers with something as bad or worse. Given the current emotional climate at Comerica, I-Rod better both PUT-UP and SHUT-UP.

Still, while listening to my brother's frustrated long-distance phone-rant,
I kept a level head. I was not about to pile-on Pudge because I have seen the man’s whole career. One bad year couldn't even scratch the glorious finish on his tenure. It occurred to me that I chose #7 for my jersey, when I coached my son's baseball team in 2003. I recalled Rodriguez' baby-fat in '91, when (after one game) he said he was never going back down to the minors. I'll always recall the imperturbable tenacity on his face during those glorious years in Ranger Red. And, you know what? We have done alright in Arlington at the Catcher Position over the past few years. But, Pudge is an upgrade.

This brings us back to that call from the brother in Detroit who was now writhing on the floor of his living room and raging into the phone about loyalty and commitment. He really seemed to want a refund. Of course, we're not kids anymore. There are no take-backs. But, in light of all Pudge did in The City of Arlington; and assuming Detroit would pick up a third to half that contract to atone for their frivolous fiscal largesse, I'd take him back with no further questions.

My Son Went 2 For 3. Therefore, I am.

Thank you for visiting my blog. This is the place for like-minded dads to share ideas, experiences and expertise that relate to our ballplayers, and the psychoses that cause us to obsess about their performance. Chime in with your two cents. But, for heaven's sake, keep it clean.