Fathers' Day Redux

I just picked this off one of the sports feeds, and it stirs the imagination of practitioners of the art of wagering, albeit from an unusual perspective.

It seems that when Rory McIlroy, the young stud golfer, was just 15 years old, his father scratched the itch.  Dad (and 3 of his chums) placed a bet of 400 British pounds that young Rory would win the British Open before the boy turned 25.  As the bookies were dealing with a 15 year old boy, they comfortably extended odds of 500:1.  The world has turned a few times since then, and dad and his pals are now looking at having a shot at winning $80,000 apiece if young Rory turns the trick and nails an Open championship.

Now, don't go mortgaging the family bungalow to plunk down a bunch of cash in Panama because Little Johnny went 4 for 4 at Saturday's tee ball game or Susie banged in a couple goals at her soccer match.  Papa McIlroy still hasn't actually won anything.  The thought of further fueling demented sports dads is pretty frightening ("...put away that math homework and go practice your curveball!).  

We'll keep an eye on Rory.  This could turn out to really be fun.  For a view of another extreme, click here to read an imaginative tale about a Little League dad who traded his own kid for a case of beer. 

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It was my genuine pleasure to be a guest at the Notre Dame Club golf outing today.  It was held at a beautiful country club (a term, country club, that has come to be pretty much meaningless, since the suburbs, where all the clubs are located, are definetly not the "country", althought the idea of qualifying golf clubs as country clubs by requiring them to continuously blast country music throughout their environs makes me smile), the camaraderie was highly enjoyable and nurturing, and the hospitality that we were all extended was most gratifying. 

The morning rains stopped right on time, as if ordained by the Great Spirit (the chaplain stepped right up to take credit, imagine that) and we were off.  I won't bore you with details of my game, other than that a marginal day on the golf course beats a great day in the office hands down.  The guest speaker at dinner was Brian Kelly, head man of the Notre Dame football team.

Before Kelly got started, the chaplain (the weather guy) was called upon to say grace.  It was a little tardy and intrusive, as I'd half finished my meal, but what's a few seconds to listen to a few words of thanks and benediction?  What followed was an abbreviated Sunday sermon, which is a blessing in church but penance at the dinner table.  Then came the coach.

I confess that I was prepared for a rousing reception, maybe having the assembled faithful break into a spontaneous rendition of the fight song, or a swelling applause and vocal affirmation.  The welcome Coach Kelly got was more along the lines of polite. 

As I listened to the coach, who began by explaining that this was his 17th and final alumni club meeting since April, I was impressed that he covered all the hotspots: need to win, the tragedy of the young videographer whose life was squandered (my term, not his), the uncertain quarterback situation, etc.  I think he glossed over some of the critical issues, specifically the stupidity of the situation where the boy died, but he covered the bases.  Kelly's manner of address was rather disjointed, as he went back and forth on topics, but he's paid to win football games, not entertain at banquets.  He did make reference, several times, to the fact that he needs to win games, a move that appeared aimed at assuring the crowd that he knew his place, sort of.

Then came the awkward moment. The coach opened the floor to questions, and for an incredibly long interval, there was not a question.  Nobody raised a hand, nobody stood up to speak.  It lasted for maybe a minute, but that's a minute longer than usual.  Then came a few questions, nothing substantive, nothing insightful.  Then it was over, and there was more polite applause.

In the middle of the coach's remarks, it occurred to me that if one was able to freeze time, race in and change the logo on the the coach's shirt, you could have been listening to any coach of any college.  The whole presentation was lacking in the whole "we are" emotion and connection, even though the comments were liberally spiced with references, forced references, to those things that the Notre Dame perceives to make it unique. 

Voila!  Generics have expanded to Notre Dame football. 

Petey...you're such a turd!

Here's a quote from Pete Carroll (courtesy of Dr. Saturday) that will make you shake your head and flash one of those incredulous little smiles:

Smarter than the average bear. Let'sgrab
the goodies and skee-daddle... to Seattle.

"[The NCAA has] to do what they do. They figure out how the thing is supposed to work," Carroll said in the interview. "I don't agree with much of any of it. It's unfortunate that kids, years and years after, are punished for what the NCAA is dealing with from years and years before. That's the most unfortunate thing ... kids that were in junior high at the time, or in grade school, are paying the price for it."


Where does one begin to fashion a response to Petey's moral (amoral?) observation?  He was in charge in Trojanland when all the dirty deeds took place.  Petey is certainly a smarter-than-the-average-bear kind of guy, so inferring that his flight to the Seahawks was simply fortuitous timing is a rather challenging leap of faith.  He cashed a lot of checks along the way, and those haven't been recalled.  So, PC has the dough, the new gig, a comfortable comfort zone between himself and the scandal...all's well for Pete Carroll, USC be damned (ok, so there is some redemption here, as Everybody Hates Lane Kiffin is the beneficiary of all this drek).

The guy always covered for us, so he's got that going for him.