The Dating Game

Dating is like sports free agency.

Like athletes, we’re players who possess unique talents and characteristics that determine our place in the dating game.  There are stars.  There are washed-up veterans.  There are mediocre contributors who drift from team to team, forever mired in a cycle of short-term contracts that ultimately lead to the socio-romantic equivalent of broke retirement (i.e. cat lady). 

Like the small world of sports, we can’t hide from our reputations.  We’re on stage for all to see.  Mutual acquaintances provide scouting reports.  Weaknesses are exposed.  Skeletons fall out of closets.  Like free agency, we court teams and teams court us.  We look for potential.  We evaluate.  Negotiations begin.  The media (our social network) interviews us and speculates.  If we’re already under contract, trades can happen (though we often find out after the fact).  Sometimes we’re placed on waivers.  Sometimes we opt not to renew a contract and test the market, instead.  Like teams, we make depth charts of prospects.  Finally, we settle on one.  A contract is offered and signed.

All pending a physical, of course: 

Market Value

Every free agent has strengths and weaknesses that define him or her: attractive, fun, smart, cooks, good job, nice ass, etc.  Like a big, puck-moving defenseman, some dating free agents are more desirable than others and generate more interest.  For these superstars, it’s not hard to secure a long-term contract (marriage) with the best team (Miss Michigan).  Other free agents are not so coveted.  Like a corner outfielder with so-so power and a decent arm, these people fill short-term needs (i.e. “want someone to cuddle with”) while the team searches for a better option. 

Just like in sports, the older a dating free agent gets, the more his or her physical tools deteriorate.  There is something to be said for the smarts and experience of grizzled old vets (low-maintenance, don’t mind if you watch football), but these players also come with baggage (divorce, children, bitterness).  As a result, most teams search for young talent with raw physical power (example: 36-24-36, no silicone performance enhancers) whose career hasn’t peaked.

Leagues

There are four levels of play into which each person fits based on age, talent or a combination of both:

• Major league
• Minor league
• College
• High school 

Note: College teams may scout high school players, but any direct contract talks must take place between the team and the player’s agents (parents).  Contract offers made by major and minor league teams to high school players is prohibited and punishable by federal law.

Scouting

Every free agent has a reputation and resume.  Teams do their homework about a prospect in a few ways:

• Conversations with a previous team (ex-fiancée)
• Discussions with other players (the person’s circle of friends)
• First-hand experience (remember that night she got drunk and threw up all over the hostess stand?)

Scouting plays a major role in whether or not contract talks begin.

Contract Talks  

Also known as “first dates,” contract talks begin when a team and free agent show mutual interest.  Early negotiations usually take place with the player’s agent (BFF) present and, in many cases, the agent acts as a bellwether during the first few weeks of talks.  For example:

You: How did she feel it went the other night?

BFF Agent: She enjoyed herself and thinks you’re a great guy, but other teams are in the mix.

You: Where do you think I rank?  How serious are the other teams?

BFF Agent: Pretty serious.  After all, my client is highly-coveted.  She thinks you’re cute, though.

Initial interest is generally expressed to the player’s agent (BFF), who takes the information back to her client.  From there, each side states its terms for making a deal through the BFF.  Sometimes, negotiations never begin.  Other times, teams and free agents meet, but  interest is lost and talks break off early. 

Note: It is crucial that contract talks – especially in their early stages – remain private so they are not influenced by the media (Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc.).

Physicals

All contracts are pending a full-body physical.  This is necessary in order to determine a player’s capabilities and ensure he or she can perform at a high level for the life of the contract.

Anyone home?

I’m watching the Red Wings and Kings.

During a stoppage in play, Fox Sports Detroit ran a tribute to Brendan Burke, the son of Toronto Maple Leafs general manager, Brian Burke.  Brendan was killed in a car accident Friday.  He made news a couple months ago when, in an interview for a column by ESPN’s John Buccigross, Brendan acknowledged he was gay.  

Since he was a student video coordinator for the Miami University hockey team and dreamt of being an NHL executive someday like his dad, he wanted to confront the issue of homosexuality in sports.  By all accounts, he was a really good dude.

So, anyway, during the stoppage in play FSD showed a few pictures of Brendan while Ken Daniels narrated.  Then they faded to black and went to commercial break. 

And ran this:

I understand these commercials are pre-loaded and probably played by computer, but I’m pretty sure there’s someone — a producer, an engineering assistant, a trained monkey — sitting back at mission control in case the place blows up. 

Don’t they watch?

Pardon me, coach, while I pay for my shredded cheese

One of the difficult things about being a reporter is waiting for sources to call.  The bigger the name and the smaller your publication, the wider you have to clear your schedule.  Think Sears repairman — we’ll be there between 8 and noon — times a hundred.

By no means am I complaining.  It’s just part of the job, but sometimes it puts you in funny circumstances.  Like Wednesday, when I received word around noon that Pittsburgh Penguins coach Dan Bylsma would call “sometime this afternoon.”

OK, no problem.  The only thing I really had to do was get to the grocery store by 4 p.m. because I was to make dinner for my friends.  So 2 p.m. came and went.  Then 3 … and 3:30 … hmmmm.

3:45 p.m.

Still no call.

So I printed off my questions, grabbed my tape recorder and headed for Meijer.  I’d like to think I looked calm and wasn’t half-running around the store, but I also realize that’s probably a lie.  Hey, you ever tried to shop for coconut milk with the looming threat that the head coach of the reigning Stanley Cup champs could vibrate the Blackberry in your pocket at any moment?

I grabbed what I needed and found the shortest check-out line.  Then, as I stared at tabloid headlines, my pocket buzzed.  A 412 area code.

Him.

“This is Rick.”

After an exchange of pleasantries, I asked if he could give me five minutes while I checked out.

“Sure, no problem.”

I ended up doing the interview on speaker phone (so the recorder could pick it up) in my car next to one of the cart corrals in the parking lot.

Awesome.

Anyway, this is the story that ended up in today’s Kalamazoo Gazette.  Dan was a terrific interview.  So was Mark Letestu — candid, honest, sincere, just like he was when he played at Western Michigan.

A kid. A phone. A dream.

“Pittsburgh Penguins, how may I direct your call?”

I was 14 years-old.

“Hi, I have a question about your goaltenders,” I said, not knowing who I was talking to or, really, what I was doing.

“What kind of question?”

“Well, I’m wondering who the backup is right now.”

The woman didn’t have the answer.

“One moment.  I’m going to transfer you.”

A few rings.  Then, a guy’s voice.  I don’t recall how he answered the phone, but he sounded like he was in a hurry.  Probably media relations.

“Yes, I’m wondering, who’s your backup goaltender right now?”

“That would be Philippe DeRouville.”

“OK, thank you!”

I knew it.

Fourteen years-old.  Already trying to get a scoop.

This was 1994, before the internet had really taken hold (at least for me), so the only hockey information I had access to was located inside old NHL media guides WWMT sports anchor John Koch gave me.  I used to sit in his office before the 11 p.m. show on Friday nights (while my dad, the main anchor, prepped for his portion of the broadcast) and thumb through the media guides, look at the pictures, read the names, see which players I had seen play for or against the Kalamazoo Wings.

Philippe DeRouville, for example.

I called the Penguins that day from the phone inside my dad’s bedroom (long distance, be damned) at our three-bedroom ranch tucked away in the grape vineyards of Lawton, Michigan.  Typical of small town America, there were two main sports in Lawton: basketball and football.  For me, it was the furthest place from hockey.  So I clung to those media guides (and ESPN’s NHL coverage; remember the days of Gary Thorne, Bill Clement and the birth of Barry Melrose’s TV career?).  They were my oasis.  But they weren’t enough, which was why I looked up the Penguins’ phone number and called them.  I needed more.  I needed to touch it.  I needed to be in. 

I gulped hard as the phone rang.     

I recall this story because, tomorrow, I will call the Pittsburgh Penguins as a 29 year-old member of the hockey-writing media.  I have a direct number for media relations.  I have more than one question.  I have a ”real” reason to call.* 

Man.

*Former Western Michigan University forward Mark Letestu scored his first NHL goal (in nifty fashion, no less) against Buffalo Monday night.  The Kalamazoo Gazette asked me to start working on a story Sunday, since Letestu had finally made it up with the big boys.  Nice timing.

Stupid Signs: What, 110% isn’t good enough?

Location: Hardings, Kalamazoo. Level of stupidity: 20 out of 10

 

This whole concept that a quantity greater than 100% actually exists has gotten a little ridiculous.

The minors

 

I worked in minor league hockey for three years, first as a media relations assistant and broadcaster for my hometown Kalamazoo Wings and later as director of ticket sales for the Muskegon Fury, a job I hated so much because of the team’s owner and the actual work that I took every opportunity to get out of the office, including a Girl Scouts luncheon that eventually led to me being fired.

But that’s a different blog post.

Kalamazoo and Muskegon played in the United Hockey League, which basically existed so players could delay their entry into the real world of dry wall installation and large appliance repair.  It was “the minors” in every sense of the term: little talent, even less money, broken-down buses, Red Roof Inns, cheap owners, young and inexperienced front office workers (like me), crowds of 900 people or less (like Western Michigan University hockey games). 

Some teams had real problems, though.  Like not paying front office employees.  Or players.  Or the bus company, which ultimately required Muskegon’s coach to hand the driver cash before the team could depart for its destination.

You get the picture. 

Then there’s this from today’s Flint Journal:

• The Flint Generals didn’t pay rookie broadcaster Joey Battaino for two months
• So Joey Battaino quit
• And general manager Peter South had this to say:

“Yeah, he’s owed some money. But it’s also his first year of broadcasting. I’d think doing the job starting his career is more important than a little bit of money but if that’s where he wants to put his priorities, that’s his decision.”

***********
::: Yes, his name really is Peter South.  If porn star Peter North is a thumbs up, Peter South is most definitely a thumbs down.  A really, really, asshole big thumbs down.

::: And it’s not like Joey Battaino had the life.  The kid was probably making twelve grand a year (if that) broadcasting games for the B2 Network online.  Not even real turn-on-the-dial-in-your-car-and-listen-to-Joey-on-the-way-home radio.

::: Brendan Savage, who wrote the article, is a long-time friend and colleague.  He does excellent work and has never been afraid to kick Generals officials in their puck bags.  I love it when he tees up deserving targets in his columns, but in this case South writes himself.

Are those really Patrick Kane’s nipples?

Whether they’re Photoshopped or not, pictures of Chicago Blackhawks Patrick Kane, John Madden and Kris Versteeg letting it rip with a few women in a booze-fueled limousine have set the hockey interwebs on fire.

Why, I have no idea.

I mean, I do: the Hawks are the sport’s hottest ticket and we, the ambulance-chasing, sweatpants-wearing gawkers we are, covet any glimpse of our heroes off-stage, especially in environments that more closely resemble our mundane lives.  Although, really, have you ever been shirtless in a limo with a gaggle of women?  Don’t answer that. 

I’m intrigued like the rest of us, but I’m not offended or peeved or disappointed that young, single (well, in the case of Kane and Versteeg, at least), good-looking (well, in the case of Madden and Kane, at least) hockey players who swim in money decided to immerse themselves in sensory pleasures.

In fact, it would be a crime if they didn’t.

Still, people are outraged.  A friend of mine said, ”this is the type of crap that sinks ships.”

Meh.

Does it make these guys look good?  Not if they want to get into seminary (which, oddly enough, comes to mind while looking at Kane’s Jesus bling).  But, dudes – they’re hockey players.  Hockey players on the best team in the sport.   It could be worse.  Kane could be snorting coke off one of the girls’ thongs.  Madden could have a breast in each hand.  Versteeg could be wearing ridiculous sunglasses and look like a mouth-breather.

Wait …

Anyway, regardless if these photos are real, we’re fools if we require athletes to point their moral compasses toward extreme North.

*
You figure it out: It’s reported the limo ride took place in Vancouver over the weekend.  The women in the limo, however, are from Chicago (via air-tight source who actually knows them).  The beer (Kokanee) is only distributed in Canada.  So somebody crossed the border, which adds a twist to the Photoshop theory.

Clarification: A few posts back, I wailed that the Hawks should trade Brian Campbell (not in the limo).  I learned today Campbell has a no-trade clause.  Not that it ultimately matters — teams have moved players with such clauses before — but it certainly makes him less likely to move at the trade deadline.

 

Stupid Signs: C that?

Location: Delton, MI. Level of Stupidity: Six feet below

Cheers: Hope and David DeJong

The ultimate assist

One of the few benefits of covering Western Michigan University hockey games — free Jimmy John’s subs and Adam Bodnar being the other two — are the baked goods that Marilyn Hopkins delivers to the press box via her husband, Bill Hopkins.  Bill is the guy who, among other things, twists the lever that ignites the horn when WMU scores a goal.

Bill isn’t a busy guy.

Anyway, in an exciting, top-secret operation, this blog got its sugary hands on Marilyn’s famous chocolate chip cookie recipe.  The source of the leak — GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAALLL!  BNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAARRRRR! — shall remain nameless.

Secret Recipe Chocolate Chip Cookies
 
Ingredients:
1.    ½ cup rolled oats (regular or quick) measure BEFORE blending
2.    2 ¼  cups all-purpose flour
3.    1 ½  teaspoons baking soda
4.    ½ teaspoon salt
5.    1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
6.    1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened
7.    ¾  cup firmly packed brown sugar
8.    ¾  cup granulated sugar
9.    2 teaspoons vanilla extract
10.1 teaspoon lemon juice
11.2 eggs
12.3 cups milk chocolate chips
13.1 ½  cups chopped pecans
MAKES 2 DOZEN
 
FIRST…….Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cover 2 baking sheets
with parchment paper. PLACE ROLLED OATS IN BLENDER
OR FOOD PROCESSOR AND PROCESS UNTIL FINELY
GROUND.  Combine ground oats, flour, baking soda, salt and
cinnamon in a mixing bowl.
 
SECOND……In another bowl, cream butter, sugars, vanilla
and lemon juice together using electric mixer. Add eggs and
beat until fluffy.
 
THIRD……..Stir the flour mixture into egg mixture, blending
well. Add the chocolate chips and nuts to the dough and mix
well. Using ¼ cup of dough for each cookie, scoop round balls
with an ice-cream scoop and place 2 ½  inches apart on prepared
baking sheets.
 
FOURTH……..Bake until cookies are lightly browned.
16-18 minutes.  Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.
Store in a sealed container to keep them soft and chewy.

The ruling on this blog stands

I actually watched –

BOOTH REVIEW

… a football game tonight, which may surprise those –

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… who know me, seeing as how I think football games –

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… are –

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… generally boring and take –

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… way too long to –

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… complete –

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After further review –

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… I still feel this way.

(Props to the Saints for making their first-ever Super Bowl.  And, Brett: please spare us from another one of your eight-month booth reviews).