Posts tagged Walk on the Wild Side

Walk on The Wildside: Notes From the RSP Bunker

Can you guess a person's native state by his name? Apparently my wife could with Cordarrelle Patterson. Happy New Year (photo by Nashville Corps).
Can you guess a person’s native state by his name? Apparently my wife could with Cordarrelle Patterson. Happy New Year (photo by Nashville Corps).

It’s been a productive summer and fall at the RSP Film Room. I am closing in on finishing  play-by-play evaluations of 130 different skill position players as my winter vacation is ending and I thought I’d provide a few highlights of what I’ve seen this week. Most of this is lighthearted analysis in three short segments: My Readers Are Smart…But My Wife Might Be Smarter; Duke Johnson: Signs of a Waldman Family Apocalypse; and Big Nasty.

My Readers Are Smart…

I love when I write about one player and I get numerous questions about a different one. This happened with my analysis of Justin Hunter. The Tennessee wide receiver is a freakish talent, but potentially one of the riskiest players at the top of this draft class because of poor habits on both the practice field and on game day. My readers continued to ask me about his teammate Cordarrelle Patterson. I knew I’d eventually get to Patterson but I waited for my vacation because I figured I was going to see something fun and when I enjoy watching a player, I get so pumped up that I have trouble sleeping if I’m studying games at night. Patterson hasn’t disappointed:

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=hIZwwkdSjiY#t=72s]

His 44-yard run after the catch for a 58-yard gain was just one of many like it. In fact, I wonder if Patterson’s terrific instincts and vision in the open field are making Hunter try to do the same things – and fail miserably at it. Hunter is so gifted, I sometimes think he’s trying to mimic his teammate and is in denial that he can’t match Patterson.

But My Wife Might Be Smarter.

The best highlight of the night was probably what happened after my wife walked into the office, saw Patterson make this run, and asked me his name. When I told her, she said that with a name like that he’s probably from South Carolina.  Sure enough, Rock Hill, S.C.  

I had to test her further.

“How about Stepfret Williams?”

“Definitely, from the South.”

“Well yeah, but what state?”

“Probably the South a lot of folks up North are scared about – rural Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana.”

Yep, Louisiana. If this were a game at a fair, we would have enough giant stuffed animals to start an E-Bay business if we weren’t banned from the theme park altogether.

Duke Johnson: Signs of a Waldman Family Paradox 

My wife went to school at UNC Chapel Hill.  According to her, I have to say the Chapel Hill part or else I’m not qualifying it correctly. A native North Carolinian is particular about their UNCs. When I’m feeling like getting a rise out of her I bring up the Tar Hell-Blue Devil rivalry and it’s the only time I get threats about divorce. [Editor’s Note: This was a complete Freudian slip on my part. It is “Tar Heel.” Unless of course, you’re a Dukie.]

“Alicia, what if one of our kids wants to go to Duke?”

“No kid of ours will ever go to Duke. Why are you even asking me such a stupid question?”

“Wait a minute, you mean to tell me that if one of our kids earned a scholarship to Duke, they couldn’t go?”

“Again, this is a dumb-ass question. Our kids will know that Duke is kidding itself when it says it’s the Harvard of the South. Who says that? Harvard is Harvard. Stop. It’s over. You haven’t gotten in. If you have to describe yourself on the back of another school then you know what’s really going on there.”

“So what if our kid earned a basketball scholarship to Duke?”

“Our kid will earn an academic scholarship and will be smart enough to realize that most Duke ball players wind up playing in Europe.”

“What if our kid chooses Duke because there is a specific program that few other schools of its quality offer?”

“Then you’re gonna have to move out and live in Durham with them in an apartment and you ain’t comin’ back home, that’s for sure.”

With lines drawn like these, it stands to reason that the only “Duke” that I can mention in the house without risking a night on the couch is the one who shares my wife’s maiden name and plays at my first university – Miami. Even so, when I invoke his name she gets a look on her face like I named a kid Hitler Rosenberg, or Hashtag Smith.   If you haven’t seen the freshman running back, check out these two touchdown runs against Boston College. You’ll be hearing a lot about this ACC Freshman of The Year soon enough.

[youtube=http://youtu.be/7VGs_szTbwo]

Johnson reminds me of that old East Carolina Johnson. Perhaps not as fast, but the new Miami version has even better balance.

Big Nasty

The tight end class might be the gem of the skill positions in the 2013 draft. Cincinnati Travis Kelce is one of many impressive prospects I’ve watched this year, including this weekend. He’s one of the best blockers I’ve seen at the position and because Cincinnati runs a pistol offense, Kelce plays the H-Back role to perfection. His dimensions are Gronkowski-like and he’s a big, aggressive, and nasty run blocker. He also has fluid athleticism and at 265 pounds, you don’t see a tight end move like this unless he has starter potential in the NFL.

[youtube=http://youtu.be/nBIK_P5c6c4]

I know the Washington Redskins have Fred Davis, but as I mentioned to my Football Outsiders cohorts this weekend, if Washington wants to find a player who can take over if Davis’ Achilles tear doesn’t recover sufficiently, or he opts to sue himself and represent both parties in a court of law, Kelce would be a fantastic fit for Robert Griffin. Then the “Shanaclan,” – as my buddy Bloom calls Mike and Kyle – can end the Niles Paul-tight end experiment and keep him as a receiver and kick return specialist.

Happy New Year!

Reads Listens Views 10/26/2012

My open letter to Panthers owner Jerry Richardson is to play career-saving matchmaker for Jonathan Stewart and Deangelo Williams. Photo by Parker Anderson (PDA Photo).

(Views) Walk on the Wild Side: An Open Letter to Jerry Richardson 

While I can’t claim credit for the changes ahead, the news of Carolina making adjustments to its offense have been my sentiments for weeks.

Dear Jerry,

I’ve been watching your organization from afar. Like everybody’s Uncle Arthur Blank, you seem like a good guy. You were a calmer, assuring voice of reason during last year’s lockout. Unlike most of your pencil-necked geek peers at owners meetings, you actually played in the NFL. You may have only amassed 15 catches for 171 yards and 4 touchdowns in a one-season career, but you did play with Johnny Unitas on a championship team.

No bad, Jer. Not bad.

Anyway, I’m a fan of your state. Continue reading

Walk on the Wild Side: Addiction

Maurice Jones-Drew and Elvis Dumervil are just teasing you with the action you want to see. Photo by Jeffrey Beall.

This is an opinion piece of mine from last year that I delivered for my weekly segment “A Walk on the Wildside,” at The Audible on Thursday nights at 10pm EST. The opinions expressed here are not those of The Audible, Cecil Lammey, Sigmund Bloom, or Footballguys.com

12-step programs tell people that the first step towards fixing a problem is admitting that you have one.

Well folks, I have a problem. While I’ve read that a lot of men have this very same addiction. I want each and every one of you out there to understand something. I’m admitting my problem not out of a selfless desire to help others. I’m doing it because I have low self-esteem and I have grandiose visions of using this segment as a bully pulpit to wallow in my problems for your entertainment.

Isn’t that what they do on half of the network shows in prime time?

If you find it helps you along the way with your hang up – then trust me when I tell you that it’s purely an unintentional consequence.

Because when it comes down to it I’m just a nanoscopic public figure operating on the coattails of the inimitable Sigmund Bloom and rising media personality Cecil Lammey, by the way whose star is getting so big that I’m expecting to flip past VH-1 later tonight and learn that he’ll be next season’s guest-star-slash-patient on Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab.

Can’t you imagine it? Cecil Lammey at group therapy. He’ll be seated between Gary Busey and Bobby from Taxi as fellow first-time patient Matt Jones lays into Lammey for his Dr. Roxo routine. As T.O. would say “Get your popcorn ready.”

As you can see my friends, I’m just a pilot fish with no track record clinging onto two fantasy sharks swimming the waters of the world wide web.

But seriously, low self-esteem is just a symptom of my greater problem.

And I think you know what my problem is, because many of you have it to. We make excuses for it all the time. We tell our spouses or girlfriends that its just part of being a red-blooded, American male. We joke about it over drinks with our pals. We write about it on message boards.

And we’ve fantasized about it ever since we were old enough to experience what it must feel like for the first time.

If you want to see how much its glorified just look around you.

It’s in magazines, on VHS, DVD, .JPEG, .MPEG, and sometimes it’s even on YouTube although they try to get rid of it quickly.

You can read it, download it, and stream it practically anywhere and everywhere.

Heck, I watch it Sundays, Mondays and sometimes Thursdays and Saturdays. I’m so obsessed with it, I have hundreds of hours of discs tucked away in my home office. And if you’re careful enough you can even sneak some viewing time on the job, although I’d say HR would probably frown upon it.

Frankly, I’m just amazed I have the energy to watch so much.

And better yet, producers of this content even cater to a variety of demographics.

Depending on your taste, it’s available in high-gloss, full-color spreads or iconic black and white photos for those that like the arty stuff. Some producers and directors of the film variety like to add music, which can sometimes provide a stirringly inspirational complement to the scene (if you know what I mean). But most of the time the cheesy soundtracks are pure unintentional comedy. Of course some people like a good laugh, but that’s a personal thing I don’t need to know about.

One thing’s for sure: We have a really messed up relationship with its stars. Some of us on the far right of the political spectrum talk about them as if they represent the scourges of society. We say they are social deviants that need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and change their ways rather than make excuses for their behavior by blaming their childhood. But once we use them up for our enjoyment and they grow too old to get work, we throw them out like replaceable parts. They went into it with their eyes wide open, we say. They knew the consequences.

Those of us on the far left aren’t much better. We believe them as victims that need our help. We claim they had few other paths and that their industry preys on them. Sure they all profit, but in the long run their lack of good upbringing or training gets them used and they’re stuck to this way of life until they are kicked out with nothing. We say their industry needs to be the ones to provide them continuing education and better long-term benefits. Somehow we think this will assuage our liberal guilt about enjoying what they are doing over an over.

I must admit it’s really exciting watching them do it – especially when you see a two-on-one or even a three-on-one. But on the whole I’m pretty old-fashioned; personally I prefer to see it on-on-one.

And I’m lucky, because my wife loves it. She gets fired up when she sees it and she likes it rough. Just thinking about it gets the juices flowing.

And to be perfectly honest, we want our children to eventually experience the joys of it. Just in a healthier, safe, and non-exploitative environment when they are old enough, they understand the risks involved, and they aren’t part of an industry that will use them and toss them aside.

As you can clearly see my addiction is with pornography. And if you listen to this show I can safely bet you have one, too if you consider porn in the classical sense.

Pornography defined is the depiction of acts in a sensational manner as to arouse a quick, intense emotional reaction. You can’t deny that watching athletic young men in padded uniforms hitting each other as hard as they can is highly pornographic.

And the NFL knows it.

It photographs it, films it, produces it and displays it with striking similarity to the stuff that Cecil, Gary Busey, and Matt Jones will be trying to access on late-night TV at the rehab center after they put roofies in the night nurse’s java.

The NFL had no incentive to really crack down on hitting until there were investigative stories on the long-term effects of concussions.  Only then did it threaten their bottom line.

What they were doing was almost farcical until Malcolm Gladwell wrote a piece comparing NFL players to mistreated pit bulls. The league handled illegal hits with fines that went into an account that the NFL would then donate to charity as a tax write-off. All this did was help the league get good PR on two fronts: giving back to the community and presenting a tough image that was nothing more than lip service. If they were serious that money should have been added to an account to help research better methods of player protection.

The best way to tell it was all lip service is from the reactions of the players.  Rodney Harrison said it best Sunday night; the fines didn’t persuade coaches or players to use safer techniques, but suspension did.

And I suspect the NFL feared suspensions would lower TV ratings because the public wouldn’t see two teams at its best when its key players were not in the game.

Funny how they’d suspend for drug use or criminal behavior to keep the media from scampering up their hindquarters and setting up camp,  but when it came to behavior that had the same or worse long-term effects, they rarely did anything substantial until that tarnish began to appear on their coveted red, white and blue shield.

In hindsight you would have thought that they would have rather suspended stars than shorten their career spans from unnecessary injury. But that meant spending money and time that might cost too much money. Hindsight…

But I do have to give props to the NFL’s week six response to the hits that laid out Pro Bowl quality players DeSean Jackson, Joshua Cribbs, and Todd Heap.  They sent a four and a half minute instructional video to players that they also released to the public. You can find it on NFL.com and it establishes clear ground rules and warns of future suspensions if players are cited for future infractions – even for first-time offenders.

But don’t worry fellow football pornographers, the NFL still knows where its bread is buttered.  If you watch the film (and I know you will). You’ll see one of our favorite stars – Ray Lewis – deliver the goods as an example of how to hit the right away.

Once James Harrison finishes crying into one of those yellow Pittsburgh hankies in Mike Tomlin’s office, he needs to watch that film. Because if Ray Lewis is good enough to do it right then Harrison just has to man-up and become a better football player.

James Harrison needs some pointers from Ray Lewis on the art of hitting. Right now his craft is just low-rent porn.

Don’t wuss out and quit, accept the challenge and become more skilled. That goes for any other pro that believes the NFL is turning into a sissified game. Because if the best defender in the league for the past decade can do it textbook, so should they.

I love to watch a good hit. I love the violence of the game. But for the sport to succeed you shouldn’t have to compare it to the type of pornography that you might want to see just as long as someone close to you isn’t its star.

Walk On The Wildside: Unwritten Rules Of Football (and Life)

Derek Anderson, as my old friend Russ Bell would say, “It’s just f’n whiffle ball.” Photo by Matt McGee

This is an opinion piece of mine from last year that I delivered for my weekly segment “A Walk on the Wildside,” at The Audible on Thursday nights at 10pm EST. The opinions expressed here are not those of The Audible, Cecil Lammey, Sigmund Bloom, or Footballguys.com

As many of you know, I grew up in Atlanta, Georgia, home of Coca-Cola.

If you’ve never been to Georgia then you might not realize how much Coke is a part of life around here. Unless of course, you’re a (North) Cackalacky like my wife who still wonders why people look at her funny when she asks for a Pepsi. There are some things you just don’t do – or at least have the sense to know what you’re getting into when you do it.

Coke is so ingrained around here that my buddy Russ Bell, who runs a local grocery chain in Athens, made the drink a semi-official sponsor for his obsession with wiffle ball.  Yes. Wiffle Ball.

Years ago, Bell became the owner-proprietor-groundskeeper of a wiffle ball diamond. Not so coincidentally it was part of a package deal in the mortgage that included his first home (as backyards generally are). Just off the bank of a small river that runs beyond the boundary of his backyard, Bell christened his ballpark Frank Field.

Frank Field was inspired by Bell’s love of two people: Continue reading