Gekko's Breakfast
Feb 13
The Brett Pack
If you think you know cheese you’d better think again. Green Bay, Wisconsin, is the beginning, the middle, and the end, when it comes to our favourite dairy product. Put it this way – if you’re from this town and you don’t like cheese, people will look at you funny, point and nudge when you walk past them. Bit like when you tell people that you live in Milton Keynes. Or if someone finds out that you own an Backstreet Boys – Live! album. Only worse.
And if you’re a Wisconsian (I appreciate this may not be an actual word) and you don’t like the Packers – Green Bay’s other famous offering – then you’re just plain weird. Lots of teams try to blag it, but the Pack is a genuinely legendary NFL franchise.
For starters, the championship trophy that all 32 teams aim to get their grubby little mitts on every year is named after one of their own – Vince Lombardi, their former head coach, and winner of five championships during the 50’s and 60’s. You know you’ve made it when people with fancy titles decide to name things after you and in Lombardi’s case, they didn’t stop there, and also went for a street, a square, a school, an award for college players, hell even a steakhouse. It’s possible the town’s dignitaries got hammered and went crazy with Google Map to end up with that list, but whichever way you (cheese) cut it, it’s a legacy with a capital L.
Speaking of legacy, another favourite Green Bay son is the NFL’s leader in almost every passing record going, the great, and recently much maligned Brett Favre.
Here’s a man so confident in his all round awesomeness that he decided to retire and come back to the game 419 times. The “will he, won’t he” merry go round in every off season for the past 7 years became so collapsing-in-on-itself post modernist, that if it was a plotline David Lynch would have dismissed it as “too confusing. And a bit weird.”
In 2008, after playing his entire career for the Packers, Favre quit in the glare of the national media again, then decided he wanted back in. No change there then. He figured that the same shtick he’d pulled for the previous few years – quit at a tearful press conference, then right before the season was due to start have a change of heart – would work again. Except this time: it didn’t. The Packers moved on, closed the door on Favre, backed a young unproven guy with a promising mullet (Aaron Rodgers) and rode of into the sunset. At this stage, a shell-shocked Favre carried most of the public’s sympathy – crucially in Green Bay too.
Head bowed, he moved to the New York Jets, did reasonably well for a while, then was quite pants, retired again, and then came back again. Phew. Except this time, Brett didn’t go back the Pack. Or the Jets for that matter. He joined the Vikings of Minnesota. Remember that public sympathy and Green Bay lurrve I mentioned a moment ago? Yea, about that.
The Premier League equation is something like this:
Gary Neville (+ 44% more talent) joining Liverpool (x) Steven Gerrard lifting FA Cup for Man Utd = Brett Favre joining the Minnesota Vikings.
And what’s more, rubbing salt in the wounds of the Pack fans who had revered him for years, then mourned his passing, he played well. Really well. The Vikes almost made the Super Bowl. It was as close to a Hollywood blockbuster as a Peter Jackson directed Tom Hanks vehicle co-starring Colin Firth, George Clooney & the dog from K-9 in a comeback role.
Predictably, Favre (almost) retired again but came back for one last dance. Guess it was a little like those moments in life when you know the Jagerbombs are a bad idea but you just roll with it anyway. Favre coming back this year was a disaster with severe physical consequences and was more beaten up than a $40 a show jobbing no holds barred wrestler gigging out of Flower Mound, TX. It was sad to watch. The occasional bullet notwithstanding, it was a little bit like watching the outcome of your Dad standing up drunk at Christmas lunch and shouting “I’m gonna go play some NFL” and heading down, suited up, to Heinz Field.
And here’s the thing: because of this dramatic, almost pathetic fall, no one in Green Bay knows what to make of him anymore. Do they love him, loathe him, or feel sorry for him, much like how many of us English feel our team trot out wearing the 3 Lions. Sure, the rather odd and unclear sexual harassment allegations have added a less than salubrious tint to the whole perspective, but rational thinking tells us that this can’t have clouded too many fans minds given how quickly Michael Vick has returned to favour, among many of Favre’s peers proven guilty of far worse than the accusations levied against him.
And try as they might, the Packers – as a collective organisation, and particularly the hitherto formidable Rodgers – can’t quite seem break the shadow of Brett’s faded Wranglers. Rodgers has had a terrific season, yet inevitable comparisons with Favre hound him wherever he goes. It’s the way of the media in the modern world. Even by markedly not trying to draw a parallel between the two, hacks will hamfistedly do so. A self perpetuating prophecy if ever I saw one.
No surprise, because Favre was damn good – probably one of the all time greats, though to be honest, he broke most records going because he played about 47 times more than any other QB. He famously took the Cheese Heads back to the promised land, winning the Vince Lombardi Trophy in 1996. He even pulled Cameron Diaz in There’s Something About Mary for Christ sake.
And maybe the only way that the post Brett Pack will achieve closure is by going onto beat the Steelers in Super Bowl XLV. In an appealing twist of symmetry – despite not having worn the green & yellow for almost 4 years – Favre needs this win as much, maybe even more, than the Packers do. Lose and the purgatory remains. A Steelers victory will ensure a prolonged bout of apathy and emotional neutrality from Cheesheads to their long lost brother. Win and all is forgiven. The prodigal son can return. Beers are on Brett. About that Number 4 jersey? Retire it, pal. I’ll see you at the Hall of Fame dinner.
And as much as I’d love to see the latter, honestly, can we stomach the gush that will ensue? Mind you, we’ll have all sat through the Black Eyed Peas at halftime, so after that, if we’re still breathing, anything’s a plus, I guess.
Jan 21
(XXL) Shadows on Broadway
It’s not an easy place, being in the shadow of your next-door neighbour. Just ask Ateletico Madrid fans. Or Tyson Gay. Or the guy who replaced Steve Guttenberg/Mahoney in the Police Academy series.
And the New York Jets, despite the odd moment of ultimate glory, are very much the poor relations in the Big Apple to those mean old Giants from up the Jersey turnpike. They even played their homegames in a stadium named after, and used by, their rivals for 25 years. That’s gotta hurt.
It wasn’t always this way though. Broadway Joe Namath – who was doing Beckham or Brady before Beckham or Brady were in their Bonpoint babygrows – brought glory and glamour to the Jets and their only Super Bowl win, in 1969. Namath, who is possibly the only man in history other than P. Diddy to pull off wearing a fur coat – was all bravado and sound bites and famously, and unbelievably cockily guaranteed their victory against the Colts, prior to the game – a statement which sparked a media frenzy and cemented Namath as bona fide icon transcending the sporting arena.
Lean times since Joe though, with the odd spark of dazzle and excitement never amounting to too much, and even a recent cameo from, err….Broadway Brett Favre (shurely Red Dirt Road Favre? – Ed) in between his 19th retirement, promised much but faded fast in the home stretch.
Playing in the hyper competitive AFC East means that the Jets are always facing an uphill battle at the best of times. For “uphill battle” read: they’ll never do anything whilst the New England Patriots exist. The Giants may be their physically superior meathead older brother, but the Patriots are the Jets’ overachieving debonair Ivy League educated, way cool cousin, who turns up at Christmas with a surfer blonde chick on their arm, a signed copy of On The Road in their pocket & stories of how they got s***faced on location in Italy with the cast of Oceans 12.
But this weekend, the 2011 AFC Divisional playoff no less, give the Jets the chance to redress the balance. Now under the reins of Head Coach Rex Ryan – the kind of guy who Cousin Paulie would say has no taste – the Jets are packing more of a punch than usual. And whilst the highly favoured Patriots are expected to steamroll them yet again – think the Ivan Drago/Apollo Creed Exhibition match from Rocky IV minus James Brown – this may be the time that the Jets surprise us in more ways than just the recent Rex Ryan/Foot fetish”scandal”. Yes, really.
Like a $40million action movie that’s aiming to recoup it’s costs by TV sales to Estonia & New Zealand, the 2010/11 New York Jets are a combination of ageing, grizzled vets who’ve been written off (meet the mercurial LT, people of Norfolk) but have one last scrap in them, and young, raw dynamos who are good at the fight scenes – less so the sentimental dialogue. Their appearance on HBO’s seminal Hard Knocks series – which follows an NFL team through its pre-season, warts & all – cemented their position as a team to watch this year. The real soap opera, underpinned by extreme bravado and overbearing confidence from Ryan & co has led to inevitable highs and lows.
And despite more lows than anything else, they’ve scraped into the playoffs on the Patriots coat-tails via the ultimate sporting back door – the Wild Card. But a last second dispatch of Peyton Manning’s Colts in said round has set up what promises to be a gripping encounter between the hustlers from Jersey and the gifted New England golden boys. The Patriots have won 3 Super Bowls in the last 10 years, almost won a 4th, and got done for (illegally) filming their opponents signal calling, thus making them the Lifetime Achievement winners of the most loathsome sporting franchise this side of the 1919 World Series throwing Black Sox, the English bodyline cricketers and any team featuring El Hadj Diouf.
This is the sporting equivalent of John Candy vs. Brad Pitt. Coach Ryan has predictably added to the needle by calling out his counterpart, Bill Belichick – imagine Alec Ferguson mixed with Rainman if Rainman was obsessed with Vince Lombardi – despite not even coming close in the achievement stakes, and the list of similar mismatches are littered across the field. That said, a Jet win wouldn’t be a Buster Douglas/Frances Ouimet upset if it happens. But an underdog coming good, however brash, is always a treat, right?
I could now ask you if you’re going to “get on board this Jet plane” but my blog would probably be removed by Tumblr within minutes.
Nov 01
WHAT WOULD CHUCK DO?
The fascinatingly swift reaction from the powers that be that run the NFL to come down hard on any player who, well, comes down hard – ah, the irony – seems to have polarised opinion.
On the one hand - presumably a hand held up and away, palms open – you have the group who feel that the spate of helmet-to-helmet “tackles” – such as this one from the Patriots Brandon Merriweather (watch?v=Zb1CmHk9GK0 ) – have no place in the modern game of football.
They argue that given the knowledge we now possess about the dangers of concussion, not to mention that most of these plays resemble the kind of move you’d see from one of Pacman Jones’ mob when told “not to touch the ladyeez”, it’s not just outmoded, but borderline criminal, to allow such acts of violence. Figures, really.
Our generation benefits from the ever improving pace, athleticism and finesse of our sportsmen & women (and El Hadj Diouf) but not without a cost. These guys run faster, but they hit harder. The pressure is on to be better to get the gig, and this isn’t always reflected in the flair plays by the token team diva – yes we mean you Dimitar Berbatov/Braylon Edwards/Kevin Pietersen.
But what’s really surprising is a growing number, including, interestingly quite a few players, who have come out in opposition of the new ruling. Take Bills Linebacker Paul Posluzny.
“In our game, we’re taught to play fast, we’re taught to be physical. So things like that are going to happen. For them to be able to say ‘Well, all hits like that are fineable, you can get suspended,’ I think they’re taking it too far,”
Or as Hunter S. Thompson put it “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”
Mike Golic, co-host of the Mike & Mike show on ESPN Radio outlined that Merriweather, or any player in that situation, would be welcomed back over by the sidelines as a conquering hero by his teammates.
Players have also voiced a reasonable point that any enforced hesitation for a defensive player is arguably more dangerous for the player that they’re trying to tackle.
This core argument permeates down to the message boards : NFL is turning into a pussy league says one YouTuber, who sadly isn’t being literal, and, furthermore, outlines that he’s had concussions in the past, which makes a fair bit of sense. But this fear that somehow the new ruling will soften up the game of football irrevocably, is as genuine as it is short sighted.
Most of the intelligent concern seems to stem from the subjectivity of a call – when does a “hit” move from being tough to psychotically unnecessary?
I’ve spent years defending NFL against a braying mob of Rugby loving Brits who hurl grenades polished with Dorothy Parkers eyeliner to the tune of “Why don’t they just pass it?” (in relation to the lack of laterals) or “if they’re so friggin’ hard why do they wear more pads than a Dynasty reunion?”
The blinkered argument has always been a bugbear of mine, but there’s no doubt that Rugby has its players following a “hard but fair” code – thumb-to-eye gouging and fake blood scandals notwithstanding – without losing any of it’s tough appeal. In Aussie Rules – another helmet & pad less game – players suffer less concussions than in the NFL, according to the Wall Street Journal.
Will the NFL ever revert to the removal of either?
Perhaps Old School Legend Mike Ditka put it best “let’s see how those pretty boys do without a facemask”. I hope to God he was talking about Defensive dirty hitters, by the way.
Sep 25
NFL on BBC Five Live
Hosting the Colts/Broncos game this Sunday on BBC Five Live Xtra, from 9.00pm. Tweet questions into me @natcoombs
Not so much a blog entry, as a cyber scribble on an electronic napkin, but hey, I’m trying here!
Sep 24
More blah, blah, blah….
Startling developments at Arsenal where Shawn Carter - Mr. Jay-Z to you and me - has been linked with buying shares in the club, and that he and missus Beyonce want to be involved in the decision-making at board level. Blimey. Expect the Gunners to fix their goalkeeping problems by signing Soulja Boy in the January Window. Altogether now : I got 99 problems but Manny Almunia ain’t one.
Man City’s Mario Balotelli has apparently been dumped live on TV by his supposed girlfriend, Melissa Castagnoli after she saw video footage of another woman at his luxury apartment broadcast on an Italian gossip show. Castagnoli phoned into the program and told presenters that her romance with Balotelli was over. Balotelli has countered saying that he hasn’t been dumped because the 2 were never dating in the first place. Yea, I can see where the confusion may have lay Mario. Fair play.
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Sep 17
Premier League Blah Blah Blah….
An S. League match between Singapore’s Young Lions and China’s Beijing Guoan reserve team had to be abandoned with the score at 1-1 in the 80th minute after it degenerated into an all-out bundle.
I give particular props to the subs in bibs who pile on and get stuck in, the linesman who uses his flag like a samurai, and the cameraman who makes sure we don’t miss a sliver of the action.Chuck Norris would be proud.
Quote of the week from Mick Mcarthy : “We are trying to compete on a physical level. You know what, we have dentists who can put their teeth back in, doctors who will straighten their noses and put stitches in”. He was talking about his own players by the way, and not Wolves’ opposition
Manchester City striker Carlos Tevez has said he may quit international football. Tevez who starred for Argentina in their 4-1 win over world champions Spain on Tuesday night told reporters “I’m tired. I’m 26 - I’m old. I don’t know if I will make it to 2014.” Working with Maradonna would age me considerably too, Carlos. As would being forced to partner Jo up front.
FIFA Head Honcho Sepp Blatter is considering changing the rules at the next World Cup Finals by re-introducing golden goals, and possibly penalty shoot outs at the end of normal time - all potentially starting in the group stages. Why? To prevent too much defensive minded soccer apparently. Barmy. One bright spark though is that initial plans to position a sniper to take down anyone who passes the ball sideways or backwards have been shelved.
Aug 14
New ESPN show!
A quick note to tell you about my new ESPN show. Which, on the surface, makes it read like I created it. Which I didn’t. I’m presenting it. And writing bits. And trying not to slide down the sofa during filming. Or dribble.
It’s called Talk of the Terrace - a live, weekly studio show, mainly based on the Premier League on ESPN & ESPN HD every Monday at 6.30pm. We’re irreverent. Which basically translates to dribble. We have sleb guests in the studio, including on the first show, the rapper Example. My cool factor automatically goes up 14% just by being on the same sofa as him. It’s a big sofa. And you can slide down it really easily….
More here :
http://tv.espn.co.uk/gb/espl/shows-and-presenters/talk-of-the-terrace
Jun 28
The Most Logically Illogical Thing Ever?
Some things in life continue to concern me no matter how hard I try and move on: Why is there more than one Mannequin movie?
Is Justin Bieber made up of 47,000,028 tiny little Justin Biebers all dancing in unison?
If Sam from Quantum Leap leapt into Sam from Quantum Leap at the precise time that he initially leapt in the first place, would he be trapped forever in space time continuum ping pong?
And while we’re at it, is the College Sports structure in America the most complicated, absurd and baffling system in the history of the world, ever? (Yes, I’m including Italian politics)
Here’s the basic principle. Leagues featuring a roster of colleges (universities, not the kind of colleges we’ve got in the UK that do courses like sewing and golf green management) exist principally based on the geographical location of that institute of higher learning.
So let’s take the Big Ten – sadly there’s not a Small Ten, but if there was, presumably it’d be the athletic equivalent of the special Maths class at school where they played with plastic containers and didn’t bother with things like, y’know, numbers.
All the teams in the Big Ten are from the Mid-West of America, like Michigan & Iowa. And the fact that they include women’s wrestling on the list of participatory sports automatically gets them a tick in my book. Even the name makes sense. Big 10? 10 teams dummy. What’s that? There are 11 teams in the Big 10? Ah, who cares? It’s quirky. Like Bill Shatner’s acid induced Shakespearean meanderings.
It’s this geometric logic that makes all the recent furore about another conference, the Pac-10 all the more absurd. Here’s the deal: Pac = Pacific. The teams in the Pac 10 are based on the West Coast of America – in close proximity to the Pacific Ocean. Smart.
The Pac-10 is also the self proclaimed “conference of champions” and given the fact that they compete in what’s now dubbed the “Football bowl subdivision”, that’s marginally less ironic than calling John Wayne Gacy “a bit weird”.
Except the Pac-10 is now, err, 12 teams with the inclusion of 2 new colleges, the first of which is Utah which of course is nowhere near the sea, but presumably gained access because it’s a state where birds legally have the right of way on the public highway. Alongside Utah, the other newbie is Colorado, which is even further East and away from the Pacific. So far, so crazy. But when we consider the teams that almost joined at the same time as these two, but decided not to, presumably for reasons absolutely nothing to do with money whatsoever, we move up the gears from crazy to plain, unadulterated MariahCareyville.
Texas – a state which seems to have more students than President Obama’s Facebook Fan Page – put forward Texas Tech, Texas A&M and the University of Texas to make the leap across from the Big 12, which in fact isn’t so big, given that it now only has 10 teams in it. Which I’m guessing gives the entirely separate Big 10 Conference a further headache to add to the “11 Team” migraine that we’ve it already established.
Joining our intrepid Texans in the proposed mass exodus? Okalahoma, Okalahoma State and the aforementioned Colorado, who became the first – and ultimately only team - to move over from the Big 12 to the Pac 10 – making them the sporting equivalent of the guy who dives into the freezing cold swimming pool while the rest of his mates grab his pants and run for the hills. As opposed to the mountains.
Texas apparently got the yips when they found out that their demand for a better TV deal than everyone else in the conference was considered, well, unreasonable. Funny that. It’s like Animal Farm never existed.
More to the point, even though they didn’t make the jump, what were these almost-turncoats thinking? What about the conferences they left behind? Conferences that they’d been part of for years, rivalries established over decades and decades? Not to mention the ridiculous fact that the Pac 10 could have conceivably featured 16 teams, almost half of which were further away from the Pacific than Budapest.
Let’s be clear. When it comes to tribal, partisan allegiances US College Sports ranks number 3 on the all-time list behind:
1. Organised religion
2. Dis-organised religion
(who perpetually battle for the top-spot like the Lakers & the Celtics only with more money)
The very idea that a group of highly paid minds sat round a table and pontificated upon this: “If we junk in everything we’ve ever stood for in, in exchange for some extra moolah, that’s like, OK, right?”
One things for sure. I’m now as baffled as the bartender I observed at LAX fielding the following query from an attractive blonde: “Do you guys have, like, wine?”
Time to dig deeper into the most paradoxically logically illogical Sports system in the world or as they like to call it: the NCAA.
More @ www.natcoombs.com
Follow me on Twitter @natcoombs
May 31
Musings on Yankee Stadium
Maybe it was down to the 80+ degree heat in New York City. Or that it was a lazy Sunday afternoon, perfect for catching a ball game, featuring an old school franchise vs. the mega star current champs. Perhaps it was the guy sitting next to me on the train was wearing shades and a headscarf, rubbing the inside of his groin, blowing on what appeared to me a mid-90’s rave whistle, but yesterday’s trip to Yankee Stadium was surreal, remarkable and slightly poetic, in equal measure. Rather like my stag night. Except this time, my day didn’t end up with me handcuffed to a lamp post. At least, I don’t think it did.
The All New Yankee Stadium. It’s Wembley + Vegas + The Rolling Stones x Golden Era baseball reinforced with the imposing ghosts of Yankee heroes from bygone eras including DiMaggio, Berra and of course, Ruth.
I was prepared for it, or so I thought, but the scale of the place is remarkable. And though I anticipated that everything would be so boxfresh, and slick, and shiny, I was genuinely surprised about how, well, authentic, it all felt. Sure, the architecture is in many respects deliberately retro, and touches like Jeter’s named intro being a recording from legendary Yankees announcer Bob Sheppard evoke vintage ball, but it’s a testament to the designers and the Yankees fans that this park just works, right off the bat. No pun intended.
The scale is immense of course, but the 19,041 food or drink options mostly work - with the odd Food Court type mall experience - and there are details everywhere that bring the wandering mind back to ball. Commentary boomed out of the front of the stadium means that those fans who are not able to get a ticket or too hammered to go in can listen on benches. The open plan set up of much of the stadium works well too, so you can queue for beers/dogs/burgers/bucket bong hits (in the bleachers) and feel near to the action, like it’s just going on behind you. Which of course, it is.
And while the Yankees suffer from that Man United/Dallas Cowboys/Real Madrid “Most of your fans are fairweather glory hunters” syndrome, you got a real feeling of genuine, literate supporters all around. Plus those too totalled to clap. Which always adds to the ambiance, I find.
In short, I loved it. Am sure some purist Yankee fans may read this and scoff - which I can understand the attachment that comes with an original stadium as I can’t conceive West Ham not playing at Upton Park - and it’s hard for me to admit as a dyed in the wool Cubs fan, but I am green with envy. OK, pale grey, with some green tinges. Again, much like I was after my stag night.
BEST BIT: A tie between Mariano Rivera appearing to Enter Sandman, causing some remarkable air guitar and Jeter’s “Sheppard” Intro
WORST BITS : After Jeter’s 2 run hit which turned the game, they played The Vengaboys : The Vengaboys Are Coming. All of it. People danced. With no discernible sense of irony.
More at http://www.natcoombs.com
May 06
Barca fans react to Spurs’ qualification to the Champions League
And if you’re a Wisconsian (I appreciate this may not be an actual word) and you don’t like the Packers – Green Bay’s other famous offering – then you’re just plain weird. Lots of teams try to blag it, but the Pack is a genuinely legendary NFL franchise.
