December 7: A Legend Was Born

For some, Dec. 7 is remembered as "a date that will live in infamy" because it was when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941. For many others, most too young to have their lives halted by the war, Dec. 7 is celebrated as the day that a beloved legend was born.

I'm in the latter category. Because today is my mom's birthday.

Oh, it's also Larry Bird's birthday. Some folks think he's pretty legendary, too.

Time Off Ain't On Our Side

The New York Jets have played three of their 12 games during the 2010 season after having more than seven off days. They have been outscored 64-12 in those three games, failing to score a touchdown in any contest and being held scoreless once.

2010 Jets Results and Days Between Games

Week	Opponent	Days Off	Result
1	Baltimore	Entire Offseason	Loss, 9-10
2	New England	5	Win, 28-14
3	@ Miami	6	Win, 31-23
4	@ Buffalo	6	Win, 38-14
5	Minnesota	7	Win, 29-20
6	@ Denver	5	Win, 24-20
8	Green Bay	13 (Bye Week)	Loss, 0-9
9	@ Detroit	6	Win, 23-20 OT
10	@ Cleveland	6	Win, 26-20 OT
11	Houston	6	Win, 30-27
12	Cincinnati	3	Win, 26-10
13	@ New England	10	Loss, 3-45

Both the season-opening loss to the Ravens and the defeat by Green Bay after the bye week left me convinced that Jets offensive coordinator Brian Schottenheimer had out-thought himself. With too much time to script plays, he got carried away with what was possible on paper instead of focusing on what was going to be effective on the field. In both cases, it appeared that the Jets were tentatively trying things rather efficiently executing things that they already had confidence in.

Against the Ravens, the supposedly "Ground and Pound" Jets attempted passes on 6 of the 8 non-kicking (punt and field goal attempt) plays that comprised the offense's first two drives. They then came out after the half and went three and out on their first possession of the third quarter with three pass plays. In both losses, there were reverses run at inopportune times that suggested that they had been scripted in advance. Like maybe on the ninth day of game-planning.

Against Green Bay, the Jets coaching staff called 41 pass plays to just 28 running plays and saw punter Steve Weatherford freelance on a fake punt attempt in a fourth-and-18 situation from his own 20-yard line. That loss to Green Bay was also marred by a missed field goal and a foolish referee challenge by Rex that came back to haunt his team. Which brings us to last night's thorough debaclization of the Jets up at Foxboro where a mis-used challenge and a missed field goal led to this game unraveling early.

Wow.

This 45-3 defeat at the well-manicured hands of Tom Brady was so surgical and unequivocal that it hardly hurt, like being cut with a Hattori Hanzo blade so sharp that you don't feel the pain until you feel the wet warmth of the blood pooling at your feet.

Hard to block when the Jets had the ball and harder to tackle when they had it, the Patriots seemed prepared and aggressive on both sides of the ball. They executed ruthlessly and singlemindedly while the Jets seemed tentative and disjointed (and, yes, I'm talking about LT taking another dump off pass to the helmet). While the Jets players spent all those off days telling reporters and themselves that could win it certainly seemed that the Patriots spent the time making sure that they would win.

Yes, the shanked punt, missed field goal and squandered challenge all figured prominently in the game getting away from the Jets so early, but those things almost seem irrelevant when considered alongside the striking difference in comfort and urgency between the two teams.

For me, last night's humiliating loss hammered home the notion that time off isn't on the side of the New York Jets. Rest makes rust and unfamiliar game plans. I don't know if the blame falls entirely on the meaty shoulders of Rex Ryan whose top-flight motivation skills and innovative defensive philosophies may outstrip his in-game efficiency by more than we were all willing to concede. Or, does more of the blame fall on Shotty? His offense, which despite his high profile have never actually amounted to much over the duration of a season, seems stuck in neutral every time he has more than a few days to tinker under the hood. Of course, even if the blame does lay with the offensive coordinator one could transfer that right back to Rexy for not having a heavier hand in the offensive game planning. At this point, he likes to talk about the running game more than he likes to make sure that his coaches are relying on it.

Although Patriots coach Bill Belichick has thrived on tailoring a game plan to counter his opponent's strengths, these Jets seem to be at their best when they impose their own strengths - the running game and an aggressive defense.

Under Ryan, the Jets have been more successful when drawing on an overarching me-first theme rather than a week-by-week scheme based on the other team. This is why we heard "Ground and Pound" so often last season as the Jets rolled to the AFC Championship Game. With the Patriots in the driver's seat for the AFC East crown after last night, the Jets likely wouldn't have any extra off days before a game unless they reached the Super Bowl. So, in that way last night might have been a lose-win. After all, I can't see this team benefitting from a first-round bye in the playoffs.

Unhappy Returns: Pat Riley to the Garden (1995)

Unless you spent the past few days tirelessly (and futilely) crisscrossing the globe for the past week with Sunil Gulati, president of US Soccer, then you are fully aware of the coming of the Lebronagdeon to Cleveland tonight.

Five months from leaving his home-state Cavaliers for the sultry shores of South Beach, LeBron James will tread the boards at the Q in downtown Cleveland. Lots of folks, like SI's Joe Posnanski, have already covered the myriad angles of the return. As a Knicks fan, I can't help but think back to the last time we had a tried and true traitor return to the scene of the crime. It was December 19, 1995, and former Knicks coach Pat Riley returned to Madison Square Garden with his own Miami Heat.

Riles had shocked Knicks fans and players alike when departed for the sultry shores of South Beach during the preceding offseason. Best of all, his resignation came via fax. Which given the tech-standards of the mid-1990s must have been liking breaking up with someone via text message. Is there a lol-type texttype for dumping someone?

Knicks Beat Nets! Edging Ineptitude?

There were some strange things happening as Knicks fans pushed through the curved sloping corridor toward the 7th Avenue exit of Madison Square Garden after the team's 111-100 win over the New Jersey Nets last night. Spontaneous chants of NEW ... YORK ... KNICKS (but not new New York Knicks) spread through the departing crowd faster than a bed bug infestation through a Lower East Side tenement. As these chanting fans pushed through the glass doors out into the entryway there were two female Garden staffers exuberantly dispensing free-of-charge high fives. And, perhaps most surprisingly, there was a crowd surrounding the souvenir stand near the box office. Knicks fans were reaching for their already lightened wallets and clamoring for foam fingers and STAT t-shirts after a Knicks game? In recent years, such purchases were mostly made before the game and certainly no later than halftime. After the game was a time for lamenting how much money one had spent on such a poor product, for vowing not to come back until things were different.

Well, they are. And, apparently, enthusiasm and largess are qualities shared by supporters of successful teams. I almost forgot.

After all, it has been since January 4, 2005, when Brooklyn-born Lenny Wilkens was stoically coaching a team featuring fellow Kings County native Stephon Marbury, that the Knicks went to sleep with a winning record this "late" into the season. That 2004-2005 team lost its game on 1/1/05 to Sacramento Kings, bringing its record to 16-15. A loss to Miami in the next contest, dropped those Knickerbockers to .500 and they've had yet to get back in the black any later than November until last night.

Fittingly, those Wilkens-Marbury Knicks began the franchise's backslide to the Summer of 2010 with a loss to the New Jersey Nets on New Year's Day 2005, just a few days before that dropping under the .500 mark. Heading into that 1/1/05 showdown with the Nets, the Knicks had finished the '04 portion of the schedule with a flourish, taking 8 of their last 12 to go three games over .500 at 16-13. Marbury had yet to acquire any facial tattoos and was still putting up those Oscaresque stats, posting back to back 30+ point games and ranking among the league leaders in assists. Asked about his recent run of success the day before taking on Jason Kidd's Nets, Marbury said:

"Don't get me wrong, I love Jason Kidd, he is a great point guard. [But] how am I comparing myself to him when I think I'm the best point guard to play basketball? That makes no sense. I can't compare myself to somebody when I already think I'm the best. I'm telling you what it is. I know I'm the best point guard in the NBA."

The self-proclaimed "best point guard in NBA" did score 31 points to go along with 8 assists, 4 boards and 3 steals in that game against the Nets, but Kidd orchestrated a win for his team. One of many that would come at the expense of the Knicks in the ensuing years. Aside from James Dolan's subsequent proclamation about "evident progress" under Isiah Thomas, perhaps no remark better exemplified the franchise's lack of self awareness during this post-Ewing slog through the wilderness of ineptitude.

During the team's stay in the hinterlands, few losses rankled Knicks fans more than those beat downs administered by Kidd and the Rutherford Runners Club. Knowing that we kept the Knicks flush with season ticket money and concession sales through all those lackluster efforts and that we grabbed tighter than Sophie to Jan to any glimmer of fire made those losses sting more than most. We Knicks fans cheered DEEE-FENSE at the tops of our lungs during midweek fourth quarters whenever it was vaguely appropriate while the Nets struggled to draw enough folks to justify opening up the second case of beer at a block party. It burned me up how that organization could field a team that just killed our team. We cared so hard and so fruitlessly and few things pointed that out more than losses to the Nets. Which is a (predictably) long way of writing, that last night's win important for everyone in the building. Fans left cheering, Knicks players left with a winning record and the Nets left knowing that visiting the Garden has changed.

Observations, Retro-Predictions and Things Best Left Unsaid
-Amar'e Stoudemire is for real (on offense). He's the truth. He's the answer. He's not the Big Fella, but he's something and we need to do better than STAT in the nickname department. Unless of course that knee eventually fails and then he can just be the McDyess.

-The Felton-STAT pick-and-roll combination is getting tighter as is there overall comfort level. Perhaps the game's most emphatic bucket in the third quarter was scored after Ray sliced to the rim and diced the Nets' interior defense with a pass to Amar'e, who slammed it home.

-Brook Lopez can score the ball. Although the Nets second-year center played mostly unmolested with Ronny Turiaf still nursing a knee injury, the good son

-Jets closer/wide reciever Santanio Holmes was in attendance and got a loud ovation from the crowd.

Ronny Turiaf is the Baking Soda in the Knicks' Recipe For Success

The kitchen at WWOD? Headquarters is occasionally mangled and messed by my amateur gastronomy. And, not to brag, but I've been known to come up just short of the medal round in various local cooking competitions. In those situations, well-intentioned strangers are almost uniformly complimentary. Although I may not ready to host an episode of Cafeteria Fraiche, I've got a few staples down pretty good, including a delectable Chili con Cornbread (which is my signature chili with a layer of cornbread baked right on top).



With Thanksgiving upon us, food and cooking are frequent topics of conversation. Being non-denominational, gift-free and focused almost exclusively on gluttonous self-indulgence (with a heaping helping of football), Thanksgiving is threatening to pass Halloween as my favorite holiday.

Perhaps the only unsavory aspect of the very well-seasoned and toothsome day, at least in my family, is the annual question controversy of who will prepare what dishes for the big extended family sit-down feast. Who makes the stuffing? Is grandma cooking the turkey? If not, who is breaking the news to her? What about a ham? How many pies can we be expected to eat and compliment? What happens if an aunt shows up with a goat cheese salad that nobody really wants to dig into after it spent better than two hours in the car on the way over? And, most importantly, were any of these items cooked around nuts of any sort? Great Sacagawea's Ghost, let there not be nuts in that pecan pie!

Despite any delusions of Altonesque proficiency simmering in my soul, I've volunteered to not cook anything this year to help keep the peace. Aside from the obvious bonus of not having to spend Thanksgiving morning figuring out how to transport various foodtsuffs across statelines, I also am spared the first-bite fear of screwing up a recipe. It's one thing to cook something mediocre for myself or for a few friends who came over on a Sunday to watch football and drink beer, but it's another to explain to my grandmother why my pie crust isn't flaky or there seems to be too much salt and not enough celery in the stuffing.

When dealing with a recipe that calls for more than a dozen ingredients in various weights and measures it almost always seems like it's the one or two things that are barley used at all can wreak the most havoc if misused or forgotten. Add 5 tablespoons of butter instead of 4? No problem. Run a 1/4 cup short of the 4 cups of flour? Don't sweat it. But if you forget that 1 teaspoon of baking soda then you might as well do everyone a favor and immolate whatever you're cooking in a cleansing house fire. Because somehow that relatively minuscule quantity of that tasteless ingredient somehow means the difference between success and failure regardless of the artisinal quality of every other scrumptious ingredient.

Even though it's almost always used in small quantities, bread won't rise without baking soda and your cake won't be fluffy. Your cookie dough won't expand while it's baking on its cookie sheet and your shortbread may end up tall and un-crumbly. Despite not tasting good and seeming more chemical than culinary, baking soda allows all the other ingredients to shine. As I've watched the Knicks pull themselves out of their early-season hole, I've come to realize that Ronny Turiaf is the baking soda in the Knicks' recipe for success. Whatever athletic alchemy he is performing in the paint allows the other high-priced groceries that Knicks GM Donnie Walsh brought in to shine. In games that Turiaf has played (and not left early due to injury) the Knicks' record is 8-4. In games that Turiaf has started at center, the Knicks are undefeated with five wins. Looking at the box scores from any of these games, one wouldn't think that Turiaf's contribution was critical. Just like one glance at a 15-item recipe for carrot cake wouldn't leave you thinking that the 1 teaspoon of baking soda was make or break. You might think the butter was more important or all that cream cheese and confectionery sugar in the frosting. And, you'd be right in a matter of speaking. Just like you'd be correct to say that all Amar'e Stoudemire's scoring and all of Raymond Felton's assists are more important than Turiaf's 5 points and 3 boards per night. By volume, he's not doing that much. But without him all the tasty things about those other ingredients go to waste and this team won't rise.

Be Thankful

LeBron James and the Plastic Riley Band

In December 1970, songwriter, guitarist, painter, author and aspirant fisherman John Lennon sat down with Rolling Stone mogul Jann Wenner for an interview. With the entire world listening during the past decade, he'd gone from writing about holding hands to screaming about kicking heroin. The Beatles had disbanded just better than a year earlier. Lennon was 30 years old. And Famous. Really, really damn famous. Bigger than Jesus, in fact.

In the aftermath of the Beatles break-up, each of the Fab Four was publicly coming to grips with their accomplishments and the damage that accompanied them. Ringo even put out a country record. Not coincidentally, Lennon released his solo debut, Plastic Ono Band, the same month as the sit-down with Wenner, agreeing to the interview in order to help promote the album. Then undergoing something called "primal scream" therapy, which had been helping him release pent up emotion and deal with the apparently overwhelming paranoia that had built as a result of the scrutiny he'd been under (as well as the copious drug use), Lennon was unflinchingly honest at this point in his life. Gone was the cheeky wordplay and the surrealistic imagery of his youth, replaced with unadorned, and sometimes downright nasty, truth on record and in person. The transcript of the interview was later published under the title Lennon Remembers.

Sonically, John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band is at turns spare and rootsy. There are blues, folk and rock sounds. Lyrically there is anger and vulnerability, introspection and aggression. In "God," Lennon tears down civic and religious idols from Jesus to JFK. To the chagrin of twenty-something acolytes, he declares, "I don't believe in Beatles." In the early-Dylanesque "Working Class Hero", he refers to his middle class listeners as "fucking peasants," a turn of phrase that had the album's second single banned in various locales.

Aspects of the record are so caustic and elemental that a case could be made (and probably has by those better equipped to write about music) that this is even proto-punk. The vocal-chord shredding wail in the middle of "Well, Well, Well" sounds a lot like Kurt Cobain's cry of "go away" at the end of the "Scentless Apprentice" on In Utero, an album that I think has a few tunes that would fit right onto Plastic Ono Band. In particular, Lennon's "Look at Me" seems a precursor to Nirvana's elegiac "All Apologies."

"Look at Me" features John singing accompanied by his picking at an acoustic guitar while the lyrics detail his complex relationship with his audience, whom he addresses as "my love." Lennon dutifully admits that he feels compelled to comply with the world's demands on him and his art, even asking his listener/lover, "What am I supposed to do?" Rather than lash out (as he does several times in Lennon Remembers and on the record), here Lennon concedes the symbiosis between the famous and the fan. He admits that part of him hopes to please them. That he loves them and needs them.

Upon its release, the record was a critical success and Rolling Stone ranked it No. 22 on its Top 500 Albums of All Time in 2003. Last Sunday morning, I was alone in the car listening to the record for the first time in a few years, and "Look at Me" reminded me of another commercial meditation on fame that I saw for the first time just a few weeks ago.



LeBron James' "Rise" spot for Nike was created by Wieden & Kennedy of Portland. Directed by Stacy Wall, the spot tackles head-on the fallout of James' decision to take his talents to South Beach. The director was previously behind the NBA puppet commercials as well as several other notable spots. Just as LeBron repeatedly asks "What should I do?" in that recent advertorial, Lennon alternately asks "Who am I supposed to be?" and "What am I supposed to do?" in "Look at Me."

By asking such questions, both men are admitting that the opinion of those strangers matters, regardless of how much it may rankle them. The only thing outstripping the creeping disdain for the audience is the continued need for the attention and the platform. Their nearly unprecedented worldwide fame* is both addictive and alienating.

In answering Wenner's first question of the aforementioned interview - "Would you take it all back?" - Lennon says:

And these fucking bastards there just sucking us to death, that's about all we can do, is do it like circus animals. I resent being an artist, in that respect, I resent performing for fucking idiots who don't know anything. They can't feel; I'm the one that's feeling, because I'm the one expressing. They live vicariously through me and other artists, and we are the ones ... even with the boxers, when Oscar [Bonneventura] comes in the ring, they're booing the shit out of him. He only hit Clay once and they're all cheering him. That's what I resent, you know. I'd sooner be in the audience, really, but I'm not capable of of it."

After watching James's most recent commercial and noting his increasingly defensive and combative statements since signing with the Miami Heat over the summer, I can't help but think that he'd have a knowing nod for Lennon's feelings about fame and the fickle nature of the crowd.

Like Lennon after the break-up of the Beatles, LeBron is now attempting to get out in front of the stories being told about him. He's trying to write his own narrative rather than let jersey burnings commence in Cleveland unabated. LeBron's defiant shots at his critics, such as Charles Barkley and Michael Jordan, echo Lennon's own verbal barbs for former bandmate Paul McCartney and even his younger self. In each case, the anger and resentment comes off as petty. But both Lennon and LeBron are humanized by their melancholy and their pathos. Both Lennon, directly through his lyrics, and LeBron, at the behest of ad mavens and marketing wizards, admitted that they need us not only to look at them, but to support them. And perhaps even guide them. In both cases, fans have mixed reactions to seeing the flaws of their heroes.

I can't help but wonder if Wall and the fine folks at W&K created this commercial with "Look at Me" in mind, or if there are just so few ways to described the rarefied place that LBJ and Lennon have held in popular culture that they pair of searching creations just seem intrinsically linked.

"Look at Me," by John Lennon

OK? (yes sir)
Look at me,
Who am I supposed to be?
Who am I supposed to be?
Look at me,
What am I supposed to be?
What am I supposed to be?
Look at me,
Oh my love, oh my love.
Here I am,
What am I supposed to do?
What am I supposed to do?
Here I am,
What can I do for you?
What can I do for you?
Here I am,
Oh my love, oh my love.
Look at me, oh please look at me, my love,
Here I am - Oh my love.
Who am I?
Nobody knows but me,
Nobody knows but me,
Who am I?
Nobody else can see,
Just you and me,
Who are we?
Oh my love, oh my love.
Oh my love...




*Random Music Footnote (at the end of a random music post on a sports blog): John Lennon received a song-writing credit on David Bowie's "Fame" after singing the word FAME over the Carlos Alomar's guitar riff during a one-day studio session in New York with Bowie in 1975. Bowie was inspired by the theme and the chords and dashed off the rest of the lyrics. On the finished single, Lennon contributes backing vocals.

Favre's Consecutive Fantasy Starts Streak in Jeopardy

And in the 11th week of his 20th season, be-denimed sexter and future Hall of Famer Brett Favre has become a less useful fantasy football quarterback than washed-up second string born-again signal caller Jon Kitna. At least, that's what I think. So, I've dropped the Land Baron outright. That just happened.

UPDATE: Unlike some many of my fantasy football moves, dropping Favre for Kitna actually paid off. Favre's Vikings were shellacked by the Packers, 31-3, while Kitna led the suddenly frisky Cowboys to a 35-19 triumph over the Detroit Lions.

Favre: 208 passing yards, 0 TD, 1 INT, 1 rush, 0 yards, 0 TD
Kitna: 147 passing yards, 3 TD, 0 INT, 4 rush, 40 yards, 1 TD

Messi Just Happened

Rival football superpowers Brazil and Argentina shipped their national sides all the way to Qatar for what amounted to a not-so-friendly match. Qatar occupies a peninsula in the Persian Gulf and they've got themselves some oil and gas riches out there. Which is probably how they persuaded two South American nations to square off halfway around the world. Ronaldinho even made the trip, his first appearance since being dropped from the Samba squad in the run-up to the 2010 World Cup. I'd assume that reunion had something to do with all of that persuasion changing hands. As the clock ticked past 90 minutes, the match seemed destined for a scoreless draw. But then Argentine wunderkind Lionel Messi gave everyone their monies worth.

NBA History with Matty Guokas

Without the same old new New York Knicks playing tonight, I tuned in to the Magic-Grizzlies game on NBATV (after watching last night's episode of The Walking Dead). I flipped to channel 216 during the studio halftime show featuring a youthful Kendal Gill and spent Dennis Scott, and the studio team soon sent viewers back to the arena as the third quarter got underway in Orlando. A few plays in, Jameer Nelson sent a long outlet pass, after Dwight Howard handed him the defensive rebound, to Rashard Lewis who broke for the other end as soon as he saw that D12 was corralling the carom. Lewis had been boxing out former Knickerbocker Zach Randolph when he took off for the other end. Lewis upshifted as he crossed midcourt to receive the pass in stride, but he had left Z-Bo plodding up court far behind him. At this point, player-turned-coach-cum announcer Matty Guokas provided a Knicks-related lesson in hoops history.

Matt Guokas: I think Zach Randolph is maybe one of the slowest transition players in the NBA. I'm trying to think of somebody who is poorer at getting back in transition defense than Zach right now. Well, Eddy Curry. When they were teammates in New York, very briefly because Eddy Curry didn't play too many games, that was the worst combination in the history of basketball.

David Steele: Wow, that's saying a lot. A bold statement.

As if the weekend hadn't provided enough discouraging Knicks memories, Guokas is dredging ghosts of Knickerbockers past. But, yeah, he might be right. Remember, when that seemed like a good idea? Actually, check that. Remember when Isiah Thomas tried to sell us on that as being a good pairing? Strange days inside the goldmine, indeed.