Players and Teams Who Never Should Have Been

The Dream in Splendid Raptors Purple, But Of Course

Certain things just don't look right. Guys in skin-tight blue jeans. Crown Victoria sedans sitting on 26s. Carlos Beltran's hair.

The same can be said of athletes, particularly those who spent large portions of their career with one team and then put on a new and unfamiliar uniform. The phenomenon is exacerbated with big stars. In researching our previous post on the decline of starting pitching, we utilized the phenomenal resource that is the baseball almanac. It was there we were reminded that our beloved Doc Gooden, in addition to donning the pinstripes of the evil empire and sporting Chief Wahoo atop his noggin, played for the Astros and Devil Rays.

Wait, what? Yes, time seems to have contributed to memory erosion (OK, probably a little more than time along, but that is besides the point). During our life span of our sports fanaticism, there have been a few player moves we simply failed to ever come to peace with. These might not have been the last stop for these stars, or even their shortest stint, but something about seeing those players in those jerseys was simply irreconcilable.

For these folks, we've either truthfully forgotten, pretended to forget or are still actively seeking to eradicate their memory in certain duds. Our list has a slight slant toward a few of our favorite local teams. Don't hold it us against us. Hit us up with yours in the comments.

Patrick Ewing (Seattle Supersonics)
Whether fans care to admit it our not, Patrick Ewing is arguably the greatest Knicks of all-time. He was a pillar of a team that competed at the highest level for nearly a decade with the 7-ft Hoya in the middle. And while he earned his ticket to the Hall this year, the spectacle of #33 in Sonics green never felt right. Even Orlando wasn't as bothersome as Patrick was already on his way out and, besides, at least blue looked familiar on him. This did not...


Emmitt Smith (Arizona Cardinals)
Long before he was making us all dumber via his ESPN commentary, Emmitt was a pretty solid NFL running back. OK, like really, really solid. For 13 seasons, #22 was a fixture in the Cowboys backfield and formed that nasty triumvirate with Aikman and Irvin that football people can't seem to talk about enough. During his decade plus in Big D, Emmitt started at least 14 games every season and rushed for over 1,000 yards ten straight campaigns. Then he went out West and put on an Arizona Cardinals jersey. And it was just...weird.


Wayne Gretzky (St. Louis Blues)
The Great One made his name in Edmonton. He won cups. Hollywood seemed the perfect stop during the late 80s and early 90s. The best player in hockey makes the Kings relevant in L.A. Perfect. Even Gretzky's swan song in the Big Apple didn't feel all that funny (sure it helped that I was a Rangers fan). But one season wedged in between L.A. and NYC was a bit different than the others. "Ladies and Gentlemen! The Captain of your St. Louis Blues, Wayne...Gretzky!


Hakeem Olajuwon (Toronto Raptors)
Was it a Dream or did Hall-of-Famer Hakeem Olajuwon really end his 18-year career in Toronto after 17 seasons as a Houston Rocket? At least he wasn't sporting one of those vicious-looking dinosaurs across his chest.


Eric Dickerson (Atlanta Falcons)
There was Rams Dickerson and Colts Dickerson. When did this Atlanta Falcons Dickerson come about? Apparently the Falcons were trying to catch lightning in a bottle that had already drifted to sea, or, more likely, just some publicity. Unfortunately for them, Dickerson carried the rock all of 26 times for 91 yards before hanging up his cleats for good.


Brian Leetch (Boston Bruins)
Leetchy should have never left New York. He didn't want to go. We didn't want him to go. It's kind of like the whole Tom Glavine Atlanta thing but the other way around...or something. For some reason, #2's trek up to Toronto didn't bug us. Perhaps it's because they actually care a lot about hockey up there, so we figured it was probably pretty cool to play in front of those fans. But the Bruins? That was unacceptable.


Dominique Wilkins (Boston Celtics)
'Nique is a Hawk. He's the only thing good that ever happened to that franchise. He is the face of the organization. As far as I'm concerned, he never played in Los Angeles or San Antonio. And he certainly never suited up for the Celtics (/steadfastly refusing to acknowledge previously stated facts).


Randall Cunningham (Dallas Cowboys)
Here's another one that simply doesn't compute. Minnesota? OK. I remember that. It was a few years. It was exciting. Randall was still an Eagle in everyone's head, but the Vikings thing didn't seem totally bizarre. But heading to the Cowboys after 11 years in Philthadelphia? The former Eagle...to the dreaded Boys? Of course this was then followed by the logical final stop in Baltimore. Sure, Randall the Raven. Puh-leez.


Jerry Rice (Seattle Seahawks)
The best receiver in the history of the NFL. The most potent quarterback-to-wideout combo of all-time. Many would argue Jerry Rice is the best football player to ever step on the field, at any position. But if you would have asked a fan in the 80s and 90s which was more probable, they may have actually chosen the option that Rice would appear on an ABC reality show called "Dancing with the Stars" over the possibility of Rice ending his career in a Seattle Seahawks uniform. Luckily, we got to experience both (tongue embedded in cheek).


Michael Jordan (Washington Wizards)
I won't even pretend I wasn't fired up to see MJ lace them up again, no matter the team. I was. Everyone was. But it was not the same, and it probably wouldn't have mattered what the uni. Somehow, though, it looks even goofier on a poster. Jordan is in wearing RED on posters. He is flying, gliding, dunking...his tongue is out. He is not wearing long goofy white spandex and a knee brace, and he is definitely not passing the ball.

We know there are others that rocked your sports-crazed worlds at the time (and maybe still do). Which sight could you never come to grips with? Pete Rose with the Expos slightly before we were old enough to know that was weird comes to mind. Montana in Chiefs red (never bothered me that much, but I'm sure it was like nails on a chalkboard for the West Coast folk)? Bonds as a Ray. Whoops, getting ahead of ourselves. Who else?

RIP, Starting Pitching

One of the Most Familiar Moves in Modern Baseball

The voice on 1050ESPN radio in New York praised Mike Mussina for the ability he's demonstrated to keep the 2008 Yankees "in games." Gary Cohen commended Oliver Perez on a "quality start" against Cincinnati (he went six, gave up three runs, three hits and walked four). During that same Sunday game, a graphic scrolled across the screen which revealed that the New York Mets were averaging over three-and-a-half relief appearances per game. The signs are everywhere, and they have been for years. MLB pitching is a disaster.

To be more pointed, the art of starting pitching is evaporating before our eyes. While many have lamented this trend time and again, but the breaking point for this 30-yr. old fan came this weekend fueled by the comments and stats above.

Since when did "keeping your team in the game" become something to get excited about from your starting pitcher? How has professional baseball allowed the term "quality start" to live on within its current parameters? In a decade, will young baseball fans even know what a complete game is? Will witnessing a starting hurler go nine be the future equivalent of witnessing a no-hitter?

We're not sure what to do about it, so for now we've simply chosen to rant. A few days ago, we shared a few recollections of one of our most memorable moments from the 1986 baseball season. We'll use that as a jumping-off point to provide some perspective.

Back in 1986, the New York Mets pitching staff posted the most wins and lowest ERA in the National League. Four pitchers (Darling, Gooden, Fernandez and Ojeda) started at least 30 games and logged at least 204 innings. Rick Aguilera, the team's fifth starter, started 20 games and held the highest ERA on the staff at 3.88. The Mets team ERA was 3.11. Total complete games? 27. Closer Roger McDowell made 75 appearances...and pitched 128 innings (Billy Wagner appeared in 66 games last year, stretching to record 68.3 innings worth of work).

Fast-forward a mere 20 years. Major League Baseball, 2006. The lowest NL ERA at the conclusion of that season belonged to the San Diego Padres. Their team ERA? 3.87. Chris Young boasted the lowest number of the Padres starters (who started at least 20 games) at 3.46. As a team, the Pads managed four complete games. Jake Peavy led the team with two. Doc Gooden topped the '86 Mets staff with 12.

Just short of a quarter of the way into the 2008 season, there have been six complete games -- in the National League. Starting pitching is a shell of its formal self. Pitch counts. Specialization. The steroid era. Better hitters. Smaller parks. Shrunken strike zones. Whatever the reasons, I don't like it one bit. Perhaps even more disturbing, it seems the number of pitchers who are even trying to go out, dominate and shut down the opposing team for nine innings are few and far between.

Instead, most gladly hand over the ball after six or seven innings content that they've left their team in a good position or, at worst, kept them in the game. In turn, their respective managers gleefully accept said ball and hand it off to their set-up guy, closer, left-handed specialist, set-up guy to the set-up guy, one-batter left-handed specialist, closer only on days the real closer has pitched a grand total of three innings that week, and on and on and on...UGH.

A few young bucks give me hope. James Shields and Tim Lincecum come immediately to mind. It's also nice to see Doc Halladay has managed to go the distance in four of eight starts. But is there really any hope for the tide to turn? Forty years ago, Bob Gibson went 22-9 for the 1968 St. Louis Cardinals. Gibson started 34 games going the distance in 28 of those 34 starts. He won the Cy Young on his way to an ERA of 1.12 in over 300 innings of work. In the year 2020, will five inning/90 pitch starts and 5.0 ERAs be customary "benchmarks" for Major League starters? If so, I weep for the future.

Seriously, Richie? Am I Missing Something??

OK, had to get something up on this. Just watched this highlight from last night's Rangers/Mariners game over at Deadspin and, quite honestly, I am still trying to figure out if I'm completely missing something.

Briefly, I'm all for a good bench-clearing brawl. I don't want to see it disappear from the game. Hell, our tagline endorses such antics as old-school baseball. However, like hockey, there are unwritten rules.

I believe it's rule 43, section II, sub-section B that states "overpaid, whiny bitches shall not charge the mound on balls that are more than six inches from the inside portion of the plate." It goes on to further stipulate that "one will be subject to unrelenting ridicule on the InterWebs should said batter also throw his helmet at the opposing pitcher at any time during his charge to the mound."

Really, Richie? You're 6-8, 240. The ball was not even in the county of "inside." We're sorry you've K'd 36 times in 33 games and are hitting .209, but try to refrain from misdirecting your personal frustrations against opposing pitchers. Oh, yea, and throwing your helmet at a pitcher, particularly, when you have eight inches and fifty pounds on them, is a sissy move...you big baby.

The LCG Weekly Reminiscence: Mookie, Ferris and the Super Bowl Shuffle

Welcome to the first installment of the LCG Weekly Reminiscence. This feature will be part sports history, part personal memories and part pop culture redux. Today, we take a stroll down memory lane 1986-style. Come back next week for '87.

I'd gone to sleep. I wasn't actually asleep, but I'd gone upstairs to my bunk bed in an act of stubborn defiance (at least in my own mind), refusing to give this team one more second of my precious time.

I'm not sure what was more pathetic...that I had already given up on my team, consequently leading to my missing one of the more memorable moments in Mets franchise history. Or that I just wrote that last sentence [technically, a fragment]. Probably the latter. So where were we again?

Oh yes, October 25, 1986. I had recently celebrated my ninth birthday and had long since been indoctrinated into Mets fandom by a Brooklyn-born mother and a father who was somehow bamboozled into being a believer back in 1969. On the transistor dial (OK, Z100 and 95.5WPLJ), DJs were cranking out tunes from Lionel Richie, Belinda Carlisle and Huey Lewis and the News. I couldn't get enough of Spy Hunter at our local pizza joint, and it was a close race between Maverick and Ferris as to who was the coolest (Cameron Frye had also convinced us a Gordie Howe Red Wings sweater had to be our next sports jersey purchase).

Earlier that evening, the family had gathered for some form of takeout served in our fairly cramped kitchen. We "dined" at a familiar, worn wooden table with metal legs and collapsible leaves on each side that I strangely recall pinching me on multiple occasions, forever drawing my scorn. It also had rollers on the bottom of the legs, which is an important point for absolutely no reason at all.

In stark contrast to the 50' Pioneer plasma screen I recently purchased, our viewing experience was delivered compliments of an 8' Panasonic black-and-white model. I believe it also had a radio function, which I always found wickedly-cool and innovative. There was a button marked "VHF" on the lower right that you always needed to press in to ensure proper functionality. UHF was apparently bad. VHF = good. UHF = bad. The whole playing with the antenna thing was also an art that took years to perfect.

In terms of the game, for those not from Planet Earth, it was Game Six of the 1986 World Series. The Mets trailed the Sawx 3-2 in the best of seven. Mom, Dad and I had watched every minute of the action together (my sister was three at the time; I have no recollection of her existence from this particular evening). Despite being a lifetime nocturnal creature, by 10 p.m. or so that evening, I was starting to fade. I was nine, cut me a little slack.

More precisely, I was experiencing that sinking, empty, horrifying feeling that mature sports fans can't help but suffer through multiple times in their lifetime. For me, it was one of the first. The awful, sickening realization that it was all going to end. After 108 regular-season wins...after six agonizing games in Houston...16 innings...enduring Billy Hatcher...it was all for naught. The Sox were going to win the World Series. The champagne was already on ice. And I was done with the Mets. Definitely for that evening, maybe forever (employing the always logical rationale a 9-yr old fan often calls upon).

While I sulked upstairs, away from the TV, it began to happen. Watching it today, it seems even more unbelievable. The Mets were down and out. Two outs. Calvin Shiraldi and his 1.41 ERA on the hill. Bottom ten. Shea funeral parlor silent since Dave Henderson went yard in the top of the 10th, and the Sox tacked on another to stretch the lead to 5-3. Vin Scully telling listeners that Oil Can Boyd will have a day off and the camera pans to Roger Clemens flashing a sh*t-eating grin. 2-1 count to Gary Carter.

Then Carter lines a single. Kevin Mitchell. Single. Shea stirs. Ray Knight singles. Carter scores, Mitchell to third. 5-4 Sox. Bob Stanley replaces Shiraldi. Mookie Wilson steps to the plate. On a 2-2 count, Stanley uncorks a wild pitch. Knight scores. Tie game. Pandemonium in Queens. Then, on a full count, Mookie hits a weak dribbler towards you-know-who and the the rest as they say is history...plus, Vin Scully says it so much better.


I, meanwhile, laid upstairs staring at the ceiling and fuming. Then came the shout/shriek from downstairs. My mother. Screaming for me to "hurry! come downstairs, come downstairs!" I responded with melancholy silence. Mother repeating: "COME DOWN! They scored...they won...Mookie...[garbled nonsense]."

It took awhile to get convince me. But after a few more shouts, I begrudgingly sauntered down the stairs. After imploring me to look at the TV and wipe the dried up tears away, reality hit. They had done it. Two strikes away from elimination with nobody on, no hope in a stadium that resembled a funeral home, the improbable had happened. And I'd missed every second of it.

Here's a quick-hitting look at what else was going on back in 1986...Chernobyl, The Challenger Disaster, Iran-Contra Affair, Run D.M.C, Dire Straits, The Bangles, Slippery When Wet, Top Gun, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Platoon, Aliens (sick movie year!), the hi-top fade, Swatch, ALF and, of course, these guys.



See you next week as we stroll down memory lane, 1987-style.

Bring it Back, Turiaf: Asking Ronnie and Crew to Break Out the 'Fros

The Frofather

It's hard to explain. I equate it to watching an NFL football game in the snow. It just ups the entertainment value and makes a regular sporting event all of the sudden fantastic. The mere presence of the white stuff has some strange majestic power to draw you in. You can't take your eyes of the screen and there is no logical reason to explain such a phenonemon. The product on the field is no different than usual, and it's likely more uncomfortable, troublesome and restrictive to the players. The appearance of a great afro on an NBA court has the same effect as the fluffy white stuff on the gridiron (at least for me).

Back in the 70's, the ABA helped make afros and high-socks the hoops fashion trend of the decade. In 1997, at a League reunion, former ABA star Darrell Hilman was recognized for his tremendous 'do with the coveted "Biggest ABA Afro Award." Of course, Dr. J also rocked a tremendous helmet of hair in his early days in that same league.

But, in today's game, the afro has largely disappeared. Sure it seems unruly, annoying and requiring countless hours of maintenance, not to mention potentially hampering one's ability to perform on-court. But c'mon, it looks awesome. For instance, we'd become so accustomed to the cornrows of Lakers reserve Ronnie Turiaf that the tremendous 'fro he rocked at Gonzaga escaped our memory. It needs to make a comeback, and so does the afro on a broader level.

In that spirit, we decided to take a quick tour around the League and identify some of the keepers of the 'fro flame. Hit us up with some of the current players we're missing.

Ronnie Turiaf, L.A Lakers
While we love his hustle and his story, we'd prefer Ronnie bring back the Zags-days 'do. He would definitely appear even more the wildman hitting the boards with this tremendous accumulation.



Josh Childress, Atlanta Hawks
Here's another guy whose game we like. Childress was a big part of the game six win that pushed Hotlanta's opening round series to a game 7 in Boston. He chipped in 15 points and six boards along with a well-sculpted afro that gets points for overall roundness and maintenance.



Ben Wallace, Cleveland Cavaliers
He may not be able to consistently hit a free throw, but Big Ben can pick out that 'fro to heights that few in the NBA can match. Sorry Ben, totally not making fun of you on the whole charity strip thing. Please don't hurt me...



Joakim Noah, Chicago Bulls
The new kid on the block, Noah's afro is perhaps the most unwieldy of the lot. It's also more Cypress Hill than Dr. J in its style. On a complete side note, there is still something about the combination of his bountiful hair and his mock grin on draft day that tends to make me question his overall mental health.



After these guys, the pickings get slim. Shaun Livingston, Moochie Norris and Ricky Davis are a few of the folks who've at least occasionally traded in rows for 'fros in recent years? But who else? And is there anyway we can get this formerly smokin' hot trend to start making a comeback? I know at least one man who has the marketing power to jumpstart a movement. Think about it. You probably know the answer, too.

Anyone Remember This LeBron James Character?

First things first. I can find no fault in anyone selecting Kobe Bryant, Chris Paul or LeBron James as NBA MVP. Apparently, the Lakers star will have the award bestowed upon him later today (nothing like suspense, eh?).

Many in the basketball know unequivocally tag Kobe as the best player in the NBA. He may very well be. You also can't question those who are putting their support behind Chris Paul.

The MVP thing is a bit of "who's hot today." There's also the age-old question of the true meaning of that mysterious word "valuable." It's been debated since the days of the Roman gladiators and continues to divide civilizations (and sports fans) to this day.

All that said, here's our only issue. LeBron James seems to have disappeared from the discussion of late. Completely. While there are probably countless reasons, part of it is that he is so good, so soon, that expectations of his play are fairly out-of-whack. Accordingly, there has been a bit of sentiment that LeBron has not been at the very top of his game. Fair enough. Let's assume that's true. It really shouldn't matter...in a way.

Here's what I mean, and the real crux of my beef with LeBron's fading out of the race (although we'll see how far he faded, or if, later today). I take the traditional view of valuable in the sense of "how would this team be without this player's contributions." As I mentioned back in early February, the Cavs are borderline awful without LeBron. Now, that particular post was written at a time when Eric Snow, Donyell Marshall and Ira Newble were getting mad run. Granted, things have changed slightly.

But, still, who's LeBron's running mate? Wally Szczerbiak? Ilgauskas? Boobie Gibson? Please, people. CP3 has fellow All-Star David West by his side with New Orleans. West poured in 30 points and grabbed nine boards in game one against the defending champs. Kobe has Gasol, Fisher, Odom, and a significantly more talented supporting cast right down the line (than does LeBron).

Take away Paul, James or Bryant from any of their respective teams and the results would be frightening. That's a given. However, without James, the team in Cleveland is startlingly poor. He carries that team. He carries that franchise. In many ways, he carries that city. It doesn't mean he should definitely be the MVP, but he still certainly deserves to be in the conversation. That's alls we're sayin...

A Post-NFL Draft Reminder that Nobody Knows Nothing

Around this time almost twenty years ago, the Green Bay Packers possessed the second pick in the 1989 NFL Draft. The Dallas Cowboys, holding the rights to the #1 selection, chose a quarterback out of UCLA named Troy Aikman.

The 'Boys #1 privileges came on the heels of a 3-13 season. New owner Jerry Jones had been handed the reins of America's Team and promptly fired legendary coach Tom Landry. Aikman would go on to turn around the franchise during a Hall of Fame career that included six Pro Bowls, countless team and League records and three Super Bowl Rings (not to mention a Super Bowl, MVP, leader of one of the great sports "dynasties" blah, blah, blah).

The Pack chose next. They had their eyes locked in on a man who Sports Illustrated had featured on their cover the week prior to the draft and labeled the "Best Offensive Line Prospect Ever." Tony Mandarich's college resume should sound pretty familiar in the context of the recently-completed 2008 NFL Draft. Mandarich, a 6'6 315-pounder, was drooled over by most NFL personnel. He was a "can't miss" who possessed that rare combination of speed, power and athleticism. If you've read Michael Lewis's The Blind Side, this was the guy before the guys who were supposed to change the landscape and the position of left tackle in the NFL.

“He’s the best college football player I’ve ever seen... this kid is better than Anthony Munoz.”
— Tom Boisture, N.Y. Giants

“Maybe the fastest offensive tackle in history... and just maybe the best.”
— San Diego Chargers GM Steve Ortmayer

“He’s always working on his techniques, which are almost perfect anyway.”
— Dick Steinberg, New England Patriots

Mandarich attended Michigan St. where he was twice named Big Ten Lineman of the Year. His senior season brought consensus first-team All-American and Outland Trophy Finalist honors. Sound familiar? For those not drawing the parallel, Jake Long is listed at 6'7, 315. Long played collegiately at the University of Michigan. He took home the Big Ten Lineman of the Year distinction twice and nabbed first-team All-American Outland Tropy Finalist recognition as a senior. Will Long be the next Mandarich? Or will he be the next Jonathan Ogden?

The answer? Nobody knows...anything. The most telling word from that 1989 SI cover is "prospect." Undoubtedly, the Incredible Bulk was one of the most promising offensive line prospects NFL scouts had ever seen. Nobody could or would have predicted his original cover would fall as an inset on an even more memorable cover shot entitled "The Incredible Bust."

So, why is this all coming out today? Frankly, it's been pent up from listening to, reading and watching weeks worth of experts who seem decidedly split on New York Jets first-round pick Vernon Gholston. Some call him a "coach killer" who is "inconsistent" and takes, not just plays but, "games off." Others used phrases like "impact rusher" and the "best pure pass rusher in the 08 draft." Well, after listening to countless analysis and ridiculously worrying about whether Gholston's "fluidity in the hips" makes him an awful pick or whatever, I've decided I'm pretty much done paying any attention to anybody - even he of the fabulous pompadour.

Here's what I know. Gholston played at Ohio St. He broke their all-time sack record. His measurables are off the chart. I'd like to think he will be OK. He may end up being terrible. I'm done wasting any sort of additional energy thinking about it. And for those losing sleep over who your favorite team may have selected and what some so-called expert is saying about them? Relax...think about Tony Mandarich...and remember that nobody knows nothing.

Plus, this is the same Jets team that drafted Kyle Brady, Ken O'Brien and Blair Thomas. What? Me? Worry?

Editor's Note: Not to unnecessarily pile on, but a devoted Packers fan reminded me that the following players went 3-5 in the 1989 NFL Draft: Barry Sanders, Derrick Thomas, Deion Sanders.