The time has come. To all my friends whose paths I have intersected, I thank you. I apologize if I was an unwanted intersecter, if that's even a word. I would love to list those bloggers and friends that I have met and interacted with since I first showed up on this doorstep in May of 2006, but I would inevitably leave someone out. So I'm falling back on my reputation, and my gambling nature, and betting that you know who you are. 

I first showed up here on a rush. The Phoenix Suns were undermanned and underdogs, yet still managed to split the first two games in Dallas in the western conference finals that year. And I was excited, looking for some coverage on the 'little team that could,' or so I hoped,  get to the mountaintop. In fact, I was so pumped I even wrote my first blog that night. Or maybe my second one. Oh what the hell, you can look all of that up, so I won't bother going into it any further.

I have met some extremely great writers and people on this site. Of course when I say "met," I mean via the written word, for the most part. And I am thankful to Fox Sports for giving me the opportunity to express my (sometimes bent) offerings, and for the forum to interact with all.

So thank you Fox. I will be etenally grateful. Thank you to all of you who have read my musings and have given me support and an impetus to write the next one. You may not realize it, but you are what kept me going. And keep this in mind readers--support and appreciate those that spend their time saying something wortwhile. And also keep in mind that criticism is easy, relationships are not. But they're worth it.

There are some writers here that I have gleaned some knowledge from. In some cases, quite a bit. I only hope that I imparted some to them in return.

And now, I bid you all the grandest adieu. Aim high and shoot straight.

And thanks for taking the time to read. 

The Phoenix Suns hosted the Seattle Sonics, or I guess that would be Supersonics under the circumstances, in a 40th anniversary celebration tonight. I turned the game on the local outlet, KUTP, minutes before it started. It was black and white, and they listed the Supersonics' starting lineup, then the Suns', complete with numbers and letters which took up nearly the whole screen. As the teams were warming up, I noticed Steve Nash had a headband on. So did Boris Diaw, Grant Hill, Amare Stoudemire, and a few others. Maybe they all did. Seeing Nash in a headband was quite odd, though with his long, stringy hair by today's standards, he somehow fit the part. (Diaw would be the lone Sun who kept his headband on the entire game).

Once the game started, it was shown primarily from one camera, about mid-level on the side, which would follow the action back and forth. The only exception would be during a free throw, when the camera angle was the same but slightly lower on the side, with a slightly closer shot. And the score would show only after every two or three baskets, not every possession. The only constant on the screen was the clock near the top, just big enough to see but not in the way of anything. No the shot clock, not a sponsor, not any stats on runs, points in the paint, fast break points-nothing. And they even had the little hair-like lines which meandered across the picture from time to time, like it was in the old days. And whenever they did show a player and his number, it was in big block-like fashion, such as

44 - KURT THOMAS 

Except it was in white, of course, covering the entire bottom of the screen. And wasn't always very visible if the background was white. (Man, they thought of EVERYTHING!)  Unfortunately, the Suns played like a first year team in the first quarter, trailing by 20 at its conclusion. Strangely enough, as I felt like I was watching a replay of an old game, I wasn't too concerned. Guess I was lost in time and was enthralled by the broadcast more than the score.

By the way, there were no short-shorts or throwback jerseys involved. And no, the refs didn't suddenly decide to call traveling or palming the ball, which may have helped snap me back into reality. But at every commercial, appropriate music was played, starting with some Doors and progressing chronologically as the game went on. And a highlight of a past Suns' great was shown. Connie Hawkins, Alvan Adams, Walter "Sweet D" Davis, Paul Westphal, Kevin Johnson, and on and on. Speaking of being snapped back into reality, an anti-smoking commercial was shown near the end of the first period, when I half-expected to see "I'd walk a mile for a Camel."

At the start of the second quarter, the game was shown in color. Although it was '70s style color. In other words, it was a little sloppy-with bright colors sometimes "following" a player, or the court luminating unexcpectedly when the camera would move. Priceless, I tell you. And still the simple block letters telling the team names and score, although now covering only the bottom third of the screen rather than half. But still only periodically, and briefly.

At different points in the first half, the Suns brought former and current broadcasters on. George Allen was asked to do the last minute of the half; "Nash for threeeeee- - got it," he said, growling the last two words. Al McCoy, recent hall of fame inductee and longtime Suns radio announcer who did simulcasts for a long time, led off the second quarter with former partner Greg Schulte, who now does play-by-play for the Diamondbacks. Seemed like old times. Gary Bender also sat in for awhile. Former Sun Eddie Johnson, who is the normal cohort of Tom Leander and former partner of Bender, offered the most consistent, high-quality insight. As he usually does.

The Supersonics scored 33 in the first quarter, but only 30 during the second and third combined. And the Suns ended up winning by eight. And to cap off a great night, my guy Shawn Marion did a post game interview with Leander. Just before the interview concluded, Leander mentioned that they had discussed different ring of honorees and shown highlights of each during the game. And how he said they needed to make room for the Matrix. Marion seemed a little humbled and said he would be honored. As they bid their adieus, Marion sang, "Tooooom Leander," and mutual respect was obvious. Perhaps that was a "guess you had to be there" moment, since my description doesn't convey the feeling.

There was more, so much more. Like McCoy recalling a "Ron Lee Floor Score" contest that a station had run one season while Lee was with the team in the late '70s and was known for diving for loose balls. Fans were invited to keep track during the season, and the winner at the end won a new waterbed. Or opening of the broadcast with Leander and Johnson looking like Mod Squad wanna-bees, complete with old-style microphones. Or the highlights of past Suns greats leading into commercials. Ah, the memories. And I loved the cheerleaders' getup during the second ('70s?) quarter, complete with orange tops and hot pants, oversized white earrings and white calf-high boots. And I didn't watch a second of the game on TNT, which I imagine didn't pick it up until the Bulls and Blazers were done overtiming. And I understand that in today's NBA. But fortunately I didn't have to deal with that on this evening. For a brief time at least, I got to be in the middle of nostalgia. And it was beautiful. Thanks to KUTP TV, the Phoenix Suns, and all who played a part in the first 39 years.

And thanks for taking the time to read.

The New England Patriots defeated the New York Giants in Giants' Stadium tonight, 38-35. At least that's what the box score, the talking heads, and the hype-mongers who can't think for themselves will tell you. And it's too bad that most of us will buy into that result. But the fact of the matter is that the Patriots were exposed. But more on that later. The league was also exposed. And frankly, so was I. Like most of you, tonight was the first time I had access to a game on the NFL Network. And silly me for not realizing beforehand that the NFL Network, which is run by the NFL-hence, the name-would not tell it like it is. Nary a discouraging word from Cris Collinsworth, Bryant Gumbel, or anybody else in that rarified air, regarding the officiating. But why would there be? It's their network. And there's the disturbing part. Plaxico Burress was held and dragged down before Eli Manning's pass arrived, with the official five yards away and watching it intently. No call. Shortly thereafter, the Giants linebacker numbered 58, who played a whale of a game, had the ball hit him while he was covering Randy Moss. Pass interference? I guess, in today's NFL. Let's make sure we tell that linebacker not to cover that receiver so close. The nerve of him. {And let's all wait with baited breath for the league to alter the rules in the off-season, yet again, to favor the offense. I doubt it surprises anyone anymore). I realize that on the next play after the no-call on the Giants receiver being pulled down, they scored. But that doesn't make the no-call go away. And what happened on the Giants' kickoff return early in the fourth quarter, when a penalty was called on the sideline? I'm not sure. And I'm not saying it was a bad call. Because, like I said, I don't know. We weren't informed. Or shown. And, like I said, I should have seen this coming, but announcers on a network run by the NFL won't tell you. Don't know why I was expecting them to. Guess I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes. But that would be like J. Edgar Hoover doing a PSA (Public Service Announcement, for those of you under 30. And J. Edgar Hoover was in charge of the FBI back in - - never mind) telling you to watch out for sneaky bastards with lots of power.

Anyway, the Pats were exposed tonight. Actually, not just tonight. It's been ongoing, and something the NMHM (National Media Hype Machine) had neglected to tell you, or simply ignored. Why would they get in the way of a good story? Can't blame them, I guess. They have a job to do. But a team that has a balanced offense and a defense who will not be fooled by a one-dimensional offense {See Jacksonville Jaguars} will knock the Patriots out of the playoffs. You heard it here first. Okay, maybe you've heard it before, and just didn't believe it. But prepare yourself. The champs of Super Bowl whatever-the-number-is-this-year reside in Florida. Oh, I almost forgot; as long as we don't have to deal with incompetent officials.

I must say, I darn near laughed out loud when Cris Collinsworth quoted Tiger Woods after the game, saying he (Tiger) expected to win every time out, like the Patriots do. Of course the glaring difference is that Tiger controls his own fate. And once again, I was reminded why golf is the greatest sport on earth. Say what you want about them not being athletes, and it not being a sport. But there is no other place than a golf course where everything about you is there for the world to see. There is no other competition whose outcome rests solely on your performance. The good, the bad, and the ugly. No official's calls, either in your favor or against. No substitutions when you need one. And anyone who's played golf has needed one at one time or another. No timeouts. And no other competition has results that are based as much on one's ability to perform. It's you, the course, and the competition. No officials' decisions on whether it was interference or not. A charge, a block, or a no-call. A borderline strike, or ball four. Nope. Just you and your ability. And that, sports fans, is what we're after. Isn't it?

Thanks for taking the time to read.

(Note: This was originally posted on July 31, 2006. In light of recent developments regarding Major League Baseball, I decided to post this again, as it expresses my feelings perhaps even stronger now than when I originally wrote it. And seems to be just as pertinent. What follows is the entire body of the original post. Thank you for tolerating a bit of old prose.)

It was the definition of "love at first sight." The first time I got involved with her, I was hooked. I loved everything about her. The excitement, the heartbreak, the little intricacies both on the surface and below it. I couldn't get enough. I wanted to be around her all the time. She only came around for a few months every summer before the seasonal change in a small town in North Dakota would take her away for me, leaving other activities and challenges that would present themselves but never proved to be quite as interesting. It was an undying love that never got old or stale.

 Things went incredibly well for a long time. I was in heaven. Until one summer day in '81. I had feared it for several weeks, and my fear came to fruition. She left me. Baseball left me for the first time. I was crushed and no idea how to handle it. I was lost without her, but, luckily for me, she decided to come back a short time later. Obviously, I welcomed her back with open arms, and figured the relationship was going to be grand once again. It was a given it would last forever.

 It was a great time for several years. Perhaps not as memorable as the 1970s, but great nonetheless. I got to see my Dodgers beat the hated Yanks later in '81, a fabulous year by the Tigers in '84-a year that also featured one of the rare Cub playoff appearances. Naturally they had a 2-1 lead in the best of five versus the Padres and lost. In '85, the first year that the league championship series went to seven games instead of five, I got to see the Royals come back from a 3-1 deficit. Not once, but twice. First against the hard-luck Toronto Blue Jays, then over the Cardinals in the World Series. Of course everyone remembers the Red Sox-Mets series in '86, which was preceded by an incredible ALCS in which the Red Sox prevailed over the Angels after Boston was down to their last strike and trailed three games to one. (See also my earlier posts regarding Donnie Moore, Bill Buckner, etc., from 7/02, and "Do You Remember . . ." from 5/17).

The Twins, my first favorite team growing up as a child in North Dakota, broke through and won in 1987, which amazed us all.  Of course '88 brought Orel Herschiser's record-breaking scoreless inning streak, and later Kirk Gibson's home run ("I do not believe what I just saw!") against the A's. I remember it like it was yesterday.

 She left me again in 1989. Naturally, as any man would with his first love, I again took her back. She got what she had coming to her that same year, though. Even though the A's would rebound from their '88 loss, sweeping the Giants in a series that was interrupted by an earthquake, it was about as anti-climactic as could be. 

 As the spring of 1990 arrived, I was over our last break-up. And to loosely paraphrase a well known quote, sports makes for strange bedfellows, which brings me to the Cincinnati Reds. They got off to a great start in '90, like the Tigers in '84, and wound up sweeping the A's in the World Series. Being a Dodger fan, I didn't care too much for the Reds' success, so I was rooting for the A's in the Series, the same team I had rooted against the previous two years. Naturally, since the A's had won handily the year before, I figured the Reds were doomed. And of course the Reds won four straight. Ah, her beauty shone through once again. I both loved her and hated her (not really) at the same time. Oh well. I guess you must take the bad with the good. But even though the Reds won the World Series, life was, and had been, very good. I had seen some of the best baseball of my life in the years following the '81 strike. I couldn't have been happier, all things considered. The relationship between she and I was absolutely wonderful. The Twins won again in '91, followed by the Blue Jays winning back-to-back titles.

 For some reason when I was a kid, maybe it was the cool uniforms and the outstanding batting helmet, or the underrated talent they had like Tim Raines and Andre Dawson in the early '80s, I had taken a serious liking to the Expos. Or maybe it was because I was one of the few baseball fans who got to see a lot of them. With the advent of cable TV in the late 1970s, we had a whopping 13 channels, including two Canadian channels. I became familiar with Raines and Dawson as well as Tim Wallach, Steve Rodgers, Gary Carter, and so many other Expos who didn't get their due because fans just simply didn't get to see them very often. Granted, the '94 Expos didn't have the same team I had watched growing up, but the soft spot for them was still there. I thought of how great it would be for the franchise and the city of Montreal to finally realize a championship. And how great it would be for major league baseball. And as a baseball fan first and foremost, how great it would be for me to see it. Or perhaps the Cleveland Indians or the Chicago White Sox, neither of whom had won a World Series since well before I was born. At any rate, the '94 post-season would no doubt prove to be interesting, since MLB had broken each league into three divisions for that season, and with a wild-card team now qualifying, the playoffs would take on a whole new look. I anticipated it greatly, even though she told me she might not stick around to see it through. I didn't want to believe it. Couldn't believe it. But she ultimately left me again, one last time. Before I got to see the Expos, Indians, White Sox, or anybody else compete in that '94 post-season. After much thought and reflection, I came to the conclusion that I was not going to go through the pain of her leaving any more. I told her not to bother coming back. Sure, she tried, but I held firm. With a stiff upper lip, I said no. No more. 

 Major League Baseball has brought a lot of problems on itself in recent history. A. Bartlett Giamatti, a true baseball man, was hired as commissioner in September of 1988. He died just under a year later. Giamatti wrote in "The Green Fields of the Mind," regarding baseball:

"It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops."

  The owners wanted Faye Vincent, another baseball man who replaced Bart Giamatti after his sudden death, out as commissioner in favor of one of their own. They got it. Under pressure-one might even say duress-Vincent resigned in September of 1992. (Looking back, many of the owners at the time wouldn't have had a clue on how to deal with Bowie Kuhn, who made decisions, usually prudent ones, based on the 'best interests of baseball,' and was seldom questioned. But then, times change. Boy, do times change.) In the Selig regime we have had rampant steroid use, a tied All-Star Game, the ingenious decision that the All-Star game winner would decide home-field advantage in the World Series, (a poor attempt to make the All-Star game mean more than it should, and an even poorer attempt to divert the attention away from Selig's major snafu to call the game after nine innings when it was tied), and a major labor roadblock during the 1994 season. Which, of course, meant that I didn't get to see it to fruition. Not that the owners were the only ones at fault. There was and is more than enough blame to go around for the debacle of the 1994 Major League Baseball season. Both the owners and the players had serious delusions of grandeur in thinking they were bigger than the game. They weren't. But they did prove they were too big for me.

 Without looking it up, and aside from 2001, I couldn't tell you who won the World Series in any given year since then, though I do know a lot was made of the Yankees playing the Mets one year. I did watch most of the 2001 Series, in part because of the emotions of 9/11 being fresh in everyone's mind and in part because the local Diamondbacks were involved, and who knows if or when I'll ever see that again. Other than that, I have not watched one major league game. I still watch baseball and love the game. But now it's the Arizona State Sun Devils or an occasional minor league game. And every game I do watch, without fail, the song from "A League of Their Own" goes through my mind. This used to be my playground. Because for me, as a kid, it really was. And I can't help but get choked up. The pain that she caused by leaving me three times is great. But nothing in comparison to the pain I would experience if I allowed it to happen again.

Thanks for taking the time to read.

 "This Used To Be My Playground," from the movie "A League Of Their Own."  Sung by Madonna. Written by Madonna and Shep Pettibone. Sire Records

I'm one of those people who just have never liked sequels. Or remakes, for that matter. Once I've seen a movie, the sequel(s) usually turn out to be more of the same, and don't live up to the hype. Sure, there are a few exceptions: Back To The Future II was pretty good, but that was planned from the get-go. Although the third installment, true to form, left something to be desired. All three Final Destination flicks were pretty good, too, if you like that genre. There are a few others-very few. But I stopped after the second Rocky, the first Rambo, and the first Lethal Weapon. I guess I just didn't see the point. My kids did convince me to watch the remake of When A Stranger Calls about a year ago. Having seen the original, the second offering was a waste of time. Even they thought so, and they hadn't seen the first one. But want to.

As the Phoenix Suns are once again flying high, though the recent back to back losses have them sitting at 11-4, (yawn), I can't help but think that we've seen this all before. As usual, their big three of Steve Nash, Shawn Marion, and Amare Stoudemire will guarantee that they are one of the more formidable teams in the league, and a joy to watch. And again, their top seven players-add in Raja Bell, Grant Hill, Leandro Barbosa, and Boris Diaw-are probably as good as anybody's. Throw in Brian Skinner, who has been a pleasant surprise in the middle with his athleticism, shot blocking, and ability to connect from mid-range AND the free throw line, and you have an eight man squad that I'd put money on against anyone. Just as I would have on last year's eight. Problem is, NBA teams are allowed to dress 12. Which most nights are wasted wages to those who collect a paycheck for laundering the Suns' jerseys.

 That wasn't the case in the preseason or the first couple weeks of the season. As head coach Mike D'Antoni does every year, he gave decent minutes to backup point guard Marcus Banks, frontliner Sean Marks, and sniper Eric Piatkowski. And the team's two rookies, D.J. Strawberry and Alando Tucker, saw significant time in the preseason, adding an energy on both ends of the court that stuck out like a sore thumb. Tucker was recently sent to the developmental league, and Strawberry may be headed there too in the not-to-distant future. I have a hard time believing that another team as much in need of young, quick guard play as the Suns are wouldn't be able to find a spot for these guys in the rotation.

It appears that D'Antoni's main problem with Marcus Banks is that he's not Steve Nash. But nobody is. And after some steady performances and a solid game against the Kings just over a week ago, in which he was leading the break, throwing some no-look passes, and playing solid defense, Banks hasn't seen the floor. In the same time, Nash's average minutes per game have risen slightly, from around 33 prior to just under 36 since. And while Nash is playing at an unbelievable level right now, there are still 60-plus games to go. This is not an indictment of Nash, but everyone knows that, while in excellent condition, he would be best served by scaling back on the playing time a bit. Common sense would say that an average of around 30-32 minutes per game, and 16-18 for Banks, would serve both players much better come May. But unfortunately, I've seen this before. It won't happen.

Grant Hill was immediately anointed a starter upon his inking the contract, and I'm not sure why. Not that he doesn't have a starter's ability, but his current average of 35 minutes per game-we're still in November-doesn't bode well for the spring. The optimum situation would have been bringing Hill off the bench for 20-25 minutes, to keep him and everyone else relatively fresh throughout the season. But as we have seen, a definite pattern has been established. A prequel, if you will.

Today, D'Antoni lamented in the East Valley Tribune (www.eastvalleytribune.com) that his team doesn't seem to be enjoying themselves much these days. While they're still winning, they don't have the enthusiasm of the team from three years ago. Which is somewhat understandable, since the pressure then was almost non-existent compared to now. But at the same time, a deeper rotation and an infusion from the bench, including the afore-mentioned rookies, could do nothing but help the overall attitude. He went on to say that his team was playing uptight and without the free flowing energy of years past. Hey coach, you think it's bad now? Wait until the end of the season, when those top seven or eight guys on your roster have the off-season in the back of their mind so they can get some rest. You no longer have to defend yourself when it comes to your style of play. We saw last year you have no qualms about going head to head with Dallas or San Antonio. Nor do you have to explain your team's lack of consistent defense. It has shown that, in a big game, it can play it when it has to-provided you have all yours weapons at your disposal. More on that to follow. But, as has been written by yours truly in this space in the past, you have yet to answer the shallow bench criticism. And therein lies the problem.

Three years ago, the revamped Suns sprinted to the best record in the league, but lost to the Spurs in the conference finals, even though Stoudemire was a beast, averaging 37 points per game. A healthy Joe Johnson, who broke his face against Dallas in the previous round, may have helped. But not to worry. This was a team on the rise. Two years ago, Stoudemire was on the shelf and two new starters were replacing Joe Johnson and Quentin Richardson. But despite all the doom and gloom predictions, and thanks to Nash's second MVP season and a season for the ages from Shawn Marion, the overachieving Suns once again slipped into the conference finals, where they lost to the Mavericks in six games. We could've done without Raja Bell pulling a calf muscle, though. Especially since the rotation was already stretched about as thin as could be. Last season, I was convinced that the Suns were getting over the hump. Their two long winning streaks, their late season erasure of a 15 point fourth quarter deficit at Dallas to win in overtime, and their victory at San Antonio in game four of their series after trailing by 11 midway through the fourth told me the Suns were tough, hungry, and ready. Well, at least eight of them were. But when the eight became six, they came up short yet again. Even in game five, without Stoudemire and Diaw, the Suns led throughout until late in the fourth. Then they ran out of gas. Kind of like a sequel that tries to thrive off the previous edition. It just never seems to work.

Perhaps next off-season, the trade rumors regarding Shawn Marion will be replaced by the search for a new coach. Which would make a lot more sense. Without Marion, the Suns are no better than a five seed. After all, the Suns have won with a banged-up-Nash. They've won without Stoudemire. But without the ever-durable and supremely consistent Marion, they would be at a loss. And without D'Antoni? Who knows. But his window, if not the Suns', is about to be closed for maintenance.  I know. I've already seen this movie.

Thanks for taking the time to read.