Jerry Rice, Patrick Ewing, Rickey Henderson, Rich Gossage, Horace Grant, Chuck Person. Seattle has a long and proud history of signing aging stars late in their careers. The results have been anything but stellar. Ewing delivered his lowest career shooting and free throw percentage in a Sonics uniform, a 42-year-old Rice reeled in just 3 TDs in 11 games for the otherwise efficient 2004 Seahawks.
Today we extend that pround heritage by bringing on Terrell Owens, 38. Only time will tell where he ranks in the pantheon of Seattle greats, but Paul Allen has given him only a one-year vote of confidence.
One meaningful stat comes via ESPN, which notes that only one receiver over 35 last year had at least 20 catches. Owens is also known to be cancerous to locker rooms and couldn’t even hold on to his arena league post last season. Nonetheless, we Seattleites haven’t seen in a long time passion like he exhibited in Dallas when defending QB Tony Romo.
Here’s hoping the naysayers are being really unfair to Owens.
In 1986, the Atlanta Braves did away with their longtime mascot Chief Noc-A-Homa. It wasn’t over the fact that a man who lives in a teepee in the outfield and emerges to dance after home runs is offensive to Native Americans. It was over a contract dispute.
The Chief had been a staple of the Braves since their last decade in Milwaukee. Now, Atlanta scuzz rockers the Black Lips have penned the song “Noc-A-Homa” about the once beloved mascot and the possible hard times he’s had over the past 26 years since he’s been out of a job. It’s a fantastically catchy track and, in a way, a bit of a redemption story (at least in the video). And, of course, it’s a nostalgia trip for longtime Braves fans.
Oddly enough, it debuts a mere four days before the 29th anniversary of the Braves temporarily pulling Chief Noc-A-Homa out of his left field perch in 1983 to make room for more seats for fans. The Braves promptly lost 19 of their next 21 games, and the mascot along with his teepee was restored.
Ichiro Suzuki, the last remaining link to the Mariners’ magical 2001 season, has moved on. And with him to the Yankees goes the apparently dreadful stench of success, anathema to the Mariners’ front office wizards.
Left behind are a patchwork of also-rans, never-rans and coulda-rans. Soft-hitting Dustin Ackley, Carlos Peguero and Michael Saunders aren’t likely to pack the Safeco stands. And what’s to bring fans to the Mariners store once the marked down Ichiro jerseys are sold out other than Felix Hernandez memorabilia. He’ll undoubtedly start pressing for a trade of his own soon.
J.P. Patches Was 84
“I am going from a team with the most losses to a team with the most wins,” Ichiro said, “so I am not able to contain my excitement in that regard.”
Not that Ichiro was pulling $90 million worth of weight anymore. Batting a mere .261, he is off-pace to crack 200 hits again and is responsible for just 28 runs batted in.
We’ll have DJ Mitchell and Danny Farquhar to look forward to, hardly household names and hardly intimidating pitchers. Mitchell has a dominating 5.04 ERA in Scranton/Wilkes Barre, while hot potato Farquhar has eked out 2 wins in 5 decisions for Toronto, Oakland and New York this season for a respectable 3.33 ERA.
Adding in the untimely death of J.P. Patches this week, Seattle just can’t seem to get a break.
I just got back from the sports bar, where I watched the Braves claw back from a 9-0 deficit to Stephen Strasburg and the Washington Nationals. I don’t know what to say. But, that was phenomenal.
It’s a wonderful day to be a sports fan. Even an Atlanta sports fan.
First the good news. With a mini win streak going against the Royals — read: two games — the Mariners have ascended to merely second worst in the American League. The M’s also aren’t dead last in the Major Leagues in batting average (29th) or slugging percentage (28th).
The bad news, they are still a dreadful team that IS dead last in on-base percentage. Our best everyday hitter is batting .259 and our star of the future Justin Smoak is a mere point above the Mendoza line.
Marshawn Lynch poses for a familiar camera
Oh, and Seahags running back Marshawn Lynch was just arrested for driving under the influence, after nearly plowing his Ford Econoline van into two other cars in Oakland. He’s scheduled for trial August 14, just days after the Hawks’ first preseason game. Not a good thing for Seattle football fans and definitely not a good thing for Lynch.
Na na na na. Na na na na. Hey, hey, hey. Goodbye! Later sk8ters.
It’s July 4th, the day that each year our nation celebrates its independence from British rule. This year, I’m dedicating this holiday to the newly minted general manager of the National Basketball Association team from my hometown. This one’s for you, Danny Ferry—for authoring a declaration of independence from toxic contracts that threatened to mire the Atlanta Hawks in mediocrity for the foreseeable future. I’ve decided to give you a pass on your Duke bona fides and anoint you the title of “possible savior,” which I reserve the right to either shorten to “savior” or pull from you entirely at any time.
Ferry worked not one, but two miracles on July 2nd—at the tail end of his first week on the job. He traded the inflated contract of team star Joe Johnson to the New Jersey Brooklyn Nets, who were desperate for star power, for a fleet “who gives a shit?” that will all be off the books in a year’s time. That positions the Hawks to make a run at some simply delectable possible free agents, including Dwight Howard, Chris Paul, and Andrew Bynum. It also just offers the Hawks some flexibility and allows them to build around a younger nucleus starring Josh Smith and/or Al Horford.
It’s not that Johnson was bad. He was the team’s best player and a regular All-Star. But, he tended to disappear in the playoffs and didn’t endear himself to the fanbase (or whatever was left of it since its peak in the early-1990s). But, he had the richest contract in the game and was, at best, a third tier star. The math didn’t work, and with him on board, the Hawks were destined to be the fourth or fifth seed in the playoffs yearly, crashing out in the first or second round.
That’s not it, though. He also evicted another albatross who was unjustly flying with the Hawks: Marvin Williams. It wasn’t so much that Marvin Williams was terrible. Were he a mid-first round pick who materialized into a reliable rotation player, he’d have been much appreciated. But, he was picked 2nd overall, ahead of Chris Paul, Deron Williams, Andrew Bynum, and Danny Granger. This, despite the fact that he never started a game during his only year at UNC. He was dealt to the Utah Jazz straight up for Devin Harris, who is also entering a contract year.
Look, the result of these moves is the Hawks grab one of the last tickets to the playoffs and crash out in Round 1, probably getting swept by the Heat. But, the future—beyond next year—is looking bright.
All season I’ve been singing the praises of the Twins whose futility has kept the Mariners out of the American League cellar. No more.
With a loss yesterday to the A’s, the Mariners (.413) are officially the worst team in the AL. They couldn’t muster a single run behind a stellar performance from Erasmo Ramirez who fanned 10 and allowed just three hits over eight innings.
“We’ve just got to get to the point where every area of our club is clicking at the same time,” Manager Eric Wedge said. “We couldn’t put an inning together. We had some good swings on the ball tonight, but we didn’t put an inning together.”
Make that 23, Eric. That’s how many innings it’s been since the Mariners scored their last run. Let me repeat that, not one run in 23 innings. They’ve also lost 5 of 6 to the Padres (.365), the second worst team in all of baseball.
Well, at least the Astros are worse (.411) and they’ll be joining the AL West next year.
The Seattle Seahawks were dinged by the NFL yesterday after overpracticing. Yeah, overpracticing. Only the Seahawks could excessively practice and still inspire so little fear in their foes. The NFL said Coach Pete Carroll allowed too much contact in recent practices, a violation of collective bargaining rules.
But Carroll had a reasonable explanation: “It wasn’t, you know, play after play after play. It was a few plays that stood out where guys made mistakes trying too hard and competing too much.” That’s the first time I’ve heard the boys in blue and neon green accused of overcompeting.
The Hawks will pay the price, with the league yanking two practices from them this week as punishment. Will the players rest too hard too?
I suppose the Hawks loss last night could be explained if the players were standing around checking the elastic in their waistbands (rather than playing, you know, basketball).
I should send a couple of my friends a fruit basket for scheduling a rock show last night. A trip to the Mercury Lounge precluded me from watching whatever the Hawks were doing last night when they should have been playing basketball.
There’s something about Atlanta sports teams and the playoffs—be it three straight no-shows by the Falcons upon reaching the promised land, the Braves epic redistribution of their virtually assured trip last year, or the Hawks seemingly perennial first round nail-biter followed by prompt second round exit (if the nail-biting doesn’t get them initially). I’d say it’s like Lebron’s fear of the clutch or the Buffalo’s fear of the Vince Lombardi trophy, but I think you can make a case that Atlanta’s anxiety come playoff-time is unparalleled.
This year, the tenants of The Highlight Factory, a team that’s so obviously flawed but remarkably competent at times, have pushed themselves to the precipice of defeat where just a week ago they sat in what any casual basketball viewer would call The Catbird Seat.
Having attempted to surrender a 19-point lead in Game 1, the Hawks caught a lucky break when a questionable call caused Celtics point guard/best player/dicey piece to build around Rajon Rondo to chest bump an unsuspecting ref. Game to Hawks. Game 2 would be Rondo-less. No matter, let’s exhume Paul Pierce in his prime and let the spectre snatch a Hawks defeat from the jaws of victory. Following a reasonable loss in OT without the services of the mercurial (but recently consistent) Josh Smith, the Hawks seemed poised to have a shot at evening the series at 2s with the return of arguably their best player, Al Horford, after a four-month absence necessitated by a torn pectoral muscle.
Shame on you, Larry Drew, for having poor, out of playing shape Horford contribute to the odious display of Washington Generals-style basketball last night. The Hawks trailed by almost 40 points at certain moments of last night’s “contest”—which I gather, thankfully, from others’ eyewitness accounts of the goings-on. (Lowlights below.)
This team wins, when it does, in spite of itself. It needs to be blown up. Keep Horford. Everyone else is expendable. Well, except for Joe Johnson. We’re stuck with that third tier All Star for the remainder of the contract Lebron should have signed with the Cavs. Do you think JJ texts Rashard Lewis and Eddie Curry weekly to thank them for keeping him from being an NBA punchline? Maybe he just keeps Marvin Williams close, since the former Tar Heel is an even better of example of a “what the hell was your GM thinking?”-type move.
Basketball, I hate you for giving me this sad sack of also-rans to root for. This is a franchise that in the last decade has one claim to fame: Tumbling into the 2008 playoffs as an 8 seed with a .451 winning percentage and then taking the 1 seed and eventual champion Celtics to seven games. Interestingly, every game the Hawks lost in that series was by 19 or more points. The Hawks specialize in laying playoff eggs.
Colorado Rockies starting pitcher and animated baseball fossil Jamie Moyer accused Larry Wayne of stealing signs when he was on second base in top of the fifth inning of Saturday’s game in Denver. The Braves would end up winning 13-9—though that seemed to provide Chipper with little comfort when he was confronted by the press with Moyer’s accusations.
My favorite line: “I tell you what, the next time we face them I’ll stand with my back to him, and see what he says then. What’s his excuse going to be when he gives it up then? I mean, dude, we don’t need signs, especially for him. I mean, my goodness, every pitch is 78 [mph]. Come on.”
coming up small 