It's Time to Pay the Athletes

The best-selling item in the Texas A&M online shop is a replica white #2 jersey.

It looks familiar. The normal college football fan sees it every Saturday on the field in College Station, A&M's home. The team's athletic director sees it every day in a financial report alongside dollar signs.

The 20-year-old wearing the jersey, Heisman winner and star quarterback Johnny Manziel, sees nothing. Of the hefty $54.98 price tag, Manziel sees not a penny.

And if he takes even a fraction of one jersey sale, from anyone, the world of college football cries out in disgust. 'What a disgrace.' 'Greedy kid.' 'Never let him play another down.'

This is a system that we, as sports fans, have become accustomed to, and it needs to change. Athletic departments make tens of millions of dollars every season (A&M made over $44 million in 2011-12), but the athletes who play the game work for free. It's big business.

Only in college athletics does this happen. If a company uses a musician's song in a commercial without permission, a hefty lawsuit is on its way.

But if a University sells one, or a hundred, or a thousand Manziel jerseys, and Johnny says anything about it, we remind him of his role in the NCAA.

This role is backwards. Players like Manziel are expected to be in two places at once: on the field leading their teams to wins and in class getting an education.

The wins equal big money for the schools. A team who wins the BCS National Championship in college football benefits huge financially. In 2012, Alabama received a payout of $21.2 million for winning it all.

The education, on the other hand, is given for free to the athletes who lead these teams to championships. Supporters of the current system say this counts as compensation.

But it can't. The athletes, who are required to attend practice multiple times per day, aren't encouraged to go to class. No one pushes them. And they are given preferential treatment on assignments. The University of Auburn was caught giving student athletes boosted grades earlier this year.

Is this education?

No. It's like giving your grandmother a computer and not teaching her how to use it. Does she really benefit from having the computer?

Therein lays the problem. The free education is unattainable, but the fame and the lights of big time college football aren't, as long as the school is raking in the big bucks.

Take the story of Dasmine Cathey, a former football player for the University of Missouri. In 2012, he was reading at a first grade level as a 23-year-old fifth-year senior.

But man, could he play football.

"You don't see many guys his height who can run a 4.6 forty," a former coach said about him.

Cathey was illiterate. The man couldn't read. Some argue that college athlete graduation rates are on the rise, but it doesn't matter, even if that is the case 99 percent of the time. If one college student is illiterate and still playing football, there is a major systematic problem.

How do you fix it?

It's not as simple as paying every student athlete a stipend. You would have to pay the swimming team and the chess club, and quite frankly, those sports aren't the moneymakers.

First, you change the hierarchy.

You have to start at the top with the ones with the heavy wallets – the coaches, athletic directors and presidents. Alabama head coach Nick Saban made $5.5 million in 2013, and the athletic director brought in over $600,000. If either took pay cuts, the money could be put to better use.

Take the money and put it into hiring personal mentors for student athletes. It's the first step in encouraging them to go to class; making them feel like someone wants them to be there.

Then, you change the rulebook.

College athletes should be allowed to accept money from outside means, whether it's from boosters, jobs or autograph sales. That way, the most talented players, the ones who bring in the most money for their programs, are rewarded fairly. Some will get more money than others, yes, but is it any worse than restricting everyone from the opportunity? No. And removing some of the employment guidelines is a no-brainer. Let them work minimum wage jobs. Students with academic scholarships are allowed to.

Initiatives like these barely scrape the surface of the problem, but it would be a step in the right direction. Athletes like Manziel are being exploited by big-money programs that have room to negotiate.

They'll never stop selling the jerseys.

But they can stop selling the nonsense.

My Hero is Scum

By Friday, I have to find a new hero.

And I'll tell you this- I'm dreading it. Because regardless of whether Alex Rodriguez is handed a yearlong suspension or a lifetime ban from the game later this week, the punishment won't hurt him nearly as much as it will the dozens of impressionable young kids who believed in him.

It was only a decade ago when A-Rod came to the Bronx to don pinstripes. Back when he was well on his way to becoming the greatest player to ever play baseball. That once-in-a-lifetime talent that would eventually earn his own hallway in Cooperstown.

Of course, this was before the allegations. Before the positive tests and Peter Gammons interviews. Before Cousin Yuri. Biogenesis. Dianabol. Shame.

From day one, I have been Alex's most outspoken supporter. While #13 was slapping at mitts, distracting shortstops, and flirting with women from the dugout, I was collecting his memorabilia, wearing his jersey, and defending his naivety.

While #13 was using PEDs to cheat the game I love, I was working day-and-night to recreate his batting stance in little leagues, hoping it would help me be the best I could be. Because that's how A-Rod made it, right? Hard work and perseverance. Sure.

I feel ripped off. Betrayed. Duped. I don't care how many home runs he hit or how much money he stole from the organizations who believed he was doing it clean; to me, he is scum. Lower than scum.

Two years ago, I got the chance to "meet" Alex Rodriguez. Finally, an opportunity to see my hero up close and personal. He walked, with cousin Yuri Sucart by his side, right across the street in front of me. He made sure not to acknowledge any of his fans.



That's the thing about A-Rod: it's all about A-Rod. He pretends it's not all about him, rarely, but it's almost too easy to see straight through his facade. When he "opens up" to Sports Illustrated, ever so arrogantly, it's tongue-in-cheek.

And when the MLB announces the suspension, A-Rod will profess his innocence- again and again. He will sit in front of a microphone and take pages out of the Ryan Braun Book of Lies: "I would bet my life that this substance never entered my body at any point," "I've always had tremendous respect for the game of baseball," "By no means am I perfect."

When really, everyone knows. I know. Alex Rodriguez used performance enhancing drugs, and probably even helped other players use them too.

I hope he is banned from the game. I hope he looks back in 20 years and regrets every single one of his actions. I hope he knocks on the door of the Hall of Fame every day for the rest of his life and no one lets him in. Some people are not worth defending.

Or idolizing.

'I Fought Joey Porter's Entourage': Meeting the Pittsburgh Penguins

One time, I chased after Derek Jeter's limo for 15 blocks in the middle of Pittsburgh, only to have my legs and heart give out simultaneously. Failure.

Another time, I stood in one spot in front of a door for three hours at All Star Fan Fest for Alex Rodriguez, only to have an attendant tell me he went out of a different door. Failure.

Tonight, I toughed it out in the deceivingly-cold weather for two hours, pennant and Sharpie in hand, waiting for the Pittsburgh Penguins after a 5-2 win over the Capitals. Success. 

Yes, I would call myself an 'autograph hound,' if those are the correct words. There's something about getting an autograph that is significantly different than any other experience. Outsiders will say "it's just the guy's scribbled name," but it's so much more than that. But that's for another post, some other day. 

Mike picked me up at 9, gave me a pair of gloves (could have used about 50 more) and drove us into the city. After a half hour of, well, finding out where it would be socially acceptable to wait for players, we found a group of 60 fans clothed head-to-toe in Pens' gear grouped behind a set of bicycle racks.

This was the spot. 

_____________________________________________________________________

The spot where we would stand, freezing, as we watched for an hour as beautiful car after beautiful car passed by. "Please stop," we wished, but it didn't come true. As with every autograph experience, there was that ongoing battle in our heads: do we stay and risk disappointment, or do we leave and miss something extraordinary? 

So we kept standing. Thankfully. 

Because before my hands turned to ice (10:30 PM approximately), a black Range Rover pulled up slowly and came to a halt at the end of the line. Everyone gathered. It was Tomas Vokoun. 

First rule of autograph hounding: be polite. I was polite. Vokoun signed. 

And then, 15 minutes later, another expensive car slowed down in front of us. This time, Deryk Engelland poked his head out of the window. 

Second rule of autograph hounding: don't hand over the Sharpie with the tip facing the signer. I committed no such foul. Engelland signed next to Vokoun.

A handful of people left, and a half hour later, the remaining crowd yelled "Fleury" at a pair of headlights approaching quickly. Marc Andre Fleury, my favorite NHL goalie since Johan Hedberg. 

Third rule of autograph hounding: don't be too creepy (avoid the phrase "I love you" at all costs.) I kept my mouth shut. Fleury signed next to Engelland.

_____________________________________________________________________

At that point, everyone left. Even the security guards.

But that wasn't fooling our new friend, the guy who fought Joey Porter's entourage in a nightclub over a lost earring. This guy, one of the coolest people in da 'Burgh, assured us that Dan Bylsma hadn't left the building yet. 

"Alright, let's stay for a few more minutes."

It didn't even take a few minutes for a pair of bright headlights to shine out at us from the Consol gate. The lights, coming closer and closer, were those of the coach. 

Dan Bylsma, wearing a stylish fedora, rolled his window down and spoke words to us. I don't remember what those words were, probably because I was in shock. I broke rule #3, without saying "I love you." 

He signed the top of my pennant, exchanged a few words with us and went on his way. In a matter of two minutes, myself, Mike and the man who fought Joey Porter's entourage were the only three in the city of Pittsburgh talking to the coach of the beloved Pittsburgh Penguins.

Ah. Success.

Small Ball: Yankees must resort to basics

There's never a day when Yankees and Red Sox fans can sympathize with each other, but with the baseball gods as my witness, today is one of those special occasions.

Maybe 'sympathize' is a bad word. Perhaps relate is more suitable. Because let's face it, the Bombers' late August, early September collapse in the AL East looks a lot like last year's Red Sox cataclysm. 

As a Yankee fan, it's hard to digest the past few weeks. I'm not suggesting we storm the clubhouse and rummage for buckets of fried chicken and cases of Bud Light, but it might be time to re-examine the way the team has been coached this year. 

One of my professors at Duquesne, when speaking about our poor reading strategies, told our class, "those techniques might have worked in high school, but here, you won't have a chance." I'd like to tell Joe Girardi the same thing, but in regards to the team's "swing for the fences" mentality.

Yes, relying on unmitigated home run power can work for a few months, but it won't carry the squad to the playoffs.

Where's that simple, hit-and-run style of Charlie Manuel's championship-winning Phillies teams? Where's that Joe Torre-esque small ball that the Yankees utilized during the dynasty years? Nowhere to be found.

The Yankees have 27 more games to play, beginning with tonight's series finale against the Rays. If the last two nights are of any indication, tonight needs to be an explosive offensive showing from the Bombers, especially from the heart of the lineup (Granderson, Swisher, and Cano.) The bullpen has been progressively more unreliable, assuring that no lead is big enough.

Tonight is the night to get back on track. One game at a time, boys. One hit at a time, even if the ball doesn't clear the fence. 

One Night in Latrobe: My Experiences at Steelers Camp

"Latrobe, PA; approximately 40 miles southeast of downtown Pittsburgh. The home of Rolling Rock beer, legendary golfer Arnold Palmer and TV's soft-spoken Fred Rogers from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. In the center sits Latrobe Memorial Stadium, which becomes Steeler Nation's center of attention for one night every year. Ladies and gentleman, all aboard the black-and-gold train. Destination: the Pittsburgh Steelers' annual night practice."

That's from a piece I wrote last year around this time for Patch. This year, I didn't feel like writing another interesting introduction, so let me get into it. Today, I attended the official night practice of the Pittsburgh Steelers. There was no shirtless Tebow, no shoulderless Peyton..just a father and his two sons enjoying the heat by taking in some football.

We almost didn't make it in time for 7:00, which is when the heap of black-and-gold players exit the big yellow school buses and take the field. For fifteen minutes, each Steeler player heads to a different part of the fence (surrounding the field) and signs autos for fans. I had the pleasure of chasing down Big Ben Roethlisberger. Well, let me rephrase that. It wasn't exactly pleasure. It was pain. Lots and lots of pain. After sliding between a record-breaking crowd and slamming myself into a pile of sweaty Steelers' fans, I got to add this beauty to my collection:

Beautiful signature on a glossy 8x10 I picked up at a mall outside of Latrobe. I think this is my fourth Roethlisberger autograph, but the first on a picture. With five minutes left, in a scene of clutch heroics, I got tight end Heath Miller to sign this for me:

As for practice, a few notes. First, if Ben has a torn rotator cuff, it sure doesn't look like it. He was throwing the ball accurately with ease, even placing one into a trash can from fifteen yards away (which resulted in some huge cheers from the crowd). Second, even though coach Tomlin doesn't allow goal-line drills, it was getting extremely physical during scrimmage. Apparently, after we left, Willie Colon and Cameron Heyward "fought." I'd love to see some video. And third, I have a few guesses on who won't have a roster spot come season time: WR Jimmy Young, WR Toney Clemons, and S Robert Golden. They made some sloppy plays out there tonight.

But anyways, it was my brother's first training camp, so here's a shoutout buddy! Go Steelers!

"One of the saddest things I've ever seen at a ballpark"

That's a quote from Rangers' owner and legend Nolan Ryan. Regarding the tragedy that struck the baseball world by surprise Thursday night.

It struck me by surprise as well. I never thought that something so terrible could happen inside a stadium. I mean, how "great" can the world be if there is risk/reward at an entertainment event?

This incident I'm referring to actually made me cry. In case you haven't seen or heard about it, 39-year-old Shannon Stone, when reaching for a foul ball tossed into the stands by Rangers' left-fielder Josh Hamilton, fell through a gap between the left-field wall and stands. While the television announcers laughed at what seemed like a "harmless topple" from an eager fan, Stone was being taken away by paramedics.

He would die later at a Texas hospital.

And his 6-year-old son witnessed the entire thing, sporting a mitt on his right hand and a Rangers' jersey on his back. How terrible?

Baseball is supposed to bring fathers and sons together. Instead, on Thursday, a lifelong bond that should have started in the stands was quickly turned into a horror story.

Makes me think. Life is truly a game of inches. If Josh Hamilton throws the ball a few inches upward, the ball would be in Connor (Shannon's son) Stone's room next to a ticket stub. If Texas starter Derek Holland delivers a pitch to Conor Jackson a few inches lower, Jackson drives the ball harmlessly to center field and Connor Stone still has a father.

Touching. I have been going to baseball games with my dad since I was Connor's age. And I have appreciated every single second, and will continue to do the same. Because we honestly don't know what is going to happen next. My thoughts and prayers are out to the Stone family, the Texas Rangers' organization and Josh Hamilton.

It's Friday! Random, Spazmodic Thoughts

Three weeks since my last post? Wow, I'm going to lose my two followers.

I don't want to focus on one topic today. I feel like jumping around. It has been a very busy two weeks, and other than the daily Twitter updates (follow dentedfretboard!), I haven't really surfed the ol' Internet lately, so it feels good to have a free Friday night to explore.

So, funny story. When I got home, I took a nap so I could be rested to watch the huge Yankees/Red Sox game at 7. Well, it turns out that the game was at 2 o'clock. I missed all of it. Classic me.

But that has been a model of my typical days lately. I wake up, drag myself through eight periods of high school, and come home to watch baseball. Actually, that is what every baseball season is like for me. (I will have to post more about it eventually, but my family's love for baseball is crazy. During baseball season, it is all I think about.)

The Yankees are doing pretty good, even after that rough loss against the slumping Sox. I hate to jump the gun, but I don't see any other team in the AL East that will stand in our way. I mean, come on. Who ISN'T afraid of this guy?

Obviously, no one is afraid of Manny Ramirez anymore. Right? That guy quit steroids after getting caught once, correct? Nope. According to a report released today, he tested positive last season as well. Way to go Manny. Buster Olney on Twitter hit the nail on the head:

@Buster_ESPN: The guess from here: Manny will never get in the Hall. The precedent from McGwire voting is in place, and Ramirez tested positive twice.

Well put, Buster. As a Yankee fan, I wonder if Alex Rodriguez will ever get in. He admitted to it, but the same offense deserves the same punishment. Oh well. The commish will cross that bridge eventually.

Anyways, my best friend got me a CD from her boyfriend, an album that I have been anticipating for months: Hollywood Undead's American Tragedy. After listening to it all the way through four times today, I still don't know what to think. They sound completely different. I was a huge fan of Swan Songs, so this new sound may take a while to get used to. I will do a full album review when I actually develop an opinion! Here's my favorite song so far:



Okay, it's time for a much needed rest. Bed time! Have a wonderful weekend, world.

Irony in the Final Minute: NCAA Rant

It was a great day today, but the night didn't end too well. Pitt's ended another NCAA Tournament run in disappointing fashion. But what did you expect? We got an unfavorable early matchup with a Butler team who isn't any different from last year (remember, they were inches away from winning the championship game against Duke).

Still, that isn't what I am going to talk about tonight. Let me start by using my journalistic skills to paint a picture in your mind:

There are 40 seconds left in a matchup between two conference rivals. They have been battling all game, back and forth. It is tied up. Everything rests in the last 40 seconds. I, the fan, am standing inches away from the TV biting my nails. I am about to see an incredible end to an intense game. Coach #1 takes a timeout. They take the court again. The ball is inbounded, but Coach #2 takes a timeout. I sit back down in frustration.

I don't get it. The most exciting part of a sporting event is the last minute. With every timeout and intentional foul, the intensity decreases. The multiple stoppages in play are ridiculous.

In football, teams are given two timeouts. I realize that basketball is a fast-paced game, but what is getting accomplished when a coach calls three timeouts in half a minute? I can't imagine that the game's result would be any different if coaches were only allowed to use one timeout in the final minute. That is the only resolution I can think of. Or maybe they should add a "one-minute warning". All I know is that there needs to be a change.

A Lil Bit of Everything: From the Draft to Spittin' Lyrics

I feel like I want to rant right now, so I'm going to throw in a random topic along with what was supposed to be an NFL Players Union rampage. I'm about to drop a beat right now (that's the first of many rap-related references I am going to make). POSSE UP!

Since I discovered the wonderful world of alternative when I was in my early teens, hip-hop and rap have been my mortal enemies. I have constantly spread the ever-so-popular argument that rap is just words without meaning. Maybe I'm just being stereotypical, but how many songs can you write about keeping your ladies (for lack of a better word) in line? This goes out to you, 50 Cent. I'm not going to get started on that, but it isn't right to tweet about hoes in Japan hours after the tsunami.

But now I am starting to see a light (somewhere, somehow). My cousin, who has unsuccessfully tried to get me to listen to classless rappers like Mac Miller, persuaded me to listen to some of the new Lupe Fiasco album last night.

<---------- Lasers by Lupe Fiasco









I rarely like songs the first time I hear them, but "Words I Never Said" is incredible. It has so much meaning, so much emotion, so much credibility. The cuz' did tell me that he is one of the only rappers who raps about world affairs, but I didn't believe it...until I heard it. I am probably going to head down to the Exchange this weekend and pick up the entire album (yeah, I'm shocked as well).

Anyways, onto the main topic of today. I heard a little bit about this yesterday, but Mike and Mike expanded on it this morning. The NFL Players Union, who has been in a battle with the NFL over the last couple months, is asking upcoming draft picks in the 2011 Draft to skip the ceremony.

According to ESPN's Adam Schefter, "when NFL commissioner Roger Goodell announces the name of the first player selected, the player will not walk onto the stage at Radio City Music Hall as has been the custom."

This is getting absolutely ridiculous. These players have been working their entire college careers to take the stage to meet the commissioner. It is their moment to shine, not the NFLPA's chance to take a shot at the NFL.

Yeah, the NFLPA is fighting for the betterment of the NFL. But is it really necessary to ruin a spectacular moment? No.

Hopping on the Bandwagon: Five Reasons why Kemba Walker is Incredible

After finishing up watching the Connecticut Huskies beat Syracuse in OT (not six of them this time), it is now clear in my mind. Yes, I have jumped on the Kemba Walker bandwagon.

"Julian, why didn't you like him before?'- Well, being a Pitt fan for life, I didn't like seeing him single-handedly dismantle the Panthers as the buzzer went off yesterday. (If you didn't see the play, Walker stepped back and hit an impressive shot from the top of the key, shaking Pitt big-man Gary McGhee out of his jock).



Now, I can come clean and admit that I was wrong for yelling "break Kemba's legs!" at the TV last night (while watching the replay, keep in mind). Here's my solid reasoning behind this new revelation:

1. UConn has now played FOUR games in FOUR days. That's the Big East Tournament for ya'. But Kemba hasn't let it bother him one bit. He has scored 111 points so far in the Tourney (best in the tournament's history), averaging over 27 PPG.

2. He led his team across the board in almost every category tonight: points (33), rebounds (12), assists (5), and steals (6).

3. I am pretty sure that I saw a stat during tonight's game that he has played 157 out of the 160 minutes in the team's four contests. He needs a break.

4. He has completely stolen the spotlight from Notre Dame's Ben Hansbrough, who won the Big East Player of the Year. Kemba, you're in the spotlight.

5. He still managed to give a humbling post game interview.

Walker and the Huskies will play the winner of tonight's match between Notre Dame and Louisville. I would love to see ND and UConn battle it out tomorrow night. Hansbrough vs Walker. (And finally, I'm rooting for you Kemba).