Gone Fishing

Heinous Whiffs, Huge Dingers, Throwing Leather. Or How I Learned to Relax and Love Pedro.

(photo:  Justin K. Aller/Getty Images North America)

He whiffs too much.

He's undisciplined at the plate.

His batting average is too low.

He can't lay off the high heat.

He can't hit a curveball.

He looks bad striking out.

Am I missing any of the routine criticisms of Pirates 3rd baseman, Pedro Alvarez? I'm sure I'm missing some; the Pedro hate seems to be endless. If you're a Pedro hater, I was once like you, more a basher than a hater really, but I was highly skeptical of his ability to ever turn into a proper MLB player. I didn't think he had good pitch recognition and I honestly didn't know if that could be fixed, or even improved, to say nothing of his defensive short-comings. But I've come to a place of peace and tranquility vis-a-vis young Pedro.

You can, too.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the fact that Pedro Alvarez is a streaky hitter.

That is the largest part of the serenity plan, simply accepting that Alvarez is streaky and, here's where it get's tricky, trusting that the dips and valleys are finite and generally followed by hot streaks. You have to believe deep in your soul that no matter how bad he looks whiffing one week, you'll be fist bumping two weeks later watching one majestic homer after another. Putting your faith in this, I will admit, is no small task. It can be done. He may not hit taters and drill doubles into the gap on your timetable, but he most assuredly will do so. Just try to muddle through the lulls and enjoy the highs.

(photo:  Vincent Pugliese/Getty Images North America)

He also, will most assuredly strike out and sometimes look really bad in so doing. Pedro has struck out 84 times in 224 plate appearances this year, which means, if you turn on a Buccos game, you are likely to see Petey whiff. Not to mention that the ratio of SO to ABs is up from last year. [This year, it's one SO per every 2.67 AB; in 2012 it was one SO per every 2.91 AB.]

But Pedro is not alone. Increasing strike out rates are blowing through MLB like swine flu, er, H1N1. Here's ESPN's baseball guru, Tim Kurkjian on the rise in strike outs, league-wide:

The start of this striKeout craze came in 1986-87 when Rob Deer, Pete Incaviglia, Cory Snyder, Bo Jackson and Jim Presley started playing every day. Each strucK out 150 times a year but hit 20 to 30 homers; and as quickly as a Bryce Harper home run leaves the ballpark, it was OK to K. Since then, the striKeout rate has steadily climbed to where it is now: a pace that will make 2013 the biggest striKeout season ever. Through May, the nine biggest striKeout months in history had been the past nine months. In April, there were 15.29 striKeouts per game, five more per game than the average in the 1980s. May (14.98 per game) and the first half of June (15.01) were hardly better. It's an epidemic that, at this pace, has no cure.

Beyond which, the Pirates as a club are strike out machines, ranking behind only the Astros, Braves and Red Sox in sheer numbers.

You can talk to me about the good old days all you want, remind me that the great Ted Williams hit 37 four-baggers in the same season that he hit .403, and that he never struck out more than 64 times in a season. Think about that -- one of the great power hitters of all time struck out on average 50 times  season. Fifty!  Pedro is a good player, but he's no Ted Williams. There has never been another like him and I doubt there ever will be. In this day and age, power hitters strike out. A ton.

Would I like to see Pedro strike out less? Yes. At the very least, I'd like that strike out ratio to climb back to a more respectable 1:3. In the meantime, I'm watching his OPS climb to where it needs to be (by my estimate around .900 and I think it will get there.) There's been a steady increase through the season -- OPS in April? .560. OPS in May? .794. OPS in June (so far)? .979.

(photo:  Marcio Jose Sanchez/AP)

Leaving behind all the sabermetrics for a moment, let's acknowledge that even if you didn't have any numbers in front of you, didn't have access to them, and, in fact, were not even permitted to crunch numbers, you'd have to acknowledge that Pedro is a different hitter in 2013 than he was in 2012 and in 2011. Not hugely different. Not like the difference between, say, 'Breaking Bad,' and 'True Blood'; more like the difference between season one of 'Justifed', which was smart, funny entertainment, and season two, which was smart, funny and entertaining, but which also had more richness and nuance than the first season. [When grappling with tough baseball analogies, always go cable network drama, I say.]

He has become an asset in the field, making some nice picks along the line and using that howitzer of an arm to wing on-target throws to 1st base. This is no small thing. With the starting rotation held together with Clint Hurdle's left over chewing gum, cotton candy and free t-shirts (currently, AJ Burnett, Wandy Rodriquez and Jeanmar Gomez are all on the DL), they need all the help they can get manufacturing outs in the field.

Yesterday, the Pirates needed to find a way to split a four-game series with the Reds. If there can be such a thing as a 'must win' game around the solstice, to my mind, this was it. Because of their baggage, 20 years of losing ways, a solid 18 years of being the doormats of the NL, some games are important on a psychic level. The Reds love pushing around the Pirates. They like beating them and they love to intimidate them. Which is why I think it was important for the Bucs to get a split in that little bandbox they call Great American. And nobody came up bigger than Pedro Alvarez.

In a few weeks, he'll hit a mini-slump, Hurdle will have to drop him back down to 6th in the batting order, and everybody will lose their minds. But a few days or weeks after that, he'll snap out of it, start crushing balls, and turning in multiple RBI games. Of that, I have faith.

The Reds and Aroldis Chapman Go Headhunting. Again.

My high school principal, the great Sr. Regina Claire, used to say, 'if wishes were horses, we'd all be riders.' I'm not quite sure what that meant, but to that I would add, if baseball were hockey, Reds closer Aroldis Chapman would be a cheap-shotting, head-hunting dirtbag. He is a goon in a ballcap. Plain and simple. It seems that every time I turn on a Reds game, Chapman, who has nasty, wicked stuff and frequently hits 100 mph on the radar gun, is throwing at somebody and usually right at their heads. Here he is throwing at Nick Swisher's head. And here he is drilling Andrew McCutchen in the shoulder. I could do this all day, by the way.

The problem isn't merely Chapman (although he's the most egregious of the bunch), but the entire Reds pitching staff. And it's been going on for some time. A couple of weeks ago, Reds starter Johnny Cueto didn't like the looks of Cub David DeJesus, or some such utter BS or perceived slight, and threw over his head. Last season, the day after Chapman drilled McCutchen up high (the above video), starting pitcher Mike Leake hit second baseman Josh Harrison. The day after that, Homer Bailey hit (then) Pirates catcher Rod Barajas, and later in that same game, Reds reliever Alfredo Simon hit Starling Marte.

Last night, the Reds were at it again. In the 4th inning, Leake threw at and successfully hit McCutchen, who must feel like he's wearing nothing but a giant bull's eye the moment he sets foot in Cincy. In the 9th inning, Chapman rooted around in his typical bag of tricks and threw right at Neil Walker's chin with a 99 mph heater. It was actually kinda scary.

If the fish rots from the head down, no river carp laying dead on the banks of the Ohio River ever stunk as much as the Cincinnati Reds and their skipper, Dusty Baker. Heck, after Chapman went after Swisher, Baker said baseball players should be permitted to fight, a'la hockey. Just as hockey is actually trying to clean up head hunting, Baker is all for it. Cretin much, Dusty?

The problem for the Pirates (and MLB, I would say) is this -- What to do? How do you stop dangerous blitzkreig of the Cincinnati Reds pitching staff?

Well, the Pirates Clint Hurdle has tried the New Testament approach, which is to say, turning the other cheek. Pirates pitchers have not gone after Reds batters.

Needless to say, after last night's display by the Reds, this is not a very effective approach.

Which prompts many to say that the Pirates should go all Old Testament, retaliate eye for an eye baseball style. Basically, one of the Pirates pitchers should just go out and bean every Reds batter he can, as Dock Ellis did in 1974?

This appeals to many baseball purists, the people who talk about the good old days of chin music and coming in to 2nd base, spikes high. Baseball is a strange sport, shrouded in nostalgia almost from the day it was born, filled with unwritten rules, codes of conduct, acceptable modes of trash talk and, probably if we dig deep enough, preferred methods of tobacco spitting. Those of us who love baseball have tacitly agreed to love the nostalgic baggage and codicils (above), or at least tolerate them. Not only in baseball, but most pointedly in baseball, are folks likely to grab onto the sepia toned cloth of yesteryear. All of which brings me back around to this strange nostalgia baseball fans have for pitchers retaliating.

I used to joke that I wanted to develop a children's cartoon wherein Randy Johnson and Pedro Martinez roamed the land, vigilante-like, felling various evil-doers and miscreants by drilling them right in the ear with 95+ mph heaters, the equivalent of the old ACME anvil dropping on Wile E. Coyote's head. I still think it's a good idea for a cartoon, but out here in the real world,  it's not Yosemite Sam being blown up by his own dynamite, but the potential for career-ending, life-altering injuries we're talking about.

Seriously, if you threw a baseball at somebody's head anywhere but the baseball diamond, you would be charged with attempted assault. In fact, it might be considered aggravated assault, given that you were using a weapon, not merely your bare hands. Now, that's just you or me, I'm talking about. In terms of velocity, we're nowhere near what a professional can do, to say nothing of the flame throwing Aroldis Chapman vis-a-vis danger to another human's noggin.

Here's what can be done. Enough of this warning both teams BS. Enough treating Baker with kid gloves. Don't warn both teams when one team is throwing at guys and the other isn't. How about umps start using their brains, too? In the 2012 sequence laid out above, after the Josh Harrison beaning, the umpire warned both benches. What the ...?

Hey Blue, this isn't pee wee baseball. Not everybody gets a trophy. And not everybody deserves a warning.
The warning should have been issued to Baker and Baker alone.

And the same goes for the start of the game tonight. The Reds bench should get a warning before the national anthem singer begins warming up. Tell Baker, if your pitchers hit one more batter, I'm tossing you and the pitcher. (In the words of Sheriff Bullock, "I put you on notice.") And if it happens again, MLB has to suspend Baker. Maybe that will get the message through to him. Although, maybe not.

But MLB won't do that. Because MLB loves it's silly unwritten rules and players "policing the game" and blah, blah, blah. You know what that gets you? That gets you the beanball orgy and ensuing ridiculous bench-clearing brawl that took place between the Diamondbacks and Dodgers just about a week ago. Remind me -- exactly what was the point of all that stupidity and machismo parading as hallowed baseball traditions?

And so because baseball doesn't have the guts to punish their bullies, I guess Clint Hurdle is going to have to have his guys throw at Joey Votto. And then the Reds will throw some more at McCutchen. And then the umps will warn both benches. And the next night the Reds will go after somebody else ... lather, rinse, repeat.

You know what I would be down with? One of the Pirates pitchers firing 98 mph heaters. Right at Dusty Baker's head.

Roger Goodell Needs a History Lesson (and a Few Other Things)

Roger Goodell, in response to a letter issued by ten members of congress directed to the Washington Redskins organization urging the franchise to change the offensive name Redskins, issued his own letter wherein he asserted that the nickname Redskins is "a unifying force that stands for strength, courage, pride and respect," and, moreover, that it was never "meant to denigrate Native Americans or offend any group." 

In short, the commissioner just showed his ass. 

Whether or not the name was intended to offend or not, it is simply offensive. Some, congress included, have suggested that the term Redskin is akin to dropping the N-bomb. At the very least, I think most of us can agree that, at best, it is the equivalent of calling an Italian a dago or calling a Jew a kike or Chinese person a Chink. And I don't think that anybody can imagine, in the year 2013, that America would tolerate a team nicknamed, The Washington Dagos. Or the Washington Kikes. Or the Washington Chinks. It's the team in the nation's friggin' capitol, for crying out loud. In the present day and age. If Redskins owner Dan Snyder wants to call people all manner of noxious, racially charged names in the privacy of his home, or while raging in traffic, or while shrouded in secrecy as he posts hateful comments on message boards, he is free to do just that. But if he wants to continue to use a repugnant name for his professional football team, well, it may be legal, but he does show himself to be a scumbag of the highest order.

But back to my good buddy, Commissioner Goodell. In his letter to Congress, he himself sees fit to take a look through history at the origins of the name, Redskins:  "In our view, a fair and thorough discussion of the issue must begin with an understanding of the roots of the Washington franchise and the Redskins name in particular." (Entire letter here.)

Let's, do that Roger. Let's take a look at the history of the Washington franchise and, in particular, the man who named them 'The Redskins.' Just for giggles. 

(photo:  Washington Post)

In 1932, George Preston Marshall (left, in the fur coat) and his Boston Braves franchise entered the NFL. At that time, Marshall had partners, but by the following year, 1933, the team was Marshall's solely. He then re-named the team 'the Boston Redskins' to 'honor' his then coach, Lone Star Dietz, a native american. 

Is it just me, or was this honor something that a particularly arrogant, entitled insensitive a-hole would do? 

But Marshall wasn't done then. Nosirree. 1933 was a banner year for Marshall because he successfully browbeat other NFL owners into segregating the league during the owner's meetings. Prior to that season, there were a handful of black players sprinkled on rosters throughout the NFL (notably Paul Robeson and Fritz Pollard), but after those owners meetings, the sign on the NFL door said:  No Blacks Allowed. Teams didn't hire black talent and basically pink-slipped the black players who pre-existed this most ungentlemanly of gentlemen's agreements.

I should note that there's no transcript we can point to of what went down at those meetings, but in a time in American history when a certain level of racism was common among even fairly decent, fair minded white folks, George Preston Marshall stands out as an especially vile bigot and bully. It was just a known fact and I'm thinking that if it walks like a racist and brays like a racist, well, you know, it is a racist.

Shamefully, from 1933 to 1946, the NFL was an entirely white endeavor. After World War II, America was a changed place and owners started signing black talent in 1946. By 1949, teams started to draft black players, too. 

Oh, not Marshall's Redskins. Silly. 

(1961 Washington Redskins)

George Preston Marshall's Redskins (pictured above) remained lilly-white until 1962. Here is the great Shirley Povich who covered the Redskins for decades for the Washington Post, on the team finally re-integrating:

"He caved in, finally, when Interior Secretary Stewart Udall issued an ultimatum: Sign a black player or be denied use of the new 54,000-seat D.C. Stadium (later renamed RFK) that the government had paid for, and to hell with the 30-year lease Marshall had signed. Marshall's chief response was to make Ernie Davis, Syracuse's all-American running back, his No.1 draft choice for 1962. Ernie Davis's response was: "I won't play for that S.O.B." He demanded to be traded and was, to Cleveland, for all-pro Bobby Mitchell."

Marshall's racism ran so deep, in fact, that in his will, there is a provision which forbids funds that he had provided for child welfare programs from going to anyone with 'integrationist notions.' Knowing all of that history, knowing Marshall's entrenched, consuming racism, colors everything I think about the name "Redskins" and the man who thought it was a good idea. Marshall never meant to honor anybody. At best, it didn't occur to him that it was belittling or noxious. But even if he thought it was the cruelest thing he could have said, he probably would have done it anyway.

It's time for the league to grow up. And it's time for Goodell to grow up, too and take a step outside his normal role as the mouth-piece for a bunch of rich guys who are used to getting their way.

Gerrit Cole's Debut, New Security and Lively Bats at PNC Park

(photo:  Pittsburgh Pirates)

Renee Zellwegger once said, in her most annoying, treacly voice, "You had me at Hello." (Excuse me while I retch for a moment. Okay, I'm back.) 

By the time Gerrit Cole tossed his first pitch in the major leagues -- a 96 mph heater to San Fran left fielder Gregor Blanco --  he already had Pirates fans in the palm of his hand. (Or at least those who were in the ballpark for the momentous occasion of the debut of the club's most prized prospect. Super timing on busting out the new security  measures, guys. Really, top notch. I know that I live in fear of terror loving terrorists from Cincinnati blowing up Pops Plaza.)

Cole wasn't dominant through his first two innings, but he was good. Really good. PNC Park was buzzing and it was all due to this kid. 

By the time he came to bat in the bottom of the 2nd, nearly all of the 30,614 who came to see him were finally in the park, just in time for him to rip a one-out line drive single to right center, driving home two-runs. By that point, the Gerrit Cole fever reached a level that can only be described as full on delirium of a religious nature. With Cole on first base, and Russell Martin and Pedro Alvarez across home plate, Pirates fans would have followed the 2011 overall No. 1 draft pick blindly to the ends of the earth like thousands of Unsullied following Daenerys Targaryen. 

To be sure, Cole pitched well. He hit a dragon-fire like 99 on the radar gun a handful of times and I didn't see his fastball dip below 95 mph. Though batters were making contact -- Cole only had two strike outs on the night -- the contact wasn't usually of a very convincing nature. A dying quail here, a gork there, a ground ball with eyes elsewhere. Frankly, I thought it was a good sign. Rookie pitchers, particularly those with the pedigree and baggage of being the overall top pick, usually want to 'announce their presence with authority' in the words of the great Nuke Laloosh. But Cole didn't appear to be afraid of the contact, which to me is a sign of remarkable maturity. It is a mindset that could serve him well in his MLB career. The other great sign was that he didn't walk a single batter. 

Through his 6 1/3 innings, Cole was awfully promising. Tantalizing, even. I'm excited to see his next start, but I'm not ready to start scheduling parades around here just yet -- Gerrit Cole is young and incomplete. And we've all seen guys like this flame out for any number of reasons. The job in front of the Pirates now is to keep him on track, on a trajectory for growth, without putting too much pressure on him. Amazingly enough, with Ray Searage coaching the hurlers, I actually trust him to shepherd this young guy safely through. Now, what are we going to do with 30,000 Unsullied?

Gone Fishing

Or to buy some fish from people who actually, you know, know how to fish. 

David and Goliath, Elsewhere Known as UConn and Louisville: Women's Final Tips Tonight

Uh Oh. Looks who is baaack:

photo:  espn.com

UConn, losers of the previous three matches with Skylar Diggins and Notre Dame, lit the Irish's offensive sets on fire and made s'mores. On the offensive end, freshman Breeana Stewart bombed them with shots from every spot on the court. Yup. UConn is back. And playing their best basketball of the year. The Huskies look positively UConnian.

photo:  Lee Michaelson

Their opponent tonight in the final is about as much fun as you can have, short of a can of silly string and finger paints. Shoni Schimmel does crazy things on the court. She drives into Brittney Griner. She gets in the face of Odessey Sims. She makes ridiculous no-look behind the back bounce passes to her sister. She drains tres. But mostly, I think, she inspires her team. Even so, I haven't seen Louisville do what UConn just did -- put together a complete 40 minute game.

And somehow, even when having lapses and lulls, the Cardinals have gone on this run, taking out Baylor, Tennessee and Cal. It is nothing short of miraculous. It's not always pretty but it is always, always fun. With Shoni Schimmel held in check offensively on Sunday night, the Cards played shut down defense in the second half, holding Cal to just 20 points in 20 minutes. That's just crazy. Then the rest of the Cards -- Antonita Slaughter, Shoni's sister Jude, and  the rest of the Cards stepped up, erased a 10 point deficit, then set to work to build their own lead. Every time I count them out, the rise to the occasion.

But as fun and magical and incredible as this run has been, they can't be UConn, can they? Can they?

Let's take a quick look through the numbers.

First, there's the history. UConn is, well, UConn, the most storied women's team the history of women's sports not named Tennessee. Coach Geno Auriemma is looking for his eighth national title (which would tie the great Pat Summitt.) But that's history, right? There's no Sue Bird on this UConn team, no Diana Taurasi, no Maya Moore.

Still, they're UConn. Their average scoring margin advantage this season? 33.2 points per game, best in the nation. (This includes beating up on very good teams in the regular season by wide margins -- Duke by 30 points, Texas A & M by 31 points, Stanford by 26 points, South Florida by 34, lest you think the stat is padded with a bunch of 'Little Sisters of the Poor and Meek' type teams.) In the tournament, their average margin of victory is 35 points.

On the other hand, Louisville's average is not quite in that rarified air, but it is a very respectable 14.8 point per game advantage. And the games in the tourney have been nail-biters, nearly all of them but the first round.

What about the players? UConn has a huge height advantage, with four players over 6' 2" tall -- Stephanie Dolson (6' 5"), Morgan Tuck (6' 2"), Breeana Stewart (6' 4") and the little used (due to injury) Kiah Stokes (6' 3").

The Cards counter with freshman Sarah Hammond (6' 2") and ... okay, Sarah Hammond. Okey-Doke. I guess this is a literal David v. Goliath situation then.

And then there's that UConn defense, capable of discombobulating even the best offenses. Consider what they did to Skylar Diggins, the best point guard I've ever seen in the womens' game, just this past Sunday night? Notre Dame's offense was hinky and out of joint. They were forcing bad shots and each player was trying to win the game on her own -- which is completely unlike them. Did Notre Dame just fall apart out of nowhere? Not bloody likely. No. UConn's defense did that to them.

It seems impossible an impossible task for Louisville to take down this team, doesn't it? But the Cards have two things going for them.

photo:  Gerald Herbert, AP

One is that the Schimmel sisters play fearlessly. They play 'Rez Ball' as it is affectionately known. Shoni is a firey player and Jude is much more cerebral, but their teammates feed off of both of them, I think. This team team ain't skeered. They ain't skeered of anybody. And as they play UConn every year in the Big East, they are less intimidated than other teams might be. (Not that that helped the Irish much on Sunday night.)

The other thing the Cards have going for them is that defense. Since taking over at Louisville in 2007, Jeff Walz has taken the Cards to two NCAA Championship games (this year and in 2008-2009, when the Cards lost to UConn.) If you're reading this post, chances are you know a good bit about UConn's Geno Auriemma, but you may not remember that Walz was an assistant coach for Brenda Frese at Maryland when the Terps won the championship in 2006 versus Duke. Walz has been so good at Louisville, such a defensive master, that I have started to believe that he was one of the biggest reasons for that national championship in Maryland. In the last week or so, he has created defenses to shut down Baylor and Tennessee and Cal. If anybody can think of a way to shut down Kaleena Mosqueda-Lewis and Breeana Stewart, this is the guy to do it.

Given all the above givens -- the history, the size advantage, the records -- by any measure this is UConn's game to lose. I don't think that Louisville has an answer to Stewart, who came to life in the Elite 8 and has been unconscious ever since. I haven't seen Louisville play a complete 40 minute game yet. Can they? Can they match UConn for 40 minutes? Can they find a way to curb Stewart and Mosqueda-Lewis and Dolson and Bria Hartley? It's a tall task. 

There is the very real possibility of a UConn blow out. 

But there is also the possibility of history being made. 

Ray Shero, Trade Master, Gets Jussi Jokinen at Trade Deadline

When a player is in a zone, we sometimes say he's en fuego. Or unconscious. Ray Shero is in the GM zone. The guy is unconscious. He is en fuego. After nabbing Brenden Morrow, Douglas 'Crankshaft' Murray and Jarome Iglina, everybody thought the Pens GM was done. Nope. Not so quick. Today, he pulled the trigger on a trade to get Jussi Jokinen from the Carolina Hurricanes. All he had to give up was a conditional draft sixth- or seventh-round pick in 2013 NHL Entry Draft. The injury bug has hit the Penguins -- Sidney Crosby is out with a broken face; Kris Letang out with a broken toe and other unspecified 'lower body injury'; Paul Martin is out with a broken wrist -- proving the old adage that you cannot have too much depth at playoff time.

photo:  Chris Seward, News Observer

Welcome to Pittsburgh, Jussi. Let's got get us a Cup. I think I will buy a case of beer for Mr. Shero. Perhaps he'd like this brew, from Full Pint:

Louisville Cardinals: Giant Killers Extraordinaire

Thank you Louisville Cardinals, for loading up your slingshot and taking down one Goliath after another.

photo:  AP

Shoni Schimmel interviewed after the Baylor game: "She's great, but she's human. I mean, she's Brittney Griner. But I'm Shoni Schimmel."

The Vols learned that the hard way last night.

Louisville 86, Tennessee 78

Fear the Cardinals!

After their historic take-down of Baylor on Sunday night, I wondered how much the Cardinals had left in the tank? Would they be able to put the Baylor game behind them and prepare for the Lady Vols? Would they have the mental strength and mental stamina for this Elite Eight game? Would they have dead legs? Those were legit questions.

Louisville came out and smoked Tennessee in the first half, but after building their lead to 20 points in the early moments of the second half, things fell apart for Jeff Walz' merry band. They looked discombobulated. Tennessee tightened the screws on defense and had a hand in just about every passing lane. Whereas in the first half, Louisville owned the offensive boards, the Vols shut that down. And mighty Tennessee started chipping away at the lead, going on an 18-6 rally that closed the gap to 68-65 with 4:28 remaining.

photo:  Sue Ogrocki, AP

Louisville looked tired. All the momentum was flowing to Tennessee. It looked like the magic might be over.

Then Shoni Schimmel woke up and energized her team. She drove the lane and put in a pair of spectacular lay ups. Her sister, Jude, drained a huge 3-point bucket.

The moment Shoni Schimmel put in that first lay up, it was all over for the Vols. As goes Shoni Schimmel, so go the Louisville Cardinals. There is a lot of playground superstar in that kid, is there not?

What they have done is nothing short of remarkable, slaying dragons right and left, making it to the Final Four after being seeded as a #6. After dispatching the great Brittney Griner and Baylor (the best team in the country and that's not my opinion:  that was everybody's opinion), they had to face the Tennessee Lady Vols, the program which is women's basketball as Coke is to soda. Beyond question, Tennessee is most recognized, original brand in hoops. So thanks Shoni and thanks coach Jeff Walz and thanks to all the other players who have pulled some more magic to keep this run going.

Before I get carried away here, I should point out that while the Cardinals were 'dogs in both of these games, they are not a bad team that simply caught lightning in a bottle. All of the talking heads keep opining, "This team finished THIRD in the Big East." As though finishing third in the BE was a mark of shame or indicated mediocrity. Finishing third in the BE simply means that they finished behind two of best teams in the country in Notre Dame and UConn. Ain't no shame in that.

So let me take a moment to eulogize the Big East ... 

From 2000 to 2013, 73 Big East Teams have been invited to the tourney, with nine teams going in 2011. Maybe another conference tops that, but I really doubt it.

photo:  AP

In that same time span, four different Big East teams (UConn, Rutgers, L'Ville and Notre Dame) have played in the Final Four with 16 total appearances by those teams. Those same programs have all advanced to the championship at least once and there have been 11 appearances by Big East teams in the championship game. Seven times the championship has been won by a Big East team. [Okay, six of those were UConn, with Notre Dame winning the other championship in 2001. But still.]

Here is a tiny sampling of some of the great players we've seen in that time:   Maya Moore,  Renee Montgomery, Niele Ivey, Kia Vaughn, Angel McCoughtry, and the great Diana Taurasi.

Two Big East coaches have been inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame, Geno Auriemma and C. Vivian Stringer of Rutgers.

This year, the conference gives us the gifts of Skylar Diggins, Shoni Schimmel and Kaleena Mosqueda-Lewis, just to name a few. It is the conference that keeps on giving.

Next year, the party breaks up and it will be worse than the post-party aftermath than Ryan's house in Sixteen Candles. Notre Dame and Louisville (plus Syracuse and Pitt) are heading to the ACC. Rutgers is joining the Big 10. Poor UConn is simply left adrift. It is the end of an era. Hopefully, these coaches -- all of them -- will schedule each other in their non-conference games. Geno Auriemma and Muffet McGraw have both shown a real willingness to do just that, so I am hopeful, but it won't quite be the same without the simmering inner-conference bad blood. The Big East Conference final between UConn and Notre Dame was epic. And it was the last of it's kind.

This year, at least one Big East team will play in the final, with the possibility of two (if Louisville can beat Cal in the Final Four.) It is a fitting swan song for this great conference.

There never has been, and may never be again, a women's basketball collection as great as this one.

Is Louisville's Take Down of Baylor the Biggest Upset Ever in Women's Hoops?

Shoni Schimmel ain't skeered of Brittney Griner
photo:  Sue Ogrocki, AP

In 1985, John Thompson's Georgetown Hoyas were a sight to behold. They didn't just win. They weren't merely satisfied to beat teams -- they destroyed them. I mean this in the nicest possible way, but they were like the Roman Legion descending. Nobody would admit it, but other teams were scared. And even if those teams weren't scared, their fans were. They gave up all hope upon seeing the dreaded G'Town on the schedule. Your team was going to lose to the Hoyas. The question then became -- how bad of a loss did it have to be to cross over into embarrassment territory?

Sid Crosby Has Broken Face; Out Indefinitely

photo:  Chaz Palla, Tribune-Review

Reports today are that Sidney Crosby has a broken jaw after taking a 90-some-mile-per-hour Brooks Orpik slapshot to the face.

Just when Pens GM Ray Shero had loaded the team up for a serious Cup run, the best player in the world is out. Indefinitely. Talk about going from ecstasy to agony.

Can somebody in my life tell Brooks Orpik to never, ever, ever shoot the puck. Like, ever. Thanks. That's all.

Sixteen Reasons to Watch the Women's Sweet 16

Yup, that's RG III
photo:  Doug Feinberg, AP

Four Behemoths -- Baylor, Notre Dame, UConn and Stanford. Depth has grown by leaps and bounds in women's basketball over the last five years. For my money, the second round games with 32 teams remaining are some of the most entertaining you'll ever see. That said, Baylor, UConn, Notre Dame and Stanford are in their own category of greatness. I can't see any of them losing in this round (I could see Stanford being a bit shaky in the Elite 8 ...), so if you like seeing dynastic teams, if you like watching the monsters of the sport, the Baylor Bears are for you.

Penguins GM Ray Shero, the Ersatz Cold War Warrior

photo:  The Canadian Press, Jeff McIntosh

Yesterday, my phone beeped a few minutes before 7:00 a.m. Strange time to be getting texts. I grabbed my phone:  "HOLY HELL, WE GOT IGINLA." And with that, I was stupid happy all day long. I was silly, giddy, punch-drunk, I was like a dog going to the park or a kid on Christmas morning. Nothing phased me all day long.

To the old lady who took way, way too long to order her coffee in line in front of me, I simply smiled and thought, "Jarome Iginla, baby. It's cool."

To the wanker who cut me off in traffic, I simply waved and mouthed, "Dude, the Pens got Iginla!"

When the spot I wanted to eat lunch was closed, I just walked on to another destination, thinking, "Jarome Freaking Iginla."

2013 NCAA Tourney: the Round of 32 in Review

photo:  www.lsusports.net

-- Adrienne Webb, LSU. With just seven players at her disposal and with an injured star in Theresa Plaisance, coach Nikki Caldwell turned to senior guard Adrienne Webb. Boy howdy, did the kid ever deliver. For a moment, forget that she dropped 29 points on Penn State. And forget that she drained a 3-pointer in the waning minutes. What she did that blew me away was take Maggie Lucas completely out of the game. Lucas is Penn State's best player and the best player in the Big 10; she is one of the best players in the country. I've been watching basketball long enough to know that sometimes even the best shooters have a cold stretch. Lucas started the game on what I thought was a cold stretch, but it became apparent as the game wore on that it wasn't Lucas being cold. Webb froze her out -- she turned Lucas cold. Though Caldwell was running a zone, it was often Webb who was right in Lucas' face. And I mean, In. Her. Face. It was so bad that with time ticking away, Penn State didn't even try to get the ball to Lucas. Maggie Lucas not taking the last shot? Crazy! To my mind, Webb was the player of the tourney in this round.

Next up for the Tigers? A Cal team that looked pretty shaky against South Florida on Monday night.

The 2013 Women's Hoops Tourney -- Round 1 Review

from USF's athletic site

Who helped carry their team through the first round? What player who you never heard before showed up big under the big lights? This is by no means a complete list, but through the first two days of the tournament, these players jumped off the screen for me.

-- Inga Orekhova, South Florida. In the most exciting game of the first day (as Baylor coach Kim Mulkey put it, 'best dang game of the day'), the South Florida Bulls pulled off an upset of Texas Tech, on the Red Raider's home court. As much as I enjoy watching the Smith twins play, it was the pride of Sevastapol, Ukraine, Inga Orekhova who led her team down the stretch, hitting a huge 3-pointer with about a minute to go to tie the game. In all, she had 20 points (5 of them inside the last two-minutes) and her team fed her the ball with confidence.

Sunday Recipe: Swiss Chard and Potato Ravioli

Every Christmas and every Easter, I make ravioli from scratch, as my great-grandmother did. Gram was from the tiny village of Pietransieri, in the Abruzzo region of Italy. Her ravioli are stuffed with cheese (ricotta, parm, romano, egg and parsley.) I grew up eating those ravioli and only those ravioli. Cheese or Bust! [I tried, once or twice, ravs filled with meat and never liked them, but have had more success in recent years with meat filled ravioli, in Rome and in Buenos Aires.] And so, I grew up making Gram's ravioli with my grandmother and when she died a few years ago, the tradition passed directly to me.

Working in my own kitchen with all day (or several days) to prep, I decided to experiment. While I always make a batch of Gram's cheese filled ravioli (recipe here), in the last few years I have also made:  ravioli stuffed with pear and mascarpone cheese, ravioli stuffed with chicken livers and swiss chard, and ravioli stuffed with mushrooms (recipe here.) All were delicious, by the way.

This Christmas, I got La Cucina, the ultimate compendium of all the foods from that glorious geographical boot known as Italy. The recipes contained therein are for cooks who know their way around the kitchen. They don't give very specific instructions. Or maybe it only seems that way because some of the recipes in this 2,000 page collection are so basic and simple or maybe they're just guidelines, realizing that food varies not only from region to region but from kitchen to kitchen.

Thus armed with an idea more than instructions, I set to work to make ravioli filled with swiss chard and potatoes. They were such a smashing success this Christmas, I've decided to bring them back for an Easter encore.

10 Women to Watch in the 2013 NCAA Tourney

Delle Donne:  www.caawomenshoops.wordpress.net

10.  Gennifer Brandon, Cal. The Cal Bears don't have one great player; there is no single, singular talent that jumps elevates an entire team, but they do have a collection of really good players. My favorite of the bunch is junior forward Gennifer Brandon, who is a rebounding machine and was a significant force in all of the team's signature wins this year -- once over Stanford and twice against both UCLA and Colorado. Make no mistake, the Bears won't make it far without Layshia Clarendon, either, but when Cal is at their best, they are a tremendously physical team. That physicality starts on the boards with Brandon.

Sunday Recipe: Killer Butternut Squash Tacos with Salsa Verde

I'm always trying to think of new ways to eat tacos. I never tire of wrapping things in tortillas with some lime and some heat. I've filled tacos with beef and pork and chicken and fish and turkey. I've roasted meat and grilled meat and cooked it stove-top. I've cooked black beans and pinto beans and pidgeon peas for taco filling. And so, not surprisingly, I was thinking about how to make a vegetarian taco that had more vegetables.

Butternut squash to the rescue. I like to serve these with salsa verde, so I've included that recipe, too.

Let me say here that I made this dish for my cousin and her kids (both aged 16). All of them loved it. The point being -- serve this to your family and they won't mind at all missing meat for one night. In fact, I'm having a hankering right now.

Matt Cooke's Baggage

For a decade, Matt Cooke was among the dirtiest players in the NHL. He had a game beyond the cheap stuff, but still, if there was a questionable hit to be thrown, he threw it. If he could take a guy out, he did. When he arrived in Pittsburgh in 2008, I was torn. I absolutely loved the rest of Cooke's game, but the head-hunting bothered me. Watching him over the years, I loved his energy and the way he crashed the net. I loved how hard he played. But the flagrant elbows to the head and the reckless disregard for player safety troubled me. I wrote about how much it bothered me a number of times, in a number of places, but the two I remember writing were after Cooke's hit left Marc Savard positively lifeless on the ice and after he threw a flagrant elbow to the head of Ryan McDonough. Those were some of the worst hits I've seen, the kind of hits which need to be completely eliminated from the game.

After Cooke missed the remainder of the 2010-2011 season (serving the suspension of the McDonough hit), he was basically on notice by the team. Pittsburgh Penguins GM Ray Shero told him -- one more strike and you're out. In the summer of 2011, Cooke did some soul searching. He sought advice from a number of sources. He decided to play the game differently and worked hard to learn how to do just that.

Would No Halftime Entertainment at SB XLVIII Be Such a Bad Thing?

As I look out my window at the freezing rain, landing quite nicely on the already icy snow blanketing my yard, I can't help but think:  Yippee! The Super Bowl will be played in weather just like this next year! (That's Super Bowl XLVIII [or 48 for you non-ancient Roman types.])

As a television event, the biggest game of the year is not aimed at nor produced for actual football fans. It has become an event designed to gin up interest in the sport, sell stuff, create a raging river of revenue and appeal to the non-football fans. For those who actually attend, the Super Bowl is an event which is decidedly not designed for people of my ilk, which is to say, football fans. Nay. The Super Bowl is for the suits, the corporate ticket holders and such of that ilk. If they freeze in a snow squall or freezing rain? Well, fine by me.

What if Alex Ovechkin Hired Randy Moss as a Life-Coach?

Randy Moss and Alexander Ovechkin walk into a bar. They sit at table and order drinks. What follows is an exact transcript of their conversation.

"Hey," says Alex, "sorry about the Super Bowl and everything."

"Thanks, man. That does hurt. But you know, I didn't ask you out because of the Supe. I wanted to say something to you I've never said to anybody else."

Alex is puzzled. He gives Randy his best rakish super-villian grin and waits.

"You know, you remind me a lot of me," Randy says.

"I didn't know you watched hockey."

"Nobody knows I do. I keep that on the DL. You know, I have a Hershey Bears sweater? Don't tell anybody, right? Anyway. I really wanted to tell you that ... well, you know how on media day I said that I was the best receiver ever?"

"Heard that."

Randy takes a deep breath, "What I meant to say was that I was the most talented receiver ever."

"I grew up in Moscow and even I know that Jerry Rice does hold the record for most receiving yards," says Alex, flashing that playful KGB grin again.

Best of New Orleans, the 2013 Report

Last year, I made a week long walking, dancing and eating pilgrimage to New Orleans. This year, I returned, for a much shorter trip and the difference from January, 2012 to January, 2013 is remarkable. It feels like, finally, after Katrina and the federal flood, the city has turned a corner. I was hoping to revisit some of the joints I went to last year, particularly Liuzza's (for the world's greatest gumbo) and Parkway for the astronomically great Po'Boys. However, there is only so much eating that one can pack into a short trip, so we hit all new spots.

If you're in New Orleans for the Super Bowl insanity, or will be there for the Mardi Gras insanity, or are planning a trip just because (as I do), these are the some of the highlights of my recent vigil.

Cake Bakery

Cake Bakery. This trip was not the first time I've been to Cake Bakery. It's right around the corner from where I stay in the Crescent City, but proximity is hardly the main recommendation for me. It's a charming little joint full of a diverse clientele -- ordinary looking workaday folks, older people, tattooed crusty punks, transgendered people and even David Simon. (Seriously, we chatted at Cake last year.) But although the clientele is fun, it isn't the main recommendation:  the biscuits are.

Freshly baked biscuits as big as your head, with homeade jam, which is not overly sweet, but rather is very fruity and tart and perfect on these amazing biscuits. Just a biscuit, jam and a side of bacon is plenty of breakfast to get you going all day long.