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College Sports Make Me Sick

Well at least were not alone now.
Two college basketball programs, on opposite sides of the financial and prestige spectrum, are now joined at the hip. Except one had a golden ticket to buy its way out of a mess.

With the announcement of Kelvin Sampson's "resignation," Indiana faces a public mess similar to the scandal five years ago that rocked Saint Bonaventure their basketball team is still reeling from. Some of Indiana's players, including a Big 10 Player of the Year nominee, have said they will boycott the next game due to the coach's dismissal.

How loyal of these players, standing up for their coach being pushed out the door, except there is one problem. Sampson cheated by illegally calling recruits, not once but twice, got caught, and now walks away with $750,000, a half a million of which came from an anonymous alum.

I cannot seem to grasp who is more asinine in this higher education conundrum: This beyond wealthy alum funding an admitted cheater; the University for hiring this lowlife who, after cheating at Oklahoma deserted, leaving them with NCAA sanctions; the NCAA itself, punishing schools but not the scumbag coaches personally; Sampson, now onto tarnishing his second straight school; or these players sticking up for him.

I go back to the issue at St. Bonaventure because, let me disclaim, that I am a passionate alum, who hates to revert back to those sad times. But because we are in the Atlantic 10, a non-BCS Conference lacking in resources both on the court and off (i.e. alums with the disposable income to brush this under the rug), we were labeled everything negative under the sun by the mass media. If all of the facts came out that because of the questionable decisions by a deceptive coach, our players felt betrayed, thus electing to skip the remainder of the season since they were ineligible for postseason play, people might have understood. While I never agree sittng out the final games should have happened, remember, we are talking about 18-21 year-olds, in a circumstance we cannot understand. The problem was the adults involved were not properly helping the kids out, which is supposed to be what the core of college athletics is all about. I can understand why these Indiana players stand behind their coach, they don't know better.

But the fact of the matter remains that a coach with such power, who once broke the rules did it again, not two years later compounded it by lying. His punishment of a settlement for $750,000 makes me sick, losing what little shred of faith I had left in the purity of college sports.

With the millions raked in each year from television contracts, bowl game revenue and merchandise sales, the NCAA can try to smoke screen us by referring to all players as "student-athletes" in interviews and explaining in their free ads that those other 360,000 "student-athletes" are going pro in something other than sports, but its just a man behind the curtain taking us all to the bank. These players are all exploited, especially those at a top rate basketball school like Indiana. Except at tradition-rich Indiana, they can reload quickly, currently enjoying a top-10 program, where the Bonnies have yet to field a winning season since Jan Van Breda Kolff walked away from allowing a player with a welding certificate to suit up.

I think I am becoming numb, or turned off from professional sports, so maybe this is the last straw now that it hits the college level. Between Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte, Floyd Landis, Marion Jones and countless others we'll never confirm, there is something inherently wrong with sports, teaching our kids the only way to get by is to cheat. It's ok the NCAA says, just leave your mess at your old school for them to clean up. All you have to do, according to the Sampson scouting report, is pick up the phone, make over 100 illegal phone calls, convince your players you are the martyr, and walk away with close to one million dollars.

I have always been a passionate college basketball fan, especially during March Madness. But if you will excuse me, I think this year I am going to call in sick.

A Special Night With Ronan Tynan

An interview I did with famed Irish Tenor Ronan Tynan in Buffalo Rising on December 26, 2007

Lanier Does Himself Proud

This was posted in The Buffalo News Sports Section October 22, 2007

Over the past few years, Saint Bonaventure University, my proud alma mater, has been dragged through muddy headlines locally and nationally over and over again. Even though the campus resides 90 minutes outside the epicenter of Buffalo, this small Franciscan utopia has delivered some of the best local athletic moments over the last few decades.

While I was too young to ever see him play, I was treated to a wonderful evening as a guest to witness the recognition for a man that tends to overshadow the school itself he attended. This past Friday night, the Reilly Center court, which what seemed like ages ago was labeled by ESPN the fifth hardest place to play in America, was named after the biggest name who patrolled its paint way back, Bob Lanier.

While some of today’s athletes demand monster contracts and could care less about fans, this man epitomizes everything Bonaventure tries to teach. Bob could have spent the entire time patting himself on the back, rehashing accolades and demanding the royal treatment. However the fans in attendance were the ones treated royally.

Lanier signed autographs for an hour prior to, and at least two hours after he gave a rousing speech about the values of education, having passion and giving back to others. A completely selfless man, who just so happens to travel the globe as the NBA’s Community Ambassador teaching youth right from wrong, “humbly accepted” this honor without first mentioning his former teammates, coaches, fans, the University president and major donors who made this new court happen.

I was never prouder as a Bonnie to hear the first person anyone mentions after you tell them you attended St. Bonaventure praise the fans and tout the same values I was blessed to receive, with an ear-to-ear smile on his face the entire time.

Over the years, Lanier’s relationship with the university was lukewarm, but I have to credit the current administration and leadership for reconnecting and bringing back into the family someone who was not just a great basketball player, but turns out to be one amazing gentleman and a true Bonnie at heart.

Thinks are looking up at the University and for their men’s basketball team led by new coach, Mark Schmidt. The steps are slow, but we have a new leader, and one of the best ever to represent us every day with his name on that floor. Thanks for coming back Bob, we missed you.

Charlie Riley ’01, ‘03

Just Stop Buffalo

This was posted last October:

Stop thinking we are only "Buffalo" wings and blizzards.

Stop charging me to drive through Grand Island.

Stop keeping the Main Place Mall an eyesore.

Stop Downtown being a 9 to 5 city.

Stop replaying Brett Hull's skate in the crease.

Stop the Music City Miracle.

Stop the Bass Pro talk.

Stop making us use that deathtrap known as the skyway.

Stop opposing progress.

Stop bringing in the Gorski's, Giambra's and Larry Quinn's of the world.

Stop giving a Major League Baseball expansion team to a Florida city that doesn't care.

Stop just talking about the Peace Bridge.

Stop making me move for a job.

Stop educating everyone, then letting them slip away.

Stop the Lackawanna Six.

Stop polarizing Bucky Phillips.

Stop leaving the waterfront the way it is.

Stop having the Canadian side be 10 times nicer.

Stop breaking our hearts letting Briere and Drury slip away.

Stop losing 4 in a row.

Stop the Adelphia scandal. 

Stop all of the unionized "projects" that cost too much.

Stop useless construction.

Stop only reporting when we get 2 feet of snow.

Stop with the Casinos already.

Stop linking us with OJ.
Stop our "subway" from only going in one straight line.

Stop having Main Street be a ghost town.

Stop just talking about the good old days.

Stop the beaucratic roadblocks that stunt our growth. 

Stop only funding NY State east of Albany.

Stop the embarrassing view driving along the 33 near Buff State.

Stop the last second field goals.

Stop giving us a gorgeous 85-degree day, only to humiliate us on national TV.

Stop giving us hope, then ripping it away.

Stop being a national punch line.



Just stop Buffalo. I can't take it anymore.

"It's a Jeep Thing..."

I drive a jeep, and apparently the "It's a Jeep Thing, You Just Wouldn't Understand" goes deeper than that. The most impractical vehicles on the road have a secret society, a la the Skulls. I have yet to reap the benefits of joining this elite culture, with the exception of grabbing about 10 miles a gallon, but I do get the "Jeep Wave" every time I drive by a fellow "cowboy/feminist/surfer/army vet."

When inquiring to my roommate, who owns a Corvette and has a similar affiliation with his vehicle and the perfect strangers who own them wave to him, he explained why. Because we lack no noticeable common interest except for our mode of transportation purchasing habits, there is a sign of solidarity shown by a quazi "whats up" wave while passing.

At first confused, and embarrassed, I now flash back a solid "foreign relations" a la Top Gun middle finger, which apparently shocks these rebels more than learning Paris Hilton has the Clap. The look on their face is priceless, and while its fun to drive with the top down during the summer, I can't wait till my lease is up.

I guess I still don't understand either.

Maybe Just Maybe

hope v. intr.- a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope implies a certain amount of perseverance — i.e., believing that a positive outcome is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary.

That definition signifies the attitude of an entire city lately, a collection of often-battered fighters who may just be turning the corner and turning Buffalo around. This definition also rings a little truer today after that metaphor for the Queen City called last night’s Sabres victory.

Every emotion was conveyed in the final few minutes, not just for a team, but for a region. It is often unfair when mainstream media, along with the general public, engage athletics as more than they are. In the end, the games are arbitrary to what matters most in life. However, these Buffalo Sabres, a scrappy ego-less team in an overlooked league are perfect representation for the scrappy, ego-less citizens of this overlooked gem called Buffalo, NY.

Being down with 15 seconds left and what looked like only a prayer to extend this dream season, you could look around HSBC Arena and see the deflated face of an entire region, from grandmother to business mogul to our youth, all emoting that look of “here we go again.” Buffalo has been knocked countless times for the weather, loss of jobs, development, you name it. Up until now, it is a model of how NOT to build a city.

But Chris Drury never quit, and when he somehow found the back of the net with 7.7 seconds left, you saw that look like we just might have turned the corner. Yes, the building erupted, as I assume bars and living rooms all over the area did the same. It was a great goal, but much more grandiose than that.

It showed that spark that Buffalo is not going down this time. You can see the progression everywhere. It is brewing, albeit at a slow rate, but things are happening and people are believing that Buffalo is doing something, anything, to be a once again proud city of change. Development is starting to occur, money is coming into the area and job growth has been steady. We are not over the hump by any means, but it’s a start.

Which brings me back to the Sabres. We have latched onto a group of unassuming, never-quit young men who represent so much of us, that we have adopted and followed to epic proportions this past season. With so much hype and talent, our expectations are the absolute peak, the first championship for a city that probably deserves it more than any other. Seeing the city rally around anything and dumping all of our emotions into, that thought of losing it all was right there on the doorstep last night. It would have been easy to throw in the towel, since we are used to being kicked while we’re down. But not this time. Emoting that perseverance, when the contrary says its not your time, went away with the help of Drury’s stick.

Now it is time to turn that hope into a tangible reality. Regardless if Lord Stanley’s chalice finds its way down Delaware Avenue on parade or we fall short, the season will fade away. But Buffalo will still be here, and what looks like on its way to being stronger than ever. To come full circle and quote the Goo Goo Dolls, whose Sabres playoff rally cry “Better Days” plays to open each game, “Cause tonight’s the night the world begins again.” That sentiment might be a little much, but I sure hope it is a start.

Quality Not Quantity

This was printed in the Buffalo News, February, 2007, which ultimately got me to stay in Buffalo.

Leave Your Mark

So I got my wig split today; haircut, for the lay-person. As part of the routine, I had the longest hair of my life shampoo'ed prior to meeting the scissors. As I rested my head, speaking to the two-month-old hair washer/stylist, I found out that she had just finished beauty school, was "trying to build her cleintele" and subsiquently scrubbing a ton of locks in the process.

This revelation made me think about assistant basketball coaches, junior financial advisors, the bassist in a band, and every bussboy/waiter/server in any restaurant across the world. They all had the same idea, regardless of the industry.

I could do it better myself.

That though has crossed the mind of every associate producer of TV commercials and movies, every account exec. at an advertising agency, every clothing designer. They could get the better shot, write a better tagline, or stitch the hottest fashion.

Same as that bartender with the idea for the "it" new lounge or the coach with a better box set to attack a 1-3-1 defense.

The premise is simple, the execution much grander. we all have exquisite dreams of being or own boss, executing our own plans and bringing a little of ourself to this world. It takes mas cahones and a leap of faith to stretch our boundaries and do our own thing, but maybe not as much as we think. We can apply a little of each of us to all that we do. There is no need to remain stagnant, albiet wearing bold stripes to work (haha), or whatever it is you do to stand out. It doesn't have to be newsworthy, or turn into a Fortune 500 company, but always LEAVE. YOUR. MARK.

If you have an idea and are passionate about it, take a risk. If you want a raise, tell your boss you deserve it, or that your competitor says you deserve it. Fly to Chicago on a whim without an interview, things like this make you realize have options, and a pulse.

Pain equals growth, and pain can mean anything; constantly being in the background playing bass in your band, washing mounds of dishes, being a glorified secretary for your accounts, etc. But, eventually you will take all of the experience you accumulated and set yourself free, or use the interpretation in your everyday role, and there is nobility in either decision.

Because you cannot build your clientele without washing a ton of hair first. Hypothetically speaking.

Dave Matthews Band

I know, I know, how 2001, right? "DMB, that was so college, I haven't gone to a show in years," is probably what you are saying.

To be honest, I haven't though about/listened to/planned a weekend in a field heavily intoxicated with the jamband from Charlotteville much since I resided in Allegany county several years ago either, but with this marvelous addition of MTV HD to our cable, a surprised yet giddy feeling came over me last night when I saw their Storytellers would be on HD in 15 minutes.

High Definition is like a toy used out of necessity. Even with the rash of shows now broadcast in 720p and above, there is still a lack of quality HD programming, and with the beauty of picture perfect photography on a 46" TV, you sometimes watch anything HD just becuase. Even if it is something like National Geographic's Top Ten Gardens in the US, or even women's basketball. HD just makes it all better. Well, almost anything better, I still refrain from some things, like the WNBA, "We Got Next!" But I digress.

So the picture is gorgeous, and I tuned into an hour of the completely incomprehensible lead singer who humbly still fronts the band that I discovered at a high school prom party and helped me through the range of emotions any college student feels. While they became everyone's favority band, and turned a large number of people off, thier shows were always an event, some mailed-in efforts, some producing vivid days that still stand out in my mind. It was not a concert, it was a celebration, a reason to drive to a summer reunion with friends and sit in a field and jam along with five uber-talented musicians who just put you at ease.

The diference between DMB shows and others is that while college kids listen to all kinds of music, and attend concerts from several genres, Rap, Classic Rock, Indie bands; you could always see other shows, rap shows with a cloud of pot lingering in the arena and potential fights, Rock concerts spanning generations with parents introducing thier kids to their revelations and the Indie shows, bringing out those looking for the cool new bands, before they become the cool new "popular" bands. But Dave shows, while cliched with fratboys in muscle shirts, sorority girls in tank tops, and hippies galore hocking anything Lillywhite you can think of; it was always a chill party, everytime, with damn good music.

Say what you want about how they have changed, but DMB produced several meaningful songs to me and probaly thousands of others that I still enjoy, even though I forgot about them for awhile. But songs like #41, Crash, and the newer song I heard last night, Dream Girl, are powerful songs, and hearing the band tell stories and just play reminds me of running into an old friend I haven't seen in a long time. Visions of driving to Toronto, the Skud and obscure horse tracks like Vernon Downs come to mind. As I hear some of the drivel played on the radio now, its cool to go back and listen to what I grew up with, not just DMB but old Tribe Called Quest and grous like that.

I don't think I am going to bust out the tie-died shirt anytime soon and join the Warehouse, but I can definately listen to Warehouse and appreciate it as much in 2007 as in 2001.

The Real Meaning of Christmas

It's funny how the aura and mystique of the Christmas season changes with the age in the eye of the beholder. For some reason, I have not found myself in the "Christmas spirit" this year, with several reasons contributing to this I assume, the most being in a state of flux where and what I will be doing in the near future.

But I digress, seeing those below the age of 8 under the spell of Santa sliding down that chimney and cookies and Christmas break takes you back to a simpler time when that anticipation of gifts and the scare that Santa mysteriously observes every little child and somehow their actions dictates the plethora of boxes underneath their tree. Damn those scare tactics our parents used on us succeptible kids.

This leads me to where I am at now, and it began during the impressionable college years. Those exciting few days when everyone was home on break, and the get-togethers t local bars were some of the best times, sharing similar yet different college stories and enjoying that month of freedom.

Those are the things that I discovered mean more to me now about this time of year than anything else, the real "presents" are the little things that occur in the 4th quarter of the year. As we get older and spread our wings, the reunions collaborate less, which makes seeing a long-time friend even more exciting. Finding out your wonderful friends have just had a health baby girl puts a smile on your face. Announcements of engagements make being around the people that matter to you the most cherish those times. Because selfishly, you want to spend more time with them and revert back to simpler times, but you realize that these wonderful surprises are thier gift to you, and sharing them means that you matter in someones life.

Thats why simpler things like landing an interview with your dream company a few days before Christmas Day, or a strike affecting thousands of families comes to a conclusion, bringing normalcy back to all of their lives. These are the gifts that mean more than a new Playstation 3 or a Tickle Me Elmo.

Finding the joy in the little things maybe took a little while longer this season, but maybe Santa just wanted me to sweat out if I was a good boy or not all year long.

Oh How the Times Have Changed

Oh how the times have changed.

Fifteen years ago, on a Saturday night, I was eating BBQ chicken fingers and playing video games with my friends Tony and Shane in my parents basement, the only worry I had was that hopefully those two would wake up to help me deliver newspapers. Now-a-days, I only accidentally run into Tony, and Shane lives with his girlfriend, the same kid who chose the NFL Sunday Ticket over a relationship.

Ten years ago, I was probably just finishing up a Varsity Basketball game, early in the season, and hanging out with the boys, maybe going to a high school dance; not a care in the world. Dances were early on, but if we weren't hitting either a St. Joes or Canisius dance up (where we had to get tickets ahead of time for), we would be slamming a 40 on the way up to Canada going to the clubs there.

Five years ago, actually six, was like living on cloud 9. Senior year in college, probably having a party before a Bonnies basketball game after a day of playing hoops with the guys, watching sports, then probably going to the Redemption Center for a keg, or just going to the Shack and destroying their house for the night. Way simpler times.

One year ago, living in Chicago, played hoops in the morning with some guys, a quick trip to the gym, then probably over to Tom's house to hang out with the Bonnies group, with a culmination at the Hangge Uppe 80's bar. Paying a rediculous rent and doing the "big city" thing at a new job with a ton of responsibility.

Flash forward to today. Twenty seven-years-old. Just found out more friends had a baby today (congrats Sarah and Nick). Innocence gone, wondering how many weddings I will be attending next year and what city I will end up in doing God knows what.

Life seems to be flying by, with it goes simplicity replaced by that nasty R-word: responsibilities. Friends I never though would get married have, others are buying houses, climing the corporate ladder and falling off the face of the earth, and a few are still finding themselves like me.

Its funny how things change, even though it is inevitable. Cell phones were obsolete during college. IM'ing people came towards the end. Your friend pool shrinks, however, hypocritically, I am posting this on Myspace, a haven for some to accumulate a friend collection larger than they really interact with.

All I know is that things are vastly different from the innocent days, as to be expected. I just don't know what other changes lie ahead. As Chris Martin of Coldplay sings, "You feel like you're going where you've been before. You tell anyone who'll listen but you feel ignored. Nothing's really making any sense at all."

Indeed it's not.

Following The Leader

You saw Talladega Nights, right? The new Will Farrell movie? It was awesome, right? Same thing for The Last Kiss, Zack Braff produced it AND picked the soundtrack, so it has to be just as good as Garden State, right? Right?

The same goes for bands like Of Montreal, things like Sabres hockey, there is probably an example in any genre/category you can think of.

What I am talking about is basing decisions on the uneducated advice of others, then running with it, spreading the gossip without sometimes experiencing the actual product. I admit, I am guilty of exactly what I am discussing, but why?

I am loyal to the local teams, but you couldn't catch me dead watching an NHL game prior to this year unless it was either a playoff game or there were free tickets in my hand. Now-a-days, I am discussing the "new-look" Sabres with my mother, watching intently to almost every broadcast to analyze each power play, like I somehow inherited Scotty Bowman skills from watching the playoffs last year. The Sabres caught fire, and the Queen City was back on the bandwagon. So do I follow these young skaters because I now care about the nuances of hockey... or is it because everyone in the city has an opinion on Ryan Miller's play of late?

Same goes for the afor-mentioned movies. A Will Farrell movie is sure to clean up at the box office, but is it really as funny as people claim it to be, or do you have to justify waiting in line the night it comes out by over-hyping the flick? The same could be said for Anchorman, a film I though deserved far less gleaming reviews from friends who though it was "hilarious." were there several funny parts, yes, but an over the top gasser? Far from it. Maybe it's the will Farrell Syndrome. The move HAS to be funny because he is it, but is that just a way to fit in by not going against the grain chastising the "it" comic, whose ranks include Chris Farley, Jim Carrey, Adam Sandler, etc.

Which brings me to The Last Kiss. I'll admit, as a fan of Garden State (although I hated it the first time I watched it) and the soundtrack, I was excited to see this, regardless if it's a chick flick. Braff has good taste in music, and he does not seem to need the spotlight too much. However, the clichés were aplenty. The requisite Coldplay song, the similar storylines, etc. Don't get me wrong, I like Coldplay, but the numbers showed exactly what I expected. The movie reeked of an "Indie" label, except it wasn't, it was a mainstream major studio deal, and I was roped in along with millions of others. It wasn't earth-shattering material in any aspect, but to hear people recommend this as if it were the stuffing of the Braff Indie trilogy, makes you wonder if those that waxed poetic really found something deep in this movie, or they just wanted to fit in with the hip crowd.

You be the judge.