Real Sports

Usually, the weeks leading up to the first weekend of college football can be pretty long and boring in the sports department, especially in recent years where the Atlanta Braves have not been in contention in August for anything save the choice of select tee times at Atlanta’s finest country clubs in October. But tonight has been a rare exception. In addition to the Braves, the Warner Robins All Stars are playing Chula Vista, California in the semifinals of the Little League World Series. And on the NFL Network, the Jacksonville Jaguars played the Philadelphia Eagles—and Michael Vick.

For months, Michael Vick has been hovering on the periphery of the headlines, as reporters covered his bankruptcy, prison release, and ultimately his signing by the Philadelphia Eagles. Even though Jessie Jackson compared him to Jackie Robinson—sorry, I can’t do that one justice—Vick was a mediocre quarterback at best in Atlanta. His career completion rate hardly made it above fifty percent. But when it came to being a thug, he was all-world. He’s a convicted felon. He apparently tried to smuggle pot through an airport, so he’s probably not remembered as a scholar athlete from Virginia Tech. And he flipped off the Atlanta fans after an ugly loss.

On a day when Ted Kennedy’s death probably should have still led the headlines, regardless of what you think of him, Vick’s smirking mug accompanied the lead story of ESPN, the Atlanta Journal and Constitution, and even the Wall Street Journal. You would have thought Elvis was singing the national anthem. I watched a few minutes of the Eagles’ preseason game. I’m not sure why—curiosity I suppose. Maybe I was hoping to see PETA members charge the field, flying batteries, or the warden from “Cool Hand Luke” show up for a beat-down. The Philadelphia fans cheered wildly every time Vick entered the field, albeit only six times. And Vick was anything but spectacular.

I suppose as a Christian I’m supposed to be all about forgiveness. But its difficult when I’m so tired of our society celebrating overpaid thug athletes. Remember Ray Lewis? Did you too wonder why Dante Stallworth got a 30-day sentence after being convicted for vehicular manslaughter after killing a pedestrian while driving drunk. How did Pacman Jones keep an NFL job?

But tonight, there was an uplifting alternative airing on ESPN. While the Warner Robins All-Stars couldn’t pull out a victory, losing in the bottom of the last inning, they and their California opponents put on a clinic in sportsmanship. For every fault found in professional sports, the volunteers and players in Little League Baseball have it all right. They didn’t win. And they didn’t commit any crimes and go on to garner headlines for months. Instead, they played baseball for the best reason—for fun. So while the kids from Warner Robins are done and headed back to school, they go home winners in my book. Let’s see some more headlines about that.

It Must Be Spring

After one last cold snap, complete with a hard frost, Spring seems to have the dreariness of winter in a stranglehold. What are the signs, you might ask? Perhaps they are not all that I could hope for, or not even what many might imagine. Nonetheless, signs are here.

Last Sunday, the Atlanta Braves started off the 2009 baseball season with a win over the Philadelphia Phillies. And Thursday, the roars of patrons filled the air once again at Augusta. If it’s Master week, it must also be Easter. And today, the University of Georgia once again managed a victory in their Spring Game.

On Wednesday, my latest photography purchase was delivered. No longer will I need to rent a Nikon 70-200, f2.8. And today, I had an opportunity to put this magnificent lens to work at an Easter Egg Hunt. Despite harsh sunlight, deep shadows, snapshot seeking parents, and kids swarming like sugar seeking sharks in full frenzy, I managed to capture a few nice shots that convinced me of the value of this lens. (entire set) Ruggedly built, tack sharp, and delivering beautifully smooth bokey, this is a serious lens.

In the deep South, the wonderful days of Spring are fleeting, giving way quickly to the uncomfortable and unceasing heat and humidity of Summer. So armed with a bit more photography hardware, I’m going to bask in the glow of Spring’s sunshine and seek out a few more shots like these.

An Era Ended

Like hundreds of thousands of Atlanta Braves fans across the Southeast, I was shocked to learn this morning that John Smoltz was gone—suddenly and unexpectedly the newest member of the Boston Red Sox. For me and for so many, it’s the end of an era.

I grew up in a home where sports weren’t that big of a deal. And it was a home where we got only three television channels for most of my childhood. I was a sophomore at Mercer University the first time I could get cable television. And very quickly, I became hooked on Atlanta Braves baseball, night after night on TBS.

I remember Smoltz’s first year, 1988. He seemingly threw more wild pitches than strikes. But when he did get one across the plate, it was nearly impossible to hit. But just a couple of years later, Smoltz and the likes of Glavine, Avery, Pendleton, and Bream—undoubtedly the slowest man to ever captivate millions with a run—had gone from worst to first.

And so now, after twenty seasons, 210 wins, 154 saves, and 3011 strikeouts, Smoltz’s days as a Brave are apparently done. My first reaction was shock, then a bit of anger at Smoltz. But after a quick bit of analysis, I quickly realized that John Smoltz may have been a good guy, taken for granted, seeking to find one more chance at a dream.

It certainly was no surprise to the Braves that Smoltz’s contract was up. And instead of locking in their most tenured player, a fan favorite and absolute lock for the Hall of Fame, the Braves’ front office bumbled and stumbled their way through a winter of embarrassing rejections, ugly agent incidents, and general frustration of players and fans alike. Surrounded by dwindling talent and facing the prospect of playing what could be his last season on a very mediocre team, Smoltz traded his dream of retiring a Brave for one more chance at hope and glory.

Over his career, John Smoltz has pitched through pain and passed up opportunities for bigger money and bigger stages to remain a Brave—unquestionable loyalty. But perhaps taken for granted, given no promise of future success, Smoltz took a gutsy chance. How many of us have endured tough situations, devoid of hope, griped in fear of change or even misplaced loyalty? Right now, Braves fans are shocked and mourning the loss of a superstar who seemed like a close friend. But chances are pretty good that come next fall, when the Braves are working on their golf games for yet another fall, more than a few southerners may be pulling for Smoltz once again, in a Red Sox uniform.