Shallow | Center

The Power of Parenthood

A Daughter’s Innocent Questions, a Father’s Life-Changing Answers

LAST SUNDAY I flipped on the Vikings-Giants game, and my 6-year-old, as is her custom, started peppering me with questions. They were the usual: Who’s playing? Which team is wearing the white and purple uniforms? Which one the blue and gray? And then the kicker: Who do we want to win?

In that moment I realized the immense power I hold as a father. I’ve inculcated her with enough sports savvy to know that when a Philadelphia team is playing, that’s whom she roots for. But when both teams are out of town, I get the chance to shape lifelong loving and loathing of teams for whatever rationale I care to come up with. I can turn her into the only kid in her dorm with Dallas Stars and Cleveland Indians posters on her wall, just because. I can foster a visceral hatred of the Arizona Cardinals and the Sacramento Kings, just because.

(In Sunday’s case I told her the truth -- we were to root for the Vikings because the Eagles were chasing the Giants in the wild-card race, not that I needed a reason to wish a loss on New York.)

Of course, with great power comes great responsibility. And so I will never tell her to root for the Mets, the (football) Giants, the (hockey) Rangers, the Celtics, or the Lakers.

Well, unless there are playoff implications for our guys. S|C

At Least 'Invincible' Was Good

Meanwhile, On the Field, All of Philadelphia Continues to Underwhelm

MOST TROUBLING about the Eagles' woes are what they mean for Philadelphia's championship possibilities in the foreseeable future. If any of the other major teams seemed poised for a parade down Broad Street, the Birds' precipitous drop would be far more palatable. But the Eagles have spent the better part of 10 years representing our best hope, and their shocking and sudden implosion leaves no one to pick up the slack. The Flyers have revealed themselves to be a drifting mess of a franchise, the 76ers are about to start their umpteenth unpromising campaign, and the Phillies have done nothing to warrant any kind of optimism. So, great -- we're left to root for the Kixx. Insert your own "kid-tested, mother-approved" joke here.

At Arm's Length

The Baseball Playoffs Roll On, While I Roll Over

A couple of days ago, in response to a football post, a couple of comments wondered when baseball season would start again. Truth be told, I'm not ready for it yet. As usually happens around this time of year, I need some decompression from the past season. The particularly agonizing final week of the Phillies' season only adds to the need to step away a bit. I caught none of Oakland's sweep of the Twins, I've seen none of the Cardinals-Padres or Mets-Dodgers series, and my sole viewing of the Yankees-Tigers was a few innings last night. (Jesus, what got into Kenny Rogers?) And that's okay. A few weeks after the World Series the baseball itch will need to be scratched again, and I'll use Bull Durham and Major League and the Phlogosphere to carry me through the winter. For now, though, the distance is a good thing. I'm glad to have football to fulfill my sports jones these days, and one of these nights I'll settle down and get back into the Flyers, too. I know that Tommy Lasorda is exhorting me to be not just a fan of the Phils but also of the game, and I am. The problem is that the Phillies make fandom so damn hard.

Ring Toss

Philly Loses Out on the '16 Games; Can There Be a Silver Lining?

PHILADELPHIA LOST again yesterday, but this time, the defeat was a noble one. This time, the entire region can take pride in the effort. The U.S. Olympic Committee yesterday scratched Philadelphia and Houston off the American cities it is considering to pitch as host city of the 2016 Olympics, and that's very much too bad. But the fact that the region even made a push at all -- well, given the staggering parochialism and backward-looking thinking that fatally anchor our aspirations, it was revolutionary. Alas, it would seem that those very anchors might have been what held us down in this case:

Running Down a Dream

On Patriots Day, a Live Glimpse at a Stunning Spectacle

MOST OF THE RUNNERS sported nylon shorts and tank tops. Others had t-shirts and hats. I spotted two dressed as Elvis, and one as the Riddler. Thousands of them streamed past us along Route 135 in Natick, 10 miles or so into the Boston Marathon, intent on making their way from Hopkinton to Boylston Street downtown. You wouldn't think that standing along the side of the road and cheering on complete strangers, all while keeping your eyes peeled for a single friend, could possibly be any fun. You'd be wrong. Tremendous goodwill pervaded the spectators; the runners pounding near the sides of the road reached out for high-fives from members of the crowd. Applause greeted every marathoner who came into sight, and when special competitors appeared -- racers in wheelchairs, runners pushing disabled people -- the cheering got even louder. Spotting our friend Donna elicited far greater excitement in us than it ought to have -- shouting hello, taking her picture, and handing along some nutrition, we felt privileged to have been a part of her day. And if I wasn't quite inspired to take up marathoning, watching all of those goal-oriented people working their asses off to complete what they had trained for for so long certainly made me consider what I want out of life, and what I'm willing to do to get it. And for that I'm grateful.

Hoop, There It Is

With the Big Dance Looming, Would-Be Cinderellas the Nation Over Start Trying on Slippers

IF THE PROSPECT of reading another story about Barry Bonds's rear end, and what he injected into it, makes you want to swear off sports forever, allow me to suggest you tune in to the various NCAA Division I men's basketball conference tournaments that are taking place this week. Not the behemoths like the ACC or Big East -- the amount of money involved there renders that game virtually pro anyway. No, check out the smaller conferences -- the Patriot League, for example, whose final will be tomorrow at 4:30. These players will never make it to the NBA, and almost certainly (but not always) will be cannon fodder for whomever they face in the first round of the NCAA Tournament. They play because they love the game, and when they win, they don't strut the sidelines and wait for the cameras to catch them in mid-scowl. They hug, they cry, they thank their coaches, and they get ready for the best week of their young lives. It's a refreshingly uncynical display, and it's enough to restore your faith in sports.

Bode Blows

Miller's Miscues Are Just Too Bad, Huh?

THIS IS GOING to sound un-American, so nobody tell Karl Rove, but I'm rather glad that Bode Miller was such a wipeout in Turin. Obnoxious hotshots are so not my bag, and to see one of them engaging in a first-class choke is sweet comeuppance. It's like having the quarterback of your high school team, the one who got all the girls and wore the coolest clothes and broke the rules without getting caught, throw four interceptions in the state championship game. You're sorry your team lost, but a part of you takes petty pleasure in watching Captain Smoothie fail so spectacularly. I suspect young Bode repaired to a nearby watering hole to drown his sorrows, which is fine -- it's something he's apparently quite good at. Thankfully, it'll be another four years before I have to hear his name again, and by then, I'm sure, someone else, some high-flying snowboarder, perhaps, will have annoyed his way into my consciousness. About the only downside I can see is that Miller's disappearing act confirms the overseas impression of Americans as loud, rude bullies who can't get out of their own way when it comes to walking the walk. Way to go, Bode.

What in the World?

The Downside of Global Sports Competitions

DID YOU KNOW that the Winter Olympics will take place next month? Does it make me a bad American or, worse, a bad consumer of entertainment, that it all rather snuck up on me? The Games are being held in the Italian city of Turin, which the natives and, apparently, NBC like to call Torino, which was also the model of Ford that my parents drove when I was a kid. It was an enormous hulk of badass blue steel, with a black interior, and probably got about 4 miles to the gallon. But I digress. NBC no doubt has been working feverishly to develop personal storylines, since the thrill of world-class athletes who are the best on the planet at what they do competing against each other just can't compare to the backstory of a Norwegian luger who once lost his favorite teddy bear in a fjord.

From Boston With Love

The Sports Guy Feels Our Pain

IT WAS A THROWAWAY LINE in Bill Simmons's NFL preview last Friday, but it bears repeating, in that it perfectly captured the living hell in which the Philadelphia sports fan exists:

Giants (-7.5) over EAGLES
At my Philly signing on Wednesday, I couldn't believe the body language of the locals -- signing a sports book for these poor people was like signing a romance novel for Jennifer Aniston right after Brad and Angelina started dating. You can't even imagine how many people asked me, "Can you sign it, 'Maybe this will happen to the Eagles' someday?'" How can Philly have no titles over the past 22 years, yet the Florida Marlins won two World Series titles in the past eight years alone? How does that make sense?

Around the Horn

A Look Back at the Week That Was

• Aww, is Pat Gillick a little cranky? | Balls, Sticks, & Stuff
• For many reasons, viva Vicente. | Swing and a Miss
• Imagine ... | A List of Things Thrown Five Minutes Ago
• An endorsement of building from within. | BeerLeaguer
• The dude modeling a Phillies t-shirt lacks fundamentals. Coincidence? |
• Philadelphia Will Do
• I wonder if Stephen A.'s bodyguards flush for him, too. | Deadspin
• Finally, Jude Law can rest easy. | Defamer
• Frank Fitzpatrick still can't bring the funny waxes philosophical about sports and old men, and it ain't half bad. | Morning Bytes