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This race is one of the most exciting things I've seen. Ever. The French eat a little crow as Lezak comes from behind and out-touches Bernard by 8/100's of a second. I think what makes it more incredible is that not only did the US shatter the previous world record in the process (by almost 4 seconds), but the next five teams to touch the wall also came in under world-record time. Better, stronger, faster ... this is a new age of swimming ya'll.

link to this | comments (2) | File:  Swimming  Sports  Olympics 

Michael Phelps could win 8 gold medals in Beijing this year, beating Mark Spitz's 7 golds in the 1972 Munich Games. The media has really played up this potential record-breaking feat, making comparisons between the two swimmers, Phelps and Spitz. And Phelps is doing his own bit to build up the hype, as demonstrated by the Spitz-like mustache he was sporting when he arrived in Beijing on Monday. Phelps has been lauded as possibly the fastest all-around swimmer ... ever. And if you're just looking at the times, then I guess it's not entirely wrong to say that. If you're just looking at the times.

On the women's team there is another story the media has grasped a hold of: Dara Torres, 41 years old and mother of a two-year-old daughter, is swimming in her 5th Olympics. Amazingly, her time in the 100m free at the qualifying meet, where she came in first just touching out Natalie Coughlin, is a full 2.47 seconds faster than her time in the 1988 Olympics, when she was 21. And 2.47 seconds is pretty significant for a sprint like the 100m. Side note: even though this swim qualified her to swim the 100m in Beijing, she decided to withdraw from it so she could concentrate on her best event—the 50m free.

There are a couple of levels of interest with the Torres story. First and foremost is the feel-good, wow, isn't it great?! sort of reaction you get from people in their 30s and 40s who appreciate knowing that it's still within the realm of possibility for somebody their age to make these sorts of achievements. Torres is sweet confirmation to aging athletes that, hey, I can still whip a 20-year-old's ass if I put my mind to it! Of course, the black cloud some people love to paint over this story is the possibility of doping. How else, they ask, does a 41-year-old recent mother qualify for the Olympics and in so doing beat her own time from when she was 20 years younger? Torres knew this would be an issue and so she has made herself an open book, volunteering for a new pilot program from the USADA where she is required to give urine and five vials of blood every few weeks. For this reason, I happen to believe Torres is clean. Of course, I also believe this because I want to believe it. But come on, there's something to be said for the fact that she's making herself an open book to the USADA. I mean why would you do that—how could you do that?—if you weren't clean? So yes ... I'm with this guy even though some have been more skeptical.

Actually, the fact that Torres is recording better times at 41 than she did 20 years ago makes a lot of sense in some ways, because the sport of swimming has changed so much in the last 40 years. Research has lead to improvements in training regimes and, perhaps more importantly, swim suits. Back in the 80s and early 90s, when I was competing, the idea of a fast suit was "as little suit as possible." Many of today's suits take the opposite approach, covering most of the thighs and the chest, even for men. One of the thoughts behind these is that the suits squeeze muscles taught, reducing drag, and actually helping muscle recovery after a swim. The materials used to make these suits are also a factor, specially designed to glide through water, not unlike a shark's skin.

I don't mean to take away from the accomplishment of a 41-year-old conditioning her body to swim as fast as people half her age. But when you factor in all that's changed with the sport in this time, it kind of makes sense that the 41-year-old Torres can swim 2.47 seconds faster than the 21-year-old Torres. It's not that her younger self could not have swam that fast. She actually had it in her. She just lacked the right preparation and gear. Maybe she would have even swam faster back then, all things being equal.

Which brings me back to Phelps and the "fastest swimmer ever" title. Can we really make the claim that Phelps is "the fastest swimmer ever?" In one sense, yes, of course we can: He's got the fastest times. Duh. But the times are only half the story here. Is it possible to make any sort of meaningful comparison between Phelps and great swimmers of the past, people like Spitz, or my personal idol as a kid Matt Biondi, or Ian Thorpe. People who—in their time—were also considered the fastest. When Spitz raced in Munich in 1972, he didn't wear a cap or goggles (goggles were not allowed, apparently). He didn't even shave his mustache, something that people would consider absolutely crazy today. Also, as far as sports drinks, Gatorade was it ... and it had only been on the scene for a couple of years. The high-performance energy drinks and supplements we have today just weren't around. Jump ahead to Matt Biondi—he wore the skimpy suit all male swimmers wore at the time, his muscles flapping around all willy-nilly like, creating drag. What if he had worn the LZR suit by Speedo. Could he have been as fast as Phelps in a side-by-side race?

In 1972, Spitz swam the 200m free in 1:52.78. Biondi swam a 1:47.99 in Seoul in 1988. Twelve years later, Pieter van den Hoogenband won Gold in Sidney with a 1:45.99. And four years after that Ian Thorpe (The Thorpedo) took Gold in Athens with 1:44.71. Last year at the World Championship in Australia, Michael Phelps, who is a favorite in the event in Beijing, went a 1:43.86 for the new World Record. That's almost a full 9 seconds in 36 years. This is just looking at one event in mens racing. But the same sorts of strides are happening in other events and on the female side, as well. And the interesting thing about Dara Torres is that we see this trend of faster times in the same swimmer, despite an increase in age.

So the question I always wonder is this: When does it stop? When does the playing field level out? And at what point can we definitively say, "This person here, this is the fastest swimmer ever." There's got to be a point when people just won't go any faster, where the record just stays on the books for years and years. Right? I mean at some point it has to stop. Because doing the 200m free in under 1:30 ... that's an impossibility. I mean ... isn't it?

link to this | comments (5) | File:  Swimming  Sports 

In 1972, Franco Harris made the now-famous Immaculate Reception in an AFC playoff game against the Oakland Raiders. And, you know, we really need a name like that to describe what David Tyree did in the fourth quarter of Sunday's Super Bowl game, 3rd and 5 on the 44 with 1:15 left. Was there anybody sitting down on that play? I mean, that catch — hell, the entire drive — just begs to be immortalized with some clever title ripe with miraculous and/or religious undertones. And I've been racking my brain since Sunday trying to think of one, but I've got nothing. All I can think of are bad puns about how Tyree was really "using his head" or how he did a great job of "keeping his head in the game." No, no, no. That's all wrong.

How about . . . Immaculate Reception, Deux? Crap.

Speaking of reception, C and I went all old-school for The Big Game. We watched it — get this — over the airwaves. Because we still lack the Fios. (It's supposed to come tomorrow, but I've heard from our neighbors not to get our hopes up). Anyway, we had planned on going to a bar to watch it and be surrounded by Giants fans. But we were torn because, while that sounded like a lot of fun, we also wanted to see (and hear) the commercials and when you're in a bar, you tend to lose that ability to ambient noise. You also wind up missing crucial moments in history that can occur in a split second. I learned that lesson the hard way a couple of years back with Janet's boob. And let me just say that damn, that Etrade baby cracked me up. So it was all worth it.

So if I remembered my history correctly, we actually had television signals all around us, we just needed a way to turn those signals into a discernible picture on our set. What we needed was that relic of TV communications known as the "rabbit ears." Luckily we had a set, which I had been keeping in my plastic bin of wires for a special occasion such as this. So we got them out. And we stood there, staring at these strange things in my hands, trying to remember what we were supposed to do with them, again. Did we have to plug them into something or did we just put them near the television set and wait? Were we supposed to pray before using them? Should we get out the aluminum foil? We had so many questions.

We played around with the positioning of the rabbit ears (which really look nothing like the ears of rabbits) for a while, doing that dance our fathers did, and their fathers before them. Rabbit ears have such a rich cultural history. I tried standing on one leg, then I held one end of the antennae while pointing to the ceiling with my free hand. There was still a fair amount of snow. C suggested I try it naked, but I was really skeptical that would work. Finally, we found a placement that allowed us to get two channels: NBC and Fox. And of the two, Fox came in the best. In fact, it actually came in better than our Cable-supplied CBS channel in Baltimore, something which had always been a bit of a sore spot for us.

So great, we had Fox. Now we could watch . . . House. But aside from that, who cared? We figured the Super Bowl would be on NBC. And while that channel came in, it certainly wasn't at all purty. Oh well. It would just be part of the experience. We would just pretend it was snowing. Indoors. In Arizona. It would surely put a test to our imaginations. Why did Fox have to be the good channel, anyway? Of all the bloody channels. Then we realized we didn't actually know which channel The Game would be on. Hell, it might be on ABC, which didn't come in at all. So we checked to verify the broadcast station and, well, did I mention things are just kind of clicking here in Jersey? I've never been so happy to watch Fox. Ever.

So we watched the Super Bowl, with damn decent reception, over a set of rabbit ears that had been buried away in a plastic container for years, waiting for this one chance to shine.

And it was glorious.

We watched all the commercials. In part because we wanted to, but also because we lacked a Tivo "Pause" button. When we needed food, we went one at a time so that the other person could tell the one getting food if they were missing something.

And look, I'm not one to gloat about victories, okay? Particularly when it comes to a team which has only recently become my "home team." But when I watched Eli make that final drive down the field, it did generate a few of the warm and fuzzies inside me, I have to admit. And I'm just real sorry there, Pats . . . 18-1 just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

So it's a day of celebrations, not just in New Jersey and New York but all over the states. Because it's also Super Tuesday (which is sweet, sweet nectar for political junkies among us — show me your Roll Call) and Mardi Gras (which is sweet, sweet nectar for the cocktail-inclined among us — show me your flask).

Oh, and yes, today is celebratory for one more reason . . . Happy Birthday, C!

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Sports  Giants  Football  Cath 

If you follow the sports and like hypothesizing on who will end the season a champion, or if you hate sports but love statistics, check this site out. Of course I'm most interested in this page.

link to this | comments (2) | File:  Sports  Football 

If you have an iGoogle homepage and like sports, create a new tab and call it "Sports." It will, by default be populated with several sports news feeds, and a cool standings widget from CBS sports. (At least it was for me.) If you prefer Flash, you can also use integrate this widget instead.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Google  Sports 

When I drove by Camden Yards late last night on my way back from DC I thought I could sense something bloody had just occurred. 30 runs. Wow.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  BMore  Sports 

If you happen to be standing outside of our apartment door on a Sunday afternoon between now and February 4th, you may be shocked to hear the sound of a female voice shouting furious words at some unlucky SOB. Don't be concerned. The threats are meaningless. And that unlucky SOB is not me. It's the TV set. C and I are just watching a little of the football.

Over the years, C has taken a liking to pro football. I take full responsibility for this. Believe me - I knew not what I was doing. C has actually turned into a far more dedicated fan than myself. She enjoys watching just about any game, regardless of whether she likes the teams. This is all very interesting since my desire to stay home on one particular Monday night nine years ago and watch the Broncos play the Patriots - rather than meet her at a bar to celebrate the completion of her last exam - very nearly put an end to our nascent relationship. Later that season, the Broncos went on to their first Super Bowl win. It was an emotional game. We watched it together at a friend's house, and I'll admit that some tears were shed that night (possibly by me) at the sight of John Elway holding that trophy over his head. Some women might be ashamed to see their new boyfriend moved to watery eyes over a football game. But not C. Lucky for me, she was hooked - not just to me, but to football.

Over the next couple of years, as we watched games together, C would ask me questions about the game. The player positions, the rules, the strategies. I was the guide, and she the young apprentice. She was a fast learner, and absorbed every aspect of the game. Soon, I could no longer answer her questions. They became increasingly complicated and usually involved knowledge of stats, percentages, and prior scores which, as I've mentioned before, I typically have no mind for. This has always made me feel a bit inadequate, not only as a 'football fan,' but as a red-blooded, American male. But C, once the apprentice, is now helping guide me back to my God-given role as alpha football fan in the family. Together, we're journeying into a realm of football watching neither of us ever imagined possible. We now watch games with laptops open to both ESPN.com and NFL.com. Reading the detailed play-by-plays, watching the stats and percentages of the game as it unfolds. Looking up historical averages for teams and players. This is serious stuff.

Now if I could just find that spark of passion that would make me get up and cheer and shout, maybe and even tear-up when my favorite team wins the Super Bowl. I guess in my thirties I've become a little less impassioned when it comes to these things. But I miss it. Not only in football. I miss it generally - in life. So it was with pride that I looked over at C protesting some terrible call this weekend as we watched Indianapolis play the Giants. Pride and envy.

link to this | comments (1) | File:  Cath  GSD  Sports 

Last year, Catherine and I took a trip to Costa Rica. It was an incredible time, full of relaxing, and sunshine, and the occasional white-faced monkey or lazy iguana, and an overall sense of Pura Vida. Yes, it was a wonderful escape from the fast-paced world back in DC. In Costa Rica, time creeps along, not unlike a Sloth, an animal that is prevalent in the area.

One of the things I did while I was there was take some surfing lessons. Well, I'm happy to report that I'm now a surfing sensation in Costa Rica. That's right, the school where I took the lessons, has my mug plastered all over their Web site. If you watch the rotating photo banner at the top of the home page long enough, you'll see me, looking all cool in sunglasses. I'm also in the group shot on the homepage where the whole class is posing with their surf boards. I'm also in a few shots in their gallery which, oddly, contains a few mildly erotic shots like this one that have nothing to do with surfing. What's also funny about their gallery is that I'm in photo sets from January, 2005, and February, 2005, but I was only there once, and it was in April.

Anyway, that's just a technicality. The main point is this: I sell surf lessons because I'm so damn famous . . . and HOT! Even the guys like me. Especially the guys like me. Who knew this white boy from DC would hit such a level of fame? I'm thinking next year I might shoot for the Triple Crown of Surfing. Andy Irons who?

Incidentally, if you ever do go to Costa Rica, make sure to take surfing lessons at the Manuel Antonio Surf School. They're great teachers, and are sure to get you up on that board. They may even make you famous, like me. And I'm not just saying that because of my million dollar advertising deal. . .

link to this | comments (4) | File:  Travel  Surfing  Sports  Ho_Hum 

Last night was rough. After spending most of the night obsessing over a questionable decision we made earlier in the evening, both Catherine and I made several fruitless attempts to fall asleep, starting around 12:30 am. Around the time my brain had done it's 723rd push-up, my body finally declared that enough was enough, damnit, and demanded some sleep. Three hours later, I found myself awake again, and very confused. The alarm must have gone off, but I didn't remember it. Still, something had woken me up. I looked at the clock a couple of times in an effort to understand it completely. Comprehend the message. Like I always do when coming out of a deep sleep, I tried like hell to reason my way out of the certainty of time, but there was just no way around it: it was 6:40 am. We had not prepared the night before for a late night, and the car was parked in a 7 am rush-hour spot. There would be a pink ticket on our windshield in twenty minutes. And a truck would be towing poor Carmen away ten minutes after that. Time to get up. Hop to it.

So the day started off bad and got worse before it got better, in the form of a long trip to Gaithersburg for a dentist appointment. But right now I feel good. I can't explain it, really. Perhaps it's sleep deprivation setting in. Or perhaps it's the amazing weekend of playoff games. I have a friend, Tom, who is a Patriot's fan so I don't want to gloat too much, but . . . what the hell . . . Go, Broncos! We actually watched the Skins game at Tom's house Saturday night, but out of respect for the host, decided to leave before things got messy in the AFC. And who'd of thunk that the Steeler's would pull it out against the Colts? Awesomeness. Broncos and Steelers: they happen to be my two favorite teams. And they'll be battling it out for the AFC Championship. How great is that? Regardless of what happens this weekend, I'll have a team in the Super Bowl. Still, I hope it's the Broncos. Even though I was a Steeler's fan before I was a Broncos fan, I have to say that my loyalties lie more with the Broncs these days. So it'll be another weekend of blue and orange for me. And does it really matter what NFC team wins at this point?

And the decision that kept us up last night? Well, meet the newest member of our family. She's really cute and likes it when we pet her. She makes occasional purring and ticking sounds. She's neither orange, nor round, but her name is Tangerine. She will help me better test my Web sites during production. Catherine has already taught her a bunch of new tricks. Truth be told, I think they may have a slightly better relationship. I'm a little jealous of all the time they've been spending together.

And why was this a 'questionable decision?' Because we started second-guessing the breed we chose. We were not sure it would be the right temperament. But today, after spending some more time together, we've come to realize that she's a perfect match for us.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Tech  Sports  Family 

I've been swimming at the Y lately. Yes, the YMCA. Dig it. Joined last week because I was sick of Stairmasters and elliptical machines and muscle-bound body builders. I was sick of Gold's. Most of all, I was sick of not swimming.

There's a different vibe at the Y than at other gyms. People are a little more down to earth. A little more real. It's hard to put a finger on, but it's there. The Y is more than a gym. It really is a community center, a 'club.' People are nice. It's definitely worth the extra $20 I'll be paying in membership dues. You get little perks you don't get at a places like Gold's. Like big towels. And big lockers. And a pool.

Oh, the pool. Glorious pool. Six-lanes, kept at a perfect 80 degrees, slightly cool, but not cold. And there is a gutter around the perimeter to help absorb the rough water when a lot of people are swimming. Awesome. Did you know the smell of chlorine actually gets me excited? It makes my heart race a little. It's uncontrollable. A triggered reaction, like when a horse hears a gun shot. I've always had a strong reaction to smells, and chlorine . . . it makes me want to race. I even start to perspire a little bit.

Yeah. After a couple of months, after I get my feel for the water back, I think I may even join the master's league.

So the Y is my sanctity, my retreat. Owed in large part to the pool. But then there is racquetball and squash, as well. Two sports I haven't played since college, but which I will certainly start up again. There's nothing better to vent pent-up anxiety then to let loose on a tiny rubber ball for a good 45 minutes. My friend Matt H. says he's going to 'school me,' but I beg to differ. After the first couple of games, it'll be all over for him. Can't wait.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Health  Ho_Hum  Sports