Out With a Whimper: Big Dogs Eliminated

APEX — The Big Dogs were eliminated from the Apex Men’s Softball C-League Tournament in dramatic yet typical slaughter-rule fashion Tuesday night, falling 19-7 in six innings to the Rebel Alliance.

The Big Dogs jumped out to a 3-0 lead in the first, but the Empire indeed struck back, tying the score with two runs in their first at bat and one run in their second, while buckling down on defense.  They took the lead 5-3 in the third and never trailed afterwards.  They added a two-out two-run homerun in the fifth inning, and then the floodgates opened in the sixth.

In a season marked by excessive fielding errors, mindless and uninspired base-running, and impotent bats, it was fitting that the season would end in similar fashion for the Dogs. 

Storming back from a 7-3 deficit in the top of the sixth to even the score, the Big Dogs perhaps caught a whiff of momentum hanging in the chilly, damp late-night fog. 

But their unlikely rally would just as quickly prove premature, as they soon collapsed miserably under the pressure of facing elimination, giving up 12 runs in the bottom of the inning to fall victim to their tenth salughter-rule game of the season.  Perhaps even less remarkable was their inability to record even a single out while facing 15 batters.

Double, E4, single, E5, E6, texas-leaguer, E4, E4, E8, E4, single, E5, E6, single…then the season was on the line with the bases loaded. 

Having a baseball mind and knowing the runner on third was all that mattered when trailing by 11 in a “slaughter” inning, 1B/DH Lucas Miller immediately called for the outfield to come all the way in and form a “wall” around the infield; there was only one play: at the plate.  He tried to hastily explain that nothing could get through and that any fly ball scores the runner from third, so they had to play for the ground ball or line drive out at home.  But they just didn’t get it. 

Not that it would matter.

The last pitch of the Big Dogs season turned into a sharp, high liner down the right field line, easily scoring the runner from third and leaving these unlovable losers to contemplate what they would have to do differently in the fall to find that elusive second victory.

It must start with the simple principles of baseball: middle infielders that aren’t scared of the ball and actually try to get in front of it, pitchers that don’t deliver “meat,” leading off with speed rather than power, making contact with the damn ball at the plate, and not trying to make impossible plays on base hits where balls end up in left or right field.  Other than that, the spring season showed tremendous promise. 

They rallied twice in their last two games of the season, proving they had the tenacity to come up with big innings when most needed; this could prove to be a moral victory that a 1-16 record just doesn’t reflect.

Big Dogs Face Elimination in Losers’ Bracket

APEX — The Big Dogs (1-15) face elimination tonight against Rebel Alliance (9-7) at 9pm on Laura Duncan Field #2 in the Class-C Apex Men’s Spring Softball League tournament.  The game is not televised.

They have fallen to the Rebels (as their fans affectionately refer to them) three times this season by a total margin of seven runs.  The Rebels were the suprise team of the C-League this year, breaking out for a winning season and a 4th-place regular season finish.

While losing has been a lesson in humility for the Big Dogs this season, losing to Rebel Alliance is rather shameful explains first baseman Lucas Miller.

Up until a conversation with a teammate yesterday, Miller had assumed Rebel Alliance was the sponsoring company’s name; it even provided for the smooth “Rebels” nickname.

But the embarrassing truth is that “Rebel Alliance” is a Star Wars reference. 

In fact, the Rebels are all software engineers or computer programmers for SAS.  On closer inspection, they even have an X-Wing Fighter logo on their jersey. 

“They probably run an undeground RTP fight club in the off-season,” Miller quipped wryly, the embarrassment evidenced by his sullen expression.

Their leader isn’t Han Solo or Luke Skywalker, but rather Jack Ramsey.  He’s 5’3″, plays left center, and leads off with his patented left-handed hack-swing, just like the girls.  He wears jeans shorts and scrunches his white tube socks halfway to his knees.

“In another life he probably flies the Millenium Falcon,” suggested Big Dogs right centerfielder Brent Horne.  He went on to add that he was wearing a storm trooper helmet at the plate tonight.

The short stop may have a long pony tail and wear tight-fitting shorts, but he’s a veritable vaccuum in the middle infield and a solid line drive hitter at the plate.

The first baseman stands about 6’4″ and weighs in at around 125 — insert C3P2 joke here — but what stands out are not his too-short old-school Umbros but rather his (inter) stellar ability to reign in the high and wide throws. 

Their cleanup hitter is a Techie stuck in an athlete’s body.  He crushes the high pitches to the deep center woods and then rounds the bases with a gloating trot, as if he has just slayed Darth Vader to save the universe. 

“It’s just really tough to fathom that we’re losing to a group of wannabe-Jedi Knights,” Miller confessed.  “I mean, these guys are thirty- and forty-somethings that will probably sit around analyzing Episode II after the game.”

Regardless, tonight the Big Dogs will need their Light Sabres to be cracking and their defense to be like a force field around some planet in a galaxy far, far away if they plan to keep their season going. 

May The Force be with them. 

As a follow-up, one of the Big Dogs player’s wives was told the following story as to why they chose ‘Rebel Alliance,’ which she passed along to be preserved for posterity.  It has to be true because you can’t make this stuff up.

A couple years back (apparently in a galaxy far, far away), a group of programmers and engineers from the SAS Institute played for the company softball team in the Raleigh Recreational League, the Majors to Apex’s Minors, if you will.  Along the way, for some reason, this team folded.  But a contingent of players was still eager to compete and formed a team in the Apex City League.  They fostered hopes of wearing the SAS jerseys from years past, but to their chagrin, SAS would not support this team as a sponsor, and denied this request; SAS would not actively support the formation of a team under its name (perhaps it was due to money issues for Jim Goodnight, who was likely fighting to maintain his grip over Wendell Murphy on the title of “Richest Man in North Carolina”).  Rejected, but never dejected, this contingent found their own sponsor and became known around the SAS campus as “rebels” for their obstinance towards their corporate opressors.  They took it one step further and compared this act ‘rebellion’ to that of the young Skywalker of Star Wars lore, and officially became The Rebel Alliance.  Unofficially, they call themselves the Rebels, while everyone else just calls them dorks.   

 

The Big Dogs Finally Show Some Bite

APEX, NC — Not just any team walks onto Laura Duncan Field #2 and walks away with a victory. The fifth-place Rob’s Reel Sets found that out the hard way last night in front of a bleacher-capacity crowd, losing 16-12 to the Timberland Big Dogs in a thriller that was called after six innings due to time.

With their all-around best outing of the season, the Big Dogs improved to 1-13 on the season and played their way into a tie for last place. With just two regular season games remaining, they still have an outside shot at the 5-seed in the tournament.

“That’s big,” says first baseman Lucas Miller. “No one wants to face Parkers Landscape in that first round.” The 5-seed would play Mamma Mia’s.

Rob’s Reel Sets jumped on top early, scoring five in the top of the first. It looked to be business as usual for The Big Dogs, as three infield grounders turned out to be too much to handle.

Miller didn’t have the reach on two errant throws and the second baseman is scared to get in front of the ball, which allowed the Reel Sets to jump on top 5-0 in the top of the first.

But then the defense settled in, and The Big Dogs got down to business. With the bats hot, they answered with four runs in the bottom of the first, started with a lead off homerun by the short stop, his fifth in the last three games.

“I’m not sure why our most powerful hitter is leading off,” Miller said. “It’s puzzling.” All five of his homeruns during that stretch have come with the bases empty. But then again, the second baseman hasn’t made a play all season and is untouchable.

The Dogs added three more in the third, taking an 8-5 lead into the fourth, hardly comfortable for a team that has led in all of their past five games, only to lose in late innings.

The fourth inning tested their will to win. The Reel Sets had scored five runs to take a 10-8 lead before The Big Dogs recorded their first out; Miller chased a fly ball down the right field line and caught it against the fence.

“I think that the entire team fed off that effort. When I flipped my hat off to get a better eye on it…that was dramatic. They knew we had come to play.” Miller was 3-for-4 and had his third straight error-free game.

The Dogs took an 11-10 lead in the fifth, but it wouldn’t hold. They gave up two in the top of the sixth. Trailing 12-11 and knowing it was likely their last at bat, they rallied, putting together seven consecutive hits/errors to drive the lead to 16-12. With just one out in the bottom of the sixth, the game was over. The Big Dogs stormed the field in triumph.

“Maybe we’re peaking at the right time,” Miller added. “Maybe the slipper will fit for us next week.”

Random Monday Thought

Saturday morning, while getting in an early morning workout at the gym, shaking off my week, I had this realization about life: attractive people do not get up early.

It’s not scientific, but I’ll swear by it.

I’m confident there are many ugly people that like to sleep in, so it isn’t a reciprocal relationship. And I have no explanation why us ugly people are the only ones, but I am certain that attractive people do not do anything before 10.

I don’t know why; it’s just one of the many mysteries of life, I guess.

A letter to Rick Barnes

Rick,

We’re now in need of a coach – well, officially anyway; we’ve been in need of a coach the better part of a decade. But I digress. Anyway, Rick, I’d like to extend a personal invitation to you to come help us out up here in the heart of Tobacco Road. How about it, partner?

Look, you know Raleigh is just a short two-hour Friday evening stroll up I-40 from your hometown of Hickory. I even feel like we have a connection, because I myself lived in Hickory for a while as well and grew up not too far from there. C’mon, Rick, this is big-time college basketball, what else can you ask for? You know what I’m talking about.

I mean, sure, Texas has become a national powerhouse, but c’mon Cowboy, saddle up and come on home to where college basketball is King. In Texas, basketball is all hat and no cattle; think what you could be at State! I mean, look how State fans are: we’re intensely loyal, almost to a fault. You could own Raleigh, absolutely own it. Just beat Roy.

I like you, buddy, and regardless of what you might have heard, that carries quite a bit of merit around North Carolina. I mean, I want your attitude. Remember how you told you boys at Clemson to go out and be mother f-bombers against Duke? I want that; we need that. I want guys that drive and fight and scrap and push and shove and box out and push the ball in transition; I want six-ten guys that play like six-ten guys. I want someone to make Ced a beast. You never backed down to Dean or K and you won at Clemson. Good enough for me.

I want that swagger you brought to Clemson – a lowly football school. You built them into a force to be reckoned with. Imagine how big you could be at a basketball school. Plus, you’d have an immediate opportunity to defend your honor. Didn’t you hear what Roy said about you after the 2003 National Championship game? “I don’t give a shit about [Rick Barnes].” You’re not gonna take that from him are you, Cowboy?

Then there’s the Hickory Factor; the beautiful western North Carolina foothills. You were raised there; you went to Lenoir-Rhyne; coached at Davidson. You’re mom worked in a textile factory there – I myself worked in the furniture industry for a while, so we understand each other. Think about it: I bet you can’t find a Sundrop anywhere in Austin. I dare you to find a convenience store anywhere in NC that doesn’t carry an entire cooler-full. Think Eastern NC BBQ. Think Bojangle’s on every corner (just wait until you eat at the one on Western Boulevard; four-piece supreme dinner, trust me). Think sweet tea. Think grits that come anytime you say “eggs.”

ACC basketball is in you. Come on and help us out. We want a winner – we need it. Don’t make me beg, Rick (because I will if I have to). Forget making The Dance; screw the “body of work.” I want banners – beautiful ACC and Final Four banners.

Do it for this great state. Do it for me. I’ve endured enough; I think we all have. C’mon home and toss away the axe and get us out of this dreaded day-tight compartment we’ve been stuck in for almost a decade. Make our decade-long wet dream a reality.

I look forward to hearing from you, Cowboy.

Dr. R.L. Bentley, III

WITH DVD Now on Sale!

Wolfpack in the House! is now on sale through the Wolfpack Club for only $19.95 (plus $4.95 shipping & handling). This 5-minute DVD chronicles every highlight from the historic 2005 season, from T.J. Williams’ first and only touchdown catch of the season against Virginia Tech to the hoisting of the 2005 Meineke Car Care Championship trophy in Charlotte. The highlights are set to the hard-thumping BOOM! Here come the boys from the South, and focus primarily on Andre Brown’s big runs against Southern Miss and Florida State, Mario Williams and Manny Lawson ‘meeting at the quarterback’ against Maryland, and Brian Clark’s 95-yard touchdown grab against Boston College.

This 5-minute highlight DVD is accompanied by a 60-min blooper DVD, complete with every face mask, off sides, false start, illegal procedure, personal foul, fumble, and pick-six. It includes a special commentary by Jay Davis and Tremain Hall, who discuss their future careers in life insurance.

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The Extent of My Hypocrisy

“I’m surprisingly calm,” I IM’d Matt with half-hearted honesty.

“Just wish we could put it away,” he responded rather forebodingly.

Ten minutes later, after watching our fifth nine-point lead of the night dwindle back to only one, I wasn’t so calm.

Suddenly, fouls were being called on white jerseys, unremarkable in even the remotest of ways because these were fouls Alabama “had to give.” Having fouls to give doesn’t necessarily mean you can play defense more aggressively, but rather fight for your life through the use of legal intentional fouls; suddenly a handful of jersey off the ball is a clean foul. I’m not claiming innocence – everyone does it, including us. It’s one of the many ironies of basketball that you can bump and hack on the low post all night without incident, but after 39 minutes of play, suddenly the slightest of contact on an inbounds play results in a blown whistle.

And in Tuscaloosa on Thursday night, after a startling six team fouls in 39 minutes of play, whistles started screeching with such frequency and haste that time literally stood still, waning ever so delicately in measures of fractions rather than integers. The referees had held their collective breath with obstinacy the entire night whenever someone in a red jersey had been hacked, and yet now, with a minute to play, whistles were being unfurled with eager anticipation of a foul.

We’re shooting our first free throw with 25 seconds remaining when suddenly it’s to Bama’s advantage to foul us? So, yeah, of course I’m much less calm.

For Heaven’s sake, are we in Cameron?

And of course it isn’t helping that Larry Connelly is adding his Majerus-esque color commentary on how the ACC has two of the nation’s premier free throw shooters in J.J. Redick and Engin Atsur, who at 74.2% isn’t in the Top 10 in the ACC or the Top 100 in the nation, although he did sink both ends of a one-and-one.

But I digress.

We held on for the win to move to 9-1 and move up to #18 in the polls, but more importantly, at some point during the excitement of that game, I caught myself surrounded by the strangest ambiance: I was actually enjoying a State basketball game. Dare I say, I came to the stark realization that we are, indeed, a fun team to watch play.

I caught myself lauding Ced for being a beast in the paint, Cam for being the athlete I’ve always wished we’ve had, and Brackman for his inherent finesse. Above all, it’s quite ironic how much fun a game becomes when you quit worrying about the outcome – because it really doesn’t matter – and most of all you don’t expend all available energy lamenting speciously at the TV about Herb Sendek (it’s very likely he can’t hear you anyway).

I know it borders on the surreal, but my hypocrisy reaches only so far: I’ll admit that this team is actually pretty damn good. They play with fiery emotion, seamless intensity, and at times, a daunting finesse unmatched by any other Sendek team.

This team won’t win the ACC and it won’t play in Indianapolis, and I’m okay with that. This is my favorite team since Herb’s first in 1997; I like the fact that Ced, Brack, and Ev have become what Thornton, Kelley, and Inge were supposed to have been in 2000. I like Evtimov’s clumsy hooks, Atsur’s gritty, unrelenting defense, and Cam’s seemingly boundless athleticism.

And all-in-all, I have to admit Herb has done a fine job so far, and so I guess it was just time to give him a break and be a fan again. And that seems like a good comment to end on.

Like I said, my hypocrisy only extends so far.

The Pavoni Curse

Among my mom’s family, it’s notoriously branded The “Pavoni Curse.” Legend has it my grandfather came from a long line of iniquitous horse thieves running wild in Naples back in the day. Some have even claimed it’s why his father and mother came to America in 1914 – running from the law.

In and of itself, horse thievery doesn’t sound like the transgression that curses are made of, but there was a time when a horse thief was about the worst thing a man could be called. And when one of those horses belongs to a very important person, say a Man of God named The Pope, well then it all starts to make sense.

I’ve never for one moment doubted the curse is alive and kicking. It explains a lot, particularly the things that Ben so astutely noted “could only happen to Lucas.”

The Pavoni Curse is marked by above all things, its dreadful timing. For instance, the night before your first day at a new job, when you’re trying to make a good first impression to new co-workers and peers, your water heater explodes, soaking your living room, kitchen, and bathroom (narrowly missing your computer). And the way you find out about it is to slip and bust your ass when you get up to piss at 4am; as you fall towards an inch of water on the bathroom floor, you’re already blaming the Curse: I should’ve known.

You call maintenance and get the 24-hour Help Desk answering service, which is quite the misnomer because there is nothing even remotely reassuring about having an argument with some Indian – Sanji Gupta, not Squatting Stallion – about whether or not you, indeed, have a water pump.

“You do not have a water pump, sir.” (I translated that into what I believe he meant and not what I actually heard him say).

I’m pretty sure I do, since I’m standing on soaked carpet. Ok, it’s a f***ing water heater, whatever, just page maintenance for me.

Here’s where the Curse gets really fun. You haven’t showered since the previous afternoon after your workout; you haven’t shaved in a few days; and your hair is matted from sleeping on it. So you pour a bottle of water over your head, try to style it a little, forcing down your cowlick, you swab a little gel on, splash a little water on your face to get the crust out of your eyes, save a tad to brush your teeth, strategically apply some Old Spice High Endurance, put on your suit and tie, and begin your new career.

Around 10am, you realize there’s a huge chunk sticking out in the back that you missed, and you’re slightly bothered by your own body odor. You shake every hand in the company looking grizzled, like you just rolled in badly hung over from an all-nighter, which could easily be explained away after that Iowa game, where Rick Majerus turned an already dismal contest into an excruciating experience; after it had awkwardly, yet mercifully ended, you went to sleep counting turnovers rather than sheep.

And so you left your own, private office, locking-door and all, after your first day quite assured that everyone had wondered all day what they had done by hiring the kid that doesn’t have the proper hygiene to shave or shower, but puts on a suit anyway, hoping no one will notice.

The legend further claims that during World War I, just before they fled to America, my great grandmother buried a fairly large quantity of money, but told no one where, as she planned to return to Naples after the war to dig it up. She never did, though, dying in a tragic accident when my grandfather was four.

I’ll be in Austria in January. I reckon it’s about time I took a train to Naples, found that money, dug it up, and paid God for that horse.

Where are You Blissful Apathy?

Why do I feel like I’m in an abusive relationship? I feel like I’m taking a weekly beating and just when I can’t endure anymore, right when I’m on the brink of complete listlessness, Chuck combs down his ‘fro, puts on the charm, and delivers flowers. And I think: maybe it wasn’t so bad after all – I mean, there were some good times, right? So, of course, I decide on forgiveness.

Take last winter, for example. Mark Trestman came to town and all of the sudden Jay Davis became a 2,000-yard passer, Tremain Hall a 1,000 receiver, and Toney Baker and Andre Hall/Darrell Blackman/Bobbie Washington/Reggie Davis would each be 1,000-yard rushers. T.J Williams was back as the sure-handed All ACC tight end and the receiving corps of Clark, Barrett, and Hicks seemed solid enough to compliment Hall – all we lacked was a healthy Dunlap. The defensive line was by far and above the best in the nation and the linebackers were nothing at which to scoff; only the secondary and offensive line really warranted any alarm. Since next season Manny would be gone and almost certainly would Mario, this was the year to do it. The most important game of the season would just so happen to be the first game of the season, and the winner would almost undoubtedly have the inroads into the premier ACC championship game in Jacksonville. At worst, we had an outside shot at upsetting Miami or Florida State to get into a BCS game.

My buddy Mark even emailed me to confidently declare that Jay Davis would be the ACC Player of the Year and that we’d be 11-0 or 10-1. Close only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes.

Of course, we all know that our first tussle didn’t end quite like it was supposed to. VPI went back to Blacksburg with a hard-fought win, but we had pretty much moved the ball at will against a stout defense while Mario, Manny, and the Boys more than contained the most fascinating college quarterback since the older Vick Number Five was the then-most fascinating college quarterback ever. Sure, we lost 20-16, but we showed that we would cause some damage. Unfortunately, that damage would be limited.

The Colonels got trucked by Toney Baker, but then we invented fresh, new mistakes against Carolina before winning in Atlanta for the first time since 1988. Call it a fluke, but we are anything if not unpredictable. Soon enough we forgot that if we’re going to bite the tiger in his ass, we’d better have a way of dealing with his teeth, which we most certainly didn’t. And Chuck got to hear about it, as 57,500 booing Wolfpack fans let him know what they thought. I, personally, did not boo; I was too busy heading to the truck. Then, as predictable as the changing tides, we got pick-six’d by Wake, twice, again finding a way to take losing and despair to new levels in Winston.

It again looked hopeless against Southern Miss for 30 minutes with an utterly impressive four turnovers in the first half, but fortunately – at least that day – football is a 60-minute game. We found a starting running back and a starting quarterback and finally sacked someone and made some stops and did the absurd: we won.

And then, for no good reason, we went to Tallahassee and smacked the mighty Seminoles right in their feather-headed, savage, war-painted faces. Maybe the guys wanted to make a statement against all the kids they played against in high school. Maybe Weatherford really is as good as Chris Rix. Maybe our front seven is finding its groove and living up to its potential. Maybe Stone did just enough to not take us out of the game. Maybe Bobby has lost it and Chuck has found it. Or maybe we finally played the type of game we should have been playing all along, particularly against Carolina.

All I really know is that now I’m quite perturbed. Whereas I was once almost completely lethargic, now it pains me beyond explanation to know that we can win in Atlanta and Tallahassee, but not at home against Carolina and Clemson. It irritates me even more to know that now we actually have a shot at a bowl – perhaps even the Peach Bowl, with help – which by no stretch of the imagination should even be in the realm of possibility. It flusters the hell out of me to think that all that banished hope is working its way back into me, slowly replacing all that blissful apathy.

And what scares me the most is that we could have given up, but now we’re ripe for even greater disappointment. Should we win in Boston this weekend, it’ll set up yet another pivotal meeting against Maryland to end the season, and we all know how that’s worked out for us in years past.