The headline may be a bit harsh. 

I admit.

But that doesn’t make it any less true. Newsday put out this Tim Tebow fluff piece this week cheering the babyface that is Tebow in full gosh darn it all glory. While it’s not quite fangirl-ish in its rah-rah rooting for the good guy icon that is Tebow, it does take a significantly more pitying tone that he probably deserves. 

To be fair, it’s not as if Tebow asked to be the next Great White Hope, and I actually believe his “Aww shucks, I’m just here to play ball” folksiness. Tebow is like the guy you went to high school with who had dreams of playing ball and maximized every ounce of athletic talent he had in order to get where he has, but has ended up as a failure in back in your hometown, but without the sour disposition and passive aggressiveness. But we don’t write stories about that guy in national publications.

That guy fades into the sunset, only to be occasionally remembered in high light reels and conversations reliving the glory days at high school reunions. We don’t load this guy. He had his time, he peaked too early, and that’s pretty much the end of the story.

But Tebow has something else. Something in his pure white meat babyfacecharisma has captured the attention of conservative Christian white America. These folks love this guy just like they love John Cena, Olive Garden, and minivans. He has that never give up attitude that these folks just adore.

Part of it’s racialized. I doubt this religious fervor towards an athlete that was mostly known as a failure at the highest level would be at the same intensity. No one was screaming on sports talk radio when Herschel Walker got screwed out of medaling for the US in Winter Olympics. And let’s be honest, Walker was 10 times the success and athlete Tebow ever was. Hell, he only quit MMA because no one would book a 54 yr old in a fight. 

Part of it’s political. Just like Cena, there’s interest in his jingoism and American Dream story. He appeals to a certain segment of the public with his faith and his pro-life activism. And while we don’t know all of his political views, they identify with him.

Finally, it’s aspirational. People have formed a parasocial relationship with Tebow, rooting for him, cheering him on, “He’s a good guy… why wouldn’t I want him to succeed?” “He loves Jesus just like me!” “He never gives up!” Cheap motivational posters aside, the “If you believe it, you can achieve it” notion still lives in a buyer’s market.

As such, there’s smarks like me that will heckle Tebow just as we do Cena. We’re tired of the rah-rah masochism that comes with being a fan of someone you like on a personal level, not for their athletic talent or ability on the field or in the ring. Occasionally, that pluckiness and can-do attitude could win us over, but most likely, not. 

I’m jaded, cynical, and a bit pessimistic, so count me out on the “rooting for Tebow” train. If only we could get hime to adopt the Cena catchphrase, “You can’t see me” but in the literal sense.

Sunday’s NBA All Star game was one the most, if not the most, entertaining all star game ever played. It was everything one could want in a meaningless game celebrating the very best the sport has to offer. Traditionally, MLB’s All Star game has been the only authentically entertaining contest of all the major sports, and not just because that game had the gimmick to matter for the postseason, and in doing so created a bit of controversy of its own, which most likely led to that gimmick’s demise.

That is not to say that only baseball has cornered the market on gimmicks, the NBA had a few quirks designed to up the entertainment quotient for its annual game as well. Ratings had dropped in recent years, as fans across the board have become bored with the “east vs west” dichotomy that had worn thin decades ago as the NBA’s Western Conference has routinely dominated in the regular season and in the playoffs. The East has won only four of the last 11 championships and three of those teams contained an essential ingredient: LeBron James. Not since Jordan’s Bulls teams has a team from the East consistently been considered the favorite to win the championship each and every year.

Now the teams are picked by the team captains, each getting a gym class style pick ’em to decide each team’s roster. I’m pretty sure the stakes are a little less in terms of who’s the last pick like a middle school game of flag football’s choice between tomboy Jenny and Kevin, the weird kid that picks his nose and stares at the results.

Instead, Team LeBron and Team Giannis picked their team from relative NBA studs, though quite a number were making their All Star game debuts. Milwaukee Bucks great Giannis Antetokounmpo for his part did not win over fans with his picking prowess. Anytime your draft skills are compared to the Browns it’s not a good sign. The Greek Freak definitely had a plan, strategically picking younger newer talent, while the Laker’s LeBron James went with established stars and future Hall of Famers. Kahwi, Dame, and Paul are all bound for Springfield, and I’ll claim Harden and Westbrook are two. Come at me bro.

But even with all that talent, the game still needed to pull in the casual viewer and what better way to do that but with a little pull at the heartstrings and a little social activism? Each team was playing for a specific charity and they won money to be donated to their selection for each quarter won, with those periods existing seperately from the other until the final quarter tally. Fitting that the teams then split the first half and then tied in the third. Whomever won the fourth and final quarter won all the cash earned in the third after the draw.

But instead of a timed fourth quarter, with a definitive final second to tick off, the teams played to a predetermined goal of 157 points. No different than the neighborhood playground rules of first to 20 wins, the NBA All Star game now had an old school last shot wins feel.

And that was perfect.

I found myself so much more invested in the result than that of just seeing another celebratory athlete blowout. In past years, I’ve watched the game to see breakaway dunks, ridiculous no-look passes, and fantasy team ups in the basketball version of The Avengers, but much like my interest in the Slam Dunk Contest, that desire to watch waned.

But the intractability of that point total: 157.

The math was easy enough, just add Kobe’s 24 to the leading total score entering the fourth, and there you have it, 157. But it strikes at the best part of sports: its unpredictability and the anticipation of the unexpected. We don’t know what the total will be until the end of the third, and when we do, we’re not sure of how we’ll get there. This gives an otherwise empty game verifiable stakes, (Who’s going to win? Which star will step up?) And that’s what sports is really and ultimately why we love them. Let’s hope other sports take the same initiative and put a little effort into making their All Star games a bit more meaningful.

In equally stunning news as this weekend’s UFC 257, the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame announced that there would be no new inductees in the hallowed halls of Cooperstown, a remarkable outcome that hasn’t happened since 1960. In 2013, the Hall saw no players voted in by the writers as well, but the veterans committee picked up the slack by electing three members.

Whenever I am asked about a particular player being “Hall of Fame worthy,” I have a pretty reliable, simplistic, rubric: if I can’t give an immediate yes, then no, that player is not good enough to get into Cooperstown, Canton, or any other venerable Hall of Fame in the country. This gutcheck rubric, as I call it, is not open to interpretation, with the understanding that your gut may say something different than mine. Derek Jeter? Hall of Famer. Miguel Cabrera? First ballot Hall of Famer. Jason Giambi? Not a Hall of Famer. I will even conceded the occasional election to the Hall even when players I don’t think are worthy will get in. Yeah, you know who you are Eli Manning.

But I think this current slate of players presents a far more interesting paradox than a simple question of career performances, and belies a certainty this question will be with us a while.

I don’t think Curt Schilling is worthy of the Hall of Fame, I just don’t. Part of that gut check rubric is the question whether you were the best at your position at any given point of your career. Were you the most dominant player at your position amongst your contemporaries? Say what you will about his stature, his lack of success in the playoffs, and lack of big name credentials, Zach Thomas deserves to be in Canton. He had a solid 8-10 year run where he was consistently one of the best inside linebackers in the NFL. Quarterbacks knew they had to know where Thomas was, they game-planned for him. Who game-planned for Curt Schilling? Who changed their line-ups, changed their rotation, did anything out of fear for Schilling’s albeit rather nasty split-finger fastball. 

Also, Schilling is an arrogant and petulant vulgarian. So there’s that. Could he get the 16 votes he needed to get from 71.1% to 75%? Maybe, but I doubt it.

But while we can argue the validity of “character” and “reputation” as a determiner of one’s worthiness for the Hall of Fame, (the honor being for great players, not the greatest of people), what we can’t argue is that performance matters, especially against those you would call peers. And while Schilling’s numbers are very good, what 2021 reminds me of is the deficit of the era in which these players played. 

What continues to be clear, and most likely will continue for at least another decade is the significance of the steroid era in baseball limiting these HOF worthy classes. Barry Bonds (61.8%) and Roger Clemons (61.6%) again just finished short in the voting, and after nine years of eligibility, next year is their last chance at enshrinement through the BBWAA voting process before veterans committee might change their fortunes.

But that’s no guarantee the old timers will be favorable to their cause, and next year is a virtual guarantee they’ll be shut out. Next year will see a load of new steroid era big boppers in Alex Rodriguez, David Ortiz, and Mark Teixeira, along with Jimmy Rollins, Joe Nathan, and Jonathan Papelbon. While it’ll be interesting to see how the Hall treats ARod, (I don’t think there’s a snowball’s chance he gets in), the more interesting case lies with the other two leading candidates. I don’t think Teixeira’s good enough to get in (see gut check rule), but Big Papi is the more intriguing case. Granted Ortiz tested positive in the first PED class when the MLB first leaked those names, but he kept his nose clean and only endeared himself to the fans and media with his fun loving personality and personable demeanor. That dude is beloved in Boston and adored in his native DR. I think he sits a year, and is elected in 2023.

When Rhonda Rousey strode determinedly to the cage at UFC 193 very few observers could predict the shocking outcome that night against the challenger Holly Holm. Most predicted an early outcome in Rousey’s favor. Venerable longtime beat writer Brett Okamoto of ESPN predicted a patented Rousey by armbar 1:15 of the first round. Instead, we saw one of the greatest upsets of 2015 and perhaps all-time .

Though Rousey began the fight at a furious pace in defense of her Women’s Bantamweight title, Holm repeatedly kept Rousey at bay and staggered, tagging Rousey repeatedly with strikes from a southpaw stance that seemed to confuse Rousey. Try as she might Rousey’s repeated attempts at taking the fight to the ground failed as Holm used her boxing to thwart her at every opportunity, leaving a battered Rousey bleeding at the end of the round. Starting the second round in much the same way, Holm’s kept up a stick and move strategy until finally a straight left to the chin wobbled Rousey and a brutally stiff kick to the neck knocked Rousey out cold. It was a stunning end to Rousey’s winning streak and immediately evaporated Rousey’s aura of invincibility. 

With Dustin Poirier’s stunning knockout of Conor McGregor at UFC 257 this weekend, I think it’s fair to make a comparative suggestion. McGregor has perhaps the most dominating swagger of any fighter in UFC history. He’s the kind of fighter that wins fights just by walking into the cage on pure presence alone. He’s the miniature version of The Last Emperor but with a much louder megaphone and far flashier presence.

But it’s fair to question whether that indomitable aura is still intact after Saturday’s bout. Though McGregor clearly had the advantage in the first round, Poirier weathered the early storm and McGregor had little in the tank midway through the second round. It is the first time I have seen McGregor, who is well known for being a bit of a cardio monster, out-conditioned in a fight in a very long time, though questions were raised before the fight considering McGregor’s long lay-off.

So stunning was the defeat that the sight of an unconscious Notroious against teh side of the cage, that the image became instantly meme-worthy. It also just happened to occur on the heels of perhaps that most viral of memes in almost a decade of internet memes on social media.

Damn, that Conor McGregor fight was wild! pic.twitter.com/x8JDQX1atL— Dafuq You Meme? (@DafuqYouMemes) January 24, 2021

My favorite meme of the bunch.

Would this happen were McGregor to lose late in Round 5? Or by submission in Round 3? I doubt it. Poirier was not intimidated by Conor McGregor, and the question moving forward is “Will anyone ever be again?”

If the answer is no, and I have a sneaking suspicion in might be, especially since Nate Diaz has already clamored to have the next shot at McGregor, and we all know The American Ninja is afraid of no man. Could we see a winner-take-all rubber match between the two? Or will Justin Gaethje use him as another path to the lightweight title he believes he serves after Khabib’s retirement?

And no, Khabib is not returning to fight anyone. Mark my words.

Reggie Miller has never been one to shy away from controversy, the man did write an autobiography titled I Love Being the Enemy. Known as one of the most effusive trash talkers in his time in the league, Miller was best known for his rivalry with the Knicks and superfan Spike Lee, verbally sparring with Lee and Kinicks alike during a series of playoff matches from 1993-2000. The teams met six times during this span, and even when the Knicks prevailed, Miller managed to shine,, even earning the moniker The Knick Killer, most famously in 1995’s 8 points in 9 seconds. 

While the Knicks and Pacers rivalry earned the ink and the coverage, (it even has its own Wikipedia entry) another equally intense rivalry existed between the champion Bulls and the upstart Pacers, and more so between the two star players, Michael Jordan and Miller. MIller was one of the few players at the time who did not fear Jordan, which of course angered MJ. In fact, during a regular-seasoned game on Feb. 12, 1993, Jordan became so enraged after an altercation with Miller, Jordan chased him down, nearly gouged MIller’s eye, and caught him with a sucker punch. Most infuriatingly, MIller was tossed from the game and Jordan shot technicals.

It was this perceived favoritism to the NBA’s poster boy that simply drove Pacer fans mad. But matchups were relegated to the regular season, throughout much of the ’90s, the Pacers and Bulls never met in the playoffs. So when they finally faced off in the 1998 Eastern Conference Finals, Indiana was spoiling for a fight, and to assert their rightful position as the next championship team. 

https://twitter.com/ESPNNBA/status/1259864877541330952

In the above teaser for the final two episodes of ESPN’s The Last Dance, Miller doesn’t say anything Pacer fans, myself included, didn’t think at that time. The teams split the first six games, before the Bulls prevailed in Game 7 eventually winning Jordan’s sixth — and final — championship.

Returning to the perception of Jordan Rules and the double-standard afforded him, and only him, any non-Bulls fan could watch that series and note the preferential treatment Jordan received. No one committed more fouls not called than MJ, and Game 7 was absolutely indicative of that. The Pacers led for most of the game, but as the game entered the final five minutes, the Bulls took the lead and never relinquished it. As a fan, I’ll never forget Derrick McKey’s ill fated three with :17 left on the clock and the Pacers down 87-83.

The Pacers had the better starting five. While Jordan and Scottie Pippen are in the NBA’s 50 Greatest Players, and Dennis Rodman is perhaps the greatest rebounder in the history of the game, the rest of the starting line-up and the bench pale in comparison to the Pacers, who’s starting line-up included two HOFers in Miller and Chris Mullin, and Antonio Davis, Dale Davis, and Marc Jackson were all NBA All-Stars at one point. Bulls starters Toni Kukoč and Ron Harper were very good, but never as skilled as Jackson, who retired at 4th on the all-time assists list (10,323). Jalen Rose and McKey were quality backups, and even Rik Smits, nearing the end of his career, was twice the big man anyone on the Bulls was. What, like anyone feared Joe Kleine? 

The final two episodes of The Last Dance will premiere this weekend, and though I dread the continued love-fest that has been this paean to Jordan, it will be interesting to see if the Pacers are finally given their just due.

Knowing the four letter network’s slavish devotion to all things Jordan though, I seriously doubt it.

Usually I try to write about the weekend’s sports events, adding commentary and critical analysis to whatever catches my eye from the weekend’s action. But every now and then, something leaps onto the front page and simply forces me to write about it.

Well, today was just such a day.

ESPN is going to have a new Monday Night Football booth. Joe Tessitore and Booger McFarland will not return, via sources. The successors will be internal. No decision has been made yet. Both Tessitore and McFarland will remain in prominent roles at ESPN.— Richard Deitsch (@richarddeitsch) May 9, 2020

For those of involved in sports media and the production of such content, seeing a change like this is rather dramatic. This is a very big deal. 

Despite its struggles since moving to ESPN, and the declining ratings in the preceding few short years before the program moved from ABC to ESPN in 2006, we must reiterate the importance of Monday Night Football. It is without question the flagship program on ESPN, and that’s including SportsCenter. It is the cornerstone of the network’s coverage of the NFL, the crux by which a network known for its insidious self-promotion frames the rest of its coverage of the league and continually reifies itself as the home of all sport. 

So it is major news when the broadcast team for this program is unceremoniously axed in the off-season just after the NFL Draft. John Tessitore and Booger MacFarland have only been in the booth for a year together, an incredibly short time to build an audience or establish a rapport with viewers. Previously, Booger was relegated to the embarrassing and comical Boogermobile while Tessitore shared the booth with uninspiring Jason Witten, a color commentator so bland and unremarkable that he was able to remove the color from color announcer. 

Poor Booger has been the target of unmitigated criticism from a subset of angry fans on Twitter and the blogosphere since his introduction to MNF. It is not at all difficult to see much of this criticism comes from a place of racial animus. “How dare an ex-athlete, a black man with a country accent (!), tell me what I should think about the game!” Booger is well aware of this hostility, but he also recognized the importance of his inclusion in the broadcast of a mostly Black game to a largely White but diversifying audience. 

Let’s be honest, sports broadcasting is #sowhite for so long. There remain very few black men in a position of authority as the play-by-play announcer. They have been long dismissed as the dumb jock to the brilliant wordsmith that white counterparts such as Howard Cosell and Al Michaels are oft portrayed to be. Meanwhile, black contemporaries like Gus Johnson are ridiculed as over-emotive and “too gimmicky” for a mainstream white audience.

Personally, I liked Booger, and I found his analysis instructive and intuitive. Granted he made mistakes, as we all do, but where others would be allowed to flourish, it seems to me that ESPN pulled the trigger prematurely. 

But this is a problem throughout sports with Blackness. White coaches get second and third chances while the Ty Willinghams and Romeo Crennels of the world are afforded just a single opportunity at the big time. How else would you explain Norv Turner’s repeated head coaching gigs?

While I look forward to the possibility that Peyton Manning may join the MNF booth, a rumor circulating long before the axe fell on the most recent announcers, I will eulogize Booger and his contribution to my enjoyment of MNF. 

Godspeed, Booger. May ESPN find a vehicle for your talents soon.