Chris Bosh, the Incredible Shrinking Man

DAVID GUTTENFELDER/AP

Chris Bosh: Still part of the team. Really.

Q: How do you make Chris Bosh disappear?

A: Ask Mike Krzyzewski.

It's lunchtime in Raptorland, morning in Japan, nowhere for Chris Bosh. I'm confused --Bosh goes DNP, the boxscore lacking the usual NBAesque "CD" notation? There wasn't a four-minute stretch where Bosh might've proved useful? He didn't even warrant an end of the quarter blow for Dwight Howard, or even an end of the line blow, Howard going out of the game for some time after he fell painfully on his back. All right then -- anyone for a Loren Woods look-in, at least?

At least burnout won't be a problem when Bosh resumes his Raptor duties. He hasn't played more than 13 minutes in any of the USA's four games. Coach K has been rolling his lines, with two units of five playing run and gun, which has led to some criticism and debate -- check out True Hoop for updates and good links, and Doug Smith here at The Star has been providing a good daily check on Raptors; the FIBA site is AWFULly slow and clunky and not to be trusted -- and Bosh has not been among them. Nor was he among them today against Italy when The K, finally faced with an opponent that wasn't rolling over, shortened the rotation.

From the bits I've looked in on -- not much, admittedly, perhaps 40 minutes total between exhibitions and worlds play, all of it buried well up into triple digits on the digital dial and tipping off at the unspeakable hour of 6:30 a.m. -- I haven't seen a play run for him. He's been limited to setting screens, trolling for putbacks or the odd rebound, maybe hoist up a jump shot.

Sure, on a team with Wade, Anthony, Brand and LeBron, it was always going to be this way. But DNP-CD?

In Bosh's last two games, he had 13 scoreless minutes against Slovenia and then today, didn't get off the bench in the U.S.'s tight win over Italy. In three games, he's put up five shots and made one. This isn't an all-star. It's the Incredible Shrinking Man.

Game 1, vs Puerto Rico ... 12 minutes, 5 points
Game 2, vs China ... 11 minutes, 3 points
Game 3, vs Slovenia ... 13 minutes, 0 points
Game 4, vs Spain ... Did not play

There's a pride and sense of accomplishment that comes with selection to your national team. But serving as a towel-waving mascot is somewhat less that what this was advertised as. These guys have long since stopped practising, too, so it's not like there's even that positive to take from it, the (dubious) notion that matching up against Brand or Dwight Foster in workouts is going to make for some development out of this.

At least Bosh, and pinemate Brad Miller, will get some minutes, now that the USA is counting it down to the knockout round in Thursday's final, meaingless group game, against Senegal.

Other, admittedly quick impressions of Raptors from these first few days of the tournament:

Jose Calderon can be a quality NBA backup -- if he was matched against the little guy Germany had on him most of Spain's game on Tuesday, that is (or was it Monday?) Still, he shot well and directed the show nicely for the Spaniards.

Garbajosa, whose name is going to make for some good signage in NBA stands this winter, can step out and hit the jumper. But here's the thing -- EVERYONE in Europe can step out and hit the J. I still haven't seen any of that grittiness everyone's talked about, and I wonder how his package will adapt to the NBA, but the guy's won a lot and I'm not prepared to draw any conclusions off this skimpy evidence.

Rasho Nesterovic looks fine, pretty solid for his Slovenia team, scoring from outside and grabbing rebounds. He'll do just fine for the Raptors -- hell, relative to the stiffs they've had, he's a star.

Slokar has played for Slovenia, and I've seen him. At least I think it was him. He has wispy facial hair, okay? Does that identify him enough? Yes, he's been that memorable.

Related: Raptors HQ has been taking more detailed looks at the five Raptors at the worlds.

Chel$ea's latest go

While our brave CanaBundWenglish lad Owen Hargreaves pleads for release from Munich to Manchester, and as the Ashley Cole-leaves-and-William-Gallas-arrives story at Highbury Sold-to-the-Highest-Bidder Stadium drags on, the most intrigue in England's drama-starved Premiership still revolves around how Chelsea goes this season.

Abramovich's billions have given him the best team in England (again) and perhaps the best in all of Europe (again) -- the world, at least in pro footy terms. But this is a paper-'n-pixels kind of best, and even with a supposed change of direction in the team this season, a gaggle of blue-ribbon youngsters brought in to carry the bags of the likes of Shevchenko and Ballack, nothing less than a Champions League title that was denied by Barcelona last time around will vindicate the approach, with the total payroll at a zillion quid.

They're back at it today, against Middlesbrough, and perhaps Michael Ballack will debut and start earning his 120,000 pounds a week salary. Or maybe not. John Terry might skip it as well.

Watching their opening 3-0 win over Man City on Sunday, the announcers could barely contain themselves regarding the depth of this Chelsea aggregation. They focussed as on the players in mufti behind the bench -- Ballack, Makelele, Geremi, Cech et al -- as they did on poor, overmatched City, and barfingly gushed about how good this team could be when all hands are on deck.

Well, perhaps not. Michael Essien was Sunday's best player, and undoubtedly one of the world's best midfielders. Yet, if/when Ballack does appear, Essien goes back to the bench -- Ballack will be expected to mesh with Frank Lampard, both of them offensive midfielders, and Makelele takes over as the backstopping midfielder.

And how happy are the likes of Essien going to be with spot duty? It's the eternal question, and not at all a new development in Chelsea's Abramovich era. Now Arsene Wenger, who spends winters playing the continental Monsieur to Mourinho's Dr. Evil, has enticed William Gallas, a World Cup runner-up banished to the Chelsea reserves, with a starting XI spot to ease the sting of a pay cut, in a deal that could finally bring Ashley Cole to Stamford Bridge. Which would send Wayne Bridge, who teamed up so well with Arjen Robben on the left side on Sunday, back to the bench -- and whither Robben when Joe Cole returns from injury?

Norman Hubbard put the fundamental best in this recent Soccernet piece:

There is a dilemma that confronts players at elite clubs; however well remunerated, sitting on the bench is a poor substitute for first-team football. Abramovich can fund the most extravagant of salaries, but not the intangibles; the memories, the sense of belonging and purpose, the thrill of making a decisive contribution. In short, the experience of being a footballer.

I doubt Chelsea will do anything but win the English Premier League this season, and go deep in the Champions League. But they also provide a litmus test for this latest  instalment of the Abramovich/Mourinho approach. Sometimes, the best team money can buy isn't the best team.

Fallout

Lots of reaction and comment, as expected, out of yesterday's news:

Rich Griffin says fire the manager. Over at the Sun, Bob Elliott says keep him, but the most cogent nugget has to be this priceless quote from A's manager Ken Macha: "That's that type of situation when no one is in touch with reality." (my take: That was nothing. Ken ought to come up here during Leafs season.)

Dave Perkins and Stephen Brunt (reg. required) suggest that this might affect the Jays adversely next season (my take -- This stuff is overrated. Throw enough money in front of free agents and it's amazing how their glasses turn rose-coloured and they start talking about "joining a new family" and "core values" and "this was my first choice all along").

AP FILE PHOTO

Sometimes, you know, it just happens.

The Jays' spin, contained in a Globe news story, that the Lilly-Gibbons confrontation and the Hillenbrand-Gibbons confrontation were "two different situations." (my take -- obviously they are, but isn't that something of a cop-out? Two different situations, yes -- everything in life is about different situations -- but there's one common denominator, a manager going through his first real pressurized situation and reacting by getting physical instead of taking a more measured approach. As commenter Rich said in the blog so well yesterday, "Lilly's job is physical. Gibbons' job is mental. Last night both performed pathetically.")

And oh yeah, the Jays won a game, getting their fourth successive quality start out of A.J. Burnett, surely the teasingest of contemporary major-league pitchers with his combination of stuff -- a humming fastball, and a sharp curve that got him through the middle stages last night -- and trips to the DL.

And thus, how different the world of pro sports is from the one outside. No offence taken, no resulting discipline, no apologies from either side, all because "it happens". What's lacking in just about all this fallout was the sense that here was a situation completely out of control -- as Macha pointed out so neatly -- now being spinned as something that just, you know, happens: A pitcher who refuses to give up the ball, and a manager who chases him down the tunnel to wrestle.

Best piece I've come across ran in the National Post, John Lott and Jeremy Sandler with a neat summation of this fantasyland/realityland divide:

In a conventional workplace, John Gibbons might well be seeking another job today. So might his latest public adversary, Ted Lilly, a man who dared argue with his boss in front of 28,000 people and a national television audience.
But these men do not work in an office tower, where civility is expected -- if not always observed -- when friction flares between supervisor and staffer.
Gibbons, the boss, and Lilly, the employee, are Toronto Blue Jays. They have guaranteed contracts. And they work in professional baseball, where the showdown is a cultural norm.

Those battlin' Jays

Twice in a month now, the Blue Jays have been more ready for Ultimate Fighting than a pennant race. They've answered the bell following the all-star break by cracking, and cracking badly, and no one looks worse than the manager John Gibbons.

TONY BOCK/TORONTO STAR

They've handled it. They're moving on. Sure they are.

The postgame reports out of last night's latest instalment focused on Ted Lilly's possible punishment for his insubordination (on Sportsnet, the team's propaganda arm, they've got a poll up this morning -- who won the fight, Lilly or Gibbons? Just the sort of thing  BJs management wants to see over their corn flakes.) But that's more symptom than cause. Gibbons has been a focal point of first the Shea Hillenbrand confrontation and subsequent banishment in July, and now this with Lilly. Going over the replays this morning, here's a thought: Fire Gibbons. And hire Zinedine Zidane's lip-reader.

That must've been some choice epithet for Lilly to throw at Gibbons -- certainly the hardest stuff he's tossed all season, the way Gibbons dove down the tunnel after him. Most appropriate image to come out of it was Roy Halladay, almost alone in the emptied dugout. There's your Toronto pitching staff for you this season: Halladay and B.J. Ryan and four days of lyin'.

But back to Gibbons. What was most pathetic about this display was his postgame mea culpa: it's standard stuff in pro sports to do the "we've handled it, we're moving on" line of crap, to pretend that these things happen and there's no problem (it's usually about this time that some baseball sage trots out the Billy Martin-led Yankees, or the 25-cabs-to-the-ballpark Red Sox, or the mid-70s A's as examples of successful dysfunction -- hands up, anyone?) But to defend this as something that comes out of "athletic competition"? How about standing up and saying something about being responsible for your actions? When you're a manager, paid to think ahead, the "I just lost it" defence doesn't work. (UPDATE: Gibbons is finally taking some responsibility for overreacting. This morning).

Some scattered postgame comments, taken completely out of context, yes, and boldfaced for emphasis:

Ted Lilly, sounding somber and at least standing up for his actions, but stopping short of an apology (and mentioned that there's a month left in the season -- after which he'll be a free agent and no longer a Jay):
"I handled it in a way I think I'll regret."
"He said something to me that kinda triggered that. I said something I shouldn't have said to him in the first place. It kinda got out of control. It's an embarrassing situation."
"I've gotta be responsible for my actions."

RON BULL/TORONTO STAR

Well, he shouldn't have thrown that curveball to Payton.

Vernon Wells, surely headed out of this nuthouse at season's end, delivering the usual boilerplate:
"It's a situation where two guys were upset. That's what happens. It happens at home, it happens here. You gotta deal with it."

Shea Hillenbrand, in San Francisco with the Giants and no angel in all of this:

"They say I'm a cancer on the team and things continue to happen, so I don't know how you can make that statement. Things slowly come out when times get tough. All I know is, Ted Lilly is a great guy. I'm very surprised that confrontation happened with Ted."
On Gibbons: "He's an intense competitor and he doesn't know how to control that. He takes things personally. It's like, why would I want to fight you? Why would you say stuff to instigate a fight? That's not conducive to a ball team."

And finally, even though he doesn't deserve it, last word to Gibbons (and perhaps famous last words):
"I didn't get him. Nobody got hit. Everything's fine."
"We've hashed it all out. That's pretty much all there is."
"It's athletic competition."
"It happens. It happens rarely, but it happens."

In the Blue Jays clubhouse, it's happened twice in a month. But hey, at least nobody head-butted anyone.

Related: Batter's Box recalls Boomer vs. Cito.

The AL East: It's over

August 21 is quite early enough to raise the white flag on the Blue Jays season. But the Red Sox?

Today's 2-1 Yankees win at Fenway effectively ends the division race before it has even begun.

Thus a rare five-game series ends in Boston, the Yankees winning all five rather unbelievably, given history, the law of averages and all that. As Soxaholix put it this morning: "There's something to be said for an old school ass whooping that leaves all your hopes pooled up in a gob of bloody snot on the curb."

Last week's trade of Hinske is regarded by some around here as the official cry-uncle on their season (I thought the Jays' white-flag moment came at the trading deadline, when when there was barely so much as a sniff of J.P. Ricciardi's laundry, during that deadening 2-8 west coast trip, but I'd imagine Shea Hillenbrand, among others, would disagree), but who would've thought the Sox would roll over and play dead so quickly behind them?

Here's something the two division also-rans also share -- GMs who blame the payroll.

Tiger, Federer and Best-Ever Comparisons

With Tiger Woods running away with the PGA championship yesterday, he's now won 12 major titles in his 10th year as a pro golfer, and four of the past eight contested. He's the best player of his generation, and although it's always hazardous to go here, I'd call him the best ever, as many others are. Certainly, this kind of a career, at age 30, is unprecedented.

Lenny Ignelzi/Associated Press

Tiger Woods: A rare moment of losing his grip.

Then there's Roger Federer, the Swiss tennis artiste who recently tuned up for the upcoming U.S. Open with a win at last week's Rogers Cup here in Toronto. David Foster Wallace wrote in the New York Times of "Federer as Religious Experience" in the context of following the 25-year-old at this summer's Wimbledon tournament:

. . . Federer, through the semifinals, has provided no surprise or competitive drama at all. He’s outplayed each opponent so completely that the TV and print press are worried his matches are dull and can’t compete effectively with the nationalist fervor of the World Cup.

And:

The metaphysical explanation is that Roger Federer is one of those rare, preternatural athletes who appear to be exempt, at least in part, from certain physical laws. Good analogues here include Michael Jordan, who could not only jump inhumanly high but actually hang there a beat or two longer than gravity allows, and Muhammad Ali, who really could “float” across the canvas and land two or three jabs in the clock-time required for one. There are probably a half-dozen other examples since 1960. And Federer is of this type — a type that one could call genius, or mutant, or avatar. He is never hurried or off-balance. The approaching ball hangs, for him, a split-second longer than it ought to. His movements are lithe rather than athletic. Like Ali, Jordan, Maradona, and Gretzky, he seems both less and more substantial than the men he faces.

I don't follow tennis closely enough to appreciate much of what Wallace writes, but Federer's record -- eight Grand Slam titles at age 25 puts him on the same pace as Pete Sampras, whose 14 Slam wins tops the list -- while nowhere near as eloquent as the author's descriptions, make a strong argument for best-ever status.

Anja Niedringhaus/Associated Press

Roger Federer: No surprise.

As for lack of surprise and competitive drama, that fits Woods so well. His game is one of nuances as he enters into his prime years, adaptable to the British links as easily as a North American major-title final-round setup. Starting yesterday he was tied, but made birdie on the first hole. Right then, you knew it was over, if you didn't know already. More importantly, I suspect that Woods, and everyone else among the logo'd pros knew it was over as well.

Like Wallace, Michael Wilbon on Tiger writes this morning of small moments in the context of sports history:

So, we've come now to Tiger Woods, who is all these things we've come over the decades to value, including some ingredients we've never seen in the pot until now. Tiger striding up the 18th fairway in that red shirt on Sunday might as well be Ali's red tassels popping in the ring or Jordan's tongue wagging in the fourth quarter. He swings with the prodigious physicality of Ruth, while maintaining the precision of Joe Montana. He controls a golf ball the way Pete Maravich did a basketball, thinks his way around a golf course with the depth of intelligence that Ted Williams thought about hitting, and goes about the mission of winning with the same ferocious will that characterized Jordan.

Related: Chris Zelkovich rips CBS's coverage for not showing enough of Mike Weir (having nipped in and out of the day's TV broadcast once Woods opened up a lead and any drama disappeared -- there was a family barbecue to attend to -- I didn't take note of this one way or another. But it's not like this is a new refrain, is it?)

UPDATE: On the subject of the best of the best, Martina Navratilova won her 176th doubles title this morning in Montreal.

Making goals, not war: An update

Maty Campeonisimo, who got the front-page treatment in my petroleum-based-product life at the World Cup last month, is back on the continent and back at it with his push to use soccer to resolve conflict (and here I thought, given the comments of late, all it did was the opposite). In his latest blog post (and on the Make Goals Not War website), Maty's bagged another endorsement:

Carsten Koall for the Toronto Star

Maty Campeonisimo: Spreading the word.

I met with Kofi Annan's Special Adviser on Sport for Development and Peace, Mr. Adolf Ogi to discuss how we could work together to spread the message that sports is an incredibly powerful tool for peace.
As Mr. Ogi put it, “sports is the best school of life. If you want to make the world a better place, you have to give children a ball.” He told me that to date, our political, economic, scientific, and religious leaders had not yet achieved that elusive task of creating peace. And football in particular, he noted, can do that and has so many times.

The documentary of his guerilla-theatre campaign at the World Cup is due out next year, and if following him around Berlin for a day was any indication, it should be a treat. Meantime, Maty advises he's in the process of registering Make Goals Not War as a non-profit to raise funds for charities working in post-conflict areas.

A Friday e-mail bag

E-mailer Jake kicks it off, with this apt observation off this week's news that a pair of San Francisco Chronicle reporters must give grand-jury testimony and could be jailed if they don't reveal the sources behind their coverage of l'affaire BALCO:

Barry Bonds. Isn't it interesting that Barry Bonds' personal trainer has spent time in jail for refusing to testify before the grand jury about Bonds and the possibility exists that the two reporters who broke the story (and book) about Bonds lying to the grand jury are being threatened with jail for refusing to reveal their sources? All the while, Bonds remains free to go about his business. I appreciate that he is innocent until proven guilty but it's more than ironic that other people have or will spend time in jail while the subject of the legal action does not.

Yes, it is ironic, but in the absence of a federal shield law, U.S. district court judge Jeffrey White said he had no choice but to order reporters Lance Williams and Mark Fainaru-Wada to testify and reveal their sources. That it clearly isn't a matter of national security did not dissuade the judge, nor did arguments that the reporting was in the public interest (it was mainly based on leaked grand-jury testimony) or led to Major League Baseball adopting tougher rules on prohibited drug use (dubious; there were others pursuing the story, too). The Chronicle immediately announced it would appeal. Meantime, the need for a shield law is the core issue behind the irony, and putting them in jail for this amounts to a serious case of overdoing it.

Steven Dykstra sends in a note regarding Chuck Nevitt off this week's Loren Woods farewell post, suggesting the inauguration of a new term: the Nevitt Line, a la baseball's Mendoza Line, "the place where awesome height crosses remarkable futility ... I saw him play live once—actually, I saw him warm up live once. He could dribble behind his back. I guess he couldn’t translate that talent to actually game time."

Steven was busy this week, also responding to Rating the Tubeheads:

1. Sportscaster most likely to make a million bucks in the U.S.: Jennifer Hedger. I can't believe she hasn't been snapped up by a national network in the United States.
2. Second best sportscaster in his household: Sean McCormick (married to J. Hedger).
3. Funniest anchor: Jay Onrait and Adnan Virk (tie). Jay has a great, dry sense of humour that drips into his broadcasts. His style isn't appreciated by everyone, however. Adnan seems to have great fun. I love that. He tosses around clever, hip references throughout his broadcast.
4. Best chemistry for an anchor team: Sid Seixeiro and Tim Micallef. Another set of guys that love what they're doing and it shows. Fun to watch, but not for everybody (my wife thinks Tim snaps back shooters just before show time).
5. Least chemistry between broadcasters: Jerry Howarth and Warren Sawkiw. Their styles are too similar. For Jerry, his smooth, low key, style works wonderfully; but Warren desperately needs some colour in his personality.
6. Most disappointing broadcasts: Blue Jays on Rogers Sportsnet. Trying to do things on the cheap, like the broadcasters don't really matter. Imagine, we once had Dan and Buck. Now we have Jamie Campbell and whatever scrub Sportsnet throws out there on any given night. C'mon, Ted, spend some freakin' money and get your viewers a dedicated, talented duo of sportscasters for your broadcasts.

There was more, but you get the idea. Good points on Micallef, who I quite like, and the Jays here. Pat Tabler does a decent job and delivers an occasional anecdote that tickles the spot, but there's an overall lack of personality and energy -- they all sound so interchangeable. Some continuity would be welcome.

Then there's regular Mark Freedman, recovering from back surgery and feeling bored as he counts down the days to NFL kickoff:

Question: Why did the Kings sign Loren Woods? I think I have an answer. There must be a place in the NBA for a inexpensive 12th man (since he's young) who will not see any playing time, keep his mouth and not whine about the lack of PT and take up space in practice. Woods has shown nothing in the pros but yet he's still getting an NBA salary when there are more established crappy big men available.

That takes us back to where we started. You can never have enough crappy big men.

Farewell, Loren Woods, and keep it up

Loren Woods is no more a Raptor. He is, however, one of this year's prime candidates for the Chuck Nevitt Award given to the most marginal 7-footer on an NBA roster. Woods signed with the Kings for a nice tidy $1 million, the latest in a long line of Brobdinagians of the Bench. And not a day too soon, either, with fellow practice-time punching bag Jake Voskuhl -- at 6-foot-11, just a couple centimetres short of joining this club of lofty standing, if not achievement -- getting two years and $4 million to be the Bobcats backup.

CANADIAN PRESS

Loren Woods: Pillar of the practice court.

Woods' career numbers now put him in with an outside shot of joining a select group that plods along from Anstey to Zidek, headed up, of course, by the 7-foot-5 Charles Goodrich (Chuck) Nevitt -- nine seasons (including a championship ring with the '85 Lakers), 155 games played (no starts) with six different teams, 5.3 minutes per, 1.6 points, 1.5 rebounds. Here's a few of the lot -- and there are a lot of them, too many to list -- and how Woods stacks up:

Dalibor Bagaric. A former first-round reach (Chi '00), the Croatian lasted three seasons and didn't start a game despite 95 appearances, one of the steepest S-R ratios (starts to appearances) in NBA history. Signed to play in Spain this coming season.

Hank Finkel. Seven-footer with the big moustache is one of Nevitt's closest competition, at least in terms of service. Lasted nine seasons and 551 games, but at 5.1 pts, was a veritable stats machine next to these and won a title with the '74 Celtics. Filling the rather large sneakers of Bill Russell, he had a tough job.

Steve Hayes. 212 games played, three starts. I can recall watching Finkel on those Hondo-led Celtics and he shows up a lot on ESPN Classic, but frankly, I can't remember this guy at all.

Priest Lauderdale. 74 games, no starts. At 7-4, he was hard to miss.

Christian Welp. 109 games, three starts. From Germany came Uwe Blab AND Chris Welp. Good thing Dirk Nowitzki came along.

Loren Woods. Five seasons, 208 games (47 starts), 2.6 points, 3.3 rebounds. And counting. If he can keep those starts down to a minimum, he's on course.

Related: Sactown Royalty on Woods' signing.

Not really related, but anyway ...:  Scott Carefoot of Raptorblog talks to SI.com (I'm with Scott on the world championships, which are to soccer's World Cup as Welp is to Nowitzki.)

J.E. Skeets of The Basketball Jones breaks down rookie photo shoots (and Happy Birthday, Tas).

Another Premiership season ahead

Here's your tool box and some links as you go over your Premiership Fantasy League team (believe me, there's nothing like sweating over the fitness of Watford's left back, or whether Andy Vander Meyde's dog has been found):

Reed Saxon/Associated Press

Mourinho: The Scruffy One.

First, an injury list.

Next, the odds board (favourite line: Chelsea 1-to-200 to finish in the top four).

The squads. And from That's On Point, a team-by-team preview with a North American perspective -- Parts I, II and III.

Today's headlines. A story and picture of Vander Meyde's dog.

Good general blogs, with links to club-centric blogs: Blog FC and Black & White & Read All Over.

The latest on the WAGS, as welcome as a slouch hat or another head-to-toe Burberry nightmare in the top fashion houses:

Years ago, when Tom Ford was creative director at Gucci, he spotted Victoria Beckham out and about wearing some of his designs. Worried about the negative effect that this could have on the brand, he allegedly called his London PR and demanded to know who was responsible for putting Posh into the outfit.
The PR told him that she had bought the clothes at full price at the Gucci shop. Ford is reported to have screeched: "Well, somebody stop her!"

There you are. Just add Mourinho and serve.