Celtics Rule, Disappointment Reigns

At the beginning of the Finals, it all seemed so promising. It ended with a thud.

As a longtime Laker fan, I have absolutely no problem with the Boston Celtics claiming their 17th NBA championship. They were clearly the better team. No argument from me.

It wouldn’t be the craziest idea in the world to send the Celtics to Beijing this summer and have them represent the U.S. in the Olympics.

My problem is with my “beloved” Lakers. They just flat out quit. In the second half of Game Six, their hearts just weren’t in it. It was like they just texted it in. Phil Jackson wasn’t exactly a coaching genius in this series. He looked more concerned about where to get a crate of walnuts.

The Lakers have a long history of disappointing their fans when it comes to facing the Celtics. No need to re-hash. I’m already feeling bad enough.

Some adjustments need to be made if there is to be an improvement in the end result next season. Lamar Odom needs to go. A new offensive system needs to be put in place. And, I’ll be the one to say it:

Phil Jackson needs to be put to pasture. It appears the game has finally passed him by. He was clearly outcoached by Boston’s Doc Rivers. The Celtics’ coach was also able to out-think Jackson. Clearly. If this had been a chess game, it would have taken Rivers to reach Checkmate in about 12 minutes.

Jackson’s rightful place is now in an office, consulting, scouting, dealing, and conferencing with Jeannie Buss. Not on the Laker bench. Not anymore.

If things stand pat, the same thing will happen again next year. That is if the Lakers are lucky enough to win the Western Conference. You know damn well that the Spurs, Mavs, Kings, and Suns will not stand pat.

Moves must be made, and soon. Dr. Buss, it’s up to you.

Spring Cleaning Needed at NBA

In the midst of what should be the NBA’s finest hour, The Finals, allegations have surfaced, albeit from a dubious source, that basically say that the NBA is dirty, and that the fish stinks from the head.

Disgraced former NBA referee Tim Donaghy has stated that the pins were set up as far as the 2002 Western Conference Finals between the L.A. Lakers and Sacramento Kings were concerned. The Kings had a sno-cone’s chance in a microwave oven.

Donaghy has hinted strongly that the league wanted this. It needed a series to go seven games. This series was the only one that went the distance that year. That meant more ticket and television revenue. And, it’s so alleged that Shaquille O’Neal was a bigger TV attraction than the Kings’ Vlade Divac.

Before Game 3 of the Finals in Los Angeles, NBA Commissioner David Stern dismissed Donaghy’s assertions as being from a desparate man trying to get a lesser prison sentence.

If one surfs the Internet, the thinking might be different.

Even before the playoffs, bloggers and journalists both have stated that the league and ABC badly wanted a Celtics-Lakers Final. Well Go-LLeeee, lookie what happened in the playoffs.

In Game 4 of the Western Conference Finals, the San Antonio Spurs sure appeared to get screwed by a horrible non-call at the end of the game that potentially could have tied the game and sent it into overtime.

Allegations like these have surfaced before. I had always dismissed them as being from disgruntled, malcontented fans who didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. Now I wonder.

It’s bad enough that most of the fun we used to have with sports has been taken away from us. Expensive ticket prices, outrageous salaries, drugs, sleazebag behavior, relocation anxieties, and erratic ownerships have taken a heavy psychological toll on fans, causing many to give up on sports as they get older.

One of the few things we seemed to have leftover from the good earlier days was the officiating. It always appeared to be solid and on the up-and-up. Now there are stains on it. Dark, grimy, slimy, dirty stains.

Officiating is supposed to be above reproach. With these allegations, it now appears to be barely above a roach. The fact that these alleagations were even mentioned in the first place has to make fans wonder. Officiating, especially in the NBA, is obviously NOT above reproach.

Ralph Nader himself, who is not a sports fan, questioned the officiating after the 2002 Western Confernce Final, and wanted a federal investigation into the matter. He was scorned and laughed at. I was one of the laughers. I’m not laughing now.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have Mr. Nader head an independent committee to investigate these allegations. And to have said committee make recommendations on needed changes and adjustments.

For all of its’ gloss, the NBA is still looking good. But there sure seems to be a peculiar odor coming from it’s direction.

Jim McKay: Remembered and Appreciated

Millions of words will be written about Jim McKay, and his great abilities, if they haven’t been already.

What will be under-emphasized will be the uncanny ability he had to be able to relate to the average viewer. He didn’t talk up or down to people. He just talked like a friend or relative would. People liked that.

He came across as someone you wish you were related to. Not for material gain, but because he seemed like someone you could go to with a personal problem, for advice, or just to get something off your chest. And he appeared to be the type who would understand, and give you constructive feedback in response.

Since we changed centuries a few years back, icons have been disappearing at a rapid rate. Bob Hope, Bo Diddly, and Johnny Carson are just a few familiar names that we’ve had to say goodbye to recently. Now we must add another. The song “Time Passages” by Al Stewart comes to mind.

Jim McKay is burned permanently into America’s minds, memories, and consciences. His marathon coverage at the tragic Munich Olympics in 1972 will never be forgotten. Happy moments at places like Lake Placid, Los Angeles, and Churchill Downs will rank among sports broadcasting’s finest hours.

It would be apropos if the American Broadcasting Company, the International Olympic Committee, the US Olympic Committee, or the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences would find something fitting to name in Jim McKay’s honor. It would be a great way of keeping his memory with us.

Jim McKay showed what sports broadcasts can be, and should be.

And we were lucky to be able to see it.

Celtic Fans, You Are Sooo Denounced!

(Poster’s note: This was written tounge in cheek, and should not be taken seriously.:) If any part angers you, than please, while you’re out getting a life, please acquire a sense of humor while you’re at it. -dg-)

Attention Boston Celtic fans:

I denounce you.

Former Celtic Rick Fox denounces you.

Elgin Baylor denounces you.

Laker season ticket holders denounce you.

Jack Nicholson denounces you.

Penny Marshall denounces you.

Joe McDonnell of KLAC radio denounces you.

Doug Krikorian of the Long Beach Press Telegram denounces you.

World Famous KROQ denounces you.

Dustin Hoffman denounces you.

Ex-girlfriends Donna Dover and Judy Essman denounce you.

Southern California fashion designer Penelope Gregg denounces you.

Raider Nation denounces you.

New York Yankee fans worldwide denounce you.

Doris Day denounces you.

Nature Boy Ric Flair denounces you.

Uh Huh Her lead singer Leisha Hailey denounces you.

The inmates at Pelican Bay State Prison denounce you.

The bottlers of RC Cola denounce you.

The sports book operators in Las Vegas denounce you.

The curator of reptiles at the San Diego Zoo denounces you.

The Los Angeles Police Department denounces you.

The Mayor of Los Angeles denounces you.

The LeBron James Fan Club denounces you.

All the Quakers west of the Mississippi denounce you.

The elevator operator at the Eiffel Tower denounces you.

The employees of AstroBurger at Melrose & Gower in Hollywood denounce you. In Spanish.

The Daughters of the American Revolution denounce you.

The Mormon Tabernacle Choir denounces you.

The entire nation of Belize denounces you.

The bats that hang under the Congress St. bridge in Austin, Tx. denounce you.

Stay tuned. Same bat-time. Same bat-blog.

A Disturbing Trend

On a recent episode of Gangland, seen on The History Channel, a Latino gang in Texas was featured. The show’s contents were pretty much expected: the violence, the backgrounds, the lack of remorse, and so on. As gang stories go these days, it was pretty formula.

What was disturbing was the gang’s logo. It was a virtually exact copy of the Houston Texans’ red-and-blue steer’s head logo.

There are others:

In Los Angeles, two street gangs sport the logos of sports teams. One is the hometown Dodgers’ LA cap logo. The other features the double horseshoe “W” of the Washington Nationals. I’ve seen tattoos of both on the heads and faces of misguided young men in the area.

I guess what this means is that on some fine day, a young Latino kid, having being given a Dodger or Washington cap as a gift, will be out playing, minding his own business, and he could get shot and killed just for wearing the cap of his favorite team.

Isn’t it bad enough that fans get beaten up at sports venues by moronic drunk home team fans for wearing an opponents’ gear? Now, innocent kids could get killed at home for wearing a damn cap?

It’s getting so you can’t be a sports fan in peace anymore.

Is the simple joy of liking sports now being taken away by idiots with the brains of 2-year olds?

At least some gangs like the Rolling 60s or the Crips have the “decency” if you will, of creating their own logos. I guess some gangs are too lazy to come up something of their own. God Forbid, they should do anything creative or original. Or constructive.

Horse Racing: In Bad Shape

When I was a kid, my parents loved to go to the Agua Caliente race track in Tijuana, Mexico. Nothing wrong with that, except for one thing: Sometimes, I HAD to go with them. I HATED it!

Living in a geographic location like San Bernardino, Ca., that meant getting up way early on a weekend morning, enduring my father’s slow driving on a 100-mile plus trip, and waiting eternally between races, which usually was 45 minutes between races.

It was gawdawful to go through. There was nothing for a kid 10-12 years old to do, and while I’m not exactly a world traveler, I can’t imagine too many places more depressing than Tijuana, Baja California. The poverty in town, noticeable as soon as you cross the border, was sickening. And the Caliente race track was poorly run.

Several times, I reminded (READ: chewed out) my parents for putting me through that crap. They couldn’t stand hearing about it. According to my parents’ way of thinking, hearing about it is worse than putting me through it. I think that’s how Vietnam War era government officials must think.

I have not liked horse racing ever since. I never have liked horse racing. Caliente and my bad experiences there have forever turned me off to the sport.

My father, now 91 years old, visited me recently on the day of the Kentucky Derby. In spite of the bad experience with the horse races back then, we have a good relationship today. Two of my four sisters were also there on the visit. He asked if I would put the Derby on the TV, and I did. He was the only one who wanted to see the race.

That is horse racing’s problem. It seems to be a sport that appeals mainly to older demographics. The industry has done an absolutely horrendous job in trying to attract younger demos. It’s like time stood still in horse racing, then one day the industry wakes up and realizes that too much precious time passed them by, and their core audience is dying out.

Attendence is down. Handle is down. Off track betting has helped some, but the alarm clock is still clanging. The on-track death of Eight Belles in the recent Derby, and of Barbaro a couple of years ago did NOT help it’s image.

I will soon be 58 years old. I was turned off to the sport when I was 10. It appears that there had to be others in my age bracket who were likewise turned off. If people Baby Boomer-age like me are turned off, what about the critical younger demographics? They must be totally apathetic to the sport.

There has been talk in the L.A.-area media that the Hollywood Park race track in Inglewood will eventually be shut down, it’s dates transferred to the Los Alamitos track in Orange County, and will be torn down for retail development. No deal has been done at this time. As yet. But the buzz alone is yet another testament to the deteriorating state of The Sport of Kings.

Horse Racing got themselves into this. It’s up to Horse Racing to get themselves out of it. They can now see clearly what happens when you assume.

KMPC: Jim Lange

When I was hired at 710/KMPC in August of 1987, one of the first people I got introduced to was afternoon drive personality Jim Lange. He is best-known as the longtime host of “The Dating Game”, among numerous other game shows. He was cordial and very friendly as we shook hands. That’s something that didn’t change in the 3 years I was associated with him.

In addition to game shows and radio, Jim also has an extensive sports background. He was a longtime color commentator with the San Francisco 49ers radio team. He goes back to the time when they played home games at Kezar Stadium, and John Brodie was their quarterback.

He loves golf. I would sometimes go into the KMPC newsroom, a large room with 4 desks and a few teletypes off to the side, and would hear Jim and News Director Bob Steinbrink talking about golf the same way any two guys would be talking about the NBA or football. He attended many PGA events, sometimes participating either as a pro-am or an MC.

He was in Hog Heaven when he got hired as a part-time golf commentator by ESPN. I remember seeing him that day. He was lark-happy. And very deserving.

He was very knowledgeable about sports. He talked with me and other staffers about any sport there was. And with expertise. I would throw obscure baseball trivia at him, and he usually always got it right. And always with a smile because I didn’t get him on a tough question.

He very much had a rascally sense of humor. One time, I walked by a bulletin board in the hallway, and there, thumbtacked to the board, was a picture of former Nicaraguan dictator Manuel Noriega’s mug shot, clipped from a newspaper. Someone had written a caption that read: “Dave Gaytan after using NutriSystem.” I did need to lose a few pounds then, and NutriSystem was a major advertiser on KMPC.

I wasn’t mad. I have a sense of humor, but I wondered who did it, and figured no one would own up to it. A few minutes later, Jim walks out of the control room, sees me, has a bad mood-type of look on his face, and I figure I better not bother him. Suddenly, the look on his face morphs into a big smile and he starts laughing. He ‘fessed up. He had done it. We were both laughing.

In addition to hosting The Dating Game, Jim also worked for Chuck Barris Productions in other projects. One such project was a variety show for the military called “Operation: Entertainment”, which would bring shows for the troops to various stateside military installations. Jim, a former Marine officer, had no problem taking on that assignment.

At the time, Chuck Barris, thanks in large part to The Gong Show, was considered something of a controversial figure. I asked Jim if he liked Chuck Barris, and would he work for him again, and to both he said “Hell, yes!”

I don’t know if Jim would agree with me, but he’s led something of a charmed life. His one and only wife Nancy is a former Miss America. How often do you run into somebody who’s married to a former Miss America?

Jim left Golden West Broadcasters in 1990, after a 31-year affiliation. I couldn’t attend the going-away party, but I did see him in his office as he was cleaning his items out, and I told him I loved working with him, that I thought he was a great guy, and that I hope our paths would cross again somewhere down the road. None of that has changed on my part.

Jim took a radio job in San Francisco after leaving KMPC. I understand that he has now retired. I’m sure he’s getting a lot of golf in.

Hard to believe that later this year, Jim will turn 75. If anyone should stay 40 forever, it’s him. I was lucky to meet him. I was luckier to know him. I wish I had stayed in touch with him.

If anyone was a star at The Station of the Stars, it was definitely Jim Lange.

School Daze, Part 1

I am facing the prospects of not one, but two 40-year high school reunions this year. I attended two high schools, one in San Bernardino up to the end of my junior year, and my senior year was spent at Coronado, in San Diego County. It was a night-and-day difference.

The truth is I probably won’t be attending either gathering. Not this time around, anyway. I have plans to be out of the area when these respective events take place. Plans have been in place for some time, so juggling schedules isn’t even an option. I’ll try to catch the 45th or 50th. I try to be optimistic.

Without taxing my memory too hard, I was able to come up with a few characters that I think are worth writing about. They’re all from San Bernardino, and they’re all sports-related. Maybe someone reading this knew similar-type people. I just wish I could use their names. All are still living, and boy, would they be embarrassed….

In those halcyon days, high school was 3 years, starting with 10th grade. This first guy I met in 9th grade, our last year of junior high. He had moved from Texas, and he was hell-bent on not only playing football, but starring in it. Back then, the 8 junior highs of San Bernardino played tackle football against each other. It helped the high schools in lieu of a freshman football program. Well, this guy starred all right. He was a pretty good running back. In fact, he wound up being the star of both the junior high AND the high school team. Trouble was, he knew it. His head became about the size of Texas. He was telling everybody that he would one day be an NFL star. I still have a copy of the junior high newspaper where he said it. When asked what he wanted to be when he got older, he would tell people “an All-Pro running back in the NFL.”

Needless to say, he didn’t quite get there. After high school, nary a hide nor hair was heard about the guy. He collected a lot of splinters on the bench at the area junior college for one year, then that was it. I don’t know what he wound up doing for a living. I do know that the Sunday following the 10-year reunion dinner/dance, he hosted classmates at his home for a barbecue. Very gracious of him. At 28 however, he was morbidly obese, bald, and hardly recognizable. You would have sworn it was two different people. I wonder if he even still watches the game.

Next up, a coach from that same junior high who had visions of grandeur. He was a social studies teacher, and quite unpopular. We all suffered through his eternal classes. He was a coach for some of the school’s sports teams. Not football, though. He did do public-address announcing for the home football games though, and when a game got lopsided, and they started emptying the benches, he would joke about some of the less-athletically-inclined students on his school’s team right over the PA system in front of everybody. I guess this made him feel better about himself. This teacher also would call on certain students in his class to step out front and center, bend over, and he would swat them for no given reasons. He would also isolate students by making them sit by themselves at a table meant to hold boxes and supplies, and they’d have to sit backwards to be able to see the chalkboard.

Later on, when the complexion of the neighborhood changed, he apparently started having problems with African-American students. Several parents complained about him, but thanks probably to his union, he was always able to keep his job. And speaking of his job, he always wanted to be transferred to a high school and coach at that level. It always frustrated him that the district would not grant him a high school coaching job. And he seemed to find creative ways to channel his anger. A few years ago, he retired as a career-long junior high teacher. One of his last acts was defending himself against a parent’s complaint about the treatment of her son. An African-American parent. He had been accused of grabbing her son by the collar and throwing him through a door. Corporal punishment had been banned in California public schools for many years by the time of this incident.

To be continued. Stay tuned….

Attention Rollen Stewart: Drop Dead!

The following is an open letter addressed to Rollen Stewart, the so-called “Rainbow Man” who used to appear at sporting events all over the nation. He would wear a stupid rainbow wig and flash JOHN 3:16 signs at TV cameras. Stewart is now serving three life sentences for a hostage taking incident near Los Angeles International airport in 1992.

To: Rollen Stewart, you pathetic piece of crap;

I see that Jerry Crowe of the Los Angeles Times fed your legendary attention addiction in his column this past Monday. Everything known about you was rehashed: the wigs, the TV attention, the Budweiser commercial, your marijuana farming, your numerous ex-wives, the stink bombs you threw at media outlets, your “residency” on Skid Row, the “incident”, the numerous rejections for parole, I could go on and on, but I won’t.

Frankly, with all the problems you caused, you were downright boring.

You had opportunities, gifts, and privileges handed to you that most people would have killed for. You were able to go to Super Bowls. In over 30 years in the media, I could never beg, borrow, or buy my way into a Super Bowl. I know. I tried. A lot of people would have loved to have just been in the parking lot.

You appeared in a Budweiser commercial. I know a lot of out of work actors here in L.A. who would have loved the tiniest part in a commercial. They need the money. And they would have been grateful. That seems to be the last thing you were.

You went to countless sporting events across the country, and rarely had to pay for entering any of them. Athletes and media-types who didn’t know better would leave you tickets so that you could annoy people with your goddam religious signs. In yesterday’s article, Brent Musberger was quoted as saying that there were TV directors who would have loved to have killed you for ruining their dramatic shots. Because of you, anything remotely resembling a religious sign is banned at most sporting events.

Four women were stupid enough to call themselves your wife. One of them accused you of choking her for not holding a sign in the right place. I believe her. You told Crowe in Monday’s article that “No one can meet my standards”. Perhaps you can find someone in prison more to your high moral standards.

You set off a bunch of stink bombs at churches, religious broadcasters and at newspaper offices as your way of spreading your “message” that the world was about to end. That was sixteen years ago. Just when was that supposed to have happened?

I really don’t blame you though, for my venting against you today. I blame the Times’ Jerry Crowe. Why? Because until Monday, you were in a good spot for an attention whore like yourself: Forgotten.

I’m going to tell you something that I would not say to 99.999999999% of people: I’m better than you. The slimiest drug dealer in a ghetto or barrio is better than you. Winos and addicts on Skid Row are better than you. You are one of THE worst things to ever happen to sports. Even worse, you admitted to not being a sports fan. You just used sports to gain attention for yourself. Well, you succeeded at that. Millions of parents now know not to raise their sons to be like you.

You’ve been turned down for parole three times in the last six years. You’re serving a LIFE sentence, and have been deemed a danger to society. Why are you even getting a parole hearing? You are in your rightful place in the world: Prison.

It’s appropriate that you’re incarcerated at Mule Creek State Prison in Ione, Ca. You are a lifelong ass.

Now, back to forgetting about you. In the meantime Rollen, have fun making all your nowhere plans for nobody. In your case, the world is NOT at your command.

Warning! Sports Entertainment Post!

You were warned. Come to think of it, sports entertainment is sports of some kind of sort.

My beef (no pun intended) is not with wrestling as a whole. Seeing as how World Wrestling Entertainment alone is a multi-billion dollar a year enterprise, and how smaller, independent promotions consistently draw sellout crowds at smaller venues, the business of wrestling, or sports entertainment, is worthy of some well-earned respect.

My beef is with TNA, the closest thing the WWE has to serious competition. TNA, which stands for Total Non-Stop Action, has done some things recently that I have to wonder about.

For starters, TNA has not one, not two, but three different wrestlers who come to the ring bringing something to drink with them. I don’t mean bottled water. One of them, a woman wrestler named ODB, brings a flask with her, and she takes swigs during a match. With the other two grapplers, it’s usually beer, and one of them has used a bottle as a weapon.

Am I missing something here, or is TNA trying to promote alcoholism?

Another recent TNA storyline had one wrestler under indentured servitude (READ: slavery) to another. He had to do what the other said, no matter how distasteful. It was all legal under TNA “rules”, even though slavery itself has been illegal in this country for well over a hundred years.

There are two things in TNA that I find incredibly distasteful:

First, a current storyline involves a Hispanic tag team called LAX, or the Latin American Exchange. It’s not the team itself that I have issues with, but their non-wrestling manager, or assistant, or whatever that accompanies them to the ring. His name is Hector Guerrero, who is apparently related to the legendary Guerrero family of wrestling.

The family and the wrestling industry suffered a tragic loss by the untimely death of Eddie Guerrero, already a legend before his passing. His nephew Chavo and his widow Vickie are currently employed by the WWE. Three generations of Guerreros have entertained millions of fans worldwide. The Guerrero name is synonymous with wrestling excellence.

So why is TNA sullying the Guerrero name by having Hector made up to look EXACTLY like Eddie? How, you have to wonder, does Vickie and her kids feel when they see Hector Guerrero interfering in an LAX match looking just like their late husband and father?

The other item I find distasteful was the recent employment by TNA of one Adam (Pac Man) Jones, recently suspended by the NFL, and still not reinstated as of this writing. Jones, you may recall, was tossed from the league following a series of arrests for knucklehead behavior, topped by a shooting at a Las Vegas strip club where Jones threw money from a plastic bag at dancers, and a man was left paralyzed from the shooting. As the cherry on top, Jones had his “posse” collect the thrown money and put it back in the bag. What a guy.

The man in Jones’ group accused of doing the shooting now says that he’s taking the rap for Jones. Pac Man was recently traded to the Dallas Cowboys. Why? I thought the Cowboys liked to think of themselves as one of the NFL’s class acts. Why bring this thug in? If I was NFL Commissioner, I would never re-instate Jones. He’s an embarrassment. To the league, to the players, and to manhood in general.

Yet TNA not only gave him a job, in a non-wrestling role, but they made him a “good guy”, or a “face”, as the industry calls its’ hero performers. I can think of fewer worse people to push as a role model.

The WWE has made its’ mistakes over the years. There was the Katie Vick storyline that involved Kane, Triple HHH, and necrophilia. As soon as they saw the very negative reaction to the plot, the WWE got out of it as soon as humanly possible.

There was the botched WCW-ECW takeover plot. It should have been so much better than it actually was.

And lately, a planned incest storyline between current WWE stars Paul Burchill and Katie Lea has been scrapped. The pair, who are not real-life siblings, will also no longer be billed as brother and sister.

The WWE isn’t perfect, but when they see a potential problem, they try to get their act together.

Too bad TNA can’t say the same thing.