Sunday, November 12, 2017

Stand in the Place Where You Work...


The National Football League went all-out today, on Veterans Day weekend, to reaffirm and loudly, publicly, and universally show its collective and unified support for our military. For the first time this season, no players sat or knelt during the National Anthem. FOX Sports delivered their pregame and postgame shows from a Navy installation in Norfolk. There were countless shout-outs to military units at home and abroad, and displays of honor for our veterans and their families. That the Seattle Seahawks (above) linked arms while standing for the anthem is no insult by any stretch of the imagination; displays of team solidarity are just as right and proper as are displays of respect for our nation and her flag.

In other words, damage control is in full swing. Commissioner Goodell, who is under siege from all sides and over many issues, knows how unpopular the players' implied disrespect for the country that permits them to make millions playing a game has been. He knows this is not and has never been a First Amendment issue. He knows that while our veterans have fought and died to preserve the right to free speech-- even, perhaps especially, unpopular speech-- the image of professional athletes in what has been the nation's most popular and explicitly patriotic sport refusing to honor the flag has already cost his league millions of fans, drawn the ire of sponsors, and tarnished the NFL brand. Irretrievably? No one knows, including Goodell.

So what happens now? It's too late for Goodell to "get tough" with the players' union. That ship has sailed. There will be no change to the disciplinary policy until the next CBA is signed, and any such change will now come at a stiff price.

No, the question before us is, is this it? Was today's infusion of league-wide patriotism a singular event, or a turning point? Will players now stand for the rest of the season, and if they do, will the angry and hurt fans begin trickling back into the alarmingly empty stadiums we've all seen lately?

Or will players go back to sitting or kneeling next week, now that the requisite honor has been, however briefly, paid and acknowledged? And if so, what will that mean for attendance, for sponsorship-- in short, for revenue-- as the playoffs and Super Bowl approach? Can you imagine a Super Bowl with visibly empty seats? You may be sure Commissioner Goodell can.


Turning our attention back to the football field, the 49ers won their first game of the season today, decisively defeating the battered New York Giants at Levi Stadium. Congratulations to coach Shanahan and general manager Lynch. May this be the first of many to come! Who knows, maybe this edition-in-progress of the 49ers will be enough to draw our attention back here after years of neglect.

As with the anthem issue, time will tell. In the meantime, we wait.

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

87



"I'd rather be Dwight than president," quipped the legendary San Francisco columnist Herb Caen in the euphoric wake of the 49er franchise's finest moment, the 1981 championship win over Dallas forever immortalized as "The Catch."  And for a few years that some of us 49er fans will never forget, Dwight Clark indeed seemed to epitomize all that was right and good about our team, his sport, his league, his adopted city, and even his country. Confident yet quiet, tough but never mean, a family man adored by countless women and admired by more than a few men, DC met the world with a ready smile, a firm handshake, and the unmistakable attitude of a winner. He played on two world championship 49er teams and could have played on two more; his unfailing sense of timing told him to retire at 30, still a force on the field and in the clubhouse, while making way for the greatest player any of us have ever seen. 

Yes, Dwight Clark is a gentleman, and yes, he was a football player, too, a tough and rugged one. The movie-star looks-- in recent years, he's reminded us of Frank Gifford-- couldn't conceal a ferocious competitive spirit. Bill Walsh, who was scouting someone else at Clemson that day, saw it, and made one of his mental notes.  Defensive backs who tried to catch Clark and his herky-jerky running style (one of his early nicknames on the team was "Herk") from behind found themselves grasping at air as somehow he stayed ahead of them all the way to the end zone. "The Catch" followed a week in which Clark had been bedridden with the flu. He drew savage hits from DBs and linebackers every time he caught a pass. He confessed there were moments on the field he couldn't recall, yet teammates and opponents saw him soldier on through it all.

And that fighting spirit was on display Sunday at Levi Stadium. Weakened by this savage disease, but defiant in its face and determined to endure as long as he can, Dwight Clark looked past himself, speaking of others who will fight this same battle as he called for renewed efforts to find a cure for the yet uncurable. There's no give-up in Dwight Clark. There never was. 

Many of his 49er teammates joined him in what may be his last public appearance; a sea of red "87" jerseys spreading across the field, paying tribute to one of their own. Joe Montana, then and now a close friend, was there, of course. Fittingly, the Dallas Cowboys were there, too. Though he never played it up himself-- he'd tell you Eric Wright and Lawrence Pillers and Jim Stuckey won that game, not himself-- Clark long ago resigned himself to his public persona being wedded to that one transcendent event, among the most iconic in NFL history. Unfailingly gracious as the inevitable subject came up time and again, Dwight Clark managed his moment in history.

And now another inevitable subject confronts Dwight Clark. As he spoke, we were reminded so poignantly of Ronald Reagan's farewell to the country and people he loved, as he gracefully but reluctantly exited the stage and stepped into his final, dimming years. Facing his friends, his fans, and his family, filled with the class and character he displayed throughout his life, Dwight made his statement with strength and courage.

We first saw Dwight Clark at Candlestick Park on October 19, 1980, in his breakout second season for the "Roaring Back" edition of the 49ers. Almost exactly one year later, he brought us to our feet in the first quarter as he took a simple short pass from Joe Montana and turned it into a 41-yard touchdown, fast-stepping across the choppy, muddy field as a horde of defenders pitched and yawed in frustrated pursuit. That touchdown held up as the 49ers defeated the Los Angeles Rams, 20-17, the first time they'd ever beaten their arch-rivals at Candlestick Park, in a day when that rivalry meant something. It was an early, but crucial, step on the road to that first Super Bowl championship.

Dwight was there for the final step, too, and for many more afterward.  He helped our beloved but beleaguered football team define a new reality, a new standard, for the league, for the game, and for the legions of fans who followed. Many of us have a hard time regarding football players as heroes today; we've seen too much, they've done too much, we've all of us likely expected too much for that ever to be a simple equation again.  So let's not use that term. Let's simply regard this strong but unassuming man, whose star shone brightly across our lives for a moment in time, as our brother.     


Monday, May 29, 2017

69 The Hard Way


By now most of us know that fame, money, and accomplishments don't make for an easy life. An insulated one, maybe; a "pass" on behavior that might get the rest of us locked up, probably; a sense of freedom from the decisions "normal" people face every day, certainly.

Gregg Allman never had it easy. He endured more personal tragedy than anyone ought to; that at least half of it was self-induced doesn't make any of it less grim, nor does the evidence that he was strong enough, eventually, to overcome all, or almost all, but that last enemy itself.

If you grew up south of Mason and Dixon forty-odd years ago, chances are Gregg's and his brother Duane's band, the Allman Brothers, was a major part of your life. Unlike the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and the other British bands, unlike the legends of California psychedelia, the Brothers weren't iconic, larger-than-life figures. They were guys like us, something akin to a group of slightly older cousins and their buddies, who discovered they had the skill and the drive to play with the big boys-- and to knock their socks off. "The best band I ever heard," said the late promoter Bill Graham, who heard 'em all.

A natural sideman, composer, and arranger, Gregg Allman, like Robbie Robertson of the Band, was forced into a frontman/spokesman role by dint of circumstance and by a vacuum of leadership in his group. Like Robertson, by doing so he caused friction and resentment among the men who were his closest friends; unlike him, he handled it in spectacularly awful fashion and the tabloids had a field day. Yes, he overcame it. Eventually. The band was never the same, but the music carried on. Gregg Allman got into music because he wanted to play the blues. Like many before him, he ended up living them out, money and fame and accomplishment notwithstanding.

Perhaps Gregg's most ridiculed effort was the 1970s album he put out with then-wife Cher: "Two The Hard Way."  Prophetic, though, in that the hard way seemed to be Gregg Allman's only way.

News reports say the last song he performed was "One Way Out." He couldn't have picked a more appropriate number to say farewell.

Rest in peace, Brother Gregg Allman.

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Yes Sir



Good old Verne, Verne Lundquist that is, announced he is stepping down from full-time work as a football broadcaster, which means the SEC Network is taking a big hit only slightly less daunting than would be an Alabama loss in September.

Verne did a lot of 49er games back in the 1980s as the Number Two NFL play-by-play man for CBS, partnered for a time with Dan Dierdorf, who went on to Monday Night Football. You can get an idea of Verne's professionalism and his urbane, encouraging nature just by asking Mr Dierdorf-- and, we're sure, his most recent partner, former NFL quarterback Gary Danielson. By all accounts Verne Lundquist is one of those men who makes friendships easily, and then keeps them.  He's also something of a Renaissance man, well-read, well-traveled, knowledgeable, yet relatable. We were always impressed by what seemed to be a vast reserve of native intelligence just beneath the folksy exterior he presented.

In recent months we've waved goodbye to the likes of Lon Simmons, Vin Scully, and now Verne Lundquist. We're glad Verne will continue part-time, with his true passions: the Masters, the PGA, and the NCAA Championship.

A class act all the way, Verne Lundquist's own farewell to football fans can be found here:
 http://sports.yahoo.com/news/longtime-cbs-sportscaster-verne-lundquist-144503380.html


Monday, October 3, 2016

Uncle Vin



Vin Scully has been the voice of major-league baseball for so long now it's not only impossible to imagine the sport without his gentle, unobtrusive, yet authoritative cadence, it's going to be impossible to hear it. So many of today's game announcers and commentators have developed and polished their style under the influence of Vin's consummate professionalism, we fans will be hearing the echoes of Vin's delivery for decades to come. Vin was all about setting the standard-- an imitable, if rarely achievable, standard.

Some may not remember that Vin, in addition to Dodger games and the old NBC Game of the Week, also did football broadcasts for CBS years ago. His final call was one few of our age or persuasion will forget-- the 1981 NFC Championship Game between the 49ers and Cowboys, played at Candlestick Park on January 10, 1982. We were huddled in a warm kitchen on a record low-temperature day 3000 miles from the 'Stick as Vin made the call: "Clark caught it!...  It's a madhouse at Candlestick!" Vin Scully artfully conveyed the converged tension, release, and sudden exuberance of such a moment many times, and he never had to shout. Dick Enberg, among others, carried on with Vin's distinctive influence on the broadcast of NFL games for decades afterward.

The length and breadth of  Vin Scully's career, 67 years at the mic, from age 21 in Brooklyn replacing the legendary Red Barber, to Sunday's last broadcast at AT&T Park, was filled with historic and memorable events. You can cite his perfect response to Hank Aaron's 715th home run-- he simply let the long, loud, uproarious response of the crowd speak for itself, without marring the moment with a single word-- or to yesterday's kind, magnanimous, and perfectly unassuming farewell to a life's work spent sharing his company with others, or to any of a dozen other moments, as the epitome of Vin Scully's career. They're all out there for posterity. We'll miss him, and we wish him a long and joyful life the rest of the way.

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Michael Robert Price


Friend, inspiration, beloved brother in Christ;
Loving husband, loving father, loving family man.
Good and faithful servant;
Rest in the Lord now and evermore. 



Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Curb Your Temper

No, this is not a plea for "tolerance" (which misguided folk misrepresent as "acceptance") in the wake of the Kaepernick-plus-untold-numbers-of-other-players National Anthem issue. Our opinion on it is straightforward and simple. First, it's not a "free speech" issue since no one is calling for anyone's arrest. Second, the team we love to hate, the Seattle Seahawks, had it exactly right when they stood and linked arms as a team, emphasizing unity over so-called diversity. Third, no matter whether or not this was the proper time and place for Kap's "protest" (we don't believe it was, but you may disagree), there's no doubt it was, and remains, a "me-first" gesture in a game which values teamwork above all.  And finally, the NFL's insistence on rigid uniform policies, which threatens players who honor fallen police officers and 9-11 heroes while allowing disrespect for our flag and those who fought for it, is ridiculous in the present context and likely to cost the league money, attendance, and support. As it should.

Instead, this is a suggestion that while we needn't "curb" our enthusiasm over the 49ers' unexpected demolition of the Los Angeles Rams on Monday night, we may want to "temper" that enthusiasm just a little.

It was only a year ago that the Jim Tomsula 49ers, with Kaepernick under center, walked all over the Minnesota Vikings in similar fashion as the season opened. We all know how that turned out. The Vikings won their division, and the 49ers finished in the cellar of theirs.  Then, as now, the 49er quarterback looked poised, confident, and decisive in his play-making. Then, as now, the running game was dominant. Then, as now, the defense roared  across the field, looking very much like a "Jim Harbaugh"-style defense.

Those were the Vikings, a good team. These are the Rams, if not exactly a bad team then certainly a team with a bad offense, from the line to the quarterback to the play-calling. Any time you win a game by 28-0 it's a good thing, and any time your QB plays with confidence it's a good thing, and any time your offensive line blasts open holes for the running game it's a good thing, and any time your defense pitches a rare shutout it's a real good thing.

But let's give it four weeks before we get excited. Yes, Chip Kelly and his coaches are capable of pulling off a surprise season, as they did with Philadelphia in 2013. But with back-to-back road games at Carolina and Seattle, followed by home dates with Dallas and the Cardinals, in the immediate future, let's see if the 49ers are still worth getting excited about come October. Keep your fingers crossed.