When you enter the NFL Draft with a 5-11 record and no picks in rounds two through four (thank you, mssrs. Snyder, Cerrato and Gibbs!), you’re not going to walk away glad. Especially when you don’t draft anyone to address your most glaring need (defensive line), despite having your pick of every defensive lineman in this year’s class save one (Gaines Adams). Oh well, at least they didn’t trade up for JaMarcus Russell or Calvin Johnson, and, hey, we still have Rocky McIntosh, T.J. Duckett and Brandon Lloyd!
To recap Washington’s draft, enjoy this clip of sixth overall pick LaRonLandry damn near killing people and the blogger roundup that follows …
“I’m pissed, shocked, devastated and flat out confused … Not addressing the d-line in this year’s draft is purely criminal.” [War Cry!]
“In need of sustenance [at the FedEx Field Draft Party], I visited the concessions to get my next shock. HALF-PRICE ON FOOD AND BEER! Thank you again, Mr. Snyder. I never had a $2.00 hot dog at FedEx. I was so excited that I double downed on the buy.” [Running Redskins]
“The Sugar Bowl was billed as the battle between JaMarcus Russell and Brady Quinn. But LaRonLandry (who in the picture is tackling Notre Dame’sRhema McKnight) might just have a better NFL career than either of them. I love how Landry will fit in with Gregg Williams’ defense in Washington.” [FanHouse’s Michael David Smith]
“That safety combo [of Landry and Sean Taylor] could just kill someone. I hope that Carlos Rogers and Fred Smoot are ready to chase receivers down the sideline because no one in their right mind wants to go over the middle on these two.” [FanHouse’sSportz Assassin]
“[Landry] leads with his helmet way too much. That old adage of “see what you hit” does not apply here. Now, this is a problem that could probably be fixed with coaching, but defensive players can be stubborn.” [FanHouse’s Adam Rank]
“Former ‘Skins safety Ryan Clark was Taylor’s on-field eyes and ears in 2004 and 2005. It’s not clear Landry can fill that void. If he can, though, then that’s one less thing the Redskins have to worry about.” [FanHouse’s Ryan Wilson]
“With the second pick of the draft, the Redskins select Rocky McIntosh … With the third pick of the draft, the Redskins select T.J. Duckett … With the fourth pick of the draft, the Redskins select Brandon Lloyd.” [Hog Heaven]
“This offseason is far from over. From my perspective, the two big issues I will be watching are a trade for a D Lineman, and, to a lesser degree, the possible firing of scouts and/or Vinny or Riddick.” [Redskins Insider]
And since all of this focuses on the Landry pick, half-price concessions at FedEx (can you believe it?) and a lack of d-linemen, allow me to add that drafting Jordan Palmer and H.B. Blades as well as a linebacker from USC scores high on the blog material index. Let’s hope that Palmer is one-tenth the quarterback his brother is, Blades can clean clocks like his uncle used to and that the USC kid (whose name is Dallas, for chrissakes) ups the aspiring actress quotient in DC.
A few days ago, they had “Under Armor” day at Camden Yards, where a gaggle of Under Armor employees showed up to, we dunno, make grown men realize how they’re too out of shape to possibly buy their products. One of their employees apparently had a bit too much to drink, and when he showed up on live television … well, he’s having a great time.
As we await the inevitable Bill Simmons column about this — Five Tool Tool goes ahead and sums it up for us — we continue to watch our mind boggle over the notion of Randy Moss playing for the Patriots. We’ve never found Moss as annoying as, say, Terrell Owens, but he’s hardly what we think of when we think of the Patriots. (For example, he’s never impregnated a supermodel or carried on a long distance affair with a married woman.) Some Patriots fans are already concerned.
Are you getting the great football player Randy Moss, or are you getting the pain in the ass Randy Moss? That’s been the question posed to coaches, executives, and owners throughout Randy’s career. Let’s face it; the guy can play. He’s as talented as Terrell Owens, as fast as many of the top speed receivers, and can haul in just about anything. But as enamored as we are with his talents, I have a real hard time believing his past is in the past. And before you say this is just like Corey Dillon, Randy Moss is no Corey Dillon. Corey just wanted to play for a winner, and he still worked hard to do that. Randy Moss has been on teams that have won games, but he’s quit on them too. Will this work out for the Patriots? It better, otherwise we’re in for a rough ride next year.
No matter what, it will be entertaining. And it should make the Patriots a ton more fun in Madden too.
Inspired by the new book Being There, I’ve asked sports bloggers/fans for their favorite in-person sporting moments. The contributions range from heartfelt and triumphant to absurd and mundane, and they’re sure to put a smile on your face. Previous posts focused on MLB, college hoops, the NFL, WWF and NBA, while today’s looks at hockey. More to come, so stay tuned and send your own Out of the Basement, Onto the Game moment to dcsportsguy@aol.com. It’s almost sure to get posted.
It was June of 2003. Radiohead was about to release Hail to the Thief, and I was going to see the New Jersey Devils play the Anaheim Mighty Ducks in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. It was going to be a good week, to say the least. The Devils won that game, 3-0. I got to see my favorite team, ever, win a championship in person. I saw the Stanley Cup. I was there. I have pictures for posterity. I lived the dream.
But ten minutes after the game ended, Gary Bettman decided to piss in the punch bowl of this Meadowlands party. Despite setting a record with seven shutouts in the playoffs (including three in the Finals alone), the league decided to shun goalie Martin Brodeur for the Conn Smythe trophy as playoff MVP, deciding instead to award it to one-year wonder Jean-Sebastian Giguere. It was only the second time a Conn Smythe winner came from the losing team. Ever.
I’ve never seen such a mix of the rapturous and riotous. Yes, the Cup was right there, about to be presented to our red-and-black-clad heroes. But at that point, all we as fans were concerned about was Bettman ruining our celebration. He stole our moment.
Over time I’ve learned to ignore that part. After all, the Devils were the ones with the real trophy. And I was there. No one, save Alzheimer’s, will be able to take that memory from me.
Plus, on that night, I really knew what it was like to be part of a brotherhood. You hear about strangers bonding over a championship team all the time, but that night there was something different, more special, about it. Unity continued to grip 19,040 strangers, but while we were hugging, tears of joy streaming down, we weren’t discussing victory. We were devising the quickest way to separate Bettman’s head from his torso.
I preface my story by noting that I am a bit of a rarity: a California born and bred hockey nut. My love for the game came not through family heritage or athletic association, but rather through that ragtag franchise the Oakland (later California Golden) Seals. When they first hit the ice in 1967, I was immediately and irrevocably hooked by this most fascinating of games with its perfect combination of speed, skill, and strength.
I lived and died with the Seals, transistor radio hidden under my pillow so I could listen to the games well past my appointed bedtime. As a team the Seals never amounted to much, making the playoffs only twice in their brief existence. However, it didn’t matter. They were my team, and it was a black day indeed when they moved to Cleveland in the mid-’70s before eventually being absorbed into the then-Minnesota North Stars.
For years I stared forlornly at the league standings buried in the back of the sports section, hoping against hope that one day I would again have a team to call my own (being a Bay Area boy, rooting for the Kings simply wasn’t an option). You can imagine my unbridled joy the day the day the NHL, in order to placate the Gund brothers’ desire to escape Minnesota and bring the North Stars in a fashion back to Oakland, granted them an expansion franchise out here that due to a rare moment of intelligent thought by voters who had already approved an arena in San Jose became that city’s beloved Sharks.
My most cherished sports memory, greater than even the pre-earthquake joy of the Bay Bridge World Series of 1989 or seeing my driver Jeff Gordon win in person at Fontana in 2004, came one late September evening in 1991 at the rickety old Cow Palace in Daly City when the Sharks played their first-ever home game, a pre-season tilt against the Vancouver Canucks. As the Sharks took the ice for the pre-game warm-up, those in attendance stood up and applauded, and as I joined them the overwhelming realization flooded every part of my being: I had a team again. This is the way sports ought to be, a joyous bond between fan and performer, the latter’s skill and determination being saluted by the former.
We here at Deadspin are proud to announce our first unassisted triple play. We’re so proud. Colorado shortstop Troy Tulowitzki worked the magic against the Braves in the seventh inning of a tie game on Sunday. With runners on first and second, Tulowitzki caught Chipper Jones’ line drive, then stepped on second to double up Kelly Johnson, and tagged Edgar Renteria between first and second. He also threw to first to beat the runner there, a fourth out which we think should be applied toward the next inning.
We love the triple play; possibly the greatest momentum-changer in sports, and one of the few baseball records that is steroid-proof. You’ve got runners on base, no one out, a world of possibilities before you. And after one pitch, you’re out in the field playing defense. Is there a better example of how, just when you think you have things figured out, life can turn on you? We think not. It was the 13th unassisted triple play in baseball history, the previous one coming in 2003 by Rafael Furcal of the Braves. There were none between 1927 and 1968, by the way, and only five since. But this doesn’t impress the scoreboard operator at Coors Field, evidently. According to Up In The Rockies, they didn’t even acknowledge it.
Like most football fans, we watched the first round of the NFL Draft on Saturday. We were excited at the beginning, fooling ourselves into believing the recitation of names of people we don’t know for four hours could be a scintillating experience, and watching Brady Quinn lose millions of dollars every 15 minutes kept our interest for a while too. But once he was drafted, we were out of steam and ready to watch, you know, actual sporting events where people run and jump and move around.
• The NFL Network’s coverage — we were fortunate enough to be outside New York City, where we could actually watch the network — was infinitely superior to the ESPN coverage. Frankly, it wasn’t even close; the little “Team Needs” graphic at the bottom of the screen was oddly mesmerizing.
• That said, had we not watched ESPN’s telecast, we would have never had the opportunity to stare, mouth agape, at whatever the hell has happened to Steve Young’s face.
• We received a pained text message from our man Mr. Daulerio after the Eagles traded up to pick that obscure quarterback in the second round. (”Reid has gotten into his son’s heroin!”) Eagles fans seem confused, but that’s nothing new.
A byproduct of the supposedly middling, uninspiring champions of the last year — the Colts, the Cardinals, the Heat — is the collapse to level soil the next season. A team that overachieves in the postseason one year is likely to return to equilibrium the next. We’ll see what happens with the Colts, but you’re seeing it with the Cardinals this year, and you definitely saw it with with the Heat’s four-game sweep at the hands of the Bulls. It seems strange to even imagine that a defending champ could go down so meekly, let alone one with Dwyane Wade and Shaquille O’Neal.
Chicago had only five turnovers. The Bulls essentially got out of the way and waited for the champs to fall on their face. Rarely has a defense of a basketball championship been this weak, embarrassing and short-lived. It is an unprecedented failure on O’Neal’s resume. ‘’One of the most miserable experiences a man will ever have,'’ Riley said.
So this time, the final image wasn’t of Wade joyfully tossing the basketball toward the heavens and unleashing a basketball celebration unlike any this town had ever seen. This time, Wade was pulled out early and given a grieving hug by Riley and pity applause from the crowd after getting the ball stolen from him yet again.
Meanwhile, Bruce Willis drunkenly led his Nets to a commanding 3-1, and we won’t have to hear many stories about Kobe for much longer. Shame, too: We hope he goes for 100 in the elimination game, just for giggles.
We are sad to report to Action Movie Star Bruce Willis that just because the television station interviewing you is Canadian doesn’t mean you can’t start throwing out your handy R-rated movie catchphrases, no matter how blasted you are.
It is pleasing, however, to see that Bruce can make a new friend, and harangue him on national television. Well, Canadian television, anyway.
As we await the inevitable Bill Simmons column about this — Five Tool Tool 
We here at Deadspin are proud to announce 
Like most football fans, we watched the first round of the 
A byproduct of the supposedly middling, uninspiring champions of the last year — the Colts, the Cardinals, the Heat — is the collapse to level soil the next season. A team that overachieves in the postseason one year is likely to return to equilibrium the next. We’ll see what happens with the Colts, but you’re seeing it with the Cardinals this year, and you definitely saw it with 