Change We Need: D'Antoni/Walsh

Rooting for a losing team -- particularly one that loses for an extended period of time, say, six years -- gives you perspective. Phoenix Suns fans watch their team win nearly 60 games each year and go deep into the playoffs, but lament the lack of a championship. When your team is a long-time loser, you'd trade places with the Suns any day of the week.

Because what good teams have, whether they win a championship or not, is hope. A legitimate hope that they might win, which keeps their fans going all year long. They may feel real pain at the end, but it's a blood pumping, heart pounding kind of pain. They still believe they could have won it all. We Knicks fans, for the last six years, have been stripped of all hope. We knew our team stunk, couldn't win and -- worst of all -- had no prospects for the future. The season was a yawn-filled excercise in finding other things to do than watch games.

But last night, our fortunes changed. Not just because we won our season opener, or because I think we have a chance to win a championship or even go deep into the playoffs this year, but because we once again have hope for the future. Surly Stephon Marbury and Eddy Curry sat on the bench while our youngsters put up 120 breathless points and held on for a win. If this group of Knicks matures, and Donnie Walsh adds a few pieces, who knows how far they can go? Hope is a powerful thing. I'm a fan again.

George Steinbrenner + Roger Clemens = Hank Steinbrenner?

Stupid? Probably. Juvenile? Definitely. But come on -- look at the pictures. There must be some connection.

Life is Like Baseball . . . and Also Life

As I watch my beloved Mets choke away another September, I try to keep it all in perspective. Sure, the Mets are on their way to frittering another playoff berth that seemed all but assured just a few weeks ago. Just like last year's colossal and embarrassing implosion. But it could be worse, right? We could be the Milwaukee Brewers, who look like they're also about to choke away a second consecutive postseason. And they haven't even sniffed the playoffs since 1982. The Mets have been in the World Series twice in that time, winning the whole thing once.

Or we could be the Chicago Cubs. They look good this year, for sure, but if they don't win the World Series, it will mark their 100th year in a row of futility. That's pretty heavy.

On the other hand, we could be the Yankees. They look mediocre right now, but it sure would be nice to have 27 World Series flags up in our stadium. Or the Red Sox, who won two of the last four world championships, and are pretty much guaranteed another playoff run. Or even the Florida Marlins, who have no money and no fans but have somehow won the World Series Twice since they first came into being in 1993.

So that's what I mean about life being like baseball: once you start comparing yourself to others, there are always some folks better off than you, and some folks who would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Of course, this theory does not account for Yankee fans. They, presumably, don't want to change places with anyone. But that doesn't mean every Yankee fan is happy, right? They may have lousy jobs or unhappy marriages or receding hairlines. So maybe they would like to trade places with other people. Maybe some Milwaukee Brewers fans, even.

Which leads me to my second point: life may be like baseball, but really, most of all, it's like life. There are always people who seem better off than you, and other people who'd take your place if they could. Maybe even a Yankee fan. Now that's perspective.

When a Win is Not a Win

I'm not saying I feel sorry for Johan Santana. I won't go that far. The star pitcher is in the first year of a six-year, $137.5 million contract with the New York Mets, so it isn't as if he's wondering where his next meal is coming from. On the other hand, Santana has pitched brilliantly for the Mets this year -- his 2.85 earned run average is among the best in baseball -- but he has only a pedestrian win-loss record of 9-7.

The reason for this discrepancy between Santana's sparkling performance and modest record is that six times already this year -- six times! -- Santana has left a game with his team in the lead, but then the bullpen has come in and lost the lead in the late innings. Major League Baseball's rule on whether a pitcher is credited with a win or not is iron-clad: a starting pitcher gets the win if he pitches at least five innings, leaves with a lead and the lead holds up until the end of the game. There are no exceptions. Not infrequently, this creates an absurd result. For example, Santana recently pitched eight nearly-flawless innings, leaving the game just before the ninth inning with a 3-1 lead. In came relief pitcher Aaron Heilman, who promptly surrendered two runs in the ninth inning to tie the score at 3. The Mets won the game in the bottom of the ninth on a two-run home run, but Santana was ineligible to get the win: his 3-1 lead had evaporated in the top of the ninth, so he was credited with a cruel "no decision." Even more cruel, Aaron Heilman, the stiff who nearly lost the game for the Mets, was given the official win, because he was the pitcher still in the game when the Mets rallied in the ninth and cleaned up his mess.

It seems obvious, at least to me, that Santana deserved the win in that game. So why can't he be credited with it? Baseball's hard-line rule should be replaced with something more fair: a rule that allows a starting pitcher who pitches five-plus innings and leaves with a lead to be credited with a win if his team does in fact win the game, whether the bullpen squanders that original lead in the process or not. It's not that difficult, people. A rule like this would leave Santana with a record of 15-7, not 9-7, a much better reflection of how he's pitched this year. And then he could sleep much better at night, knowing he's gotten a fair deal. Just in case his bed full of money isn't comfortable enough.

The Problem with Soccer

Let me start by saying that I really like soccer, and I think it has all the makings of a popular American sport: speed, skilled athletes, explosive goal scoring, dramatic penalty kicks. Hordes of kids in this country play soccer, and once you play it you can't help but appreciate it. Heck, in places like England they riot over soccer games! Sure, there's the occasional zero-zero tie, but you can no more complain about that kind of game than you can complain about a pitchers' duel in baseball. And in international play, like the recent Euro Championships, you get shootouts at the end of tie games, which are thrilling in a very American, winner-take-all kind of way.

No, the problem with soccer, I believe, is that the structure of championships makes no sense to our American way of thinking. In baseball, the season culminates in the playoffs and the World Series. Basketball ends with playoffs and the Finals as well. Many people, myself included, think the season in these sports goes on for a ridiculous length -- baseball, that summer game, these days often begins and ends in snow -- but at least there's a simple logic to the arc of a season. In soccer, there really is no discernable season at all.

I'll explain. I follow D.C. United, a team within the U.S.'s top soccer league, Major League Soccer. We're at the mid-point in MLS' season right now, and just as I'm getting really interested and my team is sporting a four game win streak, the league takes a month long break. And for what? To play a tournament called "Superliga" that has nothing at all to do with MLS, in which the top four American teams play the top four Mexican teams. Huh? And if that isn't bad enough, many of MLS' best players are constantly being pulled from their teams to play for the United States in qualifying games for the World Cup, which by the way doesn't even start until two years from now, in a sub-World Cup tournament called "Concacaf". Huh again? Oh, and there's also something called the Lamar Hunt Cup, in which MLS teams compete with non-MLS American teams for some kind of amateur American non-MLS championship. Say it with me: Huh?

The whole thing is too darn confusing. Tournaments layered over each other, some of which are related to each other and some which stand alone. It's just too much for this American sports brain to follow. What's that you say, D.C. United won a Superliga match? They must be champs now, right? Oh wait, they're only in second place in the MLS Eastern Division. And they've got a Lamar Hunt match against some amateur club team from Pittsburgh next weekend. The whole thing is mystifying. By the time they play for the MLS championship, they've already won or lost in three other tournaments. Where do they stand?

So here's my proposal: MLS should play one continuous, short season, no breaks, with a championship at the end. At least we'd be able to follow it, and it would have some meaning: champs of their league. Then they could go on to Superliga or Lamar Hunt or Concacaf or whatever, and we American soccer fans could happily ignore it all.

And one other thing: I think soccer should reclaim the name "Football" from that other sport that currently uses the name. I mean, come on people: in soccer, the players use their feet. In American football, they mostly throw or carry the ball, all with their hands. It would be like calling baseball "Double Play Ball," or calling basketball "Bounce Pass Ball." Sure it happens, but is kicking really the focus of American football? It's just plain silly. Plus, if soccer adopted the name football, maybe some Americans would watch it by mistake. I bet if they gave it a chance, they'd like it.

Give it Up for George Mason

Two years ago, George Mason University made its name as the longshot of all longshots, the Cinderella of all Cinderellas, when it came from nowhere to land in the Final Four of the NCAA basketball tournament. During that unparalleled run for a "mid-major" team, GMU beat, among others, a UConn team in the round of 8 that boasted four first-round picks in the NBA draft a few months later.

No such magic for the GMU Patriots this year, as they fall to Notre Dame 68-50 in the opening round. But the Little School That Could continues to impress: early in the game, the CBS cameras focused on a fan holding a hand-lettered sign. It was the best sign I've ever seen at the tournament (and I've watched a lot of games). It said:

"George Mason is This Year's George Mason"

The legend lives on.

March Sadness

Nothing divides me more – splits me right down the middle, in fact – than college basketball. Like the month of March itself, I roar like a lion at the sheer excitement of the NCAA basketball tournament, but I weep like a lamb at the sheer injustice of the college basketball system.

On the one hand, the NCAA tournament is, in my opinion, sports’ best moment. Every team can win, every game is an elimination game and therefore matters, the fans and players genuinely care. Nearly every year there is a “Cinderella” team, from Villanova in 1985 to George Mason in 2006. So many of the games come down to the wire, to a final shot on the last possession of the game. If March Madness doesn’t get your adrenaline flowing, then, as a sports fan, you’re dead inside.

On the other hand, big-time Division I college basketball is the most egregious exploiter of young people in sports. Fewer than half of these “student-athletes” actually graduate and a tiny fraction of them ever get a chance to play professional ball. Which means that a majority of the players simply leave after four years of generating obscene profits for their schools, no diploma in hand, prohibited by strict NCAA rules from seeing even a nickel of that hard-earned money themselves. They are four years older, nothing more. God forbid they have accepted a few free tickets during their time working without pay for their University – then they are not only used but ostracized. It’s a sickening, self-serving system.

With any luck, the NBA’s developmental league will someday grow to be a ubiquitous network of teams, like major league baseball’s minor league system. At least in that model, a high school kid with talent has a choice of taking a college scholarship or heading right to work as a professional, where he can earn a living – albeit a modest one – while still pursuing his pro sports dream. It’s not a perfect system but it’s better than basketball. Leave the NCAA tournament for kids who want to be in school. Build the minor leagues. I promise I’ll watch both.