By the Began in '96 staff

Presenting: Began in '96's second annual stab at gettin' you drunk.

It's here. That wonderful, most American of unofficial holidays is here. It's Super Bowl Sunday, and this one could be a doozy. It's got Alicia Keys, Beyonce, a Destiny's Child reun— er, I mean, football!

On one side, a rookie quarterback tries to make history, shattering both that old "only pocket passers win championships" trope and Alex Smith's soul in the process. On the other, Ray Rice, the newly possibly elite Joseph Flacco and the reanimated corpse of Ed Reed try to send stabby messiah Ray Lewis off with a final trophy, before he ascends to sit at the right hand of the Lord.

And in the middle is you, a bucket of wings and a lot of alcohol. For the second year in a row, we're going to help you drink that alcohol with our Super Bowl Drinking Game. The game is divided into four sections: Pregame, Super Bowl, Halftime and Postgame. But get familiar with all the rules, because they all apply throughout the game. So if at any point there's a commercial of a monkey riding a dog through Hurricane Katrina while wearing shoulder pads, you best be drinking.

Note: A missed drinking opportunity is a two-drink penalty, plus your best imitation of Ray Lewis' pregame dance.

PREGAME

1. You see a fan in facepaint and way too many Mardi Gras beads-- drink

Oh, are you not sure where the Super Bowl is being held this year? It's in NAWLINS, where according to TV execs, purple and gold facepaint and an ungodly amount of plastic beads is the equivalent of business casual anywhere else in the country (Note: this may not be far from the truth).

It's a shame how much Mardi Gras beads have been devalued over time. They used to mean something. You had to be a certain kind of drunk (very) to even have a chance. Now they're handed out like participation trophies. This is the real wimpification of America, people.

2. Hurricane Katrina is shoehorned into a soft-focus feature-- waterfall

It's been nearly eight years since Drew Brees started rebuilding New Orleans, brick by brick, with his bare hands and no one around to help him. The city's come a long way since then: purple and gold facepaint sales are up, beadmakers are back at work, and now here comes the Super Bowl. If there's but one tenuous connection between Katrina and these two teams, NBC will be sure to drag it into the studio and set it against some soft background piano.

3. The pregame crew gets the chuckles-- drink until the chucklefest stops

[CURTAIN RISES]: Five aging ex-football players sit around a semi-circular table. Their tie knots are invariably too big for their necks. At least two are power clashing so hard you wonder if your TV's color settings are off. Another might not even know where he is right now.

[TALKING HEAD ONE]: Tries to present semi-coherent analysis. Fails.

[TALKING HEAD TWO]: Responds with stupid pun.

[ALL TALKING HEADS]: Dissolve into inane round of trying to out-chuckle each other.

[YOU]: Change the channel, only to find it's happening EVERYWHERE. Respond by drinking.

[SCENE]

4. Anything involving a camera and Ray Lewis-- drink, shed fake tear

Ray Lews hearts the camera. Unless he's being asked about PEDs or maybe seeing/participating in those two guys getting stabbed and then running away. You know, all that unfair stuff.

But otherwise, Ray Lewis hearts the camera. And you can bet the camera hearts him right back. Whether he's praying or crying or giving an overwrought sermon, it'll be beamed right into your living room over and over again.

Bonus drink for every time "Ray Lewis" and "redemption" end up in the same sentence.

5. Someone mentions that the Harbaughs are brothers-- drink, bro hug somebody

The Harbaughs are brothers. They're in the Super Bowl, coaching against each other. That's the extent of the meh that we can muster for this exhausted story line.

Bonus chug if someone mentions Joani, the lost Harbaugh sister and a wonderful lady.

SUPER BOWL

1. Ray Lewis is praised for making a routine tackle-- drink

Ray Lewis is potentially the greatest linebacker/murderer to ever play the game. Even so, when he makes a tackle six yards from the line of scrimmage, he's doing his job, not saving the world. No added praise necessary.

2. An Alex Smith sad face-- drink

Alex Smith was the king of San Francisco. And then Colin Kaepernick, with his speed and arm strength and sweet tats, came in and kicked Smith off the cool kids table. Now he's forced to sit with the band geeks and, gasp, kickers, and sulk into his shoulder pads. Every time you see him on the sideline, staring aimlessly off into the distance, toast him to what could have been.

Bonus drink if he's standing on the sideline with his helmet on.

3. Ed Reed hits someone in the end zone after they've already scored-- drink

Ed Reed is so old that one day body parts will start falling off while he's running, and eventually he'll just be a torso and a head trying to bite people's ankles as they run by. And he'll still get a Pro Bowl invite.

But until then, ballhawkin' Ed Reed will spend his Sundays desperately trying to keep up with receivers. And when he inevitably fails, he'll hit them in the end zone anyway, just so he can feel something again.

Bonus drink if after the hit, he stays on the ground for 5+ seconds.

4. Ray Rice is referred to as "little" or "forgotten."-- drink

There are always a bunch of manufactured storylines leading up to the Super Bowl, but this one was the weirdest. Ray Rice is, for the record, 5'8," 212 lbs. That is not a small man, especially by running back standards. He is also, for the record, a former college star and second-round draft pick, owner of four straight 1,000-yard rushing seasons and a three-time Pro Bowler. That has not gone unnoticed.

And yet.

5. Phil Simms adds extra 'e's to a word-- dreeeenk

Phil Simms is one half of your broadcast booth this year. WOOF. He is the greatest, blandest spouter of cliches on television, and that's quite the accomplishment given that he'll be standing right next to fellow gasbagger Jim Nantz. What puts him over the top is that subtle, tinny accent, that works eets wayee into nearly everee sentence of the gayme.

Bonus drink if Nantz descends into a golf whisper, or at any point utters, "a tradition unlike any other."

6. A fan wearing shoulder pads-- drink

What is the mindset here? A debate that some of the staff here has had is which sport possesses the fan base with the lowest collective IQ. NASCAR had the edge originally, until these guys starting popping up everywhere, just hoping that after all 75 or so players on a team have been injured, the coach will peer into the stands, point at them, and launch them to stardom.

In the meantime, it's just extremely inconsiderate to your seatmates.

Bonus drink if the fan is also wearing a helmet and/or eye black.


7. One of the Harbaughs throws a tantrum- drink, stomp around for a bit

Jim and John have the on-field tantrum down to a T. They've perfected it. It's over. Mike Krzyzewski and Lou Piniella watch them together and stew, bitter that they've never reached that level of childishness.

HALFTIME

1. You remember the name of the third Destiny's Child member-- drink 

C'mon. Not even Beyonce knows who she is. Besides, she might not even be there because she's super busy doing other important, totally not-made up things.

2. Jay-Z makes an appearance-- drink

You're now watching — and enjoying! — the Super Bowl halftime show. Savor it.

Bonus drink if Kanye is with him. Bonus CHUG if Kanye does something stupid.

3. Commercial featuring a dog or monkey-- drink

Cats and clydesdales had their time. It's all about the dogs and monkeys now. Or preferably, a monkey riding a dog.

4. Commercial featuring someone in their underwear-- drink

If it's not an animal, then it's a dude in his underwear. These are the only proven tactics for making Americans laugh.

Depressing bonus drink if you think it's going to be a girl in her underwear and then it ends up being a guy.

POSTGAME

1. Roger Goodell gets booed-- drink, bask in the booing chorus

Let's see: I feel like there was something that happened with Goodell and New Orleans... Goodell... New Orleans... oh yeah THAT'S RIGHT. It only involved suspending a bunch of players and a coach and torpedoing the Saints' season over something that everyone in the NFL does but only the Saints made into a formal system. They were just trying to be organized, and this is what they got.

OH. And then a bunch of those suspensions were overturned. So that happened. Add in the feeble attempts at protecting the brains of the people who make everyone's money for them, and it should be a fun ride for the commish.

2. Player wears his championship t-shirt over his shoulder pads-- drink

Eli Manning pioneered championship chic, and it's caught on over the years. There's nothing quite like looking like a transformer when you're accepting the Lombardi Trophy. Granted, this year, players might keep their pads on for fear Ed Reed wants to fit in one more late hit.

3. Ray Lews cries/thanks God-- chug

If the Ravens win, this will happen. If they don't win, this will happen. Use it as your final opportunity to get plastered.

4. You make it through the entire night of Began in '96's Super Bowl drinking game-- finish your drink and call in sick for tomorrow

Congrats, you made it. Only seven more months 'til preseason starts.

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via Talkingbaws.com

By Zach Ricchiuti

Once an international star, Wesley Sneijder now toils in relative obscurity with Galatasaray.

In 2010, Wesley Sneijder was on top of the world.

The Netherlands and Inter Milan playmaker had just won the historic treble for the first time in Inter’s history, and played an important role in wins over Chelsea, Barcelona and Bayern Munich. He then went and scored five goals during the World Cup, propelling the Netherlands to the final for the first time in more than two decades. Sneijder was one of the best players in the world, and looking to make a big-money move to Manchester United.

Fast forward a few years, and he is now something of a pariah. Frozen out at Inter over what was some combination of a coach’s decision and a salary disagreement, depending on who you believe, Sneijder was forced seek new pastures far removed from the glitz and glamour of Europe’s top leagues. Where he landed is at potentially the low point of his career, as a member of the Turkish league’s Galatasary. How he ended up there is a bit longer of a story.

Ever since Sneijder broke onto the scene at Ajax, his stock seemed higher than it should have been. His subsequent move to Real Madrid inflated it further, painting him as the free-kick heir to David Beckham. He won silverware there, but faced constant questions about his weight and commitment, and soon was off to Inter. There, he would be the centerpiece of a club coming off a league title handed to them after the Juventus match-fixing scandal.

This finally seemed like the perfect fit. Italian squads are one of the few left in Europe that rely on a traditional No. 10 position, and often feature narrow midfielders supported by aggressive fullbacks. And Sneijder did have a wonderful 2010 season. He worked well with teammates Samuel Eto and Diego Milito, spraying wide passes and firing 20-yard missiles on goal. In coach Jose Mourinho’s system, he was in full control.

Sneijder’s comfort came at a steep price for Inter, though. Mourinho racked up bloated contracts (including Sneijder’s) and hefty transfer fees, and with the financial fair play system looming, the coach was soon out and Inter was scrambling to avoid disaster. On the field, new boss Stramaccioni made it clear that Sneijder’s role was shrinking. He would be slowly replaced by the more workman-like Freddy Guarin, who could cover more ground and press opponents’ midfielders, all at a steep discount to what they were paying Sneijder. Eventually, dumping him altogether became the only viable option.

Sneijder was in search of a team again. And despite his pedigree and relative youth, few wanted him. His wages effectively ruled him out of a spot on any Italian club. Only Juventus and Milan could afford him, and neither are in a logistical position to bring him into the fold. Manchester United, Sneijder’s old suitor, is an embarrassment of riches at his position with Wayne Rooney, Kagawa and a number of other strikers already at the club. Among other squads, concerns about his lack of fitness seems to have scared everyone off.

So Turkey it is. It’s an ambitious move for Galatasaray, which hopes to challenge for the Turkish title and then become a regular contender in the Champions League. And they’ll at least be a must-watch for one match, when a newly eligible Sneijder leads them into a knock-out round contest against Schalke, more eager than ever before to prove his doubters wrong.

Zach Ricchiuti is a contributor and resident soccer expert for Began in '96.

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By Adam Cancryn

The people harmed in the making of heroes.

Lizzy Seeberg. Declan Sullivan. Betsy Andreu. Richard Lollar. Jacinth Baker.

Remember those names. Those names belong to the little people. They belong to the ones who got in the way. The ones who threatened a Very Important Person, and in the process were defamed, tortured and even killed.

***

Lizzy Seeberg. She was 19 years old in August 2010, a freshman at St. Mary's College taking her first steps toward becoming a nurse. By September, she was dead.

What happened in between is well-chronicled and yet still shrouded in mystery.We know that Seeberg was allegedly assaulted in a dorm room one night by a Notre Dame football player, an attack cut short only by a knock on the door. She later told her friends about the episode, and then reported the assault to Notre Dame police, submitted DNA to the local hospital and sought counseling.

Then came the threats. "Don't do anything you would regret," a text from one of the player's friends read. "Messing with notre dame football is a bad idea."

She became so fearful of the backlash that she went out of her way to show support for the Fighting Irish, donning Notre Dame gear and attending the football team's home opener. That night, Seeberg would watch as her attacker take the field to the approval of thousands of fans around her. The next week, she was found dead, stomach pumped full of anti-depressants.

That's what we know. It's been more than two years now, and there have been no arrests. There has been no more information. Notre Dame and St. Mary's administrators have stonewalled reporters. The accused attacker, whose yearbook photo Seeberg showed to police, remains free and anonymous. In January, he suited up for the BCS National Championship Game. He continues to live his life, uninterrupted. You don't mess with Notre Dame football.

***

Declan Sullivan. A junior at that same so-called higher institution and the videographer for the Fighting Irish. He rode a scissor lift 50 feet in the air one day in October 2010, ordered up there by head coach Brian Kelly. Standing five stories above the practice field, winds whipped past him at more than 60 miles per hour. In between taping the team's workout, he tapped out a quick tweet: "Gusts of wind up to 60 mph. Well today will be fun at work. I guess I've lived long enough."

An hour later: "This is terrifying."

And then he was falling. After they finished loading Sullivan's battered body into an ambulance, practice continued for nearly a half-hour more.

An investigation concluded some time after Sullivan's death. It found that Kelly, the newly minted and high-profile head coach who put a 20-year-old 50 feet in the air amid high winds to tape a routine practice, had acted with the character and values in "accord with the highest standards of Notre Dame."

In January, Kelly led the Notre Dame football team and Lizzy Seeberg's alleged attacker onto the field for the BCS National Championship Game. As for Declan Sullivan, I guess he'd lived long enough.

***

Betsy Andreu. She's the wife of cyclist Freddie Andreu, and the ex-friend of Lance Armstrong. She is also the one who witnessed Armstrong confess to doping during a hospital visit in 1996, and who found herself alone when she refused to lie about it. Andreu endured a public smear campaign and private threats. She was "crazy," a "psycho" and a "bitch," according to Armstrong and his operatives. A message left on Andreu's phone hoped someone would break "a baseball bat over [her] head." For years, she was the villain. She was the one trying to tear down Lance, the Great American Hero. The public crushed her in its scramble to sit at Armstrong's feet.

It's been 17 years since Andreu sat in that hospital room. She is finally vindicated, yet the scars remain. Given a chance to make amends this past week as part of his public rehabilitation, Armstrong admitted to calling her crazy and a bitch, but: "I never called you fat."

A smug smile crept across his lips.

***

Richard Lollar and Jacinth Baker. Shortly after the St. Louis Rams won Super Bowl XXXIV, they went to a party at an Atlanta nightclub and never came home.

The man who knows why they were stabbed to death, and by whom, now prepares for his second shot at a title since that night in January 2000. Ray Lewis is an NFL icon and a sure Hall of Famer now, but back on that night was just the witness to a double murder. He then jumped into his limo, told the other passengers to "keep their mouts shut," and fled the scene.

Lewis would later negotiate a deal to drop the murder charges against him in exchange for testimony against two of his friends. In court, he refused to link those friends to the killings, and all were acquitted. Lewis paid the NFL a $250,000 fine and began a reinvention that turned him into the favored son of both Baltimore and the NFL's marketing team.

Lollar and Baker's murders remain unsolved, their families left with only grief and unanswered questions. As Lewis heads toward retirement and a cushy job at ESPN, Lollar's aunt told USA Today that she headed for the funeral home, "because that's where my nephew retired."

***

Lizzy Seeberg. Declan Sullivan. Betsy Andreu. Richard Lollar. Jacinth Baker.

Remember those names. Remember them when Notre Dame athletic director Jack Swarbrick tears up and promises justice over star linebacker Manti Te'o's fake girlfriend, yet issues no comment after no comment on the subjects of Seeberg and Sullivan. Remember them when Brian Kelly trots out onto a field surrounded by sea of cheering fans. Remember them when Lance Armstrong embarks on his image restoration tour, and when the cameras find Ray Lewis in the midst of his pregame histrionics.

These are just five of the millions like them in Steubenville and at Penn State and all around the world that threatened Very Important People, and then got swept aside. They are the victims of institutions that place power over justice, that enable the most heinous acts because to not do so would mean sacrificing money or status. It would mean tearing down heroes and exposing flaws. When there are only little people at stake, those like you or me, it's all just too inconvenient.

Lizzy Seeberg. Declan Sullivan. Betsy Andreu. Richard Lollar. Jacinth Baker.

Remember those names. Remember them because those in power desperately want us to forget. Remember them because it's the only way we can start to make things right.

Adam Cancryn is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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Via the Seattle Times

By Zach Ricchiuti

Major League Soccer must reevaluate its priorities if it hopes to entrench itself alongside mainstream U.S. sports like football and baseball.

Sepp Blatter's year-end swipe at Major League Soccer left no question about how the big man atop FIFA views soccer in America. And while harsh, he unfortunately has a point.

MLS has made big strides in its short history. It's the third-best attended sport in the U.S., and the number two sport for kids aged 12 to 24. More significantly, just 7.2 million of the 30 million Americans who identify themselves as soccer fans are also MLS fans. That leaves some serious room for growth. 

But those headline statistics cannot make up for the simple truth that professional soccer in the U.S. is routinely buried by the attention and airtime devoted to the NFL, NBA, and MLB. Soccer has so far failed to break into the country's mainstream sports narrative, even after publicity grabs that included recruiting David Beckham, Thierry Henry and Robbie Keane. 

In spite of that, teams are sticking with the same strategy, hoping the next major international splash brings lasting attention along with it. The New York Red Bulls in the offseason signed Juninho, a stellar professional who is also a 38-year-old with questionable ability to mesh with the existing squad. Combine him with former PR plays Tim Cahill and Henry and the New York attack is a combined 106 years old. 

Not to be outdone, the L.A. Galaxy are now in talks with 35-year-old midfielder Frank Lampard.

The average American soccer fan is surely glad that these icons are playing in MLS. But at the same time, it's made them no more likely to trek out to lonely Harrison, N.J., to support the Red Bulls, or travel miles outside of Chicago to root for the Fire. Stadiums without 50-yard lines and teams in new places like Portland and Seattle have helped move the league forward, but the lack of a coherent storyline or sense of importance around those arenas and their clubs still holds MLS back. It'll take more than a lively atmosphere to create that necessary connection, and the league needs to refocus on solving that problem, rather than just buying every available aging star and plastering his name all over the place. 

The better answer to MLS' dilemma is simple youth. Clubs need to take more gambles, like Seattle did with Colombian sensation Fredy Montero. He may have been inconsistent, but he was exciting and unpredictable and quickly became the face of the franchise. The fans got to make a natural connection with their team's star, rather than one prearranged through an expensive cross-continent deal and some clever marketing. 

MLS would also do well to put added emphasis on youth here at home. Pump more money into academies and raise the standard of coaching in the U.S., so that the best talent comes from that giant pool of 12 to 24-year-olds already hooked on soccer in America. We've seen the success that Clint Dempsey and Jozy Altidore have enjoyed on the international stage, and similar homegrown stories would bring national attention and commercial benefits. Media hype about an 18-year-old U.S. soccer phenom is guaranteed to receive more play on ESPN than Frank Lampard playing out the string in L.A. 

MLS won't break into the upper tier of American sports if it maintains its short-term view. It needs to accumulate and solidify its loyalties with fans, and unless it's going to throw gobs of cash at them like teams do with their big-name recruits, it will take a little longer and a lot more work. So start young, and work up from there. When MLS can prove that it can both build and retain U.S. talent, the value of its product will soar.

Zach Ricchiuti is a contributor and resident soccer expert for Began in '96.

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There's an old quote deriding sportswriting, and it goes something like, "The sports section is the playground of a newspaper." Writing about bats and balls and the people who dedicate their lives to children's games is silly, it's saying, a venture not up to par with the seriousness of the rest of the day's news.

To that, we say: You're absolutely right.

Sports is certainly a playground for writers. It's a place where we get do to big, dumb, stupid things. A place where we can tease someone over his ridiculous haircut, where we can show off and mess around for hours on end. It's fun to write about sports and all of the amazing, outlandish and downright ridiculous things that we witness every day. That fun is why we come out and do it again and again.

But the playground is also where we tend to have our most formative experiences. They're not part of our formal education, but they stick with us nevertheless. The playground is where we make new friends. Where we grapple with injustice and every once in a while gather up the courage to take on the schoolyard bully. It's the playground — it's sports — where things can get messy and put us to the test. We write sports because it's fun. But sometimes we also write because it's necessary.

It's always instrumental to take one last look back before we forge ahead. If we've spent the last two weeks reflecting on the 2012 year in sports, then consider the following a reflection on the 2012 year in us. It's the 10 best stories published at Began in '96 over the last year, as selected by the editors, as well as the five most-read pieces. You'll find an assortment of reflective essays, furious arguments and in-depth analysis; the kind of diversity of subject and style that we think keeps this site strong.

We hope you'll read all of them, but more than that, we hope that at least one will grab you, shake you up and deposit you back in your seat, a little bit of a different person from when you started.

Much gratitude goes to our numerous contributors, whose stories consistently knock us on our ass. Ten stories is far too few to capture all of the great writing that goes on here.

And a thank you beyond words to everyone for reading, for joining us on the playground. Here's to quality sportswriting and quality people.

-- Adam and Joe

2012's Best of Began in '96: Adam

1. Exceptional healing: Johan, the Mets and the ghosts of '06
"The Mets have their milestone. In Santana, they have their hero. And thanks to him, the past no longer stands in the way of the future."

2. RGIII's one-season revolution
"In the NFL, though, change is as fleeting as it is common. The true test of the RGIII revolution is whether it sticks around."

3. Steel city savior
"Thank you Andrew, for reminding us that we’re all winning in the Steel City. That we’re alive."

4. Mayhem on the ice
"When games get chippy, both checking lines hit the ice. Two guys go at it, and that’s the end. That’s how it’s supposed to happen, at least."

5. Lions in the boardroom, lambs on the field
"Samson is a lap dog masquerading as the Alpha dog, wrapped in a Napoleon complex and weighed down by the massive chip on his shoulder."

2012's Best of Began in '96: Joe

1. Thursday with Jerry

"Before long, he's smiling again. It's a Thursday night, and Jerry is a student at the only college he ever wanted to attend."

2. The great stadium hustle

"Most states and cities already can't afford to throw hundreds of millions of dollars toward something that doesn’t grow the surrounding community. When the tradeoff is taking money away from funding for education, road and bridge maintenance, airports and so on, the decision should be easy. But regardless of the mounting evidence, the same thing happens almost every time."

3. Surrounding Yeardley and George, a deafening silence

"In the spring of 2010, Yeardley Love's ex-boyfriend broke into her room, beat her and left her to die. She would spend her final moments face down on her bed in a pool of blood, alone. She was 22 years old."

4. Can't knock the hustle

"Despite all the evidence, we fans still operate under this facade of loyalty. We recognize that sports is just another industry, but we still want our players to feel the same connection to us that we do to them."

5. The First Annual Began in '96 Super Bowl Drinking Game

"Someone tells you the commercials are the best part of the Super Bowl-- drink until you can forgive them"

2012's Most Read at Began in '96

1. Bryce Harper: Man/Child

"It was a man's hit, decisive and direct. Harper read two all the way and pulled into second easily."

2. INFOGRAPHIC: RGIII's dominating performance by the numbers

"We now know this much: Robert Griffin III has world-class speed."

3. At Real Madrid, Mourinho's power fails

"His intense, almost fanatical addiction winning and success made him the most sought-after coach for big clubs needing quick success. But Mourinho burns almost everything he touches."

4. Thursday with Jerry

5. Carlos, I'm sorry

"But worse than all that is the realization that we, as Mets fans, wasted our years with Beltran."


Began in '96 is edited by Adam Cancryn and Joe Schackman, and features contributions from more than 15 writers.

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Via The Knicks Wall

By Joe Schackman

The year that Jeremy Lin captivated a nation and brought one lapsed Knicks fan back into the fold. Part of a short series on the best moments of 2012.

2012 A.D. taught me one important lesson. I’m a shitty Knicks fan.

During the most recent dark age of the storied New York franchise, I was nowhere to be found. Isiah Thomas was busy stuffing his roster with the likes of Stephon Marbury, Steve Francis and Zach Randolph, and I was busy doing... well... other things. The Knicks were lifeless, rudderless and couldn’t get out of their own way. I was in no mood to go along for that ride. Sorry, New York, but things were complicated. It was me, not you.

Yet lo and behold, the orange and blue eventually found their way back into my life. First Amar’e came to town, and that piqued my interest. Then the excitement grew when Melo arrived home. But the one who finally convinced me to give it another go was not one of the Knicks’ superstars. It was a slightly awkward, couch-dwelling kid named Jeremy Lin.

At least half the adjectives in the English language have been slapped onto Linsanity, but none have stuck. It’s still a hard concept to express in words. I mean, really think about what happened. A 23-year-old Asian American, Ivy League grad, who even the biggest basketball diehards had never heard of, suddenly finds himself at the epicenter of the sports world. Look at his resume and you’d think he had a better chance of owning an NBA team than running its offense. And yet here he was.

And there I was, in at the ground level, having casually turned on the February Knicks-Nets game that would put Lin on the map. He carried the team, scoring 25 en route to a win. Then in his first professional start he scored 28 against the Jazz. He was must-see TV, and I was giving a crap again. Rushing home to watch games. Yelling about how Lin defied all of sports’ truisms. He was a throwback to the time when some anonymous young kid could stumble off the farm with a 95-mile-per-hour fastball and a ticket to the Majors. Lin was the kind of out-of-nowhere star that you simply don’t see anymore, and because of that, I cared whether the Knicks won or lost for the first time in a long time.

The hyperbole surrounding Lin’s play was intense, of course. Everyone knew that what he was doing was unsustainable. But at the same time, his success wasn’t all smoke and mirrors. You don’t fall ass backwards into 38 points against Kobe and the Lakers. You don’t hit a game-winning, buzzer-beating shot against the Raptors. Not if you don’t have some serious chops. Lin played the best ball of his life, yes, but he did it long enough to prove he belonged.

Then came the injury, the early playoff exit and then the off-season move to the Rockets. I was crushed. I’d grown attached to the Lin-led Knicks, and it didn’t matter what it took to keep that going. I could justify the cap hits and wish away Jim Dolan’s money like it was nothing. The men in charge saw it differently. Soon Lin was packing his bags.

As 2012 turned to 2013, the Knicks showed that they are better than ever. Their play is still infectious, but without Lin it hasn’t been the same for me. Maybe it never will. Maybe I’ll always look back at 2012 as the year that set the bar too high, that haunts my fandom.

Or maybe I’ll just stop caring about the Knicks again. It worked the first time.

Joe Schackman is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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Via The Urban Daily

By Frank Flores

The year that LeBron won everything. Part of a short series on the best moments of 2012.

Ask even the most casual sports fan in a few years about the most memorable sports moments of 2012, and you’ll get a bunch of different answers. But the one I think will stay with everybody for the next few decades and even longer is that 2012 was the year that LeBron James won his first NBA championship. It was the year that the best player in the league ticked the top task off his to-do list, the year that the King received his crown. And when he was done with that, he went ahead and won his third MVP and second Olympic gold medal for good measure. LeBron simply had one of the greatest years in basketball history.

The title was the culmination of a journey for the most hyped man in sports. From gaining national fame in high school to going first overall to his hometown Cavaliers, to winning three MVPs in four seasons and uttering those poorly planned words about “talents” and “South Beach,” high expectations surrounded and engulfed LeBron. No matter how well he played, it was never quite good enough for our liking. Nine years into his NBA career, that finally changed.

***

The game always came easily to LeBron, that much is for sure. But there’s a crucial sliver of difference in the NBA between playing the game well and playing the game successfully. Nowhere was that more apparent than in the aftermath of the Heat’s 2011 finals loss to the Dallas Mavericks. LeBron was in disbelief. He’d worked so hard to get to this point, and then when it mattered most, came up small. The numbers were there, and the Heat were clearly the most talented in the league. But numbers and talent only went so far. LeBron would have to improve as a leader and teammate; he’d have to drag his squad through that championship barrier.

When the lockout-shortened next season began, the Heat promptly beat the Mavericks and then took off from there. They cruised to a 46-20 record that put them second in the Eastern Conference. LeBron led the charge, putting up typical LeBron/MVP numbers (27.1 points, 7.9 rebounds, 6.2 assists) and shooting 53% from the field. More than any other year, though, this season wasn’t about the award.

LeBron, and by extension, the Heat, hit full stride in the playoffs. A 4-1 series win against the Knicks. Down 2-1 to the Pacers, he put up 40/18/9 to tie that series. Two games later, it was over. In the Eastern Conference Finals, a 45/15/5 night staved off elimination. By comparison, game seven was a formality. LeBron, and by extension, the Heat, were back in the finals.

This time, Miami faced Kevin Durant and the Oklahoma City Thunder. The Heat dropped the first game, and those familiar whispers got louder. Nine years, and no ring to show for all that work. LeBron stamped them out, and quick. It’d been nine years, he didn’t have time to play around. A series that many thought would go the distance went just five. There were competitive moments, but rarely competitive games. LeBron in the deciding game racked up a triple double, and finished the series averaging 30.3 points, 9.7 rebounds and 5.6 assists. The burden lifted, the whispers melted away. Finals MVP. Check. NBA championship. Check plus.

***

For many, that’d be a great year’s work. But days later, LeBron was off to London to play for the Olympic team. On a squad full of the best players in the world, he was the best of the best, and also the most versatile. LeBron started out of position at power forward, and against Spain even tooled around a bit at center. He scored at will, and yet knew when to take a back seat to the rest of his fellow all-stars. Like the MVP race and NBA finals, the gold medal at some point became an inevitability. LeBron became just the second player ever to win the regular season and finals MVPs, NBA championship and Olympic gold in the same year. In late 2012, he added Sports Illustrated Sportsman of the Year to that haul.

Perhaps best of all, though, he closed the book on the Old LeBron, the one with all the numbers and none of the accomplishments. The one who played the game well, but not successfully. Here was LeBron James, triumphant and unburdened, a king with his crown at the end of a truly terrific year.

Frank Flores is a contributor for Began in '96, and writes about the Knicks at Why is it taking so long.

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Via Examiner

By Burl Rolett

The interception that altered NFL history, solved a lockout and ultimately never existed. Part of a short series on the best moments of 2012.

2012 was a rough year for The Shield.

A botched bounty investigation wrecked Roger Goodell’s remaining credibility among the players; the Jets lost their iconic fan to the kind of hostile stadium atmosphere that's made NFL games R-rated events; and safety concerns continued to threaten football’s long-term viability. 

But the league's most memorable story came all the way back in week three, when Packers safety M.D. Jennings picked off a desperation heave by the Seahawks' Russell Wilson. 

With eight seconds remaining in the game and the Seahawks trailing 12-7, Wilson took the snap and rolled left. He set his feet and unleashed a 40-yard Hail Mary as time expired. Receiver Golden Tate pushed off of cornerback Sam Shields in the back of the end zone, managing to get a hand on the pass just after Jennings did. Tate wrapped his arms around the ball as the two went to the ground and the much-maligned replacement refs rushed in to make the final call of their NFL careers. 

“Touchdown,” signaled the side judge. The back judge at the same time signaled for a timeout, though the clock showed triple zeros. Packers cornerback Jarrett Bush, the only one to get the call right, signaled interception and touchback. 

The ruling on the field was a touchdown by the NFL’s simultaneous catch rule, a situation that ESPN's broadcasters claimed was not reviewable. They would have been correct if the catch occurred in the field of play. In the end zone, it was a different story. Yet the replacement refs were just as clueless, and the initial ruling was upheld. Seahawks win. 

The sports world had its next Don Denkinger moment. The judges from June's controversial Manny Pacquiao-Timothy Bradley fight, no longer the year's least competent officials, could relax. 

This call was far worse. 

The Cardinals could have gotten three more outs to clinch the 1985 World Series in spite of Denkinger’s miss, and boxers understand the inherent risk in letting someone else decide their fight.

The Packers, on the other hand, were just pure out of luck. 

As I sat basking in the chaos of that Monday night, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Goodell had seemingly got what he deserved after weeks of fighting with the real referees, and Green Bay's misfortune catapulted my Chicago Bears into first place.



I called a Packers fan to simultaneously brag and apologize. The game cost him half a bag of sunflower seeds and his girlfriend, who was currently vacuuming seeds and shells off of her dormitory floor.

Eventually I became a little more empathetic. First for my friend, who had some serious damage control to do. Then for the gamblers who bought the then-tantalizing three-point spread the Packers gave the Seahawks. And finally, for the Packers. This game would undoubtedly have playoff implications. 

The loss dropped Green Bay to 1-2, with a tough road ahead of them. In a 16-game season, no team can afford to take a loss when they've earned a win; imagine watching your baseball team drop 10 straight thanks to two weeks of poor officiating. 

Sure enough, that early-season mistake left them a half-game behind the 49ers and the NFC's second seed by season's end. Now, rather than hosting San Francisco on a week's rest, they'll head to Candlestick Park and the 49ers' 6-1-1 home record. 

The Seahawks, meanwhile, are a different story. They barreled into the playoffs and have now won eight straight, relying on that old "three yards and a cloud of dust" style we'd been told was all but obsolete in this pass-happy league. It's part of a certain bravado that surrounds them, an arrogance that you can't help but hate to love. 

Maybe it's because they're tucked away in the Pacific Northwest, a region often ignored and far removed from the rest of the sporting world. Maybe it's because Russell Wilson is one of the more unlikely rookie quarterbacks to have made it this far. Maybe it's because head coach Pete Carroll is perpetually wearing the frat-boy smirk of a man dancing one step ahead of trouble. Whatever it is, the Seahawks have that magnetic swagger, the kind that draws people in even as they shake their heads in disgust. 

I can’t be sure whether Seattle carried that swagger into week three, but they certainly left with it. Asked postgame if he saw Tate’s “catch,” Wilson smiled, shrugged and chuckled to himself. 

“It was simultaneous, so tie goes to the runner, right?” 

After a two-season minor league baseball career, Wilson knows better. The phrase is a myth. The tie doesn't go to the runner, it goes to the umpire, the highly-trained arbiter entrusted with determining the game's crucial moments. That Monday night in week three, the umpire was so wrong it brought two warring factions back to the table. The NFL and referees resolved their dispute, the scabs returned to their high school fields and arena leagues, and normalcy returned. Both teams made the playoffs, and all seemed fixed. 

But unless the Packers take the scenic route to the Super Bowl, there will always be a question of what might have been. Or more accurately, what should have been. It’s a tiny asterisk amended to this NFL football season, and a classic sports story that will live on long after Super Bowl XLVIII.

Burl Rolett is a contributor for Began in '96. He writes regularly about the Chicago Bears for Grabowskis in Exile.

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Via USA Today

By Jason Bacaj

It was only one season, but boy, what a season. The RGIII-led Redskins engineered the turnaround of the year and surged into the playoffs. Part of a short series on the best moments of 2012.

I wish I had a picture of the faces on all the people at my house when the Redskins won the NFC East. I wish I could take that feeling, bottle it up and take a sip any time I’m feeling down. I’d keep a little vial of it around my neck so emergency personnel could inject it directly into my aorta and bring me back to life, if need be.

Watching the Redskins capture the division for the third time in my life while surrounded by Dallas fans was glorious and amazing and easily one of the best sports moments of 2012. And because I can’t help but gloat a little bit more… to all the Cowboys fans still clinging to that “America’s Team” moniker: Child, please. You must not have seen this. Forget America’s Team, Robert Griffin III is America’s quarterback.

This year marked the complete turnaround of an NFL franchise that had seen so little success for so long. The Redskins went from worst to first, and while a significant portion of the credit goes to our Black Jesus under center, more encouraging was that much of what the team built over the past two years started to pay off.

The decrepit roster with a losing mentality was broken down and rebuilt, better piece by better piece. Head coach Mike Shanahan has cut 150 players since he came in, and only one (Carlos Rogers) is starting for another team. Over the course of those two years, the Redskins grew up right before our eyes.

Or at least my eyes, since it seems no one else has given them a chance since the late 1990s. I’m looking at you, ESPN the Magazine, with your 2-14 preseason prediction. And you, Pete Prisco of CBSSports.com, with your 3-13 prediction. Despite key early-season injuries and a dreadful 3-6 start, Washington refused to fold where it certainly would have in the past. Then suddenly they were owners of a seven-game winning streak, a division title, and a home playoff game.

Who knows what will happen next year. Offensive coordinator Kyle Shanahan appears interested in a head coaching gig (Don’t do it, Kyle! There’s a succesion plan in place and RGIII is your play-calling muse), the team will lose out on another $18 million in cap space and it’s already without a first round draft pick.* Not to mention Griffin’s wobbly knee, which swayed and then collapsed on the torn-up FedEx Field turf, dragging D.C.’s playoff dreams with it.

Even so, what happened this season was glorious. The pack-it-in attitude is gone. In its place is a franchise quarterback, a talented running back, and the kind of skill at each position that comes from a multiyear dedication to rebuilding. We’ve seen one of the finest franchise turnarounds in recent memory, and I can only hope that this year lives up to the new standard that the Redskins set in 2012.

Jason Bacaj is Began in '96's Out West correspondent and an appropriately optimistic Redskins fan.

*Article amended to reflect that the 'Skins do indeed have a second round draft pick. Hooray!

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