Author Archives: Kent Sterling

Geno Auriemma is masterful at manipulating UConn media coverage to build the brand

by Kent Sterling

Geno Auriemma might be the most successful team coach in the history of sports, and the reason why is simple. He’s smarter than his competitors.

UConn women’s basketball coach Geno Auriemma is adept at a lot of things – solid x’s and o’s coach, great brand builder, and as a result a magnificent recruiter – but his greatest talent is manipulating the media into positive coverage for the Huskies.

While the media climbs all over itself to call out the NCAA for its ridiculous response to the complaint that alerted it to Auriemma’s call to Little League World Series star Mo’Ne Davis, Auriemma and UConn get exactly what it wants – more coverage for the marquee program in college basketball.

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I’m not saying that this entire episode – from the moment the call was made to the breathless outage expressed by the media – was concocted by Auriemma as another in a long series of brand building exercises. No one is that smart. But Auriemma knew exactly what he was doing when he made the media aware of the anonymous, gutless, and shortsighted complaint.

He pointed to a victim, and defined himself as a victim. Nice trick for a guy who has won 87% of his games as a head coach.

During his phenomenally successful 30-year career at UConn, the 60-year-old Auriemma has won nine national championships, 19 Big East Championships, and has been the Naismith Coach of the Year six times. His overall record of 879-133 is incredible, but over the last nine years, he has raised his game to win an incomprehensible 322 of 344 games.

By winning at that rate, Auriemma could retire at the age of 70 with a career record of 1,232-156. No one who wins at that rate allows the potential for an advantage pass by without a good long embrace. He squeezes the most out of every opponent’s display of weakness, and ratting UConn out for a (mostly – or at least partially) innocent call to an eighth grader was a weak play.

And because of the way he has handled this idiocy about a two-minute phone call to a 13-year-old, Auriemma is now viewed as a casualty of the bureaucratic clumsiness of the NCAA and the moronic bleating of a jealous coach.

That is called being the smartest guy in the room, and why would the media argue with any of his narrative? The NCAA is universally loathed by the public for being the arbiter of a laughably ineffective brand of justice that has resulted in rules being scoffed at, ignored, and mocked. That’s not entirely accurate, but this story certainly illustrates the level of silliness in which the NCAA will indulge to uphold the contact restrictions coaches have made necessary through their absurd pursuit of recruits.

The problem here isn’t the NCAA, but the boob/coward who blew the whistle on Auriemma (he or she is a coward because he or she hid under a cloak of anonymity by asking a conference official to make the call to Indianapolis, and a boob because of course Auriemma was going to have no problem spinning this into a positive).

No one was surprised when Davis declared her love for UConn and hopes to play there for Auriemma, and no one would be surprised if in five years she reports for duty in Storrs as Auriemma’s latest recruiting triumph. And nobody should be shocked that Auriemma made the call, or milked it being reported for all it’s worth.

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There is a reason Auriemma has been so successful, and his ability to brand UConn as the Rolls Royce of women’s basketball programs is chief among them. Many of his competitors are bitter and jealous, which only feeds Auriemma’s aura and advantage.

While other coaches are fighting for the services of the talent Auriemma passes on, their petulant whining about petty violations continues to elevate Auriemma and UConn in the eyes of another generation of girls dreaming of playing college basketball.

And the media goes along for the ride because Auriemma is smart enough to make it easy for them.

Instead of bitching and moaning, other coaches should watch and learn from the best.

Breakfast with Kent – Re-Pete’s Seahawks thrash Pack; Big Ten’s big weekend; Colts Luck needed; Geno Auriemma gains media

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzRdwUILpeE

US Open – What the hell has happened to American tennis?

by Kent Sterling

Back in 1991, Jimmy Connors rose from the dead and captivated America at the US Open.

Tennis used to be big in America. Kids took lessons and played for fun. Athletes from the United States won tournaments – major tournaments.

Now, other than the Williams sisters, who are quickly closing in on retirement, there are no Americans posing a threat to win any of the majors, and a generation of kids have no interest in the sport. How did a very popular game unravel so quickly in a country that loves sports so much?

When I was young, tennis lessons were how kids spent their summer vacation mornings. Afternoons were spent on the court, or playing baseball. I was on the travel baseball team, not because I was great at baseball, but because the best three players on my Little League team committed to travel tennis rather than baseball.

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Jimmy Connors’ intensity, John McEnroe’s skill and ill temper, and the rocket serve of Roscoe Tanner drove interest on the men’s side. Bille Jean King, Martina Navratilova, and Chris Evert dominated the women’s side.

Wimbledon and the US Open were must-see TV.

There were outstanding international players, but the finals of the two big majors almost always featured an American.

The last American man to win at Wimbledon was the now 43 year-old Pete Sampras in 2000. From 1971-1985, there were only two men’s finals without an American. Four men won seven titles.

The last non-Williams woman to play in the finals at Wimbledon was Lindsay Davenport in 2000. Granted, the Williams are Americans, but they are outliers whose excellence has existed within their family – not because of an American cultural drive for excellence. In the last 15 Wimbledons, a Williams has won 10, and five were runners-up – four times to the other Williams.

From 1972-1987, three American women (King, Evert, and Martina Navratilova) won 14 of 16 titles, and an American women appeared in all but two finals from 1966-1990.

And from 1971-1987, an American man or woman won the US Open singles title in all but two years.

On the men’s side there are currently nine Spaniards and six French players ranked in the top 45, while John Isner is the lone American. A generation ago, that was unthinkable.

Tennis is fun, it’s accessible, and it’s cheap. Racquets cost a little cash, but balls are $3/can, and attire is nothing more than a tee-shirt, pair of shorts, and sneakers. There is no hinderance keeping any sect of kids from enjoying the game. It’s a matter of choice that keeps people from playing a game that used to drive participation in similar numbers to the four major league sports.

Lack of size isn’t a hinderance to excellence as it can be in football and basketball, so that’s out as a reason too.

What remains as reasonable explanations are the burgeoning popularity of soccer among the young, the emergence of video games as termites of a child’s time, and the increasing problem of obesity – which could be easily cured by daily visits to a tennis court. There is also an odd aversion to heat that has driven people indoors. Back in the day, sweating was a part of summer life. Now, people get tachycardia when exposed to 80-degree air for more than 10 minutes.

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Playing tennis while fat is tough sledding. Sadly for the hefty, movement – quick movement – is required to reach the ball after only one bounce (an inconvenient rule), unless you are playing against a very cooperative opponent willing to hit the ball directly to you.

There used to be waits for courts. Yes, people would sit on benches as others played until a court opened. That is totally unheard of today. I haven’t seen full courts anywhere in 30 years.

In the town where I grew up, the park district employed tennis court monitors to charge players a dollar each to play, and nobody blinked. I made a buck an hour as a 13 year-old and thought I had the best job in the world.

Today, there is no waiting, no charge, and limited interest. It’s sad.

Sadder still is the fact that no one will ever read this post because columns about indifference are always met with equal or greater indifference.

Indianapolis Colts owner Jim Irsay’s suspension reveals again the ignorance plaguing NFL drug policies

by Kent Sterling

Colts owner Jim Irsay walks into the Hamilton County Cpurthouse yesterday – the building where justice should be meted out.

The number of people being warehoused in American prisons and jails continues to skyrocket because American justice is more about assessing punishment than causing behavioral change. Similarly, the NFL’s system of discipline is designed to impress fans with its severity, rather than enlighten and enrich.

So Colts owner Jim Irsay was suspended yesterday for six weeks, fined $500K (an insignificant amount of cash to Irsay, but quite a stack to season ticket buyers), and banned from NFL/Colts related social media commentary.

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What exactly is Irsay guilty of? He failed to signal during a lane change and was discovered by Carmel Police to be affected by Oxycodone and hydrocodone use. Yes, Irsay is addicted to painkillers. He committed a crime, has been punished by the State of Indiana, and is in treatment as he tries to deal with the disease of addiction.

Being banned from the Colts facility, games, social media, and writing a check helps fans see that the NFL is just as serious and irrational in penalizing owners as it is with players. The logic is flawlessly corporate – “See, if we are idiots with one subgroup, we must be idiots with all!”

Good for NFL commissioner Roger Goodell, who continues to protect the shield with the same grace Torquemada used to preserve Catholicism during the Spanish Inquisition. Violators are banished. To hell with medicine. Players getting stoned, even in states where marijuana use has been legalized, is grounds for dismissal.

That pot use provides no competitive advantage is meaningless. LaVon Brazill and Josh Gordon are goners for at least a year, and if during that NFL mandated year off, they pass time by using, the penalties will mount.

Addiction being a disease is of no consequence in the conference rooms of the NFL. Wrong is wrong, and severe punishment must be meted out because God forbid anyone watching professional football sees the NFL as compassionate or reasonable.

Denver Broncos wide receiver Wes Welker will sit the first four games of the season because he tested positive for amphetamines sometime around Kentucky Derby weekend, according to news reports. How taking speed in May – a charge Welker denies – helped the Broncos gain a competitive advantage is a question even the Great and Powerful Rog will have difficulty answering.

Taking PEDs is clearly an issue in professional sports. The money at stake for performing at a high level requires a serious disincentive as a countermeasure, but pushing players to the curb, and in some cases off a cliff, for non-PED drug use is unfair and ignorant of the insidiousness of addiction.

Does the NFL believe that suspending Irsay for six games and issuing a meaningless fine is going to enforce a more serious penalty than the ravages the addiction has levied upon his life? Does it see the laws governing recreational drug use or police abilities to enforce them as inadequate?

That the penalties for drug use have been collectively bargained does nothing to absolve the NFL and Goodell of its culpability in perpetuating the ignorance with which fans view addiction and marijuana use.

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Irsay is the victim of a disease, and recovery will not come more quickly because of Goodell’s grandstanding. Granted, as the son of an addict, Irsay should have avoided intoxicants. He should have anticipated the likelihood of slipping down the same slope that rendered his dad a laughing stock among NFL owners and fans when he first decided to use.

Minus an ability to un-ring this bell, Irsay will need to wage his battle one day at a time for the rest of his life.

His comment released yesterday following the conviction and suspension shows an understanding and resolve that has nothing to do with the NFL’s penalties, “I acknowledge the mistake I made last March and stand responsible for the consequences of that mistake, for which I sincerely apologize to our community and to Colts fans everywhere. Even more importantly, though, I am committed to do everything in my power to turn this whole experience into a positive event for myself, my family, and the community. In retrospect, I now know that the incident opened my eyes to issues in my life that needed addressing and helped put me on the path to regain my health. I truly hope and pray that my episode will help in some small measure to diminish the stigma surrounding our country’s terrible and deadly problem of addiction. It is a disease like other progressive, terminal diseases—one that can only be successfully treated by understanding, committed hard work, and spiritual growth. I am deeply grateful for the tremendous outpouring of love and support during these past few months from my family, friends, care-givers, and our great community. Please know I am firmly committed to staying on my path to good health and I look forward to a great season.”

Say a prayer for a good guy fighting a vicious demon, and another for a commissioner whose relentless and harsh consequences for non-PED drug use causes more problems than it solves.

Indianapolis Colts suspended linebacker Robert Mathis leaves message for all of us in locker

by Kent Sterling

As people get older, they hear nature’s clock ticking more and more loudly. For a few, the result of that incessant clacking is a yearning to imbue the young and stupid with wisdom that can only be gained through experience.

Indianapolis Colts all-time sack leader Robert Mathis was once a young stud with a long future in the NFL ahead of him. Now, he is playing deep on the back nine of his career. The NFL has forced him to miss the next four games because he used the fertility aid Clomid to try to provide another grandchild for his mom as she battles stage four cancer, and that has turned him a little reflective.

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Instead of leaving an empty locker at the entrance of the locker room of Colts complex on West 56th Street in Indianapolis for his teammates to walk past, there is a picture of Mathis and a copy of the message Mathis wants to share with his teammates:

“Athletes: Don’t take the sport you play for granted. Every time you play, you better be damn thankful that you get to do something you love. Don’t show up to practice complaining about not wanting to be there; you’re there hopefully because you love it. Work hard every moment. If you’re not working hard, you don’t deserve to play. Play every practice or game like it’s your last because it very well could be. When you finally reach the day that you can’t play, and you can only watch, then you will know how much you love something that you once took for granted.”

The great thing about aging is the wisdom you gain, and the best part of being young is the ignorance of loss – the lack of fear that time will someday be the foe that cannot be defeated.

Mathis understands that the pain of losing of 25% of one of his last seasons is profound. If this suspension happened when he was 24, there is no way Mathis would have been capable of writing such a profound message for his teammates, and would never have thought to leave it in his locker to be read by teammates.

Sadly, the 24 year-old teammates singing in the locker room yesterday probably paid little attention to the rantings of an elder statesman with something to teach.

But we are very lucky it was there for us to see because Mathis was right, and not just about being a professional football player, but about being a professional anything. If we don’t enjoy every day of our lives, our careers, our families, and our friends, then we don’t deserve the time left to us.

Good and bad happen, and responding to both with grace and vigor is all that makes sense. Not only do careers in professional sports end, but so does everything else. Reading Mathis’s words remind us that being stuck in a routine is nothing more than a corrupt perspective.

Some people are addicted to wanting more until they get it, and then suddenly realize that what was important was right in front of them all along. Life is about loving people, confronting adversity, and creating memorable experiences. It’s about finding a way to enjoy what you do, or doing everyday those things that you enjoy.

Misery has a way of creeping into our lives, and it takes discipline and wisdom to understand how precious our finite time and unique abilities are.

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Mathis reminded us all to embrace today because there will come a time when our tomorrows end. There is no refilling our biological clocks, and the thing that we dread today might be what we miss most tomorrow.

There will come a time when we regret not knowing then what we know now, but the evidence to imbue us with that wisdom is everywhere. We just need to recognize and share it – as Mathis has – or allow it to be shared with us.

Indianapolis Colts and Indiana Hoosiers – Finally, we can talk about what is rather than what might be

by Kent Sterling

Andrew Luck and Colts fans will be smiling in January, unless he gets hurt.

Nate Sudfeld will be smiling too, unless…well, you know.

There is no season quite as silly as the period between the opening of football training camps and the regular season opener. We try to read tea leaves to figure out what the hell might happen, and no one is wrong because the measure for success is 100% subjective.

Now, we get down to the real thing in the NFL and college football – the games that matter, where successes and failures are recorded in permanent ink and result in magnificent rewards for the winners and dire consequences for the losers.

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Some walk the walk and others can only talk the talk. I’m reminded of Chicago Cubs owner Tom Ricketts declaring during Spring Training less than six months ago that the Cubs looked like a playoff team. That is grotesque evidence of talking the kind of talk that is emitted and processed only by the insane. Optimism runs rampant everywhere because why the hell not?

People in Bloomington who are mostly rational are declaring the Hoosiers fixed, competitive, and ready to win nine games. That a winning conference record was last earned at Indiana 21 years ago has been lost on these folks. Indiana might be ready to roll, but battling generations of malaise requires more than talking about winning.

The Colts are coming off 15 years of nearly relentless success. Since 1999, only in 2001 and 2011 did the Colts fail to post double digit wins. Oddly, the Colts record during the last four years ending in one (1981, 1991, 2001, and 2011) is 11-53. That’s appropriate of nothing, but vaguely interesting nonetheless.

So the Hoosiers were able to manhandle Indiana State 28-10 Saturday by running the ball at will, and stopping the Sycamores more often than not. The play calls were so mind numbingly dull that an Indiana State fan sitting ten rows behind us spent virtually the entire second half yelling. “It’s a draw! Another draw is coming! Get ready for the draw!” He seemed to be right almost every time he opened his mouth.

I’m sure the voices in the heads of the Indiana State coaching staff were yelling the same thing. The runs kept coming, and the result was 455 rushing yards, including 247 from explosive junior Tevin Coleman. Does that portend another 11 positive Saturdays, or did the Hoosiers take advantage of a weak opponent? We’ll find out soon enough. Despite an opening clunker against Western Kentucky, Bowling Green is expected to be pretty good. Then a trip to Mizzou looms for Indiana.

Optimism reigns on campus for yet another week, and that is all fans habituated to mediocrity – at best – ask for.

The Colts are a different story. Very good regular seasons are almost always expected and delivered because the Colts have had once per generation quarterbacks for 16 the last 17 years. The torch being passed from Peyton Manning to Andrew Luck is not the sort of good fortune that often befalls NFL teams. Only Brett Favre to Aaron Rodger rivals Manning to Luck as an orderly and excellent line of succession.

And that is where the responsibility for the Colts excellence lies. If not for Luck, the Colts would be a member of the worst division in NFL history rather than just currently the worst division.

The Colts have excellent players at other spots, but they are getting old. Robert Mathis, 33, is the all-time franchise sack leader who will sit through the first four weeks because of a suspension for using Clomid as a fertility aid. Reggie Wayne is 35 as he returns from a torn ACL. Forty-one year old kicker Adam Vinatieri has shown no sign of aging. Pat McAfee is a relative pup as one of the best punters in the NFL at age 27. Receiver T.Y. Hilton is only 24 as he enters a prime that may allow him to one day rival Marvin Harrison and Wayne as the best in team history.

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Other than those players, the Colts are good, not great, and it’s hard to win championships without a bunch of great players.

Has general manager Ryan Grigson cobbled together a group that can hoist a Lombardi Trophy? There aren’t a lot self-proclaimed experts clamoring for seats on that particular bandwagon. Time will tell. The first report card comes Sunday night in Denver, and then the second will be issued at Lucas Oil Stadium the following Monday. By December, the speculation will have been replaced by knowledge.

That will be true for the Hoosiers too.

The fun of sports is in guessing what will happen, and some feel so strongly about their ability to predict the future, they invest cold cash on it. As for me, the pride of being right is enough. No sense throwing money at the unknown.

My guess is that the Colts finish the 2014 season 12-4, and the Hoosiers go 7-5 before playing in their second bowl since 2007. The Colts will advance to the AFC Championship, but fall just short of a third trip to the Super Bowl in less than a decade.

The guess work is now over, and all that’s left is for the Colts and Hoosiers to prove their value with performance, not words.

Thirty years ago tomorrow at Indiana University, life started making sense when I met Julie Purcell

by Kent Sterling

That’s the smile that makes my heart beat again every morning (not Bill’s).

Unhappily lost in a maze of perplexing classes and crowded parties, I got very lucky on August 30, 1984, when an almost always smiling force of nature danced into my life.

At a party in Walnut Knolls apartment D-19, college students were doing a lot of what college students normally do on a Thursday night, drink beer and burn calories through frenetic movement. Most of the time, my energy was expended through silliness and occasional beneficent acts like granting free HBO to neighbors too cheap to pay $9/month for endless reruns of Red Dawn and Karate Kid, but this night I was dancing.

I didn’t dance often and still don’t, but for some reason Bob Seger got to the people at this party, and there was dancing. I was bouncing all over the apartment, not dancing with anyone specifically when this girl with two-toned hair and a big grin started flying around the apartment with enthusiasm and rhythm. She was the star of the party by far, and it was inevitable that we bumped into each other.

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No words, just dancing and sweating. With each song the ante was raised, and before long we were the only people cavorting with ever increasing energy. The dancing wasn’t so much an answer for a mutual attraction but more a death match of hysterical flailing.

Exhausted after 15 minutes of spinning, bouncing, and shouting, a friend named Freddy grabbed me and shouted over the music, “Don’t screw this up – she’s the one.” I told him I knew. Dancing continued, swimming followed, and finally we fell asleep on the couch watching TV.

Everyday since, we have spent at least a few minutes talking and sharing, and ten days after meeting I asked her to marry me. There was no dropping to one knee and opening a box containing a shiny and expensive ring. No, this was on the walkway in front of the Western Sizzlin Restaurant just in front of Walnut Knolls.

With a giant bottle of wine between us, I said, “You know, I think we ought to get married.”

Julie said, “Okay.”

We sat and laughed for another hour, and that was that. Looking back, there was no need for that moment as oddly perfect for us as it was. From the moment we danced, I knew. I’ve never been certain whether Julie was committed immediately, or just rode along with the kook who seemed so sure us being together was absolutely the only way to go through life.

There have been short periods of friction and strife, but 99% of the time we smile through life either because of or in spite of each other. It doesn’t really matter which, but for my part it’s almost always because of Julie.

She has always been relentless in her pursuit of being a better person today than yesterday, and being exposed to that level of personal diligence has been an unending gift, and her smile is the purest expression of joy I have ever seen – and I get to see it constantly.

We have built a life, raised a son who epitomizes the best of us – or at least what we selfishly perceive to be the best of us – and continue to look toward the future with hopes and dreams.

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It doesn’t seem anything like 30 years since we met, but it also feels like forever. Remembering what my life was like before Julie is hard and unpleasant. I was a lost ball in tall weeds without much hope of finding a clearing without the steady hand of a clear-eyed guide, and Julie wasn’t so different, but we locked arms and started marching forward toward something. Even if we headed the wrong way, how bad could it be if we were together?

If people are lucky, they get ten days of grace through their lifetime, and August 30, 1984, was as good a day as I have had because I found someone for whom I had always searched, but never knew existed. I have been almost as fortunate for the thousands of days since because I have continued to find her again and again when I awaken.

Tomorrow, we will return to Bloomington and Walnut Knolls D-Building to remember a night so long ago it seems like yesterday. Just like every tomorrow knowing Julie will be next to me, I can’t wait for it.

UNC Football suspends four in hazing incident; obnoxious explanations show why no respect is due Tar Heels

by Kent Sterling

Jackson Boyer dreamed of playing football for UNC – his hometown university. A concussion as a result of hazing is his thank you.

Cripes. Can’t somebody just talk without evoking the kind of pedantic legalese bureaucrats habitually use to cover their asses?

Jackson Boyer, a walk-on freshman receiver for his hometown’s University of North Carolina’s football team, suffered a concussion from which he is still recovering because of an incident that resulted in the suspension of cornerbacks Desmond Lawrence, Brian Walker, M.J. Stewart, and back-up at the ‘Ram’ position Donnie Miles.

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A relentless torrent of idiocy rains down upon college campuses everywhere, so the report of an episode resulting in a suspension is no surprise, nor would it even bear mention if not for the nauseating self-serving drivel issued by the university as explanation.

Although school officials asserting legal claptrap defending school policies have not admitted the suspensions were directly linked to the incident, there have been numerous reports that they were.

This statement was released under head coach Larry Fedora’s name, “We hold our players accountable for their actions at all times. These players did not meet the high expectations we have for them as members of our program and have been disciplined accordingly. They will not play on Saturday or be on the sideline with their teammates.”

Well, that’s just wonderful, and I’m sure Jackson Boyer feels much better as a result. His recovery will be enhanced greatly by those magical words. Too bad the four cretins who are responsible for inflicting the injury didn’t realize any of that prior to whatever transpired to cause Boyer’s brain injury.

You want to know why most schools schedule cupcakes in Week One (UNC plays Liberty Saturday)? Because players have eight months before the opener they can screw up, and suspended meaningful players prior to a game that matters gets coaches fired.

Here’s an especially vague and noncommittal statement from UNC assistant athletic director for communications Kevin Best, “We are aware of an incident involving members of the UNC football team that took place earlier this month. We take this allegation seriously and the University is conducting a thorough review.”

Boy, UNC really is serious about putting a stop to all hazing! Conducting a thorough review? Well, thank goodness. Now, we can all rest easy. Boyer’s parents can finally get a good night’s sleep.

How about UNC athletic director Bubba Cunningham, who apparently can’t pass up an opportunity to both pat his department on the back while absolving all involved for this outlier of an event, “I think our student-athletes do a great job. We have 800 who participate in intercollegiate athletics, and from time to time, we all make mistakes. When we do, we hold each other accountable.”

Oh, because most of the athletes at UNC manage to not cause a brain injury in a teammate, people questioning UNC because of this incident aren’t seeing the big picture. Cunningham wants critics and the media to take a more global view of his department, and not focus on Boyer, or the bizarre track record of academic fraud in the department he oversees.

That’s like explaining racism as being okay because it was good for the white majority.

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Finally, there is the flotsam and jetsam in the policy provided Yahoo! Sports by the UNC Office of the Dean of Students:

“The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill is committed to fostering organizations that provide a positive and safe environment for new and existing members. To that end, UNC expressly prohibits hazing or any activity that puts a student’s physical, emotional or psychological health and safety at risk. The Instrument of Student Judicial Governance defines hazing as action, ‘that causes or permits an individual, with or without consent, to engage in activities that subject that individual or others to risks of physical injury, mental distress, or personal indignities of a highly offensive nature, in connection with recruitment, initiation, or continued membership in a society, fraternity or sorority, club, or similar organized group, whether or not recognized by the University.'”

That’s the kind of blather created and vetted in rooms filled with lawyers employed to keep an organization from being sued. It has nothing to do with the right thing being done. To hell with reason, decency, and leadership. Build a wall of liability-dodging phrasing so high that it can’t be cleared, and the job is well done.

Anyone who was unclear as to whether universities exist for the students or the administrators got a heavy dose of self-righteousness as their answer.

USC cornerback Josh Shaw may be about to go from life-saving hero to lying burglar

by Kent Sterling

Josh Shaw’s version of the truth is being examined closely by a very active and suddenly unfriendly media.

The truth is never as far away from being discovered as liars believe it to be, and if the truth is something other than Southern Cal cornerback Josh Shaw’s tale of heroism in rescuing his nephew, his life is about to take a drastic and unsavory turn.

Shaw’s original explanation for his dual high ankle sprains was a selfless leap from a balcony to the concrete below to get to his drowning nephew in a nearby pool. The boy was saved, and Shaw was hailed as a magnanimous hero.

What a story! Hard to make up a story that good! Maybe not.

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Phone calls to USC disputing Shaw’s story reportedly began shortly after they repeated Shaw’s story to the media. It seems that Shaw’s injuries may have been suffered elsewhere – perhaps while leaping from a balcony during the commission of a burglary in an apartment. While that is only a rumor, it is a sharply contrasting explanation for his injuries than an act of heroism.

On Monday, Shaw was quoted in a Southern Cal press release, “I would do it again for whatever kid it was, it did not have to be my nephew. My ankles really hurt, but I am lucky to be surrounded by the best trainers and doctors in the world. I am taking my rehab one day at a time, and I hope to be back on the field as soon as possible.”

His coach, Steve Sarkisian, was quoted in the same release, “That was a heroic act by Josh, putting his personal safety aside. But that’s the kind of person he is. It is unfortunate that he’ll be sidelined for a while and we will miss his leadership and play, but I know he’ll be working hard to get back on the field as soon as possible.”

If Shaw’s version of what happened Saturday doesn’t reflect a close approximation to the original act of bravery, Sarkisian will look like a doofus, and Shaw will be forever branded a self-promoting liar.

But if Shaw lied, a tip of the hat is due for the audacity of the tale he told.

There are people who play their cards close to the vest and live life not to lose. Crafting a story from whole cloth of leaping at one’s own peril to save the life of another is a bold act – pushing a tall stack of chips into the middle of the table. Men who live that fearlessly tend to either succeed or wash out memorably. If the burglary story is true, Shaw will need to have a strong stomach to survive the next week.

The difficulty for Shaw in selling his story are two-fold. The first is the nephew. There is no reasonable explanation for not allowing him to talk to the media, and seven-year olds are generally crappy liars. The second is that Shaw is a recognizable guy as a Trojan captain, and if he was anywhere else at the time of the supposed rescue, it’s likely someone recognized him.

A third unpleasant truth for Shaw is that while the media is mostly a dormant relic of a truth finder, it can still be aroused to usefulness. Generally, people in the media will ape back as fact whatever they are told. They are lazy, listless, and eager to exert minimal energy in covering a story. That is until the scent of duplicity awakens their sense of justice – that Woodward & Bernstein urge to expose amoral mopes. They’re like sharks who swim mindlessly in circles until the faintest scent of blood arouses them into frenzy.

As unpleasant as it is for Shaw, journalists and hooligans are canvassing neighbors, friends, acquaintances, coaches, and teammates as they try to deconstruct Shaw’s story and reassemble the closest facsimile of the truth they can.

If Shaw lied, he feels trapped. He dreads the exposure of the truth.

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If he lied, there are two ways out for Shaw – telling the truth and apologizing, or an Oscar worthy performance by the nephew who can describe with emotional exactitude the heroism of his uncle. Failing either, the slow unraveling of facts that will doom Shaw will be commenced by a slow-witted but tenacious reporter.

Taunting sharks is fun until it isn’t – and then lives are forever changed.

Indiana Football frightens alums by awakening long dormant optimism

by Kent Sterling

Hoosier linebacker told me yesterday that if Indiana doesn’t finish in the top two of the Big Ten East, he will be disappointed. I had to ask him to repeat it.

It’s been awhile – a long while – since Indiana University students and alums got themselves all wrapped up in the fortunes of their football team.

There was a brief time after Terry Hoeppner was hired when the magnetism of his personality compelled optimism, but his illness and tragic death gave fans the feeling that success was impossible for the losingest program in college football history. Winning appeared to be unattainable, impractical, and out of the question.

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When athletic director Fred Glass introduced Kevin Wilson as the latest candidate for career ruin as the architect of another brief era of misery, fans and media were conflicted. He seemed equal parts angry, determined, and impatient. At the time, I thought he was going to either self-destruct or succumb to the sheer weight of the difficult terrain ahead.

There was a thin sliver of hope that Wilson possessed the intestinal fortitude for the relentless work needed to build the brand of Indiana Football beyond being known as the last choice for football players to continue their careers as a member of one of the teams in the Big Five conference.

Some reasonably smart and talented coaches had failed to make the slightest turn toward excellence with the USS Hoosier, and Wilson’s voyage on the bridge of this wreck of a giant ship looked to be no different.

Wilson began building a high octane offense. That was his calling card as a successful assistant coach, and recruiting toward being a part of an offensive juggernaut was all Wilson had to lure talent to Bloomington. If a kid wanted to catch, run with, or throw the ball often enough to set records, Indiana was not a bad choice.

Basketball on the gridiron had worked elsewhere, and it certainly would stand out in the Big Ten.

Indiana had two additional trump cards to play, and they have proved valuable. An increased budget for the coaching staff continues to allow Wilson to go out and get leaders who are coveted by others rather than build a staff constrained by unreasonable budgetary requirements. The second is a work ethic that is unceasing and indomitable.

If Wilson has flaws, a willingness to bust his ass and trust his plan is not among them. Effective leaders pay attention to process and evaluate/adjust that process based upon results. That is the relentless message Wilson shares with the media, and I like it.

Wilson is football’s version of Sisyphus – he began pushing the rock up the hill from day one, and finding it back near the bottom of the valley each morning. That the rock came to rest six inches farther from the bottom each day was not lost on Wilson, and that was enough validation to keep him going.

The work is obviously not finished or the cause of meaningful reward yet. Indiana has yet to post a winning record under Wilson or play in a bowl. Anyone claiming they know for an absolute certainty that Wilson will be remembered along with Bo McMillan and Bill Mallory as the lone successful coaches in Indiana Football history sees the world through crimson glasses.

Listening to players and coaches, and believing that they believe in Wilson and the bright future of Indiana Football is one thing, but claiming the gift of prescience in evaluating the 2014 Hoosiers and beyond is the act of a fool.

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The crucial fourth season of the Wilson era will begin Saturday with what should amount to a tune up against Indiana State in front of a crowd of uncertain size. That audience wants to hope for the best; they want to believe that the long run of poverty is over, and a pride unknown minus a seven-year stretch from 1987-1993 might be allowed to infest the souls of alums and students alike.

When linebacker David Cooper told me that the team goal is to finish in the top two of the Big Ten East, I had to ask him to confirm what I believed he said. I’ve never heard an Indiana football player talk like that, but he sure said it – and he believed it. In fact, he said there is no excuse not to finish in the top two.

Indiana is either on the precipice of taking a significant step forward or everyone associated with the Hoosiers program is wrong – really wrong.