FAST Blast: March Madness redux (and more)

While I launched this blog in August, I considered starting it last year about this time. I wrote the original version of this post a year ago, with an imminent launch in mind. What follows is a revised version — a sort of refresher on the near-anniversary of some singular sporting wonders.

BEWARE THE IDES of March Madness — especially when a damaged Man(ning) is on the loose.

Befuddled? Join the club. The above lead describes a trio of unprecedented events in three sports that took place (mostly) in March 2012. Actually, you could say two sports were involved, depending on your definition. Befuddled, indeed.

Let’s decode the conundrum…

1. Peyton’s New Place
QB Peyton Manning, Super Bowl winner and four-time MVP, was released by the Indianapolis Colts on March 7 and became arguably the most seismic free agent in NFL history.

The Colts decided to cut Manning, who missed the 2011 season after multiple neck surgeries, and thus avoided paying him a $28 million bonus. We can surmise that the uncertainty surrounding his recovery contributed to the Colts’ decision, but the Denver Broncos banked on a healthy Manning in 2012 — they signed the NFL’s biggest free-agent prize. And Manning rewarded their faith, leading Denver to the NFL’s best record.

In related news: Having signed Manning, the Broncos jettisoned Tebow-mania last year — trading QB Tim Tebow to the New York Jets. This month, the Jets released Tebow.

2. Roman Emperor on Trading Block? Are You Lin-sane?
Beware the NBA ides of March! The league’s trade deadline last year fell on March 15 — the latest it has ever occurred. You may wonder: Why so tardy? Why was the deadline delayed until the anniversary of that fateful day when Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 B.C.?

OK, I’ll spare you the Google search: Last year’s NBA trade deadline came historically late due to the NBA lockout, which postponed the start of last season from Nov. 1 until Christmas Day.

Another league first: The NBA boasted its own version of March Madness last season, featuring yet another unprecedented phenomenon. Since this madness arrived a month earlier, we could call it February Frenzy, but the pop-media description was simply: Lin-sanity.

In early February 2012, Jeremy Lin became the first Asian-American to start an NBA game (and the league’s first American-born player of Taiwanese or Chinese descent).

He led the New York Knicks, who appeared headed to black-hole oblivion, to seven straight wins. In the first of those wins, Lin set an NBA scoring record for a Harvard player with a 25-point outburst — and he obliterated his own mark three games later, recording 38 points in a shocking conquest of superstar Kobe Bryant and the Los Angeles Lakers.

Lin’s rise from Ivy League obscurity to worldwide acclaim was more than meteoric — it was unknown nova-like. Sure, Lin starred at Harvard, but he received no Division I scholarship offers coming out of high school despite being the Northern California Division II Player of the Year. (Harvard and all the other Ivy schools are D-I, but they don’t offer athletic scholarships.)

After a stellar college career — which included a dazzling 30-point performance his senior year in a loss to Big East powerhouse Connecticut — Lin went (you guessed it) undrafted. That’s right, 30 NBA franchises joined the We Missed Lin club that had been founded by 300-plus colleges and universities.

After last season, Lin signed as a free agent with the Houston Rockets. For Knicks fans, this season has been a maddening return to a state of sans-Lin sanity, though the Knicks’ successful campaign has eased the loss. As for mental health professionals in southeast Texas, they’ve had a full season to diagnose and study Lin-sanity. Lin remains legit, so there’s still no cure in sight.

3. Eyes on the Ides in NCAA Tourney
When do you suppose the Kentucky Wildcats began their quest for a national championship in last year’s NCAA tournament? Yes, their first tourney game was on March 15, aka the ides of March.

As fate would have it, the Kentucky men marched through the tournament and won the national title in early April, posting a 38-win season — the most victories ever for a Division I men’s basketball team.

On the women’s side, Baylor won the title and recorded the first 40-win season in college hoops history. The Connecticut and Tennessee women had previously posted unblemished 39-0 seasons; Tennessee did so in 1997-98, and UConn has achieved that record an unparalleled three times (2001-02, ’08-09 and ’09-10).

A further NCAA distinction: The 2012 NCAA men’s tourney was the first to witness two upsets of a No. 15 seed over a No. 2. For Duke and Missouri, heartbreak attended their Big Dance early, while Lehigh and Norfolk State donned glass slippers and boogied at the ball.

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Somehow, for reasons not entirely clear to the left side of my brain, the convergence of these three unique events has me reflecting on exceptional historical happenings outside the realm of 21st-century sports … three happenings, to be exact. Hint: Two are typically commemorated in April, described as the cruelest month by poet T.S. Eliot — though any coach of a No. 2 seed that crashes and burns in March might question which month is crueler. The other is celebrated on the day the NBA began its recent lockout-shortened season.

To be continued…

Information from various media outlets was used in this article.

All-Name Teams #8

Featuring names from across the world of sports

He was humble and walked the path of obedience all the way to
death — his death on the cross. For this reason God raised him
to the highest place … and gave him the name that is greater than any other name.
— the apostle Paul*

… At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

— the apostle John**

All-Cross Team
Troy Aikman — football
Carlo Costly — soccer
Na’il Diggs — football
Paul “The Truth” Pierce — basketball
Danny Woodhead — football

All-Resurrection Team
Skylar Diggins — basketball
Gregg Easterbrook — writer
Dashon Goldson — football
Mark Lazarus — sports TV executive
Dante Scarnecchia — football

All-Divine Team 2
Emmanuel Adebayor — soccer
Dale Earnhardt Sr. — auto racing
Gary Emanuel — football
Robert Godhigh — football
Jesus Montero — baseball
• All-Divine Team 1

* Philippians 2:8-9, Good News Translation
** John 20:14-16, New International Version

Do you believe Jesus of Nazareth has the greatest name, the highest value, the best brand in the universe? Or do you see some other person as being a cut above?

A further question: At the end of the day, who is your go-to person?

I hope and pray that you and I will know as our go-to person the One who truly has the preeminent name.

FAST Fiction: Fall Classic Dream State #3

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living …
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living,
So different now from what it seemed.
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.
— Fantine in “Les Miserables”

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Fall Classic Dream State: Part 1 • Part 2

While I was at home watching the pregame show before Game 5 of the 2000 World Series, I fell asleep moments before the first pitch — and soon I started to dream. This is what I dreamed …

… a parade is just beginning, and now I see where I am: in New York City’s Canyon of Heroes, along Broadway. The list of those who have been honored here includes Nelson Mandela and the Yankees in the 1990s (three times for the Yanks, who were World Series champs in 1996, ’98 and ’99).

Makes me wonder: Why hasn’t Mandela been honored with three parades? What he’s accomplished warrants 30-plus parades compared to winning three World Series, it seems to me.

A familiar voice gate-crashes my thoughts: “HEY! What about me?”

The voice shouts again, sounding as if it’s coming from a cavernous place: “What about me?”

It’s Billy Crystal. I think. Or someone whose voice sounds like him. But I can’t see him.

I hear him again: “Hey! What about ME?” And then I see him. It’s Miracle Max from “The Princess Bride,” one of Crystal’s classic characters. He has emerged from an underground stairway about 30 feet up the street. A magical staircase? Nope, a subway stop. I hadn’t noticed it before.

Crystal — or, more accurately, Miracle Max as portrayed by Crystal — says to no one in particular, “What about me? How about a parade for me?”

Looking up and down the street, I see not another living soul — strange attendance for a parade. So, as the only person there, I feel obligated to attempt to answer his question. And my answer begins with another question: “Do you mean a parade for Miracle Max or Billy Crystal?”

He looks at me, incredulous. “For me, of course — me, Miracle Max! I deserve a parade. Look, if I don’t bring that Westley kid back to life, ‘The Princess Bride’ goes south faster than you can say ‘I hate when that happens.’ If I don’t work my magic, that story becomes a tragedy of unimaginable and epic proportions. True, that kid was only mostly dead — but I resuscitated him, for cryin’ out loud. I deserve a parade.”

I reply, “Billy—” (at this he glares at me) “—excuse me, Mr. Crystal—” (he scowls at me) “—oh, I mean Max — Mr. Miracle Max!”

He says, “No ‘Mr.’ — just Miracle Max. Or Max is fine, too. If you call me ‘Mr.’ I start feeling really old.” A breeze ruffles Max’s white hair, and his furrowed, mountain-ancient face is recognizable in the streetlights.

“Max,” I say, “I love ‘The Princess Bride’ — two thumbs-up, absolutely — and your importance in the story is indisputable. But I have no jurisdiction over New York City parades. Sorry I can’t help. I’m not even sure who you should appeal to.”

Miracle Max begins to say something, but I see the parade is starting to go by. Once I turn toward the street and view the first float, I’m transfixed like a child who happens upon a carnival — and whatever Max is saying becomes unintelligible background noise.

There isn’t much visually on the first float to arrest my attention: simply a light-colored placard with dark block lettering, facing my side of the street (clearly parade-planning genius, since I’m the only person there). Wait, I’m not the only person here … but when I look for Miracle Max, he’s nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s seeking an audience with the mayor to make a case for a Miracle Max Day parade.

As I scan the placard and its lettering, I get the impression that I’m reading headlines, which are coupled with various years — and each year is in the future. Just as the float has nearly passed, I notice a smallish sign above the placard that reads: PARADE FLOATS. For a moment, I envision a parade floating down the East River … oh, wrong float — now I gather that this means each headline corresponds to one of the parade floats.

Glancing down the street at the rest of the parade, I see that this first display is actually a mini-float — the approaching floats appear to be two or three times the size of this first one.

These six headlines are on the placard (remember, I’m dreaming this dream in October 2000):

Terrorist attacks rock NYC; Twin Towers reduced to rubble — 2001

Red Sox rout Yankees in Game 7, complete historic comeback — 2004

Katrina floods New Orleans as levees fail; Superdome converted to shelter — 2005

Obama wins election, becomes America’s first black president — 2008

Freak October nor’easter hits Connecticut, knocks out power across state — 2011

Superstorm Sandy wreaks havoc across Northeast; death toll at 50, damage estimated at $50 billion — 2012

What could all this mean? Are these headlines of actual events? Will all this come true?

As the mini-float passes by, I peer at the next float — and its first visible element is a handmade sign, with jagged edges on one side, bearing numbers that appear to have been hastily scrawled: 9/11. I wonder what the numbers signify — maybe it’s a variation of calling 911 for an emergency?

To be continued …

© Bruce William Deckert 2013

FAST Sonnets in Cyberspace #2

The December posting of this poem is fitting because of its fleeting Christmas reference. Further — and correct me if I’m wrong — its theme and its two sports references make it fitting for a sports-and-faith blog.

By the way, the sonnet might be the best poem for the fast-moving residents of the 21st century. No lengthy free verse here — instead, 14 economical lines.

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“How do you know?” episteme-unstable
Age asks of those who follow Barn-Born, Spike-
Scarred, Tomb-Torn One. “How can you tell fable
From reality, then and now alike?”
But postmods know more than they might admit.
And so I ask: Know you the sum of two
Plus pi? Hank 7-5-5 homers hit?
Your Mom and Dad exist? Know you that blue
Bespeaks a sun-swept sky? That your hometown
Rests where you left it last? Know you the mind
Can lie? Ball tossed up high falls to the ground?
Fourteen lines forever sonnets define?
Forever … I wonder: How can I know?
Help me hear You true: Because I said so.

© Bruce William Deckert 2012

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NOTES — Poetry 411
The word episteme is defined as: knowledge — specifically, intellectually certain knowledge (merriam-webster.com). The English pronunciation of episteme: EP – i (short i) – steem.

As you might know or surmise, episteme is the root word for epistemology, which is the study of knowledge. This philosophical discipline is the equivalent of the 5-year-old — or 25- or 45-year-old — who asks: But how do you know?

This poem is a Shakespearean (or English) sonnet, with a rhyme scheme — the pattern of rhymes at the end of each line — as follows: abab cdcd efef gg. Each letter represents a different rhyme, and the gg is called the closing couplet.

Alternate Closing Couplets
1.
Forever … I still ask: How can I know?
Please say true to me: Because I said so.
2.
Of forever, I ask: How can I know?
My Dad (who knows) replies: ’Cause I said so.

POLL — Yes, you can vote for the closing couplet you prefer…

Non Sequiturs + Other Quasi-Funny Stuff #3

This is part non-sequitur, part quasi-funny anecdote and part riddle — and it’s a true story, too:

A high school soccer coach was doubling as the van driver — common enough at a small private school — and driving her team to an away game, when she cried out: “Be quiet, I can’t see!”

What could be the reason for such a strange statement?

“Sit down, I can’t see” — that makes sense. Or: “Move your head, I can’t see.”

But … “Be quiet, I can’t see” — huh?

Spoiler alert — if you want to ponder the riddle, hold off on reading the rest of this post…

The backstory:

At one point, the coach was backing up the van while listening to a player in the rear seat who was communicating how much maneuvering room the van had available. Since some players were talking noisily, the coach called out, “Be quiet, I can’t see!”

Without missing a beat, one player replied: “Coach, turn the light on, I can’t hear!”

P.S. How does this story shed light on a key factor to consider when we don’t understand verbal or written communication? Especially before we dismiss something we don’t comprehend — something that doesn’t make sense to us — as nonsense.

Could the communication glimpse this story gives help us in our relationships? Including the one that is said to be of utmost importance — the relationship with our Creator and His means of communicating with us?

FAST Sonnets in Cyberspace #1

The sonnet is perhaps the best poem structure for the attention-distracted, on-the-go citizens of the 21st century. No lengthy free verse here — instead, 14 compact lines, 10 syllables per line, accompanied by certain rhyme schemes.

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THE BACKBOARD, though blemished, the years bear well,
Witness to losses, wild wins. But the rim
Droops low, lifeless — will no more fame foretell,
Ground right-angled. From driveway of time, dim
Voices call like playground hymns, bounding ball
Echoes … as cold mist mantles summer park,
A child’s lost memories shroud my heart, hopes maul —
For ere my dreams danced, they screamed in the dark.
Dad-and-son team, signed to play side-by-side,
Torn apart on blacktop of time — facade
Of years won’t chase the pain or keep it hid —
While this father-taught game grieves at the trade.
Oh, when I teach my son asphalt ballet —
On forsaken Son’s court — with him I’ll stay.

© Bruce William Deckert 2012

NOTES
Poetry 411 — This is a Shakespearean (or English) sonnet. The rhyme scheme — the pattern of rhymes at the end of each line — is as follows: abab cdcd efef gg. Each letter represents a different rhyme, and the gg rhyme is called the closing couplet.

Alternate closing couplet
I’ll teach my newborn son asphalt ballet —
And like incarnate Son, with him I’ll stay.

Poll — Yes, you can vote for the closing couplet you prefer…
 

FAST Blast: Derek Redmond’s Olympic heartbreak and the problem of suffering

In a previous FAST Blast, I revisited the extraordinary Olympic story of Derek Redmond. Let’s re-revisit this real-life tale…

Redmond’s experience bears an amazing resemblance to the message of the Christian faith. Many see his poignant Olympic moment as a living parable of compassion and redemption in the wake of broken dreams.

Yet there’s a counterpoint that can be expressed in the following questions: Does Redmond’s remarkable story point to the existence of a caring God — or the reality of a capricious deity? Or does the story perhaps show God isn’t there at all?

In other words, what does a world full of suffering say about the existence of a loving God? Can God’s existence be reconciled with so-called meaningless suffering? If not, does the reality of suffering dismiss God from the worldview conversation like a bouncer at a nightclub?

Let’s examine these counterpoint questions — but first, a refresher: Due to an injury, British sprinter Derek Redmond was unable to compete in the 400-meter dash at the 1988 Olympics. After rehabbing, he ran at the ’92 Games and reached the semifinals, except during his semi he pulled a hamstring — and felt the familiar heartache of watching his Olympic dream die again. But Redmond decided to finish. As he hobbled around the track, a man descended from the stands, placed his arm around Derek’s shoulders, and helped him complete his 400-meter odyssey.

The man was Derek’s Dad.

One perspective on this scene: What a moving picture of a father’s compassion for his son, a la the parable of the prodigal.

Another perspective: Wait, why would a loving God allow his son to become injured? Isn’t God great enough to prevent such needless pain?

I confess, these questions register with me. They can be compelling … and so can investment experts who are actually con men (think: Bernie Madoff).

Madoff orchestrated what has been called the largest Ponzi scheme ever, a reported $50 billion fraud. A former official with the NASDAQ Stock Market, Madoff was a trusted member of the investment industry for decades.

Just before FBI agents arrested him in December 2008, Madoff told them: “It’s all just one big lie.”

As we contemplate these age-old questions about God and suffering, Madoff’s confession illuminates a key issue, which can be phrased as a further question: What’s the truth about where we humans can best invest our lives and time and resources and trust?

And who’s telling the truth about what the best investment is?

(True, that isn’t one further question, but two — what can I say, I majored in English, not math. OK, perhaps that isn’t the optimal joke in view of Madoff’s financial-math fraud — and if you say the joke isn’t especially funny? Well, what can I say…)

Perhaps it appears I’ve gone far afield of Derek Redmond’s story, but since all life is intertwined, I see a connection.

Two decades ago I saw a breathtaking resonance between the Redmonds’ father-son redemption on the Olympic stage and the love of God as expressed in the incarnation.

The counterpoint to that proclamation says: Not so fast. If God is truly loving, why do human beings suffer? Yes, a heroic rescue is heartwarming — but couldn’t a powerful and caring God have prevented the pain that made the rescue necessary?

This counterpoint reflects, naturally, the classic “problem of suffering.” Contemplating the problem cuts to the heart of the human condition and can result in honest reflection about life and faith.

Yet in the context of Redmond’s injury and Madoff’s deception, is the counterpoint — at its worst — a counterfeit?

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The God depicted in Scripture is, safe to say, no stranger to suffering. At this season of the church year we cannot escape this gut-wrenching reality: The Good Friday cross is the only steppingstone to Easter. That’s the paradoxical heart of the New Testament gospel.

So while we ask the old question — why does God subject humans to suffering? — let’s not miss its companion questions: Why does God suffer? Why does God subject Himself to suffering?

In a word, it appears the answer is: LOVE.

God suffers so much because He loves so much — and desires our love so much (see: the greatest commandment). When He chose to create humans in His image, we could choose to either love God or leave Him — with the latter causing Him heartache and anger and anguish.

To God, apparently the risk is worth the reward.

More than one Michael Kelly Blanchard song dovetails with this human-and-divine-suffering topic. For now, let’s consider “The Broken God”:

Didn’t see you there. Didn’t know You were weeping too.
I think of tears as a human wound.
Though, of course, You care. You have shown you were human too.
They say you cried at Lazarus’ tomb.

I was unaware how it is with a broken God.
I thought of you as above my pain.
Lost in my despair, so it is with a broken heart.
I never dreamed You could feel the same.

Some say you’re not there, just a myth for a lazy life.
An artifact from an ancient scroll.
But I have known you near in the gift of a weary sigh.
Lord for the lost and the lonesome soul.

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The psalmist says, “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted.”

Why?

I believe it’s because, more than anyone else in the universe, God knows what it’s like to be brokenhearted.

Information and reporting from various media outlets were used in this article.

© Bruce William Deckert 2013

All-Name Teams #7

Featuring names from across the world of sports

“‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy … O! Be some other name: What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
— Juliet in Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”

All-Love Team
Vagner Love — soccer
Peter Lovenkrands — soccer
Lovie Smith — football
Amare Stoudemire — basketball
Bobby Valentine — baseball

All-Joy Team
Joy Cheek — basketball
Mickell Gladness — basketball
Johnny Jolly — football
Aaron Laffey — baseball
Happy Walters — agent

All-Peace Team
Carmelo Anthony — basketball
Diego Contento — soccer
Metta World Peace — basketball
Cory Stillman — hockey
Stilman White — basketball

FAST Fiction: Fall Classic Dream State #2

“I still have a dream … I have a dream today.”
— Martin Luther King Jr.

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For Part 1 of Fall Classic Dream State, click here.

On this late October evening, I’m at home watching the pregame show before Game 5 of the 2000 World Series — the first Yankees-Mets Subway Series. If the Yanks win tonight, they’ll capture their third straight championship.

Moments before the first pitch, I fall asleep … and soon I start to dream.

The dream is at turns haunting and hopeful. And while it tends to be jumbled — like a toddler’s toy box, post-playday or post-tantrum — the dream resonates in my psyche as vividly as a December rose or the springtime sun or a tranquil mountain lake. Consequently, I don’t realize I’m dreaming … until I wake up and write down as much as I can remember (and as much as time allows).

On occasion, I awaken during the dream — or at least I recall returning to that semi-aware place between waking thought and a dream state. And then I go back to sleep-land like a child on the playground slide.

This is what I dreamed…

I’m in New York City. More accurately, I’m above the city at night. I am a human hot-air balloon, with a bird’s-eye view of the five boroughs. But then I realize I’m not suspended in midair. Instead, I’m on the observation deck of a skyscraper — the iconic Empire State Building.

The first landmark I see is the unmistakable World Trade Center, with its mammoth Twin Towers that dominate lower Manhattan.

I see the George Washington Bridge, with its own twin towers, resolute in its continuing conquest of the Hudson River. I see Times Square, Central Park and the Chrysler Building.

Then I see Shea Stadium — and instantly I have an up-close view of the field, as if through a high-powered telescope. Mets pitcher Al Leiter winds up and delivers to Derek Jeter, who strikes out swinging. I know intuitively that this is no regular-season interleague game. Then I recall: Jeter was slated to bat No. 2 for the Yankees tonight, and Leiter was the Mets’ scheduled starter. So this is World Series Game 5! The scoreboard shows it’s the first inning. I missed the first pitch, but not the second batter.

Without warning, the telescope malfunctions and I lose sight of the field. Yes, I’m annoyed. Instinctively, I reach for a TV remote but find only frustration and air — and suddenly lose my balance. I begin to fall from the skyscraper, plummeting like a rapidly deflating balloon.

Terror-stricken, I hear Bill Cosby’s voice. He’s telling the story of being terrified on a roller coaster in his youth and crying out for help — but when he tried to shout “Mother,” the rushing wind caused by the coaster kept blowing his distressed shouting back into his mouth. I smile. And then I think: Why am I smiling when I’m about to die?

But I don’t die. I drop, dream-like, on a pole vaulter’s landing cushion. When I arise, uninjured, another voice is sounding — this time emanating from the south. I look that way, toward lower Manhattan, and the voice is saying that once as he drove along the road, he saw a sign that read “Blasting Zone.” Now I recognize who it is — yes, it’s Brian Regan, or someone who impersonates the comedian impeccably. After seeing the sign, he says that several blasts shook the car, prompting him to ask this question: Shouldn’t that sign back there read “Road Closed”?

I see that the pole vaulter’s cushion is on a sidewalk next to a city street — I can’t tell which street at first, but I can tell that a parade is under way. Actually, the parade is just beginning, and now I see where I am: in New York’s Canyon of Heroes, along Broadway.

The list of those who have been honored here is as long as the Hudson River — from Amelia Earhart and Jesse Owens in the 1930s, to French president Charles de Gaulle and the Apollo 11 astronauts in the 1960s, to Nelson Mandela and the Yankees in the 1990s (three times for the Yanks, who were World Series champs in 1996, ’98 and ’99).

Makes me wonder: Why hasn’t Mandela been honored with three parades? What he’s accomplished warrants 30-plus parades compared to winning three World Series, it seems to me.

A familiar voice gate-crashes my thoughts: “HEY! What about me?”

To be continued…

© Bruce William Deckert 2013

All-Name Teams #6

Featuring names from across the world of sports

“She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” — an angel to Joseph (per Matthew 1)

“You will … give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High … his kingdom will never end.” — the angel Gabriel to Mary (per Luke 1)

All-Christmas Team 2
Mitch Barnhart — athletic director
Dionte Christmas — basketball
Noel Ellis — football
Wilma Rudolph — track
Garth Snow — hockey
• All-Christmas Team 1

All-King Team
Shannon Doepking — softball
Bernard King — basketball
Billie Jean King — tennis
Kyle Kingsbury — MMA
Moses Kingsley — basketball

All-Light Team 2
Jamie Bestwick — BMX
Coley Candaele — football, track
David Lighty — basketball
Jim Lites — hockey
Rayfield Wright — football
• All-Light Team 1

All-Name Teams #5

Featuring names from across the world of sports

Thanksgiving is almost here … and here at the FAST All-Name Teams post, we have the beverages and the squash, and the family has begun to gather. But we’re missing the turkey! Does anyone know of a sports figure with a turkey-related name?

By the way, since turkeys taste so good, why do we associate “turkey” with being a loser? Happy Thanksgiving to turkeys and non-turkeys alike…

All-Bird Team
Larry Bird — basketball
Jaclyn Hawkes — squash
Kate Starbird — basketball
Bubba Starling — baseball/football
Lynn Swann — football

All-Drinks Team
Lauren Alwine — soccer
Todd Coffey — baseball
Phil Coke — baseball
Lars Lagerback — soccer
Taylor Teagarden — baseball

All-Family Team
Brad Childress — football
Fred Couples — golf
DeMarcus Cousins — basketball
Jeurys Familia — baseball
Bernie Parent — hockey