September 16th, 2007

This past Sunday, my dad, Karen, Amy, Kim, and I (and thousands of other Packer fans) invaded Giants Stadium. The chronicle of the day follows below:

My dad and my sisters show up at around 8:30 a.m. in Hoboken after getting an early start from Long Island. The excited early morning banter consists of picks for the day, last minute fantasy football adjustments, and determining just how much bean dip is enough bean dip (a baked casserole consisting of layered refried beans, salsa, sour cream, and shredded mozzarella, it holds a place of honor in Carthew family lore and has been present in triumph and in failure.)

Karen, still in bed, announces that she refuses to get up until her snowsuit is brought to her. For two consecutive years Karen's bio-rhythms have successfully coincided with the arrival of football season.

We begin to get together lawn chairs, pots and pans, liquor and beer, and various other accoutrements and undertake the 15 minute journey to East Rutherford. Soon after entering the lot on the east side of the stadium at 10:25, we pull into the center of 3 vacant spots knowing that the neighboring locations will not be filled until shortly before gametime. Everyone is about their business setting up propane stoves, cracking beers, and mixing drinks as Giants Stadium hovers in the background. My dad has brought several items of Green Bay Packers paraphenalia which precariously perch on the hatchback of the Volkswagen. These pieces of "flair" are brought out of their showcase for every game that the Packers play back in the house in Merrick and consist of a beanbag football that has three different versions of the "Go, Pack, Go" chant, a Russian babushka doll (inside are Favre, Reggie White, Antonio Freeman, LeRoy Butler, and Mark "I thought she was 27" Chmura), and a horrid metal and wood work of art spelling "PACKERS" in stenciled lettering.

The bratwursts soak in 12 fluid ounces of Budweiser as the cigars are lit and the conversation meanders from recent terrifying experiences with marijuana to at what point has one eaten too much bean dip to why the fuck do so many Giants fans willfully elect to wear Eli Manning jerseys. Seriously, if you're a Giants fan, and if you own a Manning or Brandon Jacobs jersey, please kill yourself, because you're the reason why the Meadowlands was half empty with 8 minutes left in the game and the Giants down merely 2 scores. Kudos, however, is deserved by the people who had Banks, Carson, Simms, Hampton, Bavaro, McConkey, and Way (yes, THE Charles Way) sewn or ironed between the shoulders.


The time seems to pass quicker as the root beer and vodkas are downed and the sweet smell of brat and beer steam from the pan. Coupled with a pristine end-of-summer day that carries just enough of a hint of autumn to qualify for football weather, few things in life are so simple yet so perfect.

At 12:30 we trek to take our seats via the port-o-potties that stand within a brisk walk from the south entrance of the stadium. I will eschew any description of the stall that had "tiki barber is gay" scribbled on the wall because I don't want you to despair and lose all hope in humanity as I have. We split up with Amy and Kim and leave them to their own devices. I expect them at least a half dozen stories of sexual harrassment from 45 to 55 year old men. It's not funny guys, it's creepy.

As we take our own seats we are immediately greeted with "Now you know what Custer felt like," from the male couple in front of us. As I explain the historical reference to Karen, she loudly comments on how that is probably one of the lamest things one could say in that situation. We realize we're surrounded by douchebag Giants fans (my favorite kind). In spite of this, we receive very little heckling, even during the first 3 quarters (while the game was, you know, still in doubt) because (i) Giants fans prefer to complain about perfectly solid officiating; and (ii) they would prefer to heckle their own team.

The pace of the game is slow during 1st quarter, each team sparring and content to battle for field position and each missing a field goal. Then, "startling, like lightning out of a clear sky," as C.S. Lewis once described the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Brett Favre made a throw (one of several) that subconciously makes you rise out of your seat and gape, the only noise capable of describing what it was like to witness that moment is a guttural yell and the only gesture an irrational point at the man who authored it. This toss, a 46 yard bomb caught James Jones streaking down the sidelines in stride and surrounded by 3 defenders with 11 minutes left in the half. The Pack light up the board shortly thereafter on a run by Wynn.

The Giants would answer right back on a 2 play drive culminating in a nice throw-and-catch from Manning to Plaxico. Save for Giants field goal to take the lead into the half, the rest of the 2nd quarter continued to pass uneventfully. Beer time.

As the 2nd half started, the Packers special teams showed an example of an all-around performance that contributed substantially the victory by returning the kickoff to around midfield. In addition to this return and in spite of the missed field goal, the special teams forced and recovered a fumble and consistently provided the Giants offense with subpar field position. The short drive that resulted in a touchdown pass to Bubba Franks (his 587th from inside the 5 yard line) would put the Packers in the lead for good.

Following another Tynes field goal, the subsequent drive bridged the 3rd and 4th quarters and was finished by another beautiful toss, this time to Donald Lee in the corner of the end zone. This drive was the critical point of the game as there appeared to be a clear change in momentum and the Packers began to impose their will on offense by altering the tempo and going to a quick huddle. We would also find out later that Brett completed his first 14 passes of the final half, simply a surreal performance to watch. His next touchdown pass, following the aforementioned fumble was thrown as hard as I've seen him throw the ball and left a vapor trail through 3 levels of the Giants defense to find Donald Driver in the back of the end zone.

The remainder of the game put an exclamation point on the victory as Eli threw a pass that only can be described as effeminate and frightened to a rushing defensive lineman and Mr. Wynn (I'm still learning his first name) sprinted for a long rushing touchdown. If it weren't for that rush, the Packers would've finished with under 50 yards rushing. If we entertain any hope of winning this division, the rushing performance will need to improve to something a little better than less than mediocre. I never thought I would be so fervently hoping for the return of Vernand Morency.

The game ended 35-13 and we ventured down to the end zone where the players exit into the tunnels to the locker room. On this day, Brett broke the career record for victories by a quarterback and we and the other remaining Packers fans wanted to give him a send off for this accomplishment. This time, unlike a few others involving Brett, I was able to hold back tears. Barely. I hope that wasn't the last time that I will get to see him play in person because there has been nothing that I have seen that can compare to it.


As we exited the stadium, we decided to celebrate the victory with a post-game tailgate, some now-cooled bean dip, a couple more beers, and throwing the football around. Sometimes, life is just so good and so easy.


(pictures, courtesy of Karen)

Wahoo Pride

I must admit, as far as college football goes, the University of Virginia is always the program just good enough to entertain, but never too good enough to be great. I'm familiar with the 6-5 version that plays their bowl games around Christmas time. I'm occasionally acquainted with the 7-4 version that sniffs the top 25 by seasons end. But to be honest, the only way I can get through an inevitable 4 or 5 win season is to forget the result and attach my rooting interests onto memorable players. And even though we're 2-1 so far this season (with scant wins against lowly Duke and UNC), I'm beginning to think about what Chris Long would look like in the same blue-and-orange playing on Sundays. So, if you'll indulge me, some Wahoo's of note in the NFL:


Aaron Brooks: Interesting Career. Passed for 20,000 yards and 123 TDs. Beat St. Louis in the 2000 playoffs with 4 TD passes. Constantly at the helm of 8-8 teams. This paragraph from Wikipedia probably best sums up his career in a nutshell:

Brooks' decision making, showcased in an infamous backwards pass thrown to an offensive lineman in a 2004 loss in San Diego, was the target of criticism from New Orleans fans. To exacerbate the problem, Brooks exhibited a cavalier attitude, a broad smile accompanied each of his mistakes. New Orleans Saints' fans were all the more appreciative of Drew Brees, considering the juxtaposition of his play against that which had been witnessed during the six years Aaron Brooks wore the black and gold."

Also, notice how a Virginia Tech player leaves him hanging after he passes for a touchdown to Thomas Jones (whom I've already extolled the virtues of):

Patrick Jeffers: Had a five year career with Denver, Dallas and Carolina. His best season was in 1999 with Carolina - 63 rec, 1082 yards, 17.2 ypc, 12 TDs. Every year, Jeffers gets together with "Easy" Ed McCaffrey, Tom Waddle and Ricky Proehl in Vegas to play in the “Gritty White Possession-Receiver Tee-Off for the Cure” Skins tournament.

D’Brickashaw Ferguson: D’Brickashhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaawwwwwwww

Heath Miller: Won a Super Bowl his rookie year with Pittsburgh. Has a Bubba Franks-like love affair with catching the ball in the end zone. For those of you who don't know, his nickname is "Big Money". Feel free to call him that. I do.

John St. Clair: Won't you care for John Sinclair?


Ronde and Tiki Barber: The pride of UVA football. Played in the mid-90's the last time the Cavaliers were truly in the national consciousness. I'm secretly hoping that they are paired in the same booth commentating NFL games within the next ten years. They could bring back Melissa Stark to do sideline reporting and Mike Groh could just, you know, hang around her. Al Groh could be the old-coach-turned-disgruntled-color-guy. Is that asking too much?

Matt Schaub: On the heels of an excellent 2-0 start, I’m finally ready to embrace the Houston Texans and their upstart offense led by Matt "I guess you bet on the wrong Virginia boy" Schaub. And to tell you the truth, it's been long overdue.

The Reds: Walking On

As I've stated before in these lines, my affinity for English football (soccer, for the sake of clarity) far outweighs my knowledge of it. But seeing as Liverpool and Portsmouth are squaring off at Fratton Park tomorrow, it only seems appropriate that Benny and I give our early season thoughts. Now, we're only five games into the EPL season, so it's a little premature to begin any major prognosticating. For a comparison, it's much like trying to predict MLB playoff teams after only 20 games (*Brewers*cough*cough*). This being said, the Liverpudlians have surged out to a fantastic start and though they have only played four matches, they sit atop the Premiership with 10 points and a gaudy +9 goal differential. What makes this all the more impressive is that they've seceded definitively in the past couple of contests without captain Steven Gerrard and starter Jamie Carragher who are both out with injuries.

How have they done it? Well, the cupboard was fairly well stocked to begin with coming off a 3rd place EPL finish last year. Dirk Kuyt, Xabi Alonso, Carragher, John Arne Riise, Jermaine Pennant, Peter Crouch, Jose Reina and Sami Hyypia are just some of the returning players of a team that came within one game of being the best in Europe last year. Add to the mix some extremely capable newcomers including Fernando Torres, Ryan Babel and Andriy Voronin who have done nothing but sound the bell whenever their numbers were called early this season. Throw in All-World midfielder and native son Steven Gerrard (who looks to return in the near future) and you've got quite an eleven. All things being equal, this is a club that is destined for a top three finish in my humble opinion.

Chelsea and Manchester United have been the "1" and "1a" of the English Premier League landscape for the last handful of years. Liverpool, Arsenal, Tottenham, Bolton, Everton and Newcastle usually fill out the top eight. It seems somewhat static at the top of the table mainly because the inequity of team payrolls, which mirrors the Yankees and Red Sox story. However, baseball is a vastly different game that is much more susceptible odd bounces, slumps and cosmic forces. I believe the NBA would be overrun with dynasties like Man U and Chelsea if there was no salary cap because basketball and soccer are much closer as far as talent conquering all. If an owner buys a starting five of All-Stars for his NBA team, you can pretty much ink their travel plans to the finals every year. Same with soccer.

The only monkey wrench I can throw into this seemingly predetermined structure is that Liverpool beat Chelsea last spring in the UEFA Cup Semifinals and then again came one horrendous call away from beating them last month at Anfield. Do these things matter? I have no idea, but I love underdogs stories. The more they beat the favorite (albeit at home), the more those labels lose their meaning. I'm hoping that this realization finally arrives this year. I hate the Yankees, but respect the talent - same with Man U and Chelsea. The real point of distinction is that I no longer fear them, they don't appear to be the prohibitive favorites that they've been in the past. Once again, I could be completely wrong here. Way too soon to tell.

That leads me to tomorrow's Liverpool @ Portsmouth match. Last year, Pompey played to a nil-nil draw on the road and beat Liverpool 2-1 at home. This year, they are perched in the middle of the table after a brutal first month where they played the likes of Man U, Chelsea and Arsenal. Although Liverpool remains the favorite, Pompey isn't exactly the team you want to sleep on. Considering the fact that I'm still wading into this league and I'm without the requisite knowledge to do a Ron Jaworski type breakdown, I'm going to conservatively predict a 2-1 Liverpool victory capped by a 80th minute Torres goal. If you want my stone cold lock of the weekend however, it's Bears 31, Chiefs 14 (take the Bears giving the points and the over, like splitting Aces). That's all I got.

I'm hoping Kurt and the Preacher start sparing on the comment board after this one. Need some good Red v. Blue chatter...

the big rabbit gets fucked...

..is the bet this weekend as the reds of liverpool storm fratton park at the top of the premiership table. in the first half of the season, i doubt pompey will face a match with such dramatic implications.

a fixture that has already served matches against manchester and recent away losses to chelsea and arsenal becomes even more difficult this weekend. the week off should serve portsmouth well as the arsenal was riven with sloppy defense and a short-footed line-up. the result thus far, while not surprising, are not entirely encouraging either. as it stands, pompey sit just below the middle of the table and have shown a little bit of everything. regardless, a more consistently solid performance over the course of the season will be required in order to qualify to the european championship next year, especially with strong starts from manchester city, everton, and blackburn.

a win against liverpool is a catalyst for a carling cup run and confidence against the next (somewhat softer) leg of the schedule. a draw allows the pack to separate itself from pompey and a loss is a potentially demoralizing way to open the first month (1-3-2). the talent of the squad should warrant a better standing, even given the degree of difficulty in their match-ups thus far.

the blackguards are at the gate and the team must view this battle as a struggle where survival is the prize of the day and scalps and teeth are the trophies. for me, the humble reward of laying a twenty-spot on 4:1 odds is sufficient to make for a promising saturday.

the proverbial man and the hour will meet in less than a day to the sound of chimes and a horrid cacophony of steel, wood, and women screaming that should not be mistaken for the result of regurgitated irish breakfast and bloody marys. it will be redknapp's henchmen making sherman's neckties out of the rails that have, thus far, carried the irresistible force that is the reds to an unbeaten record (i know, so vivid).


make tracks, pompey. or i'm out a periwinkle blue caravan.

pompey - 2, reds - nil.

Tiggy Woo handles the competition like loose change

"I've been looking for an excuse to get down to Lemont, Illinois for a couple months now, so this worked out perfectly."


The BMW Championship (a.k.a. The Western Open) was this past weekend at Cog Hill, however it was two weeks ago that my buddy Kurt called me up with news of practice round passes for the Tuesday and Wednesday leading up to tournament play. We decided that the first day would have to be for scouting purposes almost exclusively since we couldn’t get there until noon, so we'd be getting the lay of the land for the Wednesday round. I was initially impressed with intricacies of the PGA Tour presence. It's a symphony of palm pressers and custodians sprawled out on a finely manicured and well respected golf course for a week with millions at stake. However, quite soon afterward, the main attraction becomes the primary interest. The enormity of the talent surrounding each entrant is acutely palpable. Astonishing shots in triplicate and a tap in for birdie on a 600 yard hole happen frequently. To be honest, it takes a while for that to sink in.

We arrived at 12:15pm and started roaming the course immediately since most of the players had already teed off, some off the course altogether. We planned our route for the following morning with a real tenacity. This was our gameplan for the Front 9: Follow Tiger from the 1st hole to his drive on the 3rd, then do a Pincer movement to the bridge in between 4 and 5, watch his drive bounce yards from our feet, then the approach, then cross the 5th fairway and walk to the single pine tree fifty yards in front of the green-side bunker, watch the entire 5th hole from this spot, watch most of the 6th from this same spot, then watch the entire 7th hole from the very same vantage as well, walk out 8 and 9 with the gallery following behind Tiger.


We ended up leaving our scouting round on Tuesday around 3pm, seeing some famous names but mostly getting familiar with the course. Truth be told, Kurt is a virtual PGA Rolodex, naming even the most obscure golfers from 60 yards without any problem. He knew histories, was familiar with individual skill sets and amassed a vast arsenal of anecdotes. He could usually identify a player further than 150 yards out by swing alone. So as you can probably tell, this was a pretty big deal for him. Once he got comfortable, I loved how he seamlessly began fraternizing with professional golfers,

"Good luck this week Charlie."

Charles Howell III looks up from signing his scorecard near the driving range, somewhat surprised to be recognized and acknowledged in such a fashion. He straightens up and with a genuine inflection replies, "Hey, thanks a lot."

Then Kurt gives him that "No worries" shoulder shrug and walks out the frame like he just solved a Rubik's Cube in 45 seconds and tossed it to him.

Cracked me up to no end for some reason.


WEDNESDAY

5:03AM - Kurt and myself park in a 7-11 parking lot across the street from Wrigley. Red Bulls and Big Gulps.

5:45AM- It is decided that although a bag of White Castle sliders my seem appealing at the moment, it would ultimately make us logy for the day ahead.

6:26AM - Arriving at Cog Hill public parking. Walking towards the course as the sun rises and the freshly-cut grass reaches upwards.

7:00AM - Watching the greatest golfer (most likely ever) hit a monster tee shot straight down the fairway into the pale murky ether with only 45 other souls in attendance.

7:01AM - Restating my assumptions.

Watching Tiger Woods play golf in person is an irreplaceable experience. I've played the video games, I've watched Masters on Sunday and I've seen the 60 Minutes special on him. Nothing truly prepares you for an up close examination of the most diligently calibrated golf game ever. I'm used to the intimate feel of a golf course, judging the angles and distances as they pertain to my ability. The lack of pressure whenever I draw the blade back is self apparent, because I can always take a mulligan and unbridled success is never an option. With Tiger, every movement is analyzed and every outcome is weighed. Kurt and I both agreed that PGA Tour golfers are playing a different game than us, but Tiger is on his own plane altogether. They all throw darts at the green, the difference is that Tiger has those titanium Sharper Image darts and all the other professionals have plastic darts jammed in a cork that can be attained by leaving your ID with the bartender.

Since this was a Pro-Am in support of the Evans Scholar program, three amateurs donated $7,500 each for the pleasure of playing a round with Tiger. We quickly decided to give these gentlemen names, personas and back stories:

Hustlin' Hank Kowalski: Orange hat, black shirt and a belly putter. He’s clearly the best amateur with a handicap that's probably in the single digits. Let's just say he owns a couple of lumberyards and leave it at that. He even hit a couple approach shots inside Tiger's ball, although he refrained from goading him on with taunts like, "Somebody’s Closer!". Probably a good move.

Howard Greenberg AKA The Wonder Jew with the One Iron AKA Ho-Jew: A dark blue shirt, a bit of a paunch and a surprisingly adept up-and-down save man. A crowd pleaser with his wily antics, continually attempting to interact with Tiger in varied nonchalant ways. Needless to say, Ho-Jew was easy to root for.

Mustache Steve AKA Momo: Mr. Yips settled down after the first couple of difficult holes to provide a very respectable back nine. We liked Momo because of his underdog status and his exquisitely coifed facial hair. He was undoubtedly the worst of the foursome, but we admired his moxie because we'd be a little thrown off to have Mr. Woods waiting on our shots too.


As the morning progressed, the gallery following Woods grew exponentially. The two dozen or so that walked that first fairway with Tiger grew to about 130 people by the 9th hole. I found the range of the group interesting: Chatty old men who are PGA regulars, 7 year old boys with their fathers, Waspy Waspertons, wise cracking black men, middle aged Asian women, etc, etc, etc... People sometimes slam global sports icons such as MJ and Tiger for being too bland and not using their elevated status to help influence positive social change. I think that's asking a bit much from these guys considering the fact that they chose to master the art of putting a ball in a hole instead of running for congress. What I do know is that these stratospheric superstars bring people from all backgrounds and creeds together. They provide us with stories for future generations. They remind us of the potential greatness we seek. Simply, they allow us to dream in a world sometimes clouded with nightmarish effects.

UPDATE: Tiger went 67, 67, 65 and a tournament low 63 in the final round to win by two strokes. He regained top pole position from an idle Phil Mickelson in the Fed Ex Cup standings with one event to go.

And now, your moment of Zen:

Prince Fielder/Brett Favre underdogs of greatness

You have asked for it, and it has so been made.

For me, this September has arrived with more at stake than any other that I can remember.

For the past 2 months, I have physically been unable to write more than a sentence or two about the Brewers. I wanted to at all costs avoid a post that with the theme of "unfortunately, my April prediction was dead-on...the Brewers of the 21st century fade around the All-Star Break...etc"

This time around was even worse, not simply because they were losing games, but because: 1. they blew a 8.5 game lead since that time and 2. in an absolutely ridiculous amount of those games (20 or so) they have blown a lead of 3 runs or more (this includes "Aramis Ramirez game", where they held a 5-0 lead early and lost 6-5 on a walkoff job in the bottom of the 9th. If the Brewers fail to win the Central, this will be the game that you've gotta point to as the seminal moment for their collapse.)



Since that time, and before their latest homestand, they have been 20-35. Knowing that they probably should have won at least 7-10 games during this period and those games will be the difference between possibly losing the division and comfortably clinching with a week left in the season is something that we, collectively, need to put behind us.

The emotional mindfuck notwithstanding, it has served as an unbelieveable prologue to the most exciting divisional race in baseball. Exciting, not only because three teams are within 1.5 games of 1st place, but also because the Cubs and the Cardinals have played stretches of baseball that have been almost as perplexing as the Brewers and no one team can monopolize on the frustrating ineptitude of any of the others (i.e. the Cardinals have just dropped 2 of 3 at home to the Pirates and the Cubs have had ample opportunity to slam the door on the Brewers during the last few weeks in August). Milwaukee plays 10 at home and 13 on the road to finish the season (against relatively mediocre competition and including a critical home series against the Cards in the final week) and given their mini-surge to begin September, I am more hopeful than ever that I will have the opportunity to pee my pants no later than October 1st.

Every year since Mike Martz (who, because he molests collies, should be investigated for cruelty to animals as well) and the Greatest Show on Turf replicated Custer's performance at the Little Big Horn, the NFC has appeared to get worse and worse in quality. When the New Orleans Saints seem to be the consensus pick to represent the NFC in the Super Bowl (and when in the same breath its concluded that the AFC champ will cut off 'zeir johnson), we know that the age of dominant teams in the NFC has passed. Gone are the Cowboys, 49ers, and Packers of the 1990s (and to a lesser extent the Rams and Eagles shortly thereafter).

This is fantastic news for the 2007 Green Bay Packers. A team that was picked to finish with 4-5 wins last year due to having a "shitty" team on paper actually finished a respectable 8-8 and, had Giants defense buckled after puzzling* 4th quarter playcalling by Tom Coughlin against the 'Skins, they would've been a playoff team.

Logic would follow, that this year the Packers should be even better. The defense looks as strong as it has been since the Minister of Defense retired, the offense seems to have a more clear idea of how to execute its game plan, and most importantly (for me, anyway), I think this is the year that Brett Favre will be his most focused.

I know that my hero-worship and apologism for Brett has been borderline homo-erotic (ok, maybe not even borderline), but I wouldn't discount this as a critical factor in sparking a brief Packers renaissance. He's gotten is beef with the organization out of his system, he is even more committed to winning this year because he was closer than ever to retiring after last season, he has more experience with the coaching staff, and I think he won't feel the burden of carrying the team as much. As we all know, the desire to make the unbelieveable or impossible play has become a subject of mockery of late. I simply don't think you'll see as much of that this year because of a combination of a mental adjustment made on his part and because the team will be better as a whole. These statements may seem to be preposterous and lack justification, but I am incapable of thinking rationally about Brett. I have a crush on him and will probably get his salt-and-pepper stubbled face tattooed on my back like he is Jesus** or something. There'll be a whole post devoted to this later, don't worry.

Finally, the Packers have 4 games against the Lions and the Vikings. That's 4 wins right there. The Lions and the Vikings are an embarrassment of their former selves and to the NFC North. They will both go 0-14-2 (clever, eh?) and will then be immediately contracted.

Anyway, if the Packers aren't one of the best 6 teams in the NFC by the end of the season, it will have been one of the most disappointing letdowns that I will have ever experienced in sports.

The end. I'll have a less whimsical commentary by Saturday or Sunday morning, but I'm at work right now so this post is more of a coping mechanism for me to make it through the day without throwing my coffee mug against the interior faux brick wall or urinating on the carpet in our file room.


*by "puzzling", I mean "mentally handicapped" or "really fucking retarded"

** yay, Jesus