Chasing the Blues

Farewell to Angelo Dundee, Ben Gazzara

I've reached the age where death takes on more significance. Someone's passing can unexpectedly reveal a passage into my past. Such was the case with two deaths this week: Angelo Dundee and Ben Gazzara.

The death of Dundee, trainer of Muhammad Ali and Sugar Ray Leonard, recalled the era of 1960s television, when I watched ABC Sports boxing telecasts and heard the loved/hated Howard Cosell pronounce his name with his affected Brooklyn accent, Angelo Dun-Dee. Dundee was the Italian American mentor behind Ali, a strong rebuttal to the anti-white claims of Ali's Black Muslim cohorts. He was part of the reason I adored Ali, unlike most people in Baton Rouge.

After Ali was stripped of his heavyweight title for refusing to Vietnam, I defended Ali in a debate with one of our neighbors, a very nice man with a gravelly voice who ran the biggest funeral home in the city and later buried my father. He's gone now, of course; on a visit back to our neighborhood, his wife confided to me that he "wasn't well." We stood in his carport, I defending Ali, and he, a very large man, calling Ali a traitor. The death of Dundee brings it all back. 

I loved all of the iconoclasts of the time: Ali, Joe Namath. They gave me hope of escaping Baton Rouge, although I also had a deep love for it, especially the crazy countercultural world of LSU that I entered into. I believed in Joe Namath, the quarterback who repeatedly carried Bear Bryant's Crimson Tide to wins over our Tigers, and so took him at his word when he guaranted a New York Jets win over the Baltimore Colts in the 1969 Superbowl, and I bet on the Jets against my friend Ray, the greatest athlete I ever knew and the most tragic character as well. How triumphant I was to collect my meagre winnings from Ray the Monday after Namath had engineered his famous upset.

And then there was Gazarra, whom I loved on the TV show "Run for Your Life." Again, that show was a glimmer of hope, a vision of a wider world, beyond Baton Rouge. His character was hip, cool, "existential," although I didn't know what the hell it meant. I'd read it somewhere in one of the magazines I picked up every week at the newsstand in downtown Baton Rouge where I used to go when I began playing hooky from Sunday school at First Presbyterian.  Existenialism: It sounded good to say. The show came on in the loved Thursday night lineup of NBC: Dean Martin's variety show also sticks out, a weekly smashup of Hollywood and Vegas show  biz, that also tantalized my muddled adolescence (Ah, Joey Heatherton, you live in my dreams.)

Later, I loved Gazzara in the John Cassavetes movies we caught at Baton Rouge's Varsity, an art cinema house now a very good restuarant. Ah, the Varsity, where I saw Visconti movies, porn flicks (The Wicked Die Slow) and Zappa's "200 Motels" (horrible). 

Dundee, Gazzara. They loom in my memory and esteem. 

The Pack Sent Packing

Watching the troubles of the Green Bay Packers' Aaron Rogers, I wondered how backup Matt Flynn f LSU fame would have done. Aftter all, Flynn threw six touchdown passes in the Packers' final game of the season. Meanwhile, Rogers was given a rest, and with the bye week, looked out of synch with his receivers. It was as if the Packers were the team unused to the cold of Lambeau Field, and the Giants the home team.

Of course, the rigid NFL "book" says to always stay wih the quarterback deemed the starter, no matter how badly he performs. Back in the day, teams would play two guys, a la Sonny Jurgensen and Billy Kilmer at washington. And, old George Blanda would come in to relieve Darryl Lamonica for the old Oakland A's. That added a level of excitement ot the game.

What's with all of the dropped passes? Max McGee and Boyd Dowler never dropped so many in their entire careers. 

With the losses of Green Bay and New Orleans, the model of high-scoring, sleek offenses and mediocre defenses took a big hit. All season, it appeared as if a new paradigm was taking control in the NFL, but the games this weekend, with the exception of New England's blowout of Dever, showed that defense still matters.

Eli Manning looks like the best QB in the league at present. No one throws so accurately, not even Drew Brees, and he's the closest thing the league has to a classic pocket passer. Some of the blows he took made me shudder, but Eli kept bouncing up. Guess it helps to have grown up as the baby brother in the Manning family.

Watching the Patriots destroy Denver, I could only wonder how in the Broncos beat a team like the Steelers, even if the Steelers missed key guys on defense and Ben Rothliesberger had a bad ankle. So much for the genius of Dick LeBeau.

Well, the mystery of why a penalty wasn't called on the 49ers' Patrick Willis' helmet to helmet hit on the Saints' Pierre Thomas  has been cleared up. According to the rules, such a hit is allowed on a running back who has the ball and is going down field. The penalty is called when a defenseless qb is standing in the pocket, or a receiver is crossing the field without the ball. Small consolation for Thomas.

Manning and Willis give the Ole Miss Rebs two players in the NFC champsionship game. Hard to imagine now the Rebs getting such talent. 

 

When the Saints Go Marching Out of the Playoffs

A few weeks ago, NBC's Chris Collingsworth, one of the many overly talkative commentators who build a longing for John Madden to come back, said Louisiana could have two football titles. Chatty Chris underestimated Louisiana football teams' propensity for shooting themselves in the cleats.

Following LSU's BCS meltdown, in which Les Miles returned to his former frozen-daze on the sidelines, the Saints again failed on the road in the playoffs, committing five turnovers and unable to stop Alex Smith and the 49ers in the last-second drive. How can a team that looks so invincible in the Super Dome look so bad on the road? 

While Drew Brees is the main Saint, Pierre Thomas runs a close second. The Saints are a different team without the hard-running Pierre, who was knocked out of the game early in the first quarter on a vicious hit. By the way, that appeared the type of "helmet to helmet" blow that has received penalties throughout the year, but no flag came down Saturday. I actually prefer games like Saturday's when the refs didn't mar the game with constant penalty calls, in fact not a single one was called against the Saints, but I wondered why an obvious helmet to helmet, resulting in a head injury to Thomas, didn't warrant a penalty. With a penalty call, the Saints would have kept the ball and likely scored, changing the tenor of the game.

Well, no excuses, the 49ers deserved the victory. No team that makes five turnovers should win. The Saints have some young talent with running back Mark Ingram, although his late season injury is troubling, and Jimmy Graham, but the rest of the team is growing older. The disappointing loss left me wondering how many more years of top play are left for Brees and his receiving corps. Climaxing with the great Super Bowl win of now three years ago, this team has been together for quite some time now. 

Leave it to the San Francisco fans to show some admirable wit. Despite the loss, I salute the fan who had the sign, "Who dat? We dat."

In the other Saturday game, The Patriots blowout of the Broncs should dampen Tebow mania for a while. With the Broncs falling behind early, the Broncs' John Fox would have been justified in yanking Tim, but the Tebow tempest prevented that from happening. Despite the loss, the kid is still praiseworthy — he was still playing hard late in the game, jumping up and down after a meaningless gain. And, he was still smiling after the game. As an LSU fan, I hated the kid when he was at Floriday, but now I hope he advances his passing technique during the off season and establishes himself further as an NFL QB. If nothing else, his success would help show that Mel Kiper Jr. along with Collingsworth, should shut up.

The Saints, and Saint Tebow

A lovely winter Saturday, waiting to see if the Saints can whip the 49ers. After the LSU BCS debacle, I would love the healing of a Saints win. As usual, the Saints-49ers game holds SEC ties, with Ole Miss' Patrick Willis leading the '49er defense. I remember him almost single handedly beating LSU on a game I heard over the crackling radio signal from WWL. Only a four or five years ago, unlike today, every game wasn't televised.

After the Saints, I won't be able to hold myself away from watching Tim Tebow and the Broncos take on the Patriots. Saint Tim vs. cool Tim a week after Saint Tim vs. Randy Ben. Now Tebow's really receiving the big media attention, with a front page feature Saturday by The New York Times' Dan Barry and a sidebar by Richard Sandimor, and pieces in the Wall Street Journal.

Funny, Barry used a Jim Thorpe reference about Tom Brady, when I see Tebow as a throwback to the old NFL guys of the 1920s. The way he plunges forward, not sliding to the ground to avoid being hit like other NFL qbs (such as Brady) brings to mind Bronco Nagurski. The kid had some pretty good throws against the Steelers, and it looks as if the Broncos have come up with some plays going left to help him with his southpaw throws. Tebow also reminds me of old guys like Billy Kilmer and Bobby Layne who weren't the greatest passers in the world but just knew how to win. 

The Journal even had a thumb-sucker about whether Tim's wins are divinely inspired. That seems ridiculous, but who knows? In most cases, I would be put off by someone who makes as big a show of religion as Tebow does, but I find his "Tebowing" and praise of Jesus something new and different. It looks like honest emotion, something all too rare in America these days. With all of his modesty and affirmation of his virginity, Tebow does endorse Jockey shorts. I was amused to see that Jockey has posted a photo of Tebow on its web site, wearing Jockeys with no shirt. Hmmm, there is something gay about the way Tim talks. And what's with that beard?

Along with old-time NFL players from the Red Grange era, Tebow recalls a much older tradition, the medieval virtuous knight. His popularity/notoriety proves the power of even ancient cultural icons.

The NFL always succeeds in capturing the public's imagination. Major League baseball and the NBA can't ever find anything as dramatic and controversial as Tebow. God might not be backing the Broncs, but the NfL surely may be. If the Broncos win tonight, will we start to suspect that the games are rigged to get Tebow to the Super Bowl? I generally eschew conspiracy theory thinking, but sometimes I wonder. Just imagine the Saints vs. the Saint. 

Saints and Tigers Head for Football Top

I'm amazed by Drew Brees and the Saints, their offensive machine even more efficient than when they won the Super Bowl. The Saints got screwed on the seeding, and so face a daunting patch to headed back to the Super Bowl, having to travel to San Francisco and then probably Green Bay, but this is the most proficient offense in the history of football. Watching the Saints, I wonder if I'm in some kind of childhood dream, especially since I remember the old, goofy Saints, a standing joke. 

New Orleans is known for great creativity, in food and music, but the Saints are a different kind of success for which the old city has never been known. Cuisine, jazz, blues and rap are associated with decadence, while pro football success is tied to discipline, business, purpose, teamwork, etc. So, Brees and the Saints bring a different model for the city.

Meanwhile, the LSU Tigers prepare for the national championship. I'm glad the Tigers are enjoying such success in football, but it breaks my heart that the university's academic purpose is severely wounded by budget cuts by the inexplicably popular Bobby Jindal. I love the Southern Review and LSU Press as much as the football team.

One amusing item I saw on Facebook: The Roosevelt Hotel now has a drink for the Honey Badger, LSU's flamboyant defensive back. Seeing the menu raised memories of Huey Long, who loved LSU and strove to make it a great institution, unlike today's short-sited, tax-averse governor. 

Recently, I read a piece by Tom Friedman in the Times about how America's future depends on cities with great universities, a vibrant, creative population and innovatative busineses. Baton Rouge could be a city like that, and has been at fleeting moments, but LSU and Louisiana's capital city has often been crippled by short-sighted, corrupt politics and a provincial, uncommitted population. 

 

Christmas Decorations Show Excess

This Christmas decorations appear more garish in my neighborhood this year. A few years ago, a number of ranch houses around the block were bulldozed for the construction of McMansions, and these are now covered with strands of hideous lights. The lights glow with a neutral beige color; the platinum-tinted color of money and bad taste. On a walk the other night, I was cheered at one of these homes to see a solitary, well-lit tree in the window and no other decorations.

Of course, we have not yet even put up our decorations, and as usuual I am entertaining the notion of not even laying out the few strands of lights that I usually place upon our front hedge. Out of town last weekend for a wedding in New York, we have not even put up our Christmas tree.

Years ago, when I passed the condominium community on my nightly walks, I was happy to see in one modest home old-fashioned candles aglow in the windows. I remembered similar decorations from my childhood. They were cheap electric plastic candles that one could buy at what used to be called 5 and dime stores. They had a small, orange molded flame that came alive when one plugged in the cord. For some reason, this cheap, tawdry gesture at Christmas cheer at the condo filled me with happiness. Alas, they disappeared years ago, and now the beige color of the small candles' base grows grotesque writ large in huge strands of gilded lights.

The purpose of such excess mocks the generous Christmas spirit and calls attention to the homeowner, emblazoning to all who pass, "see how rich and wonderful am I?" Give me a single Christmas candle, shining from a window.

Houston Astros Going to the American League

My years as a Houston Astros fan will enter a new stage in a couple of years, when the 'Stros head into the American League. From reports, Major League Baseball bribed the new owner, whose name I don't recall presently, by greatly reducing the purchase price for the team, which might have been the worst in baseball history last year. As an Astros fan, I had the unpleasantness of watching former Astros players on almost every playoffs team this fall. Perhaps the new guy can use the payoff money from MLB to rebuild the franchise, just recently quite competitive.

I guess it won't make much difference to me seeing the Astros in the American League, although ever since I was a child I've thought of the Astros as a National League team. Long before the days of interleague play, which will become more common when the Astros leap to join the Texas Rangers in the A.L. West, the 'Stros played the Giants, the Dodgers, the Cardinals, the Braves. Now they'll be playing the Red Sox, the White Sox, the Yankees, etc. 

Gee, my first major league game was seeing the Cardinals play the then .Colt 45s, when the Astrodome was a rising skeleton seen from our seats in the brutally hot, open air Colt stadium. There I was with my late father, my late grandfather and a neighbor, Richard. We had made the trip from Baton Rouge to Houston on U.S. 90 through Jim Bowie and Cat Doucet's Opelousas and Lake Charles and Orange; I-10 had not yet beeen completed. The young Bob Gibson was on the mound for the Cardinals, and the aging Stan Musial in the dugout, although Stan the Man did play in the second game of the twi-night double header. While the Cards had Lou Brock, Bill White, Dick Groat, etc., the 'Stros had the likes of Turk Farrell, Bob Aspromonte (LA Dodgers farm club product) and the 19-year-old Rusty Staub, fresh out of Jesuit High in New Orleans. 

Over the years, I spent many a sultry night on a front porch in Baton Rouge, listening to the 'Stros, slowly shifting over the years from iced tea to beer to bourbon, back to iced tea. The names: the Rooster, Doug Rader; the Flea, Bob Lillis;  the Toy Cannon, Jimmy Winn. The 'Stros. Trading away Rusty Staub because owner Judge Hofeinz got pissed when Staub refused to play on Vietnam Moratorium Day. Trading away Joe Morgan. Trading away Mike Cuellar. Cesar Cedeno. The killer Bs. Roy Oswalt. Nolan Ryan. Fat Elvis, Lance Berkman. (Speaking of Fat Elvis, I once saw him perform in the Astrodome, but that's another story). Yes, the 'Stros had some great years, before wrecking the franchise again.

Well, once again, as with the college conference realignments, tradition goes by the wayside in the interests of money. The 'Stros in the American League. Sure, I'll buy it. 

LSU Outlasts Alabama

The smell of my victory cigar lingered Sunday morning as I turned back the clocks. All alone, I watched LSU overcome Alabama 9-6 in a game that reminded me of the brutal defensive fist-fights of my childhood, when Charley McClendon coached the Tigers. Some called the game a classic, but I'm not so sure. To me, the game had a ragged quality, with both teams apparently hampered by all of the hype that preceded it. Whether classic or not, the LSU win was sweet, and I drank red wine and lit up the cigar that I'd bought in Apalachicola on a trip to the beach. As LSU's longtime radio announcer, the sometimes verbally challenged Jim Hawthorne, said, "there's no doubt LSU is No. 1 in the land."

Watching the game, I thought of my long-dead father, who deeply hated Alabama and Bear Bryant, who beat LSU year after year, always receiving the benefit of questionable referees' calls. Over the last 20 years or so, LSU has joined Alabama at the top of the national football world, and played the Crimson Tide on a pretty much equal basis. In my father's day, LSU played Alabama in Birmingham's Legion Field, where such stars as Joe Namath, Kenny Stabler and Leroy Jordan would take the measure of ol Cholly Mac's teams. Back then, Southern teams were all-white, until the Bear himself saw that he could not compete nationally unless he recruited black players. It took Charlie Mac years to see the same lessson, leading to a decline in LSU football that continued until long after my father's death. Now, the big game was played in Tuscaloosa, and both teams had immense numbers of NFL-quality black players.

Unlike many Tiger fans, I still like Bama coach Nick Saban, who banished all of the ghosts that had haunted and crippled LSU football for years and took LSU to national football prominence, where they've remained under Les Miles. Saban receives adulation from the national media, but he's just as flawed a coach as anyone else, as shown in his team's puzzling struggle with substitutions in overtime, giving LSU a surprisingly easy victory. if Miles had botched the overtime as much, he'd be ridiculed endlessly. I'm sure Saban still will be considered an invincible genius.

As for Miles, I'm often amused by his verbal tics and goofy peronality. Yet, the man can coach. He has grown each year professionally, and is a fine representative of the university. He helps his players graduate, and treats them with respect, while Saban is known for abusing his. 

On this bright Sunday, I think about my father, who never lived to see his grandchildren or LSU return to football prominence. If you can hear me Daddy, there's no doubt today that LSU is No. 1 in all the land.

Dog Days Keep Barking

The PGA at Atlanta Athletic Club shows again how that once maligned, fourth-sister major, is gaining ground each year. The U.S. Open,with Congressional disgracefully weak this year, has been in freefall for at least a decade. First, the USGA folks killed the excitement with the unplayably hard courses, then swung too much the other way...The Tiger Woods-Rocco Mediate playoff in 2008 was the last memorable open.... Once the PGA had inferior courses, but now the Atlanta Athletics Club proved a much more challenging championship test than Congressional. ...The USGA held the open once at the AAC, then never again, while the PGA has held four championships there. What doesn't the USGA come back?

...Gee, hooked on the Braves again. The Giants-Braves series was a good one. Any lover of good pitching feels sympathy with Tim Lincecum, who has received no runs at all in 10 games this year. He must feel like a great football defense that keeps seeing its quarterback throw interceptions. ..Baseball, at least in the National League, has really shifted to a pitching-dominated game in which one or two runs is usually good enough to win. Baseball dinosaurs like me might like it, but pitching duels likely bore the videogame generation. No doubt baseball can be a tedious event; the other day I grew irritated when a pitcher kept looking around at a baserunner, etc. A football team would have run three plays and an NBA team scored three goals in the time it took him to at last throw a pitch.

..I'm beginning to warm up to Freddi Gonzales as manager, but I still find his batting order screwy. I like Brian McCann, and he's a good hitter, but I don't see him as No. 3. And, while Constanza's been a spark, I'd like to see Heyward playing everyday, no matter how badly he's been going.

...The GOP is screaming about Obama vacationing in Martha's Vineyard. He would be much closer to the people if only he had his own ranch in Texas. ...Government can't create jobs, the conservatives say. The old Tammany Hall Tweed gang, as well as Southern populists like Huey Long, did pretty well in crearing jobs. 

August, the Dog Days, or is that old man wolf howling at the door?

Another long assumed certainty crumbles: the U.S. no longer has a AAA credit rating. Chatterers on CNN say don't worry, it really means nothing. The Wizard of Oz scenario once more; pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.

Nothing better to do while waiting for the Apocalypse and or the start of college football season than to deeply engage with the Braves. Now they are playing at the Mets' Citi field. Although the Mets are severely diminished, another victim of the financial crash except for the splendid Reyes, the Braves playing there always seems more like real baseball than when they're playing against a team like the Arizona Diamondbacks, which could disappear tomorrow and I wouldn't care. New York among other things means baseball to me. 

Of course, watching the Braves on TV pushes my tolerance for the cornball announcer Chip Caray, who shows little of the talent for low-rent humor of his dad, Skip, or his grandad, Harry. Recently, I escaped Chip by listening to the Braves on the radio with Don Sutton and whoever his partner is. Sutton and pal give more insightful analysis and a more pointed, adult humor. But, I like to watch on TV. Perhaps I'll turn down the sound and listen to the radio.

Last night, the Braves at last bested the Mets behind Dan Uggla's amazing revival. The Braves broke through when the Mets removed their young knuckleballer R.A. Dickey, one of the traditionalists who wears his uniform trousers above his stockings. Watching Dickey's knuckleballs, I wanted the pitch to be banned, like the spitball. Although I loved Phil Niekro, and even Hoyt Wilhelm, the knuckleball seems bogus, based on trickery more than skill. Dickey appears to be an OK guy, a bit nervous, but I say throw the slider, the fastball, the curve or get out of the game. Ban the knuckleball!

Even my TV viewing's lost, after the end of "Treme." I watched the three episodes of a strange little show on PBS, "Zen," which starred Rufus Sewell as a detective in Rome. I liked the depiction of the ancient, corrupt Italian city, and a luscious Italian actress who after making it as a Bond girl to Daniel Craig now does three-episode Masterpiece series shows. I'm unable to get back to "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and "Entourage," both of which I've already buried. 

So, after long days of eyeball-searing work, I ruin the old orbs even further with reading. Faulkner's "The Hamlet," a long tome on World War I, books on Huey Long, Jonathan Yardley, the New Yorker, Commonweal, the Kenyon Review, the New York Review of Books, The New York Times. At times, I'll sit down and play the piano, lately I've been practicing on "Rally Round the Flag Boys."