Dream Fulfilled

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In two days, the 2012 Summer Olympics will begin, and most sports fans will turn their attention to London for two weeks.

But it is worth remembering that 20 years ago today, America's professional "Dream Team" basketball squad made its debut at the Summer Olympics in Barcelona.

The 1992 Summer Games are remembered for many reasons:

• They were the last Summer Olympics to be held in the same year as the Winter Olympics.
• For the first time in more than 30 years, South Africa was allowed to compete.
• For the first time in nearly 30 years, Germany competed as a united country.
• The countries that had formed the Soviet Union until the year before were allowed to compete as a Unified Team.
  
  Under that banner, they won more medals than any other country.

And it was the first time that pro basketball players were allowed to compete; the United States formed its team from the very best the NBA had — Michael Jordan, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson.

The 1988 Olympic squad had been quite talented, too, but all the players were college players, and they finished third. Hopes were high in America in 1992, higher than they had been in, perhaps, 20 years — ever since the United States lost a controversial gold–medal game to the Soviet Union at the 1972 Games and refused to accept the silver medal.

For 20 years, that loss to the Soviets had gnawed at the American psyche. Prior to that day, the United States had not lost an Olympic basketball game since the sport was added to Olympic competition in 1936. The Americans had practically sailed through their first eight games, but they found themselves trailing the Russians at halftime and struggling in the final minutes.

With three seconds showing on the clock, the Americans were fouled and a player was awarded two free throws. He made the first and was in the process of shooting the second when the buzzer sounded; the Soviets had called a timeout. The player continued with his shot and made it, giving the Americans a one–point lead.

Under the rules that existed at the time, the ball was live, but play was stopped when the Soviets insisted they had called a timeout. There was some commotion at the scorers' table, play resumed and, eventually, the Soviets scored and won the game. The timeout and the ensuing sequence of events was a sore spot that never completely healed.

Even when the U.S. hockey team beat the mighty Soviet team in the 1980 Winter Games, the loss by the 1972 basketball team lingered and festered.

The Dream Team avenged the 1972 defeat and the disappointing 1988 finish in a big way — they went undefeated at Barcelona, winning every game by an average margin of 44 points. The Americans beat the Croatians twice, including in the gold–medal game, and Croatia did manage to hold the United States to its two lowest winning margins — 32 and 33 points.

The Americans' most lopsided victory came in the opener, a 116–48 win over Angola. The United States never scored fewer than 103 points, and its opposition never scored more than 85. And neither happened in the same game.

The Dream Team was kind of anticlimactic, though.

I mean, with all that talent, all that star power, it was practically regarded as a foregone conclusion that the U.S. basketball team would win the gold medal — and that none of the games would be close.

It all went as expected, too. There was no real suspense, no real drama. Only a diehard basketball fan could probably tell you who the Americans defeated in the gold–medal game.

But, for a true sports enthusiast, the absence of even a hint of uncertainty about the eventual outcomes, rendered the games mildly interesting. The only real issues to be settled were which player(s) would lead the team in scoring and rebounds.

Few championship games in any sport, amateur or professional, have been as lopsided as the U.S.'s game with Croatia. The U.S. did trail Croatia — briefly — in the first half, but that was about as much suspense as there was in any of the Dream Team's games.

When it was over, Sports Illustrated suggested that the Dream Team had been the most dominant team ever assembled in any sport.

I doubt that anyone argued the point.

The Conspiracy of Silence

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"The most saddening finding is the total disregard by the most senior leaders at Penn State for the safety and welfare of Sandusky's child victims. ... Four of the most powerful people at ... Penn State ... failed to protect against a child sexual predator harming children for over a decade."

Freeh Report

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I have a friend who has been a Penn State fan for — well — his whole life.

And I have thought of him every time the tragic story of Penn State and Jerry Sandusky has been in the news.

Each time, I hoped it would be the last time I would hear about Sandusky. But each time I have been wrong.

And now, I think, the shame that he brought to the university will live in infamy. It might have, anyway, but now I am certain of it.

See, my observation in my life has been that, once something has a commission or a committee assigned to investigate it — and that investigating body issues a report — that is what happens.

The Warren Commission, the Ervin Committee, the Tower Commission, the 9–11 Report. You can find 'em in any history book.

And now you'll be able to find one in the story of Penn State.

So, with the knowledge that Sandusky was convicted several months ago on nearly four dozen counts of sexual abuse and related crimes and with today's release of the Freeh Report that implicated Sandusky's former boss, late coach Joe Paterno, Penn State ex–President Graham Spanier, former athletic director Tim Curley and former vice president Gary Schultz, I wonder if this is really the end for this story.

There will be a report on the library shelves of every college and university — including, I presume, Penn State — that will testify to Penn State's shame.

Sandusky will spend the rest of his life in prison. Of his high–ranking enablers, Paterno — the respected and beloved coach whose high standards were legendary — was an "integral part" of an active effort to avoid negative publicity, today's report said.

And that is a tragic blow to the legacy of a man who was held in such high regard even by his foes.

For, you see, that is a revelation that rips at the very fabric of America. In what may be a mindless (and dangerous) automatic reflex, Americans have always placed great faith — blind faith — in authority figures — teachers, pastors, coaches — and I think most people could tell you of at least one authority figure who influenced the course of their lives.

So deeply ingrained is this faith in authority figures that the mind recoils from the thought that someone in whom such trust has been placed could so callously toss it aside — and that others, the highest–ranking officials at a major university, could engage in a conspiracy to prevent his crimes from becoming known to the public.

They were more than simply enablers. They held positions of trust, and they violated that trust.

And now there is a report — under the name of none other than the former director of the FBI — that bears witness to the "total disregard" they showed for the children who looked to them for guidance.

People have been known to get over many things. They are resilient beyond anything that can be imagined.

But one thing people almost never seem to get over is betrayal.

Sibling Rivalry

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She needed three sets to do it, but Serena Williams held off a determined Agnieszka Radwanska to claim her fifth Wimbledon singles title Saturday.

"I always wanted everything Venus had," she joked after being reminded (for what, I am sure, was not the first time) that her sister Venus also has five Wimbledon singles titles — including one she claimed against Serena in 2008 (although three of Serena's titles have been won against Venus, including a 2009 rematch).

Serena has now won 14 Grand Slam titles, and, at the age of 30, the window for her to match Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova (with 18 each) may be closing — and the odds that she can match the all–time leader, Steffi Graf (22), may be nonexistent.

But even at 30, people speak in awe of Serena's serve, even her second serve, which most players seem to treat timidly. It is the best in the business, they say — and when I say "they," I include in that group Chris Evert, who was a commentator during today&apos's match.

Serena had the proper appreciation for her serve, Simon Cambers wrote in The Guardian, but she seemed baffled by its power.

"My serve really helped me throughout this tournament," she told Cambers. "I can't describe why it was so good or how it was so good. It's not like I practise it that much. I just had the rhythm."

Radwanska, who was seeded third, was no easy mark.

Serena cruised to a 6–1 victory in the first set but then faltered in the rain–delayed second set and had to hold off the hard–charging Radwanska in the third set, 6–2.

Over and over again, Radwanska seemed to be on the brink of overcoming Serena in that final set, just as she had in the first, but, in the end, the result was the same.

ESPN's announcers spoke of Radwanska's competitive nature, how the fact that she made it to the women's singles championship would not be enough for her, and that certainly appeared to be the case. Clutching her runnerup plate, she almost seemed to be in mourning.

Before the match, she had spoken with confidence of her chances to upend Serena.

A three–set duel clearly did not satisfy her.

I expect we will see her in Centre Court again.

Capturing the Color of Competition

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When I heard that sports artist LeRoy Neiman had died at the age of 91, I knew I wanted to write about him — but I was torn.

I didn't know if I should write about him on my sports blog or my arts/entertainment blog.

After all, Neiman produced paintings and prints of musicians and other celebrities, too.

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And he did it well.

He brought their personalities to the canvas in colorfully descriptive ways — but he also did that with sports topics.

And, as someone who worked for several years as a sports copy editor, I have an abiding appreciation for the magic that photographers make with the topics they are assigned to cover.

Many of the most exciting, most dramatic photos I have ever seen were of sports events. Neiman simply did with a brush what photographers once did with film.

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They used to call the great Secretariat Big Red. Well, I guess I'm using the word they a bit loosely. Secretariat's owner, Penny Chenery Tweedy, called him that — but the rest of the world called him Secretariat.

In his portrait of Secretariat, Neiman emphasized the red in his coloring (which was never that obvious to me when he was running — that may have been the quality of the color in our TV set, but he always looked chestnut brown to me). I guess you could say he exaggerated it, much as a cartoonist would exaggerate an unusual physical characteristic of a human subject.

I first became acquainted with Neiman's work in magazines like Sports Illustrated, which often showcased his paintings of memorable moments, like Dwight Clark's reception in the January 1982 NFC championship game.

Or great Olympic performances. Or golf tournaments.

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Mostly, though, I associate Neiman's artwork with Muhammad Ali. Neiman often did a painting following a big fight, and his work was always in great demand whenever Ali fought another big–name boxer, like George Foreman or Joe Frazier.

I kind of got the impression at the time that Ali was one of Neiman's favorite subjects. Perhaps he was. Artists are human, after all, and they certainly have their preferences, just like anyone else.

But I don't know that for certain. If Neiman ever spoke in an interview about preferring to paint Ali more than anyone else, I never read or heard it.

Perhaps William Grimes of the New York Times put it best when he wrote that Neiman "cast himself in the mold of French Impressionists ... chroniclers of public life who found rich social material at racetracks, dance halls and cafes."

Neiman may have been sort of like Red Smith, who once said that he believed that people went to sports events to have fun, then they picked up the newspaper the next day to read about it and have fun all over again.

Perhaps Neiman's way of having fun was to re–create great sports moments on his canvas.

His work is, in its way, iconic — moreso, I think, than Andy Warhol's paintings of Campbell's soup cans because at least it captures the color of life. It isn't merely a painter's version of the negative of a still life.

I will miss Neiman every time a memorable moment occurs in sports.

My Memory of Jack Buck

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"Go crazy, folks! Go crazy!"

Jack Buck
Oct. 14, 1985

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When I think of Jack Buck, the legendary St. Louis Cardinals radio announcer who died 10 years ago today, I think of an October day in 1985.

It was a Monday, and the Cardinals were playing my favorite baseball team, the Los Angeles Dodgers, in the National League Championship Series. It was an afternoon game, but that wasn't a problem for me in those days. I was working nights for a metro newspaper, and my regular days off were Monday and Tuesday.

The series was tied, two games to two, and I was looking forward to settling in to watch the game. I was anticipating it all the more because my best friend, Randy, had promised to drive to my apartment after his workday ended and watch the end of the game with me.

Randy was a Cardinals fan — still is, for that matter — and, although I wanted the Dodgers to win, I wanted the score to be close when Randy arrived. If the outcome was already decided when he got there, it would spoil the experience.

It could hardly have worked out any better. The score was 2–2 when he arrived, and the Cardinals were coming to bat in the bottom of the ninth. With one out and no one on base, St. Louis' switch–hitting shortstop Ozzie Smith came to the plate to face Los Angeles' right–handed ace reliever, Tom Niedenfuer.

Mind you, Smith was never a power hitter. He hit a few home runs in his career, but he had never hit a home run when batting on the left side of the plate, and I recall hearing Buck say something about that (whenever I have a choice between the TV and the radio for play by play of a game, I choose the radio) only seconds before Smith connected with Niedenfuer's pitch and drove it over the right–field wall.

I had listened to Buck on the radio many times in my life before that afternoon. Heck, I grew up in Conway, Ark., which was smack dab in the middle of Cardinals territory in those days (it may be different now, with other regional and broadcast options for baseball fans).

When I was a kid, if I wanted to listen to a baseball game on the radio, I could listen to the Cardinals — or no one. And the only televised games in those pre–cable days were NBC's games of the week on Saturday afternoons.

Also, the minor league club that was based in Little Rock — the Travelers — was part of the Cardinals farm organization. The Cardinal influence was all around me.

So I listened to the Cardinals games, and I associated Buck's voice with baseball on the radio on warm summer evenings. No other voice has ever sounded quite right to me for describing the action on a baseball field.

Buck's signature sentence when a Cardinals victory was assured was "That's a winner!" But he sounded emotionally drained after Smith's unexpected blast, and I could imagine him slumping in his seat and urging his listeners to "Go crazy, folks! Go crazy!"

I've heard old–time Dodger fans say that the baseball moment that broke their hearts was in 1951 when the Giants, after overcoming a seemingly insurmountable Dodger advantage in the standings to force a rare playoff, beat the Dodgers to claim a spot in the World Series.

That was before my time. My most painful baseball moment may have been that day in 1985 when Ozzie Smith drilled a walkoff home run to beat the Dodgers. Ultimately, the Cardinals won the league championship and went on to face the Kansas City Royals in the World Series.

But I was happy for Randy. And I was glad that we had shared that experience together. Other than the outcome, it was everything I could have wanted.

In the years ahead, we attended many Dodger–Cardinal games at Busch Stadium. And I always liked knowing that Jack Buck and I had watched the same game in the same place.

It's been many years since I went to a game in St. Louis, but the last one was when Buck was still alive and still calling games for the Cardinals.

Randy and I never took a radio with us when we went to a game so I never had the experience of listening to his play by play of a game I attended.

But I think the knowledge that Buck is no longer in the press box would make it difficult for me to feel the same about being at a game.

Seattle Slew Was Special

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I was very disappointed the other day when I'll Have Another was scratched from the Belmont Stakes, guaranteeing that the drought between Triple Crown winners would go on another year.

But today is a Triple Crown anniversary that may offer the tiniest bit of hope for horse racing enthusiasts that it may end soon.

Seattle Slew capped the 1977 Triple Crown race series 35 years ago today with a four–length win in the Belmont Stakes.

There was no doubt about it. Seattle Slew was a great horse, so great that Blood Horse magazine ranked him ninth in its list of the Top 100 horses of the 20th century — ahead of all but two of the other Triple Crown winners.

Seattle Slew was the first horse to win the Triple Crown while undefeated, and he remains the only horse to accomplish that feat.

But sometimes he seems to get overlooked, perhaps because he came along in a decade that had two other Triple Crown winners — and might well have had more. After all, Canonero II (1971) and Spectacular Bid (1979) both went into the Belmont Stakes with a chance to win a Triple Crown but came up short.

Obviously, Seattle Slew did not come up short in the Belmont.

It would have been wonderful if we could have seen a Triple Crown winner this year. The Triple Crown has always been a rare achievement. The horse that ends the currently 34–year drought since the last one — and make no mistake about it, I do believe it will end someday — may well be appreciated more than most because the wait has been so long.

If I'll Have Another had not been scratched but had lost the Belmont, racing fans probably would have had some wistful thoughts about what might have been, and there would have been a palpable sense of loss — but nothing like what descended upon the world of horse racing on Friday.

At least he would have made the attempt.

And it might have kicked off a wave of nostalgia for those '70s horses — Secretariat, Affirmed and the one that won the Triple Crown 35 years ago today, Seattle Slew.

Back in the Saddle Again?

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Not long ago, I wondered if Maria Sharapova was past her prime at the tender age of 24.

Well, she has observed a birthday since I wrote that — so she is now 25 — and today she won the women's singles title at the French Open for the first time — so she is now one of a handful of pro players to win a career Grand Slam.

I think I may have been a bit hasty in speculating about whether she was over the hill.

Her victory over Sara Errani, who secured a spot in the world's Top 10 rankings with her performance in Paris, showed that concerns about the lingering effects of her shoulder injury were baseless.

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She undoubtedly will go to Wimbledon as one of the favorites.

But her victory in Paris gave her a career Grand Slam — at least one singles title in all four Grand Slam tournaments — and should have erased all doubt.

Errani, also 25, is an up–and–comer. She and Roberta Vinci won the women's doubles title, and she defeated the 2008 and 2009 French Open winners en route to today's match.

Before the match, I heard Errani described as petite. Presumably, that was a reference to her height. At 5–foot–5, she is a few inches shorter than just about everyone she faces, and the height difference is even more pronounced when she stands next to Sharapova, who is nine inches taller.

But Errani is also muscular, and that is something I definitely do not associate with the term petite. I've always thought of petite as being synonymous with dainty — which it is, according to my thesaurus, but it is also listed as synonymous with small.

(I would argue the point to an extent. I have known women who were nearly as tall as Sharapova whom I would characterize as dainty. In fact, before I saw her play, I would have regarded Sharapova herself as dainty. But that is one thing she is not, at least not on the tennis court.)

As I watched Errani futilely, gamely trying to overcome Sharapova, I realized that, barring something completely unexpected, Errani will become a familiar face in tournament finals.

The final score was lopsided. The match was not.

Another Disappointment

Everyone — even the most privileged who walk the earth — must have felt it at some time.

That helpless, vulnerable, rug–pulled–out–from–under–your–feet feeling.

That's how I felt when I heard the news that I'll Have Another, the winner of this year's Kentucky Derby and Preakness Stakes, had been scratched from today's Belmont Stakes.

This is the longest drought between Triple Crown winners in thoroughbred racing history. Those of us who enjoy watching horse racing have grown wary of Triple Crowns. Almost no one ever speaks about the possibility after the Kentucky Derby, preferring to wait and see if its winner is more than a flash in the pan — and there have been nearly two dozen of those since 1978.

But there have also been a dozen horses — including I'll Have Another — that won the first two races and came to the Belmont in search of that elusive Triple Crown. The others came up short, either spectacularly so or, more rarely, by narrow margins.

There is a reason why the Belmont is called the test of champions. The first two races are shorter. They were designed with speed horses in mind. But the Belmont is longer. It favors endurance.

It is a rare horse — a Secretariat — that combines both speed and endurance.

I've enjoyed watching the horses run since I was a child. Nearly 40 years ago, I saw my first Triple Crown winner (on TV, not in person), then two more came along in what was (and still is) rapid–fire succession for thoroughbred racing.

And we have had no more since.

We've had plenty of near misses since Affirmed won the 1978 Triple Crown.

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Perhaps the most colon–tighteningly, tantalizingly, exasperatingly close near miss of them all was the 2004 Belmont Stakes, in which Birdstone overtook Smarty Jones and denied him the Triple Crown by a single length. Smarty Jones seemed to possess both speed and endurance. It was a real disappointment when he failed.

Most of the time, it is a speed horse that comes to the Belmont and loses — big. And that, in itself, answers the question that follows the exceptional horses that win the first two to the third jewel of the Triple Crown: Is this horse more than a speed horse?

Since 1978, all the two–time winners have had their opportunity to answer that question on the track.

But it will never be answered in the case of I'll Have Another. Instead of making a bid for horse racing immortality this afternoon, he was retired.

There was never going to be a shortage of important sports events today. Earlier, Maria Sharapova won the women's final at the French Open. She is now one of a handful of tennis players who won a career Grand Slam — at least one singles title in each of the four Grand Slam events.

Tonight, the Los Angeles Kings will try to win their first–ever Stanley Cup. And the Miami Heat and the Boston Celtics will play for the right to face Oklahoma City in the NBA finals.

But all that would have been overshadowed by far if I'll Have Another had won the Belmont.

Somebody wins the NBA championship, the Stanley Cup and the women's final of the French Open every year.

But it's been 34 years since a horse won the Triple Crown.

More Than Ready for Another

Tim Layden of Sports Illustrated laments the fact that "[a] generation of American adults is approaching middle age without having seen a horse win the Triple Crown."

And, as a horse racing fan, I, too, find that lamentable. But I am still enough of an optimist to believe — unlike many who follow the sport more closely than I — that it still can be done.

In my life, I have known some people who were quite knowledgeable about horse racing, and I have often heard them say that, because the first two races are much shorter than the third, to win a Triple Crown, a horse must possess both speed and endurance.

Such horses have been referred to as "super horses" at least since the time of the great Secretariat — who really was a super horse.

The distances of the Triple Crown races have varied over the years, but the distances have not changed since 1926, and all but one of the 11 Triple Crown winners have accomplished the feat since that time.

So, while it may be that it will take a "super horse" to break the drought between Triple Crown winners (which is currently 34 years), super horses weren't some sort of phenomenon that burst on to the scene, dominated the sport for a period and then disappeared.

Generations of horses have come and gone since Gallant Fox won all three races in 1930 (when it wasn't officially called the Triple Crown).

Affirmed, in 1978, was the last horse to win the Triple Crown, and I'll Have Another will be the 12th horse since that time to enter the Belmont Stakes with victories in both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness.

The other 11 came up short, but Layden offers hope that, this time, things will be different.

I'll Have Another, Layden reports, "is so formidable because he has a useful combination of natural speed ... and stubborn cardiovascular endurance."

If that is true, the Triple Crown may well be within his grasp.

Meanwhile, I'll Have Another's preparations for his date with destiny appear to be coming along nicely. The Associated Press reports that, after two days of jogging on the Belmont Park oval, he is set to resume galloping tomorrow.

His assistant trainer was enthusiastic. "[H]e gets over the track fantastic," Jack Sisterson said, "he looked super, his energy level is high and he's doing everything we want to see him doing."

Sounds promising.

On the Brink of a Triple Crown

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About midway through the week, I began searching for articles about today's Preakness Stakes in Baltimore.

I wanted to find out if veteran handicappers thought Kentucky Derby winner I'll Have Another had a chance of winning today's race — and, consequently, continuing to contend for the Triple Crown.

I found few articles that spoke of him the way articles in the past have lauded the Kentucky Derby winner.

That's understandable. The last time the Kentucky Derby winner went on to win the Preakness was in 2008. In fact, only 10 times since Affirmed won the 1978 Triple Crown had the Kentucky Derby winner gone on to win the Preakness. That is less than one–third of the time.

With that kind of history, horse racing writers had every reason to be hesitant to build up I'll Have Another until today's race was in the books.

Well, it is in the books now, and my guess is that we'll be hearing a lot about I'll Have Another in the next three weeks.

Because he did win today's Preakness — and it was perhaps the most exciting Preakness I have ever seen.

Once again, Bodemeister, the horse that led the Kentucky Derby most of the way, was the leader in the Preakness — again, most of the way.

And, once again, I'll Have Another overtook him at the end — and won the Preakness by a head. Literally.

Last year, three different horses won the Triple Crown races. And, at the time, I wrote that it was not so much a sign of a mediocre thoroughbred field as it was an indication that horse racing was enjoying a period of parity in which every race was competitive.

Those were exciting races, to be sure.

But anyone who is a fan of horse racing is likely to appreciate the fact that, for only the 11th time in the last 34 years, we can anticipate the possibility of a Triple Crown winner when the Belmont is run three weeks from today.

Even casual fans will know — if they don't already — that this year's Belmont will be something rare and extraordinary. It will be an event — and not, as it has been for the last three years, the anticlimactic conclusion to the Triple Crown season.

As I have mentioned here before, I teach journalism and writing to students in the Dallas County community college system, and nearly all the students with whom I have worked in the last couple of years were born at least a decade after the last Triple Crown winner.

If I'll Have Another does win the Belmont — and, with it, the Triple Crown — it will be the kind of thing that comes along once in a generation — if that.

I know many people who were born in 1979 or after — and, as a consequence, have not seen a Triple Crown winner. Some of them have died — and some may die before the Belmont is run — and will, as a consequence, never see a Triple Crown winner.

There is, of course, that one last hurdle for I'll Have Another, and it has wrecked many potential Triple Crown winners. At 1½ miles, it is the longest of the three, a quarter of a mile longer than the Kentucky Derby and more than one–third of a mile longer than the race that was run today.

After two races that emphasized speed, the Belmont prizes endurance. That is why it is known as the "Test of Champions." And it is quite a test.

We will find out if I'll Have Another is a super horse, one that is fast but can also handle long distances. Most horses are either one or the other. Triple Crown winners tend to be exceptions to the rule.

It should make for an entertaining afternoon three weeks from today.