This is my 100th post of Moderately Cerebral Bias on Blogger, so I figured I'd give you a chance to tell me what you liked and didn't like about the first 100. Shoot your mouth off in the comment section or send me an e-mail; what types of posts were your favorites?
I was quite inspired by the William Wesley story on TrueHoop. William Wesley is...oh, go read the link first, too hard to explain here.
Anyway, if you don't recall, Jesus Plays Sports is a series where I apply some Christian worldview/thought on an issue of sports. William Wesley intrigued me because of two abilities that I found noteworthy. He has become wealthy and well-regarded because he serves others and doesn't ask for anything for himself. "Worldwise Wes" also excels at finding talented people at their most humble points and then growing with them as they grow. Now, before you read the rest of this; William Wesley is not a role model per se. However, I'm going to have a "White Hat" approach in writing this blog.
William Wesley's servant attitude has turned him into a leader for very wealthy, athletic basketball players. Read the article in GQ; note how LBJ, an occasionally cocky young man, speaks of WW with so much respect. I find this intriguing because I see Jesus' recommendation that "Whoever wants to become great among you must become the least" and think "How is that possible?" How can one become a leader by being a servant? Well, there's an intriguing story that Jesus tells about a steward who uses his position of power to do favors for lots of his friends when he is about to be fired. The idea of the story is that by your generosity, you can create a network of friends and people who will then take care of you when you have needs; Jesus then relates that spiritually.
That's exactly what WW has done; by serving athletes and entertainers, he has now gained a network of favors that he can selectively tap. Note, for example, how WW is able to call Jay-Z and Beyonce on the spot to talk to Leandro. You can bet that happened only because WW had served Jay-Z in the past and thus earned the right to call on Jay-Z for an occasional favor. When you serve first and then ask later, you have earned the right to be heard. Of course, the challenge such a person has is not to smack around people who take and take and never give back, ha.
I could see this working for sports blogs, too. If you constantly supply more popular blogs with story material that they desperately need to keep up with their 4+ posts per day cycle, guess what? When you want a link for your blog, they are going to give you one, just to keep your flow of stories going. If you comment on other sites and help make someone else's blog better, then they will be more open to your requests as well. Another example of this perspective is Deadspin; I really think Will Leitch's allowing comments on his posts and letting some of his readers get some of the credit on the site was a gutsy gamble. By allowing others to be funny on his material, even possibly at his expense, the blog became a lot better. Now true, not just ANYONE could comment, but it still was a risk.
The other part of William Wesley's story that I find inspiring is his ability to grow with his clients. It's not hard to impress a 15-year-old Lebron James, but it is difficult to impress the multimillionaire 22-year old Lebron James. In addition, William Wesley has managed to keep Allen Iverson in line, and you know that can't be by cracking the whip on him. After that initial contact with the athlete when they were teens, William Wesley has been able to continue solving clients' problems at a very high level even as his clients grow in wealth and ability.
A criticism that many 20-somethings level (fairly, I'm afraid) at churches is that the church is not growing with the person. Games that were "super-cool!" when you are 15 aren't so cool when you're 25. Unless a religious worldview can grow and meet needs at all stages of life, including those of single people in their 20's and 30's, what good is it? That is the real test, and WW has managed to master the test and make it look easy. My hat's off to him, and I hope I can be as hard-working and talented in achieving my goals as WorldWide Wes.
Showing posts with label White Hat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label White Hat. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Blatant Bias: Brett Favre and the Slacker Green Bay Front Office
Don Banksand Jemele Hill both recently slammed Favre for getting involved in the GM side of the business. I have a lot of respect for both of them, but I think they both messed up this time. Yes, Brett Favre is not a GM and shouldn't be trying to do other people's jobs...unless they aren't doing their jobs!
Since Ron Wolf left Green Bay, the front office has signed no significant free agents (unless you count Tim Couch?!?!) and made no real moves outside of the draft. I don't know if they are afraid to spend money or what, but they have done nothing in the last few years. Yes, it's tempting to blast Brett because of all the hero-worship he's gotten in the decade since his Super Bowl win, but shoot him for the right reasons. I like Don and Jemele's writing usually, but I think they didn't do their homework this time.
Since Ron Wolf left Green Bay, the front office has signed no significant free agents (unless you count Tim Couch?!?!) and made no real moves outside of the draft. I don't know if they are afraid to spend money or what, but they have done nothing in the last few years. Yes, it's tempting to blast Brett because of all the hero-worship he's gotten in the decade since his Super Bowl win, but shoot him for the right reasons. I like Don and Jemele's writing usually, but I think they didn't do their homework this time.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Guest Bloggolalia
can be found here. I actually (gasp) went back and edited my text on that post after I wrote it. I might have to try that again sometime, heh, it seems to help.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Tribute: San Antonio, Part 2
Now for San Antonio's other team that perhaps 99% of you have never heard of, the WNBA Silver Stars. They recently acquired two players who have worked hard to get more playing time. While many a snarky female might argue that being blond and reasonably attractive is a huge career asset, it's no guarantee that you'll start in the WNBA. Just ask Becky Hammon or Erin Buescher.
Becky Hammon came to the New York Liberty in 1999 from a relatively unheralded women's program at Colorado State University. Her statistical profile is here. She finally became a starter and fan favorite in New York after 5 years in the league. Becky even had a local restaurant name a sandwich after her. (Hammon, Cheese, and Egg was the name.) Yes, it's a life ambition of mine to have a sandwich named after me, and I'm fearfully envious. No MCBias Bagel? It's because I'm not 5'6" and blond, and can't shoot over 20% from 3-point land, isn't it? Stupid Title IX! (Picture from BeckyHammon.com).
Anyway, she was traded to the Silver Stars on draft day, so we can look forward to the Hammon Tortilla sometime soon. I don't have pictures of Becky in San Antonio gear, but here's a picture of her fighting for the ball to remind you that basketball is a contact sport:
Erin Buescher is a free-spirited individual who loves Bible study, surfing, and reggae. She decided to leave her Division I program at Santa Barbara in college to transfer to the Master's College, a small NAIA school, for her senior year. You would think that such a step would kill her chances at the WNBA. And her stats were those of a substitute for her first four years. She was trapped in Greece in 2006, on a team that didn't care about basketball, with her career in the WNBA perhaps ending. But instead of giving up, she decided to work on her body and her game. And it certainly paid off! (thanks to the good folks at RebKell's for the initial screen grab and info, see here for details.
Oh, and she won WNBA Most Improved player in 2006. Whatever. I'm still thinking about how hard I'd have to work out to get abs like that. Um, wait, do I even still have abs? (pokes at belly in vain for signs of abdominal muscles).
And now she too is a Silver Star, signed as a free agent. It will be interesting to see if Erin and Becky can improve their games even more in their new location, or if they've peaked as athletes. Regardless, even if they don't do much else, they've definitely shown great improvement since their rookie seasons.
Becky Hammon came to the New York Liberty in 1999 from a relatively unheralded women's program at Colorado State University. Her statistical profile is here. She finally became a starter and fan favorite in New York after 5 years in the league. Becky even had a local restaurant name a sandwich after her. (Hammon, Cheese, and Egg was the name.) Yes, it's a life ambition of mine to have a sandwich named after me, and I'm fearfully envious. No MCBias Bagel? It's because I'm not 5'6" and blond, and can't shoot over 20% from 3-point land, isn't it? Stupid Title IX! (Picture from BeckyHammon.com).
Anyway, she was traded to the Silver Stars on draft day, so we can look forward to the Hammon Tortilla sometime soon. I don't have pictures of Becky in San Antonio gear, but here's a picture of her fighting for the ball to remind you that basketball is a contact sport:
Erin Buescher is a free-spirited individual who loves Bible study, surfing, and reggae. She decided to leave her Division I program at Santa Barbara in college to transfer to the Master's College, a small NAIA school, for her senior year. You would think that such a step would kill her chances at the WNBA. And her stats were those of a substitute for her first four years. She was trapped in Greece in 2006, on a team that didn't care about basketball, with her career in the WNBA perhaps ending. But instead of giving up, she decided to work on her body and her game. And it certainly paid off! (thanks to the good folks at RebKell's for the initial screen grab and info, see here for details.
Oh, and she won WNBA Most Improved player in 2006. Whatever. I'm still thinking about how hard I'd have to work out to get abs like that. Um, wait, do I even still have abs? (pokes at belly in vain for signs of abdominal muscles).
And now she too is a Silver Star, signed as a free agent. It will be interesting to see if Erin and Becky can improve their games even more in their new location, or if they've peaked as athletes. Regardless, even if they don't do much else, they've definitely shown great improvement since their rookie seasons.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Tribute: San Antonio is Esperanto for "Hard Work"
So I may have made up the Esperanto part. Forgive the home-spun hooey for a moment, but I personally want to make sure to write some positive articles after the black hat posts of the last two weeks. This will hopefully be a more than one-and-done feature on giving respect where it's due. By the way, San Antonio is named after the Portugese saint "Anthony of Padua"; I had always wondered where it got its name from, and now I know.
San Antonio has but two sports teams that I know of; the San Antonio Spurs (men's basketball) and the San Antonio Silver Stars (women's basketball). This post is written to praise the Spurs.
Photo available for purchase here.
Tim: You know, Tony, in this country it is traditional for rookies to allow veterans to punch them in the nose. It's how you become a part of the Spurs' family. You want to be part of our family, right?
Tony: Um...I guess so.
Manu: (laughs, remembers falling for this last year)
As for the Spurs, I respect their star players for making themselves into stars despite what appeared to be a lack of physical gifts. Tim Duncan was born in the US Virgin Islands and hoped to be a swimmer. Although he did have the advantage of height, he was no hotly sought after recruit. As I recall (according to Feinstein's book on the ACC in 1996? or so), Wake Forest's coach was lucky to find him.
Tony Parker is a short man in a country not known for its NBA stars (Frederick Weis, anyone?). Manu Ginobili is not particularly tall, fast, or high-jumping for his position, and is from Argentina. All three came to the US from very different areas of the world and became champions through their hard work.
Yes, their style of play may not be as visually attractive as that of some teams, but their ruthless consistency in performance is admirable. I know someone else must have noticed this somewhere (I couldn't find it via Google), but I believe they have to be considered as the first team made up of international stars to capture the NBA championship. (No, only Olajuwon, not Sam Cassell, counts as international from those mid-90's Rockets teams, ha.)
I don't know if the Spurs can win the title this year, but it would shock few people if the number sequence 1999,2003,2005,? ends in 2007. It's a good sign that in their win over Phoenix recently, Tim Duncan put up a 4X5 game (5 or more assists, blocks, rebounds, and points) despite only being 2 of 9 from the line. If TD has enough in the tank, San Antonio may yet acquire their fourth title in the last decade.
San Antonio has but two sports teams that I know of; the San Antonio Spurs (men's basketball) and the San Antonio Silver Stars (women's basketball). This post is written to praise the Spurs.
Photo available for purchase here. 
Tim: You know, Tony, in this country it is traditional for rookies to allow veterans to punch them in the nose. It's how you become a part of the Spurs' family. You want to be part of our family, right?
Tony: Um...I guess so.
Manu: (laughs, remembers falling for this last year)
As for the Spurs, I respect their star players for making themselves into stars despite what appeared to be a lack of physical gifts. Tim Duncan was born in the US Virgin Islands and hoped to be a swimmer. Although he did have the advantage of height, he was no hotly sought after recruit. As I recall (according to Feinstein's book on the ACC in 1996? or so), Wake Forest's coach was lucky to find him.
Tony Parker is a short man in a country not known for its NBA stars (Frederick Weis, anyone?). Manu Ginobili is not particularly tall, fast, or high-jumping for his position, and is from Argentina. All three came to the US from very different areas of the world and became champions through their hard work.
Yes, their style of play may not be as visually attractive as that of some teams, but their ruthless consistency in performance is admirable. I know someone else must have noticed this somewhere (I couldn't find it via Google), but I believe they have to be considered as the first team made up of international stars to capture the NBA championship. (No, only Olajuwon, not Sam Cassell, counts as international from those mid-90's Rockets teams, ha.)
I don't know if the Spurs can win the title this year, but it would shock few people if the number sequence 1999,2003,2005,? ends in 2007. It's a good sign that in their win over Phoenix recently, Tim Duncan put up a 4X5 game (5 or more assists, blocks, rebounds, and points) despite only being 2 of 9 from the line. If TD has enough in the tank, San Antonio may yet acquire their fourth title in the last decade.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Guest Bias: The Short And Happy Life of a Royals Middle Reliever
So you let a guy post a guest blog, and he thinks he knows what he's talking about. Ted Bauer is back for more punishment. He maintains a decent blog A Price Above Bip Roberts , but he tends to go a bit overboard on some of his claims. For example, he seems to think - in contrast to my ever-so-eloquent Benchwarmers post of Monday - that the life of a benchwarmer is all sunshine and lollipops, specifically when you play on a bad team. He also seemed to think, back at the beginning of the week, that the BoSox would shatter the spirits of the Royals off the proverbial bat. Er, that didn't happen. Check his rants, penned Sunday, then let him know just how wrong he is.
When I sat down to write something for my associate MC Bias, I started out with a meandering, poetic essay on "what baseball means to the American soul," peppered with a few references to Jim Nantz's place in the sports culture this week. I realized it pretty much sucked, and who could give a rat's ass what I think about baseball's place in our hearts?
I scrapped that in favor of something on Joe Torre, because I firmly believe this is probably his last year at River Avenue, but then I realized there are far more interesting, informed surveyors of Joe Torre's time in the Bronx, so I scrapped that.
I needed something, though. I mean, at the time the Mets game is 6-1, I was Instant Messenging with a girl I knew in high school in a futile effort to get some and slowly realizing she basically has a boyfriend, and I had little else to kill my time. Then it hit me: a diary. An Opening Day Diary of a Royals middle reliever.
In stark contrast to Mr. Bias, I used to tell people back when that I think the ultimate dream job would be Kansas City Royals middle reliever. You make the league minimum, which automatically makes you richer than half of America; then, you basically get paid to plug holes. See, playing for KC in this day and age, you're almost never going to enter a meaningful situation. Either the starter got absolutely rained down upon, and you're on the short side of a 7-1 game, or you're mopping up something, or you're bridging to a closer no one really thinks can close in a game everyone expects you to lose.
Basically, you make a lot of money to travel around the United States for a summer, telling girls you play professional baseball, seeing a lot of ballparks, working maybe 100 innings, and never really having a lot of responsibility. Sure, I mean, I bet the losing gets grating after a while, but doesn't the pressure of winning too?
If I were a KC middle reliever, here's how my day would look tomorrow:
11:45am
Arrive at ballpark. Exchange pleasantries with groundscrew and other assorted personnel I haven't seen for a while. Old Man Morty, one of the clubhouse guys, says to me, "I really think this is the year!" I smile and say, "Totally." I'm so full of crap, it's unbelievable. Providing false hope to a man close to the grave should be punishable with something horrible. Instead, I'm removing a paperback copy of the latest James Baldacci novel from my duffel bag. I'll be reading this by the 4th.
11:48am
Some of the dudes arrive. We, too, exchange pleasantries. Someone yelps, "Who the hell are we playing today, anyway?"
12:02pm
Jersey'ed up - I sometimes think the KC jersey is embedded with a sweet stench of failure that high-quality free agents can smell, like one of those dog whistle kind of deals - I take the field at Kauffman. A few VIPs are milling about, and some hardcore fans. I take my first deep breath of the spring. Nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning.
12:40pm
I'm limbering up playing catch with a few guys in the outfield. A fan asks for my autograph. "Any idea who I am?" I ask. "None," he admits. "But you're wearing the jersey." Imagine if it was really that easy in other professions to become revered. "Do you know what accounts I manage?" "Not a clue, but you're wearing the suit."
1:10pm
David Ortiz walks around the batting cages with Manny Ramirez. They take a few practice hacks. I'm pretty sure one of them landed by Bill Self's toupee over in Lawrence. I turn to my brethren and mouth, "Oh crap." They are just staring straight ahead.
2:00pm
I'm up in the bullpen now, sitting around and not doing much of anything. Meche, who we're calling "Millions" until he bloodies one of us at a bar later this week, is throwing around. Me and the guys are scoping out a few females slowly filing into the bleacher area. "Think this year will be better than last, overall?" one asks. The bullpen catcher chimes in with a new question: "Best road trip of the past season?" I vote for Seattle, which pleases Millions. "I was making out with this girl at this tiki bar," I begin, before the pitching coach shows up. I quickly halt my story. He glares at me, then smiles. "It's Opening Day, baby," he intones. "Nothing like that."
2:02pm
I see a fan with a paper bag on his dome. Nothing like it.
3:48pm
Millions is tossing his final practice pitches near us. I've cracked the Baldacci book already - we were on the field too early - and am already near the beginning of Chapter 2. One of the guys is starting his first Hot Foot of the season, aiming for the bullpen catcher as a target. A few girls have winked or waved ("The Essential Ws," as we call it) down at us already. Millions looks nervous. "Hey Millions," I bellow, drawing a glare. "Don't sweat the small stuff out there, you know? No one expects anything." He stares at the ground, then looks back at me as if to say something, then stares back at the ground. "It's KC, baby," I finish. A good middle reliever can always get the last word, because when else does he? "If it ain't BBQ, it don't matter." Millions smiles and begins his trot to the dugout.
4:05pm
National Anthem is gearing up; I'm wondering if they'd let me take a laptop out here. I'm then wondering if Kauffman is wired for WiFi. I wonder if it would be a seminal moment of my career if I took a "wireless dump" in the bullpen of Kauffman. This Baldacci book isn't too well paced; once we sit down, I'm headed to my bullpen bag for some US Weekly. I heard there's an article about Katie Holmes and Chris Klein's torrid sexual history together, and it possibly being rekindled. That's some good stuff.
When I sat down to write something for my associate MC Bias, I started out with a meandering, poetic essay on "what baseball means to the American soul," peppered with a few references to Jim Nantz's place in the sports culture this week. I realized it pretty much sucked, and who could give a rat's ass what I think about baseball's place in our hearts?
I scrapped that in favor of something on Joe Torre, because I firmly believe this is probably his last year at River Avenue, but then I realized there are far more interesting, informed surveyors of Joe Torre's time in the Bronx, so I scrapped that.
I needed something, though. I mean, at the time the Mets game is 6-1, I was Instant Messenging with a girl I knew in high school in a futile effort to get some and slowly realizing she basically has a boyfriend, and I had little else to kill my time. Then it hit me: a diary. An Opening Day Diary of a Royals middle reliever.
In stark contrast to Mr. Bias, I used to tell people back when that I think the ultimate dream job would be Kansas City Royals middle reliever. You make the league minimum, which automatically makes you richer than half of America; then, you basically get paid to plug holes. See, playing for KC in this day and age, you're almost never going to enter a meaningful situation. Either the starter got absolutely rained down upon, and you're on the short side of a 7-1 game, or you're mopping up something, or you're bridging to a closer no one really thinks can close in a game everyone expects you to lose.
Basically, you make a lot of money to travel around the United States for a summer, telling girls you play professional baseball, seeing a lot of ballparks, working maybe 100 innings, and never really having a lot of responsibility. Sure, I mean, I bet the losing gets grating after a while, but doesn't the pressure of winning too?
If I were a KC middle reliever, here's how my day would look tomorrow:
11:45am
Arrive at ballpark. Exchange pleasantries with groundscrew and other assorted personnel I haven't seen for a while. Old Man Morty, one of the clubhouse guys, says to me, "I really think this is the year!" I smile and say, "Totally." I'm so full of crap, it's unbelievable. Providing false hope to a man close to the grave should be punishable with something horrible. Instead, I'm removing a paperback copy of the latest James Baldacci novel from my duffel bag. I'll be reading this by the 4th.
11:48am
Some of the dudes arrive. We, too, exchange pleasantries. Someone yelps, "Who the hell are we playing today, anyway?"
12:02pm
Jersey'ed up - I sometimes think the KC jersey is embedded with a sweet stench of failure that high-quality free agents can smell, like one of those dog whistle kind of deals - I take the field at Kauffman. A few VIPs are milling about, and some hardcore fans. I take my first deep breath of the spring. Nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning.
12:40pm
I'm limbering up playing catch with a few guys in the outfield. A fan asks for my autograph. "Any idea who I am?" I ask. "None," he admits. "But you're wearing the jersey." Imagine if it was really that easy in other professions to become revered. "Do you know what accounts I manage?" "Not a clue, but you're wearing the suit."
1:10pm
David Ortiz walks around the batting cages with Manny Ramirez. They take a few practice hacks. I'm pretty sure one of them landed by Bill Self's toupee over in Lawrence. I turn to my brethren and mouth, "Oh crap." They are just staring straight ahead.
2:00pm
I'm up in the bullpen now, sitting around and not doing much of anything. Meche, who we're calling "Millions" until he bloodies one of us at a bar later this week, is throwing around. Me and the guys are scoping out a few females slowly filing into the bleacher area. "Think this year will be better than last, overall?" one asks. The bullpen catcher chimes in with a new question: "Best road trip of the past season?" I vote for Seattle, which pleases Millions. "I was making out with this girl at this tiki bar," I begin, before the pitching coach shows up. I quickly halt my story. He glares at me, then smiles. "It's Opening Day, baby," he intones. "Nothing like that."
2:02pm
I see a fan with a paper bag on his dome. Nothing like it.
3:48pm
Millions is tossing his final practice pitches near us. I've cracked the Baldacci book already - we were on the field too early - and am already near the beginning of Chapter 2. One of the guys is starting his first Hot Foot of the season, aiming for the bullpen catcher as a target. A few girls have winked or waved ("The Essential Ws," as we call it) down at us already. Millions looks nervous. "Hey Millions," I bellow, drawing a glare. "Don't sweat the small stuff out there, you know? No one expects anything." He stares at the ground, then looks back at me as if to say something, then stares back at the ground. "It's KC, baby," I finish. A good middle reliever can always get the last word, because when else does he? "If it ain't BBQ, it don't matter." Millions smiles and begins his trot to the dugout.
4:05pm
National Anthem is gearing up; I'm wondering if they'd let me take a laptop out here. I'm then wondering if Kauffman is wired for WiFi. I wonder if it would be a seminal moment of my career if I took a "wireless dump" in the bullpen of Kauffman. This Baldacci book isn't too well paced; once we sit down, I'm headed to my bullpen bag for some US Weekly. I heard there's an article about Katie Holmes and Chris Klein's torrid sexual history together, and it possibly being rekindled. That's some good stuff.
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