Today's dumbest story in sports: all-England edition

So it turns out Liverpool won the Premier League after all ... provided you only count goals scored by English players.

Yes, the New York Times brings us some research showing that game-by-game, if you only counted the goals by English players, Liverpool would have cruised to the title by nine points over Southampton and 16 over Manchester United. I actually would have guessed at the result before reading, as Steven Gerrard, Daniel Sturridge, Glen Johnson, Raheem Sterling and Jordan Henderson give Liverpool a strong English contingent.

As for Manchester City, the actual champions, they would have been relegated with a record of one win against eight losses and 29 draws.

The whole exercise is pretty silly. For starters, it only accounts for goals scored, not goals stopped. As leaky as Liverpool's defense was, it would have been even worse without Simon Mignolet (a Belgian) in goal and central defenders Kolo Toure (Ivory Coast), Daniel Agger (Denmark), Mamadou Sakho (France) and Martin Skrtel (Slovakia), although I'm not sure how Skrtel's four own-goals would count on the ledger.

But more importantly, and seriously, it's just pointless. It would be like someone saying baseball is America's National Pastime so let's see who won the World Series by counting statistics garnered by Americans (although that would mean no David Ortiz or Koji Uehara, so maybe that's not such a bad idea).

The timing of posting the standings if only English goals count is fortuitous, though, in that it's not only the day after the Premier League season ends, but also the day the English World Cup roster was announced. From what I understand, the lack of English players in the Premier League and its international impact is a source of much hand-wringing, with various attempts to figure out how to make things better.

However, as The Secret Footballer pointed out, the Premier League is a business, and a highly successful one, based on getting the best players from around the world.

"That flagship policy (reaching the semifinals of Euro 2020 and winning the 2022 World Cup) is undermined by a multibillion-pound elephant at the other end of the table. It’s called the Premier League and it doesn’t care if England never win the World Cup again."

So there's no need to fantasize about what the standings would look like in a Premier League of only English players; it's not going to happen.

Plus, it's not like England's international record isn't all that stellar when most of the players in its top league were English. There's a reason why 1966 is a magical year there.

Liverpool, the sweet and the bitter

So bloody close, but yet so bloody far

If you just told a Liverpool fan these facts back in August:

• that the team would go from seventh in the Premier League to second, get back into the Champions League and take the title race down to the final day,
• that they would score more than 100 goals and play in an entertaining, crowd-pleasing manner,
• that Luis Suarez would go from being suspended and wanting out to leading the league in goals, teaming with Daniel Sturridge (once again, and I cannot say it enough, thank you Chelsea) to form the often-unstoppable SAS, signing a new contract and being named PFA Player of the Year,
• that they would not only sweep Manchester United, but that United would have such a terrible season that David Moyes would surpass Roy Hodgson at Liverpool in the pantheon of managerial hires that seemed to make sense at the time but turned out so, so wrong,
• that Brendan Rodgers, unlike Hodgson, would prove to be a brilliant hire who can't sign that new contract soon enough, 
• that Steven Gerrard would find a new home as a holding midfielder and in so doing revitalize his career,
• that Jordan Henderson would actually turn into a good player,
• that Raheem Sterling would start living up to his immense potential
• and that they would lay waste to Arsenal in a display that makes me want to have "How many do you want? HOW MANY DO YOU WANT?" as the ringtone on my phone ...

... he or she would be pretty pleased with how the campaign would go, right? I mean, sure, it would have been disappointing to not win it, but that's still a wonderful season.
However ... what that Liverpool fan wouldn't have known then, but would know now, is how close they were to taking the title. It actually would have been fairly preposterous had they pulled it off, as they would have had to improve upon their 2014 record of 15 wins, three draws and one loss either by eliminating the loss, making the loss a tie and winning one of the ties or winning two of the ties ... basically anything adding up to three or more points.
Yet it looked like they were going to do it. After all, following the 1-1 draw against West Bromwich Albion Feb. 2, Liverpool won 11 in a row through April 27. There was open talk about Liverpool winning the trophy, and The Guardian even ran a story profiling the 20 players that brought them to the cusp of the title.
Then Chelsea's Jose Mourinho parked the bus, Gerrard fell down, Demba Ba remembered for one of the few times this year that his job is to put balls in the back of the net ... and Liverpool effectively kissed the title goodbye. Losing a three-goal lead to Crystal Palace didn't help, either, but the Chelsea loss was the opening Manchester City needed, and they weren't going to lose again.
So the season, brilliant as it was, ends in the disappointment of knowing that a trophy was there for the taking but not taken. Sure, it's easy to say that Liverpool will be back, that the current players will improve, young players who weren't ready to crack the roster this year will earn places and that the team will make additional astute signings, particularly to address the lack of depth and leaky defense.
And maybe they will be, but nothing's guaranteed. This year, the possibility of a Liverpool title was getting a "Yeah, but," as in "Yeah, they might win the title, but their players are in better shape because they're not playing in Europe." Next year, Liverpool will be in the Champions League, which is obviously great, but it does tax the roster.
You also have to assume that Manchester City will continue to spend whatever it takes to win and that Chelsea will try to find strikers who can actually score goals. Everton showed signs of being really good this year. Maybe Tottenham Hotspur will finally figure it out. 
Arsenal actually topped the table for a long stretch before falling off, and Manchester United seemingly has too much talent to stay down long if they get the right manager (something I frequently remind my mate Gardner of when he's feeling too down about life). 
In other words, just because Liverpool had a great year this year, nothing is guaranteed for next year. It could be the last step toward a title, or as close as the club gets for a long time.
And the worst part is, there are no shortcuts. There is actually no one who will be able to say in August with any more certainty than a prediction that Liverpool hoists the trophy a year from now. It's a journey that kicks off in a few months and won't end for another year.
Let the next journey begin. 

A walk through the Garden

And there it is ... right down the street from my hotel.

I'm not a big "bucket list" type of guy. Sure, there are things I'd like to do, but I don't look at doing them as another item checked off.

But of the few things I'd like to do but haven't yet, going to an event at Madison Square Garden is near the top of that list. Not only is it in New York City with that famed, distinct architecture sitting right atop Penn Station, it has an aura that I struggled to define as I was thinking about it. 

What I came up with is that no matter the event -- Knicks, Rangers, the real Big East men's basketball tournament, concerts, wrestling (even the way wrestlers would walk to the ring looked different, entering from the side and with a shorter walk, seemingly into a mass of humanity) -- the Garden seems to fit the event, like there was never a more natural place for it. Nothing ever seems out of place.

As he so often does, Jeff Jacobs of the Hartford Courant got it just right before the Rangers and Flyers played in the seventh game of their playoff series Wednesday night.

Wow. Place looks different from the last time I was here for Michigan State-UConn.#game7 pic.twitter.com/7ZzEfZVSMD
— Jeff Jacobs (@jacobscourant) April 30, 2014

I had actually momentarily forgotten that this year's East Regional was at MSG, and not just because the NCAA, in its finite wisdom, continues to insist on generic floors. For on Wednesday, the Garden was a hockey arena hosting a massive game that had the whole city buzzing.

Mrs. Last Honest and I spent a few days in New York this week, staying at the New Yorker hotel right down the street from the arena. While we didn't go to the Rangers-Flyers game (we were supposed to see the Yankees and Mariners that night, a game washed away by the all-day and all-night rain, and I wasn't up to spending the hundreds of dollars it would have taken to go to the hockey game), we did take a tour the previous day.

Wow ... just wow.

The tour wasn't perfect. I understand the guide (who was actually delightful, plus she was working off a format, anyway) was trying to inform us about the renovations at MSG, but I really don't care about tile patterns or the high-class offerings in the food court. Also, if there is going to be a stop for people to have their photos taken with hockey sticks or basketballs, it should be before or after the tour and not in the middle, and people shouldn't have to get their picture taken if they don't want to.

All these did was take time away from what people wanted ... which was to be in the arena.

It's always exciting to walk into a stadium or an arena, but there are some that are more meaningful than others. As I was sitting there, listening to our guide talk about how the rink is put together and the changeover from hockey to basketball, there was only one thing I could think of.

I'm in Madison Square Garden. I'm in Madison. Square. Garden.

Now I just have to get to a game there someday.

The dumbest stories in sports (Part 2)

The NFL schedule for next season was released tonight, and apparently that is cause for much rejoicing.

The NFL Schedule will be released tonight. Block off your Sundays, Mondays, and Thursdays accordingly.
— ESPN (@espn) April 23, 2014

So that got Mrs. Last Honest and I to thinking ... what sporting events would happen between tonight (April 23) and the first game of the NFL season Sept. 4? Here's what we came up with:

• The remainder of the NBA and NHL playoffs.
• More than four months of the Major League Baseball season, including the All-Star Game.
• The College World Series.
• The Little League World Series.
• The Baseball Hall of Fame induction.
• The NFL, NBA, MLB and NHL drafts.
• The World Cup.
• The end of this Premier League season ... and the start of the next one.
• The French Open, Wimbledon and most of the U.S. Open.
• The British Open, the U.S. Open and the PGA Championship.
• The Indianapolis 500, Coca-Cola 600 and Grand Prix of Monaco ... all on the same day.
• The WNBA regular season. 
• The Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont.
• The opening of the Canadian Football League season (by the way, they announced their schedule in February).
• The Tour de France.
• The Floyd Mayweather-Marcos Maidana fight.

But by all means, let's obsess over the NFL schedule.

The dumbest stories in sports (Part 1)

Let me make this one really simple:

1. Jacoby Ellsbury was an important player for the Boston Red Sox.

2. Jacoby Ellsbury left the Boston Red Sox to join the New York Yankees, and took more money to do so.

3. Red Sox fans booed Jacoby Ellsbury last night when he came back to Boston for the first time.

This was always going to happen, and will happen every time Ellsbury goes back to Boston the rest of his career. (Here's to hoping Red Sox fans consult their dictionaries before it happens again.) There was no point speculating whether it was going to happen. There was no point commenting on it when it did happen.

There was actually no point in criticizing Red Sox fans who did it. I don't agree with it, and won't be booing Robinson Cano when I see the Yankees play the Mariners at Yankee Stadium next week, but all the criticism in the world won't change it.

And there will be no point in commenting on it when it happens in the future.

UConn's basketball art

When Mrs. Last Honest and I first started dating in September 2000, she explained to me how Connecticut women's basketball worked ... namely that there would be a few other top teams that could give them a game, but they would blow the rest of them out.

And she was right. Following the UConn women -- and thanks to the Internet, we've been able to see their games that aren't televised nationally either on Connecticut Public Television, SNY or ESPN's streaming service -- has meant seeing a lot of games where the competitive portion lasts for five minutes if the opposition was lucky. (This year, I discovered that sometimes the most-entertaining part of the game is watching John Altavilla of the Hartford Courant on Twitter as he watches the game.)

But it has also meant seeing last night.

The competition in women's basketball isn't particularly deep. The Connecticut men winning the national championship as a seventh seed (and beating eighth-seeded Kentucky to do it) was implausible; the thought of a women's seven seed doing it is, at this time, unthinkable.

This, however, was Notre Dame -- the second-ranked team in the country, also undefeated, also crushing everything in its path and with a recent history of beating the Huskies to boot. So it wasn't a shock that even without Natalie Achonwa, the Irish whittled UConn's early big early lead to as low as five and ultimately seven by the end of the first half.

And then UConn came out in the second half and absolutely boat-raced Notre Dame. What shaped up as a possible classic instead became a coronation.

Yet whether it's against Notre Dame or the dregs of their schedule, when the UConn women are right, as they so frequently are, what they're doing is less basketball and more artistry, their competition less the players in the other uniforms and more the possibilities of what can be done on a basketball court ...as long as your definition of good basketball doesn't require male physical size, strength and athleticism.

Sometimes, this actually gets them in what passes for trouble. They can do so many things, it's almost like they sometimes feel a need to show them all, and the gears grind for a while. Last night, however, was no such problem. They threw the ball inside early and often, mostly to Stefanie Dolson and Breanna Stewart, because the Irish had nothing for them, and wouldn't have had enough even if Achonwa was playing.

When it works ... oh, when it works. The players have changed from Sue Bird and Diana Taurasi from when I started watching to Dolson, Stewart and the rest of this year's Huskies, but the way they pass, shoot, defend, run the floor and see ... see what's going on and make a play accordingly ... can be a joy to behold.

That's why I wish the people who say, "Who cares? They're just women" would stop caring that, yes, women are smaller, slower and less athletic than men (which is simple biology, that's all, not a sign of male superiority in all things) and actually watch the UConn women play.

Because they might just see a masterpiece.

Baseball means spring ... except in the Northeast

When the phone rang, I knew it was my brother, and I knew why he was calling.

It was the morning of May 18, 2002, and my brother was going to rendezvous with me, my then-fiancee (now my wife) and her parents outside Albany, NY, for a trip to Yankee Stadium for that afternoon's game between the Yankees and Twins.

The weather, however, was nasty, and my brother was calling to ask if we were still planning to go. When I told him we were, he replied, "You do know it's snowing here, right?"

While we were just getting rain, my brother, who lived at a higher elevation about 40 minutes away, was indeed getting snow. I reassured him, however, that not only were we going, but that the rain was projected to stop by about 10:30, plenty of time before the game was supposed to start.

I'm not sure how much he believed me, but he came down to meet us, and the five of us piled into the car and headed to New York.

* * * * *

The arrival of baseball season, starting with images of spring training from Florida and Arizona, means spring is on the way.

It just seems like the Northeast is the last place it arrives.

Seeing snow on the ground this morning at my home outside Boston, since it's both March 31 and the more-or-less opening day of the baseball season (minus the Australia games, last night's ESPN opener and the teams who don't start until tomorrow), put me in a mood. I may have referred to where I live as a "frozen hellhole" at one point.

One of the guys who works for me may have been a little surprised, since he knows I grew up in upstate New York. The conversation brought back memories of my high school baseball days, when sometimes we practiced in weather so cold that I couldn't make my hands work well enough to zip up my pants afterward, so I wore my practice gear home.

The game schedule was more or less a wish list, since a lot of them were going to be called off, and getting anything done required a lot of practice indoors. My high school coach had all sorts of creative ideas for things we could do in the gym, complete with several soft baseballs he had acquired for that purpose.

One of those drills was going to be him pitching from one corner of the gym to a batter positioned near the batting net alongside the divider that split the gym in two, where the softball team was probably trying to get some work in of their own. Imagining balls flying around the gym and scattering other players doing their drills, I wasn't quite sure how it would work, but I never got a chance to find out.

You see, I was going to be the first batter in the drill, but while the coach was warming up, one of my return throws slipped out of my batting glove and short-hopped him in the last place any man wants to be short-hopped.

End of drill.

* * * * *

It was cold, but fortunately for us, dry.

When my boy Poopsie turned 30 a few years ago, we celebrated his birthday at Fenway Park. The game the between the Red Sox and Rays the night before had been suspended, and the weather the next night wasn't much better. The good news was that one of Poopsie's friends had connections that let us get tickets right behind home plate, under cover.

So while it was a chilly night, we were at least dry to see the end of the game from the night before, plus the regularly scheduled game. I tried to be clever by wearing my Durham Bulls hat, but since one of the guys in our group used to live in Durham, he realized what I was going for, since the Bulls are Tampa Bay's top farm team.

Since the MBTA only just started realizing people stay out late on the weekends, those of us who took the train had to leave early, but between the two games, we got to see about nine innings of baseball.

However, I'm hoping that the next time Poopsie and I hit a game, it'll be in Philadelphia, where he lives now, and that it won't be freezing.

* * * * *

The weather forecasts I had seen were correct, and the rain pretty much stopped at about 10:30, as we were approaching New York. 

We got there early, so we found a bar near the stadium where we could get lunch and watch Jason Giambi's walk-off grand slam from the night before. We all knew what was coming. We all cheered, anyway.

It didn't rain anymore, but it was cold ... as in wear-your-winter-jacket cold. The cold would have been bad enough, but the wind was also blowing hard from left field to right ... and we were in the right field box seats.

Did I mention that this wasn't March 18, not April 18 ... but May 18?

At least the Yankees won, but ever since then, I've been loathe to go to any games at Yankee Stadium early in the season. If I'm going to freeze my tail off at a ballgame, I can do it a lot closer to home.