2008 Woodie Awards
Lebron James, stop believing...
J. Owen Shipley
Issue date: 6/13/07 Section: Sports
As you ponder the possible meanings of that headline, ask yourself one question: What do Lebron James and Tony Soprano have in common? Nothingness.
And I don't mean Zen-Buddhist nothingness. They each promised a big Sunday night, and neither delivered. Each event actually happened. The Sopranos did end, and Lebron did play pretty well in the second half. Both offered drama but neither provided surprises.
When Tony called me up, spoke in code and told me it would all end in a diner, I was expecting a true climax. Then, when Lebron promised a retaliatory strike against the Spurs so awesome it would wake up the three people in China who didn't already own his jersey, I figured he meant they would win. I was wrong on both counts.
Around 5 p.m., I made the drive to my dad's house to enjoy the night on the type of HDTV that remains out of reach for anyone I've ever even said "hi" to in Murfreesboro. I wasn't disappointed. The TV, as always, was amazing.
The plan was to watch "The Sopranos," a show I have been following for roughly 23 years (I said roughly), while keeping an eye on the NBA finals which would hopefully be going well enough (anything close enough to write an actual column about) for me to skip the first half.
It didn't work out that way. While "The Sopranos" was filled with more tension, bad music, awkward strippers and food references than any episode in the show's history, the ending was uncharacteristically lacking in the excitement category. The bland finale didn't really come as a shock to me because it followed the show's history to it's logical conclusion. But I wanted more. I wanted Tony to die simply because of how much I didn't want him to die. I wanted something memorable.
Sadly, while the NBA Finals aren't over yet, their conclusion looks every bit as obvious.
As always, we have reached the point in the column where you - my only reader - want to grab me and scream "WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPORTS?"
The answer, my friend, is "everything."
Sports are entertainment, just like TV, movies and Paris Hilton's driving record. As Lorne Michaels should have learned a long time ago from having too many repeat skits on "Saturday Night Live," Americans crave surprises. That's why we like comic books, Jerry Bruckheimer films (I had no idea so many things could explode just from being near Nicolas Cage) and Super Bowl ads.
Super Bowl ads, in particular, are a uniquely American experience. Of all the people who watch the Super Bowl, less than half are real fans. A great deal of that other half are actually more interested in seeing the year's new commercials (the Super Bowl is the fall sweeps of advertising) for the first time than watching a game with a mostly predictable outcome. That is the problem. Predictability is the bane of entertainment. Which is why the aforementioned Paris Hilton going to jail is bigger news than the 28 U.S. soldiers killed in Iraq as of May 11. The Hiltons of the world are unpredictable.
I'm not being critical, although perhaps I should be. I mean only to point out that as a would-be entertainer, I knew the second I switched to the Cavs-Spurs game that my first-ever national sports column would be crap. Total fertilizer. The Spurs were ahead by 27 and the worst thing is, I knew exactly how the lead would dwindle to a respectable number because even that aspect of the game was predictable. Nothing about these NBA finals will be surprising unless Mike Brown actually starts coaching, Tony Parker is revealed to be an illegal alien (from Mars, not France) or Marv Albert runs on to the court screaming through a rubber ball gag that he is eloping with Charles Barkley.
Short of Nicole Richie suiting up for the Lakers, I am starting to think the NBA play offs need an overhaul. A three-month postseason is excessive if the result is an anti-climactic final that shouldn't make it past five games. But what do I know? I'm just a sports writer.
J. Owen Shipley is a senior English major and can be reached at myspace.com/sportacus.
And I don't mean Zen-Buddhist nothingness. They each promised a big Sunday night, and neither delivered. Each event actually happened. The Sopranos did end, and Lebron did play pretty well in the second half. Both offered drama but neither provided surprises.
When Tony called me up, spoke in code and told me it would all end in a diner, I was expecting a true climax. Then, when Lebron promised a retaliatory strike against the Spurs so awesome it would wake up the three people in China who didn't already own his jersey, I figured he meant they would win. I was wrong on both counts.
Around 5 p.m., I made the drive to my dad's house to enjoy the night on the type of HDTV that remains out of reach for anyone I've ever even said "hi" to in Murfreesboro. I wasn't disappointed. The TV, as always, was amazing.
The plan was to watch "The Sopranos," a show I have been following for roughly 23 years (I said roughly), while keeping an eye on the NBA finals which would hopefully be going well enough (anything close enough to write an actual column about) for me to skip the first half.
It didn't work out that way. While "The Sopranos" was filled with more tension, bad music, awkward strippers and food references than any episode in the show's history, the ending was uncharacteristically lacking in the excitement category. The bland finale didn't really come as a shock to me because it followed the show's history to it's logical conclusion. But I wanted more. I wanted Tony to die simply because of how much I didn't want him to die. I wanted something memorable.
Sadly, while the NBA Finals aren't over yet, their conclusion looks every bit as obvious.
As always, we have reached the point in the column where you - my only reader - want to grab me and scream "WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPORTS?"
The answer, my friend, is "everything."
Sports are entertainment, just like TV, movies and Paris Hilton's driving record. As Lorne Michaels should have learned a long time ago from having too many repeat skits on "Saturday Night Live," Americans crave surprises. That's why we like comic books, Jerry Bruckheimer films (I had no idea so many things could explode just from being near Nicolas Cage) and Super Bowl ads.
Super Bowl ads, in particular, are a uniquely American experience. Of all the people who watch the Super Bowl, less than half are real fans. A great deal of that other half are actually more interested in seeing the year's new commercials (the Super Bowl is the fall sweeps of advertising) for the first time than watching a game with a mostly predictable outcome. That is the problem. Predictability is the bane of entertainment. Which is why the aforementioned Paris Hilton going to jail is bigger news than the 28 U.S. soldiers killed in Iraq as of May 11. The Hiltons of the world are unpredictable.
I'm not being critical, although perhaps I should be. I mean only to point out that as a would-be entertainer, I knew the second I switched to the Cavs-Spurs game that my first-ever national sports column would be crap. Total fertilizer. The Spurs were ahead by 27 and the worst thing is, I knew exactly how the lead would dwindle to a respectable number because even that aspect of the game was predictable. Nothing about these NBA finals will be surprising unless Mike Brown actually starts coaching, Tony Parker is revealed to be an illegal alien (from Mars, not France) or Marv Albert runs on to the court screaming through a rubber ball gag that he is eloping with Charles Barkley.
Short of Nicole Richie suiting up for the Lakers, I am starting to think the NBA play offs need an overhaul. A three-month postseason is excessive if the result is an anti-climactic final that shouldn't make it past five games. But what do I know? I'm just a sports writer.
J. Owen Shipley is a senior English major and can be reached at myspace.com/sportacus.
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