Bye Bye Roo

This post started out as a lengthy, bitchy explanation of how much I enjoyed my second Bonnaroo experience this past week and why I'm very probably never going back.

That draft, however, hardly reflected how much fun I had and that the Roo experience was overall a positive one. Plus it just seemed, well . . . old and grumpy. So instead, I decided to just hit both the highs and lows of the week to give you a little window into what it's like to be a Bonnaroovian.

Hi, Hi, Hi. Yes, Paul McCartney and his band played Hi, Hi, Hi during his fantastic Friday night show.  But the showstopper was Live and Let Die, which probably isn't among my top 50 favorite Beatles or Wings songs. Blackbird showed that Sir Paul's voice still has some range and Helter Skelter and Back in the U.S.S.R. completely rocked. "Epic" was how my brother described it. Just so.

Low. People with crap on sticks. Big sticks that they wave around and block your view with during a show. Part of the "look at me" shtick that so many seem compelled to engage in. Several times I wished I had a blow dart or bottle rocket ...

High? Even if you indulged in a pharmaceutical, Django Django and Japandroids back-to-back would Wear. You. Out.

Low. Bros and Sorority Chicks. More interested in talking about themselves, school, drugs, than about music. While music is playing. Take your cellphone picture, tweet that you're at Of Monsters and Men, then shut up and leave.

High. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. My brother has convinced me that I undervalued the performance immediately afterward, and I admit my admiration has grown over the week. Absolutely killed Love is a Long Road, one of my favorite Petty songs.

Low. Hula Hoops. Another part of the "look at me" crowd, people take hula hoops to shows, take up six times as much room as anyone else, and twirl them in their hands and on their torsos. I remain unimpressed.

High. Macklemore. A rollicking hour of fun both a 21-year-old and a 55-year-old could love. Highlight was Mack borrowing a fur coat from someone in the crowd to belt out Thrift Shop. And, yes, Ray Dalton was there. And sounds better live, believe it or not.

Low. Stoners who believe it's their right to shove their way to the front of the crowd, no matter how late they are to the show or how many people are in front of them.

High. Our fellow camper Jason, who came all the way from California for the show. Fascinating guy.

Low. The fat obnoxious Canucks who camped behind us.

High. JD McPherson. Straight up rockabilly fun.

Photo courtesy of me.

Low. Something called Delta Rae. No. No, no, no.

High. The National. Amazing live. And Kacey Musgraves, Dwight Yoakam, Jason Isbell, and, yes, Weird Al Yankovic.

High. The Mowgli's. At least three Nelsons will be surprised if they're not the next big thing.

Highest. The weekend spent with my brother and son, enjoying great music in the Tennessee sun. So long Bonnaroo. And thanks.

A Happy Father's Day

A great father's day present: your son driving 8 hours through the night to get you home to a hot shower, a real bed, and a loving, incredibly tolerant, wife/mother and over-the-top-happy-to-see-you Jack Russell Terrier.

An even better father's day present: a heart-felt card from one child and a cheerful text conversation with the other on "your" day.

The Best Father's Day present: spending an entire day sharing sunshine, huge rain drops, and great music from hip-hop only a 21 year-old should like (Kendrick Lamar), to hip-hop even a 55 year-old can like (Macklemore and Ryan Lewis), to a fantastic American band (The National), to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, with two of your best friends. One of whom happens to be your brother, the other your son.

Throw Away the Key

I admit it, Alex Rodriquez duped me.

At a time when others were perjuring themselves (Rafeal Palmerio, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens) or simply stonewalling (Mark McGwire), Rodriquez seemingly took the high road. He admitted that, while playing for the Texas Rangers, he had used PEDs. And I, for one, applauded him for his honesty.

Turns out, it was just a smokescreen.

Ryan Braun, on the other hand, I was on to all along.

Now Major League Baseball has a second chance to get it right with Braun and Rodriguez and all the other cheaters who were obtaining PEDs including testosterone and human chorionic gonadotropin (HCG), from the now-defunct Biogenesis of America clinic in Florida.

It has apparently cut a deal with Tony Bosch, the founder of Biogenesis, to provide direct information linking many players to PEDs obtained from his "wellness clinic." MLB seemingly learned its lesson from the botched drug samples that were the basis of Braun's prior suspension and has been taking its time in investigating Biogenesis, its links to players and agents, and convincing Bosch (who previously denied that his clinic provided PEDs) that it is in his best interest, and perhaps only alternative, to name names.

One can only hope that they've gotten it right this time and that Bosch comes through with truthful information. And that the suspensions of Rodriguez and Braun and others who cheated will be severe. And that Braun and Rodriquez and others who will undoubtedly appeal whatever suspension are handed out will not benefit from some whacky arbitrator's imaginative decision.

Meanwhile, we wait with baited breath for the latest spin that Braun and his lawyers and agents, and Rodriguez and whoever is still clinging by their fingernails to his faded career and legacy, will put on the story.

What will Mr. Innocent come up with this time?
(photo from The Washington Post)

Braun's statement last night after the Brewers' game, after saying he would not address the issue: "The truth has not changed." To which one is tempted to reply: "Precisely. Just like the drug test results didn't change when they were thrown out on a technicality."

Plenty Not to Like

Who put Bud Selig in charge of MLS?

There seem to be few explanations other than Selig-esque crass commercialism to justify the decision announced this week that the 20th MLS franchise has been awarded to New York City and its new owners, Manchester City and the New York Yankees. But apparently MLS Commissioner Don Garber is not only willing to take credit for the anointment of the newest club, he appears to actually thinks it's a good one.

Put together two of the most hated sports franchises in the universe and plop them down in a city that has shown a complete inability to support one, let alone two, professional soccer teams and you get what, exactly, that is appealing?

One wonders if the awkwardly named N.Y.C.F.C. was saddled with the moniker just to even things up with the New York Red Bulls and their uninspiring identification. "Go over-caffinated, sugary energy drinks!" doesn't lend itself to song or loyalty any more than the attempts by other MLS franchises to pander to Euro-snob U.S. fans by changing their names to sadly mimic storied franchises overseas ("FC Dallas", "Sporting Kansas City", "Real Salt Lake").

As smart as the decision was to add first Seattle, then Portland and Vancouver (with their devoted fan bases and true rivalries) to the fold in recent years, the selection of another New York City franchise appears even more ill-conceived than the attempt to create a rival for the L.A. Galaxy was by adding Chivas USA (whose attendance is abysmal so far in 2013).

Derbies aren't like sea-monkeys. They don't magically appear when you add water, or, in this case, a big pile of oil money and the Yankees' "mystique." That the Yankees were added as a minority owner in what appears to be an attempt to leverage Randy Levine's ability to strong-arm local politicians into handing over the use of public spaces to build nine figure playgrounds for rich owners makes the decision even more odious.

While the eight million or so denizens of The Big Apple will now have their choice of two soccer teams to ignore, those throughout much of the rest of the nation, many with soccer-rich traditions that pre-date both Garber and MLS, are left scratching their heads and wondering what they have to do to warrant consideration for franchises 21 and 22, which are apparently still in the works.

Prior to the NYC announcement, Garber had had identified Miami, Atlanta, Minneapolis, and Orlando as possibilities for additional expansion. Orlando actually makes some sense, based on the dearth of professional soccer at the highest level in the fourth most populous state in the country. Miami has already had its chance and it, like Atlanta, has consistently proven for decades its inability to sustain franchises other than pro football. Minneapolis? A nice place in July and August, but it will almost certainly need a turf field, which causes its own problems.

The wrong-headed approach to MLS expansion appears to be driven by identifying owner groups seeking a franchise and then either choosing somewhere to plop it, or to accede to their demands for a location, rather than on the fan-base of an area and its interest in soccer. St. Louis, with a long history of soccer enthusiasm and excellence in support of teams at the youth and college levels, is ignored not because it wouldn't support a franchise, but because the individual who has put himself at the forefront of its efforts to capture a club is likely not up to the task. And don't even get me started on poor Rochester, which carried the banner for soccer in New York State for years and isn't even close to being in the conversation anymore.

More and more, despite its bizarre and inscrutable rules regarding salaries, designated players, and player contracts, MLS is just another American professional sport. While the players are still expected to be grateful for whatever is thrown their way, when it comes to ownership and the location of franchises, money is the only thing that talks.

Gone for Good

That Landon Donovan was not named by coach Jurgen Klinsmann to the latest U.S. Men's World Cup qualifying squad for five upcoming matches -- two friendlies and three hex matches -- is not particularly surprising. Donovan, after taking a three months sabbatical from soccer, is trying to round back into shape in the L.A. Galaxy line-up, with varying degrees of success.

After making the decision, Klinsmann said the right things about Donovan -- noting that he understood and respected his decision to take time away from the game -- but also made it clear that this team is his, not Donovan's, and that it is developing its own identity, one that does not include Donovan as its centerpiece, if at all. Donovan also made the appropriate "team player" comments after his exclusion -- understanding and respecting Klinsmann's decision, saying that he will continue to work hard to get in game shape and win his way back into the squad.

While many have speculated that Donovan will return to the team for this summer's Gold Cup (and Klinsmann has noted that is a possibility) that doesn't necessarily mean there will be a place for Donovan in the matches that matter leading up to and hopefully including the World Cup in Brazil, since the coach has also said that he will likely call in an entire "second team" to play in the tournament. And while Klinsmann has not ruled Donovan out of future World Cup qualifiers, his comment regarding Donovan's chances of returning to the squad: "maybe later on we'll definitely expect him back in the team" hardly sounds like a ringing endorsement.

One of the obstacles that both Donovan and Klinsmann face to Donovan's return is where will he play? Clint Dempsey has essentially replaced Donovan in the number 10 shirt of the withdrawn forward or attacking midfielder (albeit with a somewhat different style -- Dempsey is more likely to try to advance the ball from midfield himself, taking on defenders, while Donovan relied on speed, passing, and diagonal runs).

Donovan after scoring the most exciting, if not most important,
goal in U.S. soccer history against Algeria in the 2010 World Cup.
Photo from The Second Ball blog.

The team is desperate for out-and-out wingers and Donovan has played on both the left and right in the past. But he was never a true winger, preferring to return to the center of midfield and rarely took the ball to the corner to send in a cross. And one wonders if age is robbing him of the speed that was a hallmark of his game, as well as an essential tool for a winger who can stretch an opposing defense.

Qualifying matches have revealed a weakness in the Americans' dead-ball skills, something for which Donovan is known. But he's already missed two penalty kicks in the MLS season, so even that  potential contribution is in doubt.

Regardless of whether Donovan regains a spot in the squad, it is clear that it will no longer be "his" team. That in itself indicates the passing of an era. Clearly one of Klinsmann's goals is to make the national team his, or (to give him the benefit of the doubt) the U.S. Soccer Federation's . It may be the most significant contribution he will make to moving the sport forward here.

"I'm Kind of a Big Deal"

"Ron: I don't know how to put this, but I'm kind of a big deal.

Veronica:  Really.

Ron: People know me.

Veronica: Well, I'm very happy for you.

Ron: Um, I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books,
and my apartment smells of rich mahogany."

Far be it from me to suggest that Sunil Gulati would use the same terms to identify himself, and every indication is that he wouldn't, but the fact is he's kind of a big deal. That was emphasized late last month when he was elected by representatives of CONCACAF to serve on FIFA's Executive Committee.

Call me naive if you will, but I truly believe that Gulati has worked for the New England Revolution, MLS, the U.S. Soccer Federation, and now FIFA because he wants to advance the game in America. The unfortunate reality, however, is that he may be alone among the 25 members of the ExCom to put the game's interests above his own.

I admit, you can almost hear:
"I have many leather-bound books."
(photo from the "San Diego's #10" blog)

The tales of the excesses and arrogance of the men who run FIFA are legendary. Kickbacks, bribes, and private jets appear to be the rule, not the exception, when it comes to business as usual for the FIFA poo bahs. Some have suggested that the first question from most of Gulati's less-than-luminous predecessors upon their election was "just how many World Cup tickets do I get?"

I suspect that Gulati has bigger fish to fry. After the failed U.S. attempt to win the bid for the 2022 World Cup, Gulati didn't cry foul, as he was surely tempted to do, after many years of effort in the bid went down in flames (in particular, those from the gas wells in Qatar). Instead he shrugged his shoulders and vowed to carry on the fight for soccer in the States.

If Gulati sees his election as an attempt to remake FIFA from a fiefdom of stuffy old men in fancy suits into the actual international organizing body of the most popular sport in the world, he may have a few allies. Michel Platini, the President of UEFA (Europe's CONCACAF equivalent), is another influential member of the international soccer community who actually appears to have the best interests of the game at heart.

Can one or two or a few men change the mindset of what is essentially a huge multi-national corporation based on graft and backscratching? Time will tell. But that seems to be precisely what Gulati has in mind.

Run.

I admit to the certain shallowness that comes with being a sports lover. I've struggled with, and written in the past about, my unease with my fondness for sports and competition, its vague, sometimes intangible, sometimes downright offensive grip on me, our nation, and much of the world.

Still, the connection is there. And events like today's bombings at the Boston Marathon become somehow more personal, in some way more horrific, when tied to an athletic event.

I can recall certain events in my life, remember my horror, unease, repulsion at learning of or watching tragedy unfold. JFK, Martin Luther King, RFK, the Challenger, 9/11. Just initials or a single word or a simple number spark a clear recognition and a sharp pain.

I didn't know it at the time, but as I watched the twin towers tumble on a perfect September day in a conference room on the 15th floor of a building in Charleston, West Virginia, I was watching two of my friends die. Just normal guys, living normal lives, whose cruel fate led them to that place, one in each tower, on that unthinkable day.

As news that came to me today that folks I know who were in Boston were safe I was comforted, but it stirred the recollection that soon a different kind of news would be delivered to stunned parents, children, friends.

In some ways, it seems worse to me when terror and tragedy are tied to an athletic competition. The Munich Olympics. The Atlanta Olympics. Organized or random, political statement or senseless act, the idea that someone would intentionally take the life of or cause harm to those competing or watching an athletic event makes the act all the more cruel and heartless, aimed most specifically at those who are demonstrating the best of what we are capable of.

That is even more true of today's events. At first, because of when the explosions occurred, I thought it couldn't have been a planned attack, because it didn't occur when the leaders finished. The statement, I thought, would have been coordinated to cause the maximum damage to the "stars" of the event when they finished some three hours earlier.

But that wasn't the plan, nor the statement. The statement is simply that we're not safe. Anywhere, wherever we gather, even if for the simple joy of competing, even if only to prove that we can do something that we never thought we were capable of, we are not safe. And no amount of planning or protection or surveillance can make us completely safe again.

Our reaction to this sobering reality can take one of two paths: surrender, or keep competing. Give in, or fight back, through a demonstration of human spirit and resilience. Courage can be spectacularly demonstrated through sports, just by competing.

My daughter is supposed to run in a half-marathon in Boston next month. On her 25th birthday no less. My first thought was that I hope they cancel the race. My second was that if they don't, I hope she doesn't run.

But she has to run, if they hold the race. She has to represent that part of all of us who state by our actions that, understanding the risks, we will still gather, we will still compete, we will still run.

Run Kelsey. Run.