Monthly Archives: January 2013

Allen Iverson, Boston Celtics, Danny Ainge, ESPN, Kevin McHale, Larry Bird, NBA, Philadelphia 76ers, Robert Parish, Stephen A. Smith

The Chief & The Answer: Old & Entitled


Some old and familiar faces made headlines this week, and what they want is respect.
Problem is, they already had it and lost it. Now, they expect the “Powers That Be” to give it to them again.  
No, it’s not Randy Moss proclaiming he’s the greatest receiver in NFL History. No, it’s not Alex Smith demanding he be named starting quarterback of the 49ers before Super Bowl XLVII.
It’s a couple of former NBA stars.
And if you are as tired of the same old story lines from Super Week and Media Day in New Orleans as I am, this might catch your attention.
Allen Iverson
Former All-Star Allen Iverson wants back in the NBA, at the advancing age of 37. And so does 59-year-old former Celtics great Robert Parish.
They just want to be back in totally different ways.
Iverson wants back on the court, a chance to – as he calls it – complete his NBA legacy. Weird part is, he just turned down a chance to play for the Legends in the NBA D-League.
“I think the D-League is a great opportunity, it is not the route for me,” Iverson tweeted Tuesday.
Oh, that’s right, it’s only the route for aspiring ballers who need some work, those not ready for prime time players who need more practice. And we all know how Allen Iverson feels about practice.
Far be it for NBA executives to want to get a quick look at an under-six-foot guard who hasn’t played in three years and who relied heavily on foot speed, you know still has foot speed and quickness at 40.
Iverson last played in the NBA in 2009-10, briefly, with the Memphis Grizzlies and Philadelphia 76ers, the team he had the most impact on after they drafted him out of Georgetown. What Iverson forgets is what so many remember: he wasn’t very good. But Iverson wants the NBA to look past all that, and grant him a spot on a roster so he can finish what he started.
And some, like ESPN personality (and sometimes reporter/journalist) Stephen A. Smith, who covered Iverson in Philadelphia, agree with The Answer’s assessment. When asked if Iverson should have taken the Legends offer and worked himself back up through the ranks, Smith had some interesting words.
“He should,” said Smith, “but he shouldn’t have to.”
Confused yet?
“To do what he’s done in this league and for this league…to then sit there because of practice or his attitude or whatever the case may be, and to look at it and say that you don’t need it anymore – I’m one of those guys who’s sensitive to…taking care of [those guys].”
So…if we’re understanding this correctly, the NBA owes guys like Iverson – and as Smith went on to allude to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Robert Parish – some sort of servitude clause? Is that how employment works?
Smith contends that Iverson is being avoided because of his attitude, his work ethic in practice and varying other factors. Well, frankly, that’s probably true. There’s a tipping point with athletes. We’ll put up with them as fans and defend them for a great number of things that seem out of bounds with our own standards and ethics because they do extraordinary things. When those things stop happening, the spotlight tends to shine brightly upon those character flaws.
Robert Parish is looking for a job, too.
The same is true of Parish. In an interview with the Boston Globe, Parish said he was “restless” and needed “money”, therefore, wanted to get into coaching. He said he’d been trying, but had been avoided. Former teammate Larry Bird wouldn’t return his calls, Parish says.
Except that Bird countered that Parish never called him.
Then you find out that even Parish is willing to admit that his sometimes surly and aloof demeanor is still there and that he doesn’t have many friends in and around the game. He’s jealous of former teammates like Danny Ainge, Kevin McHale and Bird, who have worked in the NBA since they retired as players.
“Across the board, most NBA teams do not call back,” Parish told the Globe. “You need a court order just to get a phone call back from these organizations. I’m not a part of their fraternity.”
Welcome to the real world, Robert. Times are tough out here, too. As McHale eluded too, he attempted to get Parish on with the Minnesota Timberwolves, but they were cutting back on positions, and then, you know, McHale was horrible in Minnesota and got fired. Not really a great reference for Robert in the Twin Cities.
This is just like if you’re telling a buddy to get you an interview at a place that isn’t really hiring and then he gets laid off and you’re angry he didn’t hook you up with some work. It’s not realistic. Parish hasn’t worked much since retiring after 21 seasons in the NBA in 1997. He coached briefly, has had done some personal appearances and had a few minor brushes with the law.
He says he gave too much money away. He says he wasn’t particularly close to his teammates, but scolded Ainge and described him as selfish.
How can I help get “The Chief” a job, again, this guy is aces!
Then again, it must be hard to be a former star. You grow accustomed to the pay, the lifestyle, the pace of it all. Parish is whining about an $80,000 salary in communications for the Celtics? Know how many people would like that job? I know my hand just went up. Parish turned down that job in 2004, because he needed something in the six figure range. He also  said he didn’t like the weather in Boston and didn’t want to live there full time.
Let me just ask, Robert: what are you interviewing for again? If you don’t like the weather or the city enough to live there, you know, where the job is located, then what do you want them to do? Send you a royalty check?
There are many fine former athletes out there who are turned away simply because people don’t want to work with them, with their attitudes and their baggage. This happens all the time in the professional world. Employers are allowed to turn you away simply because you don’t fit the culture. Tough luck.
Iverson and Parish were once both great, but are owed nothing now. It must be earned again. They must prove themselves again. And they must change the attitude of entitlement. Who wants to work with that?
Quite frankly, Stephen A. Smith, I’m shocked that you’d defend Iverson, Parish and Abdul-Jabbar in this instance. Surly demeanors and people who don’t work well with others don’t typically get taken care of just because of what they did once upon a time. Wait…Smith wouldn’t understand that.
If Iverson and Parish want back in the NBA, I’ve got The Answer right here:
Be just a little bit more grateful and a little less condescending. 
 Shut up and work for it.
 
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Derek Jeter, Drew Storen, Ed Reed, Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant, MLB, NBA, NFL, Peyton Manning, Ray Lewis, Steve Nash, Tim Duncan, Tom Brady

The Grind


Here’s to The Grind.
Or more importantly, here’s to the ones who went through it and excelled in it.
Because you can survive The Grind, but it changes you forever. If you don’t know what The Grind is, quite simply, it’s the torturous side of sports. The pain, the hurt, the injuries, the travel, the hard work, the rehab.

It’s the nights in an empty gym while your friends go out on dates. It’s the sunny afternoons of summer spent in batting cages, on dirt fields under a blazing sun, while others soak their feet in a pool. It’s the mildly grotesque smell of a weight room, which you strangely learn to embrace. The Grind is the scars, the rock hard calluses on your feet and toes, the lack of hair on your knees from floor burns.

And there’s a secret to it, that only the best of the best learn, which is simply that The Grind cannot be beaten, it’s barely survived and at your best, you simply manage and muddle your way through it.
The Grind is the journey, and it’s rarely understood by those who merely watch.
We are about to embark on a period over the next few years where some of the best in their profession – of all time – will step away from The Grind and reach The End. They survive it, embrace it and succeed in it.
The first comes Sunday, as Baltimore Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis will retire – win or lose – following the Super Bowl. Whatever you think of Lewis as a person, or how the media lovefest has gone a little overboard the past month, considering, you know, this, it doesn’t change the fact that Lewis is indeed a warrior and a throwback NFL player along the lines of a Butkus or a Singletary. Ultimate competitor, passionate, and perhaps most of all, maximum effort at all times.
And he lasted 17 seasons in the NFL, a place where brain damage and physical disability are rampant after retirement. In 2011, a study found that the average NFL career was 6.86 seasons, a major league baseball player, 5.6 years, and in the NBA, ballers can expect to last on average 4.8 years.
That’s not very long. And that’s because of The Grind.
As spectators and as fans, we see the glitz, the glamour, the fame and the money of professional sports. And never mistake that they are well-paid. But few, very few, make it to The End. The Grind often ends it for you.
It becomes less and less about the money, but more and more about the legacy and about a unique competitive drive few can understand.
Within the next few years, many other outstanding, Hall of Fame caliber NFL stars could be joining Lewis: Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Randy Moss (again), Tony Gonzalez and Ed Reed. Each of these players changed the game, impacted it in some significant way and broke records. Each will be a Hall of Fame player. Heck, maybe Brett Favre will finally hang ‘em up, too.
In baseball, guys like Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera, Alex Rodriguez, Ichiro Suzuki (basically, the New York Yankees roster) and David Ortiz will call it quits. And in the NBA, there’s this list: Kobe Bryant, Tim Duncan, Ray Allen, Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, Dirk Nowitzki, and Steve Nash. All are winding down MVP-heavy, record breaking, Hall of Fame careers.
We’ve watched, we’ve enjoyed or hated them as members of rival teams, but we don’t know a thing about them, really. And we don’t know about The Grind.
Some of these athletes have been playing professional sports that span over three presidents – the second term of Bill Clinton, all of George W. Bush’s years in the White House and now, with Barack Obama beginning his second term as commander-in-chief. Cell phones weren’t heavily used, Justin Timberlake was in a boy band and we still feared the Y2K bug.
Just think, where were you in 1996, when Ray Lewis and Kobe Bryant started their NFL and NBA careers, respectively?
Simply put, the world has changed, but many of these guys haven’t. Think of what they’ve endured? To start, I think of how my story is 1/100th of theirs.
I am a has-been, former high school hoopster, and tried to play college ball at the D-III level. In my early 20s, I played pick-up ball a couple nights a week for a few years, didn’t do anything for a few in the middle and then played Y-League ball on Sundays for eight weeks, once or twice a year, for three years. Didn’t play again for awhile and now, over the past four months (in much better shape finally), I’m playing once a week again.
Keep in mind that fact – that I’m 33, haven’t spent the last 15 years in a 6-to-8 month season, traveling, maintaining, playing two games in three nights, back-to-backs or doing a West Coast road trip.
But I played. I’ve had my version of The Grind.
Frankly, I hurt more than I’d ever admit verbally, mostly in the mornings. And that’s mainly because I don’t want to be a whiner, a complainer and partly because those around me can’t understand.
In the winter, due to way too many ankle sprains, my feet just plain ache. They pop and crack constantly. They’re typically always cold, unless the calendar is between May and August, due to poor blood flow and bad tendons and ligaments. My wife shudders when my feet brush her leg and says they feel like ice cubes.
My back hurts, my left shoulder slips out of socket occasionally if moved the wrong way, or slept on for too long, from three separations. After diving for a loose ball once and landing on my elbow, I basically split my elbow cap into four or five pieces of bone. I’ve played with what amounts to a black and blue golfball on the side of my foot – several times and on each ankle. I’ve played in an Aircast, a shoulder harness (that I wouldn’t wear except for one practice), and routinely stuck my legs from the calf down into 5-gallon buckets of ice water.

Twenty minutes in, 20 minutes out. After pulling them out, with my feet still a blue-ish purple color, I’d do ABCs with my feet, then, plunge them back in for another 20 minutes of torturous cold that cannot be described, only experienced.

Once, I got 12 stitches in my calf after diving for a ball and landing on the jagged metal edge of a bleacher – but I didn’t notice my sock was covered in blood for nearly two minutes. And I didn’t notice that muscle and fat from my calf were slightly exposed from the gash.
But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
The Grind can give you an adrenaline high, a natural charge from competition that you can’t really replace, a euphoria that you’ll spend trying to replicate. The Grind can hurt. I’ve got friends with knees that have been repaired or scoped three, four, five times. Herniated and or bulging discs in their back. Some have addiction to pain killers, to alcohol, to Tylenol, Advil or nicotine.
I’ve done it, too. They are simply numbing agents to offset The Grind and its effects.
And our stories – especially my stories – are literally nothing but a drop in the bucket of those mentioned above. Think of the amount of needles endured just to play. Lewis is coming back from a torn tendon in his arm that he suffered in October. Imagine that rehab. Surgeries and pins placed into bones. Kobe flew to Germany to have a controversial surgery on his knee, where they put new blood platelets in, because The Grind had made his bones, well, grind.
And that’s just before they are done.
At some point, though, it ends. And that’s when the mental aspect, not just the physical, begins. An identity crisis, or sorts. Who are you without (insert sport name here)? Some, like me, only did it for 12-15 years. I thought I had a hard time. Guys like Kobe, Duncan, Jeter, it will have been for 25 or 30 or more. You don’t remember a time when it didn’t revolve around the game. Your life is defined by it, you are who you are because of it.
The younger you are, the less painful the transition I imagine. Those who get it and did it, no matter what the level, have their demons related to giving it up or losing it. And it’s harder to understand for those around them. The competitiveness is wired into you, somehow, perhaps before birth or at a young age and you can’t turn off will and desire.
It cannot be replaced. The beast cannot be fed with desk jobs or investments, or even announcing and analyzing games on TV. Some do well with post-sports life, like Larry Bird, others, like Michael Jordan, not so much.
Some don’t want The Grind, which is when they get The Filter. That’s why they quit their high school teams, to go out and do their thing. They date. They party. They grow their hair out and spend their summers in flip flops, going to concerts and pool parties. There are more who wave it off after they get to college. Not worth it, too much. Or they don’t play as hard. They quit diving for loose balls or line drives in the gap, quit chasing down receivers 15 yards downfield. The funnel gets tighter the higher you go in the sporting ranks.
Until we are left with the few you can survive all The Grind has to offer. Twenty or more years, from childhood on, of aches, pains, missed dates, failed relationships, lost friendships over wins and losses, the travel, sleeping in chairs, living in training rooms with ice wrapped around every limb, doctors, surgeries, and rehab.
The Legends, they’ve been hurt, too, far worse and for far longer than many of us can even comprehend. Broken feet, torn ACLs. Dislocated this, that and parts in between. Peyton’s neck, Brady’s knee, Kobe’s knee, Jeter’s ankle. Paul Pierce was nearly stabbed to death. These are just the big ones, the ones that we know about. We don’t know anything of all the nicks, bumps, scraps, twists and turns. Banging into bodies, diving on the ground, on the floor. Flying from city to city, sleeping in cycles of naps on planes and buses.
At The End, if you’re lucky, you got a few rings to show for it.
This weekend, I heard rising star and young Washington Nationals pitcher Drew Storen speak. He was encouraging many in the audience, who were young baseball players, to focus each and every day on getting better at one little thing, and how, over time, it adds up to make a big difference.
But he also spoke of The Grind. What he does never changes. There’s just more of it. The same way he played the game at 11, 15,  or 17 is the same way he plays today. He gets just as excited – still gets that rush – to strike someone out, to make them look foolish, like he did his neighborhood friends as a little kid.
“Just more people watch now,” Storen joked.
They watch, but they can’t know. It’s a lonely place, The Grind. Going through it, only few understand. And the further your go with it, the fewer people that know what it feels like. That’s probably why it’s so hard to let it go.
Lately, I have been writing pieces about the moral side of sports, of society and how we view these events, and what’s right and wrong. But you think of it from this lens, of these outstanding few, of The Grind, and you think how many shades of gray enter into someone’s logic and rationale.
I may not agree with the PEDs, with the personal life or off court issues, but I can see why they are there. Why taking something to give you an edge is a tempting devil on your shoulder.
There are not many left after a dozen, 15 or 17 years. So very few can survive that long. That’s what makes these guys special in a sporting sense. We rarely get them, and when we do, they often have baggage near The End. Scars unseen they hide from the world, because frankly, the world can’t understand. It’s too cut and dry by that point for them.
Other times, it’s simply a numbing agent, a way to survive, to press on. Many started out, like Storen, chasing it. And as life often does, so many are filtered out over time. These guys aren’t like us, which is why I’ll tip my hat to them all, no matter who they are, simply because The Grinders reached The End.
And I hope and pray for the beginning of the rest of their life. 
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Baltimore Ravens, Bill Belichick, Chuck Klosterman, Code of Conduct, Los Angeles Lakers, Manti Te'o, Morals, New England Patriots, Ray Lewis, Tom Brady

These Lines in the Sand


These lines in the sand,
they keep hurting my hand,
because I redraw them all the time
And covering my tracks
shows me what lacks
’cause life is more than just a climb…
Perspective and introspection are a funny thing.
It’s easy to admit when you are right, and often times hard to accept that you’re wrong. Somewhere between those two places lies our own rationalization, a vague area where we’ve justified our thoughts, our reactions and our perspectives. It’s here, in this place, where we identify what we stand for.
What do I stand for? I’d like to think I know, but truthfully, I’m all over the place. Frankly, we all are.
Last night, following the Baltimore Ravens 28-13 victory over the New England Patriots in the AFC Championship, I commented on Twitter how much I was not looking forward to the next two weeks of The Ray Lewis Farewell Tour. It makes my skin crawl every time we hear another gushing commentary about what a warrior, what a competitor and what an inspiration Ray Lewis is.
And as I wrote a few weeks ago, my visceral reaction is in large part due to the fact I’m uncomfortable with the elephant in the room regarding Lewis’ legacy. I was blown away by a couple of good friends saying 1) they didn’t care as much as I did, and, 2) they’d rather hear about Lewis than Tom Brady and Bill Belichick.
As one of my friends said, we’re not the Moral Police, so whether the story lines revolve around Lewis or Brady, it was a toss up to him. I knew they were partly needling me, as a Patriots fan and someone who loves Brady, over the team’s defeat. Yet another part of me couldn’t comprehend the comparison: Brady is disliked because he wins, because his coach is unlikable and because the Patriots are always good. Ray Lewis’ story is a little more sordid and scandalous, revolving around the night of the Super Bowl in 2001, when two men were stabbed to death after getting into it with Lewis and some of his crew.
How are these things even comparable?
In short, to me, they are not. But I’m not the Moral Police either, so just because I find something gross, distasteful or just plain wrong doesn’t mean others have to. Not everyone thinks the same way I do – and I shouldn’t expect them to. Further, even you could find 49 other people out of 100 to agree with you exactly on something, you’d easily find another 50 who didn’t.
And that’s where we are, really, as sports fans and as a society: split. We justify and rationalize things all the time depending on our own perceptions and values, calling some things wrong and other things right when really, that’s just our own justification for holding some ground on an ever moving target.
Our codes of conduct, our moral lines, are drawn in the sand.
As another friend pointed out, I had no problem with Kobe Bryant’s rape accusations, but I’m getting high and mighty over murder charges? Well, clearly I did have a problem with it – but the point remains, I continued to, and have continued, to root for the Los Angeles Lakers despite Kobe Bryant’s 2004 rape charges.
In my head came the rationalization, where I moved the line in the sand. The Lakers have been my team since childhood. Do you stop rooting for your favorite team because its star franchise player doesn’t seem like a very good dude? Do you allow yourself to call him one of the greats and celebrate the championships he helped guide that team to? In my case, the answers were no and yes.
So I just basically took my hand and made a new line in the sand.
Likewise, the reason I’m a Patriots fan is Tom Brady. New England isn’t my childhood team. And Bill Belichick, despite being decorated with rings and trophies, isn’t the fairest coach around (I get that’s an understatement). Between Spygate and his constant unsportsmanlike behavior, he’s, well, a jerk. But I like Tom Brady, so I neither agree with his actions or defend them; I just ignore and pretend it’s not there.
Many revel in the Patriots losing and often refer to Belichick and “Belicheat” – which is clever, and most likely true. Yet other teams have been accused of pumping in sound to their stadiums. From high school to the pros, coaches will leave the grass longer or shorter to gain a slight advantage. Is there a difference between taping your opponent to gain an advantage and using all the tools in the stadium to slow them down, break their communication and so forth? Probably so, and the former is certainly a more aggressive form of cheating, but it still feels like we’re justifying one over the other, when in reality, they’re all probably some form of wrong.
Is it all or nothing? Does it have to be?
Additionally, I’ve got no problem rooting for Brady, someone who left his pregnant actress girlfriend for a Victoria’s Secret model, but for years I held local rumors of infidelity against Peyton Manning. Rumors which were never confirmed or exposed in the media, just friend of a friend stories and word on the street type stuff. Nevertheless, I drew my line in the sand: I liked Brady better, so naturally, I looked for the flaws in Manning and ignored character traits of Brady that didn’t jive with my own personal Moral Police.
And really, that’s what we all do. It makes it easier to root for the laundry, since, as I’ve said many times, we don’t know these athletes at all.
We look up to them, but we shouldn’t. We should always be our kids role models. And even when we are, athletes provide some sort of third party credibility to the narrative when you’re coaching your child through a tough defeat or a loss, to say, hey, look at Player X on our favorite team – he fought through that, so good things can happen. Meanwhile, Player X fought through it by taking PEDs, and hasn’t paid child support in six years.
Time to redraw the line in the sand, again.
As I am sure my friend would remark at this point, who cares? Stop with the morality play and just be entertained. What does it matter, anyway? But I can’t.
At the height of the Manti Te’o story last week, Chuck Klosterman wrote on Grantland, in a piece with Malcolm Gladwell, that in essence, our reaction to Te’o shouldn’t necessarily change all that much because some of the story was omitted or embellished or a hoax. He compared it to a best friend of telling you that 10 years ago, he had murdered someone and never been caught. He was sorry now and a changed person. Would you still be his friend?
Klosterman argued that you’d put aside your own moral code and disdain for this action because you knew your friend as someone completely different than the person he was describing and you would remain his friend – unless you were a self-righteous individual. A self-righteous person would say they could never be friends with a murderer because actions have to have consequences.
Basically, you’d move your line in the sand to accommodate your friend.
I guess you can call me a hypocrite for all of my rationalizing on which teams and athletes I root for, and I will be the first to do so, frankly. Because it is hypocritical to blast Ray Lewis, but not turn my moral guns on Kobe Bryant. And I guess according to Chuck Klosterman, I’m self-righteous, because I don’t think I could be friends with someone who committed a murder and got away with it.
We do this justification and line drawing all the time, in normal life, too. The clerk forgot to scan a 24-pack of water bottles, did we go back and tell them? No, because they charged me more for hamburger than the store down the street. Your co-worker comes in an hour late every day and it makes you mad that the boss never says anything, but you’ll take that extra 15 minutes at lunch for a few days a week for six straight months and justify it as a wash.
Let’s say I finally got the break I was looking for in writing, that all my dreams could come true, but all I had to do to get there was write a scathing lie that everyone would believe about an athlete or coach. I’d never be exposed and it would propel me to the top of the sports writing genre.
Would I do it?
I say no. I couldn’t allow myself. Just like I would not have taken a pill to get to the pros. My best friend thinks I’m saying that in retrospect, that I’m standing on a moral high ground by proclaiming that. And there’s really no way for me to confirm that I would have turned it down. And there’s only one way for me to confirm I wouldn’t write the column to break my career open (that’s a hint for someone out there to field me an offer).
But I have to believe that I wouldn’t, otherwise, what do I stand for?
I presuppose that many others are like me, but perhaps there are not, who want to know that you can reach your goals without lying and cheating, and that when you do, you won’t become an insufferable jerk.
It seems more logical to stay true to what I say I believe, based on my own personal Moral Police than to continue to stay loyal to a team or an athlete. When the information we have changes, so too does our opinion or allegiance, right? It’s been confirmed the world is round, so just because, let’s say, I was a World is Flat guy for 20 years doesn’t mean I keep my head in the sand, right?
I suppose what’s left is this: perhaps it is time for a break from the morality writing I’ve been doing for the past month or so, because I’m no more qualified than anyone else to tell you what’s right or wrong for all of us. It’s quite possible that I am self-righteous and a hypocrite. In fact, I think I’ve learned that I’m as human and guilty as the next person when it comes to who I root for and what I justify in my head.
But can I change it – and should I – now that I realize it? Should I put away the Lakers gear? Stop rooting so hard for Touchdown Tom? Maybe it’s time to start living out what I believe, instead of just writing it – maybe I should watch sports with a sort of distant attachment, because it’s getting more difficult the older I get.
As I heard someone say recently, life is not the way it’s supposed to be, it’s the way it is. The way you deal with it makes all the difference.
We can’t make these athletes and coaches do what we want, behave like we want or do what we expect. We can only barely do that with ourselves most days. We’re all just human, prone to fall short and incapable of perfection. Yet in between, we have to decide, what will we stand for.
Or at least I will. So until Kobe retires, I’m renouncing my Lakers fandom.
And next time, I’m going back in the store to pay for the water bottles.
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Deadspin, ESPN, Gene Wojciechowski, Girlfriend Hoax, Lennay Kekua, Manti Te'o, Notre Dame

The Legend of the Hoax

What do we know of legends?

They are narratives of human actions that are perceived, by both the teller and the listener, to take place within history and to possess certain qualities that give the tale some sense of probability. Basically, the legend has to feel real to both the teller and the listener.

And most legends we hear of tend to fall into a realm of both believability and uncertainty, never being entirely believed by all involved, but also never completely doubted, either.

This seems like a good time to mention that it was revealed Wednesday afternoon that Notre Dame All-American and Heisman runner-up Manti Te’o has either been a victim of a massive hoax or a party to it.

According to Deadspin.com, the story that captured a nation last fall, where Te’o’s grandmother and girlfriend both passed away within hours of each other on September 12, spurring Te’o to emotionally guide Notre Dame to an undefeated regular season, was not entirely, well, true.

This is the stuff of legend. And not the kind we’re happy to pass on through the generations.

The details are still emerging. With each passing hour Wednesday afternoon, new – and exceedingly weird – details came to light.

A hoax. A dead girlfriend who wasn’t really dead, who furthermore wasn’t really real. Rumors of either plotted connections to Te’o or from people he seems to be acquainted with. Videotape evidence and published articles and columns which contradict each other. Conspirators almost begging to get caught through Twitter feeds in December.

There isn’t enough room to dive through all of it here, but you can read the Deadspin.com article and the follow-up on ESPN.com to get caught up or review.

What this blog does is look at the angles, the shades of gray and searches for reasoned answers through all the nuance of a story, trying to draw a narrative.

Yet this is difficult.

There’s really only two outcomes: either Te’o is a gullible victim of an odd and well-executed hoax that rocked him to his core or he was a disgraceful and participating piece of a hoax that in the worst possible way garnered sympathy and publicity.

Either way, there are so many questions, it is hard to determine which version is the truth. If Te’o was a victim in all this, our first option, then why did he feed information to the media that seems to contradict his latest comments?

In his statement, Te’o said he had a phone and online relationship with Lennay Kekua. Yet in published articles and interviews, there’s a narrative of Te’o having met her years earlier after a game at Stanford, where Kekua attended. How can she be the most beautiful person you’ve ever met, if you’ve, well, in fact, never met? (And yes, the above is a link to a page from the South Bend Tribune where that story has now been removed.)

How can you develop such an emotional bond with someone on the phone and through social media? Perhaps it’s fair to assume that the generation behind me, a technology inclined generation, can believe they feel these things because in many ways they do.

All I know is that, I too, spent two or three hours per night talking to the woman who is now my wife throughout the early part of our courtship. But I also saw her, in person, nearly every day. I met her family,  she met mine. The things we told each other about the other checked out because they were visible to all our senses: I could see and touch and feel her life, her history. Pictures, real relatives, etc. This deepens any relationship.


But to hear Te’o speak so candidly with reporters in the weeks following Kekua’s death, you’d have been led to believe they spent time together – and not just in a virtual sense. And no matter what generation you are a part of, that’s hard to square away, that you can feel so much for someone you’ve never met face-to-face.

Just last month I wrote about how we’re slipping away from real and meaningful communication with one another, replacing it with technology and removing true emotion. If this narrative on Te’o is true, and he fell for this woman so hard, without meaningful contact with her, then it’s only further proving this discourse.

Then, there’s the bit of a guy who supposedly created her Twitter account and made this relationship look legit who might have a connection with Te’o prior to all this. Again, that doesn’t solve the mystery of who Te’o was talking to for four hours, every night, for four months – as he told ESPN in an interview in October. 

He either embellished that to make himself sound better, or made it up as a party to this plan.

There are phone records. This can be checked out – and maybe it will be. If there are two people out there who perpetuated this hoax, they can probably be tracked down through IP addresses, GPS, phone records. But what kind of commitment and how evil do you have to be to do this to another human being? Evading Google image searches by stealing, then ever so slightly altering pictures of someone else – that’s not clever, it’s just weird.

Certainly there is more to this option, but in the interest of pulling these threads together, let’s look at option two. It’s much more dastardly and deceitful. Many are hammering Te’o in all media outlets and social networks right now, and many are asking for reservation before making a judgment.

But it is not hard to say that if Te’o was a party to this hoax, it’s one of the more despicable acts I’ve heard of. What it to garner sympathy for Heisman votes? Was it to gain more publicity? He was already a well-regarded linebacker and by all accounts, a man of faith and integrity. Why risk that? Why through that image away? To what point and purpose does that serve?

Perhaps, if this option is true, Te’o is lonely. It’s not a sexy plot line, but plausible all the same. And not quite as sick and twisted.  Yet even still, parts of the story don’t add up from his end.

In a transcript of a press conference from early October, Te’o talks about finding out when they were closing the casket at her service and how emotional that was. He sent roses. To where, exactly? Did he talk to her “family”? How does all that emotion actually work without actually having spent time with her in person?

Te’o got a call in Orlando in early December, from the woman he believed to be Kekua, who told him it was a hoax. Why wait two weeks before telling his coaches? Why let the story and narrative run through the BCS Championship? Even in embarrassment, the longer the hoax runs the worse it gets.

He says he wanted to be there, wanted to see her at the funeral. When he’d not met her? It seems an odd coincidence she told him that if anything happened, not to come, but to play for her.

Outside of just Te’o, the hoax has its own effects on our society, our media. No one vetted this out? Not ESPN, not Sports Illustrated, not writers and editors across the country who published all these “facts”?

As Deadspin reported, when probed on SportsCenter Wednesday night, well regarded ESPN.com senior writer Gene Wojciechowski said he couldn’t find an obituary while researching an article on Te’o and his incredible story. He couldn’t find a record of Kekua’s accident – a seemingly small piece of the account of their tale, from that South Bend Tribune story, yet anyone who’s ever read a local paper knows they publish police reports.

Wojciechowski says he probed Te’o about these missing records, but stopped when Te’o told him to back off. So he did. And in doing so, he committed a journalistic sin: he didn’t follow through on the sources and became too objective and involved with the subject of his writing.

There was a massive failure of many in the media to scratch below the surface of this story. They are culpable in some ways of cultivating this hoax.

No doctors of Kekua’s, who was said to have lost a battle with leukemia, were ever contacted for quotes or interviews. If you’re Te’o, and you’re that close to this girl, wouldn’t you be suspicious? Wouldn’t you want pictures? Wouldn’t you just do a quick search to find out more about her? Like where she went to high school, who she might have dated before you? Wouldn’t you ask to Skype? Why is a leukemia patient, who’s taken a turn for the worse, be on the phone until the late hours every night? Not trying to be glib, but don’t they usually suggest rest in situations like that?

This could go on and on, really. And it very may well. Was he a victim? Possibly. A liar? Maybe.

Thus a legend is born of a hoax.

And where does this leave us, those fans who followed it all and were moved by it? All I can think of is sad and cynical.

My 10-year-old son wore Manti Te’o’s jersey the night of the BCS Championship. We were angry when he didn’t win the Heisman. We were moved by his integrity, his perseverance through all of this tragedy and how hard he worked.

I had to look my son in the eyes Wednesday night and tell him most of the story, because he would hear about it at school. His friends would talk about it at lunch.

He handled it alright, but I didn’t. 

Whether it’s Lance Armstrong, Tiger Woods, Barry Bonds or this weirdness, we’re losing our ability to believe in anyone or anything. And we’re losing all sense of innocence, for our children and whatever sense of it we held ourselves from childhood.

On some level, that’s a good thing. Hero worship is dangerous, as heroes are not perfect and are bound to crumble and fall. This is proven time and again. 

Yet, we still need them. We still want inspiration to cling to. It’s why we believed in Lance. It’s why this hoax was so believable, because we’re so very gullible ourselves.

In the aftermath, the lasting impact of this story will be felt by everyone, from Te’o and his image, to the media and how they report, to how we as a society believe anything that doesn’t quite add up.

Yet here’s where our priorities are: this was the story of the day, perhaps the month. Meanwhile, Congress has yet to pass a budget for over 1,350 days. There’s gun control legislation proposed just today that could change the course of history. We have real issues and real problems facing this nation, yet our unquenchable thirst for gossip and dirt has us entrenched in a story over a college football player’s fake dead girlfriend.

We are losing our way, more and more, each day. From this hoax itself and all its nuanced angles and shades of gray, to the way we – very much including myself – have chosen to respond to it.

Just remember: legends are merely our perceived narrative of what transpired. They don’t have to be real, only occur within the realm of possibility.

We are all both the tellers and the listeners. Of both a legend and a hoax.

Never entirely sure, never entirely and fully doubted.  

Just drifting somewhere in between.

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blood doping, cycling, Lance Armstrong, Livestrong Foundation, Mark McGwire, PEDs, Sammy Sosa, Tour de France

Living Not So Strong


On its Web site, the Livestrong Foundation states that its mission is to “inspire and empower” cancer survivors and their families. The foundation has provided numerous people and families with the tools and resources to help overcome the emotional and physical damage of cancer. 

This country now needs a foundation to help us overcome the emotional damage of Lance Armstrong.

The foundation of the, well, his foundation, is built on the secrets and lies of the now disgraced hero and cyclist.
And the fallout from Armstrong’s doping admission to Oprah Winfrey this week leaves many of us feeling sick to our stomachs. We feel duped, cheated and lied to. The entire country spent the better part of a decade rooting for this man and fell victim to his charm – and his yellow bracelets.
No one cared about cycling before Lance Armstrong unless you were into cycling. No one cared all that much after he left, either. But you give football and baseball loving folks the story of a man who survived cancer, who sweats his way through France against all those cheating European bikers and overcomes all of it to capture every Tour de France from 1999-2005 and you’ve got an All-American Legend.
We can deal with flaws. Most of our heroes have them, even the fictional tales of Superman, Spider-Man and Batman showcase men who have their own secrets, weaknesses and fears to overcome. In some cases, they have strength, ability and powers not obtained through natural means. 

But Batman never blood-doped. Spider-Man doesn’t stick a needle in his butt.

Some, as I mentioned last week, just don’t care. One of my best friends has told me that my morality writing is some of my worst. This is due in part to his lack of regard for sports performance enhancing drugs. There are so many in the same state of mind: either it just doesn’t move the needle (no pun intended) and they don’t care what athletes do to entertain us and succeed, or it’s just a tired, drawn out storyline.
Essentially, why do we care anymore? If they all do it – and so many of our sports heroes appear to fall from grace nowadays in this very manner – then why do we bother with it anymore? We should just accept it as a new normal and move on.
But some of us can’t. I can’t. It does matter. And it’s bigger than just being a morality play or holier than thou attitude from the self-righteous.
The simple fact is, we all make mistakes. Ninety-five percent of Americans are just normal, average, every day people. And it’s inspiring to those of us in that 95 percent to hear and see others doing extraordinary things. It pushes us through our cold January mornings, slogging through traffic to an office. It inspires us to coach our children and instill a never-give-up attitude, a sense of hard work paying off and knowing that if you do, good things can happen.
When we find out our inspirational stories were missing some seedy chapters, it’s cheapened. We are cheated because they cheated. And it’s a feeling that doesn’t go away, no matter what is accomplished.
As many people have pointed out, what does it matter how Armstrong came to fame, but how he used that fame – to push for more cancer research and support the families afflicted by this terrible disease. There is truth to that, no doubt. But when the face and inspiration of the cause is found to have doped his own blood, and much of his success is now credited to gaining an edge on the competition not through determination, preparation and hard work, but through downright cheating – and then denying it for 10 years – it’s not so inspiring anymore.
In the summer of 1998, the home run chase between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa captured many fans, fathers and sons throughout the nation. My dad and I were no different. And at 18, I was in a strange transition time in my life. My father and I, always on good terms and already having a good relationship, bonded even more. We weren’t even fans of the Cardinals and Cubs, but watching these guys chase history, embrace each other and thrive under the spotlight was something we shared. We were watching history, together. And it brought us closer together, as sports so often has.
And then it became clear that something fishy had happened. All Dad and I could think about was McGwire talking about touching Roger Maris’ bat and touching with his heart.
“And a steroid needle,” I joked.
Suddenly, while Dad and I still had a deep bond and do to this day, our memories of it are tainted. It feels like it happened under false pretenses. And perhaps that’s where we get that sick feeling from.
That 95 percent of us want good things to happen. We want love, we want money, we want happiness. But many of us won’t allow ourselves to cross these moral lines and reach these things under false pretenses. If that makes me a righteous hypocrite that lives in a fantasy world of ethics that no longer exist, even to my closest friends, then fine. I don’t care.
Because for me, and for so many out there, I’d rather fail horribly by natural means and by my own weaknesses and failures than succeed through unnatural ways. I don’t want to win by doing what others aren’t, maybe because it means we know we went toe-to-toe with the other guy and were just better on that day.
This is precisely why it is so difficult for us to have heroes anymore. We don’t know who’s best is beefed up. What’s real and what’s a mirage?
Like Armstrong, we find out too many were not at all heroic in their means, but only their deeds. In Armstrong’s case, his end result as a record-shattering cycling champion, who’s own story of cancer survivor wove a heroic tale that all Americans could root for, was largely in part only accomplished because he manipulated his own blood in order to perform better.
No matter where we all collective reside in the discussion on PEDs, let’s all agree on one thing: that we’re not going to praise Armstrong for finally coming clean and admitting something he vehemently denied for years and years, legally and in the court of public opinion. Would a husband or wife call their cheating spouse of a decade direct, honest and candid when they finally admit to it only after everyone proved what a liar they were? I doubt it. Thou doth protest too much, eh?
I don’t care that he choked up when apologizing to members of the Livestrong charity. He didn’t Livestrong. He lived rather poorly in how he conducted himself – not just with the doping. And he’s only crying because he got caught, not because he’s sorry. That’s not regret or remorse. That’s self-pity for wishing he had not been exposed. Huge difference.
Heartfelt and sincere? Please. Colonel Jessup showed more accountability and remorse in A Few Good Men than Armstrong can fake at this point.
We’re partly to blame. We’re so thirsty for heroes that we’ll gobble down any story and trust anyone. And now we’re cynical as the years pass with our heroes. We’ve got to start standing for something more, or we’ll keep falling for anything.
After all, the U.S. Postal Service sponsored most of the those tour teams that Armstrong rode to victory seven times. I wonder where a government entity got their sponsorship money? Taxpayers perhaps?
See, no matter which way you look at it, in the end, really we all pay a price for “inspiration and empowerment.” Live strong, indeed.

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