ESPN Los Angeles - or - how ESPN fakes viewers into thinking they care about the West Coast

ESPN, like many other sports media institutions, has long been accused of having an East Coast bias.

That's certainly understandable. Naturally, as a network located in Bristol, CT, they are going to have better access and insight into the New Yorks, the Bostons, the Philadelphias simply based on geography alone. I don't care about how far technology has come, if you are closer to the action, you will be able to report on it better.

But a difference in geography, time zones, and market size led to ESPN neglect the West Coast.
-Geography: It's harder to care about something when it's 1,000 miles away.
-Time Zones: "We East Coast types have to stay up so late to catch the end of West Coast Games."
-Market Size: The biggest markets are in the East. Who really cares what San Jose did tonight?

And so, in a supposed attempt to make reporting on West Coast sports easier, ESPN created a studio in Los Angeles. The goal was to provide a West Coast presence on ESPN, so that coverage could be focused less on the Yankees and more on the Dodgers.

But in reality, ESPN Los Angeles is a big, fat waste of a studio, and an excuse for ESPN not to pay time-and-a-half.

In the broadcasting world, a network like ESPN must employ countless people to gather video, log it, edit it, and get it on the air. To do this, you need editors, scriptwriters, and anchors for Sportscenter.

The problem that arises is that many West Coast games end after midnight Eastern time, which means that ESPN is put between a rock and a hard place: either they pay employees overtime to stay at Bristol and cut, write, and read highlights of a Padres game, or ignore the games altogether and fear the stigma of having an east coast bias.

So ESPN chose the former. They built a studio in Los Angeles, flew Neil Everett and Stan Verrett out there, and promised viewers a more West-Coast oriented Sportscenter.

Of course, behind the scenes, the brass at ESPN was thinking "that ought to shut them up for a while."

Watching Sportscenter-LA, it is indistinguishable from its Bristol counterpart. There's nothing inherently West Coast about it. The set looks the same, the graphics are the same, and worst of all, the stories are the same.

On the June 8, 2009 edition of Sportscenter-LA, the A-block opened with highlights of the Yankees and Rays. After a discussion on the amount of home runs at the new Yankee stadium - gee, where have I heard that before - they moved on to their longest highlight of the night: Braves and Pirates, two East Coast teams under .500!

Their first highlight from anything on the West Coast didn't come until after the first commercial break.

What's the point?

The Changing of the Guard

Note - This column will appear in the 2009 edition of Gonzaga Spires.

At 5-foot-11, freshman guard Demetri “Meech” Goodson wasn’t exactly the biggest player to ever grace the basketball court for the Bulldogs. There were certainly larger players with larger-than-life personalities. But for a generation of Zag fans, it was the image of Goodson saving the day that will forever stay with them when they think of Gonzaga’s run through the 2009 NCAA Tournament.

With the Zags tied with Western Kentucky in the second round with only seven seconds left, Goodson received the inbounds pass, took it the length of the court, and put in a running jumper, giving the Bulldogs the win and sending them to the Sweet 16 for the first time since 2006.

It was oddly fitting: Here was a 2009 team that featured two seniors – Jeremy Pargo and Josh Heytvelt – who were on the last Zag team to reach the Sweet 16 in 2006, and yet, the moment and the glory went to a young freshman. Those seniors received a shot at redemption for the 2006 heartbreaker, but it took the efforts of someone who wasn’t there to suffer that misfortune.

Goodson’s shot made a statement: A new chapter in Gonzaga basketball had begun.

The Zags entered the 2009 NCAA Tournament as a 4-seed, and were on a roll after cruising through the West Coast Conference season. This Zag team had been hailed as one of the most talented in school history, and expectations were high as the team traveled to Portland for the first two rounds.

But it wasn’t Gonzaga’s talent that would define their Tournament run. For all the accolades, highlights, and awards, it turned out none of it mattered. As it turned out, what would define this tournament was something that belonged to the Zags of old, the immeasurable quality of teams that never had the talent of this 2009 squad.

Heart.

Almost before anyone could blink in the first round, Gonzaga found itself trailing to 13-seed Akron at halftime 38-35. Suddenly, it was obvious that talent alone would not carry the Bulldogs to victory.

Pargo wore a look of anger, frustration, and focus as his team came out for the second half. He was the senior leader, and he was determined to not let another opportunity slip away. The Zags fought back, cheered on by the thousands of Zag fans who made the trip down. In the waning moments of the second half, Pargo threw down a vicious slam, turning the tide and pushing the Bulldogs to a 77-64 win.

As a senior, it was perhaps Pargo’s final defining moment as a Bulldog, because in a poetic changing of the guard, it was a freshman who would capture glory two nights later in the second round.

Against Western Kentucky, Gonzaga trailed again at the half, but found the strength to make another comeback. They retook the lead late in the second half, but WKU refused to go quietly and staged a comeback of their own, scoring nine straight points to tie the game with only seven seconds left.

“Meech” raced up the floor as the clock ticked away. Pargo was screaming for the ball, but the freshman refused to let rank be pulled. That moment belonged to Goodson. He nailed the runner and sent the Zags into a pandemonium.

But that moment proved to be the final happy moment for the Zags in the 2009 Tournament.

They traveled to Memphis for the Sweet 16, facing possibly the best team in the country: North Carolina. There were no glorious moments in that game, only two heavyweights trading punches back and forth. In the end, though, the Tar Heels proved just how elite they were, building a big lead over the Zags and never letting up.

After all the emotion of their first two games, the Zags just didn’t have another comeback in them.

The locker room after the game was a mixture of frustration and sadness. Seniors like Heytvelt and Pargo knew they would never play another game in a Bulldog uniform; their careers were book ended by disappointing finishes in the Sweet 16.

But the loss overshadowed another successful run in the Tournament – one filled with heart and determination. Those have always been the defining characteristics of Gonzaga basketball. The Zag legacy was carried on by a team that refused to quit.

So when a freshman who had never known those past teams took the ball coast to coast and scored an unlikely game winner, it became perfectly clear:

The torch had been passed.

A final game; a final, heartfelt thank you

Microphone in hand, Josh Heytvelt looked out upon the beaming crowd at the McCarthey Center. It was senior night at the Kennel, and he now was being given the opportunity to say a few words about how he felt after his final home game as a Bulldog.

The crowd let out a cheer as Heytvelt walked to the front of the group on the floor, prompting a nervous smile from the 6-10 center. Finally, he started to speak.
“I want to thank everybody in this gym, and this community, uh…” he managed, before he choked up. He put a hand on his forehead and shifted his gaze to the floor.

For Heytvelt, this was a moment that was two years in the making. Two years after a fateful arrest and suspension, two years after doubts and whispers, and two years after an inspired and determined comeback, Heytvelt could finally say how he truly felt about the Gonzaga community.

His eyes wandered anywhere but on the student section. If he had made eye contact, he would have broken down like everyone else upon finishing his heartfelt statement:

“… for accepting me back, and letting me do what I did the last couple of years.”

The crowd and his teammates let out a raucous standing ovation. It was a cheer large enough to represent an entire Gonzaga career, which for Heytvelt lasted five seasons in Bulldog blue.

His emotions spilling out, Heytvelt buried his face into Austin Daye’s shoulder as the cheering continued. It was a cathartic moment that seemed long-overdue, a moment where Heytvelt, who had become so stoic and guarded during his career, could finally let the shield down and embrace the outpouring of sentiment from everyone in the arena.

The intimidating, rim-rocking center seemed, at that moment, suddenly very humble under the applause from his peers. He was a 23-year old kid giving a simple thank you for the support he had received.

It wasn’t a Lou Gherig speech, but it didn’t need to be. In 28 words, Heytvelt summed up the feelings of every Gonzaga fan, coach, player, and supporter.

In 2007, it could have been very easy to give up on Heytvelt, to write him off as someone who made a bad decision and nothing more. The fact that this didn’t happen is a testament to the integrity and heart of the Gonzaga community. In a crucial moment, we leant him a hand. He was still our brother.

With the support, and a second chance, he fought his way back on and off the court. He was reinstated to the team months later and nearly won the WCC player of the year this year. And more importantly, he gradated in 2008, and moved on to graduate studies.

One minute and 28 words was all it needed to say a proper thank you.

As Heytvelt finished his words that night, young men and women fought tears in their eyes. Others beamed smiles of pride. At that moment, it finally became clear just how strong that bond is between this man and the community who supported him. It finally became clear that the support was always there, but its heartfelt nature finally decided to show itself on Heytvelt’s final night in the Kennel. It finally became clear that, though thick and thin, highs and lows, Josh Heytvelt and Gonzaga would never let each other down.

The gift of the Blazers

I spent Tuesday, Oct. 7 trying to figure out something meaningful to do for my birthday. Turning 22 isn’t exactly a huge milestone, but I wanted to find something significant that made this birthday stand out, something to make it more than just another day.

With no presents, lots of homework, and no time for a party, it seemed like this birthday would pass by with nothing to show for it.

Then the Portland Trail Blazers came back.

You see, they’d been gone for quite some time now. After those ill-fated attempts at a championship in 1999 and 2000, the team seemed to disappear for a while. There were reports that a gang of hooligans calling themselves the Jail Blazers had been masquerading in their place, but I dismissed these claims. They weren’t the Blazers. The Blazers had been missing since 2000.
Suddenly, in the last year and a half, there were sightings. Draft party madness. Brandon Roy carving up defense. A mastermind named Pritchard behind the helm. A 13 game winning streak. They were all glimpses, signs that the Blazers could be returning after all these years.

And then, to top it all off, the Blazers’ first 2008 preseason game was Oct. 7. My Birthday.

I didn’t want to succumb to these feelings of euphoria too quickly. I had been fooled by the Blazers before during the past eight years, so I didn’t want to put too much stock in a preseason game.

I was afraid that if I let myself believe they were back, that they would vanish like a mirage.

But it looked like fate was working on my side. This game had the long-awaited debut of Greg Oden. It had a burgeoning young Blazer team that had shocked the league with 41 wins last year. Rudy Fernandez was playing his first game in the United States. Draft day steal Jarryd Bayless was bringing his tenacity to the Rose Garden.

And to it all off, I could watch it on my birthday.

After all these years of waiting for my Blazers to come back, could this game finally convince me that they had finally returned? Could it ever live up to my expectations? Was fate destined to bring joy to this Blazer fan on his birthday?

You bet your ass.

For 3 hours, I was as estatic, as pumped up, as giddy as I have ever been as a Blazer fan. For 3 hours I was a kid again, leaping out of my seat, screaming, fist-pumping, and dancing around my apartment. Judging from my shouts, other people in my building must have thought that someone was dying.

Well someone did die: the cynical, jaded Blazer fan I once was. In his place was the full-fledged Blazermaniac that had been missing since 2000, since middle-school Blazer rallies, since English teachers ending classes with “go blazers,” since headbands and mighty mice and Lithuanian centers.

“ODEN!!!”

“OOOOHHH RUUUUUUUUUUDY!!!”

“DID YOU SEE THAT?!?!?”

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD! HAHAHAHA!!!!”

“I LOVE THE BLAZERS!!!”

He was back. So were my Trail Blazers.

Yes, it was a preseason game. Yes, it was against the Kings.

No, I don’t care. The Blazers gave me one of the best presents I could have received on my birthday.

People may say that these preseason games don’t count for anything. Well, this preseason game brought back all those feelings of happiness I used to feel for the Blazers; it brought back my team. After all this time, the gift of the Blazers was finally returned to me, on my birthday, no less. And as a result, I could let myself believe again.

Don’t tell me that this doesn’t count for something.

5.3% - revisited

In honor of today's NBA Draft Lottery, I'm reprinting the column I wrote after the Portland Trail Blazers won the lottery last year, after overcoming an improbable 5.3% chance of getting the number 1 pick. Today, the odds are a bit more daunting, as the Blazers, with their 41-41 overall record, have a .6% chance of landing the number 1 pick.

But go back to that day a year ago, and remember that feeling when the Blazers got the top selection. Remember the optimism, the excitement, and the hope that was felt that day - the day the fortunes of a franchise changed. Hold on to that feeling today, and continue to hold on to it during the summer, and into next season. Those feelings are still here, the product of fate continuing to smile on the Blazers.


You never know, with a little luck, we may get to experience those same feelings again today. Just like last year, I'll have my Buck Williams jersey on.

__________

5.3%

I woke up this morning and I was still smiling. Could this actually be true?

Immediately I ran to the front porch, grabbed the newspaper, and had my wish confirmed: “Blazers get number 1 pick.”

What were the odds of that? By now, every Blazer fan has memorized that fateful, wonderful number: 5.3%.

Let me take you back: Before Tuesday’s NBA Draft Lottery, “5.3%” was nothing more that an insignificant percentage. The equivalent of finding a straw of hay in a stack of needles, and equally as painful to think about.

Before Tuesday, the Portland Trail Blazers were given a 5.3% chance of winning the first pick in the NBA Draft Lottery. Yet, what seemed like an insignificant number would eventually bind the fates of five individuals, who had all grown up around the basketball team.

The cast of characters read as follows: there was me, the eternal Blazer optimist. So desperate for a little luck at the lottery that I wore my Buck Williams jersey while watching it on TV (my reasoning: Buck was the catalyst for Blazer success in the 1990s, so the jersey will be the catalyst for success at the lottery). There was my girlfriend, Amanda, the Portland transplant who contracted Blazer fever from me. There was my brother Justin, for so many years my foil as a basketball fan. His Lakers won, my Blazers lost. Even when the LA dynasty was blown up, he still did not care for the Blazers, yet I could see some chinks in the armor this season. There was my long-time friend Alex, who had always thought of the Blazers as a joke. He wanted them to win just as much as I did, but years of futility had jaded him towards the red-and-black. And finally there was my friend Anthony, the last of my fellow Blazer die-hards, who would always talk Blazers with me no matter how far apart life had taken us.

Our fates were sealed with the bounce of those ping-ping balls.

As the drawing started, I found myself glued to my seat and crossing my fingers. When the sixth selection came up, I started shaking my head and saying “we don’t want sixth, we don’t want sixth,” over and over, until mercifully the card was revealed and the Blazer logo was not on it.

My heart leapt for joy. Sensing that something good was happening, I remained fixated on the screen, repeating my mantra incessantly. Soon, Amanda was sitting next to me, crossing her fingers and doing the same thing.

Fifth…fourth… The Blazers still hadn’t been chosen! Third pick…Atlanta!!! We were guaranteed one of the top-two picks.

Amanda was grabbing my arm and shaking with anticipation. I was sweating bullets; never in my life had I wanted to see Seattle’s logo more than that moment.

I made a quick prayer and then waited to see what my fate would be.

“The second pick goes to…the Seatt—”

That was all I needed to hear.

Now, let me tell you what five-point-three percent really means.

5.3% is me leaping into the air, screaming at the top of my lungs, my brain

going a mile a minute thinking about success, championships, and Rip City; the smile on my face beaming to the world about the Blazers finally about to be on top again.

5.3% is Amanda doing the same thing; her love for the Blazers truly genuine at that moment. There are certain moments where you finally realize just how much a team means to someone, and to see Amanda laughing, smiling, leaping into the air with her Travis Outlaw jersey, you knew she loved the Blazers.

5.3% is me sending an immediate text message to all my friends that read “RIP CITY!!!”

5.3% is Alex calling me on the phone a few seconds later, just as crazy and hysterical as I was. Suddenly, the Blazers mattered to him again. “I was jumping up and down; I was just freaking out,” he said to me through gasps of air. “Everyone else thought I was crazy, but I knew you would be doing the exact same thing as me right now.”

5.3% is Justin calling me moments later, his first words being “Can you say Greg Oden?” We found ourselves giddy as a couple of little kids again, talking about how great Oden will be, how we can trade Zach Randolph, and best of all, how big of a dynasty we will have in the future with Oden, LaMarcus Aldridge, and Brandon Roy leading the Blazers. But the words Justin said that will forever stick with me was “The Blazers just gained another fan.”

5.3% is Anthony and the vindication he can finally feel. For years he supported the Blazers no matter what, the only other die-hard fan I know. We used to always say that the two of us would be the announcers when the Blazers won it all, but the prospect of a championship always seemed like a far-off dream. Now, he and I have already started making plans to get NBA finals tickets for 2008.

To the five of us, 5.3% will forever tie us together, as we will head towards the future of the Blazers with excitement, optimism, and, for the first time in a long time, hope.

——————————

Lately I’ve found myself totally engrossed in the subject of the Trail Blazer championship team from 1977. Not just the team, mind you, the aura about it. The way that they brought the city together like no other team has before or since. Portland lived and breathed its team during that magical championship run. Blazermania was red hot ‘n’ rollin, and Rip City was in full effect.

As I stared for long hours at the pictures of the fans storming the court after game 6 on June 5, 1977, I kept wishing that I could have been there. As I read tales of how the entire, and I mean, THE ENTIRE CITY went absolutely bonkers after the Blazers won it all, dancing in the streets, block parties at Geneva’s, pandemonium in Portland, and as I gazed at the photos of the 250,000 Blazermaniacs who engulfed downtown Portland for the championship parade, hanging from street signs, out of windows, turning Broadway street into a literal sea of people,; after hearing about all of this, it only made me wish even more that I could be a part of that. Just once. I want that pride for the team to strike Portlanders again, and bring us together in a way we haven’t felt since 1977.

At the draft lottery on Tuesday, the Blazers took yet another large step towards making that happen.

I know that Rip City is back, because as that card was revealed and the Blazers won the top pick, five of us were suddenly united by a feeling deep inside that can only be described as Blazermania.

You tell me what the odds of that were.