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Cleaning out the 'bag
Have something to say about Rick Reilly's musings? Click here to submit a comment. Don't miss The Life of Reilly (Total/SPORTS ILLUSTRATED, $22.95) -- a best-of compilation of Reilly's columns and features, with a foreword written by Charles Barkley, available now at the CNN/Sports Illustrated Stuff Store and bookstores everywhere. For the love of God, Reilly, what are you thinking? You have the audacity, the
cajones, the chutzpah to take an impressionable 14-year-old boy to Hawaii to
watch a swimsuit shoot ... and then tell us about it! As if we aren't envious
enough of the life you lead, now you have to tell tales of your son's voyage to
"lycra nirvana," not to mention the irreparable damage you've done to
his psyche. What's left for him to strive for, to dream about? You make me sick.
The next time you feel the need to fly to the furthest reaches of the globe in
an effort to expose an innocent mind to the overblown sexuality of a swimsuit
shoot, take
me.
You got the adoption papers? Tell Dr. Laura that father-son bonding is a good thing and that you had every
right to take your son to the photo
shoot.
Dr. Laura chastised me for taking him and I've decided she makes some good points. From now on, I'm going to restrict my son to viewing naked pictures of her on the Internet. I usually agree with your points, and I almost always appreciate what you're
trying to say, but your Feb. 20 column
had me
screaming at the page. Yes, the death of Dale Earnhardt is a terrible tragedy,
as is the premature death of any beloved husband, father and friend, but I fear
his death (and columns like yours that it has inspired) will give greater
credibility and visibility to the activity of auto racing, which is certainly
not a sport. At best, it is nothing more than the skilled operation and
manipulation of a machine. Driving a car is not a sporting endeavor, and driving
it recklessly, with little or no regard for one's own life or the lives of
others, as Earnhardt did on a regular basis (to the sick acclaim of journalists
and fans), is a criminal offense on every strip of pavement in America. Every
road, that is, except those surrounded by tens of thousands of gawking,
Skoal-addled fans who find their heroes painted in a rainbow of marketing
propaganda and their legends lying dead in smoldering piles of twisted
metal.
If you ever got behind the wheel of a NASCAR vehicle, you would change your mind. It's not simply the machine, it's the man driving it, the tactics involved, the courage to find a hole where there isn't one, the guts to floor it through the yellow flag you know is coming, and the strength to hang on and focus after 450 laps when your whole body is begging for a couch and a beer. Don't knock it until you've tried it. I enjoy your writing and your propensity to voice your opinion no matter what
the subject is, so I wanted to see what you had to say about auto racing. I was
ready to endure another diatribe on the stupidity/redneckness of the sport of
stock-car racing, but you surprised me. Most writers who rail against the sport
have never gotten close to the action. You, however, have done what they call in
the business "smelled the smoke." Just watching the sport on
television is kind of like someone telling you about the Grand Canyon -- it just
doesn't do it justice. Having been there, though, and having felt the rumble
increase right along with your adrenaline level, you have made a very keen
observation. Once this sport gets under your skin in this way, you never look at
it the same way again.
The most smoke I smelled was in the stands afterward. My god, these people's dogs must smoke, too. First, I'd like to thank you for consistantly (SIC) delivering great columns week after week. I'm a freshman in high school, and I try to use some of your techniques in my writing. However, my journalism teacher says I'm too sarcastic and mean-spirited. I say I'm witty and honest. She says I use too many analogies. I say analogies are like water ballons (SIC), their (SIC) fun to throw around, and nobody ever has enough of them. Do you have any suggestions on how to tone down one's style for high school writing? --Kevin Goll, Kingwood, Texas A) I'd learn to spell, B) analogies are wonderful, if they work. If they don't, they sit there on the page and scream at you, C) every once in awhile, you need to be like Sears -- find your softer side. You need more than one gear to get through the race. My gut feeling is you should probably listen to your teacher. I was born and raised in the great state of Indiana, where every grade school
and high school basketball coach aspires to be Bobby Knight. I am a graduate of
Indiana University, where the student body feared Coach Knight every bit as much
as they respected him. I applaud your column and hope that all of Indiana accepts what the rest of the nation has known for a long time -- Bobby Knight has a great basketball mind, but he is a bully and
lacks the moral character to represent any organization. Mike Davis is the best
possible role model that my alma mater can put in the public eye.
As you probably know, Indiana hired Davis the same day the column came out. And don't think I didn't have an influence on that decision. Well, actually, go ahead and think it. I think they were going to hire Davis from the beginning. I find your comments right on the mark. Why would Indiana even consider
anyone else? Thank goodness they gave the job to someone who wants to teach kids
and help them become real men -- not bullies or thugs or people who succeed by
intimidation. None of my children will ever attend Texas Tech or any other
school that has anything to do with Knight, the great teacher of how not
to act. Shame on Texas Tech. I guess winning does mean "at any
cost."
Bobby Knight deserves Lubbock, a place so flat you can watch your dog run away for two days. I am here today to plead for the insufferable nonsense to stop. I am asking
for your help to quench the raging fires. What I am speaking of is the debate
over whether Michael Jordan will come back, and whether Kobe Bryant, Allen
Iverson or anyone else is better. First and foremost, Jordan was a great player.
The greatest of his time and maybe of all time, but who cares? It's in the past.
All that matters is who wins this year. Once my generation is a little older,
nobody will care about Jordan. He will be an old, dusty relic, just like Bill
Walton or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is to me. Comparing present with past is like
comparing apples to oranges. The present is all that matters.
Four weeks ago I wrote that Jordan was thinking hard about a comeback, testing his body and exploring the possibilities of abandoning his ownership of the Wizards. Now Mario Lemieux, Phil Jackson, Mitch Richmond and Wizards owner Abe Pollin have come out and said the same thing. I stick by my original piece. Jordan's thinking hard about it, feeling himself out, seeing how good his body can be again. It might not happen, but I hope it does. As a former tennis teaching professional, I could certainly appreciate your March 27 column. I
remember a set of parents who brought their three-and-a-half-year-old daughter
out to the club for an "evaluation." I had her hit a few balls. She
hit a few and missed a few before insisting that I rally with her from the
opposite baseline. I refused because in my professional opinion, she was not
athletically gifted. When the "evaluation" was over, I entered the
lobby to face the panting parents. "Well? Well?" It was obvious they
wanted me to tell them their daughter was the next Chris Evert, and that they
should sink every penny they could get their hands into her tennis future. But I
couldn't. I took a deep breath and said, "Take her home and play catch with
her. It'll be fun, and it'll improve her hand-eye coordination." The
parents were irate and refused to pay for my time, then began loudly questioning
my professional credentials. I was glad that I would never have to deal with
them again. I shudder to think where and what that little girl is now. The
chances of making it as a top-level athlete in this day and age, even for kids
with all the opportunities in the world, are miniscule. But don't tell the
parents that.
These parents see the monster Alex Rodriguez money, the monster Tiger money, the monster Venus Williams money, and drag their kids to every camp, league, team and lesson they can afford. Meanwhile, the kid never gets to be a kid. Good for you for sticking up for the kids you teach. We need more people like you. As usual, you hit it right on the head and expose some of these
out-of-control parents for what they are. God forbid my son isn't in three elite
leagues, each requiring three nights of practice per week, and then games on the
weekend, plus skills sessions on the side. By the age of 11, his future --
hockey or other sports? goalie or forward? -- has to be
decided.
Right. By 11, he's got to be in a good goalie camp, a good defensemen camp, a good pylon camp, a good " how to powder your stick" seminar and at least on one or two teams in the Medicine Hat League. Ugh. I am getting so tired of out-of-control parents and coaches demanding kids
specialize in a sport and forcing them to play it throughout the year. And
claiming the relentless approach is for the kid is the biggest whopper since
Bill Clinton's "I didn't inhale" or Al Gore's "I invented the
Internet." What kids really want is a pickup game in the park, with no
coaches or parents. Yuppie parents who were miserable failures as athletes
themselves are now trying to compete and buy their athletic fame. Oh, excuse me,
their kids' athletic
fame.
There are kids we know in our town who played more than 100 baseball games last summer. That's more than some major league farm teams! Gag me. Have something to say about Rick Reilly's musings? Click here to submit a comment. |
