Bye Bye Birdie

It's ready-made material for comedy writers: an Olympic badminton scandal! 8 players have been DQ'd in London after tanking their matches, and around the world, you can hear the clucks of disapproval.

The legendary British sportsman Lord Sebastian Coe called it "depressive" and "unacceptable". Fans in the arena booed as doubles squads from China, South Korea, and Indonesia played a brand of badminton that would have gotten you booed out of last weekend's family reunion tournament. There was nothing subtle about the way each side tried to out-tank the other, patty-caking serves into the net, allowing the shuttlecock to drop unmolested, standing stock-still instead of darting about the court.

I've watched this farce several times, and I gained a weird kind of respect for the players involved. The crowd was booing, tournament officials were growing increasingly frantic (at one point issuing a disqualifying "black card", but then rescinding it), and yet the stoic players continued their non-efforts.

Naturally, the vast majority of people who hear about this are branding the Shuttlecock Eight as losers, poor sports, and worse. But when you dig a bit deeper into this story, you might come to a different conclusion. I did.

Here's the thing: If I asked you to define the goal of an Olympic athlete, you'd answer without hesitation: "Win a gold medal." Easy, right?

Maybe not. What happened on that badminton court in London was, perversely, because the players wanted to win gold. And it wasn't totally unexpected.

Badminton's governing body sowed the seeds of this weedpatch by changing the Olympic badminton tournament from a "knockout" event (lose once and you go home) to a pool-play format, where teams play several preliminary-round matches and then the top teams from each group advance to the knockout rounds.  It wasn't a popular decision; many in the sport sensed that it could lead to teams throwing matches to arrange a more favorable slot in the round of 16. In fact, on the very day of The Great London Tanking, the Australian coach implored officials to at least schedule all the pool-round matches simultaneously so no team would be able to game the system.

Naturally, the Lords of Shuttlecock ignored the pleas and the rest is history. 8 athletes are being sent home in shame for, essentially, trying to give themselves a better shot at a gold medal. I'm fascinated by the negative reaction; are people similarly outraged when a runner eases her way to the finish line in a heat, knowing she's secured a slot in the next round?

Much of the opprobrium centers on the notion of sportsmanship. But let's circle back: if the goal of the endeavor is to win a medal, is it "unsportsmanlike" to try to put yourself in a position to win it? Each match in the tournament is merely a step toward the goal, not an end in and of itself.

If anyone should be sent packing, it's the badminton poobahs. They set the trap into which 8 women stepped in pursuit of Olympic glory. Talk about disrespecting the sport--a bunch of guys in blazers and ties are the ones who should be called out.

Epic Futility

The 2012 Oakland A's are chasing history.

In an homage to the past, let's call them the "Swingin' (and Missin') A's".  As I write this, the A's are sitting on a team batting average of .210. If they can keep (not) pounding out the hits at this rate, they'll break one of baseball's oldest records: the lowest team batting average for a season. The reigning "champs" of the Modern Era (since 1900) are the 1910 Chicago White Sox.

The "No-Go Sox" of 1910 are often portrayed as having posted a .212 team batting average. Not so. The Baseball-Reference.com entry for the '10 Sox proves the team hit only .211 (and even that required some "rounding up", because those Sox hit only .210859 as a team).

More than a quarter of the way through the season, the A's pattern seems set: these guys would have trouble hitting water if they fell out of a boat. Only one regular has credible numbers: outfielder Josh Reddick is hitting .275. His 11 home runs and 24 RBI's top the team and project to full season of .275/39/86. Imagine this bunch without him.

Several regulars are below the Mendoza Line. Second baseman Jemile Weeks is parked at .199, which is embarrassing--but at least he's not the worst hitter in his family. Big brother Ricky, the Brewers' All-Star second baseman, is hitting .155 and leads the free world in strikeouts. Note to Jemile: don't call him for help.

You could argue--heck, I am arguing--that the A's are even more pathetic than those long-ago White Sox. Let's not forget: 1910 was in baseball's "dead-ball era". Reddick's 11 home runs are 4 more than the whole 1910 Sox team hit for the season.  And: 1910 was a long, long time before the designated-hitter rule. That's right, the A's are building their paltry numbers without having to send their pitchers up to hit.

The 1910 White Sox pitching staff hit .196. Factor them out, and the team's batting average rises to .212. Sure, A's pitchers will get a few at-bats in interleague games. Not many so far: the pitchers went 0-5 at AT&T Park, the only series in which the A's have played without a DH this year.

Who knows how this happened? You have to feel for A's "hitting" coach Chili Davis, whose 19-year major league career stats (2380 hits, 350 home runs) must seem to this bunch as if they were written in an ancient, dead language.

The crazy thing is that, for all their offensive anemia, the A's are within 2 games of a wild card playoff spot at the moment. But that crummy batting average is actually a good thing: even if they fall out of the playoff chase, their pursuit of history will keep us watching them, right down to the final out of the season.

Does It Pencil Out?

When you hear Golden State Warriors co-owner Joe Lacob confidently declare that a half-billion dollar arena will be built on the San Francisco waterfront, you may be forgiven if you respond with a bit of an eye-roll.  We've heard all this before, right?

The obstacles seem pretty obvious. Let's begin with the whole idea of building a gleaming sports palace atop a crumbling bunch of pier pilings (we're talking about Piers 30/32 south of the Bay Bridge, a site now used to park cars for Giants game--and only on the parts that haven't started falling into the Bay). The estimates say it might cost $100 million just to stabilize everything so they can start building on top of it.

Then you have the whole murky morass that is San Francisco politics. Sure, Mayor Ed Lee says he wants this to be his "legacy project" and the whole Board of Supervisors signed a letter inviting the Warriors to make the move. But nothing ever proceeds in a straight line in San Francisco and I'd be shocked if somebody didn't try to block this deal. It's just the way things work in The City.

But the thing that really grabs your attention is the price tag. $500 million, all from the private sector. It's not that the deep-pocketed owners don't have that kind of coin. You just wonder if a half-billion dollar basketball barn represents a good use of their capital.

And then you enter the parallel universe of sports economics. It's the universe in which some experts think the buyers of the Los Angeles Dodgers got a bargain at $2 billion.

Here's the deal on an arena: it's not just for basketball games. In fact, Warriors games would make up only a fraction of the revenue for this waterfront complex.  You're talking rock concerts, circus dates, ice skating spectaculars, conventions and so on and so on, more than 200 dates a year. Add in the cash from the possible restaurant/retail component. And don't forget one of the basic truths of any stadium or arena: even with the escalating prices of the "cheap" seats, the real cash comes from the luxury suites.

In fact, sports management expert Robert Boland of New York University says luxury suite revenue equals that from all the other seats in the building. Boland calls a project like the Warriors arena basically a massive "catering operation" in which the cash flow from concessions, restaurants, retail and the like builds into a big river of money that makes the whole thing profitable and maybe very profitable.

Some people wondered if Lacob and Warriors co-owner Peter Guber were a little crazy when they bought the team and started talking about building the underperforming team into an international brand. The jury's still out on that, but if you're going to go long, you need to take some risks. While $500 million seems like a big roll of the dice, the potential payback makes it the obvious play--and the odds aren't as long as they might seem.

I Never Thought I'd Say This...

...but I was thrilled to see the fans at Dodger Stadium doing The Wave and giddy when one of their beach balls landed on the warning track and delayed the game.

"What?", you're saying. "I thought you were the crusty traditionalist who abhorred that kind of junk."

Well, I'd rather not be called "crusty", but generally, yeah. I've always taken a rather dim view of the show-up-late, leave-early, la-de-da LA fans.

But this is different.  This was a celebration. The Wicked Witch is dead.

Last night's Dodger Stadium crowd, more than 44,000 strong, came partly to see the renewal of the Giants-Dodgers rivalry. But the real reason they were there was to celebrate the renaissance of one of the proudest franchises in American sports after the dark years of Frank McCourt's ownership.

Before the Dodgers took the field, the joy was in the air. Dodger Hall of Famer Don Newcombe, Rachel Robinson (widow of the legendary Dodger Jackie Robinson), and new Dodgers part-owner Magic Johnson handled the ceremonial first pitch. Magic later bellowed, "It's time for Dodger baseball!", and with that, the process of erasing the bad memory of the McCourt era revved into high gear.

Frank McCourt and his wife Jamie managed to drag the once-proud Dodgers franchise into their world of obscene spending and personal bickering. They used the Dodgers as the ATM for their own profligate lifestyle, eventually running the team into bankruptcy and forcing Major League Baseball to take over.

Let's not forget: when the Giants paid their first visit to Dodger Stadium last year, the once-proud stadium sported filthy restrooms dotted with graffiti and Giants fan Bryan Stow was beaten into a coma in the lawless parking lot.

It couldn't be more different now. It's a new beginning in LA. Even if you bleed orange-and-black, you had to be happy to see that beach ball on the warning track.

Really, NHL?

The video clip you'll see below is disgusting. You'll see one hockey player try to behead another one.

What's even more disgusting is that the perpetrator, Raffi Torres, is such a known quantity, such a repeat offender, that his very presence on the ice is an indictment of a sport that says it's trying to clean up its act, but does nothing about it. In fact, Torres was not even penalized for the hit on Chicago's Marian Hossa.

He will, of course, be suspended. But Torres has been suspended and fined many times in the past for exactly this same sort of play. And yet he's continually allowed back on the ice. The NHL, the Phoenix Coyotes (his current employers/co-conspirators) and all who profit from hockey mayhem (yes, hockey broadcast and cable networks, I mean you) share in the blame here.

Torres is not the only thug in hockey. He's incredibly lucky to have made millions playing a sport that allows his sorry act to continue. But he's hardly alone. The NHL has taken baby steps toward addressing violence, brain damage, and dirty play--yet every time it allows a Raffi Torres to assault a Marian Hossa, the sport falls deeper into the slime.

Torres' despicable act occurred during live action. Much of the NHL's brutality happens after the whistle, when the ritualized Kabuki of the hockey fight occurs. Lame apologists will tell you that fighting is part of the sport but of course, it's not. College and Olympic matches don't tolerate it. The NHL doesn't need to, either.

But the same losers who let Torres keep going to work are making it clear: they're fine with all this. I ask you, hockey fans: are you?

Small Sample Size

Random thoughts after the first weekend of the baseball season (OK, I know the A's and Mariners played in Japan a while back, but still...) :

• The Giants probably won't go 0-162. But watching their Big Three starters get hammered in Phoenix can't be good for the confidence. Barry Zito as stopper? You may now exhale.
• Thanks, MLB, for giving the A's a Sunday off day. That'll help build fan interest.
• Yoenis Cespedes is the real deal. The A's Cuban import homered in his first two Oakland starts. The Friday night blast is still rattling around out there somewhere. The Saturday shot came after he'd been drilled by Seattle ace Felix Hernandez earlier in the game. Cespedes made a point after the game of saying he though King Felix hit him on purpose. This guy is a big-leaguer.
• Am I making too much of Buster Posey's shaky defense in the first series of the season? A bobbled chopper, a throwing error on a stolen-base attempt and a mental mistake (failed to touch the plate on a force-out play). Not the Buster we know and love.
• I may be forced to eat these words later, but I think Brandon Crawford is going to be fine. The Giants' young shortstop made a key error against the Diamondbacks but also made several impressive defensive plays--and delivered a nice opposite-field RBI double.
• Brandon Belt needs something. He earned the Giants first base job with a solid spring, but had a rough weekend against Arizona.
• I like the A's outfield of Coco Crisp, Cespedes, and Josh Reddick (left to right). The A's have a near-zero chance of slipping past Texas or the Angels, but their offense ought to be a little more interesting this year.
• Bobby Valentine and the Red Sox are 0-3. Again: Bobby Valentine and the Red Sox are 0-3.

A Star In The Making

The records will show 6,644 paying customers saw it in person at Phoenix Municipal Stadium, and a few thousand more tuned in to watch on Bay Area TV.

What they saw on Saturday may someday be remembered fondly as the coming-out party for a guy who could easily become a Very Big Deal.

Yoenis Cespedes is a 26-year-old legend in Cuban baseball but a virtual unknown here in the States. My guess is that, despite playing in the relative anonymity of Oakland, Cespedes will soon be a household name in baseball circles.

Until Saturday, he was little more than a myth to most fans. An imposing physical specimen, Cespedes looks like he could easily be an NFL running back. His defection from Cuba last summer opened the door to a Major League Baseball career, and the A's surprised a lot of people when they nailed down a 4-year-deal with him just before Spring Training opened.

Until Saturday, Cespedes was doing all his damage in batting practice and "simulated games", which are a slightly-more-realistic form of BP. Reporters and the small handful of fans who hung around the A's Papago Park complex were impressed, but batting practice is batting practice.

And then Cespedes dug in for his first real at-bat in a Major League uniform (which, by the way, he wears like a superstar). On the mound: Johnny Cueto, the Reds righthander whose 2.31 ERA last year ranked as one of the best in baseball.

Anyone would have forgiven Cespedes for trying to do something heroic in a hurry. Instead, he displayed the patience and pitch recognition of a veteran hitter and drew a walk off Cueto. In his second at-bat, he lined a single up the middle. He punctuated his coming-out party in his final at-bat, fouling off several pitches before ripping a loud, no-doubt-about it home run.

A's fans who've been griping about what they see as management futility may still not be satisfied; the team is in a tough division and may remain far short of competitive. But they should take heart in the knowledge that in Yoenis Cespedes, the A's have a player you have to watch.

It's a long way from starring for Granma Alazanes in the Cuban National Series to starring in the Major Leagues. But anyone who saw Yoenis Cespedes' debut has to believe it's more than possible--it appears probable.