Category: Sports

When Lee Roy Selmon stepped down as USF athletic director and stepped into the presidency of the USF Foundation Partnership for Athletics, everybody won.

Most importantly, the move allowed Selmon to back away from the AD pressure that was adversely impacting his health. But it also positioned Selmon to be of even more help to USF.

Selmon’s value lies in his Hall of Fame name and his classy image. The right doors open for a local icon with the gentleman’s touch. Those attributes are invaluable in fundraising, which will be his main charge.

Those same traits, however, are of negligible value in the Byzantine, pressurized world of intercollegiate conference hopping, scheduling and budgeting. Selmon was not at his best when presiding over such details and occasionally dropped the ball, especially on scheduling.

USF didn’t so much lose an AD as it gained a leg up on fundraising. That will be critical to any success the Bulls have in the Big East conference, which they join in 2005.

A healthy Selmon may be just what the doctor ordered for USF’s relatively budget-challenged athletic coffers.

For one year I lived in Indiana — Evansville — and experienced that state’s famed high school hoops first hand. It was that rabid — and that good.

I’ve also seen the movie “Hoosiers” — often. Then ESPN Classic recently showed a replay of that David-and-Goliath, 1954 championship game between tiny Milan High School and Muncie Central, a perennial big school power, which was the “Hoosiers” inspiration. Milan wins at the buzzer.

The replay — with original play-by-play — held up reasonably well, with allowances for skill levels and real shorts. It was a nostalgic rush with one significant exception. We’re reminded that there was no 35-second shot clock then. Dramatic upsets could be the product of tedious stalling tactics.

In those days, smaller, less-talented teams, such as Milan, could hold the ball for long periods of time without even attempting a shot. The shorter the game, the better the underdog’s chances. That was a key part of Milan’s successful, championship game strategy, one that wasn’t so evident in “Hoosiers.” Even when it was behind in the fourth quarter, Milan held the ball and ran off four minutes without so much as a look at the basket.

It made for drama and an upset of near mythical proportion. But it can still be boring to sit through.

“Hoosiers” was better.

Sources in less-than-Happy Valley, PA, say that there is now a favorite to replace Penn State football icon Joe Paterno. Probably in one or two years. Max.

It’s Mike Munchak, who is currently on the staff of the Tennessee Titans. Munchak is a former All-American guard at Penn State. He went on to a Hall of Fame career in the NFL with the Houston Oilers.

Bringing back Doug Williams made eminently good sense for the Bucs. It was a major PR coup for an organization that is increasingly looking like the House That Jon Built. And a front office personnel job for Williams, who had been head coach at Grambling University, was a good career move for the controversial, former Buc quarterback.

What was baffling, however, was what happened after Williams signed his contract. He allowed a University of Louisiana System contingent, including President Sally Clausen, to fly down here and try to get his contract voided. Williams apparently had misgivings after an emotional meeting with his players and coaches.

Clausen’s account only added to the confusion. She reportedly had Williams’ permission to try and get him out of his Buc contract. According to local reports, Clausen initially suggested Williams call Buc General Manager Bruce Allen and tell him he had changed his mind.

Williams’ bizarre response, according to Clausen: “I can’t do that. I gave them my word.”

But now he’s a Buc again. And the curse is officially history.

Says Williams

This community — and this market — lost an invaluable asset with the passing of Chris Thomas. As so many have said, he was certainly witty, knowledgeable and fun. Listeners to WDAE-620 felt better for having been privy to his insights and antics.

Conversely, viewers of Channel 8 felt worse for having been deprived of his presence since WFLA-TV cut him loose in 2000. Management still bears the responsibility — borne of cost-cutting — for having ratcheted down its on-air quality and chemistry after Thomas’s firing.

One other thing. Thomas saw sports for what they are. He was never defined by the sports celebrities in his orbit, nor was he a “homer.” Athletes were assuredly not “warriors.” Sports could be fun and exciting, but they — especially at the professional level — were also part of a parallel universe that was more like the theater of the absurd. Ultimately they were just about games.

Thomas called it as he saw it — through his prism of knowledge and surrealism.

But in so calling, he manifested a depth of understanding and frame of reference that surpassed anyone else in this market. He was the only on-air, sports personality in Tampa Bay who could have made it in any market — a pro’s pro who made it fun.

He leaves both a legacy — and a void.

If ever there was a poster boy for the sometimes sordid business of recruiting “blue chip” high school athletes, it is Willie Williams, the nationally acclaimed linebacker out of Miami Carol City High School. After milking the system for free visits to other campuses, he surprised no one and chose his home town school, the University of Miami.

The weekend before he signed, however, was spent at the University of Florida in Gainesville. In addition to grousing about his free meals — chicken not lobster — he managed to physically accost a woman, hit a guy in a bar and set off three fire extinguishers in his hotel. He is charged with misdemeanor battery involving the woman. That Gator hat trick, however, also has resulted in a violation-of-probation charge. Less than 18 months earlier he had pleaded no contest to felony burglary.

Moreover, this “cow chip” athlete has a record that includes 10 prior arrests. UM said it didn’t know that. Ditto for the other schools that were recruiting him, including UF and Florida State University.

That strains credulity. Nationally prominent prospects with rap sheets are not state secrets. What doesn’t strain credulity is that so much rides on a successful football program –read money — that schools yield to the temptation to simply do whatever it takes to bring in talent, however tainted or thuggish. Because of Williams’ high profile, this case is now notorious. What it isn’t, however, is rare — just worse than most.

John Johnson has been around.

He was born in Manchester, England, the son of a Jamaican father and a German mother. For the better part of two decades he has lived in Europe and Toronto, Canada. He has helped cut some real estate deals on Harbour Island. He has worn a Boston Celtics’ uniform.

He’s also given to saying things such as: “My mission in life is to find the balance needed to obtain true happiness.”

Not exactly your off-the-rack, Wachovia banker.

Most weekends Johnson can be found at the Harbour Island Athletic Club. Sometimes he’ll use the workout equipment. Occasionally he’ll play some tennis.

But he can always be found on the basketball court.

He’s a regular in the pick-up games that feature an eclectic mix of attorneys, stockbrokers, realtors, execs, salesmen and the occasional 20-something hot shot. As a 44 year old with a good floor game and a feathery jump shot, Johnson fits in well. Fluid but not flashy. Likeable and never loud.

The 6′-4″ financial specialist, however, is likely playing down to the competition, although he’d never admit it. Time was when he played the game for a living: 10 years in the European pro leagues of Germany and England.

He was an All-Big Ten selection at the University of Michigan and once hit 11 straight shots against Illinois. He was a third-round selection of the Boston Celtics in the 1981 NBA draft. He’s played with Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parrish, Nate Archibald — and a bunch of never-ready-for-prime-time white guys at HIAC.

He’s been a head coach at the high school level — Berkeley Prep and the Academy of Holy Names — and an assistant at Florida Southern.

Johnson, who learned the game growing up in Buffalo, loves his hoops. Even more, however, he loves its leverage with young people.

That’s why he started a foundation called Project Uplift in 1995. Its purpose, he explains, is to use the concept of team as well as individual workouts and counseling sessions (that stress coping mechanisms) to help guide “at risk” — and talented — youth through their impressionable years. Project Uplift also makes mandatory community service a condition for participation.

Call it a full-court press on how to channel talented kids into something other than “spoiled athletes.”

“You see, sports serves a very legitimate function,” explains Johnson. “It’s a way to get rid of our aggression. It’s a healthy way to let off steam.

“But we can also put too much emphasis on sports, per se,” adds Johnson. “It’s a means to an end. We need to emphasize how to use sports to make an individual better. It’s about self worth, and it’s about learning how to learn, if you will. One of the objectives of team sports is to subjugate the ego.”

It also about making a kid aware that he shouldn’t define himself solely in terms of his athletic skills, stresses Johnson.

“That’s a very big priority with us,” he underscores. “For too many kids today, their whole identity is basketball. They become single-minded and spoiled. We preach being humble and finding something bigger than yourself. We certainly don’t want to diminish someone’s strengths, but we are saying ‘You need some other gifts.’

“We try to use sports as a carrot to motivate them to achieve in school and in their community and see themselves as something other than athletes,” says Johnson.

So, how do today’s players compare to their predecessors?

“The skill level is certainly as high,” assesses Johnson, “and as athletes, they’re a couple of levels higher. But probably not mentally. Not as disciplined. The ability to make the extra pass is not seen as important as some of the flashy stuff.”

And what sort of advice would he proffer to those highly-skilled players coming out of high school and looking to take their game — and the rest of their identity — to the collegiate level?

Johnson distills it down to three simple rules:

*”Don’t believe your own press clippings.

*”Listen to those who have put limits (imposed discipline) on you.

*”Look at the schools that offer you everything — and don’t go there.”

The world of professional sports as long been immune to most societal norms — from double standards for celebrity-athletes to salaries that seriously stretch any credible definition of supply and demand. But the looming possibility of a National Hockey League work stoppage next season is beyond bizarre.

According to Tampa Bay Lightning officials, being out of business — for a whole season or more — would actually help the franchise’s bottom line. It’s estimated that the team, which loses money, would simply lose less. It would see those losses cut by 50 % if it didn’t have to pay salaries. And player salaries is the issue; that’s where 76 per cent of revenues go. The league, which doesn’t have a lucrative network TV deal like the National Football League, wants a salary cap. The players don’t. That’s the line being drawn in the ice across the NHL.

How ironic that the same week Tug McGraw dies, Pete Rose goes into his Lazarus act. Baseball’s yin and yang.

McGraw was maybe the last of a breed. A major talent who didn’t confuse “colorful” with “classless.”

McGraw won nearly 100 games and saved 180 more. He was a two-time All-Star who was at his best in postseason play.

He was a good interview because he was so affable and quotable, but more importantly he was a good guy. His enthusiasm was as real as it was energizing — not a self-serving contrivance that belittled the opposition and diminished the game. He popularized the phrase “You Gotta Believe.”

He even took his brain-cancer death sentence with courage and class. No “Why me?” whining from “The Tugger.” He merely re-applied “You Gotta Believe.”

And then there is a Rose by any other book title.

Back in 1989, it was “Pete Rose: My Story,” written with the considerable help of Roger Kahn. In it, Rose denied gambling on baseball. He lied to — and embarrassed — Kahn. For the ever-expedient Rose, it was the cost of doing business. Somebody’s else’s cost.

Now we have “My Prison Without Bars.” It took a reported $1 million advance and a closing Hall of Fame window to prompt this mea culpa chapter in opportunism. After 15 years of lying — and vilifying those who had been calling him on it — he now admits he gambled on baseball. But never, he emphasizes, against his own team and never from the clubhouse.

Even for those inclined to believe this version and to forgive, it shouldn’t be forgotten what signals Rose was sending when he DIDN’T bet on his own team, the Cincinnati Reds. Moreover, there are still allegations — from alleged bet runners — that he did, indeed, pick up the club house phone to call in his baseball bets.

Rose’s blatantly self-serving “admissions” may, in time, open up Cooperstown for him. There’s still a lot of sentiment for the rationale that says integrity-of-the-game arguments notwithstanding, what he did on the FIELD as a player — not a manager — easily merits enshrinement.

Maybe that’s how it will play out. And don’t be surprised when the trilogy is completed with the publication of “Pete Rose: My Updated Story.”

But then there’s McGraw, the guy who brought unbridled joy to fans, never compromised the game and always appreciated what baseball did for him. He didn’t making it to 60, let alone the Hall of Fame. Life, we are again reminded, isn’t fair.

But when it comes to meaningful legacies, you can bet that Tug McGraw tops Pete Rose every time.

Even though this may be Bret Favre’s “Season of Destiny,” can we possibly concede that he might not have done the right thing by playing a game — and spectacularly so — less than two days after his father had unexpectedly passed away? He played, he said, because that was what his father, a former coach, would have wanted. It was obviously his call, and it’s personal.

But the sports world was all over the story as a chronicle of courage. The media saluted his decision — and commended his remarkable and “courageous” play. The “Season of Destiny” tagline was firmly affixed to the Favre-led Green Bay Packers.

What no one wanted to say was this: Sure, it’s a personal decision, but how many of us who are not, say, surgeons would have reported in to work so soon? Favre did what his father would have wanted him to do, he said. We take him at his word.

But that means his father having said, in effect, “Should I die during the season, I hope you will do the right thing and play football. First things first. Your job, your fellow employees, your family. In that order. Your mom will understand.”