I like Golf just a bit more than I like basketball. I have long believed and said that [Pro] Basketball is a waste of a good hardwood floor. So, with that said, you now know my feelings for Golf… I can appreciate a good lawn.

I found myself watching the U.S. Open a few days ago and became hypnotized by the ability of Tiger Woods. The man is unbelievable. I often like to cheer for the under dog, in this case Rocco Mediate, who was so far out of being expected to contend that he had to win a sudden death match just to qualify to play in the US Open. The man was beyond being a long shot to win it, he was pretty much just another name on the roster as filler. Rocco ended up surprising everyone with his performance and by the end of the day he finished as the leader and presumptive winner so long as Tiger Woods didn’t pull off a miracle before he finished.

As much as I wanted Rocco to win, the Under Dog to beat the legendary Tiger Woods… I find myself wanting to cheer for Tiger as well. The man is amazing, he plays with an intensity and focus second to none. Though, he manages to carry himself in a way that he doesn’t seem to fully realize just how good he really is. At times it seems he even surprises himself after sinking an unbelievable shot. He has the ability to become a better player when it counts the most - he thrives in the pressure of the moment.

The 2008 US Open is going down as the best US Open in history and some annalists are calling it Tigers best game he’s ever played; a game he played with a bad knee which aggravated him with every swing of the club. A come from behind tie, not only on the last shot of regulation, but doing it again in the next days play-off to force another round of sudden death with a few amazing shots through-out the match. It wasn’t just a testament to Tiger’s will to win, but also to Rocco’s will to win as well.

Congratulations to Tiger Woods on his exciting come from behind win and to Rocco Mediate for doing what nobody could have even scripted him to do. He held his own with class and almost pulled off an amazing win with an amazing performance. This is one of the rare times that second place will be remembered just as much as the one who won it all.

You know something is wrong when you headline The Onion and it sounds like real news rather than a satire.

GM Bill Bavasi fired team whiffing coach Jeff Pentland Monday. “Our guys have simply forgotten the basics—flailing, guessing, just standing there like a statue as a perfect pitch comes sailing right over the plate,”

Bill Bavasi really did fire the hitting coach last Monday… in a last ditch effort to save his own hide.

In similar news, Bill Bavasi was fired today for sucking [for the past five years] as the Mariners general manager. I never liked Bavasi and I’m glad to see him go. Oh, to have the 2001 season back again, I miss real Seattle Baseball.

Yesterday Ken Griffey Junior joined an elite group; the career 600 club. Only five other players have crossed this impressive landmark in the Major League of Baseball: Barry Bonds (762*), Hank Aaron (755), Babe Ruth (714), Willie Mays (660), Sammy Sosa (609) - and now - Ken Griffey Junior (600) and counting. He was destined to not only meet this mark but exceed it.

Junior was Seattle’s number one pick in 1987 and he spent two years in the minors before he made his own shot at the big leagues. He expressed such an amazing skill for the game at such a young age, it made many major league players look like they belonged in the minors instead.

Former teammate, Scott Bradley:

When he came to camp in 1989, he had no chance to make the team, but he got a lot of at-bats early that spring because a lot of veterans don’t like to play a lot early. After 20 games, he wasn’t just the best player on our team, he was the best player in the league that spring. The Mariners basically said, ‘We don’t want this to happen, we don’t want to rush him, we don’t want him to make the team.’ So they started running him out there against every elite pitcher, against all the nastiest left-handers they could find in hopes that he would stop hitting, and they could send him out. It never happened.

Former Mariners Manager, Lou Pinella:

The first time I saw him was in Arizona for spring training, he would hit these towering fly balls that would carry and carry, and go out of the ballpark. I just figured it was the thin air in Arizona. Then he kept hitting those towering fly balls wherever we went, and I realized it wasn’t the thin air, it was him. And it was so effortless.

He was the youngest player to reach the 300 and 400 home run mark. Projections had him not only breaking Hank Aarons mark of 755 but breaking the 800 mark as well. He was dubbed “The Natural” because his swing is perfect and he is so athletically gifted that it seems absolutely effortless for him.

It only makes one wonder what could have been. What could have happened if he didn’t suffer those four straight seasons of major injuries. He was never the same after he broke his wrist. But we must remember that it’s not always about home runs, it’s about the players, the game and what they have done for it. Junior built baseball in Seattle, he was the Mariners and he was all that baseball embodied in the 1990’s. He will, with out a doubt, go down as one of the greatest players in history because it does come so naturally to him and he has a great time doing it.

As a resident of Seattle, and as a (at times fairweather) fan of the Mariners, I can only share the collective Seattle dream of Junior returning to the Emerald City to finish out his career. His unexpected emotion that he expressed when Cincinnati came to Seattle last year only proved to me that the connection between himself and Seattle is one that is missed on both sides of the fence.

Either way, I look forward to watching Junior continue to enjoy the game he was born to play. Congratulations Junior, what an amazing ride it’s been so far.

My brother Brian hosts a weblog that chronicles not only his cycling team races but also his various heart stopping training rides. We grew up in a cycling family but I parted ways with the hobby in my early teen years. My parents learned that putting a ten year old in spandex and then parading him around on a road bike in front of the neighborhood kids probably wasn’t the best idea.

This past weekend, Tara and I went out for a ride on our freshly tuned bicycles (thanks Brian). I felt it appropriate to record all aspects of our epic training ride much as Brian does. Keep in mind, I haven’t really ridden a bicycle in several years.

Breakdown:

Breakfast: Brunch at Macrina - One large orange juice, one glass of water, fried egg sandwich, red potatoes drowning in ketchup and two leaves of salad to make Tara think I ate part of it.

Maintenance: Pulling the bikes out of my trunk knocked the chain off the chain rings on both bikes. Paper towel in hand, I silently cursed the chain back into working order.

Ride Food: Peanut Butter Power Bars and a SIGG of water.

Ride Route:

After finally figuring out how to get my feet in the toe clips we were on our way. Starting at Tara’s apartment, we took off towards the Woodland Park Zoo. The ride started on a gradual uphill grade which was a great way to get the heart rate going. We weaved through some of the side streets to avoid a busy intersection. Moving at a leisurely pace, Tara would comment on the occasional bunch of colorful tulips, a comfy looking porch swing and state that victorian architecture doesn’t really do much for her.

I took this side street opportunity to work on my intervals, you know, working on my explosiveness to break from the pack. This, unfortunately, didn’t last long because I was told that I was difficult to talk to when I’d randomly sprint off in the middle of a sentence (see: element of surprise, booyah).

Eventually, we came to the steepest part of the ride and I quickly began to regret my earlier interval training. Tara left me in the dust with my legs burning and heart rate on the verge of failure; ten minutes into the ride and I had already started to bonk… hard. Lucky, the hill was only about fifty yards and rounded into the Woodland Park Zoo parking lot. Thankfully there were some sprinklers turned on that I (the resourceful type that I am) used to cool off and regain my composure before I caught up with Tara who was already waiting for me at the zoo’s south gate.

While Tara bought tickets for us to gain access to the new Flamingo exhibit, I was able to secure our two bikes and two helmets using two cable locks. And just like dad taught me, which I feel applies to even cable locks: “If you can’t tie a knot, tie a lot.” Those bikes weren’t going anywhere.

I’ll spare you the zoo details because this is supposed to be about our training ride. So, all I will say is that the Flamingos were visually one legged, very pink and the hawk lady’s hawk flew away during the birds of prey demonstration. Seriously, it did, they had to stop the show to go look for it. Awesome.

After the zoo, we took a back trail through Woodland Park towards Greenlake. My keen sense of direction only took us the long way twice on the trail, but we eventually made our way down to the lake path. Moving counter clockwise in the bike lane - we dodged, nearly clipped and sped past the weekend walkers who thought they owned the entire path, share the road… err, path people!

Halfway around the lake we made a pit stop at Gregg’s Cycle. This time I only used one cable lock, Tara left her helmet on the sidewalk and I wore mine in to look all bicycle professional cool, “Yeah, I ride, you too? Sweet.” Though I’m sure my disheveled cargo shorts, my bow legged gait from chafed boxer briefs and my slight wheeze gave me away.

Anyway, I went in to buy a bike pump because I had been riding on two tires that my brother swore were at a high enough pressure. Needless to say, every time I hopped a curb I first felt the slight cushion of my shocks followed by the hard crunch of my rim meeting the asphalt. While I talked bike pumps with one of the sales people, Tara tested out all the different types of bicycle bells and horns, three inches from my ear. She even struck up a conversation with another customer on how brass sounded better than regular metal… who knew!

Soon we were on our way back around the lake and we decided to hit the QFC for a little dinner grocery shopping. We each strapped a shopping bag to our handle bars and wobbled our unbalanced bicycles back home. For dinner we made soft tacos, rehydrated with Bud Light and relaxed on the couch watching Analyze This while enjoying a bowl of ice cream on a warm evening.

All in all it was a killer five miles, not counting the walk through the zoo. Tara and I had a lot of fun, we found a new activity we both enjoy and I did it all with out wearing spandex… and that lady lost her hawk.

One of the most important lessons we can teach our children in sports is the true value of good sportsmanship. A better example of this could not have been made than what was displayed in the women’s division two double header pitting Central Washington against Western Oregon this past Saturday. In one of the last games of the regular season, these two teams displayed a virtue of kindness that all could admire and should follow.

Western Oregon senior Sara Tucholsky had never hit a home run in her career. Central Washington senior Mallory Holtman was already her school’s career leader in them. But when a twist of fate and a torn knee ligament brought them face to face with each other and face to face with the end of their playing days, they combined on a home run trot that celebrated the collective human spirit far more than individual athletic achievement.

In the face of heckling fans, Sara blasted a home run hit over the center field wall. As her two teammates already on base jogged past the third base coach with celebratory hi-fives Sara rounded first base just missing the bag. She stopped to turn back in a motion that ended up tearing her ACL and brought her to the ground. Sara, on her first home run of her last college game would not be able to continue under her own power.

To make things worse, the rule book states that if anyone from Sara’s team touched her she would be called out and her hit would be for nothing. This left her coach, Pam Knox, with only one option - sub in a pinch runner at first base in place of Sara and record the play as a two run single.

“And right then,” Knox said, “I heard, ‘Excuse me, would it be OK if we carried her around and she touched each bag?’”

It was the voice of Mallory Holtman, the starting senior for Central Washington who holds nearly every offensive record for Central including career home runs. Having been one of the most senior players on the field, Mallory knew that there is nothing in the rule book that states the other team can not touch or aide an opposing team’s base runner around the bases.

Holtman and shortstop Liz Wallace lifted Tucholsky off the ground and supported her weight between them as they began a slow trip around the bases, stopping at each one so Tucholsky’s left foot could secure her passage onward. Even with Tucholsky feeling the pain of what trainers subsequently came to believe was a torn ACL (she was scheduled for tests to confirm the injury on Monday), the surreal quality of perhaps the longest and most crowded home run trot in the game’s history hit all three players.

For her part, Holtman seems not altogether sure what all the fuss is about. She seems to genuinely believe that any player in her position on any field on any day would have done the same thing. Which helps explains why it did happen on that day and on that field.

Simply, amazing…

I found this story on ESPN and felt it needed to be shared, read the entire text written by Graham Hays at: http://espn.com

I went to take some shots of another cycling race that my brother and the team he rides for was in on Thursday. The weather wasn’t the most ideal for what I was looking for, but I feel I made due with what I had… overcast, slow shutter speeds and experimenting with my flash to get any sort of shadow or depth.

It’s rather difficult to shoot fast moving objects on an overcast day surrounded by trees. I walked the course during the 5:30pm race to get a feel for what lines the riders were taking and where I should best position myself for my brother’s race. I found one stretch that offered a decent amount of light, a pleasant background - away from ugly sign posts - and where the riders came very close to the curb that I would be standing at.

The first few test shots proved to be mediocre at best. They were flat and boring due to the aforementioned lighting conditions. So I decided to experiment a little bit with my flash (Nikon SB-800). I was already shooting at a 30th of a second, forced to only take pan and blur shots; I figured it wouldn’t hurt to break a few rules and start popping my flash. This idea brought me some fairly interesting and great looking shots and hopefully I didn’t annoy any of the riders with the flash.

You can view the images on my Flickr page along with the rest of my photography…

Well, not quite but wishful thinking! The Seahawks (along with the rest of the NFL) announced their 2008 season schedule today. Looking at this line up, I could see them ending up with a 12 - 5 record for the regular season… and that’s being cautious… and I’m obviously bias.

Though the Hawks won’t play a Monday Night game this season, they will be playing on Thanksgiving for the third time in franchise history against the Dallas Cowboys and to a national audience. Seattle is tied with having the best Monday Night winning percentage in the NFL. So I’m hoping they will have an edge as I see this being their Monday night game instead; even though it’s actually a Thursday. Besides, I grew up in a Washington Redskin house so I loath everything that has to do with “Football” and “Dallas” in the same sentence.

New England Patriots in Seattle, 12th Man, Blue Thunder, its April and I’m all ready excited… Go Hawks!

Sonics who?

I’ll be the first one to admit, I am not a fan of basketball by any stretch of the imagination. I really can’t get into a sport that in the last thirty seconds or so, the actual strategy to get the upper hand is to break the rules by fouling your opponent. I know it’s a (widely accepted) choice the coaches and players make but in my opinion, this makes for a pretty ridiculous loop hole in the system. I can’t think of another sport that breaking the rules makes more sense than playing the game as it was intended. Not exactly the most honorable way to beat your opponent who has most likely out played you to be in the lead at the thirty second mark.

But my thoughts on how the game is played as opposed to how I feel it was intended is not entirely what I wanted to talk about. It’s tournament time, and that means Fantasy Game carnage with the guys… or historically (in March Madness) getting dominated by the girls.

After the top two paying spots in our bracket last year went to women; the guys got together and decided, though we love our wives/girlfriends, we were going to have a guys only bracket this year. In opposition, it was very well stated by our counterparts that this was the equivalent to tucking our tails between our legs and admitting that the girls are better than the guys. Kind of like, oh I don’t know, cheap skating the last thirty seconds of a basketball game that we have always lost at by fouling a clearly dominate opponent. Though our decision met strong opposition and ridicule, we soldiered on.

Unfortunately, the guy who is hosting our bracket missed the man meeting, our plans for dominance and the memo completely. More like, we forgot to tell him. The invitation email went out to not only the guys but our fiercest opponents as well. You could hear the collective man howl of pain echo from Seattle to Vancouver.

Sure, so maybe we are insecure in our masculinity. We think too hard about which team will dominate and who the big upsets will be. We pore over statistics and historical records. We make the best informed decisions, submit our bracket and succumb to our inevitable defeat. Well not this year my friends, I’ve thrown the research in the trash can, all logical reasoning… out the window. I’ve made my selections based off of uniform color, mascot appeal and which team has the cutest players. Even my buddy Brad traded in his love of statistics for his very own version of the best dressed coach wins it all. There are no atheists in fox holes my friends, their logic is best fought with… ill-logic. Or something like that.

It took me five minutes to make my bracket this year, what a breeze. I barely paid attention to what I was doing and hit the submit button. Looking back now, I should have paid a little more attention because I still ended up with the logical choice of two number one ranked teams meeting in the finals, DAMNIT. It’s up to fate now, I’m at the mercy of the logic I tried to emulate. Which, by the way, I am starting to believe was all a front to make me think they aren’t trying.

Man-Moral: Whether we win or loose; we truly are always second to our better half…