MichaelLortz.com/JordiScrubbings.com

The Orange Bowl was one of those rare places that transcended sports. Although it was the home of those talented (and ever so cocky) Hurricane teams and those ancient, way-back, long ago championship Dolphins teams, and was the location of five Super Bowls, it also hosted some the biggest names in music. According to the all-seeing and all-knowing Wikipedia, the Orange Bowl hosted performances by The Rolling Stones, U2, Madonna, and Michael Jackson (which I think was his Super Bowl performance, so that really shouldn’t count).

Personally, I only went to the Orange Bowl once. No, it wasn’t to see the Seminoles lose to the Hurricanes in one of the many missed field goal games (egads, “Wide Right” even has its own Wikipedia entry).

I went to see Metallica.

Way back in their pre-St. Anger days, back when Jason Newsted was still in the band, and fresh on the heels of their Symphony & Metallica release, Metallica included a stop in Miami on their “M2K Mini-Tour”. Thanks to Encyclopedia Metallica, I know now that this show occurred on December 28th, 1999. Check that out, they even have the set list and everything. Very cool. But I digress …

Other than being the largest show I have ever attended (some 80,000 strong), and besides the fact that it was my brother’s first concert, and besides the fact that I also saw Sevendust, Creed, and Kid Rock there as well, my Metallica experience at the Orange Bowl changed my life forever. It was the day I met a man – nay, a legend – named Manimal.

After spending the majority of the opening acts near the stage, my brother and I were forced to vacate our spot and venture nearly mid-field during Metallica’s performance. Call us wimps, but between the constant shoving and being pressed into other sweaty male bodies we were becoming quite uncomfortable. So we decided to high-tail it to a spot where we could see the show without getting a steady diet of elbows to the ribs.

Back in the day, my brother was a big dude. Although only 16, he was, if I remember correctly, “a biscuit shy of 300 pounds”. So when he said he was going to a less-crowded spot, I smartly decided to follow.

As you can imagine for a crowd that size, people were everywhere. The stage was located in the endzone and people were all over the field. Although I don’t how rowdy the crowd was during Sevendust, Kid Rock, and Creed, when Metallica hit the stage the whole field turned into a warzone. Bodies running into each other, people beating the shit out of each other, and dancing crazies spinning like whirling dervishes. With size on his side, my brother cared little for this large array of oddites. With me in his wake, my “little” brother mowed through several mosh pits, throwing people out of his way on the journey to safety.

When we finally reached a relative area of calmness, where people were actually watching Metallica instead of impersonating human locomotives, we asked around to see if anyone would be moshing in the area. If so, we were ready to move.

Our answer came from a short, bald, stocky, stereotypical biker dude wearing a t-shirt that read “Fuck You, You Fuckin’ Fuck”. Looking deadly serious, this beast of a man said, “I’m Manimal, half-man, half-animal.” He then proceeded to show us the biggest man-ring I have ever seen. It resembled a class ring, only two to three times bigger.

“You see this ring,” he asked.

Of course, how could we miss it?

“Nobody is going to mosh near me. If they do, I’m going to hit them with this ring.”

Sure enough, true to his word, no one moshed near Manimal. And to this day, Manimal remains one of the most intimidating people I have ever met.

So although the Orange Bowl is now gone, I still live by a few simple rules: don’t mess with people who wear masks, don’t cause trouble with people with facial tattoos, and never, ever mess with a guy named Manimal.

Nearly every blog I read is talking about beef this week. And unfortunately, I’m not refering to a South Korean meat dispute.

No, this week the blogs are talking about feuds. Bickering, backstabbing, and flat-out hatin’. So in the wake of Shaq v. Kobe (however one-sided), Ice-T v. Soulja Boy, and a few other people going for the spoken or written juggular, I want to quote from a post I recently read on MTV’s Headbanger’s Blog.

Written by Mike Thompson, singer and guitarist of the Atlanta black/death metal band Withered, this post discusses the idea that “veteran” metal performers and fans should “guide youngsters from a sea of mediocrity” instead of sitting back and bad-mouthing the current metal scene.

According to Thompson,

I think this is a call to action for my fellow veteran metallers. I think it’s up to us to try and provide some guiding light to all these young’uns. Now, I’m not saying we need to declare war on ‘false metal.’ That s–t will kill itself once people mature and realize how empty and manufactured it is. Next time you’re at the record store and you see a kid wearing a shirt from the latest ‘Verb the Noun’ band, strike up a conversation and see if they’re into anything a little more viable. If nothing else, maybe you can send them to a cool band’s MySpace page or something. We need to see more metal fans graduating from heavy metal preschool and demanding more from all the bands out there. The scene is healthy, let’s drive some innovation.

This is perhaps the best advice I’ve heard in a long time. Instead of sniping, Thompson is encouraging engagement. That, my friends, is how a community stays together and grows from within.

Guest Blog: Withered Frontman Urges Other Metal Veterans to Help Guide Youngsters From Sea of Mediocrity – Headbanger’s Blog

After the US Civil War, many Southern states enacted laws to disenfranchise newly freed blacks from exercising their right to vote. According to a US Department of Justice primer on voting, these laws sought to evade the 15th Amendment and limit the voice of black people in the political process.

Among these laws was a “literacy test”. This test, used in states such as Alabama, ensured “uneducated” blacks could not vote in the general election. These tests continued for nearly 100 years before the 1965 Voting Rights Act. Forty years later, another literacy test was enacted. Fortunately, the premise behind this test is being attacked only three years into its existence.

In 2005, the NBA enacted a rule stating potential entries into the NBA draft had to be 19 years old or one year removed from their high school graduation. Under this rule, it was inferred that prospective draft picks would apply and be accepted to one of the hundreds of colleges throughout the US. There these NBA hopefuls would ply their trade until they turned 19. This, of course, has been the route taken by Greg Oden, Kevin Durant, Michael Beasley, O.J. Mayo, and numerous others.

But what if a high school graduate lacked the academics to be accepted into college? What if he failed his entrance exams? Of course, the inferred answer was that even the most marginal student would be accepted to at least one college. As long as he met someone’s minimum standard.

What I never heard asked in all the discussion about the NBA’s rule was, “What does one year of college have to do with playing basketball at the professional level?”.

The answer, of course, is nothing.

Now Brandon Jennings, an 18-year old prep star from Virginia, is considering spending his necessary post-high school year playing professional basketball in Europe before hopefully declaring for the 2009 NBA draft. Jennings is the first American high school player to discuss the European option and, in my opinion, should not be the last.

So with the first viable threat its existence, let us ask again: what is the true meaning behind the NBA’s 19 and older rule? Is it seriously an attempt to improve the NBA skill level by having players play a year in a college system? Is it a way to give a bump to the NCAA so that they may profit on the hype of one-and-done college freshmen? Or worse yet, is it a way to purposefully deny those lacking in academic ability the opportunity to play in the NBA? Is it a disguised attempt to “clean up” the league by closing the door to prospects who hail from a disadvantaged educational systems and who might see basketball as their only way out of their current socio-economic environment?

Hopefully Brandon Jennings follows through with his idea of playing in Europe. Hopefully he makes good overseas and is drafted high in the 2009 draft. Hopefully he is not the last to question the NBA’s literacy test.

He didn’t pass away.

He didn’t have a terminal episode.

He didn’t have a negative patient care outcome.

And he damn sure didn’t expire.

He fuckin’ died.

And because this is (most of the time) a sports blog, here is Carlin on the differences between Baseball and Football.

On a personal note, I’ve been a huge Carlin fan for years. I finally got the chance to see him live in late 2006. And even though his most recent performances sound more like a bitter old man complaining (see his comments on fat people, people shopping at the mall, Americans being lazy, etc), and even though there was some drunk, annoying, loud, obnoxious boor of a woman behind me hideously laughing at every little Carlin utterance, I must admit seeing George Carlin was like seeing a master at work. He was the King of the Counter-Culture, the Rembrandt of Rhetoric, and the Leonardo of Language.

And so to quote from a Carlin re-visit to his Al Sleet “Hippy Dippy Weatherman” sketch, “When there is nothing left to conquer in your field, hey, it’s time to leave.”

Rest in Peace, George Carlin.

For years I was ignorant.

For years I knew nothing of Bo Diddley.

Thank goodness I came to my senses.

Although I have an extensive blues collection, not before last week had I owned any Bo Diddley albums. Following the news of his recent death however, I bought Bo Diddley’s Greatest Hits. Now I am trying to figure out how Bo Diddley passed me by for so many years.

(By the way, did you know in Philadelphia, a Bo Diddley’s Greatest Hits CD is worth 50 bucks? But I digress. Getting back to the story …)

I like to think I am pretty knowledgeable about the blues and its influence on early rock and roll. I have albums (CDs, songs, etc, etc.) by Robert Johnson, Son House, and Lightnin’ Hopkins. I have Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, and Howlin’ Wolf. I have BB King, Albert King, Junior Wells, and my personal favorite, Buddy Guy. But I never had any Bo Diddley.

So needless to say, once I hit play and listened to some Bo, I knew I had been in the dark all these years.

Even though I had all the aforementioned blues tunes and knew my blues history, I never knew where the rock sound of early rock and roll came from. Where did the Rolling Stones, the Yardbirds, and later Aerosmith get their sound? Was it a British thing? Did they make it up? No, it was Bo. Bo Diddley was my missing link in the history of rock.

Unfortunately, it took his death for me to understand the importance of Bo Diddley. Rest in peace, Bo.

P.S. However criminally underrated Bo Diddley was, multiply that by 10 and that describes Willie Dixon. He not only wrote songs for Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and dozens of others, but covers of his songs helped launch the careers of The Stones, Led Zeppelin, Cream, and countless other rock and blues groups. If he was around today, Willie Dixon would be bigger than Sean (Puffy, Diddy, whatever) Combs and Timbaland combined.

Apparently the Rays were on ESPN Wednesday night. To be honest, even though I’ve lived in Tampa for the last two years, I’ve never seen the Rays on ESPN. I even missed this broadcast. You know why?

I was there.

Being that the Cubs and Rays both are among the best teams in baseball this year, to say I couldn’t wait for this series was an understatement. I was curious to see how the Cubs would draw in Tropicana Field. I was eager to see this Fukudome guy. And I couldn’t wait to talk a little back-and-forth with some my favorite fellow sports bloggers.

So because it is pretty late, I am going with the Readers’ Digest condensed point style (kinda sorta like Tiger Style, but not as fatal):

- Before the game the local sports bar was completely covered in Cubbie blue (more on the “Cubbie” thing later). Being that good beer knows no enemies, I chatted for a bit with a few fans. Like I said, I was eager to know who traveled and who was actually from Florida. One guy I talked to came all the way from Des Moines. He said most of the flights to Florida leaving the airport were packed with Cubs fans.

- I’ll admit, the Trop isn’t even close to Wrigley Field. But it is our home, for now anyway. To paraphrase the ancient philosoph Donnie Rumsfeld, “You play ball in the stadium you got, not the one you want approved in November”.

- Looking at the lineup, why was Mark DeRosa in left field? When did he become a LF’er? I thought he was a second baseman? What about the great Thunder Matt, the Mighty Matt Murton?

- Sure enough, DeRosa’s shaky outfield defense proved to be a liability early, allowing the Rays to score first.

- In the third, with the Rays pestering Carlos Zambrano with numerous singles, I swear I almost saw smoke coming out of Zambrano’s ears. He was not happy. I think I will dub him “Mount Zambrano”. Not only is he a big dude, but he looks like he is about to blow at any moment.

- The last two games I’ve gone to have both been Andy Sonnanstine starts. Although I thought I was jinxing him earlier this season, he is actually not pitching that bad of late with me in the house. His JSIA ERA (Jordi Scrubbings in attendance ERA) is definitely a lot lower than it was.

- In the 6th inning, down 5-3 (maybe 5-2, I’m too lazy to look it up), Lou Pinella finally came to his senses and put Matt Murton in for 84-year old Jim Edmonds. Needless to say, the Redheaded Messiah came through with a single.

- During the seventh inning stretch, I did something I have always wanted to do. I sang “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” with thousands of Cubs fans. Ever since I first saw Harry Caray on TV singing at Wrigley, I’ve always thought singing with Cubs fans would be fun. Of course, during the part where they say “root, root, root for the Cubbies”, I yelled “root, root, root for the Rays”. Because if the Rays don’t win, it is actually a shame.

- Ok, on to the “Cubbies” matter. Cubs fans have a chant, “Let’s go Cubbies”. Not the quicker, more aggressive “Let’s go Cubs”, which might strike fear into the heart of opponents, but “Let’s go Cubbies”. Cubbies. Hardly intimidating. They sounded like they were cheering for a group of Saturday morning cartoon characters – The Cubbies.

- Before I end, I just want to say I really, really hope in that long list of super prospects the Rays have in the minors that there is a future closer somewhere. Troy Percival scares me.

- Oh, and Cubs fans are a bit weird. They haven’t won it all since Teddy Roosevelt was in office, but they remain totally optimistic. Some were even talking about when, not if, they make the playoffs. Shouldn’t they be bitter and pessimistic? More power to ‘em, I guess.

- P.S. Not that I think he will ever read this, but to the Cubs fan who was talking smack and asking Rays fans “When was the last time the Rays made the playoffs?”: keep in mind while the Rays have not made the playoffs in their 10-year existence, the Cubs went from 1969 (oops! and I call myself a Mets fan) 1945 to 1984 without making the postseason. That’s 14 39 years, if my math is correct.

Two of my favorite baseball teams faced the inevitable this past Monday. Yet the way they dealt with the absolute certainties both knew was coming could not have been more different.

For the Mets, the inevitable meant the firing of manager Willie Randolph. I liked Willie. I thought he was a good hire. Willie was a good guy, with good New York pedigree. He had that winning intangible. And his managerial career started well. The Mets had a successful 2006 season, a trip to the playoffs, and one of their most exciting postseasons in a long time. They were the new power in the NL East.

Unfortunately, the 2007 season did not build on 06′s success. After starting well, the Mets ended the 2007 season with one of baseball’s most historic collapses. This collapse may in some ways be still affecting the team as they have been horribly inconsistent this year. As a matter of fact, since the all-star break of last year, the Mets have been a .500 team. So, since you can’t fire the players, and everyone still thinks the Mets should be winners, Willie had to go.

A whole bunch of miles to the west, in Omaha, Nebraska, the Florida State Seminoles yet again came up short in the College World Series. This marks the 13th time during Head Coach Mike Martin’s 29 years that the Seminoles have lost in the CWS. Adding to the frustration, the Seminoles set CWS records this year in the number of runs allowed in an inning (11) and runners left on base in a game (17).

But will Mike Martin face the same chopping block Willie Randolph faced? Of course not. Despite perennially underachieving, Martin will continue to coach the Noles as he has for nearly three decades. Because of his moderate success and his down-home likability, he will also continue to recruit top baseball talent from across the nation, despite the fact that his program has never won it all.

The bottom line is that Randolph underachieves for one and a half seasons and he loses his job. Martin underachieves consistently since 1980, and not only does he remain employed, but I guarantee he will be praised next season for reaching year 30.

With more and more college programs insisting on success from their coaches, Florida State remains stuck in a past ideology. An ideology based on legends, familiarity, and long-term “aw shucks” brand marketability. Obviously, the New York Mets powers-that-be do not believe in this philosophy. If they did, Willie Randolph might still have a job.

Before I begin, I have to admit the title of this post is strictly to get attention. Of course, the Marlins don’t actually suck. But I couldn’t resist any headline that even vaguely resembles the delightful tune of “It Sucks To Be a Florida Gator”.

That said, this weekend posed an interesting dilemma for me. Before I moved to Tampa, I didn’t care a wit about the Tampa Bay then-Devil Rays. Throughout all my travels and no matter where I’ve lived, the Mets have been my team. For those who have read this site for any amount of time know, I’ve discussed my feelings for Mets quite a bit.

Although I was and remain a die-hard Mets fan, the Marlins presented me my first internal fan conflict. Sometime after becoming a big league franchise in 1991, the first owners of the Florida Marlins decided to host their spring training in Melbourne, Fla., where I lived as a teenager. Needless to say, I went to see the Marlins and their minor league teams on a pretty regular basis. Being that the ballpark was 10 minutes away, I gathered my share of autographs, memorabilia, and memories. Even though I still loved my Mets, the Marlins were my hometown team. I even dared call myself a Marlins fan.

Knowing the Marlins and their history, I’ve often stood alongside true Marlins fans and defended the team through the years. I’ve countered arguments with people who disagreed with the team’s trade-and-reload management style, those who thought the team should be relocated, and even those who believe the team should be contracted or somehow combined with the Tampa Bay franchise. And in what may be possibly my biggest display of Marlins fandom, I drove nearly eight hours from Tallahassee to Dolphins Stadium with my college roommate, an absolutely die-hard Marlins fan, to watch the Fish reveal their 2003 World Series banner on Opening Day 2004 (see pic).

But now, four years later, I’ve found myself pulling one of the cardinal sins of fandom. Last night, I went to the Rays-Marlins game and rooted wholeheartedly against the team from South Florida. They were the enemy, same as any other team visiting Tropicana Field. Like the thousand and thousands of other Tampa Bay Rays fans in attendance, I cheered the Rays and booed the Marlins. Then, to top it all off, I even sent a few obnoxious text messages to that same former college roommate, bragging about the Rays victory.

(Side note: In response to one of my barbs, my former roommate responded with the Patrick Roy-inspired “I can’t hear you with my two world series rings in my ear.” Say what you want about the Marlins and their fans, but they do have that going for them.)

So am I a sports flip-flopper? Am I an unloyal Marlins fan? Or can my brief dalliance with the Marlins be written off, as I have moved on and they no longer train in Melbourne? Although I don’t see my Marlins-Rays internal conflict comparing to my torn heart, I do think once again, I am one of the most internally confused fans I know.

With Will Leitch moving on from Deadspin to bigger and better aspirations, I figured I would finally post a piece I have been working on for the better half of six months.

So without further ado …

As corporate interests continue to influence more and more of our lifestyles, all-out revolutions in popular cultural grow exceedingly less common. The Beatles in 1964, Star Wars in 1977, MTV in 1981, and Nirvana in 1991 all shocked the establishment and altered the course of popular culture. These movements all featured the right mix of contemporary status quo, corporate complacency, an established underground, and a new exciting catalyst. To anyone reading this blog, it should come as no surprise that I think the culture of sports media is facing its own revolutionary phenomenon, the emergence and acceptance of sports blogs.

One of the best ways to examine the effectiveness of a cultural revolution is to measure it to one of its previous predecessors. As Leitch is a self-professed Nirvana fan, it makes sense to compare the his Deadspin-led sports blog movement to the rise of the grunge music scene in the early 1990s.

Let’s start in the beginning …

Like several pre-Nirvana grunge bands, many early sports blogs were created as a reaction to the perceived stagnation and commercialization of the sports media establishment. Whereas the late 80s rock scene had been flooded with corporate “hair-metal” creations such as Nelson and Winger, the national sports media of the early 2000s had become fascinated with the glamorization and celebrity of sports rather than the games themselves. Sports fans across the nation quickly tired of platforms such as ESPN Hollywood and ESPN’s Page 3, the sports version of US Magazine.

In opposition to this growing fascination with “sports celebs”, small groups of Internet-savvy fans began congregating on fan-centric sites such as Metsblog.com and national sports story sites such as Can’t Stop The Bleeding. These sites would not only tell the news of the day with short, staccato-like, near-instantaneous speed, but they would also pepper the news with their own commentary, the opinion of one fan broadcast to others. In the definitive grunge documentary Hype!, a member of the Seattle scene describes the grunge movement as bring rock music “back to its basics.” As the sports blogging underground slowly expanded, and Internet communication became easier, sports reporting was also going back to its basics.

Although these early sports blogs achieved moderate success (comparable perhaps to the early releases of Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, and Mother Love Bone), the birth of Deadspin.com in September 2005 changed the course of sports blogging history. Like Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, Deadspin.com crashed the barriers of acceptance, surpassed its fellow sports blogs, and dared to compete with the giants of the corporate sports media establishment.

Through the power of Internet linking and openness, Deadspin.com became more than just an alternate sports media source. It created a community of commenters, like-minded sports fans, and lesser-known bloggers. Like the lyrics of Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain, Will Leitch’s posts annunciated a philosophy to sports blogging. No longer were sports to be used as a vehicle for marketing and product placement, they would again be something to be enjoyed and celebrated. Those who disagreed and either took sports too seriously or wallowed in their own sports celebrity became targets of ridicule.

Upon its inception, the mantra of Leitch and Deadspin.com was to publish “sports news without access, favor, or discretion”. This guiding principle was almost identical to the philosophy of Nirvana’s recording label, Sub Pop Records. According to Seth Mullins of Associated Content, Sub Pop’s philosophy was to reject a marketing-based “cookie-cutter mentality” and to “make room for the individual again”, turning “records and performances into the means of celebrating individuality”. By encouraging fans to participate through their comments and individual blogs, Deadspin.com brought back a sense of realness to sports fandom.

Deadspin’s success not only alerted the mainstream sports media of the influence of sports blogs, but also spawned countless new independent sports blogs, some of which gained significant acclaim. As Deadspin led the way and often assisted in viewership, blogs such as Awful Announcing, The Big Lead, With Leather, and Kissing Suzy Kolber acquired their own distinct niche and readership, becoming the Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Stone Temple Pilots to Deadspin’s Nirvana. Like Deadspin, these blogs all made a name for themselves in the growing sports blogosphere, eventually either breaking their own stories causing controversy through their posts. For a great number of sports fans, keeping up to date with their favorite sports blogs became a routine part of the fan experience.

Like post-Nirvana grunge, and despite its detractors, blogging is the “in” sports media trend. Nearly all mainstream sports outlets have some sort of blogging coverage. ESPN has Henry Abbott and his popular blog True Hoop, internet giant AOL.com has AOL Fanhouse; there is the Sporting News blog, and the expansion of Yahoo! Sports. Sports blogs, for better or for worse, are everywhere, and a focus on the game has somewhat returned to mainstream sports media. But the heartbeat of the common fan, that fire and passion that comes only with community and shared love of sport, remains far from secure.

And so the questions …

What will come of the sports blog revolution now that Will Leitch is leaving Deadspin? Will his torch be carried on by the next editor? Or will the counter-culture philosophy of the biggest sports blog fall by the wayside, replaced by bloggers who would forsake their views as passionate fans for corporate compensation or cheap jokes? Will these and other bloggers ride their gimmicks to the next payday? Will the mantra Leitch promoted be marginalized by the very consumerist machine that sparked its conception? And once again, will the common voice of the fan be drowned in a sea of over-hype and disillusionment?

(Picture acquired from Cuban Poster Art.blogspot.com. Translation: Better not to be, than not to be revolutionary.)

I know they are legends and all, and you shouldn’t make fun of two of the greatest ever, but when I see that Magic Johnson/Larry Bird commercial, their collective voice reminds me of someone. Someone near and dear to sportsbloggers everywhere. Our own sports legend … Kige Ramsey.

See? Same drawl. Same semi-awkward deliberate speech pattern. So is that Larry and Magic, or is it Kige?

There can be only one.

By the way, for the greatest sports voice in the history of YouTube, Mr. Ramsey isn’t exactly going the impartial newscaster route with that jersey, is he?

On a related note, if Kige is going to sport the Celtics gear, can we align the media planets and get a Bill Simmons-Kige Ramsey meeting during the finals? Maybe a little cross-media mega-event? Simmons on Ramsey’s show, and Ramsey on Simmons’ podcast? Can we make that happen?