karmario fluff
or sagapolutele
however gifted

“You want to know something?” Karras crossed his knees and put his fingertips together. “I don’t think I would have been much of a football player if I didn’t have a name like Karras. That hard K sound is the key. If my name was Harris, an H instead of a K, and they’d baptized me Alexander . . . with that name, ‘Alexander Harris,’ I’d never have made it as a football player—at least not as a defensive tackle. It’s not a football player’s name. Maybe I could have been a flanker with a name like that . . . but more likely I would have turned out to be the Secretary of the Interior.”

“Would you say this theory was true of other football players?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he said. “John Unitas. Think of that name. It suggests authority and teamwork. Twenty percent of a football player’s genius is the name he was born with. Leo Nomellini— what does that name bring to mind but power and an afternoon of terror for the guy going in against him? Sam Huff? A guy that’s going to blow you over. Csonka? It sounds like a blow to the gut. Dick Butkus? Look at the collection of consonants—that’s why he’s a great linebacker. If his name was Robin Jenkins, he couldn’t have made it in the Ivy League.”

“Or take the other side of the coin,’ Karras said. “Milt Plum. That’s why Plum was never a great quarterback with the Lions, however gifted he was with natural ability. He was destroyed by his name. His parents probably wanted him to play the cello and take them for picnics up on the hill when they were eighty years old, so they called him Milt. You played bridge with him when you were at Detroit, right?”

That’s right,” I said, “He was very good.”

Karras nodded. “Of course, there’s not much his parents could have done, given that name Plum, but suppose they took out the Milt and called him Jack and spruced him up with a good middle name. Suppose they called him Jack Kong Plum.”

Jack Kong?

“Sure. Some of his aunts might have objected—on the grounds that there weren’t any Kongs they could recall in the Plum family tree, but someone called Jack Kong Plum would have been a helluva quarterback. He’d talk different, and he wouldn’t have played bridge, and he’d walk different with a name like that. He would have started out right in football.”

From Mad Ducks and Bears by George Plimpton (Random House: New York, 1973).

I read Mad Ducks and Bears when I was a little kid and long before I was a football fan.

I grew up in a ‘sports aware’ home where it seems like the Detroit Tigers were on the radio all summer long and Michigan football was on through the fall and on fall Sunday’s, the Detroit Lions were on TV (though my Dad loved to throw a wrench in the works and change the channel over to the AFL to watch Joe Namath and the Jets – but that was just to raise the level of discussion).

But I wasn’t much a fan and didn’t pay much attention to it.

But I read everything.

I read all the books about Gridiron Greats and the Fireside Book of Baseball, and I can’t tell you why.

Maybe it was the sports writing.

Because I was attracted to the writing of George Plimpton, who made a career of taking part in professional sports in order to write about it.

I think I saw his TV special first where he talked about his time with the then Baltimore Colts for the basis of the TV show.

But the show was full of references to his time with the Detroit Lions and a book called Paper Lion.

I read that when I was about 10 and then I read his 2nd book about his friendship with Detroit football players Alex Karras and John Gordy.

It was then that I read the above passage about names.

Names and professional sports.

And it has stuck with me to this day.

Nothing to do with how gifted someone was with natural ability, the player was destroyed by his name.

A little time back, Michigan had a quarterback named Wilton.

Nothing against the guy, but he was doomed.

Way back in 1979, I knew Michigan was in trouble with QB B.J. Dickey and when Rich Hewlett was announced as a surprise starter in the OSU game, I knew the game was over before it started.

Just say it outloud.

BJDICKEY

His parents probably wanted him to play the cello and take them for picnics up on the hill when they were eighty years old, so they called him BJ.

And Rich Hewlett?

Of course, there’s not much his parents could have done, given that name Hewlett.

But call him Jack?

Call him Jack Kong Hewlett and he’d walk different with a name like that. He would have started out right in football.

When the Lions made a splash signing a new QB that had just won the Heisman I was less than thrilled as I knew Joey Harrington just … didn’t have the name.

SO it was fun to read today the column Mandel’s Final Thoughts: USC just can’t do it and Florida might be winner of all Kiffin drama By Stewart Mandel in the New York Times … just for the names.

Texas Tech linebacker Austin Romaine.

UGa Offensive coordinator Buster Faulkner.

Vols freshman Faizon Brandon.

No. 24 Mississippi State QB Kamario Taylor, RB Fluff Bothwell and WR Sanfrisco Magee.

Nebraska’s Anthony Colandrea.

Oklahoma State’s QB Drew Mestemaker.

Cal star QB Jaron-Keawe Sagapolutele.

Utah QB Devon Dampier.

Iowa State QB Rocco Becht.

Indiana RB Lee Beebe Jr.

Boise State QB Maddux Madsen.

Sanfrisco Magee?

Sanfrisco … Magee?

Well okay.

I want to watch a Cal game just to hear the announce say Touchdown Jaron-Keawe Sagapolutele!

That Rocco Becht.

He has started out right in football.

Poor Fluff Bothwell.

But I tell you this.

For a player to made to this level of college football with a name like Fluff … he has to be good.

play that breaks your heart
guys played 59 minutes
59 seconds

Adapted from the article, NC State postgame comments after Vanderbilt loss leave more questions than answers by Jadyn Watson-Fisher in the Raleigh News and Observer (September 19, 2026 11:46 PM) where Ms. Watson-Fisher quotes NC State Head Coach Dave Doeren saying:

It’s a shame it came down to that play where that should never happen; a play that breaks your heart. I was proud of how our guys played for 59 minutes and 59 seconds.”

But there was no explanation for not snapping the ball into the stands or setting up plays to throw down field. No one knows if taking a knee was an option or if there were discussions about simply running around the back of the end zone. There was no clarity on what message Bailey received before the final play.

“It really, really hurts when you lose a game like that where the guys went all in and did a lot of good,” Doeren said.

I want to focus on that last line, “I was proud of how our guys played for 59 minutes and 59 seconds.”

For NC State, they played their game for 59 minutes and 59 seconds.

Two weeks ago, Michigan played their game for 60 minutes and 1 second.

It is baseball that is said to be a game of inches (even though a few years ago the folks in charge of baseball added three inches to the size of base to get rid of the band-bang play, not realizing they only moved the bang 3 inches further away from the bang) and it is good to remember that, baseball, there is no clock.

So it is in football, that it is a game of seconds.

Time.

Clock management.

Charles Taylor raises his ugly head and with that stop watch in his right hand, and calls for the d handled shovel shoveler to get a little more coal out of each movement.

Football is the American Game and we are the only country in the world to call football, soccer.

The columnist George Will once wrote that “Football combines two of the worst things in American life. It is violence punctuated by committee meetings.”

Now I will add, that it’s not whether you win or lose, or how you play the game, but how did you watch that clock that matters.

To update Mr. Will, Football combines three of the worst things in American life. It is violence punctuated by committee meetings while watching the clock run down.”

Truly the American way.

I should, in all transparency, since pointing out that Michigan won on an extra second two weeks that according to USA Today, Before those stunning final seconds in Nashville, teams leading with the ball in the final 10 seconds were 1,046-1 over the past 20 seasons. The only loss during that time was Michigan’s 2015 defeat against Michigan State in the legendary “trouble with the snap” game, but who wants to remember that?

So maybe you will ask, how do defeat the clock in football mentallity?

I point out to you the famous football movie, Remember the Titans and the game where it is revealed that the fix is in against the Titans to lose.

The Defensive Coach destroys the conspiracy with threats of going public … then he turns to the head coach and says …

Run it up Herman … LEAVE NO DOUBT!

Seems my whole life of watching Michigan football, coaches and teams have conspired to play a game they won’t lose instead playing a game to come out and win.

Instead of playing a game where they Run it Up!

Instead of playing a game where they LEAVE NO DOUBT.

Sure you don’t have to play that way.

So long as you are happy to leave the game … in the hand of a clock.

one second left twice
not over ’til fat lady
reviews video

Some items without dispute from the Michigan – Western Michigan football game in Ann Arbor on September 5.

Western outplayed Michigan.

Western deserved to win.

Michigan earned the loss all on its own.

Michigan has a drug problem as Western drug Michigan up and down the field.

Bryce Underwood is not answer and may be the problem.

Michigan’s game plan over the last 50 years and multiple coaches of playing to not lose rather than playing to win produces unwatchable television and unnecessary hardship.

And …

On the next to last play of the game, a Western Michigan defender went out of bounds and returned to the field of play and touched a live ball, stopping the clock with one second left.

As reported in the New York Times, “A couple of hours after the Wolverines’ 13-12 win, the Big Ten released a statement explaining the decision, along with the video that replay officials reviewed and audio of them talking through the decision. The video, from an angle that was not shown during the broadcast, appeared to back up the decision that a defender — after he stepped out of bounds — touched the ball when there was a second left on the stadium clock.” )A couple of hours after the Wolverines’ 13-12 win, the Big Ten released a statement explaining the decision, along with the video that replay officials reviewed and audio of them talking through the decision. The video, from an angle that was not shown during the broadcast, appeared to back up the decision that a defender — after he stepped out of bounds — touched the ball when there was a second left on the stadium clock. (Why Michigan got 1 second put back on clock before controversial win vs. Western Michigan By Ralph D. Russo and Justin Williams – Sept. 5, 2026 Updated Sept. 6, 2026 8:08 am EDT).

Full disclosure, I did not watch.

Pretty much at the end of the line with Sport anyway, that first half with the latest edition of the Next Great Michigan Coach and the resurgence of the Next Great Michigan Quarterback had me shaking my head and turning the game off.

The wife and I watched our regular Saturday night Detective drama, Death in Paradise.

I admit I kept my phone handy and glanced at the score from time to time and the scoreboard showed 0:00 WMU 12 M 7 and I swiped the screen off.

Our show ends before 11 p.m. as it airs on PBS without commercial breaks so it lasts less than 1 hour and before I could stop her, the wife switches back to the game.

The screen shows an empty Michigan Stadium and the field packed with screaming fans.

I figured the visiting Western fans had rushed the field … but there were too many of them.

The fans were all in maize and blue.

What goes on here, I wondered.

After what seemed like a long time, the announcers found their voices and started to try and explain, as the New York Times put it, “Where exactly did that one second come from for Michigan?”

This morning every major news outlet is reporting that Western was robbed.

Then the BIG 10 officially announced that “As shown in the provided video of what was viewed during the replay process, a side-by-side view of the play and the game clock, using a direct shot of the game clock in the stadium, was used to determine the final ruling.”

So Michigan wins.

The video replay says so.

Boy Howdy!

It’s the sporting equivalent of when Senator Al Gore once stayed overnight at monastery back in the day and along the way accepted a large campaign donation and responded to questions saying, My lawyers say I did nothing wrong.

Not picking on Mr. Gore here, its the thought that counts.

But somehow this game and its outcome and how we arrive at this outcome, is just a microcosm of life in general on so many fronts.

Life is changing and for the worse all around it seems.

The new season is here.

Let the games be played.

And always remember that in this modern era, it’s not whether you win or lose, but how the video replay can be intrepreted.

It’s not over until the fat lady reviews the video.

Anyway, on that 2nd last play, Western should have been flagged for roughing the passer.

still be remembered
in the end as man who sent
midget up to bat

Bill Veeck had a track record for designing some of the most elaborate marketing promotions during his four stints as a Major League Baseball owner, including an exploding scoreboard in 1960. But his most outlandish publicity stunt was sending 3ft 7in inch pinch-hitter Eddie Gaedel to the plate at a game 75 years ago Wednesday.

Sporting uniform number 1/8, Gaedel was greeted with a standing ovation at Sportsman’s Park in St Louis as he came to bat in the second game of a doubleheader on 19 August 1951 for the St Louis Browns. A famous AP photo shows Detroit Tigers catcher Bob Swift sitting on his knees with a ball in his glove, towering over Gaedel and his tiny strike zone. Not surprisingly, he walked on four pitches, and was immediately lifted for a pinch-runner.

From the article, ‘I felt like Babe Ruth’: baseball’s 3ft 7in pinch-hitter, 75 years on by Frederic J Frommer, in The Guardian, (8/19/2026).

Mr. Veeck (as in wreck) tells the story here.

At one point in time, the American League voided the contract and Eddie Gaudel was removed from the record books.

At another point, the contract was recognized as valid and Eddie’s stats are part of the official canon of Major league baseball.

Here the box score. See Gaedel with the “b” for pinch batter. (As a side note, growing up in West Michigan where everyone followed the Detroit Tigers, long time Tiger TV announcer George Kell played in this game … though not once do I ever remember that in the long long career of commentaries and rain delay stories, he ever mentioned it.)

Veeck writes:

Eddie crept back into the record books and remains there today. When he died, he got a front-page obituary in The New York Times, a recognition normally accorded only to statesmen, generals and Nobel Prize winners.

I did not recognize at the time that Gaedel’s moment was my moment too. I knew it was a good gag. I knew it would delight the fans and outrage the stuffed shirts. I knew, in other words, that it would be a lot of fun. It never entered my mind, however, that it would be the single act with which I would become permanently identified. Even today, I cannot talk to anybody from St. Louis without being told that they were there the day the midget came to bat. If everybody was there who says he was there, we would have had a tidy gathering of 280,000.

But no one has to tell me that if I returned to baseball tomorrow, won ten straight pennants and left all the old attendance records moldering in the dust, I would still be remembered, in the end, as the man who sent a midget up to bat. It is not the identification I would have chosen for myself when I came into baseball. My ambitions were grander than that. And yet I cannot deny that it is an accurate one. I have always found humor in the incongruous. I have always tried to entertain. And I have always found a stuffed-shirt the most irresistible of all targets.

I’m Bill Veeck, the guy who sent a midget up to bat?

Fair enough.

That was Veeck writing in his Autobiography, Veeck as in Wreck, which I read as kid at probably too young an age and I felt a real affinity for Mr. Veeck, maybe not the best hero, (but then my Dad didn’t like me reading biographies of Thomas Edison either as it was the story of a ne’er-do-well who made good) and I started following the Chicago White Sox.

This led me to talk my friend Doug, to drive down to Chicago from Grand Rapids, Michigan to see a Tigers play the White Sox on a Thursday, stay overnight, spend the next day in Chicago and then go the game on Friday night and drive home late.

It was announced that Thursday would be a double header to make up a rained out game so we would get to see three games.

Little did we know that on Thursday, Veeck had scheduled a promotion called Disco Demolition where fans could get in for 98 cents if they brought a disco record with them.

Wikipedia states … so blandly … Disco Demolition Night was a 1979 Major League Baseball promotion at Comiskey Park in Chicago that ended in a massive riot. Fans who brought a disco record got admission for 98 cents. Between a doubleheader, a crate of records was blown up, causing thousands to rush the field and force a game forfeit.

My friend Doug and I had box seats for the Chicago Riot Police in action and it was well worth the price of admission.

As Veeck would point out later, much like the midget batter, Disco Demolition it is still talked about today so how, from the point of view of media attention, could it have been a failure?

The Guardian article ends with ….

The Browns lasted just two more seasons in St Louis, before moving to Baltimore to become the Orioles in 1954.

By then, Veeck had sold the team, but he would return with two stints as owner of the White Sox, in the late 1950s/early ‘60s, and 1970s. After selling the team a second time, he would sit in the bleachers at Wrigley Field, to watch the Chicago Cubs, where his father had been team president early in the 20th century.

Veeck would wear an old pea coat and greek fisherman’s hat and sit in the bleachers behind the rails over a bleacher entrance so he would have an unobstructed view of the games.

When he spotted him, Harry Carey, the Cubs radio announcer would tell the fans at home that Bill Veeck was in the stands.

I went to a Cubs game one day and my Dad had the game on the radio back home and they heard Caray relay the information that Veeck was in attendance.

When I got home, my brother-in-law Bill asked if I had a chance to meet Veeck?

You bet I did, I answered.

And I pulled out his autograph to prove it.