baylorandjohnson@gmail.com

You can tell so many different kinds of stories through sports. And sports provides you with the action that's going on behind the story. It's not "sports" exactly, it's what sports enables you to get to. I really like the fact that you never know how it's going to turn out, it's the unscripted quality ... the capacity to surprise you, constantly. There's not much in our culture that's that way. And people's passions are really involved in sports.
--Michael Lewis

Monday, June 11, 2012

Got Scandal?

The recent Pacquio/Bradley split-decision win for Bradley made me laugh in derision. It's sad to watch this, and along with the scandals of the big 3 american sports (roids in baseball [as well as other major sports like the NFL], the NFL's hit lists, the NBA's ref gone wild, Tim Doneghy), not to mention sky high prices everywhere, it's an interesting metaphor for what's going on in the world.

Jason Keidel's article below is pretty good, but I think he misses a point. He makes one by saying that the days of the mob are over, implying that the fix wasn't in. BUT, what's missing is this; before the fight I checked the odds - Bradley was about a 3-1 dog. Not outrageous, but good enough to make a payday, and some peeps made a a good one indeed out of that action. I think it'd be really interesting to see who the high rollers were betting on, specifically, who won.

Also notable in the pre-fight, HBO did something I've not see before; Harold Lederman was running down the judges and casting doubt on at least two, with the woman garnering a real thumbs down from him. And it's not that boxing shows don't mention judges -- they do. But THIS particular segment went into great detail, with Lederman casting doubt. A lot of it.

I remember back in my media studies classes learning of a technique which I'll call "planting." Basically, it's talking about an upcoming event in ways that forecast. In itself it's legit as predictions are made all the time. BUT, I've never seen a boxing program where the judges were run down in such detailed criticism in my life, and I've followed boxing since I was a kid. Coincidence?

Well, if this was a con, it was being set up beautifully, with all of the versimilitude of big media and an expert.

I also disagree with Keidel when he says the damage is irreparable. Maybe to Pac and his crew it is, but the game can do things. For one, I think they should have long ago gone to 5 or even 7 judges to get more of a spread.


But the larger point is that there
will be a re-match, as Keidel and everyone points out. The real issue is not whether or not boxing can be cured, but that in spite of a horrendous scandal, everyone will pony up their 50 bucks and tune in for the re-match. And for that, I have a prediction; it'll surpass the take for this first fight.

Of the aforementioned major sports scandals, I told friends that the biggest by far was Tim Doneghy. When you have a ref betting, it's not just a conflict of interest, it throws the entire view of the game into question. Basically, it boils down to this for the viewer: is what I'm looking at real?

And in many ways, the parallels to the economic meltdown of 2008 (EM08) are right there, with a whole roster of refs who were supposed to have served as check-points along the way. For one reason or another, and to puckishly come back to sports, they all dropped the ball.

Just as with EM08, gambling is at the heart of the matter and is the elephant in the room when it comes to sports. That no one talks about it hints at the can of worms it hides. When you consider how Vegas' sports books dominate casino action, handling billions, the implications are vast, and if I seem suspicious, it's because I am. So while I may agree with Keidel that it's no longer the mob pulling the strings, I'll say in the same breath that it's something that makes La Cosa Nostra look quaint.

-jp


from WFAN

Pacquiao-Bradley Decision


By Jason Keidel


With a weekend so fertile for sports, the number three rings loudly through the five boroughs and beyond. The Yankees took three from the Mets,I’ll Have Another didn’t win the Triple Crown, and an unknown trio may have ruined a sport.
Manny Pacquiao, perhaps the best boxer on Earth, whipped Timothy Bradley on Saturday night in Las Vegas. And everyone knew it, except the three people who judged the fight – a most unholy trinity who had the best seats in the house yet didn’t see the bout.
Inexplicably, Bradley was awarded a split-decision and a worthless, welterweight title belt. Even the lone judge who got it right somehow found five rounds in Bradley’s favor.
First, let’s strip the euphemisms from the decision, with “controversial” chief among them. Call it disgusting, grotesque, galling, or hideous.
Harold Lederman, who has been scoring fights since 1967, gave Pacquiao 11 of the 12 rounds.
ESPN boxing analyst Dan Rafael also gave Pacquiao all but one round.
Jim Lampley, the television face and voice of boxing for decades, said it was the worst decision he’s ever witnessed.
Larry Merchant, who has been calling bouts for HBO since 1978, said Pacquiao won handily.
USA Today conducted an informal poll of the boxing writers ringside, and all of them gave Pacquiao the fight. All of them.
Famed boxing trainer Teddy Atlas said, “If you’re an honest man, you know who won that fight. It’s an injustice.” He was being diplomatic. This was inane, if not insane.
Bob Arum, who promotes both fighters, gave Pacquiao ten rounds.

Bradley’s own manager, Cameron Dunkin, gave his fighter just four rounds. Even Bradley, before he changed his cadence once the tainted crown rested on his shaved head, told Arum, “I tried, but I couldn’t beat the guy.”


I won’t drown you with boxing bromides and statistics. Google can cover that. But a most telling metric in pugilism is, of course, punches landed. According to CompuBox, Pacquiao landed 253 total punches to Bradley’s 153. Pacquiao landed 190 power shots. Bradley landed 108. How do you win a fight when you land fewer total punches and about half the power shots of your opponent?
You don’t.
The wretched decision doubles as a time warp to Frankie Carbo, when a certain Sicilian fraternity ruled boxing with a murderous fist. Raging Bull wasn’t fiction; fighters fell when they weren’t hurt and judges were paid based on betting trends.
It was a boxing buffet for conspiracy theorists. Indeed, I’ve been asked many times if the fight were fixed. I doubt it very much.
Boxing should not be corrupt anymore. Carbo and his Murder, Inc. brethren are dead, and the Mafia has been marginalized, particularly when it comes to boxing. Don King, who once acted like an honorary member of the Mafia, is irrelevant.
No, boxing is worse than corrupt. It is inept. When the fix is in you find, fine, fire, and perhaps imprison those on the take. But when an entire sport is incompetent, when it ruins its life, drops the Golden Egg of a final megafight between Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather Jr., it’s hard to find hope.
The only reason boxing matters anymore is because of smaller men like Pacquiao and Mayweather and smaller men only box because no other sport needs 140-pound men. And rather than facilitate that fight, quite legally and morally, it immorally aborts the bout that would find its final place on the front page.
What can fix this? Nothing. Because the damage from this decision is irreparable. Pacquiao has to fight Bradley again when he shouldn’t, and a whole lot can happen in during boxing’s glacial movements. And Pacquiao will need a rifle in the ring, because nothing short of killing Bradley will get him a win. And no one cares about the sport enough to clean it up. And by the time the final two titans of the sport can sign a contract, they will either be too old, or one will (legitimately) lose, or the fans will refuse to watch two old men jam to the oldies, or all the above.
Many Pacquiao, who was humble in defeat, is not the only one who pays. We, who have worshipped this sport since before Pacman was born, also suffer. I’ve adored boxing since my old man took me to see Roberto Duran in the old Felt Forum in 1979, when both boxing and Manhattan were great, before the former became neutralized and the latter sterilized. Oddly, both die at the hands of those charged to preserve them.
Timothy Bradley is a good man who came from the part of Palm Springs they left off the brochures, where drugs and gangs were within reach of his gifted hands. He chose a more honorable path, and a noble life. Bradley is very good fighter who earned every fight he’s won, except this one.
Feel free to email me: Keidel.jason@gmail.com

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Look Back In Anger

The following is a re-post from my old blog. One of the reasons I'm re-porting it is that I like it, another is that because of the time crunch I'm in I just haven't gotten around to posting here. It's not for lack of subject matter or ideas, it's for lack of energy. It'll happen, but it's just not time.

So, maybe I'll cherry pick some of my old sports pieces and compile them here. Maybe not. At any rate, that's what's happening with this piece.

Originally posted May 15, 2010.


A One Way Street Named Loyalty

I've been up in Berkeley for about 2 weeks now, and I must say, it's a welcome break from LA. One of the good things is I got to see my cousin Warren and his wife, Janet.

During our dinner, we got on the topic of sports, and being much older than me - sorry, cuz - Warren had all these great stories about his early support of the Raiders. There were some great anecdotes, but one of the most astounding was when he said that in the early days - this must have been the mid 60's - when they played in what sounded like a podunky kind of field (Youell Field...?) he said you could walk right up behind the bench and hear all of their chatter.

My god, can you imagine that?


This was a team whose rep preceded them by a country mile, and I have to admit, the Rams who I was loyal to for years but who ended up telling all of the LA fans to fuck off, paled in comparison. The Raiders, from the artistry of Fred Biletnikoff to the craziness of "The Mad Stork" Ted Hendricks to the beautiful aggressiveness of Jack Tatum (one of my favorite players because I played free safety) defined "bad" and backed it up in spades. I just can't imagine what it would have been like to have watched and listened to these legends of the game.


That being able to listen to the players, it's no small point, as Ed Sabol's NFL Films would show some years later, slowing down the game and making it heard so that its beauty could be greater appreciated. Today it's all about security and posses, let alone the crush of media. A kid's lucky if he even catches a glimpse of a player these days.

The other major point in Warren's reminiscences was his being an early season seat holder, for a mere few hundred bucks. When in 1992 the team - let's be honest, shall we? Al "I never saw a dollar I wouldn't run over my mom for" Davis - picked up and moved to LA, it was merely following in the footsteps of the Rams, who had done the same. Thus, money triumphs over loyalty, and in a mark of cruelty seen only by the likes of Stalin and that shithead priest who was preying on deaf kids, Davis would move the team back to Oakland. This, after having pocketed a cool $10 mil non-refundable deposit from LA's Irwindale after a failed bid, 
screwing the old Raider fans by making them put down a huge deposit much like what the Yanks did to Artie Lange and getting the city of Oakland to once again mistake bending over for opening one's arms in welcome.

~~~~~

It's a habit of old folks like us to romanticize "the good ole' days" but damn sometimes it's true. Later, while watching the Lakers and Jazz play, I was prompted by a commercial to tell Warren that I feel lucky in one regard to having come up before the mega-growth of sports. I have no memories whatsoever of one of the NBA legends and my boyhood hero Elgin Baylor acting like a jerkoff in some shitty, canned commercial for sugar water or a car that promises to get you any amount of women. Talking to Warren makes me think of the Little Richard quote I used for Ma's eulogy where he talks about the old time rock and roll as representing the joy, fun and happiness in music. That's how it was then, just a joy, awesome, really, to watch these magnificent athletes strutting like titans. All without a motherfuckin' posse and them feeling as if the universe was lucky to have them.

After hearing Warren's reminiscences the anger I had about pro sports today was slowly replaced with feeling awfully lucky to have come up when we did.


Me: "It ain't like the old days."


Warren looks down, slightly wistful, with a smile: "No, it sure isn't."