SAD BUT TRUE: BIG 10 EXPANSION IS A GOOD THING

It seems to be the overwhelming opinion that the recent addition of Maryland and Rutgers to the Big 10 Conference is a bad thing. People say that it’s only about the money, that it doesn’t make sense as far as competition or geography, and that it is the next step on the road taking college football further away from amateur athletics and closer to big business. I have no argument against any of these points. They are all valid and true. They also have nothing to do with this.

We need to dispel the myth that college football can ever go back to “the good old days”. We need to enter reality. Maybe college football was much better before coaches made millions of dollars per year and every big bowl game was played on New Years Day. Those days are gone, and longing for them will get us nowhere. The reality is that college football is no longer amateur athletics, it is a professional game. Billions of dollars are spent and earned each year within the game, it just so happens that none (or very little) of it goes to the players. It isn’t a minor league feeder system into the NFL, it is a separate league playing a different brand of football. Think of it like the CFL. When you begin to think of college football as a professional league, as a business, you are able to remove the nostalgia, and you can clearly see why the Big 10 made a shrewd move this week.

In the current landscape of college football, if you’re not growing, you’re dying. Most would agree that this is true for leagues like the Big East and the ACC, but it is equally true for the Big 10 and the SEC. Don’t believe me? Go back 5 years and try and convince someone that the Big 12 would lose 4 teams in 2 years. The Big 12 has since stabilized, but for how long? What happens when the SEC decides it needs Texas and makes them an offer they can’t refuse? No league is stable, not when thinking long term.

What the Big 10 did by adding two more teams is take another step toward long-term viability, and it really doesn’t matter which two teams it added. Conferences are headed to 16 teams, at minimum, and the first ones to reach the number will be the ones who have the best chance of survival. The fact that Rutgers helps open up the New York market to the Big 10 Network, much like Maryland and DC, is important, and that is why they were the two chosen. It brings in tens of millions of dollars to the conference. That’s the bottom line. It doesn’t matter if they lack tradition, they can’t sell out their home games, or they wear god-awful uniforms. They bring money into the league, and they bring the league closer to the goal of 16 members.

If reading the previous four paragraphs didn’t make you depressed, there’s something wrong with you. It depressed me to write it. It absolutely sucks that this is where we have taken the game, but this is where we are and there’s no going back. No one is going to decide that they are fine with making less money off the sport. No one is going to decide that the spirit or tradition of the game is the most important thing. And no one is going to suddenly decide that gigantic humans slamming into one another causing serious, but usually not immediate, health issues or death is too barbaric to sit around each week and watch with our families. Things are moving forward, not backward. There will be more money involved, the stakes will only get higher, and it is survival of the fittest. The Big 10 became more fit this week.

Reality is a scary thing to face, and this reality is no different. My heart and history tell me that this move was not a good one. My head couldn’t disagree more. All of me is a fan of a Big 10 team, and this week my league took a step in the direction of long term stability. I may not be excited to watch Iowa and Maryland play a football game in a town 900 miles East of Iowa City called College Park, but at least I know it will happen. In this landscape, what more could you ask for?

Iowa Basketball: The Turning Point

This season of Iowa basketball has been the most interesting one in years. In the beginning, there was the loss to Campbell. In the end, there was the sweep of Wisconsin. In between, a lot of ups and downs. But this season correlates nicely with the 2001 Iowa football season. A season that, by the numbers, was average, but which marked a change in the program that would ultimately lead to greatness.  A turning point. Now, I don’t mean greatness as in a national championship caliber team (although there have been one or two football teams on that level), I mean program relevance, a perennial conference contender, and a team you don’t want to see in the NCAA Tournament. Most Iowa fans would agree, that is the goal right now. And we are on our way.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think the 2012-13 basketball team will perform like the 2002 football team. That would be asking far too much. But I do think that 10 years from now, we will be able to look back and see clearly that this season is where it all changed. Where the program began is resurrection.

In 2001, I was a freshman at the University of Iowa. I distinctly remember being in the stands during the 32-26 loss to 8^th ranked Michigan. The reason it stands out in my mind is that I was absolutely pissed when the game was over. It was one we should have had. The Wolverines were who we thought they were, and we let them off the hook. Going into the game, there was no reason to think that Iowa would have a chance. But a 10-7 halftime lead (Michigan scored on a blocked punt), and a 20-7 lead in the 3^rd had made it clear that the game was ours to lose. Which we promptly did. The point is, there were many games during this basketball season that felt this way. Games that we’ve lost, and have expected to lose, for years now; but this year it felt different. We could beat these teams. Not every night, and not all of them, but we could play with almost anyone and it felt like we could win almost any game. This is the feeling of a team on the brink of breaking through.

Another correlation is the young talent. This is less obvious in football, where freshman and sophomores often don’t see much playing time. But flashes of brilliance from the likes of Brad Banks and Dallas Clark hinted at a level of talent that shone through in the ‘02 season.  Looking at the roster of the 2001 football team, you see names like Banks, Clark, Russell, Gallery, Roth, Hodge, Greenway, Sanders, and Keading. Names that would help build the program that we see now. The young players on Iowa’s basketball team will be remembered in much the same way. Players that will have to step up to fill in the void left by seniors like Matt Gatens, the way the football players filled the void left by guys like Ladell Betts, Kahlil Hill, and Aaron Kampman.

2001 was Kirk Ferentz’ 2^nd season at Iowa. 2011-12 is Fran McCafferey’s 2^nd season at Iowa. Just saying.

I don’t think Iowa will finish in the top 10 next year, the way the ’02 football team did. I don’t think we’ll necessarily see a handful of guys off the team make a huge impact at the next level, the way those football players did. But I do think that in 2021, when some are calling for Fran’s head because he can’t get past the Sweet 16, we will be able to look back on this season and say that it was the turning point. It was when we realized we had the coach we needed, had a system that would work in this league, and could finally get our hopes up after far too many meaningless seasons. It might not be obvious today, but make no mistake, Iowa basketball is back.

Two Days Too Late Thoughts on Iowa-ISU

Let me preface this entire post by saying that losing sucks, and losing to Iowa State sucks worse than most. I never want Iowa to lose a game against anyone, and it is never fun when it happens.

With that said, I’m not that pissed that Iowa fell to Iowa State on Saturday.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some things I am pissed about:

Iowa doesn’t look good. That isn’t a slight against ISU, even though the crazy contingent of Clone fans will take it as such. Iowa was favored to win for a reason. They were supposed to be a better team. They were supposed to dominate both lines of scrimmage, and they were supposed to have the better quarterback. Maybe they do. Time will tell. The one thing we know for sure is that the better team with the better player under center won the game on Saturday.

I’m also upset that Iowa played for overtime at the end of regulation. Before you say it, I know what you’re thinking. That’s Kirk Ferentz, they’ve won plenty of games playing that way, and it will never change. That’s fine, and I’ll take the good with the bad, but I see a difference between the situation at Ohio State in 2009 and the situation Saturday in Ames. That’s all I have to say about that.

Here’s why I’m not as mad as I should be: I like Iowa State.

I like the coach, the players, the uniforms, the stadium with the new video board, and (most of all) the people who are close to the program. It’s hard to be mad when people you like are happy. I’m glad that the players got to experience the satisfaction of taking down a rival. I feel like Coach Rhoads deserved that win. I loved hearing John Walters’ call of the game-winning touchdown and the post game call in show with Chris Williams. They beat my team, but they did it legitimately and with class, and that’s a loss I can handle.

Most importantly, that game was good for the rivalry. I wont go as far as to say it was “needed”, because it has been a back and forth rivalry ever since Iowa’s streak of 15 straight was snapped in 1998 (had to throw that in). Andy Fales put it best on Sunday night’s SoundOff on TV 13: a rivalry is like a pendulum, and if it doesn’t swing both ways it stops. That game swung the pendulum further in the other direction than it has been in a long time. It was no fluke, and the outcome was uncertain until the last play. That’s what a real rivalry game should be.

Iowa State is better than we thought they’d be, and Iowa is worse. That’s what everyone learned on Saturday. What I learned is that I can feel relatively good after a loss.

And it’s not like we lost to Nebraska.

The Case for the Corn Belt

The original Cy-Hawk Trophy was created in 1976 for the 1977 installment of the Iowa-Iowa State football game, which was the first year the teams had played each other since 1934 (thanks, wikipedia). It was awarded through 2010 when it was retired. It resembled an upscale little league trophy and was far from original, let alone unique, but it accomplished its mission.

The second version of the Cy-Hawk Trophy came just short of the 34 year run of the first. It lived for just over 5 days. It resembled a three dimensional painting of a typical Iowa farm scene from the '60s.

The third, and hopefully final, version of the trophy will be decided upon by the factions of each fan base that actually care about what trophies look like. The following is one man's argument for what that trophy should be.

The idea has been floated, I'm not sure who came up with it first or I would credit them, of making the Cy-Hawk Trophy a boxing/WWF-style belt, calling it the Corn Belt. I could not agree more that this is what should happen. I feel like I can make two basic points that one would have trouble arguing against.

1. The Corn Belt would generate a national buzz, however temporary, around a game and rivalry that typically does not garner much national attention.

2. The Corn Belt is something unique in college football that each school, team, and fan base could rally around.

To the first point, the national media has already focused on this trophy once in the past few weeks. The fact that an almost universally hated trophy would be presented at the end of the game was something that many latched on to. It seemed like less of a story when the Iowa Corn Growers Association rightly conceded that a change needed to be made, but it was still reported on. If the new trophy is just your run-of-the-mill piece of metal on top of a block of wood, looking like a rivalry trophy that would be used in a movie (no history, no back story, just something generic that makes it supremely obvious what it is for) I have a feeling no one outside of the state will notice. Maybe you don't care if anyone else notices. You should.

National media attention is a double-edged sword, there's no doubt about it; and a lot of the attention given to these programs of late has been anything but good. It's one reason we can all pronounce rhabdomyolysis. But it can also be a great boon to things like recruiting. I admit, it is a bit of a stretch to say a story on a cool trophy will significantly affect recruiting, but I'm of the mind that both schools should take any positive publicity they can get, and seize any chance to stand out amongst the increasing crowd of competitive FBS football programs.

This would be a story the day it was announced. It would be a story the first Saturday it was awarded. It would make SportsCenter every year, because nowhere else can you see football players hoisting a belt above their head in triumph. It is unique to this rivalry and this game, and uniqueness gets noticed.

The second, and more important point, seems obvious to me. I used the word "unique" and not something like "cool" because I realize that not everyone shares my idea of coolness. But this would be freaking cool. Watching the victorious team run to the opposite sideline to grab this belt would be cool. Watching the first player to arrive at it throw it above his head, one handed, while the throng that follows all reaches to touch it would be cool.

If you can't see the inherent coolness, you must at least agree that it would be better than watching 4 guys awkwardly lift a 50 pound block of wood and metal, and slowly carrying it to the opposite sideline. They could run around with the belt held up. They could carry it to the student section and let the fans touch it as they went by. It could be passed around and held by each player. It could be enjoyed.

But more importantly than any of that, it would be ours. Only ours.

This is our chance to stand up and stand out and have something that no one else can lay claim to. There will be a belt awarded at a football game. This idea is too good to just die here. Why not make it our game? 

Jack of All Trades

Jack of all trades, master of none. It sounds a little like a derogatory statement, one you wouldn’t want applied to you. For me, it is a way of life, and one that I am proud of. I can’t pinpoint when it occurred to me that I am above average at nearly every aspect of my life and am elite at almost nothing; but the realization did not sadden me. Some examples of what I’m referring to:

In high school I was a three-sport athlete; football, wrestling, and baseball. In nearly every instance, I was not quite good enough to be a starter at the varsity level. But if you dropped me to JV in any of these sports, I dominated. Absolutely dominated.

I am an intelligent person. In 3^rd grade I scored unusually high on the Iowa Test of Basic Skills, prompting the powers that be to put me into a Talented and Gifted program for the remainder of my education. Amongst the normal kids, I stood out as unusually smart. Amongst the unusually smart, I was barely able to keep up.

I can write, but this isn’t the best blog you’ve ever read. I’m not ugly, but I’m far from beautiful. I am fun, but have never been the life of any party. In fact, the only area in which I feel amongst the best is in my job. I can produce the shit out of a radio show.

Before I continue, this isn’t meant to be braggadocious or self-deprecating.  It is merely an objective look at my life, or as close to objective as one can be about themselves.

It has come to my attention that most people don’t wish for this kind of widespread competence. It seems that most people want to be great at one thing, and the rest is almost irrelevant. If you’d like to be elite at one thing, everything else needs to fall by the wayside, and the examples of this are rampant. Look at nearly any successful athlete. There’s a reason these people seem a little dumb and at times have difficulty functioning in normal society. In most cases, these people were spotted at a young age and their life was directed towards success in a given sport. They didn’t come home from school and read a book or play video games, they practiced.

When I got home from school I read books, played video games, played sports, watched TV, listened to music, and did a plethora of other things. I can tell you the plot of To Kill A Mockingbird, the cheat code to Contra,  the rules of hot box (or pickle), and the backstory of every character to ever appear on Saved By The Bell. If you reference something that was culturally relevant in the last 20 years, I’m right with you. I can hold my own in nearly any conversation and will never feel dumb for not knowing something that seemingly everyone else knows. This, I believe, is the value of being a Jack of all trades.

If I wanted to psychoanalyze myself, I’d say a lot of my desire to never stand out (either in a positive or negative way) has to do with moving around as a kid. I changed elementary schools in 4^th grade, high schools my sophomore year, and went to college knowing nobody. I currently have at least 5 distinct groups of friends, each very different from the next, yet I fit in with all of them. I am a chameleon. If you met me, you’d probably like me, because I would seem similar to you. This is because whatever you are into, I am into as well. Maybe not to the same extent as you, but I could hold up my end of the conversation.

It is only recently that I noticed this in myself, but now that I see it, it is impossible to deny. I unconsciously alter my personality to fit the people who surround me. I’m not lying, per se, just omitting things that don’t fit. The only people who see my whole personality are those who I am very close to. Some would say that this makes me boring, that it eliminates my originality. These people usually stand out in a crowd.

I’m not the best at anything. Maybe I never will be. But I am a well-rounded person who is comfortable in his own skin, even if that skin is rarely shown in its entirety. And I’ll never feel left out.

My Fallen Hero

To most people, Barry Bonds is the representation of everything that is wrong with baseball. He is a player that didn't need to cheat, but did. He had the natural ability to challenge some of the greatest records in the history of the sport, but he instead chose to destroy those records with the help of science. At best, he is a jealous liar; at worst, a soulless opportunist. Barry Bonds IS everything that is wrong with the game. The problem is that for me, he is also everything that is right with the game.

I grew up a San Fransisco Giants fan. I was 10 years old when Barry Bonds signed with the team. I vaguely remember bits and pieces of the Battle of the Bay-Earthquake Series in 1989; but for all intents and purposes, the signing of Bonds is my first recollection of being a Giants fan. And it is a good memory. Bonds instantly became my favorite player. I liked Will Clark and Matt Williams and Jeff Kent (kind of), but they were no Barry Bonds. Giants baseball is in his blood. Bonds began a 12 year tear through the National League, including 5 MVP awards and a heartbreaking loss in the 2002 World Series. To a kid, he was larger than life. I didn't care (and was unaware at the time) that he had a volatile relationship with the press. I didn't, and still don't, care what you thought of him. I loved him. He is why I love baseball.

And he is why you hate baseball.

It's a tough thing to reconcile. When everyone turns on your hero, and you completely understand why, it's hard to know how to feel. Now is a good time to point out that I am not a Bonds apologist. He used steroids. He cheated the game. I do think he should be inducted into the Hall of Fame, but I think the other players from that time should too. Baseball had a Steroid Era. There is no point in trying to deny that or forget that it happened. Bonds may have become the face of that era, but he was far from the only culprit.

My freshman year at the University of Iowa began in 2001. That fall, Barry Bonds ended the season with 73 home runs. On the dry erase board that hung on my dorm room door, I wrote BONDS WATCH and every day I would update his home run total. I distinctly remember the excitement of watching him hit 70-73. One day, I would tell my children about this. If I ever have kids I will tell them about Bonds, but the story will be much different now. It will be a cautionary tale of what happens when you find out baseball players are nothing more than human.

People who are older than I find it easy to look at the Steroid Era and judge those involved. They will tell you that these players should never be allowed in the Hall of Fame. They will say that these players stained the game and aren't worthy of our adoration. These people have real heroes like Willie Mays and Hank Aaron and others who were apparently flawless. My generation doesn't have these heroes. We have Mark McGwire and Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds. These were the players we grew up with. These are the players who made us fall in love with baseball, and these are the players labelled as villains. They may be criminals, but they are our criminals. I didn't choose to fall in love with a cheater. I didn't have a choice.

Baseball is a game you fall in love with as a child, then grow to understand as a man. I don't know how to reconcile my childish love for Bonds and my awareness of his faults as a man. I don't love baseball less because of what I know now. Maybe the game I fell in love with wasn't "real" in your terms, but reality is subjective. For me, and those in my generation, it couldn't have been more real.