Rob Burrow passed away from motor neurone disease (MND), which is basically ALS, on June 2. He was 41 years old.
Burrow made more than 500 Rugby League appearances for Leeds Rhinos, and was capped 13 times for England as a scrum half, recording nine tries. Despite standing just 5'5", he was named to the Super League Dream Team three times, and was named Man of the Match in the Super League grand final twice. His try in the 2011 grand final is regarded as one of the greatest tries in final history.
In late 2019, Burrow announced that he'd been diagnosed with MND. From that point, he and teammate Kevin Sinfield were tireless advocates for victims of the disease and raised more than £6 million for charities associated with MND. Both men were awarded CBEs for their efforts, and the Rugby Football League announced that the trophy for Super League Final Man of the Match would be called the Rob Burrow Award henceforth.
Near the end of Burrow's life, Sinfield and teammates took part in the Leeds Marathon, where he pushed Burrow in a specially-adapted wheelchair. You can see highlights here, in particular the moment at the end of the race where Sinfield carried his friend across the finish line:
MND is a particularly pernicious disease, all the more so when it takes people whose lives had been marked with extraordinary vitality. Sinfield and Burrow did incredible things for the MND community, but as Sinfield said at the end of the marathon, there's was a story as much about celebrating friendship as fighting a medical challenge.
Most of you know that I am, metaphorically, a basketball junkie. A huge part of that dependency was AAU basketball. If you came up playing basketball as a teenager in the 90s, you were a part of the early stages of the explosion of AAU basketball. That meant games and tournaments all spring and summer. All over the state and, if your team was really good, all over the country. The team I played for was good but not national tournament good. But, I live in Florida and Florida is a very attractive spot for a tournament for teams from all over the country to travel to. These days, the National Championships take place at the Milk House at the Wide World of Sports on Disney property. But back in the mid-90s, the U19 National Championships often took place right near where I currently sit. Melbourne, FL. Which is where and how this story begins.
I was 16 and about to be a junior in HS. I was about to hit a growth spurt (relatively speaking) and become a decent player. I was constantly playing AAU basketball once my high school season ended. So when my AAU coach asked if I'd like to work the National Championships, I, of course, eagerly accepted. My first assignment was a game at the local college (Florida Tech). I was assigned the task of taking tickets and needed an adult to work and handle the money. My Dad agreed because he's an awesome dad who did just about anything his kids asked, especially when it came to sports.
So we signed up to work the first game of a triple header. The first game was the headliner that evening. That's because one of the highest-rated, fastest-rising recruits in the country was playing. His name was Shareef Abdur-Rahim. The gym was packed with fans and, more significantly, college head coaches. Bobby Cremins, Coach K, Rick Pitino and many, many more. Since my Dad and I were working the door, we didn't get to see much of the game. Shareef balled out, his team won and many of fans and coaches headed for the exits.
After the conclusion of the first game, my Dad and I were off the clock. But I wanted to stick around and watch more basketball. Game 2 was a team from Pittsburgh vs. the Charlotte Royals. Pittsburgh featured a bruiser named Danny Fortson, and the Royals featured an unheralded recruit by the the name of the Antawn Jamison. Quickly, it became clear that Jamison was way better than advertised, as he hit shots from all manner of angles in very unorthodox ways that we'd also see him do successfully for many years to come. And, true to form, late in the second half, Fortson got into it with an opposing player, followed by a verbal altercation with a ref, and he got tossed as the Royals pulled away to victory.
At this point, my Dad and I would've been more than happy to go home having earned a little extra bread and having watched some good ball. But again, I could not get enough basketball at that point in my life. So we decided to stay for the nightcap. And that decision to stay for game 3 changed our lives.
The third and final game featured the #1 ranked team in the nation. They were from Memphis and boasted top 10 recruit Lorenzen Wright (RIP) and were coached by his father. They looked the part of a top AAU team. Big, long, athletic, and very well outfitted in some sweet Nike uniforms. Memphis was matched up against a nondescript team from Cleveland. When Cleveland came out they looked rag-tag to say the least. Their uniforms were old and well worn (reversible jerseys with faded, cracking numbers) and the were led by what my Dad and I thought was the coach's kid when they came out for layups. We may have even laughed at the scene of this small guard who couldn't be much more than 5 feet leading the team out for warmups (I was 5'6" at the time so I didn't have much room to judge someone on size). I can only imagine what Memphis was thinking.
Then it came time for the tip and the "coach's son" walked out on to the court. I'm quite sure that my Dad and I weren't the only people thinking "What the fuck is going on?" I'm also quite sure that all of us quickly realized what the fuck was going on. The tiny guy (5'3") dominated the game from tip to buzzer, He was a one-man press. Hounding the Memphis guards all over the court and repeatedly taking the ball from them as they tried to advance up the floor. He was running the offense for his team and setting his teammates up all for easy buckets. He also managed to drop 40 points in the process while leading his unknown Cleveland team to a comfortable victory over #1 Memphis. At some point late in the game while my Dad and I guffawed over the game being played by this amazingly talented little guy, my Dad spotted a guy a couple rows from us (the stands were pretty empty at this point in the evening) wearing an Eastern Michigan polo in the stands and said, "I bet you'd like to have him." It just so happened that the guy was an Assistant Coach at Eastern Michigan. He calmly replied, "His name is Earl Boykins and he's playing for us next year."
From that point on, my Dad and I had a new favorite player who we made a point to keep track of during his collegiate career. We followed him at EMU as he became a two-time all conference point guard that led his team to the NCAA Tournament and eventually finished second in the NCAA in scoring during his senior season. And then we lost track of him for a bit. Until my time in college when Earl made it to the NBA. I sent my Dad the ESPN article about him making the league and we followed his career intently from there out. Earl would go on to play 13 seasons in the NBA, even averaging double figure PPG for 5 straight years (a career high 15.2 PPG in 2006-2007 for the Nuggets) and bring my father and me much joy while doing so.
I bought my Dad an Eastern Michigan Basketball shirt for Father's Day a couple years ago and he wears it all the time. I'm not sure what the point of this story is. Never judge a book by its cover? Little moments between a Father and Son mean more than you ever realize in the moment? Bite me, Randy Newman? Yeah, that's probably it.
Little dudes are having a moment, garnering headlines for their general superiority and swagger. So we're back, baby with our first BMRN since August 2020. This one's a triple-header.
Leading off because he won't be leading off any longer, one of my favorite ballplayers of all-time. Dustin Pedroia won a goddamn American League MVP at 5'9". (Editor's Note: If he's 5'9", then I'm at least 5'7".) He was a world-class shit talker and classic little dude scrapper, but his athleticism and coordination were otherworldly. Pedroia retired today after a precipitous injury-marred decline. All-timer, as he tells you below:
The world's most handsomely compensated athlete, also a diminutive fella. Spanish newspaper El Mundo (which is Spanish for "The Mundo") published a report this week detailing the fact that Lionel Messi, all 5'5" (yeah, okay) of him, signed a contract in 2017 with Barcelona worth a total of $674m over four years. The deal included certain performance bonuses that Messi didn't hit because of the pandemic, but he's still on track to earn a guaranteed $96m in salary, with a signing bonus and loyalty bonus that total over $200m. Not bad work if you're small enough to get it.
The news of Messi's contract caused a massive kerfuffle in the global game, with both the player and the club threatening to sue over the disclosure, and a bunch of observers saying "holy shit, that's a lot of money, but if anyone's worth it...". In the midst of the maelstrom, Messi did this over the weekend (it's worth watching with your eyes closed the first time in order to get the full Ray Hudson Experience):
And finally, as TR pointed out yesterday, we're long overdue to fete one of the key contributors for the University of Maryland Baltimore County's men's hoops squad. According to no less an authority than Ken Pomeroy, Darnell Rogers is the shortest player in Division I men's basketball since at least 2007. The 5'2" Rogers comes from short-dude hoops royalty. His father Shawnta was the Atlantic 10 Player of the Year in 1999 before embarking on an 11-year pro career in France and Italy.
The younger Rogers averaged 14 points per game last year before getting injured. He's dropping 8.7 per game this season, adding 1.8 boards and 2.2 assists. In December, he was the game's leading rebounder in the Retrievers' 76-61 win over Delaware, pulling down eight boards while scoring 16 points. And he's fun as hell to watch:
It's a great time to be a Buffalo Bills fan, the best time in the past 21 years. They won 11 games so far this year, and this is the first stretch of back-to-back 10-win seasons since 1998-1999. It is also their first back-to-back playoff appearances since 1998-1999. Almost as emotionally important, they haven't beaten the Patriots twice in one season since 1999, and it looks like they have a good shot at doing so on December 28.
The offense has scored the 5th most points, accumulated the 6th most yards, and picked up the 6th most yards per play. Josh Allen has the 4th most passing yards, the 6th most passing TD, the 7th best passer rating, and he's finally starting to play more like John Elway and less like John Elway with a lobotomy. Stefon Diggs leads the league in receptions and has the 3rd most receiving yards. Based on these numbers, it's no surprise that they have the 4nd best passing offense according to pro-football-reference.com's "expected points contributed" metric.
What is surprising is Josh Allen's progress over the last three seasons. His passing yardage went from 2000 to 3000 to 4000 yards, his passing TD went from 10 to 20 to 30, and his completion percentage went from 53% to 58% to 69%. The fact that he has the 6th best completion percentage blows my mind. Also mind-blowing: his 26 career wins are the most of any Buffalo QB since Jim Kelly.
The defense is middle of the road statistically for the season, but they've tightened up over the last 4-5 games. Tre'Davious White is a badass (although I'd still rather have Patrick Mahomes with the 10th pick in the 2017 draft), and Jordan Poyer and Micah Hyde are as good a safety tandem as any. AJ Klein and Tremaine Edmunds are affirmatively good and Edmunds wears #49 (I love the new rules allowing LBs to wear numbers in the 40s). They're a fun group to watch.
The Bills are also fans of our Bite Me Randy Newman recurring bit, with a not insignificant number of their significant players being relatively short. There's Devin Singletary (5'7"); Cole Beasley (5'8" and zson is getting his jersey for Gheorghemas, luckily no Gs in his name); Isaiah McKenzie (also 5'8"); Zack Moss (like me an ideal 69" tall); and Tre'Davious White, Taron Johnson, John Brown, and Andre Roberts (all 5'11").
I'm really happy about the team's direction. If your team fails to make the playoffs, root along with me for the Bills. They might pull off a Gheorghemas miracle, they're a pretty Gheorghe crew.
Stevie Ray Vaughan perished in a helicopter crash 30 years ago today. I remember we were back in college (after a stellar, silly summer in the 'Burg) when we heard the news. I also remember hearing the rumor first that Eric Clapton had died. Nope, that was wrong. It was instead his "people." And then we learned about SRV. Goddammit.
It's a crap tale of bad luck.
The day before his death, Vaughan told his band and crew members about a nightmare that he had in which he was at his own funeral and saw thousands of mourners. He felt "terrified, yet almost peaceful." Backstage after the show that evening, the musicians talked about playing together again, particularly with Eric Clapton for a series of dates at London's Royal Albert Hall in February and March 1991 as a tribute to Jimi Hendrix. Moments later, Clapton's tour manager Peter Jackson said that the weather was getting worse and they had to leave soon. Stevie wrangled the last seat on the first copter, saying, "I really need to get back." Vaughan's last words to drummer Chris Layton were "I love ya."
The cause of the crash was determined to be pilot error. And what a shame. SRV had just cleaned up his act; after years of doing Alps-sized mountains of cocaine and drinking to excess, he'd gotten sober and was crushing it. The sky was the limit, until it was crying.
He was and is guitar genius. He channeled Hendrix like no others. No one seems to be able to channel him. When he was on stage, he was an absolute wizard and larger than life.
And he stood 5'5".
In his honor, we bring you five of our favorite SRV moments.
The ground has been broken for the new facilities, and while the parent club and Loudoun United likely won't move to my town for several months, D.C. United did make a recent announcement that tells me it was all worth it.
The club announced last week that Richie Williams would be the first head coach in Loudoun United history. Williams played 169 games for D.C. United in the late 90s and early 2000s, also earning 20 caps with the U.S. Men's National Team. He helped those early D.C. United squads win three MLS Cups as a tenacious defensive midfielder.
But, as his Wikipedia entry shows, Williams has a lot to recommend him to Gheorghies. Let's start with the fact that he was born a mere five days before yours truly, and continue on with the fact that our growth rates followed a similar path. From Wikipedia, "Known for his diminutive height and his dogged tackling...", is something I'd welcome on my tombstone. Williams is listed at 5'5". That might be generous.
Size isn't the only thing that may endear Williams to our number, though. He grew up in Middletown Township, NJ, a mere 30 miles from North Brunswick. There's a reasonable chance that Williams laid a crunching tackle on Dave at some point. And a greater chance that Dave hacked him down in a fit of pique.
At Loudoun United, Williams has a challenge in front of him. With 29 days until the season opener, the team barely has a full roster, doesn't yet have a full-time home stadium, and hasn't played a preseason game. There will be lumps.
I'm just hoping that the Father of Professional Soccer in Loudoun County (that's me, obviously) gets to spend some quality time with my fellow diminutive midfielder.
The Michigan directional schools are making a serious play for my affection. First Eastern Michigan and the legendary Earl Boykins, and now the Chippewas of Central Michigan, who've doubled down on diminutive dribblers. (Yeah, that's right.)
Marcus Keene leads the nation in scoring with 30.2 per game, and he's deservedly received a great deal of run in the national media. Sports Illustrated just profiled the 5'9" guard, and he got an ESPN highlight package of his very own just two nights ago. He dropped 50 in a 101-92 win over Miami (OH), and a cool 36 when William & Mary came to Mount Pleasant.
Keene also gets 5.1 assists and a ridiculous 4.5 boards per game. A good percentage of those dimes come on passes to fellow 5'9" guard Braylon Rayson, who averages 20.3 points of his own in coach Keno Davis' freewheeling system.
Davis encourages his team to let fly - Central Michigan is 4th in the NCAA in points per game, 3rd in the country in 3-point attempts, and 2nd in 3-pointers made per game. And judging by some of Keene's highlights, he's cool with his players, um, expressing themselves. Check out what Keene does at the 5:40 mark of this highlight package against Wisconsin Green Bay:
Six point game, a couple of minutes to go, your starting point guard pulls of a gratuitous reverse spin and steps into a deep three, that he drains? Cool, cool.
So in Central Michigan we've got not one, but a pair of Tiny Archibaldalikes in one starting backcourt? Pinch me, I think I've found the Lollipop Guild. The Chips are 15-8, 5-5 in the MAC, so they're gonna need some luck to play on a bigger stage.
Football is a game played by behemoths, generally speaking. It's not usually the province of the littles, which makes the odd Darren Sproles, or Trindon Holliday, or Eddie LeBaron all the more compelling to those of us who celebrate BMRN.
Enter Ryan Lewis, a newly-minted member of the wee tribe. The 5'9", 164-pound freshman at Auburn turned the game on its head this weekend, using his size to his advantage, performing a bit of gridiron jujitsu against Texas A&M.
Lewis' 28-yard scamper was his first-ever collegiate touch, and clearly was the catalyst for Auburn's 26-10 win in College Station. Texas A&M lineman Chris Jones still doesn't know where Lewis went.
Can't hit what you can't see, you big, slow doofuses.
One could draft a fairly extensive compilation of Randy-worthy soccer players from around the globe. The best player in the world, for example, stands but 5'7". Well, he's listed at that, anyway. The legendary Diego Maradona? He's 5'5". Closer to home, the underrated and recently-retired Steve Cherundolo topped out at 5'6". (And USWNT defender Megan Klingenberg is a mere 5'2".) Indeed, the most democratic of all the world's sports makes room for players of all shapes and sizes.
But we come to celebrate a pair of lilliputian talents who have risen (pun!) above in the last few weeks. Both play in leagues outside their home countries, and both shoulder outsized burdens for teams with longshot title aspirations, and both wear the number 10 jersey of the conductor of the offense.
It was huge news at the beginning of the year when Italian National Team member and Juventus star Sebastian Giovinco signed with Toronto FC of MLS. He's the first player of his caliber to make the jump from Europe to North America in the prime of his career. The 5'5" Giovinco (formica atomica, in Italian, and the Atomic Ant to his English-speaking fans) is only 28.
Giovinco hasn't disappointed. Through this weekend's play, his 16 goals are one behind Columbus Crew forward Kei Kamara for the league lead. His hat trick last week led Toronto to a 4-1 win over Orlando, and helped Toronto move to 4th in the Eastern Conference. His combination of skill, speed, balance, and power make him arguably MLS' best player. See for yourself:
In England, Liverpool is widely considered to be on the outside looking in at the Premier League's elite teams, with Steven Gerrard now in America, and no major signings other than Christian Benteke to show for the transfer period. Dynamic Brazilian little guy Philippe Coutinho's performance this season will go a long way towards defining the Reds' fortunes.
The 23 year-old is already playing his fourth season in the EPL, and has shown flashes of brilliance interspersed with periods of indifference (sorta like my professional career, now that I think about it). He's capable of unleashing remarkable strikes from long distance, as evidenced by his 86th-minute game winner in Liverpool's season opener at Stoke. Check it out:
No less a talent than Kaka has tabbed Coutinho as Gerrard's Merseyside heir. Chelsea defender John Terry picked Coutinho as his EPL Player of the Year before the season began. Big, big shoes to fill for a guy who stands 5'7". In the program.
Jose Altuve is the starting second baseman for the Houston Astros. He's a two-time all-star, and he just won the American League batting title, hitting .341 and leading the league in hits, with an Astros franchise record 225. He also lead the AL in stolen bases with 56. Houston management initially wanted to bench Altuve for the Astros' season-finale to ensure he won the batting title, but he successfully argued his way into the lineup, then went 2-for-4 to seal his place in history.
Altuve's stature is not only inspirational for diminutive kids of all ages, he's also become part of the lexicon. Astro broadcasters now use 'Altuve' as shorthand for measurement. As in, "that homer traveled 156 Altuves". Careful GTB readers already knew that, of course, as we've got the short dude beat fairly well covered.
Huge(ish) congratulations from our team to Jose's. We'll be expecting big things next year. In a manner of speaking.
Today's an emotional day in India, as legendary batsman Sachin Tendulkar competes in his final test match for his country. Described as "the Muhammad Ali and Michael Jordan of cricket" by contemporaries, Tendulkar closes his 24-year international career against the West Indies in his home city of Mumbai.
The diminutive Tendulkar made his debut for India as a callow 16 year-old, starring for club and country for nearly a quarter-century and completely rewriting the sport's record books. He was the first batsman in international history to score 100 international centuries (scoring 100 or more runs in a single innings), the first to score a double century in a one day international (ODI), and the first to score more than 34,000 runs in a career.
"It is hard to imagine any player in the history of the game who
combines classical technique with raw aggression like the little
champion does," said legendary Indian cricketer Sunil Gavaskar in a 2008 article.
No less an authority than Sir Don Bradman, widely considered the greatest batsman of all-time, and the only player thought to be Tendulkar's equal, was a fan. In his biography, it's said that Bradman "...was most taken by Tendulkar's technique, compactness and shot
production, and had asked his wife to have a look at Tendulkar, having
felt that Tendulkar played like him. Bradman's wife, Jessie, agreed that
they did appear similar." Setting aside that business about having his wife look at another dude, that seems to be high praise. Maybe it's some sort of cricket thing.
Tendulkar's rise on the international stage was matched in time by that of his nation, linking him inextricably with India's emergence. Says The Guardian, "For a quarter of a century he was the repository of a nation's hope, its
favourite son, and in so many ways the stages of his journey mirrored
the Indian nation's own progress on the world stage."
Standing a mere (but robust) 5'5", Tendulkar was dubbed 'The Little Master' early in his international career. He became one of India's most beloved sportsman, ranking 51st on Forbes list of most highly compensated athletes even this year, earning $22m despite being well on the downside of his playing run. Derek Jeter is said to hold him in high regard.
In a touching side note to the legendary Tendulkar's swan song, his aging mother, who has never seen him compete in an international test, will break her custom and attend today's match.
So Bite Me, Randy Newman, and a fond farewell to Sachin Tendulkar.
I guess this means 'The Little Master' is up for grabs. I've got some ideas.
This blog has been in existence for nearly 10 years. We're nearing a million total views of the 2,726 posts we've published. And we owe the world an enormous apology.
HOW IN THE FUCK HAVE WE NEVER CELEBRATED TIM KURKJIAN?!?!?
There are very few people in any walk of life who love what they do more than Kurkjian. His devotion to baseball borders on obsessive - in fact, obsessives border on Kurkjianesque. From 1989 to 2010, he spent 15 minutes every morning clipping box scores from the newpaper and pasting them into notebooks. His giddy, lunatic exaltation ("Wes Littleton got the save!") after Texas' 30-3 win over Baltimore in 2007 is the stuff of legends. I daresay there aren't two dozen more Gheorghey people on the planet.
Kurkjian's passion for his work is enough by itself to make us like him, but he's also among the most self-effacing members of a press corps that's mostly anything but. Can you imagine Chris Berman allowing himself to be subjected to this:
And if that weren't enough, though he's a diminutive fellow, standing a sturdy 5'5", he's noted as a hard-nosed and more than decent basketball player. From 1986 to 1989, Kurkjian was a regular in Cal Ripken's legendarily serious pickup hoops runs. "The reason Cal invites me is that I always pass the ball to the open
man," Kurkjian says. "Cal's like that, too. He always wants to get the
job done, and he wants it done the correct way."
I'm reminded every time I hear Kurkjian's unique voice how much I enjoy and respect his approach. And more often than not, I'm moved to at least a smile. On Tuesday, I was moved nearly to tears of laughter, when ESPN's Scott Van Pelt dropped his well-honed Baltimore mock-accent on the unsuspecting Kurkjian. Fast forward to the 5:10 mark in this clip. It'll make you happy.
Our sincere, befuddled apologies to both Kurkjian and America for this egregious oversight.
And Bite Me, Randy Newman.
(In other BMRN news, 5'1" Canadian midfielder Diana Matheson of the Washington Spirit - number 9 in your program, number one in my daughter's heart - was named to the inaugural National Womens Soccer League Best XI after tallying 8 goals and 3 assists. I saw her slot a low-angled shot past Hope Solo to give the Spirit a 1-0 win over the latter's Seattle Reign. I think I heard her whisper to Solo, "Bite Me, Randy Newman", as she celebrated the game-winner.)
Our minions continue to send GTB:HQ evidence of the cultural supremacy of the smaller and more evolutionarily gifted in our society. From our correspondent in Orlando, guidance that unfortunate larges should take in most situations.
Stepping in for my diminutive friend as he explores America's left coast in search of windmills against which to tilt and hoppy ales to savor. This story reeks of Rob's recurring segment involving a 1977 great song (seriously, it's overplayed and underrated) and his championing of the littl'uns among us. Sports fans likely heard all about it in the last 48 hours, but just in case you haven't . . .
Adam Greenberg is a 5'9" outfielder who came up with the Chicago Cubs in 2005. The very first big-league pitch he saw hit him in the head. It derailed more than his prospects for remaining in the bigs, it gave him blurred vision, migraines, and vertigo. Baseball was long forgotten.
In a tale equal parts Roy Hobbs, Moonlight Graham, and Casey, the kid (now 31) has gotten another turn at bat seven years later. Say what you will about Ozzie Guillen, but if he's got some karma to mend after his verbal pants-wettings of the past, he's trying. The Miami Marlins (Greenberg got beaned in Miami) saw to it that Adam Greenberg got an AB last night against the Mets. Just one more chance to knock some dirt off his spikes, step in, and eyeball a Cy Young contender.
R.A. Dickey, an inspirational story himself, did what he said he would, and refused to condescend to Greenberg. He respectfully treated him like a big league hitter, threw him three knuckleballs, and struck him out without fanfare. The fanfare came in the dugout, as more back-pats and high-fives were issued for a whiff than than I can ever recall.
Some nice little tidbits, as reported by ESPN:
"The Topps Co. announced via Twitter on Tuesday night that it is issuing an Adam Greenberg Marlins baseball card as part of its 2013 set."
and
"For seven years, Greenberg was one of only two players to be hit by a pitch in his lone big league appearance and never take the field. The other was Fred van Dusen with the Philadelphia Phillies in 1955. Van Dusen flew down from his home in Franklin, Tenn., to attend Tuesday's game. He threw out the first pitch and joined the rest of the crowd applauding Greenberg's comeback."
Finally:
"Life throws you curveballs," Greenberg said. "Mine threw me a fastball at 92, and it hit me in the back of the head. I got up from it, and my life is great."
Pretty damn Gheorghey. Bite Rob, Randy Newman.
* * * * *
In other new romantic comeback stories, I am going to see Adam Ant tonight at the Norva. Rob can attest to my curious fandom of Adam and the Ants and its suave leader. Looking for pirate / Native American attire to don tonight. I hope to stand and deliver good news about the comeback tour tomorrow. . .
If you happened to tune into last weekend's telecast of the HSBC Sevens World Series event from Las Vegas, you were fortunate to see FOG:TB Brian Hightower do a terrific job of providing color commentary. In a bit of supreme irony, you also got to hear our pal describe France's tiny rugger, Terry Bouhraoua, variously as 'annoying', 'a pest', and 'scrappy'.
Bouhraoua approximates no one as much as your irritating little brother on the pitch. A mere 1.67m (just shy of 5'6") and 65 kg (143 lbs), he's essentially my size, but he's fearless, mixing it up with men who outweigh him by a hundred pounds in some cases. The smallest player on any Sevens World Series roster, Bouhraoua leads seventh-place France in both tries (16) and points (99) through the first five events of the series and is ninth overall in both categories. He's the rare pain in the ass with as much impact on the scoreboard as on his opponents' tempers.
It comes as no surprise, then, that I find Bouhraoua a kindred spirit. A tougher, faster, probably richer kindred spirit, but a (little) man after my own heart, nonetheless. The 24 year-old played his club Rugby for Beziers in the French Federale 1 (which I assume is the first division), while I played my club lacrosse for William & Mary, which doesn't really have a division, to my recollection. Regardless, I know the man's struggles.
Terry and I (and our (wee) man James Madison) both have a message for Randy Newman on this holiday eve.
On the second day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me... Two Recurring Features And a Doofus Dancing (hee, hee)
If you're a regular G:TB reader, you know that we've got a handful of recurring features that may or may not recur. (Also, if you're a regular G:TB reader, you should probably get out more. See the world - it's magical this time of year.) It's my distinct pleasure in this season of wonder to combine a pair of them in celebration of my new favorite sports franchise. Bite Me Randy Newman, meet Know Your Minor League Mascot.
The Richmond Braves vacated their home of 43 years after the 2008 season, relocating to Gwinnett County, GA and leaving the Capital of the Confederacy without a longtime staple of its local sports scene. The good folks of the CAA's hometown didn't take long to find a new tenant for The Diamond, inking a deal with the San Francisco Giants after just one dormant summer.
This is where it gets good. The eminently wise management of the Richmond AA Eastern League franchise crowdsourced the team's name. And the fine, whimsical, people of Central Virginia eschewed the obvious themes (the War of Northern Aggression, slightly offkilter gentility, mild and dated racism - the Braves were originally called the Crackers) for a truly inspired choice. Friends, I give you the Richmond Flying Squirrels.
Team: Richmond Flying Squirrels
League: Eastern (AA)
Affiliation: San Francisco Giants
Mascot: To Be Named on December 20
Self-Absorbed East Coast Elitist Commentary: Truly self-absorbed, in this case, and the tangential tie-in to Randy Newman. As many of you know, my collegiate (and in many circles, current) nickname was Squirrel. (Because of my quickness and cunning, natch - or, possibly, because my freshman roomate was exasperated by the mess I made in our room and likened it to a squirrel's nest. Either way.) In an interesting aside, my father's college buddies called him Ratto because he was a biology major who completed his thesis on the mating and feeding habits of wild mice. My daughters Chipmunk and Chinchilla couldn't be happier about the family's rodent heritage.
Richmond itself holds a special place in my heart, for a number of reasons. I met my wife there, in an extremely random turn of events, as neither of us lived in the area. William & Mary's once-in-a-lifetime-so-far run in the CAA Tournament happened at the Richmond Coliseum. The girl I dated right before I met my wife lived in Richmond. (I seem to be lucky with women in Richmond. Why the hell am I just realizing this now? Not to get all Tiger Woodsy or anything.)
Where was I? Hell, in all the furry declamation, I lost my place. In any case, Bite Me, Randy Newman, and save me a seat on Opening Day, Flying Squirrels.
Gheorgheness Quotient: 77/77. Best. Nickname. Ever. Like I'm giving the Flying Squirrels any other rating.
Though appearances may indicate otherwise, G:TB's readership is among the more diverse and worldly of any in the genre (the genre, in this case, being niche blogs devoted to facial-hair growing contests, basketball, filler, and self-deprecation). Today we serve that diversity and answer a reader request with a very special Bite Me, Randy Newman.
28 year-old Frenchman Samuel Dumoulin sits in 85th place in the 2009 Tour de France, having climbed steadily through the pack after a dismal time trial in the Tour's first stage. You'd be hard-pressed to see the diminutive Dumoulin in the peloton, though, as he stands a mere 1.59m (like 5'2.5" or so, if my metric to American calculator can be trusted).
Like my father always told me, dynamite comes in small packages (picture below offered with amused irony). Dumoulin's victory in the third stage of the 2008 Tour testifies to Pop's wisdom. As does my incendiary temper.
Dumoulin's most noted for his sprinting acumen, counted on by his Cofidis team to steal a victory or two in 2009. He's also G:TB's new favorite cyclist. Viva le Dumoulin.
When I was 10, I pitched a perfect game for the Redstone Arsenal A's. Later, my sweeping, Barry Zito-esque curveball earned me a spot on the All-Star team in the North Arlington Wiffleball League, until Whitney learned to lean into it to stop it from reaching the beach chair/strike zone. And that's about the extent of my pitching career, stunted as it was by an unfeeling society's choice to value of the size of a hurler's frame as opposed to his heart.
Imagine my vicarious thrill, then, when the Cincinnati Reds recalled young lefty Daniel Ray Herrera, all 5'6" of him, a few weeks ago. No novelty act, Danny, as he's proceeded to record a 2.22 ERA in 28 1/3 innings, striking out 20 despite a modicum of wildness.
Our similarities don't end at size, I might add. As his obviously accurate wikipedia entry notes (and as little guys across the world nod in recognition): "He is a notorious ladies man, known for leaving women yearning in every city." Good for you, Danny.
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daughters Chipmunk and Chinchilla couldn't be happier about the family's rodent heritage.
Dumoulin's most noted for his sprinting acumen, counted on by his Cofidis team to steal a victory or two in 2009. He's also G:TB's new favorite cyclist. Viva le Dumoulin.
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