I think it may be time for my grand blogging adventure here at FoxSports to come to a close. Without getting into specifics, life tends to give natural stopping and starting points for things, and this seems like one of those instances. It’s been a fun ride, to be sure. However, all rides must end, and this seems like a good time for that to happen to this one.
Certainly, I’d like to thank one and all who have offered their feedback on my posts. The kind words were greatly appreciated, even the occasional barb was duly noted. Mostly, it was the exchange of ideas and insight that I found most rewarding. I’ll certainly miss that.
So, I leave you with the enclosed post which I originally wrote last February and is probably representative of my best offering here. It’s just a reminder that, with all that seems wrong and corrupt about sports at times, there are still moments when the human spirit lifts sport above the tumult and reinforces the idea that the games people play can still merit our time and devotion, even when the distance between those moments seems greater and greater, all the time.
Aloha and mahalo, brahs. Good luck and good fortune to you all.
The Will to Finish
There are few athletic events that require as much sheer physical versatility as the decathlon. It demands speed, strength, and endurance in relentless portions. It stretches over ten events in two days and calls for some measure of Sergei Bubka, Willie Davenport, Al Oerter, Javier Sotomayor, Jim Ryun, and Carl Lewis to appear in the same person. And few ever find that combination in high enough quantities to compete among the elite in the sport.
So, the men who compete for the Olympic gold medal in the decathlon share a remarkable kinship. It is an exclusive club that draws its membership from all over the world. In that sense, the decathlon tends to shrink the planet while cementing the ties formed between the competitors. And it is the level of respect, the knowledge that few others truly understand the competitive will required to do what they do that forms this unique bond.
Perhaps, the strength of that connection was never made clearer than in two sweltering days during an Italian summer in 1960.
Houston-born Rafer Johnson was a remarkable athlete. At 6’3”, 200 pounds, he had enough speed and strength on the football field and enough agility and technique on the basketball court to attract the attention of UCLA. However, this unique combination of talent also drew attention of UCLA’s renowned track coach, Elvin “Ducky” Drake. He knew Johnson could be an elite decathlon competitor, because the ten events that make up the decathlon (100-meter dash, long jump, shot put, high jump, 400-meter run, 110-meter high hurdles, discus, pole vault, javelin, and 1,500-meter run) all fit Johnson’s athletic skills, except one. The 1,500-meter run was a bad fit. The muscle needed for many of the other events was just unwanted weight in an endurance test like the 1,500 meters, and, by being at the end of the grueling two-day competition, the race was made even more difficult by the utter level of fatigue that inevitably set in by then. However, Johnson was so skilled at the other nine events that the 1,500 loomed as a factor only if someone could keep up with him up to that point. And Drake was confident that few ever would.
Taiwanese native C.K. Yang had no such similar athletic pedigree. Yang was skinny and quick but seemed to lack the strength required for the decathlon. His only real chance was to use his speed to build up enough points on the track so that he could afford to give many of them back in the strength events like the shot put and discus. Unlike Johnson, Yang needed the 1,500. He needed that one last back-breaking endurance test to outlast the others. Yang was relentless in his training and knew that if it came down to fatigue factors and mental toughness few others would be able to match him.
Although the two men could not have appeared more different, they both wound up on the same track in California preparing for the 1960 Olympics. Whereas Johnson had been sought by Drake, Yang was the one who sought the legendary UCLA coach. Whatever the circumstances, as soon as Johnson and Yang started to train together, each found benefit in the constant competition. The constant drive to keep up with and try to surpass one another not only fueled their collective competitive spirit but also formed a solid friendship.
And they would each need to lean on that competitive spirit and friendship, because the road to Rome and the Olympic decathlon title promised pain. It would be a single linear path directly through athletic exhaustion and sacrifice. If there was any let-up in preparing for those two days of competition or during any of the ten events themselves, those gold medal aspirations would simply evaporate.
Rafer Johnson knew all about that. He had suffered an injury prior to the 1956 Olympics in Melbourne but still competed. Without his full athletic arsenal, he finished second to fellow American Milt Campbell. The Rome Olympics offered redemption, but C.K. Yang was now in the picture and promised as much competition as he could handle.
Once the 1960 Olympic decathlon began, Yang did not disappoint. He used his speed and versatility to better Johnson in four of the first five events. However, Johnson stayed close enough to his UCLA teammate in those four events that his single win in the shot put gave him the overall lead by 55 points at the end of the first day.
On the second day, Yang didn’t let up. He kept digging at Johnson’s lead, but Johnson kept answering. By the time the 1,500 loomed, Yang still trailed by 67 points and needed to beat Johnson’s time in the race by 10 seconds to capture the gold. However, the 1,500 was Johnson’s worst event and the event that Ducky Drake feared the most with a gold medal hanging in the balance. Conversely, Yang was right where he wanted to be. The gold was within reach and the most difficult event of the competition challenged an exhausted field, an event in which the lightest and fastest competitors held a huge advantage.
In the fading Italian afternoon, Yang sprinted off, determined to make history. He set a blistering pace with the clear intention of burning off what was left of Johnson’s fading energy quickly and then simply running away from Johnson, who Yang hoped, by then, wouldn’t have anything left to try to catch him.
Into the final lap, the strategy seemed to be working. Johnson was fading. Yang could see the gold medal taking shape. If he could just hold out a little longer, just push himself to go a little faster, he could put Johnson away for good. However, Yang’s body was screaming with fatigue. He needed one last push, one last burst to carry him forward.
And then it happened.
Johnson found the reserve some people can tap into when there should be none. Magic fuel at the bottom of an empty tank. Whether it is a champion’s heart or simply the sheer force of will, the will to finish what one starts, Johnson found it in the twilight that day when he most needed it. Yang seemed to find something extra as well. However, Johnson had found it first and closed quickly on Yang. As the two men raced down the stretch for the gold medal, Yang broke the tape first, but Johnson finished right on his heels, just 1.2 seconds behind.
Rafer Johnson won the gold medal in one of the Olympics’ most grueling events, an event that spreads out over two days and ten events, by 8.8 seconds. C.K. Yang took the silver but won the lasting respect of his good friend and chief rival as well as that of the sporting world of the day for his gutty, tireless performance in Rome.
Chuan-kwang “C.K.” Yang, the relentless decathlon competitor, can finally rest. He passed away on January 27. He was 74.
If we are to remember anything about C.K. Yang, I think it would be fitting to remember that one moment in the early evening in Rome when he gave as much of himself as he possibly could in a race that cost him a gold medal but earned him a lifetime of respect.
Author's note: I wrote this post for last year's 4th of July and thought I would re-post because it seemed appropriate for the occassion (ok, that and I haven't had much time to write new stuff lately!).
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I would like to take a moment to celebrate this country's birthday on this blog by putting exactly four candles on the cake.
Why only four? There is a certain symmetry to the number "4" in sports. Four quarters. Four bases. Four wins to take a Best-of-Seven championship series. Even the "Big 4" sports as we know them in the US: Baseball, Basketball, Football, and Hockey.
And over time, the number "4" has been worn in singular or duplicate by some of the greatest players in the "Big 4" of sports.
Baseball - #4, Lou Gehrig, First Base, New York Yankees, 1923-1939
Career Highlights: A lifetime .340 hitter with 493 career homers. Won two MVP awards. Led the league in homers three times and RBI five times. Won AL Triple Crown in 1934. 3rd All-time in Slugging Pct (.632), 4th All-time in RBI (1995), and 5th All-time in On-Base Pct (.447). Key contributor to six World Series winning clubs. Hit .361 in the postseason with 10 homers in 119 AB's. Held MLB record for consecutive games played until 1995, a staggering 2,130 games played in a row, earning him the nickname, "The Iron Horse". The Hall of Fame waived the 5-year waiting period requirement and inducted him immediately upon his retirement in 1939.
Signature Moment: He addressed a packed house at Yankee Stadium in 1939 and told those in attendance that he considered himself "the luckiest man on the face of the Earth" before announcing his retirement from professional baseball. Less than two years later, he was dead. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), a fatal degenerative nerve disease, had claimed his life. That he likely knew he was dying that day at Yankee Stadium in 1939 and still managed to express gratitude and thanks speaks volumes about his character away from the ballpark.
Basketball - #44, Jerry West, Guard, Los Angeles Lakers, 1961-1973
Career Highlights: Two-time All-American at West Virginia University. Co-captain of the Gold Medal U.S. Olympic Basketball team with Oscar Robertson in 1960. Drafted by the Los Angeles Lakers with the 2nd overall pick in the 1960 NBA Draft. 13-time NBA All-Star, 10-time All-NBA 1st Team, and 4-time All-NBA Defense 1st Team. Led the league in scoring in 1970 and in assists in 1972. 5th All-time in Points per Game and 3rd All-time in Steals per Game. Nicknamed "Mr. Clutch" for his ability to hit crucial shots in high-pressure situations, he averaged over 29 points and 6 assists in 153 career playoff games. Led the Lakers to nine appearances in the NBA Finals and the NBA title in 1972. Elected to the Basketball Hall of Fame in 1980. He has also had a very successful post-playing career as an NBA executive, helping to build a Lakers team that went on to win three straight NBA titles (2000-2002).
Signature Moment: In the 1970 NBA finals between West's Lakers and the New York Knicks, West hit a 60-foot buzzer beater in Game 3 to send the game into overtime. However, the Lakers ended up losing the game and, eventually, the series to New York. So, West never liked talking about that shot. Instead, perhaps, West's most lasting legacy is the fact that it is his silhouette that now adorns the official NBA logo.
Football - #4, Brett Favre, Quarterback, Atlanta Falcons, 1991, Green Bay Packers, 1992-Present
Career Highlights: 8-time Pro Bowler with over 53,000 career passing yards and 396 TD's. Led the league in TD's four times and passing yards twice. Ranks 2nd All-time in TD's, Passing Yards, and Completions. Won three consecutive MVP awards (1995-1997). Has thrown for over 4,900 yards in the playoffs with 33 TD's. Led the Green Bay Packers to an NFL title with a 35-21 win over the New England Patriots in Super Bowl XXXI. Has started 221 consecutive games, an NFL record for quarterbacks.
Signature Moment: In 2003, despite still grieving for his father who had suddenly passed away the day before, Favre played in a nationally televised game against the Raiders in Oakland and proceeded to throw for 399 yards and four TD's en route to a 41-7 Green Bay victory.
Hockey - #4, Bobby Orr, Defenseman, Boston Bruins, 1966-1976, Chicago Blackhawks, 1976-1977, 1978-1979
Career Highlights: Orr revolutionized the way NHL defensemen played. He became a dangerous scoring threat as well as a stellar defender. Orr was the first defenseman in NHL history to score more than 100 points in a season as well as being the only defenseman to lead the league in scoring. In a Hall of Fame career, he was an 8-time Norris Trophy winner as the league's best defenseman and a 3-time Hart Trophy winner as the league's MVP. He finished his career with 270 goals and 645 assists in just 657 games. In the postseason, he added another 92 points in 74 career playoff games and led the Boston Bruins to a pair of Stanley Cups. Like Lou Gehrig, his sport's Hall of Fame waived the mandatory waiting period for induction. Orr was enshrined in the Hockey Hall of Fame upon his retirement in 1979.
Signature Moment: In leading the Bruins to the Stanley Cup in 1970, Orr scored the game and title-winning goal in overtime of Game 4 against St. Louis. On the play, Orr was tripped and sent flying but still managed to get his shot past Blues goalie Glenn Hall. The picture of Orr flying horizontally three feet above the ice remains one of the sport's most enduring images.
Four sports. Four legends. Not a bad way to celebrate the Fourth.
In the autumn of a distant past, a 33-year-old Harvard-educated attorney shouldered a gun and marched determinedly through a fog-shrouded forest half-a-world away from his New York City law office. Over 500 of his military brothers were trapped behind enemy lines, and the lawyer turned Army captain was under strict orders to lead his company, Company H, to his stranded comrades.
“The Lost Battalion”, as the trapped soldiers were dubbed, was pinned down by enemy fire and left to scavenge remnants of ammunition and rations from the fallen. It was 1918, and the Great War (as it was called at the time) had been raging through Europe at a terrifying rate for four years.
Captain Edward Leslie Grant never made it to the men of the Lost Battalion. A German artillery shell tore through the trees in the Argonne Forest, killing Grant instantly.
And in that instant, the US Army lost a highly decorated captain and Major League Baseball lost one of its own. At one time, Captain Edward Leslie Grant was also a professional baseball player. From 1905 to 1915, Eddie Grant played a myriad of infield positions for four different teams. His final stint came with John McGraw’s New York Giants.
As a ballplayer, Grant was a speedy, light-hitting utility man who never batted higher than .277 in a full season but did steal at least 25 bases four times. In the field, he was a sure-handed defender, handling his defensive duties at third base particularly well. He was also a student of the game, perhaps, his Ivy League pedigree being unable to contain itself. After splitting time with the Phillies and Reds over nearly seven seasons, Grant was traded to John McGraw’s New York Giants in 1913.
McGraw valued Grant’s insight into the game as much or more than his actual skill playing it. So, while Grant’s on-field contributions for the Giants weren’t particularly impressive, though he hit did hit a career-high .277 for them in 1914, it was in his considerable intellect and ability to lead and instruct that provided his greatest value to the team.
After ten seasons in the big leagues, Grant walked away from the game in 1915. His Harvard education had been pulling at him for his years but had started to pull much stronger as his athletic ability began to diminish. By 1915, his baseball side finally gave way. Grant ended up setting up shop in the place of his last MLB stop, New York City and prepared for life as a lawyer.
On April 2, 1917, all of that changed.
On that day, President Woodrow Wilson addressed Congress to request a formal war resolution allowing America to enter the fray of the multi-nation war raging in Europe. It was an impassioned call to arms, and when the United States subsequently entered the war and sent troops into action, Eddie Grant was there, leaving his law practice, his entire post-baseball life behind with little more than the idea of helping allies despite unimaginable carnage lying ahead.
Once deployed, Grant proved to be a natural leader. Though quiet, he had a stark air of determination once committed to something. After all, he had dropped everything and traveled halfway across the world solely on the belief that America’s fight with Germany was something that needed to be done. Perhaps, it was that unwavering perseverance that drew others to follow him. It was also that perseverance that sent him into the Argonne Forest that day in October, 1918.
With lives to be saved, Grant willingly ran headlong into the abyss.
At the time of his death, there were many tributes paid and much fanfare made of his sacrifice. In 1921, the New York Giants honored Grant by placing a plaque in his honor at the Polo Grounds. (As an aside, there have been stories about how the Giants franchise refused a request to have a replica of Grant’s plaque - the original disappeared after the Polo Grounds closed - displayed in the team’s current ballpark. I don’t know how much of that is true. I do know that currently there is, in fact, a replica of the plaque at AT & T Park. I’ve seen it.) For a while, Grant’s memory was preserved, his heroism duly noted.
Unfortunately, time has a way of dulling the edges of memory. Our insatiable appetite for the present too often pushes the past completely out of our view. Cobwebs form, shadows are cast, and memories are lost to time. Sadly, such seems to be the case with Eddie Grant.
So, on Memorial Day, when Americans take a moment to remember and honor those who have served and fallen for this country, it would be nice to know that Captain Edward Leslie Grant hasn’t been lost to the shadows of history and that heroism no matter how much it has aged is still worthy of our collective acknowledgement and respect.
After all, a hero’s memory shouldn’t have an expiration date.
(Author’s note: For a far more eloquent and detailed look at Eddie Grant’s heroic life, please read Kevin Coyne’s magnificent piece for Smithsonian Magazine in 2004, here. I know that I cannot do Grant’s life nearly as much justice as Mr. Coyne did, but I felt compelled to write my own tribute to MLB’s first wartime casualty. I hope that I have in some way done something to honor him.)
While it may have been 20 years ago today that Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play, it was exactly one year ago that I first set foot, metaphorically speaking, on the Fox Sports Blog site. Like many others, I was originally drawn to the site by the vague promise of becoming “The Next Great Sportswriter”. Actually, since the competition was in its second incarnation last May, it might be more fitting to say that I had hoped to become “The Next, Next Great Sportswriter”.
As you all know by now, that most definitely didn’t happen.
Although Fox never released any official standings of the competition (outside of the 16 finalists selected), I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t actually finish in last place, I was pretty close. Of the nine posts I wrote in the month of preliminary judging, I believe that only three of them received comments. All of which led me to ask, philosophically speaking, if I was blogging and no one was around to comment, was I, in fact, actually blogging?
Of course, writing about certain obscure subjects like a retrospective on Doug Flutie’s career (here) or Floyd Patterson’s heavyweight title rematch with Ingemar Johansson (here) probably didn’t help matters in the way of creating interest.
So when the McDonald’s chicken sandwich seal of approval was given to the chosen finalists and I was left sandwich-less, I thought that had pretty much concluded my time at this site.
However, I enjoy writing and thought I would put up a few more posts just for the heck of it.
I’m glad that I did.
Even though my post subjects remained pretty obscure (Clyde Frazier and Pearl Monroe and their magical run at the Garden – here or the 1962 Mets and their wildly entertaining string of losses – here or the lost promise of Tony C - here), I started to hear from a lot of very cool and interesting people. And as time went on, I found these sports conversations to be more and more compelling. Through these conversations, I have come to truly enjoy and respect everyone’s opinions and insights.
Also, I must apologize for presenting way more news about the University of Oregon’s sports teams than anyone outside of U of O alums should ever have to put up with. However, even with that, you all have been gracious and patient with me as I agonize and celebrate the accomplishments of all things Green-and-Yellow.
However, it was the Oregon football team and a rather infamous call last season that reinforced my positive opinion of people at this site. Of course, as we all know now, the Oregon Ducks won an early season college football game against the Oklahoma Sooners when an onside kick attempt by Oregon late in the game was incorrectly ruled a legal kick and Oregon retained possession of the ball and went on to narrowly win the game. Before the game, GCoach, a huge Oklahoma Sooners fan, and I had been discussing all things Oregon and Oklahoma football through our respective blogs and anticipated an exciting game between our two teams.
Given the way the game was decided, even I didn’t feel very good about it (no team wants to win on a blown call) and felt even worse for Oklahoma who seemed to have gotten jobbed out of a tough road game they appeared to have won. So, I really didn’t know what to expect when GCoach and I inevitably discussed the game. I needn’t have worried. As always, GCoach was level-headed and classy about the whole thing, and I profoundly respected the way he handled such a controversial outcome. As Oklahoma and Oregon fans exchanged insults and outrage on other posts, GCoach and I basically shook hands and put the whole thing in the past, exactly as all sports disagreements should be handled.
I’d also like to thank some other bloggers as well for their continued support (if I miss anyone, I apologize profusely).
ShooterB – Though the argument will likely never end, You Da Man!
MeanD – Your insight and graciousness is greatly appreciated.
Steeler – The positive feedback is always a welcomed sight on my posts.
Ricko – Another fan of the Gary Carter-Andre Dawson era Expos!
CarolynT – Your optimism and positive attitude is inspiring.
Rivjo – More pictures of Mrs. Posada, please.
JoshQ – More Clash lyrics, please.
Northsidefan, Burger, TSI, and Half-Baked – I hope you guys are doing well and come back to the site sometime, this place is better with you guys around.
Kamaaina – Go Ducks!
Hogfan – Go Razorbacks!
Sleepless – Go M’s!
BMoy – The Bizarro Hall of Fame is awesome!
Manrub – I’m looking forward to future installments of the Balls Mahoney competition.
The Dan – King of All Sports Media!
Miracle – I think Dr. Phil should have that written on his forehead in real life.
FP – Writing these blogiversary posts is tough work!
Cindi – We can all learn something from your grace and courage.
Lisa & Fuzz (Steeler and Vearl, too) – What you’ve done for Cindi is one of the cooler things it’s been my privilege to witness.
Chux and Saxman – May you never have to fold a hand and may there be plenty of Ace’s in your future.
(Wow, that ended up being a long list! Sorry about that!)
So, for whatever minor contributions I may bring to this site, I want to thank you all for taking the time to read and comment. I do truly appreciate all of the feedback I have received over this past year. It has been my great pleasure to be a part of this site and to be included among such a cool group of knowledgeable sports fans.
The 79th Academy Awards will take place this weekend, and there won’t be a sports movie in sight. Of course, that hasn’t always been the case. Sports movies have had their place on Oscar night, but the history between sports on film and film critics has been an uneasy one. The Academy Awards are all about Oscars and high-fashion. Conversely, sports are decidedly more comfortable with Oscar Madison and high heat.
And speaking of odd couples, great sports movies often have to “win” over the film world in ways that other films do not in order to garner praise at the industry’s highest level. So, it seems sports movies and the rarified air of the Academy Awards do have something of an Oscar Madison-Felix Unger relationship, one looking su####iously at the other as being at all worthy of such acceptance.
That said, there have been many, many sports movies and acting performances clearly worthy of the red carpet, and it seems a shame that any lines are drawn to lessen the value o####ood sports film in relation to any other good film dealing with any other subject.
As such, if all other genres of film were to be eliminated from this weekend’s festivities with only sports movies ruling the day, I would have no problem envisioning those shiny Oscar statues (ideally, with some sort of nod to Oscar Madison) being given to the following.
The envelopes, please.
Best Soundtrack
Music can immeasurably set the tone for a film. The bluesy, smoky music from “The Color of Money” seems to perfectly embody the world of pool halls, hustlers, and dead money. Likewise, the hip-hop beat and the intense lyrics of Public Enemy in “He Got Game” captures some degree of the fearless, aggressive nature of urban playground hoops. The Dropkick Murphy’s spirited version of “Tessie” single-handedly breathes life into Jimmy Fallon’s self-loathing devotion to all things Red Sox in “Fever Pitch”.
But, perhaps, the best of what music can offer to a sports movie resides here…
The Winner:
"The Natural" – Can you hear that theme song and think of anything else but Roy Hobbs hitting that mammoth pennant-winning home run? The perfect music for the perfect act in sports. The soundtrack for Roy Hobbs’ victory lap will do quite nicely here.
Best Documentary
For obvious reasons, documentaries bring the most honesty to the big screen. After all, they are supposed to be, clever editing notwithstanding, simply a re-telling of events that have already happened. And the true-life nature of the genre lends itself to the uncovering of truths that even the best of writers could only dream of telling.
“One Day in September” revisits the terrifying events that led to the murder of 11 Israeli athletes during the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich. The film reinforces a particularly powerful and painful lesson that politics and sports will never be as far apart as we would for them to be and that combination can have lethal consequences.
“Hoop Dreams” breathed cinematic life into the compelling and continuing struggle of millions of inner city kids to realize the elusive but alluring promise of fame via greatness on the basketball court.
Jack Johnson was a black heavyweight boxing champ in a time when few wanted it. However, to his everlasting credit, Johnson simply didn’t care. His reign as champ was something he wanted everyone, everywhere to know about. His story, told decades later, in “Unforgivable Blackness” remains an important reminder that even today we may not have moved quite as far as we often fancy ourselves to have with regard to race.
And speaking of boxing…
The Winner:
“When We Were Kings” is a fascinating look at the famed Ali-Foreman “Rumble in the Jungle” in Zaire. More importantly, it showcases Ali’s ability to capture the imagination of millions around the world (i.e., If the chant of “Ali bomaye” doesn’t still hold some resonance after watching it, you simply weren’t paying enough attention).
Best Supporting Actress
Though sports films rarely give actresses much else to do than be supportive wives or girlfriends to the main characters, a few roles have managed to showcase much more than that. Barbara Barrie’s quiet urging (via a story about her passport) for her son to follow his dreams in “Breaking Away” is one of the movie’s best scenes. “Yo, Adrian!” may be a laughable cliché by now, but Talia Shire’s transformation from mouse to fully-dimensional person in “Rocky” was deftly done. And the best of the bunch may be…
The Winner:
Alfre Woodard’s portrayal of a high school basketball star’s mom in “Blue Chips” nearly steals the movie. Instead of looking for the best possible education for her son, she coolly tries to broker the best deal for her boy. Her calculating, no-nonsense reaction to sports recruiting is at once both alarming and mildly admirable.
Best Supporting Actor
Conversely, sports films tend to be very generous to actors. All manner of character roles tend to be available, and, because of that variety, the spectrum of outstanding performances in supporting roles is impressive. George C. Scott’s intensity in “The Hustler” as a ruthless “manager” intent on getting his cut of Paul Newman’s pool shark winnings at all costs is highly memorable as is Jackie Gleason’s brooding and understated performance as billiards legend Minnesota Fats in the same film.
Ted Knight absolutely stole the show as the pompous, highly-strung Judge Smails in “Caddyshack”. Spaulding, get your foot off the boat!
In “Rudy”, audiences may have cheered for the little guy on the football field, but Charles Dutton’s character, Fortune, gave the movie its heart. The jaded but generous groundskeeper was the real reason Rudy refused to give up his dream.
However, we turn to the baseball diamond for the real gem in the category…
The Winner:
Character actor David Strathairn consistently gives superb performances, and his role as disgraced Chicago White Sox pitcher Eddie Cicotte in “Eight Men Out” was no exception. Cicotte was a key figure in the 1919 “Black Sox” scandal, in which several members of the Chicago White Sox were paid off to fix the World Series. Strathairn manages to capture the doomed pitcher’s ambivalence between greed and honor perfectly.
Best Actress
Like supporting actress roles, lead actress roles of any substance in sports films tend to be few and far between. In fact, it is rare when an actress is given a lead role in a sports movie at all as the focus is generally not on any of the female characters. However, there are a couple of notable exceptions.
It wouldn’t be a stretch to give the award to Susan Sarandon for her performance as the spacey but opinionated baseball philosopher and fan, Annie Savoy in “Bull Durham”. Sarandon’s versatility allowed Annie to be funny, witty, angry, and vulnerable, interchangeably.
Another actress edges her out, though…
The Winner:
Hilary Swank actually made a movie about female boxing interesting. As Maggie Fitzgerald in “Million Dollar Baby”, she brought an authenticity to her character’s optimism without the sappy clichés.
Best Actor
The quality of the category creates a pretty long list. Paul Newman brought a lot of laughs with Reggie Dunlap, the disillusioned, broken-down player-coach of the minor league Charlestown Chiefs in “Slapshot”. Never play “Lady of Spain” again!
Ray Milland also played it for laughs as a chemistry professor who discovers a substance designed to repel wood and, more importantly, baseball bats in “It Happens Every Spring”.
Among the dramas, Barry Pepper was so convincing as the late Roger Maris in “61*” that it was eerie. Denzel Washington turned a trio of outstanding performances in sports roles as Rubin “Hurricane” Carter in the aptly named “Hurricane, high school football coach Herman Boone in “Remember the Titans”, and deceitful father Jake Shuttlesworth in “He Got Game”. Billy Crudup’s portrayal of doomed long distance legend Steve Prefontaine in “Without Limits” was also excellent.
However, one actor trumps them all…
The Winner:
Robert DeNiro reportedly gained 60 pounds to shoot a handful of scenes at the end of “Raging Bull”. That’s commitment to acting, folks. Outside of the remarkable physical transformation that DeNiro made for the role of former middleweight boxing champ Jake La Motta, he also had to play a very complicated character. The very things that made La Motta a champion in the ring also made him an outcast outside of it – aggressiveness, stubbornness, ruthlessness, rage. And DeNiro delivered all those things without missing a beat.
Best Picture
It is a very crowded field.
The inspiring, underdog stories (Rocky, Rudy, Miracle, Hoosiers), the laugh-out loud comedies (Caddyshack, Major League, Slapshot, The Longest Yard), the dramatic biopics (Brian’s Song, Pride of the Yankees, 61*, Eight Men Out), and the up-close looks at the games themselves (Friday Night Lights, Blue Chips, North Dallas Forty, #### the Drum Slowly) all have a place at the table.
However, some films manage to combine different elements in such perfect measures that they rise above the rest. One such movie is…
The Winner:
“Raging Bull” – With Martin Scorsese behind the camera and Robert DeNiro delivering the performance of a lifetime in front of it, it’s difficult to give the honor to any other film. The contrast between the brutality in the ring and the toughness and sacrifice it takes to get into it is a difficult balance to get right. To their credit, Scorsese and DeNiro made it look easy.
So on Oscar night when Joan and Melissa Rivers descend on Hollywood like a couple of angry witches, the sports world will be very far away. However, I imagine the Oscar Madison’s of the world (myself, included) will be just fine with a brew in hand and a game on TV knowing that great sports movies are out there and stack up with the very best the rest of the film world has to offer.
There are few athletic events that require as much sheer physical versatility as the decathlon. It demands speed, strength, and endurance in relentless portions. It stretches over ten events in two days and calls for some measure of Sergei Bubka, Willie Davenport, Al Oerter, Javier Sotomayor, Jim Ryun, and Carl Lewis to appear in the same person. And few ever find that combination in high enough quantities to compete among the elite in the sport.
So, the men who compete for the Olympic gold medal in the decathlon share a remarkable kinship. It is an exclusive club that draws its membership from all over the world. In that sense, the decathlon tends to shrink the planet while cementing the ties formed between the competitors. And it is the level of respect, the knowledge that few others truly understand the competitive will required to do what they do that forms this unique bond.
Perhaps, the strength of that connection was never made clearer than in two sweltering days during an Italian summer in 1960.
Houston-born Rafer Johnson was a remarkable athlete. At 6’3”, 200 pounds, he had enough speed and strength on the football field and enough agility and technique on the basketball court to attract the attention of UCLA. However, this unique combination of talent also drew attention of UCLA’s renowned track coach, Elvin “Ducky” Drake. He knew Johnson could be an elite decathlon competitor, because the ten events that make up the decathlon (100-meter dash, long jump, shot put, high jump, 400-meter run, 110-meter high hurdles, discus, pole vault, javelin, and 1,500-meter run) all fit Johnson’s athletic skills, except one. The 1,500-meter run was a bad fit. The muscle needed for many of the other events was just unwanted weight in an endurance test like the 1,500 meters, and, by being at the end of the grueling two-day competition, the race was made even more difficult by the utter level of fatigue that inevitably set in by then. However, Johnson was so skilled at the other nine events that the 1,500 loomed as a factor only if someone could keep up with him up to that point. And Drake was confident that few ever would.
Taiwanese native C.K. Yang had no such similar athletic pedigree. Yang was skinny and quick but seemed to lack the strength required for the decathlon. His only real chance was to use his speed to build up enough points on the track so that he could afford to give many of them back in the strength events like the shot put and discus. Unlike Johnson, Yang needed the 1,500. He needed that one last back-breaking endurance test to outlast the others. Yang was relentless in his training and knew that if it came down to fatigue factors and mental toughness few others would be able to match him.
Although the two men could not have appeared more different, they both wound up on the same track in California preparing for the 1960 Olympics. Whereas Johnson had been sought by Drake, Yang was the one who sought the legendary UCLA coach. Whatever the circumstances, as soon as Johnson and Yang started to train together, each found benefit in the constant competition. The constant drive to keep up with and try to surpass one another not only fueled their collective competitive spirit but also formed a solid friendship.
And they would each need to lean on that competitive spirit and friendship, because the road to Rome and the Olympic decathlon title promised pain. It would be a single linear path directly through athletic exhaustion and sacrifice. If there was any let-up in preparing for those two days of competition or during any of the ten events themselves, those gold medal aspirations would simply evaporate.
Rafer Johnson knew all about that. He had suffered an injury prior to the 1956 Olympics in Melbourne but still competed. Without his full athletic arsenal, he finished second to fellow American Milt Campbell. The Rome Olympics offered redemption, but C.K. Yang was now in the picture and promised as much competition as he could handle.
Once the 1960 Olympic decathlon began, Yang did not disappoint. He used his speed and versatility to better Johnson in four of the first five events. However, Johnson stayed close enough to his UCLA teammate in those four events that his single win in the shot put gave him the overall lead by 55 points at the end of the first day.
On the second day, Yang didn’t let up. He kept digging at Johnson’s lead, but Johnson kept answering. By the time the 1,500 loomed, Yang still trailed by 67 points and needed to beat Johnson’s time in the race by 10 seconds to capture the gold. However, the 1,500 was Johnson’s worst event and the event that Ducky Drake feared the most with a gold medal hanging in the balance. Conversely, Yang was right where he wanted to be. The gold was within reach and the most difficult event of the competition challenged an exhausted field, an event in which the lightest and fastest competitors held a huge advantage.
In the fading Italian afternoon, Yang sprinted off, determined to make history. He set a blistering pace with the clear intention of burning off what was left of Johnson’s fading energy quickly and then simply running away from Johnson, who Yang hoped, by then, wouldn’t have anything left to try to catch him.
Into the final lap, the strategy seemed to be working. Johnson was fading. Yang could see the gold medal taking shape. If he could just hold out a little longer, just push himself to go a little faster, he could put Johnson away for good. However, Yang’s body was screaming with fatigue. He needed one last push, one last burst to carry him forward.
And then it happened.
Johnson found the reserve some people can tap into when there should be none. Magic fuel at the bottom of an empty tank. Whether it is a champion’s heart or simply the sheer force of will, the will to finish what one starts, Johnson found it in the twilight that day when he most needed it. Yang seemed to find something extra as well. However, Johnson had found it first and closed quickly on Yang. As the two men raced down the stretch for the gold medal, Yang broke the tape first, but Johnson finished right on his heels, just 1.2 seconds behind.
Rafer Johnson won the gold medal in one of the Olympics’ most grueling events, an event that spreads out over two days and ten events, by 8.8 seconds. C.K. Yang took the silver but won the lasting respect of his good friend and chief rival as well as that of the sporting world of the day for his gutty, tireless performance in Rome.
Chuan-kwang “C.K.” Yang, the relentless decathlon competitor, can finally rest. He passed away on January 27. He was 74.
If we are to remember anything about C.K. Yang, I think it would be fitting to remember that one moment in the early evening in Rome when he gave as much of himself as he possibly could in a race that cost him a gold medal but earned him a lifetime of respect.
Nooch is a lifelong sports fan who believes that Indianapolis ended up with a slightly better QB than San Diego in the 1998 NFL Draft, the Golden State Warriors may not make the NBA playoffs again in his lifetime (how was I supposed to know that Chris Mullin would make a coaching hire and a mid-season trade that would basically save the franchise?), and that Mike Ivie's pinch-hit, game winning grand slam for the Giants against the Dodgers in 1978 may have been the greatest moment in baseball history.
