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The fact that the board of trustees is talking about the firing of Joe Paterno, two months after the fact, and explaining while they did it, makes absolutely no sense. It was done and though the kool-aid drinking alumni and football faithful may be upset at how it was handled, the move was justified, regardless of how underhanded and cowardly. This excerpt is from the New York Times:

Shortly before 10 p.m., Fran Ganter, the associate athletic director for football, delivered an envelope to Paterno's home, just off Penn State's campus. Inside the envelope was a telephone number. Paterno called the number, and Garban answered. Then he passed the telephone to Surma, who was seated next to him. Surma asked if Paterno could hear him O.K. Paterno said that he could. Then Surma told Paterno of the trustees' decision. "The board of trustees has determined effective immediately you are no longer the football coach," Surma recalled saying.

The trips by the President of the University were a failed attempt to promote open communication. All it did was to put the devoted fans of JoePa on edge. The trustees continue to make a mockery of their sole job to protect the interest of the educational institution by denying they knew anything about the scandal. Of course they did; these people breathe, eat, and drink Penn State University and especially twice on Saturdays as they drink in the money keg of Nittany Lion football.

How could they not know when the scandal was in the largest newspaper of the state capital in March of 2011? Many of the trustees denied they read it, but the political arm of the university and much of its more potent alumni work in the city. The whole board’s willingness to ignore the rumors or allegations against Jerry Sandusky and not even to question the president or coach is the exact reason they gave for firing Joe Paterno and why they are culpable: lack of action.

The whole communication plan being done by the University’s board of trustees and Old Main’s brass seems to lay the blame at the moral fiber of a sick and dying man who many of us grew up admiring for his “grand experiment”.   They have hired a coach and now they need to look inside for the failures and excuses that led to this breach of trust. There is enough blame to go around and if ignorance and finger pointing is the communication’s office spin for the scandal, then they need to remain silent before the alumni’s pride and wallets are closed for good.

The Board of Trustees needs to remain silent and take Shakespeare at his word, “What is done, cannot be undone.” As they pander in explanation, the more ignorant and callous the university’s image becomes. They are Penn State now, as many of us wonder if “we” will ever want to be part of our once beloved school. It is time for the snow of silence to come to State College. And like the blame of this unending scandal, there is plenty of it to share.

If you like this article you may want to read: Joe Paterno: A Photo Essay, Game Day, Penn State Sex Scandel: Happy Valley No More, and The Lion in Winter…Redux.

For more on James Dugan’s writing follow him on facebook or on twitter at jamesduganlb. 

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His soccer talent coined him the Wizard. He played for Liberia over a half century ago and though the soccer team never made international acclaim, he was a national hero for his game as much as his heritage. George Sacko was born of an American born mother and native Liberian father. In a time when Africa was struggling against European colonists with its indigenous tribal roots, Sacko’s game and personality united a country teetering on civil strife. This made him a star forever in Liberian history, as well as an athlete breaking societal boundaries at the same time Jackie Robinson was doing it in Brooklyn.

Liberia immigrants have been a strong illegal and legal immigration presence during the turn of this century on the East coast because of political turmoil. An American colonized African nation, Liberia was a place for freed slaves to free themselves of America’s horrific slave past. George grew up in a middle class family, went to schools, and excelled in his game. He learned the game from the streets as he played with his brothers, who followed him in soccer and basketball excellence, even to the States. So many years after freed African Americans left America, the question of racial discord of being born in an America was still visible. This is another amazing impact of American slavery rarely explored in history.

www.steveconover.infoGeorge would date Liberia’s president Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, who would be winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. She was one of the first female presidents in the world. She brought Liberia back from multiple civil wars and still continues to lead with strength and vision. As George left for America after his soccer career ended, he completed a journey so many years after his great grandfather, born in Maryland, became president of Liberia.  He came to America looking for an opportunity as an immigrant, but unlike his ancestors, his family was free.

The freedom would end in tragedy after George’s wife and children left him. His job was outsourced in the 80s to another nation and he became a victim of unemployment, drug culture, and depression. This sports’ star, who was adored in his homeland, had become alone, desperate, and abandoned in America. For all the talent, connections, and accolades, George Sacko died on the streets of America.

The story of George Sacko is the part of the dreams of every athlete playing in college football and basketball. It is also the story of many NFL, NBA and NHL players who have struggled with poverty and drugs in the wake of their playing careers. It is the story of American middle class manufacturing jobs leaving a community devastated with urban blight, poverty and drugs. It is the story of America history reflected in Liberia, slavery and immigration.

George Sacko is a name to remember. Maybe we should admire him for great soccer playing. Maybe we should learn from his tragic downfall. But most certainly, we can learn how greatness and tragedy are not so far apart, in sports or in life, and the most powerful story is man’s life and not a game played on the New Year holiday.   

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Sure enough, the man at the clubhouse desk confirmed my suspicions that the golfer-in-chief was on the back nine of the Kaneohe Klipper. Since the second half of the course is famous for its ocean views, I had hoped to move my nine hole round to the back, but the clubhouse attendant said it was not to be. In fact, he seemed pretty stressed out, and just wanted to collect our greens fees and see us on our way. One computer was down and he said the course had been backed up all day. As the president, Obama always comes unannounced as a security precaution. This means the course has to push back any tee times, so that whatever half of the course the President is on can be cleared of all other golfers.

I figured the hard stares of his secret service team would make up the extent of my celebrity encounter, but I did catch a glimpse of President Obama just a couple holes into my round. We were about to tee off on the second hole when we noticed a large number of people patrolling one hole to our left. Despite the motorcade of golf carts, there was only one foursome on the hole and my group knew we were in close proximity to the president. In confirmation of our rubbernecking stares, a beefy ex-special forces type with a gun on his hip stared us down from just the other side of a small pond making certain our drives were being hit in the right direction.

Given how brief my encounter with President Obama and his foursome was, I can't say how good of a golfer he is, or who his golf cronies are. But I can say he does have excellent taste in golf courses and looked presidential, smartly dressed for the occasion in khaki pants and a navy polo. Thankfully, I didn't embarrass myself by hooking my drive onto his hole. Except for almost slicing my ball through the windshied of a black SUV patrolling the course perimeter (turns out you can't hear someone call "Fore!" when you're driving an armor-plated vehicle), I managed to stay out of the President's way. Although I secretly hoped Obama might notice my skills on the fairway and make me "Czar of Long Irons", it is probably good I kept my distance for my sake because his security didn't look like they were in the mood to make golf course small talk.

Recently moved to Kailua, HI, I had a gut feeling that I'd probably run into the President as he spends his annual Christmas vacations in my new hometown. In the back of my mind, I thought I'd see him walking the beach from a distance or that I'd drive by the local frozen yogurt place and spy Sasha and Malia getting an evening treat with their dad. Instead, for some reason I was surprised to learn the president was golfing on the same course as I was, but ironically, I should have guessed the golf course was most likely place I'd see President Obama. Good for him though. All my criticism of his politics aside, I hope the President enjoyed his Hawaiian Christmas as much as I did and that he played well yesterday. Mele Kalikimaka!

You might also like these posts from the Lunch Break: Introduction to Golf, A Class Project on Jobs with Barack Obama, and "Turning the Page"- The End of the Iraq War.

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But I also live in Philadelphia, and for once the Eagles are failing even more impossibly than the Jets, despite all their apparent talent. Here it is a time for self-recrimination, regret, the placing of blame, cynicism, and general bitterness - the business of the soul's dark night, the hour best suited to the people of this fair city. Unreasonably euphoric when the Birds win four in a row, Philadelphians find a groove of misery when the Iggs disappoint, and they will stay there with a masochistic relish for as a long as possible. Losing, I find, brings out metaphors and similies in this town.

"Disappointment is a dish best served with Cheese Whiz on a soft roll," one of my co-workers said to me when I told him I was sorry to see the Eagles lose to the Pats the way they did. "Slather it," he said.

"It was like watching a chicken getting eaten by a snake," another fan, my next door neighbor said after the Eagles lost so entirely to an inferior Seahawks team, "you keep watching, thinking that the chicken's got to be able to get away. But he doesn't."

Sometimes failure, so common to people in hard times, so omnipresent to most football fans is familiar and warm. "As familiar as your father's plaid Christmas pants," another Eagles fan said to me when I extended my condolences toward him after their bizarre loss. "You wish it weren't there, but you remember it, you got through the sight of it before, so you know you can survive it." Perhaps that's why I feel so comfortable here. Losing brings out the wordsmith in the denizens of this place, and it's consoling to me too. It may even last through the game the Jets and Eagles will play in a few weeks.

The excerpt above originally appeared as a portion of the post titled "NY Jets #59" on the award-winning Jets blog Infinite Jets. 

You might also like these posts from the Lunch Break: Long Suffering Fans: Cleveland, Seattle, Buffalo and….NYC????, NY Jets #6, an excerpt from Top-Rated NFL Blog Infinite Jets, and A Philadelphia Sports Addict?.

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Speaking of teachers, Albert Pujols’ new game day salary is more than three times the average American teacher’s yearly salary ($45,000-$50,000).  I like the comparison of baseball players and teachers because they share a lot of similarities: They work around 190-200 days a year (If you include Off-season and Spring Training for Baseball Players); They are often booed and sometimes have things thrown at them (Teachers more than Baseball Players); They have a really powerful union that always gets what it wants (MLB more than teachers); and people often complain about how much money they make (Teachers more than Baseball Players, but you get the point).  Don’t worry though, that is not what I intend to do here, complain that is.  This is not some invective railing against the economic inequalities of society or personal attack against Pujols’ unquenchable avarice or lament at how disconnected MLB players are from their fan base.  Quite the opposite actually.  I’m simply here to speculate at how unbelievably amazing and unquestionably awesome it must be to be Albert Pujols. 

To start, here are some additional breakdowns of Albert’s big payday.  For the past eleven season, Albert Pujols has dominated baseball more than any other player, averaging 573 ABs, 188 Hits, 120 RBIs, and 40 HRs a year.  Assuming he sustains these numbers over the next ten years of his career, which is unlikely, he’ll be making $44,328.10 an At Bat, $135,106.38 a Hit, $211,666.67 every RBI, and $635,000.00 for each HR.  That’s freaking awesome!  Right?  The best part though of his contract is he doesn’t even have to play this well and he’ll still be paid just as much.  That’s even cooler!

Just think of all the really super-duper cool things Pujols can buy now as well.  He could buy 4,349 Sixteen Inch Coby TV/DVD Combos (On sale at Best Buy for $145.99) with just one of his HRs.  Or, if he’s a car man, he could buy 14 2008 Nissan Sentras (MSRP $15,075) with a single RBI.  Maybe it’s Real Estate that interests Mr. Pujols, in which case he could buy 2 homes in Chester, PA (Median Value $67,337 in 2009) with just a single hit.  There’s always the possibility that Albert likes to travel, so he could purchase 44 roundtrip flights to the Ukraine with only one stop ($1,013 on Expedia.com) by just stepping to the plate.  Whatever his poison, I can’t help but be jealous.  Actually, I feel kind of bad for the guy because now he has to figure out how to spend all of his money 

But in all seriousness, Albert Pujols legitimately deserves every penny of his astronomically colossal contract.  Few athletes have dominated their respective sports as consistently as Pujols.  He’s won the Rookie of the Year, two Gold Gloves, three MVPs, one NLCS MVP, two Hank Aaron Awards, six Silver Slugger Awards, two Cardinal’s Heart and Hustle Awards, nine Player of the Week, six Player of the Month, one MLB Clutch Performer of the Month, and has been to ten All-Star Games.  Oh, did I mention that he’s also helped his St. Louis Cardinals win two World Series?  Those are more accolades than most teams have on their entire roster, which stands to reason why he’s being paid almost as much as the Kansas City Royals’ entire team.  Apparently, Albert Pujols didn’t even need this money to be super awesome, but it’s certainly an added bonus.    

Kevin Burkett

Mayor Nutter just might agree with me that we cannot have two stinking groups, one literal and one figurative, in our fair city at once.  The two months of fighting for economic justice and equity by Occupy Philly could not stand in the face of the Christmas spirit of capitalism. We have to have our ramshackle village of oddities outside our dimly lit City Hall that houses our version of the isle of misfits. Who will come see the Wanamaker’s or Lord of Taylor’s or Macy’s one hundred year light show and haranguing organ if they have to step over the enthusiastically willing homeless? Occupy Philly truth hurts but not as bad as a weak dollar in a weak economy that would result in an empty stocking of tax revenue come New Year’s for city government.

Therefore, Mayor Nutter saw the light when the Philadelphia 76ers announced their return and decided that Occupy Wachovia would be better received if he rid himself of Occupy Philly. But let’s be honest, this  Sixers Roster is going to stink up South Philadelphia and other arenas around the league worst than the port a potties after a Eagles tailgate. We might be safe if the other teams have to play with their 5 signed players who are not free agents, especially since we have eleven players signed and no fear of anyone taking Thaddeus Young or Andre Iguodala. Nutter at least gets the city wage tax of Elton Brand’s 18,000,000. I am depressing myself into camping outside of Wachovia until the Sixers are forced to realize the injustice of making us watch this team for 66 games.  

 At least we have Hip Hop!    

 Wait –the only off-season move was The end of Hip Hop. The acrobatic, muscle laden, dew rag wearing rabbit has become part of the 99% and 20% without gainful employment. The press release is that he wanted to start a family and Philadelphia was no place for that.  He is enjoying his unemployment check in central PA avoiding the gunshots of amateur hunters.

So do we bring back Big Shot? 

Not a chance. The new look, same game front office has hired professionals to give the old look, same game 76ers players a new mascot. The only hints are that it will be loved and an animal. Well I loved Big Shot and I was not sure what he was. I think the new mascot should be a walking NBA Championship Trophy. It might be the only chance in the next ten years that fans see one in our city.

So to recap – Occupy Philly is gone; Hip Hop is Gone; Big Shot is Still gone. But in return the Sixers are back, the Christmas Village is back and so is Mayor Nutter’s damn Christmas Tree. 

You might also enjoy these posts from the Lunch Break: Game Day, Penn State Sex Scandal: Happy Valley No More, and The Lion in Winter…Redux.

John Harwood

Penn State Sex Scandal will make this off week the most important event of the 2011 season. Former Defensive Coordinator Jerry Sandusky has been accused of sexual assault on 8 boys during a 15 year period. Sandusky orchestrated some of the best defenses in all of college football during his long tenure with the famed Linebacker U that ended in 2007. The State College icon was revered for his tenacious schemes that always kept an average offense in the game, a rural central PA college in the Top 20, and a massive fan base happy with sacks and pressure. He was the heir apparent to Paterno’s position, but stepped down abruptly and was rarely seen in recent seasons.

The real problem of the scandal is the amount of cover-up and knowledge of Sandusky’s actions that the University and football program knew. This close-knit football family has prided itself on legacy and graduation rates and building young players into fine adult men. The Paterno tenure of 50 years could now be remembered as a façade for a sexual predator and an administration too feeble and scared of loss revenue and bad press to act morally and legally. Tim Curley, the athletic director, and Gary Schultz, the vice-president of business and finance, have been accused of perjury in the case that could eventually lead to the end of Graham Spanier University’s Presidency and Joe Paterno’s reign as head coach.

enviziondotnetSay it ain’t so, Joe. In a season only marred by one loss to Alabama, Joe Paterno could have turned the program over to Tom Bradley with confidence in recruiting and a proud and growing fan base. Now this scandal involving a significant part of the program’s success, the players, alumni and money could drop significantly. Instead of ending in the glorious shine of a BCS bowl, the University is scrambling to make sense of perhaps the largest scandal in Division 1A sports.

The courts will decide the fate of Sandusky, Curley, and Schultz, but the alumni and press will decide the fate of the football program. The image is tarnished regardless and no doubt the players and coaches knew of misdoings, including the iconic coach. Children should never be in danger of sexual molestation but when it’s done on the highest stage using the power of position, the implications will have long lasting echoes throughout the nation.

It was a beautiful, quiet Fall day in State College yesterday as the news shook the bucolic campus. It was suppose to be a day to write about the great things the football team has accomplished, but instead I am talking about the possible decline and do doubt the marred reputation of my favorite Saturday football team. The sun is shining, but something is different and inherently sadder in Happy Valley.    

sydneyduhh

I have never been to an eastern division game. The pressure and anxiety was palpable four hours before the game as people fired their grills and drank in large pockets of green. It was a tailgate without fun in direct contrast to college games, concerts or baseball games. The tailgate was not the reason the fans came this night, nor was it the camaraderie in their fellow fans. There was only one reason for the beer and food: energy to watch the Eagles beat Dallas.

This passion eliminated any of the good nature ridicule as fans walked by in Dallas jerseys. The mordant remarks cut through the air like daggers waiting for any response to pounce on them with violent gestures.   This was territory marked with clear rules of battle and decorum. The fans huddled together in drinking like people waiting outside for a wedding to start. There was a urgency to their drinking and a purpose for their presence that would not be undermined by sophomoric behavior. The crowd had come to watch the Eagles and this was their time of week for Sunday service.

daveyninAs game time came close, the hordes appeared and walked in quiet reverence to the stadium, which appeared to float on the horizon. It was like walking into a ship’s hull. The darkness had already fallen and the only significant light brought the fans in mesmerizing trances. They wore their jerseys in the thousands and not because they loved this jersey, but it was the expected uniform. Dallas fans were among the walking causing the only sounds of disgust and explicative. The fans formed a huge mass waiting for security to check every part of their body and clothes. There the Dallas fans stood nervous. They were brave souls swimming in a pool of hatred. If they talked, they were told to shut up. If they turned around, they were asked what they were looking at. The only other sound was the constant chanting of Asshole, Asshole that followed the blue and white in. You waited and did not talk. You were at the game.

The tension never stopped. The taunts never subsided. The Eagles won big and yet the Eagles fans continued to want more and more. They were an ornery bunch who follows esoteric rules for sitting and standing and speaking. If an outsider violated them, they were told in unison to sit down and shut up. Here in the stands were my uncles and grandfathers still existing in their caustic and bitter existence. Here in the stadium holds the heart of that blue-collar town that had to fight for everything while risking the little they had. Here was the tradition of the city in the toughness that Philadelphia is famous for having. It is ugly and cruel and proud and ours. This was the Eagles game; this was our night; this was Philadelphia.

Years from now, my son will go to the Eagles. It will still be my uncles and neighbors in the stadium. He will keep his eyes focused on the game and cheer only for a victory. I hope it will not mean what it did once for my uncles and the fans or even for me. But I think it will. Philadelphia might change, but there in South Philly, while the Eagles are playing, my family and history are preserved.