Keepin' the COVID Alive

Way back in 1980, the Beach Boys enjoyed one of the last hits of their estimable career, Keepin' the Summer Alive. It espoused all the things they were famous for and was a pleasant bit of radio fodder.

Forty-years and change later, it is ironic this sunny, harmless tune could serve as the anti-vaxxer's death-wish anthem, albeit slightly re-titled. Let's call it Keepin' the COVID Alive.

Without employing words like mental illness or stupidity, it is tough to figure these folks out.

I was hugely relieved when the worst of the pandemic lifted. The virus was ugly, a monster without a face. Excepting the knots of rural Republicans treating it like a fetus, we'd have eliminated it by now.

What I found most disturbing was that in the middle of our political and societal rancor, we mostly ignored the medical miracle that happened underneath our noses. That three—three—vaccines were developed to combat the novelcorona virus.

I mean, who wanted to croak before watching Republicans destroy the democracy that has been the envy of people the world over? (I'm over the moon that Republicans are finally showing themselves as amoral, power-mad sub-humans as I've always suspected they were.)

Transparency, right?

But if you're like me, you're suffering post-COVID political fatigue. And having to watch the legions of the orange-haired continue to dispute not only the results of last year's election but the existence of a pandemic (perpetuated by the very citizens complaining loudest about newly instituted mask mandates) is pretty close to insufferable.

In demonstrating their imagined sense of impermeability, the largely-Republican core of anti-vaxxers has unwittingly sustained and enabled the very thing they say doesn't exist. And when it's not making them sick, it's killing them.

Do I dare refer to this as culling the herd?

I certainly detest twentieth-century Republican's notions of governance, but do I fervently and truly hate them? Do I wish they'd all succumb to the Delta variant and be gone? Probably not.

I mean, my father was a Republican (admittedly of a strain light-years removed from the current iteration) and a sibling is as well. And ironically, I get along with that sibling better than those who declare as Democrats.

Go figure.

And after viewing the documentary Seattle Is Dying, I have as many reservations about unrestrained liberalism as I do about unrestrained conservatism.

Before we're forced further into another round of COVID restrictions which no one—liberal or conservative—wants, can't we come to see this as a health issue and not a political one?

And when our scientists create vaccines and test them and introduce them to a population starving for them, can we at least seize the opportunity to keep ourselves alive today and fight to enact our extreme agendas tomorrow?

To the folk in conservative bastions like Missouri and Alabama wearing their vaccine hesitancy like an Olympic medal, rest assured it is a short-lived thing. When you're suffering the long hauler ravages of COVID, it'll feel like a permanent hangover.

And in the worst-case scenario, how're you going to vote Republican from the grave?

Have you really, really thought this through, people?

 

Looking for Some Deer to Fear

Another old favorite is challenging for a title after numerous set backs. Following surprisingly early exits from the post-season after amassing the league's best record two years running, the Milwaukee Bucks have re-grouped and face the Phoenix Suns for the 2020/21 NBA championship.

Much has been made of the fact it's their first crack at a championship since 1974, five years after the selection of Lew Alcindor (you probably know him as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) in the 1969 draft instantly catapulted the expansion Bucks into contention in just their second season.

(It didn't hurt they unearthed a future Hall of Famer—small forward Bob Dandridge—deep in the fourth round of the same draft.)

The young team needed a stabilizing veteran, and the then-Cincinnati Royals (now the Sacramento Kings) gifted Oscar Robertson to the Bucks in exchange for Flynn Robinson and Charlie Paulk.

While Robinson was a decent combo guard for a handful of seasons, Paulk was out of the NBA just two years later. Given how lopsided the trade was, it's pretty obvious that with Robertson in his thirties and still without a ring and the Royals lapsing into mediocrity, it was a kindness extended to the all-time great for ten seasons of jaw-dropping basketball.

After Alcindor/Jabbar was traded to the Lakers following the 1974/75 season, the Bucks—not surprisingly—declined. But the rebuild was a very short one. Don Nelson arrived for the 1977/78 season and the Bucks were on their way.

Point guard Brian Winters (obtained in the Jabbar trade) had emerged along with forward Marques Johnson to lead the new look Bucks. Guard Quinn Buckner and forward Junior Bridgeman (also obtained in the Jabbar trade) added valuable support off the bench and the Bucks found themselves in the post-season.

They advanced to the second round, where it took the Denver Nuggets seven games to conquer the young'uns.

After a brief stumble in 1978/79 the Bucks returned the following year bolstered by first-round draft choice Sidney Moncrief, the acquisition of veteran center Bob Lanier and the blossoming of Bridgeman into a full-fledged starter.

The addition of Lanier was perfect for a coach who prized spacing and ball movement. His Bucks never had a single dominant scorer, but several who could move the ball around and keep defenses guessing.

And Moncrief became a brilliant guard and just one in a string of Bucks guards known for their suffocating defense.

Deft trades and savvy drafting became hallmarks of the Nelson era and the primary reasons for their ongoing success.

When Lanier finally announced his retirement it took only a single season for Nelson to land his replacement, the similarly talented Jack Sikma.

And while Winters had been a capable point guard, the addition of Paul Pressy in the '82 draft was a definite upgrade. As was the trade of aging forwards Bridgeman and Johnson in September of 1984 for Terry Cummings and two guards yet to fulfill their promise: Craig Hodges and Ricky Pierce.

Pierce in particular was able to step-up and fill the void left when Moncrief's knees began to fail him prematurely.

Despite another brief trip to the playoffs (they lost the semis in seven to the Seattle Supersonics), they had captured the first of what would be seven straight divisional crowns and set the foundation for what would be a decade of sustained success.

1979/80 was also the first in what would be a dozen consecutive post-season appearances and these Nelson-coached teams would win a minimum of fifty games for each of the next seven years.

But like so many storied contenders, their greatest weakness was timing. The Bucks ascended just as the Larry Bird-Robert Parrish-Kevin McHale Boston Celtics were taking ownership of the Eastern Conference. And on the rare occasions when the Celtics weren't dominating, it was the Philadelphia 76ers of Julius Irving, Moses Malone and Maurice Cheeks.

In fact, those Sixers knocked the Bucks out of the playoffs four of the next five seasons. And when the Bucks got past Philadelphia, it was only to face those fearsome Celtics. 

Like I said, timing.

In fact, in the Bucks three visits to the Eastern Conference Finals in '83, '84 and '86, they lost to the eventual NBA Champion each time.

In the ensuing three decades the Bucks had some nice players and even made the Eastern Conference Finals in 2001 with a team built around Ray Allen, Glenn Robinson and Sam Cassell.

But it couldn't continue. Not until Giannis Antetokounmpo showed up, anyway.

With the Bucks having fallen behind in each of their previous two series, they now have done so again. The Suns are firing on all cylinders and their guards are plainly outplaying the Bucks' pair. Stir in the suddenly-elevated play of Deandre Ayton and fearing the deer suddenly takes a bit of effort.

Is it presumptuous to call tonight's game a must-win?

 

It's That Voodoo That Tom Do

Way before I did, Tom Ricketts realized he had an expectations problem. Saddled with a civic institution of a baseball team and its fan's elevated expectations, he faced a quandary: how do I achieve fiscal austerity, maximize my rate of return and yet convince the public I am vested in this team and its ongoing success?

Distressed that the cash tsunami he anticipated when he purchased the Cubs had yet to materialize, Tom had become irritable. And the public pressure that accompanied the re-signing of three stalwarts, which meant three more expensive long-term contracts that only guaranteed he'd be on the hook for a lot of money, was only making things worse.

Tom thought. And thought. He consulted with consultants. He lost himself in the creation and examination of scenarios. It would be a public relations disaster to trade Anthony Rizzo, Kris Bryant and Javier Baez. As it would to let them leave via free-agency.

And yet, hadn't he spent enough money?

How could he duck re-signing the threesome (one of whom was on the wrong side of thirty, the other injury-prone and the third having seemingly peaked by the age of twenty-eight) without being crucified by Cub fans and the media? In what kind of environment could let his his three stars go without giving the faithful cause to take-up pitchforks and torches?

“Ah-ha! I've got it! I'll make them bad! I'll have Hoyer gut the pitching staff! We can let Jon Lester and Jose Quintana and Tyler Chatwood go to free-agency and trade Yu Darvish! Hell, he's a Cy Young contender and he's under contract! And while Kyle Hendricks is pretty damn good, there's no way he can carry a team!

And best of all, we have no prospects on the farm! It's genius! I can dump salaries today and it'll pave the way to saving even more tomorrow! No wonder I'm a billionaire! And the fans? As soon as those bi-polar crybabies get a load of the new Cubs they won't give a crap what happens!”

And so it was done. The team momentarily veered off-course in May, but is now back to exploring the multitudinous varieties of futility. A rejuvenated Craig Kimbrel is playing like he didn't get the memo, but with the trade deadline just three-weeks and change away, he won't be a problem for long.

Collectively at their career lows, it will be interesting to see what Rizzo, Bryant and Baez fetch—not that it matters.

The heavens will part and ol' Tom will soon be rolling in it. He knows, like we all know, that when it comes to Wrigley Field and the Cubs, the product on the field is less-important than where they play. And he can make money far more cheaply than he would fielding a contender.

Besides, with a championship in the bank, he's set for the next century.

Right?