That would be tennis. Originally known as lawn tennis back before the turn of the century. The game has changed little since then, other than a tie-breaker here and some electronic review technology there. The rules, the courts, the scorekeeping, all pretty much the same.
The thing that’s changed the most—and you’re welcome for pointing out the obvious—is the clothes on the players’ backs. For decades, it was a sport of the upper crust, and the blue bloods showed up at the Club wearing nothing but white. Male and female, boys and girls, it was improper to wear anything but.
They still roll that way at Wimbledon. It’s a nice custom, actually, but it may help explain why you couldn’t name more than five current famous tennis players. Go ahead.
Sharapova, Federer, Nadal, Williams S, Williams V. Who else you got? Ever hear of Dinara Safina? #1 ranked woman in the world.
This is not a good sign. Maybe the folks who wear white should listen to Sharapova, who has wondered out loud why Wimbledon can't “add a spark of fun” by letting players wear something other than white. If not the voice of tennis, she’s definitely the face. And I’ll bet she wouldn’t disagree if I told her this:
Tennis is the most unexciting exciting sport in the world. The action can be amazing. The buzz is almost nonexistent.
Don’t blame the sisters Williams. Whether it’s been a conscious effort or not, they’ve gone above and beyond to give their sport a modern image. They’re a strong African American presence in a mostly white (not just the clothes) sport, they’re outspoken, even controversial...and then there’s the clothes.
You’ve seen them; beautiful, bombastic, colorful, stylish. But always different and interesting, and always bringing with them talk value. And it’s led to a fashion explosion in tennis as other player catch on, making Nike and Adidas work harder, with the Fila’s and Lacoste’s trying to catch up. It’s a marketing bonanza waiting to happen.
Hope tennis can cash in.
PS:
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME.
TODAY MARKS ONE YEAR OF SPORTSCENTRIC!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
A few words about Pure Joy
The main reason for the paucity of my recent blog entries has been the growth of my new business. As many of you probably know, it’s a lot easier to borrow a few minutes from The Man to scratch out a few thoughts on sports and marketing and still have enough time to do the work that makes The Man happy. But now I’m The Man, and it’s extremely time consuming to make The new Man happy. Hence the extremely sporadic entries of late.
However, the most recent two week gap in blog entries came as a result of the week I spent in Cooperstown, New York, and the four days I spent driving to get there (and a special thank you to the sheriff of Monroe County, NY, for the 15 minutes I spent waiting for you to write me a speeding ticket. Asshole.).
Cooperstown is a quaint two-block town, famously known for housing the Baseball Hall of Fame, along with a Main Street filled with souvenir shops, and one kickass restaurant (don’t let the lame website fool you).
I spent most of the time in Cooperstown at Dreams Park watching 12 year olds play baseball, although I still have doubts about the validity of some of the players’ birth certificates, especially some of the “12 year olds” from California and Texas. More on that later.
The eponymous Dreams Park truly was the Dream of founder Lou Presutti. He had a vision for a mini-baseball haven. It included the purchase of a massive piece of land in the middle of gorgeous rolling hills five miles from the Hall of Fame. On it, he built 22 baseball fields, complete with stands and dugouts, bunting and mini-green monsters; bathrooms, concession stands, and of course, gift shops; as well as a village for the players and umps, with row after row of bunk-bed-filled barracks, a dining hall, and an infirmary. It truly is a mini baseball-city where these players, coaches, umpires and officials live together for a week.
It’s nothing short of amazing.
The park is spotless, the staff is fearless. No adult gets in or out without a wristband, which means that players and coaches stay in and parents stay out. Which is just how we liked it.
And then there’s the baseball. 104 teams come every week, all summer long, from all over the country. That’s not a misprint: 104 teams, every week. 1,248 teams per season. They don’t build calculators big enough to count all that cash.
After opening ceremonies on Saturday, the teams play two games on Sunday, two on Monday, and two on Tuesday. Single elimination playoffs begin on Wednesday, with games at 10, 12, 3, 5:30, and 8, and the championship is played Thursday night after closing ceremonies (where the boys get their rings) and fireworks.
The seeding for the playoffs is ingenious; the bottom teams start by playing each other (104 vs 103, etc), and the top teams get several byes. That way the teams that have been losing get a chance to get a W, and the teams at the top get rewarded by getting to rest.
Our team had a terrible/wonderful few days on the ball fields and should be the poster children for what makes the Dreams Park Tournament so great.
In our first game we played the SoCal Lumber Kings and lost 15-0. We managed to get one (bloop) hit. In our second game we played the American Avengers from Houston. They were an All-Star team culled down from a tryout of 1500 kids. Most of their players were bigger than our coaches. Over their first six games, they let up three runs. They went 6-0, earned the #1 seed, and eventually won the championship. They allegedly flew in a new pitcher and catcher for the final game. But we knew none of that yet.
All we knew was that they were leading us 15-0 after the first inning and 22-0 after the second. They mercied us 28-0. We got no hits. It was scary in many ways, biggest of which may have been my son nearly getting decapitated by a line drive from their #2 hitter, who went on to hit two homers in the championship.
The icing on the cake: because it rained all day on Sunday, and they don’t do rainouts at Dreams Park, we played our games at 8:30 and 11 that night and ended at 1:30 AM.
Still, the boys had smiles on their faces, and they were joking as they trudged back to the barracks for the first 2 AM showers of their lives. None of them had ever played baseball under a full moon in the middle of the night. And we all sensed that the team we played was something special. Ultimately, it was nice to know that we had played the very best of the 104 teams that week. At the time, though, we were just tired, beat down, and humbled.
The next three games are a blur. We lost them all. The teams we played were not like the Lumber Kings and Avengers; we could have beaten any of them. But we dropped easy fly balls and threw away throws to first and got picked off. It was bad baseball. The boys were exhausted and while they kept their spirits up and laughed and smiled after every game, those two opening losses were in their subconscious, creating doubts about their abilities. And the rankings didn’t help.
All tournament long, the teams are ranked 1-104 based on win-loss record and run differential. Every hour or two, new results are posted all over the village so you can track your progress.
After our first game, we were ranked 104th out of 104. Same after our second, and third, and fourth, and fifth. #104 out of #104. Dead last.
Going into our sixth and last pre-playoff game, one of the dads on our team overheard a kid on the opposing team say they were playing the worst team in the tournament. Now, we may have been the last place team, but we certainly didn’t think we were the worst. And after that game, we were neither.
We came back from deficits of 5-2 and 6-3, and scored seven runs in the sixth and final inning to win 13-6.
WE WON A GAME.
Our collective exhale could’ve put out a forest fire. Relief, yes, but also jubilation, happiness, congratulations all around.
But it was just the beginning. Because the playoffs started the next day.
We were scheduled to play our first game at 10 AM on Field 22. As the #99 seed (the lowest ranked 1-5 team), we were the home team against the #100 seed, which was one of five winless teams. They looked as beat-down as we had the previous day, and we won easily, 13-5.
We finished around 11:50, and our next game was at noon on the same field. The boys jogged from the third base to the first base dugout and once there, switched their shirts, belts and socks from the Home Reds to the Travel Blues. The coaches moved the equipment over and made out new lineups, and the parents began an afternoon-long series of trips between the concession stand and the dugout. It started with water and Gatorade and continued with chips and granola bars. Eventually, there was nothing but Skittles, gum and Starburst, in an effort to keep the boys standing up. Because, happily, we played a lot longer than many #99 seeds ever had.
Our next game, against a team from New Jersey, was a thrilling defensive and pitching gem. One of our boys went 5.1 innings—routine work for an Avengers pitcher, but the longest any pitcher on our team had ever lasted—and we supported him with two runs. It was all he needed. He gave up a solo homer in the sixth but we closed it out to win 2-1.
While it was the best game we played in the tournament, the best was yet to come.
In a tournament with 104 teams from around the country, where we got to play against boys from the East, West, North and South, our third game, at 3:00, was against a squad from Northbrook, a town literally across the street from us and arguably, our biggest rival. We had already played them twice in our travel season and had split the two games, one by two runs, one by one.
I’m not going to go into too much detail, but suffice to say, it was one of those games that, whoever won, would be remembered as a Great One. A seesaw battle, we went up 3-0, they came back to 3-2 and tied it 3-3. We went up 4-3 in the top of the fifth inning and in the bottom they tied it, then went ahead 6-4 on a home run that sent their team and fans into insane jubilation and made us feel like our crazy ride of destiny was over. We felt like we’d been punched in the gut. Everyone in the park thought it was over and Northbrook had it won. But improbably, we scratched out two runs in the top of the sixth to send it to extra innings, scratched out one run in the eighth, and held them in the bottom to win it 7-6.
Joy.
Pure, Unadulterated, Boundless Joy.
After that win, the next game seemed anticlimactic. The boys sat glassy eyed on the bench while the coaches hastily made out a lineup for a 5:30 game we never thought we’d be playing. No matter how many Skittles and Starbursts they popped, the kids just couldn’t muster the energy. We lost to the #17 seeded Sarasota team 11-0, but in a last stand full of heart and pride that exemplified the day, we held them scoreless in the last two innings, and therefore avoided getting beat by the 12-run mercy rule.
It was 7:30 PM. The boys had been playing on the same field for 9 ½ hours. We had the same umpire crew for all four games and they fell in love with our team, and the parents fell in love with them for loving our boys. The sun was setting but we didn’t need it to warm the back of our necks; we would have felt the glow if the temperature had dropped 20 degrees. Some of the parents had checked out of hotels and their packed cars were still waiting in a much emptier parking lot for departures that were expected to have begun hours ago.
We lined up the team and coaches and umps against the fence and took pictures while the boys could still stand. Even though many of the people snapping photos had hoped to be in Ohio by then, I can guarantee you that there was nowhere else they’d rather have been at that moment.
Dreams Park, indeed.
However, the most recent two week gap in blog entries came as a result of the week I spent in Cooperstown, New York, and the four days I spent driving to get there (and a special thank you to the sheriff of Monroe County, NY, for the 15 minutes I spent waiting for you to write me a speeding ticket. Asshole.).
Cooperstown is a quaint two-block town, famously known for housing the Baseball Hall of Fame, along with a Main Street filled with souvenir shops, and one kickass restaurant (don’t let the lame website fool you).
I spent most of the time in Cooperstown at Dreams Park watching 12 year olds play baseball, although I still have doubts about the validity of some of the players’ birth certificates, especially some of the “12 year olds” from California and Texas. More on that later.
The eponymous Dreams Park truly was the Dream of founder Lou Presutti. He had a vision for a mini-baseball haven. It included the purchase of a massive piece of land in the middle of gorgeous rolling hills five miles from the Hall of Fame. On it, he built 22 baseball fields, complete with stands and dugouts, bunting and mini-green monsters; bathrooms, concession stands, and of course, gift shops; as well as a village for the players and umps, with row after row of bunk-bed-filled barracks, a dining hall, and an infirmary. It truly is a mini baseball-city where these players, coaches, umpires and officials live together for a week.
It’s nothing short of amazing.
The park is spotless, the staff is fearless. No adult gets in or out without a wristband, which means that players and coaches stay in and parents stay out. Which is just how we liked it.
And then there’s the baseball. 104 teams come every week, all summer long, from all over the country. That’s not a misprint: 104 teams, every week. 1,248 teams per season. They don’t build calculators big enough to count all that cash.
After opening ceremonies on Saturday, the teams play two games on Sunday, two on Monday, and two on Tuesday. Single elimination playoffs begin on Wednesday, with games at 10, 12, 3, 5:30, and 8, and the championship is played Thursday night after closing ceremonies (where the boys get their rings) and fireworks.
The seeding for the playoffs is ingenious; the bottom teams start by playing each other (104 vs 103, etc), and the top teams get several byes. That way the teams that have been losing get a chance to get a W, and the teams at the top get rewarded by getting to rest.
Our team had a terrible/wonderful few days on the ball fields and should be the poster children for what makes the Dreams Park Tournament so great.
In our first game we played the SoCal Lumber Kings and lost 15-0. We managed to get one (bloop) hit. In our second game we played the American Avengers from Houston. They were an All-Star team culled down from a tryout of 1500 kids. Most of their players were bigger than our coaches. Over their first six games, they let up three runs. They went 6-0, earned the #1 seed, and eventually won the championship. They allegedly flew in a new pitcher and catcher for the final game. But we knew none of that yet.
All we knew was that they were leading us 15-0 after the first inning and 22-0 after the second. They mercied us 28-0. We got no hits. It was scary in many ways, biggest of which may have been my son nearly getting decapitated by a line drive from their #2 hitter, who went on to hit two homers in the championship.
The icing on the cake: because it rained all day on Sunday, and they don’t do rainouts at Dreams Park, we played our games at 8:30 and 11 that night and ended at 1:30 AM.
Still, the boys had smiles on their faces, and they were joking as they trudged back to the barracks for the first 2 AM showers of their lives. None of them had ever played baseball under a full moon in the middle of the night. And we all sensed that the team we played was something special. Ultimately, it was nice to know that we had played the very best of the 104 teams that week. At the time, though, we were just tired, beat down, and humbled.
The next three games are a blur. We lost them all. The teams we played were not like the Lumber Kings and Avengers; we could have beaten any of them. But we dropped easy fly balls and threw away throws to first and got picked off. It was bad baseball. The boys were exhausted and while they kept their spirits up and laughed and smiled after every game, those two opening losses were in their subconscious, creating doubts about their abilities. And the rankings didn’t help.
All tournament long, the teams are ranked 1-104 based on win-loss record and run differential. Every hour or two, new results are posted all over the village so you can track your progress.
After our first game, we were ranked 104th out of 104. Same after our second, and third, and fourth, and fifth. #104 out of #104. Dead last.
Going into our sixth and last pre-playoff game, one of the dads on our team overheard a kid on the opposing team say they were playing the worst team in the tournament. Now, we may have been the last place team, but we certainly didn’t think we were the worst. And after that game, we were neither.
We came back from deficits of 5-2 and 6-3, and scored seven runs in the sixth and final inning to win 13-6.
WE WON A GAME.
Our collective exhale could’ve put out a forest fire. Relief, yes, but also jubilation, happiness, congratulations all around.
But it was just the beginning. Because the playoffs started the next day.
We were scheduled to play our first game at 10 AM on Field 22. As the #99 seed (the lowest ranked 1-5 team), we were the home team against the #100 seed, which was one of five winless teams. They looked as beat-down as we had the previous day, and we won easily, 13-5.
We finished around 11:50, and our next game was at noon on the same field. The boys jogged from the third base to the first base dugout and once there, switched their shirts, belts and socks from the Home Reds to the Travel Blues. The coaches moved the equipment over and made out new lineups, and the parents began an afternoon-long series of trips between the concession stand and the dugout. It started with water and Gatorade and continued with chips and granola bars. Eventually, there was nothing but Skittles, gum and Starburst, in an effort to keep the boys standing up. Because, happily, we played a lot longer than many #99 seeds ever had.
Our next game, against a team from New Jersey, was a thrilling defensive and pitching gem. One of our boys went 5.1 innings—routine work for an Avengers pitcher, but the longest any pitcher on our team had ever lasted—and we supported him with two runs. It was all he needed. He gave up a solo homer in the sixth but we closed it out to win 2-1.
While it was the best game we played in the tournament, the best was yet to come.
In a tournament with 104 teams from around the country, where we got to play against boys from the East, West, North and South, our third game, at 3:00, was against a squad from Northbrook, a town literally across the street from us and arguably, our biggest rival. We had already played them twice in our travel season and had split the two games, one by two runs, one by one.
I’m not going to go into too much detail, but suffice to say, it was one of those games that, whoever won, would be remembered as a Great One. A seesaw battle, we went up 3-0, they came back to 3-2 and tied it 3-3. We went up 4-3 in the top of the fifth inning and in the bottom they tied it, then went ahead 6-4 on a home run that sent their team and fans into insane jubilation and made us feel like our crazy ride of destiny was over. We felt like we’d been punched in the gut. Everyone in the park thought it was over and Northbrook had it won. But improbably, we scratched out two runs in the top of the sixth to send it to extra innings, scratched out one run in the eighth, and held them in the bottom to win it 7-6.
Joy.
Pure, Unadulterated, Boundless Joy.
After that win, the next game seemed anticlimactic. The boys sat glassy eyed on the bench while the coaches hastily made out a lineup for a 5:30 game we never thought we’d be playing. No matter how many Skittles and Starbursts they popped, the kids just couldn’t muster the energy. We lost to the #17 seeded Sarasota team 11-0, but in a last stand full of heart and pride that exemplified the day, we held them scoreless in the last two innings, and therefore avoided getting beat by the 12-run mercy rule.
It was 7:30 PM. The boys had been playing on the same field for 9 ½ hours. We had the same umpire crew for all four games and they fell in love with our team, and the parents fell in love with them for loving our boys. The sun was setting but we didn’t need it to warm the back of our necks; we would have felt the glow if the temperature had dropped 20 degrees. Some of the parents had checked out of hotels and their packed cars were still waiting in a much emptier parking lot for departures that were expected to have begun hours ago.
We lined up the team and coaches and umps against the fence and took pictures while the boys could still stand. Even though many of the people snapping photos had hoped to be in Ohio by then, I can guarantee you that there was nowhere else they’d rather have been at that moment.
Dreams Park, indeed.
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