Death is too good for them

Thank you, NCAA. While the argument rages on whether or not it was right involving yourself in the Penn State/Jerry Sandusky scandal, I applaud you.

For anybody who argues that this was not an issue for the NCAA, I put this question to you. What department was Jerry Sandusky associated with? Physics? No...Medicine? Wrong....Oh, that's right. The Football Program - which means, this was an NCAA issue as well as a legal, moral and ethical issue. 

About two hours ago, the NCAA handed down a punishment to Penn State that makes the Death Penalty to SMU in 1987 look like nothing more than a finger wagging. In detail:

• Vacating all wins between 1998 and 2011, therefore making Joe Paterno's career win total 298, not 409, ranking him 12th all time instead of first. 
• $60 million fine - average annual revenue the Penn State Football Team generated during the time period
• Initial reduction of 10 scholarships, and then reduction of 20 scholarships for four years
• A four year (FOUR YEARS!) post season ban
• Five year probation
• Players are free to transfer to any Division 1 program and do not have to sit out a year

This is going to set Penn State back to the stone age. If they had received the Death Penalty, they would have resumed play in two years to a sold out Beaver Stadium and been haled as martyrs by Penn State fans and made darlings by the local and national media. With the punishment that NCAA President Mark Emmert  handed down today, Penn State will essentially be forced to play the next four years of football with a Scarlet Letter on their jersey's. 

This team will not be able to recruit enough top tier talent to remain even a footnote in the Big 10, let alone to  remain competitive. No Blue Chipper is going to come to Penn State in the next four years because they will have no chance to play in a Bowl Game. The Nittany Lions will have a roster of 85 players, and approximately 20 each year will be walk on's. They will become a glorified high school football team playing against nationally ranked college teams. It is going to take Penn State more than a decade to recover. They made a movie about something like this 20 years ago that never really got its proper respect:

Just like the movie, and its faded star Sinbad, this is not funny. 

And you know what, I'm so glad this happened. To all the Joe Paterno apologists out there, shut up. Please, just shut up. You know who Joe Paterno was? He was Michael Corleone. He did what he wanted, to whom he wanted, and how he wanted. He was revered, and feared. 

The difference is, when the United States Senate had Michael Corleone dead to rights, they let him slip away. Mike was too smart, too savvy, and too ruthless to go down. He cut the dead weight, he got rid of anybody or anything that would have brought him down. Just when Frank Pentangeli was about to deliver the death blow, Big Mike played his ace. 

Joe Paterno shared all of the narcissistic characteristics that defined The Godfather. He had all the pawns, button men and capo regime's that The Corleone's did. He was that powerful. My God, the man has his "Boss" come into his home in 2004, tell him he had to step down as coach, to which Paternoleone replied "No, I'll retire when I'm ready. But thanks for stopping by. By the way, get the fuck out of my house." That's how powerful he was. He was, without a doubt, the most powerful man in Pennsylvania. And that's what was his downfall. He thought he could make anything bad go away. His actions left a trail of bodies so long that eventually he couldn't hide it any longer. 

1998: "Jerry Sandusky's sexually abusing kids? On campus? In the Football Facilities? Hmmm, let's handle it internally - I don't want the Football Program's (read: FAMILY) good name and reputation to be sullied."

How in the world does a man who is supposedly so honorable, so morally and ethically sound, and who ran a program that was supposedly so squeaky clean cover something like this up? How does he allow such a monster to operate with such impunity, to ruin so many lives, to perform such atrocities on defenseless children? 

Even if none of this was true (which, as has been proven, is not the case. IT IS ALL TRUE. EVERY LAST DISGUSTING DETAIL IS TRUE.), how could Paternoleone even allow the mention of Sandusky's name to be associate with the program? Wouldn't he, as an honorable man running an upstanding program, want even the sheer whisper of a scandal like this as far away from his team as possible? Apparently not. 

It makes me sick to think that Paternoleone knew about this and did nothing. He's an enabler. He's the wife/husband/mother/father of an alcoholic who just continues to make excuses for their sick and desperate husband/wife/son/daughter. Instead of giving them the tough love and support they need, they simply feed their addiction. Joe Paterno literally gave Jerry Sandusky free reign to abuse these children instead of stopping him and getting him the help he so desperately needed. 

So here we are. 14 years after he first found out about the monster in his midst, Joe Paterno is now a disgraced hero. Jerry Sandusky awaits sentencing for acts so heinous I won't get into them here. Frankly, whatever punishment he receives is too good for him. I hope that he accidentally gets "placed" into Gen Pop for about one hour one day and all of those inmates just happen to know he's coming.  

I could go on and on with this, but instead, I'll let Micheal Corleone sum it up perfectly to all of those people who think that Joe Paternoleone and Penn State are getting a raw deal.

Don't tell me your innocent. It insults my intelligence and makes me very angry. 

I Believe

Jason Rubenstein is my friend. We grew up going to summer camp together on the Oregon Coast, then both ended up at the University of Washington (shocker, I know), and now we work together at a small start up company in Seattle's South Lake Union neighborhood.

After college, Jason spent two years working for the Seattle Supersoincs selling season ticket packages.



The man loved his job, and was really passionate about the team and company he worked for. Obviously, in 2008, Jason was out of work after the Sonics were hijacked by several different jabroni's.

Fast forward to 2012, and the ongoing saga that is the once in a lifetime Arena Proposal that Chris Hansen has put in front of our fearless local leaders. While Seattle proves once again to the nation that we are the city that cannot accomplish anything without making it unnecessarily difficult, pro arena groups are doing all that they can to educate and provide information as to why this deal must get done. Groups like Save Our Sonics , Sonicsgate and Sonics Arena are active in the community in voicing their support and encouraging like minded individuals to get behind this as well.

Which leads me back to Tuesday night - two of our esteemed city leaders, King County Council Member Bob Ferguson and Seattle City Council Member Mike O'Brien hosted a Town Hall style meeting at North Seattle Community College to answer questions from the community about the Arena Plan. The general opinion of the meeting was that arena proponents came off very educated and informed while opponents sounded unorganized and misinformed - they kept asking about Key Arena. Get over it. Key Arena is a dump.

Needless to say, Jason was in attendance. He waited his turn to speak, and when he did, this is what he said:

My name is Jason Rubenstein and I was employed by the Seattle Sonics and Storm from 2005-2007. I worked with our ticket sales team to provide a fantastic gameday experience for corporate events, families, and individuals. I saw firsthand, the significant cultural impact of a uniting force such as a multi-purpose facility, on the city.

In 1998 CNN and Sports Illustrated produced a study on Michael Jordan’s effect on the economy of the city of Chicago. It was determined that every time Jordan stepped on the court, between $8 million and $10 million were pumped into the economy of Chicago. That could account for over $600 million over the course of the year. From parking, concessions, souvenirs, restaurants, bars, hotels, and tourism. The results for away games: even higher. Hopefully, we'll have superstars like LeBron James and Kevin Durant coming to Seattle; bringing tourism and tax revenue.

With a new arena proposal that requires no new taxes and has the 3rd-largest private investment for any arena in North America, I am in full support of this proposal. It’s important to the city. It’s important to our local businesses. It’s important to the community.

Short, well researched, impactful. I'm sure that Jason felt pretty good about what he said because it was important to him, and he was able to speak his mind. But then a funny thing happened. Look at the response from social media:

And then this from Andy Boyer - check out #18.

Because of this, because of people like Jason, I am going on record saying that I believe that the arena deal will get done. There is too much passion in this city for not only the Sonics, but for continuing the evolution of Seattle as world class city. One of our own, a local boy who made VERY good, is giving us a tremendous opportunity and despite the best efforts of the curmudgeons who are trying so hard to derail this project (including the Seattle Times, which apparently is has forgotten what objective journalism is), I have faith that in the end, the Sonics will return with a glistening new home.

It's going to a difficult process, with many speed bumps, because stubborn people who have nothing better to do  will fight this to the death, even when it becomes clear it's a losing battle. But thanks to Jason Rubenstein and all of the people in Seattle that think and believe like him, I have faith.

We will build it, and they will come (back).

Baseball is a Metaphor for Life - I have proof

I mentioned a few posts ago that my son was born in April - and of course, life has been inside out, the world is upside down (if anybody can name the reference there, I'll buy you a Coke.)

This past weekend was one of the most trying in my life - Adam was fed, changed and slept plenty - but he was still pissed. Here my wife and I are, both educated adults with impressive career credentials, at the mercy of a 10 week old who can barely hold his head up.

It occurred to me at about 3:30 on Friday night/Saturday morning that there is only one other thing that has ever made me feel this inadequate, and surprisingly it's not something to do with girls. Even when I went through my fat phase in middle school, I still was able to talk to girls - they didn't intimidate me to the point where I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. Only one thing ever did - Mike Stewart, Gio Pupo and the 1993 Thunderbird Little League Blue Jays.

For those of you who don't remember the structure of Little League, it goes as follows:

3rd Grade - First year of player pitch, all kids the same age
4th Grade - Second year of player pitch, all kids the same age
5th Grade - Tryouts, 5th Graders can play in a league with 6th Graders. Uh oh.

4th Grade was a glorious season. Led by led by yours truly,  the lights out pitching and slick fielding of Panch Romero and sweet lefty swing of Lee Mezistrano, the 1992 Thunderbird Little League "Ted's" Expos went 13-3, won a league and city championship, and were invited to play in several summer tournaments typically reserved for all star teams. Naturally, when tryouts for Major's came around in the following spring, I was feeling pretty good.

That March, I received the call that every 11 year old dreams of. "Paul? This is Steve Condiotti. I'm going to be your coach for this season on the Marlins. See you at practice."

I had done it - but I knew I would. My god, I hit like .600 the year before, hit three home runs and we won multiple titles. The best part? They kept the core of that Expos team together - Panch and I were going to run this league!


Practices did nothing to dissuade that thought process - I was hitting, I got to pitch, I was playing 2nd base and Short. The schedule came out, and  our first game was approaching. I could not wait. 


I'll never forget getting to the Major's Field at Newport High School on the day of our first game. We showed up at 8:15 for 9:00 am game. We were serious. We were ready. But one problem - the other team wasn't there. 8:30, no team. 8:45, no team. We were really, really confused. Then it happened. at 8:55, a bunch of grown men emerged from the HIGH SCHOOL batting cage area. They had been taking BP in the cages. THE CAGES! ONE DUDE HAD A MUSTACHE. 


Coach Steve gave a great pregame speech. "I feel good guys. You should too. We got a good pitcher starting for us. We got a good pitcher ready to close for us. Our offense looks good. Let's go get 'em!"


Nerves were normal. We were ready. Panch was on the hill to start. He gave up two hits, but managed to wiggle out of trouble with no damage. We're up! I'm hitting second. Let's get it. 


Then Gio Pupo walked out to the mound. A tall, lanky lefty. Didn't look like he was throwing that hard. First pitch to the first batter - line drive to left field, base hit. Pfff, this guy isn't too good. Then something happened that is burned in my memory forever. As the leadoff hitter jogs to first base after a sure base hit, the left field, the kid with mustache, fields the ball and fires to first base. On the fly. Beats the runner by two steps. What. The. Hell. 


I'm up. First pitch fastball, strike one. Second pitch fastball, ball one. Third pitch fastball fouled off, strike two. I had him timed. Next pitch he threw in the zone was getting hit. Gio kicked and delivered....but the ball was so far outside, I didn't even have to think twice. Ball two, live to fight another day, right? Wrong. About halfway to home, the ball broke down like nothing I'd ever seen before - strike three called, thanks for playing. A curve ball. A CURVE BALL????? What planet am I on? 


I walked away shaking my head. Nothing I could do, great pitch. I'd be ready next time. But there wasn't a next time. Gio literally was perfect. And in Little League, three innings is the limit. So nine up, nine down, and Gio heads over to 1st base. THANK GOD. A new pitcher. Wait...it's the kid with the mustache. The guy who threw out a base runner at first base from LEFT FIELD!!!! Mike Stewart. This isn't good. 


So here we go again. I'm up second, which means I get to watch. And by watch, this is what I mean...

Mike wasn't throwing curve balls. He was throwing straight Jet Fuel. GAS. Three straight heaters that I couldn't even see from the on deck circle, and I'm up. I'm terrified. 

I stepped into the batter's box and dug in, but I might as well have been up there with a yellow whiffle ball bat. The second I looked out at Mike Stewart, the big lefty with the strangely handsome mustache, I knew I was beat. Worse, he knew I was beat. So what does he do? Toys with me. First pitch is inside. I was on the deck in an instant. 

The rest of the at bat went something like this. 

I slunk back to the dugout hoping nobody would say anything to me. They didn't, because they all knew they had to face Mike as well. 

My day was done. I spent the next three innings on the bench, exactly where I wanted to be. The only constructive thing that happened while I sat on the bench was I came up with a plan for the next time I faced Mike. I was bunting. 

So there it is - the only thing to make me feel more inept than a 12 year old throwing 120 mph from 46 feet away is my infant son. The good news is this - my season as an 11 year old gave way to my season as a 12 year old, and soon it was my turn to mess with the little 5th graders. So it passes. But the memory never fades, the feeling of utter failure remains forever ingrained. 

I have no doubt that in the next few weeks, maybe even days, Adam will go through a rapid transformation and the memory of being rendered helpless by a 10 week old infant will become something we look back at and laugh, just as the memory of Mike Stewart throwing 184 MPH whit his eyes closed is now nothing more than a funny story. 

Until then, I will do what I did as a terrified 11 year old. Bunt. Do whatever I can to survive. Besides, it's not like I can stay mad at this face for very long.