Category Archives: Uncategorized

The Question of Diving

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“I’ve seen some flops in my day. If they get the call, you actually got to kind of give them a little slow-clap for it, because it’s tough to do.” — NFL defensive end Jared Allen on flopping in the NFL, NFL Films

By now, you know what happened. It was Sunday in Brazil, and in the final minutes of a 1-1 match, the Netherlands’ Arjen Robben dribbled along the end line and cut inside on his left foot.

Mexico’s Rafa Marquez stuck his right foot into the play, missed the ball, and caught Robben’s toes with the slightest of trips at close to full speed.

If you haven’t seen the video, you can here.

Robben, of course, went flying into a theatrical dervish. The Netherlands earned a penalty in an eventual 2-1 victory. And Twitter nuclearized into a storm of moral outrage and diving jokes. I know this, of course, because I was on a flight somewhere over middle America, following the game on Twitter. For nearly two or three minutes — maybe shorter — I had no idea what had happened. All I could do was feverishly hit refresh. Robben dived. It was egregious. And how can you ANYONE enjoy a sport where a game can end like THIS?

“Just when I start to love you, soccer,” tweeted an American sports scribe who shall go nameless, “you go and pull some crap like that. Garbage.”

There was more.

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Anyway, you get it.

After the game, Robben admitted to diving — but not on THAT play. (He had actually committed a REAL dive, he said, in the first half.) The Mexican coach, as he is prone to do, lost his mind, ripping the referee. And we were treated to the usual debate about diving in soccer and the predictably annoying American reaction to said diving.

But I think something always gets lost in these back-and-forths, lost in all the noise, something that is right there in front of us. We are often told that diving is unsportsmanlike and un-American; that it is soft and unsavory and, for lack of a more nuanced word, stone-cold cheating. Diving is the thing — among many things — that keeps the casual American fan at arm’s length from the beautiful game. That’s one narrative, anyway.

But there’s something about these debates that always feels misguided. Yes, nobody likes flopping. Nobody likes the idea of a player taking a truly dishonest dive — especially one that could sway the game. Well, nobody, except Steelers coach Mike Tomlin and receiver Hines Ward, who were once captured by NFL Films clip, gleefully celebrating a bit of simulation from Ward.

“Like Danny Ainge,” Tomlin yelled, “taking a charge!”

“That’s a Vlade Divac,” Ward said.

That’s the segment from NFL Films. You have to wait a bit to get to Tomlin and Ward, because, well, there’s are lot more Robbens in the NFL than you might believe. Over-exaggerating calls might not be a major fabric of the NFL culture, but it is certainly there, and apparently even hard-asses such as Jaren Allen can appreciate it.

It’s interesting, of course, that Tomlin and Ward used NBA players as their flopping role models. But maybe not that interesting. We’re guessing Ward and Tomlin don’t watch a lot of Serie A, and the NBA has had issues with flopping for years, trying to legislate the practice out of the game.

But the real question, and one that I’ve been thinking about for the last 24 hours, is this: When is it DIVING and when is it selling a call? And can we talk about this in a way that’s slightly more nuanced than ripping an entire sport after a heady play from a world-class forward in the final seconds of a great match.

Robben was tripped at close to full speed in the penalty box, and he sold the call with a slightly hilarious flourish. And given all the evidence, he should have. So what’s wrong with this?

When Nets guard Paul Pierce was a young player in Boston, he regularly led the NBA in drawing fouls and getting to the free throw line. A reporter asked him about this once, and he responded with a line that was equal parts funny and brilliant. What was his secret? Well, when Pierce met a defender at the rim, he would often scream: “AHHHHH!!!!!”

This happens in all sports, of course. Punters flop on the ground, and college basketball fans rip Duke for taking too many soft charges, and in a very distant cousin to flopping, baseball hitters theatrically leap out of the way of borderline inside pitches, a visual cue to the umpire: That was definitely not a strike.

This is what Robben did yesterday. He provided a visual cue — one that even Kobe could appreciate.

And then there is LeBron James, arguably the greatest athlete in the world. LeBron is about 6-foot-9 and 380 pounds, so you would think he could survive a little contact here and there. But during his first decade in the NBA, James has gained a slight reputation for milking calls.

Really, you say? Yeah, really.

But here’s the thing about LeBron. In nearly every one of these “flops”, there was some sort of contact and some sort of foul. But that didn’t stop James from exaggerating the contact — just as it didn’t stop Robben. Most of those exaggerated fouls on James, of course, didn’t decide a game. But sometimes, of course, they do.

And so here we are. The World Cup continues. Netherlands moves on. And more players will try to win calls in the penalty area. And perhaps Robben, a paper-machete striker who looks like he’s 47, is not the best poster-child upon which to build a diving defense.

Nobody likes a phony. People hate the real DIVING in the NBA and NFL, too.

But for the past 24 hours, I’ve been thinking about Robben and his final play. And amidst all the noise, jokes and ethnocentric soccer hate, it seems pretty clear: What’s more American than a little bit of selling?

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Running Boston.

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BOSTON — The city was quiet.

The sidewalks were empty. The sun was luminous, reflecting off the Charles. The humming of traffic echoed off the concrete and against the exterior of Fenway Park.

It was a Thursday in April, three days after the bombs went off, and I decided I needed to run through Boston. I had arrived in town on Wednesday, to see a girlfriend, a vacation scheduled weeks before the annual marathon. But as I laced up my running shoes for a jog from Cambridge, just near MIT, to Back Bay, where the bombs had ripped through the finish line, the man hunt was still on.

I don’t know why, but running felt like the right thing to do. Whenever I hit a new city, I always like to explore with a pair of running shoes. You can feel the pulse that way; you can feel the way the neighborhoods connect, the way people live and work in a great American town.

So yes, I wanted to see Boston, to feel the sidewalks underneath my feet, to feel the remnants of the marathon. But mostly, I just wanted to see how the city was surviving.

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My most reliable rebounder

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For as long as I can remember, my dad always answered the phone the same way:

“Frank Dodd!”

It was his signature, the emphasis always put on the second syllable. “Frank-DODD!” From rotary phone (our house had one), to the years we installed a second line to appease my older sister (early 90s!), to the black car phone my dad installed on the floor of his 1985 Mercury Grand Marquis, it was always the same: “Frank DODD!”

These days, it’s an iPhone.

You should see it. My dad can do many things on that new iPhone. He can check Facebook, and “favorite” my Tweets on Twitter, and he can fire off a group text to his four kids. On Tuesday night, my dad’s 70th birthday, I was sitting courtside at the Baylor-Kansas game in Waco when the latest text buzzed in.

“KU was in control all the way,” my dad texted.  Baylor should be better!!!!”

(Yes, Baylor basketball coach Scott Drew takes heat from everyone.)

But for every tech upgrade, for every new year and every new phone, my Dad has always answered the phone the same way: “Frank DODD!” There is something friendly about it, something honest, simple and helpful

Something that feels just like him.

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Best of 2013*: The List

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So every December, for the last couple years anyway, I’ve been compiling a list of my favorite songs from the previous 12 months: My year-end mixtape, so to say.

Now before we go forward, my list is a little different. And the ground rules are pretty simple. The list is not limited to songs from 2013 (or whatever year it happens to be). They can come from any year … with the following caveat: This list is songs I listened to A LOT in the past year. Some were old, most were new, but all meant something to me. And when I hear these songs in the future, I’ll probably think about 2013.

I’ve been passing out the mixtape for the last couple years, and this time, I’m sharing the track listing here. So enjoy.

1. “Providence” — Fourth of July

Year it was released: 2010

2. “Running If You Call My Name” — Haim

Year: 2013

2. “Afterlife”— Arcade Fire

Year: 2013

4. “Shadow People” — Dr. Dog

Year: 2010

5. “Hold On, We’re Going Home” — Drake

Year: 2013

6. “Letter From An Occupant” — New Pornographers

Year: 2000

7. “Cannons” — Youth Lagoon

Year: 2011

8. “Further On Up The Road” — Bruce Springsteen

Year: 2002

9. “French Navy” — Camera Obscura

Year: 2009

10. “Byegone” — Volcano Choir

Year: 2013

11. “Sunday” — Earl Sweatshirt, Ft. Frank Ocean

Year: 2013

12. “Then He Kissed Me” — The Crystals

Year: 2013

13. “Friend of a Friend — Fourth of July

Year: 2010

14. “Another Is Waiting” — Avett Brothers

Year: 2013

15. “Man” — Neko Case

Year: 2013

16. “Everlasting Arms” — Vampire Weekend

Year: 2013

17. “Elephant King” — Yellow Ostrich

Year: 2012

18. “My Face” — ACBs

Year: 2011

19. “Love” — Dr. Dog

Year: 2013

20. “Young Fathers” Typhoon

Year: 2013

Coming to the (late) realization that “Garden State” really sucked

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In the summer of 2004, a few months before I entered my senior year of high school, I saw the movie Garden State for the first time.

This is almost 10 years ago now. Dubya was still in the process of running for a second term, the Iraq war was in its second year,  and the iPhone was still three years away.

And along came Garden State, a little indie flick that seemed predisposed to capture the morose and whiny nature of a generation of 20-something dudes in a post-9/11 America . It was also, depending on whom you asked, the “it” movie of the summer. And it reached this status for a number of reasons. It had a trendy soundtrack (more on The Shins in a minute), a young director (Hey that’s Zach Braff from Scrubs!), and it came onto the scene as an emerging internet culture greased the skids for a more friendly atmosphere for independent movies.

So, of course, I saw the movie that summer, and to put it one way, I was down with Comrade Braff and the movement. Garden State was cool. But it was cool in a way that the bands “Grizzly Bear” or “Sufjan Stevens” are cool. It was sardonic and darkly funny and sort of depressing and also greatly ambitious. But it was all these things … while still also maintaining a level of authenticity. Maybe it was cool because Braff was just a young kid that wanted to make a movie. And he did it. Or maybe Garden State was cool, because you saw it, and the rest of your high school hadn’t. Or something like that.

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Bill Walton on Boris Diaw is still a call for the ages

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Bill Walton served as the color commentator for the Missouri-UCLA game on ESPN on Friday night. It was Walton’s first time on air in some time — he’s apparently been battling health issues — and it turned into a perfect symphony of basketball and poetry.

Walton, calling a game in the same building in which he played in college, was in rare form. Missouri guard Phil Pressey, who had 19 assists, was, according to Walton, a breathtaking savant of basketball genius, a sight to behold, a glorious revelation of playmaking and poise, a gift for all-time. (OK. That’s sort of what he said.)

It all reminded me of the greatest call in the history of basketball… ever.

Bill Walton on Boris Diaw:

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#MusicMonday: The Avett Brothers

Every Monday morning. Music so good, it must be shared. 

This week: “Head Full of Doubt” — The Avett Brothers, off the album “I and Love and You”

Hey… Don’t Forget: Follow The Brew House

Some Monday morning housekeeping. If you’re not already following the blog on Twitter, you can do us a solid and follow us https://twitter.com/BrewHouseblog (@BrewHouseblog). It’s this blog — in tweet-form. Do it. … Do it.

Unsolicited Endorsements XXXVII

Because sometimes you just want friends to tell you about cool things… the Brew House team offers up its weekly mix of author-supported goodness

Album: Black Up by Shabazz Palaces

Sitting across from Nicki Minaj at the opposite end of the hip-hop spectrum is this weaving, dark, low-key set of ten tracks from Seattle-based Shabazz Palaces. Think of Shabazz Palaces like a hip-hop version of Broken Social Scene: various voices and influences from around the indie world, cobbled together to create something that’s all over the map – pleasantly unsteady and off-kilter enough to stay interesting on repeated listens.

Black Up can be a bit dense at times, and by the final couple of tracks, you’re almost ready to move onto something a bit more buttoned-up. But then the last song hits and pulls it all back together with a big, booming groove of a beat that sounds like a delightful four-minute chorus.

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Unsolicited Endorsements XXXVI

Because sometimes you just want friends to tell you about cool things… the Brew House team offers up its weekly mix of author-supported goodness.

Hipster Hop: G-Eazy’s “Runaround Sue”

A few weeks ago, my friend Danny called me about a show. He lives in New Orleans, and I’d planned to go down there the last week of September. So he told me that Hoodie Allen, the Ivy League educated (and former Google-ite) independent rapper was playing in New Orleans that week. Cool, I said.

Well, it turns out that Hoodie will actually be in Lawrence before that — at the Granada on Saturday — and he’s sharing the tour with G-Eazy, the Oakland native who made YouTube waves last year with his underground hit, “Runaround Sue” a sample of Dion’s *all-time hit/underrated party song. (Earlier this week, my old college friend Jess interviewed G-Eazy about the upcoming show and his new material.)

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