The cord that binds what we call our modern “sports culture” — the difference between now and then, whenever “then” was — is the removal of common sense. Sense has been beaten senseless by style.
In baseball, posing at home plate is now standard. That such hopeful or expectant preening has no upside, that the player risks embarrassment, often settling for a base or two less than where he should be, while placing his team’s goals in peril, makes no impression significant enough to inspire change.
And if there’s a manager, general manager or team owner who insists, as a matter of common sense, that such counterproductive fashion statements cease, I figure we all would know about him by now.
In basketball, players risk the same personal and team peril by eschewing easy layups and dunks to perform wild, twisting, SportsCenter-op slams. And if you don’t injure yourself or make a fool of yourself by clanging it, you don’t get back on defense, you give the TV camera beneath the basket a bad-ass stare — even if there is no TV camera.
In hockey, upon scoring a big goal, you now bolt to the nearest corner and throw yourself, with a jump, into the boards and glass. On skates. It’s the fad. You risk the risk, you “board” yourself, commit a high-speed physical act on yourself that would draw a penalty if perpetrated by an opponent.
All of the above have been copied by what players saw — then saw again and again — on TV. As spontaneous acts, they’re bereft of spontaneity, but worthy of slo-mo replays and promos.
Then, there’s football.
In an irony-rich collision of circumstances, Steelers wide receiver Santonio Holmes was voted the 2009 Super Bowl MVP when he as easily could forever be known as the most infamous all-about-me stylist in Super Bowl history.
With the Cardinals up 23-20 and under a minute left, Holmes caught a pass, then ran to the Arizona 6. The clock was running; Pittsburgh had one timeout left. Quarterback Ben Roethlisberger desperately waved his team to the line, perhaps to spike the ball to stop the clock …
… but then, he spotted Holmes, who was beyond the new line of scrimmage, engaged in an obligatory self-impressed routine. He was too busy me-dancing to think, know or care about anything else.
The Steelers had to use their last timeout. With 35 seconds left, Roethlisberger threw the winning touchdown pass — to Holmes.
Mike Tomlin was Pittsburgh’s coach then and now. And nothing has changed. Tomlin’s teams still regularly provide aid, comfort and 15 yards for misconduct to the enemy. No change from Holmes, either. He brought his me-first act to the Jets.
Sunday, after catching a touchdown pass from Roethlisberger, Steelers receiver Antonio Brown did his best to enable the previously 0-3 Buccaneers’ stunning upset in Pittsburgh.
Brown, who in 2012 was fined $10,000 for excessively immodest and taunting unsportsmanlike conduct, spun the ball on its tip, then, in a continuing, plain stupid performance, stood at attention, then fell like a tree, as if he still hadn’t gotten over himself.
Fifteen yards.
Anyway, Lions linebacker Stephen Tulloch, who hadn’t missed a game in over eight seasons, is out for the year, having wrecked a knee performing a wild dance designed to mock Aaron Rodgers, whom he had just sacked.
However, Tulloch, a college man who had a full scholarship to North Carolina State, claimed he suffers from neither embarrassment nor regret.
“Hell, no,” he told Detroit’s Free Press, “I’d do it again, brother. You do it every time. If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen.”
Lookalikes
Reader Rich Meyerson submits the winning European Ryder Cup team and the Brady Bunch, in their 1973 episode as “The Silver Platters.”
Spewing graphic nonsense
Short Story, Long: TBS, the postseason network that in the past has given us a graphic identifying Willie “Mayes,” on Tuesday, during the 12th inning of Athletics-Royals, presented this graphic: “If Royals win, then Tigers-Orioles, Royals-Angels. If A’s win, then Tigers-Orioles, A’s-Angels.”
Reader Ted McNabb, Wilmington, N.C., and one of the nine people in the Eastern Time Zone still watching what was rumored to have been a sensational game: “Isn’t that the same as ‘Tonight’s winner plays the Angels in Anaheim’?”
By the way, with the A’s 29-40 after the All-Star break, it’s unlikely there will be a cinematic sequel to “Moneyball.”
So Much For Dirt Cheap: That implacable trio — Derek Jeter, the Yankees and their contracted consignment shop, Steiner Collectibles — have combined to package and sell “Jeter Game-Used Dirt” for various prices depending on quantity and attachments. But prices begin at $10 for a teaspoon’s worth. Seriously.
FYI: The Rutgers Scarlet Knights, at home tomorrow against Michigan, will be the team wearing the Nike Black uniforms. Or as they say along the banks of the Old Raritan, “Go Big Red!”
Michigan coach Brady Hoke, during Wednesday’s news conference to try to explain why out-of-it quarterback Shane Morris was allowed to return to last Saturday’s game, spoke before a background carrying signage for University of Michigan “Health Systems.”
Reader Mike McIntee asks if Jameis Winston would have been suspended had he rapped those misogynistic obscenities instead of shouting them in the student union. Suspended? He’d have been invited to co-host the ESPYs!
’42’-slighted Shuba of Dodgers dies at 89
George “Shotgun” Shuba, Brooklyn Dodgers outfielder, died Monday at 89. Until last year’s popular but historically disfigured movie, “42,” about Jackie Robinson, Shuba’s place in both baseball and American social history seemed assured.
On April 18, 1946, Robinson, a member of the Dodgers’ Montreal Royals farm team, became the first black with an MLB-attached team when he played in New Jersey, against the Jersey City Giants.
When Robinson homered in the third inning, photographers waited to see what kind of greeting, if any, Robinson would receive at home plate. Two famous photos show a smiling teammate — Shuba — exchanging a firm handshake with a smiling Robinson.
The photo was seen ’round the world. And it remains good for the soul.
Sadly, in last year’s history-corrupting but bound-for-history movie, that moment’s treated with quick, dismissive insignificance. And there’s no George Shuba. Didn’t fit the script.