As Major League Baseball concluded it’s final day of regular season play, words like epic, heartbreaking, heroic, monumental, implausible, and breathtaking all seem appropriate. And this, in a world where hyperbole flows like Manischewitz on Rosh Hashanah.  Which actually brings me to my point.

Wild "Cards"

Please read the full blog in it’s original form on Bleacher Report…

http://bleacherreport.com/articles/870930-oh-what-a-night-late-september-back-in2011

Heck, I don’t really even like American League Baseball—the DH, five-hour games, and 11-9 slugfests?  No thank you.

However, I do appreciate excellence when I see it.

And Derek Jeter is excellent.

Let’s review:  He joined the most-competitive baseball fraternity in existence, in the most judgmental and critical sports town in America.

Some 15 seasons since, he’s captured five rings and the hearts of Yankees fans everywhere from Kalamazoo to Cooperstown.

#2: Second to None

Please read the full blog in it’s original form on Bleacher Report…

http://bleacherreport.com/articles/691799-dj3k-if-you-dont-appreciate-derek-jeter-you-dont-get-sports

However, for a couple of days – or perhaps more accurately a handful of whirlwind hours – I lived it too.

Erin and I have returned from a glorious European adventure, which took us through London, and into Amsterdam.

Since people generally prefer the “don’t tell me, show me” philosophy, far be it from me to slow down the shutter-bugging with my worldwide writings and foreign fodder.

Part #1:  London, England (Wednesday May 11th – Thursday May 12th)

London, England

We had great luck with weather in London.

Yes, Erin found it to be a wee bit chilly, but the skies were clear, the sunsets bright and colourful.

Across the Pond...

These first pictures are all via the “London Eye,” a massive, slow-moving Ferris Wheel that travels high above the city, providing great views as far as the “Eye” can see.

Again, how about the skyline!

High in the Sky

And how can one possibly travel all the way to the UK, and not snap a few shots of the towering timepiece famously known as “Big Ben.”

Big Ben

Roethlisberger Who?!

The tower is 96.3 metres (315.9 ft) high

The “London Eye” features enclosed pods, where you can sit or stand, while climbing above the city.

One of the "London Eye" Pods (iPods?)

The EyePod Shuffle

Erin and I in our Pod

The London Eye

Blue-lit Trees Lined Our Walk from the London Eye

Day two in London had Erin working (obviously,) while I caught some ZZZ’s and grabbed a quick work-out at the hotel (no pictures of either, sadly.)  We reconvened in the early evening, and set out for some ground-level sight-seeing.

Big Ben Against a Clear Blue Sky

Erin Looking Oh, So British

Big Ben? Bigger than Big Kurtz!

Postcard-esque

The lighting on this is rubbish, but wha'ever...

Not totally unlike her time in “The States,” Erin had many things to discuss with many people.

Who's in charge, here?!

"Okay, here's the thing. You and I need to have a serious conversation about a lot of things."

I Spy Big Ben

Just a quick jaunt down the road, we stopped at the famous Westminster Abbey.  Noteworthy of late, the Gothic church served as the wedding venue for Britain’s Prince William and Kate Middleton.  We knocked several times, but apparently Will and Kate were unavailable for tea and crumpets.  Bully!

"I was going to wear my Alexander McQueen gown today, but alas, it's at the cleaners."

Is there anything in London that isn't tall? Well, other than the Queen, that is.

"Take 'em to Church"

Three Cheers for the Bus Driver

Now after a long, trying afternoon of sightseeing, we opted to stop off at a pub for a pint.  This is a wonderful little English tradition, and one that we had very little trouble picking up.

London Pride

Bottoms Up

Playing Footy

Much like in the U.S., British phone booths have gone the way of the typewriter and VCR.

However, the old-fashioned, red unit still has its place.

Peek-a-boo

Step inside the booth Superman is alive

After making a few calls, we closed out our final evening in the UK with a trip to Buckingham Palace.  We had hoped the Queen would pop out just to say “Cherrio,” but no such luck.  When “Her Majesty” is on the premises, four guards stand outside on patrol.  When she’s off-site, only two.  We were greeted with merely a duo, meaning she wasn’t “home.”

The guards "change" only once per day, at 11:15 a.m.

In the event that nature called one of the guards, I was quite ready to step in.

The Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Walk

Part #2:  Amsterdam, Netherlands (Friday May 13th – Saturday May 14th)

After a very early wake-up, and a very quick plane ride, we touched down in Amsterdam Friday morning.

After checking into the hotel – and changing rooms because the first one was “heinous” – we set out to do it like the Dutch.

I'd explain where this is, but truthfully, I have no idea. How's this: it was a 5 minute walk from our hotel.

Our first Dutch Meal? Spanish Tapas. Go Figure.

As the afternoon progressed, Erin transformed into the paparazzi.

I’m not quite sure how these next few shots came about, however, after 10+ years together, I guess I should be happy that she can still somehow stand the sight of me!

Alas, photo shoots now complete, the touring and exploring continued.

But not before stopping off for another “snack.”

Cafe Kobalt was an excellent recommendation by our hotel concierge “Peter,” so much so that we actually went there twice.

Cafe Kobalt

After dinner, the camera made it’s way back to the hotel, while the “American Couple” journeyed deeper into Amsterdam’s seedier parts.

But upon sunrise, Saturday brought about a whole new list of adventures and explorations.  Often referred to as “Venice of the North,” Amsterdam is a city of canals.  ”Hop On, Hop Off” boat rides are the only way to go!

Canal "Buses" - The Easiest Way to See the City

I hope this guy knows where he's going...

First Mate, at the ready

The City of Canals

Venice of the North

Ain't No Party Like An Amsterdam Party 'Cause An Amsterdam Party Don't Stop

In addition to it’s canals and coffee shops, Holland is equally well-known for it’s Windmills.

Part of our Saturday Canal Bus Tour featured a stop at the De Gooyer windmill, which features a small micro-brewery on the inside.

De Gooyer Windmill

"This windmill is blowing my hair everywhere!"

Brouwerij 't IJ and the De Gooyer Windmill

After “hopping on” once again, we spotted both the Amstel Hotel, and the Heineken Brewery.

We opted not to take the official beer-making tour, as we had certainly created our own “Heineken Experience” the day before.

The Amstel Hotel

The Heineken Brewery

The city of Amsterdam is often represented by three consecutive X’s.  Contrary to common belief, this is actually not a nod towards the X-rated Red Light District.  Nor, as Erin suggested, is it a reference to “many hugs” (never mind the fact that in that equation, hugs would be represented by O’s).

Instead, XXX are the three crosses that form the core of Amsterdam’s city crest.

XXX

Thanks to Amsterdam’s thin, windy streets, bicycles are the preferred means of land travel.

This wasn’t always a welcome sight for my bride, who is still less than a year removed from being run down by a cyclist in Central Park.

"That bike better keep its distance!"

Of course, while cycling is one thing, shopping is another issue altogether!

When it comes to hand-painted plateware, Erin is extremely “hands on.”

"Let me just get all up in here, right quick!"

For our final dinner in Holland, we inadvertently made reservations for three.

"Excuse me, are you going to finish that?"

Here’s hoping we are fortunate enough to keep traveling.

If so, I’ll keep posting!

Two of the most feared franchises in all of NBA History.

Together they’ve combined to win 34 total titles, and the last three in a row.  However, they’ve also combined to open up their current respective Conference Semifinal series’ with four straight losses.

So, each down 0-2, and each 2 losses from elimination, the question is:  Who’s in bigger trouble?  The Lake Show?  Or the Boys of Beantown?

The Celtics and Lakers: Both Down 0-2

Well, to truly reach a verdict, let’s turn the Basketball Court, into a Court of Law.  (With all due respect to Corbin Bernsen and William Shatner, this is the real L.A. Law and Boston Legal).

Please read the full blog in it’s original form on Bleacher Report…

http://bleacherreport.com/articles/692026-lakers-and-celtics-both-down-0-2-is-la-in-better-shape-than-boston

Did we fall back into the future, only to regain consciousness in the spring of 1996?

In a return to the days of His Airness, the winds of change are once again blowing in Chicago, where a certain Zen-like feeling has returned to the Second City.  With Derrick Rose having blossomed into the league’s youngest-ever MVP (22 years old) and Tom Thibodeau serving as a thorn in the side of all other NBA coaches, one wonders:  Are the Bulls back?

Derrick Rose and 'Da Bulls Are Back

Now, clearly these Bulls are far from those Bulls.  And one MVP trophy plus one Coach of the Year Award does not equal six rings.  But while Rose, Thibodeau, and Company have a lot of running still to do, they are out of the gate in a nice direction.

Please read the full blog in it’s original form on Bleacher Report…

http://bleacherreport.com/articles/689235-the-bulls-are-back-mvp-coach-of-the-year-bring-back-memories-of-mj-zen

The Big Three, Times Two

During the summer of 2007, Boston imported Allen, and Kevin Garnett, to join resident incumbent Paul Pierce, in a series of signings that would ultimately see the Celts go green, en route to the franchise’s 17th title.

Three years later, Miami made it’s own moves, adding LeBron James and Chris Bosh to join Dwyane Wade, in hopes of heating up South Beach with another Championship run.

On the surface, this all seems similar.  Why then, did the Celtics become such a neat and clean feel-good story, while the Heat felt so dirty?  Perhaps it comes down to “The Decision,” and “The Exultation.”

Please read the full blog in it’s original form on Bleacher Report…

http://bleacherreport.com/articles/686720-celtics-vs-heat-why-cleveland-hates-lebron-but-minnesota-loves-kg-kind-of

That’s all she kept saying, repeating it over, and over.  ”You’re going to be so mad!”

My wife uttered these words to me, all while hiding behind a partially closed bathroom door.  She said it, with a smile draped across her face, and her skinny jeans pushed down across her ankles.

Not knowing what she was referring to, but fearing the worst, I merely handed her a tube of disinfectant wipes, thinking that whatever she spilled, tipped, or shattered all over the floor, Clorox wipes from Duane Reade would certainly solve it.  ”No,” she mustered.  ”It’s no that.”

Complete self-awareness and full-disclosure here:  I have a big-time case of OCD. Neatness, organization, and order are the tenants by which I live my life.  Phrases such as “Honey!  Please find a home for all your loose items!” are uttered with a recurring frequency in my apartment.  So, now staring dead into the face of an issue for which wipes weren’t the answer, I was equal parts baffled, and terrified.

“I peed on your shorts,” was what followed.

“What?  You did what!”

A brief look at the logistics of our apartment will have you realize that the bathroom – in it’s infinite spacial challenges – features an over-the-door hanging bar, upon which I drape wet clothing that isn’t dryer-safe.  George Costanza be damned, “shrinkage” is forever an issue.  And, having done the laundry yesterday afternoon, many of my gym clothes (all Nike Dri-Fit, naturally) were hanging precariously from the rack.

This, as they say, is where the plot thickens.

Apparently – and expert witness testimony still paints an unclear picture – my gray shorts fell from the hanging bar, into the toilet, unbeknownst to my lovely and loving wife. Never mind the fact that Erin is most-certainly guilty for knocking said shorts into the bidet, but one might also wonder how this would go unnoticed prior to peeing. Nonetheless, it wasn’t until mid-stream when Erin realized what had happened, causing her to utter the aforementioned fateful words:

“Oh, no!  Oh, no!  You’re going to be so mad!”

We bagged the shorts, as I was struck with emotions ranging from bewilderment to dismay.  Certainly, I was less-than-pleased.  But it can be hard to get mad at someone as cute as Erin.

She's Lucky She's Cute

Skinny jeans having now climbed back to her waist, my wife chased me around the apartment, offering hugs and apologies.

“Don’t hug me!  You just pee’d on my shorts!”

At this point, I remember attempting to hand Erin the laundry card, and bottle of “Tide with Febreeze, Spring Renewal.”  Right.  Because “Spring Renewal” must certainly cure urine saturation.

“I’m not doing the laundry now, but I will soon!” Erin responded.  Uh huh.

The shorts are in the washer as we speak.

And Erin is somehow already out of the dog house.

Jimmer Fredette

First, let me be very clear.  I’m referring exclusively to his transition to the NBA, and how his game translates at the next level.  Obviously, the guy’s an elite college player.  There’s no reason to debate that.

But I have serious concerns about Fredette’s ability to become a stand out NBA player.  Of course, this is all purely speculation -isn’t that what blogging basically boils down to?  If I could actually predict the future, I wouldn’t be flapping my gums about college roundball. 

Cougar Time

In college, Jimmer emphatically proved he can fill it up.  He bangs from deep, and he’s in range the moment he laces ‘em up.  Sure, that aspect of his game – his shooting touch – won’t change at the next level.  But the NBA is where one-dimensional players go to die.

“But Jimmer’s not one dimensional!  He can take it to the hole, man!” 

That’s what you’re saying, yes?  And you’re right.  At BYU, Fredette’s been a full service scorer.  He attacks the rack, displays tremendous body control, can finish with either hand, and cashes in at the charity stripe.  But I just do not see him having that type of success – off the dribble – in the NBA. 

He’s 6’1″, and he isn’t all that athletic.  At his size, there’s only one spot on the floor for him:  point guard.  And he doesn’t have NBA point guard quickness, or handle. 

To be 6’1″, and really fill it up against the best players in the world, you have to have Chris Paul-type game.  Jimmer does not.  He also doesn’t have Steve Nash-type game, because he’s not a natural distributor.  And he doesn’t have J.J. Reddick-type game (to refer to a similar college-level scorer), as he’s several inches smaller, and doesn’t “D” up. (ed. note:  Reddick also wasn’t much of a defensive force coming out of Duke.  To his credit, he’s worked really hard on that aspect of his game.  But it’s taken him several seasons, and still, he’s only a mid-level, supporting cast member.)  Now, there’s no reason to say Jimmer won’t improve his defense, but I don’t care how tireless your work ethic is, you generally can’t practice becoming taller.

The fact of the matter is, the players are bigger, better, and stronger in “The League,” and I just do not envision Fredette putting it on the floor, and driving the lane against the Northwest, the way he’s done it against the Mountain West.  Sure, the MWC is a fine conference.  But it ain’t the ACC or the Big East.  And it sure as heck ain’t the Southeast.  There are no Dwight Howard’s at San Diego State.  There are no Blake Griffin’s at Utah.  And there are no Amar’e Stoudemire’s at TCU.

"D"in' Up Jimmer

My point being, he’s not quick enough to carve up NBA backcourts, nor is he strong enough to body his way to the rim against the league’s formidable front lines.  As such, he’ll be reduced to merely a “shooter,” not a “scorer,” and good defenses will supplant themselves in his shorts, refusing to give him open looks. 

Sure, he may hit his fair share of contested jumpers.  And there’s no reason to think he can’t exist in the NBA.  But he’ll be a role player, and it will take just the right fit for him to truly excel. 

"The Jimmer Show," Curtain Closing

Bottom line?  The curtain comes down on The Jimmer Show, the moment his Cougar career comes to a close.

I was at the height of my sports infatuation – 7th/8th grade – when this remarkable group burst upon the scene.  At 13, I was just getting to the point where I was old enough to truly understand and consume sports, yet I was still young enough that nothing had been spoiled for me.  I was blissfully ignorant, and was enjoying seeing the sports world through Jalen Rose-colored glasses.

This was long before politics, scandals, and off-the-court/field incidents took college athletics from the Sports Page, to the Front Page. Coaches were still good guys, the players were the cool kids, and the teams still existed as tight-knit units.  And nowhere on the sports map was this more clearly seen than in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Baggy Shorts, Black Socks

Complete with baggy (alright, obscenely baggy) yellow shorts, and black athletic socks, they brought something to the table we’d never seen, the likes of which we’ll probably never see again.  This is what I meant when I talked about timing.

You see, part of the magic and mystique surrounding the Fab 5 was how they seemingly just arrived.  Nowadays, in an internet world that hangs accolades on pre-pubescent ballers long before their 12th birthdays, their is no element of surprise.  Sure, true hoops aficionados probably had a young Chris Webber on their radars.   But without the spotlight of the 24-hour News Cycle, most of us were in the dark.  And when these kids (remember, they were all about 18 years old) showed up at Michigan in 1991, the prevailing question was “Who are these guys?”.

Who Are These Guys?

The answer, simply:  They are the Fab 5.  Five freshman studs sent to dominate the world of college basketball.  Remember, this was long before “1-and-done” was the traditional motto and mantra of incoming recruits. These were still the days when upper-classmen ruled the game, when senior leadership and experience were the keys to a season’s success.  Instead, Head Coach Steve Fisher tossed his keys to five 1st-year players, trusting they’d motor Michigan all the way to the promised land.  And they almost did…twice.

Michigan’s Fab 5 reached the NCAA Title game two years in a row, in 1992 and 1993, before Chris Webber broke up the band and headed to NBA after his sophomore season. Jalen Rose and Juwan Howard left a year later, while Jimmy King and Ray Jackson stayed the full four.

And though the group that amounted to arguably the most tremendous recruiting class of all-time never took the title, they did take the nation by storm, leaving a footprint that could only have been made through the help of their trademark dark socks.

To a 13-year-old kid, loving hoops and sports in their earliest, purest forms, the Fab 5 were nothing but cool.  They had cool names, like Jalen and Juwan, King and Jackson. They wore cool numbers, like 4 and 5, and sported cool, matching sneakers.  Never before had the color yellow looked so cool as it did when these 5 freshman took the court together.

The Fab 5 of Michigan Hoop

And, oh, by the way, they had game.  Serious game.  This wasn’t a case of style without substance. There was enough substance to fill three recruiting classes, let along just this one.  Four of the players went on to the NBA.  Webber was a bona fide star during his heyday, Howard is still playing, and Rose is a recognizable national analyst.

And as ESPN readies to airs it’s most recent 30 for 30, nearly 20 years after their last game together, one wonders how the Fab 5 are remembered today?

Well, I guess that depends upon who you ask.

Many will remember Webber’s infamous time-out call which sealed North Carolina’s Championship in 1993 (and sealed my victory in the infamous Moore Business Forms office pool).

No Timeouts Remaining

Others are quick to refer to the scandal the players left in their wake, resulting in forfeited victories, and a tarnished image.

But when it comes to changing the game, leaving a mark, making a statement, and doing it all with flash and flair, the Fab 5 were like none other.

My fingers are crossed, but the odds are steep, so who knows.

Either way, for my readers, I thought I might post the essays I submiited for consideration as part of Phase/Round 1.

Wish me luck!!!

The First Part

A little about myself, and why I love baseball.  Hmmm.  Truthfully, those two concepts are really one in the same, or, at the very least, they’re intertwined, not unlike the bright red stitching on a pure white Rawlings cowhide.

A baseball lifer, my childhood memories go back to grass stains, and booted grounders.  To the days of swinging a tiny bat, and connecting with nothing more than the rubber “T,” only to watch the ball fall limply onto the ground, a mere inches in front of home plate.

A purveyor of America’s pastime into High School, my dreams of making it to the show fell off the table with the varsity curveball, and my “cup of coffee” spilt soon thereafter.

But baseball has always been an original love.  I still recall my early glimpses of a Big League Ballpark, and thinking how green the grass looked, even from the cheap seats.  And each Spring, when the snow melts, and that same green grass begins to once again poke through, I’m brought back to those younger days.  A diamond may be a girl’s best friend, but in many ways, it’s the boy in all of us that carries the courtship on into adulthood.

As I’ve grown older, and chased journalism dreams up and down the East Coast, I’ve never forgotten my friend from back home:  baseball.  For it is this grand game that evokes our senses, and reminds us what is pure.

Un-timed, it’s rhythm is unlike that in any other sport.  Pitchers and catchers dictate the pace, while batters aim to wrestle it back through gamesmanship (and the occasional cup adjustment).  The infielders shift, the outfielders creep, and the bullpen waits at the ready.  All the while, opposing managers move pinch-hitters and relief pitchers like chess pawns, searching for the slightest advantage.  To the untrained eye, baseball is a routine repeated.  But to those who know what they’re looking at, it’s a dance ripe with intricacy and innuendo, governed by bylaws and codes all its own.

It’s these intricacies that draw me in, year after year, game after game, inning after glorious inning.  To hit for your pitcher, or to not hit for your pitcher.  That is the question.

Shakespeare knew his stage, but he had nothing on the Field of Dreams.

The Second Part

Okay.  Now things get slightly more complicated.  Explaining my love for the baseball?  That’s simple.  But predicting the future?  More ambitious.

But in the spirit of the game, I’ll take a crack at it.

Who will win the American and National League Most Valuable Player Awards in 2011? Make a strong case for your selections.

I’ll take the National League first, because this one jumps out at me:  Albert Pujols.

Why?  Well, let’s imagine Cuba Gooding Jr. was here.  “Show Me The Money.”  Fat Albert is arguably the most-talented offensive player in the game.  Maybe in the last decade.  Maybe ever.  Well, maybe not yet.  But he’s good.  Very good.  He hits for power, and average.  He moves runners along, takes the extras base, fields his position, and makes all the necessary throws.  He’s a tireless worker, an exceptional teammate, and a student of the game, past and present.

And now you want to go ahead and add the motivation of money?  Look out world!

Unable to come to terms with the Cardinals prior to the start of Spring Training, Pujols now stands to open the bidding to any team able to open their wallet.  For a lesser player, this added pressure might serve as a distraction, maybe even hurt his productivity.  But not “The Machine.”  He’ll be dialed in, as always.

And he’ll be adding another piece of hardware to the ‘ol mantelpiece.

Now over to the American League.  Things here are slightly less clear-cut.

My pick?  Adrian Gonzalez.

Why?  Well, I think the rest of the free world is about to find out what San Diego already knew:  This guy can play.

Buried on the Left Coast for the entirety of his career to this point, a dosage of East Coast bias might be just the thing to take Gonzalez’s game to the next level.  Stick the power-hitting first-baseman right into the thick of a pennant race, add some media glare, and bring on the Green Monstah!

All while playing in pain a year ago, Gonzalez belted more than 30 dingers, drove in more than 100 runs, and hit nearly .300.  Now fresh off of shoulder surgery, he stands to bring the hurt to the Yankees, Rays, and the rest of the AL East.

Here’s thinking his shoulder will feel just fine in time to hoist the 2011 AL MVP.