Curb You Scandal, NCAA

Raise your hand if you're shocked by Derrick Rose having grades changed and having someone else do his SAT's. Nobody?

Anyone blown away that Memphis head coach John Calipari and Athletic Director R.C. Johnson just happened to hire Tarik Evans' personal trainer after Evans committed to Memphis? Anyone really astounded that both players left for the NBA after one season? Me either.

Concerning the personal trainer thing, R.C. Johnson said, "sometimes package deals are OK." Um, not really. Package deals are a direct violation of NCAA recruiting policy.

If the flood gates weren't already open for NCAA recruiting scandals, NBA Commissioner David Stern implemented the one-year rule in 2006 which tore them completely off the hinges. He turned colleges from educational institutions to development leagues for the NBA.

President of the Faculty Athletics Representation Association Alan Hauser nailed it in a USA Today interview. "A university is a place for education, not for merely showing off athletic wares and then leaving," Hauser said. "That makes it like a minor league sport where a (player) reads a book now and then."

Players have to meet (at least some soft of) acedemic requirement in order to get into the Division I schools that receive enough national exposure to get them drafted. Can anyone really gasp when an athlete uses alternative methods (OK, cheats) to get into a school?

It is maddening to think players who can't spell Southern California are allowed to stroll the same campus with future chemists and engineers, and do it for free. Why should a player, who has the ability to play in the NBA, waste everyone's time (including their own) playing in college?

I imagine Derrick Rose's visit to Memphis goes like many other Division I players' visits:

Athletic Director: "So (insert Rose, or O.J. Mayo or Kevin Love or Michael Beasley etc.) we were all very impressed by your work on the court, and your 1590 on the SAT.

Player: "Yeah."

A.D.: "OK, good. Well, we were told your only mistake on the SAT was spelling your own name wrong.

Player: "Yeah."

A.D.: "Good enough for me. So, we've got all the facilities you need, a H2 Hummer in the parking lot, a gym bag full of agents' phone numbers and a high rise apartment all waiting for you. Do you have a pen to sign the letter of intent?"

Player: "I got a burnt sienna colored crayon."

A.D.: "Wow. Um, that's fine. Now, hey, can you show us that free-throw-line dunk again?"

No doubt Stern's policy is fuel for scandal, but it's the mighty dollar that leaves green colored finger prints all over the steering wheel. The NCAA signed a $6-billion dollar deal with CBS in 1999 to carry the men's basketball tournament. After that, it's a simple trickle down effect.

The NCAA is being paid for a product. The NCAA is paying out a load of cash to the winner of the tourney. The schools pay for scholarships, plane trips and hotels, therefore they must pay the best coaches insane amounts to get the best players to put out the best product and win the tourney.


So John Calipari, making 31.65 million, is told to win by any means. How else could a school justify paying 30 mill for a coach other than that it will pay dividends in the end? And those dividends are paid by winning. Enter: Derrick Rose a.k.a "any means."


The resolve is far more complex than taking away Memphis's Final Four. It has to come from Miles Brand (president of the NCAA) it has to come from president's of colleges, college boards and athletic directors collectively saying "enough!"


And David Stern can say "enough" with his silly one-and-done policy that teaches players that if they slam enough dunks, block enough shots and nail enough three-pointers, they will get drafted higher. It doesn't do much to force players to do things generally associated with college like, say, going to class.


Certainly the scandals won't end as long as big money is involved, and big money will always be involved, but if the R.C. Johnson's and John Calipari's of the world are held responsible by fans, media and school administration, illegal recruiting can be, at very least, cut down.

Follow Summer League Baseball

One of the greatest seasonal traditions in the Flower City is enjoying baseball. While the Rochester Red Wings take the field all summer at Frontier Field, the Geneva Red Wings will be playing at McDonough Park in Geneva.

As the play-by-play announcer for the team, I'll post every game with updates and player news. With these college kids playing summer ball, impressing major league scouts, who knows someday they may be playing for the Rochester Red Wings.

Geneva Red Wings Site


ROC SPORTS NET 2009

Bean Balls not exactly 'Golden Age'

I'm old school. A pitchers duel is more fun to watch than a home run fest. The mound should be higher. The DH rule is an atrocity and the fences should be 350 at the poles and 425 in center. But this 'throwing at batters is good' falicy, well, I'm not that old school.

Earlier this week, John Lackey was ejected after throwing fastballs at Ian Kinsler with his first two pitches of the game. The umpire's decision to toss Lackey caused a schism between the new and old schoolers.


Funny thing is, the old schoolers have delusions of grandeur when it comes to tossing at guys. I recently heard Bobby Grich say that 'back in the day' if a guy hit a home run, he'd expect to be hit by a pitch next time up. Yeah, and if he struck out, they'd tar and feather him too, right?

The numbers don't exactly add up. In 2008, American League teams averaged being hit by pitches 58 times. In 1955, AL teams averaged only 33 HBP. In '65 it was 31 per team and in '75 it was 32. In 1975 for example, there were 1465 home runs and only 394 HBP in the AL.

I used the AL because our elders say NL pitchers don't throw at people because they have to step up to the plate. This folklore never seems to show up in the numbers. In '08, NL teams averaged being hit 53 times in the NL (58 in AL). In 1975, NL teams averaged 30 HBP (31 in AL).

The number of players being plunked is increasing as well as pitchers' stupidity involved in plunking them. For example, Ian Kinsler, Lackey's victim, has stolen 69 bases in his four year career and only been caught nine times. Good call, especially with Hamilton and Blalock coming up.

Chicago White Sox pitcher Bobby Jenks was fined $750 after admitting to tossing at Kinsler with two outs in a 3-2 game. It doesn't take Sparky Anderson to tell you that throwing at a batter in a one run game isn't bright, but admitting it, that's a special kind of stupid.

Maybe the difference between "head hunters" like Bob Gibson and Nolan Ryan and wannabes Jenks and Lackey was that Gibson and Ryan knew when to throw at a guy. Say, up 8-0 in the 4th, not up 3-2 in the 9th.

It's no wonder hitters have to step up looking more like Navy Seals than ball players. Who can blame them for not wanting to get nailed 20 times a year with a 90 plus fastball?

I understand wanting to toss at guys for "disrespecting the game" or wanting revenge for previous bean balls, but doubling the number of HBP's since the "Golden Age" of baseball isn't consistant with those who want to keep the game as it was. MLB should have fined Jenks much more for his unwarrented attempt on Kinsler. (Jenks said he threw at Kinsler because the Rangers hit too many White Sox hitters)

Kind of reminds you of the NFL's policy on late hits and horse collars. Old players act like the league is a bunch of sissies, but at the same time they want more pension money for career ending injuries.

Seems like no matter who you ask, if they played before 1990, they played barefoot with two broken legs in -46 degree weather. Thirty years ago, apparently, men were tougher. I suppose concussions were invented in '93.

Major League Baseball and the NFL need harsher penalties for those who threaten the safety of other players. Fining Jenks $750 is a joke. He probably has at least a G wrinkled up in his baseball socks. The consensus that there is some honor in potentially ending someones career is asinine, and Major League Baseball needs to do more than three-game suspensions for starting pitchers who only pitch once every five days.


For you old schoolers, do you think Rico Petrocelli, whose career was destroyed by a fastball to the eye, wants to see more bean balls? By the way, in 1969, Petrocelli hit 40 home runs and was hit pitch only once. Doesn't exactly match up with what Grich said.


Time to grow up, pitchers. Steroids are still around. Stadiums are being built with "slots," and the umps refuse to call a high pitch a strike. The NL hit 2608 home runs last year, if you bean every guy who hit two in a game, a lot of players are going to end up with severe, unnecessary injuries.

Look beyond Manny on steroid issue

When "Manny suspended for 50 games for performance enhancing drugs" ran by the ticker, the heart of every Dodger fan sank. Turns out Santa Claus is just your overweight uncle in a red suit with a glue-on beard. Turns out hitting .396 isn't normal. Turns out it was all a hoax. But maybe the hoax is War of the Worlds-like.

I'm talking about misguided panic. But the difference is, with Orson Welles's hoax, there was nothing to worry about, but in professional sports there is much more than is being let on.

Take a look at Bill Plaschke's "I told you so," column. He made it seem like Manny pulled out a flame thrower and incinerated Chavez Rivine. Run-him-out-of-town columns like Plaschke's embody the problem with the way sports media covers steroids.

For starters, average Joe sports fan is led to believe that steroids were invented by Mark McGwire. Joe might say the NFL doesn't have a steroid problem. Joe would probably draw a thick black line between dirty players and clean players. Joe is not given the option by media to understand the 1000 shades of gray when it comes to performance enhancing drugs.

The story of Manny Ramirez mirrored Roger, Barry, Palmiero and Alex. The news breaks, the excuse comes out, the media salavates at the prospect of tearing another fallen star apart at the limbs. But in the meantime, between Barry and Roger, between Alex and Manny, networks and newspapers stay hush-hush about the history and prevelance of performance drugs across sports as a whole.

Joe has not been told that steroids in America date back to the late 1950s. Joe has never seen ESPN reporting or Woody Paige spouting about steroids entrance into the NFL as early as 1968. And after the Manny story blows up, the media harps over home run numbers rather than over steroid-using young athletes who have committed suicide.

Speaking of the NFL, in 1967, before steroids found their way onto the football field, the Green Bay Packers, the '60s most elite team, weight range for offensive lineman was 230 to 255 pounds. Today, that range 300 to 330 (probably undersized for NFL standards). Most punters weight 230 now. You have linebackers who are heavier than William "refrigrator" Perry who run 4.5 40-yard dashes. Yet, no one says boo.

But who wants to slash the tires of the NFL Brinks truck? The sport keeps setting ratings and attendance records. The cash is pouring in at the expense of the game and its athletes (sound like MLB in 1998 to anyone?). Athletes like Bill Romanowski, who dodged a positive test for years, but eventually lost control in a steroid rage and ended another player's career.

The media is asking the wrong questions. They ask who and what when they should ask why and who's responsible. Certainly Manny is responsible for cheating the game of baseball, but who and what is responsible for performing enhancing drugs spreading like wild fire across '90s heroes?

Solving the maze of blame always leads to either a dead end or just another more complicated maze.

Joe might say it's Bud Selig's fault and he'd be correct. But he might not consider scouts who tell players they'll never make it by hitting for average. Take 1984 for example: second basemen who had over 500 at bats averaged 6.5 home runs. In 2008 that number was 16.7. The difference is the push for power that comes from the "home runs sell tickets" mantra the MLB adopted after the strike.

I know it's hard, but maybe we should blame ourselves too. It hurts to see the players I mimicked in little league go down in flames, but 40-year olds don't win Cy Youngs or hit 50 home runs or have the ability to lift Dodge Chargers over their heads. There is a fine line between being cynical and having your eyes open.

Because of that sinking hurt and disappointment, we want to see a public trail and execution of a cheater like Ramirez. But tearing apart Manny doesn't make the steroid problem go away. Trimming the frayed edges doesn't cut down the whole. Media, fans and baseball need to look beyond the poster boys to find ways to maintain the sanctity of Major League Baseball.

Last of a Dying Breed

I remember hearing a quote after legendary sportscaster Jim McKay died that said something like, "Broadcasters keep talking about how great McKay was, but for some reason they keep trying to immitate Chris Berman." No truer words have been spoken.

Give Berman credit, he created a whole new style. He fathered a million little Bermans all running around with the same whoops, hollers and corny nicknames. Berman opened the door to a vortex that sucked in and demolished those from the Jim McKay school of sports broadcasting.

The Berman era is kind of like the 80s in music, a lot of flash and sillyness, but nothing with the substance of past music. The Berman disease has even spread to talk radio where second-rate announcers scream about every close game being the "greatest of all-time." The airwaves are a barren wasteland, no McKays in sight.

This semester, however, I have been privliged to spend three hours each day as an intern with the last of a dying breed, Sportstalk radio 1280's John DiTullio.

The first day I met John, I was nervous. Wanting to impress him, I ironed the khaki's, bought new shoes and may have even threw on a tie. After about 10 minutes with John, I felt like I should have been in jeans kicking back.

Maybe you're thinking: "so what, he's a nice guy, that doesn't make him Jim McKay." Agreed. But the problem with today's sports broadcaster is that he (or she) is often more interested in bolstering their own ego and fame rather than reporting or discussing sports intelligently.

Off-air, John once said to me, "Sometimes I can't believe people want to talk sports with me and hear my opinions."

For the last four months though, people have talked sports with more than just John. He has allowed us (myself and my fellow intern Danny) to have an integral part in the show. Listeners have grown accostomed to hearing, "what do you think Matty?" or "Danny look that up."

John could easilly keep our mics dull and make us get him coffee, but John gets his own coffee. You think Chris Berman gets his own coffee? I understand Berman is a household name, but if DiTullio is ever on ESPN, he'll get his own coffee.

Aside from not having a Sears Tower sized ego, it's John's sincarity that makes him a great sports broadcaster.

I remember vividly his interview with a police officer who held a charity police boxing tournament in memory of his son who had died at a young age. John took the right tone, showing empathy for the man's loss as well as giving him time to explain the reason for the event.

But what impressed me most about the interview was John's tone during the commercial break. He didn't go back to chatting away about batting averages and yards-per-carry, he looked at us and quietly said, "it's terrible what that guy had to go through."

Too often I get the impression sports broadcasters (and writers too) get ahold of emotional stories because tear-jerkers equal awards and ratings. On DiTullio's show, local charities get their time because John sees it as his duty to the community to help get the word out.

John also feels it is his duty to inform the community that Brett Favre is "coming back." And that Penn State (his alma mater) should have been in the National Championship. And that U2 is the greatest band ever. But we'll leave those things alone.

The show may not be perfect, but sports broadcasting doesn't have to be. For three hours per day, John DiTullio is a little kid with a mic and the uncanny ability to recite any roster or game summary since the beginning of time. And that (or at least the former part) is all we ask.