I had already seen a big one in baseball’s path Monday when I flew out over Boston Harbor. With its Red Sox obsession, Boston surely ranks among the most passionate and devoted baseball cities in the country. In a critical game on Saturday night, the Red Sox faced the playoff-bound Twins–and won a thriller only after reliever Alan Embree struck out the side with the bases loaded. On the same evening, the Super Bowl-champion New England Patriots played a meaningless exhibition against the Philadelphia Eagles, a lackluster affair won by the Pats 16-15. The NFL game drubbed the Red Sox affair in the local TV ratings–12.6 to 5.2–by more than 2-1. Nice of the ballplayers to think strike just as the football seasons is beginning. Think it might fill the void very nicely indeed.
But enough about this impending baseball travail. Travesty! Tragedy! I wrote strike last week and appear doomed to write it again next week and, I fear, innumerable times in the future. So this week I’m going to clear my own decks of a host of things on my mind.
Monday Night Football: I may not be the one to ask because two years ago I thought Dennis Miller in the broadcast booth was a masterstroke. But as much as I respect both Al Michaels and John Madden, I fear it is a mismatch. In their early games, they seemed badly out of sync, both stylewise and generationally. Al Michaels may not be hip by “Saturday Night Live” standards, but by “Monday Night Football” standards he is Jay-Z. Madden is a square, old-fashioned football guy, who was actually the less contemporary of the Madden-Summerall team. Watching Madden fumble the ball in a discussion of why Denver’s rookie running back Cliff Portis took his mom to the prom could portend some difficulties for ABC’s dynamic duo.
U.S. Open: Another dynamic duo that concerns me is Venus and Serena Williams. Either would have been a godsend to the game of tennis and both have wowed me with their remarkable talents. But the prospect of another Williams-Williams final at tennis’s final Grand Slam event is a particularly unappetizing one. There is something extremely uncomfortable, almost voyeuristic, about watching these two young women battle each other. Perhaps it is a tribute to their sisterly affections, but that doesn’t change the feeling I get that they’d be much happier playing with no witnesses. Being a fan means rooting for someone. But yell out encouragement for Serena and you sense she’s thinking, “What have you got against my sister?” Cheer a Venus point, aware that her gain is her sister’s loss, and you feel guilty enthusing over Serena’s failure. There is simply no joy in this sibling rivalry. No celebration. You come away unsettled, regardless of who wins, with distinctly muddled emotions.
Tigermania: In a column just before the British Open, I lamented the Tiger routs at majors and prayed that someone would mount a challenge. The British Open, with Woods’s startling flop, wasn’t what I had in mind. The PGA was almost exactly what I had in mind and confirmed my sense that a duel with Tiger is as good as golf gets. Rich Beem deserves all praise. But now I’m greedy. Next time I want to up the ante. I want to see someone duel Tiger down the stretch, mano a mano, playing in the same group with him. Frankly, had Beem been paired with Woods rather than a faltering Justin Leonard, I suspect Tiger would now have another major in his bag.
Soccer: What, you thought I wouldn’t broach it for another four years? But there are some extraordinary doings in England at Manchester United, the New York Yankees of European football. Man U’s captain is Roy Keane, an invaluable sparkplug and relentless demon on the field. He’s the kind of player who is adored by the home fans and despised, though secretly coveted, by everyone else. (Think maybe Pete Rose in his prime.) But he is a particularly combustible Irishman. Though captain of the Irish World Cup team, Keane was sent home before the first game after an insulting tantrum in his coach’s face. Now Keane has an autobiography coming out and the previews have all England abuzz. It’s not just that he insults his famous teammates. It’s that he admits that he set out to injure a player for rival Manchester City who had previously insulted him. With his knee-stomping of Alf Inge Haaland, Keane succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He was so successful that Haaland will never play again. At the time, Keane was suspended four games for the flagrant foul. Now another long suspension is likely in the wake of this confession, one unaccompanied by any regret. But the most interesting action will likely take place in the courts, where both Manchester City and Haaland are lining up to sue as soon as the book is released. It ought to be a lesson to every pitcher who aims a high, hard one at a batter’s head or cornerback who clotheslines a quarterback as he is running out of bounds. But I suspect the only lesson athletes will take away is never to fess up.
The Mets: Watching the hapless Mets lose to the Giants the other night, one had a feeling that the team took the wrong plane and should have been headed to Williamsport. Not that I’m convinced they could have made it past the Harlem Little Leaguers in the first place. But as we fans shriek payroll, payroll, payroll as the sole determinant of Major League fortunes, the Mets are a reminder that payroll ain’t everything. And that chemistry and leadership can’t always be purchased. Joe Torre and Bobby Cox do extraordinary jobs keeping their teams in contention and in the playoffs year after year. We may not like that deja vu all over again feeling that comes with baseball’s postseason, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t respect it.
Steve Spurrier: Can someone blow a lot of hot air and be a breath of fresh air at the same time. If not, then I fall on the side of the latter when it comes to the Washington Redskins’ rookie coach. I dined with Spurrier recently and his disregard bordering on contempt for all the strictures of NFL etiquette are exactly what everybody’s favorite league needs. He may play a little too hard at being a good ole boy, but he sure isn’t a button-down corporate drone mouthing the company line. It isn’t clear yet what he can do with his retread quarterbacks, but Washington will air it out and let the balls fall where they may. Spurrier admits to great optimism about the season, but tempers it by conceding that every coach is optimistic before the opener. “You should have heard the guys from Kentucky and Vanderbilt in the off-season,” he told me. I suspect he’ll find his success, but I’m downright certain that the Redskins will be a real entertainment.
