Nine Lives

During his brief tenure in Baltimore, Steve McNair never really showed us what made him great. True he was a Pro Bowler (as an alternate) in 2006, a testament to his greatness given that his arm strength had long left him. McNair instead relied on guts, grit, and guile in leading the Ravens to a 13-3 regular season record.

But while we celebrate his career today in Baltimore, McNair was, and will be remembered as a Titan. His toughness and determination defined that franchise for a decade. He was the ultimate rival for the Ravens, famous for his battles with Ray Lewis, but always one you respected.

His brutal style of play cut short his career. Granted, 13 years far surpasses the average for a quarterback in this league, but there was nothing average about Steve McNair. His ability to shake off a bad throw as easily as shed a tackler was remarkable. But when you watch the tape of his highlights, of his amazing escapes, and vicious hits, the fact he lasted this long marks the last of his amazing escapes.

He walks away from the game today, able to walk away. No noticeable limps for number nine. He still has enough physical ability to for what he really wants, to simply be dad. To play catch in the back yard, to wrestle a little, to enjoy the good life.

He got out in time, maybe using the last of his nine lives, but out none the less.

Reality TV: I miss the scripts

Tiger Woods was supposed to charge up the leader board as never before, lay claim to his 5th Green Jacket, setting up two months of Grand Slam chatter as we ready for the U.S. Open at Torrey Pines.

That was script A.

Script B would have been fine too.

Trevor Immelman, just four months following surgery to remove a tumor (he learned it was benign only after the surgery) from his back, holds off said charging Tiger with steely nerves and a birdie at the last for his first major championship.

Instead, it was like the writers strike never ended.

Script C stunk.

Tiger never challenges in the chilly, swirling winds of Augusta National. He turns illiterate in reading Augusta's fabled greens. He cards a pedestrian final round 72, never challenging Immelman for the lead.

And Trevor, congrats on the physical recovery and lifetime exemption to the Masters, but limping home with a 75 that included a double at 16 hardly invokes comparisons to Jack's back nine 30 in 1986. Or Tiger's record setting supremacy in 1997. Or even Phil Mickelson's birdie at the last in 2004.

I kept waiting for something dramatic to happen. Jim Nantz really kept waiting for something dramatic to happen. He finally mailed it in with his uninspired call of "Golf has a new major champion."

After Immelman inexplicably dunked it in the water on 16, I found myself rooting for a Van de Veldian implosian. And really, is that something that anyone without a core of pure evil should root for?

So often, Sunday at the Masters delivered with spectacular theater that we have come to expect it. But the course changes of added length and rough no longer allow, outside of perfect scoring weather conditions, thunderous roars through the magnolias. The course is just too hard if the winds pick up at all, or if the temperatures dip below 70. And despite what Al Gore will tell you, there still remains a good chance of a chilly April weekend in Georgia.

The 2008 Masters reminds us, that as much as we want them to, sports may not follow our scripts. Maybe enduring the occasional snooze fest really isn't that heavy a price to pay for the sheer joy of when talent, drama, and timing collide. Just right now, I feel a little case of buyers remorse.

Something Magic Happens

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One week in the books and the Orioles sit in first place. They have offered a surprisingly pleasant start to the season, riding a four game win streak and collecting contributions from so many places.

Just a word of caution though, the O’s had four game win streaks twice last April. They even rode a six game streak last May. I think we all remember how that turned out. I share this because a few delusional fans think this team will actually battle for first throughout the season.

That said, you can’t help but notice a different feeling about this team. Many malcontents are gone and those that remained seem genuinely changed.

Melvin Mora brooded like a prom queen runner up the last two seasons, griping about managers and teammates alike. That from a guy who signed a nice fat contract extension.

Now he embraces the role of elder statesman and teacher, working with the Orioles kiddie corps with a smile on his face.

In laugh out loud fashion, after the Birds 4th consecutive win on Sunday, Kevin Millar cranked up the song Orioles Magic in the clubhouse.

Reports say the players all chimed in, somewhat mocking the hackneyed but catchy tune, and somewhat mocking themselves.

That’s where we see the difference. For a decade, this team took itself too seriously. They weren’t a player or two away from contending with New York and Boston. They just acted like it.

Sunday they displayed humility through self deprecation. And that’s the most refreshing act at Camden Yards since Cal Ripken Jr. signed autographs into the wee hours of the night, night after night.

These guys know they’re still a few years out, that some of their key components are playing in Frederick and Bowie. But they also believe they will compete right now, that the days of embarrassing themselves like last August are behind them.