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At the Intersection of Sports and Culture

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Prep School Basketball or Pond Hockey: A Top Ten Examination

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Since when did Lake Winnipesaukee become such a hotbed for prep school basketball? Most folks are familiar with the New Hampshire Lakes Region for its pristine beauty, 0% sales tax, and golf ball sized mosquitoes. But premiere high school hoops in Northern New England? Sounds like some sort of bizarro John Irving novel under the heavy influence of either Adrian Wojnarowski or Scott Raab.

This past Monday Brewster Academy defeated in-state rival Tilton School 60-56. With the win, Brewster extended their record to 28-0 and will remain the top prep team in the country. That’s right, the top high school basketball team in the United States is from little old Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. This seems about as likely as an undrafted second year point guard from Harvard emerging as the New York Knicks savior. But I digress.

Here are the top ten sports related events more likely to occur in New Hampshire other than being home to the best prep school basketball team in the nation.

10. Ice Sculpting – Having grown up in Hanover, I can attest to the wild scene that is the Dartmouth Winter Carnival. It’s like something only the National Lampoon could conjure, fueled entirely by Mad Dog 20/20 and Swisher Sweets. The Greeks are allowed to pass off their debauchery by creating large ice sculptures on the front lawn of each fraternity. Now these creations are usually tied to a specific theme, like Dr. Seuss or the Abominable Snowman, however the only time anyone every sees these sculptures is when some overserved pledge attempts to jump over them on ice skates fashioned out of petrified birch tree braches. Trust me, this never ends well.

9. Surfing – You don’t need to travel to exotic locales like Cape Cod or Newport, RI to find some totally tubular New England waves. Hampton Beach provides wannabe Johnny Utah’s with ample surf and sun. And who knows just when a pickup football game may break out.

8. Motorcycle Gathering – I have never been so horrified as I was when driving through Meredith, NH and being passed by roughly 100 Clay Morrow lookalikes all wearing leather chaps sitting atop Harley-Davidson choppers with names like “Buttercup”, “Mystique”, and “Precious”.

7 – Ski Racing – The majestic White Mountains provide many scenic opportunities for both alpine and nordic skiing. But honestly, I don’t know anyone under the age of 45 who cross country skis. My mom took me XC skiing over the backcountry once and it was a miserable experience. For starters, cross country is much more difficult than downhill mostly because you have to create all of the momentum yourself. Secondly, it was like running on a treadmill. We must have gone around the same open field five times before returning home. All and all, cross country skiing is not something for me. At least not until I turn 45.

6. NASCAR Race – Yes it’s true, Loudon, NH is home to several NASCAR events as well as an Indy Car race. And you thought it was only Dixie that cared about fast cars driving in concentric circles until they all crash or run out of gas.

5. Mountain Climbing – Speaking of outdoor activities, the White Mountains boast the Presidentials, a series of tall peaks named after famous US Presidents. Mt. Washington is probably the most famous of the bunch and if you don’t feel like climbing the highest mountain in New England you can always drive your car to the top and purchase one of these decorative stickers. Hiking suites my fancy just fine, so long as it not black fly season. Black flies are the scourge of human existence and the single most effective means of population control in New Hampshire.

4. Big Buck Hunter – I’ve been informed by a colleague in the know that the appeal of this arcade game found commonly in bars across the Kancamagus is not the killing animals part but that it tests your quick twitch muscle response. Sounds a little fishy to me. Get a few Dr. McGillicuddy’s in you and shooting defenseless opossum sounds pretty entertaining.

3. Golf – Even though the official golf season exists for only a few fleeting months before the frost descends from the arctic and envelopes the entire state with a permafrost until the following May doesn’t mean that the Granite State is void of championship caliber golf courses. In high school I use to frequent a course where on the 18th hole you had to hit your tee shot over a 300 foot ravine. 9 times out of 10 I ended up at the bottom of the gorge having to take a drop by the ladies tees on the other side of the bridge. Humbling experience especially when the people you are playing with never seem to make the same mistake.

2. Rope Swings – You haven’t lived until you have been hit in the genitals by a long piece of knotted rope while free falling into the shallow, ice cold water of the Connecticut River.

1. Pond Hockey Tournament – I have friends who compete in an outdoor 3-on-3 hockey tournament held every winter on Lake Winnipesaukee. They tell me that some of the highlights include: no officials, a skate in and skate out Labatt Blue tent, and the fact that everyone is off the ice by 2pm which allows the “athletes” an optimal amount of time in one of the many Lakes Region greasy spoons.

view from The Rock courtesy of @JamesBellomo

Toney Douglas Falls Victim To Linsanity

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You know who I really feel for this Wednesday morning? Toney Douglas. Not only must Douglas deal with the extra “e” in his first name he must now wrestle with the simple fact that his role as the Knicks young point guard of the future has been usurped for all eternity by Jeremy Lin.

I see Douglas sitting on the Knicks bench, cheering on his teammates with great enthusiasm while wearing a crisp white towel around his neck and a loose fitting Adidas warmup tshirt without an ounce of sweat on it and I think about what could have been. What if he were able to run the high screen and roll with Tyson Chandler and Amare Stoudemire effectively or finish around the basket without care or concern for his body? What if he were able to match the point for point performance of the NBA’s 5th highest all time leading scorer or drill a 3 pointer at the buzzer to lead team his team to their sixth straight victory? What if he went to an Ivy League school or represented the hopes and dreams of the Asian American community as well as the miscast overachievers who spend entire playing careers working for just that one opportunity to show what they can do? What if?

But really, the story here is not about Tony, or Toney, Douglas. It’s all about Linsanity, with a hashtag. Just to make sure everyone understands how #lintoxicating it has become, Boomer & Carton both said this morning that they would not trade Jeremy Lin to the Orlando Magic for Dwight Howard. This is the same Jeremy Lin who less than a week ago was still sleeping on his brother’s couch. Now, thanks to a guaranteed contract and a new pair of custom Hyperfuses, Lin can afford to sublet former Knick David Lee’s posh White Plains high rise. No word as to whether or not Dwight Howard would find Trump Tower City Center up to snuff.

view from the Air Canada Centre courtesy of @YoungStones810

Whitney Houston’s Death Is A Good Time To Celebrate Our National Anthem

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I don’t care if it was prerecorded, Whitney Houston’s “Star Spangled Banner” before Super Bowl XXV in 1991 will always make me want to run through the ivy covered outfield wall at Wrigley Field. And not because I served in the first Gulf War or that “Saving All My Love For You” is my favorite song of all time. Neither is true. No actually it means so much to me because my high school use to play this version before all home basketball games which, not surprisingly, were the pinnacle of my pre lovemaking adolescence and sadly, early adulthood as well.

The pregame starting lineup intros set to the Chicago Bulls theme music where you low five teammates and run over to shake the hand of the opposing head coach was all prelude to the pulse pounding drama of the National Anthem. I can still smell the combination of layer upon layer of wood varnish combined with the sweat from a jersey long since overdue for a cleansing soak. Some members of our team chose to rest their hands in front of their bodies while others preferred the more traditional, patriotic right hand across the chest. I was a hands behind the back guy myself, probably because I saw Michael Jordan do it that way in 1996 during the NBA Finals against Shawn Kemp, Gary Payton, and the rest of the Seattle SuperSonics.

During the Anthem, it was impossible for me to keep my eyes focused on the American flag that hung in the corner of our dimly lit gymnasium, waving elegantly in front of the rock climbing wall we all use to scale during 3rd period PE with our gym teacher who we called “Stinger” which, the more I think about it, was pretty weird considering that he was a 75 year old guy with castor oil in his hair who usually wore what I could have sworn was a one piece maroon track suit made of velour. I would spend the majority of the Star Spangled Banner swaying backing forth on the balls of my feet like I now rock my 1 year old son to sleep, staring at a strip of maple floorboard just inches from the tips of my size 12 Nike Air Forces. I rarely scanned the crowd for fear of making eye contact with either an opponent or family member who could conceivably go on to to say that I was clearly distracted before the game which was the reason I picked up two cheap fouls early in the 1st quarter. The only time I did look towards the stands was when I had a girlfriend, which was very rare, and would glance in her general direction hoping she would reciprocate my sheepish advances. It’s sad that when I think back to girls in the stands during our basketball games I always picture them wearing several layers of fleece. That’s probably because I grew up in New Hampshire and the thermostat in our pre World War, the first one, gymnasium stopped working during the blizzard of ’78. It was either really cold or really hot, like a NYC subway.

By the final “Home of Brave” I was ready to pretty do anything my coach asked, which included taking a charge, making my free throws, and, most importantly, not fouling out before halftime. Now here we are, a mere days after Whitney Houston’s tragic death and I have a difficult time remember specific details about any of my actual varsity basketball games. But even today, almost 15 years after I graduated from high school, every time I hear that Anthem I want to stand up, put both my hands behind my back and rock back and forth. I hope that never changes.

view from the Staples Center courtesy of @bgirl123

 

Someone Draw Dick Vitale A Map To Murray Kentucky

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I once worked at a summer camp in upstate New York with a guy named Boog who graduated from Murray State. He was a massive individual, the sort of fellow whose landscape altering appearance was matched only by his deep baritone Appalachian drawl. Boog was working to become a certified NCAA basketball official, an endeavor which I found to be somewhat farcical considering his overbearing physical stature. (I always thought basketball refs should be built more like Dick Bavetta and less like Proposition Joe.) When Boog wasn’t talking about how to properly differentiate between a legal and illegal screen, you could usually find him sitting comfortably by the campfire extolling all the virtues of his alma mater. Before roasting marshmallows in the Adirondacks, I knew Murray State only as the upstart #15 seed that pushed perennial powers like Duke and Carolina to the brink of defeat in the first round of the NCAA tournament. Thanks to Boog I learned a great deal about the university and how the school provided for an entire community in western Kentucky.

Last night the 2011-2012 Murray State Racers lost their first basketball game of the season, falling to Tennessee State 72-68. The #9 team in the nation now faces a much more difficult task in their campaign to lure Dicky V to campus for their Bracketbuster game against St. Mary’s on February 18th.

I wonder if Boog will be officiating.

view from CFSB Center courtesy of @ericcrawford

The 1% Have Gathered For Their Annual Meeting At The Pebble Beach Pro-Am

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Does anyone have any idea how much money/clout/visibility/fame it takes to compete as an amateur in the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pr0-Am? I know it’s a public course and all but I assume that tournament organizers won’t allow just any slap-dick with $500 on one of the several fine courses of the Monterey Peninsula this weekend.

And another thing, how do they decide who plays with who? For instance, who decided it was a good idea to pair Trevor Immelman with George Lopez? Or what about Ryan Moore and Jim Harbaugh? I bet Moore is way to nonchalant for the always intense 49ers coach. Harbaugh is going to take one look at Moore’s argyle sweater vest/Sketchers golf spikes combo and recommend that the relaxed golfer take a lap around Spyglass Hill. I get the whole Woods/Romo thing (best golfers/largest galleries) and Chris Berman/JJ Henry (Chubby people from Connecticut) but a lot of these pairings just don’s seem to make any sense. I would really like to be a fly on the wall for when John Huh and Mike Aymar meet for the first time. On second thought, who are John Huh and Mike Aymar?

The real story this week is the return of Tiger Woods to the Pebble Beach National Pro-Am, a tournament he hasn’t visited  in 10 years. The Monterey Peninsula remains the site of one his greatest triumphs in professional golf, the 2000 US Open. It’s also interesting that Tiger has taken up the crusade against belly putters, referring to himself instead as a golfing “traditionalist”. It’ll be interesting to see what Tiger has to say about the anchored look once he develops the yips himself. Perhaps he should be much more compassionate and think about all the tournaments Tom Watson and Johnny Miller would have won if the belly putter were available back in their day.

The good news for me is that when you are a 20+ handicap it really doesn’t matter what kind of putter you use just as long as you don’t run out of golf ball by the 11th hole.

view from the 7th hole at Pebble Beach courtesy of @geoffogilvy