All posts in Sports Psych

My Last Word on Michael Vick (I Swear.) (Probably.)

(My friend Jonna wrote this piece about rooting for Michael Vick and my comment got so long it was embarrassing. So here we go.)

Michael Vick is unquestionably one of the most talented quarterbacks in the National Football League.  He might be the best. I’m bad at gauging that kind of thing.

Anyway.

Michael Vick also, unfortunately, arranged, condoned and participated in not only the forced violent fighting of pit bulls that often led to the death of these animals, but he also signed off on the nauseating strangling and electrocution of others who maybe didn’t make the cut or got too messed up in fights to go on.

The disgusting fruits of Michael Vick’s labors haunt me worse than eleventy billion Sarah McLachlan pet rescue videos, y’all, and I can’t even watch those all the way through. I don’t give a damn about Michael Vick’s incarceration, redemption, team spirit, contribution to the National Football League or prowess as a quarterback.

I.

Don’t.

Care.

Michael Vick got caught carrying on with some outrageous behavior that caused the suffering and death of living beings, dogs who get a bad rap in large part due to jerks like him and his friends. He was convicted of this disgusting dog ring nonsense. He served some time in prison. He got out, and super shortly thereafter got snapped up by a team who was willing to deal with his baggage.

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So, he gets out of prison. He gets to make more than a million dollars. He gets to do what he loves. He gets the adulation of a city that wants a Super Bowl more than it cares or stops to analyze the reason why the potential catalyst is there. He even gets awards for teamwork, first year out.

Oh, and he will tell you time and time again how much he’s suffered, yes he will:

I’ve overcome a lot, more than probably one single individual can handle or bear. You ask certain people to walk through my shoes, they probably couldn’t do. Probably 95 percent of the people in this world because nobody had to endure what I’ve been through, situations I’ve been put in, situations I put myself in and decisions I have made, whether they have been good or bad.

Last Sunday, after the Eagles’ stupid ass loss to the Washington Redskins, a Facebook friend went off about how people should LEAVE Mike Vick alone, and he’d DONE his time, and BLAH and BLAH and BLAH and everyone shut up.

It irritated me, and the only thing I’d said was a random comment on my cousin’s Facebook — in response to something she said — about how what I heard when he got hurt was the sound of a hundred pit bulls lauging their asses off.

Yes, I knew he got injured in the game against the home team around here. No, I wasn’t especially sad that he was hurt. But that was that. I didn’t take to my Facebook or Twitter account to tell anyone else how to feel or what to say about Michael Vick. Because guess why?

I feel how I feel about him, and I move on. I don’t care how you feel about Michael Vick, or you or you or you. I’m neither going to “leave him alone” nor boycott the Eagles because they hired him. I listen to my co-worker talk about the Eagles and I don’t roll my eyes at him or ask him how he can bear to still support his lifelong home team.

Because it’s none of my business. And I don’t want him spouting anything off at me about how I need to let my feelings about this guy go, because how I feel about him is none of his business either.

I fail to see what kind of problems face Michael Vick. Sure, he went to jail. I’m sure that was upsetting. A lot of athletes go to jail for various infractions large and small. But my feelings lie with my belief that not only did he do what he did, since he got out he has been more or less an apologist for animal abuse. The way people talk and write about it, it’s just something you have to go to jail for awhile for doing, and sure, your operation is shut down and that’s awesome for the dogs who won’t be strangled and electrocuted on your watch. But people who condemned him, who dare to say anything negative or dare whisper “think of the PUPPIES” are painted as  unforgiving PETA-freaks who don’t understand that he has done his time.

His time that he earned.

He came out of jail to the tune of millions of dollars, back to a job and a public that, by and large, will not see him as a convict first.

So I think he’s going to be fine whether I root for him or not. And yes, I’ll cop to some minor satisfaction during reports today of how he wouldn’t be playing this week and probably next although he desperately wants to go back to Atlanta and face his former team. It’s just that I’m saving my cheers for people who to my knowledge would never have been capable of doing the stuff he did in the first place. I believe in redemption to a point, but not just because someone tells me that jail and a spanking new seven- figure salary helped a quarterback to heal himself. How anyone else feels about it is her business.

The Agony and the Ecstasy: Preseason Football

Every year I get so excited that I think I am going to explode.

FOOTBALL! PRESEASON FOOTBALL!

I buy beer. I make chicken wings. (Fine. I ask Gabe to make wings for me.)

This year I made both children wear Bucs jerseys.

We all sat at the living room table to watch FOOTBALL. It was so exciting.

Ten minutes later we were all bored out of our minds. Preseason football is boring. I don’t know these players. The commentators suck. There are always problems with the satellite feeds.

I know this. My husband tells me this before we watch the game. It is true every single year. Every year, every week of preseason it is the same. The games are torture. There are thousands of yards of penalties. The commercials are all for used car dealerships or local bars – not local bars here, but local bars in Kansas City or Jacksonville.

I think – this year I am going to watch all of the preseason games and I will kick ass at fantasy football!

But I can’t. I couldn’t even sit through the first half of the Bucs/Dolphins game.boring 49er game

On one hand, hooray! Football!

On the other hand, it is sort of like watching a little league flag football game except these guys don’t look as cute in helmets, it isn’t funny when they knock each other down and people really get hurt.

Oh, and it is so depressing when the guys get injured in preseason.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ll be watching the games this week. I just know that I will hate them.

Obsession isn’t supposed to make sense.

[photo: ColorPlay Fibers]

Favre Retirement Watch, Part Three

Word on the field today is that Brett Favre will not be returning for another year with the Minnesota Vikings.

The Minneapolis Star-Tribune reported that Favre sent “This is it” text messages to teammates.

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In my most perfect world, these teammates sent text messages to Favre asking “If this is it, please let me know,” but I’m somehow doubting many or any of those guys are Huey Lewis and the News fans.

Yes. I’m digressing and shamefully resorting to changing the subject to mid-list 80s pop songs to make this marginally more interesting for all of us.

I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. YES. Brett Favre is said to be retiring, which would, as retirement is generally understood, make last season his final season in the NFL.

To be clear, Brett Favre please pay attention, this means that you Brett Favre will not play professional football or discuss playing professional football  or change your mind about playing professional football for an extended period of time, possibly forever.

Right? This is what retirement means.

This is what is supposedly happening, today. We’ll see. Favre told the Vikings he wasn’t coming back before camp last year and changed his mind. He bailed on the Packers to go the Jets. He bailed on the Jets for the Vikings, and yeah, last season went pretty well.

It’s just that when it finally happens for real, who’s going to want to throw him a party?

This story is undoubtedly developing, and we’ll keep an eye on it around here so we can be among the first to discuss it when Brett finally drops the hammer. But there is one thing to hang your hat on, one cliche that mostly comes true, and an assurance that Brett will always, in some form or fashion, be with us on Sundays:

Football legends never really retire — they just get microphones and nice sportcoats.

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Just Because I Have a Vagina Does Not Mean I Need a Women’s Guide to Sports

I have been getting a lot of pitches lately about books for women. These books were written to help women better understand sports or sports terminology. During the hockey playoffs, these books wanted to teach me about icing and maybe make me aware of some famous NHL players. This month, they want to help me out with tricky baseball terms and advising me how to dress for a game.

Now, I don’t know how well you know me, but I can tell you this right now: I know what a triple double is, I know where LeBron James will be playing next year, I know who the coach of the Denver Broncos is, and I can speak intelligently about the problems with the BCS. Even if I couldn’t, even if I didn’t know what DH stood for in baseball, I would still be able to dress appropriately for an outdoor game.

Contrary to popular opinion, mothers and bloggers do leave the house every once in a while.

You know what else? Just because I have a vagina doesn’t mean that I only want to know where Ovechkin plays to impress my boyfriend. I watch ESPN when I am the only one home. My husband is the one that changes the channel to the Food Network because he can only stand to watch SportsCenter one time through, while I am content to watch it on a continual loop all day long.

When I open up the newspaper, I go to the sports section first, and it isn’t so the guys at work don’t think I’m a silly girl. The reality is that I need to know who is injured so I know who to start on my fantasy team.

Sarah and Gidge 2005ish

These pitches (and yeah, they are pitches, just like in baseball) from the PR people, who think my readers need me to tell them to read this book so that they can figure out when the line will be shortest for the bathroom, don’t understand that my readers aren’t stupid. Sure, you might not all be able to explain the wild cat offense, but if I tried to pander and tell you not to wear a leather jacket to a baseball game in Florida in August, you would probably Google my address, come to my house, and beat the crap out of me with the hockey stick that you own because GIRLS LIKE SPORTS TOO!

Mystics vs. Sparks

I don’t mean to be a jerk or a know it all, but can somebody please explain to me why dressing for a baseball game is any different from dressing for a soccer match or a football game? Outside is outside. You know where you live. I assume we have all been outside before. Summer = hot, winter = cold. Unless you are in Florida, and then outside = hot.

My only thought for the focus on baseball is that weather plays a big factor. Day games in the middle of the summer can be brutal. So flip flops, shorts and tank top will be everywhere. But night games in northern climates can get chilly, so jeans and a light sweater may be necessary.

Homecoming 97ish

This latest PR pitch also contains this:

[author] interviewed fashion editors from across the country to see what
people will be wearing in your city.

Okay, so let’s say, for the sake of argument that I need fashion advice to go out in public. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and say that I am completely clueless about what people wear where I live. IF YOU ARE TALKING TO FASHION EDITORS THIS ADVICE IS ONLY GOOD FOR ONE SEASON. Fashion is constantly changing. A book is static.

I’ve got some baseball fashion advice — wear something to support your team. The players like that. It makes them feel loved.

Other advice my latest pitch offers:

  • When to leave seats. Most people will leave to go get food, drinks or use the restroom when their team is in the field so that they won’t miss the action. For the shortest lines, leave when your team is at bat. You may miss a great home run but you will be back in a jiffy.
  • Hard-to-pronounce names are spelled out phonetically.
  • Conversation starters and commonly overheard terms.

Ahem. Yes, let’s miss the most exciting part of a baseball game so that we don’t have to stand in line to get a beer. Don’t worry, ladies, you will be home in time to iron your husband’s shirts. I can’t speak for all stadiums, but the six major league ball parks I have been to all have people walking around in the stands selling popcorn and cotton candy and beer and water. I’m not sure what it is like for Yankee or Red Sox fans, but where I live, unless Strasburg is pitching, there aren’t very long lines for anything. (No offense, Nats, you know I love you.)

The Goon Squad's First Baseball Game

I am just so tired of society thinking that people with ovaries are ignorant when it comes to sports. Maybe June Cleaver needs this book, but I am Sarah and I live in 2010 and I am offended.

Except for that pronunciation of tricky names part. That would actually be helpful.

This was originally written for and posted on BlogHer.com by Sarah.

Capriati Recovering, I May Not

Jennifer Capriati is recovering from an overdose of prescription drugs. Reportedly, it was accidental.

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Capriati is known for her tennis career that began in 1988 with her holding the record for the youngest French Open Junior winner at 13 years, 2 months. Yet, she’s also known for her repeated brushes with the law, including arrests for shoplifting and marijuana possession beginning in 1993. She has been quoted by the New York Daily News as saying “If I don’t have [tennis] who am I? What am I?”

And in researching other articles for this story, I accidentally came across the supposed reason for her accidental overdose: her maybe-ex-boyfriend Dale DaBone (yes, you heard me right) is going back to porn.

Seriously? Who says “I’m so overwrought that DaBone is going to (da) bone several someones on film that I think I’ll take a handful of this crap.”?

Accidentally or on purpose? You decide, because I may never recover from the knowledge that there is actually a movie being made with the title “Batman XXX: A Porn Parody”

Kendra was shocked at the twists of this story. Kinda. But not really.

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