Why I'm Happy My Favoite Team Lost in March Madness

It's no secret my favorite sport in the world is college basketball; which makes this time of year (the NCAA tournament) easily my favorite time for spectator sports.

I'm also a big fan of college football; but I like the setup of college basketball better -- too often, by the time Bowl Week is wrapping up, I'm burned out from watching games that don't really have a meaning. With college basketball, *every* game matters -- from the conference tournaments (the two weeks preceding) through the NCAA tournament. Win and continue; lose and go home.

I've been watching the NCAA tournament -- basically *every* moment of it -- for the past 30 years. I've taken vacation time to ensure I don't miss any of the games in the past. And, I still have great memories of some of the fantastic teams and tournaments I've seen in the past.

My favorite team, year-in, year-out has been Duke University. I became a fan back in 1986, when they lost to Louisville -- they had a great team of Johnny Dawkins, Tommy Amaker (now the coach at Harvard), Mark Alarie, Jay Bilas (an analyst on ESPN). Since then, I've rooted for Duke in every tournament (even when I haven't filled out my bracket to have the win).

So, today, Duke lost to Mercer 78-71. With four-and-a-half minutes to go, Duke led 63-58. Most smaller schools would wilt -- they would see Mighty Duke, with its multiple McDonalds All-Americans and future NBA players and they'd simply shudder. Instead, Mercer - the *only* school to start five seniors every game this year - did just the opposite, going on a 20-8 run to end the game, fully in control.

It's always sad, for me when Duke loses, because I have such respect for Mike Kryzewski (who, even after this loss, was incredibly gracious to the opposing coach ... he realized his team had been out-played and he was modest (and confident) enough to admit it). But, I have to admit, today; if Duke *had* to lose, I'm glad it was to a team like Mercer.

One of the biggest changes in the NCAA tournament (and college basketball, in general) has been the growing trend of players spending fewer than four years in college. For a while, several players jumped right to the NBA from high school (Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, among *many* others) -- and recently, that changed to mandate players *must* spend one year in college (or, more accurately, *out* of high school) before they're eligible to be drafted -- and many players have excelled in the NBA after spending only one year in college.

But, when I look back at the iconic figures in the history of the NCAA tournament, they all have something in common:

Ralph Sampson
Clyde Drexler
Hakeem Olajuwon
Patrick Ewing
Chris Mullin
Steve Alford
Danny Manning
Christian Laettner
Bobby Hurley
Grant Hill
Bo Kimble
Corliss Williamson
Mateen Cleaves

All of them played a MINIMUM of three years in college - with most playing four years.

Now, look at the NBA draft today ... for the most part, you'll see 2-5 seniors drafted in the first round. The last senior drafted in the NBA draft that is an impact player today (and we'll use "impact" liberally): Kenneth Faried and Chandler Parsons -- both drafted in 2011.

The last senior drafted that became an all-star? Roy Hibbert, drafted in 2008.  

And, if you want to go back to the last player drafted, as a senior, that has even a *remote* chance of
ending in the Hall of Fame one day, you're probably going back to Shane Battier, drafted in 2001; Andre Miller/Jason Terry, drafted in 1999 ... or, more realistically, Tim Duncan, drafted in 1997.

Think about that. It's been 17 years since a probable Hall-of-Famer was drafted as a senior.

I'm not saying it's a bad decision for players to go to the NBA -- money is money; and why would you want to wait? But, for the purposes of *this* article, I'm lamenting the change in the NCAA tournament, which is *directly* attributable to the lack of seniors. When you spend four years in a program, with other players who have spent four years in the program, then you build up an amount of confidence and camaraderie.

It's that confidence that led a team of five seniors to look at the scoreboard, see themselves down by 5 with fewer than five minutes in the game, against Mighty Duke, and -- instead of wilting, somehow went on an offensive spurt (scoring 20 points) while holding a team comprised of former All-Americans to only 8 points.

I don't think today's loss will change anything. It proves that players need more time in college to win a championship (or, in some cases, get out of the first round); but -- ultimately, do I look at someone like Jabari Parker and think this loss will humble him? Or, will he bolt for the NBA and millions of dollars, looking back at Duke as nothing more than a one-year stop en route to potential fame and fortune? It's a shame -- he's 19 years old, and instead of getting to live like a god (like the people above, enjoyed, through their college careers), he has to miss out on that great experience so he can make his money (and, more importantly, probably, so the people who have *invested* in him can make their money, as well).

I'm sad Duke lost; but I'm happy it was to a team with five seniors. As someone who truly loves the NCAA tournament, and longs for the fantastic storylines (and rivalries!) of the past, I hope it does make a difference. I can dream.

It May Be Heresy, But I Blame Sabermetrics for the Detroit Tigers Collapse

As I may have mentioned before, when I was a young student, I desperately wanted to be a sabermetrician ... someone who analyzed baseball statistics for a living. Of course, back then, there really weren't many of these roles (this was before "Moneyball" came out). To be sure, my interest in *watching* baseball has waned (it trails basketball and football, easily); but my love of the numbers, and my love of research of those numbers is still unparalleled.

I was driving home from Erie, Pa., last Sunday, and had the Red Sox-Tigers game on. Detroit had won the opener. 1-0, behind masterful pitching (something the Tigers had an abundance of this past year). Shutting out the Red Sox was no small task; they were the most proficient offensive team in baseball this year.

So, this was Game 2 ... in Boston ... Detroit leading 5-1 in the 8th inning, and sitting smugly. They were going to be heading back to Detroit up 2 games to none, and -- pretty much -- a sure thing for the World Series.

I think everyone knows what happened then. Leyland (the manager of the Tigers) pulled his starter, Max Scherzer, the odds-on favorite for the Cy Young Award, who had -- through 7 innings -- allowed *2* hits, 1 run and 13 strikeouts. Why was he pulled? He'd thrown 108 pitches.

The agony played out like this:

Jose Veras was brought in to pitch. After getting the first batter out, the next batter doubled.
Doug Smyly was brought in to pitch. He walked the only batter he faced.
Al Alberquerque was brought in to pitch. He struck out the first batter, and the next batter singled, loading the bases.

In 2/3 of an inning, the Detroit bullpen had let nearly as many runners reach base as Scherzer had all game.

The next pitcher -- the *fourth* pitching change of the inning -- was Joaquin Benoit, and, on his first pitch, David Ortiz hit a grand slam homerun, tying up the game (with the Red Sox winning in the 9th). It completely changed the dynamic of the series, and although Detroit grabbed on more win, they succumbed in 6 games.

So, why do I blame sabermetrics?

There was a movement, somewhere around the 1990s, where number-crunchers decided, beyond anything else, "pitch count" was the most important thing for a pitcher. So, although Scherzer was pitching a fantastic game, he'd pitched 100+ pitches. Whether the fear was that he'd lose his stuff or that he'd hurt himself, the logic was to pull him out.

I won't address the second concern here; but let's look at the first concern. He was pitching a magnificent game! And, four pitching changes later, the absolute worst case scenario had unfolded. Even if Scherzer had imploded, it couldn't have been worse than the actual reality that did occur.

This isn't new this year. Detroit had a great pitching staff ... well, starters, anyway. Third best WHIP and ERA in the league, the *best* SO/BB ratio. But the starters hid the relievers effectively.

In terms of WHIP -- just the starters alone would've been tops in the league. The relievers would've been 13th.
In terms of ERA -- again, the starters would've ranked first; relievers, 11th.
In terms of SO/BB ratio -- starters first; relievers 8th.

So, the point is, no one should've been surprised that the relievers got beat up, once the starter came out of the game.

Then, I decided to prod a little more. I sketched out the number of times pitchers pitched 250+ innings for the past 66 years (basically, back to 1945, removing the strike years of 1981, 1994 and 1995). And then, I decided to analyze these two groups -- breaking them (conveniently) into the 1945-1989 group (a total of 44 playing years) versus the 1990-present (a total of 22 years). Here's what I found:

1945-1989: 675 different occurrences
1990-present: 42

So, although 1945-1989 had only double the playing years, it had 16 TIMES the number of occurrences. This goes along with the increase of pitchers on the roster (from around 13-14 in the 1940s and 1950s, to around 15-16 in the 1970s, to 22-23 today).

But, surely, there's a reason for this -- lower innings must be resulting in far more dominating pitching, right? So, let's take a closer look.

The average age of the qualifying pitcher in the first group was 28.6; in the second group, it was 29.5, so the pitchers were roughly the same age. Here's a breakdown of the relevant statistics:

W/L - roughly the same, 18-12 for the first group, 18-10 for the second. They started the same number of games (36 for the first group, 35 for the second). The big change came in terms of complete games (16 average for the first group, 8 for the second), and -- on average -- the first group faced about 80 batters more each year.

Now, the nitty-gritty stuff:

1945-1989
ERA: 3.08
WHIP: 1.192
HR/9: 0.7
K/9: 5.6
K/BB: 2.1

1990-Present
ERA: 3.02
WHIP: 1.138
HR/9: 0.74
K/9: 7.7
K/BB: 3.29

Aside from the increased strikeouts (which can be attributed, in part, to the increased focus on "all or nothing" swinging from the batters), there's no marked difference in ERA, WHIP or HR allowed.

Now, let's look at the players who have achieved this lofty plateau:

1945-1989
Warren Spahn:  16 times
Gaylord Perry:  12 times
Steve Carlton:  12 times
Phil Niekro:  11times
Tom Seaver:  11 times
Fergie Jenkins:  10 times
Robin Roberts:  10 times
Bert Blyleven:  9 times
Mel Stottlemyre:  9 times
Bob Gibson:  8 times
Bob Lemon:  8 times
Catfish Hunter:  8 times
Claude Osteen:  8 times
Don Drysdale:  8 times
Don Sutton:  8 times
Jim Bunning:  8 times
Jim Palmer:  8 times
Juan Marichal:  8 times
Larry Jackson:  8 times
Early Wynn:  7 times
Jim Kaat:  7 times
Vida Blue:  7 times
Bob Friend:  6 times
Fernando Valenzuela:  6 times
Jack Morris:  6 times
Ken Holtzman:  6 times
Lew Burdette:  6 times
Mickey Lolich:  6 times
Mike Cuellar:  6 times
Nolan Ryan:  6 times
Steve Rogers:  6 times
Charlie Hough:  5 times
Dave McNally:  5 times
Frank Viola:  5 times
Hal Newhouser:  5 times
Jim Perry:  5 times
Luis Tiant:  5 times
Wilbur Wood:  5 times
Andy Messersmith:  4 times
Billy Pierce:  4 times
Carl Morton:  4 times
Clyde Wright:  4 times
Dave Stieb:  4 times
Dean Chance:  4 times
Dennis Leonard:  4 times
Frank Lary:  4 times
Fritz Peterson:  4 times
JR Richard:  4 times
Jerry Koosman:  4 times
Joe Coleman:  4 times
Joe Niekro:  4 times
Johnny Sain:  4 times
Larry Jansen:  4 times
Mike Garcia:  4 times
Mike Torrez:  4 times
Pat Dobson:  4 times
Randy Jones:  4 times
Rick Wise:  4 times
Roger Clemens:  4 times
Sam McDowell:  4 times
Sandy Koufax:  4 times
Whitey Ford:  4 times

1990-present
Curt Schilling (4 times)
Greg Maddux (4 times)
Jack McDowell (3 times)
Kevin Brown (3 times)
Randy Johnson (3 times)

Or, maybe that's not dramatic enough for you ... how about this:

Number of pitchers that have pitched more than 250 innings five times in their career:
1945-1989: 38
1990-present: Zero

I'm not disparaging the 1990-present pitchers. I consider Maddux one of the greatest pitchers of all time; and Johnson and Schilling are also amazing. But, ponder over that top list -- there are a ton of all-time greats there.

And, I think Schilling and Johnson would've fought with a manager who wanted to take them out (I do think Maddux wouldn't put up much of a fight), but, can you imagine the manager who tries to take out Perry? Carlton? Seaver? Gibson? Marichal? Drysdale?

If one of them had been pitching in the Red Sox game, they would've not-so-politely told Jim Leyland to get his *&$* back to the dugout, before they cracked open his skull on live television.

And then, they would've continued pitching, and won the game. And they would be in the World Series today.

Why I Don't Really Like Baseball Anymore

For years, I was a huge baseball fan. More than any other sport, baseball has a robust history, and it was my sport of choice growing up.

Today, while I still appreciate the history and lore of the game, it’s nearly impossible for me to root for a team (or even watch a game on TV) anymore. I still enjoy going to games – minor league games more than professional; but that’s consistent with my overall sports interests (I prefer college basketball to pro basketball; college football to pro football, etc.).

And, this past week, a number of situations arose that caused me to become even more disillusioned with the sport. But, that got me thinking – what were the steps that started my fractured relationship?

Free agency – all sports have this, but baseball started it and is the worst culprit. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t necessarily have a problem with players moving teams, from a business-viewer perspective (i.e., the reserve clause probably WAS illegal on some levels). But, as a fan, I long for the days when players spent their entire careers with one or two teams. And, those days are long gone – there are but a handful of players who will do that (and, all too often, the loyalty isn’t returned by the team, either…)

But, even more than the loss of a player spending his career with one team (I mean, how do you root for a “team” when the roster makeup changes by 50-60 percent each year?), the impact really hit home when it came to money. Obviously, if you’re going to woo someone to play for your team, it’ll cost you, and the salaries in baseball (and all sports, admittedly) have increased at a pace that dwarfs any business in America. And, who gets to pick up the slack? The fans, of course.

Strike – I wasn’t even a teenager for the 1981 strike, which lasted 50 days. But I was a young adult for the 1994-95 strike, which really drove a strike through my heart. If I had to point to ONE situation that had caused me to fall out-of-love with baseball, it would be the 94-95 strike, which devastated the sport (even more than the steroids scandal, which, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t even enter this list).

It’s reminiscent of how I was feeling last year, while I was looking for work. I decided, although I could do my job for ANY company, it was important for me to work for a company with a cause/mission/principal I could get behind. This came to a head when Cablevision began its litany of assaults on Scripps, causing viewers to miss many shows (same thing that happened with ABC and FOX). And, each time, Cablevision’s PR department had to craft message after message to show that they, in fact, weren’t the villains. It was all the other person’s fault. The viewers were the only losers. And, I thought to myself, how dismal it must be to come to work each day and craft passive-aggressive messages over what amounts to pennies.

And that brings us to this past week – first, the All-Star Game (being held tonight). A few years ago, the All-Star Game was revealed for its true purpose – effectively nothing – when a tie game was left as a tie, for the first time in history. The following year, the commissioner decided the winner of the All-Star Game would earn home-field advantage in the World Series. Now, the All-Star Game isn’t the festival it was when I was younger (interleague play killed that, too, which probably deserves its own entry here, but, quite honestly, I was disillusioned before that), but no fewer than 16 players – four from the NY area -- banged in “hurt” for the game (Mariano Rivera, Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriguez, Jose Reyes – the batters were actually voted as starters by the fans).

Again, the fans suffer.

But, the coup de grâce was this past weekend’s complete mishandling of Derek Jeter’s pursuit of 3000 hits.

The game on Friday evening was rained out – unfortunate, and certainly something that happens in July.

The game COULD have been rescheduled as a straight double-header (e.g., fans come in for the first game and stick around for the second) simply by the Yankees saying, “this is what we want to do.” The opposing team would have no say in that decision.

However, the Yankees decided, instead, to propose a split double-header, where the teams play one game; the stadium empties, and then fans are re-admitted for a second game in the evening. They did need the Devil Rays’ consent for this, which the Tampa team did not grant.

On the surface, this seems almost sensible – why have the teams play back-to-back when they could rest for an hour or two in between. But, the Yankees were quick to squash that misperception:

When asked why the Yankees chose not to play a straight doubleheader Saturday, general manager Brian Cashman said: "Gate. We're not interested in losing, going from 81 home games to 80."

Wow. So, once again, it all comes back to money. Doesn’t it always? So much for Ernie Banks’ great mantra – “Let’s Play Two!” and so much for the days of Ty Cobb, Nap Lajoie and Honus Wagner where they played each day because they had a calling and they thoroughly enjoyed the sport. The idea of sitting out a game – an all-star game, or even a “meaningless” regular season game, never occurred to those players, lest they end up like Wally Pipp.

Yes, a great deal of that mindset had to do with the fact that there was no free agency (as we covered before) and perhaps that bordered on the illegal from a business sense; but I’d fully support a move where players weren’t motivated to head to a team due to money; but rather, because a team was the best fit or offered the best chance for that player to succeed or win.

It’s not unprecedented; Greg Maddux did that in 1992, signing for $6 million less with Atlanta instead of choosing to play for the Yankees. "Greg, above all, wanted to win," said his agent, Scott Boras. “The Braves offered him the most substantial degree of assurance of taking the World Series.”

And, while that didn’t turn out the way Maddux had planned, entirely, the Braves did make three World Series during his tenure (half as many as the Yankees – but the Yankees of 1996 were a markedly different team than the one of 1992, when Maddux made his decision).

In the end, I’ll probably content myself with reading the history, playing Strat-O-Matic (where contracts and contentious negotiations don’t enter into the equation) and avoiding the game today – it’s far more interesting in the rearview mirror.

Wish Me Luck -- A Clearly Stupid Decision

In what's shaping up to be a nice day, somehow, my far-more-youthful-thinking mind has convinced my body that "it's a great day for football." I don't mean watching football, obviously -- I'm always ready for that (as last week's post attested to). I mean, actually heading out and playing some football today.

We did this last year. Once. That should give you an example of how successful it was.

We've been setting this up for weeks. I imagine, somewhere along the way, I expected some fairy godmother to bless me with either more youthful athleticism or tuberculosis -- I was really okay with either option. Neither panned out.

We're starting around 10:30am -- we were supposed to start at 11am, but one friend said he had to leave by 12:30pm, so we wanted to maximize our opportunity, and we moved the start time up. This was done for two reasons -- first, so we can actually play a more meaningful game; and second, so we can be more leisurely when it comes to helping our fallen comrades stand upright again.

The rules still haven't been completely worked out yet, either. We don't play flag football (too likely to "miss"); and we don't play two-hand-touch (too likely to be too forceful and knock people over ... plus it's damned hard to catch up to the fast members of our group). Last year we played one-hand-touch, and that was okay, I guess. We may be changing it this year to "breathe-near-the-guy", just to keep it within our realm of accomplishments.

So - as I said from the get-go, wish me luck. (On a related "luck" note, I do have three interviews this week; although, if I don't return from today's "festivities" I guess they really don't matter all that much, do they?)

Why Fantasy Football is No Fantasy

A little more light-hearted today...

Fall means Fantasy Football (not just for me; for many people around the U.S.). I'd never really gotten into fantasy sports (even though I'd read the first fantasy sports book -- Rotisserie League Baseball -- which was published in the early 1980s). I'd always been a bigger fan of simulation sports games (like Strat-O-Matic); but that's another blog post.

Anyways,  I played in a fantasy baseball league on AOL a number of years ago; didn't care for it. And, a few years back a friend of mine asked me to play in his fantasy football league. I liked that more (it was only one game a week); but I still didn't care for the lack of control you have over the team.

As a side note, I'm also not a 'betting' man. I do love games (as anyone who knows me can attest to), but introducing money makes me significantly less interested.

A few years back, I started a league predominantly for my gaming group (which already does a decent amount of trash-talking). And, much like Daniel Okrent, who invented Rotisserie League Baseball, I've yet to win my league.

I've always been competitive, to be sure. Through the first three years, my overall record (including playoffs) was 32-15, but my play in the regular season has been stellar (29-12). By comparison, the second-best regular season record since the start of the league is 21-19-1 or 15-12, depending on which you consider better). Throughout the league, including my mediocre playoff record of 3-3, my "point differential" is 14.0, second-best is 9.1 (and of the 13 players in the league, only 6 have a positive differential).

My week typically progresses as follows. Tuesday morning, the extremely erroneous projections for the week's games come out on ESPN, which begins my week with false hope. Thursday morning, any waiver pickups are awarded to the teams that claimed players. Sunday, around 12-noon, I start checking every source of information I can find to ensure my players are healthy and playing.

By 2pm, I've normally used up every curse word I know. By 3pm, I've invented a few new ones. By 4pm-ish, when the first games are over, I'm reassessing my chances; trying to determine the feasibility of still puling out a win for the week. By 7:30pm, when the second games are over, I'm typically nauseous, as all my computations earlier are being shattered, and by Monday morning, with one game to go in the week, I've either sworn off the league, or I'm clinging to the smallest of hopes.

And yet, each week, I repeat the pattern; even as I've sworn to not care anymore.

Interestingly, I rarely actually WATCH the games; as that would be too stressful. Instead, I'll follow along on the live-scoreboard on my league's page. And, I've continued to resist any pleas from the group to bring a money aspect into the league -- I already see my blood pressure increase while playing for free; I'd probably just self-combust if money were involved.

And, as it nears 2pm, I realize I need to get myself primed for cursing mode. Luckily, I just checked, and I'm already trailing by 7 (and my opponent's running back has already rushed for 60 yards and 2 TDs in the first 20 minutes of the game, while my QB (playing in the same game) has thrown for an embarrassing 14 yards). The RB was projected for 17 points - he has 20 already; and my QB was projected for 19 and he has 0. Of course, the good folks at ESPN still have me projected to win by 22 points (primarily because, there's no way to re-configure the projections to account for their monumental mistakes in projections earlier (and, so, they continue to insist that their projections are legitimate -- and, *I'm* the one that can't find a job...)).

And, there's another point, and my deficit grows a little deeper. I can already tell it's gonna be one of those weeks.  Sonofa****************

I Have Seen Jesus

And his name is Tavon Sledge.

I've been going to high school football and basketball games for about 12 years now. I don't miss championship games, as a rule. And in my life, I've had the pleasure of seeing several of the best LI players during that time - Troy Bowe, Chris Rooney, AJ Price, and even Kenny Anderson (when he played in NYC).

When I headed to the Half Hollow Hills West-Bay Shore game last weekend, I went expecting to be wowed by Tobias Harris, who is currently rated anywhere from #4 to #8 in America (really, the first time we've had a player of that caliber and with that hype since I've been going to these games). Tobias was averaging a double-double for the year (about 25 points and 14 rebounds a game), and Half Hollow Hills West was undefeated and sitting pretty in the #21 spot on USA Today's Top 25 Basketball teams.

I had seen Harris play two years ago, and wasn't impressed, necessarily. He had a good game, but I thought he looked rigid and not fluid. But, he was 6'8 and he wasn't relegated to being under the basket (like most 6'8 kids find themselves on LI), so there was potential. Clearly, he realized that potential. He slimmed down and led his public school team to a great season.

As I had been poring over the boxscores, I kept reading about this other kid, Tavon Sledge, who played the point guard position. Great stats for this junior. so I was definitely looking forward to checking out the game.

What I wasn't expecting was the electrifying performance Sledge put on. It started in warmups, where the 5'9 Sledge began throwing down dunk after dunk. Once the game started, he continued to impress the crowd, eventually even pulling the Bay Shore fans to root for him. He had four spectacular dunks in the game - which was downright impressive - but even more impressive were the things that most casual fans might overlook: his incredibly fast foot speed, especially with the ball; his quick hands on defense (he poked away a ball in what may have been the best steal I've ever seen); and his fearlessness.

Hills West blew Bay Shore away, doubling up the score 96-48. After the game, a friend asked how Sledge's jump shot was, and I had to say, I didn't have any clue -- I didn't recall him shooting a jumper the whole game. I didn't recall him having to shoot one. Literally, if he squared up to shoot and the defender reacted, Sledge was by him.

Based on that performance, I was expecting great things on Wednesday evening, when Hills played the #2 seed, Longwood. I've been impressed with Longwood for years -- the coach seems to be a class act, and they consistently put a good team on the floor, valuing unselfish play. There is never a real "star" for Longwood. This year, they had one - Darien Davis - who may not have been the gravity-defier that Sledge was, but certainly matched him in quickness and ball-handling.

Nevertheless, Longwood had struggled to beat Lindenhurst, and one of Longwood's best players was out with a broken foot. I confidently proclaimed that Hills West would easily win by 20+ points.

In warmups, Sledge showcased his air show for the crowd ... unlike the Bay Shore crowd, though, these fans had no respect for him or Hills West. That wouldn't change all game. (He's the second dunk in the first video below, and he's the last player dunking in the second video).





The game was intense. Hills came out flat, trying too hard, while Longwood embraced the "we're just happy to be here" attitude. Three-pointers flew fast and furious. You could sense the frustration (and, to some degree, the fear) in Hills players, as they watched their undefeated season implode. Each time they made a dent in Longwood's armor, Longwood came back stronger.

After one quarter, Hills led by one point. At halftime and after the third quarter, Longwood held a 3-point lead. Longwood never went up more than 6, keeping Hills around, but the spirit was fading.

On one play, with Longwood up by 1, Hills poked the ball away and Sledge broke down the court, getting the pass. Both sides stood, anticipating the dunk. Sledge, though, perhaps thought better of attempting a dunk (and perhaps missing, especially in such a tight game), and got caught in between, essentially laying the ball on the rim. It rolled off, and Longwood recovered. A long pass downcourt and a 3-point shot later, and Longwood was now up by 4.

Hills turned the corner in the fourth quarter, finally finding the rhythm, and taking a lead on back-to-back three pointers by Tobias Harris and his younger brother, Tyler. Sledge, who had 18 points in the first half (not necessarily shooting more than usual; but, in truth, he was the only player consistently making his shots), turned into more of a point guard in the second half, scoring only 6 points (mostly on free throws) and running the offense. Hills prevailed in the game by 8, but the game felt closer than that. Scarier still, one has to wonder how the game would've played out if Longwood's injured player had been available to play.

Sledge found the going a little tougher, but - to answer my friend's inquiry, yes, he has a jumper! He had 10 fieldgoals in the game, and I'd estimate at least 7 were mid-range jumpers, in the 12-17 foot range. He has a slightly slower delivery than I'd like, but it's not a deal-breaker, mostly because he'll rarely have defenders that close to him (since he can go around them with ease) - that fear and respect for his quickness enables him to have a slower release.

I don't know that he has 3-point range -- hitting only 8 all year; and he doesn't get to the foul line often (or, he does, and just doesn't shoot particularly well). But he has lightning-quick feet, good court vision and physical attributes that simply can't be taught - there's no way a 5'9 guard should be able to grab rebounds with the vigor he does.

There's a lot of pressure put on these kids, I think. Tobias Harris has been followed on a national scale since his sophomore year, and he's routinely booed and ridiculed at every game. He gets too emotional for my liking, but I understand the frustration and the release. Sledge, conversely, reminds me of Barry Sanders -- he comes to play, wows you, and goes about his business. He doesn't get overly excited, doesn't get overly caught up in the game. He seems to stay focused.

Of course, he's also only a junior. (Did you hear that? That was the sound of 25 Suffolk County high school coaches moaning as they realize they'll have to face him again next year (although, the trainers and ace bandage manufacturers are grateful they'll still have jobs -- next year promises many more sprained ankles while defenders try to keep up with him)). He still has a year to garner national attention (and suffer through bloggers claiming they saw Jesus when they saw him play).

Tobias didn't disappoint in the two games I saw -- He scored 46 points and 20+ rebounds and played methodically and machine-like. When he wanted to score, he did. It was simple. He's worthy of the hype, but his game is workman-like. Sledge scored 45 in those same two games, along with at least 7-8 jaw-dropping plays. I don't know where Sledge will end up (I'll be astonished if it's not an upper echelon Division I school, but you never know), but I can honestly say, on a high school level, I've never been more blown away by a player than I was with Tavon Sledge.