I grew up in basketball family. My Uncle was a successful coach at multiple levels. My cousin coached in the NBA. I played on my high school team and extended by playing career participating in Recreation leagues and YMCA pick-up games until my 48th birthday. I won't talk for now about my pure hatred of the three point line.
What drives me even crazier; college referees who predictably call any defended who throws himself (flops) on the floor a charge of the offensive player. The flop has been automatic in the college game ever since Coach K and his flopping Duke 5 initiated it.
The NCAA needs to get every god darn official into a mandatory in person meeting and explain to these brain dead refs, its almost impossible for the defensive player not to be moving or set when calling the block/charge. If you called a block 100% of the time you'll only be wrong maybe 10% of the time.
Bottom line - STOP THE FLOP

Didn't watch a single second of the World Cup Final this morning. If I was so inclined to turn this pathetic game on, all I need to do was turn on to watch the Penalty Kick portion that decided a major 4-year soccer event. How can any sport loving guy or gal accept an outcome decided by penalty kicks. Hell, I with no soccer ability what so ever probably could score a penalty kick. And this is to decide a once in every four year major soccer sport event. No other major sport would or ever decide a major championship like this. Hell, the NHL in Stanley Cup playoff games plays on until someone wins. Baseball has extra innings, Football has sudden death and Basketball has overtimes. 
Why expect anything else from a sport so lacking in pure scoring action.

Major League Baseball Free Agency has basically done its job for another year, as the prime time players for this year have found their new homes for next year. It was another enormous amount of money outlaid by owners to people like Judge, Correa, DeGrom, Turner and others. But at costs so outlandish and for years that seems asinine at best. I would bet each one of these signed contracts at their end will be huge albatrosses to their teams. Money must be easy for these owners to spend.

 

Thank God the World Cup only comes along every four years. Thankfully, Americans have alternatives in Football, Basketball and Baseball. Throw in Hockey and there shouldn't be an inkling of ever turning on a soccer match, unless one is in desperate need of a sleeping pill.

For 90 minutes, at least without commercial breaks. a soccer ball gets kicked back and forth between an official FIFA regulation soccer field that measures between 100-130 yards long and 50-100 yards wide. It's a game played by extraordinary athletic men, followed faithfully by legions of religiously rabid fans where many times games end by the score of Zero - Zero.

Toss in the constant flopping around on the turf, faking what would appear to be life threatening injuries like an acting award are in their future further adds to this gimmick of a game.

Finally, I get the so called soccer hooligans. You have to be totally bombed out of your mind to sit through 90 minutes without being self medicated. And if and when the ball somehow finds the back of the net, these lunatic fans loose their minds. 

 

My Three Sons was a highly successful sit-com that ran from 1960-1972 starring Fred MacMurray. In the truest sense it was a sappy show following the life of the widowed Fred MacMurray character raising and caring for his three boys. He had a bit of help from Uncle Charlie who ran the house on a daily basis but the mentoring was all about Fred MacMurray. It was a show that I watched on a regular basis as each son had their share of growing pains and one had to tune in weekly to see who caught Dad's attention.

Moving forward, Deb and I have been blessed to have raised three sons. Each fulfilling their call in life with their families but always connected as brothers. They sometimes don't notice how similar they really are. Take the recent training of Robert and Craig for hiking rim to rim of the Grand Canyon and Mark's continued training for his upcoming Iron Man. Neither of these endeavors can be viewed as a "walk in the park' rather a strong commitment to months and weeks of training. 

Robert, Craig and Mark, independent of each other set out a plan and committed to their plan to train in a way where they would only succeed in their quest. It required Craig and Robert getting up some days at the crack of dawn to train on mountain paths for hours at end. I Mark's case, it meant hitting the pool doing lap after lap at the same time also making sure his proficiency on the bike and run were to his standards.

As their Father, I could not be more proud of their accomplishments. Robert and Craig were full of wonder in what they saw and experienced. And maybe the best part, they were proud of themselves. And for them, it'll last a lifetime. 

Mark sets out on is Iron Man in another week and I'm more than sure he'll kick ass as he has in prior race years. He prepares like a professional, so his results will be his reward.

Lastly, I tip my hat to my Three Son's. I only wish I could be doing these thing along side you. 

I love you guys!!

61*

I was 9 years old in 1961 when the M&M Boys (Maris & Mantle) chased down the Great Bambino's (Babe Ruth) home run record of 60 homers in a season. There was no ESPN nor internet in those days that would instantaneously provide statistical updates on a moments notice. I had to wait until the afternoon's newspaper, Rochester Times-Union, was delivered to see the results from the previous days ball scores. I made a habit to fall asleep listening to Mel Allen calling Yankees games on the radio. I can remember the sports page had a chart showing where Maris and Mantle stood versus the Babe on a per game basis. As the season neared the end, Mantle suffered from numerous nagging injuries, leaving Roger as the lone pursuer. Only saw delayed broadcast of Maris breaking Ruth's record but as a true blue Yankee fan I was thrilled.

Coming forward 61 years (just a coincidence it being 61 years later and 61 homers once again), I am again enthralled by Aaron Judge's pursuit of Roger Maris's record 61 American league home run record. Sure, Barry Bonds holds the record at 73 and Sammy Sosa cranked out 66 long balls in 1998 but that was the steroid era and while many baseball historians acknowledge Bonds accomplishment, there are many others believing the clean record belongs at least for now to Roger Maris.

For me, it's been a frustrating Yankee year. Other than Judge, they haven't forced me into non-stop TV hawking. I don't ever think I've been more distant in any year. But Judge is a complete other story. He turned down a massive Yankee contract before the start of the year, instead betting on himself. The pressure to succeed would be immense, in NYC no less where each at bat is critically analyzed. His resilience has been off the charts. He has put together a statistical year that will rank with the all-time greats. A Triple Crown is with reach. Only the great Mickey Mantle has a Yankee Triple Crown.

Watching the game the other night with my wife when he tied the Babe at 60 was exhilarating in it had me thinking back to being 9 years old again and wishing I had the ability to have watched Roger break the record. When bat hit ball, we both jumped out of our chairs knowing the ball would travel deep into the left field bleachers. It was a sense of more Yankee pride. My grandmother made me a Yankee fan and its times like these that I thank her for doing so.

There are more games to be played and Judge will have every opportunity to further write his history. So, for me it's back to where I always belonged. Watching Yankee games and screaming at the TV.

But this time I have the resources to watch Judge break a 61 year old record. It only took 61 years but so what.  

 

If you have been a fan of baseball as long as I have, this picture has unfortunately become an all too familiar scene. STRIKE 3, YOUR OUT. Today's players are far too concerned with jacking homers with little regard for  batting average. There was an Nike ad campaign years ago centered around Greg Maddox and Tom Glavine with the saying "Chicks Dig the Long Ball" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLECMCargd8). So, the chicks changed the game?

Where have all the contact hitters gone? Is there no room for the single hitters. Imagine no Ichiro or Wage Boggs. How about gap hitters. A double would be nice now and then. Throw in a Triple every other week or two so I can remember the good old days.

Launch angle and exit velocity are all the rage in today's game. I remember hearing Don Mattingly say if you execute a proper swing plane, the ball will indeed leave the ballpark. I truly believe we are teaching young players the wrong batting fundamentals. Putting bat on ball and putting said ball in play has taken a back seat to attempting to put said ball over said outfield fence. Boring!! 

I went to the Diamondback game the other night and I was thrilled with what I saw what Diamondback hitters do, they basically hit the ball, singles, doubles a triple and a home run. It was the full hitters gambit. Not only did they hit, they ran the bases. They are a young athletic team full of youthful exuberance. They are not a team build on old age and bulk.

My favorite player of all-time was Mickey Mantle. I adored how far he could hit a baseball. But, he also was a Triple Crown winner and in his youth was the reputed fastest from home to first.

I know not every player can be a Superstar but what we can expect players fully versed in all aspects of the game. For now, I'm back on the D-Back bandwagon with there youth movement. Sometimes you don't have to win World Series to entertain.