I thought I'd feel more strongly

I used to ask for Art Modell's head in a burlap sack for Christmas every year. I swore I'd take it to Guatemala and let street children play soccer with it if I ever received it. This was how passionately I hated a man I had never met, a man who wronged me, and many thousands of others, by taking away something we loved. That he owned it didn't matter, and watching him with the Lombardi trophy - at the pinnacle of his profession - five years later was the sports equivalent of the proverbial knife in the back. It just wasn't possible to hate him any more than at that moment. A dozen years later, Art Modell died in his sleep. He was old. He was rich. He no longer owned the franchise he had moved, which is to say he no longer held the dagger he'd once slid between out collective ribs and twisted. My enemy, vanquished by old age. I saw the news when I woke up this morning, and my first thought was: "I need to walk the dog." That's how much impact this had on me. I lived for sports, and in the sports world at one time the Browns were my true love. I'd been in the Dawg Pound, made the + hour round trip to see a three hour game. My room was painted like a Browns helmet throughout my adolescence. How could I not turn a cartwheel, crack a beer, or at least a smile? It's a lot of things, I guess. Sports still have a place in my life, but they aren't my life. The Browns have never really recovered from the move, never really been my team since December 15, 1995. I won't forget that day, and that might be the main reason I let go of my rage and animosity after all these years. That day was the last Browns game in old Municipal Stadium. I was headed up there with my best friend's dad and uncles - Bengals fans all - who knew me and my love for the Browns. They knew it would be a special game for me, as there was no guarantee the Browns would ever take the field again at that point. We left Florence, KY in the dark and cold, and I felt sick. We had to stop several times before we made it out of the Cincinnati area. I was fevered, nauseous, and had a pain in my gut that made it uncomfortable for me to sit, stand, or lay down - which didn't leave me with a lot of options. They turned around, and I was taken to a hospital, and a few hours later wheeled into surgery for a n appendix that was ready to rupture. I remember telling the doctor to wake me up for the game. He said he doubted I would be done by then, and I grabbed his arm and sat up. "Then we're not doing this," I told him, with 19 years of athletic muscle, pain, rage, and love coming out. They did the surgery, and they brought me out of recovery in time to see most of it. From a hospital bed I watched Browns players shaking hands with fans after beating the Bengals that day - the only game they won after Modell announced the move that October. I didn't make it to say goodbye. Maybe that's why I am indifferent today. Maybe I came to terms with not having a goodbye already, or maybe I will never have to say goodbye to the Browns of Bernie Kosar and Webster Slaughter, to Michael Dean Perry and Big Daddy Hairston. Maybe "Let's go, Sipe-o!" and the woofing of the Dawg Pound are gone, but the fact that I haven't forgotten means my team, the one I used to fight and argue and anguish over, maybe that team is still my team and no one - not a greedy owner, not faulty biology - can take that from me. Maybe in the end, I'm indifferent because Modell doesn't matter to me, and his life, his actions, even his death don't change my joy at seeing a Kosar sidearm spiral, my despair over The Drive, or my admiration for every goal line stand I watched that defense make. I wish today's team inspired these things in me. I wish any of them did. But that time is gone, and so is the child that lived for those games. I have to walk the dog.

Growing old

My hair is falling out, my ankles and feet ache, and I'd rather drink a beer and watch a sport than I would play one at this point. I'm getting old.

I think I'm feeling this more because the leaves are orange, yellow, and red right now. I remember when that meant playoffs for fall sports, basketball moving inside for the winter, the last softball tournament before hanging up the cleats and oiling the glove for winter. This year, it meant trying to get home from work in time to watch World Series games and avoid the bars and the bad national football games they play in the p.m. This year, it meant feeling groggy by the seventh inning of a game after two beers.

I don't think I'm going to like getting old, and I think I'm too young to feel that way. I also don't like the stupid iDisk thing on my computer that demands attention every 12 minutes. I want it to go away, but it won't delete ... but I digress.

I dreamed last night about deer hunting with my dad and uncles. It's been a few years since I've done that. I think about taking my few remaining vacation days and going this year, and I realize how long it's been since I've hiked the hills, put a stand up, or shot a gun. It hasn't been that long since I told stories about those things, how when I deer hunt I see nothing but squirrels and how when I squirrel hunt I invariably spook deer. It hasn't been that long since I remembered the feel of the campfire on a cold autumn night, the smell of the wood burning, the taste of the ash in the air.

I don't like to think I'm getting old, but when my first action in the morning is stretching to make my leg joints pop there's no denying it. I'm suspicious of the crotchety old fart in the mirror when I brush my teeth, but less so than teenagers I see with their pants sagging to the backs of their knees and the stickers still on those stupid flat bill caps. We had our fashion faux pas when we were young, but at least we had enough sense to wear pants over our underwear and take the tags of things. It wasn't hard to figure out. Still isn't.

I doubt getting old has any advantages, save the obvious, that it beats the alternative. My dad says that a lot, and I take it with a grain of salt. I mean, he's retired, so he definitely acts younger than I do these days. If I sound jealous, it's because shut up.

There are still things I want to do. I want to see a top division football match at Wembley. I want to visit Croatia, because I've heard nothing but good things about the people, the weather, the culture, the weather, the food and most importantly, the weather. I try to balance that sense of the things I want to do with the things I have to do, but the have to list always seems to win out, a sure sign of the passage into middle age.

This isn't really sports related, but I warned both of you followers at the beginning it wouldn't always be so. Just some kvetching, to get it out of my system and to put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard more accurately. See, I think that's what's making me old more than any other thing - I used to write almost every day, even when I wasn't necessarily getting paid for it. It kept me young, kept ideas churning, kept me in touch, involved. Now, I'm Al Bundy with phones instead of shoes, a (hopefully) better wardrobe, and a bigger TV.

Ah, hell, Peg, I need a beer.

Not your father's Bengals

I've been moderately impressed by what I've seen from the Bengals the first six weeks of this season.

I just re-read that sentence, and it is correct.

I was never much of a Bengals fan as a youngster, mostly because I wasn't raised to be one. As I got older, and was able to differentiate teams based on more than logos, colors, or one superstar, I disliked the Bengals for playing with a decided and apparent lack of heart. This era is of course from the 90's on, when the team would occasionally have respectable players but marched each week toward inevitable and often epic meltdowns, collapses, and simple butt whippings.

In the interim 20 or so years, there has been the rare exception to the rule, like the 12-4 run that culminated in Carson Palmer's knee injury and Marvin Lewis' losing the team at halftime of a game he was winning, but overall the team has lived down to their label of being chokers, villains, selfish ... in short, losers.

This year's team has thus far earned my respect. They don't quit when they're down. I haven't watched every game - thank you, NFL, for blacking out games and trying to strong-arm fans into paying ever-increasing prices for tickets, seat licenses, and other silliness instead of letting us enjoy your product - but from what I have seen, Andy Dalton and company keep their heads up during games. Even in the Week 2 loss at Denver, I liked what I saw. The body language on the sidelines, the confidence on the field, the players pulling together ... most un-Bengal-like.

I don't know that I would call myself a died in the wool Bengals fan at this point, but I'm hoping they have a good season, or even run of seasons if they keep this group together. The Dalton Gang has been fun to watch, and frankly, that alone is an improvement in these parts.

Sports Shorts

* Bronson Arroyo has cleared waivers. Were I the Reds GM, I would move him this month to any contender looking for a pitcher. Arroyo has been a stalwart for the Reds, taking the ball every fifth day and putting in his work, often as the only sure thing in the rotation due to his health. He's been a solid producer, winning 15 games each of the last three years, and a solid citizen for a club and a city that values such things. I like Bronson Arroyo.

Having said that, he's on the hook for a lot of money next season. That's money the Reds could use to extend Brandon Phillips, spread out amongst the arbitration eligible youngsters, or go out and sign a proven veteran closer to take the place of Coco Cordero as closer next year. I know the money on the contract is a big part of the problem with moving him, but I would be trying like hell to get something done. Getting back a prospect or two would be fine, considering that half the Louisville Sluggers are already wearing Reds unis by now.

* If you haven't read "Big Hair and Plastic Grass," by Dan Epstein, you're not much of a baseball fan. I'm re-reading it right now, it's one of the most enjoyable sports books I've ever read. Epstein doesn't deify the players or the era, the much maligned 1970's, but reminds readers of the fun without glossing totally over the bad.

* I had someone point something interesting out to me this weekend. She is rooting for Plaxico Burress this year because she feels he was given a raw deal by the law. "He shot himself, for God's sake, isn't that punishment enough?" I don't necessarily agree with that, but the man did more time for shooting himself accidentally than Jamal Lewis did for drug trafficking charges, than Leonard Little or Donte Sallworth did for drunkenly killing other people while driving, etc. I do think that Plax was actually treated more harshly than an Average Joe would have been, a rare case of celebrity working against somebody. I also believe in second chances, so I do hope he plays well enough for the Jets that people talk more about his on-the-field exploits than off-the-field ones.

* Finally, the NFL preseason started this week. Someone should have told the Bengals.

Bummed as a Reds fan

I'm bummed as a Reds fan right now. Let's face it, five games under .500, 10 games out of first, they're not playing for much right now. But it's not the record that bothers me so much as the way they are playing half-assed. I mean, if we're gonna try out the youngsters, let them play - Alonso included. Why bring up your best hitting prospect to sit him on the bench or use him as a pinch hitter - how his he learning the ropes of the big leagues that way? Isn't that Chris Heisey's job?

Sappelt, Frazier, Alonso - I am in favor of all of them getting their chance to play right now. It's not a pennant race, it's not going to hurt the season, why not? Rolen, Phillips and others are hurt anyway ... why not see what they can do? My biggest disappointment of the season is Zack Cozart not being healthy right now. He should have been up a month before he was, and he was very effective in the short time he played. I feel that way about Sappelt and Frazier, too, and Alonso - at the plate.

Basically, it's all about next year at this point, and finding out what is here for then. I think the team could have a markedly different look, but be more effective on the field. I think there are players right now in Louisville or riding pine that can and will contribute, I just feel like the Reds management needs to have the guts to let them play for the last two months of the season. If nothing else, it better identifies holes in the lineup.

I'm pulling for the young guys - just wish I saw them more.

I get it

I may be the only one outside of Minute Maid Park to say this, but I get what the Astros are doing. Not only that, but I kind of like it.

I watched them take two out of three from the Reds this week, not totally surprising since Team Bipolar is so very capable of sweeping or getting swept by any ballclub on the planet, including my softball team. What was surprising is how much more the Astros resembled their teams from the mid-80's than they did the "glory years" of the Killer B's. This team is now full of quick young players, and though it sounds funny to say it, they may be faster after the trades of Hunter Pence and Michael Bourn. Jimmy Paredes at third base in particular impressed, but getting Carlos Lee out of the outfield and planting his generous derriere at first was a marked improvement in their team defense. Dropping last year's pick-ups, Chris Johnson and Brett Wallace, to Triple A and jumping guys two levels to The Show ... I can't think of a much better wake up call.

It's also a huge culture change. Instead of players who have become inured to losing, management is bringing a youth movement that can't lose. There should be no loss of confidence since the kids aren't supposed to succeed, anyway, just learn and get used to the game at the highest level. Then what do they do but take two of three from a contending team - even a marginally contending team like the Reds are at this point - and win in comeback fashion.

Paredes doesn't have a B, so to keep the Houston faithful happy he may need a "B" nickname, but newcomer Brian Bogusevic has one to spare, Jason Bourgeois is getting a chance to play everyday in the new look outfield, and Brett Wallace can be lumped in with them if he finds his form in time to take first base back next season.

What this team is lacking in power it makes up for in speed and defense, a formula that the Rays used to capture a pennant three years ago, one that the Pirates are using to play above expectations this year, and a mindset that has kept the Twins in contention for years - when they're healthy.

If some of the young pitching develops, the Astros will be a team to watch in two years.

Interesting Reds note

The Reds have three players within reach of 100 RBIs each: Joey Votto, Jay Bruce and Brandon Phillips. All three have over 60 with two months to go, so it would take 32-38 depending on the player in the 54 remaining games to break the century mark. The reason I find this interesting is because of the perception that this year's Redlegs are so very un-clutch, but you can't post 100 Ribbies unless you're doing some work with men on base.

The last time that happened was in 1955 ... bonus for anyone who can name the three players who did it that year.