Heat Wave of Tears

Miami Heat Head Coach Eric Spoelstra revealed to the collective media after Sunday night's loss to the Chicago Bulls that the players were crying in the locker room.

Really coach? That's the way we are going to play this?

We care so much about the triumph and turmoil of this team that it brings us to tears in our locker room...and you air it out in the internet age? Not to mention, why are these robots crying?

What about the savior, Mike Bibby? (Had to mention him, just to appease NBA conspiracy theorists)

If the Miami Heat storyline wasn't juicy enough, Spoelstra went ahead and made sure we were grabbing lemons so big that the citric acid turned our hands purple. It's not supposed to make sense, most of you never passed chemistry in high school.

Look, it's one thing for a coach to say something to inspire his players. In fact, words of encouragement, words of inspiration are qualities of a great coach. Players need to be sure that the man in charge has their best interest. It's how they gain faith.

So, for the big guy in charge to admit that his team was blubbering and sobbing...well, that just doesn't look good in the outsider view. Beyond that, it doesn't look good in the locker room, um, for the fans, or for anybody that watches tv.

King James...D-Wade...and to a lesser extent...that guy from Toronto...were potentially crying?



For some people, these are their heroes. What if it was Bruce Willis crying?

That's unsettling for me.

I'm a die-hard NBA fan and Bruce Willis fan. I long for the lost rivalry of Bird-Magic. There will never be a single-handed domination like the ways of Jordan. The Houston Rockets will never be relevant again. These things were treasures of the past and I'm OK with that. Things change by the minute. But, in the end, I'm still unsettled that the "super team in America" might be calling foul.

And why?

Because, in this day and age, we are no longer sure that the super stars we are supposed to acknowledge, may or may not be cry babies.

And it's because of their friendships. Due to the world championships and Olympics, most of the NBA stars have played together...and hung out together. Thus, they have developed friendships...and it's very disturbing. This is not the nature of the sports. We are supposed to hate our opponents. It's the way of the game.

When Jordan played, he hated everybody. Even Pippen. He hated Pippen.

The point is, Miami has been fed to the general public as this year's "team". And I don't blame you if you don't care about anything about today's NBA and you root for the Heat. Because villains get fans too. And with that said...they cry in the locker room.

Think about this, What if the Joker lured Batman into a trap and all of sudden Batman cried, "Not fair!"

We would all laugh and tell him to deal with it. He's Batman. We've been raised to know that Batman is invincible and that any outcry would have to be some sort of distraction.

But then, what if Commissioner Gordon said, "Hey, leave Batman alone."

Well, now we have a different story.

The hero we thought he was, ended up being a fraud. Simply because someone came to his "rescue". The big, bad team that was promoted in the off-season has feelings? Are you kidding me?

They are supposed to be ruthless. James, Wade, and Bosh are supposed to run through opponents like construction paper. Most off-seasons for teams don't end in some weird 80's rock band concert like the Heat had when they revealed the "Big Three". They were portrayed in a way that made them seem material. They aren't human. Crying is very human. I'm conflicted.

So, the Heat can cry after a regular season loss to a potential contender in the Eastern Conference, and we can buy into their wolf crying...or...

We can all see that they finally don't even know their own identity.

Look at it this way, who is the best player on the Heat?

James? Wade? Bosh? Can we even tell because we group them all together now after the Decision? Did anybody care about them until James signed?

The Miami Heat doomed themselves to be the perfect storm of ambiguity. They are now the Bruce Wayne of the NBA.

They are the true identity of what they hope to be perceived as some sort of super hero. They can be one thing by night, and another by day. Unfortunately for them, one of these identities is a crier.

The coach himself proclaimed this.

LeBron, Dwayne, and sure, you too, Chris, grab the tissues. I guess life was harder than you thought.

In Defense of Wild Thing

It's a natural fact in the world that most baseball movies are pure crap.

They are usually sensational, overblown ridiculous scenarios that will never happen in real life. (See Little Big League and Rookie of the Year)

Then there's the ones that are the feel-good, emotionally charged family pieces. (See Angels in the Outfield)

And then there's a whole new category for any baseball movie that Kevin Costner is in.

But then, something miraculous happened in 1989. A great baseball movie was made.

Tom Berenger portrayed the aging, baseball-lifer, chasing the dream one more time. Wesley Snipes played the flashy, Willie Mays-wannabe. Rene Russo looked awesome. Plus, Bob Uecker was actually playing Bob Uecker.

There was also one more piece that was integral to Major League becoming the greatest baseball movie of all-time. It had the Wild Thing, Charlie Sheen.

Sheen was only 24-years old when he portrayed Ricky "Wild Thing" Vaughn but he managed to capture our hearts.

His torn sleeves, his rebel haircut, his skull and crossbones glasses, and his deadly fastball are the glorious images and weapons of the Wild Thing.

The part where Vaughn believes himself to be cut from the squad was absolutely priceless. He launched into a verbal tirade against the manager and then turned it into a physical altercation with the player that pranked him.

In fact, the majority of the film's out-bursts and profane moments came from Vaughn. Even though it was unbeknownst to him at the time, he was involved in an affair with the wife of fellow teammate, Roger Dorn.

The carefree use of alcohol, the adulterous lifestyle and the bouts of cursing were the what made the Wild Thing.

He was indeed, a rock star from Mars. People would burst into song whenever he emerged from the bullpen! Women threw themselves at him like they were under his magic spell.

The Wild Thing wasn't bipolar, he was bi-winning. Underneath his tough "California Penal" exterior was a man who cared deeply for his teammates.

Without him, the Cleveland Indians would have lost the pennant and Major League would have sucked.

Let's hear it for the Wild Thing.